your newlywed husband begs you to stop using condoms
suggestive content! 🔞
who would’ve thought the strongest sorcerer would be begging on his knees for you?
“pleeeaseee…” satoru whines, on his knees before you. you’re sitting on the edge of the bed, looking down at your husband who’s kneeling in front of you. his torso is bare, strong arms wrapped around your waist as he rests his chin on your knee.
“satoru, i said no. we can’t risk anything.” you scold him gently.
“but i just wanna try it! i’ll pull out if you want. please baby?” you have to admit, his begging is kind of convincing. the two of you had never gone raw before, and you couldn’t say you weren’t curious.
but good sense came first. he was always so busy with work and away for missions, and you have your own life that just can’t be interrupted by a baby right now.
“you won’t pull out, idiot.” you mutter, looking down at his big blue eyes and the pout on his lips. what a brat.
“i will! promise!” his voice cracks a little as he exclaims. you sigh, reaching a hand out to card through his fluffy white locks.
“and plus… so what if you get pregnant? we’re married now, and there’s nothing i want more in the whole world than to have a family with you.” he adds, voice dropping lower and more sincere.
you just blink at him a few times, before parting your lips to say something. he interrupts you.
“and i know i’m always busy, but i swear to you, i’ll cut back my hours. i’m serious, babe. you’re my wife now, and my priority. you always have been.”
it’s quiet for a few moments where you two just look into each others eyes.
“okay.” you finally mutter, a small smile forming on your lips. “let’s do it.”
satoru’s eyes brightened, and he leaned up to press his lips to yours in a passionate kiss.
“i love you.” he whispered against your lips.
and despite you being so unsure, and this whole thing being scary, you knew that after everything, you would always have him.
“i love you too.”
||a/n: sorry for the inactivity but the semester is finally over!! uni was kicking my butt the last few weeks but i’m hoping to get back into writing soon 💆♀️
synopsis . Getting cumdrunk on the king of curses and slapping him for more. content . afab!reader, breeding kink, trueform!sukuna, milking him dry, reader is feral, established relationship, slapping, slight use of his stomach mouth, breath play, biting, neediness, pet names, double pen, rough sex, nervous dom!reader, choking, he eventually submits to you, sukuna's a masochist, he whines & denies it every time, etc.
"More," You'd huffed, elated on your past few highs and desperately bouncing up and down one of your monstrous husband’s cocks—the other flaccid and left to rub in between the curve of your ass.
"There is no more, you insolent woman." Sukuna puffed right back, splayed out absolutely ruined beneath you. His gaze was as vexing as it were loving on you, having felt dazed by just how craving you seemed to be today. "You've already milked the both of my cocks dry. What 'more' do you desire from me?"
Technically, he wasn’t wrong.
Not in the slightest. There’s a goopy slather of cum sloshing in between where the two of you are currently connected, a slick white puddle created around the base of his thick cock, and his balls feel weak from how much you’ve drained them thus far.
Even so, your hips rock forward and the grasp he has on them gets tighter as you pout, "Wanna' give you an heir, 'Kuna."
Sukuna’s eyes roll elsewhere as you say that, a vein painting itself out across his jawline, "Don't tell me that."
"But I do," You whine immediately. His claw-like nails grind into your skin and he sucks in a sharp breath of air as you squeeze around his cock in needy moderation.
Looking down, Sukuna’s eyes soften ever so slightly at the filthy mess of semen pooling the outskirts of your puffy pussy lips. "I'm sure you will be pregnant after this-"
"S'Not enough," You gasp, lifting your frame up a few inches and forcing him to watch his own cum string between your skin and his.
He then grits teeth and shoots his eyes up to yours, "What has gotten into you, hm?"
"I dunno," You manage a smile, "I just want more. Won't you give me more, my lord?" Just as you purr those words out, your body is arching forward and the hands he had mindlessly toying with your nipples halt for a moment.
He groans deeply then. "More cannot even fit in here," Then all four of his hands travel to your waist to squeeze you, one slipping down just to swipe up a dribble of his seed, "It's already dripping out."
"So put more in." You manage to push down past his hold on you and your mouth soon latches onto his neck, sucking at his skin desperately while you lightly roll your hips forward, "Please?"
"I cannot-, ah." A short sound, one of which nearly misses your ears—seems to fall from his lips all lightly and delicately. "Did you just bite me, wife?"
Your teeth sink into the side of his neck a little harder and the cock you have stuffed inside you hardens back up immediately.
Then your tongue laps over the area you just bit him in and you pull back a little, "Mhm," You hum, rocking your hips forward again just for his hands to clasp onto you tighter—nails digging into your skin. "And did you just whine, 'Kuna?"
"I did no such thing." He denies.
"You did." You argue as your tongue slicks down along his neck before you begin kissing at his tensing skin, "You liked that, didn't you?"
"Perhaps," Sukuna mutters honestly.
How could he possibly lie to his precious wife when you’re like this?
Right then, you maneuver all the way upright and as he looks up, he’s reminded of why he married you in the first place. You’re a beautiful mess of his touches—imprints of his nails strung out across all areas of your body, skin slick in areas where he’d licked earlier, and marks of biting left in the most obscene of places.
As if to surprise him further and give him yet another reason to experience love in his heart for you, your hand greets his neck and you use whatever strength you have in you to force him further down against the silks below.
"Mmgh-, choking me now?" Sukuna husks, cock jolting inside you with a nasty twitch, his eyes going wide, and breath threatening to stutter in his lungs. Then he smiles wickedly, "Come now, wife. If you want more from me like you so claim, squeeze harder."
And squeeze harder you do, earning a sharp buck of his hips that even Sukuna himself wasn't expecting. His eyes flutter back a little and he grunts, sharp teeth flaring for a moment with the way his mouth opens all beast-like.
You can feel how erratically his dick is twitching inside you, aching to fuck something all the more sinful into you. All whilst his second cock is felt throbbing in between your asscheeks, silently pleading to enter you once more.
You’d already spent the past however many hours switching back ‘n forth between both of his lengths, draining each for all their worth, and even stuffing both into that greedy cunt of yours just to suck an impossible amount of his cum into you.
Sukuna’s massive body shifts a bit, as if to escape you for a moment so he can catch his breath, but your grip on his throat gets tighter and his brows furrow.
Noticing his attempt at escaping you, your head tilts and you scoff, “Give me an heir if you wish to breathe.”
The irony of your words—as if he hadn’t already stuffed you to the brim with his seed already—is almost enough to make him laugh.
“O-Oh,” Sukuna stammers for the first time—possibly in his life—his eyes fluttering further back into his skull as he finds himself so fully in awe of you. “Fuuck,” The curse flies out his throat as if pained but a big smile sprawls out across his kiss-swollen lips. “Take.. hahh… take the heir from me, wife. Fuck one out of me.”
Those magic words seem to do it for you as your hips return with momentum, rocking ‘n bouncing on his cock within the next few seconds as he relishes in the feel of you using him.
“Mnh! Sukuna,” You’re moaning again, the sound a sweet melody to his ears as his smile remains up until you add a pretty, “You feel s’good inside me.”
“Do not praise me, woman.” Sukuna’s brows scrunch up again and he groans. “I am still your king—“ The last word hardly falls from his tongue before he’s met with a sharp pain flying across his cheek, the feeling earning a feral thrust of his hips up into yours.
His brain sputters for a moment as he processes what the hell you just did. Never in all his years has a human ever had the audacity to hit him in such a way.
And fuck if it doesn’t drive him absolutely insane.
His head is slow to turn as he blinks, “…Did you just slap me?”
You’re visibly nervous, holding your hand near yourself as you gulp, “I-I’m sorry, I just..”
His hands lock onto your body to keep you in place and you merely blink once or twice before he’s moving. One of his other hands move down and he’s glaring at you whilst steadily adjusting his second—now fully erect—cock into you. The stretch of both his dicks inside you again has your body spasming forward as you shudder in pleasure.
Then his face twists up—cheeks pink with blush—and his jaw falls open to display his shock from prior as he huffs, “Again, wife. Hnngh-, please slap me again.”
Your head shakes, “Sukuna, I cannot—“
“I command it.” Your husband grits out all brat-like.
You hit him again, a little harder than the first time, and there’s yet another thiiiiick load of cum gushing out of his sweltering cockheads into your pussy. The sudden burst has his seed spurting out everywhere from where you’re stuffed—splashing up against his abdomen and leaking all down his twitching balls.
You finally feel as though that was enough to breed you like you’d wanted and Sukuna’s half lucid with how much he’d just emptied into you.
With a pleased grin on your face, you soon look down and let your brows shoot up in surprise as you catch the way his stomach mouth laps at a bit of his cum.
“Sukuna,” You snicker, “Are you tasting yourself?”
His eyes are shut now but he manages to frown, “Silence from you, woman.”
Your smile widens, “Does it taste good?”
“Keep-, hah… Keep talking and I’ll make you lick this entire mess clean.”
your plug meets you at a college party, but not in the way that you were expecting.
fratboy!gojo x reader x plug!choso
when your friend made you come to a frat party, this is not how you anticipated it to play out.
shoko had texted you earlier before classes ended, that a party was happening tonight — at the biggest frat house on campus.
you agreed, unbeknownst to the events that would eventually ensue throughout the night ahead.
later that night…
somehow — some way, you had ended up on top of satoru gojo; the campuses biggest frat boy.
he was the average douche bag, snobby rich kid that took most things in his life for granted.
his hand was wrapped around your waist, the other, a red solo cup that he occasionally sipped from.
you were definitely intoxicated; having smoked a blunt that was being passed around and gojo had gotten you a coke with vodka.
shoko had ran off with some guy probably 30 minutes ago and you haven’t seen her since.
it was worrying you, so you tried getting up — satoru didn’t let that slide easily though.
“where you goin’ pretty thing?” he said, grabbing your waist and planting you back down on him. “m-my friend has been gone for a while, i- i need to find her.” you practically slurred out.
his hand slid up your thigh, ”cmon’ don’t be a buzzkill.”
your phone started buzzing, you expected it to be shoko, but it was choso? this made you sober up real quick.
you pushed gojo off making him scoff, “dumb bitch.” this resulted in you flipping him off as you walked away to a dense hallway as you answered choso’s call.
“what’s up cho?” your nickname always did numbers on him. “are you at that stupid party?”
“why? do you miss me already?” you managed to giggle out.
he smiled through the phone, you could always tell. “i was just checking to see how you were doing.”
“im just fine, thanks for asking.” you sighed out, leaning against the rough wall. “yeah you sure sound fine. you sound like you are tipsy, you sure you don’t need me to come get you? i don’t want you getting hurt or anything-“
“i said i’m fine cho. i don’t need you to come save me or something. goodbye.” you rushed out, hanging up the phone abruptly.
the truth was, you weren’t fine. part of it was how your life was going, the other part was him.
everything had been stressing you out recently, him included. you met choso in highschool and have always been strictly just friends.
well technically, he had been your plug as well; you would get weed from him sometimes. although you had always been just friends, the last couple weeks — that had changed.
two weeks ago, you called choso late at night and asked for the usual order. he came over and brought it, but one thing led to another, and well — you guys had sex. it wasn’t anything serious, just letting off steam.
but a week ago, it happened again; then three days ago, you guys did it again. and now, you had been avoiding him at all costs.
you really do like him, but you knew he wouldn’t be able to commit to a real relationship. at least, that’s what you had thought.
what snapped you back to reality was satoru walking up to you.
“im sorry for being a douche earlier.” he said scratching his neck looking down for a second, before looking back up at you.
“i think you are really hot, it’s just when you tried leaving i thought-“
from all the pent up feelings you had bottled up, you didn’t really care that he was being an asshole.
he was pretty handsome and he called you hot, so why not. it took your mind off of choso anyways.
your lips connected with his in seconds, making him stop blabbering nonsense that you didn’t care about.
his hand snaked around your waist, hoisting you up so he was holding you by your ass. your legs gripped around his core, as he dragged you back out into the main room. walking past everyone, heading into an empty bathroom.
he sat you down on the counter, planting a soft kiss to your lips. pulling back, he closed and locked the door.
turning around, his eyes were back onto you, grabbing him by the collar, you pulled him in.
satoru’s hand made it’s way in-between your thighs, next thing you know it was in your shorts.
you moaned against his mouth, your tongue fighting against his as he rubbed your sensitive nub. he pulled back slightly chuckling. “already so wet for me?”
your legs spread open wider confirming his question. as you whined out in response, he moved against your pussy faster.
out of nowhere, someone started banging on the bathroom door. you gripped his bicep making him pause his movements.
“open up! i know you are in there.” shit. it was choso’s voice.
you huffed throwing your head back, gojo almost started talking before you put your hands over his mouth. you mouthed “shut the fuck up.” which made him actually listen for once tonight.
choso started shaking the door knob profusely. there was a pause for a second, silence sliced the air — until choso spoke again. “shoko told me you were in here.” he said now in a calmer voice. “just come out, please. i just want to talk.”
you hesitated for a second, before he spoke again, this time even softer than before. “please baby. i just want to talk to you.”
gojo’s eyebrows slanted, and your eyes went wide for a split second. “just give me a minute.” your words were as bitter as a battery.
choso’s footsteps were apparent as they softly travelled away from outside of the door. “you have a fucking boyfriend? you weren’t going to mention that or?-“
“he is not my boyfriend.” you cut in immediately. “it’s complicated, you wouldn’t understand.”
his hand went up to caress your arm. “so make me understand.” his voice went soft, as his eyes stared right back into yours.
you grinned slightly, ”just stay here and ill be back. okay?”
“anything you say gorgeous.” he said crossing his arms, leaning against the counter.
smiling still, you unlocked the bathroom door and slipped out.
peering into the living room that was filled with everyone, your eyes locked onto choso. he was standing next to shoko and that guy she was talking to. where the hell had she been and why did she snitch?
“look who it is. where’s your frat boy at?” shoko snickered, nudging choso slighting in the elbow. “what’s she talking about?” choso responded almost immediately.
“nothing. what does it matter to you anyway-“ he gripped your hand with intense force.
choso dragged you out back, practically flinging you. “did you fuck some frat guy?”
you scoffed, “so what if i did? or if i didn’t. it doesn’t matter to you. we aren’t dating choso. we were just fucking. its just sex, nothing else. what do you think, that i’m your girlfriend or something?”
he went silence and huffed his chest out in anger. the way he went silent gave you your answer. “seriously?”
“do you think i’m just some joke? that just because i sell drugs, i don’t actually like you? or that i could genuinely have feelings for you?” his tone betrayed him, his voice going hoarse from the anger.
just past choso, you saw gojo’s silhouette approaching from the porches door.
“listen, i’m just an outside bystander but i think you should go easy on her man-“
“is this the dumb frat idiot you fucked?” choso cut him off almost immediately.
“i did not fuck him you asshole!” you yelled, your hands balling into fists as you almost did something you would regret, gojo grabbed you by the waist holding you back.
he settled you back down on the ground softly. “alright everyone just chill out, i think this was just a big misunderstanding-“
“oh my god you fucked him i knew it.” choso said with a crooked smile, as he shook his head back and forth.
satoru walked up to him. “we never fucked, i barely touched her. but you are acting like you own her or something dude lay off of her-“
the sound of a hard slap cut satoru’s voice off. your mouth went wide as you watched them in front of you.
gojo softly rubbed his cheek, facing back to choso. “seriously asshole?”
“can both of you just stop it?” you sternly yelled, grabbing their attention.
they both immediately moved their gazes towards you. your eyes began welling with tears, the whole situation making you so overwhelmed.
choso moved to you in seconds. “don’t cry baby.” he took his hands up to your face, wiping them away.
gojo slowly walked over, standing directly behind you, his hands moving to your tummy.
“listen, how about instead of fighting we can do something else?”
you looked between them both smiling as another tear fell, lips connecting to choso in an instance. you grabbed gojo by the crotch, making him grunt out.
next thing you knew, you were on a bed. choso was in between your legs; gojo’s cock was in your mouth.
choso licked and bit at your throbbing pussy like a lollipop. satoru’s hard dick was going in and out of your mouth hitting the sweet spot in your throat.
the sensation you were feeling was irreplaceable; no one has ever made you feel like this.
you gripped choso by the hair, making him dive deeper and harder into your cunt. satoru was moaning uncontrollably as your took him whole, slurping every last drop of his cum.
just as you drank all of gojo, your own high was soon to overcome you. “im gonn’ cum cho, holy shit!”
sprouting your obscenities only made him go faster. you threw your head back, satoru stroked your hair comfortingly as you rode out the ecstasy feeling.
you were shaking from the orgasm, choso pulled back still holding your thighs apart. springing up from the bed, you jumped into choso’s arms.
kissing up and down his neck, licking his ears down to his collarbone. you were devouring him, small sounds escaping his mouth as he held you by your waist.
gojo sat back on the bed pouting like the whimp he was. but then, he got up and came down to the floor with you both.
he sat facing you both, when suddenly he grabbed choso by the neck and kissed him. hard yet eagerly, he moved sloppily against him.
“you fucking dick.” you softly chuckled, running your fingers through his hair. choso put his hand onto satoru’s neck, deepening the kiss before pulling back.
Assorted HCs about the ever underrated Jean Pierre Polnareff...
Some are just about him in general, some are sfw x reader and some are nsfw x reader.
Absolutely no minors PLEASE ..
(x fem reader, sorry I, unfortunately, did just write this one for myself 😩)
I'll do anything to not end a sentence and I am sorry about that. 🫥
There's probably grammar and spelling mistakes in here it's 1 am and I am so stoned.
General
🗡️ He always includes his hair when he tells people how tall he is.
🗡️ IBS king, but regularly indulges in something that's gonna make his stomach churn all night.
🗡️ Multilingual - which we kind of can already imply, but his sociable nature makes it come naturally.
🗡️ He gets super blushy when he's drunk.
🗡️ Doodles on stuff when he gets bored or frustrated with conversation, his childhood dream of being a manga artist doesn't just go away, he retains his skill by drawing silly pictures of the crew, Silver Chariot or himself beating up particularly annoying stand users.
🗡️ Ok I know we already saw it in Death 13, but yes, he always sleeps on his side and with the blanket pulled all the way up to chin, snug as a bug in a rug.
🗡️Even when he feels like shit, he'll do his best to make the hotel bed look at least kinda nice.
🗡️ Caffiene addiction for sure, gets a nasty headache if he can't find a cup of coffee or at the very least, tea.
🗡️ Not scared of bugs, generally leaves them be, he imagines their little bug life and bug routines, easily distracted by big anthills.
🗡️ He has no official birthday so I assign him…… December……. 16th. (Congrats if that's your birthday I just made it up on the spot, I don't believe in horoscopes or anything, this was completely by chance)
🗡️ Incredibly sentimental, keeps little souvenirs, tickets, receipts, anything given to him by someone he cares about, really. It's important to him to always have a piece of everyone he loves.
🗡️ He loves music, radio always on in the car, you know he sings along and messes up all the words, drumming on the steering wheel and freaking everyone out.
🗡️ Along with liking music, he loves to dance, it's never a bad time to bust a little move, he's insistent that there's no such thing as somebody who "can't dance".
💞Sfw relationship hcs 💞(x reader)
⚔️ Really likes when he's approached first, he could flirt with a million girls and not make anything of it. But it's very notable when someone is interested in him before he can sweet talk.
⚔️ Needs to be asked to do chores a few times but he will always do the hard stuff, carrying things, reaching anything too high, gross stuff he doesn't think someone as sweet as you needs to do.
⚔️ He gets emotional watching you sleep, especially if he wakes up before you, sometimes he can't believe you're there, right across from him, for real, in the flesh, warm and peaceful. He'd wished for you for so long..
⚔️ Playful! Soooo playful, light ribbing and teasing, play wrestling, dirty jokes, inside jokes, kicking eachother under the table, and other things that everyone prefers to the….
⚔️ hopeless romantic finally revelling in being romantic, he's so cheesy, it's incredibly charming. Hand kisses, flowers (bought on Joseph's credit card), surprise dates, sweet pet names, he's good once he catches of a groove of what you like. It's not all just to win you over - he does enjoy showering you in love.
⚔️ The Cuddling MVP - he's so enveloping, his grip is borderline possessive, those big, strong arms can hold you tight even through his sleep. He loves to be big spoon, keeping you protected. But, he'd be lying if he said he didn't like being the small spoon and getting lil kissies on his shoulders and back of his neck
⚔️ The fastest way to his heart really is his stomach, he loves being cooked for but he especially loves being baked for.
⚔️ Omfg he loves loves loves to love on you front of people, he knows everyone is staring, and loooves it. 'Yeah! Look at how hot we are, and we're all over eachother and you can have any of what we got! Ha!!'
⚔️ Always. Touching. Hand on knee, playing with your fingers, leg wrapped around yours, playing footsie, arm around you, your legs in lap, even just sitting thigh to thigh, he can't let go.
⚔️ God everyone thinks you're soooo annoyyyiinngg. He's already a yapper, and now there's two of you just gabbing and gabbing away and never paying any attention!! You always promise to do better but come 15 minutes later you're rubbing noses in the back seat again.
⚔️ Takes all of your trauma so seriously, whatever's happened to you will never happen again as long as he can do something about it. Really holds his position as your knight close to his heart and takes such a strong responsibility over your well-being.
⚔️ Holy fuck, talk about a good kisser. He's got a kiss locked and loaded for any situation, sweet silly kisses where he pinches your cheeks to squish your lips; long, meaningful kisses where you swear you can hear him say he loves you while he holds your face gently in his hand; steamy make out sessions, never too much tongue, always an intimate affair.
⚔️ He truly does feel that "red string of fate" he wanted so bad. And the closer he gets to you, the more tangled up in eachother you become, until you become fully stitched at the side.
🌹Nsfw relationship hcs🌹 (x reader)
🤍 Alright let's get to it, this is an ass man, this is an ass and legs man, he especially loves a thicker set of thighs and a nice plump ass to push into and knead on.
🤍 He's pretty easy to bed, your first time is probably either very early in the relationship or the very thing that sparks the relationship in the first place, either way, he's a whore 🩷
🤍 So dramatic and drawn out, lit candles, a bath run for when you're done (given the bathroom situation is up to standards, of course), rose petals, and the kind of foreplay that gets you so hot it starts to border painful. He's a fantastic tease, he likes watching you want him for as long as he can, but his impulsive side always gives in.
🤍 *COUGH* HUNG *COUGH COUGH COUGH* 🤩😍🫡🥳
🤍 Ohhhhh please ask him to do it in the car. He would fuckin love to hit a quickie while everyone is off doing something else. He'll sit and be a smug bastard thinking about it while he drives.
🤍 Shyer about you seeing him with his hair down than he is of you seeing him naked. You had to beg and plead to shower with him, or to at least to not lock you out of the bathroom until he's done his hair.
🤍 Totally loves getting his dick sucked, being serviced a little bit really stokes his ego, which in turns to a certain bravado to return the favor.
🤍 I know a munch when I see one. … Also eye contact.
🤍 Undresses you, don't worry about lifting a finger, it's truly his pleasure. He might keep a pair of particularly cute panties, though.
🤍 Unfortunately he's the exact type of man to be jealous of your toys. He needs to do better than some plastic…..
🤍 Chivalrous, you always cum first, he's no chump, he's not just thinking about himself… but it does give him a boost to watch you unravel.
🤍 Bricked up at any hour of the day, wakes up in the middle of the night for it. He gets needier and clingier the more he's craving your skin.
🤍 Honestly, not all that kinky, but that's not to say he's not a fantastic fuck. He doesn't like to be particularly rough, not into binding or pain or any of those things. He's not the kind of guy to use you as some sort of sex toy, he doesn't want to fuck you stupid by overloading you with pain… he does want to fuck you stupid with pure, blissful ecstasy; the kind that makes you feel like you're floating, like you're glowing.
🤍His dirty talk is absolutely downright naaaayyyaaasty and it rules… he' s fairly vocal in general, unless ☝️ the room shares a wall with a room the others are sleeping in…they'll give him shit about it all day..
🤍 And if you're being too loud, he'll shush you sweetly and press a thumb to your lips
🤍 No favorite position, he's just happy to be here,,,,,but he does kinda hope you'll let him hit from behind at least for a little bit..
Woah who said all that stuff 👆 that's craaazyy
OKAY I have to stop now or I never will.. I hope the 5 Polnareff fans enjoyed this one, rise up Polnareff Nation .
You entered the heavily crowded fraternity house. Swaying bodies grinding up against each other as the humid atmosphere made your skin start to prick with a thin layer of sweat. Silently thanking yourself for wearing your favorite mini skirt tonight.
You did find it odd that your normally timid and introverted boyfriend Gojo invited you to a frat party on a Saturday night. Usually those days were reserved for quiet date nights or his annual dnd meet ups.
You pushed past the bodies trying to get deeper into the house and hopefully find the stairs. The text Gojo sent you earlier telling you to head to the basement.
Seeing the bright light of sanctuary up ahead once you finally noticed the "no entry" sign plastered on the basement door. But as you went to grab the door knob, a tall broad chest covered in a tight white tee blocked your vision.
"That place is off limits sweetheart." Came the deep voice above you, your neck craning up to get a look at the human blockade. "Sorry but my boyfriend said I can go down there-" Your words cut off once you finally got a good look at the person in front of you.
"Gojo?" You said surprised, a hint of confusion in your tone as you looked at your boyfriend.
The man who looked exactly like him widened his eyes at your words. A cocky smirk overtaking his lips as he stared down at you, his eyes roaming your figure making you shiver, usually making you blush but this stare felt wrong.
"Hey babe! I didn't realize it was you." He smirked, leaning against the door as he spoke.
"Yeah me neither..." You trailed off taking in his attire. His usual scruffy hair that you loved running your fingers through was now cut short with low tapered sides, the top of his hair covered by a backwards cap. A lip piercing that was usually on his right now moved to his left, while his broader shoulders stretched his plain white tee.
Your eyes narrowing as you took him in. "What's with the new look?" You asked, trying to hide the suspicion in your voice.
The white haired man titling his head to the side, licking his lip. "You don't like?" He leaned down, his face closer but still a respectable distance away.
"Thought a change was needed." He glanced off to the side, the first recognizable trait that your boyfriend usually had. "What's with all the questions!" He stood straighter, grabbing your hand. "Why don't we get you a drink, loosen up those tense shoulders and join the party." He smirked freely, glancing back at you.
You slipped your hand out of his, "You know I don't drink babe." You narrowed your eyes.
"Oh yeah!" The frat boy in front of you faked remembrance. "Let's grab you a juice then. You know how fucked my memory gets when I drink." He tried to lead you into the frats kitchen, nodding every other step as people greeted him.
You silently followed, your mind going through all the possibilities of why and how your sweet nerdy boyfriend is now a popular frat dude.
Ick
"So Gojo, why'd you want to come to a party tonight." You questioned, watching as he handed you a sunny d from the back of the fridge.
The imposter gave you a suave smirk, something that'd made any girl swoon. Except you, holding in the physical recoil as you backed up a step. "Who doesn't love a good party, good music, strong drinks, and hosted by the number one frat here." He bragged, taking a sip from his cup.
Your tongue gave a sharp click, his final words putting the last nail in the coffin. "And what should we do now that we're here at this rager." You asked, hiding your suspicions behind the rim of your drink.
His whole demeanor somehow got cockier, the playboy attitude taking the front. "Im glad you asked baby, why don't we take this party upstairs." He hinted, his eyes holding something you couldn't figure out. His relax facade at the forefront but behind it was a sharp gaze that felt like your answer would set the rest of the party in stone.
You took a big step back, straightening up your face no longer hiding the look of disgust. "Fat chance." You turned, ready to make a break for the door.
"Where you going?!" The fake called after you. "Come back you know I was just joking!" Your body pushed past as you looked for the exit.
"Take a hike! And tell my boyfriend Gojo to call me when he gets here, because your fake gym bro ass obviously isn't him!" You shouted behind you, almost running straight into someone.
"There you are! I've been waiting for you down at the basement." The sweet delicate voice that you knew and loved came from above. Your eyes recognizing your sweet nerdy boyfriend clad in his Digimon tee and his scruffy hair you missed.
"Gojo!" You gasped, throwing your arms around him. HIs arms quickly wrapping around you in surprise. "Are you okay? What took you so long-" His voice trailed off as his eyes caught the sight of his twin brother standing a couple feet behind you.
"Toru?" Gojo's voice rang out in recognition. "I thought you were busy fixing the kegs." Your fake boyfriend now known as Toru, shook his head with a smile.
"Finished with that earlier little bro, I was just keeping your girlfriend company." He stated.
"Lies!" You objected, hands gripping your boyfriend's shirt. "That fake pretended to be you and hinted at taking me upstairs!" You shouted, throwing an accusatory finger in Toru's direction.
The older brother holding his hands up in mock surrender a low chuckle leaving his lips, not even defending himself from the truth.
Your boyfriend let out a deep sigh, giving his brother a tired look. "Really. I thought you were gonna stop doing this."
His brother gave him a sheepish look, "You know im just looking out for you bro." He reassured, "This ones the real deal, was cautious of me from the start." Toru smirked, a friendly less playboy tone ringing out as he spoke to his brother.
Gojo rolled his eyes, before tugging you along towards the basement. Your body making it through the door this time. "So that was the annoying Toru you've told me about." You broke the silence first, eyes taking in the calm and cozy room. It looked more like a movie and gaming lounge than a cheap basement.
"Yes, sadly you've just met my brother Toru. President of this frat and host of this party." Gojo sighed, flopping onto the couch and taking you down with him.
"You didn't think to at least mention that your annoying brother was your twin?" You smiled teasing him. Your boyfriends scratched his neck as he gave you a sheepish look. "It just never came up?"
18+, nsfw. hakari is genuinely so sexy i'm gonna die
KINJI HAKARI, who has two black decked out cars: a '67 chevy impala that he always drives on the way to his club, and a sweet jeep grand trackhawk with a sunroof for you to peek out of. and my god are they loud. everyone knows hakari's at the club when 'i wonder' by nardo wick is blasting out his vehicle's speakers, bass boosted to the max just to overdo it. custom plates writing "B1GEG0" and "UR2SLOW", convertibles bouncing up and down as you're in the passenger seat, his hand right on your thigh.
KINJI HAKARI who keeps you as his good luck charm when he gambles. people wear red; hell, some carry rabbit's feet, but hakari? he just needs his woman of a year and 5 months, sat on his lap with his hand on your ass as he effortlessly wins his way through another session.
KINJI HAKARI who gives you a wide grin, and your thighs clench because you know once you get home he's fucking you senseless; and that's because nothing skyrockets hakari's libido like manipulating everyone's fever in this club to get money in his bag. hell, sometimes you don't even make it to your house; if he's that hard, he'll park in an empty parking lot and reward you there.
"hah—", hakari stutters, his weight almost looming over you as he pounds you in the backseat. thank god your windows are tinted. "you did it again pretty girl, won another round. gonna spoil you rotten after i'm done fuckin' this—christtt, mama, g'na cum if you do that." he lets out a groan, slit eyebrows furrowing when he feels your walls clench around him the moment he mentions spending more of his money on you like he doesn't enough already. greedy.
his hips snap against you just a bit harder, earning a squeal from you.
"ah! kinjii!"
"what do we say?"
"t-thank you."
"for?"
"for—fuckfuckfuck, thank you for spoiling me."
"y'r welcome, baby."
KINJI HAKARI whose dick is so thick you two always have to do foreplay longer than the average person because if not, it's not gonna fit. he'd never complain about it, he knows he's big, and what man complains about getting to put his mouth where it belongs? your sweet cunt, that is, lapping at your juices for his own pleasures more than your own. he'll throw a finger or two, eager to have you cum all over his mouth so he can kiss you and have you taste yourself after.
KINJI HAKARI, the man with the dick that slightly burns upon entrance anyway, no matter how much prep you do. he has to take it in slow, hands intertwined with yours, peppering you with "i know, i know", "you got it ma", and "that's it" as you hiss, a mix of a hot stretch and aching pleasure being felt as each inch penetrated just as deep as the one before.
KINJI HAKARI who LOVES making you squirt. every time, and anywhere you fuck. he just wants his girl to get the best out of every moment you choose to make love to him. that, and he just loves watching that lip of yours tremble, legs twitch and your attempts to hide your face as you gush all over his fingers. you'll protest it's "too messy", but your man couldn't give less of a fuck, even ignoring how his painfully hard his dick is almost bursting outta his jeans. "give it to me, c'mon i know ya can," curling his fingers deeper into you on his couch till he reaches that spongy spot that makes your tits rise up and down faster and that face that's just a work of art.
and once you do, releasing such a sweet cry, he'll sport a victorious smile, your juices all over his large calloused hand and you can just hear the slot machine win sound in his head as he mutters a "jackpot" that makes you glare at him indefinitely.
KINJI HAKARI who is the perfect mix of sweet and mean in bed. the problem is, he just can't go slow. it's impossible for him, he's just so into it that he can't help but rut into you in such a gorgeous way that you squirm against him, trying to run away. you'd whine "kin, 's too much, you're being meannn", almost out of his grasps as his tip is just about to leave your hole, and all of a sudden there's a loud thump connecting the headboard to the wall, as hakari's hips knock into you with force, and you make the loudest moan he's probably ever heard from you. all it does is make him laugh: "baby, where you goin'? run away 'n i'll just give you more, shit, y'know that." he lifts your ankle and places a kiss to it before placing it on his shoulder to give him better access. "just take it, m'kay?"
KINJI HAKARI that lives for the danger that comes with public sex, especially in serious situations. he loves to play these games with you, placing a vibrator in you or fingering you under a table just to see how well you can cough to mask your moans and bounce your leg to shield its trembling as you’re bordering an orgasm. he'll practically jump for joy if you offer him a hand/blowjob while he's on the road.
KINJI HAKARI who likes to have music while he fucks you, however, his playlist mainly consists of artists like asap rocky, kendrick and carti, and god forbid you'd ever let him fuck you to that. he doesn't get why, since apparently m.A.A.d city is "hella fuckable" in his eyes (madman btw).
"oh my god we're not fucking to carti, hakari."
"what?? is it the voice? i can put on one with his real voice—"
"drying up as we speak."
"okay but you can't say no to a$ap."
"would rather go with his girl."
"..fine "
In which Toji uses his superhuman strength to get his hands on you
“I won’t ask again, doll. Unlock the door and let me in.”
“No!”
He pounds on the bathroom door. The whole house shakes, so does your skeleton. “Not in the mood for games, woman. You got my dick hard; you’re going to take responsibility, like a big girl.”
What were you thinking spamming him nudes whilst he’s at work? No, the better question is, what was he thinking taking you seriously enough to speed home? Can’t a girl have fun without consequences?
“I was gonna,” you start, practically shaking in the tub as you hold a shampoo bottle, a foolish delusion of protection, “but then you came home early! You weren’t supposed to come home so soon. Ugh, you ruined everything. You know I need at least an hour prep to be in my most seductive mood, Toji!”
You can almost visualise the disbelieving scoff that’d reveal his sharp teeth and make that delectable scar stretch when he bangs on the door again. He’s probably leaning against it, imagining all the ways he could have you bent and pumped full of cum. The thought makes your thighs squeeze tightly even as a nervous, almost manic laugh escapes you.
The rattling of the walls stops. Silence rings out.
“...You laughing at me?”
Oh fuck.
You’re done for. That much is clear when he punches a hole in the door barely a second later with a thunderous bang. Huddling on all fours, you brace yourself with a scream as the wood splinters onto the floor. Your poor pussy’s going to feel just like that door when he’s done with you, you’re sure.
You peek up. Toji’s hands grip the wood, ripping a bigger hole in the weak thing. His glinting eyes meet yours. He growls, “Oh, good. You’re already in the right position.”
Screaming bloody murder, you throw the bottle at him, and another and another. They all bounce off his chest as though they weigh nothing. “Fuck off! I take it back. I take it all back!”
“Too fucking late. Shouldn’t play games you’re not ready to lose,” he lectures. In no time at all, he steps through and casts a shadow over your body. The veins on his beefy arms pop, his thighs flex, and his lips curl up — yet, all you’re looking at is the monstrous cock in his pants, painfully hard and somehow bigger than you remember, weighing him down.
“I hate you, you big brute!” you shriek, when he throws you over his shoulder.
He snorts. “Yeah, sure. Pretend you’re not creaming your fucking panties.”
Busted.
“I’m sorry?” you try, a last ditch effort to get your way. “I won’t do it again?”
He throws you on the bed and watches you bounce, licking his lips. “Try again when I’m feeling nice. Maybe I’ll buy your bullshit apologies then.”
Sniffling, you grumble, “And when’s that going to be?”
“Dunno.” Toji lifts one shoulder lazily as his hands grip your knees and shoves your legs apart. “Let’s get to orgasm number eight and go from there.”
I imagined that scene from The Shining lol but much less scary, and more ngh!
Summary: A WISE operative is assigned to infiltrate Yuri Briar under the guise of a harmless relationship.
Warnings: Obsessive and controlling behavior (This is Yuri, what else is new), implied imprisonment, handcuffs, mission gone wrong.
Author’s Notes: I was astonished to find out how little yandere fic there is about him.
Yuri Briar.
The name had already circulated through WISE channels. Yuri wasn't just a cog in the Ostanian bureaucracy; he was a wolf in civil servant's clothing, a high-ranking SSS officer masking his teeth behind a desk at the Foreign Ministry.
That was where your assignment began; you didn't like it.
Not the mission—you were no stranger to grim work; you'd done far colder things for far less reason. But this was different. You were being asked to step willingly into the orbit of a man described, with zero hyperbole, as a loose cannon.
"Yuri Briar is... emotionally driven," Loid Forger—known to the agency as Twilight—had noted during the briefing. "Highly loyal and intensely reactive when it comes to personal attachments."
A quieter addition, almost as an afterthought:
"He's sharp."
In the photographs, a man with crimson red eyes caught mid-expression in most of them. There was something restless in the way he held himself, like tension coiled just beneath the surface, waiting for a reason.
A man so dedicated to his cover that his own sister never suspected the SSS badge in his pocket. That was your target. To catch him, you couldn't just be a face in the crowd or a passing neighbor; those were threads he could easily snip. You had to become something permanent that he couldn't simply cut ties with when the wind changed.
"Your task is to insert yourself into his life as a romantic interest," Twilight had instructed, his voice devoid of sentiment. "If he keeps sniffing around me, every one of our active operations is at risk."
"And the secondary objective?"
"Information," he said simply. "His clearance within the SSS is a goldmine. Siphon whatever data you can, but do it quietly."
Of course.
It was never about a direct hit.
Your real past—the one where you grew up in the cold, grey shadows of the Berlint underworld—was now buried under layers of a sunny, slightly clumsy newcomer to his neighborhood and the unassuming archives job.
_
You found him exactly where the file said you would.
It was almost disappointing.
The scene around him was perfectly, boringly normal—the evening sun casting long shadows over a street of unhurried people and idle chatter.
His posture was plain, his clothing forgettable, just like any other face in the Berlint rush hour. Looking at Yuri Briar then, it was terrifyingly easy to believe the lie, that he was nothing more than the unremarkable bureaucrat he pretended to be.
You watched him for a moment, cataloguing the details you'd been told to expect and the ones you hadn't. Then, you approached anyway; hesitation had never once saved anyone in your line of work.
"Excuse me," you said.
His reaction was instantaneous—a pivot that was far too alert for a simple clerk:
"Yes?" he replied.
You forced a small, practiced smile to your lips. "I'm sorry, but you look so familiar. Have we met?"
It was a clumsy hook, one you'd usually be embarrassed to use, but it served its purpose as a non-threatening entry point.
"I doubt it." Yuri didn't bite it, already shifting his attention away.
"I'm sorry, that was incredibly awkward," you said, offering a look that was both sheepish and sincere.
"...Do you do this often?" he asked.
"...Not usually," you said, which was technically true in a way that didn't matter.
He seemed to accept that, if only because it wasn't worth pressing.
"I'm in a hurry," he stated flatly. "If you have business, be direct."
And then, with a slight nod that was more dismissal than courtesy. He moved to brush past you, but you weren't ready to let the thread snap yet.
"Wait—"
"Would you like to go out with me?"
The words slipped out, jarring against the mood. Yuri halted mid-stride. When he turned around, the professional facade had faded, giving way to a sharp gaze filled with suspicion.
"...Absolutely not," he said.
You stared at him, feeling a jolt of pure, unadulterated panic that you were failing. Again. Twilight would have shared a witty story about Ostanian politics, while you're going to get a restraining order.
"Okay, that's fair." You nodded slowly, shifting your weight, then immediately shifted it back, realizing too late that you were fidgeting like a guilty toddler. No wonder they stuck me at this 'low-risk' desk, you thought bitterly. It's obvious WISE sent you on this mission because they were short on staff.
So you decided to double down on the disaster:
"I could just start over, pretend none of that happened."
There was a tiny crease between his eyebrows now. He wasn't even angry yet; he just looked deeply concerned for your mental well-being.
"...It already happened." Yuri blinked; it was a very judgmental blink.
"Yes," you said, with a small, strained smile. "I'm aware. I just meant—we could both agree to ignore it."
"No."
The 'no' hit like a brick, your professional dignity fraying at the edges, seconds away from a total meltdown. But retreat wasn't an option in the WISE handbook—especially not when Yuri was already pivoting to leave.
If he walked now, this disaster of an opening would be all you'd ever have.
"...I think you're interesting," you said.
Yuri stopped dead in his tracks. He didn't respond yet, waiting—perhaps—for whatever strange behavior would come next
"Interesting?" he repeated, his tone flat. "Based on what, exactly?"
"Based on the way you handled that stray cat by the entrance this morning," you said. Since you couldn't pass as a master spy, you leaned hard into the role of a very nosy, very bored neighbor.
"You've been watching me?" His eyes narrowed just slightly.
"I live in 4B," you said. "I moved in last week. My kitchen window overlooks the main entrance, and since the radiator in my unit makes a sound like a dying bird, I spend a lot of time standing by that window and saw you... well, very efficiently negotiating with a tabby for hallway access. It was the most disciplined interaction I've seen all week."
"...That's a strange thing to notice."
"I notice strange things."
Another pause.
He didn't smile, but the predatory edge in his eyes flickered, replaced by a glint of genuine, bewildered intrigue. He'd spent his career dealing with two types of people: terrified suspects and scripted diplomats. You were neither. It was so absurd it was disarming.
"Disciplined," he echoed, a small, huffing sound escaping him that was close to a laugh. "4B, you said? The radiator in 4B has been broken for years; the landlord is a cheapskate. You have to hit the pipe twice with a heavy object to settle the valve."
"Oh, thank you, I'll try that method later," you blinked, letting a look of genuine surprise wash over your face. "I'll go back to my whistling radiator now. Sorry for being the 'weird neighbor' on day seven."
You started to turn away, but you felt the air change. He hadn't moved to leave yet.
"Wait," Yuri said. It was a command, not a request. "If you're going back to that building anyway... it's on my way."
"Oh... right. Yeah, sure," you stammered, your voice higher than usual. "I'd like that. I mean, it would be weird if we both walked in the same direction exactly ten paces apart like two strangers stalking each other, wouldn't it?"
You immediately wanted to swallow your tongue. Stalking? Why on earth did you use the word "stalking" in front of a counter-intelligence officer?!
You fell into step beside him, your heart was drumming against your ribs so hard you were certain Yuri, with his SSS hound-dog ears, could hear it echoing off the surrounding buildings. And you knew deep in your gut that this ten-minute walk was going to be the longest ten minutes of your entire (unimpressive and currently crashing) career at WISE.
"You never answered my question," he said.
You glanced at him. "Which one?"
"Do you do this often?"
"...No," you said again. "Just today."
That, too, was true.
_
Your relationship was nothing more than a series of carefully timed "accidental" run-ins.
You made sure to cross paths with him in the dim hallway or at the front entrance at least once a day. At first, it was just a quick, polite nod as you pretended to be distracted by a heavy bag of groceries or a stack of mail. Slowly, those nods turned into small, clumsy acknowledgments. You'd drop your keys right as he walked by, or offer a shy, tired smile after a long shift at the archives. So he began to return the gestures—a stiff, professional tip of the head or a brief "Good evening."
Then the turning point came when you snapped the valve on your radiator on purpose. Yuri spent the next hour on your floor, sleeves rolled to his elbows, attacking the plumbing. When he finally finished, you handed him a towel and told him he was "the most reliable man in the building," he flushed a deep, embarrassed red.
It's the first time the SSS mask slips.
After the radiator incident, you started small, placing a Tupperware container of cookies left at his door. Then, "running into him" at the local market and asking for his professional opinion on which brand of canned soup.
It wasn't as if he lacked options. Objectively, Yuri Briar was the epitome of Ostanian beauty—sharp, aristocratic features paired with a youthful glow that suggested he still believed in the inherent goodness of the State. He was the kind of man mothers pointed out in the street. At the Ministry, younger female clerks often swooned when he walked by, and you’d seen more than one woman on the street coyly drop a handkerchief in his path.
But there was a reason Yuri Briar was still single.
The girls would stay for the face, but they fled for the personality. By the first day, she would be charmed by his looks. By the second, she’d realize that behind those handsome features sat a man whose only true hobby was a borderline-religious devotion to his sister. By the third, he would inevitably say something so socially tone-deaf or subtly menacing that she’d leave a "it’s not you, it’s me" note and change her phone number.
And if you were being honest, if WISE hadn't been paying your rent and the peace of the East wasn't hanging in the balance, you would have been the first one out the door.
But where every other woman saw a collection of red flags, you had to see an opportunity. So you forced yourself to listen to his hour-long rants about Yor’s cooking as if it were the most fascinating topic in the world, and noted when he mentioned his brother-in-law, Loid, his jaw clenched so hard you feared for his teeth. By absorbing the personality traits that drove everyone else away, you became the only one "cool" enough to handle the real him.
And Yuri, starved for a connection that didn't require him to hide his intensity, fell for the lie hook, line, and sinker.
But he never tell you about his actual job, the most he would say was that his work at the Ministry was "exhausting but noble." He'd lean back on your sofa and vent about how annoying the office paperwork was while you rubbed his shoulders. You feel the tension in his muscles—tension from a man who spent his afternoon in a soundproof room at SSS HQ—but you just hum and tell him how he is working so hard for his country.
The best information never came when Yuri was careful.
Instead of asking about troop movements, you asked about his stressful job. He'd complain about his coworkers being sent on a "long trip to the countryside," and by that night, you'd be sending the location of a secret military exercise back to WISE.
Other times, you'd purposefully spill water near his open briefcase. While you both rushed to clean up the mess, your trained eyes would quickly memorize the logos on his papers or the coded names on his desk calendar, documenting every move he made.
Once a week, you meet Loid in the back of a crowded grocery store or a dim park. You hand him scraps of paper while pretending to check the price of eggs.
"SSS is shifting focus to the eastern docks," you whisper.
Loid's expression remains neutral, but you can tell the Intel is high-grade.
_
Until it started over a bowl of onion soup.
Yuri was sitting across from you, his jacket draped over the chair, looking every bit the weary but happy civil servant. He was in the middle of a rhapsodic praise of your cooking when you let it slip.
"The neighbor in 3C again," you muttered, stirring your bowl. "He cornered me in the hallway this morning. Apparently, my trash bag leaked a drop on the linoleum, and he spent ten minutes screaming at me, threatened to have me evicted by the end of the week."
You watched Yuri over the rim of your spoon. For a fraction of a second, the light in his eyes turned into a void that made hardened criminals weep in SSS interrogation rooms.
Then, the mask snapped back into place. He beamed at you, his expression softening into a look of pure concern. "Oh, how terrible for you!" he exclaimed, reaching across the table to squeeze your hand. "Don't worry yourself. I'm sure the authorities will realize he's just a confused, bitter old man."
The next morning, there was no radio blaring from 3C.
When you left for your "job," you saw two men in nondescript grey overcoats carrying boxes out of the apartment. An official seal had been slapped across the door frame.
"Routine background check," one of the men barked when he saw you lingering. "Inconsistencies in his citizenship filings potentially tie to Westalis. He's been taken in for clarification."
That evening, Yuri arrived with a box of expensive chocolates and a bouquet of lilies. He looked refreshed, almost glowing, as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
"I heard about your neighbor," he said immediately, stepping inside before you could fully register his expression. "That must've been very stressful for you."
He sat at your table, watching you with adoring eyes while you served tea. His hands were pristine—nails trimmed, skin scrubbed clean of the ink and sweat of the office. He looked so appealing, so warm, a perfect picture of Ostanian youth.
"But isn't it wonderful? The neighborhood is finally as peaceful as you deserve," he whispered, his voice dripping with a terrifying, earnest sweetness. "You're the most important thing in the world to me, second only to my sister. I won't let anything disrupt your happiness."
You smiled back, your clumsy neighbor mask perfectly in place, while internally you were already drafting the update to Loid: Target is beginning to use SSS assets to 'sanitize' the Reader's social environment. Subject shows signs of extreme possessiveness.
_
Yuri's clinginess had taken on a feverish quality. He didn't just want to spend time with you; he seemed to want to consume your time. During dinner, he was the picture of appealing warmth, pining for your attention like a puppy, begging for praise just like he did with Yor.
But if you stayed late at your job, he was waiting on your doorstep with a look of pure, unbridled distress, convinced you've been kidnapped or, worse, that you've grown bored of him.
"I was worried," he'd say, his voice soft but his eyes searching your face for the slightest tremor of a lie. "The streets aren't safe these days. I almost called in a... a few favors to come looking for you."
He began to insist on walking you everywhere; he'd hold your hand tightly like he never wants to let go. Every time you laughed at a joke from a male coworker or waved to a stranger, you could feel Yuri's sharp gaze that made the hairs on your neck stand up.
Those times like that, you would curse WISE under your breath.
Nothing—nothing in the training manuals—had prepared you for the absolute, unhinged psychological warfare of Yuri Briar's affection, which was enough to give a seasoned spy whiplash. You cursed the handlers who had handed you this file with a casual "he's a bit intense," and you especially cursed Twilight for that understated "emotionally driven" warning.
The nightmare finally arrived on a Friday evening.
"I told her!" Yuri exclaimed, seizing your shoulders. His grip pinned you in place like a steel shackle. "Sister is overjoyed. She wants to host us for dinner at the Forger apartment this weekend."
Your heart felt like it stopped entirely. The Forger house. The home of Loid Forger—your superior—and his fake family.
"Yuri, isn't it a bit... soon?" you stammered, forcing the awkward smile. "I'm terrified of disappointing her."
"Disappointing her?" Yuri's voice dropped an octave, suddenly low and hauntingly serious. He trailed a hand up to caress your cheek—a gesture meant to be tender. "You are the greatest thing to happen to me after my sister. I want her to finally stop worrying about me."
He tilted his head, his gaze darkening. "Unless... you have a reason for not wanting to meet my family?"
"Of course not," you rushed to say, feeling the cold sweat prickle your skin. "I'm just... nervous."
Yuri instantly brightened, pulling you into a crushing hug. He buried his face in your shoulder, inhaling the scent of your hair with a terrifying intensity. "Don't be. I'll be right there. I'll protect you from that smug husband of hers. I just want the three of us—you, me, and sister—to be happy like this forever."
That night, you sent an emergency coded burst to Loid: "Target requesting family introduction. Direct collision at the Forger residence imminent. Subject exhibiting extreme instability and possessive behavior. Requesting contingency plan."
The air in the Forger apartment was so thick with lies it felt like it might explode.
Loid—or rather, Twilight—stepped forward with a perfectly practiced, friendly smile. Yuri's eyes immediately locked onto him with his usual pure hatred.
"A pleasure to finally meet you," Loid said, extending a hand. "Yuri hasn't stopped talking about his new neighbor."
"Likewise, Dr. Forger," you replied calmly. Your hand touched his for just a second—a quick, professional greeting. Here were two WISE agents shaking hands right in the middle of the enemy's domestic fantasy. No one would have guessed that forty-eight hours ago, you had exchanged coded SSS troop movements in a grocery store.
"Oh, I'm so glad you could come!" Yor chirped, hurrying from the kitchen with a tray. She looked genuinely thrilled, her innocence acting as the only thing keeping the room from feeling like an interrogation cell. "Yuri is so sensitive, I was worried he'd never find someone as kind as you."
"S-SISTER! Don't say such things! Although... kind? Yes! She's very kind!" Yuri interjected, his voice rising with that manic edge. He pulled you closer, his knuckles brushing against your side. "I'm very lucky I found you before someone else did. I'd hate to think of you being 'kind' to anyone but me."
You felt Loid's gaze flicker to you—reading the tension in your shoulders, the way you were leaning slightly away from Yuri's overbearing heat. He saw the "clinginess" you had reported, and for a moment, you saw a flash of genuine concern in his eyes before the doting husband mask locked back into place.
Then, there was Anya, his adopted child.
She was sitting at the table, her fork frozen halfway to her mouth. Her eyes were as wide as dinner plates, darting between you and Loid.
"Anya? Is something wrong?" Yor asked, tilting her head.
"I... I want more cocoa," Anya squeaked, her voice trembling.
"So," Yuri said, his voice dropping into that appealing but dangerous tone as he looked at Loid. "How exactly is the hospital, Loid? Pretending to be busy while my sister does all the heavy lifting at home?"
"I assure you, Yuri, my work is quite demanding. It's a different kind of service to the state."
"Service? Please!" Yuri scoffed, leaning over the table, his face inches from Loid's. "You're a leech, Loid Forger! A leech on my sister's kindness!"
As Yuri continued his frantic, illogical rant—veering from Loid being a loser to the way he cut his steak—you finally understood why Twilight was so desperate for you to join this mission.
The dinner proceeded like a high-stakes chess match. Every time Yuri fed you a bite of food or whispered how much he loved you, you could feel Loid judging you in silence. But then, in a rare quiet moment while Yor was busy getting dessert in the kitchen, the atmosphere shifted abruptly.
"There's one thing that's quite interesting," Yuri said, his voice low and steady, a tone that made Anya drop her spoon onto the floor. "I noticed that you always pause for a beat before answering personal questions."
Your heart seemed to stop. Opposite you, Loid was raising his wine glass to his lips, but you could clearly see his fingers tightening until his veins stood out. It was an elementary mistake—that tiny delay when your brain has to sift through a pile of fake memories to find the right lie.
"When I asked about your hometown, or your mother's old habits..." Yuri tilted his head, his eyes narrowing inquisitively. "That silence lasted about 0.5 seconds. It was as if you were..."
Loid gently set his glass down, preparing for the worst-case scenario. He shot you a cold, warning look.
"Oh, Yuri, I'm sorry," you said, your voice trembling slightly—a genuine tremor you didn't even have to fake. "It's just... sometimes those memories are painful. I told you I don't like talking about my old family, right? It feels like I'm just hurting myself all over again."
You lowered your head, your shoulders shaking slightly. For a moment, Yuri's inner detective fought with his heart, but his obsession won out.
"I'm sorry," Yuri said, immediately becoming frantic as he grabbed your hand, his cold attitude disappearing instantly. "I shouldn't have pushed you like that. It's just... I want to know everything about you, every tiny detail. I don't want there to be any gaps between us."
Anya, who had been holding her breath the entire time, suddenly blurted out: "I... I need to go to the bathroom!" before bolting away.
Loid finally let out an incredibly discreet sigh of relief. The mission was working; Yuri was blissfully unaware of the carefully hidden truths swirling around. But when you spotted the "Secret Police" badge discreetly tucked within the lining of Yuri's coat, you realized exactly how high the stakes had become.
As the dinner ended, Yuri insisted on walking you the tiny distance back to your own door. Your mind raced with questions, each more daunting than the last.
What might happen if Yuri ever found out the truth?
If he discovered that the one person he allowed into his heart—the person who held his secrets and rubbed his shoulders—was the very thing he spent his life hunting. Would your artificial bond withstand such a revelation, or would it shatter completely?
You looked at him out of the corner of your eye as he hummed a tune, seemingly at peace. You knew the SSS dossiers by heart. You knew that Yuri Briar didn't do moderate emotions. In his world, there was no middle ground between total devotion and total destruction. You’d seen how he treated Loid for the mere suspicion of making Yor unhappy. You were certain that when he found out you were a vermin from the West, his reaction wouldn't be just a typical heartbreak. No, it would be a violent outburst, like a loose cannon, and he wouldn't hesitate to break every bone in your hands—the hands that touched his dear sister’s dinner plate.
The air tonight was thick and static. Somewhere a few streets over, a dog barked twice and went silent.
_
It's 11 PM. You were sitting in a shadowed corner of the kitchen, the only light emanating from the tiny screen of a signal decoder. A signal from WISE headquarters was scrolling: "SSS Squad 4 is on the move... Need target confirmation..."
Right then, a faint click echoes from the lock. Your heart stopped. Only one person has a spare key (which he "borrowed" to make a copy, fearing you might have an emergency).
Click.
"Honey? Are you still awake?" Yuri's voice rang out.
In less than a second, your brain kicked into high gear. You can't turn the device off in time because it's in the middle of an automatic data wipe. You scrambled to grab the diary on the table, slamming it down over the decoder, and slumped your head over it as if you'd drifted off from exhaustion.
"Up late again?" he walked in, placing a hand on your shoulder. His hand lingers there, and you can feel your survival instincts screaming as he glances at the pile of items on the table. "What are you writing?"
He reached out, intending to lift the diary. Your heart beats so hard you think it might rattle the wooden table. Right beneath that notebook, the decoder is still emitting tiny beeps—all it would take is for Yuri to lean his ear a few centimeters closer...
So you let out a soft groan, feigning a slow wake-up, and turned to wrap your arms around his waist, pinning the diary firmly under your arm.
"Yuri... you startled me," you said, your voice thick with sleep (and genuine terror). You buried your head against his stomach, physically blocking his view of the table. "I was just trying to plan the next dinner with Yor. I want everything to be perfect..."
Mentioning Yor is always the best way to paralyze Yuri's analytical mind.
"Goodness, you really are..." Yuri exhaled, his suspicion replaced by a touched smile. He strokes your hair, completely oblivious to the decoder finishing its wipe cycle right beneath your elbow. "You don't need to put so much pressure on yourself. She already loves you."
He pulled you onto his lap on the sofa, wrapping you in a crushing, familiar embrace. You could feel his heart thrumming against your back and the sharp, metallic scent of gunpowder on his coat—a smell he always lied and said was "old Ministry paperwork."
"What did you do today?" Yuri whispered, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "I missed you. All day, I could only think about coming back here, back to you."
You offered a practiced, mindless answer about household chores. The diary is lying slightly askew across the table. You felt a surge of pride; you had played him perfectly. The mission was almost done, and Yuri was completely blinded by his own heart.
"I used to wonder why someone like you appeared in my life at exactly the right moment," he said while burying his face in the crook of your neck, his voice low and rich with emotion. "It felt like a miracle. Or like a perfectly calculated plan."
Your heart missed a beat, then you felt something cold and heavy snap shut around your wrists from behind.
You were already handcuffed.
"Don't be so tense," Yuri murmured with a soft, airy chuckle.
He reached the coffee table nearby, slowly and deliberately pulling out the WISE decoder underneath the diary. He set it aside, glancing at it as if it were a harmless toy, before turning his gaze back to you.
"I have to admit. Of all the things I expected to find when I started digging into your life, Westalis was the most… disappointing. I thought you were just keeping secrets, maybe a past lover or a debt. But a Westalian? One of them?"
He turned your face toward him, forcing you to meet his crimson eyes. You braced yourself for his supposed furious outburst, expecting him to scream at you, to call you a traitor, acting out the "reactive" personality Twilight had warned you about and you were aware of. But Yuri was perfectly composed. He didn't even look angry. To your astonishment, you even sensed a hint of tenderness in his eyes, which felt even more unsettling.
"It actually hurt, for a second." He places his hands on your shoulders, his grip firm enough to keep you seated. "The idea that every word you spoke was scripted by some handler at WISE. That the person I was falling for was just a ghost conjured up by the West to weaken me. I’m disappointed in you for being so cliché—and I'm disappointed in myself for being so blind to the stench of the West on your skin."
"A joke? Yuri, this... this isn't funny," you said, forcing a nervous, high-pitched laugh that sounded thin even to your own ears. You twisted your wrists slightly, letting the metal rattle against your skin. "Is this some kind of roleplay? Because it's a little too realistic."
You tried to keep your expression wide and confused, the picture of a bewildered girlfriend. You even managed a tiny, playful pout, leaning back against his chest.
"This is just an old radio part I found at the market... for the radiator! You know how it screeches." You looked at him with watery eyes, praying that if you just acted innocent enough, his obsession would override his training one last time. "Come on, Yuri. Take them off. It's hurting me, and we still have to finish planning your sister's dessert, remember?"
"The radiator," he repeated softly, and he tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear. "You really are committed to the bit, aren't you? It's almost a shame. I was starting to hope you'd be honest with me, just once, before I have to take you into the office."
You stopped struggling. The rattling of the handcuffs died away, leaving only the sound of the ticking clock on the wall. You let out a long, shaky breath and leaned your forehead against his, closing your eyes.
"Fine," you whispered, feigning a cracking voice. "You caught me. It was a mission. It was all a calculation from the very start."
You felt his hand pause in your hair, but he didn't pull away. You opened your eyes, looking directly into that crimson gaze, and forced a false tear to slip down your cheek.
"But Yuri... the radiator? The tea? The way I wait by the window, not for the 'cats,' but because I'm terrified you won't come home from one of those night shifts? WISE didn't teach me how to feel that. I was supposed to trap you, but I'm the one who ended up caught. I love you. Please, if you're going to take me in, just... stay like this for one more minute."
For a second, the mask of the SSS officer seemed to crumble completely.
Yuri's breath hitched, and his eyes softened with a look of pure, agonizing relief. He pulled you into a desperate, bone-crushing hug, burying his face in your shoulder.
"I knew it," he now looked like the man who fixed your radiator—the man who loved his sister, the man who was lonely. "Don't cry. Please, don't cry. You were just doing what you were told, weren't you? I've already imagined this a thousand times—finding out who you really are and finding a way to keep you anyway. The way you looked at me... it couldn't have been part of the job. It was real. You’re real. Thank God, you’re real."
He leaned in, his lips brushing your forehead in what felt like a forgiving kiss.
"Hold still," he murmurs. His tone is the same one he used when fixing your radiator.
The chain between the cuffs shifts with a soft clink as he turns your hands slightly, inspecting the angle. His fingers brush over the reddened skin where the metal has already begun to chafe.
"…They’re too tight," he said quietly, more like to himself than to you. "You always did have small wrists. I noticed it the first time I saw you—how fragile you looked. I should have accounted for that in the hardware."
"Please, Yuri, you don’t have to do this," you breathed.
Yuri ignored your plea. He adjusted the position so the edge no longer ground against bone. Air returned to your wrists in a slow, aching rush. “That's better, I don’t like seeing you in pain,”
"Yuri, look at me," you pressed, hoping to touch upon his soft side. "If you ever cared about the time we spent together... just let me go."
He looked up then, his gaze unreadable. His hand brushed past the ring of keys, and for one heartbeat of pure, blinding hope, you thought you'd won.
Then, his hand dropped back into his pocket.
In one smooth, practiced motion, he clicked the device into a port on a small, black recorder he'd been hiding under his coat. He spoke into it with a flat, robotic voice:
For a second I really had hope he would release us😭 How can someone be so obsessed but so work determined at the same time. He could be planning a whole wedding while she is literally in prison and call it love
Content: As a kid, all Sukuna ever really wanted was to be around you. He did just that for 10 years, only to spend the next 7 years wondering why you just stopped picking up the phone one day [tw: MDNI, angst/comfort/smuț, porņ with plot, friends to enemies(?) to lovers, uncle!sukuna, mentions of depression and low self esteem, sukuna's tongue is pierced, so is his 🍆, nıpple sucking, humpıng, óral (f receiving), fıngering, squırtıng, dacryphılia, matıng press] word count: 15k
Sukuna isn’t the type to hold on to promises, especially one made in elementary school. But, he never would’ve thought that you’d break it like that.
The promise? That you’d be each other's best friends until the day you died. Looking back, it might be a little dramatic, but you were eight years old— all eight year olds are dramatic.
Exactly how did you break said promise?
You ghosted him.
You fucking ghosted him.
You were friends for over a decade and the moment you went off to college, poof— gone! You stopped calling, stopped texting, deleted all your socials. It was as if you had never even existed and that you were just a figment of the man’s imagination.
Now that’s dramatic.
He’s texted and called you multiple times, no response. He’s asked mutual friends, they never got a response either. It got to a point where he had finally had it and texted your mother. You could only imagine how hurt he was when she told him you were doing just fine, and not that you were missing or in a coma.
He’d never admit it, though.
The years came and went. The hurt he once felt inevitably dulled. Yet, you always managed to linger around in the back of his mind, like a little ghost haunting him.
To this day, he still has no idea what he did wrong. You may have ghosted everybody, but he wasn’t just anybody. If anyone deserved an explanation, it was him.
He still cares for you, sorta, but it’s been so long, he’s not sure if he’d even want to reconnect with you. Not with how you just dropped him like that.
. . . . . .
“Are you excited?”
“No,” you respond a little too flatly for Ieiri, who shoots you the look right after. “Ugh, I’m sorry. It’s just been forever since I’ve seen everyone.”
She sighs, redirecting her attention back on the road— there’s not much to look at. Most people stay home on gloomy Sunday afternoons.
The GPS says you’re nine minutes away from your destination, making you remind yourself once more to relax. Though, you really wish you could be one of those people staying in right now. Cuddled up on the couch, watching a movie.
Ieiri taps her finger on the steering wheel. “It’s like what I said—”
What didn’t she say?
She held you hostage on the phone for over an hour last weekend, threatening and bribing, and then threatening you again if you didn’t go with her to Kento’s surprise birthday party.
You thought you had a good argument at the time.
“Do you realize how annoying that sounds? Kento doesn’t even like surprises, could you imagine how irritated he’d be if I just randomly popped up, too?”
“If you were Satoru? Yes. You? Doubt it. If anything, he’d probably like the distraction from it.”
“Yeah– probably,” you murmured.
“Can you please get out of your fucking head for once?” she scoffed. “Yeah, it’s been years since you’ve seen everyone, but it’s not like it’s because of a falling out. I don’t know where you got this weird idea that they hate you now because of it. It was them who told me to bring you!”
“Who’s them?” you stubbornly responded.
“Suguru, Satoru, Yuki, Choso— even Toji said something about bringing Megumi so you could see him.”
As much as you’d love to meet his kid, it would also be another reminder of all the years that’ve passed— how everyone moved on with their lives. Getting married, buying homes, having children, starting families.
The most you’ve done is get the job. You’d include the condo if you actually got to enjoy it, but it’s been a year since you bought it and you haven’t even bothered furnishing the place despite all the money you've saved up for it. The last thing you want to do after work is look at a screen and make more decisions. Deciding between color palettes and aesthetics, deciding on what decor and accents you want— it all sounded exhausting. Hiring an interior designer was an option. Except, you barely want to talk to a stranger, let alone work with one.
It’s too many decisions to be made for someone that didn’t want to make them. You often wonder if you’ve simply just become someone that couldn’t make them.
You’re well aware of the things that are wrong with you, but it didn’t make it any less surprising. You, paralyzed by choices and options?
The people who knew you professionally would laugh. Hard. Any sense of certainty that could be felt in the air almost always emanated from you. You were decisive. Sharp as hell— honed to perfection. Someone that was more than capable of a task as menial as filling a space full of items they liked.
You know what you like, don’t you?
No, not really.
You are sharp, there’s no doubt about it. It’s what your boss favors you for, and sure, one could say you’re valuable to the company, too. It’s a nice feeling for a while.
Then you realize there is quite literally nothing more subjective than the value of something.
Luckily, you are very useful. It was simply a fact, and every single one of your quarterly reviews solidified it. A coworker, or god forbid a client, could spend an entire hour talking shit about you, and they’d eventually reach the point where they’d have to backtrack with a little ‘well’ or ‘however’, before giving credit where it was due.
The devil works hard and you stole his pitchfork. Ripped it right out of his hands, because apparently, you needed it more than him to become the youngest portfolio manager the company’s ever seen.
Who cares about the value of something when you need it? Mr. Yaga claims to hate black tea, but leave him out in the desert long enough and he’d easily drink gallons of it.
Having you at the company isn’t a matter of life or death, there’s thousands of others out there that are more than qualified for your role. More than half probably had resumes twice as long as yours, too.
But for Yaga, there is no guarantee that day to day operations would run this smoothly, ever again.
You may be a little blunt. At times, impatient. But in a world full of sexual harassment allegations and sleezy managers abusing their power, not once has there ever been a formal complaint made against you. You’re not always like that either, you’re great with the clients and stakeholders.
It’s a talent, really— remembering all the personal details people tell you, like childhood stories, the places they’ve vacationed to, a spouse's birthday month that was briefly mentioned months ago. It makes people feel special.
It was very handy, too. Especially in the case where the company might deal with someone that isn’t likely to give them their hard-earned money or signature. Your job was to either sweet talk or gaslight. No arguing needed.
Yaga may have not preferred you at first. You were essentially a kid compared to the people that applied for the position.
The plan was to let you down easily, tell you to keep working hard and you’ll eventually get there. You were already lucky enough to have your foot in the door as an employee.
Yaga had a list of goals he wanted to reach before his retirement, though. Any of the other candidates would’ve helped with that, but none would've given him the opportunity to make a second list and cross that off as well.
The decision took months.
In that time, he realized a few things.
One, he spent his entire adult life playing it safe, which is an obvious sign of fearing growth. You’re not sure who taught him that, but at least he realized it was okay to start over and try something new. It was like a rebrand for him and he embraced that the “new” him craved more profit and welcomed different approaches.
The different approaches being, finding more aggressive people because they bring in the money quicker.
He never saw you as aggressive, though. He never saw you at all, actually. It wasn’t personal, those under 30 usually come and go, so he didn’t see much of a point in remembering names. What he did see, when he finally opened his eyes, was efficiency.
You were straight forward in a way that saved time, had an air about you that screamed “don’t ask me how my day’s going or what I have planned for after work”, yet approachable enough for work related questions. Stellar reports, received every quarterly and year-end bonus. Sharp.
Making you one of the managers meant he could wield you like a weapon, now you are the one he uses the most. You had the salary to prove it, yet no time or energy to enjoy it.
You’re respected. The young interns, the girls in particular, look up to you more often than not. Eyes bright and filled with ambition. Romanticizing everything, from how much coffee you drink, all the way to your style that they labeled as “effortless”. They’re not wrong, it is effortless— always some variant of trousers, a t-shirt, heels, and a long coat. They’re never planned, yet they somehow always manage to work thanks to the lack of color in your wardrobe.
You overheard your lack of jewelry and unpainted nails being appreciated once for how “clean” you look. All you could think of was the girl that used to do her hair and paint her own nails at one point. Except for the ones on her right hand. She saved that job for her best friend who surprisingly had a steady hand, despite complaints flying out of his mouth the entire time. Even on the days he gave in and painted his own nails black, he’d find something to be grumpy and complain about.
It was always you choosing whose house to hang out at, which movies to watch, what places to grab food from. He was a big brat whose favorite answer to most questions was an inaudible ‘I dunno’ from the way he’d mumble it. So, you always led the way.
Now it’s you mumbling that same exact ‘I dunno’ when you’re all alone.
You’re tired. Worn out. If you were a blade, you end each day dull and chipped. Nobody sees it, not even those young girls with all the time they’ve spent studying you, blinded by their own dreams and aspirations to be just as important, not knowing the difference between being valuable and useful.
Maybe it’s better off that way.
Who were you to try to burst their bubbles when you never had dreams or aspirations to begin with? Your eyes were never as bright as theirs— not as a student, not as an intern, and definitely not as a new hire.
You never had a spark to begin with, what makes you think they’d eventually lose theirs?
Maybe you were the unlucky one here.
You were the one whose head went under water after one bad semester, after all. Even now, years later, it still feels like you’re stuck in the deep end while everyone else has moved on.
Toji chose to get married and have a kid.
You can’t even choose yourself on most days.
“You have arrived at your destination.”
Fuck. You have a hard time believing the GPS was that loud when it was telling Ieiri which exit to take and where to turn.
Her lips thin into a reassuring smile as she makes the final turn into the apartment building’s parking garage, and you fail to return it as you take a deep breath. Ieiri doesn’t say anything this time, figuring you’ll probably just have to see everyone's excitement for yourself to realize this wasn’t a pity invite. It’ll settle half of your nerves.
The other half should settle itself with time and a drink. Several drinks, honestly. She did the best she could with telling everyone that what you pulled during your second year of college was 100% a you thing and to not talk about it unless you brought it up. Which you probably won’t— everyone will understand. No one wants to talk about being in a dark place when they haven’t fully left it.
One moment, you’re sitting in the passenger seat with your seat belt still buckled. Next, your chest is tightening as you watch her open the door to Satoru’s apartment. There’s already chattering, which stops once she announces your guys’ arrival.
You barely get the chance to look around before Suguru’s peaking his head out of the kitchen to see if you really did show up and lets out a laugh once he sees that you did. It was light and airy, the kind that’s accompanied by the warm feeling that you should get in your chest when seeing an old friend.
He’s obviously changed, it’s been 7 years. Yet, he never lost that quality that managed to make people a little more comfortable.
“Hey stranger.”
Your lips thin into a shy smile, “Hey.”
“Well?” Suguru asks, holding his arms out. “I know it’s been ages but there’s no need to be shy.”
“Sorry,” you murmur, stepping forward and accepting the hug.
He lets out another laugh. “Don’t be— it’s nice to see you.”
“Where’s mine?!”
You easily recognize the offended, slightly childish tone. You slowly turn your head around to see a slightly less lanky Satoru. Aside from getting some much needed meat on his bones, he doesn’t seem to have changed much. He’s still as unserious as ever, still wears sunglasses indoors like an asshole.
Ieiri stood back the entire time, sipping on a drink she had already managed to make, patting herself on the back as she watched her little plan run smoothly: Show up early and let you build some confidence from awkwardly greeting the old friends you shared together one by one.
It’s funny, you told her that they’d eventually move on to talking to the friends they made after you, but they all seemed more interested in circling back to you, whether it be handing you a shot or introducing you to a new face.
If there was one burden she wishes she could take from you, it’d be the burden that has you walking through the world as if you were everyone’s last choice.
Today should be enough to prove that.
“Yeah, no— at this point, fuck Nanami and his birthday. This is a better surprise.” Satoru throws an arm over you, slightly swaying from the shots he’s already taken. “Pfft– he doesn’t even like his birthday. I’m sure he’d be happier to see her, too—”
“He’s coming up the elevator,” Suguru cuts him off.
“SHIT! EVERYBODY SHUT THE FUCK UP AND HIDE,” Satoru suddenly yells, as if he weren’t just talking shit just seconds ago.
No one would be surprised if Kento heard him yelling at everyone like that, and given how hesitant of a knock there was at the door. The blonde probably already knows there’s something up.
Suguru goes to open the door, and the moment he opens his mouth to greet him, there’s a loud wave of people yelling ‘SURPRISE’ behind him, with Satoru saying it a split second sooner than anyone else did.
Kento’s eye slightly twitches. Half surprised, half irritated. He fucking hates surprises and knows that’s the only reason why Satoru decided to throw him one. Before a complaint can leave his mouth, Ieiri hands him an old fashion. He tries to speak again, but gets interrupted once more when she tells him who’s here.
At first he scoffs, already having enough of people of fucking with him today.
“No, I’m serious!” she swears, looking around trying to see where you were at, eventually catching a glimpse of your head in the kitchen. “There she is— come say hi.”
Ieiri grabs his wrist and pulls him through the living room and into the kitchen, where you, Yuki, and Choso were talking. She turns back to look at Kento, who’s already surprised by her rare display of excitement, as she gestures towards you.
“See? Surprise!”
“Yeah, surprise!!” Yuki says right after.
“Holy shit.” Kento rarely curses, but finds himself unable to come up with better words. “It’s been ages!”
“I know!” You try to sound more apologetic, but ultimately fail from the nice buzz you had going on. “Happy birthday!”
And for once, he’s a little less uptight about it when he gives you a hug and says his thanks. It was a nice surprise, he had to admit. If only Satoru didn’t have to ruin the moment with the way he barged into the kitchen with some stupid, frilly party hat in hand, begging Kento to put it on.
“I said no!”
“C’mon, Nanamin!” Satoru whines, taking a step forward each time the blonde takes a step back. “You’re not getting any younger.”
“I don’t want to get any younger— I’m a grown man, and so are you. Maybe you should start acting like one.”
“I do! I’m just fun,” he continues to pester him, ignoring everything Kento mumbles under his breath.
You end up excusing yourself to use the restroom, somewhat bummed you couldn’t stick around longer to watch them bicker some more. You’re sure it went on for a while, though, unaware of how it was cut short when Shoko grabs Satoru by the arm.
He hisses at how tight of a grip she has on him, fingers digging into his skin as she pulls him aside.
“What is your problem?!” he asks through a clenched jaw.
“Sukuna’s here?!”
“Yeah?” He tries and fails to free himself from her grip as he answers. “I thought it’d be a nice surprise!”
She looks at him like he’s stupid, nails continuing to dig into his flesh. “A nice surprise? He fucking hates her. I wouldn’t have brought her here if I knew he was coming!”
“Ow ow ow— No he doesn’t?! Do you actually believe that?!” he groans in between each sentence.
“Yes! He says it every time someone brings her up!”
“Ow ffuck! You know how dramatic he can be sometimes— fuck, Shoko, please, you’re breaking skin.”
“You deserve it!” she responds in a clipped tone, despite finally letting go.
“Jesus Christ— you can’t just assault people like that,” he pouts, rubbing his arm. “It’ll be fine! It’s been years, he can’t hold a grudge that long.”
. . . . . .
Sukuna can absolutely hold a grudge that long.
Except, he was staring at said grudge like some fucking loser, and had to remind himself that it was still alive and well.
At first he thought you were just one of Satoru’s new friends as you walked through the living room, shyly making your way around everyone, but then you just so conveniently looked up in his direction.
His eyes nearly widened.
And yours actually did, looking as guilty as you should be.
The longer you two stood there, looking at each other from across the room in shock, the guilt you had in your eyes started to fade. He was sure everyone else welcomed you back with open arms, and in turn got irritated because you probably thought he’d do the same. So before you could even think to take a step in his direction, he wiped the shock off his face and replaced it with a look that’s able to make even grown men turn around and walk the other way.
Which is exactly what you did, stomach slowly twisting into a tight knot as you immediately began to replay the death glare he gave you over and over in your head.
Sukuna didn’t stay long and left shortly after. Not without pretending like he didn’t know you when he said goodbye to everyone, including Kento, who he never even got the chance to say hi to in the first place.
Shoko didn’t think that was enough to have a complete 180 in your mood. She then realized you were already quiet before that. You also decided to stay in the kitchen, where there was a wall in between you and him.
So yeah, she blames Sukuna.
“Are you sure he didn’t say anything to you?” Ieiri asked one last time as she pulled up to your apartment building.
“Nah— my stomach just started to hurt. I don’t drink alcohol that much.”
She still didn’t believe you, not with how big of an asshole Sukuna can be, which is why a certain someone got an earful over the phone the moment you got out of the car. He barely got a word out while she threw nothing but insults and threats so specific his way, that he had begun to believe them.
Of course Satoru felt bad! He didn’t want you to disappear again for another seven years and have it be all of his fault. So, he gives Sukuna a call, continuing the cycle of abuse started by Shoko.
The phone rings three times. Sukuna never finishes saying hello before Satoru tries to grill him. “Alright, what did you say to her?”
“Who the fuck are you even talking about right now?”
Sukuna knows exactly who he’s talking about, Satoru can just see his face crinkling in fake disgust over the accusation because he’s just a bullshiter at the end of the day.
“Shoko thinks you said something to her— she said she was acting all weird and shit when she came back from the bathroom.”
“She’s already fuckin’ weird,” Sukuna scoffs.
“So you did see her before you walked into the kitchen to say bye?”
“Yeah, I saw her. Doesn’t mean I said anything to her though, you fuckin’ moron.”
Satoru sighs and rubs his temple, knowing he probably looked at you like he wanted to skin you alive.
“What? Is looking at her a crime now?”
“With the way you look at people? It should be.” It’s clearly not the first time Sukuna’s managed to simply offend someone his face with the way it comes out as a complaint on Satoru’s end.
“Why do you even care?”
“Don’t turn this back around on me?!”
“Then quit trying to grill me over the way I look at people. Seriously— she comes back and you all are fuckin’ babying her like she’s some victim. It’s not that serious.”
“Well Shoko—”
“Shoko can fuck off.” Sukuna cuts him off. “Don’t bother me about something stupid like this again. If she can’t handle someone looking at her in a way that she doesn’t like, maybe she should stay home and lock herself in her fuckin’ room.”
“I– she already did!” he tries to come to your defense. “Shoko won’t tell me much, but she was going through it for years. She probably still is! She doesn’t go out at all. I tried telling you before and you wouldn’t listen.”
There’s a long pause before a disappointed sigh could be heard. Satoru could tell it was directed towards himself instead of you. “She was going through it, so she locked herself in a room for years?”
“Not literally,” he scoffs. “Look, all I know is she was dealing with depression and now she’s all anti-social because of it.”
“She should’ve fuckin’ said something then.”
“Well, she fuckin’ didn’t.”
“That’s–”
“If that’s an opinion, it doesn’t matter,” he cuts the man off, starting to grow impatient. Satoru has adhd— the severe, annoying kind. There’s only so much he could handle before getting the violent urge to scream out random noises. “I’m just gonna give you her number so you can talk to her if you want. Who knows, she might even open up to you more since you were the one closest to her.”
“I don’t want her n—”
“YES YOU DO.” Satoru yells, leaving Sukuna more appalled than annoyed. “I just sent it. BYE.”
click.
Sukuna glares at his phone for a moment as if it were an extension of Satoru, convinced he was dropped as a child or something and just doesn’t know it. He knows he definitely wouldn’t tell his kid if he dropped them as a baby.
He relaxes his tensed brows and shakes his head as he pulls up the number Satoru sent. For some reason, he expected it to be your old number that he still somehow knew by heart.
He hates that he remembers it.
He also hates that the actual reason why you disappeared isn’t as dumb and selfish as he wanted it to be.
. . . . . .
In the three weeks he’s had your number, he hasn’t tried reaching out. He also hasn’t accepted any invitations to hang out with anyone as a group, despite being told that you were okay with him showing up. Part of it was spite, the rest being him genuinely tired from work.
His old man’s been taking more time off under the guise of letting him ‘take over for the day’. He acts so gracious with it, too, as if Sukuna should be thankful for the opportunity, when really, Wasuke should just fucking retire already so he can hire someone else to take his place as site manager. He’s essentially working two jobs now and when he asked for a raise, that old piece of shit laughed so hard that he damn near coughed up fifty years worth of cigarette tar.
You’d think watching his father nearly hack up an entire lung would be enough to make him quit smoking himself, but that shit pissed him off so bad that he smoked three cigarettes in a row just to calm down before going back to work. It still pisses him off. He doesn’t regret taking $50 out of that old man's wallet on his way out to cover his gas for the day. He honestly should’ve taken more.
It’s been months since he’s gotten home at a decent time. Tonight was probably the worst thus far.
He drags his feet into his apartment and kicks off his boots, heavy eyes landing on the clock that’s two minutes away from 10:00 pm.
The next ten minutes are spent shoveling leftovers into his mouth, followed by a hot shower that was mainly spent just standing there, zoning out as the hot water hit his back. It’s been days since he’s jacked off, realizing it doesn’t even give him the urge, his sex drives plummeted all the way down to hell. He just wants to sleep at this point.
Except when his head hits the pillow, he’s wide awake. It doesn’t help that he ends up scrolling through instagram— there was hardly a point for someone that barely followed anyone to begin with.
There’s not much to scroll through. The most interesting thing being a recent post of Suguru’s night. He absentmindedly looks through them, then pauses at the 4th photo of you and Shoko with your little drinks in hand.
You were barely smiling.
Your lips curved just enough for the camera— nothing like the photos of you from before, grinning and laughing. That’s how he’s always remembered you.
Would it have even made a difference if he told you not to move so far away for school? It’s not like he could’ve known, you never said anything. He thought you were doing just fine and you deleted everything one day and changed your number.
He taps the photo to see who’s tagged. Just Shoko. You still haven’t gotten back on social media, no profile to see what you’ve been up to. All he knows about you is that you moved back to the area after graduation and scored a cozy finance job without telling anyone. The only reason why you got in touch with Shoko again was because she ran into you at some bakery and made you give her your number.
It didn’t even matter if you did have a new phone with no contacts by the time you moved back. You didn’t need to text him or call him, you could’ve just shown up. Sure, he might’ve been annoyed at first, but he wouldn’t have turned you away.
You’ve known each other since 8 years old, you disappeared at 19. That’s his whole childhood right there. You played together, ate lunch together, walked to school together until he got a car, ditched school together. You had your own shampoo and toothbrush at his and would just use his clothes if you didn’t have a spare set with you.
It’s just dumb.
Still thinking about it, that is. It’s been years. It may have been fine to still be thinking about it at 21 or 22, but now it’s just ridiculous.
. . . . . .
You aren’t expecting Sukuna to warm up any time soon. At all, really. You couldn’t blame him for the reaction he had seeing you at Kento’s birthday. If there was one person that deserved an explanation, it was him, and you’re just about seven years too late for that.
He wasn’t the same person you knew. You couldn’t just go up to him expecting that you’d get to have a conversation. A civil one, at least.
It’s been years.
And honesty, it might not even be about being several years too late. He’s a grown man, why would he care about a childhood friend that just up and left?
All there’s left to do now is to stay out of his way. You’re sure his temper’s the same and the last thing you want is to bug him. Hopefully being at a kids birthday party shields you from it in the case that you accidentally do. From what you heard, he seems close enough with Toji to know not to fuck with his sons special day.
It’s not all bad. Toji couldn’t come to Kento’s birthday since his wife and son woke up sick that day, so you were more excited than nervous for today since you’d get to meet them.
This time it was you that picked up Ieiri. You felt a little guilty for being the one that constantly got rides, despite having a running car of your own. Once you two got to the little park in their neighborhood, everyone was already there, including Sukuna, who was stuck having to watch his nephew that you’ve heard about through Choso.
The biggest plot twist of all was probably learning that Jin is now technically Choso’s stepfather. You knew Choso had a teen mom, you didn’t know she was that young, though. You also had no idea how much of a milf hunter Jin was, either.
Jin apparently didn’t know that was Choso’s mother. No one believes him, especially not Sukuna, who still looks at two like they’re a couple of fucking sickos for making him Choso’s step-uncle.
The kid’s name is Yuji, and he looks just like Jin and Sukuna when they were kids. He’s the same age as Toji’s son, who’s turning 3 today. Yuji acts nothing like his father or his uncle. Jin was always quiet and sensitive. Sukuna was sensitive, too, but he was always very vocal about the things that annoyed him. The toddler was more like Gojo, hopped up on sugar and bouncing off the walls.
Sukuna calls out to him like an angry mother at a grocery store, gritting his teeth as he tells the kid to, “get your ass over here, NOW,” all while Yuji pretends not to hear or see him…. up until Sukuna gets up from the bench, which is when the little boy decides to run back to him, whining about how he’s sorry and how he didn’t know.
Megumi’s more quiet and follows Yuji around. He even ran back to Sukuna with the boy, worried that his friend's uncle was going to leave him at the park too, even though his father was at the grill just a few feet away.
Watching the two boys play is adorable, but you try not to look too much in an attempt to avoid making eye contact with the grumpy uncle, which ends up becoming more difficult than you’d imagined. The kid eventually wore him out to the point where he managed to slip out his view.
Yuji didn't go very far.
“...es’cuse me?”
You feel a little tug at your shorts and look down to find an incredibly worried Yuji, who should’ve gone to an adult he knew, but here he was after quickly deciding you were the trusted adult for whatever problem he had.
“What’s wrong?” You crouch down, getting at eye level. “Are you okay?”
“No,” he shakes his head, pointing to his feet. “I donno how to tie my shoes.”
“You don’t?” you ask, sounding just as concerned. “Do you want me to tie them for you?”
He pouts. “Yes, please.”
Your heart melts at his little voice. “Aw, okay.”
Like any other kid, Yuji’s amazed at how fast adults can tie shoelaces, unable to keep up with the strings crossing and looping around each other to create the little bow at the end.
“Yay!” He claps his hands, jumping in excitement. “We can play again, Gumi!”
Megumi thinks to celebrate with his friend, but closes his mouth right after opening it.
Then you’re startled by a scoff made directly behind you. “You make a stranger tie your shoes and you can’t even say thank you?”
The last to freeze is Yuji, who side-eyes him, rather than turning to face him. “Um.. ya I did..”
“No you didn’t?!” The toddler's ability to lie over something so simple amazes and offends the man at the same time. Does Yuji seriously think he’s that stupid? “I watched you lie about not knowing how to tie your shoes and then I watched you try to run off with even thanking her.”
“I donno how to tie my shoe!” Yuji stomps a foot on the ground to prove whatever point he thought he was making.
“Yes, you do— now thank her, before I take your shoes away.”
“Oh no, not my shoes!”
“Yeah. Bye bye, shoes.” Sukuna snorts, clearly enjoying this. “You’re a big boy now, remember? You don’t need them.”
“Yes, I do!” Yuji whines.
“Then have some manners and say thank you.” Sukuna continues to glare at the kid while pointing at you.
“Thank you for tying my shoe,” Yuji tightly grabs the bottom of his t-shirt with both hands and bows at you, then turns to his uncle and starts whimpering. “Don’t eat my shoes, Unkakuna! I need them!”
Sukuna’s even more annoyed now at how specific that was. “Who said I was gonna eat them?!”
“I dunno! You eat everything!” Yuji claims, bottom lip quivering and all, making his uncle's eye twitch in disbelief. “It’s all stuck in your big belly.”
Sukuna’s face drops, as if he didn’t see a 6-pack in the mirror this morning with his own eyes.
“I don't have a goddamn belly,” he scolds him through a clenched jaw, then lowers his tone as he begins to crouch down. “Do you want me to hit your Papa Jin?”
“No!!!”
“Then quit acting like I eat everything in sight, you little shit.”
Yuji scratches the back of his head as he continues to whine, trying to force a couple tears out. Eventually he turns to you. “He’s gonna hit my papa with his big belly.”
“Uh-oh. That's not nice,” you begin to laugh, all while Sukuna grumbles something about Jin being the one with love handles.
“Papa gonna cry,” he claims, continuing to act distraught over the news, trying to get all the sympathy he can from you. “My poor papa.”
You giggle. “I don’t think he’ll hit your papa, though.”
“He’s gonna EAT my papa!” Yuji stretches his arms out, emphasizing how big of a meal that would be for Sukuna. As if it couldn't get any worse, Yuji finds a random basketball and tries to stuff it under his shirt. “Then his belly will be big like THIS.”
“Stop it,” Sukuna snaps, pointing off into the distance behind the kid. “Get out of here before I barbecue you on that grill Mr. Toji’s using.”
“Hey!” Yuji gasps. “You can’t do that!”
“You can barbecue anything when you have barbecue sauce, Yuji.” he informs the kid, then notices a mortified Megumi standing off to the side. “You’re next.”
“DAAAADDDDYYYYYYYY.”
The boys run to Toji at full speed. Yuji thinks it’s a game, but Megumi’s genuinely scared, sobbing as his father picks him. His dad’s obviously confused as to why his son’s crying like someone threatened to kill him. Once Megumi’s able to actually get a full sentence out as he points right as Sukuna.
If Megumi thought he was going to receive any sort of comfort from his father, he was dead wrong. Toji bursts out laughing and doesn’t stop, even when Megumi starts screaming and hitting him for not being more concerned over something so dire.
“Megumi says you’re not allowed to have any cake,” Toji yells out.
“I’m taking Yuji home if I don’t get a slice.”
Sukuna’s response has the two boys whining in the distance.
“NO barbecue me.” Megumi glares as he tries to strike a deal with the most difficult person he’s encountered so far in his short, yet stressful life.
“Give me three slices and I won’t barbecue you.”
“But Unkukuna, you’re belly!” Yuji rounds his arms out in front of him, emphasizing how detrimental those extra calories would be for his physique.
Everyone grows quiet as Sukuna stares him down, wondering who the fuck even taught him that. Whoever it was better pray to god that he doesn’t find out.
“I’m not gonna be your uncle anymore if you keep talking about my belly.”
Yuji reaches out in despair as he screams, “NOOO.”
“No? You don’t want that?” he asks, fighting back a smile.
Yuji throws his back dramatically, shaking his head. “NO.”
“That’s what I thought,” he barks, not bothering to hide how proud breaking Yuji down with a singular sentence made him. “Now ZIP IT.”
“KAY’.”
Yuji looks away for a moment to take a deep breath, trying to calm down, all while sneaking little peeks at Sukuna.
He quickly looks away after seeing that his uncle’s staring at him, then peeks again. It happens several times, yet his uncle hasn’t moved a muscle once as he continues to just look at the boy like he’s better than him.
What kind of a sick game is this?
Naturally, he grows irritated knowing Sukuna is winning whatever game this is, which isn’t fair since he’s already going to have three slices of cake later. Even one slice was pushing it, to tell you the truth. He was too young to put into words why it pissed him off. All he knows is watching Sukuna enjoy good things, that are meant for good people, will never sit right with his spirit.
By the time Sukuna decided to stop staring at the kid as a form of psychological warfare, you had already been awkwardly standing there for quite some time, unsure if you should leave or not. It was either look rude or look too comfortable, neither of which you wanted to come off as.
Sukuna wasn’t mad at you anymore. At least not since Gojo called and told him you were and still are dealing with some mental health stuff.
He wasn’t planning on talking to you today, either, purely because he didn’t believe he should have to apologize for giving someone a harmless look. But then he caught Yuji trying to get your attention and figured it would’ve been fine since 2 minutes with him would make anyone want to choose peace for the next hour.
You couldn’t tell what he was thinking when your eyes finally met his, but at least he wasn’t giving you that same disgusted look you got at Nanami’s birthday.
You weren’t the best at starting conversations outside of work, though, and quickly embarrassed yourself with how bad you stuttered while trying to find something to say, which ended up being an apology for tying the kids' shoe.
In turn, Sukuna looked at you like you were a fucking weirdo.
“What? No, it’s— that’s fine,” he waves a hand, still thrown off by the apology. “He just goes around annoying anybody he can.”
“Oh– don’t worry, he didn’t annoy me. He's adorable.”
You suppress a laugh as he shoots you a look saying he’s anything but that.
“He’s a pain in the ass,” he grumbles, already rubbing his eyes from how tired he is. “We passed around a baseball for an hour before coming here and he’s still running around trying to convince people that I’m a fatass.”
He has to be at least 200 pounds of pure muscle and has the ass of a baseball player, so you neither confirm nor deny the words out of fear that you’d make yourself look stupid again. “He probably just likes your attention.”
“That’s the problem— he’s probably taken 10 years off my life already because of it,” he smiles a little, obviously more fond of the kid that he lets on.
You avert your gaze as you find yourself smiling as well. “His poor parents.”
“They have good life insurance, he’ll be set.”
“Oh, I'm sure,” you laugh with him until it dies down into another awkward silence. You’ve barely looked at him and try not to think too much about it after the realization. Having a conversation with him was surprising enough. Difficult on your end, too, but you pushed yourself. “How’ve your dad and Jin been?”
“Jin’s been good, he’s—” he huffs out a laugh, “you know he went and made Choso his fuckin’ stepson right?” He openly points at Choso, not very worried about getting caught.
“Yeah,” you nod, just as surprised by it, more so by the fact that Choso and Yuji and brothers.
“Well. He’s still going strong with Kaori. Just bought a house,” he struggles to list things worth sharing— aside from the mommy kink, his brother’s pretty boring. Sukuna quickly moves on to Wasuke, who he has no issue talking about. “Old man’s driving me nuts. Says he wants to retire, instead he just takes a bunch of days off and pretends he’s doing me a favor by letting me play boss while he’s gone, so now I’m doing my job and his.”
“You’re working for the company?”
He sighs deeply. “Yeah.”
It pains him to say, remembering all that talk about him wanting ‘something of his own’ when he was younger. Now here he is, set to take over daddy’s company.
“I mean… it’s already there,” you try to offer some words of reassurance, being the one that heard most of the said talk. “All you have to do is maintain it once it’s yours.”
“Exactly,” his tone changes, less ashamed of pulling the nepo baby card. “I’m not tryna work any harder than I should at this point.”
“Does he pay you extra on the days he’s off, at least?”
“Fuck no.” He laughs, even though there is nothing funny about being exploited at his grown age. “Yeah— nope— he works me like a fuckin’ dog.”
Hence why he’s been helping himself to whatever cash is in the old man’s wallet and whatever food he has in his pantry when he visits. He makes good money to begin with, so it’s not like he can’t afford any of it, it’s just the principal.
He’ll take Wasuke’s toilet paper, too.
That old man has one year to either give him a raise or retire completely before couches and T.V.s start to go missing.
“Old man’s been good, though… still kickin’,” he mutters, then stops himself before saying something really fucked up, “What’ve you been up to?”
You shrug as you let out an indecisive hum, knowing you didn’t have much to share. “Nothing really— work usually has me pretty busy.”
He’s well aware of how boring of a life you have, but still tries to push for more details. “Yeah? Suguru says you’re in finance now.”
“Mhm,” you nod, growing shy, “portfolio manager.”
“You spend the day telling people what to do now?” he asks as if he were almost impressed.
“Not really,” you laugh. “A lot of it’s research, reporting, meeting with clients, I— yeah, I mainly just take care of more of the sensitive stuff. If my manager hat’s on, it’s usually just collecting reports from the other managers or figuring out what’s going on with their teams if they’re not performing the way they need to.”
He nearly barks out a laugh.
You look at him with confusion. “What?”
“So instead of managing a bunch of people, you just terrorize their managers?”
“I don’t terrorize them,” you murmur, shifting in place. “It’s their job to make sure that their teams are performing well and if they aren’t—”
“You ask them why they aren’t doing their jobs,” he finishes your sentence with an amused grin. “Then they sit there for the next hour, trying to come up with an answer for that.”
You pause for a moment, wondering if he has to do the same. “Well— kind of.”
You don’t have time to sit there and listen for an hour, nor do you want to. The longest one went just over twenty minutes before you had to stop her.
“Listen, Linda— I,” you stopped to think twice about what you were going to say, “I’m just asking why there’s been a dip in the performance, I really don’t need an entire life story for that. Why don’t we take a few steps back— how has your team been?”
“Well… uhm… well… they…” You nodded, thinking it’d encourage her, and it did, but 5 minutes later she went off course to talk about her failing marriage, again. “And then Dave, he—”
“Is Dave a new hire?”
Her eyes dried right up. “No… Dave is my husband.”
You knew damn well who Dave was, but she was starting to get on your nerves.
“Okay, let’s talk about your team right now… this is about work— Dave doesn’t work here.” You tried your best to be patient with her, but it was like teaching a kindergartener how to self regulate. “I wanna know things like how everyone’s been mentally— are they eating, are they getting enough sleep, are they taking their breaks? Are they having to work through them?”
She didn’t know. She just wanted to give you a sob story so you’d let her off the hook. So, when she mentioned Dave a third time:
“This isn’t working,” you murmur to yourself as you turn to your computer and start typing. “I’m going to make a little worksheet for everyone, including you. Think of it as a peer review. You’ll have one for each team member and each team member will have one for you. I think that’ll be an easier way to get to the bottom of things.”
Instead of excusing herself, she stares at you like a deer in headlights.
“There’s no need to wait on me by the way, I’ll have them emailed out to everyone within the next hour.”
On the rare occasion that you do have to ask performance related questions, you send them the same exact worksheet so they have an idea of what you wanted to talk about— which is the only part you mention to Sukuna. He’d probably accuse you of terrorizing Linda when you know you could’ve been ten times worse.
You’re just glad he didn’t ask about any of the other stuff you had to do.
Sometimes you wished you spent your days in Linda’s professional shoes— god forbid you ever had to deal with a man like Dave. Her job was less demanding than yours. More human. Working with others and collaborating with them must be great in terms of keeping you grounded— normal people, that is.
You wouldn’t consider any of the people you answer to now as normal. The stakeholders, clients, the higher ups, Yaga— they’re all fucking crazy. You couldn’t just pretend like they were normal, you had to match their energy and in some cases, you had to be worse to finish whatever job you were tasked to do, which drove you closer to their territory with each day that passed.
“Do you like it there?” Sukuna looks at you and asks, tone fond and filled with warmth, as if he were proud of you.
In the same moment you realize that you were only fooling yourself earlier when you tried to believe that he hated you.
You wish you could turn back time by just a few seconds to change the subject. You didn’t want to answer a question that he clearly wanted a yes to— you’re sure it’d make him feel better about knowing you chose to spend all those years alone, when you had someone would’ve easily stayed by your side.
You grew stiff, eyes glossing at the question because you hated the real answer to it.
“Not really,” you murmur, almost ashamed to admit it. “That’s kinda how I feel about most things, though.”
It was true. You don’t even know why you’re wishing for a job like Linda’s, you always came off as cold and hardly spoke to others before the big promotion.
He didn’t know what to say to that, he wasn’t even sure if there were any words you could give to someone as apathetic as you sounded when answering. It’s not like he was the type to offer anything encouraging to begin with. Instead, he stayed quiet, comfortable in the silence as he let his own mind run free for a bit.
Just as you were starting to think you made him uncomfortable—
“Did anyone have to drag you here today?” he asks.
“No.”
“So you chose to come to soot sprites' birthday?” he asks, as judgmental as ever.
You smile. “I did.”
He gently rests his hand on top of your head, leaving you with a familiar sense of comfort as he leaned in. “You’re not doing too bad then.”
“Uncle-Kunaaaaaaa!” The man looks up to see his nephew sprinting towards him. “My tummy growling!!”
“This kid’s always coming up with the most extra ways to say things,” he mutters under his breath as he pulls away. “So you’re hungry?”
Yuji slows down the closer he gets, until he’s skipping towards the man. “Yeah. Mr. Toji says he make chicken sticks.”
Sukuna looks at Yuji the way he always does whenever the kid decides to rename something. “You mean skewers?”
“Yeah, chicken sticks,” Yuji nods, confidently repeating himself, because Sukuna was obviously wrong, even though Toji said skewers, too. Both men obviously don’t know what they’re talking about.
The man actually looked to you for help, and given how it’s an issue between a 3 year old rage baiter and a grown man that will make time to argue with a child, you decide to stay out of it.
“That sounds yummy,” you say to Yuji, and you could feel Sukuna glaring at you for not even bothering to call them skewers, too. “You guys should probably grab some before Suguru arrives, he loves chicken and leftovers.”
Sukuna lets out a mixture of a scoff and a laugh since it’s true, but if anyone’s taking those skewers home, it’s him.
Which is why he lets Yuji start to pull him away to get some.
. . .
Getting to talk to you more, after being pulled away from Yuji, hardly counted since it was with groups of other people.
Luckily for Sukuna, your car’s parked right next to his and you’re leaving at the same time he’s trying to get the little brat in his car seat. He’s half asleep and won’t let go— each time he physically tries to pry Yuji off of him, he does this weird muted scream.
He’s about 2.5 seconds away from wrestling this kid when he hears someone.
“Bye.”
It comes off as a little unnatural, but it’s in more of an awkward ‘I don’t know if I should say goodbye to you right now’ way.
Sukuna turns around. “Oh, wait—”
His hand slides into his pocket, only to find it empty, then realizes it’s in the pocket of his jacket. The side where Yuji’s on and won’t leave. You stay in the place the whole time, wondering if he’s aware of how funny he looks grumbling to himself as he checks all his other pockets.
He eventually finds his business card, then rolls his eyes after realizing he’s about to give you a business card, because he’d rather not tell you he already has your number. To add salt to injury, he didn’t even need to pull his phone out, because the goal was to give you his number.
“Here.” He hands the semi-decent card over for you to take, surprised it’s not more broken down since he’s always leaving them in his pockets, even when he’s throwing his clothes in the washer. “You don’t have to of course, but feel free to reach out if you’re interested in catching up sometime over lunch or something.”
“Yeah, that’d be nice.” You look at the card, flipping it over a couple times. “Um… I don’t actually… need this, though.”
He stares at you for a moment, wondering if it was just some pathetic, last minute excuse to turn him down.
“I already have it,” you shyly admit, handing the card back to him as if it were better off going to someone else. “Satoru gave it to me a couple weeks ago. I just wasn’t sure if you wanted to hear from me.”
“Fair enough.” He shrugs, reluctant to say more— he might be down to catch up, but he’s still not apologizing for his face. “Shoot me a text sometime, then. I wouldn’t mind.”
“Yeah, I will.” You smile a little, trying to hide a bit of the excitement that was starting to bubble up. “Alright, well— it was nice seeing you.”
“Yeah, you too.”
. . . . . .
‘You’re not doing too bad.’
It took around 3 months after the words left Sukuna’s mouth to actually start believing them.
It’s not like your life was crazy interesting now. It just slowly started to fill up with things you looked forward to over time. Whether it be hanging out with others or simply sitting in your living room with a latte you took your time making. Your apartment started to feel more like a home with each new addition you added to it. You were nowhere near done, but you found yourself enjoying the process of casually looking through items and randomly falling in love with different ones.
The newest addition was a painting you saw a year ago and decided not to buy, despite how much you loved it. You stood in that gallery for over an hour, convincing yourself that it would never get that much attention from you again once you took it home. You were convinced that it’d find a way to collect dust in a space that felt as sterile as yours, and left it for someone that had a home where it wouldn’t.
You found it again in a consignment store with a big coffee stain on the side of the canvas. The person who ended up buying it probably got rid of the moment it spilled. They didn’t even bother hanging it up, and most likely had it on some counter before the accident happened. By the time you got to it, it was collecting dust with dozens of other paintings leaned against the wall since they weren’t good enough to be hung up.
You paid less than a quarter of it was originally worth, but a part of you thinks you would’ve purchased it for its original price if it meant you got to take it home. You’ve thought about it nearly everyday since you stepped out of that pristine gallery, after all.
Sukuna stared at it for a while before hanging it up. You can’t remember how the conversation started, but he came over and put it up for you after finding out you were going to do it yourself, claiming you didn’t have the right tools. You probably don’t.
It wasn’t until the canvas was up on the wall when he finally asked the question you had been expecting to get after you caught him looking at it funny.
“That brown stuff on the bottom corner is a part of the whole thing, right?”
“Nope.”
He just stood there and continued staring at the damn thing with you, waiting silently for an explanation that he soon realized he’d never get on his own.
“Are coffee stains some new trend I don’t know about?”
He was dead serious. It was almost funny how he couldn’t believe that you’d just buy something that was stained like that.
“Nope, not a trend.”
He continued to stare at you, so utterly confused as to why you want that thing hung up on your wall when you could just walk into one of those art shops and buy a new one. It’s not like you couldn’t afford it, he’s seen some of the shit you own and you’re clearly not bothered by commas on a price tag.
You eventually told him the story. He probably still didn’t get it, but that didn’t really matter.
“How cute,” he says rather boredly, wondering why you couldn’t just tell him that in the first place. “You didn’t buy it for more than 50% of its price, right?”
You shoot him an annoyed look. “I spent almost an entire year sulking over it, do you seriously think the price of it matters at this point? I wanted it.”
“You probably ended up cursing the damn thing so no one else could have it. People don’t usually spill coffee on paintings.” he says, starting to laugh the longer he thought about it.
You don’t laugh with him, but he does catch the proud look on your face as you walk away, just happy to have it. He walks after you with another question in mind, hoping now was an okay time since he always forgets.
“Mind me asking why you’re just now starting to furnish the place?”
You shrug. “I was just always too tired to get out of bed. If it wasn’t for work, I wasn’t getting up,” you remind him. “Too many choices to make, too. I’d get overwhelmed and stop looking for stuff.”
“Yeah, there’s a lotta shit out there,” he murmurs, helping himself to one of the white claws in your fridge.
The can cracks open and he takes a sip, looking over your living room that’s become a bit more filled in since the first time he came over to help you put your couch together. The place was so empty that he automatically assumed you had recently moved in.
He’s been helpful since Megumi’s birthday— at least he tries to be.
It never feels forced, most of the time it’s just him asking if you wanna come along to a place he was already going to, just to get you out of the house.
He also asks how you’re actually doing, a lot— figuring you were just someone that needed some extra support, given how one lonely, difficult semester made you isolate yourself to the point where you started to believe you weren’t worth missing.
Once, he almost asked how you could’ve ever put him into that category. He loved you, both platonically and not platonically. But he never asked, the past is the past and that’s probably just how it is when someone’s spirit’s in the dumps.
He’s far from a therapist and never has any advice to give, but he was surprisingly good at getting you out of your head— pull you back to reality, without the reality check. You’ve obviously had more than enough of them. It’s why he doesn’t bother being harsh with you, at all. Even during the times he’s come off as more straightforward, you don’t feel any judgement or malice behind his words. The last thing he wanted was to say or do something that made you think you couldn’t give him a call.
It’s probably why you’re so comfortable with having him come over and why you don’t mind telling him certain things, like the fact that you spent most of your free time sleeping at one point. He never bats an eye. He just wants to be around you, like he’s always had.
“Summers’ coming up. Getting anything for the balcony?” he asks, nodding in the direction of its doors.
You turn your head, looking over at the empty space. “What would I even get?”
He’s mid-sip when you ask, but hums in acknowledgment. “Some seating, a little table, maybe a fire pit if you’re feeling extra crazy.”
You fight back a smile, “Oh? Thanks, asshole.”
“You might be a grandma, but I never said there’s nothing wrong with it.”
“I’m trying not to be, okay.” You give him the finger as you walk to the fridge, hoping he didn’t take the last seltzer. Seconds later you’re cracking one open yourself.
He chuckles at the little pout you get on your face when you’re offended. “I’m just fuckin’ with you— you’re fine.”
“I guess,” you murmur, leaving him in the kitchen to go take a seat on the couch.
He trails behind you, leaving enough space between the two of you as he takes a seat on the couch he nearly lost his mind trying to put together. The instructions were in a language so uncommon that most people go about their lives without knowing about it.
“What do you mean you guess?”
“I don’t know,” you murmur. “Kinda feel guilty for all the years I lost, I wish I could get them back.”
“I bet,” he leans back in his seat. “You ever considered making more time for yourself, now?”
“What do you mean?”
“Taking some time off. Could be a week, could be a couple months. You could even try working part time for a little. You have a savings, I’m sure you could get away with taking a break.”
“Oh— yeah, I have actually. The company has really good benefits, though. It’s kinda why I haven’t even tried to leave,” you turn towards him, leaning against the arm rest as you hug your knees. “I’ve been considering asking for a demotion, though.”
You’re not quite sure how Yaga would handle that. You’ve been coming up with different ideas all month— a hybrid schedule, switching to a 4 day work week, maybe leaving early some days, a demotion. You’re sure taking on another role would have its own difficulties, but it’d be easy to handle compared to all you do now. The workload you have really should be split between two people, maybe even three.
“That’d definitely be a lot less work,” he remarks, still shocked at all the shit he has you do.
“A lot less— I’m hoping Yaga agrees to one of them. If not, I might just find some place else. I could probably take a few months off then. Free time does sound nice.”
“Yeah you could sleep in, hang out with anyone who’s free, find a hobby, go on a date—“
His last suggestion gets shut down with a laugh. “Yeah, right.”
“What?” he smirks.
“I suck at dating,” you inform him. “I don’t even know how to anymore.”
He snorts. “That’s a little dramatic, no?”
“It’s true— last time I went on one was three years ago.”
He raises his brows, then flatly asks, “Three?”
“Don’t judge me,” you grumble.
“M’not. It’s just— 3 years of completely nothing?”
“God— obviously.” You hide your face in embarrassment. “You are judging me right now.”
“I’m not,” he laughs, taking another sip. “Just a long time to go without having someone take care of you.”
"Well I slept through most of it anyway so I'm fine,” you roll your eyes, annoyed at how he’d even make a joke like that when he knows you can support yourself just fine without anyone’s help.
“You’re awake right now, though.”
“So?” you scoff.
“I can take care of you, if you want,” he offers.
“Not funny,” you murmur, just about ready to kick his ass out.
At first, he’s confused as to why his little offer had you that offended. Then after a minute, it clicks. Since you refuse to look at him, you miss the amused grin on his face after realizing you two are thinking about two entirely separate things in terms of ‘being taken care of’.
You only finally look at him when he gets up from where he’s sitting and there’s a shit eating smirk on his face, making you think he’s just being a dick and leaving.
Then he takes a seat right next to you, leg just barely brushing against yours.
“What are you d—”
“I think you’re a little confused here,” he says a little too calmly, throwing his arm over the backrest and leaning in way too close.
“Listen, I looked forward to hanging up that painting of yours all day, same goes for all the other stuff I’ve helped you out with.” You feel your cheeks start to warm as a result of the low, honeyed tone he’s using on you. “I really like helping you. It makes you a little happier, and with all the assholes I have to deal with everyday, it makes my day a lot better. So, why not just let me do a little more?”
“I don’t— what are you even talking about right now?” Your words come out all nervous and jumbled, failing to stay calm from how close this guy is.
“I’m talking about all the times I’ve caught you looking at my dick print.”
Your eyes widen in horror and he laughs.
“Yeah, you’re not slick,” he tucks some hair behind your ear and leans in closer. “C’mon— you’re not even at work right now and your mind’s still all over the place trying to find stuff to be stressed about. Aren’t you tired?”
Your heart pounds against your chest as you hesitate to answer. “I mean— yeah.”
“Let me fuck you then,” he murmurs, tracing the backs of his fingers down your arm. “You won’t have to think about anything, won’t have to do anything— just gotta take it. Super easy. Sounds fun, huh?”
“I… I don’t know,” you just barely whisper, shifting in your seat from all the nerves, looking like a deer in headlights.
“I think you do know.” He continues to toy with you as he waits for you to say anything else. Surprise: you never do.
“I’ll stop if you tell me to.”
You look like you’re about to have a panic attack and it’s adorable. “Stop what?”
“This.” He smiles, pressing a soft kiss right under your ear, humming against your skin, not missing the way it makes your breath hitch. Then he presses another one on your jaw, then another, getting closer to your lips and pulling back right before he does, meeting your glazed over, half lidded eyes.
He snakes a hand around the back of your neck and pulls you in, making your lips meet his. The first kiss is slow and gentle, letting you warm up to it. You put your legs down trying to get closer, not expecting for it to grow more heated, too.
An arm wraps around your waist and you're being pulled in to straddle his lap. His big hands roam around your hips and ass as you start to full on make out, grinding you down against something long and hard until you’re desperately panting against each other.
He gives your ass one last squeeze before finding the bottom of your shirt and pulling it up over your head, rushing to unclip your bra and tossing it in whichever direction the shirt went. A soft gasp slips through your lips once you feel the wet heat of his pierced tongue drag a slow stripe over your nipple, not thinking much about the way Sukuna smiled at you afterwards.
You should’ve braced yourself for the level of greed you were about to experience.
Many minutes later, your tits are covered in spit and you’re failing to bite back moans out of self preservation.
And it’s fucking hard.
Sukuna’s groaning and dragging a heavy tongue over each nipple 1, 2, 3, 4 times before wrapping his lips around them and starts sucking. He goes back and forth between each, pulling away with a wet, lewd pop before moving on to the next. At first, he’d replace his mouth with his fingers— rubbing, rolling, and pinching on the sensitive bud so it’s not completely neglected while he works on the other one.
They’re now firmly planted on your hips, because apparently he needs the extra friction. So now your shorts are soaked through and you’re trying not to cum as he continues to push you down back and forth against his cock.
Your fingers are digging into his shoulders, the moans you’re struggling to bite back come out as whines and the one thing that actually pulls one out of you is when Sukuna’s palm cracks down on your ass.
“Come here.”
He pulls you in by the back of your neck and swallows all the little sounds you try not to make with a kiss messier than the last.
The air's hot and heavy once he breaks it. A small string of saliva hangs on and then breaks as you pull away, already looking like a mess while trying to catch your breath.
“Bed?”
“Yeah,” you nod, sounding more desperate.
“Thought so,” he stifles out a laugh as he suddenly gets up, easily taking you with him as he makes the short walk to your bedroom.
He sets you down on the mattress before pulling his shirt over his head. The buckle of his belt lightly clinks as he undoes it to take his pants off, leaving just his boxers on that leave little room for imagination. He leans forward, hooking his fingers over the waistband of your soaked fucking shorts, taking them off along with your panties in one go.
You don’t even get the opportunity to be shy around Sukuna because he's immediately grabbing the backs of your thighs and letting out a low whistle while pulling them apart to get a good look at how wet you already are.
“Shit— look at you,” he groans.
Without warning, he dips his head down in between your thighs, and he licks a long, fat stripe up your slit, not missing the extra friction from the metal ball on his tongue. There’s a shit eating smirk on his face when his head comes up, teasing you as he pushes you back further up the bed to make more room for himself.
“Told you this was fun.”
“Shut up.” You giggle as you watch him get settled back in between your thighs, only for it to die out once he dips his head back down.
He draws a long sigh out of you once he starts to slowly lap at your sensitive clit. He goes at an unhurried pace, just barely using any pressure and you’re sure he’s just doing it to fuck with you. With the way you are right now, the lazily licks are fucking torture, making you squirm around while you clench around nothing.
The more you move, the tighter his grip around the back of your thighs gets, until you find yourself pinned in place as he finally starts to pick up the pace, adding more pressure until that metal ball starts swiping across your clit like you need it to. You focus on it, until it gets ripped away once you finally feel his tongue press flat against your hole and begins dragging heavy stripes up to your clit.
Your breathing grows sharp and uneven, hand moving down to his head, locking strands of hair in between your fingers as drawn out moans start spilling past your lips. He goes from pressing his tongue against your entrance to pushing past it, dipping further and further until deciding to just stay there and fuck you with it.
The shallow thrusts have you squeezing and clenching, back arching off the bed, desperate for more. You nearly let out a pathetic cry when he pulls away, but then he fills the empty space right back up with not one, but two of his fingers. They’re long and thick, and he’s curling them in. The pads of his fingers rub right up against that spot inside that has you seeing stars.
Through half-lidded eyes, you watch as he starts to pump them in and out faster, until a light squelch can be heard. “Oh fuuuck.”
“You like my fingers?” he asks with a low, amused hum.
You nod. “Feels so good— oh my god.”
“I bet— look at how fuckin’ soaked they are from you.” He pulls them all the way out for you to see, then stuffs them back in. He starts curling faster, thumb pressing your clit and rubbing little circles until you’re clenching and whining. “Yeahh— that’s it, show me how good that feels.”
He keeps hitting your sweet spot until something in you shifts, making you close your legs out of instinct, only for him to keep them open so he can keep going.
“Oh my god— fuck— wait!” you cry out.
“What’s wrong, baby? Gonna cum?” Instead of letting up, he goes faster, letting the room continue to fill up with the filthy sounds of his fingers scissoring into your cunt, pushing you over the edge until you give him what he wants.
And he gets it quick. You let out a sharp cry as you gush around him, finally cumming after holding it in from earlier.
“Fuuck yeah, there you go,” he rasps, fingers slowing down as he works you through it.
He waits for you to catch your breath before leaning forward and kissing you a couple times, humming with each one.
“Tired or you wanna keep goin’?” he asks.
You’re still trying to catch your breath as you answer. “Yeah, keep going.”
“Atta girl.”
He pushes himself off the bed to take the boxers off and your eyes widen at his cock that’s bigger than you originally thought it’d be. It springs out of his boxers with multiple piercings and precum smeared all over his darkened red tip.
And of course, you stare for longer than you should.
“You alright?” he asks, sounding cocky as hell, and actually having the right to be.
Taking your eyes off feels impossible— 3 rows of barbells on the underside of his shaft right below his tip, and another one on the underside of his tip. It almost feels wrong, he’s already long and thick.
“Yeah— I just— holy shit.”
“I know.” He says with full confidence as he gets back on the bed and situating himself in between your legs. “Gonna be fun watching you take it.”
He grabs the backs of your knees and spreads your legs further apart, getting a better look at how wet you still are, fighting back a smile knowing it’s from him.
He gives his cock a couple pumps, then looks at you, not sure whether you’re excited or nervous. “You ready?”
You look at him, then back down to the absolute monster he has in his hand, then back up at him.
“Mhm.”
He stares at you for a few seconds, then casually shrugs. “Alright.”
You’ll get used to it.
He runs the head of his cock through your slick folds, tapping it over your clit a couple times, making you a bit more nervous after feeling the cold metal ball from his piercing nudging at your entrance.
He pushes in, and you both have the same reaction to how easy it slides in despite how tight of a fit it was. You take in a sharp breath as he starts to sink in, inch by inch, with no resistance, all while feeling an immediate stretch and the added friction from each piercing.
Once he’s halfway through, he slowly starts to rock his hips back and forth and you find yourself having to bite back on a moan, realizing those piercings were also rubbing back and forth against your walls.
“You doin’ okay?” he raises a brow, clearly enjoying the sight.
“You’re so fucking big,” it almost sounds like a complaint.
“I am,” he hums, leaning down and caging you in with his arms. “I’m gonna push the rest in.”
“How much is there left?”
“You’ll be fine.”
He thrusts right in and you're letting out a shattered gasp. At the same time, he’s humming in satisfaction since he got to watch the whole thing.
“Fuckin’ tight,” he murmurs, giving you a moment to get used to how stuffed you are, stealing a few kisses while he’s at it since he’s not entirely an asshole. “Remember what I said, all you gotta do is take it.”
You don’t get a chance to respond before he’s pulling out all the way and sliding back in, working up a pace as he stuffs you over and over again, dragging those small metal balls right over the spot that made your toes curl.
It still took you a little bit of time getting used to him though, all words dying at your throat once he started to actually fuck you like it was nothing. Feeling betrayed by your body for letting him stretch you so easily like this.
Each drive of his cock has you moaning and gasping, making you cover your mouth trying to hold them in— something he did not like since he pushed your hand away.
Then without warning, he shoves two fingers in your mouth.
“Mmmh— you look good with my fingers shoved in your mouth like this. Now suck.”
You do as he says, swirling your tongue around his digit a few times before he presses them down it, making you softly moan as you sucked on them. He pulls them out with a wet pop and starts muttering in your ear.
“Don’t cover that pretty little mouth again, alright?”
Thrust.
“Fuck— okay,” you whine back.
“Good girl.” He gives you another rough thrust, pulling another choked noise out of you. “Don’t try to hold out on me thinkin’ snot and tears are gonna turn me off, cry on it if you have to. I like it ugly.”
At first you wanted to cry from how fucking mean that was, only to realize that urge to cry may have just been from that one spot he wouldn’t stop hitting, which eventually stopped being overwhelming once you finally get used to him.
“See? That wasn’t so bad now, was it?” he asks, though it was more of a condescending remark rather than a question. “Bet this feels good now, huh?”
“It’s been a while,” you say in an attempt to defend yourself.
“Yeah, no kidding— pussy’s fuckin’ tight,” he says all smug, getting harder at just the thought. “Feels good like this.”
He brings your legs together and throws them over his broad shoulders. Moans start to spill out of your mouth the moment he starts hitting at an angle that manages to hit your clit too. His hips crack against your ass as he picks up the pace, slick spreading past your thighs as he pounds down deeper, bed steadily rocking from all the force behind each thrust.
“Shit— look at how much of a mess you made,” he groans once the wet squelch between you becomes unavoidably louder. “Did you squirt or somethin’? You’re fuckin’ soaked.”
“No. I don’t— nghh— who cares, just keep going.”
He looks at you in amusement, keeping the same pace as he pushes further back against your legs to go deeper, making you nearly squeal. “Is this what’s got you lying about squirting?”
“I didn’t squirt,” you say with an airy laugh. “Fuuck— just feels good.”
“Right,” he mutters slowly as he pushes back against you even more, slowing down until he’s just grinding against you. “What about this?”
It’s a full blown mating press at this point.
“Mhm— yeahh.” Your lips curl into a small smile. “Better, actually.”
“Good,” he hums.
He leans down to press his lips against yours while slowly picking up the pace again, soaking up all the sighs and soft moans he pulls out of you from the deep strokes of his cock, letting the base of it rub against your clit while his tip mushes against that special little spot inside.
The slow, lazy kisses go on for as long as they can, and for you, it’s when your teeth threaten to clash against each other each time his hips snap against you. By then, Sukuna’s going harder. He pulls all the way back, then drives back in— the force behind each thrust growing greater than the last.
“F-fuck— Kuna, that’s—”
“What? Too much?”
“No, no— keep going,” you damn near start pleading with him, feeling a little bit of pressure start build. “Don’t stop— please, I think I’m gonna—“
Your cunt stretches helplessly around him, feeling every inch and vein he stuffs into you over and over again as he fucks you with reckless abandon. The sight’s nothing but obscene as he fills the room with the sounds of him pounding you senseless.
“What’s wrong, baby?” he asks, honeyed and condescending. “Can’t take it?”
“I don’t– fuck– I don’t know.” Your words are cut off by sharp sudden gasps, feeling something unfamiliar build up. It’s not until he gives you one particularly rough thrust when tears start streaming down your cheeks.
“You poor thing.” If you hadn’t known any better, he sounded quite pleased with himself. He leans down to lick a fresh tear streaming down your cheek before going back to business. “Look at you, getting fucked so good that it’s making you cry. You’re probably close, aren’t ya?”
You take in a sharp breath, wondering how bad it would be if you did. You already thought you came. Instead, Sukuna’s right and he’s letting one of your legs back down, leaning in close and cradling your head while he continues to absolutely ruin you.
“Cum for me,” he murmurs. His fingers trail down to your clit and starts rubbing over it with just the perfect amount of pressure, making clenching like fucking crazy. “Thaaat’s it— c’mon. Give it to me.”
He drags his heavy cock all the way out with a wet schlick, then slams back in— again and again and again— pushing you over the edge until your nails are digging into his back and you’re breaking out into a cry.
You’re gushing around his cock and he keeps drilling into you like he’s trying to work as much as he can out of you— just powering through it. This is the hardest you’ve ever cum in your life, you’re fucking sobbing and he’s just encouraging it with the way he licks a stripe up your cheek, groaning about how fucking hot you look crying on his cock.
“Oh my g-god— I-I can’t— ffuck it’s too much—” your nails start to claw down his back as he drives you into overstimulation.
“I know— I’m so fuckin’ close,” he husks out, and you can tell he’s not entirely all here anymore. “Shhiittt almost there— keep squeezing me like that, baby— yeahh just like that,” his hips desperately slam into you, deep groans start to rumble out of his chest as he chases his own relief. “Fuck— ffuuck.”
He lets out the most drawn out guttural groan once it hits him. He slams in, burying his cock deep inside of you and flooding your walls with so much cum that it starts to spill out while he grinds every last drop of it out.
He pulls out but keeps you caged in underneath you, pressing lazy kisses against your lips with short uneven breaths in between, skin damp and glistening from sweat. It takes a moment to come back to reality, and for someone that doesn’t even know where to start, you’re surprisingly comfortable with the silence between you.
It eventually ends, though. You’re the first to break it.
“Did you still want me to go out on those dates you were talking about?”
Immediately he lets out a breathy laugh. “If you don’t mind me trying to fight them, then sure.”
. . . . . .
Six Months Later
You walk step inside Sukuna’s office, giddier than usual with the small pink cake you bought after handing in your resignation letter to Yaga. His feet are kicked up on the cherry oak wood desk and you doubt he’s doing anything work related. But he’s the boss, who’s going to yell at him? He does sit up straight once he sees you, though, ready to hear the news.
Unfortunately, he doesn’t get to hear it right away since you just had to look at the wall shelves and catch sight of something that wiped the smile off your face.
“Why is Yuji’s face crossed off in that photo?”
He rolls his eyes, “don’t worry, it’s whiteboard marker.”
“But why would you do that?” you continue to interrogate Sukuna, because unlucky for him, you two are the best of friends now.
Jin visited him earlier today and brought Yuji along. He started off the visit strong by pointing to Sukuna and asking his father ‘Does Uncle have a reezding hairline, too?’ and eventually took a look at the protein snacks he had in the corner, which made him look Sukuna up and down, and go “you eat too much.”
Sukuna rubs his temple as he grows annoyed again. “He called me fat and bald, so I told him we weren’t family anymore and crossed his face out to prove it.”
Despite the words that come out of Yuji’s mouth, the kid loves him in all of his grumpiness.
“So you made him cry?”
Yuji cried so hard that started dry heaving and nearly threw up. “No,” he grimaces. “He just pouted and said sorry.”
You look at him rather suspiciously as you grab a couple forks from his little snack station in the corner, but let it go this time.
He takes your silence as an opportunity to change the subject completely. “How’d your boss take the news?”
“Oh my god, he was distraught,” you reveal, still surprised over how panicked he looked when you turned in your resignation letter.
He waves a dismissive hand, believing it’s the least he deserved for not trying to meet you halfway when trying to cut some of your hours down and refusing to demote you.
“You’ll forget all about it after sleeping in tomorrow,” he reassures you before taking his first bite of cake.
“Yeah— I,” you give a nervous laugh, “okay, so about that.”
He stops chewing and just stares at you.
“I’m gonna stay with them.”
“What?” he almost snaps. “We’re going on vacation in a few weeks. I— what the fuck? What did you get a fuckin’ cake for then?!”
“We’re still going! He’s giving me that time off.”
“How charitable of him.” He snorts out a bitter laugh, then goes back to be mad. “I thought you hated that fuckin’ place?!”
“I did! But he offered to shorten my hours and said I could work from home.”
That piece of information does nothing for Sukuna, who is grumbling profanities under his breath, acting like he’s the one being forced to stay there. His words start going in one ear and out the other after telling yourself he’ll get it eventually, and take a bite out of the victory cake since you also got a small raise, despite the decrease in hours.
“Are you listening?”
“What?” you look up and ask, still chewing on the food.
“Tch– nothing.” Sukuna takes his aggression out on the cake by stabbing the damn thing when getting more. “He shoulda’ given you all that before you tried to quit if you were that important. Hell— he shouldn’t have dumped all that work on you in the first place.”
“He’s a greedy old man that’s hungry for money,” you remind him. “What else would you expect from him?”
Sukuna’s delusional and does this thing where he just assumes the world sees you the same way he does, and then when it doesn’t, he gets offended. Last week at the grocery store, someone reached for the produce in front of you and he snapped at them for not saying excuse me. Then he snapped at them again for not having any patience, given how you would’ve eventually moved.
“Whatever,” he gets up from his seat to grab a water from the mini-fridge and takes a sip, but before sitting back down, he stops next to you and gets at eye level. “If Mr. Crabs calls you while we’re gone, I’m ripping that phone out of your hand and cussing him the fuck out, you hear me?”
You suppress a laugh. “Loud and clear.”
“Good,” he says, stealing a quick kiss from you. “Proud of you.”
The sincerity in his tone pulls a smile out of you. “Thanks.”
He glances at the door, notices it’s locked, then places a hand on your thigh when the sudden realization that there was no one that could fire him hits him.
He gives it a squeeze. You already know what he’s thinking.
when plug!choso starts crushing on his only customer that only uses it medicinally.
tags: modern/college au, plug!choso, nerdy!reader, fem!reader, mention of weed consumption (duh), readers marajuana use is medicinal (for sleep), def a bit ooc my bad chat, i did my best to implement the info i got last in part one but please lmk if its still off :>, jealous!choso... heh..., the instagram dm layout is ASS so forgive that, i messed up the header for the last few imessage dms, not proofread, sowwy...
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a/n: im sobbing at the way the last one blew up, THANK YOU GUYS!!! i pushed off part 3 of my longer form written series so p3 of that is coming out next friday, if you guys enjoy my writing pls check that out, its my little passion project between drabbles and stuff, im pretty proud of it even if it hasnt blown up :) but again you guys thank you SO MUCH for all the support, attention, and advice!! ily all, mwah xoxo
also, a little extra shoutout to tsireyaaaaa for being the first person who ever asked to be tagged in my work, and mischivana for the first person ever on my perm tag list!! thank you both so much its an honour <3
'Their bond was greater than anything there ever was. And slowly you were casted aside and left to rot, like a fallen leaf in the autumn air.'
｡°‧ tw: heavy angst/no comfort, suggested child abuse, eating disorders, suicidal themes, reader is in severe depression.
—In which you'll never be forgotten again.
Satoru glances out the window, lost in thought.
The sky is almost too blue today, there’s something oddly gentle about it. Why does everything feel so calm?
Across from him, Suguru sits just as he always does: back straight, composed, quietly flipping through a book as if nothing in the world could ever hurry him.
“what chu’ doin’?”
Suguru can’t help but roll his eyes, pointing towards his book. “Clearly reading dumbass.”
“HEY! don’t bully me..”
Suguru deadpans. “stop screaming”
He snorts. “You’re so boring”
Satoru leans back further, tilting his head just enough to scan the room from behind his glasses.
Everyone’s here. Being normal like they’ve always been. So why does it feel like something’s missing? His gaze flickers towards an empty chair near the window. It doesn’t mean anything. It's just a chair. But still, he frowns.
“…Was someone sitting there before?” he asks, almost absentmindedly.
Suguru doesn’t even look up. “People sit everywhere.”
“Yeah, but…” Satoru stops himself, clicking his tongue. “Never mind.”
It’s stupid. Across the room, Shoko exhales a slow stream of smoke with her gaze drifting. She looks…off. He would even describe it as sad.
“You look like you didn’t sleep.” he calls lazily.
Shoko shrugs. “Do I ever?”
“Fair.”
There’s another pause. God, it’s quiet. He taps his fingers against the desk, once, twice, then stops when the sound doesn’t help.
“…Man, today’s boring,” he mutters.
But it’s not. That’s the problem. It’s too nice.
It feels like this is a day that he’ll remember forever. The breeze grazes his skin softly due to the open window. The wind oddly smells quite..good? His eyes drift back again to that same spot near that same window. The chair is still empty. For a split second, something tugs at him. He exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair.
“Whatever” he says, louder this time, like he’s brushing something off his shoulder. “I’m starving. Let’s ditch.”
Suguru finally closes his book, now looking at him.
“…Already?”
“Yeah. This place feels weird today.”
He clicks his tongue, but stands anyway.
“Alright.”
He doesn’t ask what Satoru means. That’s simply how he is. As they step out into the sunlight, it hits them violently. The rays of the warm sun were almost blinding. It was perfect. Too perfect. Satoru tilts his head back, staring up at the sky again.
“…Seriously” he mutters, quieter now, “what’s with today?”
The wind brushes past them, soft and fleeting. For a second, it feels like something passes between them. Something familiar. But it’s gone before it can settle.
Satoru pauses mid-step, he frowns, then keeps walking. He doesn’t turn around, he doesn’t realize that there’s no one trailing just a step behind them anymore.
But actually, against all odds, he does.
“Oh—shit.”
The words leaves him in a breath that’s almost a laugh, like he’s just remembered something that is the least of his worries. His hand comes up to the back of his head, his fingers tangling loosely in his hair.
“I forgot.” he chuckled, lighter than it should be. “Shoko, have you seen [name]?”
He says it so easy. Like you’re just around the corner, like he didn’t forget for months that you exist.
The hallway’s warm and there's sun on the floor. It’s the kind of day you’d skip class on. The kind of day you’d drag him to the vending machines. But Shoko stops, her eyes slightly bigger. The cigarette between her fingers burns quietly, a thin line of smoke curling upward, untouched.
Her eyes land on him. “Wait…” she scoffed. “You guys didn’t know?”
Behind him, Suguru shifts. He steps a bit closer, placing a hand on Satoru’s shoulder. A crease between his brows forms.
“What do you mean ?” he asks.
Shoko looks at them both in silent disbelief.
“She killed herself two days ago.”
Suguru blinks. “…What?”
It isn’t really a question, more of a reflex. A fragile sound that slips out before he can stop it, already chipping at the edges.
He doesn’t move. His eyes stay fixed on Shoko’s, searching for the smallest cracks in her expression. Maybe a hesitation, a sign she misspoke.
“Yeah.” she says quietly, like the words themselves are heavy in her mouth. “She overdosed… They found her in the water.”
He waits for the correction that should follow. For her to shake her head, to sigh, to say she got it wrong, that it was just a really bad joke. But the silence stretches, thin and unbearable.
But the thought that maybe she wasn’t joking doesn’t come slowly. No. It seeps in, cold and invasive, filling the space inside his chest. He feels it press against his ribs, heavy and suffocating.
Only his eyes give him away, they’re widening just slightly. Like they’re waiting for you.
Across from him, Satoru thinks he didn’t hear her right. He replays it in his head like a shattered song. But it doesn’t form anything real, he can’t find an answer. Because you can’t be dead.
The hallway is still there, but it feels distant now, like it’s been pushed far away. The light is too bright, too warm. The world hasn’t changed, and that feels wrong—devestating even.
“You—” he gasps, spikes tearing his throat. “You’re kidding, right?”
Satoru doesn’t stutter. He never has. But he’s stuttering now.
There’s a smile on his face and he doesn’t really know why. Some stupid part of his brain is still trying to make it a joke. Like if he smiles, she’ll roll her eyes and call him an stupid dude like she always does.
But amongst all the pain in his heart, he can’t help but wonder why it’s hurting this much.
Shoko just looks at the two wrecked boys in front of her.
For a second disbelief flashes across her face. At the cruelty of it. At how perfectly it proves everything you ever thought. It brings a taste in her mouth even stronger than the tobacco sitting in her lungs. The rotting taste of irony.
“You should really go to her room.” She breathes.
Her gaze shifts between them, lingering just a fraction longer than usual.
“There’s a note for both of you.”
The cigarette between her fingers has burned low now, the ash threatening to fall. She glances at it briefly, like she forgot it was even there.
“…I’ve already read mine.”
No one says anything after that. Because there’s nothing left to say. The silence isn’t empty. It’s full of you.
It’s too late. It’s been too late.
And the sky is still fucking blue.
The walk to the dormitories is quiet. A silence so stuffy, it fills their lungs like wet cotton. It’s a silence filled with unspoken words and heavy feelings. The sun hangs high, shameless and gold, spilling across the hallway.
The shadow of your closed door stretches long across the floor, a dark tongue swallowing the light. Suguru’s hand hovers at the knob. His breath frays, his head keeps shouting at him to turn back. But he pushes through. The door gives without protest, a strangeled creak echoing.
The air itself feels wrong. It’s sour and heavy, like the windows haven’t been opened in days, or maybe even longer. Dust hangs suspended in the air, sadness infiltrates through the cracks in the floor. It coats the walls in a thick film, it clings to the ceiling fan. Then settles into the grooves of the floorboards until the wood rots. The scent is truly horrible, he can’t help but cringe. It smells of misery and copper, desperately braided into something that lives in the back of the throat.
Like the windows haven’t been opened in days—or maybe longer. A gag wrenches out of Satoru's mouth. The mirror lies gutted on the floor, a constellation of violence. Blood darkens the shards, and dust has already claimed them as its own. Alcohol bottles—glass, plastic, anything that once promised numbness and calm are strewn across the floor in a glum manner . Some still stand, sentinels of empty vigils. Others are broken open, their bitter liquor oozing across the floorboards in sticky, amber rivers. There are too many to count. The floor has disappeared beneath the debris of trying not to feel.
Suguru’s sharp inhale cuts the air, his throat feels on fire. How can someone live like that?
On your bed, the blankets are a shipwreck. Twisted, half on the floor, maroon dried into the fabric where red used to be. The smell is metallic, old, like pennies. It climbs into Suguru’s sinuses and stays lodged. Pills scatter across the floor like maggots. Tissues, crumpled and used, dot the room like failed prayers. Every surface is a testament to hours that folded in on themselves.
The room doesn’t look lived in. It’s abandoned, nothing is where it should be. As if every object was used, then dropped the moment it stopped serving a purpose. grime has settled over everything in uneven layers. It clings to the desk, the shelves, the edges of the bedframe.
Even the light feels tired. It seeps through half-closed curtains in weak, uneven strips, catching in the dust and turning the air into something visible. Something you can touch.
With an intake of breath, Suguru starts searching for the note. Fortunately for him, it isn’t hard to miss. An envelope sits on your desk, untouched by the soot of the world.
Suguru’s body moves before his mind agrees to it, drawn to that terrible piece of paper. His hand shakes with the restraint of someone who is scared to learn more. Each tremor in his fingers is an apology he’s choking on. The ventilator hums in the wall, a sinister lullaby keeping time with his pulse.
Seeing his friend moving, Satoru takes one step too. It’s reluctant, like the floor might open if he really commits to it. Something catches his eye on the envelope. There’s two kittens, drawn in precise lines. But it’s not the skill of the drawing that makes his belly curl in an uncomfortable manner. It’s their colors.
One white.
One black.
A rendered drawing of them in graphite from whatever was left of you.
The ache behind Satoru’s eyes is physical now, a tide pressing outward, and it takes every muscle in his face, every year of being the strongest, not to let it break. His jaw locks. His hands curl until nails bite crescent moons into his palms.
A pounding ache blooms and spreads, rooting down his spine. The ventilator keeps humming. Suguru picks up the note simply because someone has to. The paper is the only thing in this mess that really feels like you. He opens it carefully, as if it might bruise.
His body immediately starts trembling at the sight of your handwriting. His hand shakes, the hum of the ventilator resonates in his ears like a sinister lullaby. His eyes are wide in fear. Behind him, Satoru finally breaks. A sob gurgles from deep in his heart.
With a shaky exhale, he starts reading. Immediately, the first words written shatter the base of his skull like a meteor. His hand claps against his mouth and he starts to tremble.
For the first time, he too cries.
My dear Satoru and Suguru.
There’s too much to say.. And somehow, none of it ever comes out right. I keep rewriting this over and over.. I feel like an idiot because I can't even write a proper goodbye.
I was going to say that I’ve felt useless lately, but really that would be a lie. It hasn’t been lately. I don’t think I’ve ever really been happy. I mean, can you blame me? I never had love in my life. My whole family loathed me because I wasn’t strong. Pretty stupid reason to beat a child if you ask me though..
I didn’t really know what love was supposed to feel like, not until I met you. Very corny I know.
But really, out of everything my life could have given me, it chose you two. The loudest, brightest, most impossible people to stand beside. And yes, as cliché as it sounds, I stupidly fell in love with both of you.
I don’t even think you noticed. I mean, why would you? I was just the girl who arrived halfway through the year. Just someone weak and forgettable.
But even then… we had something. At least, I think we did? Even if it was small, I really held onto it like it was everything.
I still remember things I probably shouldn’t.
Like...Nanami trying to help me with math one time and I couldn’t focus at all, because I kept staring at his hair and thinking how ridiculous it looked under the light.
Or being dragged into playing wingman for Haibara and his hopeless crush… I was standing outside that little café for hours, trying to gather information on her like a secret spy.
I remember Shoko laughing, like, really laughing, after blowing smoke right into my face. I remember how I choked on it while she just kept giggling like it was the funniest thing in the world.
I remember you, Satoru… buying me sweets that one time I failed a mission. It probably was nothing to you. But for a second, I thought maybe you saw me.
And Suguru… skipping class with you, sitting side by side in the library, not speaking, just turning pages in the same silence. It felt… peaceful. Like I was allowed to exist for a little while.
Those moments were so small, so ordinary. But to me, they were everything. I think that’s why it hurts so much now. Because I don’t even know if any of it was real to you.
Unfortunately, I think I started disappearing long before anyone noticed. Like I was being erased from the edges of everyone’s minds, piece by piece, little by little, until there was nothing left worth remembering. And the worst part is that I knew. I knew, and I still stayed. I still waited for someone to look at me like I was real. It makes me feel so stupid now, writing this. Like I was asking for something I was never meant to have.
I think, deep down, I always understood that I was never meant to be important. Not in the way you both are. Not in the way the world bends itself around you. But I wanted it anyway. I wanted kindness. Just once. And I hate that I have to admit this, even now, but you—Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto… you made me feel so small.
You made me feel small because of everything you didn’t see.
I think that’s when it finally sank in. That I really didn’t belong. At first, I didn’t realize how far in the sea I was.. How deep I was in it. I just kept going. I purposefully took on missions that were too much. Missions that possibly could kill me.
Because if I died out there…At least I would be remembered as someone brave. Not as the girl who loved far too much and received too little.
I really thought I could outrun that version of me. But she always came back. She came back every time with alcohol bottles and bloodied tissues. And in the end…I couldn’t fight her anymore.
Because obviously if you are reading this, it means I didn’t go down fighting. I took the cowardly way out.
I’ve been thinking about death for longer than I want to admit. It's like a thought that kept coming back, until it stopped feeling like a question and started feeling like an answer. I kept wondering what it would be like to disappear completely. To leave without leaving anything behind. And every time doubt tried to creep in, that maybe I shouldn’t do it. I reminded myself of the same thing: There really isn’t a future for me here.
Because nobody cares.
And I know how cruel that sounds, but it’s true. It’s true in the quietest, most undeniable way.
And you noticed.. Of course you did. Everyone did. Not enough to understand what was going on, but enough to see that something was wrong.
Shoko noticed when I started asking her for cigarettes, even though I used to whine about how bad it was for her. And you, Gojo… You noticed how I kept excusing myself after meals and how I looked less like myself each time.
You saw it. Both of you did. And that’s how I knew nobody cared. Because if you had cared… you would have said something. You would have asked. It wouldn’t have taken much, a simple “Are you okay?”
If even one of you had stopped me, if you had asked why I was still wearing my winter uniform in the middle of summer, maybe I would still be here. Maybe I wouldn’t have sunk so far.
Because I wasn’t trying to disappear at first. I was trying to be found.
But I got tired of waiting. And eventually, the waiting turned into something else.
Something colder, like standing in the ocean, letting the water rise inch by inch, convincing yourself you can still breathe. Until you can’t.
I was so desperate for something gentle, something kind, that when it didn’t come…I accepted it.
One day, when life will be even more beautiful now that I’m gone, when the sun feels warm against your skin and your toes curl into the hot grains of sand.
I hope, just for a second, you think of me.
When the waves crash a little too loudly against the shore. Or when the wind flips through the pages of a book you weren’t done reading. i’ll be there. In small ways.
I never really was seen when I was alive. But maybe like this I will be.
At the start I was so happy that satoru finally remembered her and then shoko dropped the bomb. I’m kind of mad at everyone who just ignored or dismissed the small changes.
I’m sad that it had to end like this but I hope the afterlife treats her better than everyone ever could
Hi I love you because there are not a lot of people who write for Far Cry❤️❤️❤️so I wanted to request what the kinks of Vass, Pagan and the seed family be.
(If I’m correct you wanted to start doing NSFW but if I’m wrong you can just ignore this🫶)
𝗧𝗵𝗲𝘀𝗲 𝗙𝗮𝗿 𝗖𝗿𝘆 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗲𝗿𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗶𝗿 𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗸𝘀…
⤷ Pagan Min, Vaas Montenegro, Joseph Seed, John Seed, Jacob Seed, Faith Seed.
warnings: These headcanons contain very explicit, dark, and intense adult sexual content but all consensual. Reader discretion is strongly advised. These are dark, unhinged, and very explicit kink headcanons. If any of the above topics are triggering for you, please skip or stop reading.
notes: thank you anon for this request, I did want to get into nsfw stuff!
Pagan Min
He adores dressing you up in expensive silk and gold before ruining it, tearing designer lingerie off your body while whispering how perfect you look when you’re ruined for anyone else.
Power play is everything. He’ll make you kneel in his throne room, crown on his head, forcing you to call him 'my king' while he fucks your throat and strokes your hair like a treasured pet.
Pain mixed with praise: sharp bites on your inner thighs, nails dragging down your back, then soft kisses over the marks while he tells you how beautifully you bleed for him.
Exhibitionism. He loves fucking you on the balcony overlooking his compound, knowing his guards can hear every moan but never see you, because you’re only for his eyes.
Aftercare is lavish and possessive: bubble baths, feeding you by hand, and making you sleep with his cock still inside you so you never forget who you belong to.
Vaas Montenegro
Primal, rough, and unhinged. He’ll chase you through the jungle at night, tackle you into the dirt, and fuck you like an animal while growling “You’re fucking crazy for running from me, baby.”
Knife play is a favorite. He traces the flat of his blade along your skin, never cutting deep but leaving pretty red lines he licks afterward while laughing that low, manic laugh.
Choking and breath play until your vision blurs, then he’ll slap your face lightly and demand you look at him while he ruins you.
Degradation mixed with twisted affection: “You’re my little puta, my crazy bitch, only wet for me, right?” while pounding you against a tree.
He gets off on marking you visibly—bites on your neck, bruises on your hips—so everyone on the island knows exactly who you belong to.
Joseph Seed
Total control and worship kink. He wants you on your knees in the church, naked and praying to him while he recites scripture and slides his cock between your lips.
Breeding obsession. He’ll keep you full of his cum for days, hand on your belly, whispering how you’ll carry his children and help build Eden.
Sensory deprivation and teasing. Blindfolds, ropes, edging you for hours until you’re crying and begging for the Father’s 'blessing.'
Religious dirty talk: calling you his 'holy vessel,' his 'sinful lamb,' while he fucks you slow and deep on the altar.
After intense sessions he becomes incredibly tender, bathing you, feeding you, and holding you while murmuring how pure you are when you submit.
John Seed
Branding and marking kink. He wants his name or “YES” tattooed/carved on your skin and kisses it every time he fucks you.
Bondage and restraint. Silk ties, leather cuffs, or his own belt, anything that leaves you completely helpless while he edges you until you’re sobbing.
Orgasm control. He decides when you come, sometimes making you count out loud or beg in specific ways. “Say you’re mine, say it like you mean it”.
Mirror sex. He forces you to watch yourself get fucked, gripping your jaw and making you describe how you look when you fall apart for him.
Possessive aftercare: tracing his marks on your body, whispering “No one else will ever have you like this. You’re mine. Say it.”
Jacob Seed
Predator/prey and strength kink. He loves hunting you down, pinning you with one arm, and using his size to completely overpower you.
CNC (consensual non-consent) and rough manhandling. Growling “Fight me, little wolf” while he fucks you into the dirt or against a cabin wall.
Collar and leash. He’ll put a sturdy leather collar on you during 'training' sessions and tug you exactly where he wants you.
Primal marking: deep bites, handprints on your ass, cum dripping down your thighs so you smell like him for days.
Quiet, intense dominance. He doesn’t talk much, just commands with actions—hair pulling, throat holding, making you ride him until your legs shake.
Faith Seed
Sensual, drugged bliss kink. She’ll have you high on Bliss while she teases you for hours with her mouth and fingers, making everything feel like floating pleasure.
Body worship and strap-on play. She loves making you worship her body before fucking you senseless with a pretty pink strap, cooing about how pretty you look taking her.
Light bondage with silk ribbons and flower crowns, tying you spread open in the fields while she rides your face.
Praise and corruption. Constant soft praise—“Such a good girl for me,” “Look how wet you get for your Faith”—while she pushes your limits.
Intimate overstimulation. She’ll keep making you come until you’re shaking and crying, then cuddle you in her lap, stroking your hair and feeding you fruit while you float in subspace.
(reader is eren’s sister (yes i said what i said) frat!satoru and nerd!gojo doing what they do best—being insufferable brothers, jealousy, tension, and questionable choices)
You can’t avoid him—not when he’s everywhere. In your space… on your couch… and even in your mind.
Your ex—Satoru—plus your brother’s friend.
Their friendship stayed after your breakup for some reason you don’t understand why.
So you could only grumble when your brother dragged you to one of the frat parties, saying you needed to loosen up and get your head out of your books.
“Eren, you know I’ve my midterm—”
Eren just rolled his eyes and wrapped an arm around your shoulder, smiling like he already won the argument.
“Come on, sis… you never complain before. Why… is it because of—”
“Don’t you dare—”
You pinched his arm quickly.
He chuckled, raising both hands in surrender.
“Okay, okay, I’ll shut up. But seriously, you need to stop hating him so much. I’m worried you might crack his head open the moment you see him.”
You looked away, feeling that familiar ache tighten in your chest.
“Stop hating him? After everything he did and said to me?”
Eren pressed his lips together. He knows something you don’t—but he doesn’t say it. Instead, he just pats your shoulder, gentler this time, before pulling you along with him.
“Enough about him… tonight is about enjoying yourself, hmm? And I don’t want my baby sister sulking on her own—I won’t allow it.”
You smiled a little.
But it didn’t quite reach your eyes.
𓍯𓂃𓂃𓂃𓍯𓂃𓂃𓂃𓍯𓂃𓂃𓂃𓍯𓂃𓂃𓂃
You stepped in with your brother. The party inside was loud, music vibrating through your whole body.
“You gonna be alright?” Eren asked, like the protective brother he is.
“Of course.”
You smiled at him as he ruffled your hair.
“Stop it, you’re messing with my curls,” you shot him a glare, which only made Eren laugh harder in return.
“Okay, okay. Have fun,” he said over his shoulder before disappearing into the crowd.
Shoko’s eyes lit up the moment she saw you.
“Oh my God, look who’s here… are we dreaming?”
She pulled you into a tight, squeezing hug.
You chuckled.
“Shoko—” you laughed softly, returning her hug.
Nobara followed right after.
“Good to see you getting out of your turtle shell… and look, you’re glowing.”
She eyed your outfit—black skirt paired with a tank top with lace detailing underneath.
Your cheeks flushed slightly.
“Someone’s gonna regret… dumping you,” she added under her breath, looking in the opposite direction across the room.
“What? I’m just stating facts. That arsehole doesn’t deserve her.”
Nobara said it in a non-apologetic tone, sipping her drink from a red cup.
Shoko just chuckled and handed you a drink.
“Okay, okay, that’s enough. We’re here to enjoy the party… let’s dance, shall we?”
The four of you navigated through the crowd, drawn to the pulsating energy of the dance floor, where bodies moved in sync.
Shoko and Nobara were already immersed in their groove, completely absorbed in the moment.
You made the mistake of glancing beside your brother, only to find blue eyes locked onto yours – your breath caught in your throat as you took a moment to admire Satoru, who leaned casually against the wall, sipping his drink like he owned the room. His white top clung to his lean physique, jeans hanging low to reveal the contours of his defined torso and the waistband of his boxers – and that ridiculous red cap perched like a crown atop his fluffy white hair, the very same you remember running your fingers through – your stomach fluttered at the memory.
Just then, Mei Mei appeared out of nowhere and pressed her red lips against his cheek, causing you to quickly look away—there's no point in dwelling on what has already slipped away. You raised your cup to your lips, only to find it empty—you definitely need a drink now.
𓍯𓂃𓂃𓂃𓍯𓂃𓂃𓂃𓍯𓂃𓂃𓂃𓍯𓂃𓂃𓂃
You make your way into the kitchen, barely paying attention—until you collide straight into someone.
“—oh my god, I’m so sorry—”
The apology slips out quickly as you look up—
And freeze.
For a second, your brain refuses to catch up with what you’re seeing.
Satoru.
No—
not Satoru.
His twin brother.
Gojo.
“It’s okay… I was the one too lost in my book.”
His voice is calm, almost absent-minded—but the smile he gives you is anything but.
It’s soft. Easy.
And for a second, it makes him look a little too much like—
No.
You force the thought away. Get a grip.
You manage a small smile back, straightening up as you smooth down your hair.
“Drink?” he asks.
“Huh—oh. Yes. Yeah, a drink.”
He nods and hands you one without hesitation.
His fingers brush yours—brief, but noticeable.
Then he takes a slow sip of his own, watching you over the rim of the glass.
“Sooo… what are you doing here?” you asked, munching on the chips in front of you. “Reading a book at a place like this?.I thought you hated parties.”
“Well… gotta keep my eyes on my brother.”
You frowned slightly, giving him a confused look—as if Satoru wasn’t more than capable of taking care of himself.
“Why do you need to?” you couldn’t help but ask.
Gojo just smirked faintly. “Let’s just say… he gives me plenty of reasons to keep an eye on him.”
You wanted to ask further, but you held yourself back—for now.
Gojo’s gaze flicked past you, then he smirked when he spotted Satoru heading toward the kitchen.
Before you could process it, his hand slid to your waist, pulling you in as his lips crashed against yours.
Your whole body froze, eyes widening in shock. You tried to pull back, but his grip only tightened, holding you firmly against him.
"Gojo—what—mm—are you—”
Your fingers grip the front of his shirt, trying to steady yourself.
“He’s watching,” he murmurs, low enough that only you can hear. “And don’t you want help getting your revenge back at my brother?”
Your eyes squeeze shut.
Maybe he’s right.
One part of you whispers that you’ll regret this.
The other… the other is louder.
Just kiss him back.
And you listen to that voice.
Your arms slide around Gojo’s neck as you pull him closer, kissing him back without hesitation.
You feel it then—
the faint curve of his lips.
He’s smiling into the kiss.
Satoru watched from the kitchen doorway, his jaw clenched, the red cup gripped tightly in his hand, crumpled under his grip.
His eyes met his brother’s.
Gojo smirked at Satoru… a silent brotherly rivalry passing between them.
With one glance at you, Satoru turned around and left silently.
Something toppled over as he walked out—a sharp sound cutting through the quiet.
He didn’t even bother to turn around and check.
𓍯𓂃𓂃𓂃𓍯𓂃𓂃𓂃𓍯𓂃𓂃𓂃𓍯𓂃𓂃𓂃
To be continued....
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
AN: i genuinely don’t know what’s going to happen next… my brain just threw this at me and said “write it” 😭 but enjoy—i’ll figure it out somehow.
YESSS GURLLL get your revenge! I don’t know how or why Satoru broke up with us, but I know it was bad. Tbh a bit mad Eren is still so good with Satoru even though Satoru seriously hurt us. Not cool big bro
Gojo is so sweet for helping us, he sure knows that his brother messed up. Omg I love jealous Satoru so much😩 I just love brother rivalry😏
✿ married off to the feared RYOMEN SUKUNA : you spend your days avoiding your new husband at all costs — until discovering a hidden garden changes everything.
⎯⎯ 𓊆ྀི ❤︎ . wc: 3.7k 𓊇ྀི ࣪ ˖
you were the wife of ryomen sukuna. the strongest and most feared sorcerer of your time.
there was no grand love story about how the two of you met. your marriage was arranged, a political agreement between your clan and his influence, meant more for stability in the world of jujutsu than sentiment. you had no understanding of why he chose you from all others: the daughter of an apothecary house, of no notable lineage nor distinguished standing.
when you first arrived at his estate, you tried to run. not once. not twice. but quite a few times. you made it about two days before you were caught wandering too close to the outer gates, looking very much like someone who was ( absolutely ) definitely not trying to escape. he located you without any real difficulty, which, admittedly, was humiliating.
but, you had mastered the art of evasion within a week of your marriage.
if he walked east, you went west. if he lingered in the main hall, you claimed sudden interest in incense inventory all the way on the other side.
it wasn’t fear, you told yourself, it was just you being practical . . .
at first, it seemed like the two of you were just not compatible in the slightest. and to your delight, sukuna made no attempt to chase after you, he simply let you be, maybe he just had no desire to get to know you. but you weren't complaining.
you cleared your throat, seated opposite him at the excessively vast dining table, attendants stationed at each corner, ever poised to respond to the slightest summons or command.
“… this weather is… quite pleasant.” you muttered, attempting to make conversation with him while you poked your food around your plate. the quiet click of wood against porcelain being the loudest sound in the room. second to that of your heart hammering in your chest.
when you looked up from your plate you noticed his gaze on you, his eyebrows slightly raised, but hardly by an inch. you were certain that he had no other expressions available.
“it is raining.”
oh. you glanced to your right and noticed the gray sky, and, as if on cue, a loud crack of thunder rolled across the horizon. you were so in your head about what to say to him that you had no idea of the chaos going on in the outside the dead estate.
“ah. you are... correct”
silence settled between you once more, thick and deliberate, you could’ve swore you heard a few servants snickering, as they found your suffering amusing.
you decided that perhaps you should eat more, that way you could leave faster; so you stuffed your mouth full of steamy white rice, praying that either you finish before him, or he finish before you. and soon.
“must you sit so far away”
“huh?” you choked, steam tickling your throat. quickly covering your mouth and stifling your soft coughs. doing your very best to remain proper in front of your newly wedded husband, hoping he would not have you executed for your lack of manners.
“you’re acting like i’m going to attack you.” he lazily blinked at you before taking a slow sip of his tea, placing the cup down with a quiet clink that echoed faintly against the wooden walls, looking at you expectantly. “it's how you've been acting the entirety of your stay.”
a clap of thunder followed almost immediately.
“well… i am only sitting where i was told to, my lord.” you hummed, a small pout taking its place on your plush lips.
“lord? i am your husband, not your master.” he titled his head almost as if uninterested. “despite all that, you continue to run from me. why? do you think i am going to harm you?”
you froze for a brief second.
“…i am sorry?” you blinked at him incredulously, heat slowly rising to your cheeks.
you weren’t entirely sure if he was genuinely curious on why you've been evading him.. or if this was him being nice.
if it was, it was the most confusing attempt at benevolence you had ever encountered… considered the whole "malevolent" vibe was his thing.
to your dismay, he didn’t elaborate. just took another slow sip of his tea, a mix of yomogi and mitsuba filling up the room.
you huffed quietly, straightening your posture even more as if to prove a point. “i am not running from you. i'm here now. see.” you repeated, downing another heap of rice along with your steamed vegetables.
“only because i called you here.”
you swallowed. “that is … not true.”
“uh huh...”
he studied you for a moment, then he stood. the legs of his large chair scraped softly against the floor, the sound startling in the otherwise quiet dining hall. your eyes widened slightly. he brushed past your chair, muttering “enjoy your meal.” in that gruff tone of his. you could’ve sworn you caught a glimpse of his sharp canines as that handsomely wicked smile took form on his lips.
the door slid shut behind him, leaving you alone with your chopsticks still resting besides your hardly touched plate.
you sighed, scarfing down one last spoonful of white rice, that was now no longer appetizing after what felt like agonizing hours of silence and humiliation.
you waddled back to your quarters, defeated at another failed attempt to bond with your newly wedded husband, pale garments dragging softly along the well polished floor as you walked.
sukuna didn’t force you to share a bed with him, nor did he ask you for anything intimate.
you figured it was because he understood your need to adjust, or maybe he just preferred his own space and had no time for the expected marital practices. or bonding for that matter. either way, you told yourself it was probably the nicest thing he had done so far.
inside your chambers, the afternoon light was warm and quiet, as the storm finally passed over. at first you didn’t notice it.
the small bundle sitting neatly on your resting mat. a neatly folded kimono.
you walked closer and crouched slightly to look at it. the fabric was a deep, muted green. pale cherry blossoms painted along the bottom hem, thin lines of gold swirls stitched into the fabric.
it was beautiful. and just your size. you were certain he had it made just for you. but you didn't want to get ahead of yourself.. it could be something he had just lying around.
but deep down you knew that wasn't true.
beside it was a small slip of paper. you picked it up. two words were written in firm, simple strokes.
"wear this."
how charming for a king.
the silk felt smooth between your fingertips, light and cool, soft enough that you found yourself rubbing it absentmindedly, just to feel the quiet glide of the fabric. it was nothing like the garments you had back at home which were primarily cotton.
normally, you spent most of your time in your quarters, sketching the view outside your window, the quiet garden trees swaying gently in the wind, a small cluster of pale flowers growing near the stone path, and the way sunlight filtered through leaves in soft patches on the ground.
but not today. today you decided you would explore. you slipped on your new outfit and your silk shoes.
you began wandering through the estate halls, the soft clack of wood against floorboards following you as you walked. the place was still big and a little intimidating, but you were getting better at remembering the path and shortcuts.
you wondered if sukuna would care if you had ended up getting trapped in some forgotten closet or something… he’d probably think you tried to escape from him and have you executed once he found you.
orrr.. probably not. that was a little extreme. but still, you’ve heard many stories about your husband. many said he was cruel, dangerous. impossible to please. you weren’t entirely sure how much of that was true… yet. and you certainly didn’t want to test those rumors any time soon.
after what felt like hours—which was really only a couple of minutes—of wandering and mentally marking walls and turns, you heard the familiar, heavy clack of wooden sandals approaching from the other side of the corridor… two sets of footsteps actually.
sukuna and—
“uraume.”
he began, his voice was low and steady, the kind of tone sukuna always used when he was being serious about something he was very clearly annoyed about.
“yes, master sukuna?”
“why does this woman still avoid me? does she not like me??”
there was a short pause.
“i'm beginning to tire of this. since her arrival i have even been taking those 'herbs' that are supposed to ease your nerves, as opposed to acting so brazen.”
uraume sighed. “oh? so that is why you've been so uncharacteristically calm. well, for one.. maybe she thinks you want to eat her,” humming sarcastically.
well, perhaps he did. just.. not in the traditional sense.
you rolled your eyes at his comment, mentally scoffing. what is his problem.. was he actually relying on herbs to not frighten you off with his ill attitude?
silence followed. “uraume. do you think i'm handsome?”
the footsteps stilled, and you could hear uraume giggle. “you're asking me.. if i think you are handsome? or if she thinks you are handsome?”
sukuna sighed dramatically. “i'm serious… have my looks been lacking? usually other women and concubines flock to me.. but i have given that up.” he murmured, his pout audible from miles away.
he groaned, “actually scratch that. that can’t be it..."
you could hear the snap of his thick fingers as he had a 'eureka' moment. "do you think she's caught wind about the stomach tongue??”
stomach what?
from behind the corner of the wall, you felt your ears grow warm. did he think you found him unattractive? that was certainly not the case.. not even in the slightest, in fact you were ecstatic at the fact he was handsome man.
and… was he sulking? in the candlelit hush of the manor, you had to swallow the urge to laugh at how openly petulant he was being, all narrowed eyes and brooding silence like a disgraced warlord denied his due.
you weren’t entirely sure, but the thought of sukuna being worried—truly worrying—that you didn’t find him desirable made something in your chest tighten in a way you pointedly refused to examine.
but more importantly, the footsteps drew nearer down the corridor, steady and unhurried, and you found yourself suddenly uninterested in entertaining your “husband” and his ever-present right hand man at this particular moment in time.
the low, steady cadence of his voice threaded through the corridor like something inevitable, followed by uraume’s calm, unbothered reassurance that you “simply required time,” both of them drifting closer with the kind of composure that made your stomach sink in slow recognition.
you jolted.
suddenly, you were very aware of yourself. the angle of your stance. the fact that you were not hidden in any meaningful way. the fact that anyone with even half a mind could connect the dots between this exact spot and a certain level of eavesdropping that would be… diplomatically unwise.
you froze like a court attendant caught reading a forbidden scroll.
whipping your head around for some form of escape, you notice a small wooden gate sat between two stone walls, almost hidden by overgrown vines. it wasn’t locked, but it didn’t look like something people were meant to enter without permission.
you rushed in, sliding the door shut behind you, only to realize you had stepped straight into a garden. the corridor had connected the estate to the outdoors, revealing a quiet, carefully kept space lined with smooth stone paths and clusters of chrysanthemums blooming in soft whites and pale pinks.
a small pond rested off to the side, koi fish gliding lazily beneath the surface while trimmed shrubs and low maples framed the edges with deliberate care. it certainly wasn't abandoned.
it looked maintained.
meticulous, even. and most importantly it was beautiful.
you took a slow step forward, wooden clogs pressing lightly against stone, eyes scanning the neat rows of plants and the way everything seemed too deliberately arranged to be accidental.
…was this his?
no… it couldn’t be. sukuna was terrifying, cruel in the his crimes would be told for generations, but also the same man who had just been sulking at the mere possibility that you might not find him attractive. the contradiction sat in your mind like a coin spinning between two impossible sides.
even so, you wandered deeper into the shockingly large garden, where soft wind chimes trembled in the breeze and small animals moved freely between the paths. it was unexpectedly beautiful—so much so it almost made your chest ache.
you noticed a cluster of chrysanthemums near the edge of the path that looked… particularly miserable. their petals sagging toward the soil like they had quietly surrendered to fate. with a small frown, you crouched beside them, already convinced they were in desperate need of water, reaching for the wooden pot nearby.
close.
too close.
before you could properly commit, a warmth brushed the shell of your ear.
“what do you think you’re doing?”
there he was. sukuna. crouched beside you, one eyebrow raised, equal parts exasperated and faintly entertained.
“you can’t just sneak up on someone like that!” you snapped, rubbing your elbow.
his elbow rested lazily on his thigh, hand propping up his chin. dark robes pooled around him like ink settling into stone, utterly unbothered by your indignation.
“i called your name three times before i approached you,” he replied evenly. “you were too busy trying to waterboard my children.”
his children..?
you pushed yourself up with a huff, smoothing down your silk kimono like dignity could be restored through the expensive fabric alone. he stayed crouched by the flowers, fingers already brushing one of the drooping leaves.
“i see you found my gift.”
you paused.
“…gift?”
oh.
right. the garments.
“yes,” you said quickly. “it is rather nice.. thank you.”
his gaze flicked up to your face this time.
“it suits ya.”
your ears warmed again.
“…how did you even get my measurements?”
“i got them while you were sleeping,” he said flatly, like it was the most reasonable thing in the world.
you stared.
“sorry, what?”
he exhaled, almost bored. “relax. it wasn’t me. it was your handmaiden.”
“that’s not any better!” you shot back, scandalized. “you’re such a degenerate..”
sukuna finally looked up properly then, one brow lifting as if you were the strange one in this conversation.
“…it’s fabric,” he said simply. “not a crime.”
he stood then, unfolding to his full height until he was once again towering over you. he studied your offended expression for a moment; your puffed cheeks, the way you refused to meet his eyes.
a faint smile tugged at his mouth. you were adorable. despite the fact you tried to call him perverted.
“fineee,” he mused, dragging the word out. “next time, i will simply ask you. no need for hysterics.”
you crossed your arms with a huff. “bastard. there will not be a next time.”
his head tilted slightly, eyes narrowing in quiet calculation.
“so…” he began, far too calmly, “it’s not acceptable to take your measurements while you sleep?”
“no?!”
his smile widened, just slightly. you were suddenly aware of how little distance there was between you two. the faint heat radiating from him, impossible to ignore.
“why are you here anyways?” you muttered, as you began to walk with unnecessary speed down the stone path. “did you follow me here? creep…”
as if you weren’t the one who had just been eavesdropping on his entire conversation and retreating into his private garden like it was an emergency exit. an accident. obviously.
behind you, his sandals clicked against stone at an infuriatingly unhurried pace.
“here we go again.. you run, and then you accuse.” he drawled.
before you could snap back, a strong hand caught your arm and tugged. hard and firm. you stumbled back straight into him, solid, unmoving. he didn’t even shift an inch. your breath hitched. his chest was warm, too warm.
“i have told you already,” he said, voice low, leaning down just enough as if he wanted you to feel it rather than hear it. “do not run from me.”
he dipped closer, just a little—close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath near your cheek, tilting his head innocently.
“and besides,” he added, almost amused, “this is my garden. if anything, you are the one intruding, fool.”
“your garden?” you scoffed, falling into step beside him, closer than before, though you refused to acknowledge how natural it felt. “no doubt you have a thousand attendants tending to it.”
without warning, he stepped off the stone path — pulling you gently but firmly with him.
“hey—!”
“quiet.”
he led you through a narrow break in the hedges you hadn’t noticed before. the space opened into something hidden, what you assumed to be his private sanctuary. cherry blossoms arched overhead, petals drifting lazily across a much larger pond that reflected pale pink against the water.
he stopped beneath one of the trees.
with barely any effort, he reached up and plucked a blossom from a low branch, the movement smooth, deliberate. the pale petals rested between his thick fingers as he held it in front of your face. a faint, sweet, powdery scent brushed your senses.
“this,” he said calmly, “is a cherry blossom.”
“i know that—”
his eyes rolled up at you from the flower, giving you a stern, but not unwelcome, glare that shut you right up.
“they bloom for a brief span,” he continued, twirling the stem between his fingers, “in the early spring. they demand harsh winters to enter proper dormancy. if the air be too mild, the bloom weakens. it requires great patience to cultivate them rightly.”
petals drifted down between you with each cool breeze.
“they are not tended by servants,” he added evenly, “they are tended by my own hand. were it otherwise, I would know nothing of them.”
he lowered the blossom slightly, eyes settling on yours, your gaze flickered between the blossom and his features. you couldn’t help but notice how his sharp looks softened in the natural lighting of the outdoors.
you didn’t notice him move until his hand lifted.
warm fingers brushed lightly against your hair, careful in a way that felt strangely deliberate. you froze.
“what are you—”
he didn’t answer.
instead, he tucked the cherry blossom he had been holding into the side of your hair, adjusting it slightly with slow, precise movements as if making sure it would not fall out.
his hand lingered for just a moment longer than necessary, brushing your outershell before dropping away.
“there,” he said.
you blinked. for such a large man he was surprisingly gentle.
“…what was that for?”
“what? it matched your garments,” he replied nonchalantly, as if he wasn’t all giddy inside. “it would be wasteful not to put it to good use.”
you squinted at him. "that was not a very useful explanation…"
but he was already looking away, gaze drifting toward the pond as if the conversation was finished. and yet the corner of his mouth was doing that very faint, very annoyingly smug thing again.
“well– thank you..” you chirped, the words coming out softer than you expected.
a comfortable silence stretched between the two of you, the breeze bristling in between the leaves and branches of the cherry blossoms, the occasional raindrop creating a ripple in the pond. an after effect of the storm that had passed by.
“you know, you're much more tolerable when you stop pretending you don’t want to be here.”
translation: you are more pleasing to look upon when you are not fleeing from me as though i were plague.
your chest felt strangely tight, but you decided to blame it on the pollen. “well.. maybe if you didn't act so...” you said, ignoring the butterflies that fluttered around in your chest..
“what? moody? fearsome?” he cut in without even looking at you, already turning back toward the flowers as if he had finished reading your thoughts before you spoke them.
“i was going to say weird,” you muttered, softer now. “i do not find you scary…”
you rocked back and forth, shifting your weight from heels to the tips of your toes.
“and besides…” you glanced at him, sheepish, before muttering under your breath, “you have a stomach tongue…”
his head snapped toward you.
“what?”
“nothing!”
a quiet huff left him, almost laughter, paired with a slow roll of his eyes. how absurd. he let the silence settle for a moment, gaze lingering on you as if weighing whether you were serious or simply beyond help.
then, at last, he spoke again.
“would you like your own part?”
“huh?..”
“your own space. within my garden.”
you blinked.
“…you are.. serious?”
he exhaled softly through his nose. “yes. entirely serious… woman.” his gaze stayed on you, steady and unblinking.
“whatever you desire,” he added after a pause, “name it.”
you couldn’t help it—your face lit up instantly, words spilling out before you could temper them.
“oh! perhaps orchids!! or peonies?? can you get more chrysanthemums? i know you have many but they are very beautiful! and maybe a small stone bench so i may sketch whenever i—”
his hand came down on your shoulder, firm.
“slow down,” he said, faintly exasperated.
then, after a beat:
“only on one condition.”
“.. huh?”
he stepped closer, yanking you forward with one hand.
suddenly you were too aware of everything; of the strength beneath his robes, the steady heat radiating from his body the way he simply did not move when you collided with him.
“you…” he began.
he leaned down slightly, voice dropping until it brushed the shell of your ear once more.
“need to learn to stop running away from your husband.”
your heart gave a very unreasonable, very traitorous little flip.
and in the quiet that followed, something in you settled instead of panicking.
then, with soft, growing certainty, you decided you were very excited to be the wife of ryomen sukuna.
super old fic for part of a series i never completed or announced lolz
‧ ₊❝ satoru just needs one final push (nsfw)
he physically can’t cum until he hears your voice
satoru's been at this for at least half an hour by now.
hand gliding up and down his cock, thumb pressing hard against the bulging vein. he imagines it’s your soft, pliant hands instead of his own that are coaxing him towards an orgasm. his mind is hazy, the vision of you blurry as his hips buck lazily into his grasp. the movement of his wrists speed up when he feels himself teetering on the edge, only for him to be pulled back onto solid ground immediately.
he's been at this for at least half an hour and yet, he still can't reach the sweet, sweet relief he was aching for. you're to blame, he thinks. the tight squeeze of your pussy around his cock, enveloping him in a special kind of warmth, has ruined everything else for him. especially the now-slick palms of his own.
even the polaroid he keeps in his wallet isn't enough. not even his favourite — the one where you're on your knees in front of him, mouth stretched around his cock. your eyes are locked onto the camera in his hands, and the faux eye contact makes him stifle a groan. but he still needs more.
he dials your number.
you pick up at the second ring.
"hey, babe, what's up?" your voice is amplified by satoru's phone, pressed up against his ear. he feels his balls tighten.
“please…,” he whimpers through gritted teeth. it’s followed by shallow breaths. then the wet shlicks of his precum being smeared all over his length. it glistens with obscenity, and the shame of getting off to the mere sound of his name uttered in your voice.
“satoru? are you okay? you sound…out of breath.”
though your words were innocent, to him, your voice was no different from porn.
“haah, yes, i-i’m, fffuck, i’m fine—please, say my name again,” his voice cracks, and so does his poorly-maintained facade of composure.
“what—satoru, what’s going on?” your lack of awareness of his dirty actions made him grow heavier in his palms. the strands of his hair were slick with sweat, sticking onto his forehead, head tilted back against the headrest.
“shit, again,” he gasps out, deft fingers tugging at his cock. how you haven't caught on, he's not sure. or maybe you have, and you're just playing dumb. whatever it is, every word makes his breath quicken, his face feel hotter, and his legs tremble more.
“is this a prank?”
“no! please, just keep going. talk to me, anything you want. tell me about your day? pretend as if it’s a—hngh—a life or death situation.” it might as well have been the way he was desperately clawing at any shreds of you.
“umm, okay…? well, i was at the grocery store just now, and there was this lady who was a complete bitch. she cut the queue, and y’know what she said to me? she said she didn’t see me! i mean, hellooo?? she could’ve just—”
“fuck!” a loud groan interrupts your little rant.
spurts of cum spill onto satoru’s hand and lap, all of which, of course, you do not see. his chest heaves with relief, head tipped against the headboard. he lays still for a moment, nothing but shaky breaths leaving his lips. the other end of the line is silent too.
for a moment, he thinks you hung up. left him to ride out the aftershocks of his long-awaited orgasm, fingers still twitching against his cock from the muscle memory.
