Yuri

a/n: his ass done got blocked again. he needs to start acting right, bruh🙏 exams whooped my ass, but we ball nonetheless. the next chapter will most likely be a turning point in their relationship. they did seem to be getting somewhere, but i wanted to add a little more angst/fighting before making them like each other, since i felt like it might be too rushed to suddenly make them like each other, yk? taglist is closed, btw!

tag list - open

@yuhig-blog @tiredasl @fifi-reads @0angel-baby0 @qkrwidn @nickithearticorn

"where ya goin'? class just ended, sweetie."

"i can't stay," you said quickly, heeled boots clicking rapidly against the floor. you'd dress so cute that—polka-dot glasses, a pink off-the-shoulder sweater, black skirt, and knee-high boots that really captured the prime look of a college girl! and it was being wasted because this motherfucker was ogling you. "i have to go back to my dorm."

"why? need an escort?"

"no, i know the way."

"well, someone might hassle you."

"somebody already is hassling me."

"huh?" that made naoya pause—but only momentarily. once he realized what you meant, he fell back into step behind you, seeming even more determined than before. "got some bite on you. i like that. lot of women don't know when they should play it easy or hard to get—you do."

you hated when guys couldn't just take no for an answer the first time. because that meant you had to use the next excuse up your sleeve—

"my boyfriend wouldn't like that you're following me. i really can't stay and talk, and i'd like it if you would kindly leave me alone."

you said it as curtly and politely as you could, then, before the surprised naoya could reboot and say anything else, you bolted through the doors of the humanities hall and out into the spring day.

campus was lively in the afternoon. there was ultimate frisbee and football being played, groups of friends on picnic blankets talking and tanning, girls swirling their boba and iced coffee as they commuted from classes and dorms—and there was ryomen's and a handful of his frat sitting on benches in the quad, lounging after smoking.

well, choso and geto were still slightly buzzed. toji hadn't taken a pass, and it took more than a few puffs to get to ryomen.

"oh my god, i can't feel my tongue," choso muttered, rubbing his eyes. his black mullet was shaggy, messed up, and he smelled like he'd been waterboarded in geto's cologne to cover up the post-smell of weed.

geto, sitting wide and strumming his guitar absently, grinned lazily. "you're too easy, man. second-hand molly in the wind would get you fucked."

"nuh-uh."

"uh-huh."

"shut the fuck up," toji muttered, waving his hand dismissively as he rubbed his face with the other. "i still have a goddamn headache."

"not our fault you hit your head on a fucking table last night," ryomen laughed.

toji groaned, turning his head to look off into the distance. the activity on campus only worsened his pulsing skull. "swear to god, 'm concussed or something. shouldn't have on that chair when i was drunk."

"you should've came." choso tapped ryomen's knee. "where were you?"

"with his giiiirrrllll," geto teased.

"yeah, yeah." ryomen didn't care if everyone in all of fucking tokyo knew he was whipped—he was whipped for you, his sweet little girlfriend. "not my fault i wanna spend one night of the weekend watchin' pretty woman again instead of watching toji crack his head open."

like he was summoned by his name, toji started shaking ryomen's shoulder. "dude."

"one sec—" ryomen was about to say something else to choso, but toji wrenched his arm to the side. "what the fuck! what?"

"look where i'm fuckin' looking." toji pointed across the quad. "isn't that—"

"holy shit," geto said when he saw you briskly walking and crying, like you were trying to escape someone—you had been.

choso frowned when he followed everyone's line of sight. "is that your girlfriend? why is she crying?"

"i... gotta go." ryomen got up from the bench without another word and started across the quad. when he realized how fast you were walking, he thanked god that he was an athlete and started running after you. "hey!"

when you hear a male voice, you automatically moved quicker, expecting it to be naoya again—but then it repeated, and you recognized ryomen.

"baby? hey, slow the hell down!"

fuck. you didn't want him to see you crying. think, think, think—

but it was too late. ryomen had reached you, grabbed you by the shoulder, and turned you around in an instant. "shit, thought i was going to lose you. what's—"

you couldn't held but sob even harder when he began to ask you what was wrong, and ryomen gaped at your puffy, round face, smudged mascara, and the salty streams of tears down your cheeks.

"oh god, angel. what's wrong? c'mere, can i hold you?"

as expected, since he had the biggest soft spot and change of attitude when he was with you, ryomen engulfed you in the comforting embrace of his arms and let you bury your face and ruined makeup against his racing jacket.

"ok, ok," he whispered softly against your hair as he stroked it. "deep breaths. in and out, yeah? gotta calm down and take proper breaths. can i see your purse, please, hon? don'tcha keep tissues in there?"

"i—" you wheezed slightly, trying not to choke on tears or words. "i was gonna wait inside until i looked for 'em..."

"all right, well, i'm here now. let me see."

carefully, he slipped your purse off your shoulder, located the pack of tissues inside, then extracted one so that he could dab your face gently. "there we go. better, hm? keep breathing f'me, just like that, pretty girl."

when you had calmed down enough to not explosively weep again, ryomen caressed the side of your face and asked, "tell me what happened."

you crossed your arms, lips pursed in a pout. "no."

you knew what he would do if you told him that naoya zenin bothered you...

"what? fuck you mean—" he inhaled slowly, then tried again, softer. "angel, how can i help if i don't know what's wrong? or—how are you gonna feel better if you don't talk about what made you cry like that? i mean, you were going pretty fast in those heels, i imagine something happened."

after a pause, he hardened. "did someone fucking do something to you?"

"ryo—"

"nah, don't give me that soft stuff. tell me who and what."

"it wasn't anything serious!" you insisted, holding him tightly. "seriously."

"tell. me."

"promise me you won't be mad!"

"no."

"ryo!"

"was it a guy?" he brushed a few hairs out of your face, grimacing. "i'll beat the shit out of him if it was."

"it was a small incident. small, that's it."

"or was it a girl? 'cuz satoshi's brother satoru knows a girl named shoko in pre-med, she'll fight anyone—unless you don't care if i do it, because i'll hit anyone you ask, babe—"

"stop!" you shook him slightly. "a guy kept following me around and bothering me, i just wanted him to go away—and he did! he just... overwhelmed me. i was scared."

ryomen stared at you when you finished speaking. he blinked a few times and nodded slowly, tongue against the inside of his cheek. "ok. yeah, ok."

you frowned, watching as his face contorted. "what?"

"this happened just now?"

"um... like ten minutes ago."

"where?"

you picked at your nails, growing nervous. "...the humanities building."

he'd turned on his heel without a second thought, and you hurried after him, having known he probably would've gone off the moment you gave him all the details, like a bloodhound with a scent for prey.

"wait—ryo! it's not that big of a deal!"

"not that big of a deal my ass." he was practically snarling.

who you didn't expect to see soon after ryomen was on his war path was the culprit himself. naoya was crossing the pavement, staring at his phone—but when he saw the tattooed, six-foot-four jock headed his general direction, he couldn't help but freeze. you also stopping, surprised and wary, was a dead giveaway on who the guy ryomen was looking for was.

ryomen glanced between naoya and you, then pointed. "him?"

you slowly let go of his arm, knowing there was little you could do to help the situation or stop your boyfriend. "yeah..."

calmly—too fucking calmly—he continued down the sidewalk until he was a few yards from naoya, then he nodded once and said, "hey, man."

naoya, contemplating fight or flight, tried to remain casual and nodded back. "hey..."

"wanna ask you—you bother that girl over there earlier?" he jutted a thumb over his shoulder, at your nervous figure in the distance.

"i didn't bother her. i was just talking to her."

"in what way."

"huh?"

"In what way—because you sound like a really shitty guy to talk to if she walked away crying."

"not my fault she didn't—"

before naoya could finish casting off whatever blame onto you, ryomen winded back a tight fist and clocked him in the nose.

naoya yowled in pain the moment the fist connected with his face, and he recoiled, hands snapping up to cover his soon-to-bleed nose. "what the fuck is wrong with you?!"

"ryomen!" you cried from behind him.

across the quad, it seemed that the others ryomen were with before had witnessed everything.

"ry!" toji waved a relaxed arm, like he knew ryomen had everything handled but still wanted to be nice and extend an offer. "good?"

ryomen cracked his knuckles, then wrung out his pulsing hand. "yeah, he shouted back. "good."

"is she ok?" choso called over, pointing at you.

"i'll take care of her."

"'kay, i guess." geto watched the entire thing with a skeptical look. "see you later."

without exchanging any words, ryomen returned to you and carted you up to his dorm. he was glad that you didn't protest or refuse to go with him—he surely thought you were mad at him, until you whispered the soft "thank you" to him at his door. he simply kissed your head and pushed the door open.

in his dorm, he insisted you clean while he ordered food. lounging in his bed, shirtless now and just in a pair of sweatpants, he scrolled on his phone while resting a hand on you. you'd positioned yourself beside him after cleaning off your tear-streaked makeup and changing into one of his hoodies.

"sushi and boba, or thai?" ryomen asked, rubbing slow circles on your thighs. he loved to grip the plush there, to kiss up from your calf to the softness of your belly—he would later, but right then, he was focused on getting you fed and rested, the two things he thought key in recovering from bad days. "wait. chinese?"

you ran a hand through his hair and leaned over to peck his cheek. "anything."

"you always say that, baby."

"i know."

"ok. sushi and boba."

you smiled. "i trained you right."

taking a moment, ryomen dropped his phone and grabbed your jaw to bring you in for a full, proper kiss that lasted until you were both breathless. and when you pulled away only slightly, hovering closely above him, lips still brushing, he licked his lips and smiled. "you're ok, right? not mad?"

"no," you said, tilting your head slightly. "not mad. maybe a little annoyed that you always jump to violence, but... i really appreciate you wanting to protect me. i know you just want me to be all right in the end."

"damn right i do. i love you, gorgeous."

smiling, you kissed him once more. "i love you too, ryo. now order the food before the place closes."

send me asks <3

buy me a kofi

It was curiosity that drew you to the Colosseum one day, smack bang in the centre of Rome. For once, no Gods quarrelled over petty issues, instead gossiping about the new star that graced earth.

He was a mortal, supposedly doomed to fall in battle after being captured after a life of crime. But the man had not lost a single battle yet, and the Heavens spoke of his unnatural strength between hushed whispers.

You simply had to check it out for yourself.

Like the fool Icarus who existed long before the height of the Roman empire, you fell through drifting clouds. They shrunk before your very eyes, until the mountains piercing the air and rivers cutting through the land grew closer. Not once did your feet touch the ground, the wings on your ankles fluttering as you weaved through the city you inevitably landed at.

Being spotted by the mortals was no issue. You would not be seen by those you had no intention of showing yourself to, allowing you to take in the stone and marble that stretched endlessly throughout the capital. The sun was bright, and you shielded your eyes — thousands of voices bleeding into one.

"Curse you, Sol," you muttered, heading inside the entrance to the Colosseum before you as heat beat down on your form. The wings on your head fluttered in what was agitation, disapproving of the sun God who drove his chariot across the sky. Couldn't he at least make it cooler?

But what quickly diverted your attention was the sound of weapons clashing against each other, sparks flying as metal struck metal. The arena stretched wide beneath you, sand darkened with blood as you snagged a free space — the view good enough to see the entire spectacle.

The crowd was thirsty for blood that noon, shaking in their seats as the two gladiators circled one another, weapons drawn.

"Gut him!" one screamed.

"Turn his intestines into a necklace!" someone else bellowed.

You grimaced at the not-so-savoury words of enthusiasm — humans were extremely odd.

You then cast a lazy eye over the fighters before perking up, seemingly having caught sight of the talk of the heavens above. One fighter was already severely injured, one eye having shut on itself. His blonde hair, darkened with black at the tips, was matted in blood.

The other fighter was a giant of a man, with hands probably bigger than the size of your entire head. His fattened pecs glistened with a sheen of sweat, and his muscles had clearly been sculpted with years of battle. Unnatural black markings painted parts of his body in black, contrasting with the dusty pink hue of his hair that stood in messy spikes.

You could feel his aura from your seat, hostile and confident — much like his stance. The fighter was adorned with polished bronze armour that was deliberately incomplete. One single shoulder guard was strapped to his left shoulder, catching the light as he circled his opponent. Leather bindings had been wrapped tightly around the mean bulk of his waist, arms and thighs, intentionally showing off the skin it did very little to protect.

And it didn't need to, because the gladiator was barely injured. A few nicks had drawn blood here and there, but the calculated look in his eye told you that he was unfazed. A short blade rested easily in one hand, the gladius resembling an extension of his very limbs.

And then Sukuna lunged.

His injured opponent had no time to react, lifting his sica in a poor attempt to defend himself. But he was exhausted, and his ragged breath cut through the dust and debris cloying the air. Naoya stumbled back, his arms forced wide as Sukuna struck again and again — leaving his guard way too open.

A fatal mistake, one that even the most inexperienced fighter would have recognised. Panic flashed through Naoya's eyes, his lips parting to let out a blood-curdling howl as Sukuna pounced — delivering the final blow.

The movement was almost lazy in its nature, cutting through layers of skin and muscle. Sukuna had driven his gladius into Naoya's ribs, and everything seemed to stop momentarily. The entire stadium held its breath, even you.

The blonde's heart gave up instantaneously. You leaned closer, and life flickered out of Naoya's eyes as his body collapsed onto the arena floor with a dull, resounding thud. The stadium erupted into a chorus of loud cheers, chanting words of praise at the victor. From your seat, you could see the tight line Sukuna's lips had formed. He took little pleasure in the killing.

He withdrew the blade without a second thought, stepping back from the pool of blood gathering by his sandal-clad feet. Barely sparing a glance at the unfortunate corpse, he was taken by the guards that emerged from under the Colosseum.

They were wary, as if Sukuna would pounce on them like he did with Naoya — but he didn't. He let them take his weapon, clasp the chains they brought around his body, and dragged his willing self beneath the arena floor.

And with a quiet flutter of your sets of wings, you dived into the pits and followed in record speed, eager to acquaint yourself before any of the other Gods could.

════════════════

It didn't take long to weave your way through the dark tunnels, the roar of the crowd above dwindling into nothing. By the time you had arrived at Sukuna's cell, he was already chained to his poor excuse of a bed — one without a single item resembling a pillow or blanket.

Even though you hadn't revealed yourself yet, it took you by surprise when he spoke.

"You have been following me for quite some time, little God. Are you not meant to reside in the heavens?"

"You… can see me?"

Sukuna nodded, hands clasped together as he remained seated on his bed. He didn't look up, which started you more than you had liked to admit. You pushed past it, intrigued — stepping forward and holding the bars of his cell. They didn't even bother to clean him up, to dress his wounds. "That I can."

"Rather odd. You can see Gods and you happen to be the talk of them also."

He looked up at that. "You talk about me?"

"When a mortal comes out of the gate swinging a weapon and hasn't lost a single battle since his capture, word gets around rather quickly," you chuckled, noting the way Sukuna carefully scrutinised you.

The look on his face was almost wary, having been face to face with a being not of his own. He took in the small wings at your ankles, the side of your head, and flimsy white tunic that seemed to billow out with the light cloak pinned to your shoulders. A brown satchel sat at your hip, filled with random ornaments you had gathered over your life.

A wry smile crossed his lips. "So the heavens gossip about me now," he murmured, eyes meeting yours. "I am… flattered, to say the least."

From this distance, you could see Sukuna much clearer — especially the scars that adorned his tanned skin. Some were fresh, others had healed into pale, jagged lines that were covered in dirt. An almost pitiful sight indeed, if not for the status of the man before you.

It was quiet for a moment, before a question flashed in the gladiator's mind. "I take it you have more of a reason to come here than to simply stare at me. Speak."

"You are ordering me around," you point out, eyes narrowing. "A God, if I must remind you."

Sukuna, whilst vaguely impressed, didn't show it. In fact, the corner of his lips twitched upwards by a fraction, enough so that a flicker of something akin to annoyance prickled under your skin. You wanted to annoy him, far worse than he was annoying you.

"I am."

The chains around his wrists and ankles jingled, and at that moment you had made up your mind about Sukuna. Your temperament was rather unstable, like the tides of the Tyrrhenian Sea — but ultimately you were approving of the fighter. His unwavering confidence was rather entertaining, and you were nought but a bored God.

"Well, if you must know — I was bored. That is all there is to it, and I was curious about who was the talk of the town, metaphorically speaking."

"And are you pleased by what you have seen?"

You nodded, leaning against the cell bars. "Very, actually. It is not often I get myself involved in the world of the mortals but I am glad I did for once."

Sukuna nodded back, the most thanks you'd get from him. Another beat of silence before he spoke up again.

"I assume you already know why I am locked up if you have been watching me for a while."

"Yes," you replied, eyes briefly drifting to the shackles that held Sukuna in place. "Thrown into this hellhole after a life of… crime."

The crime ranging from petty theft to murder, to be exact. Sukuna grunted and leaned back on his hands, muscles rippling with each movement. You didn't fight your appraisal, shameless as you studied his impressive physique. "They expect me to die one day."

"Will that happen? And if so, when?"

"Not any time soon. I am a fighter, and there has not been a match I have lost yet."

You smiled at that, the certainty in his voice. Of course, you could go check his fate for yourself, sneak around up in the clouds and listen in on the divine gossip that spreads between the Parcae. But you wanted to stay ignorant of the fighter's fate, content on chatting with him for now.

Until the heavens called for you, that is. Only you could feel it, a new haggle of souls you had to guide into the underworld — including Naoya, doomed for eternal damnation. Your face soured at that, not fond of having your conversation cut short.

"We shall see about that. For now, I must get going and return to my duties," you sighed, standing upright with your wings rearing to go.

"Ah. Does that mean you intend to return?"

Some shuffling as you readied yourself to leave, and then you looked over your shoulder. "Perhaps. I would rather not miss out on the opportunity to talk to you again before your time is done."

And with that, you were gone. Gone before Sukuna could even reply. There was no evidence that you had been there, yet he found himself looking forward to your presence once more, no matter how fleeting it may have been.

He chuckled to himself at that, not getting his hopes up — but the break had been nice. "Gods, how typical."

════════════════

As promised, you do visit Sukuna — even if it was days later. The sun was high in the air yet again due to that damned God, Sol. You had no time to curse him again, however, busy marvelling at how Sukuna was taking on a lion this time. You weren't one for animal cruelty, shielding your poor eyes from the sight of the fighter making quick work of his foe.

By the end of it, the lion's jaw had been ripped clean off. Again, Sukuna saw little to no satisfaction, hands bloody with another victim of fate.

The chains were around his limbs not long after, and he was taken back to his dingy cell.

You were there to bother him within a couple of seconds of the guards leaving, not that they were an issue in the first place.

"Your hands are cut all over."

"How insightful of you, little God," Sukuna muttered dryly, inspecting the deep gashes on his palms, a result of the mighty lion's jagged teeth. The wounds were still oozing blood, some of it having dried between his fingers — an uncomfortable sensation he was well accustomed to.

Your nose scrunched at the sight. Violence wasn't part of your every day life, and a large part of you pitied Sukuna. "I am afraid I cannot help you with your injuries. I do not heal."

"I do not need you to. Nor do I want your pity."

Your face dropped before straightening out. Then, you cleared your throat. "Apologies, I did not mean to come across that way."

Sukuna let out a low grunt, ignoring the way your tone had a slight lilt of amusement.

"Have you ever thought about breaking out of here? You look rather capable of doing so?" you mused aloud, but the gladiator was quick to embarrass you somewhat, standing up from his bed and coming up to the bars that held him hostage.

"I look capable? How so?"

Your eyes widened a fraction, and you had to tilt your head upwards somewhat to see Sukuna's entire face. Never one to back down, especially not to a mortal, you quickly rebutted with a grin. "Do not act so modest. You know what I am talking about."

"I am afraid I do not."

"Those big muscles of yours are not just for show," you remarked casually. Sukuna lifted a burly arm, flexed the taut muscle which made the veins snaking down its length pop out. Impressive indeed, but you weren't new to such sights, having spent many long days in the presence of Gods with physiques far more impressive than the fighter in front of you.

But for a mortal, he was fine, you supposed.

"You are correct. I could easily break out of here," Sukuna answered, hand coming up to firmly grasp the bar in front of him. It dented under his firm grip before he continued speaking. "But then what? I remain a fugitive my entire life? Settle in a foreign land where I have no home to go to? This is my home now."

Sukuna's words were spoken without an ounce of bitterness at his current situation. It was if he was stating a fact, one that he had long accepted. It made you frown as you took in the damp stone caging him in, the scent of blood that seemed to linger wherever you were in the Colosseum.

"You are incredibly practical. It is no wonder why the heavens praise you so often despite your past wrongdoings."

"An honour that is. Do you see me in the famed Elysium after my life ends?"

...

His question hung heavily between you — at least on your end. You shook your head, denying Sukuna the right to become aware of his own fate even though you were aware of it. "You are a remarkable hero, but.. I do not know. It is not my place to decide."

"I was merely curious, but no matter," Sukuna hummed, backing away before sitting down.

You weren't fond of the way the conversation had darkened, opting to clasp your hands together instead with a renewed smile on your face. "Enough of that. Would you like to hear some gossip?"

Sukuna gave you the ghost of a nod, thin eyebrow raised.

"Kronos ate his own children."

"How is that meant to be any more joyful than our previous conversation? And I was sure Kronos is from the Greeks, no?"

A chuckle left you at that. "Consider it a bit of humour on my part."

Sukuna only gave you a bewildered look at that, but at least wasn't one full of restrained woe at his potential demise.

With a resigned noise, Sukuna begrudgingly accepted the gossip you had to tell him. Something about how the son of Venus found Rome, how Jupiter fell in love with a river nymph who was turned into a cow by his wife, and by the time you were done with your tales — the gladiator's head was certainly spinning with all this newfound knowledge.

"You tell me that these were not just some maiden tales? These are all true?" He asked, hunched as he rubbed at his forehead.

"Of course. I am living proof, after all. My father is Jupiter— or Zeus, as the Greeks liked to call him," you stated casually checking a nail like your father wasn't the king of the Gods himself.

"I have heard about some of his… misdemeanours."

Screwing up your face, you shook your head. You knew damn well what Sukuna was talking about, and you weren't exactly proud to admit it. "Ones I would rather not acknowledge for the sake of both of our sanity."

For the first time since you had met him, Sukuna laughed audibly. It didn't sound forced and was rather guttural, like it had come from deep in that large chest of his. It was nice, even — rivalling Apollo's music itself. A bit of a stretch, but you were a woman of many vices, and indulging in the human world was one of them.

You made quick work of leaving after that, making an excuse that heaven was calling you yet again, in need of its mischievous guide to lead souls into the Underworld. In reality, you were rather ruffled at how much an insignificant bout of laughter had affected you — from a ruthless gladiator, at that.

"I shall see you after your next fight, I suppose. Duty calls."

"Safe journey, Fleetfoot."

════════════════

The two of you were aware of the growing familiarity that was building up after each visit. There was no doubt in your mind that after every fight of his, he'd come out victorious. The heavens grew more impressed by the day, and you were bewildered why at the end of all this, you'd be the one to send him to the Underworld rather than Elysium.

Sukuna's talents would go to vain, and whilst he wasn't of any sorts, why should he—

Ah, how ironic. You had answered your own question.

Sukuna wasn't a hero. He wasn't righteous by any means — so what made him deserving of an eternity of bliss? How tragic it all was, to be aware of a fate such as his.

Knowing his past made it all the worse — he was an unwanted child the moment he was conceived. Born as a result of a loveless marriage, cast aside the second he was able to fend for himself.

Now, his crimes were not forgivable, but you were unable to stop yourself from feeling just an ounce of sympathy for the gladiator once you took a peek at his origins. What other choice did he have but turn to a life of crime after that disastrous childhood?

A question many in the future would ask themselves.

Little by little, you came bearing gifts. Only small ones at first as you shirked your duties as Hermes. While you were unable to heal Sukuna to the fullest, you'd bring ambrosia when the injuries were particularly bad after a battle.

"You underestimate me, little God. I am perfectly capable of healing on my own," he'd grumble, eyeing the tiny vial suspiciously.

"Just drink it. It is like sex in a bottle."

Sukuna couldn't say no to that. He wasn't all too familiar with the act of intercourse, but he had his fair share of orgasms in the past. So he took the bottle and drank, head tipping as the amber liquid slid down his throat. His Adam's apple bobbed, a sight that was far too alluring for its own good.

Just like that, Sukuna expected a bottle whenever you were able to sneak one down.

Other times, you'd bring more gossip and pomegranates. It was your favourite fruit, and Sukuna's tongue had gotten used to the sweet yet tart flavour that coated his tongue.

"Never mind my father. Did you know pomegranates symbolize not only fertility, but life and death as well?"

Sukuna nodded thoughtfully, picking out the seeds from between his teeth before furrowing his brows at his thick fingers. "You tell me this why? Do you intend to bear my children or kill me?"

You laughed heartily at that. "Neither. I was simply introducing you to the world of poetry and symbolism."

"Right."

Despite his sceptical words, Sukuna found himself looking forward to your meetings. Every battle won was another moment of conversing with you and (one-sidedly) sharing wisdom.

Recently, however, your words of wisdom were beginning to grate at something within Sukuna. He wasn't one for divinity, but had slowly made you his sole exception. But you were beginning to remind him why he had a distaste for the higher ups in the first place.

════════════════

"What do you mean by that?"

"Nothing," you coughed one late afternoon. Sukuna had just been placed in his cell after a particularly close call with another gladiator. He was almost on equal levels in terms of physique in comparison to Sukuna. In terms of speed, the scarred-lipped man had him beat, but Sukuna won in terms of brute strength.

It was a close call, though. Sukuna was currently nursing a broken fist, his earlobe hanging by a thread. And so then your preaching began, and with your preaching came a statement you were meant to withhold.

"Say it, Fleetfoot," Sukuna grunted, narrowing his eyes at you. "It is not like you at all to fumble over your words like that."

"All I was saying is that you will not live forever—"

"That I will be doomed to eternal damnation—"

"No," you snapped far too readily. But the words had already settled in Sukuna's mind. While previously he didn't care about whether he made it to Elysium or not, finding out from a slip of your tongue that he wouldn't make it there had awoken something in him. "I mean— I am sorry. I did not mean to say that."

"I am not mad at the fact that I will inevitably be sent there."

"Then what?"

"You treated me this entire time as if I was a charity case," Sukuna said simply. "With pity. I can handle myself, you know — without your fancy ambrosia or pomegranates."

"That was not my intention. If you took my actions as anything less than sincere friendship, I apologise for giving you that impression."

A large part of you, however, knew Sukuna was right. Your countless gifts were all just some futile attempt to sway fate, to make the gladiator's life less miserable. His life was less miserable indeed, but destiny could not be changed — and you were a fool to believe otherwise, to believe that you could save the life of the fighter who you had grown to be fond of.

"I have no interest in discussing this any further."

And you couldn't anyway — not when a group of soldiers came your way. Hiding yourself out of sight, you stepped to the side with a look of resignation on your face.

"Ryomen," one soldier said mockingly. Sukuna didn't say a word, simply stood there like a caged animal. "You are losing your sanity, it seems, talking to the wall."

"That is none of your business," Sukuna hissed in reply, knuckles whitening around the metal bars. He could easily break out, but then again — where would he go? The soldier went on, mocking the gladiator.

"Indeed it is not, but soon you shall be out of our hands and into the one's of Pluto. I hear your next fight is with that cursed fiend Satoru. You know how he is like."

Even you did, and the revelation made your skin pale to the colour of your silk tunic. Satoru was notorious in the world of Rome — having spent most of his life in the pits of the Colosseum. Longer than Sukuna, even. They hadn't fought yet, intending to wipe out the weaker foes before initiating a battle made for the history books. Now that Toji was gone, Satoru was the only one left.

When the guards left, you reappeared, mouth opening to speak before Sukuna cut you off.

"Answer me this, little God. Do I die?"

You couldn't respond.

Sukuna was satisfied, sitting down on his bed before dismissing you. "I know everything I need to. I suppose this is the end of our encounters, until you lead me to where I am fated to be."

"I could— I could just delay your fate. I will speak to the Parcae—"

"No need. I do not want you losing sleep over what is inevitable. Thank you for your companionship over the last month or so, no matter how sincere it was or was not—"

"You are being dramatic," you said straightforwardly, rather turned off by the way Sukuna was speaking, as if all hope was lost. "I said I could delay your inevitable end, not cease it completely. It is rather foolish of you to give up so easily. That is not the gladiator I have come to know."

Sukuna stayed quiet at that, suddenly feeling rather foolish as he sat with his head hung low. Your speech had been a passionate one, a bucket of cold water over his head.

"Do we put this underworld business behind us? Will you let me help?"

"… fine. But I will not enjoy it."

════════════════

Nothing suddenly meant everything when the price for this battle was freedom. Sukuna didn't have to worry about being a fugitive with nowhere to run if the chance to be free was willingly placed right into his palms.

That was why he gave everything he got on the day — a day when the sun was at its peak and heat rained upon everyone like hell itself. Yet the arena summed to thrum with more energy and anticipation than it ever had before, with two famed fighters in the ring, about to fight to the bloody death.

The crowd gasped as Satoru threw down his weapon. As did Sukuna, and everyone was quick to come to the realisation that some fights didn't need weapons — mere fists were enough.

"Ready to lose, Ryomen?" Satoru crooned, eyes half-crazed. He stretched his lithe arms above his head, an almost feline-like quality about him. Honestly? You were terrified, but the couple of missing feathers at your ankles should have been enough to alleviate your fears.

A small price to pay to change fate, even if it meant waiting a millennium for your prowess as the messenger to be restored.

Sukuna didn't answer, Instead, the strings of fate tugged — and he pounced first, playing it dirty. Bronze clinked, and Satoru readily leaped back before he was struck. Sukuna's fists came flying as the strings in heaven controlled his every move without him consciously thinking about it. Each orchestrated blow, however, carried the raw strength of a man fighting for his survival.

Satoru dodged most of the hits, some of them occasionally pummelling into the sand and rock below. "I expected a challenge, Ryomen. Not some pitiful display of clumsy desperation."

The crowd jeered at the buff gladiator, making you look away. Your knee bounced with anxiety, lip chewed raw under your upper set of front teeth. Placing your complete trust in the Parcae and sacrificing a part of yourself may have been a foolish move, you quickly came to realise. But other hope was there?

A low growl left Sukuna, who was currently driven by sheer desperation as Satoru had pointed out. But there was nothing to be ashamed of when the chance to live was on the line. So he lunged forward, feinted to the right before swinging his knee upwards with full force at the white-haired male. Satoru twisted his torso back, hissing when Sukuna's knee missed its target of his stomach and drove into his waist instead.

"That is more like it, brute," he snarled, standing at full height once he had recovered from the blow. "Give it to me."

And so Sukuna did. The fight became a blur of frenzied movement and dust as fists flew, skin thudded against skin, and hits landed on its intended target. With a hand to your mouth, you watched it all, an invisible spectacle to the carnage that was occurring down below. How ready you were to intervene, yet the strings of fate kept you rooted to your seat high up on the Colosseum.

Bones shattered. Ribs splintered, and both men were doubled over, one after the other. Something jutted out of Sukuna's side, making bile rise up inside your throat. Satoru wasn't fairing any better — with a tooth or two missing and both eyes almost swollen shut. A clear disadvantage, if Sukuna managed to regain his wits.

"Please, Parcae. Do not stray from your word," you whispered, clutching your stomach as bouts of fear hit you. Satoru managed to stand up, stumbling on his bleeding legs. His strikes remained sharp and precise, relying on speed unlike Sukuna. The latter was currently doubled over, shielding his head from the worst of the attacks through gritted teeth. A joint popped loose, and a pained howl left your dearest gladiator.

And then a string plucked somewhere high above your heads. Sukuna had endured far too much to just take the hits. Time seemed to slow down as his fist shot out and clawed its way into Satoru's ankle, crushing through flesh and bone. He wasn't about to die in vain, causing Satoru to stumble over himself.

With a final roar loud enough to startle the stadium, Sukuna turned the tides. Flipping Satoru under him, he struck — struck deep enough to coat himself in his opponent's blood, which sprayed out of Satoru's chest and onto him. Even the crowd was either in utter awe or disgust, half holding back gags whilst the other half cheered for more. It was exactly the sort of battle they had been looking for.

And out came Satoru's heart through the open wound, beating until it eventually came to a standstill. Sukuna lifted it to his mouth slowly, to which you shrieked — voice inaudible to everyone but him.

"That is not necessary— Sukuna!"

He snapped out of it. Blinked at the heart he was unknowingly about to consume before just about stopping, blinked down at Satoru's lifeless body below him. Pain bloomed across his entire being, and he fell unconscious seconds later as the crowd erupted at the clear winner.

════════════════

Your duties never stopped. Aside from the Parcae, no one but you and Sukuna were aware of the meddling you had done to ensure his survival. You continued to fulfil your role as the messenger, sheepishly guiding Satoru's soul alongside many others into the depths of the Underworld.

Throughout it all, through many long weeks, Sukuna remained unconscious. Not in the cell he had spent his entire life living in, no. He stayed in some shaded cave you found in the wilderness outside Rome. He was relatively protected from the elements and the cliffs hiding him from wandering eyes, thankfully.

You snuck ambrosia whenever you could, easing it into his parted mouth in hopes that his injuries weren't too severe. Sukuna's breathing remained shallow at first, rattling between shattered ribs as the amber liquid slowly took its effect.

"That is disgusting," you murmured aloud, crouched on your knees as you watched the bones sticking out of his skin meld back into place. Whenever you could, you stayed by his side, painfully reminded by how close to death he had come.

But he did eventually come to one night, looking around the dark cave he was alone in. His armour was set neatly beside him, and a knee-length tunic was thrown haphazardly over his aching form. Sukuna sat up, groaning at the pain in his joints, but it was a miracle that he was even breathing in the first place, with no reminder of his last battle except for the new littering of scars on his body.

"Rest," you called out, startling the former gladiator as you entered the cave. "You need it."

"I won? Am I in…?"

You rolled your eyes at that, sitting beside the hunk of a man and shoving some pomegranates into his hand. "If you were in the Underworld, I would not be here."

"What a way to remain humble," Sukuna grunted, tearing apart the fruit with his bare hands. It stained his fingers, dripped onto his tunic like the blood—

You blinked hard, trying to rid your mind of such images as you listened to Sukuna eat with vigour. "Animal."

"Mmph," he replied, lips red. Of course he would be ravenous, not having eaten a proper meal in Gods knew how long. Pomegranates weren't enough, but wasn't about to complain if that was the best he could get in that moment.

Then something caught his eye. Your feathers, or more like the lack of. "Where are they?"

"The what?"

"On your head. The feathers," Sukuna asked around a mouthful of seeds. "They look incomplete."

"Oh, it is nothing," you lied, vividly remember the sparks of pain that hit you once the delicate things were plucked straight out of you. Sukuna wasn't buying it, gulping loudly like he usually did and lifting a hand to thumb through what was left. You shivered, withdrawing from the sensitivity.

Tch.

"Is this the compromise you spoke of before I fought?"

"Could be."

Another tut.

"Fool," he said in clear disapproval. "Calling me dramatic yet pulling a stunt like this. Did you hit your head too hard falling from heaven?"

"Mind your business," you retorted, busying yourself with a mouthful of fruit to avoid Sukuna's interrogation. It didn't work, and he only shot his hand out to cup your chin.

Turning your face towards his, he scowled. You continued to chew slowly, swallowing as he watched. "Do that again and I will ensure you guide me towards Hell by the end of it."

"What is up with us both being self-sacrificial? Can we not just both agree to stay alive or something?"

Sukuna let go of your chin and studied you long and hard. "Maybe that is out of our controls and up to a higher divinity out there. But for now, quiet. I need to think."

"Careful, now—"

THUD!

Sukuna straddled you, quite unsure what to do now that he was free and seemingly stuck with you out of all things. You were great company, and the feeling of your flesh finally against his, soft to the touch, was throwing him off. Never had he come across such emotions before, ones that swirled inside him like a storm yet calmed him all the same when you were around.

"You infuriate me, little God," Sukuna uttered, lowering his face closer to yours. Your wings, or what was left of them, ruffled wildly. Your eyes were wide. and he took great pleasure in seeing the confusion deep within them. "But I find myself quite fond of your presence. Tell me, oh Great Messenger. Why does that happen? Why do I feel this way?"

"I-I do not know—"

"Lies," he hissed. The odd feelings were building up to its crescendo, and Sukuna had no idea what he'd do next, especially with you looking so tantalising underneath hin, lips slick with the remnants of the fruit from before. "You know plenty more than this brute does, always frolicking about the joys of love and whimsy. Is this love? Tell me."

You shook your head from side to side adamantly. "How would I know? Look at me, I'm just a lowly, glorified pigeon—!"

A heavy tongue dragging across your chin cut your words off, making them melt into a shrill yelp. "You-you dog!"

Sukuna didn't respond, busy lapping up the pomegranate juice that had dribbled down your chin before. Maybe he was a dog, a useless mutt who only knew how to take, take, take. It wasn't like you minded, though. If you did, why did it seem like the small hands on his biceps were pulling him closer instead of pushing him away?

"You are taking it," he remarked, now dragging his hot tongue over your lips and, oh— tasting your saliva, so… sweet and… it was so you—

Your own tongue accidentally darted out, until you were licking back purposefully. You didn't know what was going on between you. Was it the Parcae yet again playing a cruel trick, lowering both of your guards until Sukuna was shoving your tunic away and groping at the fat of your breasts?

Or was it genuine desire coursing through you both as your lips smacked together, the two of you swapping saliva, gulping down each other's strangled noises with the pomegranates forgotten beside you?

You didn't care. Neither did Sukuna. How could he care when you were so receptive of his touch, which was usually so accustomed to violence and bloodshed and death. yet cradled your jaw so lovingly? Let it be the strings of fate, for they had brought you two together and defied all odds of a God and mortal doomed to suffer a fatal end.

"I… admittedly do not know where to go from here," Sukuna rasped, pulling away from your swollen lips with a pop. You lay a hand on his chest at that, intending to push him away — but Sukuna was having none of it.

"Nowhere. I do not know how we ended up in this position when you are freshly out of the clutches of death. You need to rest."

"I am fine," Sukuna rebutted, nipping at your ear before drawing it into his mouth. "That ambrosia worked its charm, but you have healed me far better than what that liquid had to offer."

Pfft.

You laughed at that, making the former gladiator pull away. You sat up halfway, leaning back on your elbows as you grew tired of the feeling of damp moss against your back. Sukuna tugged at your tunic, greedily wanting you to get closer. "Still. It does not feel right jumping your bones when you were this close to meeting Pluto."

You held up a hand, settling your index finger and thumb in a slightly parted pinching gesture. Extremely close indeed.

"I have handled far worse. Now pleasure me."

"You really need to work on your dirty talk," you sighed, letting Sukuna tug you onto his lap. A cold droplet of water fell from stalactites above, right onto your nose. You let out a soft noise, intending to wipe it away — but Sukuna beat you to it. The rough pad of his thumb met the point of your nose and rubbed it dry, his free arm around the small of your back.

"Then let me please you. I have a lot to make up for after everything you have done for me."

"It was not meant to be transactional, Sukuna. I did it because I cared—"

"And I am offering my body to you because I want to," Sukuna argued back, tugging you further onto his lap and jerking his hips forward. Even whilst being a virgin, his body seemed to instinctively know what it wanted— no, needed. You felt his fattened hardness as it prodded between your legs, under the tunic Sukuna desperately wanted to rip off of your body.

"In a cave?"

"No time like the present." Sukuna lowered his voice to a whisper, lips nudging against yours. They slotted against each other, and a set of slender fingers guided his wrist underneath your clothing. His fingers slid under the fabric made to resemble underwear, your legs parting so that he could reach your growing wetness. "Oh—"

"Not a word," you shivered, flustered at how aroused you had already become. Sukuna swallowed, digits clumsy as they fumbled around over the expanse of your pussy. You didn't mind, actually — it was rather endearing how Sukuna was learning how to make you tense up, what made your body react favourable.

He found that sliding his fingers high over an erect protrusion, just below where your pubic hair started, had you whimpering out the prettiest noises. You clutched at his bulky shoulders, suckled on his throat when the pleasure became too much. Sukuna was in awe at how the female body could react to such touches, his fingers now gliding over your clit in tight circles.

"You sing rather prettily for me," he chuckled, feeling you soak his fingers. The sweet talking slipped out from between his lips like it was nothing, leaving you rutting your hips down to seek more pleasure. "I did not know fleetfoot was such a minx."

"O-oh, hush," you gasped, shifting your hips so that Sukuna could penetrate you with his fingers inch by inch. "It has been a while since I have felt such— such pleasure."

Sukuna smiled gruffly at that, moving his fingers inside of you in time with each roll down of your lower half. "You do not know how to touch yourself? Is that what I am hearing?"

"As if you have the faintest idea of what sex is, Ryomen," you stammered, pushing him onto his back. His eyes widened as you stripped yourself of your clothing and tossed it aside. It unfortunately landed in a puddle, but you'd have to deal with that later.

Because as of that moment, you moved Sukuna's clothing to the side, took a long moment to fawn over how meaty his cock was, before squatting over him. "I have needed this for quite some time now. I hope you do not mind if I take what I need from you."

"You may," Sukuna choked out, sitting up halfway so that he had a clear view of what you were doing. You lowered yourself, enveloping his erect cock with the heat of your pussy lips around him. Up and down you glided, hips rolling in a nasty rhythm that had the man below you kicking out reflexively. "Tease."

"The one and only," you purred, all fears of injuring the man thoroughly fucked out of your mind as you used his cock to get both of you off. The two of you watched breathlessly as every so often, his plump tip caught against the rim of your entrance. But then you'd shift back, until he was wetly smooching at your clit instead.

The rhythm repeated, and Sukuna struggled not to choke around the build up saliva gathering in his mouth. He swallowed audibly, nails digging into the stone beneath him. You saw the movement — of course you did, and you grinned coyly.

"Touch me. I am letting you. I want you to."

Sukuna didn't need to be told twice. In an instant, one hand settled on your hip and guided your movements along his chubbed cock. The other found your breast, deft fingers toying at your pert nipples. A pitched sound left you, your back bowing into a beautiful arch that only pushed your chest further into Sukuna's wandering hand.

"Divine," Sukuna remarked, jaw clenching when a sudden tight sensation gripped his cock.

You had slipped him inside of your pussy at the praise he sent your way, hands now sliding up his firm pecs and around his neck. Your breasts pressed against Sukuna's, his nipples sensitive as they rubbed against yours. "Do you l-like this? Having a God take your virginity?"

"Yes, yes," Sukuna groaned, hips twitching upwards to meet yours. The heavens were quiet for once, deathly silent in fact, as you rode the former gladiator. Your pussy moulded well to the shape of his cock, each ridge of your walls getting used to the torturous veins throbbing inside of you. "Use me— please."

"You are so, so good for me," you whispered before gripping his jaw with one hand and mashing your lips against his. Each of his grunts were fucked out of him, greedily swallowed by you as your ass swivelled on top of him. The wet plaps of your bodies meeting echoed throughout the cave, leaving your ears red at the lewdness of it all.

Sukuna was all but melting. He didn't know your praise, your approval would unravel him in such a way — but his heaving balls were tightening not many thrusts in. You cooed at that, sensing the man's impending orgasm.

"Already, 'kuna? We have barely just started. I mean— cumming before me?"

Sukuna shuddered, lips set in a snarl as he tried holding back the cum soon to be gushing from his cock and into you. He forced you onto your back, hiking your legs onto his shoulders before taking control of the pace himself. He didn't want to come first — he couldn't before his saviour.

"Like that," you whispered, fingers finding your clit and rubbing. "Take it slow."

Sukuna nodded stiffly, sweat beading at his temple and dripping down onto your stomach as he fucked himself slowly inside of you. It was painfully slow, but what kind of man would Sukuna be if he focused on his own pleasure?

He may have killed many, but he wasn't an animal.

So in and out Sukuna thrusted, letting you feel each fat inch he had to offer. Your eyes fluttered shut, elongated sighs and murmurs of approval leaving you. He withdrew his hips until his cock head was the only bit inside you, before pushing it up to the hilt with a filthy squelch.

"I— Gods, forgive me," Sukuna shakily whispered, "but I cannot hold back."

With that, he pulled out all the way for a final time, before fucking his cock back inside you at a brutally fast pace — rivalling the combat speed of even Satoru.

Sukuna's balls were swinging now, a comical image had it not been for the sheer urgency he was rutting inside you with. He gripped the back of your knees tightly, panting in ways he had never panted before. Sukuna needed to cum, eyes screwing shut as your blissed-out cries met his ears. He was nearly there. So were you.

And by some miracle, you came first. A burst of wetness sprayed out of you, right onto Sukuna's quivering abdomen. Your fingers stilled, flying away from your clit to reach out for him — something, anything. The pleasure coursed throughout your body, making your vision flicker into white as your cunt clenched sporadically around Sukuna.

Triggering his orgasm.

His load was thick, potent as the sticky ropes shot out of him and into your greedy hole. You milked him for all that he was worth, twitching from the aftershocks and gasping at the sudden fullness that was filling you down below. "Apologies— fuck."

"N-nothing to apologise for," you blurted, whining as a burst of combined fluids escaped your pussy, your body unable to hold it all in. Light flickered, and a burst of sparks filled your vision before fading into black.

And with that, unconsciousness gripped you tightly, and the two of you became the talk of the Gods for aeons to come.

════════════════

"You took long enough, fleetfoot," Sukuna grunted, deep wrinkles marring his face with more than just scars.

How long has it been since that encounter in the cave? How many more moons have passed since you started your relationship with the gladiator? Long enough for age to catch upon him, leaving you to glow on your own, youth as radiant as the sun above. It was an attribute Sukuna couldn't hate you for. He knew what he was getting himself into the second he set the nature of your relationship with him in stone.

Leaning against a pomegranate tree, rough yet fragile bark leaving indents on his withered back muscles, Sukuna looked up at your form with a fond look on his face.

"Apologies, my brutish ex-gladiator," you tittered, pecking Sukuna's cheek and enjoying the way he scowled at the former title he hated. With your hand meeting his, he tugged you down to his side. "Woah— careful, now. You may have aged but you hold that same strength you had when you took me for the first time—"

"Quiet," Sukuna grunted, shutting his eyes. "You talk far too much considering the fact I no longer have the ability to produce an erection."

…

How typical of your partner to make such crude comments before death.

"Do not remind me, my love. I have been mourning for many years now." A dramatic sigh left you at that, and Sukuna could do all but shove you away whilst ignoring the weird ache in his chest. It wasn't long until his soul would finally depart after having spent many a year at your side, travelling to places he didn't dare to dream about back when he was a gladiator.

Like the marketplace right outside the Colloseum.

Sukuna even managed to live double the average life expectancy, reaching the ripe old age of 64.

A hum left the old man, prompting your attention to focus on him once more. You looked down at hands that were more than capable of ripping open a lion's jaw in his youth — hands that now trembled when they held yours.

With your voice softer now, you leaned in — close enough for your lips to brush against the shell of Sukuna's ear, your breath lulling him into a deep slumber. "Ready to go?"

"Always have been."

And you smiled at that, although the feeling inside you was rather bittersweet.

The wind shifted, and that was it. The body beside you grew cold, and a lifetime containing more than Sukuna had ever been promised by the Parcae faded into obscurity. Another unmarked grave by the pomegranate tree.

Except contrary to the belief of the Gods above, you guided Sukuna's soul upwards instead of down — shunning your rightful duties.

And somewhere within Elysium he thought was out of his grasp, Sukuna was young again, hand in yours as you sang ballads of glory in his name.

Today, you’re not dating. Still very much broken up. According to you. Except it’s hard to believe that when you showed up at his door looking as jaw droppingly beautiful as ever and shoved him aside.

And Sato could never turn you away. The thought didn’t even occur to him.

Since, you’ve been lounging on his bed. 

“Why do all these girls have such huge tits?” you ask, lying on your stomach. 

From his desk, Sato hums. “Do they? I never noticed.”

“Liar,” you immediately scoff. “I bet that’s the exact reason you got this manga, and all the others. I also bet these drawings were your first wank.”

Pen tapping on his textbook, he huffs. “You sound like my brother.” 

His first wank was to Mewto, but he won’t admit that. Why did you even come back here if you hate him so much? Just to drive him crazy with insults, and with that short skirt riding up thighs he knows are softer than marshmallows?

“Well, then you should listen to us both; two people can’t be wrong.”

Sato snorts. “Actually, I think if the two of you agree on something, then you’re both definitely wrong.”

That gets a giggle out of you. He’ll admit that sound has him feeling a sense of victory and pride. 

Tossing the book aside, you clamber off the bed and skip over to him. You hug his head to your chest, cradling the thing between your breasts. He notices. Of course he does. “Wanna get back together, Sato? I’m horny.”

His scrawling stops. 

You aren’t usually this honest, this vulnerable. Sure, he’d much rather you were wanting to get back with him because you were going insane without him, because you realised you can’t live without him, because you missed him and not his dick. But this still feels like a small victory. 

Proceed carefully, he tells himself.

“You broke up with me,” Sato reminds you, slowly as though walking through a minefield. 

“Yeah, and now I want to unbreak up with you. Is that a crazy thought?” You’re raking your acrylic nails on his scalp. His lashes flutter. You always did know just how to weaken his resolve. “My toys died on me, and because of you and your loudmouth twin, no guy will go anywhere near me.”

There’s some truth to that — Toru’s projective of you and of his brother’s heart, and has made it abundantly clear to the scrubs that frequent his parties that his 'future sister-in-law' is a strict 'no-touching zone.'

However, it’s important to note that you could have any man you want, if you set your mind to it, so he doesn’t buy it for a second. Sato’s long learned not to take your words at face value. 

He knows from experience, therefore, that you just regret breaking up with him. If an orgasm was all you wanted, after all, then you would have just shoved his face between your legs, rode his tongue, then gone along on your merry way. Which has happened before. 

It’s tempting. 

Really. 

But it’s rare that you’re the one to break first. And a man ought to make a stand here and there. Maybe the fact that he’s always the one who reaches out first and grovels, even if he didn’t do anything wrong, is why you do this so often. He just can’t miss the opportunity to drag this out. 

So Sato casually replies, “Nah. I’m enjoying the peace and quiet. It helps me study better.”

A moment of silence passes. 

It’s thick.

Your raking nails stop. Your body stills. 

“Oh,” you say. “Okay.”

You’re gathering your stuff and making your way to the door with no further argument, not a second later.

That’s not how he thought that would go.

Where’s the shouting? The slapping his chest and stomping your feet? Where’s the deadly glare, the calling him names that’ll get him hard? The throwing of things, the threatening to kick his monitor screen in, the showing him hell hath no fury like a woman scorned and rejected?

Sato jumps out of his seat faster than the speed of light. He clutches you to him, heart beating so fast he’s sure you can feel it. 

“Wait, wait. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. I miss you, baby. Always miss you when you’re not here. I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad at me. I’ll do anything — do you want more clothes? I’ll buy out your baskets again. All of them. J-just anything.”

Thank god he’s hugging you from behind, because if he wasn’t, he’d see the devilish grin warping your face.

This had been Toru’s idea. He told you, if you give Sato any ounce of power, he’d grow arrogant with it, which you can use to your advantage. And judging by the way he’s literally shaking as he holds you, you owe the man a rematch at beer pong.

Forcing a sad tone, you ask, “A-are you sure, Sato? I know I’m always bothering you, but I thought you like when I do. I didn’t realise I was holding you back.”

Inside, he feels something break

“No, baby. No, that’s not it at all.” Sato spins you around, bending down slightly to meet your eyes. His gaze has softened from the usual aloof expression he wears. He looks like he’s in near tears. “You don’t bother me in any way I don’t like. You know I love you.”

Eyes fluttering, you sniffle a little. “Really? Even when I’m always saying mean things?”

Sato pecks your lips. Once. Twice. Third for good luck. And a fourth because he needs his fill after the two day break you two had. 

“Baby, you know I get so hard when you say mean things. To me, to my brother, to everyone. Just never about yourself,” he pleads, cradling your face in his hands. “I love everything about you. I was just being an idiot.”

You grip the hem of his sweater, bringing it up and up so you can rake your nails up his abs. “Yeah, you were, Sato. You really hurt me.” With big doe eyes you meet his gaze. “I should be able to hurt you back, don’t you think?”

In his sweatpants, something stirs. 

So predictable. Like putty in your hands. 

He gulps. Then nods. Greedily. “Y-yeah. That’s fair. Whatever you want.”

In a flurry he can’t process fast enough, he finds himself pushed down onto his bed, sweater ripped right off his body. You straddle his hips. Your skirt has ridden up. Pussy lips through your panties cradling his hard on. 

How does it always end up like this?

As you run a finger down his chest, his breath shudders. “Oh, Sato,” you coo, “why did we ever break up?”

“You said my last name won’t go well with your name if we marry,” he reminds you. “I disagree, but you don’t have to take my name. You know I’m not traditional.”

Oh, yeah, that’s why. A better woman would be ashamed for breaking up with their boyfriend for such a non-issue, but you’re not a better woman, and the reminder nearly has you wanting to ditch him again.  

Sato adjusts his glasses as he peers up at you. When you glower at him, his lips twitch. “You’re so pretty when you’re mad at me. So, so pretty.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm. The prettiest.”

You smile. “Yeah, I am, aren’t I?”

Underneath you, he throbs, punctuating his point. You bite back a moan — if you get too needy and start dry humping him, you’ll lose your upper hand. Keep your head in the game, you tell yourself. 

Picking up lipstick from your purse, you twist the base slowly. It clicks with every centimetre it emerges. 

Sato’s almost panting, like a bitch in heat. His imagination is running wild, wondering what you’re going to do with that lipstick, where it’s going to go. His hands fall onto your bare thighs, rubbing warmth there but also just wanting to feel you. 

You hold his gaze. 

On his flawless chest, you write:

M

I

N

E

“What does it say, Sato?”

He swallows, hips starting to rut up, chasing the friction. “Mine.”

“Which means?”

“I’m yours. All yours,” he breathes out. Sato’s releasing low moans, which grow louder when you start grinding down on him. He always did love dry humping.

You cup his cheek. You brush your thumb over his flushed skin there, right under the rim of his glasses. Then you slap him. Hard. Hard enough that it leaves a bright, red mark.

Sato’s hips buck. His eyes widen to saucers. “FUCK!” he cries out. 

Those hands that hold your thighs are gripping your hips now, hastily guiding you back and forth his clothed length. You moan, head thrown back. 

“I hate that you didn’t chase after me,” you tell him.

Usually, Sato would spam you with apologies. Usually, you’d ignore them until you got bored, then you'd send him a TikTok. He’d sends one back. And you two act like nothing ever happened. 

This time, he hadn’t. 

He didn’t show up outside your classes with a cup of coffee or a sweet treat. He didn’t text you poorly taken nudes in hopes of enticing you to take him back. Didn’t send flowers to your doors or money or his twin brother with a prepared speech about how men are experiencing a mental health crisis. 

He just didn’t. 

Worry had been weighing you down — what if he got tired of you? What if he finally saw sense and realised you’re not a good girlfriend, you’re not even a good person? What if he found someone better, someone smarter, someone he has shared interest with that extended beyond great bed chem?

Toru reassured you that none of that is possible; his brother eats, sleeps, and breathes you. He’d heard enough about how amazing and incredible you are before you started dating, when he was pining after you, and during, when you started teaching him all sorts of things he never realised about himself. 

None of that reassured you. Nothing could.

Not even the raging boner you’re humping, the lewd groans and moans and whines and whimpers he’s letting out, or the spot of pre wetting his sweatpants. 

Because that’s sex. 

That’s the body talking.

You want that, of course. But you also want his heart. 

“Do you still love me, Sato?” you ask. No bravado. No sass. No faux pout. Just a question. “Like really love me?”

“Yes,” he replies without missing a beat. His brows knit together. He must notice something serious and sad in your eyes; he sits up. “Hey, hey, baby. What’s wrong? Are we not playing anymore?”

Bottom lip quivering, you say, “We’re always playing, Sato. I know I start most of it, and I really can’t talk, but sometimes I wonder if we play too much. If it’s all we do, all we have.”

Teas are springing to your eyes, wetting your false lashes. If he were anyone else, you’d gouge out his eyes so he’d never know you were capable of crying. This nerd, however, has brought you to tears with his tongue, fingers and dick enough times to know you’re just a wet mess waiting to happen.

“Is this what I am to you? Just someone to slap you around, to entertain you between classes, someone to keep for fun?” A little embarrassed, you force a chuckle. “I mean, it’s okay if I am. I know what I look and act like. And I know I’m not someone you take home to father.”

“Mother,” he mutters. Sato wipes an errant tear away, angry at the mere sight of it. “The saying is ‘take home to mother’ and I don’t care if you are or aren’t — our mother’s a bitch. So is our father. All I care about is why you think you’re any less than the love of my life.”

You bury your face in the crook of his neck. “Forget it. Just whip your cock out. Imma suck it.”

He ignores that.

In a graceful move, you land on your back, pushed down gently. He hovers above you, casting a shadow. 

Sato’s frowning hard. Really hard. He looks livid. 

“I love you,” he says. Firmly. Unwaveringly. With all the certainty in the world. “I love you. So much. So much so that you’re the first thing I think about.”

He bends his arms to reach your face. You accept his kiss. It’s soft, tender, the kind of kiss that’s all about taking your time to taste and feel. The kind that would have your leg kicking up if you were standing. The one that has your heart racing. Cheeks flushing. Lips tingling. 

Pulling back, he presses a kiss to the pulse point at your neck. He descends to your chest. Sato hooks the neckline down so he can kiss right over your heart. To each breast, he kisses the peaks, nuzzling between them. You moan, hand threading through his hair. He slides the hem up to kiss your belly. 

Every inch of skin he touches tickles, like a current of electricity runs under it.

“I wonder where you are, what you’re doing. If you’ve slept through your alarm. If you’re late to class, if you’re even going. I wonder if you’ve eaten, and what. And I get all restless when I think about you only eating snacks and not getting any real food.”

You can do nothing but watch as Sato flicks your skirt up, revealing your g-string to him. A small smile appears on his pretty face. He continues with his lips grazing your pelvis, “I think about what you’re wearing. If you’re matching your panties to your nails or to your bag. If you’ve gone with a tight skirt because you’re feeling good about how your ass looks, or if you’ve gone for something loose because you’re bloated.”

Wetness readily flows out of you, staining your panties. He notices. Turns out, he notices everything about you. 

A thumb pushes itself between your puffy pussy lips. A lewd squelch reaches your ears. He circles your clit over the material. Sato’s breath fans over the sensitive skin there as he slots himself between your thighs, lying down on his stomach. He gets real comfortable.

“In class, here, studying, showering, getting Toru out of trouble, even in my dreams, I think of you.” G-string pulled to the side, Sato finally presses to your clit. Skin to skin. You sigh. He rasps, “It’s always you, don’t you get that? Always you. Even before I knew you existed — I may not believe in God or any religions, but I do believe that if we had souls, mine was calling out for you this whole time.”

You pout. “That’s cheesy, Sato.”

He chuckles before he licks a stripe up your slit, groaning at your taste. “Yeah, I know. And if you tell Toru I said any of that, I’ll pretend you’re lying.” He releases a tense breath. “I mean it though. You bring out this side of me that I’d never show anyone, that I didn’t realise I had. I know we do things differently to other couples, and we’re probably a little childish about things — that’s what Toru says at least, and you know I hate to hear that from him — but we work. Despite it all, we work.”

Dazzling blue eyes stare up at you. Your breath gets stuck in your throat. 

“I. Love. You. If there’s anything you need to believe, it’s that,” he says, sounding damn near ready to set fire to anyone who tries to convince you otherwise.

You brush locks of his hair away from his face. His eyes shut at the feeling of your hand soothing him. “Okay, Sato,” you whisper. “I believe you. Now eat it.”

Your hand yanks him to your pussy.

His muffled surprise vibrates against your heated flesh. Head thrown back, you moan in bliss when he quickly recovers and starts sucking on your pulsing clit.

Sato is a smart boy. 

He always knows the right words to bring you back down. 

Who else would have the patience to deal with you?

“Mm, fuck, I missed how sweet your pussy is,” he mumbles right inside you, tongue lapping up your wetness. He collects the juices just to spread it over your clit. Sato rubs the bundle of nerves in tight circles, with the perfect amount of pressure to have your back arching. 

Moaning, you say, “Fuck, baby, you’re -ngh- eating me out so good. More. Suck my clit more!”

“I love when you boss me around,” he whines, dominant voice gone. In its place is your boyfriend who complains when you leave his arms at night to go to the bathroom. “Love when you tell me exactly what you need. Always wanna be good for you.”

“Oh, you’re so good, Sato,” you mewl. “Always so good.”

Fingers work their way inside your cunt. They force the ring of muscle at the entrance to take them in. His digits are long, reaching your cervix with ease and finding that sensitive spot inside. When he curls up, your thighs tighten around his head, threatening to suffocate him.

But Sato doesn’t complain; he only groans, eyes rolling back. 

Doubling the intensity, he flattens his tongue up your entire pussy and licks up again and again. He’s slurrrrrrping! all your juices up with no shame or reservation. Yet, there’s always something measured and calculated with each move. 

He’s wholly aware of how you like your pussy eaten out, of where you’re most sensitive, of what pace to tongue you. His brain never turns off. 

Orgasm impending, you tug at his hair to keep him in place as your hips grind on their own. The tip of his nose bumps your clit delectably. “Sato, fuck!”

He whimpers approvingly. “Yes, baby. That’s it. Ride my face.”

The bed’s rocking. You realise then, through the haze of pleasure, that he’s humping the bed, like a dog. It reminds you of the first time he ate you out, how he’d been so obsessed with the smell, the sight, the sweetness, and the warmth of your pussy that he came from his pants and was too embarrassed to get up to show you. 

In spite of how long it’s been, you don’t think he’s ever really forgiven you for getting so drunk that you told Toru. Oh, he ate you out that night for hours and hours, with your wrists bound by ties to the headboard so you couldn’t squirm or push him away in retaliation. You were certain your clit would fall off. 

It’s been a while since he’d come untouched…

Knowing that he’s feeling good from the taste of your pussy he’s missed has you feeling lightheaded.

“I’m,” you gasp out, toes curling, “I’m gonna cum!”

“Oh, fuck yes. Cum, baby. Cum on my face. Let me taste you,” he begs. “I want it so bad. Come on, please. Please, baby.”

A shriek tears right though you. Your whole body spasms. Around his fingers, your walls pulse. He keeps fucking them inside, knowing your g-spot is most sensitive during and after an orgasm. His lips are wrapped around your clit, sucking and sucking, and wringing out vulgar squelches!

When you come down from your high, he’s already hovering over you again. His lips are swollen. Glossy. He licks them. His eyes flicker down, hungry. 

You know what he wants.

Lazily, you smile. “Go on, Sato. Give your soulmate a kiss.”

He groans. “Fuck, I love you so much.”

Then he’s sloppily making out with you. 

You can taste yourself on his tongue. Not that you mind. 

Sato ruts his raging boner against your bare pussy, getting his sweatpants all wet. He doesn’t care about anything other than feeling good, than grinding onto you, than tasting you. This is better than the thrill of shopping.

Most of the time, Sato’s the one who leads. He’s the one telling you what position to get in, how many orgasms he wants you to give him, and he says when you’re done. He’s a sadist — he loves to spank, to tie you up, gag you, and make you beg for it. Which no one would expect from the judgemental, little nerd. But sometimes, when you’ve pulled at his heartstrings enough, you get these rare and precious moments where you can get him to say the things he doesn’t even say to himself. 

Only for you, when you’ve convinced him he’s hurt you too much or too far, does he relinquish control and let you ride him emotionally and sexually. And the high you get from it is unlike any other. It’s almost as good as following his commands. 

You suppose, after the two day break, you were just more emotional, more in need of reassurance, than ever. He understood that. And without complaint, without another word about it, he was more than ready and willing to give you everything you need. 

He really is your soulmate.

A string of spit connects you both when he parts from you maybe hours later. His cock’s out, bobbing right by your pussy — you didn’t even notice he’d taken it out. His soft hand’s tugging on the length, squeezing out beads of pre cum.

God, it’s so pretty.

Sato taps the flushed cock head on your clit. “Mm, Sato!” 

“Don’t think I didn’t realise what you were doing,” he mutters. Those gorgeous eyes flit up to yours. A corner of his mouth curls up into an arrogant smirk. “You never have to manipulate me to get me to eat your pussy and make love confessions, but I do find it entertaining when you do.”

Grinning, you casually start groping your tits. “I know. That’s why I do it. I know my kitty gets so wet for Mean Sato most times, but I like being the mean one in bed sometimes too. Can’t we have an even balance?”

“80-20.”

You pout. “60-40?”

His cock pushes in, inch by inch. You gasp. Your hands fall to grab his arms. The backs of your thighs are resting on his as he lifts your hips up to fuck his cock down at a delicious angle. 

Sato presses down on your lower belly. Your walls clench down around him. He groans. You love when he does that; you can feel him even better when he bottoms out. He drawls, “80-20 and I buy you another pair of heels.”

“Deal!”

“Oh, and we’re back together again,” he adds.

As he rocks into you, you breathe out, “We were always together.”

He nods before kissing you on the nose. 

“And don’t you forget it.”

✶

toji had always had a big appetite, something you couldn’t blame him for, what with his incredible mass and intense training. 

so the changes started subtly. his usual six eggs in the morning became ten, bacon strips were now added to his breakfast rotation, along with buttered english muffins. 

your grocery bill tripled. 

toji would get the calories in no matter what. 

“you’re feral.” you commented as you watched him scarf down cold chicken and sweet potatoes straight from the container after getting home from your date where he’d already eaten his main course, half of yours, 3 plates of appetizers and more than half of the molten cake you’d ordered. 

the changes in his body were subtle at first, as well. 

you’re hugging him from behind one evening and your arms simply didn’t wrap around the same way anymore, fingers barely meeting. 

“you’re…wider.” 

toji snickered gently, “ouch.”

you rolled your eyes, “not like that. in a good way.”

and god, it really was good.

you watched him from bed one morning as he got ready for the gym, assessing his body without meaning to. 

what was once a shredded eight pack was now covered with a layer of bulk, no longer as visible as before but still faintly there. and fuck, you could see the purple stretch marks that littered his back and around his armpits, new following his increasing mass. 

he was getting huge. and you couldn’t help but feel absolutely insatiable. 

“what’re you lookin’ at, kid?” he grinned teasingly as he pulled on a pair of shorts. 

you smiled gently and groggily from your place in bed, “nothing.” 

you loved it when toji wore black compression shirts. 

he always looked mouthwatering in the tight material, but following the bulk? toji fushigoru looked utterly slutty. 

“baby, m’home!” 

your boyfriend’s baritone voice sounded in the living room as the door shut, a small smile painting your features as you brought down the heat on the stove to greet him. 

as you skipped over to the man whose eyes softened the moment they landed on you, smirk pulling at his handsome features, you could barely meet his eyes, stopping in your tracks. 

because holy fuck, was the bulk ever so clear in that shirt. 

the once tight compression shirt now looked like it was busting at the seams, stretching across his chest. 

the sleeves were tighter at his biceps, you were surprised there was any sort of circulation, fabric pulling when he crossed his arms. 

“baby?” he walked towards you as you gulped gently, eyes shifting to look up at him as the man brought down a large hand to cup your face. god, even his fingers were thicker. 

“made your favorite.” you chirped out, swallowing gently as he smirked, leaning down to nose at your jaw, trailing kisses to your plush lips which he kissed with menacing fervor. 

“thank you, baby,” he murmured against you, leaning down to grip the plush of your soft thigh, pulling you up with one hand till your legs wrapped around his wide waist, “think it can wait a bit?” 

you bit your lip gently, nodding softly. 

that was the other thing. his libido increased ten-fold and the man was already insatiable for you before, getting it in practically every night for hours on end if you'd let him. 

toji shifts you higher with one hand like you weighed nothing, like you were something soft meant to sit in his grasp. your thighs tighten around his waist automatically and it hits you again just how thick he’s gotten. 

his waist used to be lean and sharp, now it was dense and solid. 

you feel it under your palms when you press against him. 

your hands slide over his chest as he kissed you messily, tongue licking at your lips as he walked you over to the bedroom. the shirt clings to him unforgivingly, outlining the swell of his pecs, the way they’ve filled out. his lats flare subtly when he walks, brushing the doorframe on the way to the bedroom. 

and when he lays you down, the mattress dips more than it used to as he leans over you, heavier. never soft but dense in a way that makes your breath hitch when his thick forearms bracket your head, veins more pronounced and lines sharper. 

“y’keep starin’, pup.” he mutters, thumb brushing over your lip. 

“you’re enormous.” 

a low chuckle rumbles from his chest, deeper lately, too. or maybe it just vibrates more because he’d built like a damn furnace. 

“haven’t seen enormous yet, baby.” 

your hands slip under his shirt as you groan softly at what you feel. all thick traps, a fuller chest, muscle stacking on muscle under warm skin. there’s a layer now, not shredded lines anymore but something more imposing. 

“you feel insane.” 

his jaw tightens at that, pleased, “yeah, baby?” 

you hummed, wanting to press closer but you didn’t have to as toji leaned down himself, you were almost breathless. 

sometimes you think he forgets just how big he’s actually gotten, heavy as you let out a shaky breath at his weight above you. 

“you’re gettin’ even smaller.” he mutters against your skin, pulling back to pull your shirt up and over your head. 

you rolled your eyes. “m’not.” 

he hums, “feels like it.” 

you’re sure it does. 

because you do feel small, in his arms especially. 

contrary to popular belief, toji was the one who loved to cuddle to sleep. 

you always loved having your own space before falling asleep, up until toji. 

and you’d gotten used to it, except now, it was almost unbearable. 

the man was huge and he radiated heat like a bear. 

you wake up at night half-suffocating. 

not because you can’t breathe, but because you’re trapped. folded into him like something he refuses to lose in his sleep. 

his arm slung over your waist, heavy and unmoving, one thigh wedged between yours, chest flush against your back. 

and he is burning. 

you squirm, “toji..”

no response, the man was absolutely dead asleep. the kind where his breathing was slow and heavy against your neck, jaw relaxed in a way it never was when he was awake. 

you shift away from him and his grip tightens, almost like instinct. 

his hand spreads across your stomach, dragging you impossibly closer as your back molds against his chest. and you can feel how much thicker he’s gotten.

there’s simply more of him now. more chest, more arm, more thigh.

you feel so completely engulfed. 

“god, you’re a furnace…” you whisper as you boyfriend exhales from behind your, a low rumble vibrating through his broadened chest. 

his metabolism’s insane right now, always hungry and always warm. 

your calves brush against his and it’s like touching heated marble, solid and warm and immovable. 

you try to wiggle free because truly, you’re overheating, but the man wouldn’t let you. 

half-asleep, he nudges his face into the crook of your neck, breath hot against your skin. his hand slides down to your hip lazily, fingers flexing once. 

“m’cold…” he mutters as you gasp gently. 

“you are not cold.” 

toji makes a low displeased noise and bruised his face further into you like you’re the ridiculous one. his torso pressed into your back even more, thigh anchoring you and pelvis solid and warm against you. he doesn’t even mean to cage you in, he simply does, by default. 

you sighed as his fingers moved under your tank top, palms calloused and slightly rough against your soft skin. 

that was another thing you’ve noticed. 

it happened when he brushes your hip in the kitchen, palm dragging over the bare skin above your shorts and you flinch gently, “ow.” 

his head snaps towards you immediately, “didn’t even touch you.” 

“you did.” you insisted, grabbing his thickened wrist and turning his palm up. 

the pads of his fingers are rougher and thicker, the center of his palm more textured than before. 

you already knew he was training like a menace, spending hours in the gym and truly, it showed. 

“you’re sandpaper.” you accuse as toji smirked gently. 

“occupational hazard, huh?.”

you drag his hand against your cheek experimentally, his hands warm and broad and so, very rough. the contrast makes your stomach flip. 

“y’hate it?” he questions after a second and there it was. 

another thing you took note of. the almost invisible flicker of uncertainty that arose when he began putting on muscle. 

you couldn’t blame him, the man maintained a low body fat for so long, disciplined and packed with lean muscle. this was different. 

but fuck, how could you explain that this was the hottest you’d ever found him?

in all his broad, packed and rough glory. he was everything. 

you pressed his palm flat against your neck, “do that again.”’ 

he stares down at you for half a beat, eyes darkening before dragging his hands slowly from your neck, down to your collarbones, rough fingers tracing your soft skin, before dragging up to your neck once more and squeezing the sides gently. his rough patches of skin scratched against your softness and you swallowed as heat filled you. 

the texture against soft skin sent shivers straight through you. 

his hands felt like something that lifts heavy things, breaks things and protects things. 

“feels rougher…” 

his thumb hooks lightly onto the waistband of your shorts, not pulling yet, but you were aware of their intention. 

“problem?” 

you shake your head immediately, “no. i just…”

“speak up, brat. just what?” toji’s voice was low and laced with heat as you fought the urge to whine gently. 

“i like knowing you’re strong.” 

his jaw tightens in utter restraint, hand moving up your back now, slow and testing. feeling for your reaction every time that rough skin trails over you. 

you lean into it without meaning to. 

and his hands, rough and strong from months of work, settle low on your back. 

with one hand, he pulled you up and against him as you giggled breathily against his neck, sighing as he stripped off his shirt, revealing miles upon miles of muscle. heavy, broad and secure as he kissed you with heat. 

the bathroom light was unforgiving the next morning.

you didn't mean to actually inspect yourself, you simply needed the bathroom.

but now, you were now standing in front of the mirror in a pair of panties and a soft cotton tank, staring.

"oh my god..." you muttered as your fingers trailed over your collarbones first.

there was a faint bruise blooming there, not dark but visible.

lower, along your front, finger-shaped bruises littered your hips and ribs, faintly purple as you gaped.

you turn slightly to lift your thigh, spotting more finger-shaped marks along the delicate skin.

and fuck, you knew if you were to turn around-

you gasped softly at the marks along your asscheeks, prominent and dark, full hand-shapes against the globes of your ass.

but the worst one of all, a product of your stupid lustful haze was the indentation on your neck. you looked like someone had attempted to kill you.

toji's handprint was evident on the delicate skin of your neck and it was absolutely sinful.

your breath stuttered, not because it hurt but because you remembered.

the way his grip tightened when he lost control, the way he'd pulled you against him when you attempted to shift away, as if you weighed nothing to the man. the way his hands, bigger and thicker lately, stronger, dug into you without him even noticing.

the bulk had only made him stronger and he doesn't even feel it.

you swallowed.

"you okay?" toji called out, voice low and rough from sleep, still sprawled out like a freshly fucked king on the bed.

you turned to face the man, pretty eyes narrowed, "look at me. i look like i got mauled."

toji shifted then, eyes focusing and the smugness seeped into his expression, "seemed like you liked it."

your glare deepened then, "toji."

he pushed himself upright, slow and deliberate, muscles shifting under skin. he plants his forearms on the mattress as he gazed at you, "didn't hurt you, did i?"

you shake your head, "no. but you definitely got..." you gesture vaguely at yourself, "enthusiastic."

his mouth twitches and fuck, he was too hot for his own good.

you walk closer then, sighing gently as you climbed back onto the bed on your knees, trying to ignore the fact that your entire thigh barely spans half of his.

you press your palm lightly into his chest, the firmness making you sigh as the broad man pulled you against him once more, heat radiating against you.

yes, you decided, you loved winter.

✶

sukuna was a cool guy. he was the vice president of the school’s most notorious frat, the basketball team’s star player, and the hottest thing to come out since han solo, in his very humble opinion.

so you were right. why did he give a fuck? why did he care that some chick he’d been banging had a man? why did he care that a girl he was seeing didn’t reciprocate the same blossoming feelings of affection he’d never felt in his entire life until now? why?

"oh, fuck you, [name]. you’re a horrible fucking person." he snaps, trying so hard to seem like he doesn’t care, a sliver of nonchalance floating into his speech.

"and you’re some saint? what about that girl from alpha phi last year, huh? what about her?" you laugh, knowing the age-old rumors of him supposedly assaulting the girl would really get him going.

"don’t fucking say that! you know damn well i didn’t do shit to that lying bitch." he growls, nonchalance gone, now quite literally about to burst.

and you know he’s right, but it’s always so intoxicatingly funny watching him go all red in the face. probably also one of the reasons you kept him around this long.

"i’m just saying. you’ve got some big perfect version of me in your head, and i’m here to tell you that’s just not the case." you drag on, looking him dead in the eye as you smile with your next confession.

"you’re nothing more than a sex doll to me, sorry."

after your little confrontation, he stormed out so quickly you couldn’t even offer breakup sex. would he have taken the offer? no. he was a bonehead at the best of times, but not even you could sway him when he was in one of those moods. it would have served as a further tease, that was all.

you’d always been okay with everyone on campus, with no over-the-top scandals or college fallouts. sure, you were cheating on your boyfriend hiromi, but if you could turn a blind eye to 'shimizu' in his phone, he could let this slide if he were to ever find out. he was more of a publicity thing anyways, if anything.

other than that, you were thriving. everyone liked you, and on the surface? you liked everyone else too.

but under all of that shiny glaze was a certified man-hating schemer, one that had successfully sunken her teeth into jujutsu universities most renowned playboy, ryomen sukuna. go you.

he was the whole nine yards, really. his frat was well known for being sleazy, with each of the boys’ body counts easily exceeding the hundreds. gojo was the worst when it came to accusations, with hazing rumors and multiple disorderly conduct charges tucked under his belt. but your friends-with-benefits partner was a very close runner-up.

sukuna was the kind of guy who’d have one girl from alpha phi at nine, then party hop and screw another from gamma at twelve. watching the two chicks fight and turn against each other in the hallway the next morning gave him the most exhilarating high.

it was clear he thrived off of discourse.

that was, of course, until he discovered you.

you were so unfairly calm compared to the hectic lifestyle he led. you were friends with good people, intelligent, answered all the lecturers’ questions without seeming weird or nerdy in your joint classes. and to top it all off, you were absolutely stunning.

with normalcy being a foreign concept to him, you intrigued ryomen to no end.

he was clearly into you if the constant staring from the back of the lecture hall wasn't obvious enough. and one day, he finally plucked up the courage to talk to you at a charity event some sorority across campus was hosting.

he’d meant for the meeting to result in something a little more than a hookup. hell, maybe even a date if he played his cards right. alas, all that came from his awkward first conversation with you that day was a night full of, admittedly, amazing sex.

and it just never changed.

every time there was a get-together, every time there was a party or a function, the night would end with the two of you scurrying off to fuck like bunnies.

he had a high libido, and you, even more so. one fuled with the need to be better than the guy who thought he was the shit. it was a good arrangement, all things considered.

higuruma didn't really like parties, he'd much rather stay back in the library and study for the bar with shimizu or whatever his excuse to bone her was. so it was free reign for you. sukuna stayed oblivious to the fact due to your instagram featuring exactly none of hiromi, and he had no mutual friends with you that could tell him about the hook-nosed man.

and things went well like this for ages, maybe two months.

until, sukuna started thinking long and hard about his feelings and where he stood with you, the captivating girl he’d decided he wanted more than a friends-with-benefits situation with.

after some soul-searching, he hatched a plan to bag the goods.

1: drop the other girls he was seeing.

he couldn’t say he was in love with a girl and then also be fucking five of her friends. even he could see that was kinda fucked.

2: dial back the crazy sex and focus on making you feel appreciated.

you’d both agreed rough sex was high on the cards for both of you, but sukuna knew that constant pussy pounding wouldn’t make him seem like the loving type. no, surely not. so he made an effort to slow his thrusts, to kiss your lips instead of biting your neck, and to eat you out first before slamming into you. very gentlemanly.

3: work on himself.

he knew he was a messed up guy. a step in the right direction to getting the girl of his dreams would be to first, fix himself. he started smoking less, going to the gym more often, spending time with is friends. this one was the hardest, but he did try.

and 4: pluck up the courage to finally confess.

yes, the final step in his foolproof plan was to ask you about your feelings and, in turn, tell you his.

and to be fair, his plan was going great up until that last step. he got to your apartment, and before you could pounce, he popped the question.

"[name], what do you think about, like… a relationship?"

"what, like with you and me?"

"obviously."

...

"i have a boyfriend."

silence.

"you have a fucking what?"

~

sukuna didn’t tell anyone about your now-severed arrangement, nor that you were cheating on your boyfriend with him.

i mean, it’s not like he had any proof anyway.

with other girls, he had no issue filming or snapping pics of the sex for future jerk-offs, but for some reason, he just couldn’t bring himself to with you. maybe it’s because he saw you as an actual person with autonomy or something, as fucked up as that sounds. oh, how he regretted having humility now.

so no, exposing you wasn’t on the table no matter how desperately he wanted to ruin your life, he didn’t have any hard evidence and you definitely wouldn’t just bend over and admit it.

so he’s left sitting here stewing at the next function, eyeing you from across the room as you dance and grind up on higuruma.

"fucking women," he mutters to himself, skulling half his drink and letting out a groan as he pulls the bottle away from his lips.

"mhm, hate those whores." naoya suddenly appears beside him, plopping down onto the leather like they’ve been best friends for years, despite sukuna rocking his shit just two months ago for touching up an underaged freshman.

the tatted man has to bite his tongue and get up. he’s mad, maybe even jealous, but not talk-about-screwing-with-women-for-fun mad. that was reserved for zenin and his fucked-up frat.

"rude motherfucker," the pierced misogynist scoffs.

sukuna only throws a finger over his shoulder and makes a beeline for the stairs.

you, on the other hand, are having a fantastic night.

from your spot across the way, seeing sukuna storm out after catching a glimpse of you and higuruma drives you crazy with enthrallment. never in your life have you been so eager to screw around with someone more than right now.

his little tantrum in your apartment was fresh in your brain, you just couldn't get enough of that pissed off expression after you'd told him the truth of your arrangement.

you desperately wanted to see it again.

"hiro, i’ll be back. just gotta take a breather." you flutter up at your perfect little boyfriend, and he nods and smiles like a well-trained dog.

you follow in sukuna’s footsteps, aiming to catch him by surprise on the way to his room, the one you knew all too well.

his bedroom door swings open with a violent shove, the wood smacking against the rubber stopper. he stalks inside without looking back with his shoulders slumped and his hands itching for a cigarette.

you slip in right on behind him.

"you're awfully quiet tonight ,ryo."

the rate in which he whips his head around mid sentence is impressive. "what the fuck are you—"

you lift a finger and press it to his red lips.

"shh."

it's so casual.. it would feel like sweet, like one of those affectionate gestures he'd stupidly gotten used to with you if you hadn't broken his heart just a few days ago.

he can't stop himself from freezing at the contact, his ruby red eyes becoming slitted and cutting through the fury etched into his face. you take full advantage of his stunned state, and you pull your phone out.

and you snort.

"oh my god," you smile between giggles, opening the camera. "i need to keep that look somehow. it’s so fucking funny."

you lean back a little to get him in frame chocking back laughter as you paparazzi the guy. "hold on, don’t move. you look so pathetic right now."

that just about does it.

his hand shoots out and the phone is gone from your grip in an instant. he tosses it onto his bed without even glancing, the device bouncing once against the sheets.

"are you out of your fucking mind?" he demands.

before you can answer, his fingers clasp dangerously around your wrist, tight.

he yanks you forward and pivots, slamming you back against the wall beside his closet with a loud smash.

his arm cages you in as your poor back hits solid plaster. he's so close to you that the vein popping out of his head looks like it's pulsating.

"you think this is a joke?" he spits. "you think i’m some fucking circus act for you to sit around and laugh at?"

you try so hard not to grin, you really do...

"you kind of are," you admit, your lips itching up.

his grip tightens further around your wrist. "i hate you."

"aw, no you don’t."

"i don’t wanna fucking see you again."

"mm, that’s a lie too."

he looks like he's about to implode with sheer anger, "you’re so fucking annoying. you come in here, shove your phone in my face, laugh at me—"

"oh, c'mon. you made a big song and dance about storming up here" you interrupt lightly. "i just followed. don’t act like you didn’t want me to."

his stare sharpens. "i didn’t."

you flutter your eyes up at him sweetly. "oh, but i bet you're glad i did. did y' miss me?"

that shuts him up for a second and you press your luck.

"y'know, it’s not my fault." you murmur thoughtfully, "not my fault the big, bad, scary sukuna caught a crush on little old me."

oh he looks feral. you keep on pushing, though.

"what did you expect, honestly? that i’d hear you say relationship and just drop to my knees and thank you for the honor?"

his hand shifts from your wrist to the wall beside your head, palm flat against it.

"shut up."

"you’re the one who wanted to talk about feelings," you say, shrugging as much as you can with him crowding you. "i was perfectly happy with the arrangement."

his eyes narrow further. "yeah. i noticed."

you smile cheekily.

"hey, it's okay. don’t act embarrassed now." you tease. "it's fine that you wanted to play house all of a sudden. kissing instead of biting n' going all gentle." you let the word drag out so he could relive every night he decided to do things vanilla. "it was weird, sure. but i didn't mind."

his teeth grit. "i was trying to treat you right."

"why?"

that question pummels into his psyche harder than the incessant teasing, and for a second he actually looks thrown.

you lean closer, lowering your voice. "why would you try n' treat me right? you can't even treat yourself right."

"fuck you."

"you wanted me to like you," you continue, ignoring him. "that’s cute. really. you thought if you stopped fucking other girls and started working on yourself, i’d magically see you as boyfriend material."

his hand moves from the wall to your waist, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise.

"i said shut up."

you laugh under your breath. "aw. hit a nerve?"

he leans in closer, foreheads nearly touching now.

"you don’t get to stand there and talk down to me," he growls. "you don’t get to act superior just because you decided to be a bitch and play me."

"play you?" you echo. "i never lied to you. you just filled in blanks i never promised to fill. doesn't feel too good getting manipulated to someone else's agenda, does it? this is just good karma for all the girls you've ruined."

his complete and utter silence tells you that one really stung.

you soften your tone just enough to make it worse. "you built this whole version of me up in your head. you think i'm sweet, exclusive, just waiting around for you to finally pick me."

your smile sharpens again. "that’s on you."

his chest rises and falls hard. he looks furious, humiliated, and you love it.

"you think you’re better than me."

you hum. "i think i’m smarter than you."

that earns you a sharp shove back against the wall.

"you don’t get to mock me for feeling this shit for you, so what i wanted to do something good with my life, what the fuck is wrong with that?" he seethes.

you shrug again. "i’m not mocking you for feeling something, it's just funny that you think i owed you the same in return."

he studies you for a long second.

you can practically see it happening, the way your words wind him up so much tighter, the way he’s fighting between shoving you away and pulling you closer.

his stare burns into you, and you can feel the absolute anger radiating off him.

"i don’t want you," he says through his teeth.

"then why are you still holding me?"

"fuck you."

"i wish you would."

and with a sigh as to say, 'fuck it', he smashes his lips against yours in the hardest, deepest kiss you'd ever recieved from the man.

his hand leaves the wall and grips you tightly, shoving you harshly off of the plaster and you stumble back a step before he advances again, forcing you toward the bed.

"you think this is funny?" he demands, voice rough and course with anger.

you can only cheese in response and that seems to piss him off ten times as much.

he grabs you by the waist and tosses you onto the mattress like a ragdoll. you bounce once against the sheets n' he’s already climbing over you before you can even try to prop yourself up on your elbows.

"you want it rough," he mutters, bracing both your wrists above your head with one hand. "i'll give you rough, slut."

that definitely did what he'd hoped it would.

he kisses you in that disgustingly possessive way again, biting at your bottom lip and wedging his knee rough up into the space between your thighs. you let out a hmph that's shortly followed by a light slap to the side of your hip.

"shut the fuck up. you wanted this shit, take it like a champ." he growls, then resumes attacking your neck with deep bites.

you wriggle your hands free from his grasp, then grab at his shirt, fisting the fabric and pulling him closer instead of pushing him away like you probably should.

he makes a low, irritated sound when you nip at his bottom lip like he'd been doing.

"don’t," he warns.

but you do it again.

his hands slide down your sides now, gripping you tight at your hips. he kisses you far harder, far deeper, tilting his head to take more of you away, to take control back.

you arch up into him deliberately, then whisper, "thought you didn’t want me," against his mouth.

"shut up."

his hands fly to your shirt, ripping it up and over your head like a piece of rag, and you help him toss it to the floor.

you, in turn, tug off his shirt and scrape your nails down his now bare chest.

he exhales sharply through his nose and grabs your wrists for half a second, pinning them above your head once more.

"listen to me," he says.

you fake a yawn in reply.

he takes his free hand and squeezes your face, forcing you to look at him. "you're gonna take this shit like a good girl, and if you act like a brat, i'll fuck you five times harder. got it?"

you nod, albeit sloppily.

"good."

you use the moment to hook your leg around his waist and flip the balance just enough to make him adjust. your hands then slide free and you push at his shoulders, forcing him to shift so you can finally get at his belt.

"impatient little thing," he mutters.

"mm, fuck you." you grin, knowing it'll be met with a slap! to the ass.

"you're really asking for it." he warns, hiking up your skirt and slipping off your panties with urgency, huffing lowly as he catches a glimpse of the slick already pooling in the fabric. "pretty fucking wet for someone so high and mighty."

you suppress a moan as his fingers begin to circle your clit, "you won't do shit." you test. and just like that, his patience finally runs thin.

"oh yeah?"

you regret saying that... well, sort of. because now, all 8 inches of him is pumping in and out of your soaked cunt with a pace so maddening you start seeing stars within the first minute.

"o-oh- fuckk, slow down... please, slow down!" you plea, but the tatted man just laughs in between huffs, groaning triumphantly as he feels you squeeze him tighter and tighter with each tantalising drag.

"nah, you —fuuuck— you take this fucking cock like you oh so desperately wanted to." he pounds you deeper with each word.

"you wan' us to stay fuck buddies? fine. then take this cock however the fuck i decide to give it to you, slut —hah—" he taunts, watching maniacally as your body gyrates beneath him from the force in which he was fucking you.

it's too much. he's got a hand on your throat now, holding you down tight so he can properly reach every part of your cunt. his others holding your legs wiiide open, pulling you onto him deeper earning him the most desperate little whimpers.

"my god, that's right, let me hear how fucking pathetic you turn for some good dick. jesus christ- wanna play around with me? this is how it'll turn out for you. every. single. time." he slams into you hard with those last words. really hammering home the message.

he's gone crazy, fucking into you so rough you don't even know what to do with yourself. you're reduced to a puddle of moaning, babbling mess, swimming in the ecstasy that was ryomen sukuna and his monster cock.

if you knew rejecting him so hard would get you dicked down this good in some big, roundabout way, you would of done it ages ago.

he puts you in a plethora of positions, flipping and tossing you around like you weigh nothing, each position more hard hitting than the last.

"f-fuck, right there! ryo! m' gonna-"

"r-r-ryo!" he mocked, laughing evilly as he pushes down on your tummy to really make you feel it. "yr' gonna cum, huh? gonna cum on my dick like a good girl? that's fucking right, cum on my cock, baby." he smiles through gritted teeth, pumping faster and faster trying his best to make this orgasm rip through you like a tidal wave.

after all, he needed to give you one good reason to keep coming back after all of this bullshit.

you feel that coil in your stomach pull tighter and tighter, until finally with one last thrust, you're coming undone all over sukuna's throbbing, spewing cock.

"oh god, that's it." he moans, spilling into you with hot, thick ropes of cum.

~

after things cool off, he’s on top of you staring down and examining like he’s trying to decide if he’s satisfied or still mad.

“you done proving a point?” you mutter softly, tired.

he exhales through his nose, rolling off you and onto his back. one arm comes up behind his head, the other falls over his stomach, “don’t start,” he says.

you shift onto your side to look at him but he won’t meet your eyes at first.

“so what,” you press, propping your chin on your palm. “that was your big revenge plan? fuck me insaneo style and expect our little arrangement to go back to normal.”

he shoots you a pretty annoyed look. “you think everything’s a joke.”

“well, most things are.”

he goes a little soft for a sec then more serious than he’s been all night, “i meant what i said.”

you don’t play dumb, you know which part. “about hating me?” you try, even though you know that's not it.

“about wanting you.”

hm.

he finally turns his head to look at you without the pent up rage and without the crazy ego.

“i don’t want to be some fucking side piece,” he says flatly. “i don’t want to be the guy you sneak around with when your boyfriend’s busy.”

you arch a brow. “you were fine with it before.”

“i wasn’t,” he corrects. “i just didn’t know better., i haven't done this shit before”

“and what,” you ask lightly, though your tone isn’t as sharp as before. “you’re suddenly boyfriend material?”

“if that’s what it takes, i'll try my best to be that for you.”

okay, maybe he was growing on you.

“i dropped the other girls,” he adds. “i meant that too.”

you hum softly. “and if i break up with higuruma?”

“then i’m all in,” he says immediately.

“you’re willing to put in the effort?”

“yes.”

“even when i’m being annoying?”

“you’re always annoying.”

you grin. “answer the question.”

he sighs. “yes. even then.”

you roll onto your back, staring up at the ceiling.

“i might break up with him,” you say casually, like you’re commenting on the weather. “if you’re really serious.”

he pushes up onto one elbow instantly. “don’t say shit like that unless you mean it.”

you glance over at him, amused. “i do.”

“then do it.”

"i will. gotta give it time, though."

he shakes his head, but there’s no malice anymore.

you sit up, dragging the sheet around yourself.

“besides,” you add with a sly smile, “it’d be kind of a waste to let sex like that go to waste.”

he stares contemplatively at you for a bit before a reluctant smirk itches at his mouth.

“that the only reason?”

you shrug. “it’s a strong selling point.”

"you're such a brat." he sighs.

"mhm, love you too."

"what!?"

from i hate you to i love you in two hours, he was in for a long ride.

He didn’t snap. It’s so much worse than that. At least in the eyes of the arrogant boy who got bested by, what he assumed to be a grade two curse because of how pudgy and stupid it looked. The thing that caught him lacking looked like a fucking blob fish that struggled with crippling anxiety, how the hell was he supposed to know that it could mess with timeof all things? 

One moment he’s laughing at the way it looks, the next he’s in the complete dark. 

That was the first time he’s smiled in months, by the way. 

“Huh?” Satoru huffs out, trying to look around before eventually realizing that he has a blindfold on, and rips it off in annoyance. “Don’t tell me that thing knocked me out,” he begins to grumble to himself. It’d explain why he had a blindfold on… but then he realized he was in a completely different outfit, one that you didn’t put on someone who was currently in rest and recovery. 

He highly doubts Shoko would even change him, anyway, at least not for this. 

“Oh hey, you’re home.” 

Home? 

He looks around, and all he knows is this isn’t the dorm he’s continued to stay in after graduation, purely due to the fact that he was already out on missions for up to 18 hours each day. Not to mention that the penthouse he was currently standing in was too clean to be his. Too warm. Way too comfortable.

You already knew there was something deeply off in those first few seconds of looking into his eyes. This wasn’t your husband— this was the hot mess you met and still fell in love with all those years ago. 

You tilt your head to the side, more curious than cautious, “Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” he snorts, literally the worst liar ever. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I don’t know,” you hum, holding eye contact long enough to leave him feeling a bit unsettled. “You tell me.”

First of all, who the fuck do you think you are speaking to him like that?

Second, who even are you?

Something big and shiny on your finger catches his attention, then he looks at his own hand that has an equally shiny band around his ring finger. 

Fuck.

“Honey–”

Satoru physically cringes at the pet name, giving himself away once again. 

“I’m not Satoru,” he blurts out, rubbing his eyes in frustration. “I mean, I am, but I’m not— FUCK– some fuckin’ curse blasted me into the future, and I need to go back.”

Well, that was quick. He’s always quick to fold under pressure when it comes to you— it’s something he’s unaware of though, as he fights back the urge to start pacing back and forth. 

There’s a light smack from your mouth when you go to open it, only for the words to never even come, let alone die out. Nothing about this surprises you. This is not the craziest thing that’s happened since you’ve met Satoru. 

Your lips thin into a smile as you take a deep breath, knowing you had no choice but to accept your new circumstances. 

“Okay.”

“Okay?” He raises a brow at how you just… accepted it.

“Yeah… I believe it.” You respond flatly, then point at him, casually motioning your finger up and down. “Your attitude kinda sucked when we first met.”

He grimaces, taken aback by the statement. “No, it doesn’t–”

“You also liked to argue, too.”

“Okay— whatever,” he waves a dismissive hand, not at all interested in hearing what else you had to say. At this point, it just sounded like you wanted to shit on him, something he actually doesn’t have any fucking time for right now. “You’re a sorcerer… right?” 

“No.” 

“Christ.” Satoru sighs, turning on his heel. “You’re fuckin’ useless—“

You scoff, more humored than offended. “Where are you going?” 

“To figure this shit out!” he snaps, throwing his arms out as he turns around to face you. 

“Okay,” you shrug, still way too calm for Satoru’s liking, as it pisses him off even more. “If you don’t get it all figured out tonight, you can always come back. We have a guest room.” 

“Yeah, thanks.” He huffs out a bitter laugh, as if that was the dumbest suggestion he’s ever heard. “I appreciate the offer.” 

– 

“Yaga” Satoru storms into the principal’s office, ignoring all his cursed stuffed animals, but noticing what he’s done with his hair. “What the fuck happened to you?”

The principal's brows pinch together, wishing he had locked the door to his office. Satoru fucked with him enough today by showing up to a meeting 20 minutes late with some sugary frap in his hand, and now he’s storming into his office, insulting him out of nowhere. 

“Actually, nevemind.” Satoru waves a hand to stop him from even answering his question, reminding himself not to get sidetracked right now. “Look, I need your help. I got sent into the future by some curse, and I need to get back.”

Yaga inhales sharply. “What are you even talking about?”

“Exactly what I just said! I’m from 2009! Not whatever age I am now—”

“31.”

Satoru throws up a little in his mouth. “Send me back.” 

Yaga lets out a long, disappointed sigh. It’s always something with Satoru. Always. Having to deal with the younger version of him was a painful reminder that he’s been dealing with his bullshit for well over a decade now. Nothing surprises him anymore.  

“Let me see if some other windows would be willing to help look through the library. I’m sure you’ll be able to find information on what kind of curse you got hit with.”

“Thank you,” Satoru groans, still not very pleased by everyone’s reactions thus far, but grateful that he can at least get somewhere with Yaga… unlike a certain somebody. 

Hours later, he finds himself at the school’s dusty, unkept library. It looks worse than it originally looked before he walked in. Books sprawled everywhere. Research papers were scattered all over the tables and floor. Assistants running around in every direction, more than half of them terrified at the total 180 in Satoru’s attitude. 

“W-we can’t find anything,” Ijichi says, too old to be acting this scared in Satoru’s opinion. 

He hums, elbows still resting on his knees, not bothering to sit up. “Hey, Ijichi?”

Ijichi gulped loudly, managing to annoy the world’s strongest sorcerer even more. “...Yes?” 

“How are you even more incompetent now than you were before?”

“I tried my best! I swear!”

“Well, it’s not good enough— I’m still here!” he snaps at the nervous wreck of a man. Thank fucking god Ijichi listened to him and just became a window. He sucks at it too, but at least it’s easier for this dumbass to avoid death. “God— what the fuck am I supposed to do now?!”

“This is just one of the libraries, there’s more! And some in Kyoto too, that we’ll have the Kyoto branch check out.”

“Do whatever you need to do. I’m just letting you know right now that if I'm not back by tomorrow, you better watch the fuck out.”

The threat is followed by complete dead silence, aside from a certain someone's breath catching in horror.

“Me?!” Ijichi squeaks out.

The sorcerer doesn’t bother answering that and instead walks away, grumbling something insulting under his breath, just in complete and utter disbelief over how Ijichi truly hasn’t changed. 

—

You figured your husband would eventually come back, so you set some food aside for him, and now you’re sitting at the dinner table, trying not to laugh at the pout on his face as he picks at his dinner with the chopsticks in his hand. 

“Is the food good?”

“Sure.”

“I can warm that up for you, if you want?” you ask, barely trying to hide your amusement. 

“No thanks,” he curtly responds before shoving another piece of karaage into his mouth. He’s known to have a sweet tooth, but chicken karaage’s probably his favorite food, savory wise. You almost want to tell him that he’s allowed to enjoy food even if his day hasn’t gone the way he had planned. “I’d appreciate it if you stopped staring.” 

Your lips twitch, threatening to break out into a fit of laughter. “Right, sorry.”

“Mommy…? Is Daddy home yet?” 

Oh great. As if the day couldn’t get any worse— now there’s a child.

“Yeah,” you respond in a tentative tone, shooting Satoru a look that screams ‘behave or else’, and even though you are currently a stranger to him, it intimidates him enough to behave for the time being. 

A little girl, no older than 4 years old, walks into the kitchen and Satoru’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head upon seeing his daughter. It’s pretty obvious she’s his with her baby blue eyes and stark white hair. Her facial features are entirely yours, though. It’s strange to see.

“Hey… kiddo—” he awkwardly says, not really sure how to address the little girl. You clear your throat, mouthing ‘princess’ when he looks at you, because your daughter also happens to have her dad’s attitude. “I mean princess.”

It’s hilarious how unnatural it sounds right now when he was the one who started calling her that the moment you two took her home from the hospital. 

“You pomis to wead bedtime stowie,” she starts to pout— same exact way he does.

“Did I?” He gives the girl a sympathetic look, albeit fake. 

“Yeah,” she frowns as she walks up to you, giving him the world’s nastiest side eye. “Liar.”

Why is that the one word she’s able to enunciate correctly? She didn’t even stutter.

“Yeah— I was a little busy with work today,” he murmurs, as if she knew what that even meant. With the glare she was giving him, he doubted she’d even care if he broke down what work and the importance of it was. “Maybe mommy can read to you tonight?”

Sai wasn’t having that. 

Satoru spent the end of his night reading her favorite book to her. Multiple times. He almost asked if it was some form of punishment for not upholding a promise he didn’t technically make himself, but decided against it in fear that she’d make him read it one more time. Sai fell asleep… eventually. Despite there being no way to prove it, he knows that the little girl forced herself to stay up out of pure spite. 

But still, he finds himself smiling as he thinks about his nightmare of a future, not wiping it off quickly enough when you lightly knock on the guest bedroom door.

“Here’s some jammys for the night.” You smile back as you walk up and hand him a pair of sweats and a white t-shirt, both neatly folded up. “Figured you wouldn’t want to sleep in your work clothes.”

“Oh uh— thanks.” He clears his throat and forces out a laugh, pushing through the embarrassment of getting caught smiling to himself. 

You’re giving him that look again. The one that’s mixed with amusement and a bit of fondness, where you look like you’re about to start making fun of him, but never do. Satoru would rather die than admit it makes him nervous. 

“What?” 

There’s a small pause as your smile grows. “Do you like your kid?”

“She’s weird.”

“Yeah, no— you wouldn’t believe who she got that from.”

“Fuck off.” A laugh easily slips through his lips this time, unable to stay serious at the thought of her inheriting even just a quarter of the traits he had as a child. Then it grows quiet again as he realizes she probably has the freedom to be a kid. 

He wants to ask, but you beat him to it with a statement that answered the question he had in mind. 

“Your duties as her father don’t end just because you managed to time travel by the way,” you say playfully, though he knows you’re being dead serious. 

He can only guess what other horrors that little girl will subject him to for the rest of his time here. To put it simply, she’s not afraid of Dad. 

For once, somebody doesn’t look at him as a god to fear. 

—

It’s been over a month. 

Ijichi and the rest of the windows are just as useless as they were when they first started trying to find answers. All that’s changed is that Nanami knows, and doesn’t seem to be too thrilled about the fact that he is now involved.

But still, the search for the fix to his predicament continues, turning every library and warehouse upside down. That’s all they could really do— aside from asking the elders for assistance of some sort. 

Over his dead body. 

Knowing they’d most likely do more harm than good, everyone’s agreed to keep this all a little secret from them.

So all that’s left to do, or rather forced to do, is to be patient. It’s hard. Satoru doesn’t do patient— he’s the type to snap his fingers and have a solution magically appear right before his eyes. You can only imagine how difficult it’s been for him to accept that he can’t immediately get what he wants right now.

Not to mention the fact that he had to continue working throughout all of this, but that wasn’t very surprising. 

Now, what was surprising was learning that he has his weekends completely to himself. If anything, he assumed he’d just work more as time went on, but no. Turns out he threatened to kill the higher-ups if they didn’t let him have that when you two got married. 

Satoru looks over your body once. 

Twice. 

He totally understands his future self. 

He looks again for a third time, and you just so conveniently turn around, showing off your cute, frilly little apron covered in flour streaks. 

It’s Sunday— you’ve been baking sweet treats all morning, and he wishes he had been a little nicer to you. Especially a couple of days ago when he snapped at you. 

You had found him sitting alone on the balcony, head in his hands from yet another day of failure. 

“Hey… any good news?”

“No,” he said impatiently. “If there was, I wouldn’t fucking be here right now.” 

“Fair enough.” Your voice took a dip as you looked at the ground, allowing yourself to feel a little hurt for a moment before trying to lift the mood again. “Well… me and Sai stopped by your favorite bakery and got you the cookies you like if you wanted some—“

“No— no,” Satoru cut you off. “I don’t want your fucking cookies. I don’t want to do a family movie night where all we watch is Ms. Rachel. I don’t want to read some book about a mouse trying to become a fucking painter over and over again. I don’t want ANY of it. I want to fucking go home— what part about that do you not get?”

You tried to stand as straight as possible despite your shoulders growing heavier, pushing against the small frown threatening to carve itself across your face. You forgot how mean he used to be, at least during that first year of dating him. It only stings more because the man you married would never raise his voice like that, and you remind yourself that this isn’t him.

After a long pause, he looked up at you and immediately felt guilt wash over him.

“I didn’t mean that,” he tried to meet your eyes as he began to backtrack. “I’m sorry, I just— fuck. I didn’t mean any of that—”

“It’s fine.” You forced yourself to look at him again and smile. “I’ll uh… give you some space.”

The one thing about Satoru is that he doesn’t apologize. Like ever. So, one could only imagine how painfully awkward it was later that night when he knocked on your bedroom door to say he was sorry. It didn’t help that you were in a paper-thin silk slip, skin glistening from the lotion you rubbed all over it— he spent half his time trying not to stare at your tits. Had you been anyone else, it wouldn’t have felt as genuine. 

But thank fuck he apologized, you probably would’ve spent all day ignoring him. 

You raise a brow, and his cheeks start to pink. “What are you staring at?” 

“Nothing, you just–” he awkwardly gestures at your entire body, “there’s flour all over you.” 

It almost sounds like he’s offended by it. He kind of is. You keep your foot on his fucking neck— he doesn’t even know why he came out here. 

“Oh, right— 'cause messes have always bothered you,” you lean over the island ever so slightly. The pink on his cheeks darkens as you do, unable to control his eyes from drifting down to your cleavage. And while he’s not exactly ashamed of looking— you are his wife after all— he can’t help but be a little flustered. 

He’s always had a thing for milfs.

Especially when said milf is talking about messes— he knows a couple of places he could make a mess on right now. 

“Nah,” he rests his elbows on the marble counter as a playful grin stretches across his face. “This is nothing compared to how I like it.”  

You tilt your head, a small laugh escaping you as you rest your chin over your palm, curious to see where this conversation will get you. 

“How do you like it?” you ask, as if you didn’t already know how filthy and depraved he could get when he’s alone in a room with you. 

And you fucking miss that. 

He opens his mouth to respond. 

Then you hear your daughter whimpering about waking up alone. It’s nothing new, and you revert back to mom mode as you watch her turn the corner and waddle towards you. 

Satoru, on the other hand, is not used to this. The slightly bruised laugh he lets out just barely masks his desire to fucking scream. What a fucking cockblock— no wonder you only have one kid. 

His kid completely ignores his existence as she wraps herself around your leg, continuing to whimper despite no actual tears streaming down her cheeks. “I had a nightmawh.”

Meanwhile, there’s Satoru, who has yet to wake up from his very own nightmare. He internally sighs, then attempts to grab her attention because it doesn’t feel very good watching her give it all to you. “You wanna share a muffin with daddy?”

It’s starting to sound more natural.

“Y-yeah,” she sniffles. 

Minutes later, she’s sitting on his lap, absolutely demolishing the blueberry muffin they ended up splitting— a complete 180. He couldn’t be mad, even if he tried. 

His little girl was a dream. 

—

Month two. Ijichi is still as useless as ever. He stopped complaining to you about him, though. You noticed he doesn’t talk about going back to his original timeline all that much anymore.

It’s not like Satoru’s given up hope, he’s just more present, as if he finally realized that wallowing in self-pity wasn’t going to send him back any faster. He’s unknowingly more like his future self— laid back, not a care in the world. 

He’s even sleeping in for once. It’s not that hard though when Sai’s gone for the day. She seemed to care more about getting the hell out of the house with her grandparents than greeting her father a good morning. You didn’t push her to, either— figuring Satoru needed the sleep. He always does. 

It’s too bad that his phone started blowing up at around 10:00 am. Unfortunately for you, he left his phone in the living room, leaving you to get up and grab it since the master bedroom was the closest room to it. With how thick the walls are, you doubt he’d even hear it.

With a long sigh, you rise from bed, rubbing the sleep off your eyes as you snatch the stupid phone off the coffee table. 

The snores coming from Satoru reach your ears before you even open the door. You have to hold back a laugh as you walk in and take a look at him. Face down, his long limbs sprawled over the bed, messy white hair sticking out in all directions. 

You reach out and place a gentle hand on his shoulder, surprised infinity is off. 

“Toru?” He stirs a bit, and you cautiously attempt to wake him up again. “Toru— someone’s been trying to call you for the past 10 minutes now.”

He lifts his head, eyes still sealed shut as he murmurs, “Who?” 

“Uhh,” you look at the screen, unsure of who it might be. “Your contact name for them is nerd.” 

You know it’s not Ijichi because his contact name is “courage 🐶” in his phone. Someone else must've annoyed Satoru for him to change yet another contact. 

Satoru shoves his head back into the pillow and groans before taking the phone off your hands.

It’s Nanami. He, of all people, should know now is not the time to be blowing up his phone right now because he is fucking sleeping. It’s a Saturday for fucks sake. 

Satoru sighs and accepts the call, grumbling into the phone. “What?”

Nanami cuts straight to the chase, as he would rather be doing anything else right now. 

“How long are you planning on hiding your secret from the higher-ups?” he asks in a clipped tone. 

Satoru rubs his eyes, too tired to return the same sense of urgency his friend seems to have at the moment. “Forever.”

“Don’t give me that.” A vein pops up on the side of the usually stoic man’s forehead. “They asked me about you this morning. They know something’s up. I can’t keep covering for you if it means my own safety’s on the line.”

“You really haven’t changed, have you?” It’s more of a statement than a question.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean—“

“You’ll be fine,” Satoru cuts him off. “They’re always up my ass anyway. I doubt they’re even suspicious. They just don’t know how to mind their own fuckin’ business. Seriously. You’re worrying over nothing right now.”

“I swear to god Gojo, if you—“

“Kay’ good night.” 

Click.

Nanami’s probably fuming right now, but he’ll get over it. Satoru wanted to enjoy this. Lying in a comfy bed, surrounded by nothing but peace and quiet. He closes his eyes and stretches a bit, then rests his hands behind his head. 

He would’ve forgotten that you were still sitting at the edge of the bed had you not lightly cleared your throat. One eye opens to look at you, then closes. The last thing he wants to do is share the reason why Nanami had been blowing up his phone all morning. 

“Just because you can’t see me doesn’t mean I’m not here.” You cross your arms. “What was that all about?” 

“Nothin’,” he easily says. “Just Nanami being Nanami— the guy’s a fuckin’ stickler for no reason.” 

“That’s a little rude, no?” you chastise him. 

“So is waking me up.” 

“Sai wakes you up all the time, though.”

“Sai’s a ball of sunshine,” he says, quickly coming to her defense. “Not a grown man with depression— where is she by the way?” 

“She’s spending the afternoon with my parents.” 

Both eyes open this time, and stay open. “Why didn’t you go with them?”

“No way,” you wave a hand. “I need a break, too.” 

“Yeah, no— I’m sure,” he agrees, feeling flustered all the sudden. 

And Satoru being Satoru, he doesn’t do a very good job of hiding it, once again forgetting that you can read him better than anyone else can.

You smile, scooching closer, “You good there?” 

“Yeah, m’fine,” he murmurs, trying not to shift around too much.

“I can take care of that, you know.” 

“What?” 

“That.” You look down at the boner he’s been trying to hide since finding out it’s just you two here.

“That’s not—“ His brain straight up short-circuits. “You don’t think that’s weird?” 

“No.” You continue to inch forward, getting closer to him. “Do you think it’s weird?”

“No— never,” he shakes his head, answering a little too fast. “Fuck— won’t future me get mad?” 

“Not at all. The most he’d probably do is make me show him what we did.” 

“Make you show him?” he repeats after you in disbelief. 

“Is that a problem?” 

“No, that’s— that’s fuckin’ hot.” 

Minutes later, you’re leaning forward with your hand wrapped around his base, and his breath catches as you start to slowly pump his cock. 

“Feel good?” 

His lids lower as he hums, “yeah— keep going.”

You lean forward, letting a string of spit fall from your lips to the tip of his cock, letting it mix with the precum that was already beading down from it. The wet sounds of you stroking him begin to grow, making the heat in between your legs start to pool.

“Can I sit on it?” You look up at him, batting your lashes as you innocently ask. 

“Please,” he blurts out, just about ready to start begging you to.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t just as eager as him after all the weeks spent pretending like you don’t notice the way he stares at you. Lustfully. The slip you’re wearing happens to be extra short today, so you forego stripping down and practically pounce on him. Your soaked panties grazing over his rock-hard length as you straddle him, letting yourself get comfortable while Satoru grows impatient. 

His hands find themselves planted on your hips and pull you down. A low groan escapes him as he grinds you against him. “God— fuck me. Please.”

“Well, since you’re being so sweet—”

You reach down, hooking a finger into the fabric of your panties, pulling them to the side. He’s already lining himself up with your entrance, teasing your hole as he runs his tip through your folds, collecting all the slick. His lips part as he watches in awe at how damn wet you are. 

His head tips back as you lower yourself, groaning and rambling to himself as if you weren’t there to hear it all. 

"Fuck. You’re so hot.” His words come out strained as he watches you start to take him inch by inch, slowly working yourself open. “So fuckin’ tight, too.” 

“Mmm— forgot how big you are.” Your voice is all soft and breathy from the fullness, nails slowly digging into his abs as you bottom out.

It takes a minute to adjust— it has been 3 months after all. But then you finally roll your hips, and Satoru almost starts singing praises at how good you are at that—  lifting your hips all the way up and throwing them back, taking all of him. 

"Fuck yeah– just like that," he breathes, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips. "Feels so fucking good."

You murmur back a measly, “kay,” already dizzy from the stretch. You’re able to keep up the pace on your own for a bit, until you feel his grip on you tighten and the sounds of skin slapping against his start to grow as he starts to help you out. 

You wouldn’t exactly call it help though, not when he ended up doing all the work— holding you steady while he practically bounces you on his cock, pulling more and more moans out of you as the head of his cock repeatedly kissed your sweet spot with almost no effort. 

"You take it so good," he groans, pupils blown wide as he starts to feel himself lose control, snapping his hips up a little harder than the last. He wants more, he always wants more— so he pulls you forward and pulls your straps down far enough for your tits to spill out. "Perfect fuckin’ tits. Been thinking about these for weeks."

You let out a surprised gasp as he pops a nipple in his mouth with no warning. You fully believe him with the way he starts sucking and swirling and flicking his tongue over your sensitive bud, all while snapping his hips up harder. 

He pulls back with a pop, looking up at you for approval. “Was that good?”

“Mhm.” There’s a fucked out expression on your face as you weakly nod. “Harder.”

“You want me to fuck you harder?”

“Yeah.” 

Something in him snaps. Eager to please you, he flips you over and folds you underneath him— grabbing the back of your knees and pinning them to your chest so he can drive his cock into you deeper. 

“Better?”

He drives his hips forward again, knocking the air out of your lungs. “God— yes.”

“I can’t— fuck— can’t believe you’re all mine, can’t believe I get to have you,” he starts to ramble as the sounds of him absolutely pounding into you fill the room. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect— all of you.” 

He crashes his lips into yours— the kiss is messy, powered by hunger. Satoru’s always been overwhelming, but it’s been years since it’s been this emotionally intense. He fucks you like he needs you, like he’s been waiting for you all his life. 

Your walls begin to squeeze and flutter around his cock, pulling another groan out of him. “You close?”

“Yeah,” you whine, feeling the pressure begin to coil. “Keep going.”

He’s close too, you can tell by how sloppy his thrusts have grown, no longer trying to control himself as he starts chasing after both of your releases. He shoves his face into the crook of your neck and fucks you faster, harder— balls slapping against your ass with each lewd wet squelch. 

Your orgasm hits you hard after one particularly rough thrust. Scratching at his back as a cry tears through you, and it only goes straight to his dick, not even realizing just how overstimulated you are from the way he drills into you. 

“Fuck.” It’s just one word that comes out of his mouth after realizing how hard he’s about to fucking cum. He bites into your shoulder as his balls start to tighten, squeezing his eyes shut as he braces himself. 

When it happens, it’s a lot. He shoves himself deep inside of you, unaware of all the weight he puts on you as hot spurts of cum begin to flood your walls. Slowly grinding against you, letting your tight pussy milk the rest of him. 

You’re wrecked by the end of it. You both are— lids tired and heavy, bodies sore and out of breath.

And in the end, you just let yourself fall asleep, unaware of the soft kiss pressed against your temple as he watched you.

—

It’s month three, and Satoru doesn’t want to go back. 

What was the point? It’s not like he had anyone or anything to go back to. Jujutsu Society never crumbled from him getting shot into the future. Would it really be that bad if he just never went back and continued on with his life from here?

He hasn’t uttered a word about it out loud, but the way he completely stopped asking Yaga and Ijichi for updates was telling of where he was at mentally.  

Acceptance. 

He likes his life here. 

You’ve come to your own conclusion after these last three months.

No wonder why he was so hot and cold when you were trying to get to know him. Satoru got a little taste of genuine comfort, only for it to be ripped away from him sometime before you two actually met. It explains all the times you wondered why he even tried with you, despite being too emotionally inept to even be in a relationship. He probably went through the beginning of your relationship thinking you could disappear at any second. 

With that being said, he can’t stay here. As much as you’d love to continue being the source of comfort for this version of Satoru, he needs to experience the last year he spent alone before meeting you. He needs to feel cautious around you. He needs to try and fail at opening up a handful of times before getting comfortable with the idea of truly being vulnerable with a person. Getting over that element of fear he had towards getting close to others is what made him a husband and father— he couldn’t just skip that part of his life. 

You have no idea how you’re going to tell him that, though. You’re not one to kick a sick puppy, especially one as cute as him. He’s so happy here with you and Sai that the thought of doing so makes your chest ache. 

He’s having a tea party with Sai right now, limbs way too long to sit in the little stool she pulled up for him to sit in. He drinks imaginary tea from the plastic pink cup she hands him, and your chest aches some more. You force yourself to look away before the tears start. 

You’d do the next 11 years all over again if you could.

“Hey, Honey?” Satoru calls out to you.

There’s a pause before you whip your head around— it’s been months since he’s called you that. There’s nothing but warmth and fondness in his eyes as his gaze meets yours. “Why is Nanami’s number saved under ‘nerd’ in my phone?”

He’s back.

“I don’t know,” you laugh, despite the tear falling down your cheek. “You tell me.”

—

Satoru didn’t want to believe it when everything around him went dark once again. It’s not until his feet touch the ground with a soft thud and he finds himself back in his messy, cold dorm when reality slapped him across the face.

Something between a sob and a gut-wrenching scream rips from his throat. Grabbing the round shades he had hoped he’d never have to fucking wear again, he rips them off his face and sends it crashing into the wall, breaking into a hundred little pieces. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t give himself a chance to even breathe or think before raising his hand and releasing a purple orb with just a flick of his fingers. 

Impulsive. Reckless. Deadly. 

Satoru was fucking devastated. 

Nobody knows what triggered him that night. All they knew was that the east wing of the school looked like it had been hit by an asteroid by the time he calmed down. He didn’t speak to anyone for a good two weeks following the incident. Everyone wants to think he was lucky the explosion didn’t have any casualties, but then they remembered who he was: Satoru fucking Gojo. 

God’s don’t get punished, nor do natural disasters— it’s hard to tell which one he was at this point. 

One Year Later

“If it’s that small of a curse, why are you sending me there?” Satoru continues to argue with one of the new managers over the phone. 

It wasn’t that small of a curse. It was a grade one. But still, given the sorcerer’s title as a special grade, he was overqualified for the job. 

“I’m sorry, we just don’t have anyone available to take on the case at the moment.” The young woman continues to apologize over the phone. “I think we might have a grade 3 available for the job. I- I can check—”

“Save it.” Satoru cuts her off. He wasn’t that heartless to push the case off to some 15 year old. That’s exactly how Haibara died. “Send me the address.” 

The mission was nothing short of an inconvenience for him. He liked a challenge when exorcising curses, and the damn thing didn’t even put up a fucking fight. He traveled 2 hours to get here just for that? Unbelievable. 

He wasn’t ready to leave and sit on a train for another 2 hours just yet, so he decided to walk around the town for a bit. 

It was a cute place, a little quiet. Kinda boring. That’s never a bad thing, though. Lots of mom and pop shops, a few coffee shops scattered around, one of which he decided to try. A little sugar’s always good, at least to him. 

The smell of vanilla and roasted coffee beans hit him as he walked into the place. There was a decent amount of customers inside. Not too much to feel crowded, but enough to stay busy. He keeps his eyes on the menu the entire time. The line moves fast, and he figures out what he wants just in time. 

“And what can I get started for you today?”

His eyes are still on the screen, reading the item off the menu.

“Can I get a white chocolate mocha frappuccino, with an extra pump of…” his words die out, and his eyes widen as he finally looks at the girl taking his order. “Hey.”

“Hi.” You laugh at the way this stranger loses his train of thought. “Extra pump of white chocolate syrup?”

“Yeah.” He exhales, unable to rip his eye off you as you write the words down on the plastic cup with a sharpie. 

“Name for the order?”

“Go– Satoru,” he corrects himself. “It’s Satoru.”

He’s a little awkward, but you still find him quite charming and smile. “Alright, Satoru. Your order should be ready in about 10 minutes.”

“Awesome. Thanks,” he nods rather pathetically, then goes to sit in an empty corner of the shop with only one thought in mind: 

He only has 10 minutes to come up with what to say to get your number.