008

❝ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔 ❞ credits to @/chrisssiren and @/cafekitsune for the dividers.

𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐓 3:00a.m. when you woke from the dream you'd been having. your hair clung to your forehead with sweat, your chest rising and falling in quick, uneven breaths. glancing down at yourself, you noticed your nipples stiff beneath the thin silk nightgown. the heat between your thighs was impossible to ignore, as was the dampness soaking your panties.

even so, you slipped a hand beneath the comforter and inside your underwear, your fingertips brushing against your own arousal. a quiet whimper escaped your lips at the sensation.

when you looked beside you, jason was sleeping peacefully, completely oblivious to your predicament. one arm rested above his head while the other hugged a pillow. his breathing was slow and steady, his face relaxed — no nightmares haunting him tonight.

it was such a sweet sight that guilt almost stopped you from waking him. almost. your need was simply too overwhelming, and you shoved the guilt to the back of your mind.

scooting closer, you admired your boyfriend from only inches away. he was breathtaking, with his sharp jawline, thick brows, and the slightly crooked nose that had been broken more times than either of you cared to count.

jason slept shirtless, and the sight of his broad chest, crisscrossed with familiar scars, never failed to make your pulse race. carefully, you rested a hand against his chest before leaning in to whisper against his ear "babe... are you awake?" you already knew the answer. you placed a soft kiss against his cheek "babe... i need you..."

you tried again, trailing gentle kisses down his neck while your hand lazily stroked his chest. jason let out a sleepy grunt and shifted beneath the blankets before slowly opening his eyes, searching for yours in the darkness.

within seconds, he was fully awake. he caught the hand resting on his chest and brought it to his lips, pressing a tender kiss against your knuckles "what is it, princess?" he asked, concern immediately filling his voice "did something happen?"

you simply nodded. taking his hand, you guided it beneath the blankets until it rested over your soaked panties. understanding dawned on his face instantly. a crooked smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he slipped your panties aside, his fingers gliding through your wetness, drawing a soft sigh from you.

he moved closer, gently easing you onto your back until he hovered above you. your legs parted on instinct, welcoming him between them, while your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him into a kiss.

jason kissed you slowly, savoring every second. his tongue explored your mouth at an unhurried pace while one of his large, calloused hands slid the strap of your nightgown from your shoulder, exposing your left breast.

the coolness of his palm against your heated skin sent a shiver through you. he cupped your breast, giving it a gentle squeeze before teasing your nipple between his fingers.

his lips left yours to find your neck, leaving behind a trail of wet kisses until he reached your breast. his tongue flicked across your nipple before his teeth grazed it, tugging just enough to pull another breathy sigh from your lips without hurting you. "so fucking beautiful," he murmured, his free hand already toying with your other breast.

your fingers buried themselves in his dark hair, stroking through the strands before giving them an affectionate tug. once he'd had his fill, jason continued kissing his way down your body at an unhurried pace until he reached your hips.

he slowly pushed your nightgown upward, his fingers hooked into the sides of your panties and pulled them down. the discarded fabric landed somewhere on the bedroom floor as jason settled between your thighs, gently urging your legs farther apart.

he paused for only a heartbeat before dragging his tongue from your perineum all the way to your clit. his lips wrapped around the sensitive bud as he sucked gently, alternating between slow, steady pressure and teasing circles of his tongue.

one hand remained firmly around your thigh, squeezing reassuringly, while the fingers of his other hand gathered your slick before slowly pushing two fingers inside you.

soft moans spilled from your lips. one of your hands toyed absentmindedly with your breast while the other threaded into jason's hair, urging him impossibly closer.

he glanced up at you, holding your gaze without wavering as he continued lavishing attention on your clit. his fingers curled inside you with practiced precision, moving at the exact rhythm he knew made your body melt, occasionally spreading apart in a gentle scissoring motion.

he never once looked away "look at me, princess..." he murmured, his voice muffled against your skin "i want to see your eyes when you come." he worshipped every inch of you, alternating between licking, sucking, and fingering you until your thoughts dissolved into nothing but him.

at one point, he changed his rhythm entirely. his thumb replaced his mouth over your clit while his tongue slipped lower, making your back arch from the sensation. all you could do was tug at his hair and cry out his name.

minutes later, that familiar knot began tightening deep inside your stomach. your breathing turned ragged, jason could feel your walls fluttering around his fingers. with a drawn-out moan of his name, you finally came, your body trembling as pleasure washed over you.

his hands tightened around your thighs, holding you steady through every wave. jason took his time afterward. he kissed and licked every inch of your swollen, sensitive cunt, refusing to waste a single drop. your body twitched from the overwhelming sensitivity, but you didn't care.

all you could do was stare down at him through heavy-lidded eyes, your breathing still uneven. "holy fuck, baby..." jason breathed as he finally sat back on his knees. his nose, lips, and chin glistened with your slick. a wicked grin spread across his face, every trace of sleep completely gone.

your gaze drifted downward. the outline of his hard cock strained against his sweatpants. his hand slid slowly down his abdomen, following the trail of hair disappearing beneath the waistband before slipping inside. a moment later, he freed himself. large, thick, curving ever so slightly upward. the flushed tip already glistened with precum, his heavy balls completing the intoxicating sight.

wrapping his hand around the base, he stroked himself a few slow times. your mouth watered immediately, already imagining him fucking your throat. throughout it all, his eyes never left your swollen, glistening cunt. still lazily pumping himself, he looked up at you and murmured in a low voice, "come here... come on." without hesitation, you spread your legs even wider, silently inviting him closer.

“Tommy, are you sure you can hear anything?” Martha chuckled softly. Reclined against the pillows, she brushed her damp palms against the silk of her ocean-blue nightgown. “I’m only twenty weeks.”

"Yes, dear," he murmured, a smile tugging at his lips. "Trust the doctor." 

For a moment, there was only silence. But then, he heard it.

A tiny rhythm echoed through the hollow cone-shaped instrument and went straight to his ears. His breath hitched at the sound, and the world narrowed to that single, miraculous cadence.

His eyes stung before he even realised he was crying. The anxiety that had plagued his mind extinguished into oblivion. Neurons fired electric storms all over his body, swelling his heart until it hurts to breathe.

Thump-bump. Thump-bump. Thump-bump.

Such heartening rhythm, such sacred feeling.

Gently, he set the fetoscope aside. His hand came to rest over the curve of her stomach, thumb brushing slow circles to greet their child. Then he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the spot where the heartbeat had whispered to him.

“It tickles!” Martha giggled, squirming away. Her laughter was breathless as his moustache brushed her skin. "Do you hear it, honey?"

Thomas gazed at the love of his life, who looked back at him with such adoration in her eyes. He drank in her features—the softness of her rosy cheeks, the way her curls spilled over the pillows, and the rise and fall of her breath beneath his touch.

How beautiful and extraordinary she was to carry their child.

Their flesh and blood.

Their pride and joy.

He swallowed, nodding as a smile broke through the emotion tightening his throat. "Yes, dear. I can hear it, loud and clear."

Martha's breath hitched at the sight of him in tears.

"Honey, are you okay?" She cupped his right cheek, wiping away his tears with her thumb. "Is our baby okay?"

"Yes, yes. He is." Thomas huffed a shaky laugh. He reached up to cover her hand with his own. "I'm just… overwhelmed, that's all. He sounded so real, so perfect.”

Martha pulled him into her arms, drawing him down beside her. She pressed affectionate, rose-warm kisses across his cheeks.

"You scared me, dear. You’re so dramatic for a doctor."

At that moment, everything was perfect.

Things were going well in Gotham General Hospital; Wayne Enterprises was in Lucius' capable hands; the Thomas Wayne Memorial Clinic operated smoothly under Leslie's care; their foundations were thriving; and their dream of having a child finally came true after years of trying.

What more could he ask for when his life was already perfect?

"Are you really going to name him Thomas Jr.?"

He glanced up at her, caught between amusement and curiosity. "You don't like it?"

"I think it's nice."

"But…?" he probed.

"I was thinking, maybe we can name him something else?" She smiled.

Thomas raised a brow, the corner of his lips lifting. "Any suggestions that are better than mine, honey?"

"I've been thinking. How about…" Martha pressed her glossed lips with a finger, deep in thought as she searched for the right sound. "… Bruce?"

"Bruce?" he echoed, slower this time. "Bruce, Bruce… Bruce Thomas Wayne?"

"Oh!" Martha gasped suddenly, both hands flying to her stomach. Her eyes widened, breath catching in delight. "I feel him moving! Tommy!"

Thomas put his fetoscope back on, pressing it to the usual spot. A soft, insistent tapping graced his ears once more, as if agreeing with their decision.

His smile broke open as emotion flooded back in a rush. He glanced at her, eyes silvered with unshed tears.

"His heartbeat was even stronger than before, honey. I think he loves that name."

“Then Bruce Thomas Wayne he shall be.”

"I promise you, Bruce. You'll be the happiest boy in this world." Thomas pressed his left ear on his wife's tummy, overjoyed with love. "I'll give you everything I have. I love you."

Martha’s hand came to rest over his obsidian locks, red manicured fingers wandering through it tenderly.

“I love you too, Bruce. We can’t wait to meet you.”

______________________________

“Honey?”

It was already half past three when Bruce returned from patrol.

He took a mandatory post-patrol shower before heading to the bedroom, where he opened the door to find you fast asleep.

Moonlight spilled across the bed in a pale wash, catching on the soft rise and fall of your breathing. One arm was draped loosely over a worn Batman plushie, meticulously sewn by Barbara for your birthday. On the floor lay Jason’s Robin plushie.

With a fond smile, he crossed the room and picked it up, thumb brushing over the frayed fabric. The soundbox within had dulled from overuse, but it still meant the world to you. He made sure not to press it as he set it beside you.

He was supposed to cuddle you in bed, but he had to get something out of his mind first.

The drawer slid open with a faint creak, revealing his father’s medical instruments—tympanic thermometer, glucose meter, blood pressure monitor, stethoscope, and fetoscope. The tubing had faded into a muted charcoal, the once-polished chest piece dulled by years of usage, its surface graven with fine scratches.

Of all of his father’s possessions, Bruce cherished his medical journals and stethoscopes the most.

He had found them years ago, tucked among stacks of case notes. But scattered between them were his father’s scribbled reflections on Martha’s pregnancy. Alfred had told him it was Thomas' way of anticipating his son’s arrival.

And among them, pages after pages detailing his mother’s special cravings, blood pressure levels, symptoms, rough nursery room sketches, and yellowed ultrasound prints.

At twenty weeks, Thomas first noted his heartbeat and underlined it twice with blue ink, pressing too hard and leaving an indent that persisted for several pages.

The weeks that followed, until the forty-first, were documented with increasing wonder, including the record of his heartbeat when he was born.

Bruce Thomas Wayne 02/19 - 1:37 AM, HR 105 bpm, regular, 2+

As a child, Bruce would drape his father’s stethoscope around his neck, the chest piece knocking lightly against his knees as he tried to imitate him. Thomas indulged his son’s naivete by showing him how to use it properly. He guided Bruce’s hands and adjusted the chest piece’s angle on his sternum, and Bruce had been fascinated.

But more than anything, he loved pressing it to his mother’s chest.

When sleep wouldn’t come, he curled into a fetal position against her and listened instead. He preferred it over her lullabies, eyes fluttering shut to the rhythm until it lulled him under within minutes.

Because it was the vigorous heartbeat of his mother, who loved him unconditionally.

He’d even brought the stethoscope to school once for show-and-tell, standing proudly at the front of the class as he demonstrated what his father had taught him. With all the earnestness a child could muster, he explained the five auscultation points, reciting the mnemonic APE To Man. He’d earned the nickname Dr. Wayne thereafter.

Of course, there were nights when life shattered beyond repair.

The first night after their funeral, Bruce tried again. He knelt between their headstones and pressed the diaphragm against the cold marble. The frail, traumatised boy pleaded for the stone to yield, to mercy his ears with the only thing he cherished the most.

But all he heard was the sound of a broken heart.

Thenceforward, he couldn’t bear to use it again. Not for a long, long time.

Until you entered the picture and granted his wish.

One night, he’d reach for his father’s stethoscope and settle beside you, gently pressing the diaphragm on your chest. The first time he heard it, it had undone him. His own pulse stuttered, then quickened in answer to match yours.

The exhaustion embedded deep into his muscles melted into a puddle. It transmitted into his brain, and the cardiac rhythm seared into the back of his skull. He became enamoured with the pulse echoed in his ear canals. Because it sounded just like his parents’ heartbeat—strong, consistent, and healthy.

A heart that solely beats for him.

The familiar rhythm beneath his fingertips satiated his hedonistic needs.

He would use the instrument on you, and did the same sporadically with the children, slipping into their rooms under the pretense of routine checkups, ensuring their health was in the tip-top shape.

But you knew it was his unique way of stimming after patrol.

Back to the present, you stirred when he adjusted you on your back, wiping away the escaping drool with a tissue. He cooed you back to slumber, caressing your right temple with his thumb. Once you were settled, he pressed the diaphragm on your chest.

Thump-bump. Thump-bump. Thump-bump.

Such heartening tempo, such marvellous feeling.

It was the equivalent of frolicking in your neorxnawang.

“Aortic…” he breathed, closing his eyes to savour it. Sliding east, he lowered his heart rate to match yours. “Pulmonic…” And south. “Erb’s point…” And south. “Tricuspid…” And below your left chest. “Mitral…”

Eighty-four bpm per minute, he mentally noted.

Bruce released a contented sigh, his chest filled with gratitude.

Your heort was pumping strongly. Blood flowed like red rivers, travelling to the rest of your body, carrying a piece of oxygen with each sweet breath. You were perfectly healthy.

After everything that had happened for the past ten years, it was the only consonant sound that calmed the noises inside his head.

Satisfied, he set the stethoscope on the nightstand before scooching to your side of the bed. He peeled back the duvet, revealing your lotioned, freshly pedicured feet. Gently, he took your right foot in his hand, lifting it to press a soft kiss to the bridge, kissing upward to your ankle and calf.

When he finally lowered your leg back onto the mattress, he drew you into his muscular arms, callous fingers tangled in your locks as he dotted affectionate kisses across your face.

Past the shadows of your dreams, you released your Batman plushie to hold the life-sized version. You pressed your right ear to his broad chest, his beating heart lulled you back to sleep.

Thump-bump. Thump-bump. Thump-bump.

He was finally home, safe and sound in your arms.

And just like that, life was perfect again.

dividers by me, please dont use

Inspired by the nights when my ex would lie on my chest and fall asleep listening to my heartbeat. and my not-so-subtle foot worship.

guys bruce is a pisces, of course he's submissive and likes feet. i dont make the rules ;P

“i’m gonna get her back.”

sato, suguru and toru all glance towards each other. they know what that voice means. there’s no talking him out of it.

but toru lowers his phone, tries regardless. “are you sure? y/n’s always been strong headed. she might hate you even more if—“

sukuna grabs his crotch aggressively. “keep talking and i’ll jizz on your face.”

toru squeaks. sukuna continues. “i know my own girl. know she’s a fucking brat, doing this shit to get on my nerves,” he growls. “she’s bored. testing me. probably doing this shit to see if i’ll show up at practice ‘n break his jaw for touching her.”

suguru is biting back a grin. “calling her your girl when she broke up with you last week? and the week before that?”

sukuna takes a swig of his beer but his jaw is ticking behind the can. “exactly. she knows where home is.”

sato’s grin is clumsy. “i dunno, man. seems like she’s got a new address,” he elbows suguru’s side. “naoya’s pants, wellesley street east.”

“M-4-Y, 1-H-5,” suguru snickers.

“glad you two have the energy to joke,” sukuna sets down his beer with a thud. “means you’ll have energy to help me out tomorrow night.

tomorrow? tomorrow can only mean one thing.

naoya zenin’s one million snap score party. and also, the party that the college football team throws every year before the start of a new season. the party that sukuna hasn’t been to since he quit the role of captain. the party where sukuna first found you drunk & dizzy in an alley just out back, perfume strong & heels clicky, stumbling into his chest with a clumsy grin & flushed cheeks as he held your hips against him to keep you from falling. you reeked of vodka & you kept slurring his name & ryomen sukuna thought you were the prettiest thing he’d ever seen.

and now his pretty thing is somewhere curled into naoya’s side, and the thought makes sukuna’s throat itch.

suguru cocks his head. “so i’m guessing you have a plan?”

sukuna chugs his beer. “you know the plan.”

they do—they all do. sato is already grinning. suguru is shaking his head. toru is watching the fratboys with worried eyes.

sato, suguru and sukuna’s lips curl.

the plan?

sabotage.

# SHOW TIME !

at naoya zenin’s one million snapscore party, the air is heavy with the smell of drunken bodies / athlete sweat / something alcoholic dripping off a countertop. geto’s piercings glimmer in the evening dim. ryomen sukuna has his jaw tight. and sato gojo is already drunk and somewhere dancing, legworking with ease as rema’s azaman blares through the speakers.

sukuna and suguru are still scanning the scene when naoya saunters up to them.

naoya zenin is badly dyed hair, bright green eyes and a cocky lilt to his shoulders. he’s got the team’s varsity jacket around him—GO PANDAS!—and a grin too cruel to be kind. he raises his hands in faux welcome.

“suguru, sukuna,” naoya smiles. “didn’t think you’d make it.”

sukuna eyes him. “congratulations on your snapscore.”

“and my new position as captain,” naoya bites so hard his teeth show. “how’s retirement treating you, ryomen? enjoying life off the pitch?”

suguru slings an arm around sukuna, quick to come to his defence. “he’s doing great, thank you. how about you, captain? have you found confidence in your buck teeth?”

naoya’s smile dissolves.

“nice engagement bait,” naoya recovers. he’s grinning again but his lips only stretch, teeth hidden. “you always did bite like a bitch, suguru.”

“i try.”

“enjoy the booze,” naoya lets out a jagged breath, turning away. “try not to cry in your cups too much.”

sukuna has his arms crossed over his chest, suguru’s arm still slung around him. but he’s not watching naoya walk away. his eyes have drifted to you.

you across the party and perched on a seat at the bar, a glass of something pink in your hands and a dress so short he can trace the swell of your ass. and you’re laughing—oh god, you’re laughing, tucking hair behind your ear with flushed cheeks and a carefree smile. sukuna’s mouth dries. god, you’re so pretty. you’re always so pretty, and sukuna wants to tell you that; wants to curl up beside you and wipe away the red dribbling down your chin and maybe tug your dress down over your ass. you’d swat at him and tell him he’s ruining your outfit. and then you’d kiss him because you like when he gets territorial anyways.

you laugh again, and ryomen sukuna is already moving.

that is, until naoya curls up behind you.

sukuna stops in his tracks. naoya snakes an arm around your waist from behind—your waist again, not your hips, fucking idiot—and sukuna’s jaw goes slack. he watches naoya press his parched, un-vaselined lips to your shoulder blades, and he doesn’t miss the slight tense of your shoulders before you ease into his chest.

sukuna’s jaw ticks. “suguru.”

“hm?”

“get sato. it’s time.”

suguru grins. “yes, boss.”

suguru disappears into the crowd. sukuna’s eyes shift back to you, back to naoya, back to the way his hands slide up your side and the way he whispers something in your ear. you laugh again and sukuna’s jaw twitches, because the sound itself comes out strained.

you’re uncomfortable. and he’d be a fool to miss it.

suguru reappears with sato in tow.

sato is drunk. swaying. red-bruised lips & booze in his breath. his cheeks are flushed pink & his hair sweat-sticky and he’s slung over suguru’s back like his life depends on it. he nuzzles into suguru’s neck. “mmh—you called?”

sukuna’s eyes are still on you. he nods towards the bar, “you see naoya?”

sato squints. “so ugly,”

“he’s got his hands on my girl.”

sato frowns. “that won’t do.”

“yeah,” sukuna murmurs, lifting a cup of punch off a passing tray. suguru is wiping rum off sato’s lip. sukuna passes the cup to sato. “you remember the plan?”

sato gives a drunken nod. and then he’s off.

the plan is simple: red punch, ugly naoya, combination. sato gojo is supposed to be a ninja, an image of stealth and diligence. instead he’s a wobbly drunken mess, giggling boyishly as he stumbles towards the bar.

he’s so close, sukuna’s eyes narrow. just a few more steps and then naoya will be drenched—

but sato trips. and as he falls, he pulls naoya’s pants down with him.

the situation is a whole mess.

punch everywhere. sticky on naoya’s shocked face, on sato’s fallen figure, on the party’s hardwood floor. and everyone is watching—staring—at naoya zenin covered in punch, pants on the floor. those boxers—is that undertale?

naoya’s face is blood drenched. “you drunken fucking idiot—”

“m’sorry,” sato cries, face down, hands still gripping naoya’s pants. “was tryna—hic—spill the punch, hnghh—suguru—“

“get the fuck off me!” naoya kicks at him, pants rippling around his ankles. someone is pulling out their phone to record. another is already recording. everyone’s laughing, including you, and even ryomen sukuna is struggling to bite back the chuckle on his lips.

naoya scrambles out of the party, shuffling out in his sans undertale boxers with his pants around his feet. suguru has already made his way to sato’s side.

sato’s eyes are teary, and his forehead is bruised red from naoya’s kick. suguru cups his face, brows knit. “hey man. you alright?”

sato groans. “i spilled the punch and the pants.”

“mhm,” geto snorts, smushing sato’s cheeks between his palms. “good job, buddy.”

“i did good?”

“so good,” geto smiles down at him. “come on, up you go.”

suguru helps sato up to his feet. sukuna is already moving.

towards you, you at the bar with your palm over your mouth to muffle your laugh as you watch naoya flee into the night. sukuna steps into your space. your eyes are still on the door before you slowly, slowly, turn your head around to him.

your pupils are blown. cheeks flushed and chest heaving from the alcohol, and your eyes focus for a minute before you grin.

“aww, look,” you beam. “if it isn’t my ex-boyfriend.”

sukuna shouldn’t take advantage.

he knows if you were sober, it’d be a different story. he knows you’d kick and hit at him, maybe snarl about his audacity to show his face around you. but you’re too many drinks too deep and as drunk and dizzy as the day he met you in that alleyway, so instead of kicking at him you lean forward to cup his cheeks.

sukuna tilts his head to kiss your palm. “Hi, baby. you’re drunk.”

“noo,” you slur. “i’m tipsy.”

“mhm,” sukuna grunts, stepping forward to slide his arms around your hips before you can lean off the chair. he tugs your dress down over your ass, then strokes your thigh. “third glass?”

“so close!” you squeeze his neck happily. “i’m on my sixth.”

sukuna hugs you back. but his face is scowling.

naoya zenin—that fucking idiot. sukuna knows your limit is four. he knows that any more than that and you’ll be sick for days, groggy and weak and unable to get out of bed. he squeezes your hips. “s’too much, sweetheart.”

“i know,” you pout into his neck. “i couldn’t resist.”

oh, his poor girl. sukuna kisses your hair. just once—just because he missed the warmth of your skin—but then he does it again and again and you giggle into his chest. fuck. he’s missed the sound bad.

“i’m sorry.”

sukuna’s heart stops. “what?”

“for going past my limit.”

sukuna can feel you pouting in his neck. he sighs, because of course that’s what you meant. not that you were sorry for leaving him or whatever his delusions had him hearing in that moment. after all, he should be the one apologizing anyway. right?

“you’re okay,” he hugs you closer, pressing your head into his chest. god, you’re gonna be so sick tomorrow; and the day after, and the day after. “i’m not mad, pretty. don’t apologize.”

you nod against him. “are you gonna take care of me?”

sukuna wishes drunk you didn’t talk so much.

because it hurts to have to say no, no but i want to, no but i would if i knew you wouldn’t hate me for it when you’re sober, so he doesn’t say it at all. instead he traces circles on your hips. “gimme your phone.”

you rest your chin on his chest and beam up at him drunkenly instead.

sukuna lets out a sigh, shifting just enough to reach for your purse without jerking you off his chest. he slips your phone into his palm and tries for the passcode. it unlocks in one go. the passcode is still his birthday, and sukuna sighs again.

“i’m gonna call shoko,” he murmurs into your ear. “she’ll take care of you, yeah?”

he could take care of you too, you know. if you’d let him. but you wouldn’t, so he bites his lip.

“shoko?” you coo into his neck. “i love shoko.”

“i know,” sukuna squeezes your thigh. “i know you do.”

TORU’S REMARK: I HAVE A BAD FEELING ABOUT THIS…

EX-BOYFRIEND TACTICS #2: GO BIG OR GO HOME !

taught by: geto suguru

“like the great oikawa tooru said, if you’re gonna hit it? hit it until it breaks.”

ΣΧ

ryomen sukuna is itch itch itching.

itching to know if you’re okay. itching to know if shoko—or, ugh, naoya—let you have those crackers you like to help you settle your stomach, kept your room slightly warm, and for christ’s sake, kept you away from the advil. you love to reach for them after a night of drinking. sukuna knows it only makes your headaches worse.

you haven’t posted on instagram in days.

not that he should know since you have him blocked. but luckily your account is public and sato’s allowed him to log in on his fake instagram hair page. SlayedBySato. hit them up on IG.

sukuna is lying on the couch, nose buried in a cushion. he watches your highlights with bleary eyes. in the one he’s viewing, you’re in a tight black dress, red and blue hues lighting up your face. you’re dancing the night away, cheeks flushed, lashes fluttering. his pretty party girl. god.

“look at my girl,” he mumbles into the pillow. “so fucking hot. i’ll slap the shit out of naoya zenin.”

geto laughs. “shouldn’t have let her get away, then.”

on the floor, sato has his head in suguru’s lap, pouting as geto presses an iced cloth to his forehead. he flinches. “sugu, how much longer?”

“shh,” geto hisses, even though the swelling went down ages ago.

sukuna rolls so his body lays upright, setting his phone down on his chest. “it’s not enough.” he glares at the ceiling. “that stunt with his boxers? did nothing but make a bunch of people laugh.”

suguru and sato look at each other. geto’s voice goes low.

“what are you saying?”

“i’m saying he’s a fraud and i want everyone to fucking know it.” sukuna sits up, tossing his phone unto the coffee table. “he’s still captain of the football team. but i have a video that could change that.”

“the season’s first game, naoya’s first official game as captain…” sato thinks. “are you saying you wanna pull something?”

“i’m thinking of playing it in the locker room TV. make the other boys lose respect for him.”

sato and suguru look at each other again.

“boring.” sato says.

“huh?”

“toru has access to the AV booth,” a slow grin curls its way onto suguru’s lips. “would be a fucking shame if he and i were to mess with the feed on game day.”

sato sits up from suguru’s lap. “locker room TV? boring as fuck, man. the sukuna i know? he’d play whatever video he has in front of the whole fucking stadium.”

sukuna looks at his frat brothers. at their wicked grins and stupid pride and willingness to follow him to the ends of the earth. it’s foolish, honestly. going to such lengths to destroy naoya zenin because he dared to look twice at his girl. but he’s a stupid man, and his frat brothers are even stupider, and this is what the sigma-chi brotherhood is really about.

sukuna’s lip twitches. “i fucking love you guys.”

“we know,” suguru says. “and don’t ever say that shit again.”

# GAME DAY !

LET’S GO PANDAS !

the chanting in the stadium sounds more like a roar.

the air is electric—buzzing, vibrating. cheerleaders on the sidelines with cheeks smeared in blue & red paint. there’s the scent of hot dogs & fried food grilling. a crowd in jerseys with flags in their hands. in the kaisen campus stadium, the midsummer air is thick with anticipation. it’s game day.

sukuna sucks the air into his lungs. he hasn’t been to the stadium in a minute.

sato has run off to get some hot dogs. suguru and toru should already be in the AV room. the pitch has no football players but marching band members instead, drums and trombones blaring music across the grass. sukuna should go over to his and sato’s seats. instead he’s on the stairs, staring down at you.

is it fair for you to look this happy with him away from you?

he shakes the thought away. he always wants you to be happy—he thinks. but happiness with naoya? naoya zenin? he’s not quite sure about that. actually, he is. sukuna knows he’s fucking furious. he knows he doesn’t like the fact that you have naoya’s number on your back, or the fact that you’re jumping and cheering his name when the players haven’t even walked out yet. his jaw ticks. something ugly curls in his throat. he swallows it away.

he stares a little longer. watches your skirt swish around your thighs, watches your arms wave in the air, watches your hips sway to the music. you’ve clearly recovered and your dancing is out of tune as always, and sukuna bites back a smile.

he’s still smiling when you look up at him.

his face falls.

your head lifts towards him, and he doesn’t miss the way your body tenses. your arms drop to your sides. your palms curl into fists.

uh oh.

you look away, pausing for a moment. and then you trudge between bodies and make your way over to what sukuna can only assume is the concession stand.

sukuna follows. he doesn’t give himself time to think any better of it.

——

caramel popcorn and half-burnt sugar. the concession stand smells like caramel popcorn and half-burnt sugar.

and vanilla, but not the syrupy sweet kind. it’s the kind that sukuna smells whenever he kisses that spot below your ear, or presses his lips to the dip of your waist. at the concession stand, sukuna stands behind you with his hands in his pockets, pretending he doesn’t see the frown on your face as you stand in line in front of him.

“go away.” you deadpan.

“i’m here to eat.”

“You will choke on your food and die.”

harsh.

sukuna’s used to it though. so when it’s your turn to get a donut, he slips out his wallet and drops some cash before you can even protest. the stand worker takes the excess money with a grin. you turn to sukuna with a frown.

“what are you doing?”

your tone is mean but ryomen sukuna can’t take you seriously. your hair has ribbons tangled throughout it. you look so fucking cute.

he looks you in the eyes. “let me check your temperature. feeling feverish? at all?”

you only eye him in response. “stop caring about me.”

“can’t,” he mutters. “let me check it.”

he pads closer, and you’re still glaring daggers at him, but you don’t bite his palm as it cups your face. he pats the back of his hand against your neck, then your forehead, then your chest—and then his palm’s on your cheek again.

“you had six drinks that night,” he murmurs, thumb stroking your cheek. “was so worried. don’t like when you go over your limit.”

“i’m fine,” your voice is sharp—or trying to be. “don’t touch me.”

he shifts his hand into his pocket. “okay.” he says. “i’m gonna get you back.”

that sets you off. “i’m done with you, asshole!” you stab your finger into his chest. “i’m serious—no more on and off bullshit. i’ve moved on. i’m with naoya, for fuck’s sake. you just can’t accept that cuz of your stupid little ego!”

you’re still stabbing his chest. sukuna only watches you patiently, letting you yell to your heart’s content.

“and i hate you!” you tug his collar just to shove him away again. “i’m moving on. i’m happy now. so don’t try to act like you’re still my boyfriend!”

“sorry,” he trails off. he’s still watching you poke him with half-lidded eyes.

“i like your ribbons,” he murmurs. “you look pretty.”

“ugh!”

you storm off, and sukuna bites his cheek as your ribbons swing behind you. his hand finds the spot where you hit his chest and he sighs.

ryomen sukuna needs to get you back. and the sooner he does? the better.

———-

sato gojo has five bomboclat hotdogs in his lap.

how humongous! and worst of all, he refuses to share them with sukuna, who left his own food at the concession stand while his mind fixated on your face. you looked so pretty yelling at him. fuck. has he gone mad?

he shakes the thought away. he has his phone in his hands, facetime call with suguru on screen. toru gojo is setting up a monitor in the background with shaky hands. suguru has his phone at a poor angle and he’s humming into its mic with glee.

sato hooks his mustard-sticky chin over sukuna’s shoulder. “yo, sugu.” he says to the call.

“yo,”

“i have five hotdogs,” sato says humbly. “i’m saving a quarter for you.”

“love your generosity.”

“thank you, brother.”

sukuna shoves sato’s face away, ignoring the pout on his face as he rubs his still-bruised forehead. “suguru. how’s the prep going?”

“we’re all good here,” suguru says, turning the call camera to face toru and the set-up. “toru, you’re on video. say hi.”

“uh—hi!”

“hey, twin!” sato’s chin is back on sukuna’s shoulder. he frowns. “i didn’t save you any hotdogs.”

“that’s okay,” toru pushes up his glasses. “i don’t like hotdogs much anyways.”

suguru laughs behind the camera. “aww. i’ll get you a hotdog, buddy.”

“guys, focus.” sukuna pinches his nose. “the footage. is it ready?”

“yup,” suguru pops the p. just waiting for your signal.”

down on the pitch, the teams are lively.

the stadium is roaring. confetti everywhere, cheers and screams from fangirls and fanboys alike. the campus team jogs out in high spirits. and naoya zenin is there, golden boy of the season, arms in the air and waving like he’s the best thing since sliced bread. sukuna tries not to roll his eyes.

it’s a new season, and this one begins with a speech.

and who else to deliver it but the new captain, naoya? he has his helmet in his arm, grin wide, eyes gleaming. he stands on the podium with a mic to his mouth, and then he clears his throat.

his voice bellows. “GO PANDAS!”

the crowd roars. “go pandas!” sato cheers along. sukuna smacks his head.

“it is my honor, as the new captain of the football team, to welcome you all to the new season. kaisen university has suffered many losses. but this year, under my lead, i swear to you all—victory!”

the crowd roars again. sato is smart enough to not get caught up in the high spirits this time.

naoya raises a hand to calm the crowd. “but first off, i want to say a thank you to our alumni, sponsors, team—“

suguru turns the phone camera to himself, grinning. “i think this is the time?”

“your thinking is correct.”

“hit it, toru.”

toru fumbles with the control panel. he plugs in a mic, and suguru brings his mouth to the head.

“hey naoya,”

suguru’s voice crackles through the stadium speakers. the crowd stills. the football team on the grass is frozen in confusion.

“the alumni, sponsors, team you’re talking about,” you can hear the smile in suguru’s voice. “is it these ones?”

toru hits a button.

the big screen flickers.

the static shifts to a video. it’s one of those out of focus, wobbly snapchat ones, captioned ‘this guy’ with a bunch of laughing emojis. someone says something in the background. naoya scoffs.

“alumni? sponsors? they’re all a bunch of old has-beens with heart conditions,” he spits. “lousy fuckers with too much money. yet they can’t even buy us a trophy. idiots.”

but the video doesn’t end there. naoya is talking while he changes out of his uniform, focused on the locker in front of him. “and this shitty team,“ he bites. “dumb fuckers who would need help to wipe their asses. can’t follow instructions for shit. i see why sukuna fucking left.”

the video ends. all that’s left is the grey replay button on the screen. suguru shifts back away from the mic, holding his phone to his face. “holy shit,” he says into the facetime call. “we fucking did that.”

“yeah,” sukuna says. “we did.”

but he’s distracted. naoya is arguing with someone on field but sukuna doesn’t care to see what that’s about. instead his eyes are on you down near the pitch, your hands gripping the stands. he can’t tell if you’re confused, distraught, happy, sad. it’s fucking killing him. he needs to see your face.

sato climbs unto his chair. he cups his hands around his mouth. “GET HIM OFF THE FIELD!”

sukuna’s eyes widen in alarm, but others are already joining in. OFF-THE-FIELD! OFF-THE-FIELD! GET NA-O-YA OFF-THE-FIELD!”

on the pitch, naoya’s face flushes in embarrassment. “you sorry sacks of shit! do you fucking know who i am?!”

they’ll never know, because he never has the chance to tell. security guards are escorting him away before he even knows it.

sukuna’s eyes flit down the bleachers. back down to you. he finds you hopping at your seat, ribbons swishing as you chant along with the crowd.

OFF-THE-FIELD! OFF-THE-FIELD!

sukuna’s lip twitches. get him off the field.

———

“OFF-THE-FIELD! OFF-THE-FIELD!”

the chanting of the stadium is still buzzing in sukuna’s ears.

toru gojo left early, body aching with anxiety and in dire need of a nap. sukuna’s decided it’s about time to leave too—college football games aren’t really his thing anymore.

suguru and sato are geeking out over the whole thing behind him as sukuna trudges forward with his hands in his pockets. he’s half-smiling. he still can’t believe the whole scene had you chanting along and hopping eagerly in your seat. so cute. your ribbons were bouncing everywhere. so fucking cute.

“this is all your fault!”

sukuna knows that voice anywhere.

sato and suguru know it too. the smiles quickly leave their faces, brows knitting in alarm. the three quietly speed up towards the corridor, and the scene has sukuna seeing red.

“you dumb fucking whore,” naoya has you cornered against the wall. “all this shit because of you and your crazy, batshit boyfriend. ‘deal’ my fucking asshole. you see how they embarrassed me? because of you?”

sukuna’s already moving. but geto pulls him back. “listen.”

“you can’t pin this on me,” you try to keep your voice steady, but sukuna knows how your voice gets when you’re about to snap. naoya’s face is too close to yours for his liking. “you’re the one who said all that stupid shit. take some fucking responsibility.”

“responsibility?” naoya’s teeth curl. his breath is hot against your lip. “deal my fucking ass. this was your plan all along wasn’t it, stupid bitch? date me and get closer to me so you can sabotage me along with your boyfriend—”

“naoya,” your voice is dangerous. “i’m warning you, get back.”

“or what?” he spits in your face. “you’ll call your big bad boyfriend to save you? run to him like some stupid little whore—?”

you slap naoya silly.

and for a moment, sukuna’s shoulders un-tense. he’s been holding his breath the entire time, fingers curled into the wall, suguru’s hand on his chest stopping him from charging forward. but fuck, he’s proud. that’s his fucking girl. fuck. why’d he have to go and lose you?

but he can’t relax for long.

“you fucking bitch!”

naoya shoves you against the wall and you thud against it. sukuna doesn’t have to pry geto’s hand away—they’re already charging in.

naoya’s eyes widen as soon as he sees the trio. suguru swings. sato punches. but naoya dodges both, shoulder bumping into them as he slips between the two. he should be stopped by sukuna—but sukuna charges straight to your side, tugging you to his chest, breath heaving. naoya zenin escapes.

suguru and sato’s eyes flit towards the exit. their breathing is sharp, ragged. their eyes drift back to you in alarm. fuck. you’re more important.

sukuna hugs you to his chest, tight. his hand presses your head under his chin. he wants to pretend you’re not fucking shaking in his arms, but god you are, god—you are.

“you’re okay, baby,” he lies. your hand is fisting his collar like you want to pull him closer—or maybe push him away. “you’re okay. i’ve got you, you’re okay.”

you squeeze his collar. “ryo,” your voice is small, “don’t go after him.”

“i won’t baby, swear to god i won’t.”

but that’s just another lie. he presses your head further into his chest, palm heavy on your head. and then he mouths to suguru and sato:

GO. FUCKING. KILL HIM.

they don’t need to be told twice.

“ryo,” you whisper in his chest. “where are they going?”

“they’re giving us privacy,” he lies, and you’ll hate him for it tomorrow but he’ll settle for holding you today. he kisses your head. “are you hurt? hit your head? look at me.”

he can feel your lips jut out in his chest. “i’m fine.”

“i told you to look at me.”

you grumble, but oblige regardless. and god, sukuna’s heart aches. you have your chin on his chest, lashes tear rimmed, cheeks flushed and lips jut out in a stubborn pout. your eyes are glistening with wet. sukuna’s jaw aches.

naoya zenin has got to go to hell.

and he’ll send him there personally. he kisses your forehead, “gorgeous.” and then his thumbs wipe your lashes. “i’m gonna check if you’re concussed. do you have a headache?”

“this is so stupid,” you grumble. “i’m not concussed. and you know it.”

sukuna ignores you, cups your face in his palms. “what day of the week is it?”

“monday.” you grumble.

“gonna say some numbers, say them back to me in reverse,” he strokes your cheek. “four-two-four-two-five-six-four.”

you say them back perfectly. sukuna kisses your forehead. “good job baby,” he murmurs. “smart girl. does anything hurt?”

“no.”

“don’t lie to me.”

you rest the side of your face on his chest, pausing for a moment. then you raise a hand to grip his bicep. “my head hurts. just a little.”

“anything else?”

“i was scared,” you mutter, small. “i was so scared, ryo.”

naoya zenin has got to go to hell.

it’s the second time sukuna thinks that, but he shakes the thought away. he squeezes your hips. tilts your chin so you’re looking up at his face. your lashes are wet & your lips are wobbly & ryomen sukuna thinks you are grace.

“shh,” his thumb rubs your bottom lip. “you’re safe. you’re always safe with me.”

“i know,” your voice croaks as you nod.

“fuck, baby,” he murmurs as he leans down to kiss your eyelids, nose, cheek, forehead. he presses his lips to the corner of your mouth. and then he finds your lips, tongue licking your mouth before he kisses you deep and slow.

“you’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs between your lips. “m’gonna kill naoya.”

“noo,” you whine, tugging his collar. “i told you not to do that.”

sukuna kisses his teeth, stepping back so he can hoist you up into his arms. his hands dip beneath your thighs to haul you up, and now you’re peering down at him through those sad, wet lashes. he kisses the pout off your lips. squeezes your thighs with his big hands. opens his mouth to say—

“i knocked that sucker out the park!”

sato and geto saunter back into the corridor, grins wicked, steps light. their knuckles are bloody and their jaws are bruised and their smiles are so bright they’re practically gleaming.

you turn to look at them. sukuna grabs the back of your head and pushes you into his shoulder. you pout into his neck as he keeps his palm heavy on your head.

sato is shadowboxing. “right hook—left hook—“ he punches the air. “clean hit to the jaw. taught the bloody wanker a good fucking lesson.” he fakes a british accent.

suguru nods, hands in his pockets & smile smug. “it was a good punch.”

“right?!”

sukuna’s lip tugs. he clicks his tongue as sato fakes punches at suguru, suguru dodging them with lazy laughter. sukuna clears his throat. sato and suguru perk up.

“take her to the nurse,” his voice is low. “make sure she doesn’t have a concussion.”

suguru steps forward and sukuna gently moves you into his arms. you frown up at suguru. “i’m not concussed.”

geto only chuckles, shifting your thigh over his arm to lift you better. “i don’t think so either. but your boyfriend runs a strict program, doesn’t he?”

“ex-boyfriend,” you bite. “and he’s not stricter than me.” “never,” suguru smiles. “you’re the strictest.”

sukuna scoffs behind you. sato just says he likes your ribbons.

he watches the boys leave with you. sato bouncing beside geto, you still arguing in suguru’s arms. but then he thinks about naoya. thinks about how he called his girl a whore, how he had the guts to shove you against a wall instead of just taking your slap like a fucking man. his jaw locks.

his feet are already moving. but then he remembers. don’t go after him.

he’s already broken that promise, already sent sato and suguru to beat him bloody. and he trusts his frat brothers, trusts they didn’t go easy on him. but his knuckles ache. he wants to beat naoya down so fucking badly.

but he knows if he sees naoya now, it will only end in death. and sukuna won’t be the one in the deathbed.

sukuna slams his fist into the wall. “fuck!”

SUGURU’S REMARK: CHILLL. WE CONTROLLED THAT

EX-BOYFRIEND TACTICS #3: ON THE OFFENSE !

taught by: toji zenin

‘want your girl back? then get fucking serious. stop playing her damn games and show her who’s the man.’

ΣΧ

“i have to kill naoya zenin.”

on toji zenin’s bedroom floor, ryomen sukuna’s jaw is tight. his hands dig into his thighs and suguru sits beside him with worried eyes. toji zenin is on the edge of his bed, running a brush through a jet black lace front wig. his son, five-and-a-half year old megumi zenin, sits beside him with a beach blond color 613 bone-straight wig on his head.

megumi tugs his father’s sleeve, voice flat.

“daddy, i have a buss down.”

toji doesn’t look up from his mannequin. “looks great, kiddo.”

toji zenin is twenty-four, stubble on his chin and single-ish student dad. single-ish because megumi’s mother left him when he turned twenty-one, but now he’s engaged to a pretty rich lady who sukuna still can’t believe forgave him for his lies. whatever—that’s a story for another day. even though toji’s girl is rich, he still insists on picking up odd jobs here and there to support him and meg rather than relying on her money. he’s currently working as a wig influencer for ISEEHAIR®.

on sukuna’s right, suguru has his hair in twin braids—courtesy of megumi zenin—and the same kind of ribbons you wore on game day—courtesy of SlayedBySato. he pats sukuna’s shoulder. “hey man, it’s okay. she’s okay.”

“you don’t fucking know that,” sukuna spits. “you don’t know it that bastard is still around her. i should’ve fucking killed him. slammed his skull into the wall back in the stadium.”

megumi blinks, gaze flat. he tugs his father’s sleeve. “daddy, is uncle kuna okay?”

“he’s in love,” toji answers, reaching for the hot comb. “makes you stupid.”

megumi nods, blond wisps of hair sticking to his cheek. then he stares at uncle sukuna for a bit longer before sliding his chubby body off the bed. “i’m gonna lay my edges.”

megumi zenin pads away.

suguru smiles after him. but then his smile dissolves, and he shifts his gaze back to sukuna. sukuna’s jaw is still tight, eyes glaring daggers at toji’s bedroom floor, and suguru elbows his side. “relax, man. brooding’s not gonna fix anything.”

“suguru’s right,” toji grumbles. “sato and suguru already beat him down. that didn’t make you feel better, did it?”

sukuna squints.

“you want your girl back? stop playing her damn games,” toji continues. “show her she can’t just keep playing around. you’ve embarrassed naoya, sabotaged him. all you’ve done is play along with her bratty lil’ antics.”

megumi’s voice comes from the other room. “daddy, can you help me lay my edges?”

“in a minute, kid.” toji doesn’t look up from the mannequin. “you want your girl? beat her at her own fucking game.”

sukuna grits his teeth. suguru slings an arm around him, braids swinging. “there’s a party for the football team tonight,” he says. “pretty sure y/n will be there again.”

sukuna swallows. thinks about it. and then the door swings open.

in comes sato gojo with megumi zenin in his arms. the five year old has wig edges laid, hair on fleek, and there is no doubt he’s been SlayedBySato.

sato’s grin is clumsy.

“did someone say party?”

# SHOW TIME !

at the party, the bass is so loud the speakers are moving.

not a lot—just a little—but the sound is so loud that sato is pouting as suguru helps him cover his ears. geto yells at some footballer to turn the music down. it takes them too long to comply.

sukuna is on a couch trying to ignore the babe curling herself into his side.

pamela? no—pairin. hair dyed mauve & flushed pink cheeks & a pretty nice rack—not that sukuna is looking. well he did look, he’s just a man and she’s got some pretty nice tits, but it’s okay. he still thinks yours are perkier.

pairin is trailing a hand up his thigh.

“ryo,” she coos. “it’s been forever. i’ve missed you.”

it has been forever. ryomen sukuna hasn’t slept with pairin, or any other girl for that matter, since he started dating you. yes you’ve broken up and gotten back together a hundred times, and technically when you’re broken up he’s a free man, but sukuna knows if he dared to touch another woman even when you’re not with him he’d never hear the end of it. so he’s always been patient. always waited.

which is why it’s not fucking fair for you to let naoya curl up behind you right now.

his eyes narrow. ryomen sukuna watches as naoya slips behind you at the bar, arm around your waist once again. fucking idiot. sukuna doesn’t even care about his arm on your waist instead of your hips anymore. once he gets his hands on naoya, he won’t even have an arm to begin with.

but sukuna doesn’t understand it.

he knows his girl. he knows you. he knows you bark more than you bite, he knows you’re bratty and stubborn and selfish and petty, and he knows men like naoya zenin are not your fucking type. he knows you would never put up with a man who would even yell at you—he found that out the hard way. so how could you let naoya touch you so casually after he dared to disrespect you?

are you really moving on?

he’s heard about it before. boundaries crumbling when people fall in love. is that what’s happening here? is naoya manipulating you? are you being pressured? can he kill him?

or do you actually—god forbid—like naoya?

sukuna scoffs. fucking hell if you do. he’ll kill naoya so you have no one to love. he’ll be damned if the man who steals your heart after him is one that doesn’t even know how to hold you right. naoya zenin will die today. ryomen sukuna will make sure of it.

“ryo,” pairin coos. when did her tits press against his chest?

she’s shifted so much that she’s practically on top of him, thigh digging into his hip. sukuna kisses his teeth. “don’t fucking call me that.”

pairin pouts, sliding a hand down his chest. “so mean. ever since you started dating that girl, you’ve become so mean to me.”

sukuna hears a laugh. it’s you, laughing at something the bartender says. another poor man who will be joining sukuna’s kill list. or maybe not, since you seem happy. you take a sip of your drink and frown when a drop lands on your chest. so cute.

pairin lifts a hand to shift his jaw back to her face. “you’re smiling.”

“yeah,” his voice is bored. “not at you.”

she frowns. “you used to be fun.”

“i used to be single.”

he still is right now, but not for long. never for long. he watches as you take another cup from the bartender. that’s drink number three. behind you naoya presses his face into your neck, and sukuna watches as you ease into him.

ryomen sukuna is blinded by rage.

he’s not quite thinking when he does it. he’s not quite thinking when he grabs pairin by the back of her neck, shoving her lips onto his. she squeaks, “mmph—!” as sukuna presses his lips against her. she tries to sneak her tongue past his lips. he keeps his mouth shut.

sukuna sees it.

he keeps his eyes open the whole time, and across the bar he watches your face lift. you’re laughing, you always are, but then your gaze drifts across the room to him.

the drink in your hand nearly drops.

you do that little thing where your chest heaves—anxious?—and your fingers curl tight around the cup in your hands. your brows furrow like you’re glaring but your lips are wobbly, oh god, they’re so wobbly—

he pushes pairin off his lap.

but it’s too late. you’re already off your chair, scrambling, and sukuna can’t see that well from this far but he knows your eyes are wet. he saw that tear slip down your cheek. he bolts for the exit but someone pulls him back by the shoulder—

“sukuna?” sato’s brows are knit. “what the fuck? what’s wrong man?”

sukuna’s chest is still heaving. his eyes are still on the door.

ryomen sukuna has lost the girl once again.

TOJI’S REMARK: NOT THAT KIND OF OFFENSE, IDIOT.

EX-BOYFRIEND TACTICS #4: SWALLOW YOUR PRIDE !

taught by: sato gojo

“girls like y/n? they like to keep things difficult. and your prefer it just like that, don’t you?”

ΣΧ

ryomen sukuna hasn’t left his room in days.

two weeks. it’s been two weeks since he kissed another girl and watched you leave with tears in your eyes. and sukuna’s disgusted. stomach against the mattress and head buried in a pillow. you’re pretty when you cry—you’re always pretty—but not so much when he’s the cause of your tears.

SlayedBySato is officially blocked by you on instagram. sato’s tried to come in to cheer sukuna up, but to no avail. sukuna won’t eat anything suguru cooks, or any food at all for that matter. megumi sometimes opens his door and stares at him with bored eyes before leaving. toru comes into his room to sit on the floor and read. he’s always shaky & anxious and glancing up at sukuna every five seconds when he does that, but he still comes in to offer his company anyways.

sukuna’s scrolling through his phone, eyes watching nothing in particular. he gets a notification. probably suguru offering him food. maybe just team snapchat. he ignores it. but then his phone chimes again.

[ mine🫀: OBLIGATIONS.docx ]

sukuna’s brows knit. you have him blocked. that can’t be you.

but he clicks the message anyways. and it is you, and the first thing that greets him is your profile picture. you’re smiling big into the camera, angle low & silly, and somehow you still manage to look bright and beautiful. sukuna swallows. scrolls down to your new messages.

mine🫀: i know what you did at that party was just to get my attention. mine🫀: since u wanna be pathetic i’ll give you more opportunity to do so mine🫀: OBLIGATIONS.docx

sukuna clicks the document. there are no greetings, no ‘to whom may be concerned’, no date or titles. just three things.

WRITE ME A LETTER OF APOLOGY. HANDWRITTEN.

CLEAR OUT EVERY ITEM IN MY SHOPPING CART. USERNAME: y/nthebaddest PASSWORD: d1cknballs11037

APOLOGIZE TO ME AND ADMIT TO YOUR PLANS OF SABOTAGE IN FRONT OF THE ENTIRE CAMPUS, JUST LIKE IN YOUR STUNT ON GAME DAY.

his phone chimes again.

mine🫀: you have one week. if you want me back you’ll complete everything on this list. if u dc just ignore it. mine🫀: bye sukuna.

sukuna stares at the list. studies every word. contemplates each task.

and then he laughs.

yeah. that’s his fucking girlfriend.

# SHOW TIME

sukuna trudges into the frathouse living room with his laptop under his arm. at the center table sato is already there, humming contentedly while playing a game of monopoly by himself. he perks up when he hears the sound of the door.

“well, well,” sato sings. “look who crawled out of my grandfather’s ass.”

“what does that even mean?”

“ignore him,” suguru hums. he steps out from the kitchen with a plate of steaming hot jollof rice in his hands. he scoops some with his spoon, blows on it, and offers a bite to sukuna. “here, try some.”

“mm,” sukuna murmurs, leaning down for a bite. it’s hot, chewy—but then sukuna frowns.

“there’s no maggi in this rice.”

geto’s face falls. “no more food for you.”

whatever. sukuna sits at the center table, setting up his laptop right over sato’s monopoly game. he ignores sato’s protests as he opens up your shopping cart. “she sent me a list.” he announces. “of stuff i have to do if i want her back.”

suguru slides in at the opposite side of the table, brows raised. “show us.”

WRITE ME A LETTER OF APOLOGY. HANDWRITTEN.

CLEAR OUT EVERY ITEM IN MY SHOPPING CART. USERNAME: y/nthebaddest PASSWORD: d1cknballs11037

APOLOGIZE TO ME AND ADMIT TO YOUR PLANS OF SABOTAGE IN FRONT OF THE ENTIRE CAMPUS, JUST LIKE IN YOUR STUNT ON GAME DAY.

sato blinks at the screen. “dick n’ balls,” he smiles wide. “i love your girlfriend.”

“tread lightly.”

suguru squints at the last item. “this is bad. she’s saying she wants you to confess in front of the whole school? like on game day?” his eyes lift to sukuna. “the dean might actually suspend you if we pull something. you know how much trouble i got in when they heard my voice on the speakers?”

“i had to pay him out of trouble,” sato shudders. “and it wasn’t cheap.”

sukuna frowns. if sato’s complaining? it definitely wasn’t cheap.

but sukuna only opens up your cart, taking in the items on screen. he’s not surprised when he scrolls through the items. lingerie from bordelle & agent provocateur, bags from dior and bottega vennetta, shoes, makeup—the high end kind—and then a bunch of sex toys, also unnecessarily overpriced. his lips tug when he notices a pair of lacy black panties. he already knows that’s for him.

or it could be for naoya to fuck you in, so his face falls.

sato slumps against sukuna’s shoulder. “wow. pricey stuff.”

“she likes nice things,” he mutters, double checking the items. he makes sure everything is in CAD and not USD, and then he checks out. nearly $5000 on clothing, accessories, lingerie. CIBC sends him a notification for possible fraud on his card immediately. he clicks no, this was me.

suguru whistles. “well, that’s that.” he leans back on his palms. “on to task number two?”

——

sukuna taps his pencil against the paper in front of him. “how do i spell exquisite.”

“e-s-q, u-z-t,” sato answers proudly. “all you have to do is sound out the vowels. i learned that trick back in freshman year.”

“there are no vowels in what you just spelled.”

suguru drags a palm over his face. he watches as sato strokes his chin, both he and sukuna staring at the half-empty letter with intense focus. he’s not sure whether to start with explaining to sato that this is not the spelling of exquisite, or if he should let sukuna know that ‘e’ and ‘u’ are indeed vowels.

he chooses to do neither. “sukuna, what do you need the word ‘exquisite’ for?”

“i need to tell her her ass is exquisite.”

“in her apology letter?”

“Yes.”

oh, okay. actually no—it’s not okay. suguru pinches his nose. “this is an apology letter. what does her ass have to do with this?!”

“she likes when i say nice things about her body,” sukuna mumbles, low. geto softens. that’s actually sweet.

“i’m gonna tell her i like her nipples.”

suguru snatches the letter from his hands.

he makes the mistake of letting his eyes drop to the poorly written text, and he’s reading it in his head before he can think any better of it: Hello, I am sorry. Your ass is esquizit. Come back to me. Nipples.

“jesus fucking christ,” suguru breathes.

sukuna scowls at him. “you didn’t let me finish the last sentence.”

sato hugs his knees. “i like this letter.”

suguru ignores them. he puts the letter aside, and tears out a new sheet of paper from the notepad on the table. “look, ryomen. i know you’re not good with words. and i know y/n it’s important to you. so we’re gonna help you.”

sato leans back on his palms. “yup, we are.”

“i meant i’m gonna help him,” suguru glares at sato. “tell me what’s on your mind. what you think. what you feel in your chest when you think about her. if she looked you in the eye and told you she was upset about all you’ve done, what would you say to her?”

sukuna scowls at nothing in particular, pondering. “i’d kiss her.”

“that’s what you would do,” suguru wags his pencil. “what would you say?”

sukuna thinks a bit harder. he thinks about how you look when you’re sad, how you don’t laugh, how your bottom lip juts out in that wobbly pout that makes his stomach hurt. he thinks about how you’d cuss at him before the tears fall, and then you’d grip his collar while spitting teary insults, before collapsing in his chest and letting him kiss your cheek till you quiet down. sukuna thinks very hard.

“i’d tell her i’m sorry,” he says. “and that i hate it when she cries.”

suguru nods. “go on,”

“i’d tell her i was scared,” he murmurs. “of her moving on. of her finding someone better.” he breathes. “i don’t want her to be with anyone that’s not me.”

suguru and sato stay silent.

“i don’t even care about naoya,” sukuna’s voice is tired. his palm slides over his face. “i just want her to be with me.”

“aww,” sato coos.

“shut up.”

but sukuna doesn’t shove sato away when he leans over to hug his head. sato pats sukuna’s face into his chest. “suguru,” sukuna mutters. “can you say that i miss her?”

“already did.”

suguru turns the paper around to reveal the words. sukuna squints to make out the words behind the pretty cursive.

dear y/n, i know i've said sorry a thousand times. i know it doesn't mean much coming from me. but i mean it. i'm sorry for the party. i'm sorry for kissing someone else. i'm sorry for making you cry. i hate it when you cry, hate when i make you sad. i hate it when you look at me like you don't trust me anymore. i was scared. scared you were moving on. scared you were finding someone better. i was scared i was losing you for good. i don't care about naoya. i don't care about other women. i don't care about any of it. i just want you. i want to earn you back. i want to earn your trust. i want to be the person you deserve. i love you. i've never loved anyone else like you. i don't want to love anyone else. please give me a chance to prove it. — sukuna

sukuna blinks at the letter. “i sound pathetic.”

“you are pathetic,” suguru sets it down. “for y/n at least.”

he is, isn’t he?

suguru taps his pencil against the table. “so, do you like it? or shall we draft a new one?”

sukuna thinks about it. sato is still patting his head.

“nah,” he says. “it’s perfect.”

SATO’S REMARK: OH WE’RE SO GETTING HER BACK

EX-BOYFRIEND TACTICS #5: HAVE YOU EVER APOLOGIZED WITH YOUR LIFE ON THE LINE ?!

taught by: nanami kento

“this is the stupidest plan i’ve ever heard.”

ΣΧ

the letter is done. the shopping cart is cleared. but the boys of sigma chi can’t rest just yet.

they do so anyway. suguru is sprawled lazily on the couch, legs spread and popcorn bucket in his hands. sato has his cheek on geto’s chest, curled up beside him. and even sukuna is leaning into the warmth, legs crossed on the floor and his head against suguru’s leg. the tv is playing something none of them truly care about.

suguru takes a bite of popcorn, teeth sticky. “how the fuck are we gonna pull off the last task?”

sato tosses a kernel into sukuna’s open mouth. “i have no idea.”

suguru pops another kernel between his lips, and then feeds a bite through sato’s open mouth on his chest. “before we even get to that—i’ve been thinking. what about that deal naoya mentioned? back in the stadium?”

sato and sukuna perk up.

sukuna’s jaw ticks again. he’s tried not to think about it. tried not to think about how naoya dared to raise his voice at you, how he dared to shove you back in his anger. he licks his canines. his chest is hot.

“i’ve been thinking about it too,” sato says. “ i have a theory.”

“uh oh.”

“don’t be mean,” sato pouts, and suguru pulls his cheek lovingly. he leans off suguru’s chest, palms still on his shoulders for balance. “my theory? y/n wants to make sukuna jealous. naoya wants him jealous too. boom. they work together and date.”

suguru nods. “but now, naoya thinks y/n is dating him so she and sukuna can work together to trash his reputation,” he muses. “and so he’s treating her badly.”

sukuna’s nails dig into his palms.

he knew you wanted him jealous—that’s obvious. but the thought of his stupid antics putting you in danger? with naoya? fuck. you’re a sharp girl. but you’re all bark and no bite. what the fuck is he supposed to do if naoya even thinks of disrespecting you again?

he speaks up. “back at the party. the one we went to after the game,” he bites his cheek. “i saw her with him again. that’s why i got mad. kissed that pamela bitch.”

“pairin.”

“i don’t give a fuck.” sukuna grumbles. “but that’s not what tripped me up. she was with naoya again—even after how he treated her.” his fingers dig into the couch. “she drags me by the ear when i raise my voice just slightly. why would she stay by naoya after all that? just to make me jealous?”

geto thinks out loud. “what if he has something on her?”

the boys go quiet.

for you to stay with someone like naoya, genuine or not? sukuna knows it must be something serious. he leans off the couch, turns to his boys.

“we need to start planning that final task.”

# SHOW TIME !

“kenny,” suguru begs. “please. we need your help.”

nanami pushes up his glasses. “immediately no.”

the theatre hall is humongous.

thousands of students fitted into velvet seats. there’s some ceremony today—what it’s about, sukuna doesn’t know—but he knows it’s the only opportunity he has to fulfill your last task. the next gameday is a week away, past the one week timeframe you specified.

sukuna also knows you’re in the crowd. he’d seen you sitting close to the front. right next to naoya.

god, you looked gorgeous. low cut top that exposes your plush breasts because you have no sense of time and place. skirt short as always, bunched up around your thighs, and lashes fluttering. bored. you looked hopelessly bored and beautiful next to naoya, and it wasn’t till shoko slipped into the seat beside you that your glossy lips smiled again. fuck. sukuna hopes he’ll get to speak to you soon.

but right now, he and the boys are trying to convince nanami to let him show up on stage in place of presenting his speech.

they’re all backstage. sigma chi treasurer nanami kento is sat at a makeshift desk, tie pin straight, expression flat as usual. “i will not allow you to take over my speech in the name of love and sacrifice. this is the stupidest plan i’ve ever heard.”

“nanaken, you’re not listening,” sato shakes his shoulders. “this is a matter of life and death—our last chance to help sukuna get his girl back.” sato pleads. “if we don’t succeed, he’ll be depressed!”

“i won’t be depressed.”

“he’ll be depressed!”

nanami only pinches his nose.

“look,” suguru starts, leaning over the table with his palms. “let’s make a deal. you let us crash your speech? sato buys you all the BL manhwa you want.”

nanami perks up. “BL?”

sato frowns. “sato?”

“exactly,” suguru says. “i know you’re tired of reading semantic error on a screen. we’ll get you all the physical copies—and whatever other BL you have on your reading list. all you have to do is let us crash your set.”

nanami thinks about it. thinks about how nice it’d be to see jang jaeyoung on a page, how he’d be able to have the story right there between his fingertips. he thinks about it. ponders hard.

and then he nods. “you’ve got yourselves a deal.”

——

each speech passes by way too fast.

well honestly, not fast enough. the audience is snoozing. they forget to clap after some speeches, and in the crowd sukuna can see you watching, bored. you have your head against shoko’s shoulder, phone in your hands. a man in a suit walks up to the stage to remind the audience of ‘etiquette’ and ‘keeping their phones away’. you roll your eyes and take a selfie with shoko, lips puckered out.

god, he misses you.

he closes the backstage curtains. suguru is waving his speech around. “you’re up next, man. you ready?”

sukuna swallows. why the fuck does he feel anxious? sukuna doesn’t do anxious. angry? horny? yes. but anxious?

he swipes the speech from suguru’s hands. “yeah. m’ready.”

———

sukuna is not ready.

but he’s not anxious either, so that’s a win. his body’s vibrating with something he can’t quite name. the audience is clapping away as the current presenter leaves.

suguru claps his back. “go.”

and go he does. he rips the velvet curtains apart and trudges his way to the podium. his hands are in his pockets and his gaze is bored and through the corner of his eyes all he can see is you you you.

you, with your brows furrowed and lips in a pout he wants to kiss off. you stare after him with big eyes, before your eyes go even bigger. he watches you facepalm.

that shouldn’t make him laugh. he sets his speech on the podium.

in the audience, shoko is nudging your shoulder. “girl. isn’t that your man?”

naoya turns to frown at her. “excuse me?”

you and shoko ignore him. “i have no idea what he’s up to.” you lie.

on the podium sukuna clears his throat. the TVs overhead are zoomed in on his face. his hair is golden-red under the lights, and sweat glistens on his skin, and sukuna takes in a deep breath.

“my name is ryomen sukuna, and i’m the previous captain of the pandas football team.”

some people whistle and cheer. others watch in silent confusion. naoya is gritting his teeth beside you and shoko is squeezing your thigh.

“i’m here to make a confession in light of recent events within our campus community,” sukuna murmurs into the mic. god, fuck geto suguru and his pretty cursive. sukuna can’t read shit.

“at the first game of the season,” sukuna clears his throat. “there was a video broadcast that interrupted the flow of the ceremony. i profusely apologize for that,” he says. “i was the one responsible.”

gasps fill the arena.

“it’s unsportsmanlike, i know.” he adjusts the mic. “whether the contents of the video are honest or not, to broadcast them during the ceremony was uncalled for and inappropriate. i had no good or honest intentions behind it.” he grits his teeth, eyes leaving the script.

“i wanted to embarrass naoya.”

the crowd is silent, and sukuna finds your eyes.

you’re looking right at him with an expresssion he can’t make out. beside you naoya is there, arm around your seat, and anger seeps into his chest. naoya has a black eye—he’ll have to thank suguru and sato for that. he’ll also have to give him a matching one on his left eye.

he continues his speech.

“naoya zenin, captain of the pandas, stole my girlfriend.” he spits into the mic. “so i chose to embarrass him publicly. that’s it. that’s my reason.”

the audience is muttering, talking amongst themselves. some people have their phone’s up, recording. some are enraged. some girls are swooning.

“y/n l/n—fuck,” he spits into the mic, gaze bleary. he’s gripping the podium with both arms now, head down and away from the cameras. “evil fucking girl,” he murmurs.

“you don’t want him, baby,” he breathes against the mic.

“come back to me.”

the theatre is silent.

and then it roars

single ladies. girlfriends. boyfriends. members of the football team who miss life under sukuna’s reign. they’re all cheering for him, loud and unrestrained. clapping as sukuna grips the podium with his eyes on the hardwood. the headlights flash on his face and he squints to look past them, eyes lifting towards the audience.

you’re not at your seat.

why?

did you miss the end of the speech? sukuna blames himself. he didn’t even have the guts to look up at you as he breathed out the last line, and now he’ll never know if you heard the very words he’s been wanting to say. sukuna almost laughs. his eyes are hot but he almost laughs.

the audience is still roaring. sukuna rips his speech off the podium and walks off the stage.

NANAMI’S REMARK: SO ALL THAT FOR WHAT?

BOYFRIEND TACTICS #1: NEVER LOSE ME.

taught by: y/n l/n

“never had a bitch like me in your life”

❤︎⁠

when sukuna trudges through the curtains, sato and suguru are already there.

faces flushed, chests heaving. “holy fucking shit—“ suguru pulls sukuna’s head into his arms. “you fucking did that.”

he did. so why does he feel so damn empty?

sato is practically bouncing, worming his way into the hug. “you did that!” he cheers. “did you see y/n’s face? was she cheering too—?”

“she left.”

sato and suguru freeze.

suguru pulls away first. sukuna’s face is dull, downcast—and his eyes are dark and soulless. “oh no—” suguru mutters. he holds sukuna’s face. “did you see when she left?”

“no,” he murmurs. no, he didn’t.

“fuck,” sato curses. “fucking hell, man—isn’t this low? even for her?”

suguru pulls sukuna’s head back under his chin. sukuna doesn’t resist or protest. just stares at the wood floor with empty eyes. but then a voice calls his name.

“ryomen sukuna. are you brooding?”

if god liked him, it would’ve been you. standing there in your short skirt and skimpy top and a teasing smile on your lips. mocking his misery. grinning up at him.

but instead it’s shoko ieri, brown hair under a bucket hat.

under normal circumstances, he’d be happy to see her. sukuna likes most of your friends. they’re all pretty party girls like you, a bunch of twenty-something year olds who think life is about bourbon glasses and friday mornings passed out in the backseat of someone’s car. they’re wild but they’re all nice girls, and they’re good to you so that’s fucking that.

but he doesn’t want to see your friends. sukuna wants to see you.

suguru brushes sukuna’s hair back. “shoko. to what do we owe the pleasure?”

“relax, geto. i’m not here to cause trouble,” she hums, leaning against a beam. “just here to pass across a message.”

she muses. “backstage dressing room. one-hundred two, not hundred and one,” shoko recites. “i have to leave now, but don’t be late. and sukuna,” she pauses to look at him. “no backup. just you.”

she turns away with a lilt in her steps, and the boys of sigma chi are left staring at each other in confusion. the message is clear though, and sukuna wipes his face.

room 112. got it.

# SHOW TIME !

ryomen sukuna comes in alone.

the door to room 112 pushes open with a creaak. the dressing room is racks and racks of clothing, some on the floor, some strewn across tables, and mirrors upon mirrors. the vanities still have their lights glowing orange. the room smells like rust and girl.

sukuna finds you in front of a mirror.

you’re checking yourself out, neon pink feather boa around your shoulders. on your head is a comically large sun hat, and there’s a bright green belt flung around your waist. you don’t look up when he walks in. just shift your hips in the mirror, skirt swishing around your thighs.

“you like my outfit?” you hum, still facing the mirror.

you look silly. if he was in a better mood, he’d probably smile. but instead he trudges forward and leans back against the table behind you. “yeah. looks cute.”

“hmm,” you fit your hands over your hips. “i still feel like it’s missing something.”

sukuna stays quiet.

you walk over to a bunch of boxes, pulling out all sorts of costume pieces. your tone is sing-song. “i heard your little speech.”

sukuna plays with the bracelet on his wrist. it’s not a bracelet. it’s one of your bra straps, actually, and he’d forgotten he put it on before the speech. it’s suddenly itchy against his wrist. “you liked it?”

“i thought it was cute,” you hum, inspecting a tie. you walk over to him, and sukuna spreads his legs a bit so you can slip between his thighs. you hold the tie up to him. “can you help me?”

he takes the tie from your hands. fits it over your neck quietly. he’s folding the ribbon around your neck, pretending he can’t feel your breath on his lips.

he murmurs, “i don’t understand what you’re doing, baby.”

his palm leaves your tie to cup your cheek. your gloss smudges against his palm. “what do you mean? i’m getting dressed up.”

his thumb strokes your cheek. “please don’t play dumb.”

you snuggle into his palm, humming contentedly. sukuna’s thumb still strokes your cheek. his other hand has come up squeeze your hip, then snake around it, then pull you closer into him.

“i’m sorry,” he breathes against your lips.

“for what?”

“for kissing another girl,” he murmurs. “for even looking at her. for being difficult. always giving you a reason to turn around and leave, then begging you to come back.” he cups your face.

“i love you. i’ve never loved any girl the way i love you.”

you trail a palm down his chest. “come back to me,” you repeat his speech.

“come back,” he murmurs, hands sliding up your spine. “come back to me, baby.”

you giggle as he leans closer to steal your lips. ryomen sukuna tastes like strawberry and spearmint.

Y/N’S REMARK: GUESS WHO’S BACK <3

COUPLE TACTICS #1 : DICKMEDOWN—WHO SAID THAT?!

taught by: ryomen sukuna’s cock

“there is no quote. i am a cock.”

❤︎⁠

in ryomen sukuna’s bedroom, he has his back against the headboard and his girlfriend in his lap.

you’re half naked. clad in nothing but a lacy bra and matching black panties, giggling as you pose into his macbook camera. you lift another bra up to check it against your chest. ryomen sukuna squeezes your thigh.

“you like this one?” he murmurs behind you, reaching his hand up to grope your breast. “wasn’t in the cart. added it myself.”

“it’s so pretty,” you coo, lashes fluttering. “thank you, ryo.”

“you’re welcome, princess.”

it’s just two days after the whole speech at the theatre. ryomen sukuna watches you with bleary eyes. he leans back against the headboard, watching as you shrug off your bra to try another one he bought. he reaches up to graze his thumb over your pebbled nipple and you giggle, before sliding backwards to lean back against his chest. he squeezes your tits in his palms before kissing your cheek.

“love this set,” he murmurs against your ear. he’s twisting your nipple in one hand & the other is already sliding down over your belly, down to your lacy black panties. “so pretty on you.”

“mmh,” your thighs squeeze as his hand slips below the fabric, finding your wet, aching clit. he rubs the pad of his thumb over it in circles. kisses your cheek again when you whine.

“missed you,” he murmurs. “so bad, pretty.”

“mhm,” you breathe. you want to bite back with something sassy but ryomen sukuna is kneading your breast while his thumb fingers your clit. he slips in another finger and rolls the bud between them. your thighs squeeze around him.

“ryo,” you purr. “you’re gonna get them dirty.”

“i know,” he shushes you. “just wanna feel you.”

and feel you he does. he pushes your body up on his chest and latches his hot mouth around your nipple. “mmh—,” he groans, tongue swirling around the pebbled peak. “fuck, missed this.”

his fingers rub harder against your clit. faster, faster, until your hips arch of the bed and your thighs shake around him. he can already see slick coating your inner thighs, and your moans in his ear only make him rub harder. “fuck,” he curses. fuck fuck fuck.

your lashes go sticky with tears. your clit is wet and throbbing around his fingers. your thighs shake as you reach your high, and sukuna has to shove his lips to yours to quiet your moans. he licks his tongue into your mouth, hot and wet and sloppy, palm settling to gently rub your clit through your high.

you gasp, pulling away. your lashes are sticky & your cheeks flushed hot. “i missed you.”

he kisses you again, soft. “missed you too.”

he slips your panties off your thighs, holding your naked body against him. “missed this pussy too,” he rasps. “gonna stuff you till you’re cumming on my cock.”

you squirm against him, swatting his chest as he unzips his trousers. “but i just came!”

“you’ll come again, pretty.”

he fumbles with the zipper, slipping out his heavy, hard cock. his cockhead is throbbing and sticky with precum, and he shifts you forward so your back is against his chest.

“go slow,” you whimper, already nervous.

he kisses your shoulder. “you don’t want that.”

and you don’t. you arch into him as he slips his cock into your puffy, slick-coated folds from behind. he smears precum and slick over them with his cockhead, kissing your shoulder as you shiver against him. “relax, you’re okay. you still on the pill, baby?”

you nod shyly. he kisses your neck.

sukuna’s cock is thick. heavy and swollen and pulsing between your slobbering foods. he pushes his hips into you, letting your pussy squelch around him, and his arm fits under your body so he can grope your perky breasts. he tugs on a nipple before rolling it between his fingers. fuck.

you whimper as his cock stretches you out, sliding deeper and deeper into your folds. “fuck,” he breathes against your ear. “you’re so fucking hot. so tight. so wet.”

you whimper as his fingers find your clit again. he circles it hard, hips bucking to push his cock deeper into you before sliding back out, palms still fondling your breasts. it’s too much, it’s too fucking much, and he can hardly blame you for whining against him. “ryo—”

“shh—you’re good, you’re doing so good,” he rasps as you clench around his cock. “so fucking good. you know how good you feel around my cock, baby? m’so fucking lucky—.”

he’s shushing you but his hips only buck faster and faster. your eyes squeeze shut as he breathes. “fuck, gonna cum—“

your walls quiver around him as you come together, white hot cum stuffed between your folds. you groan, ragged, as sukuna pants into your neck. he kisses your shoulder before resting his head against your neck.

“i love you,” he rasps.

“i love you too.”

you stay like that for a moment, holding each other before he kisses your shoulder. “let’s get you cleaned up.”

——

“you have a lot of explaining to do.”

sukuna comes back with new shorts hanging low on his v-line. he has a warm cloth in his hands, and he climbs over your sore body. even now you’re still smiling up at him, lashes fluttering, cheeks flushed. “whatever do you mean?”

“don’t play dumb,” he kisses your cheek before gently nudging your thighs open. he slides the cloth down your inner thigh, ignoring the way you reach up to thread your fingers through his hair. “you have to explain. why you went to naoya.”

“but what if i don’t want to?”

“you will,” he says. he slides your panties up your thighs, pressing a kiss to your clit before slipping them all the way up.

but then he changes his mind. slips your panties down again.

“ryomen.” you’re already sitting up.

“relax,” he mutters against your puffy cunt. “lean back for me.”

you sigh, doing as he says. he licks a stripe up your glistening folds. he can taste himself on your stuffed cunt but his tongue keeps moving regardless. he pulls back, lips glistening with slick.

“you’re gonna tell me exactly what your fucking plan was,” he sucks on your bud, letting go with a pop. “why i saw you again with naoya after he dared to fucking talk to you like that.”

“so strict,” you whimper, cheeks puffed as your hips arch into him. “i can date anyone i want.”

“no,” sukuna hisses. “you can only date me.”

“mmh—” you moan as his tongue slobbers over your glossy folds. you run your fingers through his hair as your pussy drools onto his tongue. “mmh—wanted to make you mad,”

“you did good,” he sticks a finger into your cunt and you gasp, loud. he’s knuckles deep now, pumping his finger in and out of you. “hah—wanted you jealous,” you moan. “we were gonna get revenge.”

his fingers curl so hard you cry his name.

you whimper and he ignores it. “was already jealous. why’d you go back to him after he touched you?”

he curls his fingers again. “ah—! sorry, i’m sorry,” you cry, lashes wet. feels so good. “we weren’t dating for real. just showed up in public together. he said we couldn’t stop, said if we did that meant you won,” you whimper. “he apologized, let me punch him. i gave him a—hnngh—black eye.”

ah. so the black eye naoya had wasn’t from sato and suguru.

sukuna swirls his tongue over your clit, lapping and sucking as he pumps another finger into your drooling pussy. he curls them until he’s pressing into that spongy part that makes you sob, and he sucks gingerly as your pussy sputters and spits slick into his mouth. “ryo—m’gonna cum—”

your thighs shake, walls clenching. sukuna pumps his fingers in faster, letting your thighs squeeze his neck. you cum over his mouth, right around his fingers, and sukuna kisses your puffy, still-sensitive clit.

when he looks up at you, you’re glaring. eyes glistening wet, cheeks flushed. pretty.

“what?” he says. “you’re so mean,” you frown. “you see why i break up with you?”

sukuna huffs, climbing over your figure. when he’s right above you, you tug his neck down.

“i love you,” you mumble.

he kisses your lips. “i love you too.”

COCK’S REMARK : *HARDENS*

EX-BOYFRIEND TACTICS #6: BREAK THE CYCLE !

taught by: ryomen sukuna

“loving you is a loop.”

ΣΧ

in toru gojo’s room of his apartment, the boys of sigma chi are all there. oh—and you too, of course.

sato is fast asleep on his twin’s bed, laid down & drooling on suguru’s shoulder beside him. suguru is tapping at his nintendo switch with furious speed. toru is cooking up something in the kitchen. and on his PC, you and sukuna are there, suguru’s sims 4 game loaded up on screen.

you’re on sukuna’s lap, his arm looped around your hips as you rant about the many tribulations you had to endure while ‘dating’ naoya. you’re customizing sukuna’s sim for your save file, and said man is doing nothing but rubbing your thighs and pressing lazy kisses to your skin.

“—and he leaves his boxers everywhere!” you exclaim, scrolling through geto’s CC folder. “i had to come over after he had practice once and they were everywhere. it’s that bad!”

“mhm,” sukuna kisses your neck, love drunk & bleary-eyed. “so bad, baby.”

“he’s so unhygienic,” you shift in sukuna’s lap, and he squeezes your hips to keep you steady. “i told him to at least clean up if he knows i’m coming over. he said no!”

sukuna nuzzles your ear, squeezes your thigh. “mm. m’gonna kill him.”

“no you will not! stop threatening murder!”

sukuna looks up. you’ve turned your head over your shoulder to glare at him, and he looks up at you through bleary eyes. your cheeks are warm. lashes fluttering. you’re the prettiest headache he’s ever had.

he kisses your jaw. “missed fighting with your pretty face,” he murmurs. “gimme a kiss, baby.”

you soften, and he leans up to kiss you deep.

“woah—” suguru throws a pillow at you both. sukuna swats it away from you without pulling back from your lips. he squeezes your waist and geto frowns. “even if sato’s asleep, i’m still fucking here!”

sukuna ignores him, his hand crawling up to grope your tits. suguru scowls, turns over to face sato’s sleeping figure. he should’ve known protesting was futile. sukuna’s always been an exhibitionist, but you’d think his therapy sessions would’ve taught him better by now.

sukuna pulls back, your gloss smeared over his lip & chin. you giggle at the sight, “hi.”

“mmh,” he nuzzles your neck.

the door swings open, snapping you and sukuna out of your daze. in comes toru gojo with a plate of lazy cake, glasses slipping down his nose. he blushes when he sees you and sukuna pressed close together. “hi. i made snacks.”

“oh, toru!” you purr. “you’re my favorite, have i told you that?”

toru sets down the plate on the desk in front of you. as he leans down you press a kiss to his cheek, and he blushes so hard his face turns beet red. he looks up, surprised, and you’re beaming at him. behind you, sukuna is scowling.

toru drops the plate and runs away.

you turn back to glare at sukuna. “you scared him.”

“no one’s allowed to kiss you.”

“i kissed him!”

sukuna ignores your protests, trying to cup your jaw so he can get a kiss of his own. you shove his face back, and he scowls.

“go apologize to toru,” you frown at him. “now.”

sukuna wants to protest. wants to say he’s comfortable right here with your thighs over his lap and your lipgloss on his chin. but he knows if he fights back he’ll be left with nothing but a sore earlobe & an angry girlfriend. he grumbles as you slide off him.

sukuna trudges to the kitchen, says his apologies. toru accepts them in a heartbeat.

when he comes back to the room, you’re gone.

“where is she?” his heart drops. “suguru—where is she?”

“chill,” suguru mumbles, eyes never leaving his switch. “she left you a letter. check on the desk.”

and next to toru’s plate of dessert, a letter is indeed there. he picks it up, thumb running over the paper. you’ve left a glossy kiss mark at the end.

‘dear sukuna,’ it reads.

‘i’m breaking up with you.’

sukuna’s blood runs cold.

‘i know we just got back together a week ago. but i thought about it! thought about how i’m becoming a better woman, growing in my spiritual journey. do i really want a jealous man who scares away my friends by my side??

so i decided: let’s break up. for real this time. it’s not you, it’s me. maybe if we’re truly meant to be, the stars will align and our paths will cross yet again. but for now? i have to choose me and my growth. so i’m leaving. for good.

i still love you though!! you’ll always be my lover <3 i love you soso much baby boy. i don’t even want to do this. but i know i have to make the right choice for both of us.

sorry to walk away like this. and don’t forget, you are not allowed to date any other women!!! i am the only woman for you!! always and forever!! no dating, sex, kissing, touching, NOTHING. if i find out you even LOOK at another woman i’ll hate you forever!!!!!!!!!!!!

okay, that’s all. goodbye forever. i’ll always love you ryo <333333 i’m sorry it hand to end this way.’

sukuna stares at the letter. he reads it once. twice. then once more.

and then he laughs.

because this is his girlfriend, bratty and high-maintenance and demanding and all. because you say goodbye forever, but he knows he’ll see you next week. he knows tonight you’ll call and say you miss his voice and afterwards you’ll send him a text saying you’re still not getting back with him and will be blocking him as a final goodbye. he knows you’ll unblock him on a random wednesday and won’t text, and he’ll just have to keep sending messages till they don’t turn green and he can ask you to come back to him.

and you’ll say yes. you always do. and if there’s anything or anyone who stops you from saying yes, he’ll crush them.

he rubs his thumb over the bottom of the letter. your glossy kiss mark is there.

and right beside it?

XO, YOUR EX HO 💋

SUKUNA’S REMARK: SEE YOU NEXT WEEK.

#SIGMA-CHI STORIES !

XO, EX HOE end.

You keep smoking, the cherry of your cigarette glowing softly in the dark as you exhale a slow cloud of smoke into the warm summer air. The breeze feels nice against your skin, making the thin fabric of your nightgown shift and cling in all the right places. Shoko had already disappeared inside the building, but her little smile and the way her gaze lingered on your chest still replay in your head. Weird girl. Cute, though.

A few minutes pass. You sip your wine, letting the cool glass rest against your lips, when your phone buzzes on the windowsill. You glance down, expecting maybe a spam text or something from a friend. Instead, it’s from an unknown number. But you know who it is. You swapped numbers that night at the bar, back when the flirting felt light and fun and you had no idea she lived right across the hall.

The message is a video. Your thumb hovers for a second before you tap play, keeping the volume low just in case.

The screen fills with Shoko’s face first. She’s in what looks like her own bedroom, dim lighting, messy sheets behind her. Her dark brown hair is loose, falling over one shoulder, and she stares straight into the camera with a lazy smile. “Hey…” she whispers, voice a little breathy. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you at the window. Your nipples looked so pretty poking through that dress.”

Then the camera tilts down. She’s lying back on her bed, legs spread, completely naked. Her fingers are already between her thighs, sliding slowly over her pussy, glistening a little under the lamp light. She lets out a soft sigh as she circles her clit, hips twitching just enough to show how into it she is. “Mmm… wanted to tell you in person but this is easier. Look how wet you made me just from that little peek.”

The video keeps going, her fingers moving faster, dipping inside herself with wet sounds that make your face heat up. She moans quietly, eyes fluttering half-closed. “Come over if you want. Or keep watching. I don’t mind either way… your tits are still on my mind.”

It ends there, the screen freezing on her flushed expression.

You stare at your phone for a long moment, heart beating quicker than it should. Part of you wants to be offended, even harassed but the other part can’t ignore the rush spreading through your body, nipples tightening again like they know they’re being thought about.

Before you can even decide what to do, another text pops up. Just three words.

3ºA. Door’s unlocked. 

You bite your lip, glancing toward the widow to gather your thoughts. You could ignore it. Pretend you never saw the video. Or—

You take one last drag of your cigarette, crush it out and set the wine glass down. Your bare feet pad across the floor as you grab a light robe, though you don’t bother tying it too tight. It takes you less than a minute to get to her door, you don’t even bother knocking.

"the fuck does 'XXX fry' mean?"

the line cook squints at your handwriting on the order note.

"extra extra extra crispy fries," you clarify, eyes still on the tv.

"so...burnt?"

"just do it, brian," you sigh. "they already chewed me out for not automatically bringing lemon with their water."

"hope ya spit in it."

"i thought about it," you grin. "speaking of, i'm gonna go water my tables."

you pass by your coworker, cindy, humming to herself. she sticks a new order into the window. brian groans, muttering something along the lines of he doesn't get paid enough for this shit. with a metal pitcher in hand, you weave between booths, quietly reaching over for refills, ice cubes clinking against the glass cups. some people smile and nod, some mumble thank you's, others ignore you altogether.

not many sit-down places are open past 10pm which means the 24 diner attracts just about everyone. behind a booth of teenagers splitting fries, three tipsy girls giggle over plates of breakfast combos. in the corner, a man and woman sit across from each other in silence, nursing mugs of coffee that went cold about twenty minutes ago. you haven't checked on the couple in a bit, but you get a feeling they don't want to be bothered...

the bell above the door chimes and you glance up out of habit. relief washes over you, your lips curling into a smile as bruce wayne steps through the doorway. the sleeves of his dress shirt are rolled up to his forearms, his tie nowhere to be seen. he looks exhausted—more than usual—but otherwise, entirely unharmed, as if he never vanished. by the time you reach him, he's already settled into his usual spot.

"you know," you remark, "most people call when they're going to disappear for two weeks."

"i wasn't aware i had someone waiting on my return."

you try to ignore the blush creeping up your neck, turning away to grab a mug.

"i was getting worried," you quietly admit.

bruce pauses. he can't remember the last time someone said they missed him so plainly. not only did you notice his absence, but you also counted the days since he last came in. the realization is...disarming.

"the usual?"

"yes, please."

he wraps his hands around the mug, its warmth seeping into his palms. while he was busy with patrol, meetings, and galas, two weeks passed in the blink of an eye. yet the small gotham diner remains unchanged. it still smells of old vinyl and maple syrup, and the overhead lights cast a warm glow over the comfortable space. there are no camera flashes, no mics being shoved in his face, no reporters shouting ridiculous questions. here, in this corner of the city, he's not regarded as a gotham celebrity. rather, he's just a man having a quiet meal by himself. it's the reason he kept returning until the diner subconsciously became a part of his routine. even now, as a brief rush begins, nobody bats an eye at him occupying the stool closest to the door.

he tracks your path through the diner as the rush picks up. one minute you're behind the counter printing checks, the next you're balancing a tray full of food on your shoulder, and then you're back to grab menus for a new table. you're in constant motion, occupied with multiple tasks at once, yet you work with a practiced ease that can only come from experience. he recognizes the way your expression shifts with each customer. a warm smile here, a polite one there, and another that doesn't quite reach your eyes. the moment you turn away, though, it all slips from your face entirely. at some point, he'd learned the difference between your genuine smiles and the ones offered out of obligation.

soon, the rush slows down. the printer stops spitting out checks and the constant movement around him dwindles. you lean against the counter across from him, letting out a sigh of relief and asking how he's been. as always, the conversation settles into familiar territory. the topics are never particularly important. you don't ask about wayne enterprises or the latest tabloid speculating about his love life. instead, you tell him about the customer who tried to order an eggless omelette, or ask if he's seen the movie that came out last weekend. it's nothing too shallow or too deep, yet somehow pleasantly memorable all the same.

despite his prolonged absence, the diner is still here—there had never been any doubt he'd return. something settles in his chest, warm and unexpected, but he doesn't dare name it as you set down a plate in front of him and top off his coffee with that same easy smile. he knows this one reaches your eyes.

eventually, bruce reaches for his wallet.

"leaving already?"

the words leave your mouth before you can stop them.

"i do have an early meeting tomorrow."

"right, rich people stuff," you tease, gathering the empty plates he's stacked for you.

"something like that."

you hand him the to-go box containing the slice of pie you saved earlier, but instead of bidding him good night and walking away, you linger. he looks up at you curiously, dark brows knitting together. before you can talk yourself out of it—like you do every other time the idea crosses your mind—you rip a blank page from your server book and hastily scribble on it. folding it once, you slide it toward him. bruce glances down at the slip of paper. he turns it over. a phone number.

"i figured if you're going to disappear for another two weeks, we should at least have a way to check in on each other."

for a moment, neither of you says anything and your thoughts scatter in every direction. maybe this was a bad idea. maybe you've completely overstepped. maybe he'll stop coming in altogether. then, a hint of something flickers across his face, but it's gone before you can make sense of it. he slips it into his pocket.

"i think that's a good idea."

a/n: i meant to post this on father's day but work kicked my ass... anyways, here's pt 1 to this new series! as always, thanks for reading & hope you enjoyed <3