in which; ryomen sukuna is stubborn and completely obsessed with his ex. he can’t seem to understand why she’s so angry with him, and why she won’t take him back. one thing he knows for sure though, is that despite her anger; he’s still not blocked. what was that saying his mother used to say again; closed mouths don’t get fed? that’s for certain, ryomen’s mouth is open and begging y/n to take him back.
cw!: none, just a text fic. (i feel like sukuna’s ooc, but it’s hard to apply a character like him into a modern setting. i think he’s a very interesting character and there’s alot of his qualities you could focus on rather than just the fact that’s he’s angry, he’s definitely a character who fixates on something when he wants it (his obsession with megumi, for example.))
megumi fully commits to your idea, crafting a plan. it involves his room, a blinking red light, and both of you trying to be very, very quiet.
the screen clicks black, the sudden lack of blue light leaving you in the dim shadows of the back porch.
you take a breath, testing the handle of the back door. just like he said, it gives with a soft, metallic click. you slide inside, the air immediately smelling like the cool, clean scent of megumi—mixed distinctly with the sweet, buttery scent of toasted pastry.
‘the kikufuku.’
from the hallway, you can hear the low, rhythmic drone of a television commercial and the occasional rustle of a paper bag. every muscle in your body freezes as you carefully slip your shoes off.
‘he didn’t even tell me where to put them...’ you eye the area, thinking whether to text megumi and ask, but ultimately decide on bringing them up with you and make it his problem, lest a certain somebody notices them by the door.
shoes clutched by the sole in one hand, you look up the stairs—pitch black at the top of the landing, save for a tiny sliver of light bleeding out from beneath a single door.
you take the steps one by one, pressing your weight close to the wall. megumi didn’t specify which one it was, which feels like a massive design flaw in his rescue plan, but you manage to make it without a sound.
before you can even reach for his doorknob, the door cracks open an inch. a slender hand shoots out, wraps firmly around your wrist, and yanks you into the room so fast your head spins.
the door clicks shut behind you, and suddenly you’re pressed flat against the wood. megumi is right there, his chest practically brushing yours, his hand still tight around your wrist. he looks exasperated, dark hair messy, but his eyes are locked onto yours, wide and hyper-alert. “you’re loud,” he breathes, his voice a barely-audible whisper against your ear.
“i was like a ghost,” you whisper back, a smug grin pulling at your lips despite the way your heart is hammering against your ribs. you glance past megumi’s shoulder, spotting the sleek black shape of a camera sitting prominently on his desk.
“smart.” he nods at the shoes you’re holding, placing them to the side for you.
“so... director. where do you want me?”
his jaw tightens, a faint flush creeping up megumi’s neck that he desperately hopes the dim lighting hides. he doesn't let go of your wrist. instead, he leans in just a fraction closer, his eyes dropping to your mouth before snapping back up.
“don’t,” he mutters, his voice dropping into that low, rough register that tells you he is entirely done playing games. “he’s still downstairs.”
megumi’s hand is still wrapped around your wrist, and you can feel his pulse—or maybe that’s yours—thrumming against your skin. his thumb moves, almost unconsciously, tracing a slow circle over the delicate skin. “so? we just need to be quiet, right?”
he releases your wrist like it burns him, stepping back just enough to create a sliver of space between you. the absence of his warmth is immediately jarring. he runs a hand through his already-messy hair, exhaling sharply through his nose.
“you’re something else,” he says, but there's no bite to it. if anything, he sounds almost reverent.
“i’d say i’m just someone who wants you.”
megumi’s gaze flicks to the desk, then back to you, his adam’s apple bobbing. without a word, he crosses the room, picks up the camera, and turns it over in his hands like he’s weighing a decision as he chews the inside of his cheek, an anxious habit you’ve catalogued over time.
“nervous?..” you tilt your head, searching for his eyes.
he narrows his brows, not answering.
“just.. touch me.” you softly drag his wrist up to yourself.
megumi’s hands find your waist, observing the contact as his fingers splay across your body like he’s memorizing the feel of you. his touch is hot, insistent, but his movements are deliberate—slow and precise, just like everything he does.
like a magnet pulling, megumi finds himself drawing closer. you lift your chin making way for his head in the crook of your neck.
then the floorboard creaks.
both of you freeze. megumi’s hand is still on your back, his lips still ghosting over your shoulder. you can feel his heart hammering against your chest, matching your own frantic rhythm.
halfway downstairs, a muffled and singsong voice drifts up. “megumiiii~ wanna eat the last kikufuku?”
megumi’s eyes meet yours. they’re dark, pupils blown wide, and there's a flicker of something almost feral in them. he presses a finger to his lips—shh—and you nod, barely breathing.
“no,” he calls back, his voice impressively steady. “i’m good. keep it.”
a beat of silence. then a laugh, bright and unbothered. “okkay, suit yourself! more for me!” the television resumes its drone.
megumi looks at you, and the corner of his mouth twitching—the barest hint of a smile. “close one,” he murmurs.
“too close,” you agree, but you’re already pulling him back to you, your fingers tangling in his hair.
megumi’s mouth finds yours again, deeper, hungrier this time, like the interruption reminded him just how dangerous this is—and how much he doesn’t care.
his hands slide down to the waistband of your pants. megumi pauses, pulling back just enough to look at you in a silent question.
you nod, breathless. you scramble to get out of your t-shirt, and he makes quick work of the button and the zipper of your pants, pooling both garments beneath your feet.
you kick them aside and megumi’s eyes rake over you like he’s memorizing every inch. his fingers brush against the side of your leg, “beautiful.” so quiet you almost miss it. the soft touch makes your breath hitch. “’gumi.. your turn.”
megumi removes his gaze from your bare skin, but doesn’t undress. instead he presses the on button, the tiny red recording light of the camera blinking to life.
he sets it down on the desk, pointing it at the bed—which you now realize is right there, rumpled sheets and a dark comforter, barely visible in the low light. megumi controls the viewfinder, making sure the recording is underway.
you are about to retort when he shrugs off his own shirt, and the sight of him—lean muscle, sharp collarbones, that dark line of hair disappearing beneath his waistband—makes your mouth go dry even as you swallow.
megumi doesn’t look abashed. he reaches deep into his nightstand drawer, pulling out a small foil packet. he holds it up, a question in his eyes.
“condom,” he says, unnecessarily.
you purse your lips, raising an eyebrow and gulping again. “gonna open it, or?..”
megumi tears it open with his teeth, eyes never leaving yours. the sound of the foil ripping is obscenely loud in the quiet room. his jaw flexes as he grabs the torn piece, setting it aside.
“that..” you breathe.
the corner of his mouth twitches—almost a smirk. “what?”
“just come and kiss me.”
he does. closing the distance, megumi’s hands everywhere on you at once—impatient in a way his face never lets on, you feel the last of his careful control starting to fray at the edges.
megumi languidly guides you back toward his bed, your body pressing backwards until your knees feel the edge of his mattress. you fall onto it, pulling megumi down with you. he hovers over you, one arm bracing his weight, the other working his pants open
you catch a glimpse of him—thick and already painfully hard, slicked with a bead of pre-come before he rolls the latex down his length.
he glances at the camera one more time—red light blinking, capturing everything—then his eyes find yours. “ready?”
“mm.”
megumi sheathes himself, the movement practiced even as his fingers tremble slightly.
“ugh, you’re—” he starts, but doesn’t finish. he doesn't need to. he looks at you, really beholding you, and his voice drops to something raw.
“tell me if it’s too much.”
“mh—okay,”
the first push is slow—agonizingly slow—and your back arches off the mattress before you can stop it. megumi’s breath stutters above you, his forehead dropping to press against yours as he sinks into your heat.
through the haze of pleasure, you notice his gaze flick to the left—toward the camera—and something in his expression changes.
“ah,” you breathe, and it's barely a sound, more air than voice.
“shh,” he reminds you, his own voice wrecked, cracking at the edges. “you have to—f—be quiet.”
you want to laugh at the absurdity of it—him telling you to be quiet while he's inside you, hips are already starting to move in small, shallow rolls that have your toes curling against the sheets.
“mm, more,” you whisper back, and megumi’s eyes flash. he pulls out almost all the way, just the tip of his length resting at your entrance, and then he pushes back in—deeper this time, a full, slow stroke that has you biting your lip so hard you taste copper.
“you’re—” he starts, but he can't finish. his jaw is tight, one eye squeezed shut like he's trying to hold onto control by a thread. you put a hand on his face, caressing. “megumi, look at me,”
he tries, the crack in his composure showing. pupils blown wide, megumi parts his lips, a thin sheen of sweat on his brow. for having barely started, he already feels nearly there.
“not going to last,” he admits, the words tumbling out of gritted teeth in a rough confession.
“ah—nnm, then don’t.”
megumi groans, low and guttural, his entire frame shuddering as he forces his hips into a grueling, deliberate rhythm—biting his tongue to hold back his own release as he tries to prolong it for you.
slow and deep, each stroke presses against your core in a way that has you seeing stars. his hand slides down between your bodies, fingers finding your center, caressing in time with his thrusts, matching the excruciating syncopation.
“me—” you gasp, your hand flying to your mouth to muffle the sound.
“i know,” he rasps, rhythm breaking to something desperate. he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his teeth grazing your skin to hold back a groan as he drives into you, faster now, finding that spot again and again with devastating precision. the heat pooling between your thighs is overwhelming, a tight, electric coil winding tighter with every friction-filled slide of his hips.
slick and undone around him, you dig your fingers into the muscle of megumi's back, leaving faint red crescents.
“meg—nnmn” you whimper his name, the sound slipping past your guard. he instantly snaps his head up, hand flying over your mouth. his palm is hot, smelling faintly of the foil packet as he holds your gaze all frantic, heavy lids hooding blown-out pupils.
“i told you,” he rasps, his chest heaving as he takes a shallow, trembling breath. he doesn’t stop moving, his hips striking against yours, a wet, rhythmic slap. “be quiet.”
he nods his head toward the left. “stare there.”
through the haze of pleasure, you track his gaze—the tiny red light of the camera blinks, capturing the flush on your chest, the way your knees are hooked over his hips, the sheer, unadulterated look of desire on megumi’s face as he takes you.
“you wanted... a movie,” megumi mutters, his voice dropping into a dirty, breathless drawl as he arches his back, driving in all the way to the hilt.
“so stare at it,” he leans down, pressing his forehead against yours, fingers tangling with yours on the mattress. he strains, “and watch how good you take me,”
the visual, combined with the deep, bruising depth of his thrusts, completely shatters you. your hips roll up to meet him, begging for the friction, your core clamping down around him so tight it makes his entire body shudder.
megumi abandons the entire pretense of control, his pace turning even more frenzied, hard, and desperate. he chases the edge, his fingers squeezing your hips hard enough to leave marks.
you put your palm over your mouth again, a galaxy of stars exploding behind your eyelids as a wave of pure, convulsive heat ripples through you. your muscles squeeze him rhythmically as you reach your end, breaking the absolute final straw for megumi.
megumi lets out a low, wrecked sound, driving into you one last, deepest time as his own climax hits. he stiffens, jaw locking as he pours himself into the condom with a broken sound, something that's half your name, and half a swear—chest heaving against yours as the waves of aftershocks ripple through him.
for a long minute, the only sound in the room is the tangled, ragged breathing. slowly, megumi collapses onto you, his head burying into your shoulder, heart hammering like a trapped bird against your ribs. he doesn't move, opting to holding you tight, skin slick with sweat.
finally stirring, megumi pulls out with a soft sigh and quickly disposes of the evidence in the trash bin. as he climbs back onto the bed, he pulls the comforter over you both, pulling your body flush against his chest.
“never doing that again,” he murmurs into your hair, his arms are wrapped securely around your waist, pulling you closer.
you let out a breathy laugh, hand reaching out over the edge of the bed to turn off the camera sitting on his desk, the blinking red light wavering. “but you directed so well.”
“hm.” megumi hums in response.
the heavy silence of the house settles over his bedroom—comfortable and warm, until a sudden, sharp slam of the front door downstairs cuts through the quiet like a knife. a voice echoes loudly up through the floorboards, bright and entirely too cheerful.
“yo me~gu~mi~! i left you some kikufuku on the counter. thought you may have changed your mind. don't let it go to waste!”
the house falls silent again as the footsteps fade down.
above you, megumi stares blankly at the ceiling for three solid seconds before burying his face into his pillow, letting out a muffled groan of embarrassment.
you break out into giggles, poking his side. “me~gu~mi~”
“ugh,” he mutters into the mattress, arm tightening around your waist and refusing to let go.
tangled up in his sheets, you let the moment settle for a moment before bringing up the footage. “so... when do we watch it?”
megumi goes still. “..huh?”
you tilt your head at his silence, unreadable face, and pink ears. then, barely audible, he utters “...you’d want to?” as if speaking to himself,
“megumi. i just let you film me falling apart. i think i’m pretty okay with watching it.”
he swallows. “then... maybe tomorrow.”
you grin. “maybe tonight?”
“tonight,” he says firmly, “i'm sleeping.” you feel his lips press your temple.
“mm. say,” you exhale lightly, eyes landing on the desk. “when did you get that anyway? looks expensive.”
“hm?” megumi nuzzles into your neck as he shifts.
“the camera. didn’t see it before. or knew you had one.”
“oh. that.” megumi says, flat. “he wasn’t using it.”
“what?” your mouth drops, “it’s gojo’s?”
“i’ll return it.” he closes his eyes, relaxing. “just not the SD card.”
-
you successfully sneak out at dawn, slipping through the back door again. megumi watches you go from his window, a small, private smile on his face.
an hour later, megumi walks into the kitchen. there, he finds gojo lounging at the table with—as far he can see—an entire pack of ramune, the empty sugary soda bottles lined up in a neat row—and the smuggest expression on his face.
“morning, sleepyhead,” gojo chirps, tossing four marbles into the air and catching them. “sleep well?”
megumi grunts, heading for the coffee maker.
“hey, by the way,” gojo says, voice light, “have you seen my camera? the one i use for, you know, documenting things. i swear i left it in the living room, but i checked everywhere this morning and it’s just... gone.”
megumi’s hand freezes on the coffee pot.
“...no,” he says carefully. “haven’t seen it.”
“hmm.” gojo taps his chin, frowning. “that’s odd. i could’ve sworn it was in the living room. i even checked the hall closet, the study, under the couch...” he trails off, then sighs dramatically. “with stuff going missing, maybe we should get a security camera. y’know, just in case. make sure no ghosts are sneaking in.”
megumi turns slowly, face carefully blank. “ghosts.”
“or maybe,” gojo muses, tapping his chin, “one of those fancy ones with the motion sensor. the good ones. records in 4K. really capture the details, you know?”
“what are you talking about.” he barely keeps an eye from twitching.
gojo blinks, all innocence. “hmm? just talking about home security. why? what did you think i was talking about?”
the silence stretches. megumi pours his coffee. gojo watches him with that insufferable grin, letting the moment hang.
"you’re walking a little stiff today, by the way. everything okay?"
"fine."
"you sure? you look like you might’ve, you know, strained something." gojo’s grin widens. “maybe you should stretch more. really reach for it, you know?”
megumi stares at him.
gojo stares back, blinking good-naturedly.
“...i’m fine," megumi says flatly.
“okay, okay! just checking.” gojo stands, shrugging and stretching dramatically, and pats megumi on the shoulder. “let me know if you find that camera.”
he’s gone before megumi can respond.
megumi stands there for a full thirty seconds.
then he drops his forehead against the counter with a dull thunk.
sypnosis : After spotting a suspiciously large guy cornering someone behind one of the university buildings, you didn’t hesitate to step in and whack him to ‘save’ the victim—only to realise you’d completely misunderstood the situation and just assaulted one of the most well-known seniors on campus, Varka. Mortified, you disappear with hurried apologies before he could even react, hoping the incident dies with your dignity, but unfortunately, Varka remembers everything—especially you—and instead of being angry, he’s determined to find the girl who hit him, turning your attempt to avoid him into a chaotic game of hide-and-seek.
or in other words, a love at first hit situation with Varka!
status : ongoing (might have slow updates)
taglist : open
.✦ social media au, modern au, fem!reader, fluff, strangers to lovers, crack, swearing, a bit of violence, slow burn, misunderstandings…, characters might be ooc, tba!
.✦ timestamps dont matter unless stated otherwise !!
.✦ side ships : xiao x aether, navia x clorinde, wriothesley x neuvilette
the courtroom | if found, return to jean
𑣲 - includes written part(s)
case open : the incident 𑣲
case 01: famous last words case 02: hit and run
case 03: gacha era 𑣲 case 04: let the hunt begin.
case 05: the chase 𑣲 case 06: wish ticket? 𑣲
case 07: all is well case 08: first conversations
case 09: meeting! (w no casualties?) 𑣲
case 10: rumours 𑣲 case 11: the aftermath
case 12: uh oh 𑣲 case 13: nice to meet you 𑣲
case 14: we're so back case 15: accomplice? 𑣲
case 16: better late then never case 17: sugar baby
case 18: detour 𑣲 case 19: confession plans (or clickbait?)
case 20: wikihow 𑣲 case 21: what are we? feelers.
case 22: cheer for me (tbc) case 23: lucky charm (tbc)
A tutorial for a workskin that allows you to make text messages that look similar to IOS messages!
I made this tutorial in January but it only recently occurred to me to post it here on tumblr. It basically looks like IOS messages and you can scroll through the messages like you’re scrolling on a phone. It works with LADS emojis as well.
As you can see from the GIF, the emojis are animated, not still images. The skin can also display still images if you’d like.
I hope this skin can be helpful to anyone who’s writing text fics!
Summary: one would assume after being alive for centuries (cough minus Daniel) Vampires would better handle their jealousy, turns out they're much worse than one would expect.
Warnings: TOXIC BEHAVIOUR//mind manipulation//gaslighting//miscommunication//implied murder//implied violence (not against reader)//possessive behaviour
