Jan 12, 2025
Pigeon 215 by Unknown ⌘ Water bends to nature's simple needs
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seen from Malaysia
seen from Canada
seen from China
seen from Italy
seen from Egypt
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Pigeon 215 by Unknown ⌘ Water bends to nature's simple needs
Both
Ways
Synopsis: You were never that type of girl…but somehow you ended up dating two guys, from the same band, at the same time…
Pairing- Jongseob!bf x reader!gf x Shota!bf
Content Warnings. MDNI
Established relationship(s), cheating, not mentions of smut until it’s actually happening, heavy making out, oral f. and m.receiving, fingering, handjob, jealous partners, praising, 3some, p!in!v, unprotected (they went all out srry), Eiffel Tower position.
Part: 1 Part: 2
Rant: Heyy! It’s been years and years since I actually wrote a story! I’ve always been a wattpad girlie but I recently discovered tumblr and let’s just say I haven’t been able to get out! So this story is inspired by me. Basically when I first got into P1Harmony I couldn’t tell apart Jongseob and Shota😩 so I had this crazy idea…please ignore any mistakes English is not my first language and don’t take any of my information about P1Harmony seriously it’s mostly fiction
🫶🏻enjoy the story🫶🏻
Keeho and I used to be inseparable.
The kind of inseparable where people stopped asking where one of us was if the other showed up first.
We spent most of high school attached at the hip. Late night convenience store runs, skipping class just to sit around and complain about life, staying on FaceTime until one of us accidentally fell asleep first.
And through all of it, Keeho only ever talked about one thing seriously.
Music.
Even back then he spoke about it like it was already waiting for him somewhere. Like he had already decided he belonged on stage long before anyone else believed it.
“You’ll forget about me when you become famous,” I joked once while we sat on the hood of his car sharing fries at two in the morning.
Keeho scoffed loudly.
“As if I could survive fame without you hyping me up.”
But eventually the jokes stopped feeling like jokes.
Training in Korea became a real possibility.
Then auditions.
Then meetings.
Then suddenly there were plane tickets sitting on his kitchen counter.
I still remember the night before he left.
We were eighteen, sitting on the front porch of my house wrapped in hoodies because neither of us wanted to go back inside and admit goodbye was actually happening.
Keeho cried first.
Which honestly wasn’t surprising.
“You better visit me,” he complained, wiping his face dramatically with his sleeve. “And don’t become friends with anyone cooler than me while I’m gone.”
“You’re literally moving across the world.”
“Okay and? Be loyal.”
I laughed through tears before shoving his shoulder lightly.
“Idiot.”
The next morning he left for Korea.
And somehow things were never really the same after that.
At first we tried.
FaceTiming every day.
Sending voice messages.
Pictures of stupid little things that reminded us of each other.
Keeho would send me blurry practice room selfies at three in the morning while I sent him pictures of rainy streets back home or whatever snack I was obsessed with that week.
Sometimes he’d call me exhausted after training just to complain for an hour straight before falling asleep mid conversation.
But life moved on.
I started modeling more seriously.
Keeho got busier.
Schedules got worse.
Calls became texts.
Texts became occasional check-ins.
And eventually we became the kind of friends who loved each other deeply but mostly through phone screens and instagram story replies.
Still, I never stopped being proud of him.
Watching Keeho debut in P1Harmony felt strangely emotional. Like seeing a piece of someone’s dream happen in real time.One second he was the dramatic teenager crying on my porch. The next he was performing in sold out venues halfway across the world. Sometimes he still sent me pictures from backstage or practice rooms. Little updates from his life.
Which, looking back now, maybe he shouldn’t have. But that became a problem later.
Months later my modeling agency informed me I’d be traveling around Korea and nearby countries for work for a while. The first person I told was Keeho.
Keeho:
Look who finally decided to visit their poor best friend
Me:
I know 😭
It’s been forever
Will we even be able to meet up?
I don’t wanna cause trouble with your schedules
Keeho:
I’ll figure it out 😮💨
Just bring your ass here first
After that the messages became constant again.
Pictures while packing.
Airport selfies.
Keeho sending videos from practice.
For the first time in years, it felt a little like old times again
The flight to Seoul was long enough for me to question every life decision that had led me there.
My coworkers were asleep beside me, headphones on and mouths slightly open while I sat curled against the airplane window unable to do the same. Somewhere over the Pacific Ocean at three in the morning, sleep sounded impossible. Maybe it was the excitement. Maybe it was the nerves. Or maybe it was because Keeho wouldn’t stop blowing up my phone.
Keeho:
If you land looking ugly I’m sending you back immediately
A laugh escaped me quietly as I snapped a blurry picture of the dark airplane window.
Me:
You cried on my porch for three hours when you moved away btw
Keeho:
Fake news
Another notification popped up before I could answer.
This time it was a photo.
A mirror selfie from what looked like a practice room. Half the members looked exhausted, one laying dramatically on the floor while Keeho grinned into the camera like he hadn’t slept in days. I smiled automatically. It still felt weird sometimes. Seeing him like this. Because in my head, Keeho was still just my best friend from school. The dramatic guy who used to skip class with me to buy iced coffee and talk about how badly he wanted to become famous someday.
And somehow he actually did it.
My eyes drifted lazily across the picture before stopping on the boy standing beside him.
Dark hoodie. Silver rings. Pretty eyes despite the blurry lighting. He wasn’t even looking at the camera, too busy fixing the sleeve of his sweatshirt while someone beside him laughed.
Cute. Dangerously cute.
Before I could stop myself, I zoomed in slightly.
Me:
Whos the cutie on your left?
The typing bubble appeared almost immediately.
Keeho:
GIRL COME ON YOURE NOT EVEN HALFWAY HERE
I bit back a laugh.
Me:
IM JUST SAYING
DOES HE HAVE A NAME?
DOES HE HAVE AN INSTA?
WHERE ARE MY CLOTHES?
Keeho:
Oh I’m telling him you said that bitch😛
Then another message arrived.
Keeho:
@seobject_
Use it wisely
I stared at the username longer than I should’ve.
Mostly pictures from schedules.
Mirror selfies.
Blurry food photos.
Random dumps of practice room pictures.
There was one video of him laughing while another member shook the camera around violently.
Cute. Annoyingly cute.
Following him suddenly felt more embarrassing than it should’ve.
Still, my thumb pressed the button anyway.
A few minutes passed before another notification appeared.
seobject_ followed you back.
My stomach did a stupid little flip.
It got worse when he messaged first.
Jongseob:
So you’re the famous Canadian friend
I smiled immediately despite myself.
Me:
Famous?
Jongseob:
Keeho talks about you a lot
The conversation should’ve ended there.
It didn’t.
At first it was harmless.
He asked how long I’d stay in Korea.
I asked if idol schedules were actually as horrible as fans imagined.
He complained about dance practice.
I complained about airplane food.
Easy.
Comfortable.
Then somehow our conversations started stretching later into the night.
One message becoming twenty.
I learned quickly that Jongseob texted differently depending on the hour.
During the day his replies were shorter, rushed between schedules. At night he got softer. More talkative.
Sometimes he sent voice messages when he was too tired to type.
“Why are you still awake?” his sleepy voice mumbled through my phone one night.
I replayed that message an embarrassing amount of times. By the time I finally landed in Seoul, it already felt strange not checking my phone every five minutes. The airport was chaotic.
Managers yelling.
People rushing everywhere.
My coworkers dragging luggage behind them while I tried not to look completely exhausted.
And somewhere in the middle of all of it stood Keeho.
Designer hoodie.
Beanie pulled low over his hair.
Smug grin already on his face the second he spotted me.
“Oh my god,” he gasped dramatically, pulling me into a hug. “You actually came.”
“You’re literally crushing me.”
“You survived thirteen hours on a plane for me. That’s love.”
I laughed into his shoulder before finally pulling away.
For a second we just stared at each other.
It had been years.
And yet somehow talking to him still felt easy.
Like no time had passed at all.
“You got taller,” I muttered.
Keeho scoffed loudly.
“You got hotter. Life is unfair.”
“Still dramatic.”
“Still obsessed with me.”
He grabbed one of my suitcases before motioning toward the exit.
“Come on. I’m stealing you before your agency realizes I’m a bad influence.”
The next few days blurred together quickly. Photoshoots. Meetings. Jet lag.
And somehow, in between all of it, Jongseob stayed constant. Good morning texts. Late night calls. Random selfies from practice.
At some point I stopped noticing how naturally he had slipped into my routine.
Then one night Keeho finally texted me.
Keeho:
Free tonight?
Me:
Depends
Are you paying for my food
Keeho:
Absolutely not
But the members wanna meet you
My stomach tightened immediately.
Members.
Meaning Jongseob.
Suddenly getting dressed felt significantly more important than it should’ve.
“You’re insane,” I muttered to myself while changing outfits for the third time.
An hour later I was standing outside a small restaurant beside Keeho while he laughed directly into my suffering.
“You like him.”
“I literally never said that.”
“You changed shirts three times.”
“I was cold.”
“In July?”
“I’m going home.”
Keeho only grinned wider before pulling the restaurant door open.
The noise hit first.
Music.
Laughter.
Voices overlapping.
Then my eyes found him almost instantly.
Jongseob looked up from across the table at the exact same moment.
And for half a second everything else disappeared.
He looked different in person.
Softer somehow.
His hair slightly messy like he’d been running his hands through it all night. Pretty eyes immediately locking onto mine with quiet amusement.
“You’re staring,” he said casually.
Heat rushed straight to my face.
Before I could answer, Keeho snorted beside me.
“Oh my god,” he groaned. “You two are already disgusting.”
“I literally just got here.”
“Imagine!”
Across the table, Jongseob laughed quietly into his drink. And somehow that made things even worse.
The first time Jongseob showed up outside my hotel unprompted, I genuinely thought I was hallucinating from exhaustion.
I had just gotten back from a twelve hour shooting schedule, makeup half removed and heels hanging from my fingers while I struggled to dig my keycard out of my bag.
The my phone buzzed
Jongseob:
Look behind you
My head snapped up immediately.
And there he was.
Black hoodie. Beanie pulled low over his hair. Hands shoved into his pockets while he leaned casually against the wall across from the hotel entrance like waiting for me outside luxury hotels was something he did every day.
A laugh escaped me before I could stop it.
“What are you doing here?”
“You complained about your day six times,” he said simply. “I figured your mood probably needed fixing.”
Something warm twisted painfully in my chest.
“That’s weirdly nice of you.”
“I can still leave.”
“Don’t you dare.”
His mouth curled slightly at the edges before he pushed himself off the wall and walked toward me.
Up close he looked tired. Pretty, but tired.
There were faint dark circles under his eyes and his hair looked messy like he’d been running his hands through it all evening.
“You finished practice already?” I asked softly.
“Mhm.”
“You ate?”
Jongseob stared at me blankly.
I sighed immediately.
“You didn’t.”
“I was busy.”
“You’re impossible.”
I rolled my eyes, trying to ignore how naturally he reached over and took my bag from my shoulder.
The gesture was so casual it almost scared me.
Like he’d been doing it forever.
We ended up walking to the convenience store down the street because apparently neither of us had eaten properly all day. The city was quieter that late at night.
Streetlights reflecting against wet sidewalks.
Music spilling faintly from somewhere nearby.
Cold air brushing against my face while Jongseob walked beside me with his hood pulled low.
Comfortable silence settled between us almost too easily.
It felt strange.
We’d only known each other for a few weeks.
So why did being around him already feel routine?
Inside the convenience store, Jongseob immediately grabbed instant ramen while I wandered toward the drinks.
“You always buy the same thing?” I asked while watching him place two banana milks onto the counter.
“You noticed?”
“You’ve posted it like six times.”
A soft laugh escaped him.
“You stalk my instagram?”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Mhm.”
He handed me one of the banana milks anyway.
Our fingers brushed for half a second.
Stupidly enough, that tiny bit of contact made my stomach flip harder than it should’ve.
We ended up sitting outside on the curb eating ramen from plastic containers while cars passed occasionally in the distance.
It felt oddly normal.
Like we weren’t sitting outside at nearly one in the morning hiding hoodies and faces from possible fans.
“You know,” I said eventually, “you’re very different from how I expected.”
Jongseob glanced sideways at me.
“How so?”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged lightly. “You looked intimidating at first.”
He looked genuinely offended.
“Me?”
“You wear too much black.”
“That’s insane reasoning.”
“And the rings.”
“The rings are cool.”
“They’re scary.”
“They’ve literally never hurt anyone.”
I laughed quietly, watching him shake his head while trying not to smile himself.
Then silence settled again.
Not awkward.
Just soft.
Jongseob stared down at the ramen cup in his hands for a few seconds before speaking again.
“You were nervous meeting me.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“At dinner.” He glanced over briefly. “You kept fixing your sleeves.”
The fact he noticed that made my chest tighten unexpectedly.
“You pay too much attention.”
His eyes stayed on me this time.
“I think you do too.”
The air suddenly felt different.
Heavier somehow.
My pulse jumped embarrassingly fast as his gaze dropped briefly toward my mouth before lifting back to my eyes again.
Neither of us moved.
Neither of us looked away.
Then Jongseob leaned back slightly first, letting out a quiet laugh under his breath like he was trying to break whatever had almost happened between us.
“We should probably get you back before Keeho starts threatening me.” The moment dissolved instantly.
But the tension stayed.
After that night things became dangerous quickly.
Jongseob slipped into my routine so naturally it scared me. Good morning texts, late night calls, Pictures throughout the day.
Sometimes I’d be halfway through a schedule before realizing I was checking my phone just to see if he’d messaged yet.
And apparently he wasn’t much better.
Jongseob:
Eat something today please
Me:
You first
Jongseob:
That’s not how this works
Me:
Sounds hypocritical
Jongseob:
Keeho said you’re difficult
Me:
Keeho talks too much
Jongseob:
About you? Constantly
Every conversation with him felt easy.
That was the problem.
Nothing about this situation should’ve felt easy.
Not the sneaking around.
Not meeting him late at night.
Not how naturally his hand would settle against my lower back whenever crowded streets got too busy.
But every time I tried telling myself to slow down, Jongseob would look at me like I was the only person he’d noticed all day.
And suddenly slowing down felt impossible.
The first time he kissed me happened almost by accident.
Almost.
I had just finished another late schedule when he offered to walk me back to the hotel again.
The city lights blurred softly around us while we walked side by side in comfortable silence.
“You’re staring again,” Jongseob murmured eventually.
I looked over immediately.
“You notice every time?”
“I notice everything you do.”
That should not have affected me as much as it did.
The teasing smile on his face softened slightly when I stopped walking.
For a second neither of us moved.
Then his eyes dropped briefly toward my lips.
My heartbeat became painfully loud.
“You know this is probably a bad idea,” I whispered.
“Probably.”
Neither of us stepped away anyway.
And when he finally kissed me, it was soft enough to ruin me completely.
Warm hands against my waist.
Cold fingers from the night air.
His breath catching slightly when I kissed him back harder.
Nothing about it felt rushed.
If anything, it felt inevitable.
When we finally pulled apart, neither of us moved very far.
Jongseob rested his forehead lightly against mine, laughing quietly under his breath.
“I think Keeho’s gonna kill me.”
I laughed softly despite the way my chest still raced.
“Only you?”
His smile widened immediately.
And somehow, standing there underneath dim hotel lights with his hands still warm against my waist, I already knew this was going to become a problem.
After that, whatever was happening between us stopped pretending to be casual.
Not that either of us actually said it out loud.
There was no official conversation.
No awkward “what are we?” talk.
Just Jongseob slowly becoming part of my everyday life.
Some nights he’d show up outside my hotel after schedules looking exhausted but still smiling the second he saw me.
Other nights we stayed on FaceTime until one of us accidentally fell asleep first.
Usually him.
“You’re drooling,” I whispered one night while staring at my phone screen.
Jongseob, half asleep with his cheek smashed against his pillow, barely reacted.
“Liar.”
“You literally are.”
“Screen record it.”
I laughed quietly, pulling my blanket closer around myself.
“You’re gross.”
“And you still like me.”
The scary thing was that he sounded so sure about it. And honestly? Maybe he had a reason to be.
Sneaking around became easier faster than it should’ve. Jongseob always wore hoodies, hats, masks—whatever helped him blend in.
Meanwhile I learned which hotel exits fans usually waited outside of.
Which restaurants had private rooms.
How to keep my head down when cameras appeared unexpectedly.
It should’ve felt stressful.
Instead it felt thrilling.
Like the entire world had no idea about the small secret we carried around together.
One night after dinner, Jongseob grabbed my wrist suddenly before I could walk into the hotel lobby.
I looked back immediately.
“What?”
“Wait.”
His voice came out softer than usual.
The street behind us was empty.
Quiet.
For a second he just stared at me.
Then his hand slid slowly from my wrist down into my hand instead.
My breath caught embarrassingly fast.
“You’re clingy lately,” I mumbled weakly.
“You hate it?”
I looked down at our hands.
His fingers were cold again.
Always cold.
“Unfortunately no.”
A quiet laugh escaped him before he stepped closer.
Close enough that I could smell his cologne again.
Close enough that my brain stopped functioning properly.
“You know,” he murmured, “I think Keeho’s starting to suspect something.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“He asked me yesterday why I suddenly care about my appearance.”
I burst out laughing immediately.
“He did not.”
“He literally did.” Jongseob groaned dramatically. “‘Why are you dressing like you’re in a kdrama all of a sudden?’”
“That’s actually insane.”
“He’s obsessed with me.”
I was still laughing when Jongseob suddenly leaned down and kissed me again.
Quick this time.
Dangerous.
Right outside the hotel entrance.
My stomach flipped violently the second we pulled apart.
“You’re actually crazy,” I whispered.
“You looked cute laughing.”
“That’s not a reason.”
“It’s enough for me.”
That was the problem with him.
Jongseob always said things so casually, like he had no idea what they did to me afterward.
A few weeks later I realized I had accidentally started leaving things at his dorm.
Not intentionally. At least not at first.
A hoodie.
Lip gloss.
Hair ties around his wrist that somehow never came back to me.
The first time I walked into his room and saw my moisturizer sitting beside his bed, I paused.
Something about it felt strangely intimate. Domestic almost.
Jongseob noticed me staring immediately.
“What?”
“That’s weird.”
“What is?”
“My stuff being here.”
He looked over lazily from where he sat against the headboard scrolling through his phone.
“Oh.”
That was it.
Oh.
“You’re not even gonna deny liking it?”
“No.” His lips twitched slightly. “I do like it.”
The butterflies in my stomach were becoming genuinely unbearable around him.
I tossed one of the pillows at his face instantly.
“You’re annoying.”
“And yet you’re here.”
He caught the pillow easily before grabbing my wrist when I tried taking it back.
The movement pulled me forward unexpectedly, landing half on top of him against the mattress.
For a second neither of us moved.
Jongseob looked unfairly comfortable beneath me, one hand still loosely around my wrist while the other rested against my waist automatically.
“You planned that,” I accused quietly.
“Mhm.”
“You’re evil.”
“But you’re still blushing.”
I immediately covered my face with my sleeve while he laughed softly underneath me.
And somewhere between stolen hoodies, late night convenience store runs, secret kisses in elevators and falling asleep beside him during movie nights, I realized something terrifying.
This wasn’t casual anymore.
Not for me.
Not for him either.
I was waiting outside Jongseobs and the members dorm the first time I met Shota and lied to him within thirty seconds.
In my defense, panic makes people do stupid things.
Jongseob had texted me nearly twenty minutes earlier saying he’d sneak downstairs as soon as Keeho got out of the bathroom because apparently the idiot had locked himself in there playing music loud enough for the entire dorm to hear.
Which left me standing alone outside the dorm building at nearly midnight trying not to look suspicious.
The streets were quiet.
Cold air brushed against my bare legs beneath my oversized hoodie while I checked my phone for the fifth time in two minutes.
Me:
If you dont come downstairs right now im leaving
Jongseob:
Baby I’m trying😭
Baby.
The stupid nickname still made my stomach flip every single time.
I smiled despite myself before shoving my phone back into my bag.
Then suddenly—
“Hey.”
I looked up too quickly.
A guy stood a few feet away from me near the dorm entrance, one hand still holding the door open behind him.
Pretty.
Blonde hair falling slightly over his forehead, very similar to my Jongseob, oversized hoodie hanging off his frame casually like he’d thrown it on in a rush.
But it was his eyes that caught me first.
Curious.
Calm.
Watching me carefully enough to make me immediately nervous.
“You waiting for someone?” he asked softly.
For one horrible second my brain completely short circuited.
I should’ve said Jongseob.
That would’ve been the smart answer.
Instead panic answered for me.
“Keeho.”
The lie came embarrassingly fast.
“Oh.” His expression relaxed slightly. “You’re y/n, right?”
The fact he knew my name caught me completely off guard.
“You know me?”
A small smile appeared on his face.
“Keeho talks about you a lot.”
I laughed awkwardly, trying not to think too hard about the fact I was secretly dating his bandmate while standing directly in front of him.
“That’s unfortunate for me honestly.”
“Nah.” He shook his head lightly. “You seem cooler than he described.”
“That’s actually offensive.”
A quiet laugh escaped him.
It was softer than I expected.
Cute too.
“I’m Shota by the way.”
There it was.
The name Jongseob and Keeho casually mentioned all the time. I suddenly became hyper aware of everything. The fact Jongseob could walk outside any second. How close Shota was standing to me. How guilty this conversation somehow already felt despite being completely innocent.
Still, I smiled politely before shaking the hand he offered me. His hand was warm. Warm enough that I noticed it immediately. Which unfortunately made me think about how Jongseob’s hands were always freezing cold no matter the weather.
“Weird,” I muttered absentmindedly.
Shota blinked. “What is?”
“Nothing.” I shook my head quickly. “Your hands are just warm.”
One of his eyebrows lifted slightly in amusement.
“That’s a strange first observation.”
Heat rushed straight to my face.
“Oh my god forget I said that.”
His laugh came easier this time.
Definitely dangerous.
Before I could embarrass myself further, the dorm door suddenly opened again behind him.
For one terrifying second my heart stopped.
But thankfully it was only Keeho stepping outside dramatically with a drink in his hand.
“There you are,” Keeho groaned looking at Shota and then at me. “Why do you look like you’re about to commit a crime?”
“Maybe because your building is scary.” I said
“Liar. You love it here.”
Then his eyes flicked between me and Shota suspiciously.
“…Why are you two standing here looking awkward?”
“We literally just met,” I defended immediately.
“Relax,” Shota said calmly beside me. “I didn’t traumatize your friend.”
Keeho narrowed his eyes slowly.
“That sounds fake.”
I laughed nervously while Shota only smiled slightly beside me.
And somehow, standing there underneath the dim dorm lights with guilt already creeping unpleasantly into my chest, I had the uncomfortable feeling something had just shifted.
Even if I didn’t understand what yet.
To be continued
The lights of the Ryogoku Kokugikan were blinding, hot, and smelled like sweat, copper, and thousands of screaming fans. In the center of the ring stood Ryomen Sukuna.
He didn't look like a athlete so much as an apex predator trapped in a pair of heavy red Everlast gloves. Eighteen-inch biceps, pinkish-maroon hair slicked back, and dark, intricate tattoos creeping up his neck and jawline like dark ink stains on marble. He was the reigning, undefeated heavy-world champion, sitting on a 38-0 record with 38 knockouts.
He didn't do pre-fight trash talk; he just stared at his opponents during weigh-ins until they looked down, then went into the ring and shattered their orbital bones in under three rounds.
The media hated him because he was a PR nightmare. He gave one-word answers to reporters, flipped off press cameras, and actively snarled at anyone who got within a three-foot radius. The general public consensus was unanimous: Sukuna was a terrifying, feral animal. Sports tabloids routinely ran articles titled
“The Loneliest King: Why Sukuna’s Violent Streak Guarantees He’ll Die Alone” or “10 Reasons No Woman in Her Right Mind Would Ever Pass a Second Date with Ryomen Sukuna.”
People genuinely believed he went home to a dark, windowless cave, ate raw meat, and slept hanging upside down like a giant bat.
Then came the rainy Tuesday evening in Roppongi.
It was two in the morning outside a high-end, quiet sushi bar. A low-tier paparazzi photographer was huddled in his car, hoping to catch a drunk idol or an actor cheating on his spouse. Instead, he saw the heavy glass door of the restaurant swing open, and out stepped Sukuna.
The photographer nearly dropped his lens in horror, preparing to pull out of the parking spot before the boxer spotted him and caved his roof in. But then he froze.
Sukuna wasn't alone.
Stepping out into the light rain right behind him was a small, soft-looking woman wearing a cream-colored knit sweater that engulfed her hands. Sukuna—a man known for ripping through the division like a natural disaster—immediately stepped sideways, blocking the chilly Tokyo wind with his massive, towering frame.
He didn't just walk next to her. He reached out, his massive, scarred hand cupping the side of her neck with absolute, agonizing gentleness. He drew her in close, ducking his head down until his forehead rested against hers. The photographer’s shutter clicked frantically in the dark as Sukuna pulled her in by the waist, tilting her chin up, and kissed her.
It wasn't a rough kiss. It was deep, slow, and devastatingly passionate. His thumbs stroked her cheek like she was made of delicate glass, his eyes completely closed, his whole terrifying demeanor melting into pure, unadulterated devotion right there on the wet pavement.
The photos hit X (formerly Twitter) at 3:15 AM.
By 6:00 AM, the internet had completely exploded.
By noon, it was the number one trending topic globally. The photos were HD, crisp, and unmistakable. There was Sukuna—the man who had broken a man’s jaw with a left hook three weeks prior—looking like he was starring in an Oscar-winning romantic drama.
“WHO IS SHE??”
“IS THIS AI? PLEASE TELL ME THIS IS AI HE IS A LITERALLY DEMON”
“Bro kisses like he’s about to go to war for her life wtf”
“Look at his hand on her waist I am CRYING who is this mystery woman?!”
For three straight months, the media went into a absolute frenzy. Morning talk shows hired body language experts to analyze the lean of Sukuna's shoulders in the photograph. Tabloids offered fifty million yen for the identity of the mysterious "Mystery Siren" who had tamed the beast. Speculation ran wild: Was she a hostage? A high-society heiress? An international spy?
Meanwhile, at Jujutsu Boxing Gym in downtown Tokyo, the atmosphere was thick with absolute terror.
Every single fighter, trainer, and staff member had seen the photos. Everyone knew the entire world was losing its mind over Sukuna’s love life.
And not a single soul dared to bring it up.
Inside the gym, Sukuna was throwing heavy leather into a 150-pound bag, each impact sounding like a shotgun going off in an enclosed room. BANG. BANG. BANG. Sweat dripped from his brow, his teeth bared in a familiar, terrifying grimace.
Near the water cooler, Uraume, his chief corner-man and head trainer, stood silently holding a towel. Off to the side, two junior contenders, Yuji and Megumi, were whispering in mortal agony.
"You ask him," Yuji hissed, adjusting his hand wraps. "You're closer to his weight class!"
"Are you insane?" Megumi muttered back, keeping his eyes glued to the floor. "He threw a guy through a drywall panel last month because the guy breathed too loud during his cool-down. If I ask him who he was kissing in Roppongi, he’ll take my head off."
"It's been three months, Megumi! The news is literally outside the gym right now with telephoto lenses! I just want to know if she's okay!"
"She looked fine in the picture, Yuji! She looked very comfortable!"
Sukuna stopped hitting the bag. The heavy leather swung wildly on its chain. The entire gym fell into a dead, suffocating silence. You could hear a pin drop on the rubber mats.
Sukuna wiped his forehead with the back of his forearm, his four crimson-tinted eyes—a rare genetic mutation that gave him his signature terrifying look—glaring around the room.
"Something funny, brat?" Sukuna rumbled, his voice like grinding tectonic plates, directed right at Yuji.
Yuji went pale as a sheet. "No, sir! Great form, sir! Really... pushing the bag!"
Sukuna grunted, grabbing his water bottle, completely unaware—or completely unbothered—that the entire planet was currently obsessed with his private life.
Later that evening, in a lavish, warm penthouse overlooking the Tokyo skyline, the heavy front door unlocked.
Sukuna stepped inside, kicking off his massive athletic shoes. The terrifying, soul-crushing aura he carried in the ring was completely absent the moment he crossed the threshold. He tossed his gym bag into the corner and padded softly down the hallway in a pair of dark gray sweatpants and a loose black t-shirt.
In the kitchen, a woman was standing by the stove, stirring a simmering pot of nabe. Her hair was up in a messy clip, and she was wearing one of Sukuna’s oversized hoodies that dragged down past her knees.
As soon as she heard his heavy footsteps, she turned around, placing a hand on her hip.
"You're late," she said, her tone light but carrying an effortless authority that would have made any heavy-weight contender faint on the spot.
Sukuna didn't say a word. He just walked up to her, wrapped his giant arms around her waist, buried his face straight into the crook of her neck, and let out a long, heavy sigh. He breathed in the scent of lavender and home-cooked broth, instantly deflating like a giant, dangerous balloon.
"Traffic was hell," he grumbled into her skin, his voice soft, almost cat-like. "Uraume ran me through eight rounds of sparring."
She laughed, leaning back into his massive chest and running her fingers through his short hair, scratching his scalp gently. "Poor baby. You look like you're about to fall asleep standing up."
"Might," he muttered, kissing her collarbone through the collar of the hoodie.
"Before you pass out, we need to talk," she said, turning around in his arms to face him. She pulled out her phone and tapped the screen, holding it up to his face.
It was a screenshot of a trending news article: “Is Sukuna’s Secret Lover Being Kept Against Her Will? An In-Depth Investigation.”
Sukuna blinked, his eyes narrowing slightly. "What is this trash?"
"It's the third article this week, Ryomen," she sighed, exasperated but amused. "My sister called me crying yesterday asking if I was safe because she saw a TikTok theory that you kidnapped me. The media is driving itself crazy. People are camped outside your old apartment!"
"Let them camp. I'll break their cameras if they touch the gate."
"No, you won't," she snapped gently, bopping him on the nose with her index finger. Sukuna didn't even flinch; he just blinked slowly, accepting the small strike. "You are going to clear this up. You keep ignoring it, and it's making them crazier. You need to manage your public image for once in your life."
"I don't give a damn about my public image," Sukuna growled softly, resting his chin on top of her head. "I beat people up for millions of dollars. They don't need to know who I go home to."
"They're calling me your 'Mystery Siren', Sukuna. It's ridiculous." She poked his chest hard. "Post something. Tell them to back off. Put an end to it so I can go to the grocery store without feeling like a fugitive."
Sukuna grumbled deeply, a sound that vibrated straight through her chest. He hated dealing with the internet. He hated phones. He hated people in general. But he loved his wife, and if she was getting annoyed by the circus, the circus had to be shut down.
"Fine," he grunted.
He reached into his sweatpants pocket, pulled out his phone, and opened Instagram. Sukuna’s Instagram account was a wasteland. It had eleven million followers, zero followed accounts, and exactly four posts—all of them low-quality, blurry pictures of his boxing gloves or official fight posters posted by his manager.
He didn't take a new picture. He didn't write a thoughtful, PR-approved statement drafted by a sports agent.
He took a screenshot of the Roppongi picture—the one where he was kissing her so fiercely under the streetlights—and uploaded it directly to his feed.
For the caption, he typed one single line:
the woman is my wife. stop fucking around her.
He hit post, tossed the phone onto the kitchen counter without waiting for a single comment to load, and wrapped his arms back around his wife's waist, lifting her off her feet effortlessly.
"Hey! The food—"
"It can wait," Sukuna growled, carrying her out of the kitchen toward the master bedroom. "I've been punched in the head all day. I want to go to sleep."
If the internet was on fire before, Sukuna’s post was a nuclear strike.
Within ten minutes, the post had two million likes. Within an hour, it hit ten million. The comment section was an unhinged, chaotic mess:
“WIFE??? SINCE WHEN IS HE MARRIED???”
“'STOP FUCKING AROUND HER' I AM SCREAMING HE IS SO PROTECTIVE”
“Wait so he’s not a lonely demon? He goes home to a WHOLE WIFE??”
“The caption is so aggressively Sukuna I’m crying”
“WE NEED NAMES! WE NEED A FACE! WHO MARRIED THE KING OF CURSES??”
It answered one question and created ten thousand more. Who was she? How long had they been married? How did a human woman manage to live with a man who looked like he fought bears for fun?
The next morning at Jujutsu Boxing Gym, the atmosphere had shifted from standard terror to absolute, paralyzed awe.
The reporters outside the building were practically breaking down the glass doors. Phone lines were ringing off the hook. Promoters were losing their minds.
Inside, Sukuna walked through the double doors at 8:00 AM sharp. He was wearing black athletic tape around his knuckles, his gym bag slung over one massive shoulder.
The entire gym went dead silent.
Yuji stared at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. Megumi looked like he was contemplating quitting boxing entirely to avoid the splash zone. Uraume stood by the ring, holding a clipboard, looking like they wanted to offer congratulations but knew better than to risk their life.
Sukuna walked past them all, totally unfazed, and unceremoniously threw his gym bag onto a bench.
He wrapped his hands, stepped into the ring, and rested his arms on the top ropes, looking down at Uraume.
"Well?" Sukuna barked, his voice echoing off the high ceilings. "Are we training today, or are you all going to stand there looking like idiots?"
Uraume cleared their throat instantly. "Right away, Champ. Yuji, get in the ring."
Yuji looked like he had just been handed a death sentence, but he slowly climbed through the ropes, putting in his mouthguard. "Uh... morning, Sukuna-san."
Sukuna didn't answer. He just brought his gloves up to his face, his eyes sharp, dark, and utterly terrifying.
Back at the penthouse, miles away from the noise, the chaos, and the endless viral tweets, the bedroom was completely dark. The thick blackout curtains blocked out the morning Tokyo sun.
Sukuna’s wife turned over in the massive king-sized bed, pulling the heavy duvet up around her shoulders. Her phone, sitting on the nightstand, was buzzing continuously with hundreds of texts from friends, family, and news alerts, muted completely on 'Do Not Disturb'.
She smiled softly into the pillow, drifting right back to sleep, surrounded by the faint, lingering scent of leather, rain, and the fierce, absolute devotion of the scariest boxer on the planet.
Pt2?
since reincarnation exists, how would sukuna react to seeing you, but not you, in the modern era? especially if you died of unnatural causes, like that one tweet you made of sukuna crushing our neck after we finally thought we reached him. maybe you're an assistant like ijichi with an interest in history, especially ryomen sukuna, so you're around yuji often. and you look the same, sound the same, and even act the same as your past self from 1,000 years ago--still painfully accepting and disgustingly endearing. something something, despite everything, it seems you're still drawn to him even in another life.
SUKUNA & REINCARNATED S/O .
'' there's a fine line between love and hate ''.
this is actually such an interesting angle for sukuna because reincarnation would make the situation so much worse, not better. especially because sukuna is someone who exists outside normal human attachment. he doesn't grieve like a normal person, he doesn't reminisce fondly, he doesn't sit there mourning what was lost. but he remembers. and with someone like sukuna, being remembered is already a form of significance.
the terrifying part would be that it isn't you.
not really.
it's some modern person with the same face, same voice, same little habits, the same way of looking at him like he's something worth understanding instead of something that should only be feared. and that would probably irritate him more than anything.
because sukuna is not stupid. he would immediately notice the similarities. he would notice the way you speak, the way you approach him, the way you somehow still carry that same unbearable acceptance from a thousand years ago. that same "i know what you are, and i'm still here" attitude that probably annoyed him back then.
and i think that's where the love/hate thing becomes interesting because people often treat hate as the opposite of affection, but for sukuna? hate is still attention. hate means he has acknowledged your existence.
sukuna does not waste emotion on things he considers meaningless. if someone annoys him and they are truly irrelevant, they are gone. forgotten. erased. there is no need to hate them because they don't matter enough to leave an impression.
but you?
you are someone he remembers.
and that's almost worse.
because imagine him seeing this modern assistant around yuji, someone who studies the heian era and ryomen sukuna specifically, only to slowly realize: that is the same person.
not the same soul, maybe. not the same memories. but the same presence. the same person who once stood before him knowing exactly what he was and still looked at him with something dangerously close to affection. the same person who, after everything, was still drawn to him.
i think sukuna would be genuinely disturbed by that. not because he thinks reincarnation is impossible, he literally became a cursed object and returned centuries later. he knows souls and existence are far stranger than humans understand.
but because it would challenge one thing he believes very strongly: that humans are temporary. they appear, they disappear, they are forgotten.
and then suddenly there you are again. a thousand years later. still you. still foolishly accepting. still walking toward him.
there would probably be a lot of anger mixed into that recognition. because from his perspective, what are you doing? why are you repeating the same mistake? why are you still reaching for something that killed you?
and that anger itself would reveal the problem. he cares enough to be angry. if you were meaningless, he would kill you without a second thought and move on. but if he hesitates, if he watches you longer than necessary, if he starts comparing the modern you to the person he remembers, then he has already admitted that you mattered.
and sukuna hates admitting weakness. especially emotional weakness.
i think the cruelest part is that modern you might not even understand why he reacts that way. you're just an assistant who likes history, who happens to know too much about him, who happens to have the same face as someone from his past.
and you might even joke about it. "maybe i knew you before." and sukuna would probably hate how much that sounds like something the old you would say.
because the worst thing isn't that he found you again. the worst thing is that he found you again and you still chose him. even without memories. even without knowing what happened. even after dying by his hand.
that would probably be the thing that bothers him the most: the fact that whatever pulled you toward him was not a memory, not some obligation, not some promise. it was just you.
and for someone like sukuna, who views love as something insignificant and humans as disposable, that kind of persistence would be almost offensive. because how dare something so fragile survive a thousand years? how dare you still look at him the same way? how dare you make him remember something he thought he had already discarded?
i don't think sukuna would become soft. that's not really his nature. if anything, he would become harsher because acknowledging that connection would mean admitting you have a place in his mind.
but that's the tragedy of it. for sukuna, hatred and attachment are probably much closer than people want to admit. the strongest emotions require acknowledgment. and sukuna acknowledging you at all is already a kind of importance.
the same person who once reached for him, died because of him, and somehow came back into his life again?
yeah. he would absolutely hate that.
which, coming from sukuna, might be the closest thing to admitting you were never insignificant.
Race Recs for non-F1 watchers
The impetus for making this list came from my searches for best races and noticing that a lot of them are what I'd call connoisseur's races. Races for people who have already watched a lot of races and can pick up on the nuances. The subtle undertones of leather and peach as it were.
So here's my top races for people who don't watch that much racing and would like to have a good time for about 2 hours.
There's a few things that have gone into my decision making:
does stuff happen consistently in this race that is intelliglble to a person not following the engineering
the Narratives. That said these are all races that are fun to watch with your eyeballs and not just your heart
Recency bias! Races are definitely more compelling when each little car has a familiar personality, so the assumption here is that anyone using this is coming from this community and is therefore more familiar with the current grid (plus daniel and seb)
With that context, know that these are wacky races. These are not typical of the sport, they're here because stuff went down.
Baku 2017
The background:
The season is close, Ferrari and Mercedes battling it out within a few points. Multi-world champions Sebastian Vettel and Lewis Hamilton fighting for the next title on a street track that has the most narrow point of any circuit in F1, only in its second year of existence.
What to watch for:
Everything happens so much! Multiple safety cars! In fact, so much was happening that it took multiple minutes past the incident for the TV direction team to realise that Sebastian Vettel, in a fit of pique, pulled up beside Lewis Hamilton under the safety car and gave his car a little bonk. F1 is not a contact sport!! This was extremely frowned upon at the time. Seb gets a penalty, but then Lewis' headrest gets loose and he has to go in. So then we have two front-runners trying to fight through the pack on a difficult circuit while a bunch of middle teams realise this could be their moment.
They bring Claire Williams onto the commentary midway through the race and you can hear her having absolute transports, it's very fun.
Seb's little affronted arms kill me.
The narrative:
The dominating narrative out of this race is around the Seb-Lewis behind the safety car bonk. In the press pen, Seb, still convinced that Lewis brake-checked him, said that he didn't think that Lewis was acting like a man. Lewis, righteous in his not-brake checking stance, said that if Seb felt that way he could meet him in the carpark (paraphrased). Ultimately, Seb would go under investigation for this right at his 30th birthday, which Toto attended. The incident brought more press attention to the season.
Eventually, Seb recognised that Lewis did not brake check him and apologised and they said their friendship was better afterwards.
This is Williams last true podium before 2025 (dont at me about spa 21 let's be honest abt what that race was).
Daniel Ricciardo STUNS in an opportunistic and persistent drive, which is one of his trademarks. If his car can't win on its own, he will wriggle his way in if an opportunity presents itself.
2. Hungary 2021
This race has it all.
The background: Even before the race, drama. Sebastian Vettel wore a pride shirt during the anthem and getting fined. The Mercedes in 21 was variably the fastest, with the Red Bull faster at most circuits and the battle was tight. Hungary was the last race before the summer break, which meant everyone was exhausted on the teams and Lewis Hamilton was struggling with long covid.
What to watch for: First lap car bowling. Safety car restart where Lewis was the only one who didn't pit, creating one of the funniest visuals in f1 history.
as the commentary said: it will be lights out and away we go for Lewis Hamilton only.
I think I've had nightmares like that. Anyway.
Everyone else had faster tires so he lost positions, couldn't get clear air, did an unplanned quick pit stop to just try and change his position on the track to clear that air. Got stuck behind Alonso theee most annoying defensive driver on earth. Why is Alonso doing all that? When he knows it'll kill his tires? Well. His junior teammate, Esteban Ocon, is pushing his creaky Alpine for all it's got trying to get into the lead. Heroic evil knight serving his prince here.
At the end, Vettel ran out of fuel and had to run to parc ferme.
Esteban Ocon was so excited he parked in the wrong place and ALSO had to run.
On the podium Lewis almost faints and Esteban has to catch him. Tender.
and btw after all that vettel was disqualified later for no fuel.
Also there was an unsafe release that took out a Haas. I'm telling you this race has it all. Unexpected leader changes, insane lap 1 crashes, weird restart, unsafe release, insufficient fuel. All in one go!
The narrative:
Fernando Alonso and Lewis Hamilton have one of the most insane backstories of two drivers in F1. Lewis was Fernando's teammate when Lewis was a rookie and Fernando was a 2x reigning world champ and Lewis was brought in mostly to support Fernando's bid for a third title. But then he started winning. Fernando lost his everloving mind and attempted to blackmail McLaren (their team) to get them to underfuel Lewis in a race so Fernando would be guaranteed the win, among other things. Literal blackmail. This eventually led to McLaren being giving the largest fine in sporting history, 300 million dollars, and being disqualified from the constructor's. Their rivalry is the stuff of legends. By 2021, Fernando had been relegated to cars that weren't in contention, so this race was a rare treat to see the beauty and majesty and sheer unwillingness to give an inch for each other.
This is also one of Seb's last podiums, after his and Lewis' decade long rivalry going back to GP2.
And an extremely beautiful day for Esteban Ocon on the occasion of his first win! Esteban had been dropped from the grid in 2019 after Daniel went to Renault but he came back and clawed his way up and got a win. What a comeback story.
3. Brazil 2024
The background: Qualifying had 5 red flags, which ruined many chances and also ended Alex's race before it started :(( This put quite a few drivers far further down the order than expected. BOTH of the not-red bulls qualified above red bull prime.
What to watch for: This is Max Verstappen's best performance, going from 12 to 17 to 1, but the position numbers are the most boring part of a race's story. Especially during DRS era, if a car qualified out of position it could most times work its way back to +/- two places. It's the quality of the overtaking that is lovely to watch here.
The other main thing to watch for is the alpine party.
The narrative:
Now, in formula 1 there was a pair of teammates who were childhood best friends, spent vacations together, pursued their dreams together, and then had a massive falling out that bled onto the track and led to multiple collisions. I'm talking, of course, about Pierre and Esteban. Paired as teammates in Alpine even after everyone knew they did not get on. This led to many crashes and eventually Esteban was forced out and was not even given the dignity of completing the season with the team. But before that they had this magical joint podium, alpine's best ever result and for a moment they forgot not to be in love.
China 2026
The background: Kimi Antonelli skipped Formula 3 so Toto Wolff could bring him into Mercedes, facing criticisms that Kimi might be a little underbaked at 19 in a sport where being able to anticipate and make good positioning decisions is as important as going fast. Meanwhile, the 2025 Ferrari was a garbage car but this year it has an advantage off the start line from the Mercedes. The Mercedes can go faster but the Ferrari can pull a gap quicker.
What to watch for: The last couple of generations of cars primarily conducted what we can call 'rubber-band racing'. Cars would get close on the straights and then separate at the corners and then get close again. Stretch-snap-stretch. 2026 introduced a style of racing more similar to what's in MotoGP where drivers pass and re-pass while trying to find the optimum positioning to make an overtake stick. Additionally, car design was updated to make it easier to get side by side. This leads to some absolutely insanely close and frequent overtaking. You could barely slide a credit card between Lewis Hamilton and Charles Leclerc for large chunks of that race. The level of skill on display is absolutely bonkers. Whenever they chill out, someone in the midfield is also going at it.
The narrative: ok sure there's things we could say about the teams - double dns for mclaren, baby goat arvid lindblad, why are the cadillacs beefing, counting down the laps until the aston martin torture vibrator had to retire - but this race belongs to the podium.
Peter "Bono" Bonnington was Lewis Hamilton's race engineer for 12 years and 6 WDC. Now he's Kimi's. This is Kimi's first win and Bono got to go up there and celebrate it with his current and past driver. It's so heartwarming I could die.
George stepped to the side so they could get a picture together 🥹
Turkey 2020
The Background: Qualifying put championship frontrunner Lewis Hamilton in 6th and if he kept that position he wouldn't win the championship this race, which was to be his 7th.
What to watch for:
The race already started crazy. Giovinazzi and Russell spun out before even getting to the grid and the track was very wet, but it was no longer raining. That meant it was going to be tricky to figure out when to pit. Tires are the biggest source of performance on track and having the right/fresh/managing tires is the difference between winning and losing. No one knew what the right strategy would be.
Opening lap had enough overtakes, position losses, and teammate collisions to fill a normal race.
Wet conditions meant no DRS and everyone was fighting hard and struggling on track, watch for people leaving and rejoining.
Teams were waiting to switch tires, but the combination of temperature and wetness meant there was never a good time and eventually the approach was to keep the inters on long enough the rubber wore down and turned them slick. This is just a hilarious strategy. Everyone's tires were doing weird things, it makes every lap a little different and unpredictable.
The narrative: well it's Lewis' 7th. They didn't know when he'd get it and this was the race. Fun fact, Lando Norris kept the helmet he wore in this race, unwashed, as a memento.
. ֆաɛɛȶռɛֆֆ~
【★】~ Pixiv- こっため ID-102036908
I did not think I was going to find time this week to get an Enjolferre steal in for the @lesmisshippingshowdown semi finals but here we are!
