esme

he plants small kisses to your cheeks before he even says anything, laying down so his thighs cage in yours and his bare chest presses to your back. you sniffle when you realize he is in his boxers and you feel the warmth you missed so badly. pope freezes. "hey sweetheart. 'm so sorry about earlier." he brings a palm to rub at your side while he continues to whisper apologies in your ear. "shouldn't 've left you like i did-." his words have you shaking your head into your pillow as your bottom lip wobbles.

he sucks in a sharp breath. "fuck- 'm so so sorry honey. i ruined our night, i know. will you lemme make you feel better? p-please sweetheart?" you're half asleep and so gloomy. and even though you're still hurt, all you want to do is let your boyfriend make love to you.

pope kisses at your damp cheek when you nod. "gonna make it all better. promise." his gentle words and his even more gentle movement to slide your t-shirt up over your butt has more tears spilling from your waterline. you never see him this sweet, only when you fight.

he kisses your shoulder while his hand dips down between your legs. your gasp is watery and you shudder when he carefully circles your clit with two calloused fingers. he whispers sweet words the whole time he gets you ready for him. tracing your weepy hole so softly and sweetly. "yer so perfect for me." he slides one thick finger into you and you buck your hips back. "never leavin' you again honey. promise." you cry out when he adds another. "you're my everything sweetheart. love you so much."

the last sentence has you coming on his fingers when he curls them just right. you whimper and squirm underneath his hold while he kisses your hairline the whole way through. "andy..." you voice cracks on the first word you've said to him since he's been back. he shoves down his boxers and nudges your legs apart. "i know. i know. god 'm so sorry. fuck- can i sweet girl? can i please?" you arch ever so slightly as a yes and he immediately shoves his hard cock inside of you. you moan at the stretch his thickness provides every time no matter how nicely he preps you.

popes forehead falls to the nape of your neck. he slowly starts to thrust into you, still whispering. "missed you. hate when we fight. love you so- hnnhg- love you so much."

you're blinking back tears and nodding at his words. you can't form your own right now due to the mix of pleasure and something much deeper you can't quite name. pope rests all his weight atop you, bringing one strong arm to hook underneath your neck. he lightly tilts your head sideways so he can press his lips to yours. you whimper when he ruts his hips until he bottoms out then pauses, letting both of you feel how deep he is.

"didn't mean what i said." you barley hear his quiet, shaky words over your own sniffles and the pulse of his length stilled against your warm walls. "you're not clingy or needy, honey. thats me. i-i need you. god, i love you so much- need you always. wanna stay just like this forever."

its exactly what you needed to hear. tears threaten to spill due to the fact that he knows you so well. you love him so much. you’re choking through your words. " 'm sorry andy-." he cuts you off with a tender "shh shh- jus breathe sweetheart- mhm jus like that." then starts to grind his hips again. pope's heavy weight above you and his thickness dragging inside you only adds to the warmth you feel from his words.

"was my fault. should've stayed. god honey, 'm so sorry i made you upset." you're full on crying now, whimpering his name over and over while he does the same but with " 'm sorry." he's panting soothing words in your ear, muscular forearm tightening around your throat. you feel his thighs twitch on the backs of yours in restraint. you can tell he is trying to keep the slow and sensual pace to match the apology he's giving you.

but you don't want slow. not when you've missed him all night and just want him to make you feel as good as he always does. you push your ass back to fuck yourself onto him a few times as hard as you can with all 200 plus pounds of him on top of you. he complies, instantly knowing what you want, and pressing his cheek to yours and starting to thrust relentlessly. your wet eyes roll into your head as his hips slap harshly against your butt. you feel his fat tip kiss your cervix while the weight of his chest stays glued to your back. a spark starts in your lower belly and tingles start dancing behind your eyes.

a small bit of liquid drops onto your cheekbone and you blink up enough top see pope crying too. it's the first time you've been able to focus on his face. your eyes trace his freckled face thats laced with devastation and his auburn curls that are all messy as if he'd been running his hands through them all night. "t-tell me y'love me sweetheart. please -mmhf fuck- please 'm so sorry. needa hear it."

his small and pathetic words are a stark contrast to the way he's pounding into you. your big strong boyfriend is now sniffling and whimpering just like you had been all night. you comply because it's truly all you feel in this moment. there is nothing else in your euphoria-blanked brain besides the words. "love you andy- loveyouloveyouloveyou-!" he's moaning unashamedly above you as you flutter around his cock. he uses his free hand thats not balancing him to intertwine his fingers with yours that clutching at the sheets.

the tangible pleasure grows and grows till it locks tight behind where your eyes are pouring tears. pope smashes his damp lips to yours once more before starting to beg you. "hnnhg fuck honey- come for me. please. give itta me- i'll keep it safe. promise. come with me please."

he's taken over all of your senses. his words are in the air you breathe, his body is creating the heat you feel, and his throaty groans are taking over the noises you hear.

you can barely move your lips against his as you cry out when you shatter. you're clenching around him so tightly that you're about to push his hefty cock out, but it's all pope needs to come too. your releases are a mix of tears, moans and repeated "iloveyou"s. it's warm and intimate and has your vision blowing white as your hearing fades in and out due to the intensity. when you come down, your body is still shaky and pope is still moving inside of you, even though he's soft and you feel his come warming your insides.

he hasn't stopped whispering sweet nothings to you. "love you. love you so much. yer perfect. don't deserve you." you shake your head in disagreement, brain too fuzzy and body too tired to use words. when he moves to pull out, all you can manage is a raspy whine in protest. pope settles back instantly as if he never actually wanted to move in the first place.

Shoko was the biggest mess of the three of you, sobbing unwaveringly while her whole body trembled. You couldn't blame her - for some reason she’d become the sadistic focus of the other man, known as Jogo. If he wanted to inflict terror upon the three of you, it was always Shoko who found herself at the receiving end of his wrath, and as such her throat was terribly bruised along with her right eye, where he’d struck her hard across the face. 

You were the only one who hadn’t been hit, at least not yet, but you weren’t sure it could be counted as a blessing. Mahito seemed to have taken a liking to you in a way that he didn’t extend to the other two, always reaching out for you and playing with your hair, stroking your face, running his fingers along the bare skin of your thigh. It made you sick, and each time you tried to draw away he would pull you back firmly with a wide smile, like it was all part of some game. 

At first, you weren’t sure what their actual plan was, for the two intruders had broken in and tied you up, only to sit back and smoke weed for a while, leaving the three of you shivering and incapacitated, waiting for whatever was coming next. You supposed that was probably all part of the game - a ploy to send your imagination running wild with thoughts of what they might do to you. 

But once they were done smoking their joints, their game had really started. 

“Okay, you.” Mahito was pointing his gun at Yuki, staring down at her easily. “What’s a secret that you’ve been keeping from these two?” This was the third or fourth question of that manner that the men had levied that evening, seemingly finding joy in causing strife between you all and lashing out with violence when you tried to lie or refused to answer. 

It was a little sickening to think that you’d been playing truth or dare earlier that afternoon, and now you were being forced to play it at gunpoint. It wouldn’t have surprised you to find out that Mahito had been skulking around the whole time, listening in on your interactions with your friends and building this encounter based on it. 

“I don’t have any,” she said firmly, grunting as Mahito slapped her once more.

“Wrong answer.” He clicked the safety off the gun. “Come on, lie again or try to back out and I’ll pull the trigger. It’s only her that I need in working condition.” He jerked his head in your direction. “There must be something, maybe you fucked her boyfriend or something?” 

Yuki sneered at the implication, but the hatred dissipated the moment she remembered her situation. Her dislike for Sukuna seemed rather petty and insignificant in the face of this new violence. 

“Fine.” Yuki turned to you with an earnest stare. “I tried to get Sukuna to break up with you when I first found out you were dating. Sorry, I know you want us to get along, but I hate the guy. I can’t pinpoint exactly what it is about him, but he’s bad news and I don’t want to watch him ruin your life with his bullshit. Sue me.” 

Mahito watched the exchange carefully, eyes lightening up with a cruel glee, only to pout when you offered no dramatic reaction. Even if you hadn’t known the details, it didn’t surprise you that Yuki had tried to intervene - you’d been sure they’d shared some terse words that morning you’d all gone out for brunch, the tension at the table upon your return from the bathroom had been palpable. 

“It's okay, I get it,” you said evenly, more than willing to let it go. Yuki had your best interests at heart, and she wasn’t wrong to be skeptical over some of Sukuna’s more possessive qualities considering the break-in stunt - even if you generally found his nature more charming than concerning. 

“How boring. That’s all?” Mahito asked, switching his focus to you. “She tried to break up your relationship and it's just okay? Get mad about it!” You glared up at him, unsure how he could be so dense as to believe that you’d turn on your friends in this situation. It was pointless to get mad at Yuki right now, all that mattered was living through the evening unharmed. 

“That’s all,” you mumbled, drawing a sigh from the blue haired man. 

“Okay, then how about you, sweetheart?” He asked, edging closer and caressing your face with the barrel of the gun. You flinched at the cold touch of the metal, trying to stay calm in the face of it. You were worried that panicking would just annoy the intruders and cause them to put an end to you early. 

Or perhaps they’d cause harm to one of your friends in a bid as punishment for freaking out. You didn’t want to be the cause of anyone’s suffering. 

“What’s a secret you’ve been hiding? Share it with the class.” 

Just like Yuki, you found yourself unsure as to what you might say, for there weren’t really any secrets you’d been keeping from the both of them. But in a bid to get things over with sooner, you turned to Yuki with a heavy sigh. “Sukuna broke into my house a few weeks ago to have sex with me in the middle of the night to fulfill some kink of his. I didn’t tell you because I thought you’d go crazy about it.” 

“What the fuck?” She asked, suddenly enraged as if forgetting the situation for just a moment. “He broke into your house? That’s so fucked up, why would you keep dating him after that?.” 

“We talked it out,” you responded quickly. “He just got carried away and he thought I’d be into it too. He said it won’t happen again.” 

“Right, because he’s so fucking honest all the time.” 

“He’s good to me,” you argued. 

“Really? Because what you just described makes it sound like he raped you.” 

Immediately you were rearing back, your eyes wide in disgust, like Yuki had poured cold water over you. The words were unpleasant, a sickening feeling twisting within you to hear her describe it in such a manner. You’d never viewed Sukuna’s actions in such a way. Sure, he’d crossed a line in that instance, but sex with him had never been anything other than a pleasure. It was always something that you wanted, and if you ever told him to stop you had the utmost confidence that he would stop. 

Yuki disliking him was one thing, but to cast such incorrect judgement over your dynamic had a spark of hatred igniting itself in your chest. 

“That’s not what I’m saying, at all. God, not everything is black and white, Sukuna isn’t the root of all evil, and I’m so sick of you treating me like a baby all the time. Let me make my own decisions and you can bitch about me to Shoko in private when you don’t agree with them,” you spat. 

“Oh, is that what you do about me?” She asked. “Talk about me behind my back rather than to my face?” 

“Sometimes, yeah. When you're being like this.” Your words hung heavy in the room, and Yuki fell silent, shaking her head and diverting her brown eyes to the ground.

Mahito burst out laughing. 

“Yes! That’s the kind of thing I was talking about!” He waved the gun at Shoko. “Now you!”

Shoko seemed a little bewildered. Of the three of you she was flagging the most, struggling to keep her eyes open. It was clear that there was significant damage to her neck, and even as she hesitated to find an answer, Jogo was striding over and putting his cigarette out on her shoulder, pulling a fearful yelp from her lips. 

“Stop it.” Yuki hissed, only to be ignored by both men, who continued to urge Shoko on for an answer, rubbing the gun up against her temple. 

“Come on, quickly now. Don’t want us to put a bullet in your skull, do you?” Jogo asked. 

Shoko shook her head fearfully, biting down on her lip for a moment before taking a shuddering breath. “I slept with Choso a few months before you guys got together.” She confessed, keeping her gaze forward, seemingly terrified of casting a glance at Yuki.

You couldn’t keep the shock from your face, because you hadn’t known that. And based on the sheer guilt in Shoko’s eyes, you were certain this was the first time she’d told anybody.

“It- it was back when I didn’t know what I wanted and I was still exploring things. Me and him hooked up at a party. I knew that you liked him but I was drunk and things just kind of happened. Sorry Yuki. I should’ve told you.” 

“Oooh, now that’s spicy!” Mahito exclaimed, glancing over at your blonde friend. You weren’t sure at first that she’d even registered it, seemingly processing too many things at once, as if she’d reached some sort of saturation point. But after a few seconds she breathed out a deep sigh and looked at Shoko. 

“It was before we were dating?” 

Shoko nodded earnestly, eyes still fixed in front of her. 

“That’s fine. It’s just- why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t Cho tell me?” 

Shrugging, Shoko stumbled over her words, clearly struggling to formulate a coherent answer. “I don’t know. I guess I just felt like you’d be mad at me? You’d told me you were crushing on him and I still- fuck- sorry.” She trailed off. 

There was more silence, before Yuki shrugged, turning her head away from the both of you. “Sure, whatever.” 

“Girls and their drama huh?” Mahito cut through the silence. “Why can’t you all just get along like me and Jogo here? Always bitching about each other’s boyfriends, it's sad.” You stared at him blankly, eager to point out how sexist such a statement was, but unwilling to risk your life for such a correction. 

Right now, all three of you needed to get it together. Sure, the evening’s revelations had been far from ideal, but it didn’t matter. You could squabble about that stuff once you were safe - none of it mattered if you were going to die tonight either way. 

Twisting your hands in your bindings, you observed the area. You were still in the living room, where the two of them had come barrelling in through the window. If you were able to free yourself you could leap out the way they’d come in, or alternately make a run for the internal door and hope you could lose them in the maze of corridors that made up Satoru’s house. 

Unfortunately, you weren’t convinced that all three of you would be able to break free at the same time, and you weren’t about to sacrifice the others for the sake of your own freedom. It wasn’t fair. 

But still, there had to be some way out. 

“Come on, Yuki, is it?” Mahito asked, crouching before her. “Don’t you wanna hurt these girls for what they’ve done? Tell me which one you’re angrier at, and I’ll inflict a wound on them to make sure they don’t forget it.” 

Shoko whimpered, and immediately you were sitting bolt upright, breathing quickly as Yuki said nothing, her eyes still trained on the floor. 

“Pick one, or I’ll shoot them both in the head.” 

Panic flickered in Yuki’s brown eyes, the threat leading to her swiftly raising her head, glancing between the two of you. Shoko had started sobbing, Jogo’s arm wrapped threateningly around her shoulders, his hand stroking the side of her face with a cruel affection. You were calmer on the surface, eyes staring at her pleadingly, hands trembling a little behind your back. 

Yuki spoke your name softly, guilt and hurt present in her expression before she dropped her head again, hiding beneath a mane of blonde hair. 

You couldn’t say that you really blamed her. With the state that Shoko was in, and the pain that had already been inflicted upon her, Yuki would be wrong to suggest that she should be on the receiving end of any more suffering. But that didn’t mean that you weren’t terrified for yourself, quivering as Mahito approached you, drawing a blade from his pocket. 

As he drew closer, you flinched back, trying to escape from his grasp. You were no match for his speed or strength, letting out a cry of fear as he took a seat on the floor, pulling you forcefully into his lap. “Shhhh. Calm down,” he hummed, his lips pressing against your hair in an action meant to comfort you. It filled you with nothing but revulsion, tears bubbling up in your eyes as he pressed the knife up against your arm. 

“What should I cut into her, Yuki?” He asked. “I’m quite the artist, you know?” 

Yuki said nothing, refusing to look at you. Tears were dripping down onto the floor beneath her, tremors wracking her body. For all of Yuki’s strength and confidence, it had amounted to nothing. She was just as scared as the rest of you, held at bay by a singular gun, unwilling to act like a hero and have her life stolen from her. 

“No ideas?” Mahito asked with a pout. “I suppose I could write whore since you clearly are one. Enjoying your boyfriend breaking in to fuck you? That’s depraved. Bet you’ll like what I’m going to do to you later.” A sob escaped you, fresh horror making itself known in the pit of your stomach. You wanted to vomit. 

“Please, don’t.” You rasped. 

“No? Too bad you don’t get a say in the matter, sweetheart. We came here for some fun, you’re not depriving us of it just because you’re a stick in the mud.” He paused, giving you a look over. “Now, where should I cut you - any preferences on this matter, Yuki? You’re the one doing this to her.” 

“Stop it.” She mumbled weakly, her face still averted to what was happening before her eyes. “Just leave them both alone.” 

“No, no, no.” Mahito waved his blade haphazardly, before showing her the gun holstered in the top of his jeans, momentarily stowed away to allow him more control with his knife. “I told you already, it's the knife, or I shoot them both in the head. There’s no other option. So understand that you are doing this to her, and watch it happen like an adult.”

Mahito snapped his fingers at Jogo, who seemed reluctant to release Shoko from his hold. Clearly he was subservient in this little dynamic that they had going though, because he moved over to Yuki and wrenched her head back with a fistful of hair, forcing her eyes to meet your wide, frightened ones. 

“Mmm, where to put it…” Mahito mused, your body jolting as his fingers found the hem of your shirt, pushing it upwards and trailing the knife up your stomach until it reached the bottom of your bra. “How about here?” He asked, tapping the space between your two breasts. “Then, anyone who fucks you will be able to see what you are plain and simple. You like that idea, Yuki?” 

She shook her head vigorously, more tears streaming down her cheeks. The apology in her eyes was clear, and you found yourself sobbing too. You wanted to be in Sukuna’s arms, wanted to cling to him for all eternity, safely cocooned within his grip where nothing bad could ever happen to you. 

But Sukuna wasn’t there, and there was no one else who would come to your rescue. 

“Stay still.” Mahito cooed, “if you move about I’ll make a mess and then you might really be in trouble. You don’t want me cutting too deep by mistake.” 

A pained cry ripped from your lips as Mahito made his first incision in the valley between your breasts, a long line of a ‘W’ cut into your sensitive skin, blood beading and dripping down onto the band of your bra. You and Sukuna had done knife play before, and it was nothing like this. With Sukuna, you felt safe, certain that he knew your limits - the knife would prick but never truly cut. 

This was something different, something revolting. 

You retreated within yourself, and somewhere in the distance you could hear your own voice begging him to stop. Perhaps you could hear Shoko and Yuki’s too, all pleading tearfully while Mahito added another line to his creation, your body jolting painfully with the careful movements of the knife. 

Whether or not you were thankful that he only made it through two lines of the first letter before something happened, you weren’t quite sure. Because a big part of you would’ve chosen to have the word whore branded permanently on your chest over what transpired in those next few seconds. 

Somehow, in the short time that Jogo had been preoccupied with Yuki, Shoko had wrenched her hands free of her bindings. And while the two men were distracted with you, she took her chance and made a bolt for the door leading further into the house. 

She’d stumbled when leaping to her feet, and the moment she’d set off at a run, her feet had caught on the rug below, sending her careening onto her hands and knees for a second before recovering. 

It was too many mistakes to make. 

Mahito’s knife clattered to the floor, grazing your thigh with a cut as it fell past you. His pistol was in his hand in an instant, a shot firing before you had time to prepare for it, leaving a disgustingly loud ringing sound in your ears, muffling much of what followed. Mahito still held you, and the two men were arguing about something incomprehensible, but all you could do was stare at the blood stain on the white door, eyes wide in horror. 

There was a body laying beneath it, one that had finally stopped quivering. This wasn’t the first time you’d seen a body, not even the first time you’d seen one covered in blood at the sign of a violent death, but that didn’t leave you any better equipped to cope. You emptied your stomach on the floor beside you, barely hearing Mahito’s complaints about how disgusting that was. 

It wasn’t something you could help. 

Desperate panic built within you, and you found yourself looking to Yuki, who seemed to be in the midst of a panic attack. Her breaths were coming out ragged, sobbing aloud in a way you’d never heard from her before, a look of pitiful defeat present in her usually lovely chestnut eyes. 

“Why- why are you doing this?” You sobbed, surprised at the sound of your own voice. “She didn’t deserve that, y-you were cutting into my skin like you wanted, you didn’t need to-” you cut yourself off, not knowing what more to say. 

You thought you might throw up again. 

Mahito grinned, wiping a tear from your cheek. “It gets real boring out here, sweetheart. What better entertainment is there than playing with a bunch of pretty girls until they break? Killing is entertainment, and she was too panicky to be useful for much else.” 

Noticing the horror in your expression, his grin only spread further. 

“Not all things need any deep profound meaning, you know. I love the blood and the suffering! There’s little more to it.” 

There was nothing for you to say, tears rolling down your cheeks as you stared at Shoko’s lifeless body spread across the floor. Her blood was seeping out and staining the wood beneath her, her life gone in a single instant, one which you and Yuki had been powerless to prevent. You felt pathetic, your hands flexing in their bindings, regretting agreeing to go along to Satoru’s holiday home, wishing you’d had a nice quiet weekend in Sukuna’s apartment like your boyfriend had wanted. 

“You good to keep an eye on that one, Jogo? I don’t wanna wait much longer. The punishment games aren’t as fun when there’s only two.” Mahito’s gaze was fixed on you with deep lust, his fingers crawling up the length of your arm. 

“Sure, whatever. I’ll watch her while you have your fun, then we’ll do the usual.” 

“Great!” Mahito stood up, throwing you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing. 

You couldn’t find it in you to struggle, your mind practically shutting down as Mahito stepped over Shoko’s body to head out into the corridor, like she was nothing more than an obstacle in his path. 

Like she hadn’t been someone you loved.

—

Sukuna had been beset with the chilling feeling that something was wrong. 

It had started just after they’d left the butchers, when he’d shot you a quick text to ask if you wanted anything from the liquor store. Usually, you were quick to reply to him, very rarely leaving your phone on silent, so when a few minutes passed by without you even reading his message, a hint of concern ignited within him. 

He’d tried calling you then, since the rest of the boys had already bought what they wanted, and Sukuna didn’t want to leave without knowing if he should pick you something up, but the phone rang out, going straight to voicemail, and that really worried him. 

Now, to his credit, he did try his best to reason with himself that everything was probably fine. You were likely just caught up chatting with the girls about one thing or another, perhaps you’d left your phone upstairs, or maybe you were watching some movie with the volume turned up so high that you didn’t hear the ringing of your cutesy mobile. 

But he couldn’t quite shake the anxiety from his chest. 

He cursed himself for even attempting to cast his worries aside once the boys made it back from their walk to find the house eerily silent. The window of the living room was smashed inwards, leaving shards of glass all over the wooden floor, and the menu screen for the Ferris Bueller DVD was drenching the whole room in bright white. 

“What- what the fuck?” Satoru hissed. 

The four of them were frozen outside, staring in through the window at the empty room. In the artificial light, Sukuna could just about make out blood staining the sofa, and more flooding the floor behind it. Amongst that partially obscured pool, he could make out what looked like a hand peeking out from behind the couch, and his heart dropped. 

He didn’t wait to consult with the others in their state of shock, and gave little thought to the fact that whoever had done this might still be in the house. Instead he made straight for the window, heart pounding in his chest as he leapt gracefully through the gap, vision shaky but still fixed on that small hand partially shrouded in darkness. 

It couldn’t be you. It couldn’t be. 

It wasn’t. 

Rounding the side of the couch, he stopped in his tracks at the site of Shoko. She was cold, motionless, her brown eyes still open. Blood was dripping from a gunshot wound straight through her skull, leaving her brown hair sticky and matted. There was still a flush to her cheeks, suggesting that whatever had transpired hadn’t taken place all that long ago. 

This wasn’t the first dead body Sukuna had seen - in that area he would consider himself more than experienced. He’d disemboweled Ryu, had smashed Yorozu’s head in with a hammer, had gone so far as to actively torture Kashimo before finally disposing of him - and yet, none of that had made him feel sick like the sight before him.

Shoko had been a good friend of yours. She was a person who Sukuna liked - a good influence on you, someone that would always leave you happy after you’d gone to hang out with her. 

She didn’t deserve what had happened to her. 

But more to the point, whoever had done this to Shoko currently had you, and that thought made him want to vomit. 

He had to find you. 

There was the sound of glass crunching, and Sukuna glanced over at the boys making their way in behind him. They all looked freaked out, and Satoru’s eyes widened in horror as he finally reached Sukuna’s side, letting out a strangled yelp of horror. “Shoko! Oh fuck.” He was down on his knees in an instant, pouring over her as if he might find a pulse if he tried hard enough. “Quick, someone call an ambulance! Suguru - take my phone, oh shit.” 

Suguru was already dialing 911, whilst Choso was standing with hunched shoulders, his expression riddled with terror. It was clear he was going through the same spectrum of emotions that Sukuna was, full of pity for Shoko but focussed on the fate of his own girlfriend who was absent from the room. 

“Yuki-” he mumbled. “I’ve gotta find Yuki.” 

“Do you have a gun?” Sukuna asked Satoru, his voice eerily calm. Internally he was panicking, seething at the idea of someone hurting you, but he wasn’t the type to get frazzled, especially not when he had so many executions on his hands already. 

“What-” 

“These fuckers are probably still here. Do you have a gun here?” 

Satoru nodded. “There’s a cabinet in the kitchen. I’ll show you.” He slowly rose from his position beside Shoko, letting Suguru watch over her while he spoke with the police, asking for immediate support along with an ambulance - not that medical help would do much for Shoko at that point. 

Hurrying into the kitchen, they avoided making too much noise, eager to have the advantage of surprise over any perpetrators. Internally, Sukuna was screaming. He wanted to go on a rampage around the house - tear doors off their hinges and scream at the top of his lungs. But he wasn’t stupid, any warning given to the person or people who had done this could lead to your death. 

He would be nothing but calm and careful. 

It wasn’t clear if the same could be said for Choso, who was visibly shaking while Satoru unlocked the gun rack. Sukuna wasn’t sure the boy had any capability of keeping it together, and he’d be damned if his friend’s weak heart led to your demise somehow. Fortunately, Satoru seemed to be more locked in to the task at hand, breathing easily as he handed Sukuna a pistol, keeping the hunting rifle to himself. 

Satoru, despite his kind and friendly demeanor, had always been the type of man who could do whatever was needed when the time came. He’d been there for Sukuna in plenty of fights throughout high school and had lied their way out of being arrested when they’d been caught with drugs on more than one occasion. 

He was the best person to have on hand in a situation like this, outside of Sukuna himself. 

Later, he was sure the boy would be a total mess, but that was fine. All Sukuna needed was for him to be strong in the moment. 

“I’ll cover the top two floors, you two deal with the bottom two.” Sukuna whispered after a quick check that the pistol was loaded. “If you find them, don’t hesitate to shoot. They deserve the same respect they gave Shoko.” 

Depending on the condition he found you in, he’d probably give the cause a fate even worse than death, but there was no need to recommend that outcome to his friends. They could decide how they wanted to deal with the situation on their own. 

“You gonna be okay by yourself?" Satoru asked. 

Sukuna wanted to laugh at how vastly Satoru was underestimating him, but he was too anxious and enraged to waste any more time. “Yeah. Let's get to it.” 

Hurrying up the stairs, he found it hard to balance speed with silence, wincing each time a step would creak beneath his feet. The stairs were situated at the back of the house, with connected flights moving directly up from the first floor to the fourth. He was on the landing of the second floor when he heard a muffled scream from down the hall, pausing him in his tracks. 

The cry was followed by some begging and sobbing, in a voice which belonged to Yuki. Shortly after, there was the gruff sound of a man speaking and a harsh slap. He faltered in his decision, one foot already on the stairs to continue upwards. He’d assigned this floor to Choso and Satoru, who were still checking out the floor below, and if he was being completely honest, he couldn’t care less about Yuki’s fate. 

What gave him pause was the idea that you might be in there with her, and that had him reversing back down the stairs and along the hallway to a partially opened door, light flooding out into the darkness Sukuna nestled within. Gun in hand, the safety already off, he peered round the door, catching sight of Yuki sitting on the bed, her face bruised and bloodied. 

He watched silently as the large man standing over her struck her for a second time, blood dripping from her cracked lips. There was no defiance in her eyes, none of that fiery hatred Sukuna was often subject to. She had been reduced to a woman overcome with terror, her clothes sticking to her skin, tears rolling down her cheeks. 

If he was a better person, he probably would’ve stepped in and helped - raised his gun to the man’s head in a swift movement and pulled the trigger. But you weren’t there in that room with her, and he’d waste no time aiding a woman he hated when the one he loved was still in peril. 

Choso could save his own damn girlfriend. 

So he backed away slowly, hoping the floor didn’t creak beneath him, before making for the floors above. 

It didn’t take him long to find you after that, your sobs and whimpers flooding the area as he stumbled up onto the fourth floor, which housed the master bedroom Satoru had been staying in. You weren’t begging coherently like Yuki had been, your words a mess of desperate pleas and cries. 

Heart soaring, he found immense comfort in the knowledge that you were alive, your body still warm and moving in a way that Shoko’s never would again. 

But any happiness was quickly replaced by sheer rage at the reality you were currently living. Because at that moment you were alone in a bedroom with some creep who’d carelessly murdered your friend - completely victim to some psycho’s will. 

Sukuna was no longer thinking, acting on impulse as he pushed open the door silently. There was no bright light like the room Yuki had been in, the bedroom instead illuminated by a softer lamp, as if the attacker had wanted to set the mood. He could hear blood pumping in his ears as he rounded the corner, allowing him full vision of Satoru’s bedroom. 

You were there on the bed, laying down atop silk sheets which had clearly been disrupted in a struggle upon them. Even now you were wriggling, trying to pull at the fabric beneath you, letting out soft, anxious cries of fear. 

It was an image that he’d seen hundreds of times - you, laying there with a flushed face, your shirt discarded elsewhere. Usually it was a pleasant image, one that he was always happy to see, knowing that you’d be beneath him, all happy and breathy in his arms. 

But this was the most unpleasant scene he’d ever witnessed.

Because he wasn’t the one laying on top of you. Instead, you were pinned down by that freak from the gas station, a wide smile stretched upon his pale lips as he grappled with you beneath him, easily warding off your attempts to push him away. 

Just like you, the man was in a state of partial nudity, his shirt thrown on the floor beside yours, and Sukuna found fleeting relief in the realisation that he wasn’t too late. You still had your comfy shorts on, keeping you from further defilement, and you were fighting hard for that dignity to remain intact. 

The man had clearly hit you in an attempt to get you to what he wanted, a dark bruise rising around your left eye, and as Sukuna’s gaze drifted down your form he took note of a glistening red mark between your breasts - blood trailing from it down onto your stomach. 

“Come on baby, stop fighting me. I told you we were gonna have a good time, stop being a bitch-” 

You kicked at him as hard as you could, your feet barely doing any damage as he pinned you back down, a pale hand locking around your throat firmly, pulling a strangled whimper from your lips. 

“What did I just fucking tell you? Play nice and maybe you’ll actually enjoy-”  

The gun went off with no active decision on Sukuna’s part, his hands acting all on their own. 

He was experienced with a gun - he knew how to shoot to kill just as well as he knew how to shoot to maim, and it was the latter that his body chose in that moment. He wanted the man off you, but he didn’t want him dead - not yet, because that would be far too lenient a punishment for a man who had laid his hands on you in such a manner. 

Letting out a shocked cry, more sobs wracked your body as your attacker fell to the side, blood spraying over your trembling form. You wriggled away in an instant, escaping the heavy weight sitting atop you, and curling in on yourself towards the head of the bed. It was as if you hadn’t even seen Sukuna, hadn’t really comprehended what had happened, capable of doing nothing beyond consoling yourself. 

Sukuna wanted to go to you immediately, yearned to pull you into his arms and tell you that everything was going to be okay. 

But he needed to deal with your attacker first. 

The man was shaking and gasping for air, a hand reaching up to cover the wound Sukuna had inflicted upon him. A knife had clattered to the floor at his side, and Sukuna was quick to grab it, tossing it out of his reach. 

He also took stock of a gun laid out on the bedside table next to where you were curled up, rolling his eyes at how painfully stupid this man must be to have parted with his weapon. Perhaps he’d been arrogant enough to think that he didn’t need it when faced with a much weaker opponent like you, but Sukuna never would’ve made such a blunder when it came to his own kills. 

It was always sensible to anticipate that something could go wrong. 

“Piece of shit,” Sukuna hissed, hitting the man full force across the face, certain that his strike had landed twice as hard as the one this man had inflicted upon you. He cried out in agony, blood spurting from his wound as he wrenched his hand away, bringing it up to cradle his aching face. 

But that wasn’t enough for Sukuna, nothing would ever be enough. 

“Think you can touch my girlfriend, huh? You’re fucking with the wrong guy.” With a sickening crack, Sukuna stamped on the man’s leg, bringing his foot down over and over again until he was certain that the bone would be too mangled to ever repair. 

He took pleasure in the way the man screamed, begging pathetically for Sukuna to stop. It fell upon deaf ears, because Sukuna had caused immense suffering for far lesser crimes than the one this man had committed. This was a person he deserved the full force of his rage. 

“Now, stay there.” Sukuna said cooly, cutting through the man’s cries. “I’ll deal with you when I’m good and ready.”

He turned his attention then to you, heart panging at just how small you’d made yourself in the corner of the bed, your knees pulled up against your chest. 

“Baby,” he spoke softly, approaching you with care. He hated how you flinched when his hand brushed against your skin, and found his bloodlust for the man on the floor flaring up anew. “It’s me, you’re okay.” 

Taking a seat on the bed, he wrapped his arms around your trembling body and maneuvered you into his lap. You said nothing, but seemed to understand what was happening all the same, your fingers instinctively curling into his t-shirt as you burrowed yourself closely against him. 

There he held you for a little while, focussing on your sniffling, completely ignoring the man groaning at his feet. Sukuna’s fingers combed through your hair, rocking you gently, cooing against your head with loving words of affection and comfort. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you.” He whispered over and over again like a mantra, not just for your benefit but for his own too. 

He hated to think how close he’d been to losing you. If he’d been just a bit later you could’ve been dead, discarded after that freak was done having his fun with you. The thought made his skin crawl and he held you tighter still. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled against his chest, leaving Sukuna perplexed, staring down at you as you raised your face up to meet his gaze. “I couldn’t stop him from touching me.” 

Sukuna’s face twisted in distaste for a moment before he forced himself to correct his expression, not wanting to make you feel worse. He hated that you’d said that, hated that you were acting like this was somehow your fault when it was his. He should’ve never left you alone - it was on him to protect you.

It was on that creep to not touch you in the first place. 

And yet guilt filled your teary eyes, like you’d somehow wronged Sukuna by failing to escape from something traumatic. 

You really frustrated him sometimes. 

“Don’t apologise,” he said, trying to keep the edge from his voice. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” His thumb wiped the tears from your cheeks carefully, taking a moment to inspect your face properly now you were looking up at him. 

A purple bruise blossomed around one of your eyes, spreading out onto your cheek, and there was equally unpleasant bruising on your neck, as though your attacker had tried choking you in a vicious manner more than once. The observation that bothered him the most were the perfect lines cut in the valley between your breasts, where dried blood was smudged around the wounds. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I should’ve been here.” 

You said nothing, huddling yourself against him once more, fingers moving to his arm and holding so tight he was certain you’d leave bruises on him. He wasn’t sure what was going through your mind at that moment - you seemed almost out of it, too shellshocked to articulate how you were feeling, seemingly unaware of the man wailing and clutching his leg mere feet away from you. 

He was holding himself back from quizzing you on exactly what had happened, curious as to whether you knew about Shoko, whether you’d seen it happen. He wanted to know how far that creep had gone with you, just what punishment he’d dished out so that Sukuna could ensure he suffered appropriately. 

Although, if he was gonna do anything he needed to do it soon. Suguru had called the police and Sukuna needed to make sure this man was dead before they arrived. He didn’t want the fucker to go through the justice system - if he got a good enough lawyer he’d get some cushy deal and be out in a couple of years, and that was unacceptable. 

Sukuna would kill him before that. Any death would be written off as self-defence, all things considered. He’d broken into a house, killed a woman and sexually assaulted another - Sukuna was free to use reasonable force, which in this case was a bullet through the head.  

“Why do bad things keep happening to me?” You asked in a small voice, one that twisted unpleasantly at Sukuna’s heart. “My bad luck killed Shoko…and Yuki, oh, Yuki!” For a moment you seemed to snap out of the haze, sitting up in a panic. “Sukuna! There’s another guy - he’s got Yuki, you have to help her, please-” 

“Choso’s got it,” he said evenly. 

He wasn’t sure if it was a lie, it might’ve been, but he’d heard no gunshots so he was opting to believe that Yuki was fine. He certainly wasn’t going to leave your side to go and help her, not when you were in such a tumultuous state. If he had it his way, he’d curl himself around you protectively and hold you like that for hours, until your terrified shivering finally stopped. 

You needed him far more than Yuki did. 

“Is she okay? She didn’t- they didn’t hurt her, did they?” 

Yuki looked hardly worse for wear than you did when he’d seen her, and he was certain the woman was probably tougher than you regardless. He wasn’t particularly concerned with her state and you shouldn’t be either. 

He loved how kind you were, it was something he admired about you, but it grated on his nerves sometimes. Here you were, sobbing in his arms after an assault, and you were still all worried about someone else. 

You could really do with acting a little more selfishly. 

“She’s okay. I didn’t see her properly, I was too busy looking for you.” 

Sniffling once more, you lowered your head in shame, releasing your grip on Sukuna and bringing your hands up to your face. “I cursed them. I cursed them with my bad luck. Maybe I should’ve been the one who got shot instead.” 

There was an unpleasant part of Sukuna that wanted to slap you. He didn’t want to hear you say such things about yourself, didn’t want to entertain the thought that you’d be comfortable with your own death. You were his, he wasn’t going to let you slip through his fingers because of perceived bad luck. 

But he held himself together, aware that right now you needed comfort rather than reprimand. You weren’t thinking straight, clearly falling apart at the seams. Taking a deep breath, he leant down and kissed you on the forehead, before planting a few more gentle kisses all over your face. 

“Don’t say that, please. I don’t think you know how broken I’d be.” You looked shocked at the sincerity in his voice, fresh guilt flickering in your eyes leading you to avert your gaze in shame. 

“Sorry,” you mumbled. Sukuna supposed it was probably best to leave that conversation there, keeping his stern gaze on you for a few moments longer but not pressing the issue. He’d disregard it as a slip of the tongue, something he’d come back to later if he needed to. 

“It’s all going to be fine baby,” he promised. “The police are all the way. Stop worrying and just let me take care of you.” 

He’d assumed that you’d sink back into his arms, but after a few deep breaths you seemed almost reinvigorated, as if you’d shaken off the original paralysing shock and guilt and had transitioned into a new phase of panic.

“It’s not going to be fine, Shoko’s not going to be fine! Fuck- Shoko! I need to be with her.”

You wriggled in his arms before escaping from his grip, bare feet hitting the rug as you made for the door. Sukuna reached out to grab your wrist, eager to placate you and pull you back into his arms. He didn’t want you to go downstairs to see your friend in the state that she was in, he wanted to keep you close and safe. 

“Baby, wait.” 

You stumbled to a halt before Sukuna could grab you, your eyes wide and fearful as you peered down at Mahito rolling about on the ground, blocking the path to the door. It was like you were only just remembering he was there, half convinced Sukuna had killed him with that gunshot. 

Sukuna watched you, his desire to keep you in his lap giving way to curiosity as to what you might do next. 

You weren’t a person with a great tendency to hatred. Sure, you’d disliked people such as Yorozu and Uro, but he’d never really seen you lash out at anyone. But right now your face was a picture of disgust. His hand reached slowly for the pistol, eager to have a method of maiming the bastard should he try anything, but he wanted you to have your moment first. 

“You.” Your voice was trembling. “You killed her.” 

The man didn’t acknowledge you, too lost in a haze of pain. Blood was dripping from his mouth, a couple of teeth missing from the force with which Sukuna had struck him. 

“You fucking killed her.” You raised your voice louder now, fresh tears streaming down your cheeks. You seemed almost aggravated that his attention wasn’t on you, and Sukuna figured he should be a good boyfriend and step in to fix that. 

He rose from his place on the bed and stood over the man, planting a foot hard on his shattered leg, peering down at him maliciously. His screaming grew louder, but Sukuna’s voice cut through it. “Hey, my girl’s talking to you. Listen to what she has to say or I’ll smash up the other leg.” 

His cries simmered down to a whimper, heterochromatic eyes turning to you. There was no glee on the man’s face anymore, none of the pathetic power he’d lorded over you just before Sukuna had arrived. 

All that was left was fear. 

“I hate you. I’ll always hate you. You’re the lowest person on this Earth. How dare you believe that you have a right to live while she lies dead,” your voice was surprisingly calm, and Sukuna found himself admiring how well you were holding it together. 

Perhaps he’d underestimated you.

You took a step closer to the man, crouching down in front of him, covering your breasts with your arms, as if suddenly aware of how exposed you still were. 

“She was studying to be a doctor, you know,” you said gently. “She spent her time helping people, doing good for the world. Now there’s one less good person on this earth, and more horrible men like you infecting it. You don’t deserve to be alive. I hope you suffer and you rot, and part of me wishes that I could ensure that by my own hands.” 

Sukuna took a deep breath, steeling his mind and trying to take himself away from what was unfolding before him, because he wasn’t sure what he’d do if he didn’t force a mental step back. To see you threaten someone so firmly, standing with such confidence over a person he’d battered and bruised, it was painfully attractive to him. 

His lust for you was high at the best of times, but to see you in a domain that he’d always considered as his and to find that you fit in just fine? Yeah, he liked that. 

“You know what they say-” the man rasped. “Kill a killer and the number of murderers in the world remains the same.” 

Sukuna bit back a laugh, amused at the statement because if he executed the guy, the number of murderers in the world really wouldn’t change. But you seemed mildly swayed, gaze filled with uncertainty. 

“Besides,” he huffed, seeming to forget Sukuna was there. “Are you really gonna act all big and tough now? Just- just a minute ago you were crying under me - fuckin’ begging for it. You probably g- get off to the violence - I know you like it when your boyfriend’s rough-”

There was another sickening crack as Sukuna stamped down on his other leg. He wasn’t sure how the man was aware of such things, but he wouldn’t have it discussed in such a crude manner either way. What went on between the two of you was sacred and he wouldn’t have it marred by the words of this freak. 

He’d expected you to yelp and rear back. Instead you stared up at him blankly, unphased by his actions. He wasn’t sure what to make of it, caught off guard by the resolve in your eyes, hidden behind layers of blood and exhaustion. You had no space for mercy towards this man, and Sukuna found himself with an idea. 

“Do you want to kill him, baby?” 

Horror registered in your expression for half a second, like you were shocked he’d suggest such a thing, only for something akin to interest to replace it when Sukuna held out the pistol to you, fingers brushing yours as he let the weight fall into your hands. 

“This fucker killed Shoko, he laid his hands on you, he would’ve killed you too once he’d had enough. He would’ve killed me if he had the chance, would’ve fucking slaughtered all of us. Sure, the police will arrest him, but one day he’ll be back out on the streets and then what? Didn’t your buddy Hiromi have some client who escaped from prison? Do you wanna take a chance on this asshole managing that?” 

“No,” you whispered, more tears staining your cheeks, fidgeting with the gun, as if it didn’t feel right in your hands. Sukuna took a step away from the man, circling behind you. His chest pressed against your back, and he gently steadied the gun within your grip, encasing your hands within his larger ones. 

“He’s probably done this before, probably ruined and killed some other group of poor girls. Do you wanna give him the chance to do this to someone else? To do this to you again? We both know the justice system is fucked.” 

“He deserves to die,” you murmured, hands clutching the gun tighter. 

“Even death is a mercy for this bastard.” 

Whether you were in your right mind, Sukuna wasn’t really sure, but he also didn’t want to pass up the opportunity you’d presented him. This was a bonding opportunity for the two of you, something that would bring you closer, keep you tied to each other in a manner so intimate that you’d never feel the same connection with anyone else. 

He wanted that, wanted you to pull the trigger. 

And he knew that somewhere within you, it was what you wanted too. You hated this man, he could feel the fear and anger rolling off you in waves. He deserved death, and giving that to him was all you could think about, held back only by morals that told you killing was wrong no matter the circumstance. 

Sukuna wanted to break through that assumption. 

He wanted to corrupt you, at least a little - wanted you to be able to see things from his point of view. You were his soulmate, it was only natural to let each other in on the interests you held dear, and dishing out justice and punishment was immensely dear to Sukuna. 

“We can do it together,” he whispered. 

Tentatively, your finger pressed against the trigger, guided by Sukuna’s steady hands. He did most of the work, purring compliments against your ear as he aimed the gun at the man who had transitioned from taunting to begging, spouting pathetic words which fell upon deaf ears. 

“I can do it for you, if you’d like, but it's up to you. He killed Shoko, don’t you owe it to her to make sure he faces the same fate?” 

“I do,” you whispered. Your hands started to tremble, and Sukuna kept them steady. 

“Breathe with me, baby.” 

You nodded, taking a deep breath, your eyes examining the pathetic form of Mahito for one last time before Sukuna pressed down on the finger positioned against the trigger. You didn’t yelp or jump as the gun fired, watching on in morbid fascination at the hole blooming with blood on the side of the man’s head, the light in his eyes immediately dissipating. 

There were no tears from you, no immediate regret, just silence as you let the gun clatter to the ground. Sukuna gave you a tight squeeze, keeping you there in his arms and drinking in the sweet smell of iron which permeated the room. 

It had been a terrible day for him and a worse one for you.

But there, with a dead man lying at your feet and your warm body in his arms, he wasn’t sure that he’d ever felt happier. 

— 

Things had passed in a blur after you and Sukuna had left Mahito in that room. 

The police had arrived and taken accounts, grimly explaining that this wasn’t the first time something similar had happened in the area. Apparently, Mahito and Jogo had been busy with scenes like this one over the last few years, and on this occasion their luck had finally run out. 

Jogo was still alive. Choso and Satoru hadn’t opted to use the gun, pulling the man off of Yuki and beating him until he was unconscious, tying him up and leaving him there in the bedroom for the police to deal with. You tried not to think too much about the blood seeping from Mahito upstairs, not completely sure you’d made the right decision - but with Sukuna’s comforting arm never lifting from your body you decided to allow yourself to be reassured. 

Sukuna took the blame anyway when the officers arrived, telling them he’d shot the man to defend you when he’d arrived on the scene, easily explaining that Mahito had a gun to your head and he wasn’t sure what else he could’ve done. Neither of them seemed bothered by his decision, with one of them even clapping him on the shoulder and commending him for his bravery in defending you. 

It's what they would’ve done. 

Of course, they mentioned there’d still be an investigation - it was part of due process and necessary for corroborating what had happened and putting Jogo away, but they told Sukuna not to worry too much about any repercussions for his actions. 

And that had been exactly how it went down over the few weeks that followed. 

There had been a quickly moving investigation, and your family had Hiromi come down to help with everything. Sukuna’s actions were deemed as necessary self-defense after a short stint of questioning over Mahito’s leg wounds, which Sukuna claimed had been inflicted after the death in a lapse of rightful anger. 

Whether that was believed or not, you weren’t sure, but there was a lot of sympathy towards all of you after what you’d gone through, which meant any suspicions towards the heroes that had saved you were swiftly dropped. 

Both you and Yuki were a mess after everything that had happened. When you’d first come downstairs to see Shoko’s body, already covered up with a sheet by the medics and police who’d arrived on the scene, you’d broken down anew and allowed Sukuna to cradle you as the reality of what had happened settled in. 

The whole thing felt like some nightmare - something that would happen to characters in a horror movie rather than to you. It was even worse than what had been done to Ryu, because at least you didn’t have to see the event happen firsthand with your ex. To watch the light disappear from Shoko’s eyes was something that would haunt you for the rest of your life. 

You’d felt no such pain seeing the same happen to Mahito, a sick sense of pleasure coiling within you at that spark dying within him. 

It was what he’d deserved. 

Yuki had looked worse for wear than you - her face and body were littered with bruises and cuts, and her eyes were red from crying. It was an odd look to see on her, unaccustomed to Yuki being anything but strong and steady. Once Sukuna had released you from his grasp, the two of you had clung to each other for a while, unsure if you were sobbing in relief from being alive or in sorrow for your loss. 

Maybe it was both. 

At the very least, you were glad Yuki was alive. 

Neither of you discussed what had happened to you when you’d been separated - it wasn’t something you’d speak about to anyone other than Sukuna, and you were certain your friend felt similarly. According to Sukuna, she’d been found by the boys before you had, so you hoped she hadn’t suffered any further than what you’d experienced. 

You didn’t have much chance to speak with her anyway, or any of the others for that matter, in the weeks that followed. Outside of dealings with the police to get everything wrapped up, you seldom even ventured outside. Yuki would text you occasionally, as would Satoru, checking in on how you were coping, but you had no desire to do anything or speak with anyone. 

All you could do was curl yourself up in blankets on Sukuna's bed and let him comfort you. 

It was foolish, the speed at which you’d fallen apart all over again. You’d worked so hard to pull yourself together after Ryu’s death - had faced so many mental challenges and overcome them all with the belief that there was more to life than horror and suffering. But right now you were struggling to see that light in any capacity. 

The only glimmer of hope came from Sukuna. 

He was the only thing keeping you going, the only thing you had to cling on to.

Through it all, his presence was unfaltering, his hands steadying you when you’d awaken screaming from a nightmare, distracting you with caring words and a touch that chased away the slimy memory of Mahito’s hands on your skin. 

“Do you think that I was an evil person in another life?” You’d asked him on one nightmare-riddled evening, tears dripping down your cheeks. 

The clock read 3am, and you could only just make Sukuna out in the light of the streetlamp not fully shut out by his blinds. It had been a couple of weeks since the event and your most recent nightmare had been worse than most. 

It had been you, completely stripped bare beneath Mahito, his touch searing into your skin. Instead of being in the bedroom, you’d been lying on the couch, your teary eyes meeting Shoko’s empty brown ones as you gave up beneath your attacker. You’d awoken not long after Shoko had opened her mouth to speak, black blood pouring from her mouth with a whole mess of spiders and cockroaches following, her voice cracked and deep as she’d said, “this is your fault.” 

Sukuna was rubbing his eyes, hair sticking up cutely. He was clearly trying to pick apart your statement, still half asleep and trying to recover from the panic that had gripped him when you’d awoken him with a scream. 

“Were you an evil person in another life?” He repeated your question slowly, like he was sure he’d misheard you. You weren’t sure if he was amused by these night terrors of yours - it was impacting his sleep as much as it was impacting yours, and you feared he’d grow tired of you acting like someone so broken. 

Not that you seemed to be able to help it. 

“Yeah…like- I don’t know…” You shrugged as you trailed off, wiping your cheeks. The shadows beneath his eyes betrayed his exhaustion, and you pulled away from him, laying back down on the bed. It was best to let him go to sleep, if you still wanted to discuss the matter in the morning you could. 

It was wrong to rely on him too heavily.

There was silence for a moment before Sukuna laid back down beside you, sliding an arm beneath you and pulling you firmly into his grip. Your heart picked up as your face met his chest, basking in his familiar warmth as his hands soothed along your back and hair. 

“I don’t think you were ever an evil person. You’re good to a fault - sometimes it's even a little annoying.” If you were in a better mood maybe you would’ve sat up and pouted at him, but instead you remained quiet, hanging off his every word. “You’re gonna be okay, baby. I’m here and I’ll stay here for as long as you still want me. Evil if you were evil or whatever it is you’re worried about.” 

“You shouldn’t,” you mumbled quietly. Sukuna froze beside you, his hands stilling as his heartrate picked up a little. 

“What?” 

“You shouldn’t stay here. Someone’ll shoot you in the head or disembowel you one day.” 

“I told you before, I won’t let that happen,” Sukuna said firmly, grip tightening around you. You wanted to believe him, you really did, but you just weren’t sure you could anymore. Ryu never would’ve expected what happened to him, Shoko wouldn’t have expected her fate, it just happened. 

Not to come across as self-important, but you just had the sinking feeling that somehow it was your fault too. To witness two immensely violent tragedies on top of various other bits of bad luck, it just felt like you were being divinely punished. The last thing you wanted was for Sukuna to fall afoul of a similar fate. 

He deserved more than that. 

“How can you be so sure?” You peered up at him in the dim light, meeting his eyes. There was something in them which felt reluctant, like a few thoughts were flitting through his head and he couldn’t quite reach a conclusion on what he wished to divulge. Finally, he let out a heavy sigh, stroking your hair once more. 

“I can’t be sure, I suppose. Nothing in life is sure. But you, this life I have with you, is all that really matters to me. I would climb back up from the pits of hell before I let anyone take that away from me. Believe me.” 

“But-” 

“And, if some fucker did get me, even if we could say for sure that it was due to you being cursed or afflicted with bad luck or whatever, it wouldn’t make a difference. I would still choose to be with you even if I knew the life would be short, even if I knew I’d meet a horrible fate. If you made me choose between a long life without you, or a short life at your side, I would always choose the latter.” 

You lay there in silence, heart pounding in your ears, struggling to truly comprehend the weight of his words. Sukuna’s love for you was no secret, but perhaps the depth of it was greater than you’d ever truly understood. 

There was no question that he’d die for you. Considering Mahito’s state you already knew that he’d kill for you. He wouldn’t be pushed away by some foul omen you felt hung over your head, he wouldn’t leave you alone to spiral in the darkness like the fate you’d resigned yourself to after Ryu’s demise. 

He was there, and his hands were on you.

And you were certain there was nothing that could part the two of you. 

a/n: tune in next time to find out the thing that could maybe part the two of them :)

sorry for how horrible I was to reader (and everyone) in this chapter :(

hope you enjoyed and thank you for the support! comments and reblogs are appreciated as always! <3

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It’s unnerving. The flapping of wings in the pit of your stomach is exchanged for a more ill-seated churning when Satoru leaves and Sukuna takes his place. Yesterday when you didn’t have the gumption to ask how the hell this arrangement was meant to work, you might have called it nerves, but by only day two, it’s just frustrating.

The brute glances up from whoever he’s texting, visibly fiddling with his lip ring that shifts each time his jaw ticks.

You meet his gaze from behind your phone, dropping the device from your gaze when he doesn’t waiver.

“Do you mind?”

His head tilts an inch, his chin raised just enough that his smirk feels condescending. “Not at all.”

You can’t decide whether you prefer Sukuna when the weather in his world is stormy or when it’s sunny and he’s amused. They’re a different brand of asshole.

“You know, asking you for help was pretty fucking hard to do in the first place,” you begin, frustrated with the theatrics of your co-worker. His brow cocks as you pin him in place with your words. “So I’d appreciate it if you stopped making me feel weird about it.”

His lips press into a thin line, any hint of amusement fading. “Look,” he begins with equal frustration. “I’m not trying to make you feel weird for asking for help. I don’t give a shit how you learn about what we sell, even if it’s because of Satoru. I told you that from the start. If you want someone’s instruction, whatever. That’s fine.” He pushes up off the counter, all six-foot-something of him towering over you. “You’re allowed to ask questions about sex, especially here. But you knew from the start what I’m like.”

The demeanor he carries himself with that gives you the sense he thinks he’s above not just you, but everyone, still simmers under his skin. You can see it in the way he carries himself, like that egotistical mindset never fades.

But you can’t be upset when he’s honest with you, and open too in the subject that makes your stomach flutter. His words aren’t comforting, but they settle your frustration and nerves. Something in the way he’s direct and has nothing to hide reminds you why you ever asked him in the first place.

Pushing his fingers back through his hair, he shakes his head. “Why not just tell Satoru you don’t have experience?”

Your shoulders rise and fall as you face him. “It’s not…” You sigh, your gaze falling. “Just about Satoru.”

“Then what’s it about? What’s getting to you so much that you asked me?”

Running your tongue over your lower lip, you worry it in between your teeth. When it takes you a moment too long to reply, Sukuna grunts questioningly again, pushing for an answer.

“I just…” you stall, scratching your shoulder. “I shouldn’t still be a virgin at this age, right?”

Somewhere under all of that snide overconfidence is a man who was raised right, in spite of all of his shortcomings and his belittling behaviour. His nose scrunches, his head shaking from side to side in short, disbelieving movements. “What? Who fucking cares, that’s your choice.” Then, something else dawns on him as he starts up again before you can answer. “Wait. You’re a virgin?”

“See, it does matter! And whether it’s Satoru, or any other guy, they’re just gonna think I’m a prude or something because I haven’t–”

Running a hand over the faint stubble along his chin, his jaw briefly hangs open as he listens to your retort. When you keep going, at last he interrupts. “No, it doesn’t matter.” He pauses, pinning you in place with adamance. “The reason I’m asking is because I want to make sure you actually want to do this shit with me,” he states plainly, no amount of teasing present in the serious gaze he fixes you with. “I’m not fucking around when it comes to boundaries and consent.”

As much as his condescension and total righteousness is frustrating, you can appreciate his ability to be serious when there’s a need. At least he has a couple of redeeming qualities under all of those layers of snide narcissism.

Shutting your eyes as you try to formulate an answer, you give a short shake of your head. “Look,” you sigh, waving a hand through the air as your lashes flutter. “I don’t know what possessed me to choose you,” you begin, earning a snide huff from the other party, “but I wanna do this. I’ve tried dating apps and things but I feel like it’s so hard to meet people organically and I finally found someone I really like, so I just don’t wanna mess things up with Satoru, okay?” Your shoulders hang as his expression remains largely unreadable.

Your closing remark has your co-worker dragging his hands down his face. When he finally drops them to his sides with a plop as they hit the denim of his jeans, he gives a haphazard shrug. “All this for that asshole,” he mutters. “Why start with an arrangement like this, anyway? Why not go to the bar if you’re so against dating apps? It’s not like some one night stand means anything either.”

You grimace. “I want someone I trust.”

He won’t admit it, but it’s humbling to a man like Sukuna. Not because he doesn’t think of himself as trustworthy, but because he’s given you no real reason to put so much of your trust in him. He’s been cruel from the start and only a few days ago was reminding you that no matter your deal, you aren’t friends.

He’s still for a long time, a genuine disgruntled frown unrelenting. 

“Fine,” he gruffs at last. “For the record though, Satoru wouldn’t care that you’re a virgin. If he did, he’d be a piece of shit.”

If only your mind would wrap itself around that concept. Twenty some-odd years on an earth that treats virginity– particularly at your age– as taboo has taught you otherwise.

“Oddly insightful from you.”

Displeased as you throw snide commentary back at him, he takes another step forward. “No matter what you think of me, I wasn’t raised wrong.” His tone is low, almost dangerous, and you’re surprised when warmth spreads to the pit of your stomach. You’re grateful he’s already turned back to his laptop as you find yourself blinking at nothing in particular. “What did you want to try anyway? And you’re buying, FYI. This is for you, not me.”

You hum thoughtfully as you find yourself staring between the gaps in the shelves at the far end of the story. Your gaze briefly stops upon reaching the vibrators, which feels like a fairly low barrier of entry. 

“A vibrator?” You query.

Sukuna, leaning over the counter on his elbows with his back facing you, rolls a muscle in his shoulder. “Sure.”

His lack of enthusiasm has you grimacing. “We get an employee discount, right?”

“Half-off.”

“That’s pretty good,” you comment in an attempt to make conversation as you slip out from the counter and walk to the wall to look over options.

He hums his agreement, typing as his eyes skim whatever project he’s working on.

Taking the hint, you let your attention drift back to the wall of silicone and plastic. Although there are a variety of different options, you’d made up your mind a while ago upon hearing Sukuna’s explanation.

With a small black bullet vibrator in a discreet box with a purple-blue gradient in-hand, you make your way back to the counter, setting it aside. Whether out of curiosity or a subconscious movement, Sukuna’s attention flips to you as he evaluates the box on the counter. He languidly shoots you a glance before you fall into nothing more than background noise for him once again. You don’t get much of an idea of his thoughts on your choice, if he has any.

And much like his silence on your choice, that’s how you spend the evening, aside from when he teaches you to close. Over the past month or so you’ve grown to find the dead air less and less uncomfortable and no longer feel the need to fill it. He still shoots you a disapproving side eye every time a customer asks a question that’s left to your anti-social co-worker because you can’t answer it, but it’s noticeably less harsh.

By, like, a fraction. He’s irritated still, but he’s not outright disappointed. 

You call that a win.

You’re pretty sure your friends back home would call it sad.

But you can’t talk to Yuki or Choso about your arrangement with Sukuna anyway, so you suppose it’s not worth thinking too hard about it.

By the time you’re flipping the open sign and turning the lock on the door, Sukuna is ringing up the vibrator you chose, along with a bottle of something you didn’t add. He slides the payment terminal towards you as you make your way back. You don’t question his judgement upon finding the label to say toy cleaner. With your card in-hand, you find yourself hovering hesitantly over the payment terminal.

The question atop your tongue feels stupid.

“What?” Sukuna gruffs when you don’t speak your mind.

“Is this… a good choice?”

He sucks in a breath, measured. “It’s a fine first choice. It’s kinda cheap, but it’s a good starting point.”

“I know the quality and how long it’ll last would be affected, but does how cheap it is affect much beyond those two things?”

Another breath, but it’s equally measured. He picks up the box, his gaze darting across the lettering that covers it. “If it was your only toy, I’d say to invest in something better, but if we’re trying a lot, cheap is fine.” His mild expression seems to pick you apart when you’re faced with sanguine irises that flicker across your face. There’s the faintest hint of an upward quirk of his lips when he catches your pout.

“You never actually answered my question,” you mumble snarkily, snatching the box back from him.

No longer tempering his amusement, he shifts to the other foot with a full-blown smirk. “It’s a cheaper plastic or silicone. Less durable, the motor inside will give out quicker, and the battery won’t last as long. It’s louder than more expensive ones, too.” He glances at the box, a thoughtful narrow to his eyes. “It probably runs on watch batteries, which get expensive the more you go through.”

You recall him mentioning that to a customer, but given the circumstance, you suppose he’s right that it won’t matter. Nodding, you tap your card without another thought. He takes a bit of extra time to show you the remaining closing procedures which feels less like a courtesy and more like a curse given that you run on his clock at his will now, but you suppose a couple of extra hours won’t hurt here and there.

Even if you won’t be paid.

Shutting off the lights at the back, you make your way to the door where he waits. “So,” you start, digging through your bag for your keys, “my place is pretty noisy, should we–”

“Where do you live?”

“Oh, uh– I’m next to the station on third street.”

“Good. Meet me at the pub on the corner.”

You blink as he tosses you the store keys, barely managing to catch them in clumsy fingers. Before you can even protest, he’s already getting into the old but well-maintained black Honda across the street.

“O-kay,” you mutter to yourself, turning back to the door as you pull down the security shutter, locking both it and the glass door. His engine has already rumbled long into the distance by the time you finish fiddling with the old finicky locks and get in your beat-up vehicle. “You have to wait for me anyway, asshole.” Your muttering somehow feels better left for the world to hear rather than internalized.

The ride to the coffee shop has you once again replaying every life decision that brought you to this point in life. Maybe you should have given time to that guy who was trying to flirt with you in the library. Then again, you were studying for your final. Maybe you should have indulged the man who told you that you were pretty at a karaoke bar once. Well, no, he was creepy.

You’ve just been focusing on yourself and your fingers have done the trick anytime you were horny.

Not to mention, you can’t help but find that you don’t see yourself in porn and it doesn’t leave you feeling satisfied. That’s not even beginning to mention that much of what you found feels performative, which doesn’t cut it at an adult shop.

Though, that’s a lie too. Because at the end of the day although you are curious and this is something that you’re intrigued by given your environment lately, you’re equally hoping to impress Satoru.

Maybe Sukuna’s right that you should just tell him.

But that also feels like an uphill battle.

Stupid. This whole thing has you feeling like you’re overthinking everything and in an effort to stop thinking so damn much, you shut your car off and push into the pub.

Sukuna’s sitting in a booth at the back, already nursing a drink in one hand. His opposite arm is lazily strewn across the back of the booth, his gaze following you with that striking intensity that never fails to make your hair stand on end. Slipping in across from him, you watch as he leans back, completely at ease. As much as his arrogance can piss you off, his ability to remain calm and even puts out any fires your nerves threaten to stoke.

“Want anything?” He asks, jutting his chin towards the drink menu. Curiously, you flip to the first page before Sukuna’s hand comes down authoritatively, stopping you from browsing the menu he just offered. He flips to the back page confidently. “Non-alcoholic only.”

Fixing him with a scowl, you point towards his drink. “What are you drinking, then?”

He slides it an inch closer to you, an offer to test him. “Non-alcoholic IPA.” He lifts his hand from the menu, finally allowing you to browse your options as he leans back again. “We have rules to go over. Need your head on right and your consent after.”

As much as you don’t appreciate his commanding nature, you can admit it settles your nerves that he’s taking this seriously. He’s so flippant and dismissive when he wants to be that the soberness with which he’s treating the situation is reassuring.

In fact, it’s even a little hot, as much as you don’t even want to so much as think of the compliment. Truthfully though, you appreciate that he knows when to turn the damn attitude down.

Inhaling slowly, you look over the menu, waiting for the waiter to arrive. You order a Pepsi just for the sake of having something to hold and hide your fiddling as Sukuna’s gaze scarcely departs you.

“I thought we went over the rules already?” You ask when you finally have something to focus on. The condensation is cool against your fingers, a much-needed departure from the facetious personality across from you.

“Of the agreement, sure.” He starts, bringing his glass to his lips as he leans back casually. “But I’m not doing this without knowing what you want.”

“I thought I–”

He doesn’t give you the time of day, glass still held between his fingers as he leans forward on his forearm. “You want me in charge, yeah?”

You blink, nodding. 

“You understand that that puts me in a dominant position for our agreement, correct?”

Your cheeks warm as you nod again. “That’s kinda what I wanted,” you admit quietly.

He hums, a hint of his teeth gleaming behind a smirk. He lets the moment hang a second longer, basking in the way you squirm under his gaze. Throwing back what’s left of his drink, he sets the glass on the table with a dull clank. “Right,” he begins, “so you’ve never been with anyone before?” He asks, growing more serious again.

His ability to casually swing back and forth between both moods is beginning to piss you off.

“Yeah, you know that,” you reply snarkily.

His eyes narrow. “Not what I mean, sweetheart. You ever done anything with anyone? In any capacity?”

You chew on your lip briefly. “I gave a guy a handjob once,” you admit quietly, painfully aware of the public setting.

Sukuna’s eyes avert for a moment as he considers how to approach things. “That's it?”

“I– Yeah, can you stop asking?”

His throat bobs as he swallows, frowning. He lays his thoughts out plainly, straight to the point and without the arrogant attitude. “Think what you want of me, but I’m not trying to embarrass you. I already told you it doesn’t matter. I’m asking because it gives me a good sense of where to start.”

Sitting upright, you nod slowly.

“Do you masturbate?”

With every question, you swear your face gets warmer. “Yeah.”

“But no toys?”

“No.”

He rolls his jaw, prodding his tongue against the side of his mouth. “Alright. I can work with that. Do you know what you like when you touch yourself?”

“Do we have to do this somewhere so public?”

He snorts. “No one’s listening. The closest table is so sloshed you’d think it’s three in the morning,” he points out, motioning over your shoulder. Admittedly, he’s right. There’s a group of three women and two men all slumped over, eyes red-ringed and laughter bubbling from within. 

With a sigh, you turn back to him. “Fine. So what rules do we need to go over, then?”

“I need to know what’s completely off-limits for you.” He taps a finger once on the table. “I’m kinky but there’s shit I’m not into either.”

“Okay, um,” you take a moment to consider the toys lining the walls and some of the porn you’ve seen while browsing. “I don’t know, I guess I don’t think I’d be into whips or spanking.” Sukuna hums. “I know the candles are for… wax play, right?”

“Mhm. Some people like the pain.”

“I don’t think I would want anything painful.”

He nods his agreement. “Anything like that is off the table.”

Tapping your nails along the sides of your glass, you wrack your brain of the items that line the walls at work. “I don’t think I’m into collars or muzzles or anything.”

“Alright. No pet play. You not into being tied up, or just the pet part?”

Your hesitation is brief as you consider the difference. “I think I’d be okay with being tied up,” you muse. “Not yet, but–” you shrug, cracking a smile. “It sounds kinda fun.”

Sukuna smirks. “She’s a little kinky, I like it.” His lidded expression sends heat up the back of your neck and straight to the pit of your stomach. You adjust the way you’re seated, crossing one leg over the other as you focus on the glass in front of you. Amused, your counterpart pushes for details. “What about gags, handcuffs, and blindfolds?”

“I’d be open to those.”

His smirk grows, teeth bared just enough to call it a grin. “Alright. No whips, and pet and pain play are past the ceiling. Anything more intense than that’s off the table, yeah?”

You nod, grateful that he isn’t leaving you to try to come up with things when you’re scarcely familiar with the products at your own job.

“Hair pulling? Choking?”

You take a moment to consider it, but nod. “That’s fine.”

That seems to be the majority of his questions as he leans back in his seat again, stretching his arms overhead. He has that same expression from the day you originally made the agreement, the one that makes you feel like you’re no longer background noise in his world. Like you’ve surprised him and he’s willing to humor you.

“Alright. Anything else we can go over if it comes up,” he shrugs. “I just needed a baseline.” Yawning, he takes a moment to let his thoughts settle as he works out details in his mind. It gives you a moment to reset, gratefully taking the opportunity as you lean back in your seat, no longer fixated on your glass.

It occurs to you in that moment that he’s surprisingly quelled your nerves. You can’t place whether it’s through making a point of doing this in a public setting but ensuring this stays between you, or the way he’s actually maneuvering this conversation in a way that makes you feel open and in charge. Either way, you have to hand it to him that for a guy who’s made it clear he isn’t fond of people, he’s good with them. With you.

He spends a moment thinking things through before at last continuing. “Are you familiar with the traffic light safe word system?”

You meet his gaze, shaking your head.

“I need you to understand that even if I’m the dom, your word is my law. You tell me green and you leave shit in my hands to make you feel good. You tell me yellow and we’ll stop for a bit to figure out what you don’t like or what doesn’t feel good. You tell me red and my hands are off of you. What you say goes, you understand?” He leans forward with an intensity that seeps straight to your bones.

“Okay. I understand.”

“Good.” His shoulders rise and fall as he sucks in a breath, letting it out gradually. “And for the record, no kissing. No making out. No sex.”

As he repeats his rules, you press your lips into a thin line at how much he loves to remind you that you aren’t friends and these aren’t benefits. “You mentioned.”

“I’ll take my shirt off if it makes you comfortable, but that’s all you’re getting from me.”

“How sweet,” you comment dryly as he completely ignores your previous retort.

He grins, shrugging like the chivalrous man he is. “You didn’t ask for love, sweetheart.”

“And if I had?”

His grin stays in place, his chin lifting an inch as he regards you with the kind of expression only someone as conceited as Sukuna himself can manage. “Then you’d be switching to morning shifts.”

You want to roll your eyes, but you can at least respect his honesty, even if it’s painfully self-centered. You suppose it’s in part why trust comes easily with him. It’s not out of respect or friendship, but rather the simple fact that he doesn’t sugarcoat things. For better or for worse, he means what he says and has nothing to hide.

Jutting his chin in a motion to your nearly-finished glass, he keeps that painfully smug expression as he gruffs out a question. “Ready to go?”

Downing the last of your drink, you nod as you make your way to the bartender. She rings up your drinks together, only for Sukuna to step aside for you to pay.

Chivalry might just be dead, after all.

Your counterpart shoves his hands into his pockets with a haughty smirk, watching every micro expression cross your face as realization tents your brow, before twisting into a glare. Sukuna’s gait is entirely casual as his boots hit the pavement outside. When he comes to a halt by his car, his hand settles on the roof. “Send me your address,” are his last words before he ducks into the driver’s seat. The engine rumbles on and his music begins in an instant, a booming bassline that’s faintly familiar, but it’s too muffled to make out.

Sucking in a breath, you let the music fade as you head for your car, sending him your address just around the corner. You take an extra moment to make it to your car, breathing in the cool summer night air. The ever-present murky smell of smog hits you the moment the sharp scent of alcohol dissipates, but you’ve grown accustomed to it by now. The air on your skin is refreshing, and gives you a moment to think.

In spite of his frustrating tendencies, Sukuna treats sex– in all forms– differently from the men you’re used to. Not just men, but everyone. Even your closest friends. It’s not an expectation, it’s not something that requires any pressure. It’s whatever you want it to be, and whatever you’re comfortable with.

You appreciate the fact that in spite of you wanting him to take charge, this is all still at your beck and call. Sukuna says everything like it is. As much as you despise that for how plainly he’ll point out any fault the moment he finds it or throw you under the bus in a heartbeat when he sees himself as a man who’s always in the right, you appreciate the fact that he doesn’t make things into a spectacle either.

How many parties have you been to where ‘never have I ever’ turned into a wave of judgement, or a game where you found yourself lying to avoid it? How many times have you avoided parties altogether, hating the way all concepts surrounding you seemed to change over something that shouldn’t be everything it’s so often perceived as?

Hell, growing up in an era where sex was perceived as something cool and sold to adults through media only to be thrust into a new era where censorship is pushed more than education, it was bound to twist the perception around virginity.

Your own insecurity is an unfortunate side effect of those two very things clashing with one another. Just like your insecurity in the impression you’ve given Satoru, regardless of if you’ve actually spoken to him or not.

Which is why Sukuna’s attitude around sex is a breath of fresh air. There’s no judgement from him that you’ve abstained for so long.

And for that, you find yourself excited as you pull up to your house.

The man in question is parked before you even arrive, standing at the brick staircase by the time you lock your vehicle. The three-story building towers overhead, yet he still looks big at the base of the stairs.

His arms are crossed as he leans back casually, eyes on his phone. The racing jacket he sports hangs heavily over his broad shoulders. It looks like a replica F1 jacket of sorts, and in spite of its large size, the muscle definition beneath the tank top clinging to his skin is still obvious. It’s almost unfair that he’s so attractive and such a dick.

Just as the thought crosses your mind, his crimson eyes lift from his phone screen. He pockets it, looking you up and down once before letting you lead the way. You pull the front gate open without a word, unlocking the inner door and shutting it to latch behind you. Your apartment resides on the second floor, a single room backing onto the subway. Convenient, but noisy as all hell.

You like to think of it as the epitome of what it means to chase your dream, but in reality you know it’s little more than measly tape to cover up the fact that it feels more like failure. You’ve only been here for a couple of months and played at a couple of crappy venues that didn’t turn out well and you aren’t about to give up now, but your apartment fails to feel like home.

When you flick the lights on, it gives a warm glow to the run-down apartment.

“Make yourself at home,” you offer of the small space. It’s nothing more than a studio with a bathroom. A kitchenette sits at your immediate left with a microwave, fridge, and a single plug-in hot-plate, while your bed is pushed into the corner at the back. You’ve managed to fit a small TV on a table in the corner, and a tiny couch beside it, but that’s about all there is to see of your small space. Wallpaper peels at the top corners and there are stains and scrapes over the old wooden floor that could very well be older than you.

You’ve done what you can with the space. Over the couch is a number of signed and framed band posters and by the TV sits a cork board with memorabilia pinned to it. Old concert ticket stubs, set lists, and guitar picks all pinned or clipped in place. A lamp sits behind the TV in the corner that makes the space feel more warm, giving light to the two gaming systems sitting under the table. It’s not perfect, but it’s very you.

As you set your keys and bag on what little counter space you have, Sukuna takes in the sight of the small space, his gaze lingering on the signed posters and memorabilia before landing on your guitar, leaning against the couch haphazardly.

“You’re a concert girl?” He queries. It’s hard to get a read on where the question comes from when his tone lacks any real interest or enthusiasm.

“When I could afford it,” you agree with a wry laugh.

He hums, kicking his shoes off and dropping his jacket beside your guitar on the couch. He plops down on the double bed, picking up a drumstick sat on the small night stand wedged between the bed and the tiny table the TV sits atop. He twirls it on a finger as he continues to look around while you fiddle with the box for the bullet vibrator you got, picking at the tape keeping it shut.

Like a sixth sense, your hair stands on-end when his striking gaze settles on you again. He continues to fiddle with the drumstick, but his expression is otherwise unreadable. His slightly narrowed gaze gives you the idea that something is on his mind. “What?”

“Just thinking,” he mutters, his gaze dropping the full length of your body again.

Standing still at the counter, you chew on the inside of your cheek as he checks you out. Or something similar to that. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew this question would arise. A part of you had hoped to avoid it, but given the nature of your agreement with Sukuna, the question doesn’t bother you as much as it might from someone else.

“I won’t be offended, you know.”

The drumstick stills in Sukuna’s fingers. “About what?”

“If you ask.”

“Can you be fucking direct?” He sneers, his eyes narrowed to pinpricks as he fixes you with the kind of gaze that would have made your skin crawl a month ago. Back then, you would have taken it for genuine frustration, but you know now that this is a man who finds pleasure in the fact that one look can make someone avert their gaze.

But you don’t budge, turning to face him with the bullet vibe in-hand. “You wanna know why I’m still a virgin if I’m open enough to ask you for this arrangement.”

You can’t blame him. You get the feeling you’re a year or two older than him based on the fact that you graduated already and he’s in his last year. Your reply even seems to intrigue him as he leans forward just enough to show interest. You have his attention, although he doesn’t say it. He may not judge you for it, but you certainly can’t blame him for being curious. After all, your request was a bold one in the first place.

With a sigh, you set the toy on the counter as you manage to free it from its packaging. “You know how I told you I’m from a small town?”

“Mhm.”

“How small do you think I meant?”

He shrugs, having clearly never considered the question. “Ten thousand,” he throws out a haphazard guess.

“Four hundred people.”

His nose wrinkles at the mere thought. Fitting for a guy who seems well-versed in navigating life in a massive city.

“So my options kinda sucked with guys my age,” you laugh dryly, returning to the counter where you set the toy down. You turn to him suddenly, a finger held out pointedly towards his chest. “Don’t even get me started on the older men.”

He snorts, barely more than a push of air from his nostrils that gives way to his amusement.

“It was one of those roadside attraction towns where our whole thing was like,” you wave a hand through the air, looking for the right words to describe it. “Having one of those weird statues or whatever that people will pull over to see.”

“Yeah? So what weird thing did you have, then?”

You crack a smile. “The world’s largest garden gnome.”

He blinks in disbelief, in sudden understanding of the whole situation. One single garden gnome painting a whole picture of who you are and how you grew up. “Damn. That blows.” There’s something so strangely friendly in the interaction that’s unbefitting of everything he is, but for a moment you forget this is Sukuna you’re speaking with.

You laugh. “Yeah. It’s not even the world’s largest anymore from what I’ve been told. So now we’re the ‘original’,” you make finger quotations in the air, “world’s largest garden gnome.”

He snorts again, pushing a hand back through his hair. “No wonder you like punk music. You did need to get out of your town.”

You surprise even yourself at how heartily you laugh. When he’s not being a stick-in-the-mud, it turns out he’s kinda funny. In fact, when he isn’t acting like he’s above you, there’s even a sort of warmth to him that you don’t mind. Whether it’s a public front and he’s dropped the curtain for a moment or he’s growing more comfortable with you is yet to be determined.

Or maybe this is like a one time event that you were lucky enough to witness.

“You must have gone to the city pretty often if you go to a lot of concerts,” he muses. “No interest in hooking up with a guy or doing this shit with someone before now?”

You frown, glancing up from the instructions on the bottle of toy cleaner as you loosely skim them. “I never really considered any of this until the shop. And I’d rather be with someone I know.”

He grunts in irritation before you even finish the first sentence, but he lets it go by the time you finish. At least his frustration with you is purely on a work level. “You don’t know me,” he points out. “You don’t know jack shit about how I am in bed and you barely know me outside of it.”

“I trust you, though.”

His gaze drifts to the floor, something stoic passing over his expression as he allows the thought to sink in. “You trust me,” he parrots dryly, for no other reason than to solidify them for himself. You open your mouth to elaborate, but he’s already talking over you before you can spit out a second word. Infuriating man. “Right. And now you want me to show you the ropes–” he pauses at the irony of his statement, a smug smirk returning to his lips. “Literally.” He stands up from your bed, tossing the drumstick aside in the midst of his amusement.

With a roll of your eyes, you stop whatever narcissistic or teasing comment was about to leave his parted lips, steering the conversation another way before he’s too frustrating to handle. “I can make a guess.”

Sukuna pauses, stepping towards you with curiosity. “About–” he raises his brows. “What I’m like? In general, or in bed?”

“Both,” you shrug. “You like to be in charge. You like to have someone who’s willing to admit that you’re better at something and you like to be mean about it. You like when people feel small around you, it makes your ego feel good like the big man that you are.”

Where you expect offense, you only find amusement, which unfortunately isn’t in your favor either. At the end of the day, he’s still running this interaction like he owns it. His head tilts, his grin unrelenting. The way the muscle shirt he sports clings to his chest as it rises and falls feels unfair. He’s a tease without trying, all because he has the fortune of being hot. “Oh?” His voice comes low, a grit to it that sends heat between your thighs. “Are we guessing, or psychoanalyzing?”

You shrug. “It can be whatever you want.”

His gaze flickers around your face as you move past him to the spot where he was just seated. The amusement laced through sanguine eyes as he watches you sits under your skin in the kind of way that has you grimacing. The way he picks you apart so effortlessly is a shadow compared to the pile of things about him that frustrate you, but you hate the way it gets under your skin.

He has no issues making himself at home either, moving his jacket aside so he can manspread obnoxiously on the couch across from your bed. Your brows tent downwards as he doesn’t hesitate to reach for your guitar either, as though he knows that, too, will get under your skin. “Here, I’ll move that.”

You dart towards him, picking the instrument up before his fingers can graze the neck, setting in on the stand it should have been on anyway. His brow quirks, head tilting as he watches your every movement. The way he moves through life so easily is grating.

When you take a seat again across from him on your bed, you tap your foot a couple of times on the worn wood below. It sounds hollow, even beneath your clothed feet. “So… What should we do?” You query, praying you can find a rhythm with him that makes everything more comfortable.

A smile curls at the corners of his lips. “I told you. You’re–”

His words come to a quick halt, expression twisting into disbelief and clear concern as your apartment rattles briefly, before the obvious noise of the subway passing behind the building follows, and the room settles as it comes to a stop. Unphased, you await his next words.

“You fucking live with that?”

You shrug. “Yeah. I uh– didn’t really realize it would be an issue until I moved in.”

A puff of air leaves his nose, his eyes trailing between you and the window where the train’s shadow cast across the floor moments ago. “How the fuck do you sleep? The subways run all night.”

“They’re less frequent at night,” you offer.

“How the fuck do you get off with that noise?”

Worrying your lower lip between your teeth, you shrug. “It’s just background noise.”

Sukuna hangs in a state of disbelief for a moment, crimson boring into you like even he’s questioning how the fuck he got here now. When the moment settles, he runs his tongue over his teeth and shakes his head, muttering a curse under his breath. “You’re something.”

“Thanks,” you reply dryly. The nerves of opening yourself up to someone buzz more as you draw Sukuna’s attention away from the train. Your leg bounces involuntarily, a hollow thump to it as you wait for a reply to your question, no matter how snarky it’ll inevitably be.

But the arrogance never comes. His eyes flicker down to your leg, the previous curl of his lips gone and replaced with something far more staid. With a hand on the couch’s armrest, he moves across the small room with ease, his large frame casting a long shadow over the floor as he blocks the lamplight. Your heart pumps hard against its cage, jumping to your throat when his palm settles on your leg, pressing it to the hardwood to stop its pace.

“Relax.” His voice has a sultry tone that feels foreign to you yet lived-in, like he knows just how to pitch his voice to send it like a shock straight to your stomach. You shift at the sensation, drawn to his gaze as he leans in with a brazen chuckle, clearly pleased that he can affect you in such a way. “Stop talking. Stop thinking. About all of this shit. About me, about the job, the money, the train. Turn your brain off.”

He’s right, painfully so, about every little thing on your mind. But the most relief you usually get is a warm cup of tea on a cool night, and even then it’s disturbed by a train every few minutes. It’s not like you haven’t masturbated, particularly since starting at the shop, but your brain always seems to need something to latch onto and porn feels so performative you can’t get into it.

Sukuna gives you something to focus on, taking the bullet vibrator from within your fidgeting hands as his other hand glides from your thigh to your torso over your shirt. His thumb frames your breast, the sensation sending a shiver straight up your spine. He uses just enough force that you could call the pressure he uses to guide you back onto your bed a ‘suggestion’ rather than a command.

“Give me a color.”

“Green.”

“Good,” he hums, low and smug as you watch his smirk grow into something painfully self-assured and egotistical as he flashes his teeth. You don’t have time to be annoyed when your lashes are already fluttering as he drags the bullet vibrator in his palm over your clothed pussy with just enough pressure that your breath catches. “And it’s not even on yet,” he purrs in that ever-condescending tone.

“I should have asked someone less–”

He grinds the vibrator against your clit in an effort to stifle your attitude, shooting you a smug smirk when it works. “But you didn’t.”

Your scowl barely has a chance to form before it dissipates as he glides a thumb beneath your shirt. The sensation has you shivering as he scrutinizes every micro expression you make when his thumb glides over the sensitive skin of your bare stomach. Goosebumps rise in its stead, inevitable as your body reacts to the sensation. You jolt when his touch is so feather-light that it feels more ticklish than something sensual, and like everything else he picks it up and files it away for later.

When he stops at your hipbone and dips two fingers beneath your waistband, you instinctively suck in a breath, stiffening. His movement pauses, eyes narrowing as he fixes you with a sharp gaze that you recognize as instruction.

“Green,” you breathe.

Something smug in his expression has you swallowing your pride at the realization that submission came easily. He’s too keen to have not noticed how you’re not running your mouth anymore, and you don’t need to read between the lines to know that he enjoys that fact.

With your consent, two fingers drag your pants down, haplessly discarded as his gaze trails the length of your legs slowly. You can’t make out what he’s thinking, your hair standing on end as some part of you longs for warmth in a partner who might revere you, but that isn’t what you asked for. It’s not who Sukuna is.

When his eyes meet yours, they narrow an ounce. “Stop worrying,” he admonishes the thoughts he seems to be able to sense as though your insecurities are written in the air for him to see. It warms your cheeks further than they already are. When he catches the twitch of your brow, whether it’s a tell that he’s correct or some bratty form of defiance, he brings a hand to your jaw, his thumb and finger forcing you to keep his gaze. “I’m serious. Bodies are all different, and–”

“That doesn’t make me feel better, Suku–”

His thumb and finger shift until he’s pressing your cheeks together to shut up your protests. “Everyone is different. You should be. Stop fucking worrying.” He loosens his grip enough to allow you to nod, no longer pursing your lips. “Focus on my hands. Focus on the feeling. Don’t think about the fucking train that’s gonna pass in three minutes. Don’t distract yourself.”

He releases your face, shifting his hand until he’s prodding your abdomen pointedly with a finger. He waits for your gaze to follow before continuing.

“Masturbation is one thing because you know exactly what you want and can make yourself finish quickly, but bringing another person into things changes how your body and brain work.” He moves his hand back to the bed as he leans over you, watching with a faint smirk as the other hand presses the small vibrator, still off, into your clit and you take in a sharp breath. “If you get distracted by all the dumb shit going through your head and don’t stay focused on how you’re feeling, your body won’t let you cum. You’ll go straight into overstimulation without orgasm, or your body just won’t respond. It’s common as shit and a lot of people don’t think they can cum with a partner.”

You blink at how strangely insightful and educational the tattooed prick can actually be. Your shoulders fall into the mattress as you focus on the pressure of the hard silicone pressed into your clothed pussy.

There’s another side to it as well that has your mind ready to reel into something far more tangential, as much as you know you should listen to his advice. The fact is that the very same man who told you not to expect love or care from him is sitting here reassuring you, all the while explaining to you just how much he understands the human body. It’s not just from a biological or fact-driven perspective either, he’s putting your pleasure first.

Sure, it’s worth acknowledging that at the end of the day your arrangement does revolve around your pleasure, but Sukuna’s not just insightful. In one way or another, it’s caring. Whether he wants to acknowledge it or not, you’ve heard horror stories of men not being able to find the clit and it’s driven you further into insecurity surrounding the very concept of sex as someone with no experience.

Sukuna isn’t just skilled or good as you’re sure he’ll put it. He’s put time into this. Not just the kind that comes with being with people, but the kind that comes with research and education.

You knew he could talk about toys without batting an eye.

This is deeper.

He flicks your forehead, eyes flashing with irritation as you protest with a yelp. “What did I just tell you?”

“You’re just kinda being sweet,” you excuse yourself, blinking at him from where he’s crouched over your lower torso.

Something flashes in his eyes. “Don’t fucking mistake being good at what I do for sweetness.” His lip curls, the word dripping in disgust like the very concept is venomous to him. “Or do I need to remind you that this is a fucking deal and the moment this shit’s over you’re nothing more than my co-worker who doesn’t know fuck-all about the product?”

You let out a disbelieving scoff at the way he manages to kill the vibe entirely over what you might consider a compliment. “You’re right. You’re a dick.”

He straightens as he takes command of the situation once more, making himself look bigger as he leans over you. He shifts the reins like he owns your every reaction and can predict the situation. With a flick of his thumb, he turns the bullet vibe on, the vibration a sudden and intense sensation even over your panties. It’s a stark contrast to what your fingers feel like.

“Now stop thinking.” He drags the vibrator from your clit back across your clothed slit, your lips parting as you arch into the sensation.

“How am I supposed to focus when you’re being such an ass?” You grit in spite of the pleasure.

“Now you know why I’m good at this shit.”

He drops the attitude again as he manages to turn you on without the sensual touch or words of a partner, but rather through other methods.

Keeping a steady, albeit low vibration setting over your clit through your panties, he slips a hand under your shirt again. His thumb glides smoothly over your nipple, raising goosebumps along with his calloused touch. Sharp crimson eyes fix on the way your gaze finally shifts from his movements to the ceiling, your hands reaching for the blanket laying over the mattress. Your fingers curl into the cotton as all thoughts of insecurity and Sukuna’s attitude finally dissipate and all you’re left with is a tingling sensation that spreads warmly to your extremities.

“Thaaat’s it,” he guides you in a low tone that acts like sparks in your mind, kindling a fire that burns out whatever last thoughts served as a distraction. At last it’s just you and the sensation of his finger circling your nipple, slow and sensual as he takes the time needed to work your body up to a point where the vibrator won’t be too much.

The mattress dips as Sukuna shifts, his footsteps lost on you as the train passes by the window. It’s nothing more than background noise with your exterior senses dulled to focus only on touch. You blink at the tattooed man as the noise of the vibrator is silenced, lidded eyes watching his fingers hook into the waistband of your panties.

“Color?”

You swallow hard. His gaze lowers as he watches the movement, every tiny detail catalogued as he reads your reaction.

“Green,” you reply, breathless.

He gives a nod, fixed still on your expression when he gives the first tug. On instinct your legs twitch to close, so he guides you through the nerves rather than ignoring them. “You’re good,” he gruffs. It’s not soothing, but somehow it settles a modicum of the uncertainty that comes with putting your trust in someone else in such a vulnerable way.

Once they’re over your knees, he tugs the panties off, sending them across the room.

You still can’t help instinctively trying to hide yourself from him, squeezing the blanket tighter between your fingers as the cool air of your apartment reaches your dripping core.

“You want my shirt off?”

The question hangs before you, eyes dipping down to the black muscle shirt he sports, tight over his built chest. It’s the kind of thing you would spot at a gym, but it’s just loose enough over the rest of his torso that it looks less like he’s showing off and more like he effortlessly owns the look and everyone else is just mirroring him.

Pulling your lower lip between your teeth, you nod. When you meet his gaze again, it’s smug. He knows every last word that just ran through your head like he’s heard it before and the thought should piss you off, but you can’t be too bothered when he sets the vibrator on your abdomen and grabs the hem of his shirt with crossed arms. He pulls it up over his head with intention, flexing his biceps as he does so and sets it aside. Conveniently, his shirt doesn’t fly across the room.

The tattoos that curl around the sides of his neck snake over his shoulders in thick off-black lines that curve over his pecks. There are another set of bands similar to his wrists on his upper biceps and circles at his shoulders. They sharpen the persona given off by his intense egoism and dyed black hair, but they also accentuate his muscles in the kind of way that has your pupils dilating as you trail over the lines before falling to his abs.

As if that sight isn’t a show enough, at the base of his abdomen is a snail trail that you fix on just enough to earn a chuckle. It’s startlingly pink, matching the roots you spot every few weeks when they grow out.

Your hips shift as your stomach clenches at the sight. The cool air makes it obvious how turned on you are, and when you look back up, Sukuna is smirking. You’re feeding his ego more than you could know.

Satisfied with your reaction, he settles both hands on your thighs, slowly pulling them apart. Exposed to him once again, you find that action has surprisingly replaced your nerves with something far more debauched that has your mind racing.

This time, in all the right ways.

When your legs stay spread, he picks the vibrator back up, flicking it back on in one deft movement. The bed dips when he settles between your legs, dragging the vibrator through wet folds and over your clit, you arch into it with a soft moan. “Now you’re getting it,” he smirks as at last you let go of the endless stress of thoughts and give in to pleasure. “A bullet vibe is too small for much else besides placing direct pressure on the clit,” he explains as though your mind isn’t on another plane. “So it works best with other forms of stimulation.”

He keeps the small vibrator pressed directly to your clit. Your head falls back into the mattress, balling the fabric of your blankets up into your fists.

“You gotta work with me if you want this shit to work,” he continues, his hand pressing your thigh down when he adds additional pressure to the vibrator and your legs jolt shut on instinct. “What feels good?”

“I– hah–” You blink, cloudy eyes fluttering open to drag across the ceiling until they find his gaze, impossibly red and horribly smug as a moan tears your words apart. “The pressure is nice.”

“Nice?” He parrots the word, dripping in amusement. “I’m using a vibrator on you, don’t mince your words.”

You arch into the sensation in spite of his chatter, but he pulls away when you don’t reply immediately. Swallowing hard, you adjust your grip on the blankets and blink as your mind reels trying to catch up to what he wants. “It gets me a lot closer when you press it into my clit.”

He hums.

“But it’s kinda nice when you take it away too, makes the feeling l-last longer,” you stammer over the sentence when he tests your words, pulling it away for a moment. Your hips jolt, but the sensation is nice.

Vibration isn’t like your fingers. It’s far more intense and works you to the edge quicker when Sukuna knows how to maneuver the toy. “That’s called edging,” he gruffs, pulling the vibrator back as he waits for your eyes to meet his again. “This is a pretty tame form of it, but the human body wasn’t built for a vibrator so you’ll cum too fast if I don’t and it’s not as good.” You nod weakly, gaze flickering back down to the small device that he’s still holding away from your body. “Some people like being brought to the edge and coming down over and over, though. If that’s something you wanna try, that’s fine, but let me learn what you like first.”

You nod again, chewing on your lower lip as you buck your hips into his waiting hand.

He clicks his tongue, amused. “Eager.” Before you can retort with something equally cheeky, he presses the vibrator back to your clit as the stimulation curls through your body again, warm and welcome. It blossoms from your stomach to your chest until you can feel yourself teetering at the edge again, only for Sukuna to pull back. “Finger yourself.”

“What? Me?”

“You fucked stupid already?” Condescending prick. “Yeah, you. I told you, a bullet vibe works best with outside stimulation and I wanna see what you do to get off.”

You huff out a sigh, but your fingers slip from the blanket, down your body until you feel slick gather along your fingers. They’re cold, the thin windows giving way to a chill that seeps into your skin. The sensation has you sucking in a breath when they touch your skin, one finger slipping first between your folds, cool and pleasant, and then another. You work yourself open at a comfortable pace and adjust your hips until you find a rhythm and depth that feels nice, though it’s nothing compared to the vibrator.

“Could you cum just from that?”

“I don’t think so,” you breathe.

He hums in acknowledgement, pressing the vibrator with gradual pressure back into your clit. Your fingers stutter, pausing altogether. “Keep going,” he mutters. Even through the fog of bliss, you follow his instructions and keep the pace, your fingers curling into your walls as they begin to convulse around you.

Your breaths turn to soft, somewhat shy, moans with every second the vibrator spends pressed to your sensitive bundle of nerves. The world around you is fuzzy and you swear you can even hear the static that gathers at the edges of your vision. When your abdomen begins tensing and the rhythm of your fingers grows less accurate, more frantic, he uses more pressure to elicit the exact reaction he’s looking for. The sensation throws you over the edge without warning, hitting you in waves far more intense than the best orgasm with your fingers has ever given you.

As your body reacts to each wave of the orgasm, muscles clenching in time, the vibrator shifts slightly and the sensation heads straight into overstimulation. Sukuna reads the reaction and pulls away, letting you come down naturally. Your chest rises and falls heavily as you stare up at the rickety old ceiling.

Letting go and giving in entirely to the pleasure feels good. Your thoughts don’t race. There’s no constant stream of what needs to happen for the rest of the day or when you’ll head to the bar for your next gig. You’re just on cloud nine.

You feel Sukuna rise from between your legs. He moves around the apartment like he owns the place, opening the only door that doesn’t lead out without asking, and returning with a towel.

Pushing up onto your elbow, you hold out a hand expectantly, but Sukuna holds it out of reach. “No. I told you you’re not getting sweet, but I’m not leaving you without aftercare.” He takes a seat on the edge of the bed, folding the towel into something more manageable before holding it out for you to wipe your fingers on. “An arrangement like this,” he waves the folded towel haphazardly between you once you’re done with it, “means that the person in the dominant position should be helping clean up and make sure the sub is in the right headspace.” He speaks so matter-of-factly, you have a hard time believing this is the same guy who asked if you applied for the wrong job.

Tonal whiplash if you’ve ever heard it.

“If you ever have sex with someone who puts you in a submissive position and doesn’t give you aftercare, dump the prick.”

Truthfully, you’re not sure Sukuna has any right to call someone a prick, but you nod regardless. You’re not about to protest when he is cleaning you up and has gathered your panties and pants for you.

Once he’s satisfied, he sets the towel aside and pulls his shirt back over his head. He grabs you a glass of water as you cover yourself back up, and is surprisingly domestic as he checks in on you. “Feel good?”

“Yeah.”

“See what I mean when I say the bullet vibe is best with outside stimulation?”

You blink up at him from where he’s standing, a neutral expression plastered to his face as though nothing’s happened and there isn’t a tent in his pants. “Yeah, I guess.”

His eyes narrow, chin tilted up slightly. “You guess?”

“Sorry. I just don’t know what to do now.”

Unbothered, he simply nods, his gaze passing to the window as a train casts a dark shadow over the apartment, gone in a split second. He runs a hand through black strands of hair, revealing the pink at the roots before crossing his arms over his chest. “Why’s that?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never been… whatever we are, with someone.”

He snorts. “Can’t say I have either, sweetheart. Just talk with me until I know you’re back in a normal headspace. Tell me what worked and what didn’t.” He brings a hand up to his shoulder, rubbing the muscle along his back idly as he stands a short distance away.

Now fully clothed, you sit upright. “Okay.” Letting out a breath, you navigate the blissful fog still hanging over you in search of something to answer. “I appreciate that you took your shirt off,” you admit, heat climbing your spine as it curls up to your ears. You press on, grateful that he doesn’t make a big deal out of it in spite of his minute smirk. “I liked when you used pressure, but it was a lot when I came.”

He hums. “That’s overstimulation. Was it a lot in a bad way?”

Your brow knits together in thought. It was too much in the moment, but you don’t suppose you’d label it as bad. “No. Not exactly. Just too much.”

Shifting to the other foot, he considers your words. “Overstimulation is a pretty common kink. There’re a lot of people who like being pushed into that territory because it is a lot but the stimulation is also pleasurable and it can push you to cum again pretty quickly.”

“I think I saw that in some of the porn I tried watching.”

“I would say it’s one of the more common kinks in the kink community. Makes sense.”

You nod slowly, considering the sensation as you shift, your body still feeling particularly loose. “I think I’d try it.”

“Sure,” he agrees, seeming to only half pay attention when he pulls his phone out. A dim blue light illuminates the lower half of his face before he shoves it back in his pocket. “You seem good. Feeling alright?”

“Yeah.”

“Great. I’m leaving.” He turns abruptly on his heel, tossing his jacket over his shoulder as he makes his way to the door. “Clean the vibe,” he reminds you. “And don’t use it too often. We’re not built for electronics, we’re built for fingers. It’ll fry your nerves and regular stimulation won’t feel as good.”

You nod solemnly, his advice adding up. “Wait!” You call when his hand rests atop the old door knob, the golden paint chipping away as it gives up the facade of luxury. “You don’t want anything?”

“No.”

You shake your head. “Why did you agree to this, then?”

He pauses, turning fully to face you. His gaze travels to the darkened path over the wooden floor where enough steps have been taken that the wood has physically worn away. “It’s convenient,” he offers, “having you take my shifts. It’s…” he trails off for a moment, his tongue running over his lower lip. “It’s helpful, really.”

You’re shocked at the sincerity behind the admission, like in spite of how frustrating and egocentric he can be, he feels he owes you honesty.

“But you’re right.” He lets the words hang, pools of cerise washing intensely over you as your head tilts quizzically. He blinks as he searches for the words to put his thoughts together. “Look, it pisses me off that you applied to this job in the first place, but you’re here now and Jillian likes you.” He shrugs his shoulders. “There’s fuck-all I can do about that and you should have known this shit before applying.”

Your eyes narrow as he repeats something you’re getting real sick of hearing. You can’t say you’re sure how this goes with the statement ‘you’re right’, either.

“But this shit is hard to learn if you don’t have an in.” His hand leaves the door handle with a hollow metallic clang as he takes a step towards you. He’s still across the apartment, but it bridges a gap of sorts. “Sex is treated as something you’re not supposed to talk about and kinks are taboo. So finding resources brings you to all sorts of sketchy sites or outdated books because the resources surrounding it suck.” He shrugs. “You should have a way to learn and experiment without feeling stupid for not knowing shit or for asking questions.”

“You literally called me stupid for asking a question not even ten minutes ago,” you interject.

“I didn’t call you stupid. I asked if I’d already fucked you stupid, because the question was stupid.”

You throw your hands in the air at his brazen reply, in disbelief that he can somehow manage to be simultaneously the most frustrating man on earth and unusually open and honest on topics that deserve discussion.

“It’s not stupid to ask questions about sex, or toys, or rules, or anything that makes you more comfortable. It’s not stupid to ask questions about your body or ask me to adjust to something that feels better.” He begins his clarification as though it helps at all. “It’s stupid to ask who I meant when I said ‘finger yourself’ when you’re the only other person in the room,” he snorts, amused as you shoot him a deadpan expression. “And it’s stupid as all hell to apply to a store where you don’t have any fucking clue what we sell.”

“You’re–”

“Yeah, yeah. Save it for later.” He makes a quarter turn, hand on the handle again. “I gotta go. See you at work.”

And with that, he’s gone.

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౨ৎ a/n ; helloooo!! thank you all so much for all of the support :') i couldn't possibly have imagined all the love for this series, so it seriously means a lot.

i've gone for what i think is a fun writing challenge for myself in giving sukuna and reader both a very interesting dynamic, while also showing that sukuna's views on sex are very different than traditional ones bc of his line of work. we'll see more of satoru's perspectives as well and where those views come from!! reader, of course, struggles with insecurity in spite of the fact that she is bold and confident and slowly but surely we'll see more of that come into play in further chapters as well as where it comes from.

i hope you're enjoying it so far <33

౨ৎ taglist ; OPEN. age must be visible in bio. 18+ only. @lilrosyhaven @tiny-mimi @grimm3r @yujisredkicks @knittybritty98 @sukunahs @saezzi @epicderpface @ynishalee @pandabiene5115 @silibiliballs @ane5e @feyrinnn @jkslvsnella @maomimii @megumuro @beereadzzz @beaniesayshi @ryomeowie @suguusatoo @gojosoups @yenayaps @m3owr3ow @tohru-tales @crimzie129 @lostgxrlblog @sterzin @scaraamo @sunyomz @norahlolzz @whateverineedsblog @buttclencher28 @blueemochii @pequnopastel @cupidxml @saintdilucc @officiallydrunk @yvannaille @brazzigy @ilovebeansyay @deewrites01 @martianzmars @volleyballgirl2022 @mtchamnsta @astrokenny @ge3ked @ri-sa20 @heichouaack @iluvgetosuguru @winkii

It was that time of the year again; the first of Jack Abbot’s annual summer parties of the year—Memorial Day to be specific. It was just now hot enough in Pittsburgh that the pool had been opened, cleaned, and fully maintenanced.

The second that pool cover came off, you and Jack spent every free moment you got in it. Mostly just lounging in the slightly shallower end or on the pool steps; lemonade or waters in hand. The garden by the fence was coming up well; speckles of various plants growing up the length of the faded and chipped wood.

The grass had been mowed, grill cleaned off and ready for anything Jack would throw at it. The pool bar was stocked and cleaned. Jack was ready for it. He handled backyard parties the same way he handled the ED; meticulously and efficiently. He wiped down counters like he was cleaning up an OR. Mowed grass like he was threading a suture needle, and tended to the garden with hands so gentle you’d think he was performing an emergency procedure.

With about an hour until guests arrived, Jack opened the back sliding glass door—padding his way inside the air conditioned house. He wiped sweat already building at his brow and tugged off his shirt. He was going in the pool the second guests arrived anyways.

If there was one thing about Jack Abbot, it’s that he’s gonna be shirtless at his own home in the warm weather. He didn’t care who saw or was coming over. He lived in basketball shorts and swim trunks, sometimes just his boxers when it was only the two of you at home.

Jack grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, letting ice cold condensation drip onto his neck and hands before untwisting the cap to take a long and needed sip. He huffed his way up the stairs, shaking his head about how it was too damn hot for stairs.

When he rounded the corner into your shared bedroom, he found it empty. The covers were thrown back on both sides; waiting to be made. The curtains were pushed back to let sunlight in, your vanity mirror light was on, and soft humming came from the cracked bathroom door.

“Sweetheart?”, Jack called out, “You in here?”

You poked your head around the corner; “Mhm, just finishing putting my hair up.”

Jack plopped down on the bed, unhooking his prosthesis and reaching for the waterproof attachment you had already left out on the bed for him. He rubbed at his residual limb for a moment before attaching the new leg. It took him a second longer, hesitation with the weight of what the day actually was.

Memorial Day was never easy for Jack—he hadn’t slept as well as he’d liked the night before. Better than he would’ve if he were still deployed, better than he would’ve if you hadn’t been there. His leg had thankfully decided not to send phantom pain up and down his limb and spine like lightning strikes. Still, you knew he was in his head; you could always tell before it fully even settled in for him where he was drifting.

His shoulders would get slightly stiffer, movements more rigid like he really had to try to stay upright. But the moment you reassured him with hands on his shoulders or around his waist to pull him close—a soothing hand on his back; it all melted away for a moment.

When you finally came out of the bathroom, your hair was pulled up in a yellow claw clip. One of Jack’s favorite colors on you. Your bikini bottoms hugged your hips at the ties on each side; the top matched the same. Also a favorite of his.

You pulled a pair of striped flowy shorts on, and a tube top to match. Jack could only watch you in awe, taking in how you looked so relaxed and at ease. Jack could only describe you as glowing.

It was only when you bent slightly over your vanity to get a pair of earrings and then above your head for your sunglasses that Jack froze. His heartbeat immediately picked up as his eyes wandered over the tiny—but now obvious—bump at the bottom of your belly. A soft curve that was finally showing proof of—what you had both known for a few months—was a little life.

You caught him staring when you looked back, stopping mid sentence when you caught his gaze.

“So Robby said he’ll bring some extra sodas if we need, but i don’t think—Jack?”, You trail off as you try to bend slightly to catch his eye; “What’s wrong?”

Jack shakes his head, swallowing once—his eyes barely flicking up to yours before they find their way back to your exposed skin.

“Baby…”, He breathes, pulling you close by your hips. He hesitates for a moment before carefully letting his palm splay out against the small roundness of your skin; “You’ve popped.”

The touch was so soft, almost hovering like he was afraid he’d break you. His fingers twitched slightly against you as he moved his hand around, like he’s expecting to feel something; even though you both know it’s too early.

“You think so?”, You ask, scrunching your nose up at him in disbelief.

He only nods, rising to his feet and carefully guiding you over to the mirror. Standing sideways with him behind you, staring at your small bump in the reflection—you finally see it.

A small swell that starts at your waist band and ends just above your navel. Not really there unless you’re looking for it, but still there.

“Oh”, You breathe, your eyes going wide as you find Jack’s for a moment in the mirror.

His hand splays over your bump again, covering it entirely as he lets his thumb rub soft circles into your skin. He bites his lower lip, eyes glued to the spot that has both of your attention now.

“I swear it was still flat yesterday”, You say, poking at your skin like it’ll go away, not that you want it too.

Jack shakes his head; “Certainly wasn’t…’would’ve seen it.”

His brows furrow a little, like he’s wrapping his head around it all over again; “There’s actually a baby in there…”

You catch his expression and spin around in his arms, cupping his cheeks carefully in your hands; “Our baby, honey.”

Jack sighs and lets his eyes flutter close, forehead dipping against yours. You bump your noses together.

“Hey…”, You say softly, guiding him gently to look at you; “You’re not there anymore, you’re here, you’re safe, you’re home.”

His breath stuttered a little, a long sigh leaving his lips. His eyes stayed closed a moment longer.

Then, when he thought his knees couldn’t buckle any more at the absolute weakness he had for you, you spoke; “We’ve got you, baby. We’re right here.”

You place a soft hand over his, guiding him to lay it flat against your tiny bump again.

“Thank you…”, He breathes, his spiral coming down before it could even fully start—all the noise in his brain drifting away.

“You sure you’re up to this today?”, You asks softly.

He nods almost immediately; “Yeah…yeah”, you watch the small smirk climb onto his lips; “Can’t leave all the kids hanging, now can we?”

As much as he hid behind the humor of it, Jack wouldn’t know what to do without himself if he cancelled everything. The party was a tradition of his, yes, but he also threw it as a distraction. A distraction to keep his head above water in a place he could actually enjoy himself on days like today that reminded him of way too much; and it worked.

No, Jack wasn’t going to let himself think about all the what-ifs of how things should’ve went in his life or how he never thought he’d get this; not when he had you reminding him he deserved every second of what he had now, right in front of him.

“I love you”, You whisper.

He smiles softly at that; “I love you too.”

He kisses you then, lips soft against yours. He tastes like faint coffee and the watermelon he snuck a few pieces of while cutting it earlier. Sweet and so uniquely Jack.

“Guess we’re telling everyone today then, huh?”, You ask when the kiss breaks; “Can’t really hide it anymore, especially in this suit.”

Jack laughs with a tsk of his tongue; “Afraid not, sweetheart…and you’re not changing that bikini, it’s my favorite.”

You pull at the curls on the back of his neck, just a small tug that you know he loves; “Trust me, I know it is.”

That’s when he lets his hand fall down your back and smacks your ass once, making you gasp into him; “Jack!”

But he’s beaming; bottom lip between his teeth; “What? Gotta get it out before everyone gets here.”

You roll your eyes, but can’t help from leaning forward to kiss him again. You wouldn’t change him, not in a million years. Not when he’s so perfectly Jack. Your Jack.

─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─

The guests start to trickle in a little while later; Robby with a few extra cases of different sodas in tow as promised. Jack lead most of them to the backyard, letting you lounge in one of the chairs by the pool. With the way your laying all stretched out, your bump isn’t very visible; easily passable as bloating or having a big breakfast.

You can hear Robby teasing Jack about something having to do with him being shirtless behind you, but you certainly weren’t going to complain about it. Not with the view it gave you.

Guests settled in around you; mingling at the bar, surrounding Robby—who insisted on cooking something—around the grill, some starting to make their way into the pool.

It was mostly night shift staff, a few stragglers from day shift that you and Jack had gotten close with over your time there. Dana appeared next to you shortly after greeting Jack; sitting in the lounge chair next to you.

“You just gonna let him walk around looking like that?”, She smirks, peering over her glasses in Jack’s direction.

Every single freckle he has on his torso, back and arms are on display. His farmers tan that’s slowly morphing into an entire body tan looks ridiculously good, and his biceps and pecs—don’t even get started on those.

“Oh hell yeah”, You say, gaze flickering between her and your husband, who you’re pretty much ogling now; “What a view.”

Dana laughs, shaking her head as she settles into the chair; “Hey if he wasn’t taken, I wasn’t married and about fifteen years younger…”

“Dana!”, You scold, but it’s all in fun.

You catch Jack’s eye then, whose expression immediately softens before he mouths a small; “You ok?”

You nod in return, biting your lip before you relax further back into your chair; taking a sip of your lemonade that Jack had apparently made fresh that morning.

The chatter around you was music to your ears. Drinks clinking, people laughing, the soft humming of a lawn mower a few houses down. Getting in the pool later would be the icing on the cake for you, especially if Jack joined you.

Next thing you know, Jack’s standing over you, holding out a plate of food; “Your burger, m’lady.”

He bows in a dramatic fashion as you take it from him, leaning up to kiss him softly; “Thank you, Jack. You didn’t have to bring it to me.”

His brows furrow for a second before he’s smiling softly again, plopping down next to you and pulling your feet into his lap; “I know. But I want to, gotta take care of my girl.”

“You gonna eat?”, You hum to which Jack nods.

“In a little bit.”

Jack, ever the caring man; always making sure everyone was taken care of before himself.

You don’t notice Dana and Robby’s eyes on you from across the yard as Jack puts his hands to work massaging your legs, or the quiet whispers between them. Sure, Jack had always taken care of you, but ever since you told him you were pregnant? He waited on you hand and foot, didn’t want you to move unless you absolutely had to, wouldn’t let you lift a finger unless you beat him to it. To him, the two lives you carried were the most fragile and precious thing to him.

He made sure you were taken care of; and it was noticeable.

Robby noticed immediately when you were already in a lounge chair upon his arrival, how Jack intercepted the heavy soda he was carrying before you could move; throwing a soft look your way and a quiet; “I got it, you relax, sweetheart.”

Dana noticed the same, and more importantly; how you weren’t in the pool yet. How you laid on the pool lounger, legs bunched up slightly like you were trying to hide something precious.

─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─

It wouldn’t be long before your secret was out; just as the sun was starting dip behind the skyline and the deep blue of the warm summer sky starting peeking out—Jack stood with his arm draped across your shoulder, clearing his throat.

At first you don’t hear what he’s saying, despite the silence in the backyard. You bite your bottom lip, having made its way between your teeth as you held onto the last few seconds you’d have before everyone was all over you.

With a warm hand Jack pulled you carefully up from the lounge chair, letting your body fully stretch out. His hand found your waist and pulled you closer; other hand finding the small swell of your belly again.

“I couldn’t imagine a better group of people to share this news with. A found family that’s been there through so much more than I ever imagined”, Jack exhales shakily, eyes flicking to you; “The night shift crew is expanding…we’re having a baby!”

Gasps echoed through the backyard; Dana’s hand flew to her mouth with watery eyes, Robby choked out a wet laugh of disbelief, the med students and residents all exchanged looks of excitement. But Jack was looking at you.

You, who had given him the best gift he ever could’ve dreamt of.

Robby was clapping Jack on the shoulder with a strong hand, shaking him gently as he pulled him into a hug; “Congratulations, brother”, and then softer into his ear; “You deserve every second of this.”

He finds you next, hug softer and gentle as he looks you up and down in a similar protective fashion that Jack would.

“Congratulations, kid”, Robby hums, and then laughs softly; “Guess I can’t call you that anymore though.”

You shove him playfully, startling slightly when Dana steers you towards her.

“I knew it! I knew you were hiding something”, She laughs.

“Mother’s intuition?”, You smirk.

She shakes her head, hugging you close.

“Congratulations, honey. You two are going to be the best parents”, She whispers.

─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─

When the party dies down and the sun has finally dipped low, you snuggle into Jack’s side on the couch that sits on the backyard patio. Your swimsuit and hair damp after finally getting in the pool; Jack’s trunks the same. Robby sits across from you, nursing another beer; no doubt planning to spend the night. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

Your hand slips under Jack’s shirt—the first one he’s worn for more than an hour all day—rubbing softly at the firmness of his stomach. He looks down at you with fond eyes, leaning forward to press a kiss to your temple.

“Did you have a good day?”, You ask him, quiet enough so only he can hear you.

He nods, dipping his ear down closer to you; “Best day in a long while, sweetheart”, He says, thumb rubbing circles above your navel; “Except finding out about them.”

“Head ok? Not too loud?”

Jack hums softly; “I’m ok, sweetheart.”

You watch his thumb for a moment, the circles sending goosebumps up your spine in the cool evening air.

Jack notices, because of course he does; “You cold?”

You shake your head; “No, just enjoying you.”

Jack continues rubbing soft circles.

Robby scoffs behind his beer; “Get a room.”

“Already did, how do you think she got pregnant?”

Robby almost chokes on his beer as Jack turns back to you, kissing your lips softly.

You snuggle into him closer, perfectly content to be just where you are; with your little family.

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he didn't even realize he had left his lunch at home until he walked out of trauma bay three and saw you standing there chatting with lena.

jack was a man of routine, but once in a blue moon, something would throw him off. his shoes not where they normally are, his alarm going off a few minutes late, his bag not pre-packed the night before. today it was his breakfast. he must've forgotten to stock up on what he needed, and he had to spend a few extra minutes coming up with something on the fly. he was good at that, truly, but human error affects all humans regardless.

"what's going on?" he asked as he approached, still rubbing sanitizer into his hands. he tried to hide his concern, but you knew him better than he did sometimes. his face always gave it away.

"your wife was just telling me what you guys did over the weekend." lena grinned cheekily. he was never going to live this down. "i never pegged you for a tennis guy."

you laughed at his annoyed expression, pushing his lunch box towards him. "you left this on the counter this morning." you told him, "i figured you'd need the calories to get you through a long shift of saving lives."

he rolled his eyes at your teasing, gently grabbing your arm and the lunch box before ushering you into the empty break room.

"thank you, sweetheart." he hummed, planting a kiss to your cheek as the door swung closed. "you didn't have to come all the way out here, i can live on vending machine food for one day."

"no, because every time you do that, you eat three servings of dinner and i have no leftovers for lunch the next day." you laughed, pinching his stomach.

he jumped at the pinch, playfully swatting your hand away. "hey! watch it." he chuckles, moving to the communal fridge to set the lunch box inside. "is this heavier?"

you nodded. "i switched out your sandwich and granola bar with some actual food." you grinned, "that chicken bacon pasta you like, a salad, some fruit, and garlic bread."

he groaned in delight, coming over to grab your hips and kiss you properly. "you amaze me."

you laughed, shaking your head at him. "and the thermos has a marshmallow mocha latte in it, but the straw isn't see through, so you can still tell everyone it's just plain black coffee." you teased.

"you're an angel, really." he murmured, kissing you again. "thank you."

"your co workers seem nice," you commented against his lips, leaning against the table.

"they're vultures, is what they are." he snorted, "always on the hunt to find out anything they can about my personal life."

"mhm, is that why three of them are standing outside the break room right now?"

jack turned around just in time to see shen, mateo, and crus scatter like birds, finding anything nearby to make themselves look busy. you laughed, shaking your head at them.

"very subtle." you mused, smoothing your hands down his chest and straightening out his scrub top. "i can't stay long, i still need to get some sleep before my first client in the morning."

he huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. "jesus. vultures, like i said."

jack took a step back, taking your hand to help pull you away from the table and towards the break room door. he landed a playful smack against your ass as you passed by him, smiling innocently at your half-hearted glare.

he led you to the charge nurse desk again, giving you one last quick peck and a quiet exchange of i love you's before you were reluctantly on your way. jack leaned against the desk as he admired you.

"i'd love to see her in a tennis skirt." lena teased as she watched you walk away.

jack scoffed, crossing his arms. "yeah, yeah..." he huffed, shaking his head. "she looks fantastic in them."

he doesn’t say anything about the length of your skirts or shorts, but he keeps an eye on them when you’re out together. he’ll pull the fabric down when it rides up or step behind you, should you bend over to pick something up. he glares at anyone whose eyes linger a little too long on your exposed skin, even if it’s “just” your thighs. 

when you can’t decide what to wear, he’ll pick for you.  “the purple top looks good, sweet pea. wear that with the black skirt. no, no, the silk one.” he’ll nod approvingly, hands wandering immediately. his fingers will dig into the flesh of your hips, holding what is his while he takes you in. “such a pretty girl, mhm?”

jack plans. he organizes dates, makes reservations and picks out the perfect spots for you. he’ll tell you to be ready at seven and then makes sure you are actually ready. 

“attagirl” “good job, baby” “you’re doing so good” he likes using those phrases against you because he knows how much they mess with your praise-starved mind. you’ll hear him whisper one of them to you, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, when you do even the simplest task. 

jack sometimes picks you up randomly. just to show you that he can. he doesn’t grunt or struggle but makes it seem like the easiest thing in the world—because to him, it is. placing you on the kitchen counter while you cook together, throwing you on the bed (gently, of course), or carrying you over a big puddle so you don't get your shoes soaked--he loves the startled shriek he manages to pull from you every time.

It’s not like you expected a paying gig right out the gate when you moved to the big city to chase your dream of becoming a musician, but you at least figured you would be able to get something that pays in the meantime.

At this point, every rejection is a shot straight to the heart.

You applied to every store you could find with a hiring ad. Both online and in-person, skipping over the occasional store that you felt you weren’t cut out for. Now, it’s come to the point where you don’t have the luxury to be picky.

Still, the shoe store that wouldn’t hire you? At least you have shoes, even if they’re worn-in Vans and Converse for the most part.

The reception job at the law firm? It’s not like you have a degree or can cite any, but you know general laws.

This? You sigh as your gaze traces the letters across the failing light box, deep red letters spelling out Adult Boutique.

It’s not that you have anything against it.

It’s that you’ve never used a sex toy.

Hell, you don’t know the first thing about them.

You’ve never even had sex before.

Sighing, you throw your head back against the headrest of your old rusting sedan and take a moment to breathe in the harsh disappointment of chasing your dreams. Your hands settle in your lap as you set aside any reservations you have, snatching your resumé from the passenger’s seat and shutting the door behind you. You walk with as much confidence as you can muster into the shop, but it’s almost humiliating how far out of your wheelhouse you are when you’re met with the interior. For as confident as you are, it drains from you in an instant.

Humiliation is a kink though, right?

“ID?” You pause in the doorway before you can get much of a look at the store, staring at a man with piercing blue eyes and white hair. He’s handsome, maybe a year younger than you, and his friendly smile is horribly infectious.

You stand like a deer in the headlights, your lips caught in an embarrassing ‘o’ before your mind catches up. ID. You’re in an age-restricted store. Right.

“Shoot–” Your hands fly down to your pockets, reaching for the wallet…

… That you left in the car.

Your jaw hangs ajar at the realization, warmth climbing from the back of your neck to the tips of your ears as the handsome clerk’s startlingly blue eyes pin you in place.

You shut your eyes, biting down on your lower lip. “I’ll be right back.”

In the midst of your walk of shame back to your car across the street, every thought reminds you that you could just leave. You could forget this ever happened and simply accept you aren’t getting the job. The fact that your wallet is so empty that you left it in your unlocked car in a shady part of town serves as a reminder that, again, you don’t exactly have the luxury of being picky.

With a forlorn sigh and a drag of your hands down your face, you put on your best confident smile and make your way back inside. The clerk grins as you hand over your ID, leaning over the counter on forearms that you swear you’re not staring at.

They’re just veiny.

And incredibly hot.

“Sorry,” you sigh as you pocket your ID again.

“Don’t worry about it,” there’s a small wave of his hand to brush you off, and when you look up to meet his eyes, there’s a particularly sultry look to his gaze. It’s enough to warm your cheeks again, and you can only pray he doesn’t notice how much you’ve been staring. “Looking for anything in particular?” He bears a lopsided tilt to his grin that sets your nerves further alight as your stomach ties in knots under the handsome stranger’s gaze.

It’s gotta be a bad combination to be clueless on everything around you and thinking about the hot man in front of you rather than the job you’re applying for.

Shaking your head to center yourself, you put on your best smile. “Yeah, actually.” The man’s expression changes to intrigue as you hand over your resumé. His eyes skim it, brows raising.

He gives you a once-over, setting the paper down with a more genuine grin. “We could use the help,” he admits. “The owner’ll be in tomorrow morning, I’ll have her give you a call.”

That’s the most positive response you’ve received to an application thus far. Although you find yourself nervously eyeing a bottle of G-Spot Stimulating Gel on the counter that you don’t know the first thing about, you’re honestly relieved that things could be looking up. You can handle this job with a bit of research, surely.

“That would be great,” you offer a smile. “Thank you.”

–

So, the good news is that you have a job. The bad news is that you still don’t know the first thing about what you’re selling. Admittedly, you probably should have done some research or looked over the product offerings on the store’s site, but somewhere between preparation for a new job and trying to sleep through the train shaking your apartment every few minutes, you forgot.

The kind woman who interviewed you over the phone and the store’s owner– Jillian– greets you at the door as you push into the store. Her graying hair is curled tightly at her roots, her eyes wrinkled at the corner and kind. She wears a pale pink wool sweater that compliments her lip gloss, standing at about the same height as you. She’s old enough to retire and still gorgeous all-the-same.

“Welcome, dear,” she smiles brilliantly at the sight of you, ushering you towards the front counter with a hand on your shoulder. “I appreciate the help, it’ll be nice to step back from the counter and keep my job behind-the-scenes.”

“I’m happy to help,” you reply with a kind grin, keeping up your best customer service attitude. As she leads you behind the counter, your eyes flick to the two tall men standing behind the counter. You recognize the first as the hot white-haired man who accepted your resumé. Cheery, charming, and strikingly handsome with toned muscles visible from under his white t-shirt.

The man beside doesn’t bear the same welcoming nature. In fact, they’re the definition of polar opposites.

Standing a couple of inches taller than the one you recognize, he has black hair that must be dyed, pink roots standing out like a rose among thorns. His ears are pierced in a multitude of ways with matching brow and lip piercings and tattoos that travel up the back of his neck, reaching his jaw. He’s in far darker and more casual clothes, arms crossed over his broad and built chest with his hip leaned on the counter, and a look of mild disinterest that does no favors for your nerves.

Where the white-haired man bears a friendly smile and a button-up that makes him look ready for a job in a cubicle, his black-haired colleague is very clearly assessing your every move, and looks like he could be on-stage at a dingy bar.

She introduces you to the men, earning a grin from the one you recognize and… nothing from the man with black-dyed hair.

“I’ll be in every couple of days to do the cash deposit,” she explains. “I’ll also drop by to check on the office and put together paperwork, but Satoru–” she points to the white-haired man who casually salutes in greeting, “and Ryomen–” her hand waves towards the frowning man who doesn’t react save for a glance at the older woman, “will train you. Satoru usually does the opening shift and Ryomen does the closing shift. We’re closed Mondays and Tuesdays, but you’ll work the rest of the week.” You’re grateful for the consistency, if nothing else. “You’ll take the midday Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays, you’ll be alone for a bit while the boys are in classes, and you’ll take the closing shifts on weekends to help Ryomen during busy hours.”

His gaze, a crimson so striking you have half a mind to wonder if they’re contacts, flicks to you, indiscernible, then back to Jillian.

“You won’t be alone while you train of course though, the boys and I will cover until you’re comfortable being alone.” She pats you once on the shoulder. “Does that work for you, dear?”

“Not a problem at all,” you nod. You clasp your hands together politely.

“Perfect!” She claps once in glee, clearly happy to step away from serving customers. You can understand that sentiment. “I’ll grab your paperwork.”

Satoru’s gaze follows her as she heads for the back room, then turns cheerily to you. “Hey, newbie!” He steps forward from the counter, outstretching his hand. “Nice to meet you.” Shaking his hand, you match his grin. “Well, by name anyway.”

You turn your expectations to Ryomen, who doesn’t move from the spot he’s standing in. His weight shifts to the other hip, still leaning against the counter when he juts his chin out in less of a greeting and more of an acknowledgement. “Hey.”

“Nice to meet you, Ryomen.” You give him a little wave.

“Sukuna,” he corrects you. His words aren’t sharp per se, but they carry a blunt edge. “Only the old lady can call me Ryomen.” His voice is as gruff as his style and stature, fitting of the brutish impression he gives off. His slightly narrowed eyes give off the notion that he’s evaluating you. Reading you.

With a tight-lipped smile, Satoru scratches at the back of his head. He shoots you an apologetic glance as you uncomfortably gather that this isn’t unusual for Sukuna.

“Got it, sorry.” You offer an apologetic smile, which he accepts with a nod.

Satoru steps forward to save you from the interaction, motioning with his head out to the store’s floor. “Why don’t I show you around?”

You nod gratefully, letting him lead you away from the counter. Sukuna’s gaze is quick to drop to the counter as he leans over a book of some sort, his chin resting atop his hand. You turn your attention back to Satoru as he leads you through the long back area of the store

A colorful assortment of dildos and vibrators line the walls of the first aisle, anything from glass to silicone in different shapes and size varieties. The light in the far corner flickers when you step into the aisle, faux wood creaking under-foot. The store has that sort of old strip mall feel where, although well-maintained, its age is evident in the old fixtures and failing lights.

“Sorry about him,” Satoru’s voice is a near-whisper as he shakes his head. His hair falls in front of those striking blue eyes as he leads the way down each aisle. You’re not sure you’d really call it showing you around, but you’re certainly walking the floor. “He’s uhhh–” he waves his hand through the air as he searches for the right term. “Moody, or something.” He chuckles. “I don’t know, you get used to it. Don’t take it personally.”

“He doesn’t seem like a customer service person,” you admit sheepishly, keeping your voice down.

Satoru does no favors keeping his own down as he barks a laugh. “No, not really, hey? He’s Jillian’s friend’s son, so–” he shrugs as you mentally connect the dots that landed him this job. “It’s an easy enough gig and honestly business is slow.”

“That’s a shame,” you offer, mostly for Jillian’s sake, although you don’t mind it being slow.

“I said it was slow, not bad,” he grins, eyes narrowing to that sultry gaze he shot you when you dropped off your resumé last week. “We have a lot of regulars. People who spend a lot. You’ll recognize them in time.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “It’ll be nice to have some company for the end of my shifts,” he adds, tilting his head to eye you. He crosses his arms over his chest, catching your attention as you glance at his muscles just long enough to consider yourself caught. He takes the opportunity and swings with it. “I’m looking forward to getting to know you.” His voice drops a tone, the flirty lilt warming the tips of your ears.

“Yeah, it’ll be nice to get to know you too.”

Jillian returns with paperwork before Satoru can take the opportunity to flirt any further– but you get the feeling he will. It seems to go hand-in-hand with his personality. Once everything is signed and Satoru has headed off for class, Jillian leaves training in Sukuna’s hands as she retreats to the back to file your paperwork.

Sukuna’s gaze is a slow drag down your form as he evaluates the dark blouse and nice jeans you chose to wear. Admittedly, you now feel a little overdressed given his relative comfort and ripped jeans, but in spite of the judgement clear as day in his eyes, he keeps it to himself. At least, as long as you don’t count the frown he bears. You can’t really tell if that’s meant for you or if that’s his neutral expression.

With a sigh, he shuts whatever book is on the counter behind him and gives you a rundown in short, clipped sentences. “Floor work first, cash after. You worked cash before?”

You nod, though the register looks fairly old here.

He gives a hum of approval. “Good. The floor's pretty self-explanatory. Everything is ordered by brand, then color. Shipments Mondays and Thursdays. Back room for any overstock.” He points over his shoulder to where Jillian disappeared as he lays out instructions like facts. “No clock system. Just work when you work. Pay is every second Friday. You’ll get a check.”

Again, you nod.

His gaze travels the length of your figure, but it doesn’t feel as though he’s checking you out. It’s an evaluation. And you’re pretty sure you’re failing before you’ve had the chance to start. “I don’t care what you do when customers aren’t around. Study, read, go on your phone. I don’t give a shit.”

“Oh, okay. That’s kinda nice.”

His tone is apathetic as he hums in agreement. “I didn’t have time last night and I know Satoru’s lazy ass didn’t clean this morning, so I’ll get you to organize the shibari while I put some shit away.”

You nod, slipping away from the counter onto the floor. His gaze tracks you as you very unconfidently thread through the rows in search of shibari. To your horror, nothing is well-labeled, which means there isn’t a distinct section with some big flashy sign to point you in the direction of a kink you don’t know the name of.

“It’s at the back,” Sukuna’s low voice calls out. Biting down on your lip, you move towards the back of the store, your gaze trailing along the wall. There are a number of bondage devices you can’t name, ropes that you assume go with bondage, and chains and whips that all feel bondage-adjacent.

So, more or less, you’re still at a loss.

Really failing that evaluation now.

Behind you, Sukuna is replacing products that were atop the counter at the front, but his movements stop when he fixes you with his narrowed gaze. “The ropes,” he points them out on the wall with displeasure prickling around the edge of his sandpaper-scraped voice. Now that you look at them, it feels obvious given how out of order they are.

“I know!” Heat flares beneath your skin in all the wrong places. Still, you won’t let him get to you. “I was just looking.”

He doesn’t reply, his crimson gaze boring into your expression so hard that you’re pretty sure he can see right through you.

At least you can’t fuck up the organization of the ropes.

Quietly sucking in a breath, you turn to the wall, pulling down the plastic-covered rope bundles that are out of place.

“So,” you turn your gaze over your shoulder. “You’re in school?”

“Mhm.”

“What are you taking?”

“Business.”

He’s difficult, too. Great.

Once the ropes are in a more sound order, you spin on your heel to face him. He’s already turning away, moving to a different area to put away a vibrator.

“Can I–”

“Here.” He tosses a bottle of lube at you, caught clumsily in unexpecting fingers. “Put that away, too.”

Pressing your lips into a tight line, you nod, more to yourself than him. At least you know what lube is.

You search the store for the spot where it belongs, twisting it on the shelf so the label faces out, then make your way to the counter where Sukuna’s already standing over his book again. Before you have the opportunity to speak, the bell over the door rings as a customer walks through the door. She’s around your age, and quickly flashes ID towards Sukuna, who nods.

A regular, you suppose.

The tattooed clerk’s eyes trail to you, jutting his chin out expectantly towards the customer.

Making your way up to the woman with cute blonde hair cut short, you fall into your customer service voice. “Can I help you find anything?”

“Hi!” She beams at you, her smile putting your first day nerves at ease. “Thank you, but I know where most things are,” she waves you off politely. “I appreciate it, though!” She moves past you towards the back of the store, whirling around suddenly as her gaze shifts between you and Sukuna. “Oh, actually, did you get any more of the cherry stimulants in?”

You turn your attention to Sukuna, who fixes you with a lazy unsure expression. “She can check for you.” He leans his hip on the counter again, arms crossed over his chest as he faces you. “It’ll be in the back. They come in a box with a cherry logo on them.”

Worrying your lip between your teeth, you nod as you make your way to the back.

Truthfully, the cramped room is a bit of a relief from the uncomfortable tension Sukuna just seems to naturally exude. Him and Satoru are big personalities in the most opposite way you can possibly imagine, but at least Satoru is willing to chat.

Jillian glances over her shoulder from an old computer at the back of the room. “Everything going well, dear?”

“Yeah,” you grin, though truthfully this already feels like a disaster where you’re being scornfully judged by your colleague and accidentally making enemies on day one. With one of the only people you work with. So that’s great. “There’s just someone looking for stimulants.”

She shifts in her chair, doing a once-over of the boxes. “Not back here. There’s an inventory list on this computer that you can usually use, but I don’t want to lose progress on your files. Can you ask Ryomen to check the holds drawer? Satoru might have put some on hold if he knew they were looking.”

“Sure, thank you!”

With a grateful smile, you head back to the front and relay the information to Sukuna.

“Holds drawer’s there.” He points to a handle on the lower inside of the counter. Within are a number of boxes and small sachet packs. “Mm, there they are.”

Clearly one of the sachet packs is what she’s looking for. Unfortunately, they all fail to say exactly what they are on the front with bright and bold brands rather than descriptors or even a damn cherry logo, which means you haven’t the faintest clue what you’re looking at.

“The orange one,” Sukuna adds when you’re still paused staring at the drawer. There’s an unimpressed lilt to his tone that has you wincing before you pull the sachet pack from the drawer. You do what you can to keep your expression neutral and feign confidence when you stand upright again.

The whole situation is tense and embarrassing. It might at least be tolerable with Satoru, but Sukuna either enjoys your suffering or he’s an asshole.

The unfortunate third possible option is both.

His grimace as you set the pack in his hand isn’t lost on you, although you choose to head towards the register in hopes that he can at least teach you how it works and you can get on with this day. He chooses not to say a word to you as the customer finishes looking around, returning to the front with a rose-shaped vibrator.

“Ooh, thank you!” She grins as she spots the packet at the register.

Sukuna nods, glancing over his shoulder to make sure you’re paying attention. “Just type the amounts into the register,” he explains, putting both prices from the stickers into the old machine. Once he hits the equals button, the cash drawer pops open as he gets the total and it calculates tax for him. The customer flashes a card, so Sukuna shuts the drawer and types the amount into the machine to his right. “While she pays, get the serials on each tag and write them here,” he explains, pulling the number from each barcode and writing them on a pad of paper left of the register. Once her payment is processed, a receipt prints, which he hands to her, keeping the second copy under the till. Finally, he bags the items.

She thanks him, giving you a polite little wave and retreating out the door.

You let out a breath, nodding. “The register seems easy enough,” you try more friendly commentary in spite of his half-assed teaching, but you suppose by now you shouldn’t expect Sukuna to be receptive. He hums, a judgemental flash in his eyes as he pins you in place with a narrowed gaze like he can see something you can’t.

He works his jaw in a slow grind of teeth like he wants to say something but thinks better of it, dropping your gaze. “I’ve got to study. There’s not much else to the job besides that, so keep yourself busy.”

Thankfully the rest of the day passes without much of a hitch and you’re able to leave as evening hits, with Sukuna staying to close the store.

He doesn’t give you another word for the remainder of the day. He doesn’t expect you to handle customers. He handles the till. He doesn’t even look at you as you let him know your shift is over. You aren’t sure whether to be grateful or dread the rest of your shifts with him, but thankfully you’re able to spend more time with Satoru tomorrow.

Given that you’re off a couple of hours before close, you use the opportunity to stake out local bars with stages and take note of a small pub tucked away in a little corner. The outside has a sign that doesn’t light up in the night’s cover, but within it’s rather warm, with string lights hung over a stage in the back. While you work on your online presence, it’s the perfect spot to get your stage skills up.

The thick metal of the door is cool on your hand, creaking on its hinge as you press through to the interior warmth. There’s a small two-man group on-stage performing low-energy grunge that seem to be garnering decent attention from onlookers and groups you would be willing to bet are regulars based on the way they move around the small scene.

Adjusting your jacket over your shoulder, you make your way to the bar. The bartender looks to be a couple of years senior to you, with short brown hair kept neat aside from a couple of stray strands that fall over his forehead. He has a prominent nose and sunken eyes that give him an overall air of tiredness.

The apron he wears over a clean-cut button-up pulls taut across his chest as he reaches overhead to set a bottle of whiskey along the back wall before turning his attention to you with a polite smile. “What can I get for you?”

“Oh, um, actually,” you begin with a polite smile, “I was wondering who I need to impress to be up there.” You point to the grunge band at the back as his gaze follows you.

He hums, his calm demeanor shifting from the routine of bartending to something more friendly. “I can give you the owner’s email. If you fit in with the crowd, he’ll work with your schedule.”

Casting another glance at the two men on-stage, you nod, chewing on your lip in an effort to hide your giddy smile. “That’d be great. So… what– a little moody, kind of chill? Maybe some minor chords in there?”

The bartender chuckles, picking up a glass like routine simply fills his subconscious. “Sounds to me like you’ve already got the gig.”

Leaving behind the smell of drowned sorrows and shared laughter, you can hold onto the fact that while your day took a turn for the worst, it’s just a job. Once you leave the building, you don’t have to think about it and can focus on music. Sukuna isn’t the end of the world and if you can manage to stay out of his hair, surely you can find some sort of common ground with him.

–

Wind whips too fast across the street when you lock your car behind you. Your unzipped coat flails in the wind, leaving you with a flustered expression as the shop door slams shut behind you.

“Hey newbie,” Satoru greets you with an amused grin. You flash him a smile as you smooth down your outfit, far more casual than the previous one with jeans and a band shirt. “How was yesterday?” He asks, wiping down the counter and tossing the wipe in a garbage as he claps his hands together to brush them off.

The chuckle that parts your lips is half-hearted as you drop your laptop bag atop the front counter. “Kind of a disaster?” You wince, shaking your head. “Is he seriously always like that?”

Satoru stands upright, running a hand through white locks. “He gets better when you get to know him, but yeah he’s kind of an asshole,” he laughs brightly, unbothered. “I’m pretty sure he thinks he’s all that and a bag of chips.”

“Sure, if the chips are sour,” you mutter.

Satoru snickers, nodding. “What happened anyway?”

“I didn’t immediately know where everything is without being shown,” you wave a hand through the air, letting it hang there for a moment in disbelief.

Satoru, unphased, grins. “Oh, yeah. Sounds like a classic case of not running on Sukuna’s schedule. You should really get on that.”

You throw your head back with a sigh, giving a dismissive wave of your hands. “Whatever, it’s a new day, right? Maybe it won’t be so bad today.”

Satoru teasingly sucks in a breath through his teeth. “Sorry newbie, but my sources are telling me today’s weather is looking cloudy in Sukuna-land.”

Satoru’s unseriousness helps settle a modicum of your nerves as you find yourself laughing at his charm.

“But hey, you’ve got me for a couple of hours first.” He grins, settling the balls of his palms atop the counter as he leans his weight back. One of his sleeves, rolled to the elbow, slides down his forearm to his wrist. “What did he go over with you, anyway?”

You laugh loosely. “Like, nothing. He gave me a thirty second run-down of the till and told me I don’t need to clock in or out.”

“That’s gold,” Satoru shakes his head in an effort to get hair from falling into his line of sight. “I thought he’d be nicer to a pretty girl like you.” His face lights up as you avert your eyes, smiling at the scuffed floor underfoot. He keeps the conversation flowing like it’s second nature. “Tell you what, I’ll actually try to show you around before he gets here, and you can tell me what brought you to the city.”

Recovering quickly, you fix him with a humbled expression at the callout. “Is it that obvious that I’m not from here?”

Satoru barks a laugh. “Yeah. You’ve got small town energy.”

“Small town energy? What does that even mean?” You follow him out from behind the counter as he leads the way to the back room first.

“Just vibes,” he shrugs. “It’s good. Cute,” he grins. You get the feeling he’s a bit of a flirt through and through, but truthfully you enjoy the attention.

Plus, he’s hot.

“Thanks,” you murmur with a bashful smile, chewing on your lip. “I uh– I wanted to give my dream a shot before tying myself down in a career I hate.”

His eyes light up as he turns to you with a palm on the door handle for the back room. “Oh yeah? What’s your dream?”

“Singing. Music,” you admit, feeling just shy enough that you avert your gaze in spite of your giddiness.

“No way.” He’s grinning widely now, his hand leaving the door handle as he chooses to lean against it instead, arms crossed tantalizingly over his chest. “I feel like I’m obligated to be the annoying guy who asks you to sing for me now.”

You laugh heartily. “At least you know it would make you that guy.”

With a chuckle, he finally turns around to lead the way into the back room. He peppers actual explanations of the job’s inner workings between personal questions.

After explaining the inventory system on the back computer and how boxes are organized, he leads the way back through the aisles, pointing out different sections as you walk. “So, do you take gigs between shifts?”

“When I can,” you nod. “I’m trying to put together the money to get some studio time soon. I have some self-recorded stuff, but I don’t think I’m much of a producer.”

“Will you at least tell me what genre?”

“Um,” you shrug thoughtfully, “I guess like punk or indie rock?”

“Oooh, so you’re a moody guitar girl. I like it, I like it.” He nods his approval with a wide grin. The faintest of dimples forms at the corners of his lips, giving him a charmingly boyish smile.

Your genuine shared laughter sends flutters to the pit of your stomach, warm and welcome, as you finish threading through aisles and head back to the front counter. Satoru pushes up on forearms that flex under his weight as he settles atop the counter. You follow suit on the opposite counter, head tilting as you inquire about him.

“Jillian mentioned you’re in school, what are you taking?”

“Business,” he replies with a lopsided smile.

“Oh, like Sukuna?”

“Damn, you got an answer out of him?” Satoru chuckles. “Yeah, he’s a year ahead of me but we’re in the same program. I think he wants to do the whole company startup thing though, I’m looking to kinda take over for Jillian and eventually buy this place if things work out. She’s holding out until I finish.”

Your brow raises as you fix him with an inquisitive look. “You wanna take over here?”

“Don’t sound so shocked,” he chides, gaze lidded with an almost-cocky attitude. “Don’t get me wrong, I know it doesn’t seem busy even with online orders, but I actually think there’s a huge untapped market here.” He straightens and you can see the passion and drive gleaming in his eager gaze. “I think the way sex toys are sold both online and in-stores is outdated and makes a lot of people feel uncomfortable and I want to try to do something new to help people feel more comfortable and open in terms of sex.”

You blink, nodding at the insightful way that he goes on to explain the ins and outs of his opinion on the industry and how, although he loves Jillian, he can see a lot of ways to use his knowledge to improve the business and hopes to change the way kinks are viewed.

It’s not like it hasn’t occurred to you just how inexperienced you are, but as you nod along to his passionate explanation, it occurs to you just how experienced he is. He doesn’t say it outright, but he talks about the way condoms are made and how bad they can be for some people, how he hopes to bring in products for people who struggle with medication killing their sex drive, and even the intricacies of what products work well and which don’t and how he would love to stop stocking them altogether.

It shouldn’t come as a shock– it doesn’t– after all, he’s hot and flirty, but it certainly gives the butterflies in your stomach an edge that you aren’t sure what to make of. It’s not uncomfortable– Satoru’s still kind and has a welcoming personality– it’s closer to inadequacy. Like you should know more, and not just for job purposes. It doesn’t sit well.

But you shouldn’t be thinking about your coworker like that anyway, right?

Thankfully, before you can think too hard about the subject, Sukuna walks through the door with a heavy step to his boots.

Maybe ‘thankfully’ doesn’t suit his arrival, though. His gaze flits briefly between each of you before he heads straight to the back, giving you both a noncommittal wave as you greet him.

When the door shuts behind the brute, Satoru turns to you. He grimaces, faux empathy shining in cerulean seas. “The weather report was right.”

The day passes so quickly with Satoru even without a single customer entering the store that the rest of the day feels like a slog without him. Or maybe it just feels like a slog because Sukuna makes it clear he wants nothing to do with you. He even stayed in the back until Satoru had to leave in spite of the changes in their regular schedules just to train you.

He’s not even that unfriendly with Satoru either from what the kinder of the two told you. He tried to reason that your tattooed co-worker simply isn’t fond of new people, but you’re pretty sure your inexperience grates on his nerves.

And unfortunately, every little slip up seems to tack on. Your shifts with Satoru are a breeze that leaves you grinning bashfully over your new crush while your shifts with Sukuna have you questioning every life choice you’ve ever made.

Your first weekend closing shift with Sukuna, you’re pretty sure you confirm your suspicions that he simply doesn’t like you.

The bell rings overhead as a tall man with dark hair walks through the door. You greet him and offer a hand, but his gait is purposeful as he heads into the back after flashing ID. Passing the time by fiddling with a pen as Sukuna stares blankly at the door with a hand lazily strewn over his textbook page, your gaze lifts when the man returns.

“Excuse me. Do you know the difference between this–” he shows you a bullet vibrator, “and this?” He holds up a hitachi wand next, “aside from size?”

Your jaw hangs open stupidly as you try to formulate a response but find yourself at a loss when size seems like the reasonable answer. Feeling your face flush, you glance sidelong at the business major.

If looks could kill.

The worst part? It’s not even glare.

It’s the most unfiltered and raw disappointment you’ve ever seen.

He huffs, pushing up from the counter. “The bullet is discreet but weak. It takes batteries and they usually only last for five hours overall. It’s still a good amount of use, but they might be watch batteries, which can be a pain.” He shoots you a pointed stare that makes you wonder if you would rather have just embarrassed yourself in front of Satoru in spite of your crush. “The wand is rechargeable, way stronger, lasts about fifteen hours, and has a lot more vibration modes,” he explains confidently.

The man nods, setting the bullet aside as he brings the wand to the counter. Over the course of the past few days, Sukuna’s taken most of the floor-related duties away from you in spite of the fact that you have tried to do some research and are getting to know the sections and general genres of toys. That question simply didn’t come up. Yet for all of the times he’s made a motion for you to take over cash, he doesn’t even offer it this time.

You get the feeling this goes beyond his usual irritation.

You can practically feel it radiating off of him in waves of negative energy.

The moment the customer walks out the door, Sukuna’s palm splays across the counter as he turns with frustrating evenness to face you. Somehow his ability to keep his actions level while being visibly affronted is worse than if he would have just yelled.

“Do you think you’re cute for making my job harder or did you just apply for the wrong fucking job?”

Okay. Fuck this guy.

“You can’t be serious right now.”

He lifts his hands in a loose shrug. “Do I look like I’m kidding?” He replies, dry and even with venomous fangs.

You scoff, but relent nonetheless given that he is close to the store’s owner and you can not afford to lose this job.

Literally.

You can’t call a scoop of peanut butter dinner again.

“Look, I’m sorry, this is just–” you hesitate, your mind muddled as you search for an explanation. Sighing in exasperation, you throw your hands up, letting them fall to your sides with a plop against your jeans. You settle on the truth before you take too long to reply. “Sex toys are new to me.”

His jaw ticks as he leans his hip back against the counter, arms crossing over his chest. Somehow, he makes Satoru look small– not thin or short, but small– given how much bulkier he is. He’s hot too, but his personality stands as a bit of a wall between you. His jaw works, eyes narrowed as he takes in your words.

At last, he chuckles. Dry and devoid of any amusement. “Why the fuck did you apply here if you don’t know anything about the shit we sell?”

“Because I need a job?” You reply incredulously.

He huffs a sigh. “Just my fucking luck.” He turns back to the register, haphazardly tossing the receipt into a small bin under the counter before he grabs the bullet vibrator and heads out onto the floor. “Figure that shit out,” he calls sourly without looking back at you. “Watch porn or buy something, I don’t give a shit. Just don’t make my job harder.”

Leaning back against the counter where it meets the wall, you let your head fall back in disbelief.

Asshole.

–

You wish you could say your first month passes seamlessly, but Sukuna makes the seams painfully obvious.

With Satoru, they’re subtle but you still feel them.

They both present separate problems.

Sukuna is an outright asshole and you want to get things right if only to not hear his virulent voice. The silence is somehow better.

Satoru is kind, open, and caring, but leagues ahead of you in experience and you have a massive crush. There aren’t enough customers in the morning to embarrass yourself in front of him, but you do find yourself wanting to impress him and against your better judgement, you’re pretty sure you’ve given him the impression you know what you’re doing from what little research you’ve done and what you’ve picked up over the month.

At least you’re trained enough that you get a couple of hours to yourself between Satoru’s departure and Sukuna’s arrival now that their hours aren’t extended in order to train you.

“You gonna be okay on your own?” Satoru asks, shrugging his jacket over his shoulder.

“I’ll be fine,” you brush him off with a smile.

He nudges your arm, unknowingly sending goosebumps in a trail up your skin. “Good. Text me if you need something. Or, I dunno. If you’re bored.”

Your heart does a little flip. “Yeah. Okay, thanks.”

You watch bashfully as he leaves, offering a little wave. Once he’s out of sight, you lean on your forearms over the counter. With a forlorn sigh, you drop your chin to the vinyl below, staring blankly out the window. Truthfully, it’s nice to have a breather between each man. You need the time to prepare yourself to handle Sukuna.

Your mind’s distraction comes in the form of your phone buzzing a few minutes later.

1:36 PM Satoru || not bored yet? ;)

A distraction to be sure. Whether it’s fortunate or not– yet to be determined.

The door seems to be opening more and more with him these days and as giddy as that makes you, nerves are beginning to show more and more at the seams. It’s foolish really, and you know that, but you find yourself constantly coming back to your lack of experience.

1:37 PM You || Give me like 5 more minutes and then I will be

You can practically hear the laugh he barks, having grown fond of his company.

You’re still casually texting back and forth when Sukuna’s shoulder presses on the door. He moves confidently through the shop, casting a single glance at you before dropping his bag off in the back room.

He’s still a pain in the ass, but Satoru was right that you do get used to it. You’re not sure that you’d call that a win, but at least you’ve come to some sort of silent agreement with him out of sheer necessity.

He didn’t leave you with many options after realizing just how little you know about the industry. When he got in the following day and returned your greeting with a painfully mild ‘don’t bother’, you had to figure out some sort of system that would prevent him from interacting with you altogether if it means his attitude is milder.

That’s how you landed here. He handles the floor and questions, you handle cash. You can tell he hates the arrangement given that he’s not a chatty guy, but at least you aren’t pinned in place by his vile appraisal every time you interact.

He’s civil.

Civil enough.

Most of the time.

For him, anyway.

He’s less judgemental, at least, and when you are able to help on the floor, he tends to leave you be more often than not. It’s like the loosest form of appreciation you can think of.

You’re pretty sure ‘tolerates’ is a fitting word for how he sees you. Like some sort of intrusive insect that sits just out of reach.

When he re-emerges from the back with his coat shrugged off, you’re surprised to see him in a black button-up and slacks, carrying his usual aloof expression as he makes his way to the counter. Admittedly, it’s a good look for him.

It’s unfair that he gets to be hot and an asshole.

“Is there a reason you’re staring?”

Thank god you don’t find him intimidating anymore. He’s a dick. Even to customers from time to time, but you don’t find yourself feeling small under his judgement. Maybe you should, but your ability to quickly bounce back could easily be placed at fault.

Blinking, you avert your gaze. “Sorry. I’m just not used to seeing you so dressed up.”

He examines your expression as though he suspects a lie in your words. “I had a presentation,” he explains, surprisingly open as he offers the explanation willingly.

Holy shit. It’s the first sunny day in the Sukuna forecast.

“What sort of presentation?”

“A marketing pitch.”

“Oh, nice.” You nod, trying to keep the peace. “How’d it go?”

He nods, turning to the counter to open his laptop. “Good. We’re gonna workshop it a bit, but I’m hoping to pitch to investors soon.” There’s pride within the evenness of his voice that has you tilting your head, intrigued to get something genuine from him.

Leaning in, you push to see how much you can get from him. “Like, a startup idea?” You recall Satoru mentioning something of the sort.

His gaze fixes you from over his shoulder. You get the feeling with him that he’s always trying to read you. “Yeah. A platform where people can pitch their businesses to customers within a certain distance without needing social media.”

“Oh,” you blink, mildly surprised. “That’s a really good idea.”

He hums, turning back to his laptop.

“You don’t really strike me as the CEO type, if I’m being honest.”

“I’m not,” he agrees, surprisingly unbothered by the observation. You consider yourself lucky he doesn’t take it as an insult. “I’d be looking for a co-founder to handle the personal, financial, and sales bullshit. I’d run strategy and go-to-market.”

Admittedly, yeah. That suits him. He’s sharp and straightforward, he seems like the type to be more inclined to work on strategy and run everything without the constant need for approval and help from others.

“That sounds more your style. What made you think of the platform idea?”

He doesn’t look back as he replies. “Just seemed like something that would make money.”

You recognize that as Sukuna being polite. He’s shutting you down without a look that makes your skin crawl for once. You suppose it’s as good of a time as any to return to your texts. Your friend from back home has been religiously sending memes during your shifts to get you through the Sukuna days and today is no exception. You laugh at a few of them under your breath.

The day is as uneventful as usual. Sukuna even casts an approving glance in your direction when you correctly answer a customer’s question. He’s not so bad when he isn’t glaring every couple of minutes.

You pray the weather stays sunny in Sukunaland.

Shutting the register as a customer leaves, you turn back inside the store to find Sukuna back to work, hunched over his textbook and regurgitating the information into notes. You opt not to bother him, turning your attention instead to a flickering bulb in the back of the floor. Much like both men have chosen not to mention or fix it, you have too.

Turning your attention back to your phone, you cast a smile at your latest text from Satoru.

5:49 PM Satoru || how’s the pretty newbie handling our favorite co-worker??

5:53 PM You || The weather's looking surprisingly sunny today!!

5:54 PM Satoru || be on the lookout for rain. the weather can change on a dime

5:54 PM You || I can handle a bit of rain

5:55 PM Satoru || i’ll bet you can ;)

There your stomach goes doing flips again. Your thumbs fiddle with the edges of your phone case, pulling at the plastic as you stare at the message with that horrible mix of nerves and your stomach tying in knots. You get so caught up in your own self-doubt, you don’t realize you’re staring at Sukuna, busy with his own phone.

“What?” He gruffs, retaining that hint of annoyance.

“Hm?” You blink, brought back to the present. Before you, Sukuna is leaning against the counter, phone in-hand as his jaw shifts left and right. His lip ring noticeably catches like he’s fiddling with it. “Oh. Sorry.” With a shake of your head, you stare back down at your screen. Your gaze catches on the winky face. The underlying meaning behind it and his text. The impression you’ve probably given off working at a sex toy boutique.

The goddamn butterflies, though. The same ones causing the wave of self-consciousness that you know is foolish. But fuck is it hard not to feel that way when Satoru is undeniably the kind of guy that has people hanging off his shoulder with little to no effort. Your experience shouldn’t matter, but society has taught you to think otherwise.

“Hey,” you speak up on impulse before your mind can catch up to the move your mouth is already making. You can’t be certain whether it’s bravery or stupidity. “You know a lot about what we sell, right?”

His eyes narrow, minute. Just enough to catch your attention. “Yeah. I’m good at my job.”

The dig at your knowledge has you pressing your lips together. God, he’s frustrating. “Asshole.” His brow raises slightly, like something he once deemed uninteresting or unuseful has caught his attention and he’s appraising the situation to find if you’re deserving of it. “Is there, like… a way to improve without watching porn?” You query, worrying your lip between your teeth.

No longer engrossed in his laptop upon noticing your stare, Sukuna’s gaze bores into you. He doesn’t particularly make you uneasy now like he did when you first started, but it is sharp in spite of the evenness behind it. “I told you. Buy toys.”

You suppose you could have been a bit more specific. “No, I know that. A lot of them need a partner, though.”

He waves his hand in disinterest through the air like you’ve already answered your own question and he’s done entertaining any more. “Find one, then.” He’s already looking away as he replies.

You suck in a breath. “I’m from a small town. I just moved here, I don’t really know anyone.”

Sukuna just stares at you again like he expects you to figure it out yourself. His arms cross over his chest, his hip leaned against the counter. It’s not until the air turns stifling, your words hanging a hair too long as you meet his gaze that he cuts the tension with a disbelieving laugh.

“You’re asking me?” You can’t make heads or tails of his expression when it sits somewhere between disbelief and intrigue. It’s akin to the look you got upon calling him an asshole.

“No! Or– maybe? I don’t know.” The wince you shoot him is humiliating as you try to navigate the stormy seas you’ve set yourself sailing through.

“Why don’t you go ask Satoru?” He queries, pushing a hand back through his black-dyed locks like this question was never meant for him. Still, his tone doesn’t give off the impression that he’s irritated by you, so much as something more curious in nature.

Your gaze averts as your jaw hangs open in a frustrating moment of hesitation. Briefly glancing at the texts sitting in your hand is the only tell Sukuna needs, unfortunately able to read you like a book for some god forsaken reason.

“You’ve got to be fucking with me,” he chuckles, airy and amused. He pushes up off the counter, taking a step towards you like he’s laying out a challenge. “You don’t give a shit about the job. You’re trying to impress that fucker.” He rakes his tongue over his teeth, standing over you like he owns this damn conversation.

You cross your arms over your chest, fixing him with your own judgement. “You don’t have to make a big deal out of it.”

He pushes a condescending breath through his nose, smiling with nothing but mockery. “I don’t, but I’m gonna. You two would hit it off.”

Frowning, you opt to not give him the reaction he wants. Your nails dig into the skin of your arm. “I think I liked you better when you didn’t talk as much.”

“Most people do,” he smirks. He steps forward, hands in his pockets as he leans over you. “You still want me to teach you a thing or two, sweetheart?” His tone drips with condescension now that the person he once saw as little more than a pain in his ass has become something he can toy with.

You roll your eyes. You hadn’t expected your quiet co-worker to be this kind of an asshole. Why couldn’t he just say no and move on? Where did all the theatrics come from? “Why are you such a dick?”

“Answer the question,” he deflects, unbothered and painfully egotistical.

You huff, staring at the lemon-shaped vibrator sitting atop the counter that you’ve been contemplating buying for the last hour. “Fine. Yeah, I do.”

He blows a breath through his nose, standing upright again once he’s gotten your admission in his hands. “What’s in it for me?” The way he stands over you, chin tilted, and eyes narrowed, makes you huff.

You hadn’t exactly thought that far ahead. Hell, you didn’t expect to even voice your thoughts out loud. You barely even know enough about him to offer him anything. “I took business as a minor,” you suggest. “I could tutor you.”

“Nah, I’m set.”

You shrug, exasperated. Your hands wave uselessly through the air before plopping back down at your sides. “What do you want, then?”

He regards you with a thoughtful expression. “I’ll train you to close. Doesn’t matter what you’re doing, if I ask you to take my shift, you drop whatever you’re doing and take it.”

You shift your jaw to the left, chewing on the inside of your cheek. You expected worse.

“And you don’t tell Jillian or Satoru you took my shift. I keep the money.”

Ah. There’s the ‘worse’ you expected.

Frowning, you give the nerves in the pit of your stomach a moment to settle over making a deal with the devil. You want to say figuratively but you aren’t so sure. “Fine.” You extend your hand, but the man shakes his head, frowning.

“Rules first, then we shake.” He holds up his pointer. “Don’t tell a soul. Not even your friends back home.” Another finger. “No kissing. No making out. No sex.” He holds up a third finger. “This isn’t a little romantic fantasy thing. This isn’t a relationship. Don’t call this shit friends with benefits or fuck buddies, either. We’re not friends. Don’t expect anything cute from me. Got that?”

You don’t bother holding back a scoff. “I wasn’t going to, trust me.”

He smirks, unbothered. “Good.” His hand extends first this time.

For a long moment, you stare. You contemplate your life choices. You debate just ignoring your fears with Satoru and praying you can play the role of having experience. You equally contemplate just telling him you have no experience and that you’re nervous.

But somehow, the way nerves churn your stomach makes the butterflies worse. You want to squash them. You want to impress Satoru.

And you know. You know it’s stupid. You know you shouldn’t have to impress him, but the heart and mind don’t always connect, do they?

Against your better judgement, you clasp hands with him. You go to do the actual motion of a handshake but he keeps your hand in place. When your gaze raises to meet his in a silent question, he’s scrutinizing every little movement in your features.

His expression doesn’t hold the condescension you expect. His gaze is devoid of amusement, fixated on the frown you bear. “You really sure about this?”

You don’t hesitate to nod.

His eyes narrow a sliver. “Well, aren't you full of surprises?” There’s that hint of assholery. “One more rule.” His hand remains unmoving, still clasped with yours as he holds your gaze. “Either of us can shut this down at any time. It still never gets mentioned.”

You nod. “Agreed.”

Finally, he goes through with shaking your hand. “When are you looking to start?”

Your nose wrinkles at the way he makes it sound. “Do you have to say it like it’s a– I don’t know, job or something?”

“Oh, my bad,” he sneers, his grin too proud. “When do you wanna get fucked?”

You shouldn’t have asked.

Pulling your hand away from him, you rub your temples. You’re definitely not about to prod any further, lest he get more vulgar. “I’m free ton–”

“Not tonight,” he interrupts. “I got someone coming over to study.”

Scheduling ahead doesn’t sit right with you either. “Can we just decide during shifts? See how we’re feeling?”

“Whatever suits you,” he shrugs. The mild arrogance to his tone is… another can of worms to unpack, but as your colleague turns back to his studies, you only have one question for yourself.

What the hell have you gotten yourself into?

main masterlist || series masterlist || next ⪢

౨ৎ a/n ; i hope you enjoyed the first chapter of what will be a VERY kinky series LOLOL. i'm having a lot of fun with these two so far and i hope you are too <3

as a note, i'm trying moving tags to another blog which some of you may have seen due to changes in how tumblr's bot detection system is working, so please bear with me while i figure out how to not get my account flagged while doing taglists 🙃 edit; it's not working. if you weren't tagged, bear with me while i try to figure it out :')

౨ৎ taglist ; OPEN. age must be visible in bio. 18+ only. @gojosoups @yenayaps @m3owr3ow @tohru-tales @crimzie129 @lostgxrlblog @sterzin @scaraamo @sunyomz @norahlolzz @whateverineedsblog @buttclencher28 @blueemochii @pequnopastel @cupidxml @saintdilucc @officiallydrunk @yvannaille @brazzigy @ilovebeansyay @deewrites01 @martianzmars @volleyballgirl2022 @mtchamnsta @astrokenny @ge3ked @ri-sa20 @heichouaack @iluvgetosuguru @winkii @dishs0pe @renoamio @slutty-chronicles @elixoq @bam-boozledx @serinabean @schnunny @yoniknows @k1yomee @14pxa @imrandomstuffsblog @sixeyes0607 @tokyolhtl @ellybell2 @lalilou21 @weiiraru @torusangelface @hastletea @naomikozura @crunchycathy

well, not exactly. toji zenin has his biceps flexing under the weight of crates but his eyes don’t lift to the shelf he places them on. instead his pupils flit to the automatic entrance doors, thick & glass-heavy, before he glances at his watch & back to the door again. 12:30 PM sunday. toji knows you should be here by now.

but you’re not, so toji’s lip twitches as he stares at the box of freezies in his arms and sighs. it’s pathetic, really. he’s got five more boxes of who-knows-what to arrange before the end of his shift but he can’t fucking focus. his mind’s on your short skirt & pretty laugh & the way your voice goes sweet whenever he pretends to help you look for items while holding your hand between the aisles. toji grunts, shakes his head. focus focus focus.

“toji.. can you help me reach the olive oil? the cold-pressed one with the pretty label?”

toji’s head snaps up so fast he almost drops the box of freezies.

it’s you—oh god, it’s you, and you’re looking down at him with those pretty lashes & short skirt & your hands holding a basket behind your back. you’re in those cute kitten heels you had on the first time he saw you—did you get your nails done? so pretty. you’re so pretty, you’re always so pretty, and toji’s mouth dries.

he doesn’t say anything because he can’t, because your perfume smells like honey & has his lungs sticking to his throat—but he slowly stands up anyway. you’re humming to yourself as you pad closer, getting in his way, heel clicking against the tile as he traps you in the aisle.

he reaches up to the glass bottle, and he can see your lashes fluttering up at him. your chest presses against his, and his lip ticks upward.

“you want this, princess?” he mumbles.

you playfully swat his chest, but your palm doesn’t slide off. you’re caressing his pecs now, teasing. “toji, give it to me. i have a pasta to make tonight. i’m busy.”

toji chuckles, slipping the bottle into your basket and letting his palm sneak over your waist instead. your hands are still on his pecs, lightly squeezing as you laugh when he tugs you closer. he nuzzles your jaw, murmuring, “only if i get an invite, sweetheart.”

“we’ll see,” you tease as his tongue licks your earlobe. you’re running a thumb over the silver tag on his chest: TOJI. “if you’re good, maybe i’ll let you wash the dishes.”

he kisses your neck. “m’always good for you, baby.”

you’re giggling now, shoving him away with flushed cheeks & a laugh too bright. toji catches your hands, tugging you back with a smile on his face before squeezing your hips. your lips are so glossy. is that the new gloss you bought last week? can he kiss it off?

he’ll never know, because he’s holding your hips while you tug at his collar and whisper something he doesn’t care about in his ear. his manager calls his name.

fuck.

toji gives your hips one last squeeze. “go pay, princess. i’ll bag your stuff.”

“you better.” you huff, spoiled & sweet, and toji can only watch the sway of your hips as you make your way to the register.

you’re a pretty girl with a posh life who will never know lack. toji’s a 24-year-old who’s still in college, working odd jobs with a son waiting at home.

in the third aisle of the local loblaws, toji zenin has his hands on his hips and his eyes on the ground. toji zenin will never say it out loud, but he knows he will never, ever, get the girl.

ⵌ AT THE FRATHOUSE !

“you can’t pull someone like y/n, no offense.”

toji wishes suguru wouldn’t spell it out. he already knows, for christ’s sake.

in sigma chi’s living room, toji zenin is sprawled out on the center rug while suguru and sato eat on the floor beside him. sato is between geto’s legs with his back against geto’s chest & his toe tickling toji’s jaw through his socks. suguru is tilting his shawarma for sato to bite from before taking a bite of his own.

sato’s about to dish out an insult of his own when the door swings open. in comes ryomen sukuna, standing in the doorway with bags in his hands and his limbs stretched out like some sort of clown. he bellows, “therapy fucking sucked today. i still don’t think i need therapy, by the way. watching porn and jerking off is completely normal—fuck you, suguru.”

“maybe it is,” suguru’s lips are sticky with shawarma sauce, “but having your dick out in the same room as other people is not.”

“a young man can’t be an exhibitionist? suck my dick, man.”

“oh, i’m not hungry..”

sukuna trudges over toji’s legs, then plops on the ground opposite sato and suguru. sato throws him the middle finger with a grin. sukuna throws it back. “i brought drinks. toji, why’re you on the floor? ya need therapy too?”

sato snickers. “toji’s fallen for a rich girl.”

sukuna snorts, “don’t even joke, lad.” but suguru and toji aren’t laughing. his brows scrunch. “wait—“ he turns to toji, “you’re serious?”

toji eyes him. “mind your own business.”

sukuna doesn’t believe in complex schools of thought like ‘minding your business.’ so instead of picking a shawarma for himself and eating in silence, he joins sato and nudges his foot against toji’s cheek. “does she know you’re poor?”

“hey, hey,” geto bites his cheek, “not too much on him.”

but sukuna continues. “what about the kid? does she know you have a son?”

toji’s jaw only tightens.

sukuna looks at toji in disbelief. then at sato, then suguru—then shakes his head, laughing. “jesus christ of jollof rice,” he cracks open a beer, “you’re fucking cooked, bro.”

toji drags his hands over his face. his eyes are hot, for some reason.

suguru sighs, resting his chin on sato’s head as sato munches happily underneath him. “i hate to suggest this, but there’s a way you can get her to give you a chance.”

sukuna and toji both perk up.

“if she doesn’t know about meg—or your, uh, economics,” suguru clears his throat, “then you keep it that way. she thinks you’re some hot older uni student who works at loblaws for beer money. lean into it.”

sato frowns. “this sounds like something i’d suggest. so not good, i think.”

suguru pokes his cheek, making sato’s pout grow deeper. “i’m just spit-balling here. it’s obvious you really like her, toji. and megumi needs a mommy.”

“i don’t like her because i want her to play housewife.”

“we know,” suguru’s smile is affectionate. “that’s why we’ll help you.”

sukuna grunts in agreement. “sounds scummy but it makes sense. if she finds out you’re a baby daddy with no money, she’ll just run back to her range rover.” he takes another swig of his beer. “we’ll help you hide your true identity. you just get her hooked enough that when she eventually does find out, she won’t leave.”

sato nods. “we’ll babysit. lend you money. heck—you can drive my porsche to your dates.”

on the floor, toji zenin is staring towards the ceiling. it’s a stupid plan, his frat brothers are even stupider, and there is no way in hell whoever is up there will actually let things work out in his favor.

but toji’s desperate. he has been for a long time. so before he can let himself think about it, his lips part to respond.

“alright,” he grunts. “let’s fucking do it.”

SIGMA CHI’S REMARK : DON’T WORRY BRO, WE GOTCHU !

BROKE BOY TACTICS #2: WHO’S YOUR DADDY ?

taught by: sato, sukuna, suguru

“babysitting a five year old brat. how hard could that be?”

ΣΧ

megumi zenin is tufts of black hair, sleepy blue eyes & a tiny fist in a jar full of gummy worms. he’s slumped against his dad’s thick leg, shoving fistfuls of gummies in his mouth with candy-smeared cheeks & a bored expression on his face.

sato, sukuna and suguru are side-by-side on a straight line.

hands tucked behind their backs & chests puffed out like soldiers. toji clears his throat. “listen up. i’m going to be gone for exactly two hours. if i come back and the kid has a single scratch on him, i’m throwing all of you into a pond.“

suguru shakes his head, stepping forward to crouch down to megumi’s height. he wipes megumi’s cheeks with a smile. “don't worry, toji. we've got him. right, little man?”

“hi, uncle sugu,” megumi’s voice is flat but he leans into geto’s palm on his cheek. “are we going to draw today?”

“of course, kiddo. i bought some new crayons just for you.”

toji scoops his son up in his arms, ignoring the way his tiny body writhes towards the gummy worms abandoned on the floor. suguru lifts the jar back to megumi with a smile. sukuna, however, is frowning. “why is his face like that.”

“sukuna, do not fight my kid.”

megumi points towards him. “my daddy calls you a pervert.”

sato bursts out in laughter. suguru’s snickering too, though he’s doing a better job of hiding it. toji drops his son to the ground and crouches to his height. megumi offers him a soggy, wet gummy worm. toji eats it off his palm & pokes his belly.

he rises to his feet. “suguru is in charge. rest of you, keep your hands off him. i’m leaving.”

megumi waves a sticky hand. “bye, daddy. bring me a cookie.”

“will do, brat.” and the door shuts with a thud.

——

“we should go to wonderland. you like amusement parks, ‘gumi?”

megumi zenin has a crayon in his hands, scribbling furiously with a focused expression on his face. he’s seated in geto’s lap, occasionally having suguru hand him a crayon as he perfects his artistic masterpiece. to his right, sato gojo is leaning over the table and talking a mile-a-minute.

megumi answers, scribbling a drawing of what looks like him and his father—DADDY AND ME. “i’ve never been to an amusement park.”

“what?” sato slams his palm on the table, distraught. “what kind of kid has never been to an amusement park?!”

“my father is poor.”

“oh,” sato shrinks. “fairs.”

suguru lets out a fond huff, burying his nose in megumi’s hair to hide the fact that he’s shaking from laughter. sato looks crushed by guilt. “i can’t take this anymore, suguru.” he clutches his chest. “we’re going to the apple store and getting him an ipad pro right now.”

suguru raises a brow. “toji said no screens. and either way, i won’t let you turn him into an ipad kid.”

megumi slumps against geto’s chest. “i want a blue gatorade.”

“i’ll get it for you, buddy,” suguru smiles before kissing his cheek, easing him off his lap. “don’t let sato teach you about investment and stocks while i’m gone, okay?”

sato has his chin on the table, defeated. and just as suguru’s back turns into the kitchen, sukuna saunters in, steps heavy, palm curled around a blue bottle of—is that the last gatorade?!

sukuna cracks the plastic seal, taking a slow, heavy swig of the drink while staring right at the five year old. megumi’s tiny brows furrow. “that’s mine. uncle sugu said i could have it.”

“well,” sukuna licks his lips, slow. “uncle sugu’s not the king of this house.” he takes another gulp, throwing his head back with a refreshed ahhhhhh. megumi frowns, lips tight.

and then he screams.

“uncle sugu! mister pervert’s being mean again!”

sukuna chokes on his gatorade. “who the hell are you calling mister pervert, you little brat—“

sato jumps over the table to hold back sukuna before he can strangle the five-year-old. suguru runs out of the kitchen in alarm, quickly scrambling to hold back sukuna’s wrath alongside sato.

megumi only blinks at the display. three grown men bickering and shoving over gatorade. hell, he’s not so sure he even wants it anymore.

he sighs, reaching across the table to pick up sato’s iphone. he dials his dad’s number, palm smushed into his cheek as he watches suguru smack sukuna for his bad behavior.

ⵌ AT THE DATE !

in the local coffee shop, your lashes are fluttering & the sunlight kisses your skin as you stare out the window.

toji zenin has his heart in his throat. his hands are in his pockets but his ribs are cracked against his chest, and the sight of you pouting out the window has his mouth drying with want. he strolls over regardless, posture lazy, steps cool, because toji zenin is a man who can only have pride when he pretends.

“hi, princess,” he slides into the booth seat—next to you, not across, because he’s been thinking about the feel of your waist in his hands since last thursday—and his ankle hooks around yours on autopilot.

“hi,” you smile, leaning into his side as he kisses your hair. toji takes your palm in his. your fingers are so dainty. fuck.

“you look nice today,” you hum. “who are you trying to impress?”

your lashes are batting up at him, but toji manages to keep his cool. his smirk is lazy & gorgeous. “you, obviously.”

toji wonders how you can let him touch you so casually. even now he’s nibbling your ear as you talk about something from class—a lazy professor or something else, it’s hard to listen when your thumb brushes his jaw while you speak—and toji’s mind wanders. he’s kissing your neck now, thumbs rubbing circles on your thighs as your breath hitches between words, and toji wonders why you haven’t yet flinched in disgust.

he doesn’t dwell on it too long, though. he knows the topic will only get him down.

so he kisses your neck as you laugh and swat him away, telling him he’s distracting you from your story. you never push him off, though, and your thigh’s on his lap now.

but all good things must come to an end.

toji’s phone buzzes.

loud & obnoxious. SATO, his screen reads. he quickly swipes it away. “sorry…just spam.”

“spam?” you poke his bicep, grinning. “or is your little side piece getting impatient?”

“don’t have a side piece, baby,” he murmurs into your cheek. “only want you.”

1 NEW FACETIME AUDIO CALL : SATO 🤡

his phone has been buzzing for ages now. you sigh, crossing your arms & clearly annoyed. “toji, just answer it. what if it’s an emergency?”

you’re right, he should answer it, because if anything happened to megumi, he’d fucking flip. he bites his lip, “one second, princess.”

he presses his phone to his ear, but megumi’s voice greets him instead.

“daddy! uncle kuna’s trying to kill me because of blue gatorade!”

toji’s eyes widen. from the corner of his eye, he can see you inching closer, brows furrowed in concentration as you try to listen in.

in the background of the call he can hear sato shrieking. “suguru—! use the spatula! use the spatula! sukuna stop—“

you’re blinking at him, inching closer to his bicep on the table. “daddy? who’s calling you daddy?”

toji’s soul leaves his body.

“daddy, are you coming home soon? uncle sugu’s spanking him now. it’s very loud—“

he ends the call before you can hear any more.

“do you have a son?”

toji’s breathing stutters. you’ve inched away from him now, lips bent in a frown, brows furrowed, expression curious—or cautious, toji can’t really tell. and it pains him to lie to you, but what else can he say when you’ve already shifted your thigh off his lap?

“nah,” he answers too fast. “it’s my nephew.”

toji reaches out to thumb your cheek, but you don’t relax into his palm. “think he meant to call my brother, not me.”

he tugs your bottom lip as you speak. “i didn’t know you had a brother…”

“there’s a lot you don’t know about me, princess,” he leans in to kiss the corner of your lips, because he knows he doesn’t deserve any more than that. your pout deepens.

“we can change that though,” he lies, smiling. “wanna get dessert?”

SATO’S REMARK : NICE SAVE, TOJI ! AND MY BAD—HAHA !

BROKE BOY TACTICS #3: BLEACH !

taught by: geto suguru, toru gojo

“inviting her over already? we’ve gotta scrub this place clean, then.“

ΣΧ

toji zenin has one hour to make it seem like megumi doesn’t exist.

geto suguru is scrubbing the bathrooms. toru gojo has somehow been roped into this predicament and is scrubbing away in the kitchen. in the living room, toji zenin is picking up cheerios from the rug, phone in his ear with sukuna on the line.

“hi daddy,”megumi’s voice is flat through the speaker. “uncle kuna’s being nice to me today.”

“that’s great, kiddo. can you put him back on the phone?”

“yo,” sukuna’s voice crackles through.

“if anything happens to my son, i will spread your ass cheeks and sprinkle paprika in the hole.”

“oh.”

“yeah,” toji shifts the phone in his neck. “make sure he has a good time at that amusement park. and don’t let sato spoil him too much.”

“heyyy toji!” sato’s voice crackles through the speaker. toji sighs before grunting back a hello. “keep megumi safe, got it?”

“yes, sir!” / “we got it, boss.” / “bye, daddy!”

toji says his goodbyes. just as he clicks the end button, toru gojo pads into the living room, glasses tilting off his face & slipping rubber gloves off his hands. “all done in the kitchen. remind me why we’re deceiving this poor lady again?”

toji picks up a gummy worm tucked under the rug and cringes. “because she wouldn’t look twice at a broke guy with a kid.”

toru softens, adjusting his glasses. “you don’t know that. have you tried telling her?”

“no.”

“why not?”

"because,” he picks up another gummy worm hidden under the couch, glaring at it before throwing it away. "because every time someone finds out about megumi, they look at me different. like i'm a burden. like he's a burden."

toru purses his lip. he’s watching as toji ducks under the couch, picking out stray bits of cereal and snacks and other things that make toji’s nose scrunch up in disgust.

toru shakes his head, taking off his glasses to set them on the counter. “but you don’t know if she’s like that.”

“i know i can’t lose her before i even have her.”

toru purses his lip. toji’s voice came out too tight.

ⵌ SHOW TIME !

when toji opens his front door, you’re in a too-short dress and there’s moët & chandon in your hands.

god, you’re gorgeous. and toji really needs to stop thinking that. needs to stop saying it in his head before he slips up and says it out loud with a tone he can’t take back.

“hi,” you tilt your head, batting your lashes in that way that makes him stupid. “you gonna keep standing there? or are you gonna take this bottle off my hands?”

ah, right. toji reaches for the bottle but you pull it back. he raises a brow.

“say ‘please pretty girl, may i have the wine?’”

you’re still peering up at him, hugging the bottle of wine to your chest, teasing smile on your glossy lips. toji leans against the doorframe. arms crossed, dark eyes raking over your hips, plush thighs, pretty waist. fuck.

his lips twitch, “i’m not saying that.”

“aww,” you pout, glossy and spoiled. “guess i have to turn back home and drink this expensive wine all by myself.” you turn, and toji bites his cheek because your dress has ridden up to give him the perfect view of your ass. so soft. he can’t wait to squeeze it.

“i’m gonna be so lonely…” your back is still turned to him, voice wistful. “and i came all the way over here, too. i’m so upset.”

toji doesn’t let you take another step.

you squeal as he scoops you up with a grunt, arms snaking over your waist & under your thighs to lift you bridal style. you squeeze the bottle of wine in your arms, eyes shut tight as you giggle while he kicks the door shut. “toji! put me down!”

careful what you wish for.

toji drops you to his couch with a thud. you land with a breathless laugh, dress bunched up to your hips & he can see the print of your panties. your hair is fanned out, and the bottle of wine is pressed to your stomach. you’re giggling, eyes bright, and god. you look so fucking gorgeous all laid out for him. toji’s jaw ticks.

he climbs over you, pressing his warm body down until the wine digs into your stomach. his eyes are dark. hungry.

“please, pretty girl,” he murmurs, breath hot, lips teasing your neck. “may i have the wine?”

oh.

your breath hitches. you stare up at him, cheeks hot, eyes wide, thighs squeezing together in anticipation. but you’re a bad girl, so you don’t give toji zenin what he wants just yet.

your smile falters, but you tilt your head. “thought you weren’t gonna say it?”

he grins, pressing a hot kiss underneath your ear. “and i thought you were leavin’.”

you let out a shaky gasp as toji licks a hot stripe up your neck. he’s filthy—big hands gripping your hips to keep you pinned to the couch, squeezing you hard each time you moan and buck yourself into him. his breath is hot against your neck, sucking and kissing and teasing, the occasional nip when you whimper just the way he likes.

his weight presses the wine harder into your stomach. you gasp, “toji, the wine—“

“hold it, baby.”

your eyes squeeze shut as his kisses trail further down your neck, tummy fluttering as heat pools between your thighs. his thumb on your hip sinks under the silk of your panties, and you whine his name before he shushes you with a sweet kiss to your cheek.

toji doesn’t kiss you on the lips. the lips are too honest, and toji is not.

you’re still clutching the bottle, chest heaving as toji presses your hips deeper, deeper—

“ow!”

toji freezes.

in truth, toji zenin has never been a gentle man. his body is too big and his hands are too rough, and life itself has never treated him gently, nor given him much reason to be gentle towards others. but as toji hovers over you, limbs frozen in alarm, his stomach can’t help but twist with disgust. said body and rough hands have crushed something soft yet again.

“did i hurt you?” his voice comes out weird. “doll—look at me. you okay?”

“i’m fine,” you wince, cheeks flushed as you try to steady your breathing. you twist your leg slightly, sliding your fingers down into the sofa cushion where something sharp poked at you. “something... something poked my leg.”

you pull out a tiny, red brick.

you blink. “a lego?”

for the second time this evening, toji freezes.

he takes it from your hand, flicking it away. he lifts your arms to wrap them around his neck, and lowers himself back to your chest. “that what you stopped me for, princess?” he mutters coolly, like his heart isn’t beating in his throat. “had me so worried, baby.”

“toji, why do you have a lego?”

he kisses your jaw, “my nephew’s.”

ah, that makes sense. you hug his neck tighter, giggling as he slips the wine off your belly & onto the floor. he presses yet another kiss to your neck, warm & sweet, and you let your chin rest on his shoulder as he loves you with gentler hands.

but then you see it.

on the metal door of the kitchen fridge, past a jar of gummy worms and a poorly placed broom, a banana-shaped magnet is there.

and right under it, a scribbled drawing. the messy figure of a man with spiky hair, and a smaller, more spiky-haired boy.

DADDY AND ME.

your body goes still.

toji’s hands are on your hips, thighs, waist—but his touch suddenly itches. the warmth has gone cold.

“toji,” you whisper. “who drew that?”

toji doesn't move. his eyes slowly follow your gaze to the fridge, and the panic in his eyes is unmistakable. the lie slips out of his mouth before his brain can even catch up to it.

“sociology project,” he breathes. “developmental regression. drew it with my left hand.”

“your left hand…”

your voice trails off as toji sinks his lips back to your neck.

toji zenin does not study sociology.

TORU’S REMARK : YOU CAN’T FOOL HER FOREVER.

BROKE BOY TACTICS #4: LEAN INTO THE LARP !

taught by: sato gojo

“you can’t pull up to a date in an uber. take my porsche—you’re a rich guy now.”

ΣΧ

it’s late, and three floors down, toji zenin has his hands on his hips, staring at sato’s sleek black porsche in disbelief while his tie itches at his neck. three floors up, in toji’s crappy apartment, the gang’s all there.

megumi has a blanket pulled up to his chin, seated on the couch next to suguru. sukuna is lounging on the floor with his back against said couch. sato is flipping through TV stations. the light in the room is dim, and sato snickers at something sukuna says before tossing him the remote.

“why does everyone always leave me?”

the trio freeze.

megumi’s expression is flat. he’s staring into the tv’s glow, but his eyes are soulless and empty. suguru hesitates—but then he rests a hand on megumi’s hair. “what do you mean, kiddo?”

“daddy’s always leaving now,” megumi closes his eyes, rigid against the couch cushions. “he never spends time with me anymore. he’s acting like my mommy did.”

the three boys’ hearts crack right down the middle.

they’re staring at each other now, the weight of megumi’s words on their shoulders. how do they tell a little boy that the reason his father has been less present—and is also not present tonight—is because he’s currently trying to hide his child’s existence to impress a woman? and that they’re all helping him?

sato speaks first. too quick, too fast.

“he’s just been busy,” he croaks out. “he’s been picking up new shifts. he’s working really hard.”

“yeah,” sukuna agrees. “he’s working hard. to take care of you, meg.”

megumi stares into the tv screen. geto’s hand is still heavy on his head, and his body is limp and his eyes are heavy.

“i know.” megumi mutters. “he’s my hero.”

suguru bites his lip. “you know what, meg? why don’t we draw something? a new picture for your dad?”

megumi’s eyes flit to the kitchen fridge. DADDY AND ME. the picture is still there, but the paper is crinkled and damp now. as if someone threw it away with heavy eyes, then somehow thought better of it.

megumi nods, “yeah.”

“okay, buddy. i’ll go get the crayons.”

“i’ll get the paper!”

“and i’ll… uh. you want a gatorade, kid?”

the three adults go after the various items. megumi takes one last look at his drawing on the fridge, and then he slips off the couch and pads away.

ⵌ SHOW TIME !

toji zenin is a man who can only have pride when he pretends.

so today, he pretends the sleek black porsche parked outside your house is his. he pretends he’s not wearing sato’s luxury cologne, that his tie isn’t secondhand, that the cuff of his suit isn’t too tight on his wrist and that the guilt in his mouth doesn’t taste like his blood.

he’s gripping the wheel so hard his knuckles turn white.

when you open the car door, you look like a dream.

your lips are glossy, always glossy, but it’s a different shade of shimmer tonight. your hair is loose all over your shoulders, heels clicky, dress black and matching the shade of sato’s car. toji stares, jaw slack as you slide into the passenger’s seat. the words in his throat have turned into bile.

“Hi.” you blink at him.

“Hi.”

he can’t say much else, and he really ought to but he can’t, so instead he only watches as you huff and click your seatbelt in place. toji licks his lips, turns back to the wheel. says a quick prayer to a god he doesn’t believe in. “you look gorgeous.”

you don’t respond.

the car starts with an expensive growl. it makes toji wince, and he hopes you don’t notice. he’s practiced starting the car three times so he can pretend he’s used to it. he isn’t, and he’ll never be.

he pulls onto the streets, eyes frantically scanning the road as his pulse drums in his teeth.

“toji?” you say, eyes trained ahead of you, voice flat.

“yeah, baby?”

“where are we going?”

toji’s fingers drum on the steering wheel. he turns right at the fork. “somewhere nice,” his voice is strained. “somewhere you deserve to be.”

he lets his right hand shift to the center console, trying to bridge the gap. his hand is sweating, maybe. you glance at it. glance away.

you peer out the window, head against the edge, watching the lights blur through the glass. “i feel like i’m sitting in a museum,” you murmur, quiet. “everything feels curated. including you.”

he swallows. “i’m trying to make tonight special.”

“special…” you trail off, lashes fluttering as you stare out the window.

“i don’t know who you are, zenin.”

toji’s head aches. and so does his chest, violent and sharp and stabbing. he’s a liar, a con artist, a selfish man with rough hands and a son waiting at home. oh—megumi. his phone’s been buzzing in his pocket for a while now. how’s megumi?

“i’m just a guy,” he chooses to say. “a guy who likes you.”

“do you? or is that just part of the exhibit?”

maybe there really is a god watching, because before toji can respond something makes a sound.

he’s not sure what, honestly, but he’s quick to capitalize on it. he needs the air. toji turns into an empty street to park. he unbuckles his seat belt, leans over a bit. “stay in the car, okay?”

you only nod, and toji’s throat curls with guilt.

the night air is cool on his skin. he opens the car bonnet—careful, as careful as a man like him can be—pretending to scan the engines for a possible source of the noise. he doesn’t find anything wrong, and he knew he wouldn’t, but he holds up the bonnet and pretends to check anyways.

three minutes pass before he returns to the car.

three minutes of toji zenin teaching himself how to breathe. the same way he does when megumi shuts down even though he thinks the steps are corny. having a kid really changes you, doesn’t it?

megumi. he looks at his watch, 9PM. his boy should be in bed by now.

the buzzing from his phone has stopped. he should check it now, but you’re still waiting. still beautiful. still hurt.

so toji slams the hood shut. sucks in a breath and slides back into the driver’s seat. you’re staring at him as he buckles his seatbelt.

“toji,” your voice is careful. “do you have anything you want to tell me?”

yes. i work three jobs and i’m drowning in student loans. i got a girl pregnant when i was eighteen, and she left me when i turned twenty-one. i have a boy who’s five-and-a-half and he’s the only good thing i have left. and i’m sorry i lied, but i didn’t want you to leave me before i could love you and i’m sorry, and i’m sorry again, and you deserve better, and i’m sorry.

“no,” toji lies.

you purse your lips. “okay.”

the engine roars back to life. and toji is sweating, and the date feels over before it’s even started, and his pulse is too loud and—

“daddy?”

toji’s blood runs cold.

in the backseat of sato’s porsche, megumi zenin is there, body tucked under a blanket and rubbing his eyes. he slips off the seat and stumbles towards the console, still rubbing at his face. “hi, daddy.”

toji zenin can only stay frozen as megumi wraps his smaller arms around his neck.

he tries to speak, fingers twitching as they hover over his son’s back. “megumi—hey, buddy—what’re you doing here?”

megumi buries his nose into his father’s neck. “i didn’t want to be alone again.”

toji bites his lip. he can feel your eyes boring into him, and he nervously scrambles. “hey—you’re never alone, buddy. where are your uncles? come here.”

he lifts megumi into his lap, avoiding your gaze.

“is this your son?”

toji’s mouth dries.

he could say it’s his nephew, make up some lie about him referring to both him and his ‘brother’ as dad, but god. you’re already looking at him with something he doesn’t have the vocabulary to name, and toji’s jaw aches.

“yes,” he sucks in a breath. “this is my son, megumi.”

he brushes megumi’s hair back, taking his little fist away from his face so he stops rubbing at his eyes. “meg, say hi to the pretty lady.”

“hi, pretty lady.”

megumi waves a small hand, then collapses against his father’s stomach.

you force a smile and flick your eyes back up to toji.

“i think you should take me home.”

???’s REMARK : YOU CAN’T LARP YOUR WAY INTO BEING LOVED !

BROKE BOY TACTICS #5: EMBRACE YOUR ECONOMICS !

taught by: nanami kento, megumi zenin.

“maybe she doesn’t hate you. maybe she hates that you thought so little of her you felt the need to live a lie.”

ΣΧ

it’s a new day, and toji zenin is laden with old burdens.

he’s slumped against his bedroom wall, phone pressed to his ear with megumi on his stretched out legs. megumi has a red & green colored hand in another jar full of gummy worms. toji makes a mental note to hide it better next time.

“you didn’t just lose the date,” nanami’s voice cuts through the speaker, flat and professional as always. “you insulted her intelligence. made her out to be a shallow woman who’d only care about you if you had money in your bank account.”

toji stares at the ceiling. then at megumi, who’s about to eat a gummy worm off the floor. he flicks it away. “she looked at me like i was trash, nanami.”

“she looked at you like you were a liar,” nanami corrects. “which you are.”

nanami sighs, breath sending a crackle through the speaker. all he wanted to do was spend his afternoon reading his new favorite BL, doukyuusei, but once again the shenanigans of his friends have interrupted his peace.

“toji, you’re a smart man. and she sounds like a smart woman. i doubt she’d lose interest because you have a son—i believe she hates that you lied to her.”

megumi takes a worm and makes it crawl through toji’s lips. it’s cold, but toji chews and swallows anyways. “i need to apologize.”

“yes,” toji can hear a page flip. “and quickly. i have to attend to other matters now, but say hi to megumi for me.”

the line goes dead, and toji drops his hand to the floor.

megumi chews a gummy worm. then he takes it out of his mouth, frowns at it, then eats it again. “daddy, are you mad at me?”

toji frowns. “for what?”

“i ruined your date,” megumi looks into the jar of worms, frowning, then back at his dad. “with auntie.”

toji looks at his son. at his candy smeared cheeks, sticky hands, black spikes of hair and sugar in his teeth. megumi looks just like him. he’s always known it, but he’s growing to look more and more like his father every day.

“you didn’t ruin anything,” he murmurs, pulling his son into his chest. “you’ve never ruined anything in your life.”

he pats megumi’s hair, head thrown back. “i’m sorry, meg.”

five-year-old megumi zenin has already lost interest. he’s more focused on getting the red and blue gummy in the sea of yellow-green ones, small hand grabbing fistfuls of worms before dropping them back. he doesn’t know his father is sorry, sorry for everything, for trying to erase his existence to impress a woman and for bringing him into this world knowing he will never be able to give him the future he deserves.

megumi retrieves the red and blue gummy worm. his favorite flavor. he blinks at it once, twice.

then he turns to his dad. lifts the gummy worm on his palm to his face.

toji zenin eats it right off.

ⵌ SHOW TIME !

megumi zenin is in his best clothes: baby blue button-up from suguru. a white top with a red race car that sukuna had got him for his birthday. light up skechers from uncle sato. toji had tried to get him to wear normal shoes, but megumi shut that down quickly. he wanted to be seen.

you no longer frequent the local loblaws.

and it breaks toji’s heart, actually. you haven’t blocked him just yet, thank god, so toji thinks you might not yet hate him completely. that he might still have a chance.

call him a weirdo, but he’s been to almost every grocery store nearby.

no frills, sobeys, you name it. and now, at 12:30PM sunday, toji zenin is in his car with his son, watching you load groceries into the backseat with a pout on your lips. like you’re above this. like you need a big, strong man to offer his help. and toji’s chest aches. because he could be that man, you know. if you’d let him.

toji slips out of the car. megumi hops out too.

he stops just a few feet behind you, watching you mutter curses as you haul a carton of juice. toji’s lip twitches. then he pulls megumi along.

“let me help.”

you blink as toji comes out of seemingly nowhere to save the day. he lifts everything out of your cart and into your car, never breaking a sweat. truthfully, your groceries aren’t even that heavy. he’s not sure why you were struggling, but he thinks it’s so fucking cute.

he lets you click your remote to close the boot shut. then he turns to you: “i owe you an apology.”

you tilt your head. “do you?”

he squeezes megumi’s hand in his own to ground himself. “i lied because i was scared,” he admits, and you never thought you’d hear toji and ‘scared’ in the same sentence. “you’re a pretty girl from a nice family who spends my rent money on groceries,” he breathes. “and i want you, bad. and i thought if you saw me—the me who lived paycheck to paycheck and has nothing except this little brat,” he raises megumi’s hand, “you’d leave before i even got a chance.”

he shifts his hand to megumi’s head. “it’s fucking stupid, i know. but this is my son,” he ruffles megumi’s hair. “say hi, kid.”

“hi, auntie.”

your gaze shifts away from toji, and drops to the little boy beside him. megumi is apple cheeks, dark, messy hair and nervous feet shifting on the pavement. he looks like his dad, and the sight makes your heart melt.

“hi, baby boy.” you crouch down to his height. “i love your shirt. do you wanna come here?”

megumi nods. he abandons his father’s side to let you scoop him up in your arms.

toji frowns.

megumi’s a shy kid. or not shy—awkward. he can’t make eye contact with kids his age, his tone is too flat, and his eyes are always bored. he doesn’t like to be touched by people he isn’t familiar with, and he’s very quick to say no to what he doesn’t like or want. so toji can only watch, brows knit in confusion, as megumi’s fist curls over your necklace and he lets you press a kiss to his cheek.

“hi, auntie,” megumi collapses into your shoulder, fist still gripping your necklace. “i did a very good job.”

“so good, baby,” you kiss his hair, grinning. “i’m gonna buy you all the gummies in the world.”

megumi blushes from the affection. he shifts his head over your shoulder so all you can see is his pink chubby cheek.

“what the hell is happening?”

“daddy’s a big dummy,” megumi mutters into your shoulder. “the biggest,” you agree.

toji’s frown deepens, and you laugh. “i’ve already met megumi, silly.”

toji blinks. he’s about to ask how, but you beat him to it: “remember when you got out of the car? megumi woke up in the backseat,” you kiss his ear softly, and megumi’s blush deepens. “we had a long chat about you, toji. and i asked him to pretend we’ve never met, and go back to sleep in the car.”

you watch megumi, fond. his fingers curling deeper into your necklace, his eyes shy and staring behind you. “i can’t believe you’ve been keeping this little angel from me. you’re a monster, toji.”

“dummy monster…” megumi mutters. you kiss his cheek again and he hides.

toji thinks about it. to megumi referring to you as auntie back in the apartment. fuck. he didn’t think too much of it, but perhaps he should’ve.

“so? you two were testing me, or some shit?”

you shift a hand from megumi’s back to your hip. “no attitude, mister. i’m still mad at you,” your frown, and then your shoulders drop. “did you really think you had to fake having money to impress me? picking me up in a porsche when i’ve already seen your crappy apartment?”

you stroke megumi’s hair. “and lying about meg,” your expression goes soft, sad. “have you apologized to him?”

“yeah,” megumi tugs your necklace. “he told me sorry.”

you smile at him, then kiss his little fist. “that’s great, baby. you deserve an apology. and i’m sorry as well, for taking away your time with your father.”

megumi pats your face, voice flat. “i forgive you.”

you giggle, pinching his cheek, and toji can only stare in disbelief.

megumi’s cheeks are pink from your kisses, little fingers curled tight around your necklace while you sway him absentmindedly against your chest. his light-up skechers blink every time his feet kick against your thighs. you’re smiling at him like he’s heaven as a boy, and megumi—quiet, awkward, megumi—is hiding his face in your shoulder because he’s shy.

how greedy.

how greedy of toji zenin to pick out cheerios from between couch cushions like trying to erase evidence of a crime scene. how greedy of him to scrub crayon off his walls, peel gummies off his floors and hide away his son with other people he can’t truly call family. how greedy of him to rip his son’s drawing off the fridge, only to put it back again later because he can’t even be greedy right.

how greedy of toji zenin to hide the only good thing in his life away; all because he wanted yet another good thing: you.

he wanted your pretty laugh in his apartment. wanted your heels by the front door, wanted your perfume in his sheets and your voice mixed with megumi’s cartoons on saturday mornings. toji zenin wanted everything.

now his everything was shoving his chubby hand in the face of his other everything to keep from getting attacked by kisses. but he was smiling. megumi zenin was smiling, and blushing, and laughing—and toji thinks about how he hasn’t seen megumi this childish in a while.

his heart aches.

“i’m sorry.”

sorry for what? he knows what he’s sorry for, but the words have failed him again, so he can only watch. watch as you tilt your head the way you always do, before megumi glances at you and tilts his head back at him the same way. oh god.

“‘gumi, do we forgive daddy?”

“yeah,” megumi’s feet kick. his shoes light up, red and blue. “if he stops hiding my gummies.”

toji won’t hide his gummies anymore. hell, he’ll never hide anything again in his life.

and maybe megumi senses the guilt on his father’s shoulders, because he squirms his tiny body for you to set him down and dashes so hard into his father’s legs that he knocks his forehead against his knee. “ow…”

toji snorts, crouching. “what are you doing, kid.” but he’s scooping megumi into his arms anyways. you pad closer, grin cheeky, and poke megumi on his side.

“how about we go shop for some gummy worms?”

BONUS — Y/N AND MEG’S FIRST MEET !

“who are you?”

the voice makes you jolt. you’re staring at your hands in the passenger’s seat of toji’s rented—no, probably borrowed—porsche, blinking away tears in your eyes when a tiny voice speaks behind you.

you whip your head around so fast your neck aches.

and standing there is a little boy, tiny, maybe four or five, rubbing away sleep from his eyes. his hair comes in tufts of black, and his eyes are blue, and oh my god he looks just like his father.

toji.

megumi is rubbing his eyes harder now. your heart melts.

“hi, baby,” you coo, patting away your own tears on your lashes. “i’m friends with your daddy. what’s your name?”

“i’m megumi,” he sniffles, yawns. “my friends call me meg. but i don’t have any friends.”

oh. “hi, meg. what’re you doing here? did your dad leave you home alone?”

you hope he says no, because you know toji’s been hiding something—someone from you, but he wouldn’t go that far. at least, you hope he wouldn’t.

“no, my uncles are at home,” he says sleepily. and you hover your hands over his face in silent permission. he blinks at your hands, sniffles again, before nodding to let you brush his hair back from his face. “i wanted to see daddy. he left for work.”

work? no he didn’t. toji zenin is outside, lifting the bonnet of a car he knows is too good to call his. “did he tell you he was going to work, meg?”

“no, but i know he is. he works for us. he wears the tie and he goes away.”

“oh, baby…”

toji zenin is a liar. a liar with a handsome face, and warm touch, and words that make your head dizzy. and you should be mad, really. you are, but the sight of this little boy with a face like his father’s only makes your heart ache.

you want to ask questions: who are your uncles? where were you when i came over? is your mother still in the picture?

but megumi zenin is blinking sleepily as you caress his cheek, leaning into your touch with a sigh.

“megumi, do you wanna make a deal?”

“what kind of deal?” megumi tries to rub his eyes, but you ease his fist away.

“a super simple one. your daddy’s been acting really strange, right? to you and me,” you pat his cheek. “all you have to do is act like we’ve never met, and i’ll give you anything you want.”

megumi thinks very hard. then he asks, “are you the lady daddy wants to impress?”

you blink. “what do you mean?”

“i heard him on the phone with uncle sugu,” megumi rests his head against your leather car seat. “he said he likes a nice lady. said he wants to be a better man for her.” he rubs his eye. “then he started leaving me. where’s daddy? i wanna talk to daddy.”

“oh, meg,” your heart breaks. “come here, baby.”

megumi hesitates, but then he lets you pull him into a hug. his hands are limp by his sides, but he pats your back once before his tiny hand slips away. “auntie, why are you crying?”

your shoulders shake over him. you sniffle, “don’t worry about it, meg. and your daddy’s gonna come back soon, okay? and he won’t leave you alone anymore. i’ll make sure of it.”

megumi pulls back. “you promise?”

you cup his cheeks. “i promise. go back to sleep, okay?”

EPILOGUE !

on the couch of toji’s crappy apartment, megumi zenin is curled into his father’s side, gummy worms in his mouth as he presses his sticky hands to the screen of his brand new ipad pro. a shiny gift from his loving uncle sato, who bought him the device despite suguru and toji’s wishes.

megumi offers his father a gummy worm. “when is auntie coming?”

toji eats it off his palm. “soon, kid,” he clicks his tongue. “swear you like her more than me now.”

megumi picks out five gummy worms from the jar, then lines them up on his ipad screen for convenience. “nah, i like daddy the most.”

toji softens.

all toji can see right now is the top of his little boy’s head, his tiny nose poking out and his chubby little cheeks. the ipad screen is sticky and candy smeared—much like megumi’s hands—and on the screen is a video of a teacup in a ballet dress—ballerina cappucina?—getting married to a little espresso man wearing a ninja bandana. toji frowns. the video gives him flashbacks to his days of working as skai jackson’s personal AI prompt writer. he shivers.

toji shakes his head. “meg, you know i’m never leaving, right?”

“i know,” megumi groans. “you told me a billion times yesterday!”

“quit whining,” toji murmurs, pulling his son into his lap. megumi reaches for his jar of gummy worms, and toji tugs it closer. “just wanted to remind you.” he mumbles.

megumi slumps against his father’s chest. soft, distracted, satisfied. “you don’t need to say sorry anymore. i forgive you.”

toji kisses his hair, burying his face in the dark strands. he sighs, “thanks, kiddo.”

———

when the doorbell rings, toji zenin is already half-asleep.

the sound—and megumi’s accidental jab of his elbow against his stomach—wakes him right up. toji smooths his hair, rubs the sleep from his eyes. then he turns to tell megumi to go wash his sticky hands, then decides not to.

he sucks in a breath and opens the door.

“hi, pretty.”

“move. i’m not here for you.”

you shove at his chest and push your way into the apartment, and on the couch to the right megumi zenin is there, ipad in hands and cheeks sticky and looking up at you with big, blue eyes.

“auntie?”

“oh, my baby!”

you scoop him off the couch and into your arms, and megumi clutches your shoulders tight as you attack him with kisses on his forehead, cheeks, everywhere. toji’s eye twitches in disbelief. “are we serious?”

“oh, you’re still here,” you glance over at him, bored. “meg and i are gonna make cookies today. mind being a doll and fetching the ingredients from the car?” you toss him your car keys.

toji looks at the keys in his hands. then you, who is cooing silly things that make megumi blush and bury his head in your neck.

toji pads over to you, slow. “i wanted to see you.”

you ignore his hands snaking around your hips. you turn your nose up at him, “and now, you have.”

“you still mad at me?”

of course you’re still mad. maybe not as mad as you were a week ago, but still upset. that he lied. that he thought so little of you that he went out of his way to sculpt a whole other life and hide away the little angel in your arms. but toji’s hands are still heavy on your hips. his voice is warm in your ear. and he apologized, you know. in the parking lot that day. at your house on monday, holding a bouquet of half-dead flowers and wearing a rented suit that went to waste because you refused to go out with him anyway. he sent you an hour long voicemail apologizing. you listened to it all on the way here.

toji zenin is such a sap.

he acts like he isn’t, though. but he is, and you feel it in how he presses his lips to your neck, over and over and over again. i’m sorry i’m sorry i’m sorry.

megumi shoves his father’s lips away. “daddy stop.”

you laugh, nuzzling megumi’s cheek. “he’s such a dummy, isn’t he meg? do you think i should forgive him?”

“yeah,” megumi mutters, collapsing into your neck. “he said sorry a billion times to me yesterday. daddy’s really sorry for everything.”

“aww. daddy’s so cute when he’s sorry, isn’t he?”

toji is glaring at you. you can only giggle and press a kiss to his jaw, and his eyes widen a bit in surprise. you cup his jaw and press another one to his cheek. just one more, because you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t missed him as well.

“i forgive you, mister. now go get those groceries—shoo!”

toji nuzzles your neck before leaving the apartment.

megumi is still on your hip, clutching your shoulders for balance as you pick out pans and trays from the cupboard. he grips your hair in a tiny fist. “auntie?”

“hm, gummy?”

megumi hides in your neck—shy, nervous. “are you gonna be my new mommy?”

you freeze.

megumi clutches you tighter. his face is buried in your throat, and he’s gripping so tightly his little nails bite into your skin, but you soften. toji had already confessed everything in his voicemail. his mom isn’t in the picture anymore. how a mother can let go of a little angel like meg, you don’t know, but who are you to judge and conclude?

“i don’t know, meg, it’s too soon,” you hum softly, setting a pan on the tabletop. “but i know i’ll be here, baby. for you.”

“will you be at my school, too?” he peers up at you, big eyes glimmering with hope. “all the other kids have mommies except for me.”

“oh, megumi—of course i’ll be there!”

it’s taking everything in you not to carry this boy and run! you attack his face with kisses, and megumi squirms in your arms but he’s giggling. his hands are sticky on your face, neck, everywhere, but you kiss him over and over again, because you’ve only known him for a little over a week but you’re already ready to give him the world. “auntie, stop!” but he’s laughing. “there’s lip gloss all over me!”

when toji walks in, he can’t believe his eyes.

there are too many shopping bags in his hands, because everything about you is too much, even down to your shopping, and toji is staring in disbelief. the woman of his dreams in his kitchen, holding his son, and his son is laughing. laughing the way he used to before his mother left him two years ago.

and he doesn’t really deserve the warmth curling in his chest, or the strange feeling coursing through his veins, but who is toji zenin if not greedy?

so he drops the bags to his feet (gently, because you’d curse him if the eggs broke), and pads over to the kitchen where you’re showering megumi with affection, and he snakes his arms around your waist and drops his head into your neck. you turn, grinning, and you don’t push him away when he presses a quick kiss to your lips. the lips are honest, and now toji is too.

“aww, look at you getting all sappy.”

“auntie made my face all sticky..”

toji squeezes you both tight. a little greed never killed a man.

MEGUMI’S REMARK : CAN I HAVE SOME GUMMY WORMS…?

#SIGMA CHI STORIES !

LOVE OVER LOBLAWS, end.

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