Deni💕💞

22y | she/her

[yenayaps]

weak at the knees (fwb!gojo x f!reader)

content: a story in which suguru is sick and fucking tired of you and satoru pretending like you're not disgustingly in love with each other, and offers to help you make him jealous after a messy fight | wc: 8.1k (post-grad au, fwb to lovers, mutual pinning, fluff, smut, light angst, the final boss of miscommunication tropes, both parties are lw toxic, jealous!gojo, messy!suguru)

notes: quick s/o to @ayeputita for commissioning this fun little story, thank you so much for your patience 🙂‍↕️❤️

now playing: mac miller - god is fair, sexy nasty

First it was finals, then graduation, and then navigating the beginning of your careers. It’s been over two years and multiple milestones, and you still have yet to officially put a label on your relationship with Satoru Gojo. 

It was simple at first. Uncomplicated. You’d show up to his apartment, blow off some steam via getting your brains fucked out, and maybe stay a while afterwards for some takeout. 

Now you have your own toothbrush in his bathroom and a small section in his closet dedicated to your clothes because you stay at his apartment multiple nights in a row. Just last week you had to explain to your coworker that he wasn’t your boyfriend. The week before that, you overheard him refer to you as his friend while on the phone with his father.

You’re not exactly complaining about it, you’re just as busy as he is. Though you can’t help but feel like the topic of commitment has only gotten more awkward whenever it threatens to slip its way into conversations. You both shut it down and move on to something else whenever it creeps up, but deep down you knew it was only a matter of time until it blew up in your face.

It started with random disagreements. Ones that you usually would've brushed off, but all of a sudden couldn’t. They were small, like what-show-should-we-watch-tonight small. They still ended with you going back home for the night. Each time, you brought back more of your belongings. Then it became a habit, and you started taking things home on normal days. 

Satoru never saw you sneaking your things out, but he watched as that corner in his closet grew smaller and smaller, until it had more hangers than clothes to hold—becoming nothing but a reminder of all the space you once took up. And yet instead of asking why, he did what he always did and just lived with it.

Which didn’t work out very well for him. Later that week, Satoru decided to punch some guy in the face for getting too close to you at a party. 

It wasn’t immediate, of course. He gave it an hour before he proceeded to antagonize the man until he had a better reason to punch him in the face, because being a jealous loser wasn’t one of them. You wouldn’t have been surprised if he was already in a mood, given how you turned down going to the event with him. It had already been days since you heard from him when he asked—of course you were going to say no. 

Never in your life had you been that embarrassed to be associated with anyone. Embarrassed and disappointed—mostly with yourself. It left you with some hope during a time you questioned whether or not to cut ties with him. It was hard not to, you had hardly seen or spoken to him the weeks leading up to it. He had you convinced he didn’t see a future with you, let alone want one. As problematic as it may sound, his sudden burst of jealousy revived the love you’ve unfortunately grown to have for him. It was inevitable. Satoru has always had the ability to captivate just about anyone he spoke to. One could only imagine how easy it is to fall for someone like him. And for someone as stubborn as you, it was just about impossible not to once he started showing you the sides he usually kept hidden from the world. 

So after a week of giving him the silent treatment, and receiving multiple flowers and an ‘accidental’ dick pic in return, you found yourself back in his arms, horny and slightly confused once again.

. . . 

There were certain things Satoru won’t talk about with anyone, not even with his best friend. 

One of those things was you. 

It was rare whenever he did. Suguru had quickly learned not to circle back to it in the future because Satoru would either play dumb or genuinely not know what the hell he was talking about, because he was drunk when he called and rambled about you for an entire hour at the time. 

Suguru can’t lie, though—he tries to pry as much information out of him as he can whenever he does get a drunken phone call. He’s nosey, okay? He’s come to accept that part of him a long time ago. 

It’s not like he fishes for anything bad. It was always so he could get a better idea of Satoru’s headspace when it came to you. 

At first he thought you were just a placeholder in his life until someone better came along. But then you all graduated, and Satoru continued to see you. Then he thought maybe he just felt like he didn’t have the time or energy to hold a serious relationship, and that you two clearly had some good bed chem going on—might as well keep it up. 

Then it clicked a year later, when he randomly dropped by his apartment on a Sunday morning, and finally got to see what you two were like together, since Satoru never bothered to mix you in with his friend group, and neither did you with him. 

Actually, no. He got to see what he was like with you. You barely spoke that morning, because you were violently hungover. 

Satoru was in perfect shape compared to you, which made it clear he decided to play the role of a caring boyfriend and picked you up from wherever you were, then brought you back home. You were surprisingly clean that morning—Suguru wouldn’t have been surprised if his best friend bathed you before putting you in a pair of his pajamas.

Then he saw multiple soup containers on his counters, along with multiple kinds of over the counter medicine that mighthave helped you and an entire case of some fancy hydration solution that he most likely asked his parents to send him the night before, since they were rich and had access to everything.

And Satoru has always tried to hide how much he cared, always tried to hide how much he wanted to help you. But the moment he heard you running to the bathroom, he rushed over and held your hair back as you puked out whatever soup he bought you. Suguru even heard him apologizing for it and promising he’d never buy that shit again, as if it were the restaurant's fault you got sick, not because you overdid it the night before. 

…You weren't a placeholder, and Satoru was fucking pathetic for not straight up declaring his feelings for you. 

He still is! 

It’s an entire year later and Suguru’s just as, if not more, confused. The last drunken rant he was forced to listen to was about how you were slowly packing up your things and planning on leaving him. You two weren’t even official, but now you’re leaving him? Not just breaking up with him, leaving him. 

And why do you have an entire section full of clothes in his closet? 

He’s always made an effort not to pry because he’ll eventually get it out of him, but the suspense was killing him this time around. 

“Sooo…” He tried to act casual about it, but Satoru immediately looked at him with a smidge of suspicion. “How’s everything been?” 

Satoru didn’t answer that question right away, as he struggled to hide how stupid he thought it was to ask, given how much they already talked. Suguru’s supposed to be the mysterious one here—it was fucking weird. “Good, I guess,” he shrugs. 

“Nice, nice…” his lips thin to a smile. “You been talking to anyone new lately?” 

Satoru huffs out a laugh. “Why would I do that?” 

“Oh, so you’re still seeing—“

“Yeah.” He says it like it’s obvious, which naturally annoys his friend because it’s fucking not. 

But Suguru continues to prod. “How’s she been?” 

“Good…” he answers cautiously, before doing a complete 180. “You didn’t hear anything about her, did you?” 

He sounded suspicious, maybe even a little worried. Suguru’s left to draw his own conclusions and is convinced that his friend still thinks you’re leaving him. “No,” he chirps out. “Just curious, that's all.”

“Yeah, she’s alright,” he says more confidently. “The usual, I guess.” 

You act like you can’t change that, the thought stays in Suguru’s head. It’s not like you’re any better. He’s gotten to know you just enough in the last year to know you’re just as hopeless as he is. You’re just as willing of a participant in the friendzone you two have continued to stay stuck in. 

“Well, if it works, it works.” Suguru gives a smile as he shrugs. 

“Mhm.” Satoru smiles back, though his look’s a little more pained… and forced. 

It works. 

…Enough. 

You shut down the last attempt he made to move forward with you, though—so it’s a little fucking hard to pretend like he’s happy with how “it’s” working. Probably harder than usual, since he ended up trying to fight some random guy at the party after being told you’d meet him there. It was small, probably didn’t mean that much either, but it was still something that would’ve kept him tethered to you since neither of you would’ve been able to leave without the other. 

He considers himself lucky you even decided to come over again after that day. You were pissed enough to leave your read receipts on so he knew you were ignoring him. 

It’s a surprise you came around as quickly as you did. Granted, there was some emotional disconnect in those last two months—one week of actual distance seemed to finally make your heart grow fonder. 

He just didn’t think it’d grow that fond.

Fuck.

It’s like you’ve been trying to get him pregnant these last three weeks.

There’s begging. There’s talking someone through it. Then there’s whatever you started whispering in his ear the other day that made him cum so hard he started seeing colors that he never knew existed. 

And he knows you two really should’ve had a more serious talk by now—probably multiple—but he figured this was a good enough excuse to put it off for a moment. It’s not even about the sex anymore—it’s about how close you’ve been. Half the time you’re pressed up against his chest, holding his jaw, making out with him, biting his lip, kissing his neck, whispering in his ear, asking questions like, did you miss being inside of me? 

Yes. 

Are you gonna cum again? 

Fuck yes.

Then you kiss him again, as if it were a reward. 

He had no idea how long it would last, and just decided to savor every last moment of it.

. . .

It’s been four days since you last saw Satoru, and he’s been pestering you to come over throughout the entirety of it. 

You really haven’t had the time to do anything for yourself, let alone drive to the other side of the city to see him. The company you work for is in shambles right now thanks to multiple people quitting all at once, and you regret not joining them. You’re tired, overworked, and honestly considering paying someone to knock you out so you can finally get a good night's sleep. 

Your phone rings as you step out of the elevator. Instead of fishing through your purse to answer it, you let out a small groan and keep walking. 

Satoru can wait. 

People usually look forward to arriving back home from work. That was not the case for you. It’s 8:13 PM, and the state of your apartment fills you with nothing but dread. It’s only been 4 days since you cleaned because you’ve barely even been here—it shouldn’t look this bad.

Your phone rings again, and you wish Satoru knew how shitty of a day you were having so he’d feel bad for calling. There’s an obvious struggle to find it as the shuffling in your bag continued, and just your luck, you missed another call. 

You didn’t even want to call anyone back right now, but you really didn’t want to hear it ring one more time either. So you force yourself to return the call, all while hoping he wouldn’t keep you on the phone for too long. 

“Hey.” He answers after one ring, and you’re already annoyed by the absence of stress in his tone.

“What?” you ask almost defeatedly. 

There’s a pause before he reluctantly responds, “You busy tonight?” 

You prepare to let out a sigh, but end up feeling bad for even considering it since he’s just trying to talk to you. Looking over your dirty kitchen while answering was not a good idea—your voice slightly cracks. “Nope.”

“You should come over then,” he's oblivious at first, taking a minute to realize how you responded. “I can order takeout and… are you alright?”

“…yeah,” you squeak out.

He pauses, then drops the friendly tone. “No, you’re not. What’s wrong?”

“I’m exhausted,” you sniffle, and then your voice begins to tremble. “I’ve been staying at work late because a bunch of people quit and my place is a fucking mess.” You snap a little at the end, staring at a giant pile of dishes. “Fuck! I forgot to go to the grocery store today, too.”

“Have you eaten?” 

“No.”

You hear a soft groan as he gets up from wherever he’s sitting, along with the light jingle of his keys. “I’ll bring you something.” 

“Really?” you ask, sounding so hopeful you could actually cry. 

“Yes, really.” He suppresses a laugh. “Don’t start cleaning, either. Just go sit down or something.” 

“Okay.” You weren’t gonna argue with that—you did not want to do those dishes. “Thank you.”

“Mhm. See you soon.”

Forty minutes later, you were in the middle of eating the dinner plate he picked up from a local Hawaiian place, drowning out the sound of dishes being washed while you watched the show you put on. 

You’re usually a better host than this, but you let yourself be a little selfish this time and didn’t try to stop him from cleaning anything else. You didn’t even look at him, honestly. He’s a man—he’s fine. Though you were a little surprised seeing how fast he got everything cleaned and picked up. 

There was a proud little look on his face once he plopped down on the couch beside you, and you tried not to laugh. 

“Feelin’ any better?” 

“Yeah,” you hum. “Thanks for dinner… and doing my chores.”

“You’re welcome,” he warmly says. 

“Do you want the rest of my food?” 

“No, it’s okay,” he murmurs, waving a hand. “I have some stuff I can eat at home.”

You give him a little glance. “You’re going home?” 

“Yeah.” His lips twitch, fighting back a smile. “Just came to drop off food and clean.” 

“How sweet.” You still don’t look like you believe him. “I have some of your clothes here if you want to spend the night.” 

“I can. I kinda figured you’d want your rest, though.”

You shrug. “Tomorrow’s Saturday. I’ll be sleeping in either way.”

He leans in a little closer until he’s face to face with you. “You sure?” 

You nod. “Mhm.”

“Alright.” He smiles, then closes the distance between you with a soft kiss, taking his time before pulling back to look over the space with a sly look on his face. He’s been here enough to be familiar enough with the place, but it’s usually you who comes to him. 

“What?” you finally ask, though you already have an idea of what’s going through his head.

“You know,” he murmurs, eyes trailing back to you. “I don’t think we’ve ever used this couch before.” 

“What are you talking about?” You fight back a smile. “We’re using it right now.” 

“You know what I’m talking about,” he grins, settling a hand on your hips, squeezing it as he kisses you again, deeper this time. “Don’t get smart with me.” 

“M’not,” you softly laugh. “I just don’t think you know what you’re talking about.”

Right,” he hums. 

Riling him up isn’t usually this easy, but you figure your absence for the last four days had left him frustrated enough to strip you of all your clothes and have you on your back in what felt like less than a minute. 

He didn’t even give you a moment to process it—just slotted himself in between your thighs and started dragging his tongue through your folds to shut you up. He had your knees pinned to your chest, squirming under his grip as he brought you closer and closer to the edge. And just as you thought you’d reach the moment of sweet release—

“Fuck—what are you—no, no, no wait keep going!” 

Satoru pulls away, head still between your thighs as he gives you a puzzled look, blatantly ignoring the spot you needed him the most. “What are you talking about?” 

“I was gonna—“

“Cum?” he says it for you like it was some random guess. 

“Yes!” you whine out, frustration bubbling as the air begins to cool the mixture of spit and slick his tongue left behind. 

He hums, taking a moment to think about it since the distraught look on your face wasn’t enough. “Yeah… no. I don’t think you know what you’re talking about, baby.” 

“Are you serious right now?!”

He slaps your clit with one swift motion, earning himself a gasp that settles into a look of absolute disbelief on your face. “What?” he coos, circling his thumb over the spot he just struck, just barely giving you any relief. “Not so innocent now, huh?” 

“I was messing with you!”

“And now I’m messing with you,” he muses, satisfied with himself. “Acting like you haven’t been waiting for dick this entire time.” You don’t respond to that. He grins. “Yeah,” he pulls away entirely, taking his shirt off and throwing it in with the pile of clothes he stripped off you earlier. He begins to unbuckle his belt, “probably what you were thinking about the whole time after putting me to work.” 

The last to come off are his boxers, cock slapping hard against his torso before gesturing for you to get up with the curl of his finger. “C’mere, it’s my turn to put you to work now.” 

You were more than eager to do so while he sat back, gripping your hips firmly as you bounced up and down every last inch of his cock. “Yeahh, that’s it baby—show me how much you missed my cock.” 

It was clear how much you missed it with the way he didn’t even need to help you, practically treating him like some toy as you threw your hips back, all of his favorite sounds spilling from your lips each time he hit that sweet spot inside of you. 

“Can’t believe you tried to leave earlier,” you say through a soft moan. 

He huffs out a laugh, “I was tryna be nice, thought you were too tired.”

“God, no,” you hum in disagreement, and there’s nothing but amusement in his eyes as you complain. “I needed this so bad, work was so awful this week.”

“You poor thing.” He tries not to smile as he grinds you down against him, pulling another moan out of you. “Let me see it then.”

Even when he wasn’t the one taking charge, he was so fucking hot—marveling over your body and the thick creamy ring forming around his base through a pair of heavy lidded eyes, groans rumbling through his chest in between each praise. 

“God, you’re so fuckin’ good at this—fuck, that’s it, keep going,” he rasps, fingers digging into your hips until he finally gives in to the urge to push you down, the sounds of skin on skin growing louder as he grew lost in it all. 

There was no helping it, your skin was too soft and your pussy squeezed around him just right. Even as your legs began to tremble, you took every inch like you were fucking grateful for it, and once again, without fail, he thought of how he’d never get tired of you. He’d gladly spend the rest of his life listening to all the sweet sounds you make. 

His hands snake up your back and pull you in, pressing you against his chest as he starts fucking you back. It’s nothing short of intoxicating once you start kissing him just how he likes. Slowly, yet desperately—starting at that sensitive spot just under his ear that practically brings him to his knees with how weak it makes him. 

“Fuuuck,” he shudders, unable to stop the drawn out groan that sends your stomach fluttering. 

You keep going, making him slowly lose his mind until he’s grabbing the back of your head and crashing his lips into yours, swallowing all the moans his heavy cock drags out of you.  

“Harder,” you pant against him. “Make me cum.” 

Without another word, he leans further back into the couch and plants his feet on the ground, then starts drilling into you. The rooms filled with the obscene sounds of him pounding into you before you’re even able to fully process it, and just barely steady yourself before your nails start digging into his chest from the way he works an orgasm out of you as if it were a debt that was owed to him. 

You start babbling something about it being too much, only for Satoru to crack his palm over your ass because he disagreed. And there was no convincing him otherwise—the moment he opened his mouth was the moment you realized he was gone. 

“So fuckin’ tight—fuuck,” he groans, pushing you down and making you meet every single one of his thrusts. “Just take it, baby. You’re almost there, just keep squeezing me like that. Yeahh, just like that.”

He doesn’t let up, driving himself right into that sweet little spot inside of you, making the pressure build up fast. “Oh my g-god,” you helplessly let out a sob. “I’m gonna—”

“Me too, baby,” he rasps, thrusts growing sloppier and sloppier. “Me fuckin’ too.” 

Then after one particularly rough thrust, you're in full blown tears from the orgasm that completely rips through you, with no chance of catching your breath because Satoru started chasing after his own sweet release shortly after, driving you way past the point of overstimulation. 

Your memory of the night grew hazy from that point, vision blurring as the week quickly caught up to you, holding on to nothing but the sound of his voice as he started pumping you full of his warm cum while chanting your name over and over again. 

...and thankfully missing the pathetic “I love you” that slipped out of him right at the very end.

The morning started slow. Satoru woke up for a moment around 9:00 am, saw that you were facing away from him, flipped you over so you’d lay on his chest, and threw your leg over him. You were in the same spot the next time he woke up, just with your face tucked into the crook of his neck—short, soft breaths grazing over his skin. He knew you’d be waking up soon and waited until you finally stirred to greet you with his palm rubbing over your back. 

There’s a small stretch of time between the few sighs you let out, just barely fighting to wake up. It wasn’t until you had your first sip of coffee with him in your kitchen that you finally did. 

The air between you was casual at first as you talked about nothing in particular. He was just easy to talk to, so conversations always flowed. It wasn’t until your phone buzzed against the counter when the air suddenly grew stagnant, and you quickly guessed why when you saw who texted you—your coworker. Male coworker. 

The text was friendly. All he did was wish you a good weekend after seeing how hard you worked that week—which you explained to Satoru, whose response was a thousand times worse than his initial reaction. 

“You’re trying to explain yourself like we’re in a relationship or something,” he huffs out a bitter laugh. “I’m not your fuckin’ boyfriend. I don’t care.”

Your expression falls flat, because it’s either that or show how hurt you were because he had you convinced he actually did. 

“What are you being so rude for?” you ask, genuinely.

He shrugs. “I’m not—it’s the truth.”

“I know that, but I never even said you were to begin with.” 

“Don’t need to when you’re already acting like it,” he says, and you just continue to look at him with a blank expression. 

If his goal was to make you feel fucking pathetic, he succeeded with how cold he said it, how dismissive he was being. There’s not one defensive bone in your body right now, and yet he’s treating you like there is. 

He’s barely even acknowledging you right now, casually scrolling through his phone as if his personality didn’t just do a complete 180.

“I’m done.” It wasn’t what you wanted, but it had to be done—which was why you didn’t hesitate to say it. “Get out.”

It was so sudden and casual that it threw him off. Still, he laughed. “Seriously?”

You let out a sigh, along with a subtle smile that makes Satoru think you’re not actually kicking him out, but then you start walking up to the door. 

And then you open it.

“I am.” You start gesturing toward the hallway, and it still didn’t click for him as he continued to stare at you. “You’re doing nothing but taking up space right now. Get up, grab your keys, and leave.”

“Whatever,” he scoffs, trying to hide his freshly bruised ego as he got up. Yet it showed with the lack of certainty in his usual stride—he was more than aware of his unwanted presence. 

You put on a brave face, despite feeling your stomach slowly sink. But it was better to settle in with the reality you chose now, rather than being struck by it later on.

He lets out a deep sigh as he steps out into the hall, then stops to look at you. “So that’s it? You’re just gonna cut me off because I said something that we both knew?” 

“Do you hear yourself right now?” You don’t know why you even asked—of course he does. He just never thinks he’s wrong. “This isn’t a relationship, remember? There is no commitment—I could cut you off for getting a bad haircut, and that’d be fine because I don’t owe you anything. You were being a fucking asshole. What did you think was gonna happen? That we talk it out and overcome it?”

At first his eyes grow distant. Then he barks out a laugh, impressed by how you managed to piss him the fuck off with that one. “No, I didn’t. I didn’t think you’d get triggered by something that dumb, either. But if you wanna be sensitive and cry every time you hear some shit that you don’t like, fine—have a nice fuckin’ life,” he starts walking away, knowing he’ll just say something rude if he stays any longer. “Good luck finding someone that’ll fuck you half as good as I do.”

Whoops.

“Thanks. I’ll send you a tape if I do.”

“Fucking try that and see what happens,” he suddenly snaps. 

And just as he’s about to walk back up to you to keep going, your door slams shut.

. . . 

Between your photo trail evidence of going out multiple times a week and Satoru training at the gym as if he were going up against god himself, it was safe for Suguru to assume that things ended between you two. 

Horribly, might he add, since Satoru doesn’t even want to find a rebound. He literally just drowns himself in work and then tortures himself at the gym after. Suguru tried talking to him about it in between sets. 

“Hey, has everything been alright?” 

“Everything’s been fuckin’ great.” 

Then he brought you up.  

“Never heard that name in my life.”

Satoru proceeded to add extra weight plates to the barbell right after, and Suguru didn’t ask any further for his friend's own safety. 

It’s been three weeks. 

He’s not saying he needs to get over it. Satoru can take however long he needs. It’s just time to start being honest about it, instead of making him pretend like everything he’s been doing has been normal. Feels like he’s being gaslit at this point. 

Lucky for him, the torture of not knowing what happened between you two didn’t last too long when he spotted you at the coffee shop just a few days later. Minding his own business was completely out of the question—he didn’t hesitate to approach you once he grabbed his order from the counter. 

“Oh, hey! How’ve you been?” 

It took you a second to process who had just approached you, but once you did, there was no missing the brief moment of disdain in your eyes from running into your ex-something’s best friend in public. Not that he gave a shit. Your problems were with Satoru, not him. Which was why he continued to give you that warm smile of his in your eyes 

“Hey,” you force out a smile. “Good! Yeah, I’ve been… great,” you say, and it doesn't sound very convincing.

It sparks some amusement in Suguru. “Mind if I join you?”

“Yeah, sure,” you gesture at the seat across from you, and he can’t help but think you are so much nicer than your ex-fuck buddy right now. 

He takes a seat, then rips the band-aid off like it was nothing. “How’ve you been holding up after everything?” 

Your smile falters, the thoughts of what Satoru could’ve possibly said about you running through your mind. “I’ve been alright. It’s not like we were anything serious, anyway.” 

“Right,” he pretends to agree, though his tone says otherwise, managing to crank your nerves up a notch. 

“Did he—” You hesitate for a second. “Can I ask what he said to you?” 

“Nothing,” he looks disappointed with the answer himself. “Granted, he never said much to begin with. But yeah, no, he hasn’t said anything.”

You nod, looking disappointed as well, just for different reasons. “Of course he hasn’t.”

He swishes his coffee inside the cup, trying to gauge what kind of mood you’re in. “Can I ask what happened?”

You were half-expecting the question—he’s always seemed like the gossipy type. The story itself isn’t that bad. You weren’t planning on talking shit about Satoru either, in the case that his friend does relay the message back to him, but it wasn’t considered talking shit if you were telling the truth. 

So you tell him, starting with how normal of a morning it was. 

You knew you weren’t wrong, but watching his reactions as the story progressed healed something in you. He was dumbfounded by the end of it. 

“I can’t believe he said that to you.”

“Yep.” 

“No, seriously. I don’t know why he’d say that to you.” 

You scoff. “Because he's an ass?” 

Shit. You weren’t supposed to say anything bad about him. With Suguru’s reaction, though, you doubt he’ll mention anything.

He shrugs. “I mean… yeah,” Satoru being a bit of an asshole was an obvious truth, but that was seemingly beside the point, “but he really cared about you.”

You stare at him blankly. “I thought he never said that much to begin with.”

“He’s weird with certain things.” He shrugs again, this time out of reluctance. He’d rather not share the drunk, pathetic rants for Satoru’s sake. “But if you think about it, he’s never complained about you or shared any of your business. Never got tired of you, either.” 

“What a positive outlook,” you murmur, leaning your head against the palm of your hand, glancing over the busy street. 

“Okay, fine—he may have shared how you were starting to bring your stuff back home, and he sounded pretty worried,” Suguru quickly admits, as if he weren’t dying to mention it.

You glance back at him. “He did?” 

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Now he spends his days exhausting himself. Trust me, he cares. A lot.”

You all but hum, then take a sip of your coffee.

“Do you care?” he asks. 

“Yeah.” You wince a little, having to admit it. “But not enough to give him the opportunity to say all that stuff to me again.”

“I get it.” He respects it, too. He doesn’t think you’re completely in the right, though. You had the same amount of time that Satoru did to fess up. “Honestly, I just think he needs a little push.” 

He has your full attention now. 

“Like what?” 

He smiles once more, and you quickly realize that he is not the wholesome man he pretends to be with the plan he proposed.

. . . 

The music continues to pound against Satoru’s chest, as it has for the last thirty minutes. Not once in all the time he’s been in this club has he not regretted accepting Suguru’s invitation to a boys' night out. Usually he’d be drunk right now, having the time of his life with some girl hanging on him, dragging him to the dance floor. 

That “some girl” being you. 

Instead, he’s sitting at the bar, tipsy and bored. Some girl came up to him, asking if he wanted to dance. He pretended not to hear her, making her storm off after her third attempt at trying to get his attention. Sure, it was rude, but he can’t find it in himself to sympathize with her right now. Or anyone else for that matter. 

Luckily, Mr. Designated Driver’s here, so he had someone to be boring with, and for once Kento doesn’t seem annoyed by his presence. Not that he’d care if he was. If he were in the mood to have fun at the moment, he would’ve rage-baited the blonde by now.

Kento even laughs for once, a rare sight. 

Satoru’s lips twitch into a smile as he looks up from his drink. “What are you laughing about?” 

“Take a look at who Suguru’s dancing with,” the man says, nodding towards the dance floor, feeling messier than usual despite sticking to a mocktail for the night. 

Satoru turns, and the moment his eyes find Suguru, he deadpans. “What the fuck?” 

It’s you. 

Suguru’s dancing with you, and you look like you’re enjoying yourself with the way he’s holding your hips and whispering in your fucking ear.

The genuine shock in his tone and the way he grips his drink nearly makes Kento burst out into laughter. The only thing keeping him from doing so was the fact that Satoru actually looked like he was ready to blow a fucking gasket. Though his attempt to keep to himself doesn’t do much, because Gojo starts yelling at him like it’s his fault.

“Are they fucking talking?!” 

Kento’s face suddenly scrunches up in annoyance. “How would I know?” 

“Maybe ‘cause you’re smiling like you do!” He suddenly accuses him, making the blonde hold his hands out in defense. “Has he been fucking her behind my back?!”

“I don’t know?!” Kento yells back at him, “I didn’t even know you two broke up!” 

“We didn’t—weren’t dating in the first place!”

“Then what’s the problem with them seeing each other?” the blonde counters. 

“Because it’s fucked up,” Satoru immediately responds, and while Kento can agree with that, he can’t help but share the same sentiment as Suguru—he had two years to make things official with you. “You know what? Fuck you.”

“Me?” Kento points at himself with a scoff. “What the fuck did I do?!”

“What didn’t you fucking do?” Satoru mutters bitterly before downing the rest of his drink in one go. It was the only thing he could come up with, knowing deep down he really didn’t do anything wrong. He was just pissed off and taking it out on him. 

Kento doesn’t even get the chance to respond to the comment—Satoru was already getting up from his seat the moment his glass hit the counter. His stomach slightly churns as the possibility of Satoru making a scene pops up in his head, but it eventually settles as he watches the man make his way to the bathroom instead. 

It takes everything in Satoru not to push past all the sweaty people in his way, reminding himself to calm down the entire time. He finally gets to the bathroom, realizes there’s surprisingly no one else in there, and takes the chance to lock the door. Then he plants his hands down on the side of the worn down sink and takes a good look at himself. 

He tells himself lots of things. 

Relax. 

It’s not that serious. 

You were just someone he fucked, it only went on for as long as it did because it was convenient—because it was easy. 

He tells himself it doesn’t matter if Suguru had you, because he had you first. They don’t call it sloppy seconds for no reason, and if Suguru wants to fucking settle for that, then he can be his guest. 

The bathroom door begins to pound, there’s someone yelling on the other side, but Satoru ignores it. 

God. Why the fuck are you dancing with Suguru? Have you been eyeing him the entire time you were together?

The door pounds again. 

He continues to spiral as he goes through almost all the stages of grief. He doesn’t get to the acceptance part though, partially because of the banging on the door that ends up annoying him. After taking one last deep breath, he straightens back up at full height, walks over to the door, and is met with some greasy drunkard when he opens it. 

“What the hell?! There are multiple stalls." The stranger immediately chastises him, and Satoru has absolutely no interest in defending himself at the moment. 

“I’m deaf,” he says in all seriousness, and there’s instant regret on the man’s face as he begins to apologize, but Satoru just walks past him and makes his way down the hall, returning to the sea of sweaty people. 

By the time the stranger realized he was lying, he was long gone—off to find you.

You thought it was a horrible idea at first, but Suguru was a persuasive man. You definitely needed a drink or two though to get comfy with him and the plan you two agreed on, which was to make Satoru jealous. 

It was petty, but there also wasn’t much to lose at this point. If he reacts, great. If he doesn’t, it’s not like anything changed. Either way, you weren’t going to be the first to break the silence between you. 

You were starting to think the plan was a complete failure, though. One moment you get a glimpse of Satoru sitting at the bar, then Suguru turns you around to fully face his direction, and he’s gone. 

As time went on, you forced yourself to let it go, telling yourself that he had left and all there was left to do was enjoy yourself. You’d never date Suguru, nor are you likely to sleep with him, but he sure was fun to dance with and talk to. So you let him hold your hips as you swayed to the music and allowed yourself to laugh at his jokes. You’ve moped around enough for a man that didn’t care, and decided to let go and enjoy yourself under all the flashing neon lights. 

The big hands at your hips begin to turn your around, there’s a smile on your face as you follow, only for it to be wiped away with complete and utter confusion when you realize the man you’d be dancing with was not Suguru, despite being the same exact height and wearing the same annoying man bun. 

“Hey,” he smiles, and the tone of his voice carries the same smoothness as Suguru’s does. “Been wondering when you’d notice me—names Zuko, by the way.” 

You wanted to scream. When did Suguru get switched out with him?! That fucking asshole. Why would he just leave you like this?

Then, as if it couldn’t get any worse, you see a familiar head of stark white hair from the corner of your eye, and he sounds so incredibly pathetic as he yells, “What the fuck is your problem?” but you also can’t help but find some comfort in it. At least he’s here to save you from this awkward moment, even if it was just to argue with you.

Zuko wasn’t such a bad guy, though. He tries to pull you aside once he notices an angry man headed straight towards you—not that it makes it any better that Suguru straight up abandoned you after coming up with the plan.

“Oh, fuck off,” Satoru swats the man’s hand away from you, and then he starts lying through his teeth. “We have a baby at home and she’s been gone for three fucking days.”

“Oh shit.” Zuko immediately backs off, but not without looking at you as if you were a deadbeat mother. “Sorry about that.”

And while he’s a stranger, it still hurts being misjudged like that. 

“No, we don’t?!”

“Megumi’s gonna hear about this one day and fucking hate you for it,” Satoru yells loud enough for those around you to hear. “You’re not even done breastfeeding yet and you’re going out and grinding on random men?” 

“Satoru!” you yelp out and attempt to cover his mouth because everyone around you seems to believe him, only for him to grab your wrist and begin to lead you out of the club, murmuring, “we’re leaving,” through a clenched jaw.  

Despite the unserious nature of his tactics to get you out of there, he was still fuming by the time you two stepped outside and proceeded to absolutely lose it.

“I can’t fucking believe you. I–“ He had to physically stop himself from what he was originally going to say by groaning and biting his knuckles. “My best friend and his fucking look-alike. What the fuck? What are you trying to say?!”

You didn’t even think of that, but Satoru would find himself questioning if that was your type, and you almost laughed at the fact. “Nothing!” 

“So that was just a coincidence?” He stops to look at you, but doesn’t get an immediate answer because it wasn’t a complete coincidence. “Jesus fucking Christ. You danced with my best friend right in front of me, then moved on to someone that looked just like him. Why would you do that?!” 

“I didn’t know I was dancing with the second guy, it was dark!”

“That doesn’t make it any better!” If anything, it pissed him off more that you thought you were with Suguru the entire time. “You kicked me out of your place because you were done with me. I didn’t bother you after that, and now you’re trying to make me jealous? What the fuck is your problem?!” 

“I kicked you out because you saw me texting a coworker and started being a dick and said all that shit about how you didn’t care. Do you even remember what you came over for that day?”

“I didn’t mean it like that—“

“And then reminded me we weren’t in a relationship—“

“Oh my god,” he groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know why you listen to half the shit I say—I’ve been trying to be in one with you this entire fucking time!” 

His pathetic excuse for a confession is met with a scoff, and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t bruise his ego a little bit—especially with how you continued to look at him like he was a lying piece of shit. 

There’s a pause, and you eye him down as you cross your arms. “You’re just saying that.” 

“I’m not—“

“You literally are,” you continue to argue with him, growing more defensive as the seconds pass. “Why didn’t you say anything sooner?” 

“Fuck—I don’t know,” he says, throwing his arms out in defeat. “Life got busy. I didn’t want to fuck up whatever the hell we had.” 

You suppress a laugh. “What a charming way to say fuck buddies.” 

“We weren’t just fuck buddies though, and you know that,” he grumbles. If he weren’t so pissed off from having to watch you dance with not one, but two guys, he’d probably be blushing like some little school girl right now. “Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have talked to you like that, and I’ve felt like shit about it ever since.”

“You’re only saying that after seeing me with someone else,” you stubbornly respond. 

He almost corrects you, because he saw you with two people, not one–not to mention they were the complete opposite of him–but he doesn’t mention that. Not because he didn’t want to add more to the argument, but because the thought made him sick. If there were power in thoughts, they’d both be bald right now. He was going to shave Suguru’s fucking head. 

“How would you feel if you saw me grinding up against some girl after being told to fuck off?” he huffs out, running his fingers through his hair. “You told me you were done with me! So yeah, I’m saying that now after weeks of trying to move on—I’m sorry and I fucking love you. I never want to see you with another man again.” 

Your cheeks suddenly warmed, stunned by how easy it was for him to admit that. Unfortunately, what could’ve simmered down to a sweet moment, where you told him you loved him back, gets paused because he’s still distraught and starts rambling again. 

“Really? Suguru? I’m not fucking Rapunzel, I can’t grow my hair out like that!” 

“Satoru–”

He cuts you off and continues to spiral. “You said you liked the undercut! Who lies about something like that?”

“I didn’t lie–”

He barks out a laugh, even though he looks like he’s about to cry. “I know I’m not perfect, but at least I don’t have a support group dedicated to me.” 

That doesn’t surprise you one bit, but you quickly move on from that as you try to get a word in. “We did it to make you jealous!” 

He stops mid-sentence and looks at you as if you had just shot him. 

“I ran into him at the coffee shop and I was really sad because I thought you didn’t care about me and so he offered to help me out with that because he claimed that you did,” you quickly explained as he continued to just stare at you with a blank face. “And that he was probably my best bet since you were less likely to fight him.” 

“I’m gonna fucking murder him,” he says a little too calmly. 

“Please don’t,” you murmured, growing concerned that he actually might with the way his eyes dart back to the door. 

“I care,” he says, though he doesn’t really need to convince you anymore. “I care, a lot.”

“I know,” you smile, but it slowly fades as you hear familiar laughter off in the near distance. 

You both slowly turn your heads towards the direction it’s coming from, and Suguru turns the corner shortly after, with some girl in his arms. His shirt is slightly disheveled as if he were in a rush to button it up, hair messier than usual, and there's a big fat hickey on the side of his neck. 

Did he seriously disappear to go fuck someone? 

He stiffens the moment he sees you two. 

“Having fun?” Satoru spitefully asks. 

Suguru quickly looks back, then points at himself—acting completely clueless. The girl he’s with is still giggling. “Are those your friends?”

“I have no idea who those people are,” he chuckles like some old rich guy, the epitome of nonchalance. 

Satoru looks back at the girl, who’s clearly already wrapped around Suguru’s finger. “If he brought up anything about astrology, just know he doesn’t actually give a shit about it.”

“Just ignore them, Tiffany,” he says as he opens the door, quickly glaring back at you two. “They’re just drunk and looking for a reaction.” 

“It’s Stephanie.”

“That’s what I said, sweetheart.”

All rights reserved © 2026 yenayaps. Do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my works in any platform. Do not feed my works into ai and do not turn them into chat bots.

[notnormalthings-blog]

I love messy suguru🤫

[haloerua]

For one last time, Monsoon is out with its final chapter:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/60870412

[notnormalthings-blog]

If you have not read this, go read it now.🫵🏻 I do not care what you are doing, just drop it and read this

[hotties4gojo]

after the storm

𑣲 pairing: cult leader!geto x cult leader!reader

if you thought that your husband would let you handle anything alone right after you just delivered your baby, you're sorely mistaken. not even a bathroom trip is made on your own in your household.

𑣲 content & warnings: SFW but MDNI 18+, fem!reader, canon jujutsu universe, domestic fluff and tenderness, yearning, slight angst, hurt/comfort, cult leader!reader, curse user!reader, reader’s ct has to do w/ foresight and shikigami but its barely mentioned, nanako & mimiko are your adopted daughters ofc, this takes place a few hours after labor, talks of childbirth, pregnancy & postpartum, you and geto have a daughter together, geto being slightly weird in an overbearingly affectionate way, geto is soooo in love with you, part of my husband!geto series

author's note: was researching pregnancy stuff for a different fic and came across some things that gave me the idea for This fic. but suguru is the wife lover of all time and he’s wife himself imo 🤓👆🏽so he’s literally perfect for the role of wife guy 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ I hope you all enjoy him being a sweetie pie angel in this fic 🫶🏽!! main masterlist.

fanart © nyakkari. dividers © viviansturns. wc: 8k.

Earlier, sleep took you into its arms and rocked you beneath a sky that was blushing in pinks and soft golds, and you now wake a few scant hours later to find the day had already dissolved into velvet night. It takes you an awkward few seconds of squinting through the dark bedroom, lit only by a flickering bouquet of candles, for your fuzzy vision to adjust.

Beyond the window, the heavens curve into a thick, blacked-out bowl flecked in the white paint of stars. The breeze that slips through the window hushes the candles into dimness. It’s open only because it’s advised to keep rooms ventilated when burning candles around newborns— that, and you and Suguru just like listening to the peaceful sounds of nature’s lullaby when it’s time for bed.

The wax is jasmine and fig scented to calm you after the day’s… ordeals (to put it lightly). The mix creates a soothing cocktail that far overpowers the subtle tang of breastmilk, the unexplainably warm smell of a newborn, and the muskiness of post-delivery hormone-fueled sweat. It’s a perfume of serenity, curling around the room like a cat made of smoke winding its way around your ankles.

You feel ridiculously comforted by the care poured into the bedroom you share with your husband. Thank god you chose to have an at-home birth instead of going through the wringer in an actual hospital.

(A decision made mostly because you wanted to keep it a private moment between family, but also, admittedly, because you and Suguru didn’t want non-sorcerers anywhere near your precious baby.)

Otherwise, the room is heavy with warmth and the soft rhythm of two breaths— no, three now. Immediately, you know that it wasn't the newborn that stirred you, because when you tip your gaze down, you find her still slumbering in a bundle on your chest with the milk-drunk heaviness of a plump kitten.

Nor is it the ache, because that’s long dulled into something manageable enough to doze off to. Don’t get it twisted, though; you’re still very much in pain, tender in ways you hadn’t known you could be. But it was a much needed reminder that the worst has already passed, and you’d steadily improve as the days toddle along on clumsy feet. Time and patience would be your most steadfast companions from here on.

You gingerly shift under the warmth of the layered blankets you’re sharing with Suguru and your daughter, wordlessly groaning at the twinge crunching your spine like a trash compactor. No, this was your oddly hollowed body waking you with its own insistent, unavoidable demand that pressed down on you more than the cramps mercilessly pulsating through your uterus.

Your bladder’s full.

Great. You have to piss.

Suguru, who you suspected hadn't so much as truly closed his eyes aside from blinking, lies half-curled around you both with an arm tucked beneath your head and his cheek smoothed over your hair. Exactly where you last felt him before you passed out— a steady balm against your side. His breath ghosts over your sweat-bathed baby hairs, but the instant you shift again, stretching your legs out beneath the covers until they start shaking, he lifts his head, wholly alert.

"Angel, what is it? What hurts?” His voice is gravelly low in its quietness, somehow soft but edged with readiness and concern. Jumping to beat you to the chase, just in case you deflect like your life depends on it.

Not that you want to do that, anyways. You’re wrung out, sleepy and blurred at the edges with not enough energy poured into your reserves to muster up your usual wry stubbornness that always makes Suguru look like a service dog that’s just been kicked, all despite its best efforts to tend to you as it was bred for.

The kind of exhaustion that you’re grappling with is one that blurs your thoughts and leaves you defenseless against tenderness. It renders you spent, splayed out beneath the butcher’s knife with no way to act as though you don’t want him hovering, that you don’t literally need him.

But you do. You’ll always need your Suguru. Especially now, considering you’ve done enough for a lifetime today. Not even all the stubbornness in the world could hold you back from falling back on him.

You just sigh, heavy and small. “Nothing new. Consequences of no epidural,” you mumble drearily, pawing at your puffily chapped lips.

Suguru is quiet for a beat longer than necessary, as if trying to confirm that “nothing new” really means nothing alarming. You can practically hear the whir of gears kicking into motion in that genius head of his as he hums low in his chest, a sound that rumbles through where you’re pressed against him. The hand resting on your arm draws lazy circles— absent-minded affection.

“Mmm,” he draws out like honey, somehow managing to sound as though he’s restraining the urge to complain that you always deflect. “You sure?” Suguru tries instead.

The best you can do is huff a tired, fondly exasperated giggle at his concern and mumble, half-slurred, “relax, lover boy. Just— I have to pee,” like it’s the most monumental confession of your life. “That’s it.”

“Ah.” His chuckle is a strumming vibration that melts you down— warm, fond, and syrupy-slow, threatening to coax you back into a state of docility. Your eyes droop. “Should’ve known. I’ll take you to the bathroom when you’re ready to get up, beautiful. Take your time,” Suguru speaks, relaxing now that he knows you’re being truthful.

You ache deep in your bones, exhaustion wrapped snug around every limb, but you manage to nod and glide your hand up to rest upon your daughter’s back. An instinctive, entirely unpracticed motion, just checking on her. Relief floods your fragile marrow when all she does is puff out a soft grunt, chubby little hands curling into fists, before relaxing against your skin where the neckline of your robe is still tugged open.

She’s content, lulled by your heartbeat and the wave-like rock and fall of your breathing. Though you do wonder what she’s dreaming about. The candles are a faint glow in the corner, but their light is enough to trickle across the bed where you’re entwined, haloing her in gold, gold, gold.

Her face, round and so impossibly small it’s almost surreal, is softened by the faintest crown of fine, wispy hair, the color not yet settled— you can’t attribute the color to you or Suguru just yet. Folds that crease her expression and neck, nose flattened from birth, swollen rosebud mouth, ten fingers and ten tiny toes, you catalog. She looks the way newborns always do, a little silly-looking, but she’s so yours that it makes your stomach try to perform the heimlich maneuver on itself.

“You’ve both been asleep for a while now,” Suguru lightly comments before you can inquire, volume hushed to avoid disturbing the peace. “Three hours. She hasn’t stirred once.”

That’s enough for you, honestly. Even the shortest of naps was enough for you to recoup just a smidgen from the brutal double whammy of contractions and the burning pressure of trying to push her head and shoulders out that you endured.

Feeling a little needy and desperate for some grounding, you reach and brush against the warmth of your husband. You curl your fingers around his wrist like a child seeking to cower behind its mother, and Suguru is quick to shift, instead interlacing your fingers and dragging them up for a kiss that he nuzzles into the back of your hand.

When you look up at him from beneath heavy eyelids, you find him half-propped on one elbow, admiring you and the newborn with brown eyes that are alert with vigilant purpose in the dim glow. They’re heavy around the edges and undersides with a bruising that speaks of little to no sleep in favor of keeping watch over you. Yet they’re impossibly heart-rending, softened by an affectionate sincerity that almost undoes you.

He’s so calm, so sure, so there, and it tightens your throat.

Suguru’s lazy river of long black hair has long loosened from its funnily clinical ponytail that he yanked it into to keep it away from his face while you were pushing your baby out. Strands now frame his face in silky cuts of yawning liquid night that make him seem almost ethereal, the tousled cascade more carelessly elegant than anything.

… And for not the first time since you’ve known him, he seems almost fragile. You can’t stop staring, even in your hazy post-labor and post-nap stupor, because he was impossibly close. Not just physically, but— vibrant with life; here in the now. No cult leader facade is needed.

He smiles genially, tipping his head as he holds your gaze; you’re caught.

Not breaking your grip, he guides your tethered hands up so that he can adjust the swaddle around your baby with only his pinky and ring finger that’s embraced by his wedding band, his bare sculpted chest that shifts kissed in flickering gold. Fussing, even now.

Your limbs feel like wet sandbags that not even Atlas could lift, your bones gelatinous, your pride somewhere in the pile of soaked towels Suguru cleaned up hours ago. Every inch of you is leaden and sore in ways you didn’t know you could be, and the thought of moving even a fucking inch away from Suguru’s comfort and the downy weight of your daughter (so new but already impossibly loved) makes your body want to cry mutiny.

So instead, you let your head loll against his shoulder, singing out a weak warble that barely qualifies as speech:

“… don’t wanna moveeeee.” You whine, petulant, the volume of your voice so quiet where it’s half-buried under exhaustion. Your bladder smarts, insistent.

Suguru is upright faster than you can form a proper plea, like he’s been waiting for this exact moment to scoop you up into his arms and nobly proclaim, “You won’t have to,” like a prince from a Disney movie before running off with you (and isn’t that what he did when you both defected…?). Even exhaustion doesn’t stop him from making sure you're so spoiled and cared for that to be anything less would be an injustice.

Torso twisting like twined stalks to face you, he steadies your frame after he rearranges the pillows and blankets to keep you nestled in like a bug snug in a rug. A soft hum of reverent promise vibrates down to your atoms— ‘you’re taken care of.’

The Nintendo 3DS balancing on the fine ridge of his hipbone gets swept off and placed onto the bedside table to free his hands. The screen distantly flickers in vibrant, lush greens and the sweetly-saturated oranges of the world of Pokémon Sun, his copy of it a mere year older than its release date.

(Knowing him, he picked the game up not for pleasure but to keep his mind sharp should anything happen while you rest, counterbalancing the quiet oasis of the room that threatens to drag one under the twilight of sleep. How cute, your husband.)

Suguru carefully gathers up your baby, cradling her to his shoulder with that infuriatingly perfect vulpine-like grace that he’s always had when it comes to even the most mundane of things. He treats the acts of pouring tea and brushing your hair when you’re too tired to do so yourself in the same way— like it’s a ceremony that a shrine maiden has practiced for their whole life.

“I’ve got her,” he coos. Suguru rises with the call of the nightlife that crests beyond the window as the evening deepens, taking out the heating pad he left in the bassinet to keep her new spot warm and putting it aside.

(Fussy, fussy, fussy.)

Cradling her head and stumpy neck with one massive palm while the other supports her back, Suguru puts utmost care into lowering the newborn. Her feet sink into the firm mattress, then her bottom, then her head in the smoothest transfer you’ve ever seen. Suguru’s got the technique whittled down to a fine stick. It’s genuinely impressive how quickly he’s adapting.

(You pray you’ll be the same, even if you’re already terrified of fucking up the fragile life you tore yourself apart to bring onto this earth.)

You lie there, limp and trusting, oh so fond as you watch him take a moment to quietly moon over your snoozing daughter. He rubs his fingers over her feeble chest as if to anchor her, smiling, before practically materializing back at your side to gather your useless ass up without prompting.

“Such a good papa,” you tease quietly as Suguru guides you upright against the pillows. His hands are unfaltering against your ribs and back, a steady scaffolding meant to brace your frame. “And a good husband.”

His molten brown eyes flick up to you, creasing around the corners in a smile so earnest it almost hurts. “Trying my best,” he gracefully accepts it with a proud tilt of his chin that reminds you of a fox, slipping the covers back. He even goes as far as to cup the backs of your calves to swing them over the side of the bed for you. It feels great to not do a thing. “We’ll go slowly, okay?”

You won’t argue with that.

When you start to rise, everything in you sings with fragility— the soreness between your thighs, the sluggish protest of muscles worked beyond measure, the dull and dragging ache of your abdomen. You grunt, throat rough from fatigue. Suguru has his arm around your waist in an instant, steadying you as you stand, feeling reborn. You tremble with the weight of yourself.

“You’re okay, you’re not gonna fall. Just breathe,” he instructs softly, eyes darting between yours to make sure you’re as okay as he claims. You wobble, your limbs more uncooperative than a faulty blender lid, but he adjusts instantly so that your balance is orchestrated by him.

You know deep down that your bones were made for his hands. You sink into how natural it feels to be supported by him like this.

Five steps across the bedroom and Suguru’s still shadowing your movements so closely, hips bumping, that it’s a miracle you don’t trip over each other’s feet. Exasperation flickers across your face, but sleepy submission keeps you from fighting his overwhelming care. Instead, you poke: “do you mind?”

"I'm fussing no matter what you do or say," Suguru announces without shame, lips curving into a shape that isn’t quite a smile nor a smirk. He cradles you close to his side with the same care he had given your daughter a mere minute ago, hand splayed encouragingly against your ribs as you toddle on. “Do you mind?” He turns the question on you, mischievously silky and honey-like.

Even when he’s being sweet, the sassy man apocalypse is still underway.

You drop your head to his shoulder, feeling your face crease with tired amusement. “I can still walk on my own,” you protest weakly, but he’s already guiding you past the threshold of your bedroom and into the quiet hall soaked in the scent of the candles drifting from the room. His fingers nudge the slider light in passing, sparking a dim bulb to light your way.

"You will, once you've healed," he counters simply, hand tightening just a fraction around your middle. "For now, let me do all the walking. You think I’d let you out of my sight right now? Or, god forbid, let you faint halfway there?” His tone carries the weight of fact, not question. No heroics, no martyrdom.

“Fine. But I'm not made of porcelain,” you grumble through the discomfort, brows scrunched. One step, two steps, three steps, your side brushing against Suguru’s in passing. Focusing on the ginger pitter patter of your socked feet on the carpet helps.

Suguru makes a low noise at that. The hallway light gilds everything in muted amber— your hair, his hands, the planes of his face when you tilt your head just so and catch him looking at you from beneath his lashes. Just looking, like you’re a miracle still unfolding right there in front of him.

“No,” he concedes easily with a saintly dip of his head, voice brushing your ear like velvet, “porcelain is fragile and cracks too easily, and you don’t. But you’re my wife that I love more than anything, and that makes me careful with you.” His hand flexes against your ribs, steadying you through another hesitant step.

Maybe it’s the hormones already assaulting you postpartum, maybe it’s just your Suguru being Suguru— gentle and unyielding, speaking so matter-of-factly, like gravity, like breathing, a truth he’s built his whole body around, but it knocks the air out of you. It slides into you like warmth from a kettle poured slowly, spreading to your fingers and toes.

Your chest trembles once in a shuddering exhale more than a sob, but it’s close enough. You turn your face and press your forehead to the slope of his shoulder, his usual robes exchanged for the natural softness of bared skin. The scent of him— clean laundry and sandalwood— tickles lazily at your nose, the notes pleasant and drugging.

“You’re too much,” you borderline whimper, hating how your hormones still scramble you. Suguru’s laughter that follows is rich, mellifluous, and golden as it bounces in warm streaks off of the walls, sunlight in verbal form.

You think of how it’d spill out of him on those lazy August afternoons at Jujutsu High like a cicada’s song while he sliced fruit for you, his senior by one year. Suguru’d tease you that you were so spoiled, senpai, and that you’d never learn to use a knife properly because he’d always do it for you. Maybe he was right, because you liked the view far too much to interrupt your adorable junior.

(You also think of how he smiled under that same sun— barefoot, reckless, eyes too kind for the world, and how he’d tilt his head back and the sun would catch on the inky stretch of his naturally long lashes, the soulfully sweet brown of his irises. You think of grass-stained uniforms and the smell of spilled plums on his skin, of the way his shadow used to fall across yours when he leaned too close, all heat and summer wind as he held up a slice just for you to eat from his hand.)

The bright, gentle boy of your dreams is now your husband of the present. Isn’t that something?

“Maybe, but I have reasons to believe that you love that about me,” he murmurs, the words half-tease, half-gratitude as if it’s an honor for him to even say that. “You married me, you had my baby… the list goes on.”

You concede with a faint chuckle, leaning into him more than you want to admit, which makes him visibly brighten, more than just happy to be of service; he’s ecstatic. Your legs quake with the effort of putting one foot in front of another not unlike a fawn trying to find its footing, and Suguru notices, of course, and gives you a break so that you can both peek past the crack of Mimiko and Nanako’s bedroom door. The halfway point.

Blankets strewn and growing limbs flopped over, the twins are entirely knocked out and dead to the world in their adjacent beds; nervously pacing around the house to the beat of your screams and then meeting their baby sister will do that to a person.

Suguru’s thumb draws small circles into your ribs, grounding you in the body that doesn’t quite feel like yours again yet before coaxing you along again. Every movement reminds you that you’re not the same cult leader who used to stride into meetings alongside Suguru with perfect posture and calculated poise. Your innards rebel against you; your legs are Jello where your robe brushes against them.

Trying to walk normally after waddling beneath the swollen weight of your baby and pregnant belly for months feels like a test that you’re failing miserably. But at least you’re in motion again and finally have some of your usual range that you had long before pregnancy, you think, groaning thickly.

Pregnancy, labor, and childbirth wasn’t the quick dip and go that men painted it to be when cowardly declaring a woman’s pain from childbirth to be nothing on forums. Thankfully sweet, blessedly sweet Suguru knew the true gravity of what your body’s been through, and accommodated accordingly.

The walk to the bathroom feels longer than it should due to your slow shuffle, almost like crossing a continent. Yet Suguru doesn’t rush you once. He keeps pace with you, slowing when you slow, stopping when you squeak out a pained noise, tethered to your every stagger.

“Almost there, princess,” he soothes, breath brushing over your hair. “Good job. You’re doing so well.”

You feel so cared for that you almost want to run from it and see if it’ll sprout four legs in order to chase after you. Instead of voicing a thing, you huff your soft amusement, “You sound like a midwife.”

“Well, I did just spend the day earning the title of midwife,” he muses with a playful tilt of his head, unbothered. “I like to think I was a better assistant than a proper one, anyways. I did a great job of catching our daughter.”

“Mm. Says the one that almost fainted?”

“Lies,” Suguru waves a hand, looking vaguely like he wants to duck and take cover. “I was… momentarily awed by the power of creation.”

You snort and it startles a quiet grin out of him, like the sound of your joy in any capacity is enough to fill him up. “Don’t make your flailing sound so noble. You’re ridiculous. Ridiculous and a mother hen,” you sigh, lovingly.

The doorframe of the bathroom comes into view— salvation, you mentally jump and clap for joy. Suguru’s already twisting the handle for you before you can even think of lifting your hand and he steers you past the threshold with infinite patience, ensuring you don’t bump your hip on the frame. The floor is cool under your bare feet.

The lights that he flicks on are dim enough not to sting your eyes but bright enough to see how it throws gold against the tiles. It’s somehow still warm in the bathroom, humid with steam from the bath Suguru had drawn hours before before lowering you into the water, and you swear the space carries the echoes of the cries from you and your baby. Lingering with your survival and endurance.

All of it feels a lifetime away even though it was only hours ago.

The birthing kit is still tucked neatly in the corner, the tub now spotlessly empty and gleaming, the towels gone (most likely in the washer, now) and the basins long put away. Everything smells faintly of lavender from the plugged in diffuser and the sharp, sterile bite of alcohol wipes and disinfectant that he used to scrub away the scent of blood and amniotic fluid. Clearly, Suguru had seen to cleaning with the same meticulousness he reserved for battle strategy and hunting the most dangerous of curses to add to his arsenal.

Your knees weakly knock like flint striking stones as you cross the bathroom. He notices. “Yeah, time to sit,” he murmurs, half to himself.

His hand slides to your lower back, the warm weight of his palm like a low burn of reassurance as he eases you down onto the closed lid of the toilet like you’re something precious (you are, to him, and you’ll always be). You wince as you settle. The coolness of the porcelain beneath your thighs is shocking but grounding and your muscles sigh in relief now that you’re still.

“Breathe first. Then we’ll figure out the rest,” Suguru instructs softly. He moves with quiet precision as he brushes a stray damp strand of hair behind your ear, kissing the crown of your head. His thumb traces your temple in slow circles, anchoring you, both of you needing the physical connection as much as the reassurance.

You’re so tired and delirious that you could weep at the sweetness. You lean your forehead against his abdomen for a beat, just to feel the press of his skin— warm, damningly alive.

When you pull back, Suguru crouches in front of you, big frame folding in on itself to bring himself to your eye-level. His hair brushes forward in a dark curtain around his face that softens the lines of his jaw, so healthily glossy that the river of inky black hair shimmers beneath the bathroom light.

Gently rubbing over your thighs to soothe you as you take a moment to breathe and blink away the slight dizziness, Suguru looks up at you from under his lashes. His dark brown eyes look honeyed, here, shy flecks of gold popping up like little sunflowers in a field in the depths of his irises.

“I’ll wait right here. No rush, no pressure. You’ve basically been through a war, and you get to take your time,” he promises without a hint of impatience, and that alone is an anchor that he tosses into your storm-tumbled seas.

Something about that phrasing— war, not ordeal— strikes true. You blink at him, remembering the rawness of hours ago, the feral shriek you made when your daughter finally slipped into the world, and how Suguru had been your only lifeline.

He tilts his head to catch your gaze after observing your face for any cracks, and the smile he gives you is crooked, unbearably tender. God— the way he looks at you like you’re both the most fragile thing he’s ever touched and the strongest thing he’s ever seen, like he still hasn’t quite gotten over the sight of you bringing a whole new person into the world… it makes you feel deserving— worthy— of all the love he spoonfeeds you.

You find yourself blinking against the sudden warmth that pricks behind your eyes. Fuckass hormones.

All too observant, Suguru coos with a little heartbroken crack of his voice, cupping your cheek with the gentlest touch imaginable. “Hey. None of that,” Suguru whispers gently, thumb tracing the underside of your eye. “You’re my perfect angel. I just wanna take care of you.”

You nod, leaning into his hand like a cat seeking more pets. For a moment, it’s just the two of you in the amber half-light— the steady tick of the clock down the hallway, the scent of home and wax and the cleansed bathroom.

Eventually, you scrub a hand down your face, unable to resist the call of your bladder anymore. You shakily smile at him through half-lidded eyes, the smile costing more energy than you have left. “I’m good.”

Suguru’s gaze softens impossibly further, melting chocolate, so tender and full of pride that he doesn’t even try to hide it. “See? You’re stronger than you think,” he says with utmost certainty that even you can’t deny it, slowly pushing off the balls of his feet so that he may stand upright, kissing your forehead again.

He looks like he’s been carved out of calm itself, which you envy— barefoot and shirtless in his domain, his hair a dark spill against his neck, the curve of his shoulders and the weight of his authority woven into the ease of his stance. Suguru is sturdy and here, holding everything together.

"I literally just pushed a human out of my body," you deadpan, watching him glide over to the counter. At that reminder, your hand drifts instinctively to your belly— empty now. Weird. "I think the jury's already in on that one."

He chuckles low, the sound soaked in affection. “You did. And you’re still standing. That’s my girl.”

Like clockwork, flustered heat rushes into your face.

Your… everything may hurt, but bracing your hands against your thighs and leaning to the side to peer around Suguru’s body doesn’t produce any extra pain. His fingers parse through a bathroom caddy that wasn’t there a few hours earlier; witch hazel pads, medical spray, packs of disposable postpartum underwear, maxi pads, stool softeners— there’s more, but you get overwhelmed trying to note it all.

He must have set it all up while you were napping, anticipating absolutely everything that you’ll need. Of course he did. His attention to detail feels oddly obscene and adorable all at once.

It’s funny, how Suguru could be cold-blooded to the cult’s sponsors, a leader who calculated outcomes without blinking; yet at home, he was all small attentions, a man who practically nests like your lives depend on it and still gets the urge to tuck in Nanako and Mimiko.

You prop an elbow on your thigh and cradle your chin in your palm, a fragile smile curling your lips. “You prepped the whole bathroom, didn’t you? Overachiever.”

Suguru glances over his shoulder with that mild, unassuming pride of his, the one that somehow makes you feel cherished rather than smothered (okay, smothered too— but his overbearing attitude is endearing, truly). “Habit,” he sighs with a little shake of his head, as if he’s embarrassed by his own thoroughness. He turns forward again, meeting your gaze through the mirror this time.

(Habit, the man has the audacity to say, you internally muse— like it’s not the most quietly devastating display of his dedication to you.)

You quirk a brow and gingerly cross your arms beneath your sensitive chest. “Some habit. You stockpile like a control freak.”

“It’s efficient,” Suguru proposes instead, face now actively flushing pink as his composure goes through the paper shredder. “And that’s mother hen to you, not control freak. Or, better yet, just call me your husband. You’ve done enough today— and in general— and you won’t be lifting a finger for however long.”

God, he’s a sweetheart. “You know, you’re setting the bar really high for yourself,” you murmur, voice slow with fatigue.

He tilts his head, pretending to think about it. “Princess, that’s just called doing the bare minimum. But, well…” he concedes, sucking his teeth. “I just like making sure my wife has proof she married the right man. Sue me.”

You just smile, fond. With his trademark unhurried grace, Suguru returns with a small peri-bottle, freshly folded underwear, and a thick maxi pad balanced atop a towel, all which he places on the floor next to the toilet. Again, he crouches in front of you. “Up or off?” He asks, nodding at the knot of your robe’s belt.

You’re already rolling it to your hips and bunching the fabric up there as you slowly stand, not-so-subtly saying with your body language that you’re not ready to really look at the war zone of your body just yet. Unflinching, Suguru hooks his thumbs into your waistband and draws your panties, soiled with lochia, down your legs. Gentlemanly fuss, down to the last detail.

Before you can start tweaking, he discards the set in the trash bin and gives you a somewhat sassy look that screams ‘you have no reason to be grossed out over your own body.’

Huffing, you flip the toilet lid up and sink right back down onto the seat, sore muscles protesting again. Whatever.

Your husband hands off the peri-bottle filled with warm water. Examining it, it looks somewhat like one of those bottles that rodents drink out of. That makes it ten times more unappealing, but you know you need it.

Suguru steadies one hand on your knee. His gaze never leaves you, not out of intrusion, but vigilance. For a newer or more reserved couple, this would be an awkward moment that warranted privacy. But nothing about you and Suguru was ordinary after almost a decade of your relationship, and nothing about Suguru's presence had ever allowed you to feel shame in the rawness of yourself. This is your ordinary.

(Some— or most, maybe— partners wouldn't even be in the room for this part, but then again, most partners weren’t Geto Suguru. "Dignity or whatever you wanna call it doesn't concern me when it comes to you,” you can practically hear him say. “Only you matter.")

He isn’t hovering because he doubts you or feels as though he needs to babysit you— he’s there because he can’t not be (and you would’ve checked to see if he was coming down with a fever if he ducked out of the room, if you’re being real. That’s how often you two end up in the bathroom together while one of you is using the toilet). His fragile heart is still somewhere in that messy moment of your earlier labor, watching the woman he loves bring a new heartbeat into the world, and it keeps him at your side.

It takes you a little bit of awkward shuffling on the toilet and way too much concentration put into not bearing down, but when your bladder finally gives in, the first trickle comes out hot and stinging. You wince, clenching your teeth and hissing. It should be illegal for pissing to fucking hurt.

The joys of having a child. Raw fucking pussy. Yay.

His calm is absolute, but the quiet intensity in his eyes says he’d swap body parts so that he could bear the pain for you if you said the word. "Easy. Just let it out,” he encourages. Then, “use the bottle, sweetheart,” Suguru reminds you quietly, steadily rubbing your thigh and knee.

Groaning, you slump your sweaty face into one hand and angle the spout of the peri-bottle between your legs with the other. You spray warm water over your perineal area while your body trickles so that the streams join together, and the relief is near-immediate; warm, soothing the rawness into something bearable.

"God, that actually helps,” you rasp a little wetly, letting out a breath you’ve been holding even though urinating feels uncomfortably clumsy and tender now. You peer at Suguru, voice dry as dust. "This isn’t exactly the glorious part of postpartum you had in mind, huh?"

His lips curve, a hint of teasing stirring up his chocolate-brown eyes. "It's just as important," he explains with a lordly air, sounding as though he’s reciting a textbook as he continues. “Urinating helps with cramping and reduces bleeding. This is good.”

This man.

You half-laugh, half-roll your eyes. "Don't make it sound ceremonial. It's peeing,” you snort, but relief softens the tightness around your mouth anyways.

Your toes scrunch up on the tile when you feel yourself pass chunks through your channel. The human body after labor, everyone.

You feel like you’ve been pissing for years, mildly wondering when the last time you even used the bathroom was with how long you’ve been going. At your front, Suguru keeps murmuring, low and steady, words meant only for you. Little nothings about how strong you are, how beautiful you are, how he’s not going anywhere.

Your shoulders sag when the stream gradually tapers off into a dribble before halting completely. You adjust the angle of the peri-bottle to ensure every part of you is rinsed, then you give it back to Suguru.

Now finished, you reach automatically for toilet paper— only to find it intercepted by his hand. Blinking rapidly, you watch him languidly rip a sizable strip off the roll.

“Let me help.” There’s no ego in it as he folds it into a fine square, smiling lazily up at you. He’s all devotion, quiet and unwavering.

You balk, incredulous. “You're not actually going to wipe my—"

"I am." His tone brooks no argument, but it’s gentle all the same. Suguru raises his fine eyebrows in a mild challenge, though he doesn’t seem convinced that you’ll push back too hard.

"Suguru," you utter flatly, brows arching. You’re torn between laughing and crying because genuinely, what the hell. You try reaching for it and he gently bats your hand away. “Really?”

"Yes?” He says simply as though it were the most obvious answer in the world. What he says next makes you stiffen. "You've given me a daughter. That, and I’ve also pulled a tampon out of your vagina when it got stuck—“

“Oh my godddd—“

“— been vomited on by you, aided you through labor, caught our daughter and cut the umbilical cord. Myself. Do you think l'll balk at this?"

You open your mouth to retort that he did in-fucking-fact look paler than Casper when he snapped gloves on and got in between your legs as you tried to punch a hole through the bathtub with a desperate sob, but the sharp set of his jaw tells you there would be no swaying him regardless of what you throw at him. With a resigned moan, frazzled and bizarrely moved all at once, you card your fingers through your hair and avert your eyes to study the bathroom wall. “… Go on.”

Out of the corner of your eye you find him smiling serenely, that charismatic panty-dropping smile, as Suguru reaches between your thighs with a gentleness that would've startled anyone who only knew him as a cult leader. You jolt, more unnecessary surprise than discomfort, but you relax at the first swipe of fabric.

Suguru says nothing as he dabs you clean and dry with relaxed, unflinching precision, like he does everything else when it comes to you. There was nothing clinical about the way he did it, no; not when it was so clearly devotion disguised as practicality. Hell, his posture’s totally relaxed as if this is just another Tuesday afternoon at the Geto household in the countryside.

Not once do you feel small or awkward for accepting his help, even though you can’t decide if this is the most mortifying or the most intimate thing he’s ever done for you. Meanwhile, entirely unaffected, Suguru works— faint light seems to accentuate the exact softness of his skin, the careful lines of his hands, the way his jaw flexes when he concentrates.

When it was done, Suguru tossed the balled up toilet paper into the toilet, flushed it for you, and helped you back onto your feet. You pinch the bridge of your nose and consider your life choices. “Romantic,” you jest in a slight groan.

He emits a lovely, bell-like laugh. "The most romantic. I'm here in sickness and health,” Suguru chuckles as he guides your steps into the fresh underwear he holds open for you, a thick pad already flattened and stuck to the gusset. He adjusts the waistband at your hips and you let your robe gently flutter back down to your ankles, covering yourself back up.

Your chest tightens as you peer up at sweet, gentle Suguru and his honey-warm eyes, a lump forming in your throat you hadn't prepared for. You reach up, brushing his jaw and palming his face, your snark dissolving into something gentler. "You're ridiculous. But I love you. A lot, Suguru,” you admit, lips quirking.

"And I love you more than anything," he coos back, sinking into your touch and blinking slowly, almost drowsily as your thumb rubs his cheek, indulgent. “Are you feeling better now that you peed?” he asks, tone dipped in fondness and amusement all at once.

“Very,” you admit, letting him reel you in entirely. His arm slides firm and warm around you again, pulling you in against his side as if you belong there by default. The relief in your body is almost dizzying.

He plants a kiss on your forehead, and for a second you can feel the smiling curves of his lips pressed against your skin as he breathes you in. “Good girl. Let’s get mama back to bed.”

Something in your chest twists sweetly at the word— mama— like hearing it aloud makes the whole impossible day real.

He directs you carefully to the sink, steadying you while you rinse and wipe your hands. Once you’re done, one of his massive hands finds the small of your back while the other hooks under your legs, bodily sweeping you off of your feet with the kind of ease that makes it feel like you're weightless (even though you know your body has betrayed you with its own gravity).

You don’t protest, letting your head fall onto his chest with a tired snicker, exertion weighing you down. “What, am I too slow when walking?” You ask, a yawn crawling free of your throat. He chuckles softly, endeared, as if you’re a little sleepy kitten in the palm of his hand.

“I’d walk behind you through hell no matter how slowly you moved,” Suguru admits easily without batting an eye, shooting you in the heart with that singular remark. “I know you wanna go to bed already, so I’ll get you there faster.”

You huff out something between a laugh and a sigh, the sound weak but genuine. Your husband takes it as victory, adjusting his grip around you, the muscles in his arms flexing just so in a silent promise of strength. You’re grateful for his solidity.

The warmth of his body seeps into you, into every aching joint, and even your stiff fingers relax as they absently thread through the soft tendrils of his hair when you curl an arm around his neck. Suguru flicks the light off and slips out of the bathroom, carrying you through the darkened hallway. He moves with the slow certainty of someone who will always be where you need him, even before you know you’ll need him.

In the bedroom, the candles flicker lowly, the atmosphere dreamy with warmth and the scent of milk. The slow burn of wax drips like stalactites, perfuming the air with fig and jasmine. Every shadow is soft, whittling down the edges of your bedroom into a fuzzy, muted paradise. A faint hum of the night filters in through the cracked window— the cicadas, the rustle of a breeze sifting through the trees outside.

The domesticity of it all feels surreal. You half-expect the world to crack open again.

You uncomfortably pulsate in time with the sway of Suguru’s steps as he carries you further in, lowering you onto the mattress with the delicacy of a priest laying an offering on an altar. The bed is warm with layers that he pulled from storage, soft enough to welcome both mother and child.

He adjusts the plumpened pillows at your back until you sink back, comfortably reclining like wax returning to a mold. Suguru even tucks the blankets around you, fussing and chuckling under his breath when you playfully try to swat at his hands before you fully relax. You watch him from below, too tired to speak, too full of love to breathe properly. He’s so perfect. And so pretty.

(You’ve gotta admit, Suguru rocks the sleepy-sexy new dad look.)

Your eyes flit toward the bassinet when you hear a sound, instinct unerring, where your daughter sleeps like an angel wrapped in her swaddle. Even in her slumber, she seems impossibly small and delicate, a fragile dream made real. Her tiny lips are parted around the adorably snuffly sighs of a baby cocooned in dreamland.

You think about it now— the ideology that binds you and Suguru together so fiercely, the dream of a world free from the ungrateful, the ignorant. You can only hope that you brought your daughter into a world with a future that would be worth living in, because you and Suguru would try to make it so. Thoughts of her future reminded you why you had followed him out of Jujutsu High all those years ago, why you’d chosen the hard road.

Suguru notices your glance and offers a soft hum upon following it with an analyzing gaze, brushing your hair behind your ear with a thumb that lingers at your temple. “She’s alright, it’s okay,” he whispers, voice faint in volume yet no less comforting. “You can rest again, mama bear. She’ll let us know when she needs something. You focus on regaining your strength, okay?”

You can only hum in response, placated by the relief of having the weight of motherhood momentarily pushed aside. Still, just to be safe, you stir at the pot of your cursed energy boiling low in your belly to conjure your fox shikigami, watching its sleek, silvery form curl up at the bassinet’s feet.

The exhaustion still pulses through your body, but it’s softened, dulled by the security of having Suguru here and the knowledge that your daughter is safe just a few feet away. Heavy eyes slip half-closed as you drift toward a warmth that’s not just physical but emotional, visceral.

Without a word, he leans down and breathes you in with a steady sigh. This is the man who helped you breathe through contractions, who shed his clothes in order to climb into the tub to hug you from behind, palms massaging over your rippling belly and thighs as he whispered encouragements. This is the man who, even now, still manages to make you feel like the center of the universe. Suguru's expression is soft as he admires you, unguarded in a way it rarely is.

“Cuddles,” you demand through a yawn.

That makes him smile— it starts slow, small, then spreads until it warms the whole room. His dark eyes stay fixed on you as though you’re the only thing that matters. “Of course, baby,” he lilts, giving in like PlayDoh.

Suguru is quiet as he lifts the blankets on his side of the bed, stretching out beside you once more. Your arms flail lazily for his familiar embrace, and Suguru doesn’t hesitate, scooping you into his bulk with a deliberate, encompassing care. Your cheek nestles against the warm curve of his chest, feeling the slow, steady beat of his fragility given flesh underneath his sun-kissed skin, each pulse a metronome that promises safety.

“That’s my wife,” he breathes, mouth grazing the top of your hair and making you boneless. “Thereee we go, pretty girl. Much better now, right? Nice and cozy?”

A nod is all he gets. Suguru’s hand slides up from your waist to cradle the back of your head, tucking you closer against his chest. The other drifts lazily over your arm, fingertips brushing against your skin. “I’ve got you, always,” he whispers, almost as if he’s answering a question you hadn’t even voiced.

Peeking up, you meet Suguru’s dark eyes right before closing your own, sinking into the blackness behind your eyelids. “You did so well today,” he continues, his voice like an embrace around your shoulders. It grows a little choked. “You were…” His words falter for the first time that night, and you feel the shift as he shakes his head like he can’t quite catch the phrasing. “You were unbelievable. Thank you so, so much for giving me more than what I deserve, my sweet girl.”

You want to respond, to tell him that he deserves everything good the world could possibly offer, and that you’d still give him more if you could. That you'd do it all again, every ache, every drop of blood, every cost that it took to bring forth life. This— him, her, the twins, you— is worth it, and it’s everything you could ever want. He’s your universe; the man that you’re spending the rest of your life with, guaranteed. The tide of assurances scrabbles insistently at your throat, begging to be let free.

But your body is conspiring against you, and you’re already half-lost to sleep. Privately, you resolve to tell him all of that and more when you wake in the morning to him creeping back into the room with a tray laden with breakfast, pretending it’s nothing, like he didn’t spend half an hour making pancakes shaped like hearts and cutting fruit into perfect little stars, before he drags your daughter’s bassinet closer to the bed to gaze between her and you like he still can’t believe you’re both real.

The ache in your body, from your abdomen to between your thighs, makes you tender, but right now it’s bearable. The steady weight of Suguru against you, the soft warmth of the blankets, the gentle hush of nighttime, and the distant, tiny noises of a baby dreaming in her bassinet is enough to settle you.

He nuzzles the side of your head, low and lazy, imprinting himself into your senses: your protector, your home. You take the chance to inhale the intoxicating scent of him— the faint trace of soap, the reassuring flowery earthiness of his cologne that anchors you in ways words could never capture.

Suguru’s heat seeps into your bones like honey, sticky and slow and dulling your pain with sheer comfort, and you find yourself letting out a soft, satisfied sigh as the weight of your exhaustion drags you back under.

a/n: oh sugu u have moved mountains…

i’ll be finishing up the husband!geto masterlist sometime over the next few days so that I can get post it and get it out there :3 this fic and another one that I’m posting soon will be part of the series. anyone is welcome to request fics for this series because I ADOREEEE writing geto ^_^

perma tags: @libr4sonsa @spirit-kat @kaitospo @m1nrrva @enchantinghonymoon @shokogasm @dairyfaerie @pvmpkingod @skz8stay @floriophrastus @originalsaucy @loyalguma @wormplant @amane1271 @oporotheca @teachmehowtodokiaye @dogwhiskey @sunnydayqq @phillipas00 @spoooooork @skygracee

additional tags: @itsmossy

[suguboobs]

BACK TO ME

suguru geto wakes up from a nightmare shaking him to his core with the worst imaginable possibility—losing you for good. after making everyone forget about him, he now has to resign himself to a world without you.

PAIRING: spider-man geto suguru x bio major! fem reader

CONTENT WARNING: 18+ content, MDNI. angst. character death. memory loss. mention of blood and injury. reader x gojo (sorry). daredevil higuruma featured. suguru being butt broke.

NOTE: ya no recuerdas mis locuras ni el amor aquel 🗣️ (another banger i recommend listening to) anyways, after yapping about this for the longest time (i’ll never shut up about them), they’re finally here. i hope you enjoy this as much as i did developing this and i’d love to hear your thoughts <3 spidey! geto fan art by @/aransmind

part two of into the getoverse

“come out, come out if you want to see your girlfriend again, spider,” the lizard’s gravelly voice taunted, razor sharp teeth turned up in a menacing grin.

your shirt held up by a singular thread as one of his claws dug into the material, swinging your limp body from side to side. his claws slipped once, a shrill scream escaping from your lips before he hooks you again in his grasp. crowds begin to gather around the building, phones in hand recording every second of the situation while some cops shout meaningless threats over a megaphone.

while pulling the mask on to protect the city had always felt like an obligation, like some divine punishment for sneaking around with gojo during a field trip and getting himself bitten by a radioactive spider, suguru didn’t hesitate to make his way over. it felt like necessity. adrenaline pumped through his veins with each web he ejected, pushing himself further and further to the clock tower.

“let me go, please!” you plead, desperate and petrified, with tears running down your face, pain thrumming against your forehead with a vengeance. blood rushes to your head, the sound of your heartbeat drumming against your ears overshadowing the chatter going beneath you.

“if you say so.” with a sinister laugh that made chills crawl up your arms, you were let go from his grasp. perhaps you should’ve been more specific in your request before the lizard sent you plummeting to your death.

“spider-man, help me!” your mouth’s open in a scream, other people gasp and scream underneath, but you can’t quite focus on them. cold air bites at your bare arms, rushing through your ears in brutal whooshes. the ground seems so close and yet so far away at the same time, as if you’re falling to your demise in slow motion.

suguru throws himself from the clock tower, propelling himself towards your falling figure in an attempt to stop your momentum completely. your hands claw at air, desperate to find something to cling onto that wasn’t coming. his fingertips grazed against your skin, reaching out to take a hold of your body.

CRACK.

he felt it before he heard it. felt the moment that your racing heart came to a stop, the moment that spider-man and suguru alike failed you. desperation clawed deep in his veins, his hands hooked underneath your legs when he got close enough.

“hey,” suguru’s voice broke into a sob, tears welling underneath his mask as he cradled you close to his chest. “open your eyes for me, sweetheart. please. talk to me. tell me you love me, tell me you hate, tell me anything.” guilt seeps in through the wound like a vengeance, a reminder that you wouldn’t be in this predicament if he wasn’t so careless.

if spider-man hadn’t allowed himself to feel a smidge of happiness, you’d still be alive.

—

“hey, suguru, breathe.” he wakes up to the sound of your groggy voice soothing over the nightmare, brows pinched together as your hand shakes at the material of his shirt. his chest heaves with each breath that leaves his lungs, cold sweat dribbling down his back to where his shirt’s stuck onto him like a second skin.

the same dream that’s been plaguing his mind for the past two weeks.

no matter how much he tries to do things differently—making sure he’s at the scene as soon as he’s dreaming, making sure that he stops your momentum before it breaks your back, setting up some kind of webbing to catch you, it’s always the same result.

you still end up lifeless in his arms.

wide amethyst eyes meet your own, tears clinging onto his waterline. reaching out, you gently wipe them away with the pad of your thumb. before you have the chance to react, his arms immediately pull you into a tight embrace. clinging onto you as if he needs to make sure this is real. “you’re okay,” you whisper, one of your hands rubbing against his back in circles.

you don’t question the nature of the nightmare, you don’t need to. every night, you hear your name leaving his lips in desperate screams, strings of webs thrown unconsciously against the wall across. “you’re okay,” he breathes out against your shoulder, breathing slowly but surely starting to even out.

reluctantly, he disentangles himself from the comfort of your embrace if only to get out of his sweat ridden shirt. streaks of moonlight bleed through the curtains against his bare torso, exposing every scar that his superhuman dna hadn’t managed to heal. a slash running across his stomach from the lizard’s claws. an x on his chest from the green goblin’s glider. one of the vulture’s scr—he pulls a black shirt on before you can continue to ogle further.

suguru slumps back against your bed frame, meeting your gaze. “are you not afraid of getting involved with spider-man? of your safety?” selfishly (the only selfish thing he allows himself to want), he hopes that the answer is no. that you won’t eventually grow to resent him.

“of course i am,” you admit with a small laugh, leaning your head against his shoulder. a few seconds of silence pass by, hearts beating in sync against one another before you add, “i know you fight against ruthless people who’d stop at nothing to make you miserable. but i made my choice and i trust you more than i fear them.”

his lips press against your forehead just barely, leaving behind a featherlight kiss before a ragged exhale leaves his lungs. “it feels as though we’re on different paths. you’re… fuck, you’re incredible with a bright future ahead of you, whether it be at john hopkins or whatever med school you decide to go to. the last thing i would wish is that i’m the one who messed it up for you.”

you returned the kiss, lightly pressing your lips against the top of his head. the faint smell of rosemary and castor oil made themselves known (always religious in applying his oils at the end of the night even as he’s on the brink of death). “you’re wrong. we’re on the same path, suguru. you deserve just as many incredible things as i do.”

he wanted to say that you were his path, that he’d like for you to always be his path. deep down though, he hates himself a little more for being so unwilling to let go of you.

—

the streets of new york city buzzed under suguru geto’s webbed fingertips, taillights speeding by in a blur underneath. ears twitching underneath his mask, he could pick up on every little noise miles away.

from the children giggling at the several playgrounds scattered around central park, shoes scuffing against pavement as they rushed to run after one another in a particularly intense game of tag, to a woman shouting at her boyfriend at a bodega after his card declined for a chicken parmigiana, to a flash from a camera from one of the daily bugle’s reporters capturing a photo that would end up coming blurry.

nothing criminal that required his attention as of yet.

his fingers stretched out in front of him, webs shooting out in thin strings as he hoisted himself over to the next building. suguru plops himself over the roof of a banking tower, overlooking the city ahead of him. he ripped his mask off in one swift motion, wind blowing through thick strands of onyx hair.

for a couple minutes, it’s nothing more than peace—feet dangling off the edge of the building, birds chirping their sweet melody around him, salmon streaks painting the sky above as it started to grow late, until he heard it. a scream coming from roosevelt avenue and main street just a few blocks down. pushing his mask down, he throws himself off the building before swinging past 39th to get to the scene.

vendors usually lined up on spare corners of the street have long since made a run for it with carts in tow, sprinting off before their only source of income takes a hit. the only people at the scene were those passing by, eager to get a glimpse of new york’s web slinging vigilante. the only one he couldn’t manage to see is the person responsible for this outrage, even as all of his senses were running on overdrive.

before he could turn around to assess the type of villain he’d be dealing with, a metal hand tossed him off to the side like nothing more than a ragdoll. a surge of pain vibrated through his body, gravel crumbling and hitting underneath his feet. he pressed a hand to his side, a groan leaving his lips upon standing up.

“little underhanded to hit a man from the back,” he spoke up, face to face with his attacker. the green goblin. except he’d seen the man die in his arms, withering away into nothing but a husk that even luxury couldn’t fix. even with the same armor, he had a more muscular build. slightly taller than his predecessor.

“ah, but you should know how to deal with anything. even the strongest,” the masked man retorted easily, throwing a bomb at his feet. suguru barely had the opportunity to send it swinging a mile away to explode midair before the man was already approaching for his next attack, managing to knock him off his feet with a mere punch.

the man hovered over his frail body, an amused smirk underneath the mask. “my father talked a great deal about you, spider-man,” he started but suguru merely shook his head, managing to topple the man off his glider in one swift kick, “i don’t particularly care about your daddy issues.”

suguru threw a punch at the man’s abdomen, only to get blocked before his fist could manage to make contact with the armor underneath. he’d attempted to toss the glider at him, anything to weaken the man, but he simply managed to catch the throw midair. “like i was saying,” the man begins speaking once more, annoyed at the interruption, “my father would be real disappointed if he knew what a failure spider-man was.”

“would be if he were still alive.” probably the wrong thing to say. if their previous conversations had been nothing more than simple banter, the insult was enough to light fire to a flame. every punch the goblin threw was more precise, more angry than the last. the taste of blood lingered in his tastebuds, fingers pulling his mask up to his nose to spit it out. a few bruises bloomed underneath, starting to turn a deep shade of purple.

“fight back, spider-man! you’re supposed to be the hero!” the goblin cackled overhead while suguru barely managed to catch his breath. his lungs burned, suit tattered at the seams across his body in deep, deep gashes. a wince left his lips upon stumbling his way back up, bruises blooming across his chest and stomach.

he’d dealt with a variety of villains before: those with guns, those who could bench a small suv, those with a vendetta, with an ego cockier than they could ever back up, but he’d never had to deal with someone who handled each of his punches with the same intensity that he delivered them, that knew each of his attacks and how to counter them before he could think of something else.

fwip. fwip. with two webs strung behind, he propelled himself forward like a bullet straight onto the goblin’s glider. swiping his foot against his armor, he delivered a sharp blow. the goblin stumbled in his spot, arms flailing behind him. for a second, suguru had an advantage throughout the fight. had managed to get an injury in.

except, the man caught himself at the last second. “is that all you got?” the condescending laugh he let out was more than enough to grate on his last nerve. “you’re kind of weak, aren’t you?” the glider moved in sharp zig zags, feet sticking onto the bottom with a stubborn web all the while. the goblin took that opportunity to send metal blow after the next, each one leaving spider-man stumbling backwards.

—

once weak enough, a sharp strike from the goblin’s glider sent him propelling into concrete, head instantly ringing upon impact. wait, no. not exactly the kind of ringing spider-man was hearing at the moment. a flashing orange light broke him out of his momentary stupor, hand grenade ticking down the last final seconds. 5….4….3….2

heart beating against his chest like a drum, bleeding in with the ringing that resounded for a couple minutes now, suguru dragged himself inch by inch across rough concrete to avoid being in the bomb’s radius. 1… with a final beep, a large boom erupted behind, flames catching onto pieces of broken shrapnel laying on the street.

the force of the impact send him flying across the street.

fingers digging into the ground underneath, his arms tremble underneath as he tries to force himself to stand up once more. “come on spider-man, get up!” the crowd’s chants become more and more distant, vision shifting into nothing more than blurry figures flashing a bright light into his face. get up spider-man.

he can’t bring himself to stand up. pushing his chest off the ground feels like an impossible task, barely managing to raise his chin to meet the goblin’s mask before his body gave out underneath. every nerve was telling him to keep fighting, to keep defending the city, but his muscles ached with equal pain and exhaustion.

for the first time in a fight, spider-man doesn’t get up. he can’t bring himself to look at the crowds of people starting to leave, the hope that once burned through their bodies dimming down into nothing but sheer acceptance their hero had been defeated. “let’s see who our city’s hero’s supposed to be.”

the last thing suguru registers is the slight tremble in the goblin’s fingers, the spike in his heart rate as he tore the mask away from his bloodied face. people talked around but it amounted to nothing more a sharp ringing in his ears, vision spotty before suddenly…nothing at all. he passed out in the middle of the street, identity exposed for anyone who risk angering the goblin any further.

he wakes up to his face plastered across every billboard, newspaper, and tv screen alike. people on the street warily look up from their phone over at him, some even pointing and whispering amongst themselves about the city’s great spider-man.

—

suguru geto’s girlfriend only dating him due to the overwhelming amount of pheromones he releases into our breathing air

an article by the daily bugle | july 2026 | $1.99

sun’s shining, ice creams are melting, and animals are courting one another during this mating season. while most of us go unaffected by these rituals taking place, undeterred by the pheromones that species produce in order to attract—the same could not be said for the pheromones spider-man produces on the daily. that’s right, you heard it here folks.

while in nature, it would be the female spiders responsible for producing these pheromones, there’s no reason to believe that our infamous wall climber isn’t reproducing any of his own of his own pheromones to attract a mate. and it’s increasingly clear that spider-man takes advantage of these traits when it comes to attracting his girlfriend.

according to our trusted sources, dating spider-man is not a risk that many would be willing to take. from the various threats that the wall climbing arachnid faces on a daily to the overwhelming damage he leaves the city to face, there’s little likable qualities. and yet, his girlfriend seems smitten with him. while refusing to comment, it’s very clear that’s its hormones taking charge throughout the relationship.

read more on page 6-7….

—

“this is the journalism people pay for?” with a disbelieving laugh, you set down the newspaper suguru plopped on your lap upon getting home today. it shouldn’t have been surprising, you’d had more eyes on you than you’d expected these past couple days. more whispers, more pointed looks, more attention in general.

“apparently it’s what people want to see,” he retorts, plopping down with a sharp wince on the couch next to you. taking the first aid kit that now had a permanent home on your coffee table, you leaned forward to analyze the wounds littering his body. they were healing better than normal, though a few gashes still stubbornly failed to close.

“people are into the stupidest things,” you murmur, the sharp scent of 98% isopropyl alcohol filling the room as you pour a decent amount onto a rag. slowly, ever so gently, you start to drag it across the cut running down his abdomen. carefully measuring each of his expressions (even the smallest winces) for any moment he’d be in pain and refuse to admit it. “did gojo get to answering your messages?”

suguru carefully adjusted himself on the couch for easier access, beefy thighs nearly taking up the entirety of the left side (not that you were complaining) before answering with a shrug, “i think that an article about how i managed to make you fall in love with me makes for very interesting journalism.” reluctantly, he adds on, “but no, gojo hasn’t answering me lately.”

a moment of silence passes between the two of you, rag gently brushing against his abdomen. it’s not something usual between suguru and satoru, the two of them practically glued to the hip at every second of the day. dabbing on neosporin across the cut, you murmur, “he’ll get back to you. i’m sure he’s just busy, especially with his father passing away.”

for the first couple months, it’d been nothing more than newspapers plastered across the city with his face on them and the most ridiculous headlines imaginable. his grades slipping from a 99.99% to a 98.99%, how he managed to keep his hair silky smooth even in the face of danger, what restaurants had the spider-man stamp of approval after he’d been photographed stuffing his face. gojo hadn’t bothered keeping up contact with either of you.

it was something both of you could manage, though. at worst, he see a couple of them glued onto his door when he came back home from classes, and at best, maybe he’d get a laugh out of how stupidly ridiculous the headlines were getting.

padding out of the laundromat near his apartment building, he was faced with a constable standing at the door. “spider-man, you’ve been served.” with a subtle scoff, the man drops a thick manila folder with court documents on top of the mountain of clothes he’s sporting in hand.

ripping the envelope open, he begins scanning through the charges being brought up against him. or, well, spider-man. destruction of public and private property. vigilantism. trespassing on private property. intimidation. breaking and entering, etc. the list went on for five more pages.

finding a lawyer that was willing to defend his case was like trying to find a needle in a haystack, most shutting the door before he even stepped inside. hogarth, chao & benowitz told him to get out before he damaged their reputation. donavan and partners wouldn’t even look in his direction. the only one that even allowed him to get a foot in the door was higuruma & associates (only two from what he picked up).

a low whistle left higuruma’s lips upon taking a look at the case report, tired eyes looking up to meet his own. “it’s a complicated case, i can’t deny that much,” he started off, hands folded underneath his chin. “but i’d be willing to take it, the burden of proof that the state has is theoretical. there’s a good chance we could win this.”

suguru blinked slowly, fully having been prepared to hear the man say the no he’d grown used to hearing throughout the last couple week. “you’re willing to help me?” he repeated, crossing his fingers underneath the desk with the hope this wasn’t an elaborate joke.

“that’s what i just said, yes.”

“why?” the question slipped out faster than suguru could control it, disbelief lacing his tone. everyone else had labeled this case as career suicide.

higuruma shrugged, head tilting to the side while he analyzed him, “i believe that you’re trying to do some good in the community. that, and well, i’m a really good lawyer.”

proceedings were long, held throughout the course of weeks to hear the accounts from everyone involved. from police officers whose jobs had been put into question with the masked vigilante swinging around the city, to the mayor, to insurance companies who had to reimburse in the millions over property damage.

crowds would line up behind wooden doors with signs raised above their heads, wearing spider-man masks in support every single step of the way. chants would be heard throughout the silence of the courtroom, echoing through each chamber as they shouted and pleaded for their hero to step out a free man.

which fortunately, only served to aid higuruma in presenting his defense to the jury. “as you can see by our crowd standing out there, they’re all spider-man. the prosecution has failed to identify my client in the suit at the occurrence of any of these crimes, and as far as i’m sure, any single one of them could’ve been committing the acts you’re accusing mr. geto here of.” he ended up walking out of the case with twelve hours of community service.

villains started making their way over to his campus, tearing through brick walls as if they were mere scraps of paper to get to him. “come out, spider-man!” everyone’s head would turn to his direction, staring at him expectantly even as there was a test worth 30% of his grade on the table.

“go, i’ll allow you to retake the test,” his professors would say, reaching over to take his exam papers off the desk. “and no, before any of you ask: i’m not extending the deadline to everyone else.”

the rest of his afternoon’s plans would be thrown out the window in favor for defending the city from the next crazed villain running rampant: one week from sandman (barely managing to contain him in a large enough vacuum), the next from a member of the hand that managed to escape daredevil’s wrath (not without a few katana slices through his suit, though). it was manageable, though, even if he’d had to start cutting down on how many activities he’d signed up for at the beginning of the semester.

until they started coming after you next.

scorpion had his metal tail wrapped tightly around your stomach despite your protest, hands pushing and shoving down at an unrelenting force, lifting you above ground. “let’s see how long it takes your little boyfriend to get here,” a hit of rancid air hit your nose when he spoke next to your face, face immediately scrunching up in disgust.

“so you’re using me to get to my boyfriend? very classy,” you remarked, facing the other way before he responded too close to your face. giving up on pushing him away, you opted to kick him where you had the easiest access to do so.

“OW, FUCK!” with a pained groan, scorpion recoiled forward with one hand tightly clutched around his dick. it gave you enough time to sprint away from the scene and find somewhere to hide. “CRAZY BI-” a web covered his mouth before he could finish his sentence. it didn’t take long for suguru to approach the scene, spiderwebs immediately pulling his tail before the scorpion retaliated against you.

it wasn’t long before the fight was over, scorpion neatly presented in a string of silk webs for when the police managed to make their way over to the scene. while you made your way back home with minor cuts on your body (and assignments due tonight), the night was far from over for spider-man: he still had to talk to the police and the reporters shoving a recorder at his face.

immediately making your way to the restroom to clean up, you’re met with a nasty cut on your side when lifting up your shirt. teeth gritting against one another, you slowly start to dab off the drying blood clinging to your skin. the door creaks upon opening, though suguru doesn’t make an effort to walk in. “i can feel you staring at me.” turning the mirror over, you’re met with concern looking at you through the doorway. “so tell me what you want to say.”

slowly, suguru pads his way into the restroom only to take the bottle of nearly empty ointment from your hands. with the same deliberate gentleness you displayed towards him, his fingertips lightly dabbed on a bit against you. “i can’t help but be worried about your safety. are you okay?”

it came from a good place, from a self proclaimed duty to protect, you knew that much. still, you held yourself up better than most. “i am capable of taking care of myself,” you responded, putting a bandage over the wound. “i know what i signed up for when i started dating you, suguru. i don’t regret that because of a simple cut.”

while it may have been nothing more than a ‘simple cut’, the sight of you tending to wounds that shouldn’t be there in the first place, that wouldn’t be there if not for him, was a sight that grew more and more difficult to see. “i’ve been thinking about visiting that wizard, nanami kento,” he suggests, tone so casual he could’ve been very well talking about the weather.

you toss away the bloodied alcohol pads cluttering your bathroom sink before meeting his gaze, “what for?”

suguru lets out a quiet sigh before answering, “i’m asking him to delete my memory from everyone’s mind. it’s been nothing but havoc since my identity’s been released and it shouldn’t be a burden on you, either.”

“everyone?” you prompt, bottom lip caught between your teeth. “even me?”

he takes a step forward, lips lightly pressing against your forehead. it’s then that you realize his mind’s been made up, despite how extreme the option seemed. “i promise i’ll find you tomorrow and explain everything.”

thick globs of tears run down your cheeks, hands coming to rest on his face. it’s a gesture much softer than he deserved. “promise me you’ll find me and tell me everything, please. i told you, we’re on the same path. i don’t want to lose you.” you don’t need him, obviously you’ve lived without him. but he’s engraved himself into every aspect of your life, from the coffee you drink in the mornings to how it feels to be known in the littlest of gestures.

what were you if not memories?

“i will, i promise you,” he reassured, gently wiping away the tears streaking your cheeks. “don’t cry because of me, angel. i promise you i’ll be there to tell you everything.”

long rows of trees lined up the entrance to the retired surgeon’s home, leaves crunching underneath his feet as he followed the trail to the home pushed into the back of the woods. nanami didn’t get the chance to open the door all the way before he spoke up, “i need you to erase suguru geto from everyone’s memories. make them forget who i am, make them forget about spider-man.”

—

suguru didn’t try to tell you the next day.

he had a piece of notebook paper stuffed inside his coat pocket, scribblings of what he could say to you—hello. my name’s suguru geto, you don’t know me yet and i’m sure this is really weird. but we used to go out. and i’m hoping that deep down, some part of you still remembers that you love me as i love you. (still a very rough draft, he’d admit), but he couldn’t bring himself to go through with it.

he almost did, though. stepped up to the lab you were supposed to be working in for the day and looked through the window to find you working at one of the tables with an erlenmeyer flask underneath a buret, adding in a few drops of what he’d assume is phenolphthalein into your mix until it turned a light shade of pink.

you were laughing, relaxed in a way he hasn’t seen since before you’d found out about his secret identity. the paper in his pocket suddenly felt meaningless, felt like nothing more than inconvenience. what were the odds you’d even believe some guy you’d never seen before sputtering out a love declaration? he didn’t even need to divide the total number of outcomes by number of favorable outcomes to know the probability was close to zero.

he was so lost in thought he didn’t notice you walking over, arms folded across your chest.

“is there a reason that you’re standing here staring like a creep?” you ask, foot tapping against the floor. being so close to you again knocks all the air from his lungs, every thought running through his head turned into mush. “my name is suguru geto and…” his mouth shuts, unable to continue the spiel he had in mind.

how selfish would he have to be to ruin to be your future all because he wanted to keep you by his side?

you’re still looking at him, expecting an answer. he awkwardly clears his throat before speaking up, “sorry. it’s my first semester here. i was wondering if you knew where i could find psychics 1415.”

he hopes it sounds convincing enough. anything to be other than the guy who was just peering in through the window. you don’t remember seeing him before around campus, even in passing. it seems plausible enough. “it’s on the other side of the building, second floor. there should be someone at the information desk to help you find your professor.”

with a curt nod, he gives you a short thanks. “maybe don’t be a weirdo if you need directions though,” you add on before he has the chance to leave, a small smile making itself known on his face.

“i’ll try not to. thank you again for your help.”

—

his muscles ache in protest upon standing up from his spot on the floor, blankets falling unceremoniously at his feet after getting his ass kicked by tombstone, the man an impenetrable force of sheer strength and power. one hand immediately flies to his back, rubbing at the aching muscles underneath.

overhead lights flickered on and off for about five seconds before the room was painted in a warm, orange light. trudging over to the kitchen, he was met with a sight that was nothing short of disappointing. a half empty bottle of water clouded with condensation bubbles, two deflated ketchup packets, and a rotten potato. his great reward for saving the city.

suguru padded over to the kitchen table, scooping up a few coins and rumpled dollar bills in his hand. $4.90 to hold him steady until his paycheck next week. enough for a few packs of ramen and a carton of juice if he managed to rummage underneath his sofa cushions for a dime. maybe two if he was really lucky this time around.

he indeed was not lucky this time around.

a small bell jingles overhead as he steps foot into the bodega, place virtually empty apart from the man standing at the front counter and a cat lazily sprawled out on a table, licking its front paw. suguru gives the man a lazy wave before weaving his way through the aisles, stopping in front of the ramen selection.

fifty cents each pack. scooping five into his arms, he made his way over to the fridges lining up the back of the store. beers…soda…gallons of milk…juice. he stopped in front of the vast selection presented in front of him, scanning each carton to compare prices. 4.99 for passion fruit, definitely not. 3.50 for premium apple juice, absolutely not. 2.30 for pulp orange juice. perfect.

the food was nothing short of unappetizing, but at the very least, he still had ten cents holding him over and a pantry full of pack ramen for the week if he didn’t get overly greedy.

—

days pass by in a blur of school, work, and swinging through the streets morphing into one. trees start to shed their green leaves for an orange hue, sunlight a little bit dimmer and the air a bit colder. the number of ‘DUE NOW’ bills sitting on suguru’s kitchen counter grows by the day, along with the past due assignments he’d failed to turn in because of a surprise attack appearing on the news.

though, he supposed that much was to be expected. it proved to be a good distraction from the overwhelming loneliness in his apartment, something else to focus on other than the fact that he didn’t have anyone to come home to anymore.

ever so often, he allowed himself to check up on you to see how you’re doing. you seemed to be better without him around. he swung close by enough to see you leaving the library late at night without constantly overlooking your surroundings, making your way back home.

turning to look over your shoulder, you don’t see anyone walking behind. just an elderly woman standing at the other end of the block hailing down a late night cab. the sense of unease clings onto you with every step you take, eyes staring at the back of your head in anticipation for the moment you let your guard down.

you brace yourself to turn around, letting out a deep breath before facing your stalker. spray the pepper on their face and take off in a sprint back home. in a quick swipe, you snag your keychain from your purse and begin spraying at…. spider-man?

with an over exaggerated cough, spider-man reaches up to waft away the plume of fiery pepper still being sprayed his way. immediately, your finger releases from the trigger, though not without you defending yourself, “come on, you can’t even feel it! plus, what were you even thinking sneaking behind me like that this late?!”

that you wouldn’t actually come to notice him. “i was thinking that i was swinging close by to the neighborhood and i said, ‘hey, that woman shouldn’t be walking around this late at night, let me make sure she gets home safe,’” he responds easily, hands raised up defensively.

you raise a brow, “so instead of offering to swing me back home, you decided to follow me around in the middle of the night?”

a brief moment passes between the two of you. “would you like for me to swing you back home?” you still had half a mile of walking left. you don’t hesitate in nodding, moving closer and wrapping your arms around his neck. he smells familiar, a faint smell of rosemary and cedarwood you’re not sure where you’ve smelt before.

the city beneath your feet blurred into street and traffic lights, everyone a tiny fragment of a much bigger puzzle from this distance. your fingers tightened their grip around his head, though, he was being gentle. you could tell that much. he didn’t get close to the ground when it came to striking his next web. never once did you feel in danger about falling in mid air with him.

he drops you at your front door, without so much as asking for your address in the first place. something that first struck you as odd before amounting it to the fact he’s probably seen you around if he was swinging around the neighborhood. hopefully.

“well, i still stand by the point you shouldn’t follow random women home,” you start off, fingers grazing against the door knob. you’re not getting in just yet. before you can talk yourself out of it, you walk up to him and press a small kiss on his cheek, “but thank you.” when you pull away, you notice his lenses widening a little, white nearly overtaking the top half of the mask before narrowing into little crescents. a smile if you’ve ever seen one before.

—

the library’s almost full when satoru and suguru step in through the door with the intention of reviewing for stats (which in their terms, was to do about thirty minutes of work and an hour of ‘taking a break’). while suguru’s busy borrowing one from the woman at the front, satoru sets up his ecosystem of electronics, i.e his overly expensive thousand dollar laptop, charging cables, phone, and tablet.

to their credit, neither speaks for the first twenty minutes of sitting down at the table. keyboards clack underneath fervent fingers, minutes slowly ticking by on the clock on the wall. each of their respective assignments are closer to being done—satoru’s null hypothesis rejected in both alpha .05 and .01 while suguru’s abstract on enhancing vacuum photodetectors slowly started to come together.

“i’m thinking of asking out this girl from my immunology lab,” satoru speaks up, voice breaking through the carefully curated silence of the library. a few dirty glares get shot his way, not that he paid much attention.

he decides to entertain him by asking,“who are you planning on asking out?” satoru says your name so casually he almost misses it, though it makes his heart ache all the same. still, this is what he wanted, right? he wanted you to have a normal life, wanted you to be happy even if it was with someone else.

so, he gave satoru the same manual he’d spent weeks memorizing to make you fall in love, little things he’d picked up from his time with you—all under the guise of them being suggestions. “maybe try giving her peonies instead of roses, most women think roses are too generic” and “don’t go for a restaurant, too stuffy. go to a cafe or someplace that’s comfortable yet intimate.”

gojo ends up taking notes on everything he’s saying, scribbling them onto a spare document on his tablet. “so, how do you know all this?” he prompts, brows furrowing. as far as he’s concerned, geto hasn’t exactly been seen dating anyone seriously.

shit.

rubbing a hand against the back of his neck, suguru tries to muster up a lie that sounds believable enough to a baby genius. “just, what i saw with my last girlfriend. most of the time it’s not the gesture but just that you have them in mind with it.”

—

satoru gojo appears on your doorstep with an enormous bouquet of light pink peonies in hand, dressed in a crisp blue button down that probably cost more than your family’s month of rent and a pair of black slacks while you’re in your pajamas (under the assumption you’d just stay in doing assignments). snowy strands of hair fell messily over his forehead as if he’d been running his fingers through them just a few moments prior. “guess what?”

quizzically, you raise a brow before ultimately giving into entertaining him, “…what?”

he extends the bouquet of flowers into your hands, exclaiming with a bright grin on his face, “i’m giving you the great pleasure of going out with me: genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, gojo satoru!” you’re sure you’re bound to get a noise complaint later. you also can’t help but wonder if he knows anything about you or if he just likes the idea of you after two weeks of close proximity in getting your project done.

“uh huh. what an honor,” you deadpan, rubbing a hand over your face. you still had a bioformatics quiz to do before 11:59. “unfortunately, most of us don’t have the privilege of falling back on a trust fund if college doesn’t work out so goodbye.”

“wait, wait, don’t close the door!” satoru all but whines, foot darting out to block you from shutting the door completely. he peeks his head in through the crack, “i saw your application to intern at gojo technologies.” the offer should’ve been one that had you immediately agreeing—gojo technologies was one of the biggest enterprises in new york, stocking up the country’s military and intelligence services through biotech.

whether it be nukes capable of destroying nations, medicines rumored to restore lost limbs, gliders sliding through air at fifty miles per hour, or performance altering formulas meant to enhance the strength and intelligence of an individual, they had it nearly all.

an internship there and your resume was practically golden when you decided to apply to med school.

instead, you merely let out a disbelieving scoff (fully ready to slam the door shut, foot and all), “you seriously think i need the help of some rich nepo baby who hasn’t worked a day in his life in getting an internship?—” you jab a finger in his chest, and he swears he falls in love, “—i’m perfectly capable of getting in on my own merit.”

“no, no, that’s not what i’m saying!” fuck, how did he manage to screw up worse with each word that left his lips? “i think you’re perfectly capable of getting in on your own. but we get thousands of applications every day, all i’m offering is that i get someone to actually look at yours.”

you wouldn’t admit to him that you’d submitted your application over three months ago only to receive nothing in response, not even an email to confirm that they’d received it. for a second, it almost seems like you’re about to shut the door on his face and tell him to fuck off (not unwarranted, but still).

“and it’ll just be to look at it?” you question, reluctantly taking the heavy bouquet that was meant to impress from his hands. all you felt is that he spent a couple hundred just to be able to mark something off a checklist.

“just to look at it,” he reiterates, “and if you don’t want to see me again afterwards, that’s fine too. just one date.” you take the bouquet of flowers from his hand, bringing them up to your nose.

“one date.”

—

the coffee shop that satoru chose to take you wasn’t one you’d been to before, tucked into a small corner in between a bookstore and a record store. there’s a few people sitting inside, with either a book in hand or a computer propped up in front of them. faux plants adorn the place, dimmed lights and lofi music playing on the speakers overhead making for a cozy atmosphere.

“do i know you from somewhere?” your eyes narrowed as you inspected the man —suguru, as per his name tag—standing in front of you, about to take your order. it feels as though you’ve seen before, your body instinctively wanting to be close to him despite knowing virtually nothing about him at all.

his gaze settled on to you, analyzing your features as if trying to figure out where he knew you from (like he couldn’t recognize you with his eyes closed in a sea of people). his fingers snapped, “oh. you helped me find my class once. called me a creep.”

recognition settled across your face, a quiet laugh leaving your lips. after getting his ass kicked by nearly every criminal in new york, it feels like a little slice of heaven. “oh, it’s you. nice to know you’ve settled into a job rather than stalking others around.”

obnoxious as ever, gojo clears his throat behind you, an arm going behind your shoulders. you shrug it off as casual as you can muster. “soooo, the two of you know each other?”

the two of you speak up far too quickly:

“briefly.”

“in passing.”

gojo’s gaze goes from you over to him before going back over to you, cerulean eyes narrowing in subtle disbelief he tried to mask with an easy enough going smile. suguru clears his throat before asking, “is there anything that i can get the two of you tonight?”

“i’ll just get a cappuccino, please,” you speak up, gaze traveling through the menu. they had better options, but you didn’t want satoru holding an expensive drink over your head if this date didn’t go according to his plans.

“my adoring, handsome best friend,” satoru starts off, an unnatural smile spreading across his lips. it how suguru knows he should expect some bullshit. “i’ll get your iced white chocolate mocha with cold foam, extra mocha sauce, and extra caramel drizzle and one of your mochi cake pops.” more dishes for him to clean up.

with a forced smile gracing his lips, suguru finishes getting the order down, “will that be all for you today?”

“that’ll be all, thanks.” gojo led you over to a small booth at the far end of the shop, pulling your chair back upon approaching. with a quiet thanks, you slipped onto the seat. it didn’t take long for suguru to approach with drinks in hand, an overwhelming sugary aroma emanating from satoru’s order.

slowly, you start to take a sip from your coffee. it’s not overwhelmingly bitter, nor too simple from the milk. it’s quite…nice, actually. just how’d you make it back home. “so, what type of plans do you have for your future?” gojo speaks up, pieces of frosting stuck to his lip.

“i plan on applying to med school once i’ve finished with my undergrad, maybe going out of state to find a hospital that’ll let me do my internship there,” you respond, setting your drink down. “how about you?”

“oh, me? i plan on stepping up to my father’s ceo position—” you narrowly manage to avoid rolling your eyes in his face. give him a chance. “though, maybe i’d like to pursue an aerospace direction with the company rather than sticking to the biotechnology approach we’ve been doing for years.”

as much as it pained for you to admit it, the date wasn’t all that bad. while he was self absorbed (maybe a given considering his position in the company), he didn’t spend a majority of the time talking about himself.

—

though, as well as the date might’ve gone, you were certain something was wrong with you.

that was the only explanation possible for why every single embrace, every single gift, every gesture from gojo felt completely wrong despite it being something that would make your heart flutter under any other occasion.

the bouquet of flowers, beautiful as it was, sat untouched in a vase in the corner of your room with minimal sunlight. they felt forced, much like everything else about your relationship with gojo (if you could even begin to call it that). as if he had the code to everything you enjoyed, but he was the wrong person wielding it.

it didn’t help either that it constantly felt as if he were hiding something from you, sneaking away from a date under the guise of having something important to get to. “look, i really have to go right now, the company needs me to sign something about a merger. i’ll see you later okay!”

you blinked, watching as he sprinted away from the restaurant he’d been dying to take you to. a waiter comes by with your plate, surprised to see you sitting there by yourself. “can i have that to go, please?” there’s no point in letting good food go to waste, even if you’d just go back home to eat it in your pajamas.

the idea of love wasn’t one you were put off with, even if it wasn’t your central focus at the time being. but you can’t help but feel as though, maybe, you were better at this with someone else. where every answer didn’t feel rehearsed, where you weren’t hiding a grimace underneath each forced smile.

though, every time you tried to delve into that train of thought, you ended with nothing. just fragments of memories buried deep inside, fragments that didn’t quite amount to anything of substance. maybe you were just desperately trying to find an explanation why everything felt so wrong with satoru when it should feel… right.

gojo doesn’t come back that night. news reporters chalk it up to an accident, something about him being the green goblin and getting blown up by one of his own bombs upon going against spider-man. every disappearance suddenly started making sense, why he’d leave in the middle of the night and come back with a few bruises on his abdomen. why spider-man would often be reported conveniently just after he would leave.

even tonight. while you were trying to convince yourself that one more date before you called things off couldn’t possibly be that bad, he was calculating how to leave as soon as possible to make another attempt at killing spider-man. it was nothing more than a waste of time.

warm tears ran down your cheeks, not from the loss itself, but from what it meant. he’d never had anyone to look at your application, simply taking enjoyment from your willingness to go along with his plan. during your time together, all the occasions you convinced yourself you were the problem for finding his gifts ridiculous and performative, you realize that you were the last thing on his mind.

and across town, suguru comes to understand that no matter how hard he tries, he can’t save anyone he loves from getting killed.

even more rambling down here, sorry 😓 mamdani prob wouldn’t let this happen in his ny but i greatly appreciate if you’ve read up to this point and i hope you enjoyed :3 a big big thank you to @sextier and @suguruss1ut for hearing to me yap about this for the past month and for proofreading my baby.

into the getoverse taglist: @tacobellfreshavocado

suguru’s taglist: @mimzi24 @bygeto @outpostsworld @mossmatins @vleixieee @cateleya21 @hearts2vivi @magicalpeenpoo @akiangelcanon4sure @thebirdsarewatching17 @junghoonbooty @teaspecifically @stupidlyawesomegirl + link to join

[aliienangel]

　　 ❤︎　THE PRACTICE OF KISSING　　..　 𝓼 . gєтσ

ѕυ‎‎ммαяу： ‎‎ ‎♡ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ after getting asked on a date, you're feeling insecure over your inexperience regarding kissing someone. telling your bestfriend geto about your concerns results in an offer from him you didn't expect

cw ‎ ‎‎⤷ 𖥻‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎. ‎‎˖ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ꒰ mdni ꒱ ‎‎‎‎. smut . pwp . swearing . making out . dry humping . dirty talk . hickeys . biting . (light) nipple play . praise kink . piv . unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!) . c pie . orgasm denial . bsf!geto . virgin!reader . tease!geto . afab!reader . no pronouns ♯ 10k

The state of your mind is currently a mess, feeling overwhelmed and staring off into space as you think about how a guy asked you on a date earlier today. You'd turned him down but only because you have a particular hang up you can't get over, hence the feeling overwhelmed. You’ve never gone out on a date before and you feel like you’re missing out, so you definitely would’ve said yes if you weren’t so unsure of yourself.

Geto's hand waves in front of your face, breaking you from your trance, "Are you even listening to me?"

Has he been talking? Damn, you really spaced out, "Would you believe me if I said yes?"

"Not even a little bit." His gaze unamused.

You look away from him and to the poster behind his head on the wall, feeling sheepish. "Then no... sorry."

Frown deepening on his features, legs uncrossing and scooting closer to the edge of his bed. "What are you thinking about so hard?"

"Not telling," you answer, spinning around in his office chair so that you’re facing away from him.

His desk is neat, everything organised and probably put exactly where it should be. Beside his monitor sits a little black cat figurine, one you had bought him not too long ago because it reminded you of him. Seeing it displayed makes you smile; he must like it.

Geto’s voice cuts through your small reverie, "So, you're not only going to ignore me, you're also not going to tell me what's wrong?"

Not even glancing back, you hum at him, "That would be a correct assessment... yes."

"Have I told you that you're annoying yet today?" He exasperates.

Shrugging, "I don't think so?"

"Oh? In that case, you're annoying."

"You're so mean to me; this is why I don't want to tell you what's wrong." You’re being dramatic but so is he.

A sigh leaves him, "If I promise to be nice, will you tell me what's wrong?"

Your head flops back onto the headrest, jabbing at him jokingly, "I don't know if you're capable of kindness, Suguru."

"Now who's being mean? I'm nice all the time."

"Maybe to strangers..." You mumble out.

There’s no reply from him and for a second you think he’s going to leave the issue alone… that is until you’re suddenly spinning. His footsteps are always so light, you didn’t even hear him come up behind you. You’re facing him now, his hands holding himself up by the arm rests of his office chair. He’d spun you around just to lean down into your space and pointedly look at you.

Geto squints. “I’m nice to you all the time.”

“I don’t think this constitutes as ‘nice’.”

He groans your name, “Come on, you always talk to me when something’s wrong.”

“Maybe this is awkward for me to talk to you about,” you pout back at him.

His tongue clicks in realisation, “So, it’s about your love life?”

The immediate and correct guess stumps you, causing you to sputter out, “What!? You have no way of—”

“—You never talk to me about your dates, and you also got defensive so I’m guessing I’m right.” His gaze is even, unconcerned.

You huff at him and echo his earlier question, “Have I told you that you’re annoying yet today?”

“Yes, earlier when you almost fell over and I smiled,” he reminds.

Your response is a grimace and a matter-of-fact tone when saying, “I don’t tell you about my dates because I don’t go on them.”

“Ever?” Geto’s eyes widen slightly, clearly surprised by your confession.

Cementing back, “Ever.”

“People have definitely asked you out though.”

“Yeah, but not that often because they always think we’re together.” Glaring at him.

His hand reaches for your face and squishes your cheeks between his fingers. “Don’t look at me like that, that’s not my fault.”

Your voice comes out all mumbled and difficult to understand, “It so is.” He rolls his eyes at you, and you slap his hand away. “Stop squishing my face!”

Letting go, he sighs and takes a step back, sitting on the edge of the bed again. “Something about your love life is bothering you.”

Crossing your arms over your chest and looking to the side, you complain, “You’re so nosy.”

“Am not.”

What a liar, he’s always in your business. Though, now that you’re thinking about it, you don’t think he’s usually in other people’s business this bad. He does like hearing about the gossip you collect though, always ready to hear it while acting as though he doesn’t care.

There’s no reply you can think to give, so you give him the silent treatment. Still looking away from him and silently pouting, you can feel his eyes watching you, waiting for you to break. It’s a frequent game you start that he finishes, silently ignoring him while he watches and waits until you can’t take it anymore and tell him what’s on your mind.

A few more moments pass by and you already feel ready to give in, you hate how much more effective his silence is. Glancing at him from the corner of your eye, your gazes meet and you feel yourself folding all at once.

Large and exasperated groan leaving you as your shoulders slump back into the chair, “Fine!”

He perks up at your concession, a self-satisfied look on his face that irks you.

You’re looking at him properly to say, “I was asked on a date earlier today.”

The expression on his face changes to one of annoyance, like he’s not happy to hear that. “Who?”

“Some guy, you don’t know him,” you wave off, not really understanding why it matters to him.

Geto prods for more information, “…And what did you say?”

“…I said no.”

“Oh?” His reaction is indecipherable to you, “Why?”

This question is exactly why you didn’t want to talk about this. “I don’t know…” You’re lying, trying to avoid talking about this in more depth.

“Did you like him?”

“I didn’t not like him,” you shrug, “I would’ve liked to go out with him at least once but…”

“But…” He pushes.

“I don’t know, Suguru,” you scowl at your own reasoning, “I’ve never been on a proper date before, I don’t know what to expect or what’s expected of me. What if he wanted to kiss me or something?”

He’s quiet for a long moment, making you antsy while you wait for him to talk, “…Would you want to kiss him back?”

“Maybe?”

“I don’t think I’m understanding the issue.” His brows are pinched with his confusion.

You’re exhausted with him, like you aren’t the one being purposefully cryptic. “Am I gonna have to spell it out for you?”

“Yes.”

“Ugh!” You kick your legs in a mini tantrum, “I’ve never properly kissed someone… it’s always been like… a peck, I don’t know? But what if he expected more of me?”

You can see the way he’s actively fighting against the smile threatening to break out on his face. “Is that—” he bites down an amused sound, “Is that why you always say no to dates?”

“I don’t like you very much right now.” You were already feeling silly and embarrassed and his clear joy from this is not helping that.

He pouts at you mockingly, “Don’t be like that, I can help.”

“How could you possibly help me with this?”

A smile comfortable on his face when he states, “I could teach you.”

“You want to teach me how to kiss?” You scrutinise him, “Have you gone insane?”

“You’re the one all hung up on this and I’m offering to help you,” he puts his hands up, “But if you’d rather be a dateless loser for the rest of your life—”

“—Hey!” You point at him, “Uncalled for… and rude!”

A very signature and very annoying, polite smile sits on his pretty features. Unbothered by your outburst at his very clear bait. He simply raises his arm and grabs the hand you had pointed at him, tugging you from the chair and into him on the bed. You’re taken aback by his bold move, so close to him so quickly. Falling into his lap less than gracefully, his other arm wrapping around your waist to hold you steady as you sit sideways between his legs.

You stutter out at him, “Wha– what are you doing?”

Letting go of your hand; he reaches for your face. His thumb stroking softly against your cheekbone. “Do you want my help or not?”

“What you’re basically asking me is if I want to kiss you,” you correct… because that is what he’s asking right now.

Geto’s head drops back slightly as he fights the urge to roll his eyes at you dramatically, hand resting on your outer thigh now. “Don’t be so pedantic. You have a problem and I’m offering to help fix it.”

A sound of disapproval slips from you at his wording, “I know the theory behind kissing someone, Suguru. What you’re offering is making out with me.”

“So?”

Your expression is dumbfounded, you know he’s not this dense. “You want to stick your tongue in my mouth and then go back to the usual?”

He leans in again, dodging your question with his own, “Do you want me to stick my tongue in your mouth?”

“Geto—”

“—Ouch—”

“—Shut up.” You cut him off, “If! We did this and I do mean if. Would you be able to look at me the same?”

“The same as I always have? Sure.” There’s no hesitation from him.

He seems so sure, like he’s not worried about what this might mean for your friendship at all. The easy-going look on his face is both pissing you off and relaxing you, emotions he’s always been able to pull from you.

His hand is large on your thigh and the way it makes you feel is not how you should feel for him. Mumbling out a small, “You’re annoying.”

An amused breath leaves him, “You’ve already told me that today.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing.” You look up at him through your lashes.

“That’s kind of the point of this.”

“Right…” You can’t help but find yourself feeling nervous, embarrassed that you won’t be good enough. For some reason… you really want him to think you’re a good kisser.

He must take your silence as rejection because his tone is gentle when he says, “We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“I know, I just…” You frown while looking at him, trying to figure out exactly what steps to take next. “I don’t know what to do now…” Geto’s face relaxes and a smile replaces his concern causing you to chastise him, “Don’t smile, it’s not funny!”

“No,” he agrees, “But it is a little cute.”

“Whatever, can we just kiss now?”

“Desperate?” He asks teasingly.

You deny it, “I just want you to stop talking.”

“Sure.” It’s all dragged out and has a teasing lilt to it. Damn him and his need to have the last word. You don’t reply to that and instead try to shuffle off him, thinking sitting like this would be awkward. His hold becomes firmer on you, “What are you doing?”

You’re confused. “Isn’t this position weird?”

“Makes it easier,” is all he says in reply.

Being sat between his spread legs, your own draping over one of them while he holds you doesn’t seem ideal. To you, this couldn’t be a more awkward position to be in for this. Instead of telling him that though, you settle back. “Alright…”

When you look back up at him properly, he’s already looking at you. There’s a funny feeling that runs through you at the look in his eyes. The hand on your thigh moves to your face again, cradling you as he leans in. Murmuring a soft, “I’m gonna kiss you now, okay?”

Just as he’s about to move all the way in, your hand covers his mouth. “Wait.” You stop him, your nerves getting the better of you. “What if… what if you don’t like kissing me?” He looks a little frustrated, so you pull your hand away, giving him a chance to speak.

“Do you want me to like kissing you?”

You feel flustered by his question, “Why do you always answer my questions with a question?”

“Because your questions are interesting…” he pauses, “…And also, I like teasing you.”

“If you answer my question, I’ll answer yours.”

“Fine,” he indulges you, “I’m not gonna dislike kissing you so your question is dumb.”

“But you can’t know—”

He tuts you, interrupting what you were saying, “—You gotta answer my question now.”

You groan at him, “Well… yeah.”

“‘Yeah’ what?”

He’s such a smug bastard. “Yeah! Yeah, I want you to like kissing me, Suguru.”

You’re huffy but he seems so pleased by your response. A serene and happy look on his face despite the tone you used. You find yourself waiting for him to say something more, something to tease you further but he doesn’t. He simply leans in again, taking you by surprise when his lips are softly pressing to yours. It’s short and sweet, more akin to a peck than anything else. Continuing to plant gentle kisses to your lips until you return them and then he lets them linger.

The feelings that run through you have you all tingly and hot, kissing your best friend for practice probably shouldn’t feel this good… right? You still don’t know what you’re doing though, more just letting him kiss you than anything. When you part again, you murmur, “Suguru, I still don’t know what I’m meant to be doing.”

“Just follow my lead.” His eyes stay on your lips, now shiny from the shared kisses. “That’s all you gotta do.”

“But—”

His eyes roll when you go to argue more. “—Stop thinking so hard about it and let me kiss you.”

You can’t help but squirm slightly at that. “Okay.”

Satisfaction rolls off him in waves but thankfully for you he doesn’t comment any further, choosing to kiss you again. Instinctually, your hand reaches for his chest and grips onto his shirt, you need something to ground you.

Geto is taking this slow, he’s trying his best to be patient to savour this moment with you. He doesn’t want to push you too far too soon and have you stop whatever this is. If he were more sure of himself and where he stands with you, he’d have just asked you out like a sane person but he’s not sure and he didn’t want to pass on this opportunity.

He can feel this becoming something he covets, your soft lips on his, uncertain in your movements but so ready to be kissed by him. His heart pulls with a kind of possessiveness that’s not completely unfamiliar to him regarding you. The desire to not want anyone else to ever have this side of you overwhelming him.

It’s addictive, his kisses, his hold on you… him. You can feel yourself falling into him more, the longer you do this dance. You want more, you want him to kiss you more, but you have no idea how to ask for that. Following his lead is good, it’s helpful but it’s starting to feel like he’s depriving you.

Pulling back, you force yourself to voice, “I want more…”

“Do you know what you’re asking for?” He sounds strained.

“You said you would teach me,” you remind. “So, teach me.”

His thumb presses into your jaw, “Open your mouth more then.”

Doing as he asks; he angles you just slightly before pressing his mouth to yours. The kiss fuller, his tongue licking into your mouth. It has a shiver running down your spine, the sensation new and mind numbing. It’s messier than before and so much more dizzying, you can’t even really keep up with his movements. Just letting him kiss you to his hearts content, feeling yourself getting drunk on his lips in the process.

You can’t even be sure if you’re doing this right, but it doesn’t really feel like it matters, not when you’re this lost in it. Lips gliding against his, a small involuntary sound pulling from your chest at how he grips you tighter. Feeling like he gets impossibly closer, his kisses growing desperate the moment you whine into him.

Geto’s restraint is wearing thin, his desire for you growing tenfold at how you moan for him. He wants to touch you so much more, to put his hands on every part of you. The fear of ruining this moment keeps his hands planted firmly to your hip and cheek though and it’s killing him to not touch you more, more, more.

When you tentatively lick against his tongue he almost all but folds in that single moment, he feels so pathetically weak for you. So unsure of yourself and still trying to kiss him just as deeply as he is you. A guttural groan leaves him, a sound he’d be almost ashamed of if he didn’t notice the way you squirm at it.

You pull back from him, and he can’t help but chase your lips, he doesn’t want to stop. An amused breath leaves you. “Hold on.”

He doesn’t understand what you need a moment for until you’re pulling his hands from you and moving to straddle him.  Your thighs resting beside him, he feels dizzy with need. The need to touch you, to undress you. To have you naked and straddling his lap just like this could make his whole year. His hands are on your hips, tugging you up his lap just slightly further, encouraging.

Going to sit on him, you notice his erection and gasp. Heat rising to your face, suddenly so conscious of how heated this exchange has gotten. “Maybe we should stop…”

It’s almost like it hurts him to hear those words. “Do you want to stop?”

You wish you weren’t so certain, so quick to immediately know that. “… No, I don’t.”

“That’s good…” he smiles, “Cause I’m not done teaching yet.”

And then you’re kissing again, wet and sloppy. He’s holding back less, depraved in how he sucks your tongue into his mouth, bolder now. Revelling in every twitch you make against him, every mumbled whine you let out.

Mindlessly, your hips lightly roll downwards, and his resulting grip holds you so still against him. A debauched moan leaving him at your unexpected movements, parting his mouth from yours with it. Geto’s head tucks into your chest, controlling his breathing, like he might snap at any moment.

You feel a little frantic, like you might’ve hurt him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“—Don’t– fuck– don’t apologise.” He can feel how warm you are through your pants and it’s making him feel feral.

Your fingers run through his hair, to comfort him. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Hurt me?” He huffs an unamused sound. “The only thing hurting me is how badly I wanna stuff you full.”

“Sugu—”

“—I know you can feel just how hard I am.” He pulls his head back to look at you, eyes blown wide and dark. “I’m practically aching for you.”

Your heart stutters in your chest. “Suguru… are you some kind of closeted perv?”

The question makes him laugh. “Wanna find out?”

“You were only supposed to teach me how to kiss…”

“Mhm, and you’re doing great.” His nose traces along your neck, inhaling you. “I still have so much more knowledge to give though.”

“Don’t be so– hah!” He licks at your skin before latching his mouth to the side of your throat, the pressure making you fidget in his lap. You feel so sensitive, so much more than what you thought you would.

When Geto pulls back from the mark he’s made, he blows softly on it, enjoying the way you shudder on top of him. “‘Don’t be so’ what?”

That’s right, you were going to say something. He looks really nice right now though… eyes lidded and cheeks just slightly pink, lips slick. What were you going to say to him? His grin only grows, taking satisfaction in your glazed eyes and struggle to think. Averting your gaze, you try to remember what you wanted to say. The break in eye contact is short lived since he grabs your chin and pulls you back.

“Come on, pretty, what were you gonna say?”

The effect he’s having on you is becoming too much. “I was gonna tell you to not be so depraved!”

“Hmm…” His head quirks at you. “You seem to like it though?”

How presumptuous of him, “You can’t know that!”

“You know… the human body is really interesting, for example…” He looks down to where you’re sitting over his prominent erection. “You’re so incredibly hot against me that I feel like I’m going insane.” Smiling back up at you evilly. “Just how wet are you?”

The possibility of fainting is very real all of a sudden, his question has you hot everywhere. “I jus– I just told you to not be so depraved.”

“Yeah, and I ignored you,” he deadpans, ignoring your indignant sounds. “Do you want me to stop?”

Again, you hate how badly you don’t want to stop. Right now, you think you’d let him do just about whatever he wanted to you. “Promise not to tease me later?”

“You know I can’t promise that.”

You pout back at him, “Then I’m not gonna say what I was thinking.”

His curiosity is sufficiently piqued. “Fine, I promise to try not to tease you later.”

“That’s not good enough.”

He tries again. “I promise.” You both stay looking at one another for a moment before he adds, “That’s as good as you’re getting.” And you know it to be true.

How to say this without embarrassing yourself. “You can… you can touch me… however you want, Suguru…”

He feels like he’s gone into shock. “What?”

“Did you not hear me?”

“No… I heard you.” He can’t help the way his cock jumps in excitement. “I’m just double checking I heard you right.” He leans in to taunt, “You’re gonna let me touch you however I want?”

“You said you had more knowledge to share.” It’s a dangerous game that you’re both playing.

He breathes out, “And if I wanna touch you in a depraved manner?”

So certain in yourself when you reply, “I want to be touched in a depraved manner… by you.”

Ah, so you’re trying to kill him, is the conclusion that Geto has come to. A breathless laugh leaves him, “For practice?”

“Sure,” you give him the answer you think he wants, in reality you just desperately want to be touched by him. You don’t think you’ve ever been this turned on in your life and it’s all his fault.

An entertained sound leaves him, “Hah– Don’t know if I believe your answer there…” His hands are on your hips, slowly dragging you over his dick. Biting his lip at the feeling, cock jumping when your breath stutters.

“Wait– wait,” your hands hold onto his and he stops moving you. Realising now that he might’ve gotten carried away, that he should’ve double checked again.

When you get off his lap and onto shaky legs Geto feels his heart drop, only for it to suddenly pick up speed when you’re shuffling your pants down and off. Crawling back onto him in your panties, he—shamefully—has to put so much focus into keeping calm, so worked up he could cum from this alone.

“Yeah…” you murmur back at him, placing yourself right over his erection again. Gasping at how hard he is, at how much more you can feel even through the layers left on, “I lied just now.”

He wants to ask more; he wants to know what you lied about but if he thought you were hot before then he’s melting now. You’re sitting on his dick in the cutest little panties, already so drenched from making out with him that the affection he feels for you fills up his chest. He’s way too distracted right now to ask what he wants.

“Be honest.” It feels like a chore to rip his gaze away from your pussy. “Are you trying to kill me?”

Geto’s eyes are all glassy and blown, cheeks flushed as he implores you, like he’s worried you’re legitimately trying to kill him. He’s making you feel shy. “It’s your fault I’m acting like this.”

That has him feeling a little prideful. “Is that so?”

“Mhm,” you confirm.

“In that case.” He’s slowly dragging your heated core over his erection again. “Should I fix it?”

You nod your head at him. “…Yeah”

The shivers that run through you make you gasp, the drag over Geto’s dick feeling so much better without your pants on. And yet you can’t help but feel so greedy, a kind of need in your bones that you’ve not experienced before.

He takes his hands away from your hips and you stop moving, whining pathetically at him, “Why—”

“—Keep doing it yourself,” he encourages.

“But—”

“Just do it how it feels good, use me for a bit,” he grins, “I wanna watch you pleasure yourself on me.”

“You really are a perv,” you mutter back at him.

His retort is quick, “Say that to me when your pussy’s not drooling all over my pants.”

Your cunt jumps at his words. “Are you gonna be this crude the whole time?”

“I can be worse if you want?”

“I can’t stand you.”

“We both know that’s not true.” He looks pointedly down to where your cunt is pulsing hot against him. “Now do us both a favour and move,” he hisses out through clenched teeth, apparently nearing his limit.

“You’re so bossy.” You frown. “I’ve never…” You’re at a loss for how to phrase it.

“Dry humped someone before?” He finishes for you. “Though, with how wet you are—”

“Shh!” You cover his mouth with your palm. “Stop… talking about how wet I am.”

He pulls your hand away. “You know, I’m not surprised you’ve never—”

“—You don’t have to say it again,” you cut him off.

He rolls his eyes. “You hadn’t even made out with someone; I’m just saying that I didn’t ask you to use me without knowing.” He holds the side of your face gently, “Stop worrying about it so much, I know already… that you’re a huge virgin.”

His gentle touch greatly contrasts his teasing words. He’s so evil to you. “This is why I say you’re not nice.”

“Do you want me to be nice? To tell you how pretty you are and how good of a job you’re doing?” The reaction you have is almost visceral, skin heating and looking away from him. Even more embarrassed when he chuckles at you. “Got a bit of a praise kink, hmm?”

“You’re making this difficult for me.”

“You should’ve just done what I asked then.” He shrugs easily.

If you thought holding out would punish him more than you, then maybe you’d just get off him and go home to get yourself off, but you want him to make you feel good. So instead, you’ll just give in and hope he shows you mercy. Though, by how this is going, he doesn’t seem to be the type.

Experimentally, you roll your hips down into Geto and he huffs out a breath like he wasn’t expecting it. Your hands move to his shoulders for purchase, using the leverage you have there to grind down into him harder.

He holds onto your waist. Not moving you, just resting his hands there. “Oh fuck– no– hah– no warning?”

You shake your head at him, brows pinched as you focus on seeking your own pleasure. “You– hnn– wanted me to– hah– to do as you asked.”

His head falls back slightly at the pleasure, a lazy smile on his face. “That’s true.”

The longer you do this, the slicker his pants get, you’re so unbelievably wet that it’s coating the material obscenely. Geto is in awe of it, eyes fixed on where you’re rutting down into him. Busy marvelling at the damp spot on his pants, at how drenched your panties are. So soaked that they’re practically a second skin, leaving nothing to the imagination with how it’s sticking to you.

He holds you still suddenly and the whine you let out is endearing. “Wait for a second,” he huffs.

Moving his hands to his belt to undo it, shuffling his pants down his legs. You lean up on your knees for a moment for him to drop them to his feet but before you can sit back down, his hand is holding you there. He runs the fingers of his other hand through your covered folds, a groan coming from the back of Geto’s throat.

“Seriously, you’re so fucking wet,” he reminds you.

“Sorry…”

He almost chokes, “‘Sorry?’” His fingers draw up to your clit, pressing into it. “Don’t be fucking sorry… I’m nearly salivating because of how drenched you are.”

That catches you off guard. “Sugu—”

He doesn’t let you speak. “—This wet because of me? It’s my fault you said?”

You bite your lip, his fingers circling your clit deliciously. “Mhm.”

His eyes brighten. “Perfect. Aren’t you just perfect for me?”

Your legs start shaking and he lets you drop back to his lap, one less layer between the two of you now. He’s so warm and hard and if you weren’t straddling him, you’d be clenching your thighs together for relief.  

“You are doing such a good job for me,” he whispers low against your ear, “Having the most perfect reactions.”

You whine at his praise. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

“Yeah.” He licks against your ear. “But that doesn’t make it any less true.”

His size is honestly daunting, large and thick as you sit on it, throbbing underneath you. “Suguru?”

He noses at your cheekbone. “Mmm?”

“I’m worried…”

“About?”

“What if you don’t fit…” you look down to his lap, “I just mean, you feel…big.”

“I don’t have to put it in you,” he comforts but he can’t help the way he twitches at your genuine concern over taking him.

“But you want to?”

“What sort of a question is that?” He holds you down while he grinds up into you. “Does it feel like I want to?”

“I was jus– ah!– I was just checking,” you sulk back.

Your mind melts, getting away from you. He’s rutting up into you in a way that has you shaking and your breaths stuttering. On edge for so long while sat in his lap, you want to meet his grind. You want to move your hips into him, but his grip is firm and steady.

It’s honestly a little pitiful how quickly he’s building you up, your insides clenching with the pleasure. The drag back and forth on his clothed cock driving you slowly to insanity. His boxers almost as ruined as your panties, your slick coating his covered dick. The glide much smoother than what you’d expect. It’s like you can feel him throbbing for you and it makes you want to fully take him even more.

Your own thoughts riling you up, the idea of him sitting so heavily inside you makes you huff out a whine. A sound that Geto relishes in, in fact, he’s relishing in all of this. You’re so malleable to his will, he thinks in this state, you’d let him do whatever he pleases. The thought alone nearly has his eyes rolling.

He needs you to cum like this, he needs to see it. How you shake and writhe on top of him, the expression you make. He wants to make you cum in so many different ways, just to see how your expressions might differ each time.

It’s relentless, how he humps up into you, how he pulls you down into him. Your clit catching on the tip of his dick making you jump each time, shocks of pleasure running through you. You never thought something like this would feel so damn good.

Fingers grappling at the material of his shirt, pleasure wracking your body as he draws you closer and closer. “Stop– ah!– if you keep going I’ll– hnn—”

“—So soon?” he hums, “I don’t know if– hah– I believe you… you’re gonna have to prove it,” leering back at you.

His eyes on you feel so consuming, calm and watching but so hungry that it’s driving you to the edge. It feels like you’re melting, so warm and unbelievably close. Body twitching on top of him with your impending orgasm. You don’t even get to try and warn him again, sounds you’ve never heard yourself make falling from your mouth before you can think to stop them. Trembling with the force of your orgasm, feeling completely weak as you slump into him, eyes wet and bleary.

Geto feels like he’s vibrating, watching you come undone on top of him making him feel too much all at once. His arms wrap around you and hold you close, hands smoothing up and down your back. Lips close to your ear when he speaks, “You know… you make some really cute noises when you cum.”

Lazily, you look up at him through your lashes. Feeling a stupid kind of pleasure running through your body, still jolting slightly with the come down. “Stop trying to embarrass me.”

“I’m only being honest,” his hands slip under your shirt, groping your waist. “You getting embarrassed is just a bonus.”

“Have you always been this sadistic?”

He leans in and presses a kiss to the side of your mouth. “Who knows?” He smiles.

Turning, you catch his mouth with yours. Kissing him properly, hands tickling the back of his neck as you try to kiss him like he did you earlier. His hands on your waist grip you, lips imploring. So needy in how he returns your kiss, all but whining when you part. A string of saliva connects your mouths, and he wipes your lower lip with his thumb, pressing it to your lips like he might push it inside.

Eyes lost as he dances his digit over your plush lips. “You’re beautiful,” is all he says, gazing at you with so much affection.

Opening your mouth, you gently take his thumb between your teeth. Biting so very lightly before flicking your tongue over the tip of it. Geto looks like he blushes at the action, pulling his hand back.

“Seems as though I’m not the only tease,” he accuses.

You mutter at him, “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His compliment had made you feel so soft and tingly that you didn’t know what to say or how to react. It’s not like he’s never complimented you before, you just weren’t expecting him to call you beautiful so earnestly. Being given compliments by someone has never made your insides flutter as much as they did just now.

He hums at you, redirecting his attention. Pulling at the hem of your shirt to show what he wants; you lift your arms up so he can remove it from you properly. Feeling so bare on top of him but not really minding, still too blissed out on your orgasm to care.

Geto doesn’t waste any time, groping your tits in his large hands. Rolling your nipples experimentally and grinning wide at how you twitch and bite back moans at it. “My, you’re sensitive.”

Teeth digging into your lower lip to stop the pitiful noises he’s threatening to pull from you. “Try not to sound so pleased about that.” Your blood is still thumping through your ears, pleasure fresh in your bones.

“Would you rather I be upset?”

“I’d rather you not make– ah!—”

His wet mouth wrapping around your nipple has your words cutting off suddenly, back arching into him. Huffing out needy little breaths at how he flicks his tongue over your sensitive skin, dizzy from the heat he’s making you feel. Pulling back with an obscene pop, licking at you a final time while keeping eye contact before swapping to your neglected tit.

He’s playing with you, or he’s waiting for you to say you’re ready for more… no he’s definitely just playing with you. Taking his time leaving marks all over your tits, even biting some places. Neglecting himself in favour of teasing you to insanity, though it can’t be that painful for him considering how he’s enjoying this immensely.

Whining at him, “You– hah!– You’re gonna leave too many marks.” He ignores you in favour of making a new mark to the top of your breast. “Suguru!”

Threading your fingers through his hair, you pull him back with a tug. You’re frowning at him, but your eyes are so wet and dazed and you’re nearly completely naked on top of him. Covered in hickeys and his saliva, despite your pulled brows you look so euphoric.

Feigning ignorance, he simpers, “What’s wrong with that?” A finger trails over the marks he’s left, grazing a sensitive nipple in his journey. “You seemed to like it.”

Swallowing your pride, you tell him directly, “I want more.”

“You want to cum again?” He muses, “Greedy.”

Taking offence at his accurate guess, you add, “I want… you to as well.”

Geto ignores the thumping of his heart. “Take off your panties then.”

“But…”

A brow raises at you, “‘But’ what?”

You don’t really want to tell him about how shaky your legs are, somewhat concerned they’ll give out as soon as you try to stand. He really doesn’t need the ego boost right now. “Nothing.”

Moving off him so so carefully, you keep your hands on his shoulders as you stand between his spread legs. With the way your knees are wobbling and fingers gripping to him so harshly, it doesn’t take him long to figure out that you’ve not really got a great sense of balance right now. A smug smile gracing his lips when he sees you fight to figure out how you’re going to take off your panties with your hands on him.

“Something wrong?”

“No,” You quickly answer.

“Then take them off.” Using a finger to pull at the waistline of your underwear, only to let it snap back to you. At your continued struggle he adds, “Or do you want me to take them off for you?”

You look to him, eyes hopeful for mercy. “Please?”

“Sure,” his tone is polite but you’re not sure you’re that trusting of him.

Thankfully, his hands slide your panties delicately down your legs, brushing against your thighs. Though, he’s an opportunist and he uses this chance to grope lewdly at your thighs, pulling at your skin further and further up your legs. Humming low to himself at the slick coating your inner thighs, unable to help himself when he drags his fingers through your folds, touching your pussy directly.

“Fuck, alright—” He bites out, pulling you to his lap suddenly, “I’ve reached my limit.”

“Wait.” He stops his frantic movements and you pull at his shirt. “Take it off.”

He doesn’t even tease, just immediately does as you asked. Hastily tugging his shirt off, it’s dropped less than gracefully onto the floor. Your fingers dance along his shoulders, down his chest. You want to take it all in a bit more but he’s flopping onto his back and shucking his boxers down enough to pull his cock free.

The size of him almost has your eyes bulging, you wonder how he’s been so patient when he’s this hard and achy looking. Tip flushed deep pink and already smothered in his own leaky precum, your cunt throbs while looking at him. Caught between concern over his size and a desperate need to be full of him.

“You don’t have to take it but please just—” He grabs and moves you until you’re hovering over it, “Sit on it at least.”

Lowering yourself cautiously, you sit on him lightly. He can feel your heat so vividly now, and it makes him shiver, “I don’t need you to be gentle with me,” he snickers, “Split your pussy open on my dick.”

Geto doesn’t even give you the chance to do it yourself, hands tugging you down onto him with more force. A gasp ripping from you when he immediately starts dragging you back and forth on his whole length. Stifled groans leave him from under you, his chest vibrating under your palm.

“Sugu—”

“—Sorry.” His brows are knitted together. “I got– nnh– impatient.”

It’s so wet, slipping over him repeatedly, the head of his cock nudging your clit over every pass. Your teeth dig into your lower lip to fight the whines bubbling inside you but eventually you give up and just let yourself moan. He seems to like it anyways, cock jerking at the soft breaths and whimpers leaving you.

He’s on the brink of stupidity, you’re so soft and unbelievably warm and his tip keeps catching on your hole and it makes him shudder each time. Looking down, he watches the way you’re coating his cock in more of your slick, cock shiny with how wet you are. Lewd sounds of your pussy grinding over him fill the room and now he’s thinking about you creaming around him. He’s never wanted something so bad in his life.

“Sugu,” you call out to him, and he dopily pulls his eyes to yours, “Do you think I could just…” when his cockhead catches on your hole again, you press down. Not even taking him in any real way and yet still stretching slightly for it.

His grip hardens on you, holding you completely still. “There’s no ‘just’ anything.” He struggles to breathe out evenly. “Not with how tight you are.”

“I wanna feel full though.” You try wiggling down into him but he’s truly got you in a vice like hold.

His cock twitches as excitement rushes through him, “You asking me to take your virginity, pretty?”

Shy when you ask, “Would you?”

He’s not passing on the chance to pick on you a little bit. “How bad do you want it?”

He can feel the way your hole flutters when you think about his question, your answer seemingly downplaying how you feel, “Pretty bad.”

“Hmm…” He pretends to think about his answer.

You’re taking issue with his faux deep thought. “Sugu, stop acting like you’re not…”

“Go on,” he encourages, “‘Like I’m not’ what?”

“Like you’re not…” you look away from him, mumbling out, “Aching for it…”

“Oh? You aching for it?” The smile he’s wearing can be heard in his words.

He sounds way too gleeful over this and it’s ticking you off. “Nope,” you pop the ‘p’ as you lift yourself off him.

“Don’t be like that.” He sits up. “I’m not letting you go anywhere… not when I know you’re aching for my cock.”

“I did not say that.”

“That’s what I heard you say.” He shrugs.

Geto’s arms wrap around you only to throw you down onto the bed, gone from you for a second while he shoves his boxers off quickly. And then he’s crawling over you, hands tracing up your body, relishing in your reactions to him.

“You really are so sensitive,” he mutters, trailing a finger up your thigh and watching your skin break out in goosebumps.

He’s being so unbearable, the need you feel is so loud and he’s here taunting you. “You’re so frustrating.”

“You’re just a needy little thing,” he returns. “So desperate to be filled even though you’re not prepared in the slightest.”

“Then prepare me,” you whine back.

He finds this about you cute, your insatiable greed, your back and forth between shy and so horny that you’re getting pissy at him. “I should teach you some manners,” he grumbles.

You spread your legs for him obscenely, growing even more impatient. “Please, touch me,” you pull his hand towards your pussy, “please.”

If he ever gets the chance to touch you like this again, he’s going to torture you, because right now you’re playing so completely unfairly that he can’t even think to deny you. His brows pull up as he flushes, finding himself doing exactly what you wanted, fingers gliding through your folds.

The way you keen at his touch almost makes it worth it. “You don’t play fair,” he complains.

“Someone lead by– hah!– po– poor example, I guess,” you shudder when he slips a single finger inside you.

Geto groans at the snug heat of your cunt, closing his eyes to take a quick breath at just how you feel wrapped around his digit. The fear or cumming the minute he gets inside you is real; he’s going to have to develop an insane amount of self-restraint between then and now.

“You’re hilarious,” he leans down to whisper in your ear, “Now shhh…” He draws his finger back before fucking it back in, lewd wet sounds of your pussy filling the silence. “Hear that?” He keeps repeating his movements, taking immense joy in how you writhe under him. “I think… pretty things that are this wet and begging to get fucked… don’t get to mock me.”

Your fingers dig into his shoulders, eyes glassy when you look up at him. “Don’t– nnh– be sooo mean.”

“You haven’t seen me be mean.” He pulls his finger back just to stuff another inside you, grinning when you arch your back at it. “I’ve only been nice to you today.”

“Be nicer,” you sulk.

“Don’t wanna be,” he smiles graciously back at you.

The fingers he has in you scissor to spread you open, pleased hums leaving him at your responses. Your mouth drops open and legs shake, fighting to close but unable to with how he’s in-between them. He’s hitting all the perfect spots inside you, crooking his digits to rub against your inner walls in a way you’re never able to reach.

He’s getting you so close to cumming that you want to hide from him, somehow feeling so much more vulnerable like this than when you were sitting in his lap earlier. Slowly, he works you to the point of taking another of his fingers, fucked open on three of them now. Your toes curl and your thighs hoist themselves on either side of his waist. Hips grinding into his hand, meeting his movements.

Geto finds the frenzied and desperate grinds into his hand adorable, satisfied with just how much more greedy you get when you’re this turned on. He already knows you must be close, your sudden drive to fuck down onto his fingers a dead giveaway to him.

He adds his thumb, rubbing circles into your clit. You jerk at it, tits bouncing in a way that has him drooling. To be honest, if you weren’t practically begging to get dicked down earlier, he would’ve put his mouth on you. Maybe if he weren’t also desperate to put his cock in you, he’d do it anyways but for now, he’ll settle for fingerfucking you to insanity and then shoving you full of his dick.

Your voice comes out smaller than you want, “Sugu, I think—”

“—I know.” His eyes are excited, fully aware of how close you are.

He can feel the way you twitch and clench down on him, back arching off the bed. Speeding up his movements just to get you there that much quicker and when you’re about to cum all over his fingers… he pulls them from you. Leaving you without your orgasm but so high that he could blow on your clit and you might cum.

You whine at him, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. Expression dopey and angry, sexually frustrated from the cruel and unexpected edging he just put you through. “What the hell, Suguru?!”

His grin is wolfish, merciless expression painted over with faux pity. “I’m so sorry, pretty. Were you close?” A hand cradles your face, soothing you for something that is completely his fault.

“Why would you do that?” All he’s succeeded in is making you needier than before, squirming under him with no way to find relief.

His answer is simple, “Just to see how you’d react.”

“I shouldn’t have hung out with you today.”

“Don’t be like that.” He guides his dick to your cunt. “I’m ‘bout to treat you so good.”

“If you don’t let me cum, we’re not friends anymore,” you warn.

He snickers at how genuine you’re being. “Alright.”

“I mean it, Suguru.”

“I know you do.” He presses a kiss to your temple. “That’s why it’s a little tempting.”

You whine at him, “Can you stop being so cruel for a moment?”

He blinks at you, “What do I get if I do?”

“What do you want?”

“I want to be the first person you go on a date with.”

His request stumps you. “What? Why?”

He doesn’t answer you. “Those are my terms,” he says matter-of-factly.

“Okay! Fine, yes, whatever you want,” you nod at him.

He smiles and starts pushing into you, the stretch is a lot, and it aches more than his fingers. You’re trying to breathe through it, but it seems like he is too. His thumb is on your clit, trying to get you to relax for him. “St– stop– hah– fuck!– stop clenching so tight,” he hisses through his teeth.

“I can’t– nnh– help it.” Your nails dig into his skin.

His lashes flutter when he gets his tip inside you, groan leaving him. “Wh– when I s–say date I mean– hnnn– a real date. A ‘I take you out and then try kissing you at the end of it’ date.”

For some reason, that makes your insides twist and you squirm. “Wh– whatever you– nnh– want, Sugu.”

“Yeah? You’re gonna– hah– dress up and let me take you out for your first ever date?” His fingers grip at his blanket below.

Your eyes roll as he slips further inside you, babbling out, “If you– hnn– let me cum? I’ll date only you.”

Geto sputters at that, hips driving forwards on their own making you both moan. His upper body drops down to you, lips ghosting over your neck and cheek before taking yours in a sweet kiss. He knows you’re out of your mind horny and probably not even sure of what you just said but he’s going to live in this moment while he fucks you.

He’s kissing your breath away while he slowly fills you to the hilt, trying so hard to be careful with you. His lips successfully distract you from the ache you were feeling, melting into him as he licks at your tongue.

Parting from you only when he’s balls deep inside, head flopping to your shoulder as he moans. Struggling to keep it together, you’re wrapped so snug and hot around him, pulsing so tightly around his aching cock that he feels like he might cum at any second.

“Sugu?” When he hums, you continue, “Move please?”

You wiggle your hips into him but he’s quick to stop you with a firm hand. “If you don’t want this ending right now then you need to give me a moment.”

“Hmm, that’s awfully cute of you, Suguru,” you tease him.

“That’s bold.” He licks at the shell of your ear. “I’m going to ruin you.”

“More than you already have?”

He agrees, “So much more.”

It feels like an eternity before he’s finally dragging his hips back, that alone has your breath stuttering. He wants to set a punishing pace so bad; he wants to fuck you until you’re mad, but he starts slow. Thrusting back into you at a languid pace, still carefully opening you up on his fat dick. It’s your first time and as much as he loves torturing you, he also loves pleasing you.

You’re scrabbling for purchase at his leisurely pace anyways, not expecting the heavy drag of his cock to feel this mind numbing. He chuckles lowly at the way you’re already weak for him, though it’s completely his fault considering all he’s put you through up until now.

“I think you may be the awfully cute one,” he smirks at you.

Your insides tug at his tone, “You can– hnn– be quiet.”

Leaning up, he rests on his knees, pushing your leg back and up. He has a great view of you taking him like this, able to see all your reactions. “I can but your pussy really likes when I talk.”

He’s so smug and he gets to be too because he’s right, his lightly mocking tone and that polite smile he wears is a deadly combo that has your cunt seizing around him. “I like it– hah– better when you’re nice to me.”

“You’re taking me all so well, pretty,” he praises, “Pussy sucking me right back in, so greedily.”

Your eyes roll back at how he thrusts into you, new angle hitting deeper than before. “That’s not– hnn– being nice!”

“Really?” He watches the way your hole clenches and feels how much wetter you get around him. “‘Cause you seemed to like it a lot.”

You bite your lip as you look up at him, silently asking for him to fuck you.

He looks down his nose at you, “What are you asking for?”

Sulking, “I want you to– hah– move more.”

“You should’ve just said that then.” He crooks his head to the side at you.

The slow drag out is the same as always until he’s fucking himself back into you sharply, a gasped moan stumbling from you as your hands seek stability in the mattress below. Your whine is dragged out when he repeats it over and over, brows knitted together in your pleasure.

“That’s a nice reaction,” he comments smugly.

You only hum at him, too consumed by the feeling of him shoving his dick in and out over and over in such a relentless pace that you’re seeing stars. Either you’ve closed your eyes or they’ve rolled to the back of your head because you’re not seeing much of anything right now.

Your eyes are welling with tears, chest heaving with your breaths. The stretch in your leg increasing when Geto pushes down into you further, pushing back on your leg with it. He’s basically folded it over his shoulder; you had no idea you were capable of bending this much. You’re so dazed and fucked stupid when you look to him lazily, he looks so pretty like this. Hunched over you and driving his cock in and out of your tight heat, his hair hanging messily over his shoulders and face as his expression twists in bliss.

Reaching a hand up, you tuck a strand of his hair behind his ear. “You’re pretty.”

You say it so dopily that he wonders if you know what you’ve just said. “I’m fucking you to the point you’re cock drunk and you think I’m pretty?”

A shudder runs through you at his voice. “Mhm, and– ah!– you have– hnn– have a pretty voice.”

God help him, he’s about to cum from you calling him pretty. “St– hnn– stop talking.”

“Sugu, you feel so—”

He cuts you off with a hand over your mouth, he has a feeling that whatever you were about to say would have him cumming inside you. “You’re so cute but I need you to shut up before I cum.”

From behind his hand, you look ruined. Tears slipping from your eyes, he can feel the way you’re drooling against his skin. The only sounds in the room his grunts, your muffled moans and the slick squelching of you swallowing his cock.

You want to keep telling him how pretty he is and how good he’s making you feel but even without him hindering you, you feel as though you may be beyond words now. Brain not able to form very cohesive thoughts as of this moment let alone speak them. He has you feeling so full, his cock throbbing against your walls in a way that has your skin thrumming.

Geto’s eyes lock down on where he’s stuffing himself into your little cunt, he feels himself short circuiting at the sight. Pussy bulging around him, struggling to take him all, dick so shiny with your slick. White creamy ring at the base of himself, it’s messy and lewd and it has him feeling so unbelievably obsessed with your cunt.

Thinking distantly that he’s going to do his best to impress you on your date so he can have you again, next time he’s definitely licking your pussy. Debauched groans vibrate in his chest at the thought, he’s going to make this so unforgettable for you, he needs you to be as obsessed with him as he is you. He’s going to be so much worse after this, and he was already down pretty bad.

Your hand grabs at his wrist, trying to tug it away so you can speak. He pulls back out of curiosity. “I– hnn– I’m– ah!—” Giving up trying to warn him after a particular thrust has you crying out, there’s no real point in warning him anyways.

He grins at your inability to say anything meaningful. “I’ve gotcha, go ahead and cum for me.”

Of course he knew exactly what you were trying to say, how does he already know your body so perfectly. He leans down to you, impossibly close, just to kiss your cheek and say, “Come on, pretty, I wanna feel you squeeze me tight before I cum in you.”

Crude and obscene and effective because his words make you shudder as you suddenly cum around him. A little frantic in how you squirm under him, eyes rolling as your hips fight to fuck yourself onto his thrusts. Pitiful whimpers of his name leaving you repeatedly, the only really comprehensive thing you’re able to utter out.

Geto’s orgasm is immediately triggered by yours; he was hoping he’d get to play with you a little more but as soon as he felt the sinful way you gripped him while you came, he was done for. Your cunt pulsating around him milking him for all he’s worth, he’s cumming so much so deeply. His hips flush to yours as he only grinds into you to ride out both your highs.

He doesn’t think he’s ever cum that much in his life and he’s unsure if it’s because it’s you or because he held back for so long. His weight drops to you as he catches his breath, feeling spent and so drunk on your pussy that if he thought too hard about you, he’d get hard again.

Your hand taps lightly at his shoulder, words all garbled when you speak, “Sugu, too heavy.”

Shoving his arms under you, he rolls until you’re on top of him. Cock slipping from you in the process and it has you letting out a cute whine.

“It’s leaking out of me,” you warn him.

He groans, “Don’t say that.”

You rest your check to his collarbone. “Why not?”

“I’ll get turned on again.”

Rolling your eyes at him. “You’re an insatiable pervert.”

“You’re not much better.”

His hands tickle up your sides, repeating the motion over, it’s making you feel sleepy. “You’re still worse.”

He just hums at you, apparently not caring to argue back. “You gonna be okay to shower?”

“In a bit… and only if you carry me the whole time.”

He laughs at that, “Sure.”

You draw mindless patterns on his chest with your finger, “So… where are you taking me on my first date?”

α.⁠η. THIS IS A REPOST .. a repost from my old account @/lovelivision, if you feel like you've read it before, maybe you have !

thank you for reading !! fun fact : this was originally someone's drabble request on my old blog and i got carried away and it turned into this. if that anon see this.. i still think about you <3

‎꒰‎꒰. all works are the intellectual property of aliienangel .. do not plagiarise/translate/reupload/feed to ai ♡. 。

[notnormalthings-blog]

absolute masterpiece 🤭

[belimah]

Yakuza AU by Lilly

[nightshiftnotes]

❥ work can wait

satoru gojo x fem!reader

♡ summary: the alarm goes off at 6:47 a.m. satoru decides that’s everyone else’s problem.

♡ warnings: 18+ mdni • explicit sexual content • established relationship • oral (f!receiving) • multiple orgasms • piv sex • praise • possessive language • dirty talk • creampie • overstimulation • fluff • smut

♡ author’s note: apparently i wasn’t done writing clingy boyfriend gojo 😭 this technically takes place the morning after comfortable, but it can absolutely be read on its own. i hope y’all enjoy ♡

banner by @pixopix

The alarm goes off at 6:47 AM.

You groan, reaching blindly toward the nightstand, but before your fingers even get close, Satoru's arm locks around your waist like a vice.

"No," he mumbles into your neck.

"Satoru—"

"Nope. Not happening."

You try to wiggle free. His grip tightens, and suddenly you're being pulled back against his chest, his other arm coming up to trap you completely.

"I have to go to work—"

"Call in sick."

"I can't just—"

"Yes, you can." He's kissing your shoulder now, your neck, the spot behind your ear that makes you shiver. "Tell them you've got a fever. Tell them you're dying. Tell them Satoru Gojo is holding you hostage and won't let you leave."

"That last one is accurate."

"See? Honesty is important."

You laugh despite yourself, and he takes advantage of your momentary distraction to roll you onto your back, settling his weight on top of you. His hair is a disaster, sticking up in about fifteen different directions, and there are pillow creases on his cheek.

He looks perfect.

"Satoru, seriously—"

"Seriously," he interrupts, kissing your collarbone, "you should call in sick."

"And what about you? Don't you have to teach?"

He lifts his head, and the grin he gives you is absolutely insufferable.

"Baby," he says, "I'm Satoru Gojo."

"…So?"

"So I don't have to do anything I don't want to do."

You stare at him. "That's not how jobs work."

"It's how my job works."

"You're the worst."

"And yet." He kisses your jaw. "You love me anyway."

"Debatable right now."

"Liar." He's moving lower, kissing down your throat, your chest. "You're obsessed with me. Admit it."

"I'm not admitting anything until you let me turn off that alarm."

"Fine." He reaches over without looking, fumbling for your phone, and somehow manages to silence it. "There. Problem solved. Now stay in bed with me."

"Satoru—"

"Please?" He's looking up at you now, and his eyes are doing that thing—that stupid, unfair thing where they go all soft and earnest. "I just wanna spend the morning with you. Is that so bad?"

You sigh. "You're impossible."

"Is that a yes?"

"…I'll text my boss."

"Yes." He pumps his fist in victory, and you can't help but laugh.

"You're such a child."

"Your child," he corrects. "Besides, I already texted Yaga that I'm not coming in."

"You what?"

"Told him I had a personal emergency." He's grinning now, completely shameless. "Very serious. Life-threatening, even."

"Satoru—"

"What? It's true. If I don't spend the morning worshipping my girlfriend, I might actually die. Medical fact."

"That's not a medical fact."

"It is now." He's kissing your neck again, and his hands are sliding up your sides. "Besides, those first-years can handle basic curse theory without me for one day. And if they can't, I'll just teleport one of them into the Pacific Ocean next week. Builds character."

You snort. "You're not going to teleport a student into the ocean."

"You're right. Too much paperwork." He grins against your skin. "I'll just make them run laps until they puke. Much simpler."

"You're terrible." You swat at his shoulder, but you're laughing.

"And you love me." His hands are still on your waist, thumbs stroking your sides through your shirt. "Now text your boss so I can have you all to myself."

You grab your phone, squinting at the screen. "What am I even supposed to say?"

"Tell them you're sick."

"I'm not sick."

"You're lovesick. Counts."

You snort. "That's the worst thing you've ever said."

"Objectively untrue. Remember when I told Megumi that—"

"I'm texting." You type out a quick message about not feeling well, and the second you hit send, you try to roll away to put your phone back on the nightstand.

Satoru's arms lock around you immediately.

"Nope."

"I'm just putting my phone down—"

"Don't care. You're staying right here." He pulls you back against his chest, burying his face in your neck. "Mine now."

"Satoru—"

"Shh. Cuddling."

You laugh despite yourself, settling back against him. His arms are wrapped around you completely, one hand splayed across your stomach, the other coming up to play with your hair.

"You're being clingy."

"Mm-hmm." He's not even denying it. His fingers are running through your hair slowly, and you can feel him breathing against your neck. "Problem?"

"No," you admit. "Just… pointing it out."

"Good." He kisses your shoulder. "Because I'm not letting go."

You just lie there together for a little while. His hand keeps moving through your hair, occasionally trailing down to trace your jaw, your collarbone. It's comfortable. Warm. You're already half asleep again when he moves slightly behind you.

"Baby?"

"Mm?"

"Can you roll over? Wanna see your face."

You turn in his arms, and immediately his hand comes up to cup your cheek. His thumb strokes your cheekbone, and he's looking at you with that soft expression that makes your heart do stupid things.

"Hi, baby.” he says.

"Hi weirdo.”

"You're so pretty in the morning."

"I haven't even washed my face."

"Don't care." He leans in, kissing you softly. "Still pretty."

You kiss him back, slow and lazy, and his hand slides from your cheek to the back of your neck, holding you close. It's not urgent, it’s just sweet and affectionate. His other hand is on your hip, his thumb rubbing small circles through your shirt.

When he pulls back, he's smiling. "Love you."

"Love you too."

"Say it again."

"I love you, you absolute menace."

He grins. "Perfect." Then he's kissing you again, a little deeper this time, and you feel his hand slide up your side.

"Satoru—"

"What?" He's kissing your jaw now, your neck. "I'm just kissing you."

"Your hand is—"

"Also just existing." But his thumb is brushing the underside of your breast now, and you can feel him smiling against your neck.

"You're ridiculous."

"You love it."

"Debatable."

He pulls back to look at you, and there's something almost vulnerable in his expression. "Stay in bed with me? Please?"

"We already texted work—"

"I know, but—" He's playing with the hem of your shirt now, fingers slipping just barely underneath to touch your skin. "I just… I really want you right now. Like, really want you."

"I can tell."

"Can you?" He presses his hips forward slightly, and yeah. You can definitely tell. "Because I'm trying to be patient, but you're making it very difficult."

"I'm not doing anything."

"You're existing. That's enough." He's kissing your collarbone now, and his hand slides higher under your shirt. "You're so soft. How are you so soft?"

"Satoru—"

"And you smell good. Why do you smell so good?" He's practically whining now. "It's not fair."

You can't help but laugh. "Are you seriously complaining about me smelling good?"

"Yes. It's distracting." He bites down gently on your shoulder. "Everything about you is distracting. It's a problem."

"Sounds like a you problem."

"It is a me problem." He lifts his head to look at you, and his hair is even more disheveled than before. "I'm obsessed with you. It's embarrassing."

"Is it?"

"Little bit, yeah." He grins, his thumb brushing your side. "Do you have any idea how ridiculous this is?"

"What?"

"You bring the Satoru Gojo down to his knees."

You blink up at him. “…That's an incredibly narcissistic way to phrase that."

"It is." He nods solemnly. "Also true. Very impressive feat."

You're laughing now, and he takes the opportunity to kiss you again, his hand sliding higher. "But I'm okay with it."

You're about to respond when he kisses you again and it’s deeper this time, and more insistent. His hand finally reaches your breast, cupping it through your shirt, and you gasp into his mouth.

"Fuck," he breathes. "Can I—can I take this off?"

"My shirt?"

"Yeah." He's already tugging at it. "Please?"

"You're so needy."

"I know." He's not even ashamed. "I'm very needy. For you. Always."

You lift your arms, and he pulls your shirt off slowly, his eyes tracking every inch of your newly revealed skin. When he finally gets it over your head, he just stares.

"What?"

"Nothing. Just—" He shakes his head. "You're so fucking beautiful."

"You've said that."

"I'll say it again." His hands are on your ribs now, thumbs stroking your skin. "And again. And again."

"Satoru—"

"I'm serious." He leans down, kissing between your breasts. "I wake up every morning and you're here, and I still can't believe it sometimes."

Your heart flutters. "You're being sappy."

"I'm being honest." He looks up at you, and his face looks so soft and sweet. "Can't help it." He's kissing your breast now, tongue circling your nipple. "You make me sappy."

"Mm—that's—"

"Good?" His hand finds your other breast, his thumb and index finger rolling your nipple. "You like that?"

"Yes—"

"Good." He switches sides, giving your other breast the same attention. "Love the sounds you make. Could listen to them all day."

His hand slides down your stomach, fingers playing with the waistband of your underwear, and you feel him smile against your skin.

"These should come off too."

"Should they?"

"Definitely." He hooks his fingers into the fabric. "Can I?"

"So polite all of a sudden."

"I'm always polite." He's kissing down your stomach now. "I'm a gentleman."

"You're really not."

"Rude." But he's grinning, and he's sliding your underwear down slowly, kissing every inch of skin as it's revealed. "I'm extremely gentlemanly."

"You held me hostage five minutes ago."

"See? Gentleman." He's at your hip bones now, and he bites down gently. "A respectful gentleman."

You're laughing again now, and he looks up at you with that insufferable smirk.

"What's so funny?"

"You. You're ridiculous."

"And you love me."

"Unfortunately."

"Unfortunately?" He bites your inner thigh, making you jump. "Take it back."

"Make me."

His eyes flash. "Oh, I will." His hands are on your thighs now, spreading them apart. "I'm gonna make you take back every mean thing you've ever said to me."

"That'll take a while."

"Good thing we have all morning." He settles between your legs, and his breath is warm against your skin. "You're awfully mouthy for someone who called me a gentleman."

"I'm not being—oh—"

He's kissing your inner thigh, slowly and deliberately, and his hands are gripping your legs possessively.

"What was that?" He grins up at you. "Couldn't hear you."

"I hate you."

"No, you don't." He's moving higher now, and you can feel your breath catching. "You love me." He kisses your inner thigh. "That's what matters."

He kisses your other thigh. "Now let me show you how much I love you."

Then his mouth is on you, and any coherent thought becomes impossible.

He takes his time, with long, deliberate strokes of his tongue that make your toes curl. His hands grip your thighs, holding you open, and when you try to close them on instinct, he just pushes them wider.

"Uh-uh," he murmurs against you. "Stay open for me. Wanna see all of you."

"Fuck—"

"That's it." His tongue circles your clit, and you gasp. "Let me hear you."

"Ahh—Satoru—“

His tongue flattens against you, drags up slowly, then flicks at your clit. Your hips buck up. He keeps doing the same motion, but faster this time, and your fingers twist in the sheets.

"Satoru—oh god—"

"You taste so fucking good," he groans, and the vibration makes you whimper. "Could do this all day… Might actually do this all day."

"Please—"

"Please what?" He lifts his head just enough to look at you, and his mouth is wet, his eyes are dark. "Tell me what you need."

"More—I need—"

"I know what you need." He slides two fingers inside you, and curls them up, reaching that spot that makes your legs tingle, and your back arches off the bed. "This?"

"Yes—"

His mouth is back on your clit. His fingers pump in and out, curling on every thrust. You can't think. You can barely breathe.

"That's it," he murmurs. "Come for me, baby. I wanna feel it."

His fingers curl harder. His tongue flicks faster. You start closing your thighs around him, but he holds them open. Your breathing gets ragged, desperate—

Heat floods through you. You cry out his name, your hands tangling in his hair.

He doesn't stop.

His fingers keep moving, gentler now, and his tongue has gone soft but it's still there, still circling, lapping at your entrance. You're shaking, gasping, and you think he's going to pull away.

He doesn't.

"Satoru—wait—I just—"

"I know." He looks up at you. His pupils are dilated, almost completely covering the blue. "Gonna make you come again."

"I can't—"

"Oh, you can." He adds a third finger, stretching you. "You're gonna come on my tongue again, and then I'm gonna fuck you until you can't remember your own name."

"Fuck—"

His mouth is back on you, and this time he's not gentle. He's devouring you, his tongue working your clit while his fingers pump in and out. The sensitivity from your first orgasm makes everything sharper, and you're already climbing toward another one embarrassingly fast.

"That's it," he groans against you. "Feel how wet you are? All for me. You're so good, baby. You're unreal. You're actually gonna be the death of me one day."

His free hand slides up your body, finds your breast and squeezes.

You break.

Your second orgasm hits even harder than the first. You're crying out his name, your whole body shaking, and he's still not stopping.

"Satoru—please—"

He finally pulls back, pressing soft kisses to your inner thighs as you come down, trembling and gasping.

"Fuck," you breathe.

"Good?" He's grinning, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

"You're so smug."

"I have reason to be." He crawls back up your body, and you can taste yourself when he kisses you. "You're beautiful when you come. Did you know that?"

"You've mentioned it."

"I'll mention it again." His hand slides between your legs, fingers teasing. "And again. And again."

"Satoru—"

"I earned it." His hand slides down your side. "And I'm not done with you yet, baby."

"Of course you're not."

"What can I say?" He's positioning himself between your legs now, and you can feel how hard he is. "I'm obsessed with you. Can't help myself."

He lines himself up, and when he starts to push inside, you gasp. He's so big—you know this—but the stretch is always still so intense.

"Okay?" His voice is strained as he goes slowly, inch by inch.

"Give me a minute—"

He stops, buried halfway, and you can feel him shaking with the effort of holding back for you. "Okay, baby. Take your time."

You breathe through it, adjusting, and after a moment, you whisper, "Okay, you can move."

"Thank god," he groans, pushing all the way in until he's completely buried.

"Fuck, baby—" His voice cracks. "You feel so good."

He starts moving. Slow, controlled thrusts that make you gasp. Then he hooks one of your legs higher, pushing it up toward your chest, and suddenly he's hitting even deeper.

"Satoru—"

"There we go." He's watching your face. "Love watching you like this. So fucking beautiful."

"You're—ah—ridiculous—"

"Ridiculously in love with you, yeah." He thrusts harder, and you cry out. "That's it, baby. Let me hear you."

His rhythm picks up, each thrust deliberate and deep, and he's still watching your face like he's memorizing every expression.

"You always take me so well," he groans. "Like you were made for me, baby."

"Maybe I was—oh god—"

"Fuck, yes." His hand finds your other leg, pushing it up too. "Say that again."

"Ahh—Made for you—"

"That's right." His thrusts become harder, more desperate. "All mine, baby. Fuck."

He shifts his hips just slightly, hitting that perfect spot, and you come apart. You're screaming out broken attempts of his name, your whole body shivering uncontrollably.

"Fuck, baby—not yet—"

Before you can even process what's happening, he's pulling out and flipping you over. His hands grip your hips, pulling them up, and you feel him slide a pillow underneath.

"Ass up for me, baby."

You're still shaking from your orgasm, but you do what he asks. His hand slides down your spine slowly and possessively.

"Fuck, look at you." He squeezes your ass, and you hear him groan.

Then he's pushing back inside. The new angle makes you gasp. He's so deep like this, and when he starts moving, each thrust hits that sweet spot inside you. You swear you can feel him in your lungs.

"Satoru—oh god—"

"That's it, baby." His hands grip your hips tight enough to bruise. "So fucking good."

He sets a punishing rhythm. You can feel another orgasm building fast. The sensitivity from your last one makes everything feel like you might actually break apart, and when his hand slides around to your clit, you moan loudly into the mattress, almost screaming.

"You gonna come for me again?" His voice is rough and teasing now. "Can feel how close you are, baby. You're so fucking tight around me."

"Yes—please—"

His fingers circle your clit faster. You're right on the edge, so close—

You break.

You let out a silent scream, your whole body clenching around him. He groans, and it sounds almost pained. His thrusts slow down, getting deeper and more deliberate. He's not chasing anything anymore, he's just feeling the way you're squeezing him.

"Fuck, baby—" His voice breaks, desperate and raw. "You're so fucking tight. Jesus, you're actually gonna be the death of me."

His hips move slower now, almost grinding into you, and you can feel him shaking. He's breathing hard against your back, completely overwhelmed, and then his whole body goes almost rigid before he collapses on top of you, his weight pressing you into the mattress. His arms wrap around you, holding you close, his face buried in your neck.

"Fuck," he breathes, and he sounds completely undone. "I love you so much. Fuck—you wreck me, baby."

You both just stay like that for a few minutes, tangled together, breathing hard, his heart pounding against your back.

Then he moves, rolling onto his back next to you, pulling you with him so you're still close. His arm stays wrapped around you, and when you look at him, his eyes are soft and completely open.

You don't think. You just move, climbing into his lap and kissing him, slow and deep and full of all the love and need you feel for him. His hands immediately find your waist, holding you like you're the only thing that matters.

"Come here," he says, and it's almost pleading.

You're already straddling him, and when you sink down onto him, you both groan into each other's mouths.

"That's it, baby," he breathes against your lips. "Just like that. Fuck—"

You start to move, rolling your hips. His head falls back against the pillow. His eyes stay locked on you though, watching every movement.

"God, yes—" He grips your hips tighter. "You feel so fucking good. That's my girl."

"Satoru—"

"I know, baby. I know." He's guiding you faster now, helping you move. "You're doing so good. Taking me so perfectly."

Your thighs are burning, but you don't care. You can feel yourself getting close again.

"That's it," he groans, watching you. "Use me, baby. Please. Take what you need. You know I love it when you do."

"Fuck—Satoru—"

"I know. I can feel it." His hips start moving too, thrusting up to meet you, and the added force makes you cry out. "Come for me, baby. Wanna watch your beautiful face when you fall apart on me."

He's fucking up into you now, hard and fast, and his hand slides between your bodies to find your clit.

You shatter. You're letting out breathy and high pitched moans.

"Fuck, yes—" He's still moving, still thrusting up into you. "So fucking beautiful when you come. I could watch you like this forever, baby."

You're still shivering, still coming down, when you feel his stomach tighten under you.

"Baby—fuck—I'm gonna—"

"Come for me," you whisper. "Please, Satoru."

That's all it takes.

"Fuck—baby—I love you—fuck—" His words are broken and desperate. His hips snap up hard. "So good—you're *so good—*you're mine—"

He grips your hips so tightly it almost hurts, and you feel him pulse inside you as he comes, his whole body shuddering. His head falls forward, forehead pressing against your shoulder, and he's still murmuring against your skin. "Fuck—you're everything, baby—never letting you go—"

You're both breathing hard, shaking, and he's still buried deep inside you. His arms wrap around you, holding you tight against his chest, and you can feel his heart pounding.

"Fuck," he breathes.

"…Yeah." you breathe.

He laughs weakly, and when he lifts his head to look at you, his eyes are hazy and that breathtaking sky blue again. "That was—I don't even have words."

"Mhmm." you mumble.

He's kissing your face now—your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, your lips. "Seriously, what am I supposed to do with you?"

"Satoru—"

His hands are running over your skin, like he can't bear to stop touching you. " You're the only one that gets me like this."

"You're being sappy again."

He pulls you closer, tucking you against his chest. "Only for you, baby. Only ever for you."

"I love you too," you say softly.

He's quiet, just holding you, his fingers tracing patterns on your back for a while.

"We should probably shower," you murmur eventually.

"Later." His grip tightens. "Right now I just wanna hold you."

"Clingy."

"Yep." He doesn't even sound ashamed. "You're stuck with me now. Forever. Hope you're ready for that."

"I think I can handle 'the Satoru Gojo'" you say laughing.

"Good." He kisses the top of your head. "Because I'm never letting you go."

"Sounds like a threat."

"Mmm."

And you lie there in his arms, the morning sun streaming through the window, his hands still moving over your skin in gentle swirling patterns, and yeah— forever sounds pretty fucking good. 

[notnormalthings-blog]

absolutely amazing, I love soft and sweet Satoru

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

A Love Outlawed!

Masterlist HERE!

Pairing: Outlaw/Bad Boy!Geto x Good Girl!Reader

Synopsis: Geto Suguru is a name all in the county know. He’s a gun-singlin’, bad-mouthin’, robbin’ and stealin’, dirty-talkin’, horse-ridin’ outlaw. And you’re in love with every inch of that man. You’ve engaged in casual flirting and fucking for some time before you left home. But now that you’re back, Geto won’t stop until he makes his presence and feelings for you known at your aunt’s annual ball. If you want a man, look no further: Cowboy Geto will steal your heart the way you’ve stolen his! 

Warnings: 18+ (MDNI); No Curse/Modern AU; Criminal!Geto; Bad Boy x Good Girl Trope; Past Relationship; Heartbreak & Angsty; Ballroom Setting; Naoya Zenin Hate lmaooo; Seduction; Eye-Fucking; Past Sweethearts to Current Lovers; Public Sex; Garden Sex; Semi-Clothed; Pussy-Eating; Deepthroat; Dom!Geto x sub!Reader; Doggystyle; Standing Up; Cowgirl; Wearing Geto’s Cowboy Hat While You Ride It; Reader Cums 2x; Raw Creampie; Breeding; Love Confession; Choso x Yuki/Yuuji x Megumi Breadcrumbs 

Word Count: 13.2k

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you! 

Writer's Note: IT'S FINALLY HERE!!! I'm so so sooo glad I was able to drop this before July ends I was so scared I'd have to put off all my July fics for Augst-September cuz of class, but now that it's done (AND YOUR GIRL GOT HERSELF AN A), we're finally back to our regular smutty program 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ I hope y'all enjoy this one! Also the scene (spoiler alert) where Geto & Y/N are arguing is HIGHLY inspired by THAT SCENE in Sinners with MBJ & Haliee Steinfield. I just love stories with some tragedy & angst in em teehee -love, Jazz

Credits: Dividers made by @pixopix & @firefly-graphics!

You stare at yourself in the body-length mirror, admiring the woman staring back at you in the big, fluffy gown that resembles a big, pink cream puff.

You would actually laugh at the sight of it if your aunt wasn’t so serious and hellbent on the ridiculous gown. She stands behind you in her Southern finest with pearl jewelry and all, sizing you up while the sweet dresshop employee stares at you with a big grin. “Oh, look at you! Pink suits you quite well!” 

Your aunt side-eyes the employee, wiping the adoring smile right off of her face. “I’ll be the judge of that. Turn around, dear. Let me see you from all angles.” Begrudgingly, you do so, knowing that your aunt is not one to be argued with. You have to focus every brain cell on turning around in a full circle, feeling even more of a clown as you do it. 

“I can barely move, Auntie!” you protest, pouting as you stare at her in the store mirror. “This dress makes me feel like a sheep!” 

The older woman with the graying hair and gloved hands rolls her eyes before handing the employee another crisp bill to fetch more champagne. “Oh, quit your winin’! You said you wanted the finest dress for my ball tonight and I gave you just that! What’s the problem?” 

You scowl at her in the mirror, wiggling around in the dress, causing the ruffles at your feet to wish. “How am I supposed to dance? Or bend down? Or even go to the bathroom?!” Your aunt simply titters, waving a gloved hand. “You will be shown all you need to be later today. The ball isn’t until 8, but much has to be done and prepared.” 

She gives you a sharp look as she sits down in one of the lounge chairs set up in the adorable (yet expensive) dress boutique. Your aunt dragged you here over an hour ago and you’ve been here ever since trying on gown after gown for her annual July 4th ball. She throws it every summer for the holiday, inviting the entirety of high Southern society aka her people. 

Your aunt is the creme de la creme of the Southern elite, living as a third-time divorcee in her big ass house among her favorite willow trees, a fruit orchard, and cherished Dalmatian dogs that always give kisses when you see them. Though she has a big enough home to throw a party, she purchased an estate years ago that had long since been abandoned, renovated it with a brand new kitchen, a ballroom, and a garden, and has reserved it strictly for throwing extravagant parties.

That’s your auntie: a Southern belle and a seasoned bad bitch. In addition to a hopeless romantic. She reaches across to pinch your arm, earning a loud “Ow!” out of you when she notices your disapproving expression. “Drop that face. No self-respectin’, fine gentleman will give you the time of day with that look on your face…and I mean one fine gentleman in particular.” 

She dreamily sighs as she gazes over your gown, seeing you as a picture of Southern elegance. “Naoya will just adore you,” she sighs. “A picture-perfect man with a picture-perfect woman.” You roll your eyes, but only when she is busy with the employee bringing more champagne flutes at the mention of the “picture-perfect man” she speaks of.  

She has gone on and on about Naoya Zenin aka the young doctor that she has been trying to fix you up with all summer since you arrived back home. Your family is convinced that you need to start thinking about marriage despite just being in your mid-20s and straight out of an Ivy League. What you need to focus on is your career as a nurse and making your adult life in the city; not hitching a mate to carry on your rich family name.

However, due to the fact that you’re a certified people pleaser, an overeacher, and a very good girl, you agreed to your aunt’s suggestion of staying with her over the summer in your hometown and “matching you” to a wealthy Southern gent. Besides, how could you pass off a summer of lounging by your aunt’s pool, drinking plenty of delicious iced teas made by her maid, and enjoying a summer in your hometown?  

As if to bless you, the bell above the door rings, signaling the arrival of two people you’ve been waiting for. Your brothers barge into the boutique, sweaty from the summer heat in their cut-off shorts and tank tops. “Howdy, howdy!” Yuuji, your youngest brother, greets. “Anybody call for an emergency lunch situation?!” 

Choso, the oldest one out of the three of you, scowls at the dress you’re wearing as Yuuji snatches a paper bag from him. “What the hell is that?” he grumbles. Your auntie, already pissed at their interruption, glares at her nephew. “It’s her dress! Now tell her that she looks good or you’ll both get smacked.” 

Yuuji frowns disapprovingly at her while Choso silently sips on his soda. “That’s abuse, Auntie. I thought we talked about this.” But once your aunt sharpens her eyes, he switches his tune. “Wow, sis, you look so pretty in that dress! You’ll be the belle of the ball tonight!” 

“I hate you,” you mouth to him. Yuuji gives you an apologetic grin as your aunt smiles, pleased.  “Splendid! Now let me look for some nice shoes to match.” 

As she hurries off to check out the shoes across the room, you scurry over to your brothers in the dress, ignoring their struggle to not laugh. “Please tell me that’s for me.” You stare longingly at the paper bag of food, watching Choso smirk. “Mmm, I dunno. I like me some fried green tomatoes too.” 

You tsk, snatching the bag from him. “Gimme those. Auntie has been starvin’ me since we came here to buy dresses, but I don’t see any that I like!” Literally every dress surrounding you is too ruffled, too gaudy, or too stuffy. 

“Well, you know her,” Choso deadpans with a shrug. “She’s from a past generation where women didn’t show ass and ti—“ He hisses before he can continue because of the harsh smack to give his chest. “Ow!” he grunts. “Jeez, I was only tryin’ to help!” 

“The only help you’ve given me is buyin’ me lunch. This whole thing is makin’ me not even wanna go to the ball anymore.” You shove a hand into the bag and produce a fried green tomato, shuddering in joy as you bite into it. “It’s like she’s tryin’ to change me, guys,” you sigh, feeling downtrodden and low about the entire matchmaking business your aunt has cooked up for your summer. 

‘This wouldn’t have happened if you just said no,’ the critical voice in your head hisses. And here you are once again putting yourself down. For giving into your family’s expectations of you. And as usual, your brothers are there to stop your spiral. 

“Hey, hey, no, she’s not,” Yuuji soothes you, putting a hand on your shoulder. “Auntie’s always had a soft spot for ya, sis. I think she just wants to bag you a rich guy before the summer ends.” And she absolutely does. Which is why she is hellbent on making this thing with Naoya Zenin work. You know for a fact that he will be at the ball, so she is doing everything in her power to stop that. 

To lighten the mood, Yuuji makes a joke. “You could always try your luck with my buddies.” You giggle, shaking your head as you finish up your green tomato disk. “Thank you, but I’m spoken for. Plus, aren’t all your friends, like, seventeen?” 

Choso raises a pierced brow at you, alarmed. “Spoken for? By who? You got a secret boyfriend I don’t know ‘bout?” But Yuuji is there to be your savior, elbowing his big bro in the ribs. “You dummy! She’s talkin’ about that Naoya guy! Ya know, the one you think is a douchebag?” 

“Oh, him,” Choso replies in disdain, rolling his eyes at the mention of the doctor. You scowl in confusion, unaware of Choso’s strong feelings over Naoya. “Why? Naoya is very charmin’ and nice!” 

At least, so far, he has. You have only known Naoya for a month, but in that time, he has been quite a gentleman–holding the doors for you, walking you home after your dates, remaining respectful and charming. He is quite the catch…but still, you feel spoken for another. Even when it’s been so long since you’ve seen him. 

“For right now,” Choso scoffs. “The dude gives me the creeps.” Yuuji hollers with laughter, slurping down his blue slushie. “Everybody gives you the creeps, you emo. Even that cowboy that sis was–”

Choso harshly claps a hand over Yuuji’s mouth to shut him up, but the damage has been done. The bottle that was clamped closed years before when he left your bed with nothing but a letter and you left your hometown pops open. 

At least a smidge. Not all the way like before. You are different now, so you smile. “It’s fine, guys,” you giggle, but it sounds strained to you. “That’s all in the past, right? After all, I’m here to find a good dress for my ‘future husband’.” 

You turn away to pretend to look for a dress, not wanting them to see the truth in your eyes—the truth that you still love that cowboy despite his past and run-ins with the law. That you still think about him all these years later even when you shouldn’t. That you still wonder where he is, how he’s doing, who he’s with….

But all of that is in the past as it should be. It’s for the best anyway. Suguru wasn’t the right man for you. While sweet, considerate, patient, and kind, he was also a criminal. He robbed banks and trains. He jumped from place to place, dodging the law. In the end, he would only bring you trouble even when he promised to never have trouble come to your door. 

Suddenly, all of that is silenced when you catch the glimpse of the most beautiful cocktail dress you’ve ever seen. The most beautiful shade of ruby red; long with a thigh slit; strapless with a sweetheart neckline; a big bow in the back that gives the dress a sweet yet sexy aura. Your eyes widen at the dress, enchanted by it. “Look at this one! Oh, it’s so pretty!” 

You rush over to admire it, pinching the gorgeous satin fabric between your fingers. Like a ghost, your aunt appears beside you, disapproving as usual. “It’s so low is what it is. I’d practically see your breasts!” 

Your brothers begin to snicker together as you glare at your tipsy aunt. “Auntie!” you hiss. “But I’d be able to move around in it. Can I at least try it on pleeeease?” You look back at the dress, knowing how daring it is and loving it for that. This would definitely be the thing to break you out of the bubble your family has built around you. 

Your aunt caves and you rush to try on the dress in a try-on room. Now the woman staring back at you doesn’t resemble a Southern circus act, but a sophisticated, sexy woman with curves accentuated by the gorgeous dress she’s wearing. Your breasts are lifted in a manner that is both seductive yet classy, the giant bow behind you like the top of a cherry on an ice cream cone. 

When you come out of the try-on room, you smile, twirling for your aunt and brothers. “How do I look?” you giggle. Your aunt gives you a pinched frown, unhappy. “Like a damn harlot. Take it off at once.” 

You look at your brothers who nod approvingly at you, silently giving you the encouragement you need. “But I love it!” you protest, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’ll wear it with a shawl or somethin’ to cover myself, but please let me get it! I’ll pay for it!” 

Your aunt sizes you up, still looking irritated by such a disgrace of a gown. “It is a pretty dress,” Choso adds. I like the bow.” Your aunt shoots him a glare, irritated by his input. “I don’t recall askin’ you,” she hisses, but he barely even cracks, only smirking at her bite. 

Your aunt turns back to you and stands, slowly circling you as if you are on display in a store window. Finally, she huffs and gives in. “Fine, but don’t complain if Naoya is askin’ to wed you. Or if all the men there come flockin’. You’re lookin’ for a husband, not a fling.” 

You smile, grateful for your brothers’ encouragement and your own courage to speak up for what you want. You give your aunt a smile and flash her your wallet. “Don’t worry, Auntie. I am a lady, after all.” 

“That’s quite the dress, lil’ lady. Who tryna impress?” Yuki whispers. “You don’t have to do much to get me.” 

Choso snatches his girlfriend back by her waist, making her giggle. “Stop harassin’ my little sister, will ya, Yuki?” he huffs, sipping on his champagne, looking so uncomfortable in his suit. Meanwhile, Yuki looks damn near goddess-like in her purple dress and blonde updo. “Please. Least I know beauty when I see it.” 

 “Aww, thanks, Yuki! You’re too sweet.” You giggle, flushing shyly in your cocktail dress that has been turning heads since you entered. 

The ball is in full swing tonight, the ballroom touched top to bottom with guests dressed in their July 4th finest: all kinds of big hats, poofy dresses, and suits as far as the eye could see. Streamers, center pieces, snack tables, and trays of champagne are everywhere you can see along with a dance floor full of guests dancing to the live band playing. 

Your aunt went all out for this ball as did you. The dress was paired with an updo you did to pin your curls up over your head, stiletto heels, and a sinfully red lipstick that stopped everyone dead in their tracks. Combined with some gold jewelry, a spritz of French perfume, and some vanilla lotion on your skin, you feel like a million dollars standing among your aunt’s crowd. 

If only you felt up to the festivities tonight. You’ve been nursing the same champagne glass for over thirty minutes since your arrival, hoping for tonight to go by quickly and to not see Naoya’s face. 

Yuuji’s eyes roll over your dress, still shocked that his sister is actually in it. “I’m shocked Auntie even let you buy that. Ain’t she big on modesty?” You cluck your tongue, waving a hand glossy with red nails that you got freshly done for the festivities. “She still lives like we’re in ‘Gone With The Wind’. Besides, if I’m gonna find a suitor, why not dress the part?”

Megumi, Yuuji’s boyfriend and date for tonight, scowls at this, confused. “Sorry, what? You’re lookin’ for a suitor?” 

Yuuji chuckles, happy to fill his boyfriend in on your troubles, much to your dismay. “Our aunt is convinced that my sweet lil’ sister is in need of a husband to carry on the family name and supply extra wealth to our lineage…her words, not mine.”

Megumi looks disgusted by this while Yuki rolls her eyes, sipping her drink. “Well, you ain’t gonna find one here unless you like the blue collar and elite assholes,” she jokes. 

And like clockwork, your aunt fans a gloved hand at you in a wave from across the room. “Oh, Y/N, dear! Look who I just found!” You can tell she’s good and drunk by the way she practically grips Naoya’s arm, presenting him like he’s some prized hog to you. 

Naoya looks fresh to death in his suit, but his appearance and smile don’t make your stomach flip in excitement. It’s something else; something the champagne is making quite fuzzy. You turn to your crew with a sigh. “Duty calls, I guess. Catch y’all later tonight.” But as you strut away in your heels, Choso squeezes your wrist, coaxing you back over. “Come get me if she’s too much,” he whispers. 

You snigger, rolling your eyes shimmering in eyeshadow. “Auntie is always too much. But thanks, bro.” Choso doesn’t look convinced though; not even Yuuji, who worriedly looks over from afar. “And you’re sure you’re okay with all this? Lookin’ for a husband or whatever?” 

The truth is right at the tip of your tongue, but instead, you stamp it down with a rehearsed smile. “Why wouldn’t I be? A doctor or a politician is better than anythin’ else, right?” From the way Choso’s brows raise, you can tell he is picking up on the hidden meaning underneath your convincing words. 

Before he can say anything more though, you quickly strut away and gulp down the rest of your champagne for liquid courage. You know you’ll need it for the rest of tonight. Your aunt grins when you arrive, yanking you over by your arm and squeezing you tight. “There she is! Now isn’t she a crowned jewel?” 

Naoya gives his award-winning, cunning smile to you.  “Yes, indeed, miss. It’s lovely to see you again, Y/N…especially in this outfit.” His golden eyes drag over your form, making you feel like a slab of food. “Thank you, Naoya,” you manage to reply with a smile. “Glad you could make it.” 

The doctor laughs, waving a hand where a Rolex watch sits on his wrist. “And miss your aunt’s annual 4th of July ball and spendin’ quality time with her gorgeous niece? I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” 

God, he’s so quick-witted. So charming. So full of the right words to say. They make your aunt melt instead of you, opting for her to take another slurp of her Brandy Alexander. “Well, I’ll just leave you two alone.” She gives you a wink before she walks off to chat with more of her guests, leaving you alone with Naoya. 

You stand there rigidly, not sure what to do or what to say. You instantly feel stupid, hating that you can’t be as interested in Naoya as he is in you. “This surely is quite the dress,” he comments, eyes still locked on your gown. “Everybody else seems to think so too.” You give a small, shy chuckle, shrugging. “Oh, I doubt it.” 

Suddenly, the doctor reaches towards you and takes your mesh burgundy shawl that you’ve laced around your arms to place it over your shoulders instead. He is so close that you smell the overwhelming cologne wafting off of him, choking you. “Cover yourself. We have to save what is mine, won’t we?” 

His eyes glint with something sharp, but you can’t decipher it or question his words before someone is bumping into you from the side, nearly spilling wine on your shoes. “It’s getting quite rowdy in here,” Naoya huffs, irritated. “What do you say we take these drinks and head outside?” 

And what do you do? You say yes. Because how else are you going to bag a husband like your family wants? 

So you grab yourself another glass of champagne and travel out onto the veranda with Naoya. The large lawn, as wide as a football field, stretches before you with the dirt roads and a forest to your left and the gardens to your right. You consider both directions escape routes…just in case. Naoya stands beside you with his whiskey, head tiled up towards the starry sky. It is quiet with only the buzz of insects and the sounds of the party inside filling the space.

You’re not sure you want to talk. To be honest, you hope that your silence puts Naoya off; makes him less interested in pursuing you. But then he speaks: “A beautiful night, isn’t it?” he comments. So, of course, you’re obligated to speak back. “Yeah, it is. My aunt surely knows how to pick a night for a ball.”

He hums in agreement, his eyes sliding over to you. “And I certainly know how to pick my company,” he replies. “You truly are the most beautiful belle here.” Your skin tingles from his gaze on your dress, making you feel naked. “Thank you,” you whisper, a smile growing on your lips. You aren’t sure if it’s out of shyness or common courtesy. 

And then as quickly as your smile comes, it goes as soon as you feel Naoya’s hand in yours. He takes your champagne glass away and puts it on the edge of the veranda before he places a hand on your waist, fully turning you to face him. “Wait, Naoya–” 

“You know, I was thinking of taking a trip to admire the study later. Would you like to join me?” The question is so out of the left field that your brain, slow from the champagne, has trouble catching it. But the glint in his eye clues you in. “Isn’t the study upstairs?” you dumbly ask.

He just smirks, sharp and cunning, and suddenly, you don’t like Naoya anymore. The charming attitude and persona that he’s curated slips, leaving you uncomfortable. “Thank you for the offer, but I was going to tour the gardens.” It’s a great excuse and still keeps things respectful. However, Naoya pushes it. “Would you like some company?” he murmurs, his hand traveling to your waist. “That dress certainly looks like you do.” 

You blink at him, offended. “Excuse me?” you pointedly ask. “What does my dress have to do with you?” The doctor laughs, finding your offense funny to him. “I just meant it as a compliment! No need to take it so personal.” 

Slowly, you slip Naoya’s hand off of your waist, making his smirk slip from his face. “Personal?” you scoff. “Thanks, but I don’t think I’m the company you’re lookin’ for.” And now Naoya gets irritated, his jaw tightening and eyes darkening. “And why is that? Am I not good enough for you?” 

You take a step back, your body flush with discomfort. This isn’t at all how you thought tonight was going to go. “That’s not what I–” 

“Do you have any idea how much money I have?” he continues, his tone cutthroat and mean. “How many women would love to be in your spot right now? If I were you, I’d take advantage.” He walks upon you again while you turn to go back inside, but a deep, silky voice twinged with a Southern accent stops you both short. 

“‘Scuse me.” You both turn towards a rose bush standing proudly at your left where a six-foot something man stands. He is all broad muscle, even in his sexy cowboy attire of a black cowboy hat, a vest, and boots with spurs hanging from the sleeves. His long, black hair cascades down his back, each strand glistening in the moonlight like the pierces embedded in his ears, eyebrow, and bottom lip. 

He tips his hat up, greeting you both with a set of violet eyes and a smile that seems so familiar to you. However, his tattoos and masculine features stop you short. “Apologies for the intrusion, but any if y’all fine rich folk got a light? I’m afraid my lighter has given out on me.” He shows you his lighter between his black-painted fingernails. 

Naoya glares at the stranger, angered by his presence. “No, we don’t. Who are you?” The cowboy shrugs passively, still smiling. “Nobody important. Just a man who likes a good party.” He pauses, cocking his head. “Who are you?” 

The doctor’s face goes red with rage, turning fully towards the cowboy now. “I’m–” 

“Nevermind, it’s not important,” the cowboy replies. “I do know that you’re a guy who’s overstayed his welcome though.” His smile turns sharp; a challenge for Naoya. “You heard what she said and she said it rather nicely. So I think you need to get on and find some better company.” 

You stand there, eyes flicking between the cowboy and Naoya, waiting with bated breath for a fight. Naoya has gone completely rogue now, anger in his narrowed eyes. “And who are you to talk to me like that?” he scoffs. “I know the town sheriff personally! I could have you behind bars right now if you keep disrespectin’ me!” 

The cowboy continues to smile, unbothered and cocky, making your tummy twirl with curiosity and attraction. Before anyone can reply, you hear your aunt’s voice from inside hollering into a microphone: “Attention, all guests! May we please gather ‘round for a speech before the midnight fireworks?” 

The cowboy smiles at Naoya, tipping his hat at him. “Sounds like that’s your cue. Pleasure meetin’ ya.” Naoya looks like he wants to argue more, but instead, he roughly fixes his collar and storms inside, muttering about calling the cops on “that prick”. The door opens and slams shut, leaving you alone with the strangely familiar cowboy. 

You can’t explain it—it’s like a feeling you can’t name bubbling at your chest, rising within you like steam. What is it about this man? “I was handlin’ that myself,” you deadpan, placing your hands on his hips. 

The cowboy shrugs, lighting himself a cigarette. You watch, heart pounding, realizing that he lied just to get Naoya away from you. “I’m sure, but I wasn’t about to let a pretty lady fend off a creep by herself.” He hollows his cheeks as he inhales, blowing the smoke out through his nostrils. “You should probably head on inside. This place might be pretty, but it’s crawlin’ with wolves.” 

You raise a brow at him, wondering just where this man came from. “Thanks for your concern, but I can handle myself. I’m not a little girl.” The cowboy chuckles, putting his hands up in defense. “Didn’t say all that. I’m sure you can, but I also know hoedowns like this one can go from right to wrong in about five bottles of champagne.” 

You stifle a giggle, closing your shawl around yourself tighter. You should go back inside, but you don’t. Instead, you let the bubbly talk and the night air fuel you. “I didn’t see you in there…but then again, I don’t think cowboy boots are the dresscode.” 

The cowboy chuckles, soft and sexy. “Nice catch, lil’ lady. They’re most certainly not, but I was just here to put on a show. Guess they don’t need me if they got fancy fireworks, so I’ll be takin’ my leave now.” 

He clicks his tongue and pats his hip, holding his cig between his fingers. You hear soft whiney and turn to see a black Bronco appearing from behind a hedge bush with a saddle. “Nice horse.” The cowboy smiles as he grasps the horse’s reins, stroking her sleek fur. “Heard that, Penny? The sweet lady gave you a compliment. Thank her properly.” 

The horse slowly bows her head, her ears flicking. “She’s trained?” you giggle, overcome from the cuteness. The cowboy nods, proud of his baby. “Since she was a fowl. She’s the main attraction.” Penny huffs through her nostrils, satisfied with such praise. 

“Well, maybe you can show me your act.” The words escape you before you can stop yourself. The cowboy raises a brow, confused. “Seriously? Aren’t you supposed to be inside?” You tut and wave a hand, not even wanting to think about the ball anymore. “Please. I’d rather watch some horse tricks than attend a borin’-ass toast before the fireworks.” 

You tell yourself that it’s just to watch Penny, a majestic creature, do her tricks, but really, deep down? It’s all because of the charming, sweet-smelling cowboy whose presence is hooking you more than you care to admit. So he gives into your request and shows you some tricks out in the grassy clearing yards away from the house. 

There, with you standing in the grass under the stars, the cowboy puts on a grand performance, complete with spins on Penny’s back, making her stand on her hind legs, and standing on her back as she totters through the glades. You love watching him pet the horse’s heaving side, stroking her fur and chatting with her. He’s so tender and loving with her, making your heart quiver. When he finally finishes up, he bows as you applaud him, even whistling.

“Thank you kindly,” he chuckles, placing his hat back on his head. “You ever ridden before?” Dumbly, you ask, “A horse?” The cowboy raises a humored brow, making you flush from your tipsy stupidity. “Not since I was a little girl, but I still love it.” 

You slowly come up to Penny, admiring her as she takes a chomp out of the apple the cowboy slips out of her knapsack for her. “Why’d ya stop?” 

He watches intently as you inch towards the horse, admiring you as you admire her. “I moved to the city for school. This is my first summer back home.” You take a hand and stroke Penny’s side, feeling her silky fur. “Hi, sweet girl,” you whisper. 

The cowboy notices the tender look you give his horse, a hidden memory buried in your gaze. Memories of riding that were put on pause because of school and familial expectations. 

“Would you wanna take a lil’ ride? It’s a beautiful night for one.” He motions towards the starry sky, and as if agreeing, the song of the crickets gets louder. You bite your lip, looking from him to the mansion, wondering if someone may see. In the end, curiosity wins. “Just for a bit. I can’t ruin my dress.” 

The cowboy nods, a dimple popping as he smiles. “‘Course not. It looks very…expensive.” You don’t miss the way his gaze lingers on your dress, making you feel hot instead of uncomfortable…and that makes you uncomfortable. Why do you feel so drawn to this stranger? 

He scoots out of the way, letting you pet Penny’s mane. “Want some horse ridin’ tips, partner?” he teases with a molten smirk. “Or am I speakin’ to a pro who just happens to look like the belle of the ball?” You smirk back, enjoying the banter between you. “Both. Now do you mind givin’ a girl a hand?” 

The cowboy chuckles, snapping his fingers at Penny. “Tsk, tsk. Down, Penny, girl.” The horse slowly bows, allowing you an easier way of getting on her back. You stiffen when you feel the cowboy’s big hands on your waist, secure and respectful. “This okay?” he whispers. He smells of mint, nicotine, and pine, the scent making your pussy throb. So unladylike. 

Silently, you nod and he scoops you up, easily placing you on Penny’s back. You just hope you aren’t staining the saddle in your wetness. “Gently tug on her reins for her to walk,” the cowboy instructs. “Tug once a little harder if you want her to pick up speed.” 

You feel your heartbeat accelerate as you gently tug on the reins, causing Penny to slowly begin walking. Her hooves thud in the grass, her back muscles moving with you on top. When you tug the reins again, she begins to totter, making you lightly bounce on her back. As you ride on Penny’s back, you feel giddy, smiling and giggling with the summer breeze softly blowing against your face. 

The cowboy watches on as you tug the reins a bit harder, settling back into your riding days. “Let’s go, Penny!” you holler. “Take me for a ride, girl!” And Penny does, picking speed and bounding through the glades, the wind fanning through her and your hair. You updo loosens, pins falling loose, causing your curls to blow around your face in the wind.

You feel freer than you ever had in years. Even six years of independence in the city couldn’t have given you the feeling you have now. The cowboy laughs with you, watching from afar as you take his horse for a spin. Finally, Penny comes to a stop, heaving from the run. You look down to check for mud or grass stains, glad to find nothing there. You may have saved your dress, but your hair isn’t so lucky. 

As you fix your hair, the cowboy slowly helps you down, hands securely gripping your waist in a way that makes your pulse skyrocket. “Good girl,” he praises, but you can’t tell if he means you or the horse. When you turn around from fixing your hair, he is stroking Penny’s fur. ‘Of course, he meant the fucking horse,’ you think.

The cowboy pauses, beefy arms crossed over his broad chest, smirking proudly at you. "You ain't a bad lil' rider, partner. Maybe you can teach me some of your tricks sometime? Can't have ya outdoin' the best at his game.” 

Your body reacts intensely to his silky tone—pounding heart, hardening nipples, butterflies a’swarmin’ in your tummy. You find yourself playing into it, smirking back. “Sure,” you purr. “How would you want me to show you? I don’t own a horse.” 

He shrugs, taking Penny by her reins and leading her towards the house with you. He follows you to the gardens, right at the threshold of the entrance where animal hedges sit before you. “M’sure we can think of somethin’ if we see each other again.” You blink at him, chuckling at his boldness. “So you wanna see me again? I don’t even know your name.” 

That’s when the energy in the air shifts. You can tell by his eyes: what were once playful and seductive are now intimate and private. “You know me pretty damn well,” he croons in his Southern drawl. “But of course, time can change everyone. Ain’t that right, peaches?”

You stop short, literally pausing during your walk to stare at him. He stares back, smile gone, his silence speaking volumes. Peaches? You were called that by only one person in your life. Someone you thought was long gone. 

His name sits on your tongue, having not been said for years but still lingering like the scent of perfume. “Suguru?” you whisper, barely above the breeze. But he hears you, his eyes lighting up like a Christmas tree at your name on his lips. “Yes?” he whispers back. 

His voice, so deep and silky, makes it hard to breathe. You don’t know where to start. Why is he here? What is he here for? Why did he leave that night all those years ago? But instead, you ask: “So you knew who I was this whole time and you acted like I was a whole stranger?” 

Suguru seems ready for the question and shrugs, giving you an irritatingly playful smirk. “You know me. Dramatic flair, I guess.” You dryly laugh, all of your fondness for the cowboy leaving in a rush of cold air. “Of course…that’s why you left me in the middle of the night after fuckin’ me, right?” 

The bite in your tone is evident and Suguru notices immediately. “You really wanna do this now?” he deadpans, his smile fading. You place your hands on your hips, wound up tight with resentment. “Yes, I do. You come back after all this time when I finally made a life for myself? After you broke my heart?” 

Suguru’s irritated expression softens and he sighs. “Y/N–”

“Why are you here?” you hiss. “Explain. Now. I deserve that much.” You wait, the perfume of the rose bushes not relaxing you any bit. Suguru looks just as wired up as you feel, taken over by some silent battle. 

“I…wanted to see you,” he weakly admits. You scowl at him, scoffing at such a response. “It’s a horrible excuse, but I couldn’t stay away any longer than I already had. There’s a reason why I left that night after we were intimate.” 

You cross your arms over your chest, waiting for an explanation about that night. The night he said that he would stop all of his petty crime and start anew with you. “So tell me now. There’s no one but you and me.” 

You and me. Just like what he said before: “It’s you and me, baby. Just us against the world.”

All of those feelings from that night and after come back up, still raw. “Did you not wanna be with me?” you tearfully ask. Suguru’s eyes grow fiery and suddenly, he is taking your hand and leading you deeper into the gardens, away from the prying eyes of the mansion. 

The area is sweet and romantic, complete with rose bushes towering over you. “No,” he fiercely replies, finally able to speak. “You were everythin’ that I wanted, baby. You still fuckin’ are. Why do you think I’m here?” 

“Then why the fuck did you leave?!” you snap, pushing at his chest. He barely budges. “Why did you take off and break my heart when I had all these plans for us? Why did you–” 

“‘Cause I went to fuckin’ jail!” he snaps. You pause, gobsmacked by such a revelation. 

Finally, his resolve snaps, his expression open and vulnerable. “That’s why I left. I made more mistakes and did more crimes in my youth than you know. I don’t got no bodies, but it didn’t matter to the sheriff. So I was hauled off to the county jail for two years. It would’ve been four, but I was let out early on good behavior.”

You blink at him, slowly processing the onslaught of information. That’s why he disappeared. That’s why he didn’t come with you to the city like he said he would. “I didn’t know,” you whisper, feeling so small now. 

“Of course not,” he replies with a dry laugh. “You were in the city and as far as my letter goes, I dropped off the face of the earth. So I sent your brothers money for your tuition–” 

“You what?!” you gasp, gobsmacked. “Suguru, I didn’t ask you to do that!” 

“I know you didn’t, Y/N, fuck,” he growls. “But it was the least I could do for ghostin’ you. I wanted you to succeed the way I always knew you could.” You feel tears prickle in your eyes, deep pain and open wounds leaving you vulnerable and resentful, even when you should feel grateful for such a generous act. 

“So after jail, I laid low, moved to the next town over, opened up my own bar, got a farm, and here I am.” He gazes down at you, his eyes soft and oh-so tender. “I came back here for you. To tell you how sorry I was and make sure that you’re happy.” 

You ignore the way your stomach flips at his consideration, not buying it. “Happy with someone else, you mean.” He flinches slightly at your sharp tone; you’re all knives and daggers tonight. “I was selfishly hopin’ you weren’t,” he sheepishly replies. “I wanna be the one to make you happy. To take care of you. To give you the life you’ve always dreamed of.” 

He looks away then, his fists tightening at his sides. “But I knew I couldn’t do that, even back then. I couldn’t give you a steady, safe life that a good girl like you deserved. So I loved you from afar.” 

You feel the tears well up in your eyes now, all of your emotions pouring over. “And you didn’t think to tell me this? To try and reach out to me?” Suguru scowls at you, his jaw tight. “And just what would you have said? You would’ve given this—”he motions towards the house, at the gorgeous hedges—“all up and came with me?”

“Yes!” you snap, the answer tearing from your chest. “I would’ve gone anywhere with you if you would’ve asked me, Suguru!” But he isn’t buying it, his pierced tongue clucking. “C’mon, peaches,” he wryly chuckles. “Don’t tell me shit that ain’t true. You can’t tell me you would’ve given up your future for a life of robbin’ and stealin’ with your criminal boyfriend.” 

You don’t answer, mostly because you don’t want to admit that he’s right. “So what now?” you scoff, widening your arms. “You just here to rub salt in the wound? If you are then you can leave.” 

The tears drip down your face now, ruining your makeup. “I knew you’d never stay, but I still hoped,” you softly say, your words broken. “I was a stupid girl, but I’m not like that no more, Suguru.” 

You try to turn away from him, but he stops you, gripping your shoulders. “You were never stupid,” he growls, his violet eyes blazing with passion. “You were the most intelligent, capable, beautiful girl I’ve ever had the honor of bein’ with. You stole my heart, peaches, and it’s still yours…if you want it.” 

He gently takes your hands from your arms locked against your chest and tenderly kisses your knuckles. “I’m here for you. Only you. And I’m prepared to show you that anyway you want me to.” Slowly, he leans in, and you can only utter his name before his lips are finally on yours. Soft. Sweet. Familiar. 

It is a kiss you longed for with lips you’ve craved for years. No matter how many boys you kissed in your four years at Ivy League and two years as a graduate, spending nights at the hottest clubs and rubbing elbows with the richest, hottest bachelors, nobody compared to your Suguru. Your favorite outlaw. The one man you never should’ve gotten involved with, but you knew the very moment you met him outside of that bar on his horse that he’d be in your life forever, present or not. 

All of the memories of your past together come rushing back as he cups your cheek in his big hand. You resist the urge to lean into his touch, but it’s so damn hard. You’ve felt starved without it, trying to replicate it with other men but only being disappointed. But now, here it is again, just as needed as air and water. 

When he pulls away, his eyes are hooded and adoring, staring down into yours from underneath his hat. Slowly, you pull it off, wanting to see all of him. “So you wanna steal my heart again?” you whisper against his lips. A slow grumble of agreement leaves his mouth, making heat pool in your tummy. “If you let me, hell yeah. I’ll lock it down and throw away the key.” 

You shiver in delight, having wanted to hear that for years. The bottle holding every ounce of love you’ve carried around for this man pops open, bursting out of the glass. You need him now, unable to contain it anymore. Unable to wait. 

You grip the collar to his vest, pulling him close and emitting a surprised grunt from him. “Then show me now. Prove to me that you can be the man I want.” He blinks at you, those long lashes fanning against his cheeks. “Right here?” he asks. 

“Right here,” you reply, full of passion and need. “No one’s comin’ out here…and if they do, let ‘em see.” You’re done appeasing your family. Done pushing what you want off to the side. You wrap your arms around your cowboy, kissing him slow and wanton, making him moan against your lips. 

His hands find your ass, holding you close as he squeezes your asscheeks over your dress. His lips begin to caress your throat and collarbone, peppering it in wet kisses that leave you breathless. “I missed you, Sugu,” you whisper. He groans at your words as if they are his kryptonite. “I missed you too, baby,” he sighs into your neck. “Let me show you how much.” 

It doesn’t take long for things to take a turn, leading to something hotter and deeper than just chaste kisses and secret touches in the gardens. Behind the humongous rose hedges, Suguru’s big hands glide down your sides to lift up your dress, his eyes firmly locked on yours. 

You’re like a damn popsicle with the way you’re melting from his molten gaze as he hikes the luxurious fabric up on your thighs, exposing your lace panties to him. He whistles at the sight, making you giggle. As you gently place his hat aside on a nearby bench, he kneels before you, widening your thighs to gaze at the soaked spot your pussy left. 

“Fuck, mama,” he groans. “You’re so wet already f’me.” He takes two thick fingers and rubs you through your panties, right on your clit. You groan, loving how he knows just exactly how to still touch you after all this time. “Anybody else been gettin’ that pussy wet?” he huskily asks, staring up at him. Those city slicks or any other country boy like me?” 

You feel yourself gush at his slick words, sweetened by his thick Southern accent. He leans in to kiss your panties, right above your clit, causing it to throb against his mouth. “Sugu,” you groan. “Please don’t tease.” His violet eyes tick up to meet yours, firm and fiery. “Then tell me the truth. I wanna know if some other man has been makin’ you feel this way.” 

He nips at your pantyline, the graze of his teeth driving you to the brink of insanity. “Nobody,” you whimper. “No other man but you.” And you’re telling the truth: there’s been no one who can make you this wet but him. He smiles at your confession, flashing you those pearly whites. “That’s my darlin’. And no other man will.” 

With that, he kneels before you and hikes your leg up over his shoulder. He pulls your panties aside, groaning at the sight of your wetness sticking your pussy lips to the fabric, soft and glistening wet. He gives you one more hot look of lust before his tongue is dipping between your folds. 

Suguru has eaten you out many times before. He has made you moan, cry, and scream to the heavens with that pierced tongue of his, giving you hot and cold at the same time. In between his sheets throughout your high school days, sneaking out of the house late at night or in between free periods, you’d spend your hours studying the way his tongue feels on your clit or how soft his lips are. 

You have to fire up every brain cell to keep your moans soft and hushed, not wanting to alert anyone at the party. But fuck, do his lips and tongue feel like heaven. Every suck on your clit and flick of his tongue in your folds breaks off a piece of your self-control, making you ruin his ponytail by carding through his scalp. “Fuck, Sugu, baby!” you gasp, your toes curling in your heels when he suckles on your rosebud in a way that has your eyes rolling back. 

He peers up at you, a cocky smirk on those lush lips. “Hush now, darlin’. Don’t wanna alert your aunt and them fancy folk, do ya?” He licks his thumb and begins to rub your clit, earning soft whimpers out of you. “Or maybe you do. Maybe you want ‘em all to see you get your pussy tongued down by your outlaw.” 

And then his tongue is sliding through your folds and inside you, slow and careful, your juices dripping freely onto his tongue. Your mouth falls agape as pleasure grips you. Your head falls back against the wall of the hedge behind you, a broken moan leaving your lips. “Shit!” you moan, your eyes squeezing shut against the explosive pleasure. “Fuck, Sugu, yes! Right there!” 

He pulls away enough to speak, still rubbing your clit, earning soft, wet sloshes coming from your wet pussy. “Right here, babydoll?” he asks. “That feel good?” 

You frantically nod, your eyes squeezed shut tight. “Uh-huh!” you whine, panting in time with his wicked tongue flicks. 

“Uh-huh?” he parrots, practically growling the word between his eager pussy-eating. “Then fuckin’ cum for me. I know you’re close.” 

He replaces his thumb with his mouth, sucking on your clit, making your body throb in pleasure. “Mmm-hmm,” he hums approvingly, keeping up the pace. He continues to work your pussy just how you want, making you see stars behind your eyelids and softly cry to the moon above. 

It doesn’t take long for that feeling of release to dawn on you, that need gripping you at your core the more your cowboy sucks and eats your pussy straight off the fucking bone. “O-Oh, fuck, I’mma cum!” you gasp, squeezing his locks tight in your fingers. “S-Sugu…y-you’re gonna make me…!” Your words cut off on some desperate gasps that you have to stifle by covering your mouth. 

“Cum for me,” he growls into your pussy. “Give me what I need. Cum for me, babydoll, I’ve got you.” Finally, that knot in your core finally snaps and a wave of euphoria washes over you as you cum all over his face and eager lips with a loud moan. You see the entire galaxy and beyond as your pussy gushes, your body shivering and shuddering. 

Your back arches and your hips wind into Suguru’s face, trying to keep as much as the pleasurable feeling as possible. You scream his name into your hand, your muscles tensing from the sheer pleasure. When it finally fades, you’re left feeling tired, spent, and oh-so good. 

After gently cleaning your cum up, Suguru pulls away with a satisfied sigh and grins at you, lips shining in your honey. “Not bad for a couple years, right?” he cheekily asks. Slowly, he stands, giving you a view of his noticeable hard print beneath his slacks. You smirk, shrugging. “Eh…you were alright.” 

SPANK!

“Ah!” you gasp, mouth agape at the harsh smack on your ass. Suguru raises his pierced brow at you, challenging your brattiness. “Don’t test me now, peaches. I may love your ass, but I don’t got a problem trainin’ that brat in you.” 

You stop short, clocking his words. Suddenly, your heart begins hammering and it feels like the entire garden has gotten smaller. He blinks at you, confused. “You love me?” you whisper. He’s never said it before; this is the first time and it feels like a whole new world has been opened up to you. 

Suguru chuckles like it should be so obvious, smiling tenderly. “Of course I do, babydoll. I would’ve wanted to say it somewhere more romantic, but–mmph!” His words are interrupted when you toss yourself at him, kissing him passionately. He groans as you rub yourself against his bulge, igniting another ache in your pussy. “I love you too, Suguru,” you whisper against his lips. “I always have.” You then slink to your knees, giving him a sexy smile as you do. “Let me show you how much,” you purr. 

The look Suguru gives you from above is downright porn as you loosen the belt holding his pants up, exposing his briefs. He pops the buttons to his vest and the crisp shirt underneath, exposing his toned body and tan skin inked in tattoos underneath. You peel the fly to his briefs open and grasp him, earning a soft moan as soon as our fingers wrap around his dick.

You pull him out and he pops up like a Jack-in-the-Box, hard, thick, and veiny.  You salivate at the hard, thick dick in your hand, right along with the fine black happy trail and lipstick tattoo inked on his right hipbone. You kiss there, trailing along his toned stomach and V-line as you pump his dick in your hand. “Fuck, you’re so hard,” you pant. He breathlessly chuckles, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. “For you? Absolutely, baby.” 

Deciding you’ve got him right where you want him, you spit into the palm of your hand and pump him more, lubing him up, making him shine in your spit. Once he’s moaning and groaning, you finally wrap your lips around him and suck. “Jesus!” he hisses, nearly tipping back into the hedges. “Give a guy a minute, darlin’, sh-sh-shit!” 

He stammers as you begin to bob your head, making you giggle against his cock. He groans at the vibrations from your laughter, your tight, wet mouth sucking him in. You can’t help but want more of him, his salty pre-cum coating your tastebuds. “Mmmm,” you moan, voicing your satisfaction over his taste. 

How you missed this. How you missed his cock. He seems to have missed your mouth too judging by how much he’s throbbing. And how hard he’s gripping your hair, tangling your loose locks in his hand. “Goddamn,” he groans. “So much for that dress. You’re fuckin’ trouble, peaches, fuck.” 

You tick your eyes up to meet his as you bring your mouth down further, engulfing him deeper. He grunts as he brushes the back of your throat, your gurgling practically making him jump out of his skin. “Mmm, that’s it! Take me deeper!” he groans. “You know just what to do with it, don’t you?” 

Showing him that you absolutely do, you gag around his cock as you begin to bob your head up and down, emitting groans and swears from his sinful lips. His moans and words are so hot that you feel your pussy throb and gush in your ruined panties, desperate for attention. You have to rub your slit as you gag on Suguru’s dick, his silky voice and thick cock your aphrodisiacs. “Gag on that shit, baby,” he grunts. “Take it. It’s fuckin’ yours.” 

He continues to whisper praise as you gag and bob around him, using your free hand to stroke his balls. You ignore the ache of your knees in the grass and the tears pricking at your eyes, ruining up your eye makeup. The control he allows you makes you want to give him the best throat of his life, coaxing the nut right out of him. 

He begins to thrust into your mouth, his hips bumping against your chin as his cock fucks your throat. “Still doin’ okay, babydoll?” he asks. You  nod, emitting a moan from him when the roof of your mouth slides along his dick. “God, you look so good with my dick in your mouth,” he whines. “Wouldn’t it be somethin’ if someone came out here and saw me fuckin’ this pretty throat?” 

You tilt your head up to look up at him, loving the view of his body as he bumps your hips against your face. Spit drips from your lips the sloppier your head gets, only making him fuck your face harder. “You like that idea, don’t you?” he chuckles breathlessly. “Naughty girl. You wanna be seen on your knees with dick deep down your throat?” 

‘Yes,’ you think, your pussy crying beneath you. ‘Yes, yes, yes!’ 

You want that more than anything. You don't care how slutty that makes you. You want to be his slut tonight. You want to be his everything and more. So you gag and suck harder, causing him to thrust deeper. “Ngh—gonna make me fuckin’ cum, darlin’,” he groans. “You want that, hm? You want my fuckin’ cum?”

“Mmm-hmm!” you eagerly hum, batting your pretty lashes at him. You want him to dump a fresh load of spunk deep down your throat. And after a few more thrusts that knock the air out of you, his moans grow more intense, drifting through the summer air thick with perfume ad sex. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! I’m cummin’!” he gasps. “Gonna breed that fuckin’ throat!” 

And finally, a rush of hot cum escapes him and enters your throat, shooting all over your tongue, giving you a nice throatpie built up just for you over the years. You hum as he moans in pleasure, his eyes rolling back at the euphoric feeling you give him. After a few gulps and slurps to clean him up, you pull away, sucking him off of your fingers. 

He stares at you, his chest rising and falling, his pierced nipples glistening in the moonlight.

“That was rusty, babydoll?” he pants, raising a brow at you. 

You giggle as he helps you stand on wobbly legs, unfortunately causing your slick to drip down your thighs. “Glad I could please,” you purr. Before you can say more or even give him a kiss, Suguru has you whipping around to face away from him. 

“Oh!” you gasp, placing your hands on the bench in front of you. You assume position as your cowboy stands behind you, smacking his semi-hard cock up against your ass, rubbing it against your supple cheeks to get himself hard again. “Not enough,” he grunts. “I need all of you again. Need to make up for lost time.” 

He French kisses you as he rubs himself against your asshole down to your wet slit, moaning into your mouth. It doesn’t take long for him to grow rock hard again, throbbing insistently against your aching entrance. “Tell me you want this,” he whispers. “I won’t go further if you don’t–”

You shut him up with another kiss, sucking on his tongue. “Fuck me, Sugu,” you whisper against his mouth. “Right here, right now. I can’t wait anymore.” You don’t care who sees or what happens next—you just want him now. You could cry with joy as you feel his tip press against your entrance, brushing your clit. “This time, it’ll be different,” he softly promises. “No more runnin’. No more leavin’. I promise you, darlin’.” 

And then he’s sliding inside of you, silencing every thought of doubt you have ever had. Solidifying his promise. He groans out, “Shit” as you breathlessly moan, taken aback by how he fits so nice and snug after all this time. You close your eyes as hot pleasure skates through you, making you grip Suguru’s arm locked tight around your stomach. 

“Look at me,” he hoarsely demands. “Watch me fuck you. Watch me give you everythin’ I have.” You turn to stare into his eyes as he draws his hips forward, thrusting his cock in you, before drawing his hips back. He continues to do that, giving you slow, deep strokes that draw ragged breaths out of you, desperate and hushed. 

Suguru’s eyes hold nothing but love and lust as he slowly fucks you between the rose hedges, the sweet aroma of the flowers mixing with your perfume, his cologne, and your sex. The stars and the flowers are your witnesses to your forbidden love and sex, staying silent and watching as your cowboy fucks you the only way he can. 

“Suguru,” you softly moan. “Please more. Fuck me more!” You can’t take this slow shit anymore. You need it hard and fast. You need to feel this. He smirks against your cheek, one hand skating up to squeeze your tits, ripping your dress away from them to have them hang free. “My baby wants more?” he murmurs. “I’ll give you more then.” 

So he fucks you hard and fast, making you bounce back against his cock. You have to bend your knees to accommodate his thrusts and cover your mouth to keep from yelling in pure ecstasy. His dick just feels too fucking good! It stretches you; massages you; knocks every doubt and regret out of your mind until you can barely remember anything but how good you feel. 

“Fuck, Suguru, yes! Fuck me just like that!” Your cries and dirty words are muffled by your hand, making Suguru smile proudly as he fucks you dumb in doggy. “My, my, what naughty language,” he chuckles, giving your nipple a tweak. “Ain’t you supposed to be a lady?” 

You decide to tease him back and toss your ass back, slamming your pussy down as he thrusts forward, making him gasp. “You fuckin’ minx,” he growls. “You almost made me cum.” His hand finds your ass, gripping it possessively, just as your pussy throbs excitedly at the idea of making him cum for you. 

“You can if you want to,” you whisper, wanting his cum more than anything. You want him to snatch your pussy for himself like he did years ago, make it his again. You want his spunk imprinting and marking its territory as his and his alone…maybe even with a baby. Or perhaps, you’re just cock-drunk. 

But as soon as you utter those words, you’ve opened up Pandora’s Box. Suguru is quick as lightning, pulling his hard cock out of you and smacking it against your clit. “Turn around,” he demands. “You wanna act like a slut, then you’ll get fucked like one.” He gives your ass a sharp smack before you turn around, coaxed to grip onto him like a koala bear. 

As soon as you’re dangling off of his body, he grips you to him, holding onto your ass as he slides his cock right back inside while you’re airborne. “Fuck!” you both gasp when he slides in to the hilt, his abs stroking against your clit as he begins to fuck you again. “That’s my good girl,” he moans into your ear. “Takin’ me so well after all this time…”

He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip as he pistons his hips just right, making you bounce on his dick so he sinks deeper and deeper inside you. Your cowboy stares dead into your eyes as he fills you up over and over again, knocking the air out of your body with each thrust. “Does it feel good? Am I fuckin’ this pussy just right?” 

As if your breathless moans and gasps aren’t answers to his question. You can’t even speak, too busy moaning like a little slut on his thick cock repeatedly fucking your dripping pussy. Every thrust hits that spot inside of you, making your eyes roll back and your muscles tighten in anticipation of an intense orgasm. “Yes, Sugu, yes! Fuck me! I’m so, so close!” 

You can feel it building, building, building inside of you, ready to overflow and spill over all onto Suguru’s big, thick, beautiful cock. 

“Me too, darlin’,” he groans. “Fuck, I can’t hold on for too much longer.” He swears through a stammering breath as his thrusts grow more intense, fully holding you up with every ounce of his strength to fuck you standing. It is the hottest thing you have ever experienced in your life. He locks eyes with you, desperation on his handsome face. “W-Where do you want me to–?” 

“Inside me!” you beg. The words are out before you can stop them, but you don’t even think you would if you could. Suguru blinks at your request, his eyes widening an inch. “You serious?” he asks. You don’t blame him for his reaction. It ain’t everyday that your on-again-off-again girlfriend who re-enters your life asks for you to possibly dump a baby in her during your first fuck. 

But the idea of being Suguru’s baby mama is too good of a title to pass up. You want to carry his child, only because you know this time things will be different. “I’ve never been more serious of anythin’ in my life,” you softly moan. You tighten your thighs around your outlaw’s slim waist, keeping him locked inside of you. “I love you, Suguru. I want this.” 

Then you grind back, making him bite back a loud moan as your pussy clamps down on him. “F-Fuck!” the outlaw groans, his handsome face flushed red from the pleasure and feverish thrusting. “You’re gonna make me cum, peaches. You’re p-playin’ with fire here.” 

You give a slutty little giggle, happy to continue to tease him to get what you want. What you need. “Then let me get burned,” you purr into his ear, pausing to suck on his earlobe. “Cum inside me, Daddy. Make me yours.” Your soft lips begin to travel down his neck, your tongue jutting out to lick his throat. 

Your slutty ministrations make something burst out of Suguru, causing him to slow his thrusts and lower you down to your feet. He grips your chin in his hand, making your cheeks squish together like a fish’s. The look he gives you is hot with lust and a possessive energy that makes your pussy gush. “So you want me to steal that pussy the same way I did your heart?” he murmurs, smirking. “I can do that.”  

You’re damn near melting as he plants a kiss on your lips, craving more of his body; his cock; his everything. Slowly, he leads you over to the bench and takes a seat, planting you firmly in his lap. “But you’ve gotta put in the work.”

He sits back then, his hard cock on full display for you, one hand wrapped around himself to slowly pump his shaft in your face. “Ride me till we both cum, baby. Take what’s been yours all these years.” 

And so you do. As he sits on the bench, you sit in his lap…well, not really. You’re too busy bouncing on his dick with his cowboy hat on your head, your ass smacking against his muscular thighs in tie with the wet squelching of your pussy clenched around his fat dick. “Fuck,” he groans. “You’re still s-so good, babydoll.” 

He grips your ass tight under your dress, helping you slam your pussy down onto his rock or rock into him to swipe your clit against his abs. At some point, he licks his digits and begins rubbing your slippery clit for you, sending sparks of pleasure exploding and crackling in every sensitive spot of your body.

The moans he lets out and the look on his face are too much for you, propelling you further towards your delicious end. “Sugu, baby! Fuck, I can’t hold on! I’m gonna cum!” You grip his broad shoulders and hop up and down on your knees, bringing yourself up and down his dick, his pre-cum and your honey slipping down his balls and over your asscrack. 

Suguru is a panting, grunting mess, doing his very best to keep his sounds down, but goddamn, you’re riding him too good! “M-Me too. Fuck, I’m gonna fill you up!” 

You can feel it–his dick has begun to swell inside of you, throbbing with the need to explode. You cup his pretty face in your hands, forcing him to stare dead into your eyes. You need him to see how much you want this. “Cum with me,” you beg. “I need it so bad. Please, Daddy?” You swirl your hips in a way that gives him no choice, causing him to nearly blow your cover as a loud groan escapes him. 

In a flash, he’s taking control and fucking you from the bottom, his thick fingers digging into your asscheeks as he slams himself up home inside of you. Plap-plap-plap goes his thighs against yours, creating a rhythm of sex in the air that mixes so well with your desperate, slutty moans. “So you want me to give ya a baby now?” he hums. “Somethin’ special to take back to the city? Is that it, babydoll, hm?” 

“Yes, yes!” you gasp into the summer air. “Please, Sugu, p-please! A-ah…can’t hold on!” You can feel it building–that intense, blissful feeling that is soon to explode all over you in a burst of pleasure. “Fuckin’ cum for me then,” he growls. “And this ain’t no one time thing either. Wherever you go, I’m comin’ witcha. That’s a fuckin’ promise, peaches.” 

And those words are the catalysts to the most intense orgasm you’ve ever experienced. In Suguru’s beefy, strong arms, you cum your brains out, forgetting your own name and only remembering his. “Fuuuuck, Sugu!” you bellow, your voice ringing out in the summer air, causing Suguru to cover your mouth as you scream out your orgasm. That only makes you cum harder, making your head spin and your pussy squelch, gush, and cream all around your cowboy’s dick. 

After a few more intense thrusts, Suguru cums with a low groan that he bites back, only muttering a few swears and some pet names that have those butterflies swarming in your stomach. He grips you to him like you’ll vanish if he doesn’t, his hands possessively stroking your ass and his face caught in your air, inhaling your shampoo. You gasp and deliriously giggle when you feel him shoot hot loads of spunk into your pussy, officially claiming you as his…and he as yours. Finally. 

After a few short seconds of recovery and soft kisses, Suguru helps you gently pop off of his cock, causing his spunk to trickle down your inner thighs. It’s noticeable even through the slit of your dress, making you giggle. “I’ll probably need to wear that poofy dress now.”

Suguru raises a brow as he begins to dress himself rather quickly, his flaccid cock back in his briefs and his pants on like nothing happened. “The what?” he asks.

You shake your head, still giggling as you help him fix his vest. “Nothin’. I’m just so happy.” You then place his cowboy hat back on his head, fixing it on his hair. He smiles down at you, pausing briefly to kiss your forehead, causing you to lean your head into his chest. “Aww, baby,” he coos. “I’m happy too. You have no idea how much I—” 

Click. 

You gasp at the sudden, harsh flood of light that pierces through the peaceful night, ruining the serene, loving moment. You and Suguru squint into the piercing glow of the flashlight, using your hands to block it. “Geto Suguru! Get your hands off of my niece this instant,” your aunt hisses. “Or Sheriff Higuruma will take care of you.” 

Standing with her is none other than Higuruma Hiromi, the town’s sheriff who you knew was making an appearance at your aunt’s party tonight. In addition to him and your angered aunt is Choso, Yuuji, and a very enraged Naoya who is storming back over to make more of an embarrassment of himself. And in addition to Naoya is the entirety of the party, staff included, watching from the windows and eavesdropping on the veranda. Oh, fuck.

Despite the awful situation, Suguru remains cool as a cucumber, smirking at the angered doctor barreling towards you and at your enraged aunt with her hands on her hips. “Uh-oh, here comes trouble.” Even though he is the trouble. 

Instinctively, Suguru stands between you and your “visitors” as Naoya comes to join the group, looking drunker than he was earlier. “There he is!” he hollers, pointing at Suguru. “That’s the man that accosted me! You’re lucky I didn’t get the cops, asshole!” 

Sheriff Higuruma yawns, looking positively bored and over what is happening right now. Your aunt looks close to crashing out…and at her old age, this would be a death sentence, you’re sure. “Y/N, get over here this instant,” she snaps. “And you.” She jabs a finger at Sugruu. “Away with you at once or you will be goin’ to jail! How dare you come here to ruin this fine evenin’?!” 

Standing behind your aunt, Choso’s eyes meet yours. ‘You okay?’ he mouths. You nod, still standing behind Suguru, not wanting to leave him. Higuruma turns to your aunt, finally turning off the flashlight. “Sorry, but what exactly am I here for?” he asks, looking utterly tired and confused. 

Your aunt blinks at him, gobsmacked, and only gets angrier. “For this man pawin’ my niece!” she snaps. Naoya glares at the sheriff, turning red in the face. “And harassing me! Have you not been listening?” Higuruma glares at the doctor, peeved by his self-importance just as you are. 

Suguru loudly clears his throat, grabbing their attention. “Excuse me, ma’am.” He tips his hat at your aunt, respectful despite such scorn. “Apologies, but I didn’t mean no harm to you or your fine guests. I just wanted to–” 

“What?” your aunt sharply interrupts him, her eyes narrowed. “You wanted to sneak into my party and snatch all of our priceless gems from right under our noses? Do you truly think we are that stupid?” Suguru is silent, but you can feel the irritation radiating off of him in waves. 

“And you!” she continues, glaring daggers at you. “Comin’ out here to canoodle with a common thief and criminal! Don’t you know who this man is?!” Momentarily, you meet Choso’s eyes, wondering if you should come clean about your past secret fling with Suguru all those years ago. But before you can, your aunt continues to criticize and publicly embarrass you. 

“I cannot believe you ran out on such a fine man for this trash!” she explodes, motioning towards Suguru as if he’s no more than dirt. “Honestly, you cannot be my niece and be this–” 

“Did that fine man tell you what he said to me?” you argue, glaring at Naoya. “He tried to get me to go upstairs with him.” The doctor’s face grows beet red from your words, his expression like a bulldog’s. “You little liar. I knew you’d be out here.” He begins to storm towards you, hissing out so only you and Suguru will hear: “How dare you embarrass me like this, you little harlot?!”

Higuruma and Suguru are stopping him immediately. Suguru totally shields you with his body while Higuruma puts out his arm, stopping Naoya short from his tirade. “Don’t talk to her like that,” Suguru growls at the doctor. He then turns to your aunt, firm. “She has no fault in this, ma’am. It’s all me. Any anger you have should be towards me.” 

But your aunt is not swayed, still narrowing her eyes at the cowboy. “You should’ve stayed exactly where you were: out of this town!” she bellows. Before she can say more, Higuruma’s deep, authoritative voice cuts in. “Alright, enough. Either we resolve this like logical folks or someone is gettin’ arrested.” 

At the mention of jail, ice pits in your stomach. Not for yourself, but for Suguru. You can’t afford to lose him again or for him to lose more years of his life when he just got them back! As if hearing your thoughts, he reaches back to squeeze your hand, firm and protective. “Forgive me, ma’am,” he says, nodding respectfully at your aunt. “You’re right. I’ll be takin’ my leave now.”

Leave? You stare at him as he releases your hand and smacks his thigh, calling for Penny. You feel your body humming with desperation to follow, your hands shaking.

Your aunt harrumphs in satisfaction, arms crossed over her chest. “Good riddance. Now let’s get you back inside. You’ve got a lot of explainin’ to do, missy.” You turn to her and to Naoya, your blood boiling at the smug smirks on their faces. 

Your eyes shift to Choso and Yuuji, your only saviors right now, and to your hope, Choso gives you a slight nod while Yuuji shoots you a thumbs up. ‘Go ahead, sis. Tell ‘em!’

So with your fists balled at your sides and your back straightened, you finally face your aunt head on. No more fear. No more expectations. No more going against what you want. 

“No,” you firmly reply. The word is final, crystalized in the air. Your aunt’s angered expression softens, turning to utter shock. “I’m sorry, Auntie, but I can’t. Not when the man I’ve loved for years is back in my life.” The woman looks like she’s about to fall out at the new revelation. “What?! What in the blazes are you talkin’ about, child?!”

You turn to Suguru who is already looking at you. Waiting for you on the road, his hand on Penny’s reins. You feel nothing but a burst of love and an unending certainty that this is the right thing to do. 

“I mean I’m spendin’ the night with my man,” you giggle, earning a horrified gasp from your aunt’s mouth. “And then he’s comin’ back to the city with me in the fall.” You blow your aunt and brothers a kiss as you twirl on your heels and walk towards Suguru, hyperfocused on him and only him. “Don’t wait up for me, y’all! Enjoy the party!” 

You can hear the distant chatter of your audience as you strut over to your cowboy, sexy and silently watching you, a smile on his face. He takes a hold of your hips and places you up on Penny’s back before he slips in front of you, settling onto the saddle. As you giggle and wrap your arms around his waist, your aunt pushes Choso up to the horse, desperate. “Choso, do somethin’!” she snaps. “Stop your sister!” 

Choso stumbles forward and stares up at Suguru, silently sizing the cowboy up with firm eyes. Your heart flip-flops, afraid that he’ll be the one to follow your aunt’s orders and put a stop to this. “You’d better take care of her,” he firmly mutters. “If you break her heart again, I’ll kill you.” 

As your aunt splutters in shock, you release the breath you didn’t know you were holding, relief flooding you. Suguru nods, tipping his hat in respect to your older brother. “Understood. You won’t have to worry ‘bout that again.” With that, Choso nods and steps back, allowing you to be with your man. 

Suguru tips his hat at the crowd, giving them a toothy smile. “Sorry ‘bout stealin’ her from y’all, but I just couldn’t help myself. Have a good night!” And with one click of the reins, Penny stands up on her hind hooves and whines before tottering off down the path away from the party. Away from your old life as you knew it. 

You tighten your arms around Suguru’s waist, pressing your face into his back muscles from behind. “So you really think the city wants a country boy like me?” he chuckles. 

You peer up at his handsome face from the side, pecking him on the cheek. “Only one way to find out,” you purr. “I don’t leave till September. You’ve got plenty of time to decide.”

The cowboy snorts, raising your hand to place a kiss on your knuckles as the summer air whips past your face. “I already have. Shit, you could’ve told me you were goin’ to Mars, peaches; I'd follow you to the end of the earth, don’t you know?” 

THE END.

Taglist: @mimicosmos8, @shrewdreader, @margo-lalam, @tiazvni, @heeknow, @booistoleyou, @birkinzz, @heeknow @sirenxiu, @lilyalone, @hersheymylove, @liahcharms, @megottheswaskikacooooke, @winniethepoohjusttookapooh, @1cckedheart, @mutsu422, @sirenxiu, @lilyalone & @hersheymylove

[notnormalthings-blog]

Oh my lord I’m about to bust🤤

[indiewritesxoxo]

BREAKING NEWS!

ten | cryptid columns

NOW REPORTING...LOCAL GIRL FUCKED MOTHMAN?

synopsis: sent to get the scoop on a strange cult popping up in a small city near you, you're surprised to discover the (moth)man behind it has more than just charm hiding behind his sly smile. but debunking the local cryptid sightings will be harder than you thought when you're sharing a bed with him!

pairing: mothman!Geto x journalist!Reader

content: mdni, mystery and angst, MATURE CONTENT AND THEMES OKAY!!, reader is an investigative journalist, cult leader!geto in a different font lol, violence and murder, genuinely evil sukuna AND gojo, being bound and restrained, kidnapping, yandere behavior, suguru saves the day

The screaming stopped almost as soon as it started.

"I thought you said this place was soundproof."

"Do you want to die now?" Sukuna snarled, and you couldn't stop yourself from snickering at him as some awfully loud sound practically vibrated the basement he brought you to.

His free hand reached for your bleeding thigh, fingers digging into the fresh wound to twist your mocking into a moan of pain.

But you clamped your lips shut to muffle it, refusing to give him the joy of your anguish when your brain was clinging to the faint chance that this wasn't going to end the way he wanted it to.

You had no proof.

Nothing other than naive faith that Suguru had come to save you.

It did bring you a little bit of peace knowing if Sukuna killed you here, he might just be following close behind you.

Surely, a guy who ran a secret cult in the middle of fucking nowhere wouldn’t be opposed to murder or at least seriously maiming someone if he had come.

Especially for the crime of betraying his trust. Or stealing the woman he slept with.

You weren't all that sure how Suguru felt about you. He seemed to fully believe that you were really just going to fuck off and flee after your night together.

Either way, you were fairly convinced it wouldn’t be your problem anymore.

With how much your leg hurt right now, how wet it felt beneath his shoddy patch-up job, you weren't totally convinced that you'd survive even if Sukuna didn't strangle you or stab you again. Darkness creeping in the edges of your vision, head swimming and stuffed with fuzz as you forced yourself to focus on his face, working up just enough saliva in your mouth so you could spit right on his nose.

His huff of disgust brought you a little bit of comfort, your mouth curling up in contentment as he let go of your cheek to wipe it away.

"You goddamn bitch-"

"He's coming for you," you swallowed hard, chest heaving as every breath you sucked in made your lungs strain and ache.

"He's not here," Sukuna snapped at you, but his dark eyes darted where you guessed the door was.

You couldn't bring yourself to glance back at it.

Not when you didn't think you could live much longer if Suguru disappointed you.

"You can't seriously think anyone will save you," Sukuna continued to scoff, his jaw locked tight as he tried to seem all strong and tough, chest puffed out as you squinted at him. He used to terrify you. Occupied your nightmares and haunted your shadows.

But he was just a human, wasn't he?

Suguru was something more.

You should've known your cult leader would never let you go.

The door broke off the hinges, hitting the floor as your heart rattled around against your rib cage, stalling as Sukuna aprubtly let go of you.

“Don’t look," an achingly familiar voice warned.

Suguru didn’t have to tell you twice.

Sukuna tried to throw some weak insult back at him, standing to put up a pointless fight. Beginning to avert your gaze down before deciding to just scrunch your eyes shut entirely, wishing you could cover your ears as a sick wet crunch rang out and shut your former flame up.

For good.

Trembling as you tried to shut out the noise, focusing on the pain just to push away the panic pulsing through you. The primal part of you that wanted nothing more than to curl up in a tiny ball and disappear, shivering as you attempted to convince yourself that Suguru wasn't the one to be scared of here.

The silence that came afterwards was almost worse though.

When you realized the only person having a hard time breathing was you.

"You're shaking," Suguru's honeyed voice broke the tension, but you couldn't bring yourself to open your eyes. To blink up at him when you were sure all you'd see was blood.

He clicked his tongue, and it wasn't until you felt a tug on your collar that you realized it was with quietly simmering rage, just for the weight around your neck to disappear in an instant. Ripped off without a second of hesitation. Destroying the restraints that bound you like it was nothing to him.

You felt his warmth before his actual touch, his fingers tracing tenderly over your arm before he sighed - and scooped you up.

Effortlessly lifting you into his arms, cradling your head close to his chest like he didn't want to risk you seeing the scene he created anyway.

“It hurts,” you heard yourself whine, bottom lip quivering just for him to press a gentle kiss there. Not shushing you, you supposed, but more of a show that he was here.

That you were safe.

Sukuna had been wrong.

Someone had come to save you after all. Someone cared enough to stop him too.

“I know,” Suguru murmured softly, his soothing voice washing over you. "Open your eyes for me."

No.

Shaking your head as much as you could, burying your face deeper into his shirt while he tutted his tongue disapprovingly at you.

"Angel," he scolded, and tears you couldn't stand were welling back up in your eyes. Weakness creeping in and clouding your judgement as you stubbornly refused to crack your eyes open to take a peek.

"I can't," your voice cracked.

Your head hurt. Your leg hurt. Every piece of you felt like it was on the precipice of crumbling, on the brink of breaking down despite how right it felt to be back in his arms. Sheltered in his sturdy embrace as he took you out of what might have been your grave if it hadn't been for him.

You had spent a life trying to be shatterproof.

Invincible. Immune to fear or fury.

Taking whatever came at you without cracking. But fuck, you were tired. Tired of the fighting and the fucking up and fumbling for control that was never yours to have.

“Hold on for me, okay? I’m taking you home,” Suguru did his best to comfort you through it, but your breath hitched, shaky and unsure as you felt your heart start to slow. Every thump of it pushing more blood back out of your wound, your leg growing more damp by the second as the sticky blood trickled down your thigh. “You can’t fall asleep.”

All his scolding didn't stop you from drifting off anyway.

A faint voice in your head thankful that at least you got to hear his voice one more time before you went. Got to feel his hands on your clammy skin, wrapped up in his warmth for a final moment.

You honestly didn't think you'd be waking up again.

"Wake up, pretty girl."

"I'm supposed to be dead," you groaned, gritting your teeth as you slowly came to in freshly laundered sheets, blinking up just to be damn near blinded by how bright it was. Daylight streaming through as you lifted an exhausted arm to cover your face, wincing at how sore your entire body felt.

"Too bad," Suguru wryly replied, and you finally forced yourself to pull your arm down enough to peek at him.

He was sitting on that armchair of his, pulled right by the bedside as he stared at you with furrowed brows. His antennas twitching too, wings shrugged down close to his side as he rested his chin on his fist.

A childish piece of you wanted to take the pillow out from underneath your head and throw it at him.

"What happened?" You croaked, your throat painfully dry as you made yourself look back down at the wrinkled blankets on your lap.

"I took care of the vultures," he grimaced, disgust dripping from his every word as he scooted the chair closer.

About to grab your hand before you slipped it back underneath the blanket.

“I’m mad at you,” you mumbled into the pillow, rolling away like it would make you feel less pathetic. “You let Gojo lock me up.”

A snake had been slithering around right under his nose. And you were the one to pay the price for his scheming - your own too, technically.

“I’m sorry,” he softly replied, getting up to perch on the edge of the bed and tenderly pet your head. “I could tell something was wrong, but I wanted to see what he’d do. If I’d known-"

"That he was going to sell me off to a sociopath?" You blurted out, brain throbbing inside your skull as you squinted to see if there was a cup of water on the nightstand.

"I shouldn't have trusted him," he admitted. "Not with you."

"Why does it matter?" You shrugged, squirming to make sure you could still move both legs, curling your toes just to confirm that you were good. "It's not like I'm your girlfriend."

Just a pet under his protection. A journalist who bit off far more than she could chew - and got a story she didn't know if she even wanted to write anymore.

Not when you were far too biased to string together the proper sentences to divulge a tale that was suddenly so much more personal than you ever intended it to be.

It wasn't about his cult anymore. Not a biography of how he'd become a god in the flesh.

But about your failures and how he caught you before you could fall.

"I thought you were my mate."

Your shoulders went stiff. Heart skipping a beat as your fingers curled around the thin fabric. "Since when?"

"Since I had you," he easily retorted, heat rising under your cheeks at his calm assertion.

Should you argue with him after he saved your life?

Did you want to be his mate? What would that even entail? Having little babies with wings like his? Spending the rest of your life spoiled in his pretty temple? Become his right-hand person now that the position was currently vacant?

"I woke up to the scent of your blood," he confessed, a hint of fear betraying his usually confident voice. "I thought I lost you. I nearly ripped this place apart when I smelled them in that room-"

“Could you call my boss?” You swallowed hard as you interrupted him, the bed creaking as he stood up. You listened to the familiar pattern of his footsteps, too exhausted to crane your neck to watch him move until he came back into view. Holding a cup of tea he must have just poured, setting it by the bed before helping prop you up.

Moving stirred fresh pain, the kind of dull ache that pulsed and throbbed as you sat as straight as you could.

“I handled it,” he smoothly said.

"What about the cops? Or-"

"No one's going to miss either of them," Suguru sarcastically dismissed your worry, one hand on the small of your back before he lifted the cup up to your lips.

You took a few short sips, letting the warm liquid soothe your sore throat.

"He was going to tell them you killed me," you revealed, tilting your head to the side as you recalled Satoru's last bitter words.

"It doesn't matter now," Suguru muttered.

What did?

What were you supposed to do now when your career had almost cost you your life?

"I’m sorry,” you muttered, looking up in his dark eyes to find his hypnotic stare already honed in on you, fingers reaching up to cup your cheek, his thumb drifting down to trace the edge of your lips. "I wasn't going to leave you."

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head before leaning over to put the teacup back up.

"The only thing you should worry about right now is healing," he hummed.

How long would that take?

You didn't need him to spiritually guide you or anything, but you weren't sure what to do when you needed a man to get you out. Even if he was part moth.

Maybe eventually, you'd be able to mentally figure yourself out.

But would you get stuck with physical proof of it? Scarred inside and out?

You knew you should lay back down. But you couldn't stop yourself from kicking the blanket away from your legs, scowling as you peeled back the edge of the thick bandage he'd wrapped around your thigh.

"Don't-"

Sukuna had been telling the truth when he said he carved you up.

A crude 'S' dug into your soft flesh, a mark you sincerely doubted would go away no matter how much time you gave it.

Your stomach dropped at the sight of it, but you refused to let all the feelings Sukuna wanted you to drown in sink in. None of the disgust. None of the fear.

He wanted you to think of him every single time you looked down, or saw your reflection in the mirror.

You wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

"I ordered scar gel online," Suguru softly said, trying to offer comfort you strangely weren't sure you needed.

"They deliver out here?" You tried to joke, your mouth curling up in a small smile.

And when he smiled back, all sweet and subtle, you could convince yourself that despite everything else, this could still work out.

You could still be okay.

"You must not be hurting too bad if you're teasing me," he dryly commented, sliding closer.

"Mm, I think I'm going to need to be taken care of for a while," you shrugged, faking a little cringe as you shuffled back further in the bed. "Preferably by a handsome man."

"I'm at your service," he winked at you.

How many girls could say they had a man with devotees solely devoted to them?

You leaned forward, ignoring the stabbing pain still scattering around your head stop you from pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his crooked smirk.

"You know, I thought you still had questions for me," he cocked a brow up, slipping his fingers through your hair to tilt your face back up towards him when you started to pull back.

"A thousand," you nodded.

But they could wait.

And this time, the questions would be all yours. No need for an audience to consider. Your attention was all his.

You supposed it might be a good thing Suguru started with an S too.

reblogs + comments are always greatly appreciated <3 oviposition final chapter next :3

series | latest oneshots

[notnormalthings-blog]

god do I hate bugs but give me this insect man now

[sukunahs]

alpine divorce | ryomen sukuna

pairing: mountaineer!sukuna x reader

summary: when your boyfriend abandons you on the side of a mountain you find solace in the form of a pink-haired mountaineer who comes to your rescue

word count: 11k

content: 18+ mdni, smut, modern au, mountaineering/hiking, reader is dating naoya :(, abusive bf, misogyny, injury, fluff, hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, cheating (kind of? reader's relationship with naoya is essentially done), semi-public sex (in a tent), piv, fingering, soft!sukuna

a/n: thinking about this scenario was the only thing that got me through my own miserable mountain experience and food poisoning last week :(

You’d joined the mountaineering club out of a desire to connect more with your boyfriend. 

He was an experienced mountaineer - the type of person who’d been climbing peaks with his family since he was a kid, and you’d thought he’d be happy to be able to go on those adventures with you. You’d figured it could be one of those interests that you shared. Something you could do together. 

Dismissal had been the emotion you’d been met with when you first told him you’d joined. It had been a scoff paired with an off-handed statement about how you weren’t cut out for all that. 

Maybe, if you’d had more sense, you would’ve broken up with Naoya in that moment and saved yourself a whole lot of trouble. Instead, just like always, you made excuses for him. You figured he was just having a bad day - that you just needed to prove yourself to him and then he’d be happy to have you as a climbing buddy. 

He was just concerned about your skill. That was all. 

So you’d worked hard at the club - learned plenty of skills, did plenty of hours in the gym, made dozens of friends with the other club members to ensure you weren’t dependent on Naoya to teach you everything. 

You tried to ignore how uninterested your boyfriend seemed in your progress, tried to ignore the way he’d flirt with the other women at the club - you were sure he’d be so impressed with you on your first major outing to Mount Hotaka that he’d forget about everything else and be pleased with you for once. 

That was all you wanted, for him to be proud of you outside of the offhanded thanks he’d give whenever you’d make him dinner. 

Your first trip out to the mountain had several people in attendance. Beyond you and Naoya there were a handful of women from the club who you’d grown close with: Shoko, Utahime and Yuki, and then a few men. There were a couple of older guys you didn’t know very well, and then a few in your age range who had been helping develop your skills - the most notable of that group being Sukuna, who had dedicated lots of time to teaching you knowledge that Naoya had brushed aside. 

It had surprised you at first, that the hulking pink-haired man had any interest in helping you do anything. Others in the club had claimed that he tended to be aloof, harsh and generally unfriendly - and while he was harsh in his teachings, unfriendly was certainly not the word you’d use to describe him. 

He’d gone out of his way to help you, chasing away others like Satoru with the claim that they were ‘too stupid to teach you right’. Spending hours at your side, he’d taught you all you needed to know about equipment, rope skills and climbing. He wouldn’t provide praise unless it was deserved, but once you’d finally started getting things right he’d always made sure you knew he was pleased with you. 

It was praise you were desperately starved for, praise you’d love to receive from your boyfriend, and you were ashamed to admit that Sukuna’s simple compliments lingered in your mind for longer than they should have.

You’d grown rather fond of him since joining the mountaineering club, even despite his somewhat prickly demeanour to everyone else, you felt he was someone you could rely on, someone who wouldn’t call you stupid for asking him questions. Even if he’d sometimes tease you for getting upset or frustrated for not understanding something, he’d still take the time to help you understand. 

Unlike Naoya, who would roll his eyes and once again point out how unfit you were for something as involved as mountain climbing. 

The comparison between the two was something you found yourself making more and more often, eyes straying over to your pink-haired friend when he wasn’t looking, your stomach flipping when he’d speak to you, or when he’d place a large hand on your shoulder in congratulations at a task done well. 

You knew it was wrong, chastising yourself whenever the thought of Sukuna would stray into your mind late at night while Naoya was snoring away next to you. Not only did you have a boyfriend, but you were certain Sukuna didn’t think of you in anything beyond a friendly manner anyway.

So you kept those feelings locked deep within your chest and tried to focus on why you were in the club in the first place - to prove to your boyfriend that you’d make a good partner for his mountain expeditions, to prove that you were worth more to him than being a glorified maid in his house.

The first few hours of the hike, starting in the early morning, had gone by fairly uneventfully. Your training had paid off and your legs felt good as you winded up through valleys and fields, trailing a little behind the group of boys, favouring a slightly slower pace and jovial conversation amongst the girls. 

Despite Naoya’s reluctance for you to join the club, you felt like it was where you were supposed to be. You loved being out in nature - taking in the fresh air and drinking from mountain streams, wandering along with like-minded people and encouraging each other along through the gruelling uphills. 

It wasn’t until late afternoon that things started to get more difficult, with the altitude creeping steadily up, and the group stumbling across snow fields that still hadn’t melted in the late spring air. It was nothing you weren’t prepared for, but with everyone feeling a great deal more tired than they had in the morning hours, the pace slowed considerably. 

A group of the more experienced men ended up going on ahead at a quicker pace, saying they’d get the next big section of uphill completed and scout out a good camping spot for the night, since the plan was to make a summit push in the early morning to watch the sunrise. 

You didn’t mind that so much - you didn’t like the feeling of slowing them down and that arrangement meant that you could keep going at a comfortable pace without feeling stressed about it. The girls you were with were perfectly experienced in their own right, and Naoya had chosen to hang behind with you anyway rather than going on ahead. 

That was a decision that you’d convinced yourself was on account of him wanting to keep an eye on you, but a part of you believed it was really because he didn’t get along with any of the men at the club. 

Or perhaps it was just so he could keep staring at Yuki’s ass like he had been for the entire hike up to that point. 

The next couple of hours were difficult, and everyone grew more withdrawn under the effort of a constant uphill - facing switchback after switchback with no clarity on how far you had to go beneath a freshly settled blanket of fog lowering the visibility. Shoko had been struggling for a while, and after an extended rest on a rock decided that it was best if she turned back and camped somewhere lower in the valley. 

She’d been having issues with her lungs and didn’t think it was wise to keep going. 

At her decision, Utahime also suggested that she wanted to go back, mentioning that she also didn’t feel in the best physical condition, and Yuki insisted on going back with the two of them to make sure they got back down safely. You’d considered joining them, but you were still feeling good both physically and mentally and were keen to continue upwards towards the peak. 

Considering Naoya’s experience, you were certain that the two of you would be fine even without the girls, so you waved them off and continued upwards into the mist, eager to reconnect with the other half of your group and get settled with Naoya in the tent for the night. 

—

Sukuna had found a pretty good camping spot. He was pretty sure it was in a similar position to where he’d set up on his solo winter ascent a couple of years before - a location that should be downright comfy in the mild spring weather. 

Assuming that weather stayed mild. 

It was hard to tell through all the fog, but he was almost sure he could see dark clouds rolling high in the sky. He hoped he was wrong. There hadn’t been a storm on the forecast, and if one was to roll in that could make for a very harrowing evening, especially for people like you who’d had little experience of the mountains. 

He hoped one bad night wouldn’t be enough to put you off entirely. 

“Yuki just radioed.” Satoru called out to him. “She, Shoko and Utahime are all going back down. The others are still coming I think.” 

Sukuna hummed in affirmation as he moved to set up his tent. He wished it could’ve just been you coming up, rather than you and your shithead boyfriend, but he supposed he’d rather you have a buddy in the mountains than be out there alone. If he’d had things his way, he would’ve hung back with you for the whole duration of the hike, but he didn’t need people casting suspicions on his actions. 

He’d already received some strange looks over his eagerness to teach you - the last thing he needed was the rumor mill in full operation. 

Even if the rumor mill was right in this case. 

He liked you. He really liked you. 

Feelings that he needed to keep to himself, because your boyfriend was one jealous asshole, and he was almost confident that any sign of flirting on Sukuna’s part would have Naoya taking out his anger and jealousy on you, which was the last thing he wanted. He wasn’t sure what you saw in that guy, but god, Sukuna wanted to bash his teeth in. 

He’d been watching it for months now - the depressing life you lived in which you’d excitedly bound over to Naoya to show him something you’d learned only for him to react with total disregard. Sukuna had watched the light in your eyes flicker and die each time, doing his best to control the rage boiling in his chest. 

You deserved better than that fucker. 

But he got the sense that you weren’t able to see that. 

Almost everyone had set up their tents, laughing and joking and tearing into provisions by the time Naoya appeared from the mist. A couple of hours had passed since the group first found the camping spot, and Satoru welcomed him enthusiastically as he stepped into the clearing. He looked surprisingly exhausted for a man who was supposed to be experienced. 

Sukuna’s red eyes scanned the fog, waiting for you to appear behind the man. His chest squeezed when only silence followed, no sign of your presence in the mist. 

“Is it only you?” Satoru asked, voicing the very question that was on the tip of Sukuna’s tongue. 

“Yeah, the girls went down,” Naoya responded nonchalantly, shrugging off his backpack. “Is there a good place for me to set up?” Satoru’s lips parted, as if to question the man’s statement, considering Yuki had relayed specific names, but he clearly thought better of it, nodding and pointing Naoya in the direction of a clear patch of dirt for him to pitch his tent. 

Sukuna wasn’t so happy to shrug it off. 

“Yuki only said she was going down with Utahime and Shoko,” he called out to Naoya. The man turned to look at him, irritation shining in his amber eyes. Sukuna was well aware that Naoya despised him just as much as he despised Naoya. 

“They all went. Think I don’t know where my own girlfriend is?” Naoya snapped. 

Sukuna stared him down for a moment before leaving him be, heading over to Satoru and asking for the radio. Speaking into it, he called out for Yuki, praying that they were still within a reasonable range to pick up his voice. 

He was met with only silence, cursing under his breath at the realisation that they were probably all the way back in the valley by that point and likely impossible to reach. His crimson gaze fell to Naoya once more, watching him hum as he set up his tent without a care in the world. 

Something in the pit of Sukuna’s stomach told him that there was something wrong. You hadn’t gone back with Yuki. You’d been so happy all day, so excited about your first major peak. Not only that, but you’d been in good condition - he’d been watching you whenever he could, he’d been proud at how well you were doing. 

You wouldn’t have turned back. And if you had, Yuki would’ve listed your name when she was heading down. Yuki was no newcomer to the mountains - she was responsible and experienced and she always emphasised the importance of good communications. And if you’d have turned back any later, Naoya should’ve gone with you - it's what any sensible person would’ve done. 

But he was here, and you weren’t. And you hadn’t gone with Yuki. So you were alone. 

Sukuna’s first instinct was to bash Naoya’s head in. He wanted to walk over there and silence that bastard’s humming with a well placed rock to the head. What kind of a man - an experienced mountaineer, no less - would abandon their inexperienced girlfriend on the side of a mountain? 

It wasn’t like Sukuna doubted your ability. He’d taught you all you needed to know, but putting those things into practice alone, at altitude, and in adverse weather was a whole other thing. 

Instead of doing anything about Naoya, he parked that issue temporarily and quickly moved to dismantle his own tent. He wasn’t going to sit there and do nothing while your location was unaccounted for. Even if you had gone down shortly after Yuki, even if you’d made it back to the valley by yourself, he wasn’t going to roll the dice on your life. 

He’d go back the way they’d come and he’d walk until he found you - even if that happened to be safe and sound at the bottom of the mountain. 

“What’re you doing?” Satoru asked, hovering as Sukuna put his stuff back into his pack. Naoya had stopped to watch, a sneer on his already ugly face. 

“I don’t think she went down with Yuki. I need to make sure the boyfriend of the year over there didn’t leave her in some bad situation,” Sukuna explained.

“Oh my god, she’s fine.” Naoya snapped from across the campsite. “Yuki just misspoke, she went down with them. Why is it your problem anyway? It's not like she’s your girlfriend.” 

The defensive edge to the man’s voice told Sukuna all he needed to know, and he ignored the jabs in favour of packing up more quickly. He didn’t want it to get too dark - if something bad had happened and you didn’t have your headlamp on it would be impossible to find you at night. 

Unfortunately, Naoya seemed to have no interest in letting up. “I mean seriously? You’re actually doing this? I know you wanna fuck her but she’s always been a loyal little thing - she ain’t gonna put out for you because of this. I think she’s realised that she isn’t cut out for this type of shit - she went back down to safety with the rest of the girls and I think she’ll probably quit the club. She can get back to what she’s good at.” 

Sukuna’s hands stilled as he zipped his bag shut, his expression calm as he finally looked at the man before him. There was malice in his expression and a clear, guilty desire to keep Sukuna from trekking back down the mountain path. 

“‘She can get back to what she’s good at’?” Sukuna asked, drawing himself up to his full height. “And what would that be?” 

The smug grin Naoya shot him was sickening. “Making me dinner.” 

Sukuna laughed, a deep unpleasant sound rumbling from his chest. “Right.” He took a step forward, towering over your boyfriend who he deeply hoped would be your ex-boyfriend after that expedition. Before Naoya could react, Sukuna grabbed him by the front of his raincoat. “Listen. I’m going back down that path. If I find her out there, abandoned and alone, be assured that I’ll beat you so badly that you’ll never climb another mountain again. Do you understand me?” 

Fear flickered in Naoya’s amber eyes, but he pushed it down quickly, replacing it with a scowl. “Get the fuck off me.” 

Sukuna let him go, revelling in the way he stumbled about off balance, barely keeping himself from careening onto the floor. If he was being honest with himself, the desire to enact justice on Naoya in that moment was tempting, but he could wait. Every moment he spent in that camp was another moment of peril for you. 

And unlike Naoya, he wouldn’t leave you to a night alone on a mountain. 

—

You weren’t sure when you’d lost Naoya. 

He’d been picking up the pace significantly while you’d been getting slower and slower, and despite calling out for him to wait for you to catch up, eventually he just disappeared off into the fog - the sound of his footsteps fading entirely. 

It had left you at a loss, unsure as to whether you should keep going or turn back. You were certain that the summit camp probably wasn’t too far off, but you had no real idea of how far that distance might actually be, and had a vague concern that you might take a wrong turn in the ever-thickening fog, leaving you stranded for the night. You and Naoya were sharing a tent which he’d been carrying, and subsequently ending up alone for the evening wasn’t ideal for you. 

The most you’d be able to do is wrap yourself in your sleeping bag and find a sheltered place to hunker down for the night. 

But it shouldn’t come to that. 

Getting down to the valley would take too long, and you weren’t sure where Yuki and the gang would’ve settled anyway. Naoya had the radio. He had everything really, which meant that the only thing you could do was continue upwards and hope that you stumbled across the other half of your group. 

It was a plan that was going okay until you’d carelessly stepped on a loose rock, sending you tumbling back down a hill of scree you’d spent the past half an hour climbing. 

At first you’d thought only your morale was damaged, your mind exhausted at the prospect of having to get back up and reascend a slope you’d already climbed once. But as you struggled to get to your feet, you realised that it wasn’t only your mind that had undergone damage.

A hot pain spread through your ankle as you tried to stand, sending you straight back down to the floor with a yelp. Panic instantly overcame you, the sudden realisation of where you were hitting you like a tonne of bricks. Naoya, your boyfriend, had abandoned you on the side of a mountain. He’d left you in the fog, beneath the setting sun, without a tent and without a radio. And now you were injured.

If you didn’t know better, you would’ve said he was actively trying to kill you. 

But what was more likely was that he was just proving the point he’d been trying to make all along - that you weren’t cut out for the life of a mountaineer. 

And considering your condition, could you really disagree with him? 

Soft sobs overtook you, and you began to spiral. You weren’t sure how long you sat there, shivering as the cold grew more intense, mumbling incoherently to yourself about how you should’ve gone back down to the valley with Yuki. 

Perhaps you never should’ve tried facing the mountains in the first place. 

Maybe Naoya was right. 

They were thoughts that fled from your mind at the blessed sight of a headlamp cutting through the fog from above, footsteps crunching evenly on scree, picking up in speed the moment the light shone upon your sorry figure huddled on the ground. 

“Fuck, are you okay?” Sukuna’s voice had a tremor of relief shooting through you, and more tears swelled at the corners of your eyes. He was crouching down in front of you, expression laden with concern as he scanned your cowering form. One of his hands reached for your face, wiping away tears carefully while he waited for you to answer him. 

“My ankle…” You mumbled. Everything was too overwhelming for you to articulate any further, your words already coming out all choked and shaky. Sukuna didn’t need to hear any more, attention instantly shifting to your foot. His hands moved to prod gently at it, watching your face for a grimace which came quickly under his touch. 

“Does that hurt?” 

You nodded. He bit down on his lip and quickly moved to untie the lace of your boot. A soft whimper left your lips as he pulled it from your foot, but he was right to pay your reaction no mind since you were overcome with relief once your ankle was freed from those rigid confines pressing down too tightly upon it. 

It had swollen up significantly in the time you’d been sitting there waiting for someone to come for you. 

“Right. I’ll deal with the ankle soon but I want to get us to someplace better first before it gets fully dark.” It was only just occurring to you that the wind had started to pick up a little, your clothes ruffled by air rushing against you. It would be best to be in a less exposed place - Sukuna had taught you that exposure made all the difference when dealing with bad weather.

“There was a plateau back down at the bottom of this slope,” you mumbled, remembering the slight respite you’d had from the seemingly neverending onslaught of uphill.

Sukuna gave you a proud smile and it made your heart flutter. “Yeah, that would work. I’m gonna carry you down there, if that’s okay? I don’t think you should try walking on that ankle until we give it a proper look.” 

You wanted to collapse into fresh tears at the suggestion. While your boyfriend, the person who was supposed to look after you, had abandoned you on the side of your first big mountain, Sukuna was here offering to carry you to safety. The feeling his offer was giving you had a risk of overwhelming you entirely, utterly grateful that he was the person who’d come back to look for you. 

Naively, you wondered if Naoya had sent him down to look for you. It was a weak hope, a desperate, delusional belief that your boyfriend wasn’t as cruel as he truly was. 

“Yeah, that’s okay,” you said, quietly. You tried to ignore how pleasant it felt when Sukuna crouched down to scoop you up into his arms. His touch felt warm against your body which had grown cold over the past few hours of inactivity. The arms holding you were strong and secure, building a feeling of safety knowing he was there with you. 

Naoya would’ve taken issue with it, but you wished you’d asked Sukuna to stick with you throughout the whole trip. Things would’ve felt better if it was him you were relying on rather than your boyfriend. In his lessons he’d always emphasised the importance of matching your pace with a mountain buddy - always checking that they weren’t far behind. 

Rules that a supposedly experienced mountaineer like Naoya should’ve been well aware of. 

Sukuna strode down the rest of the hill with ease, keeping you tucked close against him in a princess carry. Considering that you had your pack still on your back you were surprised at how easy he made the whole thing look, because he wasn’t exactly carrying a light load between you in his arms and his own bag on his back. But he didn’t complain or demonstrate any signs of struggle. 

Outside of the fact that he was largely silent until you reached your destination. 

You didn’t mind that. It wasn’t like you were in the mood to talk either, your mind swimming with all kinds of things now that you were in safe hands. Naoya had left you behind to die. You could’ve died if no one had come back for you. Exposure could’ve gotten to you, or an animal, or some person with ill-intent prowling the mountainside. 

He’d left you helpless and defenceless. 

And, as rain started to drip from the sky above, you realised that if Sukuna hadn’t come for you, it would’ve been an evening out in the storm, at altitude, with nothing but your rain jacket and sleeping bag to huddle within. 

You could’ve died. 

Sukuna found a well sheltered area and placed you down while he set up the tent. You were in awe at how quickly he got it done - the same actions would’ve taken you three times the time it took his experienced hands to get it sorted. You were grateful for the speed, because it meant the two of you made it inside before the worst of the rain began to hammer down from the sky above. 

“Okay. First the ankle. Then everything else.” 

You tilted your head a little at his statement, not quite sure what he meant by everything else, but you assumed he was referring more to your mental condition and questions around how you’d ended up in your terrible position in the first place. You hoped he wouldn’t be mad at you for failing to make it up to the peak after how much time he’d spent teaching you things. 

You thought maybe he’d chastise you for things like not having your own tent or radio, but Naoya had been insistent about carrying those items for you, assuring you that he’d stick at your side and claiming his actions were out of a desire to keep your pack as light as possible. 

You were stupid to have believed him.

Sukuna knelt by your foot, removing your sock and inspecting the damage carefully. His fingers pressed delicately against the skin and you found yourself admiring his concentrated expression in the lamplight. “I don’t think it's broken,” he said. “Probably just twisted.” 

Reaching into his first aid kit, he found a bandage which he wrapped around the problem area, before pulling out an ice pack and snapping to activate its effects. He placed the pack down on your ankle, earning a little hiss from you which pulled a small smile from his otherwise serious face. 

He’d been really serious since he’d found you, his expression all irritated and stormy. 

Was he angry with you? Frustrated that he’d had to come back down the mountain to your aid? You didn’t like the idea of being his burden. 

“Endure the cold for a bit - it’ll make you feel much better.” he said, placing a warm hand on your calf. Your breath hitched involuntarily at the contact and Sukuna quickly withdrew from you, a tinge of guilt flickering across his handsome face. He instantly busied himself before you could question it, moving onto the next stage of tending to your injury.

He fumbled about in his pack and withdrew some clothing, bundling it up into a small pile and wedging it beneath your foot to elevate it a little. Nothing he was doing was particularly revolutionary - on the contrary, his actions were all things he’d taught you to do in the event of an injury. 

You’d just been too panicked to do anything on that scree slope. 

Perhaps he was mad at you for that too. 

Sukuna laid out his sleeping mat next to you, his nose wrinkling at the revelation that you didn’t have one because it was in Naoya’s possession. He slid his mat beneath you, keen not to have you lying on the floor, before pulling out his sleeping bag and sitting on top of that for some amount of comfort. 

“So, what happened?” Sukuna asked. His voice was a little clipped, as if he was holding himself back from saying what he really wanted to say. 

“I was rushing and lost my footing on some scree-”

“No. I mean, why are you alone?” 

“Oh.” You shrugged, taking a deep breath and avoiding his eyes. There was a sticky feeling building up in your throat, keeping your words down. If you said the truth aloud you were certain you’d burst into tears again. “I don’t know,” you mumbled finally. 

“You don’t know?” He echoed. 

“It just sort of happened. The girls went back down the mountain and Naoya kept going quicker and then we got separated somewhere in the fog. I imagine he was probably waiting somewhere up ahead for me but then I slipped.” You weren’t sure why you were trying to defend your boyfriend. You weren’t naive enough to truly believe he’d been waiting up ahead for you. 

He’d left you. 

But the idea of airing out just how stupid you were to be in that relationship in the first place felt humiliating. You wanted to at least pretend that Naoya didn’t leave you for dead - that you weren’t the fool who had stayed for years with an abusive boyfriend when you should’ve just left. 

You didn’t want Sukuna to think you were completely pathetic. 

“Naoya arrived at the camp hours ago,” Sukuna said, his tone detached, as if he wanted to avoid projecting any of his own emotion onto you. “He said you’d gone back down with the rest of the girls.” 

The horrified expression on your face must’ve said it all, because Sukuna’s impartiality quickly faded, rage burning within those crimson eyes. Naoya really had abandoned you. And not only that, he’d also attempted to sabotage any retrieval attempt that might be made for you. He’d outright claimed you were safe when he knew no such thing. 

It was a thought that made you sick, and once again the tears started to flow, dripping down your cheeks. You’d spent years with that man, feeling like you were less than good enough. You’d let him break you down, put up with his endless bullying and tormenting, all because he’d been sweet to you at the start. 

You’d always thought you weren’t good enough, always thought that it was your fault he was so unpleasant with you. 

Now it felt like your eyes were open for the first time. 

He’d left you on the side of a mountain. He couldn’t care less about your wellbeing. He couldn’t care less about you unless you were making him dinner. 

And you’d put up with it. 

You were a fool. 

“I knew that fucker was lying,” Sukuna hissed. “Yuki didn’t say your name when she radioed in to say she was heading back. She’s always good with that sort of thing. Fuck, I’m glad I came down to check, who knows what would’ve happened if-” 

He cut himself off, faltering before he could finish the sentence. It was clear that he didn’t want to scare or upset you further, not when you’d already reduced yourself to a puddle of tears. You didn’t want to imagine what fate the night would’ve brought if not for Sukuna arriving as your saviour. 

Falling silent, he shuffled a little closer to you. Reaching out delicately he began to wipe away your tears with his thumb. The touch of his skin against yours felt pleasant, and you found your sobs faltering at the new found comfort he was providing. A deeply loyal part of you urged you to pull away, reminding you of your boyfriend. You immediately pushed the thought aside. 

Naoya wasn’t your boyfriend. 

Not after what he’d done. 

“Don’t cry. You’re okay. I found you and we’ll make it through the night together. I’m not going anywhere.” Sukuna’s words were soothing, and you found yourself nodding between sniffles, your tears gradually drying up. You hadn’t realised you were shivering until Sukuna tentatively wrapped an arm around you, pulling you up and close to him. 

The storm had worsened outside, and you huddled down in your jacket, letting yourself lean into Sukuna’s chest to keep the shivering at bay. If this was how you felt inside a tent with another human to warm you, you hated to think how you would’ve felt still stuck all alone on the scree. 

It didn’t bear considering. 

“You should report that asshole to the police once we get down. Nothing will come of it because it's hard to prove intent, but this was an active attempt on your life. He had a duty of care he ignored, stripped you of shelter and then tried to prevent a rescue. I have half a mind to kill him myself.” Sukuna’s voice rumbled through his body. 

No one had ever really stood up for you before. Naoya was always good at being charming when it mattered. Your parents and the rest of your family had always seen him as a good prospect - a polite and handsome man from a well off family. With your friends, you’d done the damage on your own, always defending him, manipulated by him to act like the perfect picture of an abused girlfriend. 

“I’m so stupid,” you whispered. 

“What?” Sukuna asked, pulling back ever so slightly so he could look at you properly. You hadn’t spoken at all since the reveal, and your quiet words clearly caught him off guard. 

“I’ve wasted so much of my life with him. Spent so much time defending him like he was some good guy. I only joined this club to impress him and all he ever did was tell me how useless I was at stuff like this - at everything. Did you know that he spent most of this hike staring at Yuki’s ass? And yet, when I’d tell him about how much stuff you’d taught me he’d get all mad about me talking to another guy and verbally berate me until I cried. And I just let it all happen. You must think I’m an idiot.” 

Sukuna hesitated, searching for the right words. It made you smile in a twisted sort of way, because he was definitely trying to find something to say that wouldn’t indirectly call you stupid - an impossibility considering the circumstances. Now that your eyes were open you could finally see how foolish you’d been. 

You just wanted to go home. Forget mountaineering or anything else you’d tried in an attempt to bond with that asshole.

“I don’t think you’re an idiot,” he said finally. “I think guys like that are very good at getting their way, and you happened to be his victim.” The words were uncannily gentle, and at a glance at Sukuna’s face you could tell he was out of his comfort zone, but trying his best. He tightened his grip on you as a sudden gust of wind battered the tent. 

The touch had your heart fluttering, and you wondered how Sukuna felt about your current position. It was probably just a necessity in his eyes - a bid to warm up a tired and stressed woman, nothing more than that. 

With your loyalty to Naoya stranded somewhere on the mountain never to be recovered, you found yourself wishing the contact was something more than that. 

But considering your woefully pathetic attempt at summiting this relatively easy peak, you doubted Sukuna held you in high regard at all. His type was probably some strong, confident girl who already knew all her outdoor skills without Sukuna’s input. The type of woman he could rely on to partner with for dangerous and difficult peaks. 

That wasn’t you. 

You weren’t sure you’d step foot on a mountain again after this. 

“Maybe you don’t think I’m an idiot for that, but you probably think I am for all this.” You gestured in the general direction of your foot, still humiliated at the thought of Sukuna having to rush down the mountain to your rescue, like you couldn’t be left unsupervised for a single moment without finding yourself in need of rescue. 

Much to your chagrin, Sukuna laughed. “An idiot for getting injured? No, that’s practically a rite of passage. You were doing great through most of the hike - I was keeping an eye on you before the group split in half. We’ll get you down the mountain and get your ankle sorted, and then you can try this peak again another time.” 

Sukuna’s optimism had butterflies swarming in your stomach, but years of insults and abuse weren’t so easily displaced. You lowered your gaze, staring down at your hands in your lap. “I don’t know. I just wonder if Naoya was right. Maybe I’m not cut out for this.” 

Sukuna pulled a face, clearly displeased by that statement. 

“Do you like being in the mountains?” He asked simply. 

He made no statement on your skill, no attack on anything your boyfriend had told you. Asked nothing more than whether you liked being out in the fresh air, doing what you’d been doing before your ankle had been injured. 

And you did. 

You really did like it. 

“Yeah. I do.” 

“Then you are cut out for this. Enjoyment is literally the only requirement,” he said earnestly. “Besides, that guy’s full of shit. I taught you everything you needed to know and I have faith in your abilities. If you need to listen to someone else’s opinion to determine your value, how about you consider mine instead of his.” 

A flush appeared across your cheeks. Those were the kind of compliments Sukuna would always pay you. Nothing particularly special or flowery, but deeply genuine in a way that had your whole body bursting with pride, pushing the rot of Naoya’s insults from your veins and replacing it with Sukuna’s approval. 

“We’ll come back here together in a few weeks, just the two of us, and we’ll do this peak. I can promise you it’ll be better. I won’t abandon you in the fog.” You believed him, nodding a little in agreement. Even in your fragile mental state that evening, you couldn’t help the excited flip of your stomach at the thought of Sukuna wanting to do something alone with you. 

The mountaineering club had been a means for you to learn your skills to climb alone with Naoya. You hadn’t expected that it would leave you excited at the prospect of climbing with another man. 

Still, you tried not to get ahead of yourself. Your little crush on Sukuna, which had been present for several months more than you were really willing to admit, seemed to have finally found the freedom to really take over your thoughts. Your heart was practically in your throat at your current proximity to him, a desire coursing through your whole body. 

You needed to push it back down even with Naoya out of the picture, because you were certain Sukuna was just being friendly, just being a better person than Naoya was. You couldn’t afford to let your mind run wild with fantasies. 

At least, that’s what you’d told yourself. 

The two of you had sat in silence for a while after Sukuna’s offer of climbing alone together, still huddled together and listening to the wind and rain outside the tent. You found yourself calmed by the steady rhythm of Sukuna’s heartbeat, basking in the warmth of his body which took your mind off the cold compress burning at your ankle. 

“Do you mind if we share the sleeping mat? It's okay if not, but it would be warmer for you and more comfy for me that way.” Considering that the two of you had been cuddling for a while, you didn’t see the issue. Anything was fine in matters of survival and you were more than happy to remain close to Sukuna. 

“Yeah, sure. We can zip our sleeping bags together.” 

Sukuna’s lashes fluttered and you swore you could see a dusting of pink on his cheeks, but you were quick to disregard it. It had been a long and exhausting day, and you were likely just seeing what you wanted to see. 

The cold compress had started to lose its effect, and Sukuna removed it from your ankle while the two of you shuffled about to get ready for bed. Your ankle was feeling much better after a period of rest and elevation, and you found you could move it again without excruciating pain. Getting back down the mountain might still be an issue, but it was one you could leave to figure out in the morning. 

Zipping your sleeping bags together and settling down on the sleeping mat, Sukuna made space for you beside him. You had to half lay on him for you both to stay on the padding, but with how warm his body seemed to run, you really didn’t mind. He wrapped his arm around you, nestling you close against him under the guise of conserving space - an action that had your whole body thrumming with electricity. 

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt that way. For months, maybe even years, the only thing you’d felt under Naoya’s touch was mild dread. This was something nicer, something more exciting - a feeling you wanted to experience over and over again. 

“Warm enough?” Sukuna asked, giving you a reassuring squeeze. The tent was relatively cool, the fabric being battered by the storm outside, all of which seemed distant as you lay there in Sukuna’s grip. It was a safe and warm place to be, one where you could take your mind off troubles and anxieties knowing he was there to keep anything and everything at bay. 

Troubles which Naoya had actively brought upon your life, were effectively chased away by Sukuna. 

How you wished you’d met the pink-haired man earlier in your life. 

“Warm enough,” you echoed, your voice coming out muffled as you buried your face into his chest. 

Again, the two of you fell into comfortable silence, listening to the whistling of wind and basking in the feeling of your bodies pressed close together. You were half asleep and almost convinced that Sukuna was already asleep, when his deep voice cut through the darkness and silence. 

“I don’t usually go on these things, you know,” he confessed quietly. “This is my first one. I’m only in the club because it gives you connections for exhibition funding and learning new skills. Usually I do mountains solo and usually I do stuff much harder than this.” He waved his hand in the direction of the tent’s exit. 

A guilt blossomed in your gut at the speech, recalling similar words from your boyfriend when you’d brought up the trip. He’d said that climbs in the Japanese Alps outside of wintertime were nothing special, and that the whole thing would likely be so easy that he could do it in his sleep. He’d only agreed to go after you’d begged him, reminding him that you didn’t have the experience he did. 

“I’m only here because of you,” Sukuna continued. The guilt within you only grew sharper. Was Sukuna trying to imply that he was only present out of concern for your inexperience? Had you forced him along because he knew something like this would happen? Had he known he’d need to come to your rescue?

“Sorry. I must be such a burden,” you mumbled quietly, burying your face in your sleeping bag. 

Did Sukuna really want to commit to climbing alone with you knowing that you were so much less experienced than he was? Or was he just doing it because he felt bad for you? You were likely a pitiful sight with your messed up ankle and an abusive boyfriend who had abandoned you. 

Sukuna blinked rapidly, astute enough to swiftly connect the dots. “What? No, that’s not- I was trying to say something nice. I was saying I only came along because I enjoy spending time with you. I don’t like these group things and I prefer to do harder stuff but I’m here because you’re here, and I like you.” 

Your heart was pounding so hard you could hear it in your ears, completely drowning out the sound of any thoughts on how you were supposed to reply to that. You were too caught up on the word ‘like’, on the way Sukuna shifted ever so slightly against you, pulling you more firmly against his body. 

“What?” You asked, dumbly. 

“I like you,” he repeated. “I think you’re so cute and I love how happy you get whenever you learn something new and I’m so fucking exhausted of watching your boyfriend ignore you and take you for granted when I’d cherish you.” 

Again, your stomach flipped, your ears growing warm. 

“And when that fucker showed up at the top of the mountain without you, I wanted to kill him. When I found you all cold and alone on the slope I just- fuck. I want to keep you safe. I want to be the person who looks out for you, I want to take care of you in a way that guy seems unwilling to. He has no idea what he has- had, while I understand exactly what you’re worth. I want to take you to the mountains at my side because unlike him, I’d be thrilled to have you as my hiking partner.” 

Before you knew what was happening, you were crying again, wetting his clothes immediately with your tears. Your shoulders were shuddering and you could feel Sukuna’s heartrate picking up. It seemed like he was starting to panic - concerned that you were upset by his words when the reality was the total opposite. 

You’d never heard something so romantic from Naoya and you never would. To have someone speak such beautiful words to you felt surreal and your body had no idea how to react beyond sobbing from being so overwhelmed with love and affection. 

“Sorry,” Sukuna said quickly. “I know it's been a long day, now probably wasn’t the time to say anything. You don’t have to respond-”

He faltered as you peered up at him, your face wet with tears. He usually looked so confident, and even then there was still some atmosphere of certainty about him, but he couldn’t fully hide the glimmer of anxiety in his lovely red eyes. There was a fear of rejection buried within him, a fate that he seemed almost certain he was going to face. 

If only he could step into your shoes for a moment and feel all the emotion rushing over you at his confession

You didn’t say anything, you couldn’t think of anything that would suffice as a response to his outpouring of desire. Instead you tilted your face upwards, lips parting softly in a clear signal - one that Sukuna caught onto immediately. He closed the gap swiftly, lips slotting perfectly against yours with a warmth you’d never experienced before. 

Naoya’s kiss had always been domineering - a wet and unpleasant experience. Sukuna’s kiss was gentle and exploratory. His lips took the time to appreciate yours, to linger on that lovely shared warmth and soak in the feeling of being connected so intimately for the first time. 

His tongue ran along your lips carefully, requesting for you to open your mouth. You complied easily, letting him hold you ever closer as his tongue pressed into yours, deepening the kiss in a way that felt so natural despite the fact that you’d never kissed each other before. 

A rumble of thunder overhead had the two of you parting for a second, and you found your shivering renewed as a particularly cold wind blew through the tent. Sukuna’s red eyes went to the entryway, the space illuminating for a second as another flash of lightning ripped through the sky above. His hands rubbed your back soothingly at a louder rumble overhead. 

“I’m so glad I came down to find you,” he whispered. 

“Thank you for coming to find me,” you mumbled, eyes fixed on his handsome face, your mind still struggling to catch up to all that had transpired in the past few minutes. Thoughts of Naoya and all the suffering he’d put you through seemed distant in the intimacy of that tent. “I feel so lucky. Injured ankle aside.” You giggled softly, heart jumping at the way Sukuna grinned back at you, pressing another soft kiss to your lips. 

There was a gratefulness to his expression, a soft affection in his gaze which made you feel seen and special in a way you’d never felt with Naoya. It had you sinking deep into another kiss, your lips locked against his in a deeply intoxicating manner. All the stress and the anxiety of the day seemed to wash away beneath his grip. 

Even with the storm raging outside, you felt safe and warm with him there beside you.

You should’ve known about his feelings for you - should’ve understood the moment Yuki had made a comment about how Sukuna never usually spoke to anyone. He’d spent so much time on you, being so gentle in his teachings, making sure you knew what you were doing, making sure you were praised. 

He’d liked you from the start and you’d been too blind to see it. 

Too beaten down by your own experiences in relationships to believe that any affection directed towards you would be legitimate. 

You wished you could’ve puzzled it out sooner. You wished you could’ve noticed the soft look that always sparkled in Sukuna’s eyes whenever he looked at you. You wished you’d dumped Naoya several years ago, because it shouldn’t have taken an abandonment on the side of the mountain for you to realise how truly awful your ex-boyfriend was. 

But what was done was done. Sukuna’s hands were on you now, and that was all that mattered. You’d made it in the end, even if it had taken you a little longer to get there than you would’ve ideally liked. 

“You’re so pretty,” he whispered as the two of you broke apart for breath, red eyes scanning your face like he was committing your features to memory. “How Naoya could be so stupid, I have no idea.” 

“He’s not a smart man.” 

“No. He really isn’t.” Sukuna agreed. “But his loss is my gain.” 

You hummed, leaning against Sukuna’s chest once more, listening to his heartbeat beneath you. Despite the excitement, you were suddenly aware of how tired you were, and how much the cold was still seeping in through your clothes and down into your bones. Altitude was no joke, and the pleasant spring warmth was nowhere to be found on the mountainside that evening. 

“Are you still cold? You’re shivering.” It wasn’t possible for Sukuna to physically pull you closer to him than you already were, but he gave it an attempt all the same, practically crushing you in his grip. 

“A little, yeah.” 

“Shit. Once sec.” Moving away from you for a moment, he reached out of the sleeping bag and rummaged about in his bag, withdrawing his down jacket and draping it around your shoulders like an additional blanket. You were grateful for the added warmth, coccooned in between that and Sukuna’s warm body. 

For a few moments you lay there, your shivering finally subsiding, only for all the hairs on your neck to raise at the feeling of Sukuna’s voice vibrating against the top of your head. “There is another way I could keep you warm.” 

His tone was suggestive and perhaps a little amused. The comment had heat billowing throughout your body, your gut tightening at the suggestion of something you’d never allowed yourself to think of before. Sukuna was very attractive, and sometimes your mind had drifted in his direction when your hand had been caught between your thighs. But you’d always scolded yourself for it, had always driven away the idea of picturing a man you actually knew when you had a boyfriend. 

Now the suggestion was right there on the table as something real and tangible, and your mind was conjuring all sorts of exciting imagery. 

“O-oh. Yeah, that could be nice,” you said with a sudden rush of confidence. It was Sukuna’s turn to falter, red eyes suddenly wide with surprise, as if you’d called some bluff without even realising it. 

“I don’t have a condom,” he murmured, pushing you back ever so slightly so he could look properly at your face. “Sorry, I wasn’t actually expecting…this.” 

“I am on the pill,” you offered a little bashfully, embarrassed to have reacted so enthusiastically to what you were now realising was a joke. “But we can wait if you’d rather use a-” 

“No, no-,” his face was definitely a little red this time, seemingly caught off by your willingness. “If you want to, I’d like to. I just…” He rubbed his neck a little awkwardly. “I was just teasing and you surprised me, I guess. You’re always surprising me.” 

Before you could backtrack or come up with some witty response, Sukuna recovered himself and his lips were on your neck. You let out a soft whimper at the sensation of his teeth dragging against your sensitive skin, his lips latching onto you and sucking purple marks onto you with no concern for who might see them the next day. 

As far as he was concerned you were his. Naoya could rage all he wanted. If he wanted to keep his girlfriend he shouldn’t have discarded her on the mountainside. Bitterly, you hoped Naoya found out exactly what you and Sukuna had done that night. Let him seethe. Let him reflect on all that he’d lost. 

The bastard deserved all that misery and more. 

Sukuna’s hands found their way beneath your clothes, calloused fingers pressing against your skin with care. You hadn’t realised how much your whole body was aching until he was touching you like that, your muscles flexing at the new contact. 

You took his actions as a sign to do the same, sliding your own fingers beneath his shirt and pressing them against his abs. You knew he was well built - on hotter days he’d been shirtless when working on teaching you to lead climb, and you’d pretty shamelessly stared at him until your mind had reminded you of your boyfriend.

It would be nice for him to be shirtless now, but neither of you felt like removing any layers of clothing in the cold, so for the time being your touch would have to suffice. That was a freedom that Sukuna seemed to be taking full advantage of, mapping out your body with his hands, his fingers moving to your breasts and squeezing, red eyes lighting up at the little moan it earned him. 

“Really shouldn’t be doing this now,” he whispered huskily against your ear. “Had the whole thing planned out. Figured once you’d broken up with Naoya that I’d take you out on a nice date and then bring you back to my place so we could do this properly. But here we are.” 

You giggled softly at the dismay in his tone. “We can still stop.” 

“No. I want this now. You aren’t so easily resisted. But mark my words, once we’re back home, I’m going to take my time with you. I want to look at you properly beyond just fumbling about in a dark tent - as hot as this is.” 

Giggling again, you nodded, in total agreement with his sentiment. Doing things like this, while a little limited, did feel exciting in its own way. It felt like you were keeping some secret with each other, doing whatever you could in the dark without anyone else knowing about it. There was an allure to it that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. 

With Sukuna’s attention on your breasts, you were the one that ended up making a major move first. Your hand slid down beneath the waistband of his trousers, finding its way into his briefs. He let out a groan at the feeling of your hand brushing against his cock, which twitched erratically at the slightest touch. 

It felt big beneath your fingers, and you hadn’t realised that your breath had hitched until Sukuna was letting out a chuckle. 

“Impressed?” 

“Maybe,” you mumbled shyly. You didn’t have much of a point of reference for such things. Naoya was the only man you’d ever been with, and you imagined that he wasn’t packing anything particularly unique down there. Not if Sukuna’s size was anything to go by. You wrapped your fingers around the shaft, enjoying the way Sukuna shivered in pleasure. 

Meanwhile, Sukuna mirrored your actions, his fingers moving down your body until they were grazing against your panties. It was a little embarrassing how damp the fabric had grown, your pussy desperately slick from the events of the evening. Your body wanted Sukuna just as much as your heart and mind did, and it was making that fact glaringly obvious. 

“So wet,” he said with a chuckle. “There I was all nervous that you wouldn’t feel the same. Shows what I know, huh?” 

You flushed, glancing away from him in embarrassment as his fingers pushed your panties to the side, giving him free access to your pussy beneath. His fingers moved deftly through your folds, moving the slick around before rubbing at your clit, leaving you whining his name and squeezing his cock a little tighter. 

“Cute,” he hummed, his nose brushing against yours. One of his fingers prodded at your opening, pushing in with a little effort. He took a few minutes opening you up with two of his fingers, languidly stuffing you full with them to prepare you. You didn’t want to admit to how emotional the whole thing made you feel, because Naoya had always said that foreplay was a myth. 

Never before had you been prepared for anything, and Sukuna taking so much time to do so had your heart fluttering. 

You tried your best to return the favour, stroking his cock as best as you could while it was still confined beneath his clothes, but he didn’t seem to pay that too much attention - completely fixed on making you cum around his fingers before moving onto anything else. That was another thing that Naoya had never done. Cumming with him was so infrequent that you’d almost grown certain that you couldn’t do it with another person. 

And yet, Sukuna had you doing it in a matter of minutes - your toes curling in desperate pleasure as you gushed over his fingers with a sweet little gasp. 

There was no time for you to catch your breath before he was pushing your trousers and panties down ever so slightly to give him access whilst still keeping you dressed and warm. He did the same for his own clothes, gently displacing your hand from his cock and repositioning the two of you so that he was on top. 

The sleeping bag was still wrapped snugly around the two of you, keeping the warmth in effectively while he lined himself up over you, his muscular body keeping you pinned down beneath him in a position you’d be more than happy to remain in for the rest of your days. It was so nice to be under him like that, to be so surrounded by his body and heat and scent. 

It was where you were supposed to be. In some uncomfortable tent on the side of the mountain feeling happier than ever because he was there with you. 

You’d gone to the mountaineering club for Naoya, but you couldn’t help but think fate had guided your actions and really led you there for Sukuna. 

“All good?” He asked, hot breath brushing against your ear. The tip of his cock was pressed up against your opening, and you realised that he was giving you a chance to back out - showing you a level of consideration that Naoya never would. 

“Yeah,” you breathed, lashes fluttering as you peered up into lovely red eyes, letting out a whine when he finally pushed into you.

You hadn’t been prepared for just how big he was, your eyes practically rolling to the back of your skull as he pressed his way into your tight pussy. Your nails dug into his arms and a whimper left you at the intensity of the feeling. You felt like you were aware of every ridge and vein on his cock, your pussy squeezing around him each time he’d involuntarily twitch within you. 

It didn’t take long for the uncomfortable fullness to give way to pleasure once he bottomed out inside you. It had a pleasantly warm buzz running through your body once he started to thrust within you, the weight of his body keeping you still and secure, keeping you warm even as the storm picked up outside. 

Any fears of the thunder and lightning were pushed aside in favour of focusing on the feeling of being split in two. Sukuna’s lips found your neck once more, overstimulating you as he bit and sucked on the juncture between your neck and shoulder, bringing tears to your eyes beneath all the pleasure he was giving you. 

Even through the stretch it felt right to have him inside you, and it was downright heavenly each time one of his long strokes hit that one specific spot inside you, bringing stars and light to your vision each time. 

This was where you were meant to be. 

Neither of you lasted particularly long. Not after the day you’d just had, and certainly not after months of mutual crushing. You’d cum first - your body already sensitive from the previous orgasm and totally overwhelmed by the intimacy of it all. Sukuna had reached down to play with your clit while he fucked you, and that set you on a high unlike any other. 

If Naoya had known where the clit was, he’d certainly never touched it. 

And yet, there Sukuna was utilising it. You could count on one hand the number of times you’d cum from penetrative sex, but Sukuna had pulled an orgasm from you like it was easy. 

And maybe it was easy. 

Maybe Naoya just fucking sucked. 

Sukuna wasn’t far behind you in reaching his release. When you’d cum you’d clamped down around him tightly, locked in a spiral of pure pleasure unlike that which you’d experienced before. It felt better than anything you could achieve with your own hands - infinitely more intimate and lovely. 

The way you’d squeezed him so tight had sent Sukuna over the edge, prompting him to groan your name in that low tone of his as he filled you with his seed, riding out his own release to the point where you were growing overstimulated and begging him for mercy. 

Mercy which he gave you with a gentle smile and a kiss planted atop your sweaty forehead. 

The two of you lay then in the darkness, soft pants drowned beneath the howling of wind. Sukuna was holding you tightly, keeping you secure in his grip like you might vanish if he didn’t cling to you with all his might. He was still inside you, softening but present in a way that felt blissfully intimate. Whenever you’d laid with Naoya, you couldn’t wait to escape his grip and get cleaned up. 

With Sukuna, it was different. 

You could stay there with him sheathed inside you for hours - connected in a way that just felt right. 

His lips were ghosting against your hair, soothing you with kisses, running his hands over you repetitively in a bid to ensure you stayed warm at his side. Your ankle was throbbing a little from all the movement, but with Sukuna’s legs intertwined with yours you found yourself able to ignore it. All thoughts and discomforts overridden by how happy you felt in that moment. 

“Try and get some sleep,” he murmured against your hair. “I’ll look after you.” 

“I know,” you whispered. 

He smiled softly. “Just making sure you know it. Apparently you can’t take for granted that everyone will look out for you.” His tone came out a little bitter, but instead of feeling anger at the reminder of Naoya’s actions, you felt a warmth blossom across your chest at Sukuna’s display of care. 

You liked that he was angry about it. It was nice to have someone care about you for once. 

In hindsight, it was a blessing that you never made it out into the mountains alone with Naoya like you’d intended to at the start of your mountaineering training. If you had, perhaps you would’ve ended up left for dead - freezing on the side of the mountain while Naoya summoned some crocodile tears and dismissed your fate altogether. 

You were lucky to have Sukuna. Lucky to be able to continue going into the mountains with someone who actually wanted you there. Someone who would really take care of you. 

“I’m glad you’re here to look after me.” Your hand reached for his face, tracing his tattoos with great care. As pleasant as your evening with him had been, you were looking forward to making it down the mountain - to spending time with him outside of that tent. It would be nice to see just where those tattoos disappeared off to beneath his clothes. 

But that would have to wait. 

You knew that the next day would be long. An arduous trek back down the mountain was ahead of you, along with a no doubt vicious confrontation with your ex. One that you were sure Sukuna would take the lead on, but still not something you were looking forward to experiencing. 

Either way, you wouldn’t dwell on it that evening. 

Because for the time being, there was nothing you needed to worry about. The storm could rage on outside for as long as it needed to. You were safe in your tent, in the arms of a man who would never leave you alone on the side of a mountain. 

And it was possibly the happiest you’d been in a very long time. 

a/n: after getting down to the bottom of the mountain the next day I promise reader slapped naoya and sukuna beat the hell out of him :)

had such a fun time writing this its literally the most self-indulgent fic I've ever written as I love being in the mountains hehe

hope you enjoyed! reblogs and comments are appreciated as always!

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© sukunahs

[notnormalthings-blog]

so so so so cute 🥺🥺🥺😩

[vaniellea]

This is pt2!

You can find part 1 here

You come across a bloodied Sukuna, but the question is—what hurt him so badly? And how does a love story bloom between the two of you?

WC. 22k

𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫

Every morning you checked the tree line. 

Every night you left the lantern burning, hoping the light might draw him back.  

Nothing.

So you walked to the village.

You’d been telling yourself for days that he wasn’t coming back.  

That if you wanted answers, you’d have to find him yourself.  

By the morning of the fifth day, that thought had solidified into action. The village was awake early—smoke rising from chimneys, people whispering over cups of tea.  

You kept your hood low as you listened. The same story passed between mouths like wind in the reeds: bodies found upriver, the blood painted along the walls in circular marks. No one said his name, but everyone knew.  

You forced your voice into something steady. “Where?”  

They looked you over—hesitant, curious—then told you. A village a day’s walk from here.  

The same dull pulse beat through your wrists from the bracelet. You thanked them and left quickly, pretending not to hear the way their voices dropped once you were gone.  

Back home, you began to pack without thinking. A spare robe. Dried rice. The worn book still smelling of cedar. 

You tightened the drawstrings until your palms burned. 

The decision itself gave you calm. 

Action always did.  

You set the bundle by the door and breathed once, sharply—readying yourself to step into another storm.  

Then the air in the room shifted.  

A presence heavy enough to silence thought.  

“What do you think you’re doing?”  

You turned fast. Sukuna stood in the doorway, the lamplight catching the faint red in his eyes. 

For a moment you saw the violence there—the same trace of him that lived in those rumors—and then he exhaled slowly, expression unreadable.  

“I was going to find you,” you said. The words came out smaller than intended.  

He stepped forward once, the faint scuff of his heel against the floor the only sound. “You can’t,” he said quietly. “You don’t go looking for me.”  

“Why not?” Your voice wavered, anger surfacing with the fear. “It’s not as if you ever visit anymore.”  

That stopped him. The muscles across his jaw twitched. He didn’t speak for several heartbeats, just looked at you—something guarded flashing behind his eyes before he crossed the distance in long, silent strides.  

When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter. “Why would you want me to? You’ve seen what I am… what I do to people.”  

You lifted your chin. “You have to,” you said, almost pleading. “It’s what you are, but it doesn’t make you—”  

He laughed softly, the sound low, humorless. “Is that what you tell yourself? That I feed because I must?”  

“I don’t think you want to,” you said stubbornly.  

He was suddenly closer than before. Your breath hitched as his fingers brushed a loose strand of hair from your temple, trailing to the back of your neck. His thumb hovered near your jaw, the touch almost reverent despite the tension vibrating under it.  

“You think you know me?” he asked quietly.  

You didn’t answer. His gaze pulled you apart, unhurried, searching.  

Then his voice changed—lower, rough. “I enjoy it.”  

The words landed like a physical thing between you.  

Before you could react, his hand slid further into your hair, not cruel but firm, tilting your face up toward him. “The fear. The screams. Every drop of it—I enjoy all of it.”  

You met his eyes anyway. “I don’t care.”  

His thumb traced your bottom lip, slow, testing, as if daring you to flinch. You didn’t.  

The smirk faded. “You’d care if you saw me for what I truly am,” he murmured. “Four arms. A mouth on my stomach. Four eyes. Horror itself.”  

Your brows knit, a whisper leaving you. “I don’t care.”  

His hand slipped down to your throat—not choking, holding. Measuring your pulse under his palm. His strength radiated through it; all he had to do was flex, and you’d be gone.  

“I could end you right now,” he said, voice barely above a breath.  

“You won’t.”  

The stillness stretched long enough to make the air tremble. His grip tightened fractionally—not to harm, but to prove that he could. You exhaled against his fingers, the trembling motion brushing over his skin.  

For a heartbeat, neither of you moved. Then his posture eased, his hand loosening before finally falling away entirely.  

“You have no idea,” he murmured, more to himself than you.  

“I know enough,” you whispered back.  

His lips brushed yours first—barely there, testing. 

Then pressed firmer, hunger waking slow. The kiss built as his tongue nudged your lips apart, slipped inside, stroking yours in lazy circles. 

One hand slid up your back, fingers spreading wide to trace each knob of your spine. 

The other hand gripped lower, thumb pressing into the dip above your hip. You arched into him, slow, chest lifting until your nipples rubbed hard against the robe, catching on the fabric. 

Your palms flattened on his chest—fingers splaying over hot skin, feeling muscle flex under your touch, his heartbeat pounding steady against them.

He pulled back just enough to kiss your neck—lips parting soft at first, then teeth grazing your pulse. 

You moaned, throat vibrating under his mouth. 

He kissed lower, open-mouthed, tongue flicking the skin over your collarbone. 

Paused there, sucking light until your fingers fumbled your robe's tie. 

You tugged it open; it slid down your shoulders inch by inch, bunched at your elbows, letting your breasts spill free—heavy, catching the air.

You watched his face, eyes doe.

Sukuna's eyes dropped. 

He bent at the knees, hands steadying your waist, and took one breast in his mouth—lips sealing warm around the nipple, tongue flattening to lap once, twice, slow swirls over the curve underneath. 

His free hand cupped the other breast, thumb brushing back and forth across the peak. 

He lingered, sucking gentle pulls before straightening. 

Fingers hooked under your thighs; he lifted you smooth

your legs wrapping his waist on instinct. 

One arm slid under your ass, palm cupping full, fingers digging in just enough to lift. The other arm banded your waist, pulling your belly flush to his.

Kisses dotted your chest now

lip to skin, pause, kiss again, tongue darting out to taste. 

Up to your neck then sucking the spot under your ear; you moaned low as his mouth kissed around you each time, head tipping back, fingers threading his hair to hold him there.

His mouth found the skin above your heart. 

Teeth scraped first—light drags—then bit down, fangs piercing slow. 

Blood welled; you twitched sharp in his arms, gasp catching. His tongue pressed flat, licking long from the bite up your chest, then lips sealed over it, sucking in steady pulls—warm, wet, drawing more out drop by drop.

He tilted his head back, eyes finding yours—holding. 

You looked down, chest heaving. Fingers unwound from his hair, trailed slow down his temples, over sharp cheekbones, thumb brushing the black marks curling at his jaw.

His stare stayed pinned to yours as he walked—steps deliberate—to the futon. 

Bent his knees, lowering you inch by inch until your back met the mat—breasts bouncing soft with the settle. Robe tangled loose at your hips. He knelt between your thighs, knees nudging them wider.

Leaned in close—breath hot on your skin. 

Tongue flicked a nipple once—quick tease—then circled it full, wet and flat. 

You arched up, spine curving to chase it. His eyes flicked up, locked on your face. 

Left hand came up; thumb and finger pinched the other nipple light, rolling it side to side, then circling slow.

“Sukuna,” you moaned—his name dragging out.

He groaned back—deep rumble from his chest. Your hips lifted, rolled against his stomach—slow grinds, pressing the wet ache between your legs to his skin. 

He sucked the nipple deeper—lips tightening, tongue flicking steady—pulling harder with each roll of your hips.

“Mh—ah, cumming—”

You broke apart slow, thighs trembling, body twitching under his mouth. Hand shot to his hair—fingers grasping empty air.

You pushed up on elbows—robe falling cool and damp to your ribs, hair sticking wild to your neck, blood streaking thin and warm down your chest.

The forest air hit cold against his skin.  

Sukuna braced one hand against a tree, breath coming rough and uneven, the echo of what he’d just done still burning through him. 

His robe hung loose, the ties half‑undone, his body reacting with the same hunger he always denied. But underneath it all, something else twisted—a pulse in his chest he couldn’t name.  

He forced himself to inhale slowly, straightening when the sound came from behind him.  

“My lord.”  

Uraume’s voice cut through the quiet, calm and low. He drew his robe together, smoothing the front until it looked again like armor instead of disarray.  

“Uraume,” he said, his tone sharp but steady.  

She stepped closer, eyes flicking up briefly to his face, then lowering in respect. “Did you find the answer you were looking for?”  

He exhaled once, long, and turned his gaze toward the trees. “Yes,” he said finally. “I’m not certain it’s love yet. So, for now, my plan to devour her stays unfinished.”  

Silence followed, the sound of the river somewhere far beneath them.  

Uraume tilted her head slightly. “Forgive my intuition, my lord,” she said carefully, “but… you went there only to taste her blood, am I right?”  

Sukuna looked back at her fully then, the corners of his mouth twitching into something humorless. “Yes.”  

Her eyes lowered again; something unreadable passed across her face as she saw his growing boner. “Would you like me to help you relief  yourself?”  

He didn’t hesitate. “No.”  

That settled between them, cold and final.  

For a moment, his expression softened, gaze sliding past her toward the horizon where the sky was paling to dawn. “She has something for me,” he said quietly. “But it isn’t love.”  

Before she could answer, the air stirred once and he was gone—snuffed from the clearing like smoke in a gust of wind.  

Uraume stood there alone, the scent of cedar and blood fading, aware that her lord sounded less sure of himself than he ever had before.  

ᣟ𐚁˳

Three days passed.  

Then four.  

Each one blurred into the next. The light in your house changed without you noticing—the mornings gray, the evenings shorter. 

By the fifth night, the air itself seemed heavy, like even the wind refused to move through the door anymore.  

You sat on the floor near the lamp, knees pulled to your chest.  

Every small thing reminded you of him—the smell of cedar, the faint scuff on the floor near the wall, the ghost of his voice echoing in your head. 

You tried to push it away.  

But guilt lived where silence did.  

You hated yourself for missing him.  

You hated yourself more for remembering the way he’d looked at you right before he disappeared.  

By the time you went to bed, the blanket smelled like your own tears.  

You almost didn’t hear the door slide open.  

Almost.  

“Get out.” Your voice cracked the quiet like glass. You didn’t even think, just said it.  

The figure in the doorway went still. When he spoke, you barely recognized the tone—soft but stunned.  

“Have you lost your mind?”  

Your breath came uneven. The sound of him—real, alive—pulled something painful from your chest. You stood, stumbling toward him, tears already falling faster than you could breathe. 

You pushed at him, both hands against his chest. 

He didn’t move.  

“Get out!” you shouted again, but your voice broke at the end, turning into a sob.  

He caught your wrists in his hand before you could push again. His grip wasn’t rough, but the contrast between his calm and your shaking made you cry harder.  

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked quietly. “What’s your problem, woman?”  

“Do you really not know?” you whispered.  

“The question should be,” he said, his voice flat, “do I care enough?”  

That line—so careless, so like him—cut sharper than anything before. Your body trembled. You turned your face away, crying into the silence that followed.  

“What is it?” he asked again. Still no anger. Just confusion.  

You couldn’t force the words. Too much choked in your throat. He let your wrists go when your knees started to give, and you paced instead, trying to breathe between sobs.  

“Is this,” he tried again, “because I left you after sucking your breasts?”  

You stopped. You didn’t answer—only looked at him through tears that blurred everything into color and light.  

He knew then. The way your eyes met his told him every word you couldn’t say.  

“Did you really think I was looking for sympathy?” His voice carried that old edge again, but quieter now. “I take what I want. That’s all I am.”  

And all you could manage was—  

“Is that what that was?”  

He didn’t answer. He just stood there, and that made it hurt worse.  

“Look at me,” you said, pleading. “Look at me and tell me that meant nothing to you. Tell me.”  

He finally looked. And as he did, something in his expression faltered—just once, almost too fast to see.  

“Because you would have killed me the moment you found out what I was,” you said softly.  

He stayed quiet for a long stretch of seconds. Then—  

“I’m not the man you think I am.”  

You laughed in disbelief. It sounded broken, ugly in your throat. “Then fuck you,” you said, wiping at your face. “Just get out.”  

He didn’t move.  

“I am a king,” he said, quieter, more to himself than to you.  

“Then act like one,” you cried.  

The silence that followed pressed against both of you like a weight neither could lift.  

Finally, his voice came back, low and rough. “Do you want to know why I came back that night?”  

You looked at him through what felt like the last of your strength. “Why?”  

“I needed to taste if you were in love with me.”  

You stared, breathing shallow. “And what did you find?”  

His words were almost inaudible. “That you do.”  

You let out something between a laugh and a sob. “No wonder I can’t stop crying.”  

He didn’t speak again. The quiet between you collapsed under its own weight.  

You whispered, raw, “Get out, Sukuna.”  

“I hate you.”  

The sentence landed heavy, echoing off the empty walls. Something flickered across his expression—gone before you could read it.  

Then you said, steady but hollow, “Look at me.”  

“Look at me,” you repeated, lower. “And tell me you feel nothing for me.”  

His gaze didn’t move. He said it anyway—slow, deliberate, each word stabbing a little deeper.  

“I… don’t… feel… anything… for you.”  

It sounded like swallowing glass.  

The moment hung there until the world itself seemed to split. The air went sharp, pressure bleeding into every inch of the night.  

A low boom shook through the floorboards. Light flared outside, streaks of raw cursed energy tearing across the horizon. The lamp blew out, the house falling into dark.  

You turned toward the window—but all you saw was red light rolling across the trees like fire.  

The floor trembled underneath you.  

The red light outside grew brighter, bleeding through the paper screens like fire under a door. The pressure in the air was thick enough to steal breath.  

You and Sukuna both turned at once. The fury that had filled the room moments before was gone; now his expression had gone still, eyes sharp in a way you’d never seen.  

“You feel that?” he muttered, though it wasn’t really a question.  

You swallowed hard. “What is it?”  

He didn’t answer. He was already moving. The door rattled when he slid it open, a rush of wind bursting through that made the oil lamp’s flame die completely.  

Outside, the trees bent back as if bowing beneath something vast. The night was alive with cursed energy — not as wild and cruel as Sukuna’s, but old, pulsing, like the earth itself was forcing something new into being.  

You hovered in the doorway, fists clenched. “Sukuna?”  

He glanced over his shoulder briefly. “Stay inside.”  

You almost listened. But when he stepped out, the sound that followed made your knees give out: a low, broken wail echoing from deep within the forest — not human, not curse. Something in‑between.  

Sukuna stopped halfway down the slope, staring into the dark. “Impossible,” he whispered. For the first time, there was hesitation in his voice.  

You took a step out after him. “What’s happening?”  

He threw you a sharp look over his shoulder. “Inside.”  

The sound of your name in that voice made your throat tighten. But before you could respond, a second shock wave ripped through the valley. The ground cracked open near the river, sending mud spraying through the air.  

You stumbled; Sukuna was already in front of you, one arm rising instinctively to shield. His cursed energy flared for an instant — cold and crimson — wrapping around you just long enough for the force of the explosion to pass.  

When it faded, you were both standing at the porch’s edge. The trees ahead glowed faintly red, shaped by something enormous pressed just beyond the mist.  

He lowered his arm slowly.  

“What was that?” you whispered.  

His eyes narrowed. “Something that shouldn’t exist,” he said, voice low, almost reverent.  

You watched him, the light dancing over his skin, every trace of earlier anger gone. He looked alive again — focused, commanding — and terrifying in his silence.  

Then he turned to you, faint recognition flickering in his gaze. “You wanted to know what I am?” he said quietly.  

You nodded wordlessly.  

“Then stay behind me,” he said. “And maybe you’ll live long enough to see the difference.”  

When he stepped forward, the energy around him changed — colder, infinite — wrapping both of you in the shadow of whatever was coming.  

You barely had time to blink before the world came apart.  

The clearing split open with light — red, white, and gold crashing against each other. The wind hit so hard it drove you back a step, and when you looked up again, Sukuna was no longer standing as the man you knew.  

Four arms unfurled from his sides, muscle and power threading down his frame like fire through ink. His skin shimmered faintly with markings that moved as if alive; the shape of his back flexed and tore into something larger, more commanding. His eyes opened one after another — two above, two below, all glowing that same terrible red, cutting clean through the dark.  

Then you saw it.  

The mouth across his stomach.  

It opened in a single, shuddering breath, and the sound of it was low, monstrous, ancient.  

The air around him ignited with cursed energy, dense enough to warp the grass under your feet. It made your lungs fight for air, a pressure so strong it was like trying to breathe underwater.  

Through it all, his voice carried — deeper now, resonating through his chest and the stomach-mouth both. “You wanted me,” he said, his tone laced with rage. “Come, then!”  

And they came.  

Shapes began dropping from the trees, flickering into view: sorcerers, their cursed tools glowing in defensive blue. Dozens of them lined the ridge like ghosts in armor. Their chants overlapped, crimson and sapphire streaks forming in the sky above them.  

“Sukuna Ryomen!” one of them yelled, voice shaking. “By order of the High Council, you—”  

The words broke off in a scream when the first wave hit—Sukuna’s energy meeting their spells in an explosion that flattened the trees.  

Your body moved before your mind did. You stumbled toward the hill, shouting his name, but a hand caught your arm and yanked you back hard.  

“—stop!”  

You turned, startled, and saw a face you hadn’t recognized in years: one of the junior exorcists from your old village, robes torn, eyes wide.  

“Don’t go near him!” he shouted over the roar. “You’ll die!”  

“He’s outnumbered!” you screamed back, trying to break free. “They’ll kill him!”  

“Exactly!” His grip tightened on your wrist. “That thing doesn’t need saving!”  

You twisted against him, tears cutting down the grit on your face. “You don’t understand he—”  

Another detonation cut you off. Sukuna’s laughter rolled across the clearing like thunder, violent but alive. He stood above the flames now, energy flickering around the four arms that had once frightened you but now guided every strike precisely. Each motion was brutal and beautiful, like watching a living storm.  

You froze, helpless, your sob swallowed by the wind.  

Up there, he looked invincible.  

But to you, he also looked alone.  

Your friend finally dragged you farther back toward the ridge, voice ragged. “Stay down! You can’t reach him!”  

You sank to your knees, unable to take your eyes off him as he turned through the chaos, eyes burning brighter than all the sorcery crashing against his skin.  

When the next blast hit, it lit the sky white. For a single instant, you saw every inch of him—the true form he’d hidden from you, and somehow, the man still inside it.  

Then darkness swallowed the field again, and all you could do was whisper his name.  

ᣟ𐚁˳

They had been fighting for hours.  

The sun had long disappeared behind walls of smoke, and still, the sound never stopped—the roar of energy, the crack of shattering curses, the rhythm of metal against flesh. The earth trembled beneath every swing of Sukuna’s power.  

From your place at the far edge of the battlefield, you could barely see anything except bursts of color that lit up the night. Each one burned in your vision after it faded—the crimson of his aura, the pale blue of the exorcists closing in around him.  

You’d never seen anything like it. He moved like something endless, four arms sweeping through entire ranks, every motion cruelly precise. But even a god can tire. 

By the time the sky turned the color of ash, Sukuna’s attacks had slowed, his breathing heavier. His body carried cuts deep enough for you to see the blood glint black against his skin.  

The exorcists circled closer, dragging threads of light that carved glowing lines in the ground. Every one of those seals tightened against him like a cage.  

He looked trapped for the first time in his life—and somehow, that terrified you more than anything.  

They were chanting in unison now, the ground shaking with it.  

And then you saw it: someone stepping out from the ranks, carrying the weapon you’d hoped would stay lost forever.  

The wooden moon blade.  

Even under layers of smoke, its glow looked alive, whispering an old hunger.  

Your stomach dropped. “No…”  

Sukuna turned his head just slightly, his eyes finding the weapon instantly. He froze—completely still, all four arms drawn close like a creature realizing the trap has finally closed.  

Chains exploded from the ground around him, luminous and gold. They coiled around his legs, his chest, his throat, his arms—one by one binding every limb until his shoulders bent forward under their weight. The mouth on his stomach still snarled blindly, but the rest of him lowered, pressed into the dirt, caught.  

“Now!” someone yelled.  

The sorcerer holding the dagger raised it high. The crescents along its edge shimmered with curses old enough to taste in the air.  

Everything in you snapped.  

You broke into a sprint before you even realized you’d moved. The shouting behind you blended into static.  

Someone tried to stop you—hands catching your wrist—but you tore away, your knees scraping along the ground as you pushed through the last of the smoke.  

By the time they realized what you were doing, it was too late.  

You threw yourself toward him just as the blade swung down.  

The sorcerer’s aim was true; yours was foolishly faster.  

You collided with Sukuna’s chest, your entire body shaking from the impact of the strike. Then the warmth spread through your back, blooming like fire through your spine.  

For half a heartbeat, everything was quiet.  

Then his roar split the air.  

It wasn’t a word—it was pure sound, pain raw enough to level the trees around you. The chains around his arms shattered from it, the ash scattering like snow.  

His hands—two, then three, then all four—moved at once, trying to steady you, to catch the blood before it fell.  

“No,” he said, voice fraying apart. “No, no, no.”  

You were half-laughing, half-crying, your breath catching between words. “It won’t kill the dagger,” you whispered. “But it’ll give you time to run.”  

He looked down at you, disbelief and fury tangling together behind his eyes. “You… stupid woman…”  

Your head fell against his chest, the sound of his heartbeat thrumming wild. 

“You can eat me,if it will make you stronger” you said softly, forcing the words through the blood. “If it’s what keeps you alive.”  

He shook his head once, violently. “Don’t you dare.”  

“I lov—.”  

The dagger behind you sparked, its wooden crescent cracking, glowing white‑hot. The curse burned out of it slowly as the magic tangled around your life force instead of his.  

completely shattering

Sukuna’s entire body trembled. He gathered you against him, his voice nothing more than breath against your hair. You felt it—his chest shuddering, his hold desperate and trembling.  

With the blade splintered completely. The seals collapsed. Every sorcerer in the clearing froze to stare as the forbidden weapon—one forged to kill kings—turned to ash against your blood.  

No one moved.  

No one breathed.  

And then Sukuna did.  

Every chain still touching him disintegrated. The air flattened under the pressure of his curse, a force so intense it felt like the earth itself was trying to back away. When he looked up, his face was wet—though whether it was blood or tears, no one could tell.  

“They took you,” he said, almost gently.  

Then the ground exploded.  

His power consumed everything—light, fire, sound. The screams lasted seconds before being swallowed by the roar of his rage. The world burned crimson and then went black.  

When it finally stilled, he knelt in the ruins, the sky above him a strange, colorless white. He held you against him, unmoving, her hair tangled in his sleeve, her blood cooling across his chest.  

The moon above—now only a thin, broken shard—hung quiet, watching the ruins of what love had done.  

And just maybe your death was the reason Sukuna truly stopping caring. 

This took forever, I got way too carried away in the writing lowk.. I used to write stories on Wattpad so I apologize. But I am forever grateful if you have made it this far!!

Basted off this request!

[notnormalthings-blog]

this seriously got me hooked

[sukunahs]

cover my eyes | ryomen sukuna

pairing: sukuna x blind courtesan!reader

summary: once in a lifetime you'll switch bodies with your soulmate and see the world through their eyes.

sukuna is initially frustrated when he's plunged into darkness in the body of a weak and blind woman, only to discover that there's more to her than he was expecting, leaving him on a mission to locate the shogi-playing courtesan whose soul called out to his.

word count: 11k

content: 18+ mdni, smut, soulmate au, heian era, initially rude sukuna, soft!sukuna, true form sukuna, courtesan reader, sickness, blindness, depiction of violence and death, happy ending, hurt/comfort, honestly its mainly fluff, devoted sukuna, piv, cunnilingus

a/n: after doing my satoru soulmate au i desperately wanted to do one for sukuna so here it is! inspired somewhat by komugi and meruem in hxh and ALSO by lakan and fengxian in apothecary diaries (as someone requested that from me!)

At one point in every person’s life, they will awaken in the body of another.

They will spend their day seeing through strange eyes, living out hours as a person they may have never met, trapped within their new form until sleep takes them and they are released back into their own body.

Those meagre hours are the only chance a person will have to find their other other half, to learn all they can about the body they’ve awoken in. There’s no second chance, no opportunity to swap for a second time.

If one cannot locate their soulmate after the day they’ve spent as them, they can find no further help. All they can hope for, is that they might stumble across their destined lover by mere chance one day.

Or, that their beloved did a better job than they did at piecing together the puzzle.

Sukuna found himself in another’s body in his mid-twenties, awakening one morning in complete darkness, even though he’d been certain his eyes were open. It was a strange feeling at first, a resignation to a suspicion he’d held all his life that there was no destined person for him, giving in to the belief that he’d spend a day floating in nothingness with no other half for his soul to cling to.

His assumption was broken swiftly, at the realisation that he still held some manner of awareness even if his sight was impaired. There was a breeze blowing against his body, chatter sounding off in the distance, and soft sheets were pressing up against skin which surely wasn’t his.

This person, whoever they were, had a body that was exhausted. He ached in places he’d never ached before, his shoulders and upper back straining, like their owner had been carrying a weight beyond their capability. He felt desperately weak in that form, suddenly aware that he only had a human number of limbs to control, and lacked the strength and size he was used to commanding.

In the darkness clouding his vision, he was surprised to find that the blackness wasn’t as deep as he’d originally thought, able to make out fuzzy shapes in the dark which he could only assume made up his surroundings. His hand reached for his eyes, setting his lips into a grim line at the confirmation they were open.

His destined lover was blind.

Disappointment settled into his chest. He had never taken much stock in soulmates in the first place, didn’t really believe in love, but this just furthered his confirmation that the whole matter was a farce. He found respect for the strong - strength was the only thing that truly mattered to him, and yet here he was, in the body of a blind woman.

A feeble little thing hardly able to fend for herself.

What good was she to a man like Sukuna?

A knock on the door startled him. “Are you awake? The madam wants me to help you get ready.”

Sukuna said nothing, trying to figure out why it felt like your body wanted to draw in on itself, your pulse quicking in a seemingly innate reaction to the voice at the door.

“Please, I know you’ve been ill but he’s been calling every day for the past week, the madam doesn’t want to keep him waiting any longer. He’s been bringing forth all manner of threat, and if you’re not careful he’ll buy you out. I know that isn’t what you want. Just let me tend to you and allow him a visit. Keep his temper at bay.”

Sukuna frowned, attempting to piece together what was happening. It was hard without the visual clues of his surroundings, but based on the snippet of conversation he concluded that you were likely a courtesan of some form. Once again, his view of you, and the soulmate system in general, dropped through the floor.

Blind and a whore.

Perfect.

“One moment.” He called out, taken aback by the lovely feminine voice that fell from his lips. It was a soft, delicate sound, one which wouldn’t sound out of place accompanied with a harp. He found himself shocked at how much he enjoyed it, considering saying something else just to hear it again.

Finding the door proved to be a more difficult task than he’d been expecting. He’d already stumbled standing up from your bed, thrown off by his lack of vision and by feet that were ridiculously small compared to what he was used to. His centre of gravity felt all wrong, and his body felt generally unbalanced without his lower set of arms.

Moving at a snail's pace, he made it across the room, impressed that he didn’t run into anything on his journey over. He was grateful for the shadowy outlines present in your visionless gaze, certain that the situation would be made harder without even that as a guide.

Fumbling for the handle, he slid open the door. “Morning. Oh honey, you look like a ghost.” A hand pressed against his skin, and he was ushered over to another part of the room, grateful for the guidance. There was the sound of a chair being moved. “Take a seat.”

Sukuna hesitated, not quite sure where the chair was. He reached out nonchalantly with his hand, trying to feel for it while the other woman’s focus was elsewhere, seemingly rifling through a bag of something. Able to just about make out a black splodge in the centre of his vision, Sukuna took a seat, only to thud down onto the floor.

It hurt. It hurt significantly more than pain Sukuna was used to enduring. He’d experienced all manner of injury - he’d had his blood and guts pouring out onto the floor in the midst of a fight, but somehow this was worse. How fragile was this body of yours? He was glad that he wasn’t born as some weak human, grateful that the abominable aspects of his body increased his strength rather than weakened it.

How could you live like this?

“My lady?” The woman seemed immediately panicked, reaching down and easily hoisting you up by the arm, aiding Sukuna onto the chair. “I’m sorry, you usually tell me you don’t need assistance, I wasn’t expecting-” she cut herself off for a moment, leaving Sukuna in silence and struggling to read the room with no visual cues. “You don’t seem like yourself at all this morning. You’re being very quiet.”

Sukuna said nothing, certain that he could hear the hint of a smile in the woman’s tone.

It was said that when soulmates swapped bodies, you could not under any circumstance tell someone that you were a different inhabitant to usual, else the spell would be broken and you’d both be immediately sent home.

It was an option Sukuna had contemplated the moment the woman walked in, eager to return to his own healthy form. However, he was also a man of great curiosity and it wasn’t like he had much going on at his estate that day anyway. So he opted for silence, figuring he’d at least see, or hear, how the day played out.

There was no harm in that.

Regardless, the woman had seemingly sensed it immediately based on her sudden change of demeanor, but being likely as aware of the rules as Sukuna was, she kept her suspicions silent.

“It's Officer Sugawara who’s set to see you today,” she explained, soft hands running through your hair with a comb, giving Sukuna a shiver of pleasure. “You usually play shogi with the guy for a while and let him get drunk. He’s a proud man who’s desperate for a legitimate win, so you always give him your best and he refuses to give up until he’s too pissed to think anymore. So be on your best game, or he might want to pass his time in another way.”

The warning was clear and Sukuna found himself disgusted. If that man tried to lay a single hand on you while he was inhabiting your body, he’d make sure Sugawara wouldn’t walk out of the establishment alive.

Fortunately, Sukuna was an avid shogi player. He held a great love for the game and was self-assured where his skill was concerned. No one in his estate could beat him, so he was certain he could beat some Officer of the Shogun.

Although, he’d never played it blind - a fact that mildly concerned him.

He hoped the pieces were skillfully made with deep indents, else he’d be completely lost.

“Even though you’re usually talkative with me, you’re not all that chatty with regulars, so it’ll be fine if you stay quiet. On account of you not feeling yourself and all,” she said with a knowing giggle.

It took an ungodly amount of time for that woman to get you ready, and Sukuna wondered how you could bear experiencing such a thing day after day. It seemed such a waste to have so much effort devoted to doing your hair and make-up, and dressing you up, when you couldn’t even see the end result.

For all you knew you could look like a clown.

But Sukuna quickly became certain that wasn’t the case when he was led into another room, your helper grasping his arm in a steadying manner and making sure he was settled down on a pillow before introducing him to a man sitting opposite him. Sugawara wasted no time with greetings, letting out a gasp of awe at your radiant appearance and reaching out to kiss your hand.

Sukuna wanted to reel away at the feeling but remained still all the same. He hoped he didn’t have too much of a scowl on his face.

Even if he didn’t have any interest in you, he didn’t really want to ruin the life of some random blind girl. He loved cruelty, but even for him that felt like an unnecessary slight to a person who was supposed to hold the other half of his heart.

“You look gorgeous. Not sickly at all, might I add. I hope the madam hasn’t been telling lies.”

You were sick - outside of the blindness - Sukuna could feel it. At first he’d brushed off your frailty as something normal for puny little humans, but since rising from your bed he’d become aware that your quivering legs, aching bones and hummingbird heart were far from normal.

“I haven’t been well,” he said simply.

“Oh you poor thing, it's always the most beautiful ones who suffer the most.”

Sukuna found himself wondering what you looked like. He had a vague knowledge of Official Sugawara - he wasn’t an ugly man, certainly not one lacking in prospects by any means. He was powerful in his position in the government, and wasn’t the type who would visit some woman out of pity.

You must’ve been genuinely gorgeous to earn such affection from him.

It was a shame Sukuna would never know.

He wouldn’t look for you once he was back in his own body. He’d move on with his life and that would be that, leaving this day as nothing more than some distant dream.

The games of shogi went by quickly, and Sukuna found that it was easy to slip into your body without arousing suspicion. Once he’d gotten over the original barrier of having to feel each piece for their indents as he picked them up, he fell easily into the flow of it all.

This man across from him seeked little conversation once the games had started, and Sukuna was pleased at how well he was playing that afternoon. He didn’t let the man win once and, as your attendant had mentioned, Suguwara filled himself up with more and more drink. It felt nice to play someone outside of his estate, most of his servants were too afraid to face Sukuna in any sort of test.

It was equally nice to completely destroy a government official with his skill. He was certain this man was having the worst game of his entire life, unaccustomed to this treatment from the lovely courtesan he’d frequent.

But it was at the end of the seventh game, when Sukuna was feeling at his highest, that a disastrous hit would come to his ego.

“You’re really off your game today. I see you really aren’t feeling well,” Sugawara said. There was the sound of shuffling fabric, as if the man had leant forward.

“What?” Sukuna asked, the low disbelief coming out strange in your small voice.

“Your plays are much sloppier than usual. It feels like you’re going easy on me, given you usually destroy me before I can even think about what to do next. Today you’ve been giving me proper games. I don’t like it. You know I hate being pitied.”

Sukuna had to stop his mouth from falling agape.

He wasn’t playing bad games by any means, on the contrary, he was certain that he was playing better than he had in a while, happy to have a new opponent for once. Was this man really saying that you, the normal you, was more skilled at shogi than he was? He really found that hard to believe.

What would some blind courtesan know of tactics?

“Perhaps you’ve simply improved,” Sukuna mumbled bitterly, unwilling to accept that your mastery was greater than his.

Sugawara laughed. “How polite of you, my dear. I can assure you that isn’t the case, and we both know it.” There was some shuffling, and Sukuna sensed that the man was climbing to his feet. It was frustrating to have such limited vision, and he was glad to know that he’d wake up the following day able to see the world once more - he couldn’t imagine living like that all the time. “I’ll leave you to rest. When I return in a few days you best have returned to form, or perhaps the nature of our meetings will need to change.”

A heavy hand rested on your shoulder, wet and clammy against the silk you were draped in. Sukuna wasn’t sure if the disgust was born from his own thoughts on the matter, or from an impulsive response from your body. From your attendant’s words it was clear that you would never sleep with the man, likely keeping your shogi skills sharp to ensure he never won.

Once he was gone, Sukuna sat there in silence, thinking on the man’s parting words.

Were you really so talented?

Part of him wanted to convince himself that he’d been playing worse than usual on account of not being able to see the board, making it difficult for him to think out moves in advance, taking more time than normal while he grazed the pieces with his fingers.

But deep in his soul he knew that wasn’t the case.

He’d played expertly, and still that man knew his opponent wasn’t the real you. All on account of how amateur Sukuna’s ability had seemed compared to yours.

And as his day drew to a close in your body, he realised that he had to know. He had to play you, had to see firsthand just how dramatically your skill exceeded his. He wouldn’t believe it until he’d seen it.

The soulmate thing didn’t matter.

But he needed to meet with you all the same.

Just to sate his interest. That was all.

—

Months had passed since the day you’d swapped with your soulmate. Since the morning you’d awoken to a world of light of colour you’d never seen before, and would never see again.

It was a day you’d never be able to forget - the image of the grand estate you’d awoken in seared permanently into your mind, just like the face of your soulmate who had stared back at you in a bronze mirror. You’d gazed upon his body for longer than you should admit to, wondering for a brief moment if you’d misunderstood how humans looked.

That thought didn’t remain for long. It took no expert to understand that the man you’d been paired with was something unique - the very four armed monster who had half of Japan living in fear.

And as such, you wished you could forget your experience in his body, wished you could see anything but his oddly charming face, because your promised beloved was a monster of the highest calibre. But with only one singular day of vision under your belt, what you’d seen wasn’t so easily displaced, and you found yourself thinking of him often with a longing that you knew to be wrong.

You had told no one of the experience, not even your handmaid, who had outright asked what your body swap experience had been like, what your soulmate had been like, claiming that whoever they were had presented themselves as rather reserved when possessing your body. You’d brushed her off with a shrug, claiming him to be some soldier and nothing more.

No one could know the truth. If they knew you to have any link to such a terrible man they might view you as an associate, and someone deserving of death for something you hadn’t asked for.

The workings of fate seemed strange to you. Was it not enough punishment to be born blind? Why would you also be paired with a monster who seemed to view the human race with general disdain? You were certain he cared little for love, his servant had made that clear when you were in his body, so any hopes of having a soulmate had been stolen from you as a result of this pairing.

Part of you wondered if a man so vile as him might even take things a step further and track you down to put an end to your life, insulted by fate to suggest that it could control him in any capacity. Perhaps he would be further insulted to be paired with someone so damaged rather than some untarnished beauty.

You’d always heard he held great hatred for weakness.

Even so, despite your fear and desire to conceal yourself from him, you couldn’t forget him, couldn’t stop the flicker of longing in your chest you were certain all people held for their destined lovers. Because while he was unquestionably a monster, with a throne of skulls you had witnessed through his very eyes, he also seemed to be more than that.

He was a man of great loneliness, living in grand halls with only a handful of servants for company - and all but one of them would scuttle out of the way when he approached. He seemed to hold a great love for art, with his estate packed with paintings and tapestries and great vases, all kept in pristine condition. For a cannibal, he seemed to take great pride in the cleanliness of his surroundings, in the neat nature of his gardens and springs.

Even in his own appearance, he seemed to take great care, for there was no denying him to be a handsome man even with his unique features. He had a voice to match that beauty, one that you could hardly peel from your mind any more than you could forget his image.

His body was hard to maneuver, too big and confusing to control his many hanging limbs. In a way, it felt akin to your blindness, something different to the way humans were built to be, leaving him to struggle with an issue that no one else could relate to. You wondered how it had been for him in childhood - if he’d felt as isolated and scared as you had to know that everyone else was normal in a way you’d never been.

You pitied him, even through all his sins. You felt you could understand at least a piece of him from a day buried within the confines of his skin.

But still, you would never reach for him - wouldn’t poke the bear even if you could understand why it might bite. You were certain that someone like him would be unwilling to hear you out, unwilling to love or reflect on how he became the way he was - he would swipe your head from your shoulders just like everyone else, and that would be that.

So you would stay away, keep your dreams of him locked deep within your chest, and accept that distance was for the best.

There was more to life than soulmates.

Unfortunately, that choice wasn’t yours alone to make.

The madame had knocked on your door early that morning, with the golden light of the sun only just starting to peek in through your window. Lately you’d been having longer lie-ins and taking less clients as the cold of winter gripped the region. Along with the blindness, you’d been born with a particularly feeble body as a result of complications with your mother during her pregnancy, ailments which were always worse for you in the colder months.

Your bones strained as you pushed yourself up to a sitting position, calling for the woman to enter. As much as you longed to slip back into your dream of red eyes peering back at you with fiery desire, you were still beholden to the will of your employer, even in your months of weakness.

“How are you feeling, my dear?” She asked, as she slipped in through the door. You felt her weight dip the bed as she took a seat beside you, a gentle hand coming to rest on your shoulder.

“Mornings are always the worst but I can manage once I’m up and about. Has Sugawara come calling again?” Most regulars were understanding enough of your condition, and those that weren’t would generally be chased off by the madame or unloaded onto another of the courtesans. Sugawara was one of the few that generally wouldn’t accept such treatment, with only eyes for you.

It didn’t matter too much since the man only ever wanted to play shogi, and that was manageable enough even on your worst days. It seemed that he had no intention of laying with you until he’d beat you in a game fair and square, claiming that if that ever happened he’d buy you out and take you home for he would’ve earned your heart.

That talk always made you uncomfortable, for you had little interest in the man, but you were more than certain he had no chance at ever defeating you at shogi, and could therefore never lay claim to you - assuming he kept his word.

“Not Sugawara…” There was hesitation in her voice. “We’ve received a request for our finest shogi player to be sent to the mayor’s home this evening. Apparently the other courtesan houses have received the same request.”

“I didn’t think the mayor cared much for shogi.”

Again, there was a moment of silence. “No, he doesn’t. A rather unwanted guest has taken up residence in his home, and this is the demand that has come of it.” Immediately your blood ran cold, thoughts drifting away from the madame’s continuing chatter to the red eyes that sat so prominently in the darkness of your mind.

There was no question in your mind as to who this guest was.

And to call for shogi players had you certain he was looking for you. Would he execute you when you walked into a room so clearly lacking in vision? Put an immediate end to the one person who could potentially stir his cold heart if fate were to be believed?

It seemed like the only reasonable explanation

The request to send another in your place died on the tip of your tongue as you once again tuned in to what the madame was saying. “...make sure you’re in top form, I’ve heard any who lose to him are immediately disposed of, but I’m sure that man will be no match for you.”

You wouldn’t send another to face their death. You were the only courtesan in the house who was any good at shogi, anyone else would certainly perish. This was a meeting dictated by fate and you had no opportunity to run from it. You would face him head on and deal with your death graciously, greet your end alone in the dark just like everything else you’d ever faced.

“I’ll do my best,” you said to the madame, and that was the final moment you had for yourself, your sacrifice sealed by your words.

The rest of the morning was spent in a frenzied rush, dressing you up and perfecting your makeup, turning you into a sparkling beauty ahead of your presentation to a monster. Based on the quiet nature of your handmaid, the experience felt more like she was dressing your corpse for burial.

Neither of you spoke such a thing aloud, but tears dripped from sightless eyes all the same when she led you out to the carriage, the madam trailing behind her, sending you off with a soft farewell filled with a sense of finality.

—

Sukuna had undergone an annoying few months.

Steadily, he had made his way, region by region, up to the north of Japan in search of a blind shogi player whose skill allegedly eclipsed his own. In each area, he would call upon all shogi-playing courtesans to meet with him and join him in a game, in the hopes that one day it would be you sitting across from him.

So far, he’d been unsuccessful, and had left a growing pile of bodies and burnt villages in his wake, utterly irritated that the thing he was seeking still evaded his grasp. No one had beaten him. A few had come close but none of them had been blind, so he could be certain that they weren’t you.

He was beginning to wonder if you’d gone into hiding somewhere, forsaking your courtesan life entirely in a bid to avoid him. It wouldn’t surprise him - you’d been in his body, you’d seen he was a monster, a fragile little thing like you was probably terrified at the idea of ever crossing his path.

Either way, he’d still persevere. He’d kill every shogi player if that was what it took to get to you.

He’d recently found his way into the mountainous region of Miyagi, where winter was in full spring. Taking up residence in the mayor’s home in one of the more populous towns in the prefecture, he once again started his usual process of gathering the shogi players. Word spread fast and droves of them appeared swiftly, waiting to be called before him.

It went much as usual, with boring girls presenting themselves before him and providing him with equally boring games of shogi. These people were painfully predictable with no appreciation for the art of the game - really it was a gift for him to steal their lives from them, because he couldn’t imagine living while being so pitifully unskilled.

The pool of Miyagi courtesans was gradually running dry and Sukuna was preparing himself for another disappointing journey further north when his luck finally shifted.

He knew he’d found you the moment you walked in through the door.

You’d stumbled in meekly, eyes averted down to the floor as you bowed low and shuffled towards the centre of the room. You were taking care not to raise your head for him to look upon, and he quickly realised you were making your best effort to conceal your blindness from him, like you could keep your identity secret that way.

It was a futile attempt, for the very atmosphere around you felt charged, his heart picking up inexplicably at the very sight of you.

To say you were beautiful was an understatement. Everything about you was gorgeous, from your soft hair to the striking intensity of your unseeing eyes. You wore the finest silks and they hung off you well, complimenting your figure. He found himself eager to touch you, to rid you off your lovely gown and have his fingers against your smooth skin.

But that wasn’t the reason he had come, and he would play you before entertaining any other matter.

“Sit,” he ordered, taking great amusement in the shiver that seemed to run through you at the sound of his voice.

You dropped to your knees on the cushion before the board, hands pressing against the edge of the table. It was the first chance he got to take a proper look at your eyes, expecting them to be clouded over, but taken aback by the lovely colour your irises still held beneath that mist.

“You’re blind.” He observed aloud, taking note of the way your teeth caught your lower lip anxiously.

“I see more than enough,” your response was guarded.

He hummed, a sly grin settling on his face. Idly, he wondered if you could sense it, because you seemed to tense up a little, fidgeting across from him in a way his traitorous brain seemed to register as endearing. “Is that so? Do you see enough to know my strategy before we commence? Or will you disappoint me like the others?”

“You tell me.”

Your words had his heart stirring against his will, impressed by your serenity before him, still sitting up straight and calm despite the fear he could sense within you. You were a woman who held confidence despite it all, harboured strength even in the face of your obvious weaknesses. He wondered what you were thinking, if you believed he was there to execute you for the mere transgression of being his soulmate.

It wasn’t a foolish assumption.

He would kill you without a second thought if you were uninteresting to him.

But he’d reserve that judgement until after you had played. He had been promised someone exceptional and that was what he wished to see, anything less and your blood would stain the floor just like every other woman who had sat before him. Would you still be so calm if you could see the bodies littering the room? He assumed not.

He wondered if you hated him, if you cursed fate itself to be paired with a man like him. Nothing about you gave anything away, all your focus fixed on the board in front of you, your hands moving steadily against the wood of the board, as if centring yourself.

“Shall we begin?” He asked.

“Yes.”

Sukuna couldn’t quite comprehend what had transpired in that first game he played against you.

He had approached things in much the same manner that he always would when playing shogi - opening strong and attempting to completely overwhelm his opponent, and yet somehow he found opportunities snatched from him at every turn.

Nothing seemed to catch you off guard. Any attempted play was greeted with an easy answer from you, as though you were battling a child. You were always three steps ahead of him, never hesitating in the shifting of a piece, moving with a certainty that had him transfixed.

He found that he couldn’t draw his eyes away from you, his struggle on the board forgotten at the realisation he’d been well and truly defeated. There was no point in struggling further - you had swatted him aside in the way that he usually defeated others, and you had done it with no glee or brag, nothing more than passive indifference once the games finally came to an end.

Your shoulders were raised, as if awaiting something you wouldn’t be able to see coming. A strike from him, perhaps? Or the neat removal of your head from your shoulders? The same fate of all others he’d played across the last few months.

But he wasn’t in the position to do anything at that moment, lashes fluttering as he stared at you, his heart hammering against his ribcage.

There had been no lie told about your skill - on the contrary, you had exceeded his expectations spectacularly. He wanted to play you again and again, wanted to witness the beauty of the way you played, wished to spend hours lost deep in thought considering how he could even begin to pick you apart in a match.

He could spend years sitting across you, gazing upon your lovely form while you worked away in silence with such unquestionable mastery.

No wonder Sugawara had been disappointed in Sukuna’s ability. He couldn’t hold a candle to what you were.

“How?” He asked, unable to think of another word to offer.

Your head was still lowered, eyes fixed elsewhere. He wished you’d look at him, allow him a clearer view of your face, but it occurred to him that such a request may not be easily granted with your lack of vision. You would never be able to lock eyes with each other - it would be something entirely meaningless for you.

“You aren’t all that good,” you spoke softly, a smile playing on your lips.

Sukuna disagreed with your sentiment, considering he’d never been beaten before, but perhaps you’d consider all his previous opponents to be genuinely pitiful at the game.

“So, will you take my life now? Or is that reserved for the losers?” You asked.

“To take the life of someone I could not best would be cowardly and pointless,” he said with a snort. “How would I ever grow to be better than you if I extinguished you from the world? Don’t be foolish. We will play again.”

And again you played.

Game after game until the sun began to rise in the sky, and Sukuna could sense exhaustion drifting through your fragile form. You were shivering from the cold, and he had Uraume bring in a robe to wrap around you, keenly aware of how sickly you seemed to look beneath all the beauty. You were setting up the board for your tenth match when Sukuna finally put an end to things.

“Enough. I would take no joy in defeating an exhausted opponent.” He rose to his feet, stretching as he moved. He wasn’t keen on remaining still for long periods of time, but you seemed accustomed to it, staying deathly still upon your cushion, uncertainty evident in your posture.

“Then, you will send me to my home?” You asked.

“No.” The word escaped him before he could stop it.

He did not wish for you to go anywhere, lest you slip from his grasp never to be found again. It was because he wanted to play you more, that’s what he told himself, but there was more to it than that, and in his soul he knew it.

He never wanted the image of you on your knees before him to slip away, never wanted to lose the pleasurable feeling of warmth that swelled in his chest with you there within his gaze.

“You’ll accompany me to my home, and we’ll play until I’m satisfied.”

—

Weeks had passed since you’d arrived at Sukuna’s estate in the Hida Mountains.

You’d been given no time to bid goodbye to the women at the only home you’d ever known, swept off in a carriage down south where you had to relearn your surroundings in a totally new environment.

Of course, it wasn’t the first time you’d been in the estate, but that experience made little impact on the ease of traversing around with no vision. You had to move slowly, fingers brushing on blurry objects shadowed in the darkness, hoping you didn’t trip over something or walk into a screen door.

For the most part, you were left to your own devices. Sukuna had spoken little to you on the journey home, opting to ride on his horse rather than in the carriage with you, and he’d been equally elusive in his own estate, leaving you in isolation for days at a time.

You couldn’t complain, for your days were spent in peace and serenity.

You would take long walks in the breeze of his garden, have his servants read aloud to you, and practice playing the erhu. On days where it was particularly cold and the chill seeped into your bones, you would remain in the grand bed he had provided and find greater comfort than you ever had in the old bed you’d laid upon in the courtesan house.

The only obligation you ever had to fulfill were shogi games. And during the times that he wasn’t absent from the estate, those would take place every evening, in Sukuna’s own private quarters.

It was an odd decision, considering that the servants played shogi out in the garden, where a proper table was set up for that purpose. But it seemed that Sukuna took care in ensuring your meetings were private - a decision you didn’t dare read into too deeply.

You didn’t dare read into any of his behaviour too deeply, lest you rip your own heart from your chest.

That first meeting with him had been like nothing you’d ever experienced - genuine desire overcoming you at the deep tone of his voice. Even knowing that he could cause your death with little effort, you couldn’t bury the lust within you, a fire that only burned stronger with each encounter with him.

It was hard to hold it together, to pretend that you wouldn’t fling yourself into his arms given the chance, but you tried all the same, keeping yourself distant and cold, like you didn’t dream of him between your legs each night, imagining the sound of his voice whispering sweet nothings against your ear.

Whether he felt the effect to the same extent you did, you weren’t sure. You were certain you’d never know. His interest in you was surrounding shogi, and shogi alone.

One evening, you were sitting across from him having played a handful of games, finding victory had fallen into your hands even more easily than normal. Sukuna seemed distracted by something, the sound of fidgeting settling in your ears. He hadn’t moved to start a new game, and based on the shadowy shapes in your vision, you could only assume he was leaning forward upon the table, bringing him close enough for his breath to fan your face.

“I killed today,” he said. Those were the first words he’d spoken to you that evening - you always followed his example with conversation, if he was feeling chatty you would indulge him, if he wished for silence you would give him that too.

You weren’t exactly sure where he was going with that statement, nor were you certain what type of response he was seeking, so you offered him a hum of acknowledgement and little more. You didn’t wish to think of the death that stained his hands, but nor did it build your animosity towards him.

To some extent you could understand lashing out at the world when you were someone so desperately lonely as he was. Part of you believed that if you hadn’t been so frail perhaps you’d lash out at the world for your own condition. His primary servant had told you he’d been despised throughout his life, and when you find only cruelty in humans it's difficult to cling to kindness.

Sukuna wasn’t so simple as a mere monster. You’d understood that in the day you’d spent in his body, and had only further confirmed it by the intelligence he displayed when you’d speak over games of shogi. He had a great admiration for art and skill, and had seemed rather taken when you’d recited poetry, responding with verses of his own.

He was a multi-faceted man, and much of what you saw only seemed to further your attraction to him, even knowing it was wrong, even knowing you’d be hated for it. For once, you felt you’d found someone who understood what it was like to be you, to be cut off from the easy lives lived by most others.

A soul that entwined so perfectly with yours, even if he’d never be aware of such a thing.

“Do you wish to know who I killed?” He asked.

“I know few people, my lord. I doubt a name would mean anything to me.”

“This one might. I’ve heard you’re familiar with Officer Sugawara? He’s one of the Shogun’s men?”

Thoughts of your regular flickered through your mind. If you were being honest with yourself, you were glad to not have to see him anymore - him or any of the other clients you’d been forced to take. Courtesan life had been difficult for you, forced into it thanks to the conditions of your birth and kept there by a disability that made it hard to escape the life for something better.

Life in Sukuna’s estate had been easier, especially as the weeks passed and you grew more comfortable in the belief that Sukuna wasn't going to steal your life from you. You’d lived in fear of Sugawara buying you out, of being forced to live like some doll in the house of a terribly boring man whose voice sounded like nails on a chalkboard to your ears.

“I know him.”

“Knew him, would be more apt. His body lies at the foot of the mountain.” Sukuna spoke matter-of-factly. “He came to claim you from me. I refused and we couldn’t reach an amicable agreement, so I dealt with it another way.”

You weren’t sure how to react, struggling to process the words. That Sugawara would follow you down to Hida already came as a surprise, you hadn’t known how deep his devotion ran. But somehow, you found yourself rather taken by Sukuna’s decision, by the certainty in his choice to keep you.

To kill a man whose death could cause him issues with the Shogun might as well have been an outright confession of love.

Sugawara’s death meant little to you. Men like that died all the time, and they saw women as little more than pretty objects to own. Sugawara had seen you as an impressive party trick, a clever cat rather than a human with depth and desires of her own. You hadn’t wanted to be his, wouldn’t have liked for Sukuna to surrender you to him.

“Are you irritated with me? When I controlled your body you seemed repulsed at his presence. Perhaps you have a heart too soft for blood and death.”

“No- I-” You hesitated. “Did you do this to protect me?”

There was silence for a moment, and you longed to see his facial expression, but were forced to settle for the hint of confusion in his tone. “Of course. I’ve protected you since bringing you here. You can hardly protect yourself.”

You couldn’t find it in you to be offended - he’d been in your body, he knew of your frailty better than anyone.

“Why? Just because you enjoy shogi so much?”

“Somewhat. Though I must confess, lately I have been losing interest in the game. I feel I’ve come up against an insurmountable wall.” Panic filled you immediately, mind running at a million miles a minute as you analysed his statement. If he was growing bored of playing would he cast you aside? What use did he have for you if not shogi?

But then again, why would he kill Sugawara if he was moments from disposing of you?

“Perhaps it is the fault of my own discipline, for I’ve found it hard to focus on the game for quite some time now.” He hesitated, and you found yourself flinching at the feeling of a soft hand caressing your cheek, leaning into it once you overcame the initial shock of touch. “It is difficult when you have a beautiful woman sitting across from you. It’s even harder when my soul calls for you whenever you're near, drowning out any thoughts I might gather of strategy.”

“Oh.” You weren’t sure what to say, wondering if you should pinch yourself, for many of your dreams centred themselves around such a confession. But the touch had never felt so real before, large fingers brushing against the soft skin of your face.

“I wonder if I’d be more focussed if I admitted fate might make some sense after all. I have never denied myself anything before now, and I’m tired of denying myself you. You have captivated me thoroughly, and I believe the hole in my chest was carved out to allow you to one day settle there.”

The words were by far the most romantic statement anyone had ever uttered to you. In your time as a courtesan you’d heard plenty of cheesy and affectionate lines, ones you’d brush off and forget by the time the client was done with you. Sukuna’s words would burrow into your heart and remain there for as long as you drew breath.

Could anyone fault you for loving a monster who would speak such beauty to you? Could you be hated for finding one who had been cursed by the world just like you had?

“I have no care for the Shogun’s men,” Sukuna continued, “in my eyes they are little more than flies most of the time, an annoying thing to be ignored unless they brush too close. Would it amuse you to know I killed Sugawara out of jealousy? To hear that my chest tightened at the idea of you being taken from my side?”

“Because you enjoy having such a capable rival in intelligence?” You asked, a wry smile creeping onto your face.

“Because I enjoy you.”

It was clear he was waiting for you to say something. The words that had poured from his mouth were unlike any he’d spoken before, and although you couldn’t see him, you could feel the sense of restlessness that gripped his body.

You would not leave him in uncertainty.

“I have only ever seen the world through your eyes,” you confessed shyly, “the only face I see in the endless darkness is yours, and I dream of it every night.” Sukuna’s fingers twitched against your face. “If you’ll have me, I am yours.”

“Even though I’m a monster?” He asked. There was no remorse in his tone, nothing to suggest that he was pained over who he was, it was just an honest question for you to answer as you wished. “You were scared of me when we met. I know you hid yourself from me after discovering our connection, eager to ensure our paths would never cross.”

“Because I believed you would kill me. I thought you to be a man who would stamp out any notion of love and eliminate me along with it.”

He hummed in acknowledgement, failing to deny your statement. You knew it to be true - if you had lost your shogi game on that first meeting, he would’ve done exactly that. It was in his nature to love only that which piqued his interest.

“Especially to be paired with someone so weak, I thought you would consider it an insult.”

He scoffed. “You are far from weak, I’ve found it impossible to best you.”

“I meant physically,” your voice went small. “I did not imagine the King of Curses would favour a sightless woman, nor one so easily broken.”

He was silent for a moment, seemingly processing your words. “I was small and frail once. Perhaps frailer than you. I wish someone had valued me then for my other virtues. I’m big enough and sharp enough to make up for your failings and you are clever enough to cover mine.”

Your mind was reeling at the idea of him admitting to having failings. Your heart stirring at his affection, and his easy desire despite your condition.

“I had not imagined a soulmate to be so well suited to me, for my tangles with fate have always been cruel,” he said. “But you’re something different, something I need at my side, and I will be your eyes, your protector, whatever it is you want in order to keep you there.”

“Oh.” You were positively blushing, whole body trembling beneath the weight of lovely words spoken in that deep voice of his.

Your soulmate wanted you.

A man hated by the world and filled with hatred in return had a space carved out for you, a space for love you hadn’t known him capable of.

You’d loved him from the first time you’d met him, drawn to him by an inexplicable force which seemed to grip him just as hard.

Soulmates really were wonderful.

Silence had settled between the two of you, only broken as the table screeched across the floor, the barrier between you removed. Sukuna shifted forward and an arm came to rest around your smaller body, pulling you towards him. His lips pressed against yours in a kiss you could only describe as sweet.

He didn’t dominate you in the manner you believed a man like him would, instead he took his time, mapping out your lips and drawing you closer to him, letting you bathe in the warmth of his body against yours. It was almost like he was trying not to scare you, aware that you couldn’t see anything he was doing and trying to move slowly as a result.

You wouldn’t have minded either way, your fingers clinging to the biceps of his upper arms, desperate for more of a touch you’d only ever dreamed of.

People always said that to finally touch your soulmate was a euphoria like nothing else, and you truly believed them to be right. Your head felt like it was swimming, chest swelling as if Sukuna’s own soul had wriggled beneath your skin to intertwine with your own.

It was a little overwhelming.

“How I long for you,” he murmured against your ear, breaking the kiss. “I was foolish to have not had you the moment I laid eyes on you, I’ve ached for your touch longer than I care to admit.”

His fingers moved down to your robes, and your breath hitched at the touch. You were no stranger to sex, your job had required it, but the feeling as he undressed you wasn’t like any previous encounter you’d had. What regulars thought of your body was insignificant to you, sex was nothing special with them, just something you had to do if you wished to make a living wage.

This was the first time you’d ever been touched for free by someone you desired, and you felt suddenly nervous at your frail body being judged beneath his crimson gaze - especially when you couldn’t look upon him in the same moment. There was no distraction in the darkness to keep you from worrying about how his gaze might burn through you, imagining discontent on his handsome face.

A cold chill caught you once your robes fell, leaving you kneeling and exposed in front of him. A soft breath fell from his lips, fingers moving delicately from your shoulders down to your breasts, as if checking you were truly real and there before him. More heat flooded you as his finger brushed over your peaked nipple.

“Beautiful. If I didn’t despise the idea of sharing you with another I would paint you like this. Your body is worthy of that reverence.”

“I think my mind is probably more splendid.” You confessed. You had no eyes for awareness of your appearance, and had subsequently never really relied on it. People had said you were lovely, but you could never quite believe it, assuming that they were taking pity on you for your blindness.

“Your mind is exceptional. If I cannot beat you at shogi soon I have half a mind to ask you to assist me with real life strategy,” he said with a chuckle, fingers still trailing a slow path down your body. “But it doesn’t make your body any less lovely, and you cannot deny such things since you’ve never seen yourself. Let me be your eyes and tell you that you are breathtaking.”

A shyness overcame you at those words, head angled downwards as if it would hide your blushing state from him. He raised your chin with a finger, his nose bumping yours before capturing your mouth in a kiss once more, bringing you close against his bare chest. You were so lost in the comfort of the kiss, that you found yourself completely caught off guard when something wet swiped against your stomach and breasts.

Flinching in surprise, you drew yourself back in an attempt to understand what was happening. Sukuna laughed, a hand moving into your hair comfortingly. “It's my tongue,” he spoke easily.

Frowning, you found that his answer didn’t make sense, because still the wet appendage explored your breasts, sending your heartrate flying as it flicked against your nipple with impressive accuracy. How could he be speaking but also doing that?

“There’s a mouth on my stomach. Perhaps you didn’t notice when you controlled my body.”

You were ashamed to admit you hadn’t noticed such a thing. Sukuna had been naked when you’d awoken in his body, and you’d been quick to dress him up in robes, feeling rude to intrude upon the body of another without consent. You’d very intentionally not paid too much attention to the workings of his body, not when the first thing you’d seen was the oddity he sported between his legs.

The memory that he had two of what most men only had one, suddenly had you feeling a little nervous in your position. You had no time to voice such nervousness before he was picking you up, allowing his second tongue to continue its onslaught while he carried you over to the bed, depositing you down upon the silk.

His weight moved on top of you, and he swallowed a gasp with his lips as his monstrous tongue shifted its attention from your breasts down to between your legs, dexterously finding a path between your things and lathering your pussy with attention while Sukuna consumed your mouth. Tears pricked in your eyes at the sensation, unaccustomed to a feeling like that.

In all your years as a courtesan, you’d never been eaten out. Men didn’t come to brothels to serve women, they came to have their own needs attended to, and you’d done that in whichever manner they desired. You were grateful to have never experienced that feeling before, because it was a blessing to have Sukuna be your first.

Pressure built in your stomach over a series of minutes, overwhelmed by the way he seemed to be everywhere. A tongue between your lips, another between your thighs, hands squeezing your breasts, tweaking your nipples, more hands gripping your hips, pulling you up onto his secondary tongue to allow it a better angle to overwhelm you.

For the first time, you started to understand how Sukuna must feel whenever he played you at shogi - stumbling blindly in the dark whilst overcome from all angles with no means of knowing what was going to come next. It was pleasure in its highest form, and you were quick to cum with a yelp of his name, tears dripping from the corners of your eyes.

Sukuna broke the kiss, breathing heavily against your ear. It was a sound you enjoyed, one you could listen to all day if he’d allow you. “I have imagined you beneath me like this every night this week,” he mused, “my imagination is hardly as pleasant as having the real thing. You taste much sweeter than my mind could conjure.”

Again, you were flushing red. “Y-you can taste me through…that?”

“Of course.” You were certain he was grinning, “And I’m glad that I can.” His secondary tongue was still moving slowly through your folds, lapping up the remnants of your first orgasm, teasingly flicking against your clit and making your shudder.

The two of you stayed like that for a while, breathing quietly together. You weren’t sure what Sukuna wanted to do next, but for a moment you were happy to savor the warmth of his heavy body, twitching while he lazily continued his attention to your body. How you longed to see him, eager to witness the expression he was wearing while he attended to you.

All you had to go off was the erratic beating of his heart where his chest was pressed against you.

“Let me have you,” he murmured against your ear. “Let me make you mine.”

“I’m already yours.”

“Is that so? Then let me make it official.”

He shifted atop you, withdrawing his secondary tongue. In the absence of that heat between your thighs, you grew suddenly aware of a heavy pressure against your leg. Your mind jumped to the image of his cocks that you’d filed away in the back of your mind, gut twisting at the thought of either one of them pressing into you.

Sukuna chuckled from above you, a hand coming to stroke your hair. “You’ve seen them, haven’t you?”

You nodded.

“I can tell, you’ve got that scared little look on your face. It’s fascinating, when you play shogi you’re unreadable, but outside of that? You’re practically an open book with your emotions always written across your face.”

Pouting, you let humiliation wash over you. Nobody had ever told you that before. It was hard to guard one's emotions when you had no measure of how the faces of others looked. That was something you’d have to work on. At least you had the good sense to give nothing away when you played shogi.

Another laugh echoed from his lips. “Even now I can see your panic. It’s very endearing.”

Any protest or response you had for him faded away into the recesses of your brain as he shuffled on top of you. He maneuvered you carefully into a new position, raising your legs and placing them up atop his broad shoulders. You were grateful for your flexibility in that moment, because the size difference between the two of you made that no easy task.

Sukuna was watching you from above while he positioned one of his cocks between your legs, running it steadily through your wet folds in a way that had you shivering with desire, still not fully recovered from the actions of his tongue. You were quick to discover that his focus was on his lower cock, as the upper one bumped pleasurably against your clit.

“You know,” he mused, stilling his movements. “I’m surprised you struck no deal with me. It is what I had imagined you would do.”

“What?”

“I’d assumed I would ask for more and you would refuse me. I’d thought your respect was tied to shogi, that you would refuse anything from me unless I was capable of beating you.” Your mind moved to Sugawara as you connected the dots. Sukuna believed you’d made that deal before, as if that tiresome Official hadn’t dictated those rules of his own choosing.

Shogi was a game you adored, mainly because it was an activity you could excel at even without sight, unlike many other courtesan pastimes such as painting, which would forever be an impossibility for you. But it was by no means something you made all your decisions on, nor were you particularly interested in the skill of others.

If someone could defeat you, you would congratulate them for their win and move on, it would ultimately mean little.

To you, it was little more than a game. To various men, it seemed to be something held in much higher regard - a true mark of intelligence rather than a game for which one could learn and remember strategies to allow them a win.

It mattered little to you whether Sukuna could defeat you or not. Your affection for him wasn’t tied to it in any manner.

“To make such a demand would be wasting my own time. Why would I turn down a man I desire over something so trivial? Besides, my bet with Sugawara was made to ensure I never had to lay with him, that is not the fate I want for us.”

“So you believe I am incapable of winning?” He asked, with greater disappointment than you’d been expecting.

“I do,” you said with a giggle, “just as I am incapable of emerging victorious in a battle. We all have our strengths.”

A yelp fell from you as he pushed the tip of his cock into you, catching you unawares. “Yeah?” He asked, pressing deeper into you, his fingers tangling tightly into your hair. “Rather sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

You couldn’t help but laugh again - even in the midst of the dull pain of him driving into you, there was something so endearingly pathetic about his words.

“I am. But you’re free to challenge me whenever you like.”

He was silent as he bottomed out inside of you, his face falling to your neck and leaving a trail of kisses and bites along your skin while he allowed you some time to adjust. You were grateful for his consideration of your wellbeing, fingers digging into his skin, your gut aching as he leaned forwards over you, pushing your legs higher on his shoulders.

There was no question that he was the largest man you’d ever had inside you, practically tearing you apart with his intrusion, but after a few minutes of stillness you found yourself able to relax, the panic exhibited by your body slowly dissipating as you accommodated his size.

“I will challenge you whenever I like,” he whispered against your ear. “After this, the cloud of lust you’ve placed in my mind will be thinner, and I will beat you with ease.”

“Oh, I’m sure-”

Your snarky response was promptly cut off as he withdrew himself from you, only to swiftly fill you up once more, pulling a desperate cry of his name from your lips. There was no second adjustment period given, instead you found yourself clinging on for dear life as he filled you over and over again with swift and deep thrusts that had your eyes rolling back.

One of his hands moved to your stomach, pressing down against the bulge where his cock would press up inside you. It was clear he was fascinated by it, finding great enjoyment in you being claimed by him. You were certain he was no virgin, but it seemed that you were the first woman who meant something to him, the first one who was worth something beyond carnal pleasure.

Legs quivering beneath the weight of his thrusts, you appreciated the way two of his hands came to rest on your thighs, keeping you steady with each brutal snap of his hips. You were crying and whining, your hands blindly reaching for him but finding him just out of range in this position. Seemingly to appease you, he leant further forward, really testing the flexibility of your legs as he practically folded you in half.

Lips pressed against your forehead affectionately, and you enjoyed every single second of his attention, mind floating off on a cloud as your gut tightened with each careful stroke, your walls flexing around his cock. Your whole body felt like it was on fire, a feeling only heightened by the erratic contact of his higher cock rubbing up against your clit.

“You feel so good, fuck. I can’t last like this,” he grumbled, never losing pace. It stroked your ego to know of his desire, to understand just how much he’d been holding back since your first meeting. It was everything you imagined the joining of two soulmates would be - desperately euphoric and overflowing with pleasure.

Sex had never felt so good, it had never really felt good at all, and yet you could spend eternity with Sukuna buried inside of you, your bodies and souls joined just as they were always meant to be.

He was yours and you were his. It was just as fate had decreed.

There was nothing stopping the scream that ripped through you as you finally teetered over the edge, your body convulsing in pleasure and clamping down on Sukuna’s thick cock, eager to milk him for all he was worth. You were sobbing his name and writhing against the silk sheets, your hands gripping them desperately in an attempt to anchor yourself to something in the throes of pleasure.

Sukuna couldn’t hold on long after that either, spilling into you with a warmth that only heightened your pleasure. His other cock found its release at the same time, cum dripping down onto your stomach in a manner that you’d usually find disgusting, if it weren’t your soulmate who was doing it to you. He groaned your name quietly, and let your legs fall from his shoulders.

Without the barrier of your thighs, he settled himself down on top of you, pressing kisses all over your face, his cock still twitching inside your exhausted pussy. You let him lather you with affection, still trying to come to terms with this side of Sukuna. It had been what you’d wanted, what you believed he was capable of, but you hadn’t dreamed it would truly happen.

The most you believed you’d get from him was a lifetime of shogi matches, in which the two of you would remain close but never cross the line you’d been so desperate to leap across.

“Has the fog of lust lifted?” You teased. “Do you believe now you can defeat me?”

Sukuna let out a low, rumbling chuckle. “Perhaps we will have to do that a few more times for it to fully ease.”

“Oh is that so?” You giggled, reaching out for his hair. He gripped your wrist and moved it into position, allowing you to play with the soft locks you’d been so eager to touch since the first time you’d seen them upon his head.

You wished you could gaze upon that lovely shade of pink once more, but it was enough to know he was there before you, yours to touch as you pleased.

“Mmm, I think it would help,” he purred.

“I’m sure that can be arranged.”

You’d give him whatever he wanted. You were his and he was yours for as long as he’d have you.

a/n: I had so much fun writing this one! thinking about doing one soulmate au for each of the jjk men because I find them so enjoyable to play with <3

anyway, for any crazy in love fans, the next chapter will be out towards the end of this week!

perma taglist: @calicatzz @suzunu @winkii @sukubusss @bobis-notmylover @tetsuski @torupilled @brattyxackerman @r0vena @chaos-4baby @moonlitreveri3 @feyrinnn @strawberryrosey @creamofsneky-blog @zeeseekay @p1nkfl0wers @apricityn @keiiiluv @dogggggggblog-kaye @duckie3801 @lav4mpira @seellove @cutesytwt @gojodickbig @yuujispinkhair @somos-things @yeagersss @paradisestarfishh @jennilynn63 @tthhaattgguuyy27 @bexxli @being-blue-is-better @tisuruxx @juliarchiv3s @dishs0pe @plutoxxxworld @5kkalara @serenadesvt @00frenchfries00 @warriorofenlightenment @scarlet-issilly @himbosexual @pousivuitton @ksjtozaki @certainfanpoetry @gojoscumslut @ynishalee @nakiich

© sukunahs

[notnormalthings-blog]

So so good 😩😩

[starmapz]

hold me like a grudge ch6 - sleep with one eye open

➴ childhood bsf trueform!sukuna x f!reader [heian era canon adjacent au] - ongoing series

❝ the world is an unjust beast. it claws and tears until nothing remains but those cursed with the greatest gift of all; power. in another world, ryomen sukuna is the strongest sorcerer in history, capable of an evil no one can dream. but he was once a boy, and you were once a girl. now a devil with docked horns and an angel with tattered wings, you walk this world together, your curse to navigate side by side. ❞

➴ cw ; mdni, 18+ only. dark themes surrounding my interpretation of sukuna's upbringing and how it affects you both. graphic depictions of blood, gore, death, dismemberment, mutilation, cannibalism and hunted animals. character death. themes surrounding poor mental health. poor coping mechanisms. arguments. best friends to lovers. toxic codependency. child abuse & neglect. self-hatred. attempted self-mutilation. bigotry & period-accurate misogyny. vomit. eventual smut after both characters are over 18. angst. hurt/no comfort. eventual hurt/comfort. tragic lovers with a happy ending. dddne.

➴ wc ; 7k.

➴ a/n ; please heed the warnings for this chapter.

main masterlist || series masterlist || ⇤ prev || next ⇥ - coming soon

You haplessly watch the wheat outside your window as the stalks bend to the whims of the wind. With hands folded politely in your lap and your nicest kimono tied around your waist, you find yourself growing bored of your mother’s lessons.

Everyone within the village has been home more often lately upon failing to track the fire-bending Gojo clan sorcerer. Your mother in particular refuses to leave you alone since the incident with Sukuna. She refuses to call it anything else, which only serves to further upset you. Shouldn’t it be an incident with Imai’s sons? Why does she make it sound like Sukuna is at fault?

Why does everyone make things sound like Sukuna is at fault?

How can a pair of extra arms and eyes affect everyone’s perception of your best friend so much?

“Do you understand?”

You blink, eyes trailing from the window to your mother. You take in the sight before you of the beige paste in the mortar before you, before your gaze lifts to meet hers. You nod in spite of hearing little else but ‘stomach ailments’.

“Good,” she smiles, going on to explain more herbs and their uses in basic treatments, although your mind keeps dragging you elsewhere as you struggle to stay present.

You know better than to think this comes from a good place. It’s not that your mother doesn’t care, of course these lessons are, technically, well-meaning and useful, the only reason she keeps you here is to keep you away from Sukuna.

Ever since the ‘incident’ in question, stray glances have been thrown towards your friend more and more often from more and more villagers. It has your hair standing on end, and being apart from him leaves you listless. Your mind can’t shed the image of your best friend with blood trailing down his shoulders, and the strange way he holds himself sends your mind into a near-constant spiral of panic.

If you find him like that again, will Arai help? Will you be so lucky as to find him in time again?

Instinctively, your eyes wander to the spot where Murata’s house resides, an overwhelming itch to check in on him suddenly coming over you.

With a severity to her voice that makes you flinch, your head whips back around to your mother as she states your name. “You need to pay attention. Someday, you could help heal your husband’s ailments using this. It’s your duty.”

Your brow knits, your disdain obvious in spite of the fact that you obey.

Husband. Duty.

You want nothing less.

The only boy who isn’t the worst is Sukuna.

Still, you murmur a half-hearted apology and let her carry on in another lesson you can’t escape.

You would be willing to wager a bet that a part of the reason she’s left the village so little since the incident with Imai’s boys is that she doesn’t want you near your closest friend. It feels as though every chance to sneak out and every attempt to simply walk out the door is foiled. It doesn’t often stop your friend, pokes you with a wheat stalk through the window on the nights where he hasn’t seen you all day.

He can’t pull his weight through the window anymore, struggling to carry the near-dead weight of his extra arms that never recovered from nerve damage, even nearly a year later.

But he never fails to show up.

And you rarely fail to sneak out on those nights.

Your mother carries on, droning on about mugwort and perilla until your ears feel as though they’ve just about fallen off and your eyes begin to glaze over. Were you being taught under different circumstances, you’re positive you would retain more. It’s not like the information isn’t useful, even if you were to approach it from the guise of using these remedies on yourself as an archer, but you can’t bring yourself to care, staring at the mortar and pestle with hardly-feigned interest every time she lifts it.

There comes a point where you swear time must have stopped because every time you look outside, the sun is still in the same place over the horizon.

It’s like the world is just playing games with you at this point.

Your head lifts when you hear someone young yelling. It’s distant, too far to tell whether it’s your friend or another of the village boys, but it drags away any semblance of concentration anyway.

“Pay attention,” your mother scolds you. It’s not like screaming is uncommon when it comes to children playing, so you give her back the small fraction of your attention that she had to begin with. 

But it only lasts so long when the yelling turns into a full-blown scream. Not the kind that you might brush off, but the kind that turns your blood to ice. You freeze to the spot, eyes wide as you stare at the pulverized mugwort for only a split second as your nervous system goes haywire.

Your breathing picks up, every single scenario you’ve conjured over the past three years whisking through your mind like a whirlwind. Your body acts on sheer panic alone. Inaction had you nearly losing him once, and now that the wind isn’t muffling the noise, you know your best friend’s cry.

You push up to your feet in an instant, your mother’s protests lost on you as you forgo shoes and go racing out the door towards the racket. Your mother’s steps aren’t far behind as you find Imai and Arai dragging something out of the fields behind Murata’s house. Your feet carry you over the packed dirt and scattered grass so quickly you almost wish they didn’t.

Your body betrays you when the sight before you is somehow worse than anything you’ve ever conjured in your mind. Your nightmares seem easier to navigate than the cruel fate that awaits you.

Blood seeps too fast from a large hole in Sukuna’s chest, punctured all the way through by the hunting spear that usually lies behind Murata’s home. It’s lodged in his chest, too close to his heart. His head hangs. Pink hair, matted and bloodied, hangs from atop his head, enough stray strands scattered across the ground to say that he didn’t give in without a fight. He hangs limp as they drag him by the end of the spear and one of his upper arms, and you can’t say for sure whether you’re too late or not.

When your body freezes a second too long, your mother grabs a hold of your arm, trying to drag you away from the sight.

“NO!” You scream, the sound wrenching from so deep within your chest that pain rips through your throat. You throw your full force in the opposite direction of her grip, nearly barreling you both into the dirt as you physically claw at the ground to keep her from dragging you away. “RYO!”

Arai shifts, continuing to hold the back of the spear as he steps between you and Sukuna in an effort to prevent you from the gruesome sight as though he isn’t the very cause of it. One of the lower arms hanging awkwardly from Sukuna’s torn sleeves twitches against the ground where he’s been dragged.

With one goal and one goal only in mind, you dig your nails into the earth, pulling with all of your might against your mother. “LET HIM GO!” You screech, tears gathering in your eyes as you fight your instinct to wail and cry for help when you’ve already witnessed the reality of Sukuna’s life. The only help coming to aid him is you, and you alone.

The adults fail to acknowledge you as anything more than a nuisance. They’re tearing your world apart in broad daylight, and they talk about you as though you’re not even there.

“Get her out of here.”

“I’m trying!”

More footsteps follow, but everything else is a blur when your mind clings to your friend. It holds on for dear life, your grip on the ground so desperate that when you drag yourself forward, your knees scraping harshly over rock, the pain doesn’t even register.

“RYO!” You plead again, clinging to a thick root in the mud that sticks under your nails. “Please,” your voice breaks into something harsh and jagged as tears spill, the sobs tearing through your body. The words that spill from your lips next don’t sound like you. “I need you.”

Your friend twitches again, a movement you barely manage to spot from around Arai’s figure. It doesn’t give you hope, but it’s all you have. It’s the last thread that keeps you from losing yourself, too, in that moment.

“Get,” Imai grits far more harshly this time, “her out of here.”

Your mother’s grip shifts long enough for you to surge forward, but Arai grabs you by your collar, keeping you out of reach of your friend.

You can only catch another mere glimpse of him, and it sends your stomach into a nauseating spiral. The dizzying sensation throws you off-balance and your mother catches you beneath your arms, dragging you back.

“No. NO!” Fighting against your body’s flighty instincts and your mother, you take everything you’ve learned from your limited time spent sparring with Sukuna to launch your weight straight into the ground. The impact is sudden and immense as you shake your head and attempt to pick yourself up, not having expected to successfully pull from her grip.

She scolds you, calling your name repeatedly on top of every consequence she can think of, but it’s nothing more than noise to you. Every scream attracts more attention, and for better or for worse, her words fall in amongst the rest of the chatter.

“Is that the boy I keep seeing around Murata-san?”

“Does it have four arms?”

“Stop fighting!”

“What’s wrong with his face?”

“We’re better off without it.”

“We must return home!”

“STOP!” You screech through the onslaught of overwhelming commentary as your mother drags you by the arm again.

Your chest heaves, vision blurred by tears as you fight with every last piece of iron will in your body to save your friend.

To your surprise, your scream silences much of the gathered crowd’s chatter. The shrill nature of it catches even Arai off-guard and he recoils from the noise, the tip of the spear he was holding stabbing into the ground and holding Sukuna in place at an awkward angle. Arai steps aside just enough that you finally can face your friend. Your mother still attempts to drag you away but you hang as a deadweight to prevent her from doing so with ease.

Your chest heaves, but with every inch you’re dragged further from him, your nervous system is sent into a frayed panic. Your heart pounds, the overwhelming sensation that it’s been torn by hand from within its cage like sawing through steel. Your breathing picks up, eyes burning as every inch you’re dragged backwards betrays everything you’ve spent the last three years building up since Saya’s passing.

“NO!” You cry out again, wrenching at your mother’s grip hard enough to pin yourself to the dirt again. Blood slowly wets the ground where gravel digs into the skin under your nails, but it’s the least of your worries as you’ve finally anchored yourself, tiring both yourself and your mother, and you can see Sukuna at last.

Really see him.

His breaths are shallow but present as he hangs limp on the spear. You can barely make out movement of his chest at all, thanking every god that might listen that his robes shuffle just enough to call it breathing at all. The protruding part of the right side of his face is covered in blood, as though one of the men holding your friend hostage has attacked his face, drawing blood as it drips from his scalp and an exposed area at the top of the cartilage.

His shoulder doesn’t hang right. In fact, most of them don’t. The bottom two remain damaged, hanging limp, while the upper arm Imai still has a grip on is twisted wrong. It must be completely out of the socket. Blood pours without stopping from a slice that starts at the same arm’s palm, jagged when it reaches his wrist, only ending midway up his forearm. The crimson pooling beneath him is unrelenting, staining the burlap of his robes from the waist down into something earth-shattering.

But the worst part is the spear whose sharp stone end protrudes from the upper left of his chest, angled into the dirt. On the off-chance it didn’t scathe a vital organ, it may have only narrowly avoided it.

“Ryo.” Your voice is frail, scraped over rocks as a sob wracks your body. Ignoring the pain in your fingers, you dig your nails further into the dirt-packed ground. You’ve lost faith in the onlookers to help, the most you can do now is hope. Pray. As if your dearest companion was ever protected by a god.

Fingers on the better of his two lower arms twitch again. His lashes flutter, and you find immediate relief in the fact that, by some greater force of good, he lives still. It’s not much, but it’s something.

“Ryo,” you continue desperately, something uncomfortable churning in your stomach like stones. It’s heavy and nauseating, but you cling to the fact that he’s listening. He can hear you. Over your mother’s yelling, over Arai and Imai trying to navigate the situation. He hears you. You suck in a breath through your sobs, your chest heaving as the sensation rips through you like a wildfire. “You can’t leave too.”

His lashes flutter once more, remaining a crack open this time. His head still hangs, and it’s only the slight tilt to the way he’s positioned that allows you to get a glimpse of one of his upper eyes. When your breathing picks up as he responds, the upper eye positioned on the protrusion from his face slowly opens as well. It’s red, far beyond just the natural hue of his irises or even the strain of tears. A blood vessel has burst, flooding the eye with a deep, unnatural crimson.

Your mother drags you by your torso, but your grip on a stone in the mud is unrelenting. You hear her call out for someone to help her, further flooded with anger when movement stirs behind Murata’s house. Saya’s mother, proving that she’s not an onlooker, but a perpetrator of the violence, too. You grit your teeth, steeling yourself as your attention returns to Sukuna.

He doesn’t look at you, but he’s aware of you. It’s all you need. “Please,” you hiccup as you inhale sharply. “I need you.”

Like an axel lodging back into place, your words jolt something in his mind. The fog splits as though it’s been sliced, and his pupils rise to meet you.

You’re hunched over, dirt and mud clinging to your nice pink kimono. You fight tooth and claw, giving everything you have to be there with him.

Even as you fight, he hates the way your eyes flicker across his face, cataloguing every last detail you can before he becomes nothing more than a memory in the mantle of your mind. He pictures himself as a whittled carving, similar to the toys you once played with together. He’s sure his lower arms would be whittled with less care than the upper ones, a distant memory given that even you rarely see them. His lower eyes would be barely an indent, a remnant of what was, and what you can recall.

His mind cruelly conjures the image of his best friend, not even thirteen, alone in the world. Hunched over, your knees pulled to your chest as everything you’ve ever known is torn from you by forces out of your control.

He hates the anguish twisting every feature on your face out of place. He hates the temperature of red as it boils under his skin. His fingers twitch again, the muscles of his lower arms protesting when he tests them.

Familiar static lingers at the tips of his digits, little slices that barely divot the dirt at first. Sensing his defiance, Imai grabs the spear again, giving it a hateful and harsh jolt. Sukuna’s head hangs again, blood crawling up his throat to spill from his lips.

“RYO!” Your fighting grows more frantic, less controlled, as Saya’s mother bends over to tear your fingers from whatever it is you’re clinging to.

Sukuna’s jaw hangs ajar as he adjusts to the sharp seizing of torn musculature and chest pain that bleeds red. Imai spits cold words at him, but his mind swims with the only warmth he knows.

You. You. You. You.

The static grows sharp.

He doesn’t know how to unleash it with accuracy. It’s never been a blessing. It’s always been something dark that simmers like hot oil beneath his skin. An energy he can’t quite wield, yet it seems to draw some people to him like a beacon and he has yet to understand it. He sees creatures you don’t. He knows different of the supposed folklore you’ve both heard stories of.

He knows the horned beast with a long curled tail and spikes along its back, the entity so demonic for tearing down an entire village in one fell swoop is no demon at all. He knows there are no claws, no fangs, and no venom.

“LEAVE ME ALONE!” You cry out in defiance as the two closest things he’s ever had to a motherly figure both try to pull you away without so much as a glance at him.

His head lifts again. He blinks as viscous crimson seeps between his lashes, temporarily blinding him in one eye. With the stronger of his lower arms, he drags it to the best of his ability to the spear, but before he can even grab it, Arai’s foot comes down hard on his wrist.

He’s never been more grateful for the severed nerves in his arms, but his jaw still hangs loosely in pain. It’s dull, but not gone.

You scream at the sight as Saya’s mother frees your hands from whatever it was that you were holding so steadily onto. The sight has your fear turning ugly. Both the maw on Sukuna’s stomach and face grit their teeth in kind. Tears flood your face as you pull, writhe, and scream against your mother’s wishes. You attract more attention that Sukuna has never shown himself to and it brings a startling thought to his weakened mind.

He wants peace. He wants to be normal.

But if not normal, he just wants to see you smile again.

“RYO!” Your voice is ragged, tearing through him in a violent wave. The hurt wavering your voice is more painful than any spear through the chest. He sucks in a shallow breath as he grits his teeth, both men above finally distracted enough that he’s able to reach for the spear with his good hand. The stone blade is sharp against his palm, but the static of tiny slashes provides enough friction that it doesn’t touch him.

He tries to push himself up, to maneuver his body in a way that it pulls the spear from the dirt, but his strength is miniscule. He shuffles uselessly against his assailants, but he’s left with no sensation in the lower half of his body. “Stop,” he sputters through the blood, not for his sake, but yours.

“Grab a dagger. Finish this,” Arai ignores him.

The man’s words are lost on him. “Stop,” Sukuna coughs. The way his body wracks sends pain like a jolt up his spine. He groans, giving a weak tug at the spear to pull it from the earth, but it only serves to bloody his palm.

Imai and Arai move around him like a mission as your mother and Saya’s drag you away. You dig your heels into the ground, you claw, you scrape, you bite.

But it’s the screaming that finally gets through.

“DON’T HURT HIM!” His heart wrenches. “LET HIM GO!” It twists, and he has to grit his teeth to bear the pain. “RYO!” You’re almost out of sight when he hears you cry out in pain as you’re dragged away wrong. “I CAN’T DO THIS WITHOUT YOU!”

His blood runs cold as something inside him tilts. The static erupts into furious slices as he cries out for you. They travel over the ground, leaving harsh divots in their path. They sit in the air like a storm, cutting through tension, thick, hot, and no longer figurative, but undeniably real. He falls out of Imai’s grasp at last as the man steps away, allowing Sukuna to catch himself on the one good arm he has before his torso slides further down the spear. His attacks die down as he catches his breath when he startles both men.

“Get the dagger!” One of them yells with more urgency.

He can’t say which one of the men it is that moves first, but his good arm lifts as he cries out in fury and rage and in mere moments, the man has halted, bones sliced through so cleanly that the way he falls apart is unnatural. It doesn’t phase the child. His hand lowers back to the spear as he unlodges it from the ground with a harsh pull in the midst of the terrified screaming surrounding him.

Someone moves towards him, wrenching one of his bad shoulders. He recoils immediately, and with one look, they pay the price for touching him. His hand whips up and redirects his anger in a series of slashes. Their arm meets the ground as Sukuna falls back, the spear pulling more blood from his mouth as its weight shifts. He grabs the weapon again, his movements panicked as he feels the only gaze that matters searing into him.

He runs on adrenaline, fueled by an innate need to survive. He can’t let the image of you, alone in the world, become reality.

He slices clean through the spear’s wooden handle, holding the stone tip in a shaking hand. The situation around him has grown dire with many running to protect their families while others scream to kill him. To kill the two-faced curse.

One of his weaker arms drags off the ground, a modicum of strength and feeling returning to it. He doesn’t know where it comes from, but the energy within him shifts in ways he’s never felt before. In the same way your words stirred something within him, a grasp on the energy curling within fell into place out of sheer need.

His head lifts, bloodshot eyes searching the commotion for you. He looks past the stack of severed limbs at his side where you’re still fighting with every fiber of your being to get to his side.

“YOU CAN’T DO THIS!” You cry, being dragged by one arm. With his senses on high alert and a new understanding of something within, he can practically feel your pain. In spite of the fact that your arm is at an odd angle, it’s the fear and desperation in your chest that he feels the strongest.

He wonders briefly if it’s the innate understanding of the energy in the world around him beginning to fall into place, or if your places in one another’s lives has simply connected you as such.

“STOP!” You sob again, your head whipping around to look back at him. You don’t see the limbs. You don’t see the blood. You don’t see the people running in fear.

You see your best friend.

You see a man with a dagger ready to plunge it into his back.

“RYO! LOOK OUT!”

One by one, every scream knocks something into place until his systems all begin to function once more. It’s fragmented and broken, it’s not the smooth motion of a waterwheel, but something far more cobbled together.

He twists awkwardly, plunging the tip of the spear into his assailant’s knee before they reach him. As they recoil, he reaches for the spear’s handle in his chest, gritting his teeth as he pulls it through his chest. Inch by painful inch, the bloodied handle gives way until he’s able to release it onto the ground before him. A hole runs clean through his chest, blood pouring from it in waves without the spear to cauterize the wound.

Your chest heaves with exhaustion as you kick and scream, yelling protests for the world to hear. Your calls and prayers are met in tandem with Sukuna’s ability to fight back, grateful to see life in his eyes, in spite of the ensuing violence.

When you see him free of the spear, his lower body slowly beginning to move as he gathers himself, your movements pause as you can only pray that by some miracle he isn’t left with horrible injuries. Saya’s mother takes the opportunity to reposition her grip, unaware that you’re paying avid attention. You twist your wrist, turning towards her as you free yourself. With your free hand, you pry your mother’s hand away and dart through the mess towards Sukuna.

What they might do to him, you can only hope they won’t do to you.

It’s the last ditch effort you can possibly think of that might stop this mess from ending in the only way you see it going.

Your arms wrap around him, blood soaking and staining your kimono as you collapse on top of him on the ground. His entire body heaves, his breathing laborious and his heart in a fit of uncertainty.

He wraps one weakened lower arm around you. The other remains limp, the effort of channeling his energy not worth it in the moment, and one upper arm remains out of the socket. He’s not quite sure how to fix that one with his limited understanding of his abilities. The other holds him up on an elbow, just out of his own pooling blood, cool and viscous against his skin.

The pressure and weight of your embrace doesn’t soothe the pain, but the world’s action quiets down for a moment.

Because you were right.

What they might do to Sukuna without worry, they will not do to you.

You sob endlessly into his shoulder while his head spins. His brain function is barely put together, unable to fully wrap his head around the concept of forcing the energy he wields to heal his chest when he’s running on fumes and lost an immense amount of blood. He can’t begin to tell where your tears end and his start. At some point, he became numb to the very sensation of his own.

The world is an overwhelming uproar of voices and yells, questions about the origins of the unknown boy and calls to find Murata. Between the noise, the sun, the wind, and your warmth all pressing down on him, he can’t make sense of the way the energy within him curls and bends. It may have clicked for long enough to pull himself away from death’s door, but now as he tries to stitch himself back together and reverse the damage of his injuries, he’s losing himself in the fog.

Imai’s voice rings out over your ragged breaths, grave and furious as he favors the knee without a sharp stone lodged into it.

“Move aside. This doesn’t have to do with you.”

You flinch, your grip tightening. Sukuna’s chest protests the movement, his jaw hanging open as a groan of pain parts his lips. He coughs, blood sputtering from his mouth as he struggles to hold himself out of his own pooling blood.

Imai calls for your mother, trailing behind as she watches in horror with Saya’s mother. “Get her out of here!” He hisses, his fingers clutching the back of your kimono as he attempts to drag you from Sukuna. The boy’s grip on you tightens, but even so, he prepares himself for disappointment.

But you only cling harder to him, burying your face into his shoulder. His heart pangs.

“NO!” You scream as your mother wrenches on your shoulders. Sukuna offers enough weight that pulling on you means trying to drag him along with you, an effort that can’t be accomplished with only one person. Asking someone to get near the equal parts terrified and furious boy is a big ask when they’ve seen what he’s capable of.

But with you this close, he doesn’t even know what he’s capable of and fears it altogether.

But even more so, he’s tired. The fight is leaving his body with your comfort tied to his side in a bloody bow.

As your mother fails to pull you from him, Imai takes matters into his own hands, the dagger in his hand suddenly held unsteadily at your jugular.

Sukuna’s eyes, bloodied and blurred, rise to meet Imai pleadingly. “Don’t,” he manages to rasp through the fog, “please.”

Imai’s lips curls. “You have no authority to make demands here. Let her go or–”

“How dare you?” Your mother roars furiously, her grip on you loosening on your shoulders as she makes a move to protect you. In the effort to do so, she staggers Imai’s stance, and the dagger lodges itself into Sukuna’s shoulder. He groans, inadvertently digging his nails into your side as it drags more of his blood to the earth below.

Your mother rounds Imai until she can separate him from you and Sukuna by the shoulders. She gives his hunched shoulders an adamant tug, sending him back and his hand flying outward, still tightly wound around the weapon’s handle. The dagger drags heavily over Sukuna’s shoulder, opening his wound further. Blood spills from his lips again, his eyes fluttering as he struggles to keep conscious under the weight of blood loss and brain fog.

He doesn’t even hear your yelp, it’s the way you jolt that makes him open his eyes again.

His clouded vision goes red at the sight that meets him. The cut from his shoulder drags straight into yours, the two forming a single, long slice telling of the misfortune that comes with being friends with the creature of nightmarish tales.

He swallows hard, pupils flickering across your shoulder until he finds your face. Contorted in pain, you look like another person.

His breathing comes hard. Every breath is purposeful when he pours every last ounce of harnessable energy into one hand, turning to shield you from the onslaught of slashes he lets out in the air.

Imai’s guttural cry makes you flinch.

But it’s your mother’s shocked gasp that has you looking up.

Regardless of how frustrated you’ve been with her, she’s still your mother. Some part of you hasn’t fully registered what Sukuna is capable of, in spite of the dismemberment and blood surrounding you. You don’t fully have a grasp on the damage he’s wrought and the choices he can’t come back from anymore, too caught up in anguish and anxiety.

But when you look up, your vision glazes over as you lift your head past the remnants of Imai to your mother, her chest heaving and eyes wide with fear. Sukuna’s arm falls into the pooling crimson beneath him, no longer only his own blood, as his consciousness begins to fade. Your mother’s scratches are only surface-level, a decision Sukuna made through fog and iron.

But she still breathes fury and desperation as she raises hell to pull you two apart, begging for help from villagers unwilling to come any closer. You can feel Saya’s mother’s fury burning into your back as she’s forced to watch Imai succumb to the violence that she already blames for the loss of her daughter and husband.

“What’s going on?” Murata’s voice rings out in the midst of your mother’s cries. You can hear Imai’s boys sobbing in the distance. Arai’s wife cries with them. No one dares to speak ill of the child whose very existence is calamity. The guardian locks eyes with his own child, his lips pressed into a thin line as he’s backed into a corner.

He doesn’t need any replies to his question, because through your sobs as you cling to Sukuna, Murata knows. He’s likely always known it would come to this.

Even as Sukuna– a few days from thirteen– stares up at Murata from over your shoulder, he knows already that there was never any question in what decision his guardian would choose. He’s seen it all before and he knew from the start that he would see it again.

“Forgive me, Ryomen.”

Crimson irises fall, rolling to the side as he willingly gives in with no fight left in him. He lets his head fall back into the bloodied dirt, matting his hair with the remains of those lost as he prepares for death, protecting you with what last energy he has and praying that when his world goes black, yours remains intact.

It’s the least the gods above could do for smiting him in such a cruel way.

–

When you wake, your head pounds. You shut your eyes tight, praying that the light won’t harm you, but it’s that same familiar sensation from when you slammed your head against the tree last year when facing Imai’s boys. The sun’s light furthers the sensation of something rattling in your brain and your memory is fuzzy.

You can’t recall falling asleep, nor can you recall passing out, if that was the case either.

There’s nothing but fog in every direction, and no discernable way out.

Your limbs are heavy as you lift them towards the sun, blocking its rays from hitting your face. Your throat is dry, raw, and you sputter out a cough as you attempt to sit up in your bed.

The noise attracts your mother’s attention, who kneels in front of you without niceties. You try to shake your head of her grip as she grabs your cheeks and turns your head this way and that, seemingly looking over your vision as though it isn’t swimming.

“Stop,” you rasp, clumsily swatting at her.

She grabs your wrist in her palm, her grip tight. Your brow furrows on instinct as you squint up at her, trying to make sense of your surroundings. When you shift your gaze, the back of your head begins pounding.

“I am not playing around,” she states, punctuating the phrase with your name.

You try to shake your head, but it just results in harsher pounding. You hiss, reaching for the back of your head to find swelling, but you can’t recall how it happened.

“I’m not playing,” you mutter, tugging on your arm, but her grip is without relent. “My head hurts.”

“I would imagine it does.”

Confusion clouds your mind as you stare at her, attempting to blink away the incessant onslaught of sunlight on your senses. She doesn’t grace you with a reply, though she finally drops your wrist.

It’s then that you notice that her arms and parts of her chest are bandaged, though you can’t recall why. Had she burned herself?

She gets back up to her feet, shaking her head at your father as they speak in a low tone you can’t quite make out. Your head drops, gaze fixating on your blanketed lap where your hands reside. Blinking, you flip one over, staring at your palm. It’s not just dirty from the day’s usual grime, it’s dry and cracking, a deep and stomach-churning crimson dried into the cracks. You lift your other hand, finding the same of both, with dried blood packed beneath your nails and a noticeable sting when you pick at it.

Your mind swims, cloudy as you trudge through memories in search of what happened.

Dried blood clings to you in all of the spots that aren’t so easy to clean, but what really strikes you is when you look down at your shoulder and find blood soaked into the hemp material of your clothes. You lift a hand, pushing them aside and staring blankly at a tightly wrapped bandage, soaked in deep crimson as it wraps from your clavicle to your shoulder and across your chest to secure it.

In true childlike manner, your first instinct is to touch it, taught an instant lesson when your body fights back with a stinging sensation. You wince, staring down at it in confusion.

“Do not touch your shoulder,” your mother reprimands you with little care in her tone as she physically wrenches your hand away. You whine in protest, resisting the way she pulls your arm.

“That hurts.”

You don’t even get a snarky reply this time.

“What did I do?” You query, completely at a loss as to what’s happened recently when something strikes you. “Where’s Ryo?”

Her eyes flash with something dangerous. “Do not ask about that boy.”

You can only watch in confusion as your stomach churns uncomfortably when she crosses the floor to whatever she has cooking over the fire. “What? Why?”

Her head whips towards you with enough venom to make you shrink away. “He’s gone.” The word sits before you like the ill omen they always considered him to be. You swallow hard as your stomach threatens to throw up the limited amount of food that’s already in it. Your body runs cold, a horrifying sensation settling into the tips of your fingers and toes as though they’ve already gone numb.

Your chest feels as though a weight presses down on it and in a horrifying burst of panic, you throw your blankets off and make for the door. Your mother calls for you, but you’re too fast as the door slams open and you’re met with a horrific sight.

The iron in the wind hits you first. A low metallic tang that grips you by the throat has you bringing a hand to your lips as there is no fresh air to save you. It’s the still-bleeding remains that finally wrench your stomach into full unease. Whatever food you had managed to eat in the last day is emptied from your stomach as you clutch it uncomfortably, unable to tear your eyes from the spot where the pooling blood is just that– still a pool. Not dried.

It hits you hard, yesterday’s events. The blunt force of the memory is more painful than whatever blunt object Murata made the decision to knock out not only Sukuna with, but you as well.

Which leaves you with one bitter question. He’s gone. That’s inevitable. But how gone? For as cruel as Murata could be, you don’t believe him to be a killer. You can’t. So you can only hope the hate harbored towards your friend wasn’t enough to spear him through the chest yet again.

The mere thought leaves you dizzy as your mother pulls you back inside. You stumble back, falling over your feet and onto your knees as you try to gather yourself, but nothing feels right. Anxiety grips every muscle in your body, stuck in a permanently tense sensation like your nervous system doesn’t know how to let go.

Struggling to suck in a breath from where you’ve fallen to the floor, you stare up wildly at your mother. “Where is he?”

Not an ounce of care stares back at you. Your father doesn’t even glance over his shoulder as you struggle to put together the missing pieces of the puzzle. “He’s gone.”

“Where is he?” You cry with increasing panic. White encroaches on the edges of your vision as your body goes into full-blown paranoia. “I can’t–” You shake your head wildly, pushing to your feet and taking a couple of steps away from your mother in the midst of your anxiety. “I need him, I can’t–” Your breathing picks up, every gasp serving to send your body in the wrong direction as you stumble away from the figures you can barely make out anymore. “Not Ryo too,” you cry out, tears spilling over.

Your mother calls your name, taking both of your biceps as she holds you in place. Your nervous system goes haywire, your body tipping over the edge as you’re sent into fight or flight. She tries to explain that you don’t need him. She tries to explain that you’ll be a good daughter. She tries to explain that someday you’ll be a good wife to a husband who you’ll take care of.

But nothing registers as all you can picture is your brute of a friend, cast away if the blood loss didn’t take him first. He didn’t even get ten years at your side before being sent out into the forest again to scavenge for rabbits and search for warmth in the sort of places most people don’t dare look.

And that’s only if you can hope he’s still alive.

“Where is he?” You repeat your question as she outright refuses to give you a real answer.

There’s no hope in your mother’s scream when she finally raises her voice past the disappointment she’s been holding over you. “HE’S GONE!” She moves you to a chair, your feet moving clumsily over the ground as she drags you across the floor. Your shoulder protests every movement and your mind can’t make out the difference between your left and right, caught between panic over Sukuna and the sickly feeling that comes with the complete and utter shutdown of your body.

Spiralling into a complete manic state, you stare through her as you barely manage to scrape a reply past your lips. “He can’t be. He can’t– I can’t–” You swallow hard in an effort to quell the uneasy feeling in your stomach as your head swims, the white ring around your vision closing in on you.

“You can and you will.”

But your world is dark again when your body and mind protest that sentiment with a complete and utter shutdown.

main masterlist || series masterlist || ⇤ prev || next ⇥ - coming soon

➴ a/n ; it hurts my heart to put these poor babies through so much :'( i promise things won't be quite as intense going forward! thank you for the support on this series though, i appreciate you all <3

➴ taglist ; OPEN. age must be visible in bio. 18+ only. @lilrosyhaven @tiny-mimi @grimm3r @yujisredkicks @knittybritty98 @sukunahs @saezzi @epicderpface @ynishalee @pandabiene5115 @silibiliballs @ane5e @feyrinnn @jkslvsnella @maomimii @megumuro @gojosoups @sukunas-one-n-only-peach @beaniesayshi @ryomeowie @suguusatoo @sukubusss @matchaenthusiast1111 @peachhiz @seellove @msrinnnn @amenabiii @jasontoddscumslut @asimpinamillion @rottenrange @ricktastix @indiewritesxoxo @cosmotoic @berry-marys @eli54sa @lovers-roq @arcanelusttt @cheol-lies @scarletcachecyclone @bam-boozledx @icebearcucumber @meatboy167 @t4ters @slushycoookie @yarimarjane @dishs0pe @martianzmars @tohru-tales @loijkiupo0 @crimzie129

writing, format & dividers © starmapz. commission art © zb relic. do not repost, translate, or copy.

[notnormalthings-blog]

God I want Sukuna to rip them apart

[domainrodeo]

18+ HIGH OCTANE | r. sukuna

synopsis ⸺ your early 20s gave you exactly three problems: grad school, keeping a certain trio from meddling, and the raging crush on your best friend's older brother.

pairing; r. sukuna x f!reader

tags; modern au, mechanic sukuna, pervy reader, reader has a nickname, best friend's older brother, minor age gap, secret relationship, mutual pining, eventual smut, hookups, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, sexting, alcohol, weed.

chapter warnings; smut (unprotected piv, semi-public, kinda dubcon but not really bc bunny is enthusiastic).

prev. santo sativa | next. to be continued...

☆ m.list playlist!

8: ready, set, ignition

Seventeen times.

That’s how many times you’ve checked your phone in the last hour. Seventeen times you’ve pulled it out of your pocket, unlocked it, stared at the same two lines of text, smiled juuuuust a smidge, then locked it again.

Except Nobara had been counting, too.

“What’s got you so bothered, huh?” she pokes at your arm with her chopstick. “Trouble in paradise?”

You turn to her with a sigh, finger sliding along the dew-slick rim of your beer glass. You feel the corners of your lip curling. “No trouble.”

Yes trouble. Trouble of the astronomical kind. The kind of trouble that keeps you awake at night, ruminating on nothing and everything at the same time.

“Bullshit.” She sets her utensils down and leans forward, elbows on the table. “You’ve been doing this back-and-forth since we sat down.”

You purse your lips, avoiding her gaze. “I’m looking through my e-mail.”

She scoffs, grabbing your forearm across the table and squeezing.

“Girl,” she starts gravely. “You’ve been MIA for a week doing god-knows-what. Fuck e-mails, I know there’s something else.”

You look down at her hand, then your untouched plate of fried… whatever. You swear you were hungry just a moment ago.

“Spill,” she tucks her chin to catch your gaze. “Now.”

Yes, you did feel bad for flaking on your friends all week. Horrible, really. You remember the very day you broke up with your toxic, piece of shit boyfriend back in high school and vowed to never obsess over a man ever again.

And here you are now, checking your phone like a lunatic.

“Sorry,” you send her a little smile, squeezing her palm as it rests against yours. “I guess I’m distracted.”

“Distracted,” she repeats, deadpan. “That’s what we’re calling it now?”

You shrug, but your hand drifts to your pocket again, where your phone lives, and Nobara’s eyes track the movement like a hawk.

“Who’s texting you?” she asks.

“No one.”

“Bunny.”

“It’s nothing, seriously.” You pull your hand back, placing it firmly on the table. “Just my car. I dropped it off at a mechanic, and it’s finally ready.”

Nobara tilts her head, unconvinced. “That beige piece of junk?”

“Wheat-colored.”

“Whatever.” She waves a hand. “Since when does a mechanic texting you about your car make you smile like that?”

Your face heats. You reach for your beer, taking a long sip to buy yourself some time. The glass is cold against your palm, the liquid bitter and crisp, but it doesn’t do much to cool the flush creeping up your neck.

“Bunny.” Nobara’s voice drops, suddenly serious. “What aren’t you telling me?”

You realize, in that moment, that hiding is futile. Nobara could obviously sniff out your love-sickness from a mile away, and you weren’t exactly the best actor. Besides, a part of you wondered if sharing your predicament with someone could loosen the anxiety, if only enough to help you breathe.

“I went to their place last week,” you admit quietly. “Yuji’s. To get a book back.”

She furrows her eyebrows, unsure. “Okay.”

“Yuji wasn’t there,” you elaborate, tilting your gaze away from hers, “but his brother was.”

What does that have to do with your car? she’s probably thinking. 

But instead of speaking it out loud, she sinks into her seat. “...Okay.”

You bite your bottom lip. “We smoked.”

Her face goes from skeptical to confused to glowing within seconds. Her mouth, a wide ‘o’, is almost taunting in the face of your worries. “You smoked with Sukuna?”

You nod. She searches your face like she’s looking for something specific. Elation. Pride. You feel none of those. You don’t know what you feel.

“I thought he was a total asshole,” she shakes her head, but the way she says ‘asshole’ makes it sound like a compliment. “How the fuck did you get him to hang out with you?”

You shrug, picking up a tamari-stained chopstick. Her eyes stay perpetual as you begin toying with a piece of tofu on your plate. “He’s not that bad once you get him alone.”

“Get him alone?” Her tone drops an octave, accusatory but equally elated, like the concept of her best friend getting lucky was unusually rare. “What the hell did you do?”

Everything, you want to say. Everything and not enough.

“We, uh,” you swallow thickly, picking up a chunk of cold rice and chewing on it thoughtfully. Your eyes flick to hers for a split moment. “We kissed. A bit.”

Of all the times you gave Nobara fresh gossip on your love life, you’ve never seen her quite this… excited. Or terrified. Through the thin veil of anxiety, it was getting hard to tell if she approved of your antics.

But then she leans in again, eyes wide, and then:

“YOU KISSED HIM!?”

You see her lips curve into a grin, and immediately you know that you’re in the clear. For now.

“Made out.” You correct, quickly pursing your lips like you’re trying to shut yourself up. It was hard to keep the details to yourself once you’ve already started blabbering.

She’s shaking her head with a wide, borderline manic grin that settles your worries as easily as it fans the fire within your tummy.

“This is…this is something,” she mumbles out like a military strategist assessing her plans. “I mean, he’s hot.”

“Really hot.” You admit haphazardly, urging her gaze towards you.

“Don’t say that!”

“Why!?” You can’t help but teeter on a chuckle. “You said it yourself!”

“Admitting you’re into a guy puts you in a losing lane,” she explains. “Attraction is power. By thinking he’s hot, you’re losing your upper hand.”

“That sounds medieval.”

“The best relationships always have a push and pull. And in straight relationships, you want the man to want you more than you want him. That’s how you make sure things work out in the long run.”

You blow a raspberry, throwing your arms against the table and leaning your head against your elbow. It’s impolite, and you don’t care. This whole dating thing was much more complicated than you remembered, and you suddenly needed a drink. You realized you needed a drink frequently. Was this what liking someone did to you? Made you uninterested in sobriety?

“Can I finish your beer?” Nobara asks, her fingers already creeping towards your glass.

“Sure.” You reply. “Whatever.”

You watch her down the flat, piss-colored beverage in two fine swigs and sigh. You had to change your ways. If you wanted any chance with Sukuna, you couldn’t stay impartial to the outcome.

Your friend suppresses a burp and slams the empty glass down with a furrow in her brow. Then she looks at you. “So what happened next?”

“After what?”

“The kiss.” She duh’s at you. “Did you fuck him?”

You almost wince at the word. Fuck him. No, you didn’t fuck him. It didn’t even feel like you got close. And besides, if the circumstances magically aligned and Sukuna was down to have sex with you, would you agree? There, inside his room with no locks. In an apartment he shared with Yuji, your best friend, who could have come home at any moment. What would you do if he had walked in on you, ass in the air, stuffed full of his brother’s cock? 

You suddenly wanted that beer back.

“No,” you reply. “Nothing else happened. We smoked, made out, and I went home.”

She sighs. You feel like a starlet in a cheap telenovela. A cushiony, subdued heroine making all the bad choices for the viewers’ entertainment. 

“Hard to get, huh?” she tilts her head, and you want to yell yes! Yes, that’s it! Blame the game, not the player! 

You felt no better than a man.

“He’s not hard to get,” you mutter. “I guess he’s just hard to get. Understand, I mean. When I look at him, I never know what he’s thinking.”

“You need to stop trying to read his thoughts,” she points at you, “and start talking instead.”

Your hand flies to your pocket again, where the holy grail rests idly. You finger at its edges, unlock it, then finally place it ceremoniously between you.

Tsubaki Garage, 9:22 Your car is ready 1800

“Uh,” Nobara leans over the table, squinting at the bright screen. “Okay. Your car is ready. And the guy who fixed it is obviously a huge douche, because who the fuck uses a military clock?”

You bite your bottom lip and send her a pleading look. Somehow, you really, really wanted her to connect the dots without your help.

And, as if on cue, you think she does.

Her eyes widen again, lips wide open, a gasp escaping her throat. She covers it with her neatly manicured fingers, but the giggling that starts stays painfully obvious.

“No. Fucking. Way.” She sounds out. “Sukuna is your mechanic!?”

You can’t help but crack a smile, too. “Yes.”

“So you’re fucking your mechanic.”

“I am not fucking him.”

“Oh, but you want to.” She shakes her head, scanning your face for evidence she very quickly uncovers. “You want to so bad. I can tell.  It’s all over your face.”

You roll your eyes, even if she’s right.

“I’ll talk to him today,” you say out loud, like affirming it will help you keep your promise. “At the garage.”

With the initial wave of shock ebbing away, Nobara leans forward on her elbows. A sly smirk paints her lips. You feel like you’re back in middle school, sharing secrets under a blanket. “What will you say?”

You have no fucking idea.

“I don’t know.”

Her eyebrows furrow. They’re plucked so thin, it looks more dramatic than it feels. “You don’t know?”

“I haven’t thought about the details,” you say, rubbing your forearm. “I guess I’ll try to ask him out. To the movies or something.”

The movies? Was this the seventies? Nobara, however, doesn’t seem to care about the soundness of your plan. She’s already looking down at your sad, sauce-soaked plates and mulling something over.

“You’re thinking.”

“I hate to be that person but,” she begins, “does Yuji know?”

Strike. Hole in one. Whatever you wanted to call it, Nobara was right on the money. You’ve been asking yourself the same thing for weeks now, silently, during the sleepless nights you’d spend tossing around in bed. You always found an excuse, another day convincing yourself your crush was innocent. 

Hearing your friend give this fear life felt heavier than you were ready for.

“No.” You answer. “I don’t think so. I mean, I haven’t told him. Yet.”

She tilts her head, traces the rim of her – your – beer glass. “Okay.”

“Okay?” you echo. “Don’t you think I’m being shitty for keeping it a secret from him?”

She shrugs, but you can tell she’s thinking this through. Her eyes dart across the crowded food market, narrowed with focus, before squaring on you again. “I mean, you’re not together. Not yet.”

Not yet. So there was hope, after all, or some semblance of it. 

Except you weren’t like Nobara. She truly, fundamentally believed that she could have anyone. You had your own air of confidence, yes, but attractive people with piercing eyes and big arms always made you squirm. Except that wasn’t the point right now.

“I’m worried he’ll be upset if I tell him.”

She shrugs again, properly unaffected this time. “You’ll just have to do it and see.”

Yes, you would. An unrequited crush was one thing, but now? Now your responsibility was sealed with a fucking kiss you couldn’t even dream of taking back, and quite the contrary: you wanted so, so much more now that you were convinced it was possible. 

“I guess I will.” You say.

Nobara nods. “I guess you will.”

You sit there in a mutual quiet for a while, finishing your beverages and eating whatever’s left of your side-dishes. Nobara sends you a look once every few bites, and you spend that time wondering if they’re approving or not.

“Should I change before I go?” you ask.

She turns to you mid-chew, looking up and down your torso. She hums, then leans down to peek under the table. “Yes.”

“Wow,” you mumble. “That bad?”

“You look cute,” she shrugs, waving towards your frilly, seashell-colored top. “But if you’re gonna ask him out, you should look hot.”

”What if I just be hot instead?”

”Not enough,” she shakes her head. “Put on something short. Pop a titty. Actually, just go ahead and wear your best panties. Red pair with the lacey trim, you know the one, right? Risa Magli.”

You huff a chuckle. “And what, fuck him on the damn creeper?”

But as soon as the idea leaves your lips, it sounds more like a suggestion. A fantasy. Him, laid flat on the garage floor, tan skin slick with engine oil and sweat – and you on top, straddling his hips and grinding into his work trousers, making him buck up into you for friction. 

The image must have made your eyes do something funny because Nobara is suddenly grabbing your elbow with a grin.

“Holy fuck, you’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” She grabs your palm and squeezes, like a mother would her child. Like you’ve done something to be proud of. “You’re my hero.”

“Don’t get too excited.”

She does a faux gasp and grabs at her chest, rumpling the gem-studded blouse she’s wearing. “Excuse me? I’m excited as fuck!” Her voice rises enough to grab the attention of a small family sitting nearby. “My girl is getting fucked! She’s getting fucked by a big, hot dude, and I get to advise her!”

“Holy shit, shut up–” your top half nearly flies over the table in an attempt to shush her, but all you manage to do is grab her forearm and shake it a bit. She’s laughing. You’re laughing despite yourself. You suddenly start feeling really, really excited about the prospects of your fixed car.

And then, through the thrum comes a voice that chills your core:

“What’re you two laughing about?”

You whip around, heart hammering against your ribs. Yuji is standing there with a tray of drinks and more food. Megumi’s behind him with a tray of his own, staring you down with narrowed eyes. 

“Nothing,” you say quickly. “Girl stuff.”

Yuji grins playfully, his nose scrunching. “Gross.”

“Shut up,” Nobara quips, making grabby hands towards the trays. “Now sit and let’s get fucked up. Bunny needs it.”

“I don’t,” you correct, “but I’ll drink.”

She gives you a look, but your eyes dart to Yuji instead. He unloads their haul onto your table: glossy pork adobo, a carbonara, garlic shrimp skewers, and some sort of jelly cakes shaped like little cats with chocolate eyes.

“Hey,” he nods your way, sliding you a salt-rimmed highball. “Here.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “Is this–”

“Your favorite.”

Your finger trails patterns in the frosty condensation, eyebrow furrowing at the delicate egg foam and crystal-clear ice cubes. A drink you’d always order at bars and clubs, but never make a fuss of.

But he just knew. With his stupid, feisty little heart, he knew.

And here you were, plotting ways to maximize your chances of seducing his brother just later today. His dear older brother, whom he spoke little of but clearly cared about more than anything in the world.

“Thanks, Yuyu.” You return his smile, then glance at Nobara. She gives you a look that might be sympathetic with a good dollop of relax, he’ll be fine.

So you try to.

You eat, you drink, and you talk until everyone is laughing deep from their bellies. Nobara sends you looks. Megumi looks you down once or twice, but you brush it off. Yuji, with his cheeks flushed and beer raised, mentions a new arcade they opened in Ikebukuro that you should all check out next weekend because they have big discounts for students.

Then:

“So how’s Mugi doing?” he asks between bites of pork.

Your whole body stiffens, or maybe it’s just your face. You turn to him with a quirked lip, sipping your drink to buy yourself some time and aid the croak in your throat. “She’s good. Picking her up later today.”

He whistles. “That was fast.”

Though you’re chuckling, your eyebrows furrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Yuji shrugs, taking his time with a pickled radish. You watch, entranced, as the cubes dance around his chopsticks.

“Nothing, I just thought he’d take longer. He’s pretty stingy, so there’s no reason he’d be so urgent about a free fix like yours.” He stops chewing, eyes wide when he looks at you. “Don’t tell him I said that.”

Nobara barks in laughter, before the conversation quickly spirals into something about business ethics and part-time jobs. 

But you’re still stuck on what Yuji said. 

Sukuna: This serious, allegedly money-conscious guy, prioritizing your rusty little ride over actual orders worth actual money. And for the sake of what, exactly? A good deed done? Showing his little brother he cares?

You’re afraid to dissect the psychology of it, so you don’t. You eat and drink instead, and try to laugh, even if something tugs at your chest. And by the time the plates are sauce-only, and the ice in your drink has melted, your smile feels a little more natural again.

You think of what you’ll wear. Would a dress be too obvious? There was a brand new skirt you had bought last week sitting in your drawer, but it wouldn’t match any of the clean tops you had. Was it a bad idea to reuse the same outfit you had on yesterday?

Your phone lights up with a notification from your period tracker. Splayed across a lockscreen photo of your friends are three glowing digits:

4:02.

And so it was. 

One hundred and eighteen minutes left.

After dinner at the market, you did, in fact, stop at home to change. 

You stood in front of your closet for a full twenty minutes, phone propped against your mirror with Nobara on video call, holding up skirt after dress after top while she yelled things like “no, you look like a librarian” and “yes, that one! With the pink top. And the panties, as we said. Don’t you forget the panties!”

You didn’t forget the panties.

Now, standing in the driveway of Tsubaki Garage at 5:58 PM, you’re suddenly very, very aware of every choice you've made up until this point.

The skirt is shorter than you’d normally wear outside of a club, your top is fitted with a neckline that dips just enough to show cleavage. Your hair is down, misted with something cheap but sweet. You opted for a lip stain instead of a lipstick. The red panties you got on discount from Risa Magli chafe against your thigh.

You weren’t expecting anything to happen, of course. You were there to say hi, get your car back, and ask him out as casually as your overheated body could muster. 

But could you ask him out? Was this the right moment? Gosh, and your skirt. It was way too short, wasn't it? You should have–

Before your doubts can swallow you whole, you push the garage door open.

The space smells like motor oil and metal, that same 90s hip hop drifting from a portable speaker in a corner. It’s a bit louder now, drowning out the fervent beating of your heart.

And then you spot him, right there in the open, straddling a motorcycle – some sleek, dark thing that looks more like a prop than a vehicle with its compact body and red-rimmed wheels. 

Sukuna is bent over the handlebars with a wrench in one hand. His t-shirt stretches across his back, giving you a show of his working muscles, and despite a few smears of oil, its crisp, white color accentuates the tan of his skin. A thin sheen of sweat glistens on his forearms, hair messy as it falls across his forehead.

He doesn’t look up when you walk in. You stand there for a moment, just watching, until your throat feels dry with words unspoken.

“Hey,” you finally say.

He glances over his shoulder, eyes flat, then returns to the bike. “Car’s outside. Keys are on the bench.”

Your lips part to speak, but the simplicity of his ‘greeting’ nearly floors you. Not even a flicker of recognition that the last time you saw each other, his tongue was in your mouth.

You speak, despite the heat coiling in your tummy.

“Thanks,” you say, sharper than you had planned. You clear your throat. “How much do I owe you?”

A trick question, and he knows it.

He doesn’t look up. “Free.”

“Free?”

“You heard me.”

You cross your arms, the lace of your bralette scratching against your ribs. “I can’t just let you work on my car for free, Sukuna.”

Now he looks at you. Really, really looks.

You’re a stark contrast against the grit and grime of everything. He must notice that, too, because you feel his narrowed gaze flit against your frilly, lace-clad silhouette with a languid slowness. His jaw ticks.

“You can,” he says, “and you will.”

This, which you can only describe as a command, makes you squeeze your thighs together. Your gazes meet, fighting for something you can’t quite place, and before any more words can be uttered, you take a step closer.

“At least let me help you with something.” You shrug. “To pay you back.”

He sets the wrench down and sits up straighter on the bike, turning to face you fully. His knees are spread wide, boots planted firmly. “You work with cars before?”

You purse your lips and look around to buy yourself some time. The garage is a mess of spare parts, loose tools, and colorful plastic boxes flung around the dim-lit space. The floor below your kitten heels is stained with something dark and glossy, sinking into the porous concrete and wafting a scent of artificial lemon.

“No,” you say, looking back at him. “But you could teach me.”

His eyebrows lift just a fraction, and you watch something flicker across his face. Surprise, maybe. Or amusement. It’s long gone before you can name it.

“There’s only one creeper,” he says, then nods at your outfit. “And you’re wearing…”

He pauses, scanning the outfit Nobara helped pick out; from your carefully mussed hair, to the tight top, to the pleated skirt, and delicate heels. 

Your lip quirks, legs crossing elegantly. “I don’t mind getting dirty.”

Those words, spoken like an invitation, hang between you for hours. Or, at least, hours is what it feels like with Sukuna’s dark gaze flitting over your face as though you’ve just challenged him to a game you had no chance of winning at.

He swings his leg over the bike and stands. You watch with bated breath as he takes two long strides towards you, stopping just a few feet short of you. You look up to match his height, nostrils widening as tobacco, sweat, and spice envelop your body.

And with his sharp, smileless exhale, you wonder what he’s thinking. Between calling you an insufferable brat and hoping you’ll back down, you hope it’s the secret third option. 

“Suit yourself,” he mutters and walks toward a sedan parked by the black bike. Pearlescent gray and fitted with a custom spoiler, it sits idly on jack stands. He knocks on its window twice, then looks at you.

And with your throat tight, you follow.

He steps on the edge of something poking out from beneath the car. A dark, plasticky frame that you realize is a creeper – the only creeper, according to him – and pulls it out with a swift kick of his boot. The wheels rattle along the concrete floor as it slides away, bumping over a solitary pair of pliers before stopping at the far-end wall.

“You don’t wanna use that?” You ask, quirking a brow.

He glances at the creeper, then back at you.

“No,” he says, lowering himself onto the concrete. He lies flat on his back, one knee bent, and disappears under the car with a grunt you try hard not to sexualize. “We’re both getting dirty.”

The quip, though flatly delivered, sends a pulse down your tummy and straight into your pussy.

Then you look down at your pale-pink skirt. With its white trim and delicate, silken decals that will most definitely be ruined by the time you’re done doing whatever he wants you to do.

Worth it, you think. If only for the stories alone, and if you get to kiss him again, then all the better.

You drop your purse by a metal cabinet and sink to your bare knees, then lower yourself onto your back beside him. The concrete is cold and gritty against your bare thighs, and it takes a few awkward bends to get yourself completely through.

The undercarriage looms above you, dark and complicated like a maze of metal and grime. A small rock digs into your shoulder blade. You shimmy around until the ache is gone, then sigh.

You turn your head to look at Sukuna.

He’s so close, mere inches away, your arms grazing whenever either of you breathes. His profile is sharp in the dim light filtering through: jaw set tight, eyes focused on something above that you should probably be looking at, too. A bead of sweat rolls down his temple, and you watch it trace the line of his neck before disappearing into his collar.

“There,” he says, pointing his flashlight at a dark, greasy spot near the oil pan. “See that? leaking gasket.”

You look at the leak and uh-huh softly, hands lying relaxed on your belly. You look back at him.

He starts teaching you, as you asked. Torque specs, bolts, something about a seal or whatever, but you’re only half-listening. You watch his lips move, exposing the sharp edge of that canine you like. The way his throat bobs when he swallows. His hand flexes around a wrench, veins standing out against his oil-slicked skin.

You think about the balcony and the way he tasted. His hands under your shirt, willing to hold you close. The way he looked at you after you parted, lips slick and pupils totally blown out.

“Sukuna,” you interrupt.

He stops mid-sentence and turns his head to look at you.

Your faces are so close you can see the ring of amber around his pupils and count his eyelashes. You can feel the heat radiating off his skin, sharp and sweaty, and oh, fuck, your arms are touching again, and he’s not pulling back.

“Go out with me,” you say.

His jaw works once, then twice. You can’t tell if the strain is physical or emotional, but his eyes narrow for a split second, surveying your face for something beyond your imagination. “You’re not listening to a word I’m saying, are you.”

“I’m listening,” you say, wetting your lips with a slow slide of your tongue. “I’m being serious.”

Sukuna turns his head again, looking idly up at the car above. A slow, controlled exhale leaves his nose. “Bunny.”

“Kuna.”

He closes his eyes, lashes brushing the high point of his cheeks. “You’re too young for me.”

Your stomach flips, but his face is lax when he says it, voice low and tired like he’s been arguing with himself for hours before you even stepped into the room.

Bullshit, you want to say. Neither of us believes that, and you know it.

But you end up not saying anything at all. If he were to reject you right here and now, you’d at least have the decency to walk away without pushing him into a corner.

Except, on a physical level, you’ve already done so.

The two of you, side by side, squeezed under some random dude’s sedan. None of you could walk away easily until this quarrel was settled, and you think Sukuna knew so, too.

With his throat working to swallow thickly, he drops his arms down with another long exhale.

“I’m your friend’s brother,” his face turns to you again. “I can’t.”

You lie there for a few pumps of your straining heart, watching each other’s faces for a hint of something useful. He, a hint of dejection. You, a hint of desire. And then, it comes: the slightest, briefest flicker to your lips.

There.

“Sukuna,” you say again, shifting just an inch closer. His bicep flexes against your skin, the heat radiating off your bodies merging into one. Underneath the motor oil and detergent, you think you smell something sweet again. “Why did you kiss me?”

The question, by all means, hangs suspended between the undercarriage above and the concrete floor below.

You watch him mull it over with another clench of his jaw, nostrils flaring wide. His eyes flick to yours, then away, then back again. His hand, idle against your side until now, suddenly twitches.

“You know why,” he says.

“I don’t.” You shift onto your side, propping your head on your hand. The concrete digs into your hip.  “Enlighten me.”

He stares at you for a long moment. The muscle in his neck flexes, and you spot the brief jump of his pulse through the glowing slick of his skin. “We can’t.”

Your parted lips softly exhale, a smooth stream of air that gives you time to collect your frayed nerves. Your body, through the sheer proximity and stress of the situation, has begun running on overdrive. All this adrenaline: a sharp, potent motivator that aptly blurs the line between fear and arousal. With your clammy hands and hot thighs, you think you might be feeling both.

You push yourself up onto your elbows, then sit up entirely. Your head nearly bumps the undercarriage, concrete dust clinging to the back of your skirt. You’ve already decided this outfit was a lost cause.

Sukuna’s head follows your movement; his eyes narrow.

“Okay,” you say, and make your voice light. “We can’t.”

You crawl out from under the car, knees scraping against the floor. Once you’ve gotten enough space to kneel, you brush off your skirt (a futile effort, but you weren’t above trying) and smooth down your top.

“Where are you going?” Sukuna asks, voice muffled by the tonnage of metal hanging above him.

You turn to face him. He’s still on his back, head tilted to look at you. The position should make him look vulnerable, but it doesn’t. 

“Home,” you say, standing. “You said no. So I’m leaving.”

His legs are splayed, boots still flat against the floor. But you don’t see his upper half anymore. No flexing of muscles or the sharp look in his eyes to distract you from doing exactly what you came here to do.

And then, because you’re feeling bold and reckless and a little bit heartbroken, you finally cross the boundary.

You step forward until your kitten heels are planted on either side of his boots, your legs bracketing him in.

From under the chassis, Sukuna goes still.

“Bunny,” he rumbles. 

You don’t answer. With your pale-pink, stupidly optimistic skirt and a slight tremble in your calves, you stand there and wait for exactly three heartbeats.

One.

Two.

Three.

He moves.

Slowly, he slides forward on his shoulders. Feet first, out from under the car, right between your legs. You see his midriff, t-shirt hiked up to expose a sliver of skin. Then, the girth of his shoulders. His heaving chest. 

And finally, just as you’re about to chicken out, his face emerges, tilting up to look at you as he goes.

Your skirt falls around your hips like a small canopy. His eyes, dark and already half-lidded, travel upwards. Up your ankles, calves, knees, and thighs. 

Right up to the red lace at the apex of your legs.

You watch his throat bob in a slow, thick swallow. His lips part just barely, and you catch the gleam of his teeth behind them. His canines. Nostrils flaring, once, twice, like he’s breathing you in.

He doesn’t move for a long, agonizing moment. Nestled between your ankles, staring up at your panties like they hold the answer to every question he’s ever asked himself. His chest rises and falls in short, shallow bursts of air. The vein in his neck pulses.

And his eyes, fuck, they’re blown so dark you can barely spot the rust in them anymore. They drag up your thighs, cataloging every inch of exposed skin. They catch the hem of your skirt. And despite your physical advantage, you still feel so unbearably small above him.

His hands, still flat on the concrete, curl into loose fists. Hip-hop booms through the space, cutting through the sound of your breathing.

He’s quiet. The act is over, and you should go. But your legs won’t cooperate, and your mouth won’t open, and by the gods, you’ve never gotten a thrill quite like this before. Your best friend’s older brother staring directly up your skirt, making your pussy throb with delight. This could end one of two ways.

Then his tongue darts out, wetting his lower lip, and you think you might have died and gone to heaven right then and there.

Risa Magli, give me strength.

You grip the car door for support, knuckles going white. The metal is cool beneath your palm, grounding you just enough to remember how to breathe.

“Bunny.” His voice sounds wrecked beneath you, lower than you’ve ever heard it. He’s warning you. No, maybe it’s a taunt.

You lean forward, hair smoothing over your face like a waterfall. You look down at him through the shadow and force your lips into something that might pass for a smile. 

His chest rises, eyes tearing away from the lace to travel up past your belly and chest, until they finally meet yours.

“At least,” you say, voice lost to a hitch in your throat. “At least look at my face when you’re lying to me.”

You’re breathing heavily now, chest straining against your bralette that suddenly feels tight, and wrong, and fuck, fuck, fuck! You got it all wrong, didn’t you? How silly was it to come here? To make out with a guy, high as a kite, and think it actually, inadvertently meant something?

You huff, brush off your arms, and turn away from him. One step, then another. You’re already planning your grandiose exit: the walk of shame back to the car with gravel under your heels, the long ride home, and the pint of ice cream you’re going to destroy while telling Nobara exactly how badly this all went.

You don’t make it to three. 

His hand closes around your ankle, warm and calloused but surprisingly gentle. His fingers curl around the thin skin just above your heel. It’s an unexpected touch, and so electric that you nearly stumble forward.

Your head whips around. Sukuna is still on the floor, under you, but his arm is extended now, holding you back without much strain whatsoever.

“What the fuck, Kuna?” Despite the coarse language, your voice comes out breathy and weak.

His thumb presses against the inside of your ankle, just over a pulse point.

“Where are you going?” he asks.

“You said no.” You swallow, punctuating your words. “So I’m leaving.”

He doesn’t let go. Instead, his eyes drag up from your ankle, over your calf and knee, to the hem of your skirt. He stops there for two beats before meeting your eyes.

“I didn’t say no.” He mutters.

“You said we can’t.” 

The steady beat of your heart drums in your ears, acting like a twisted metronome for the portable speaker in the corner. You think you might actually recognise this song from your parents playing it in your childhood. Why the fuck did he only listen to pre-2000s shit?

Sukuna’s hand tightens. You glance down again, eyes narrowing.

“Sit down, Bunny,” he says.

“No.”

He tilts his head, and the brief quirk of his lip strips away some of your confidence. “No?”

“You heard me,” you swallow. “I don’t have time for this push and pull, you know.” You tug your leg back just a bit to test his grip, and it doesn’t give. You take in his face; the small quiver of his brow and fixed gaze, staring into you like a wordless challenge. Keep talking, he’s probably thinking. Keep talking and see where that gets you.

So you do. With his hand like a cuff for your ankle, you decide to fuck around and find out.

“Pick a lane, Ryomen,” you tilt your head, forcing a sharp smile. His grip on you tightens, and your heart flutters. “Or stop wasting my time.”

The name leaves your lips like a dare. You watch his jaw tighten, eyes narrow, and for one glorious, fucking terrifying second, you think you might have actually won.

Because holy shit. Not only did you call him by his first name, but you did so to his face, standing tall, and your voice barely even wavered. 

Who were you anymore?

A giddy, reckless thrill shoots down your spine. Off-beat, you can’t help but realize that Nobara is going to lose her damn mind when you tell her this. Fuck sobbing over that pint of ice cream, now you were planning to pop a bottle of bubbly instead.

But then, Sukuna moves. 

And to your horror, there’s no dramatic lunge or crude remark. He bides his time, pushing off the ground with a slow, thoughtful grace like he’s worried any sudden movements might scare you off. His hands plant on the concrete floor, his back arches, and then he’s standing, all six-feet-something of a man unfolding in front of you like an impenetrable tower.

The shift happens in the span of a single, bated breath.

One second, you’re looking down at him with a smirk. The next, you’re craning your neck to keep your eyes on his.

He doesn’t step back to give you space, but he doesn’t crowd you, either. He’s close enough that you can feel heat rolling off his skin with the familiar scent of sweat and motor oil and something deliciously sweet.

And suddenly, your victory feels a lot, lot less certain.

“What did you call me?” His voice is lower than you’ve ever heard it. Not angry – fascinated, perhaps, by the sheer audacity of you.

You swallow the dryness in your throat.

“Ryomen.” You push through the tremble, forcing your lip to quirk. “That’s your name, isn’t it?”

He stares at you for a long moment, head tilting like he’s figuring out what he’s supposed to do with you now. You, in your tiny little outfit and sparkly heels, standing amidst the sweat and grime of his domain. 

And then his lip twitches into a barely-smile, and all your bravado shrivels into nothing.

His hand catches your waist before you can speak, letting your weary calf muscles rest, if only for a little bit. He pulls you against him, so close that your chests press together and you feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat against your breast.

“Last chance,” he murmurs. His lips are so close you can taste his breath, so sharp and minty that you lick your bottom lip on instinct. “Tell me to stop.”

Your hands find his chest, and you breathe:

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

His lips crash against yours, teeth clashing. Your throat rumbles with a strained moan embarrassingly early, desperately latching onto every bit of him he so graciously offers you.

Being pushed against the driver-side door feels holy. His strong, towering form presses you against the metal, sliding a hand between your heaving chests. He palms at your tits, squeezing and unsqueezing until you can’t help but gasp at the friction, so sudden and brazen you wonder if he’d planned this all along. 

If he did, you think you wouldn’t mind. If anything, you’d be glad to find he’s as perverted as you are.

You feel his free hand push up the silk of your skirt, calloused digits sliding beneath the frills of your panties. He teases along the waistband slowly, back and forth, flicking the elastic against your hip. 

You wince into his mouth, and he swallows it greedily with a nip to your bottom lip.

And yet you’re just getting started.

“Is this what you wanted?” He withdraws to catch your gaze. His hand slides smoothly over your belly, then down to the heat between your legs, where he teases your clothed pussy with two digits, rubbing up and down, up and down, until his eyes light up at your drunken expression. “Yeah?”

And because you’re already delirious and there’s no going back, you strain out a pathetic, fussy: “Fuck you.”

That’s when you hear his laugh for the very first time. It’s a warm, dark rumble of pure satisfaction, vibrating through your chests and causing your thighs to clamp over his hand.

But because he’s obviously some sort of sadist and you’ve carelessly relinquished all control, he grabs your waist and flips you against the hood before you can protest. The metal is cool against your palms, a little sticky from something you refuse to think about, and his knee wedges between your legs, forcing them apart with ease.

This is really fucking happening, your brain unhelpfully supplies. You’re about to have hot sex with the man of your dreams, in the middle of a working garage.

But with your tits pressed into the hood and his hand splayed on your lower back, you have no choice but to take what he gives you.

Sukuna presses himself against you, chest flat against your back, leaning in just over your shoulder. 

“You came here to pick up your car.” His hand smooths over your waist and over your hip, slipping under your skirt once again. “In a skirt this short.” He hikes said skirt up, finding you through the lace. “Pretty little panties.” he squeezes your ass, then slides down to palm your pussy through the silk, grunting in tandem with your drunken mewl of pleasure. 

“Sukuna–”

“So wet already,” he interrupts, singling out two digits and letting them circle over your clit. “Just from me talkin’?”

His warm breath tickles your ear, and you instinctively try to squeeze your thighs again. His knee parts you before you can even attempt it.

“Kuna,” you reassert, eyes squeezing shut. “Please.”

“You wanted this,” he withdraws his hand and leans in close, letting his teeth nip at your lobe. “Wanted me to fuck–” he bucks his clothed hips into you, making you groan into your elbow. “Fuck you in this dirty fuckin’ garage.” 

The fronts of your thighs are pressed into the tire, the hardening girth of his dick grinding riiiiiight against your pussy in slow, firm circles.

He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, leaning in to press a kiss there. “Didn’t you, Bunny?”

You’re afraid that if you speak, all hell will break loose – something that you craved and feared all at the same time and certainly weren’t ready to experience yet. So, all you can do is mewl into the crook of your arm, desperately pushing your hips back into him and praying he takes this as a sign to keep going.

“Greedy girl,” Sukuna mutters under his breath, reaching to slide his digits into your panties from the front. 

He ghosts over your slit for a few beats, testing your resolve. It crumbles the very moment the rough pads of his fingers slide through your folds, coating the length of your pussy with hot slick. “So fucking wet for me.”

He barely grazes your clit, but his fingers feel so fucking good already. With those rough callouses and the slight pressure he applies at the apex, his thumb dragging over you like he’s testing just how wet you can get.

Asshole, you think. Sexy, big-dicked asshole.

But before you can voice that thought, he pulls back. The warmth of his body fades, and you hear the holy sound of his work pants unbuttoning. The zipper flies down. Fabric rustles, just in your peripheral, taunting you to look. 

You don’t. 

With your ass up, you listen to the delicious sound of Sukuna pumping his dick, little grunts of pleasure – or maybe frustration – escaping his lips with every tug.

Then he’s stepping forward again, and your vision goes blurry as something hot and girthy presses against your panties. In a haze, you suddenly realize that if he keeps going like that, you might just cum from anticipation alone.

Except then he tugs at the silk, sliding it to the side with his thumb. You gasp as the cool air hits your pussy, already glistening for him to enjoy. 

“Fuck,” he breathes. “Look at you.”

He grabs your hip with one hand and guides his cock with the other. You feel the raw tip of him sliding through your folds, grazing your clit, and prodding gently at your entrance.

“You on birth control?”

The question knocks all remaining air out of your lungs. 

You did, in fact, have that IUD leftover from a failed relationship some two years back. Through the past year, it was working idly against your fertility while you did nothing but complain about all the dick you weren’t getting. 

So maybe it was finally time to make it useful.

“Yes.”

He wastes no time. 

His cockhead pushes into your pussy in one smooth motion, stretching you wide.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

You’ve fantasized about his dick ever since you palmed him on the balcony. Back at home you tried imagining which side it tilted towards, if any, and wondered if you could feel that against your walls when he fucked you. You imagined your tongue tracing every vein and swirling over his head, lapping up the salty pre-cum with quiet praise.

But thinking and experiencing were two very different things, and right now, pressed against the hood of a car that wasn’t even your own, you were far past thinking.

“Fuck–” you gasp.

He’s thick from tip to base, harder than you’ve ever experienced a dick get, sliding through your walls with unexpected resistance. You were horny as all hell, and certainly wet enough to take it, yet your pussy was still struggling to accommodate the sheer size of him.

“Fuck,” he hisses, tightening his grip on your hips. “Right there.”

But finally, finally, with a strained groan from each of you, Sukuna bottoms out. You feel his dick pressing against your walls, making your tummy feel full and warm with pressure.

He pauses there, buried to the hilt, one hand bracing against the car beside your head. He’s impressively still, seemingly enjoying the raw feeling of your pussy clenching around him.

“Yeah.” His voice is a deep rumble, dripping with a smirk you pray you could get just a glimpse of. “That what you needed?”

You try to push back against him as yes, desperate for movement, but before you can get a single, selfish thrust in, he slams his hips forward. The blunt head of his cock plunges against your cervix, deeper than you thought possible, pushing you flat against the hood.

He splays a hand on your lower back. “Asked you a question.”

“Yes–” you whimper, buzzed off the stretch alone. “Yes, fuck, just move–”

And so, your wish is granted.

He pulls out almost all the way, your pussy clenching around nothing, his tip teasing your entrance mercilessly. 

You twist your head back, just enough to catch the corner of his face. “Kuna–”

He slams back in with a low groan. The car rocks beneath you, your palms helpless in stabilizing your upper body. You’d probably feel embarrassed by the sounds you’re making if your mind wasn’t already cock-drunk.

“This what you came for?” He drawls, giving you a slow, experimental thrust. “Hm?”

“Oh,” you lower your forehead against the lacquer, eyes squeezed shut. “Yes, yes, fuck–”

“Wanted this since the kitchen.” Another thrust, deeper this time, his thighs colliding with yours in a loud slap. “That night you sat on my counter. Staring at me like that.”

In a perfect world, you’d love nothing more than to match his dirty talk. There was nothing hotter than a filthy back and forth, except every thrust he was delivering chipped away at your resolve, slowly reducing you to a quiet, whimpering mess.

So, instead, you let him take the reins and simply enjoy the ride.

“Couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he mutters, gripping your hips now. Slap. “Those fucking tights you wore.” Slap. “That little top.”

So you weren’t crazy after all, your body screams. All this time, he was thinking about fucking you, too.

You imagine him retreating into his room after meeting you for the first time. Lying in bed with a flush, pumping his dick to the thought of you. You almost want to ask him about it. Almost.

But suddenly he’s pulling out, and you’re whining at the loss of contact. You hear him panting behind you, hands firm against your hips as you shake your ass against him in desperation.

“So fucking horny,” he mutters, shifting your body around until you’re on your back again.

You barely manage to register his blown-out pupils and sex-mussed hair before he’s pushing you up onto the hood of the car. Your back hits the cool metal, legs falling open automatically, pussy shielded by your panties again. 

His hand comes to your chest, swiftly yanking your top and bralette down with a single motion. Your tits spill out, nipples tightening instantly as they hit the cool air.

You’re looking at each other now, breathing heavily. His narrowed eyes flicker across your body in worship, the contrast between your nudity and his lack of making you feel malleable like putty.

“Look at you,” he mutters, palm sliding up your waist and settling over your breast. He thumbs your nipple, and you arch into his touch. “You’re so fucking pretty like this.”

You knew the quiet, brooding types fucked best. Praised the loudest. Sukuna was living evidence that having a big dick and experienced hands was never something you bragged about out loud.

Speaking of, you finally had a front-seat view of what you came for. 

His khaki workpants have been split at the zipper, pulled down along the gingham of his boxers just enough to access what’s underneath. As expected, he’s long and thick, the pretty pink of his cockhead slick with your juices and nearly pulsating with how hard he’s gotten being inside you.

And now, feeling so soft and willing under his regard, you were beginning to grieve the loss of him. Desperate to be stuffed with dick again, you anchor your calves around his hips and pull him closer.

“What?” Sukuna’s lip quirks, teeth just barely showing. His palms come to rest on the underside of your thighs, pushing your legs up until they’re resting against your chest. “You want more?”

“Yes,” you gasp, his thumb finding your panties and sliding them to the side again. “Yes, Kuna, please just fuck me–”

He pushes back in, and the new angle makes you see stars. Your hand flies up to rest on his lower abs, but before you can even get adjusted, he starts thrusting deep and slow.

Your head hits the hood, back arching as he sets a perfect pace. His dick splits you open, pounding deep and slow, his thumb finding your clit under the frills of your skirt. 

Your eyes pop open, a gasp caught in your throat as he begins circling it lazily. You’re met with his gaze, languidly taking in your unclothed chest, but eventually, deliberately, landing on your face.

“Look at me,” he says, and you realize you’ve been blurring out again. “Eyes on me, baby.”

You willfully ignore the pet name and do as he says. His eyes, the small twitch of his lips, the tightness in his jaw, and how his throat bobs every few thrusts. 

Your faces are close enough to touch, but you don’t let them, or maybe he’s the one holding back. There’s a centimetre of distance between your lips, exchanging hot air,  moans, and pants. You want to kiss him, desperately. 

But you don’t. 

Instead, you find something soft in his eyes and hold onto it. You wouldn’t think that eye contact could be the thing sending you over the edge, but with the coiling heat in your belly, you suddenly think it’s not completely ridiculous.

“Bunny,” he mutters, voice growing wrecked. “You’re gonna cum for me now.”

He settles against your waist, gripping the flesh there. His hands are rough and weathered from years of work, yet still so fucking careful with you. If it weren’t for the relentless pounding he’s giving you, you’d think he was worried about breaking you.

But then you do, anyway.

His pace quickens, a firm plap plap plap of skin hitting skin.

His forehead drops to your shoulder, breaths hot and ragged as he ruts into you like a starved animal. You’ve never seen him look like this. Hungry, desperate, chasing after something only you can give him.

“Cum,” he commands, pressing your thighs tighter against your chest, his cock sinking deeper. “Cum for me.”

“Ryo–”

He pounds into you one last time, and the heat in your core snaps. Ripples of electricity erupt through your muscles, making your vision white with pleasure, a high-pitched whine leaving your throat. You clench around him. Hard. 

His thumb keeps working at your clit, sliding in and out of you lazily, helping you ride through the orgasm. 

“Good fucking girl,” he whispers against your throat. 

You’re still catching your breath, the aftershocks floating through your body, when his hand comes up to cup your face. You think he might be saying something, but your ears don’t pick it up.

You force your eyes into focus, seeing his flushed temples and half-lidded eyes staring right into you. His thumb traces your cheekbone, almost tender, as he keeps fucking you with a sudden reverence. Your heart swells.

Then, like nails on a chalkboard, an alien voice cuts through the calm, straight from the courtyard:

“Oi, Kuna! Open up, asshole.”

Your body freezes at the intrusion, eyes wide. 

You look up at Sukuna, but his face seems completely unchanged, lips still parted with those soft grunts as he fucks into you.

“Kuna,” you whisper, slapping a hand over your mouth. “Someone’s at the door.”

“I know.”

“You have to–” you swallow thickly, pussy still oversensitive from your recent climax. “We have to–”

He keeps up the pace, tilting his head at you with darkened eyes. “Don’t have to do anything.”

“Oi, Ryomen!” The voice is closer now, followed by a heavy knock on the garage door that ripples through the room. “You ignoring me?”

Sukuna looks down at you. His mouth is curved in a smirk that makes you want to ride him or kill him on the spot. Ride him to death, you decide. What a way to go.

“Busy,” he calls out to the man, voice flat and focused.

You think you hear a scoff. “Doing what?”

He looks down at you, one eyebrow lifting. Then, without breaking eye contact, he replies: "Maintenance." 

You can’t tell if the feeling bubbling in your gut is a dry laugh or another impending orgasm. 

“Kuna,” you hiss, digging your nails into his shoulders. “I-I can’t anymore, I’m gonna–”

“Fine.”

He delivers one last thrust, grunting loudly as he bottoms out, his weighty balls slapping against your ass. You look down at where you’re connected, skin to skin, the entire length of his thick cock swallowed completely by your pussy. 

The sudden break in rhythm makes you yelp into the palm of your hand, his hips drawing a tight circle against you. His pubic bone grinds right against your clit, and fuck, you’re gonna cum again, you’re going to–

And then, unceremoniously, he pulls out.

The loss of fullness feels like cutting a chord. It makes you mewl, still so sensitive, but he’s already walking away before you can protest, tucking his hard-on into the waistband of his boxers. How the fuck did he manage to last this long?

You watch as he turns away from you, buttons his pants, and adjusts his shirt. Your legs are still in the air when he grabs something dark from atop a nearby cabinet.

“Here,” he mutters, tossing it at you. 

Your legs drop down, and you raise the fabric to take a better look: a hoodie, the very same one you borrowed that day it rained.

But without much time left to ask, you throw it over your shoulders, tuck your chest back into the bralette, and scramble behind the sedan just as the man’s voice rings out again.

“Ryo, if you’re jerking off in there, I fuckin’ swear–”

Sukuna groans, running a hand through his sweat-slick hair – that same hand that, just minutes ago, was circling your clit. “Fucking coming, asshole.”

He walks to the garage door and unlatches it, letting the evening air in. A man around his height with dark hair and narrowed eyes steps inside, a six-pack tucked under his arm.

“Took you long enough,” he mutters, throwing the beer into Sukuna’s arms. “You look like shit.”

“Fuck off, Toji.”

Toji.

Suddenly, the stakes felt much, much higher. This wasn’t just a stranger you’d never see again; it was one of Sukuna’s friends.

“Dark as shit in here,” he mutters, striding towards the car you just happen to be hiding behind. With a small gasp, you duck, kneeling by the back wheel like a delinquent. 

You feel his presence looming, boots scratching against the concrete as he surveys the sedan. You hope – no, pray – that no evidence of your boisterous fucking was left behind on the lacquer.

And then, after what feels like hours, you finally hear him withdraw. 

“We’re drinking. Saturday.” He claims, toying with one of the loose wrenches lying about. “Gojo’s.”

“Maybe.” Sukuna replies. “I got work.” 

Toji snorts.

“Bullshit.” You hear him drop the wrench. It’s quiet between them for a few beats, the speaker in the corner suddenly becoming apparent again. Then, through a smirk, he continues: “You bringing someone?”

“Fuck no.”

Instant reply, very Sukuna, yet the flat denial somehow shoots a wave of dread through your chest. You decide to pocket that feeling for later dissection, then stand just tall enough that you can peek over the trunk.

“Eight,” Toji says, his back to you. “Don’t be late like last time.”

Wait, his back to you?

“Yeah,” Kuna mutters back, but you’re already focused on your exit plan.

The side door is cracked open. Maybe a three or four-metre sprint if you don’t wobble, which was doubtful considering the soreness in your back and thighs. You make a mental note not to fuck against a car again. Or, more realistically, come better prepared next time.

You pull your heels off and take them by the straps, feet bare against the cold concrete. You lean in, peeking over the car, heart hammering so loud you’re sure both men can hear it.

Then, you catch it. 

Sukuna’s gaze finding yours through the dim light of the garage. Toji is asking him something about next weekend, some new bar, Gojo being an idiot, but your brain filters it all out.

All you see is him.

His eyes haven’t left yours. They’re dark, stoic, and unreadable, but there’s something there, like before. A flicker of knowing. Softness. Like, despite the sex ending, he still sees you through.

Your breath catches just as Toji stops talking.

The silence is sudden and heavy. You see his shoulders shift, head turning slightly, and you know he’s following Kuna’s gaze.

He’s going to turn the fuck around.

You duck back behind the trunk, pressing yourself flat against the tire, your heels clenched to your chest. Your eyes are squeezed shut, praying, praying hard that you haven’t been found.

And then, like a miracle, Sukuna speaks.

“Been working on the bike.” 

Another pause.

“Yeah?” Toji replies.

The conversation carries on about ignition switches and front forks, but with this small window of time you’ve been granted, you’re already moving.

You push yourself up on silent feet, heels dangling from your fingers. The side door is just a few metres away, standing as a thin sliver of evening light cutting through the crack. 

You take a breath. Then run.

Your bare feet slap against the concrete, tiny pebbles digging into your soles with every step, eyes squared in on your goal. Breathe. Breathe, you’re almost there. You stumble on the last stretch, but your adrenaline-pumped body catches onto the handle before you can eat shit and die.

And with all your bravado drained, you slip through the door without looking back. Before your brain even catches up, the cool air hits your flushed skin, hoodie billowing around your thighs.

And then, like a sick joke spoken while you’re still catching your breath, Toji’s muffled voice carries behind you.

“Oh, Kuna?”

A pause. Your breath hitches. Then:

“Tell your girl to keep quieter next time.”

Fuck.

Your stomach drops, a joyless laugh choked out your throat, but you don’t wait to hear more. 

You push off the wall and run breathless through the courtyard, clutching your hookup’s hoodie as you stumble into the sunset-lit neighborhood like a lust-drunk lunatic.

You take the train home still barefoot, pussy sore, your hair a wreck, and your skirt definitely ruined beyond repair. The old woman across from you keeps glancing at your outfit with barely concealed judgment, and all you want to do is smile.

You’re not sure when it starts. Your best guess is somewhere between a funny dog boarding at Nakano station and the young salaryman who definitely caught a glimpse of your nipple when you adjusted your top. But at some point, you started laughing.

Quietly at first, then loud enough that the woman across from you shifts further down her seat.

After weeks of yearning, you could finally say you fucked Ryomen Sukuna.

And now you were already planning how to do it again.

☆

a/n; woahhhhh we're back and finally fucking the mechanic! let me know if y'all like the smut, it's been a while since i wrote some...

tags; @satones @freddiweasly @mey-archive @aeanya @fallen-angelxoxo @ghostinggecko @lizzyloo22 @sweetsformysoul @suguwantsmoremovie @loulasav @iluvgetosuguru @heavenbananapie @22sublime @maomimii @sukubusss @man1cslut @burningmywill @notnormalthings-blog @cocochannelmoi @mikkmmmii @caramelothequeen @mirror0mirror @sukunasl-ttywh0re @heartsscribe @kuna-beefcake @youremomhehe-blog @jiyuspassion @glittzygorilla @wonderland-fan @in-aa @loakspr0perty @uchiha-kaguya @saintsglow @laserbeyza @ambrosiarosesworld @skylaryippee @hyeon3y @laserbeyza @jae-n0 @yagirljanea @cheol-lies @1yushiko @purplehairedfairyxx @winniethepoohjusttookapooh @rossy1080 @sukunash0e @aenn00

art by @/_avecot on twt

[notnormalthings-blog]

absolutely delicious, this was the appetiser, main dish and the dessert 🤤

[sturduststrails]

bf!sukuna comforting gf!reader

(pure fluff, comforting + i cried writing this)

The apartment was quiet except for the soft hum of the city outside rain tapped lightly against the windows, streaking the glass with silver lines while the clock on the microwave blinked 2:13 AM in dull green numbers.

You sat curled on the kitchen floor in one of Sukuna’s hoodies, knees against your chest, staring blankly at nothing and still you hadn’t turned the lights on.

Hadn’t answered your phone.

Hadn’t moved for almost an hour.

And when the front door finally unlocked, you didn’t even look up.

Heavy footsteps paused immediately.

Then—

“Baby?”

His voice changed instantly.

Not the rough, cocky tone he used with everyone else. Soft. Careful. Like he was approaching something fragile.

Sukuna dropped his gym bag by the door and crossed the apartment fast, crouching in front of you.

“Hey,” he murmured. “What’re you doin’ down here in the dark?”

You shrugged weakly.

He looked at your face for a long moment, red eyes scanning every little thing—the exhaustion under your eyes, the untouched tea beside you gone cold, the way your fingers trembled inside his sleeves.

And his entire expression softened.

“Oh, sweetheart.”

The nickname nearly broke you.

Your lips pressed together hard as tears burned suddenly behind your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered automatically.

His brows pulled together immediately. “Why the hell are you apologizing?”

“I dunno… I just—” Your voice cracked. “I can’t stop feeling like this.”

Sukuna exhaled slowly through his nose, like he was physically forcing himself to stay gentle.

Then he reached out carefully, sliding both hands under your arms.

“C’mere.”

You resisted weakly. “Kuna, I’m fine—”

“No, you’re not.” His voice stayed soft anyway. “And that’s okay.”

Before you could protest again, he lifted you effortlessly into his lap and sat against the kitchen cabinets with you tucked against his chest.

Warm and safe.

One large hand rubbed slowly up and down your back.

“Have you eaten today?”

“…No.” A tiny shake of your head.

He sighed quietly and pressed his lips to your temple.

You hated how pathetic you felt. Hated how dependent this moment made you seem.

“I’m ruining your night,” you mumbled.

That made him pull back immediately.

His hand came up to cradle your jaw firmly, forcing you to look at him.

“Don’t say shit like that.”

“But—”

“You think I care about anything else when you’re hurting?”

Your throat tightened.

Sukuna wasn’t good at pretty speeches. He wasn’t poetic. Wasn’t the type to sugarcoat things.

But he loved hard.

Completely.

“You don’t gotta pretend around me,” he said quietly. “If getting through the day is hard right now, then it’s hard. Doesn’t make you annoying.”

A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it.

He wiped it away with his thumb instantly.

“Look at me,” he murmured.

And there was nothing cruel in his face. Nothing impatient.

Just worry.

“You stay alive long enough for me to love you through this, aight?”

That did break you.

A sob escaped your chest before you could hide it, and Sukuna immediately pulled you fully against him, wrapping his arms around you tightly.

“I got you,” he whispered into your hair. “I got you, baby.”

No rushing.

Just his warm hands rubbing your back, fingers threading through your hair, his heartbeat steady beneath your cheek.

Eventually, when your breathing calmed a little, he shifted enough to stand—still carrying you.

“Kuna—”

“Nope. You’re not walking.”

Despite everything, a tiny laugh escaped you.

“There she is,” he murmured with a faint smile.

He carried you to the couch, wrapped you in blankets, then disappeared briefly into the kitchen.

You heard cabinets opening.

The microwave humming.

A minute later he returned with instant ramen, cut fruit, and water balanced carefully in his tattooed hands.

“You’re gonna eat a little,” he said. “And then I’m putting on that stupid baking show you like.”

“You hate that show.”

“Yeah,” he said flatly, handing you the bowl. “But you smile at the old lady with the cupcakes, so now I’m emotionally attached to Brenda.”

You laughed again—small and watery.

Sukuna pretended not to notice the way your hands shook when you reached for the chopsticks.

Not because he didn’t care.

Because he knew you hated being watched when things got bad.

So instead, he leaned back into the couch beside you, one arm stretched across the cushions behind your head while the baking show played quietly on the TV.

Some overly cheerful woman was crying over sponge cake.

You sniffled. “She dropped it for like… three seconds. Why’s she acting like someone died?”

“She’s weak,” Sukuna said immediately.

A tiny smile tugged at your mouth.

There it is.

He noticed.

Of course he noticed.

Sukuna always noticed.

You managed a few bites before your appetite disappeared again, and when you started absentmindedly stirring the noodles instead of eating, his eyes flicked over.

“That all you can do?”

You nodded guiltily.

“Okay.”

No disappointment.

He took the bowl from your hands and set it aside before tugging you closer until your legs rested over his lap.

Sukuna’s fingers kept tracing slow patterns against your calf through the blanket.

Your head eventually tipped against his shoulder, exhaustion dragging at you now that the worst of the crying had passed.

Quietly, you whispered, “Do you ever get tired of me?”

The room seemed to still.

Sukuna looked down at you slowly.

“Tired of you?”

You instantly regretted saying it.

“It’s stupid, forget it—”

“No.” His hand slid up to the back of your neck gently. Don’t ask me something and then take it back.”

Your chest tightened.

He studied your face for a second before speaking.

“I get tired of the way you talk about yourself.”

Your eyes widened slightly.

“I get tired of seeing you hurt,” he continued quietly. “I get tired of watching you apologize for existing.” His thumb brushed your skin softly. “But you?” He shook his head once. “Never.”

The sincerity in his voice hurt worse than anything else.

Because part of you still didn’t understand how someone like him could say things like that and mean them.

“I’m hard to love,” you whispered.

Sukuna actually frowned.

Like the statement irritated him.

“Says who?”

“…Me.”

“Well, your brain’s a liar sometimes.”

You stared at him.

And he looked so genuinely certain.

Like loving you was the easiest thing he’d ever done.

“You know what you do when I come home?” he asked suddenly.

You blinked. “What?”

“You peek through the blinds when you hear my bike outside.”

Heat crept into your face immediately. “I do not.”

“You do,” he said smugly. “Every damn time.”

“That’s creepy. Why are you watching me watch you?”

“Because you’re cute.”

You groaned softly and hid your face against his shoulder.

He chuckled under his breath, deep and warm, pressing a kiss into your hair.

“And every morning,” he continued, quieter now, “you make coffee and forget your own cup because you’re busy making mine exactly how I like it.”

Your throat tightened again.

“And when you think I’m asleep, you fix the blanket on me.” Another kiss against your forehead. “You remember what days are hard for me without me saying anything. You leave little notes in my lunch even though your handwriting sucks.”

A weak offended noise left you.

“There she is again,” he murmured softly, smiling.

Then his expression gentled.

“So don’t sit here and tell me you’re hard to love.”

Your eyes burned all over again.

Sukuna noticed immediately and sighed dramatically.

“Ah, shit. C’mere.”

He pulled you fully into his chest before the tears could fall again, wrapping both arms around you and laying back against the couch with you on top of him.

You listened to his heartbeat while his hand stroked slowly through your hair.

Steady.

Patient.

Safe.

After a long silence, you mumbled against his shirt, “You’re too good to me.”

“Nah,” he said easily. “Just good to the right person.”

And for the first time in weeks— the heaviness in your chest didn’t feel quite so unbearable anymore.

By the third episode of the baking show, you were practically glued to him.

Not that Sukuna seemed to mind.

One of your legs was tangled with his, your face buried in his neck, arms wrapped tightly around his waist beneath his hoodie like you were afraid he might disappear if you let go for even a second.

Every time he shifted even slightly, your grip tightened again.

He noticed.

But instead of teasing you immediately, he just rested his chin on top of your head and kept rubbing slow circles into your back.

“Tired?” he murmured.

You shook your head against him.

(what a lie)

He could feel it in the way your body melted heavier into his every minute.

Still, you clung tighter.

Sukuna glanced down finally, amused warmth flickering in his eyes.

“You tryin’ to crawl inside my ribcage or what?”

“Maybe.”

Your voice came out muffled against his throat.

A quiet laugh rumbled in his chest.

“Dramatic.”

But his arms wrapped around you even tighter anyway.

You inhaled slowly, comforted by everything about him—the smell of his cologne and rain, the warmth of his skin, the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

It made your chest ache.

Because lately everything in your mind felt exhausting and heavy and loud— except him.

With him, things went quiet.

“You’re comfy,” you mumbled sleepily.

“I better be. You use me as a damn weighted blanket every day.”

“…You love it.”

“I tolerate it.”

You lifted your head just enough to squint at him.

He was already smirking.

Liar.

Your expression softened before you could stop it.

God, you loved him.

Loved him so much it scared you sometimes.

Sukuna noticed the look immediately.

His brows lifted slightly. “What?”

“Nothin’.”

“Bullshit.”

You hid your face again.

He snorted softly. “Baby.”

One hand slid under your jaw, gently forcing your face back up toward him.

His expression shifted the second he really looked at you.

Not teasing anymore.

Just soft.

“What’s goin’ on in that head?”

You stared at him for a second too long before the words slipped out quietly.

“I really love you.”

The room went still.

Not awkward.

Just full.

Heavy with something warm and overwhelming.

Sukuna’s entire face softened in a way almost nobody else ever got to see.

His thumb brushed slowly over your cheek.

“Yeah?” he murmured.

You nodded, eyes already getting shiny again from how intensely you felt everything tonight.

“So much,” you whispered. “Like… too much.”

A tiny crease appeared between his brows immediately.

“There’s no such thing.”

Before you could respond, he leaned down and kissed you.

Slow. Careful.

You melted instantly, hands grabbing the front of his shirt while he held your face so gently it made your chest hurt.

When he pulled back, he stayed close enough for his forehead to rest against yours.

“I love you more than anything,” he said quietly.

And Sukuna almost never sounded vulnerable.

But he did now.

Raw and certain.

“You hear me?” he murmured. “More than anything.”

Your eyes filled completely this time.

“Oh, c’mon,” he sighed softly, smiling a little as he wiped beneath your eyes. “Why’re you cryin’ again?”

“You’re just…” You laughed shakily. “Too sweet.”

“That sounds fake.”

“It’s not.”

“Hm.” He kissed the tip of your nose. “Good. ‘Cause you’re stuck with me.”

You smiled for real then. Small.

Beautiful enough to make his chest ache.

There it is.

Sukuna stared at you for a moment like he wanted to memorize the sight.

Then you suddenly climbed fully into his lap without warning, wrapping yourself around him again.

He blinked once.

“…Jesus Christ.”

“What?”

“You cling harder than a haunted doll.”

But his hands were already settling securely on your waist.

You tucked your face into his chest with a content little sigh.

“I just wanna be close to you.”

The honesty of it nearly killed him.

Sukuna leaned back into the couch, one hand smoothing through your hair over and over.

“Then stay close,” he whispered.

So you did.

And sometime later, long after the baking show ended, Sukuna looked down to find you fast asleep on top of him— still holding onto his shirt tightly even in your dreams.

He smiled so softly no one else would’ve believed it.

Then he pulled the blanket higher around you and kissed your forehead carefully.

“Love you too, clingy girl.”

hai! Ive been so busy this month, i wrote this after several episodes in which i felt 100% like reader and I thought it was a good idea to write something, so as not to make other people feel alone.

original work, do not stole, copy, plagiarize my work - sturduststrails

its also my birthday yey🦄🍪!

[notnormalthings-blog]

I need this man wrapped up and delivered to my door like yesterday

[sukunahs]

sweet tooth | ryomen sukuna

finale: wound up with a purpose

pairing: ryomen sukuna x fem!reader (university au)

summary: sukuna has a notorious reputation on campus of being terrifying, but it's hard to be too scared of the guy when he shows up to your family’s failing bakery every day to buy strawberry shortbread.

when your life feels like its falling apart you discover just how sweet he can be.

word count: 5.7k

content: 18+ mdni, smut, university au, FLUFF, angst, humor, slow burn, idiots in love, miscommunication, parental illness, grief, toxic ex-bf, reference to past sexual coercion/assault, stress and overwork, introverted reader, panic attacks, anxiety, loss of a parent

a/n: sorry for making you all wait for so long, I hope you enjoy the final chapter of these babies

series masterlist | ao3 | previous chapter (ch16)

“Maybe I should just forget it.” Your voice was quivering as you stared down at the notes laid out before you. The words had started to jumble together on the page, creating an incomprehensible mess.

“Huh?” 

Sukuna glanced over at you, red eyes alight with surprise. The two of you had been sitting in silence for the last few hours, completely absorbed in your own tasks. You’d been desperately trying to cram as much information as possible into your head before your upcoming exams, while Sukuna had been fixated on playing Disco Elysium. 

Considering that you both had final exams in the coming days, your general demeanours couldn't be further apart. 

Sukuna seemed genuinely unconcerned by any pressure, certain that he could study the night before and pass, seeing no merit in fretting the way that you currently were. Meanwhile, you’d reached the point where you were certain you’d already run out of time, and were ultimately doomed to failure. 

Even though you’d diligently kept up with your studies during your time in Kyushu, you were certain that it hadn’t been enough. Missing out on smaller seminars and workshops by studying remotely was practically a death sentence in your area of study. 

Might as well just give up now because you were fucked. 

“I’m going to have to re-do the year anyway, why am I trying so hard to fail?” 

Sukuna frowned, pausing his game and moving to linger next to the bed you were currently laying on. You were propped up on your elbows, lip quivering as you continued to look at your notes, afraid that if you glanced at Sukuna you’d instantly burst into tears. 

He had that effect on you. If you were ever feeling low his comforting presence would always bring out the waterworks - sometimes it was annoying how ineffective you were at holding yourself together whenever he’d show you the smallest shred of concern. 

“You’re like the smartest person I know,” Sukuna said softly, his form casting a shadow over you. “I don’t think you could fail if you tried.” 

“You called me stupid the other day.” You could practically hear him roll his eyes. 

“Yeah, because for someone so smart, you can be really dumb.” The bed creaked beneath his weight as he took a seat beside you, warmth radiating off his body. “Always coming up with silly ideas like how you’re gonna fail, when we both know that’s not happening.” 

“It might-” you started, turning to finally look at him. Just as you’d expected, the sight of his concerned expression had you choking on your words, eyes instantly growing watery. 

“Come here, baby.” He whispered, wrapping his arms around you and tugging you into his chest. You let the warmth of his hoodie encase you, tears finally spilling over once you were secure within his embrace.

“I’m gonna fail- I can’t- I’m just too far behind.” 

“Baby, you’ve been studying for weeks now. When was the last time you took a break outside of grabbing a few hours of sleep?” He had a point, and it wasn’t like you could dismiss that with a lie when you’d literally been studying in his room - he could see plain as day that you’d barely been taking breaks. 

If he knew how little sleep you’d been getting while he was off away in dreamland, he’d probably be even more frustrated with you. 

“I don’t have time,” you mumbled into his hoodie.

“You’ve studied more than literally anyone I know. You have time.” Gently peeling you away from the safety of his hoodie, a hand came to rest below your chin, tilting your face up to make you look at him properly. “We’re gonna go get some fresh air.” 

“It’s like 11pm already,” you mumbled. 

“So? Doesn’t look like you were planning on sleeping any time soon anyway.” He stood up and tossed a coat in your direction. “Put that on, I don’t want you catching a cold.” 

Knowing that he was probably right, and that it was pointless to oppose him whenever he set his mind to looking after you, you pulled the jacket on as asked. You found that your tears were already drying by the time you were appropriately togged up for the weather, giggling as Sukuna pushed a beanie onto your head.

“Perfect. Aren’t you just adorable?” He cooed, before flicking you softly in the forehead and ushering you out of his room. 

The house was silent as the two of you headed out into the night. Choso was probably staying over at Yuki’s place, and Sukuna had mentioned that Toji had been seeing someone lately and was likely spending the night with her. It was a little strange to not hear the ambient noise of one of the two other boys milling around - you’d become accustomed to their presence over the last few weeks. 

Not quite sure what Sukuna had in mind in terms of a destination, you let yourself be led along beside him, basking in the warmth of his hand tangled with yours. Even if his presence still had your heart pounding, you’d gotten to the point where being with him felt easy and comfortable, no longer anxious about what he might think of you. 

Because you knew that he loved you. 

He’d proved it over and over again. 

You’d shown him all of your worst sides - he’d seen you at your most stressed, most anxious, most grief stricken - and he’d still stuck with you, rewarding you with that gentle affection that was reserved exclusively for his precious girlfriend. 

“I think you’d like the game I’m playing right now,” he said, filling the comfortable silence as you wandered together, enjoying the night air. “Once exams are done you should play it. I’d find it funny to watch which choices you’d pick.” 

You had to admit that your interest had been piqued by the game he was currently fixated on, but you’d been too focussed on your revision to really pay attention. “You’ll make fun of me though,” you said with a pout, recalling how hard he’d laughed when the two of you had played PEAK together.

A smile lit up his face, clearly recalling the same memory. “There’s no actual gameplay in this one, it's all just pointing and clicking. I really think you’d love it.” Sukuna went on to explain the outline of Disco Elysium and its overall appeal, only faltering when the two of you passed a 7/11. 

The warmth pouring out through the automatic doors was inviting, and you felt your stomach growl. It was hard to recall the last time you’d actually eaten anything of substance. Both you and Sukuna had been so invested in your own tasks that the day had largely gone by without either of you noticing. 

“We should probably grab something to eat, huh?” He suggested, giving your hand a squeeze. “You’re probably just grumpy because you’re hungry.” 

“I’m not grumpy.” 

You were, but there was no way you were going to admit to it when he had a big shit-eating grin on his face. 

“Sure, baby. But let's give some food a go anyway.”

The two of you wandered into the inviting warmth, milling around until you picked something you wanted. You decided on tuna onigiri, while Sukuna grabbed himself a piece of fried chicken from the warm food section at the counter. He paid for both of you, despite your protests, clutching your hand as he led you back outside and over to a bench in the little park across the road. 

The place was deserted. No one with any sense wanted to be out this late in weather this cold, and you found yourself pulling your jacket closer around you, grateful for your gloves as you pulled your hands from your pocket to unwrap your onigiri. 

“Do you remember the first time we met?” Sukuna asked, his breath visible in the cold air. 

“Of course.” You didn’t think you’d ever forget that evening in the bakery - the way that your heart had raced at the sight of him was etched in your mind forever. Well, that and just how grateful you’d been for his presence on one of the scariest nights of your life. He’d truly been your knight in shining armour that day. 

“I think about it whenever I get fried chicken from a convenience store,” he said with a fond smile. 

You tilted your head in question, not particularly connecting the dots. “Why?”

“Because the Family Mart chicken is what put everything in motion that day. If I hadn’t gone to the convenience store that evening I would’ve been on the train home by the time those guys stopped you in that alleyway. But because I’d gone to buy chicken, I was in the right place at the right time and then…” He gestured between the two of you, clearly trying to think of the right words. “And then all of this happened.” 

You giggled. “So you’re saying that our whole relationship is thanks to famichiki?” 

“At least somewhat.” He laughed. As he finished off his food, he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close to his side. The way that his body always seemed to stay warm no matter the circumstances was impressive, and you found yourself huddling close against him to try and heat yourself up. “I feel like your dad had something to do with it too.” 

You hummed in agreement. There was no denying that your father had been playing cupid for a while. From the very first time that you and Sukuna had met, your father had been urging you forward with the concept of a relationship, keen for you to find happiness with someone who he perceived as being right for you. 

And his judgement really couldn’t have been better. 

His work in puppeteering your union really felt like some lovely final gift that he’d provided you, making sure that you were finally happy and safe before he left you behind. 

Although, your dad definitely didn’t do all the work. 

“I think your effort also had a lot to do with it,” you pointed out. 

Considering that you’d literally run from Sukuna the first time he’d tried kissing you, you had to praise the man’s patience and tenacity. Most guys would’ve given up on a girl for far less than that. You didn’t consider yourself to be low maintenance and you’d leant on him a lot over the last few months. 

And yet here he was, as loving as ever. 

He shrugged. “You make me wanna try, so it didn’t really feel like effort.” Your heart skipped at the casual nature of his comment, a deep flush washing over your cheeks. 

“Corny,” you mumbled, hiding your face in his shoulder to stop him from seeing how much you were blushing. He knew anyway, laughter rippling through him as he reached for your face, fingers brushing your lips gently as he tilted your chin up towards him. 

“Only for you.” 

Leaning down, his lips brushed yours tenderly. While he’d kissed you thousands of times, it somehow still always felt like the first - a moment of pure joy and excitement, the giddy feeling of being a girl with a crush who actually likes her back. 

You still couldn’t believe that he was yours, that he wanted a future with you. 

It felt silly to be stressing over exams that you’d most likely pass when you had the best thing that had ever happened to you sitting at your side. Through all the bad, you really needed to start appreciating what was good. 

And Sukuna was very good. 

Breaking the kiss, he peered down at you with those deep crimson eyes, the irises lit up in the yellow light of the streetlamp overhead. He looked beautiful, just as he always did. 

“Feeling a bit better, baby?” He asked, and you offered him a hum of affirmation. 

He’d been right - you really did need a break. You’d been so locked in on reading your notes that you’d almost forgotten that there was a whole world outside of your exams next week. 

And no matter what happened, the Earth wasn’t going to stop spinning. 

Somehow that came as a comfort. 

“Good. Now, when we get home we’re going to bed, and I’m going to stay up to make sure you actually get some sleep,” Sukuna said sternly. 

“Aw, we’re going straight to sleep?” You shot him a suggestive look, a sweet pout on your lips. It seemed to completely disarm his serious demeanour and he shook his head in disbelief, a grin playing on his lips.

“Okay, we can make out a little first.”

“Oh thank god.” You giggled, leaning your head on his shoulder, your heart feeling at ease. 

Tomorrow you could get back to studying, and maybe you’d wake up the next morning feeling just as stressed out as ever. But that evening, snuggled up against the man that you loved, it really felt like everything was going to work out just fine. 

—

Your exams came and went, giving way to a few very stressful weeks in which you flip-flopped between pretending you didn’t care about the result, and hyperventilating over the idea of having to re-do the year if you’d failed. 

At some point Sukuna stopped trying to convince you that you’d passed, because despite all the logical arguments surrounding the fact that you’d worked hard, and had extenuating circumstances leading to more leniency on your grading anyway, everything always fell upon deaf ears. 

So instead, he focussed all of his effort on distracting you, which was something he’d always been excellent at, proceeding in all the usual ways by making you watch various movies, taking you out to nice cafes, and spending hours tangled up together in his sheets. His efforts at distraction were also how you found yourself completely absorbed in Disco Elysium, spending days trying to solve the game’s mystery, all while Sukuna sat at your side, offering cryptic hints and advice. 

You could understand how he’d been so preoccupied by the game when he should’ve been studying, and it did an excellent job of taking your mind off things for hours at a time. 

Not that there was any point to all your worrying anyway, because when your final grade was shared at the start of march, just as the weather started to warm, you discovered that you’d passed with flying colours - just like Sukuna had said you would. 

You really were dumb sometimes.  

That gave way to plenty of celebration with your friends, followed by a few peaceful weeks leading up to graduation, in which you and Sukuna were free to relax together with no cloud hanging above your head. 

At least, beyond the vague concern regarding what the hell you were supposed to do now that school had finished. 

Sukuna was already mid-way through the interviewing process for a graduate scheme appropriate for people with engineering degrees. You were almost envious of how certain he seemed to be about his future, moving along with it mechanically like he’d always had a clear plan in mind. 

Meanwhile, you had no idea what you were meant to do. 

You weren’t sure you were interested in some grad scheme, especially not when all the literature related schemes seemed to dump you straight into some corporate marketing job that would no doubt suck your soul after the first year. You weren’t built for dealing with frustrating stakeholders and circling back - you just couldn’t imagine yourself feeling happy in an office setting. 

But that left you adrift, because with a degree like yours, what other direction were you supposed to go?

After a year that had constantly put you under pressure and left you more stressed than you’d ever been, you really wanted to enjoy some time without the weight of big decisions looming in the distance, but this wasn’t one you could escape. 

Even with all of Sukuna’s assurances that he could look after you for a while to give you a break, you knew that you didn’t want to be so dependent on him in that way. 

You’d have to reach a conclusion soon. 

But you tried to put your concerns aside as best as you could as graduation approached midway through March. Sukuna and all your friends seemed so happy and carefree, everyone’s spirits high in the temperate spring weather as they celebrated their final days as students. 

You weren’t going to be the one to drag the vibes down just because you couldn’t figure out what you wanted out of life. It wasn’t like all your friends knew what they were going to do - they were simply living in the now and seeing where life took them. 

After years at university you were owed a moment of peace before entering a new cycle of fretting, and that’s what you promised yourself that graduation was going to be.

The afternoon that you finally received your degree was lovely and warm, not unlike the day that you’d first met Sukuna nearly a year prior. You were wearing a green dress beneath your robes, more ecstatic than you could’ve imagined as you walked across the stage, receiving a handshake and your diploma, which felt so precious in your hands. 

You hadn’t really expected to be there. 

The last year, perhaps even the last few years, had felt like you were constantly trekking up a mountain with no summit, fighting just to take a single step. To some extent, you’d wondered if you’d ever come out of the other side after all the suffering that had been tossed your way. 

But there you were - a graduate. 

Despite it all, you’d made your way through. 

When you’d imagined this moment in the years gone by, you’d imagined it to be a little different. You’d expected to look out into the crowd and see both your parents, eyes shiny with pride, infinitely happy with the accomplishments of their little girl. It hurt to look towards your mom and see a stranger sitting to the left of her, in the position where your father should’ve been. 

He would’ve been so proud of you. 

Perhaps bitter disappointment should’ve hung in your chest, and maybe under different circumstances a desperate feeling of grief might’ve overwhelmed you as you exited the stage. But as your eyes swept to the right of your mother, those sad feelings were drowned beneath the brightness of Sukuna’s smile.

He was there and he was alive. 

The void that your father’s death left in your heart would never dissipate, the grief was something you’d carry with you for as long as you lived, but your heart would grow bigger around it. 

There was still so much love for you to experience in your life, and even in your worst year, you found the best thing you ever could’ve imagined. 

And you’d hold on to that happiness as fiercely as you knew your father had wanted you to. 

“Congratulations sweetie!” Your mother exclaimed once you’d found her at the end of the ceremony, wrapping you up in a tight embrace. Sukuna was standing nearby, letting you have your family moment. The engineering graduation had already taken place the day before, so you were certain that his social battery was running low where sappy family matters were concerned. 

There had been a surprisingly lovely heart to heart between him and Wasuke after he’d crossed the stage, and you could only assume that he wasn’t looking for a round two of that display. 

“Oh you look so lovely, let me take a picture!” She fumbled about with her phone camera for a few moments while you waited awkwardly for her to figure it out. In the end, Sukuna had to step in and show her what to do, treating your mother with that same gentleness that he reserved for very few people. “Perfect! Get in the picture Sukuna, you should have one together.” 

Sukuna’s cheeks were flushed a soft shade of pink as he approached you, wrapping an arm tightly around your shoulders and pulling you close. Your mother told you to smile for the picture, but she really didn’t need to - you were certain that you were already beaming. 

Satisfied with her photo, your mother moved her attention to her phone, scrolling through the snaps she’d taken. Meanwhile, Sukuna took the opportunity to focus on you, drawing you into a more full hug. Your face was buried into his chest, breathing in the scent that had grown so familiar to you over the last few months. 

“I’m so proud of you.” He whispered into your hair.

“Couldn’t have done it without you,” you replied. You were certain that he was going to wave that statement off, go ahead and say that it was all down to you, but that simply wasn’t the truth of the matter. Without Sukuna you would’ve fallen apart - be it from the incidents with Hiromi or from the loss of your father. 

He’d held you together at a time when you were right at the edge of falling apart, and you owed more to him than he’d ever understand. 

“You’ll never have to do anything without me.” Your heart fluttered at his response, peering up at him and pushing yourself up on your tiptoes to meet him in a fleeting kiss. You were eager for more passion, to have him kiss you with the ferocity that he usually would, but you’d save that for a moment when your mother wasn’t watching you. 

“So, still up to go out for steaks?” Your mother asked, offering the two of you a smile. “My treat. I understand if you want to go and hang out with your friends though! I won’t be offended.” 

While a handful of your friends had graduated with Sukuna yesterday, most had walked the stage at the same time as you, which meant that they were also somewhere within the mess of people currently milling around on the university lawn. You imagined that most of them were probably engaged with their parents for the time being, just like you were. 

The plan was to all meet up later anyway. Satoru and Suguru had just moved into a new apartment together and wanted to use graduation as an excuse to have everyone over, but until 8pm at least, you had no plans keeping you from grabbing steak with your mother. 

You knew which place she wanted to go to - you hadn’t been there in years, not since your parents had gotten divorced. It had been your father’s favourite when you were young, a steakhouse strongly entwined with dozens of memories from your childhood. 

The perfect place to go as a celebration for stepping into real adulthood. 

“Yeah, I want to go!” You hesitated for a moment, playing with your next words in your head, wondering if it was right to voice them out loud when you were still uncertain of them. “We should stop by the bakery on the way, since it's nearby.” 

Both your mother and Sukuna regarded you with surprise. It was a place that you’d avoided like the plague since your father’s death, visiting only a handful of times when your aunt had been doing a preliminary cleanout of the place. Since then the building had stood silent, waiting for you to make a decision on what to do with it. 

“If…you’d like to.” Your mother was careful in her wording, clearly not sure what to make of it. Sukuna’s fingers interlaced with yours, giving your hand a soft squeeze in a silent show of support. 

He’d caught onto your intentions quicker than your mother had. 

“I just- I’ve been thinking about it. Thinking about what to do with it. But I don’t think I’ll really know until I go there. Today seems like as good a day as any.” 

Smiling, your mom offered you a nod. “If that’s what you’d like. I’ll go and pull the car around, you kids wait here.” 

Your mother scurried off through the crowd, and Sukuna gave you a tug on the hand, calling for your attention. You stared up at him through your lashes. “Sounds like you’ve maybe made a decision already?” He asked. 

“Maybe.” You responded shyly, playing with his fingers. “I just want to be sure.” 

—

Six months later you were standing in the centre of the bakery, staring up in dismay at the picture you’d hung up behind the counter. It was completely lopsided and, now you’d taken a step back, you could see that it wasn’t in the central position that you’d believed it to be when standing up close. 

The gap of wall to the right of the image was far larger than the gap on the left, leaving the framed image noticeably asymmetrical, which meant you were going to have to start again and put yet another nail in the wall. 

Perhaps you should’ve waited for Sukuna to get home from work like he’d suggested - hanging pictures really was a two person job, and for this one in particular it was important that you got the placement right.

It was a painting made by your father when you were young - a watercolour image depicting the outside of the very bakery that you were currently standing in. You’d found it when you and Sukuna had finally gotten around to clearing out the apartment above, recalling a fond memory of sitting across the road at your father’s side, painting away on your own little canvas while he rendered the masterpiece before you. 

The image captured a moment in time, and you could hardly believe that it had been left to gather dust in some storage cupboard upstairs. Now that he was gone, you wanted to display it as a way of honoring his memory, and where better to put it than within the bakery itself? 

Now that you were on the path to reopening the place with your own changes, it felt nice to have something displaying how it had looked before the bakery had fallen into your hands - almost like the soul that your father had curated was still there and shining on, even if he wasn’t there to tend to it himself. 

Letting out a sigh, you walked back over to the picture and took it down, using the back of your hammer to pry the nail out from the wall. Just as you were grabbing the measuring tape to give a third attempt at aligning the image properly, the bell jingled above the door and you peered over your shoulder to see your boyfriend. 

He looked as handsome as ever, with his pink hair a little tousled, his t-shirt sticking to him slightly thanks to the humidity which had stuck around into September. His red eyes were glimmering with interest as he observed the scene, and you were glad he hadn’t walked in two minutes earlier to witness how terrible a job you’d done of hanging the painting. 

He definitely would’ve made fun of you. 

“Hey, baby.” 

“Hey,” you said, throwing the measuring tape down and making a beeline for him, throwing your arms around his neck and pushing up onto your tiptoes to kiss him. “Good day?” 

“Pretty busy - glad it's the weekend.” he said with a sigh, his fingers instantly finding solace in your hair. He’d started his graduate scheme back in May, and while the money was good, the job was relatively demanding. 

Relaxing into his hug, you placed a couple of gentle kisses on his neck, amused at the way that he was leaning some of his bodyweight on you in exhaustion. “I can cancel with Yuki and Choso tomorrow if you want? Satoru and Suguru will be there to help anyway so I don’t think they really need us.” 

Sukuna scoffed. “No, it's fine. Satoru’s useless at moving boxes, he gets too distracted by things. I’ll have more energy tomorrow, I just need a good night’s sleep.” 

“If you’re sure?” 

“Always so worried about me,” he said, peering down at you with a smug smile. “So cute.” 

“Well, I also don’t want to move boxes so I suppose I have an ulterior motive.” You confessed with a giggle. Considering that you’d been spending all of your time clearing out and renovating a space you weren’t keen to spend your weekends doing more of the same. But you did adore Yuki, and if Sukuna was still up for it, you’d still be going. 

At least you could all hang out and have some pizza afterwards - that had been Choso’s promise to you in exchange for helping them move. 

“How cunning.” He laughed, kissing you on the forehead before moving his attention to the bookshelves lining the left wall. “Oh, you got more books?” Detangling himself from you, he walked over to get a closer look, scanning the additions to your collection. 

The bookshelves were one of the many features that you’d added to the bakery over the last few months. Rather than being a grab and go bakery, you were eager to rebrand it into more of a reading cafe, integrating your passion for literature into the space and giving patrons an opportunity to settle down with a book or magazine as they whiled away the hours with a coffee and pastry.

As such, you’d bought plenty of bookcases and magazine racks, and had spent the last few weeks filling them up as best you could. 

You’d mostly done that with the help of your aunt, moving collections of yours and your father’s books down from the apartment upstairs, as well as scouring various second hand stores to buy books as cheaply as possible. 

That project had been coming along well. 

You’d also used much of your inheritance to replace some of the furniture in the bakery - the tables and chairs which had been scattered haphazardly in the space before weren’t the most comfortable or aesthetically appealing items, so you purchased some nicer furnishings which matched the vibe you were going for. 

Despite the additions, the base that your father had created was still present, and you left the counter and wallpaper just as they’d always been. You didn’t want everything to disappear, you still wanted that familiarity of a place that you’d known your whole life. For that reason you were keeping the name too. 

You were just going to market it a bit differently once you were ready to open. 

“Oh, you put Ship of Theseus down here?” He asked, scanning along the spines of the newly added books. 

“Yeah, I can put it back upstairs if you want though? I just figured since we’ve both already read it we might as well leave it for someone else to take a look at.” 

“Yeah, it's fine. It just feels nostalgic. I think I was reading that the first time I met you.” 

You smiled at the memory, recalling how you’d been nervously shuffling about behind the counter as Sukuna had taken a seat and brought out a book which you certainly weren’t expecting a guy like him to read. 

God, you’d been so scared of him that day he’d first walked into the bakery. 

Now here he was, comfortably milling about in your shared space, inspecting the tiny additions that you’d made to the bakery that afternoon. Later that evening the two of you would go up to your shared apartment and cook dinner together, before watching some trashy TV, making out, and falling asleep in each other’s arms. 

The idea that you’d be here when you’d first met him a year and a half ago was unthinkable. 

“Want help with the picture?” He asked, gesturing towards the counter. 

“Please,” You said with a nod, stepping back and letting Sukuna get to work with the measuring tape, using the level to see how the picture would look on the wall and marking out the edges on the wallpaper with a pencil. He went about it in a far more surgical manner than you did. 

It really was better to leave it to him. 

Hammering a nail confidently into the wall, he turned to you for a moment. “Stand in the middle of the room for me, baby. You can let me know when it looks straight.” He lifted the framed painting onto the wall, adjusting it under your careful instruction until you were certain it looked right. 

Coming over to join you and review the placement himself, he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, gazing up at the painting hanging so nicely above the counter. 

“Happy?” 

You hummed, staring at it a little longer. The image always summoned a strange feeling in you - sorrow wasn’t quite the right word, for it was a warmer emotion than that - perhaps longing felt closer. It was nice to know that your father’s hands had crafted what hung in front of you, but it made you feel desperately sad all the same. 

“You don’t think my dad would be mad at all the changes, do you?” You asked, sweeping a hand in the direction of the bookshelves. 

It was a worry that had tugged at the edge of your mind for a while, one of the many fears that had held you back when making the decision as to whether you even wanted to keep the bakery. You knew you’d have to make changes, knew you’d turn it into a place for you, but it was hard wrestling with the idea that it would be a desecration of his memory. 

Perhaps you should’ve kept it pristine, just like in the painting. 

Your worries fled at the sound of Sukuna’s deep laugh, chuckling for a few moments before pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Baby, you could tear this place down and I don’t think he’d be mad at you. All he ever wanted was for you to be happy.” 

Letting out a huff of breath, you conceded to that without argument, because who could ever deny your father’s desires on that front?

“Yeah. I guess you’re right,” You whispered, leaning closer into Sukuna’s arm, basking in his familiar warmth.

And as you stared up at the painting, in the bakery that was all yours, with the man that you loved at your side, you could finally see for the first time that you were doing exactly what your father had always wanted.

You were happy. 

a/n: after almost a full year of writing this fic we're finally at the end. I started writing this at one of the hardest times in my life and it did so much to help me heal, it'll always hold a special place in my heart even if writing it grew difficult for me towards the end when I'd moved on from the feelings that made me write this in the first place.

I've had so many lovely messages throughout writing this fic, and I've been so moved by how many people going through grief have mentioned finding comfort in this story. I'm glad that it can provide happiness to others in the way that it did for me when writing it.

I'll probably do some one shots about these two in the future, but for now all of my focus will be on my other ongoing fic crazy in love, and a couple of other sukuna projects that I'm working on in the background.

thank you so much for reading and sticking with me throughout this journey, I appreciate all of you <3

taglist: @call-me-nyxx @mad-katsuki @ilovesmolkittycats @cupidxml @solarlovesxyz @serenadesvt @fushiguroooozzz @surgikull @yuujispinkhair @himezoro @etsuniiru @lkukaknka @svnarxnn @chaos-4baby @rinofcike @eepydeepysleepy @linaaeatsfamilies @tisuruxx @grimm3r @minasuniverse @hanaegoaway @beereadzzz @00frenchfries00 @sukubusss @7haze @himbosexual @yatsuyu @thejujvtsupost @shewhoscreamssilently @kalulakunundrum @xxkay15xx @madison777x @thoreeo @saltypuffin1040 @t4ters @sugarysc @sussiesushi @silviscosplay @inthedarkshadows000 @slipperypudding @p1nkfl0wers @philiasoul @emochosoluvr @tweetybomb @ynishalee @camsdrzd @jupitereleven @anguuubb @dawnsoblivion @christinezz33 

© sukunahs

[notnormalthings-blog]

God this was so god, I’m kind of sad that I won’t get to read more about their lives😭😭 I’m sure I will reread this in time

[indiewritesxoxo]

no. one party anthem

track twenty-four: i want you | prev track< | setlist

three rockstars! one you!

synopsis: your best friend has always been an asshole - whether it's in his band or in his bed. him ditching you? nothing new. but when one bedroom door closes, another one opens

pairings: rockstar!Suguru Geto x f!Reader x childhood fwb!Sukuna (+ rockstar!gojo!!)

content: mdni, angst and fluff, rockstar au!, complicated relationships and messy emotions, avoidant attachment, HEAVY PINING AND YEARNING, denying feelings, reader is a mess, sukuna is desperately trying to win her back lmfao, protective men, emotional hurt, not much comfort to be found in this one, therapy

a/n: art by @winterrbluess !! div by @/anitalenia

"It's always good to see you, Sukuna."

Yeah, you were pretty sure his therapist was the first person to ever say that to him.

But you kept your mouth shut, sitting on the opposite end of the couch, one leg folded on top of the other as your stare shifted from your best friend to the man he'd brought you to see.

"How's Muffin doing?" He followed it up, leaning forward with a notepad in his lap, as if he wasn't being paid to inquire about his life.

"She's fine," Sukuna gruffly responded, pulling out his phone - and opening up his photos, proudly pulling up a photo of a fluffy gray cat mid-yawn.

Sukuna. The cat dad.

It didn't make any sense.

Nothing did.

"What are you going to do with Muffin when you're on tour?" You spoke up, fiddling with your painted nails as you looked down at your lap.

It came out kind of snappy. More than you meant it to.

"I'm not going on tour."

Your head snapped up. The shield you shined just for today cracking not even two minutes in as your throat threatened to shut.

"You're going on tour," you said, clinging to it like an idiot. Because deep down, despite how much he was trying to change, it was hard not to see Sukuna as a rockstar first. Everything else second.

He went on tour after every album.

Once this one was out, he'd be gone again.

"I'm telling the label no next week," he shrugged. "I don't give a shit if they don't sign us again."

Us.

Of course he was only acknowledging the band as more than just him when he was being what? Stupidly stubborn? Selfish?

“Why the fuck would you do that?” You blanched.

“I’m not leaving you,” the stubborn asshole insisted.

No.

This wasn’t what you wanted at all. It never was.

You felt like you were going to puke, a lump forming in your throat as you blinked at him in disbelief.

"Do not put this on me," you shook your head, ignoring the way his therapist tried to speak up, to prevent your bickering before it really got started. “What about Choso? Yuki and Uruame? They’ll be-”

“You can’t seriously think I care more about them than I do about you,” Sukuna scoffed, his jaw set in a tight line as his dark stare seared into your side.

“Like you were even willing to admit you cared about me at all six months ago,” you muttered under your breath, that bitter pill still lodged in your airway no matter how many times you tried to swallow it.

“Okay, I think we should take a step back here,” the therapist managed to interrupt, loudly clearing his throat as you turned your attention out the window. Rain was falling, droplets racing down the pane as you picked at a stray thread of the couch someone else’s anxious hands had already worked undone.

You knew you should be trying harder for this.

That therapy only worked if you were willing to try.

But you’d been so stuck in all this muck, sucked down deeper the more you tried to squirm your way out of it, you couldn’t even tell which way was up anymore. Searching for any sign of familiarity when everything had already changed without you.

What if all there was for you to figure out here was that they’d left you behind?

Suguru would learn his lesson and treat his next girl better. Satoru would find someone who could return all his love.

And Sukuna would fix himself just to find out he never needed you at all.

“Do you want Sukuna to go on tour?” His therapist softly prodded you, snapping you out of your spiraling.

“I don’t know,” you defensively answered, too on edge to match his polite tone.

“How does him staying make you feel?” He questioned, and you could only shrug your shoulders.

“Don’t be like that,” Sukuna grumbled, and you shot him an annoyed glare.

You were only here because of him.

Was that not enough to see you were at least trying?

“It makes me feel irritated, I guess,” you begrudgingly admitted. “Like he’s throwing away everything he's ever given a shit about when I never asked him to.”

You wanted to be included. To be a part of his life and not a piece of furniture in it. To be there by his side when he succeeded.

Not have him give it all up just so the two of you could make each other miserable just for the slim chance you managed to work out.

"I'm not-"

"He always makes these dumbass decisions without me and just expects me to go along with whatever it is," you added, ignoring him next to you as you finally met his therapist's gaze.

He had introduced himself when you first walked in and you hadn't really paid any attention to it, a twinge of guilt seeping through at the amount of understanding behind his eyes.

"So you feel left out," he concluded, and you immediately revoked your remorse.

"No," you lied, a traitorous little huff escaping your lips.

"That's not what I'm trying to do," Sukuna argued, seeing through your shit. "I, fuck, I just want to be here for you, okay?"

You wanted to accept that.

So so so badly.

That piece of your heart that had belonged to him from the start was already trying to tug you towards him, begging you to just stop being a brat and go back to being his.

But you weren't the girl you'd been before.

Not the one who warmed his bed or waited for him after his shows or wished for a happy ending.

And you no longer knew if you'd ever be able to be the partner he needed.

Shouldn't he be with someone he wouldn't have to cancel tours for? Someone it didn't hurt him to want? Someone who wouldn't wreck the world he worked for?

"What happens when you wake up a few years from now and realize that you shouldn't have stayed? Or when we break up?" You argued, getting the awful sense it would be the last time you'd be asking either question. "You're going to resent me."

"For fucks sake, I'm not," he flat-out denied it, annoyance creeping into his harsh features at the fact he had to say it.

But it didn't make you feel better.

What were you supposed to say to make him see what you meant?

"All we've done lately is make each other's lives worse," you muttered.

Your sex tape was leaked. He assaulted your ex-boyfriend. You slept with your ex's best friend. He was cancelling his tour.

This wasn't sustainable.

God, he'd even gone and bought you a fucking apartment like the guilt of fucking Satoru was still burned into your skin.

"You have been the only light in my entire life," Sukuna half-growled, reaching across the couch to grab your hand, his calloused fingers gripping you like he needed you to believe him too.

You hated yourself for not being able to.

For thinking of all the times you'd seen him smile at someone else, or smirk up on an illuminated stage, hearing his voice calling out to an adoring crowd. Knowing that you only got the pieces of him he chose to gave you and being okay with it for so fucking long.

And because you had a habit of making every situation infinitely more terrible, you directed your attention back to the therapist who felt a lot more like a referee as you stiffly rolled your shoulders back.

"Did he tell you about my sex tape?"

The next four seconds could probably get an award for the most awkward silence imaginable, you staring at the therapist, who was looking over at Sukuna, who was surely scowling at you.

"Do you think that's seriously relevant right-

"I mean, I just wanted to know how much he already knew," you bickered back, trying to sneak your hand away from his only for him to hold on tighter.

"I would prefer if we stopped interrupting each other so we can have a more, ah, productive conversation," his therapist piped up.

Your skin was itchy.

Invisible bugs crawling over it that you were desperate to scratch and peel off, every word exchanged and sentence that sunk in just making all of it more unbearable.

Familiar indecision crippling you, twisted and contorted as you tried to resist falling into the trap of falling for Sukuna again and refusing to let yourself get hurt by him.

Were you just going to lose in the end either way?

"Do you think this, uh, sex tape is going to be an issue if you resume a relationship with Sukuna?" The therapist continued, and you at least knew the answer to that one.

"Yeah," you muttered, loathing the defeat in your voice.

"Why is that?"

Because it'll be over the day he watches what's on it?

That was it, wasn't it? What everything boiled down to?

Your own fear that if you accepted his love, he'd take it back the second he saw another side of you.

"Are you scared to say it?" His therapist unhelpfully prodded, and you had the distinct feeling of your heart being dissected. Layers of you peeled back and pried open until they were watching it beat and bleed.

"Whatever's on it, I-"

"You'll hate me," you murmured.

Oops. You guessed you interrupted him again.

"I'm not going to hate you," he insisted, and without even looking to your right, you could picture his expression. The gritted teeth, the grim stare. Eye twitching as he restrained himself from rolling them.

"I told Suguru I loved him in it," you confessed, as if that was the worst of your crimes.

Sucking on the inside of your cheek as you stared down at your bare wrist. Aware of the bracelet that had been stolen from you.

Torn away like your chance of a happily ever after.

"Sukuna," the man across from you evenly spoke, maybe sensing the tension crackling between you as your words sank in for him as he scribbled something down on the paper in his lap. "Does that change how you feel? Or-"

"It just makes me hate him more," he grumbled, and you shrunk closer to the edge of the couch. But what he said next just left you wishing you'd never shown up at all, "Makes me hate myself more too."

"Why do you think that is?"

You shouldn't be here.

You shouldn't hear this.

"Because she never would've fallen in love with him for the first place if I hadn't been such a dickhead in denial when I had her," Sukuna snapped, his raw voice threatening to crack. "It's my fault she even met him."

"You can't blame yourself for everything," his therapist tried to reassure him, but you were casting a cautious glance over to see Sukuna scratching the back of his hair with an emotion that looked a lot like shame on his face.

So distracted by how foreign it felt to see him like this, your brain didn't even realize the man across from you was speaking to you until he repeated his question.

"Is there anything you feel that you might be culpable for here too?"

A lot?

It would be a pretty long list if you started just naming off every messy thing you'd done since you decided you were done sleeping with Sukuna.

"This is a safe place where you can be honest and we'll work through it," he added, offering you a smile that actually seemed sincere.

Your lips slowly began to part, ready to just ruin it all. Put it all on the table and lose if you had to.

At least you wouldn't be in this limbo anymore.

"I had sex with Satoru," you admitted, hot tears you hadn't been expecting starting to well up before you blinked them back. "He was there in the tape too, but uh, we didn't really do anything until he showed up on vacation."

"You slept with Gojo?"

And there it was.

The rage.

You'd spent years trying to tame him, dousing him in water before his flames could turn into wildfires.

But maybe you were just fueling it.

"We were both drunk and just having fun, and I don't know, I asked him to come inside my room," you offered an explanation, not sure if it was even owed or if you were throwing gasoline on him once again.

"What the fuck?" He hissed.

You waited for him to say he was going to murder or maim Satoru, to make threats or ask what the hell were you thinking.

To ask why.

"I'm sorry," you swallowed your pride, offering a pitiful bob of your shoulders. "I know we're not together but it was still shitty of me to do."

Sukuna wasn't your boyfriend.

He'd never been your boyfriend.

But you weren't stupid enough to think that it made what happened totally fine.

Completely forgivable.

And maybe, some part of you didn't want him to forgive you.

Craved to not have to make the hard choice at all and force him to do it for you. To abandon you the way you had always suspected he would.

"Why would you-"

"It seems to me that you're trying to sabotage your relationship with Sukuna by sleeping with someone you know would upset him," the therapist hummed, and you faltered.

Physically flinched as you reflexively itched to reject it.

Yet you couldn't.

Just sitting there like an idiot and blinking back.

"You're scared of being with him."

You were.

But did he have to actually say it out loud?

You were bending over to snatch your bag from the floor rather than deal with it, ignoring both of them saying your name as you started towards the door, shoving it open and leaving rather than hear them break down all your inner thoughts.

If your head was clearer, not so clouded and stuffed full with him, you might've figured you wouldn't have made it out of the building without Sukuna catching up to you.

He grabbed your hand right as you reached the door, trying to stop you from going, but you just shook him off, stepping out into the rain as he followed suit.

“Can you please stop for a second?” Sukuna groaned, and you were once again reminded of another night you’d been shoving down.

One where you asked him if he loved you and he couldn’t answer.

“I don’t want to talk right now,” you childishly mumbled, convinced that if you do, you’d start crying, and if you crumbled, you’d let him console you.

“Then I will,” he stubbornly insisted.

The immature urge to cover your ears and pretend you couldn’t hear him was incredibly tempting, but you just paused in place, limbs threatening to tremble as the rain soaked through both of you.

"Just forget about the fucking past," he scoffed, grabbing you by the waist and spinning you around practically straight into his chest. “Can't this be enough? Can't I be enough?"

"How am I supposed to forget?" You retorted, poking a finger against his annoyingly firm muscles as you tried to pull back. "You don't get it. I literally lost everything, I-"

"I lost you," he snarled. "The albums, the money, the fame, they’re nothing to me.”

Now.

Why couldn’t he have realized that a year ago and saved you both the heartbreak?

“You’re my everything, okay? What the hell do I have to do? Get on my knees for you? Carve out my fucking heart and hand it over on a silver platter?” He was rambling, raindrops clinging to his lashes as he grabbed your finger and pulled it down.

“You’re supposed to be mad at me. I fucked Satoru while you were out buying me a beautiful apartment. Shouldn’t you be like, shouting or screaming, or something?” You argued, a fresh stab of hurt joining the rest seeing the way he recoiled from you when you pointed it out.

“So what?” He tried to sound tough.

Like he didn’t care when he so clearly did.

“Maybe you should watch the sex tape,” you shrugged, struggling not to shake, to be strong enough to say everything you needed to say. “See if you still think you love me then.”

“Stop saying shit like that,” he snapped, and it just made you more sure of your suspicions. “You are sabotaging us.”

“I think I need some more space,” you mumbled, knowing he was right and still refusing to admit it.

“You’re just running away from me. And I’ll be back at home tonight wondering whose fucking arms you’re in and why they’re so much better than mine,” he accused, finally letting a hint of that anger out. You felt a tiny hint of pride, knowing that he was finally getting the full experience of what he put you through for years.

But the truth was you were running away.

Avoiding him to avoid hurting yourself any more.

You only seemed to hurt him more when you were with him anyway.

Without you, Sukuna was doing great. He’d always been perfectly fine to fend for himself.

You didn’t want to stick around for when the sentiment wore off and it struck him you were the source of all his woes.

“Don’t be an idiot. Go on tour. Be there for the band,” you added, resignation replacing your regret as you sold yourself another half-truth that you were doing what was the best for both of you.

“Come back inside so we can actually talk about it,” he said, teeth gritted.

“I can’t,” you swallowed, shaking your head.

The idea of turning around and walking back into the building was too much. Sniffling as you wiped a wet streak from your face.

“I miss being your friend, but I really don’t know how to be anything with you right now,” you confessed, pulling yourself away from him even if it felt like you were cutting some heavy invisible cord connecting your soul to his.

It was selfish.

Impulsive.

Acting like a scared child ducking under a table just from a thunderstorm, before any lightning had even struck.

But it was the truth.

You loved Sukuna.

You just didn’t want him to destroy himself by trying to love you back.

He had been enough for you.

But now you weren’t good for each other.

He didn’t follow you this time.

Didn’t trail after you when you stormed off.

Sukuna let you go.

You didn’t stop until you were several blocks away, the drizzle from earlier turned into a torrential downpour, hair soaked and sticking to your face as you struggled to contain your tears.

How the fuck were you supposed to go back to the apartment he bought you?

Go sleep in that bed or curl up under the covers when you’d be seeing that haunted hurt look on his face every time you closed your eyes?

They were right about you.

You wished you were different.

Wished you could just be okay with all of it and pretend to be totally fine moving forward instead of standing on the sidewalk completely soaked as you stifled sobs.

Someone passed by under an umbrella, their shoulder nearly knocking into you as you looked up just in time to see them snickering and snapping a photo.

Disgust coiling bright and hot and unbearable at the realization this stranger had seen you naked - and now had the audacity to laugh at you for it.

Rather than panic, you reacted on impulse, taking the phone out of the dickhead’s hand and throwing it onto the concrete before stomping on it for good measure. Glaring right back at him as you dug the base of your foot into the shattered glass as you forced the lump back down your throat.

“I think you dropped that.”

“You fucking whore-”

Yeah, you were sure people were saying worse online.

But nothing could really compare to leaving someone you loved behind because you were too fucking terrified to let them love you too.

You shut him out the way you just shut Sukuna out.

Walking without really thinking until your teeth were chattering and it hit you that you weren’t sure where you were anymore.

Déjà vu washing over you as you looked up at the stormy sky, bottom lip quivering as you pulled out your phone to call the same person you had last time.

Suguru.

a/n: not gonna be online much in the next couple days but hope you guys enjoyed this

taglist: @universal-s1ut @lavenderdaydream97 @nylve @cashshiii-blog @inthedarkshadows000 @adiantumvenustum @chsuguru @pnkblueberry @byerno6 @favvkiki @sugurusfavemonkey @kindadolly @sillymortalblob @starmapz @apchmon @chaoticgood-munson @nymphsdomain @fire-pirhana-plant @msheds0519 @aldebrana @xixflower @mitsuyq @moncher-ire @ssetsuka @beepbeepyddgjj @d3ad-ins1de @lauuriiiz @levislug @nonamevenus @vertigoswan @mortallyshadysoul @dazaisfavgf @sugucultfollower @seellove @thelightknight21 @insomniakookies @surgeonsofazeroy @sugusmonkeyy @ratedrrrr @elukewarm @madisonmonroexx @alt--er--love @swtbckyboo @dear-fifi @gojosfiance @skyxxx17 @theogborjie @evilari111 @disappointedpeaches @beautiful--macabre