FrogStoleMyWifi

Sukuna freezes, his hand pausing mid-click over the mouse. For a split second, his brain short-circuits so violently you can almost see the static. He swivels his chair to face you fully, crimson eyes locking onto yours, searching your face for any hint, any clue. His mind races through every conversation, every text, every random comment from the last few weeks, desperately trying to figure out what the fuck he supposedly promised.

Did she say something last week? Did I promise something while half asleep? Fuck, did I actually invite her for a date and forget?

“The... date,” he echoes, his voice dropping an octave as he does his best to sound completely unbothered and in control. “Yeah, yeah—get ready soon.”

"Mm... what are you wearing then?" you ask, resting your chin in your hand. "I don't know if we're matching the vibe or not."

A beat of silence drops over the room, thick and deafening. Sukuna’s jaw tightens, a muscle twitching beneath his ear, and his eyes drift back to the monitor, but it’s obvious he isn’t seeing a thing. Inside his head, gears grind together at a breakneck pace, panic threatening to short-circuit every rational thought.

Matching the vibe? What fucking vibe?

He’s fifty percent convinced he blacked out an entire conversation, fifty percent convinced he’s losing his mind, and one hundred percent determined to never, ever let you see him sweat.

"Well," Sukuna starts, slowly turning his head to look at you once again. He tries for a calm, confident smirk, though tension flickers around his eyes as he searches your face for a single crumb of a clue. "I mean, that depends on what you wanna wear, doesn't it?"

"Kuna, come on, don't do that," you giggle softly, shaking your head. "You picked the place, so you set the dress code. Are we doing fancy, or should I just throw on something cute and simple?"

The trap snaps shut. Sukuna's mind spirals into absolute chaos, running at a million miles an hour. Say it’s fancy, and he’s doomed if he picked somewhere casual. Say it’s casual, and you show up underdressed for some high-end place he apparently reserved weeks ago, and he’s a dead man. Honestly, he’s a dead man either way if he really did promise you something special, because he can’t remember making a single reservation at all.

If there’s not a bead of sweat rolling down his neck, there should be. For a split second, his composure cracks, his brow furrowing in silent distress, before he clears his throat and reaches across the gap with his large hand, grabbing your ankles and tugging your legs off the cushion, draping them over his thick thighs.

"You look good in anything, angel," he purrs, leaning forward to rest his hand on your knee, thumb rubbing lazy circles—anything to distract you and buy himself five more seconds. He flashes a crooked grin. "Just pick something you like, and I'll match."

"Mmm, okay," you hum, sinking back into the plush cushions and tapping your chin in mock-deep thought. "I just hope we don't end up waiting as long as last time. The food was worth it, but that line almost killed me."

Sukuna freezes entirely, his breath slipping out in a slow, silent exhale that feels almost painful to watch.

We've been there before, great food, long line... What fucking place had a line we actually waited in?

His mind frantically scrolls through every date night from the last two years: sushi bars, steak houses, taco trucks, upscale Italian, late-night ramen, trying to pin down which one he supposedly promised you just days ago. His massive shoulders tense as he sits up straighter, the effort so intense you can almost feel the heat radiating off him.

I must’ve promised only a few days ago. How the fuck did I forget?

"Line won't be a problem tonight," he lies through his teeth, his voice dropping into a low rumble as his hand slides up to squeeze your thigh. "Took care of it."

"Oh, you made a reservation this time?" you ask, looking up at him from your seat with wide, bright eyes. "Didn't think they did those on weekends! How'd you pull that off?"

Sukuna freezes mid-motion, the smallest flicker of surprise widening his eyes before he clamps down on it, jaw going rigid.

No reservations on weekends? Great. Backed myself into a fucking corner now. What the fuck am I supposed to say after that?

This is it—the absolute limit of human endurance. Balanced on a conversational tightrope stretched over a pit of fire, he’s surrounded by conflicting clues, unable to commit to a single outfit or restaurant. There he sits, a giant, terrifying man held hostage by an imaginary date night, looking for all the world like he’s trying to solve advanced physics in his head.

He fixes you with a stare, maintaining that arrogant smirk through an absolutely heroic amount of concentration, determined to bluff his way straight into the grave if he has to.

"I’ve got my ways, brat," he rumbles, sliding his hand around your wrist and pulling you gently closer, leaning in at the same time and pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead—one last desperate distraction.

"I'm just excited, you know? You're so sweet to plan this out of nowhere, Kuna," you chirp sweetly, holding back a laugh. You beam at him, swinging your feet like you can barely contain your glee, letting your voice turn all sing-song and syrupy just to watch him squirm.

Looking down at your smiling, innocent face, Sukuna's massive ego crumbles for a split second under the weight of the mystery.

"Wait—what time did you book it for?" you ask before he thinks of an answer to your praise, looking up at him expectantly as you pull back to lean against the cushions again. "I know it’s tonight, but you never said when—are you trying to make me late on purpose? How much time do I actually have to look cute?”

His mouth opens, but nothing comes out. For a horrifying half-second, he freezes—lips parted, eyes darting from the clock on his monitor to the floor, then back to your face. His mind is utterly, completely blank—not a single coherent thought.

Think. Dinner. Six? Seven? Eight? What time sounds normal?

"You don't remember?" you ask softly, tilting your head just a little as you look up at him with wide, innocent eyes, the tiniest smile threatening to betray you.

"I remember!" Sukuna snaps a little too fast, his voice cracking with a rare, desperate edge before he quickly clears his throat to cover it. He shifts in his gaming chair, his jaw working as his eyes widen in full-blown panic.

Pick a number. Any fucking number.

"Of course I remember, woman. It's... It's in my phone—set a reminder and everything. Who do you take me for? 7."

"Right," you say, trying not to laugh at the thought of Sukuna actually fussing with a calendar app.

"Now quit grilling me and go get ready before you start worrying we're gonna be late."

Looking up at his face, you catch the tiny, panicked tension around his eyes despite that confident smirk. Unable to resist, you decide to drag it out just a little longer, savoring every second of his internal panic.

You tilt your head, looking at him from your chair. "You're driving us, right? Or are we taking an uber?"

"I'm driving," Sukuna says instantly, the answer automatic as he clutches at the first scrap of control he can find before his own brain has a chance to second-guess it.

"You remember how to get there, right?"

"Yeah," he grumbles, rolling his shoulders as he shoots you a sharp, warning look. "Of course I do."

"Good," you chirp with an easy smile. "I completely forgot the street name. What was it again?"

Nothing. I have nothing... This is it. I'm dead.

Silence instantly smothers the room. Sukuna’s entire body goes rigid, every muscle locked, and the arrogant smirk vanishes. His eyes go wide, locked onto yours in pure, unfiltered, deer-in-the-headlights terror. Not a word escapes him—there’s no way in hell he could even guess a street. He just sits there, trapped in a corner of his own making, paralyzed by the sudden realization that he’s completely, thoroughly backed into a wall.

Letting it stretch for ten long, glorious seconds, you watch his brain fry in real time. Then, a sharp, hysterical giggle bursts out of you, shoulders shaking violently as you bury your face in both hands, wheezing for air.

"I know there's no reservation, Kuna," you manage through laughter, shaking your head. "I know there's no date."

Sukuna blinks once, then again. For a moment, it’s like his brain can’t quite process the words, and then relief crashes over him so hard it nearly knocks him flat. The tension drains from his massive frame all at once, leaving him slumped boneless against the back of his chair.

A long, heavy exhale escapes him as he drags a hand down his face, wiping away the real sweat of the last ten minutes. He sits there, utterly defeated, looking like he just barely survived a war zone. There's not even enough strength left in him to pretend to be angry; every bit of mental energy got burned up trying to solve an imaginary puzzle.

"Jesus christ," he mutters into his palm, his voice a rough, exhausted rumble.

His hand drops, and he glances over at you, taking in the way you’re sitting there, absolutely delighted with yourself. Shaking his head, he lets a slow, helpless grin tug at the corner of his mouth, exhaustion still written all over his face.

"Yeah, well," Sukuna rasps, his eyes softening as he gently shoves your ankles from his legs, then reaches out and wraps his fingers around your wrist, pulling you up and into his lap. "We can still go on one."

You tilt your head, settling sideways across his thick thighs with a curious smile. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he sighs, arms locking around your waist as he buries his face in your hair, slumping back into his chair. "I'll take you for that pasta you love so much, you menace."

"Oh, you're down bad, Kuna," you tease, grinning as you tug him down for a kiss, your fingers threading into his hair at the back of his head.

"I was sitting here trying to remember if I'd booked a fucking table in my sleep, you know?" he rasps, his breath fanning across your cheek as his lips brush yours, the low rumble of a laugh vibrating through his chest.

"You really were trying so hard to play it cool," you murmur, nudging his cheek with your nose.

"I was cool the whole time," Sukuna protests, but the lopsided grin stretching across his face gives him away as he squeezes your waist.

You smile up at him, fingers tracing a slow, absentminded line along his jaw. "So what exactly was your plan, then?"

He blinks, looking genuinely lost for a second. "Huh?"

"If I'd actually gone to get dressed... then what?" you ask, tilting your head.

Sukuna just stares at you for a long moment, his brows drawing together in mock concentration before another helpless laugh escapes him as he shakes his head in defeat.

"No idea." He snorts, raking a hand through his hair as he shakes his head. "I figured I'd think of something in the car."

You burst out laughing again, swatting his shoulder as you double over, nearly collapsing into his chest. "You seriously think that would've worked?"

"I was very committed to making it work," he answers, trying to look serious, but his eyes are bright with laughter.

Before you can get another word in, he leans forward and peppers your cheeks and neck with a relentless barrage of rough kisses until you're laughing too hard to fight him off, your hands doing little more than getting in the way.

Finally, he sets you back on your feet, steadying you with a firm grip on your waist before pushing himself up out of the chair. "Now go get dressed, brat."

a/n: @i-luv-mangos thanks for the idea <3

Alpha! Gojo Satoru who rips off the blindfold from his blue eyes and suddenly realizes how hot his body has become from being exposed to your pheromones.

Alpha! Gojo Satoru who salivates just outside your door, calling your name and begging you to open up for him so he can help you, the urge to breed you full taking hold of him until he snaps himself out of his rut.

Alpha! Gojo Satoru who quickly remembers the room you’re in is completely empty, nothing to help you relax or get comfortable on. His omega has no nest to be in.

Alpha! Gojo Satoru who rushes around the house gathering things that he’s scented or that you like to help you build a nest. He returns to the empty room and feels his face redden the moment you crack the door open and your pheromones hit him like a speeding bullet train.

Alpha! Gojo Satoru who’s lips quiver in embarrassment from the aching knot twitching beneath his tight blue jeans.

Alpha! Gojo Satoru who waits till you allow him in and finds just a measly pillow on the floor that you’ve been laying on, he shows you everything he’s brought and tells you to build your nest but to his surprise you don’t know how too, you’d never been allowed to before.

Alpha! Gojo Satoru who smiles and pecks your forehead making you purr with relief, he helps you build the basic frame of the nest, a mountain of pillows and blankets litter the floor providing you a comfy space to sleep out the rest of your heat.

Alpha! Gojo Satoru who almost mounts you then and there when you reach out to him and beg for him to hold you, he can’t help the urges building inside of him but he can’t bring himself to fill your weeping cunt after being so cruel to you before.

Alpha! Gojo Satoru who falls into your soft embrace, taking in your lewd wine like scent and becomes drunk off of it, listens to your every command and soon finds himself fucking his bare cock between your slicked thighs.

Alpha! Gojo Satoru who’s swollen knot rubs against your puffy clit making you moan with pleasure to the much needed stimulation.

Alpha! Gojo Satoru who begs you to let him enter your perfect omega pussy, you’re everything he’s ever dreamed of.

Alpha! Gojo Satoru who moans “Have my litter my pretty mate” as he feverishly fucks his heavy balls against your warm thighs.

Alpha! Gojo Satoru who desperately apologizes when you push him away, he thinks he’s done something wrong and panics wanting to fix it so he can return to pleasing you both.

Omega! (Y/n) who silences her Alpha and straddles his waist, positioning his angry fat cock at the entrance of her pussy before slamming down on it taking him half way in without warning.

Alpha! Gojo Satoru who squirts like a virgin the moment he feels your wet walls wrap so tenderly around his raging cock.

Alpha! Gojo Satoru who whines and whimpers as he pushes his orgasming cock deeper into your perfect pussy until his knot has locked in place deep inside your womb.

Omega! (Y/n) who bites down on her alphas neck to mark him as hers only making him fall more in love with you as the sting of your mating mark sends a pulse of pleasure down to his aching balls.

Alpha! Gojo Satoru who promises to mate you properly once his knot has loosened up a bit, promises to make up all the lost time he wasted as a fool.

Alpha! Gojo Satoru who takes mating his Fated Omega as the most serious and important mission of his life, breeding you full and swollen until he’s sure you’ll be round with his pups.

Alpha! Gojo Satoru who watches you walk down the aisle, months after breeding you full, wearing a snow white Uchikake that shows off your sweet round belly to the guests, and smiles knowing that not only this ring will bond you to him but the bite mark that will never disappear from your pretty neck.

Alpha! Gojo Satoru who is the strongest jujutsu sorcerer in the world, who will fall to his knees if you so much as whisper his name.

You have to be dreaming. Hallucinating. Something.

Managing to weakly push to your feet, you stumble through the halls of the ship on a weak gait. It’s a small vessel, with a science bay through a sealing door just outside the medical bay where you awoke, four bunks and a washroom in what you assume is sleeping quarters, and the bridge itself. It’s small, but clearly designed for more than one crew member. Your heart drops at the thought, because that’s when it truly comes flooding back.

Your work. The project. The disease. The creature.

Several pieces of the same puzzle, but each one troubling in its own right.

Still groggy from the induced coma, you force yourself to take a seat in the hall, grateful for what you can only assume is artificial gravity. You might have been sick if you had awoken in zero gravity.

Taking a breath as you sit in the center of a large octagonal hall, you force yourself to breathe. Long breaths, drawing each one out in an effort to keep yourself from boiling over when memories of the very thing that put you here feel fresh in spite of your ten year induced coma. It shouldn’t be you here. You, some entomologist they found online for a paper suggesting beetles are smarter than people think.

You weren’t even really good with people. Just bugs. You spent most of your time alone with your stag beetles, attempting to bring out the very intelligence you’d written about. You never minded being alone. Maybe it’s sad that you spoke to the beetles, but they kept you company in their own way. Yet here you are now, onboard a space ship by sheer coincidence, if it can even be called that. And it’s not the loneliness you fear.

No, you’re content to grab a marker and draw a face on one of the many white walls, call it ‘Wilson’ and name yourself the next Tom Hanks, even if your acting credits are undeserving.

What scares you is the narrow hallways holding you hostage in a vacuum. Once you reach the supposed ‘destination’ that the ship’s programmed voice spoke of being imminent, gravity will cut out. The ship will rely on your ability to navigate yourself through its halls and hell, even navigate the damn hunk of metal through space yourself to send the mission target back. You’re a fucking entomologist. A bug scientist. What the hell are they hoping for from you?

With a sharp inhale, you push back up to your feet, navigating through the cramped hall until you reach the bridge. There are a number of screens and what feel like countless buttons and switches, all labeled with tape. You suppose that’s meant to be for your convenience given that you’re no pilot, but the amount of labels is a textbook in and of itself. Frustrating.

Slipping past the second of two chairs on the bridge, your eyes are glued to the first window you’ve seen. Your lips part as the marvel of space itself comes into view when you slip into the nook by the window.

It’s beautiful. Stunning. It’s full of twinkling stars and the far more consistent shine of distant planets. There’s debris of various different kinds of space rock meandering endlessly through a void. There’s a gorgeous mildly yellow-green planet not too far away with pink and blue accents. Its surface is probably unlike everything you’ve ever seen.

Seeing a planet from space is another kind of beast. Space travel is relatively new to humanity as far as the general public is aware, and you certainly never envisioned yourself aboard a spacecraft. In another world, under other circumstances, it might even be a dream.

The nearest sun has you staring down at your fingers, wondering if the faint heat you feel might be from its rays or if you’re imagining things already, hardly a few minutes into your trip. That is, if you don’t count the several years in which you were in an induced coma.

Flexing your fingers again as you stare at them, it’s not until a shadow takes away the sun’s distant rays, that you notice something incoming quickly. Your eyes widen at the sight of a ship, alien in appearance. Long, slender, dark grays in sharp and jagged angles all come together to build a ship that makes yours look not entirely unlike the very bugs you study. Very, very small. Insignificant.

“Oh shit,” you gasp in wide-eyed disbelief as something straight out of a sci-fi movie moves in a line straight towards you. “Oh shit” you gasp again, racing to push yourself to your feet and clamber for the pilot’s chair as though the labels will push you into action. Paralyzed on the chair, the most you can do is skim each word in hopes that one might magically say ‘turn one hundred and eighty degrees and get the hell away from the giant evil-looking alien spaceship’.

Unfortunately, you never find that button. With your hands hovering over the controls, you find yourself watching in horror as you’re swallowed whole by the other spacecraft. “Oh shit.”

Your ship is harshly jostled as all of a sudden the hull drops like a stone onto something hard and metal, screeching as it slides across what you can only assume is a bay of the other ship as you stare into the darkened corridor of the inside of an alien spacecraft. You grip the chair for purchase in an effort not to get thrown aside while your ship blares warning and lights flicker.

“Oh shit,” you breathe when the lights outside your ship flick on and flood the bridge with the harsh lighting of a warehouse. There doesn’t seem to be any other ships aboard if this is a bay or hangar, but it certainly looks like one… Though you suppose you’re basing that off of movie knowledge, which is probably stupid. Especially for a scientist at the top of your field.

Slowly descending from your chair, you approach the window in awe, staring out into the metal box. It’s largely human, with pipes running up the walls and across the ceiling, lights in long bulbs overhead and lower lighting from small circular vent-like structures. The structure seems rougher than the smooth metals of your ship, almost as though it’s made of an unpolished mineral, with a luster that dictates something akin to quartz or obsidian, but it’s slightly off. The only thing inhuman about the entire thing is the text. It’s not entirely unfamiliar, the sort of thing that you wager you could decipher in time, but when you spot movement at the far bay, you figure time isn’t exactly on your side.

What a way to wake up after ten years.

The alien figure that approaches your ship isn’t human. But… they aren’t inhuman either. You know they aren’t human, with an extra pair of limbs attached to their upper torso and an extra pair of eyes aboard a plate of some sort on the right side of their face, but otherwise the only thing inhuman about them is their massive size, standing at what must be ten feet tall.

A tight shirt clings to their upper torso, some sort of spacesuit loosely draped from their torso in an off-pink that matches their short hair. Markings line their jaw, coming up just beneath their eyes not unlike tattoos, though you can’t be sure whether or not that’s what they are. The most inhuman feature of all, however, is the blood red gaze they fix your ship with as they walk in an even, calm stride towards the door.

A creature with a calm like this is one that knows it’s powerful. It’s the type of confidence befitting of someone who far outclasses everything they’ve ever come across and doesn’t fear the beyond like you do. “Oh shit!”

It’s just about the only words you can manage as you clumsily navigate towards the small porthole of the door where the alien has deduced they may find you. Peering out the small circular window, you can only pray you aren’t about to be probed or something similar.

When the alien approaches your ship with some sort of technology in-hand, you tap on the glass to get their attention. The large alien’s head rises, their brow lowering to a scowl of sorts as they examine you. This close, they look startlingly like a human man. Like the kind of man you might see in a gladiator movie given his sheer size and musculature, sure, but human enough to reason with. He speaks some sort of language, but you can’t understand a word he utters.

The language is a mix of huffs, growls, clicks, and what you would otherwise consider sounds not unlike the languages found on earth. Between each noise that reminds you vaguely of an echolocation sort of noise is a very human syllable. If you were to put the syllables together without the clicking, you might even get something akin to human vocabulary.

By all accounts, this is an intimidating encounter. His gaze is sharp, almost grating in looks alone. His pupils have rings surrounding them that give him a formidable appearance. His mother tongue is so different from any language you’ve ever encountered– human or animal– that the only thing you even can compare it to are films. Some part of you is wired to expect a Xenomorph to uncurl from wires and silently drop to the ground, acidic saliva dripping from its mouth, and yet the man remains still, awaiting your reply before he answers in kind.

Maybe it’s your poor instinct for danger, but you’re far more intrigued than you are concerned.

“Uh– Hello!” You attempt to reply in an effort to keep the peace, further perplexing the alien whose eyes narrow. Your heart pounds behind your rib cage as you give your best effort to not get eaten. Or examined. Or whatever this species does. “I come in peace!” You offer, making a peace sign through the door with a wide grin.

His gaze slides to your hand, his deduction of the action clear in the way his narrowed eyes regard the action. He frowns like you’ve caused him an inconvenience, gliding his finger along the device in his hand briefly as he looks away. You almost wish he was more animalistic. You’re a better read on animal behaviour than human.

“Okay, um– hold on!” You hold up one finger, clumsily dashing back through the ship to the science bay. You grab a white board and marker, making your way back to the porthole. The four-armed alien is tapping on what you assume to be the screen of the device he brought with him, though his attention returns to you once you reappear. You draw a circle and the general outline of the continents, presenting the image to him. “I’m a human. From Earth,” you say, pointing to your drawing.

The alien’s gaze lowers to your drawing, then he taps on the screen of his device, growing more frustrated by the moment. When the device doesn’t seem to give him the results he wishes for, his shoulders visibly fall in frustration as he faces you again. His gaze fixes the drawing, then you once more.

When he doesn't reply, you quickly erase the drawing of earth, and draw something that might be more familiar. You draw the very thing you’re here in search of as clearly as you can from memory.

CRM-12. A creature so foreign, the scientists never even gave it a name. Beetle-like in appearance in spite of its size, which begged your attention, one of the heads in entomology. A creature intelligent beyond any credit they were willing to give it, treating it as lesser than even rodents. It was no more than an experiment, and your reason for being in the middle of uncharted space.

You present the drawing of the creature, a metallic brown beetle with accents that resemble an oil spill, iridescent pinks visible in the sun. Its eyes, however, are completely unlike any insect. Cat-like, they follow movement like the eyes of a higher being. Like they know. You hope that comes across in a crude drawing with a black marker.

The alien looks at the drawing you present, seeming to recognize it. He stares at you and chuffs, almost like a tiger, followed by a syllable unrecognizable to you.

“You know it?” Your brows raise eagerly at the reaction that you’re fairly sure is a yes given the way big cats so often use the first portion of the sound.

Another chuff in reply, then the syllable. You can work with that. The recognition in his gaze tells you that it isn’t a no, which means you’re communicating, even if it’s preschool-level communication. Even if he seems frustrated by the whole ordeal. Or maybe by you. Or the device. You really can’t say.

“Oh my god, you know it? I’m looking for it!” You point with a grin, intrigued by the alien life that seems to be as advanced, if not more than humanity.

He watches your eager movements with hooded eyes, all four following the way your body almost seems ahead of your mind as you attempt communication. In a far more languid movement, he lifts an arm, simply tapping once on the door as he stares at you, awaiting.

You purse your lips, fairly confident you understand. “Oh– I can’t leave my ship,” you glance down at the door’s handle. “Um– hold on.” You raise one finger again, drawing another picture on your whiteboard. This time, you present the alien species with a poorly drawn version of your ship, an ‘X’, and a stick figure of you, with your tongue out and an ‘X’ for either eye. “I would die in your atmosphere. I mean, probably. I guess I don’t know.”

One of his brows raises at the crude demonstration before he looks you up and down once through the porthole. He huffs, something of disbelief or maybe annoyance, before looking around the bay. He replicates your motion, raising one finger in a ‘hold on’ type of manner, disappearing for a minute. When he returns after a few moments, he lifts a lower arm to present to you a new device. From the device comes a hologram far more advanced than anything earth has managed thus far.

Your eyes widen at the sight of the very beetle-like species you’re here for. You nod, giving a thumbs up. “Yes! Yes, that’s it!” You loudly proclaim with a grin.

He recoils, though you can’t quite place why. He watches your reactions, the smile, the thumbs’ up, the nod, and chuffs in reply. Alright, communication. 

“Hey, um, there’s–” You stammer over words, before giving your signal for ‘hold on’. Quickly and crudely attempting to draw your best version of the window by the bridge. You hold it up to the person opposite you, pointing in the general direction of the much larger window across the ship.

His sharp gaze follows the direction you point, his head moving in that direction altogether, before chuffing and surprisingly disappearing. You blink, before quickly moving in that direction as well, cables and tubing still drifting listlessly behind your clothing from when you awoke. You stare down briefly at the ordeal, at the mess you’re sure you look, and figure that’s a problem for when an alien isn’t staring you down.

You’re just grateful he isn’t looking at you in the same way humanity looked at that beetle. That stupid, god forsaken alien beetle. Even if he does seem a bit annoyed with you.

Dragging the cables along with you, you slip past the chairs in the bridge to the larger window where your new alien peer is curiously examining the circuitry within the bridge. “This is the bridge,” you explain, pointing behind you. “For the captain.” You turn to face him again, unsure if he understands a word you’re saying, but the need to fill the air is unfortunately at the forefront of your mind. Slipping into the nook of the window, you watch as his crimson gaze tracks your movements, dropping to the cables that he examines for a moment. “These are just cables,” you explain, holding them up.

He grunts through a deadpan expression as though he has that figured out already, and it’s at this moment that you realize how grateful you are that there’s an atmosphere at all in his ship right now to carry either of your voices so that you can communicate. The entire thing is fascinating beyond any kind of entomology you’ve ever been witness to. Of course, you’d have an easier time grasping his behaviour if he were a bug, but you suppose you didn’t get much of a good understanding of CRM-12’s behaviour anyway in light of the events that took place with the species on Earth.

CRM-12. The thought makes you wonder. “Do you have a name?” You glance down at the whiteboard, but you aren’t sure how much it’ll help. “A, uh–” You point to yourself, stating your name, then to him. “What’s your name?”

He straightens, and in a very alien language gives you a series of growls and hisses, along with a series of somewhat more human-sounding syllables. You attempt to replicate the sound, you really do. The problem is that your vocal chords simply can’t shape the same noises that his can. He frowns as you can’t reach one of the clicks in your vocal range, and surprisingly offers something more familiar.

“Sukuna.”

Your lips purse as you stare out the window at him. It’s shockingly close to the syllables that sit intermittently between the clicks and growls in his name, like his language might not be as far off as you originally hypothesized.

“Human.” He adds, then replicates your name, shockingly nearly perfect.

“Yeah!” You agree with a grin. “That’s my name. I’m human.”

“My name,” he forms the words, copying them in his deep baritone voice. It sounds somewhat foreign after you’ve heard primarily chuffs and hums, but he doesn’t struggle to form the words. They’re clipped, like his tone isn’t intentional and there’s a rasp to his words like his throat wants to add the clicking to the words, but doesn’t.

You have an itch to write and document everything you can, but your lab is a few light years away and your journal is… yet to be found, since you awoke. You do what you can to catalogue every detail for later in your mind.

“Okay, okay.” Beyond interested and excited by the ordeal, you make a wild motion with both arms towards– well– everything. “This is my ship.”

Sukuna’s gaze lifts to the exterior of the ship, then returns to you. An upper arm lifts, muscle that’s inherently humanoid rippling beneath what looks to be something similar to a performance long sleeve clinging to his arm. He taps twice on the window. “Ship.” Then directly in front of you. “Your ship.”

“Yeah,” you breathe in disbelief. “Is this your ship?”

He points back, chuffing. “My ship.”

The velocity of his ability to learn is stunning. In fact, you would wager a bet that not only is he so far advanced that he outclasses Humanity by miles, you would be willing to be there’s more to it than that. The scowls, the grimaces, the huffs. Could he be annoyed that you’re not capable of picking up his language? “Are you–” you point to him, then the chair behind you, “the captain?”

His gaze examines you as you point towards the seat on the bridge behind you. Understanding your gist, he chuffs.

“Holy shit,” your breath. Looking eagerly past him into the rest of the hangar bay, you press your hands to the window. He straightens, taking a step back as he stares at you with a raised chin. “Where are the rest of you? Do you have a crew? Do you have scientists?”

He growls, but it doesn’t appear to be a warning. Your limited knowledge of his language tells you it may just be a vocalization that’s within his language, but you can’t say for sure. You can’t be sure whether he’s answering in his own language or simply frustrated with your onslaught of questions. Maybe both.

“Are you alone?” You offer the option. “Just you?” You point.

To that, he straightens slightly, his gaze dropping as he evaluates your stature. He must determine you aren’t a threat, because he finally replies with a chuff. “Alone. Just Sukuna.”

It’s unbelievable, truly. It’s not the fact that there’s other intelligent life that baffles and equally excites you, but the fact that not only does he seem to be far more advanced, but it’s clear you’re both studying one another’s behavior. More interestingly, he’s making sense of your language so quickly without so much as forgetting a word that you’re fairly sure his species can outdo humanity’s feats in an evening. You watch him pick up words before you’ve even used it in much more than a sentence to yourself. He adjusts so quickly that it has you questioning everything you know about life outside of Earth. About life on Earth. About behavior, intelligence, and everything you’ve studied so hard when it comes to entomology.

Much of the… day? Is spent going back and forth, focusing primarily on language using the whiteboard, and you’re surprised to find Sukuna doesn’t just keep up, but clearly surpasses your intelligence. He’s offput by noise and moves at a much slower pace that gives you the impression that he wouldn’t know the expression ‘life is short’. You wonder how many years he’s wandered the universe.

He primarily listens and learns, letting you yap about tenses and grammar with little more than an aloof frown. He rarely inquires, but as his knowledge grows, he becomes more at ease. The rigidity in his upper and lower shoulders releases, and his expression shifts from one of skepticism to intrigue. Before you can inquire about his species or language, however, your ship comes online. With a robotic timbre, an announcement comes across the speakers. “Please report to the lab for documentation.”

You stare back into the ship for a moment before facing your new companion. “I need to go make a report,” you explain. “The humans back on Earth want a video of how things are going.”

You can’t be sure how much of that he understands given that he’s largely a closed book, but he chuffs his general understanding.

“Do you… sleep?” You make a motion of sleeping. “Or eat?” And point to your mouth.

The mere suggestion has him yawning, revealing primordial fangs behind his lips. He doesn’t grace you with a reply otherwise.

In a series of clicks and hisses, he says something you’re unable to translate and turns on his heel. Your best assumption is that he’s wished you a goodnight, so you opt to do the same. “Goodnight, Sukuna!” You call loudly from your side of the glass.

He tilts his head slightly, then shakes it, but doesn’t look back.

You watch the spot where he disappeared for a long moment. In the barren bay, the lights click as one by one they shut off until you’re left with only the ambient light of the interior of your own ship. Stepping back from the glass, you blink to yourself. He’s unlike anything you could have imagined when it came to aliens. It’s not like you haven’t met one, given that your assignment on Earth was studying CRM-12 and your assignment now is simply to retrieve more of them, and while you know even that creature’s intelligence was largely underestimated, you never imagined another planet like Earth could exist.

Maybe the atmosphere doesn’t match your own. Maybe there’s no oxygen. Maybe his planet is overruled by dinosaurs. You wouldn’t know. But somewhere out there is a planet with architecture and entire civilizations that you don’t know the first thing about.

As you make your way to the lab, a small camera prepped for you to record, you swear you’re still jittery with excitement. The scientist that swims in your veins can’t wait for tomorrow to come, ignoring every natural instinct to exercise caution. You don’t see yourself sleeping well in spite of the fact that your body remains heavy with the weight of several induced years of sleep.

Without thinking twice, you flip the camera’s screen to look back at yourself and begin recording. You recount your ship being engulfed, describe Sukuna, and explain your findings in largely scientific terminology.

“I know he’s not what I’m here for, but– This could be… I mean…” You shake your head. “I’m not giving up on this research,” you steel yourself, staring into the camera. Chewing on your lower lip, you reach for the camera, shutting the screen and effectively stopping the recording without signing off.

You take the extra time in the evening to put yourself back together. You’re not trained for space, or even for the use of this vessel as a whole, but you track down a sponge bath and washroom, before finally managing to find a small compartment with your belongings.

Dragging the compartment out from the netted area in which it resides, you open it slowly. Within are some clothes– some your own, most provided by the company responsible for your launch– along with a few general sanitary items. It’s largely impersonal, which you suppose you expected. Having prepared for this, you reach into the pocket of a hoodie and pull out the one thing you hoped to keep with you.

You breathe out a sigh of relief, unfolding a photo. The lines through the center block out only a modicum of the happiness held within it, but at its core it’s everything you wanted to hold onto. You’re holding the camera with a huge grin, an Extatosoma Tiaratum, a large stick insect, climbs along your shoulder, and your beloved Lucanus Elaphus, an Elk Stag Beetle, is in your hand. To your left is your best friend Shoko and her German Shepherd puppy, a month after she adopted him. She’s holding him like her pride and joy in spite of the fact that throughout her entire veterinary medicine degree, she swore she’d stick to an animal with less genetically pre-disposed health problems.

You had just gotten back from a research trip back then and were meeting her pup for the first time while she cared for your bugs while you were away.

It’s strange to think that she’s ten years older now. Your bugs are surely dead, and Shoko hasn’t seen you in over ten years. Your heart pangs as you pull the familiar hoodie on over your head and tuck the photo back in your pocket as you make your way back to the bed that didn’t exactly do wonders for your neck as you make way for the second day in uncharted territory.

–

The morning greets you in the same way it did yesterday. Cold, sterile, and controlled. The white lights flick on without asking, deciding your schedule before you ever do. You blink away the sleep in your eyes, grabbing a dehydrated granola bar sort of thing to bring with you to the bridge as you dress yourself in white pants and your own hoodie.

Sukuna still isn’t there when you arrive at the bridge, so you do the only thing you really can do in the enclosed ship bay. You come prepared this time, with a model of your ship, your whiteboard, some snacks, water, and a journal and pen to note your findings. Not necessarily for humanity’s sake, but out of habit, for you. With everything spread out around you, you reach into your pocket, pulling out your photo with Shoko. Your thumb smooths along the fold lines before you set it off to the side in front of you. Then as you would on any other day, you note your findings with small drawings in the column of your journal.

After a short wait, the bay’s lights flick on one after another with a metallic clang as each one begins pulling electricity to the large hangar. Sukuna has also come more prepared, with another new device in one of his many hands and what looks to be a spacesuit draped over another arm. He’s wearing much the same top in a slightly deeper tone of gray and baggy pants this time around, with that same overall neutral expression on his face.

Neutral is generous, given how grumpy he looks in human terms. Given how grumpy he is. Maybe it’s just his species, you can’t be sure, but he gives you the impression you frustrate him.

You perk up at the sight of him regardless as he approaches in the direction of the door’s porthole, changing his stride when he spots you at the window.

He clicks and grunts, which you assume is a greeting of sorts.

“Hi, Sukuna! Did you sleep good?”

He doesn’t beat around the bush. “Sleep bad.”

“Oh. Why?”

He approaches the window, dropping the suit on his arm into a pile on the floor. “Human loud,” he states, pointing accusingly at you with a finger to the window.

“Me? This ship is huge, there’s no way you heard me. I don’t even snore!” You pout first, but your mind doesn’t give you the time to be offended as something occurs to you. “Wait, is your hearing really good?” You ask, pointing to your ear.

He chuffs. “You loud.” He makes a motion to his chest, demonstratively inhaling and exhaling in kind. “Like that.”

“Oh my god, you could hear me breathing across the ship?” You instinctively bring up your fancy space pen and journal, scribbling down messy notes as your mouth gets a few steps ahead of your brain. “Wait, but the ship is on. I can’t be louder than like– Is your engine not loud? Or the life support systems? You must breathe some sort of gas or–”

He huffs, tapping the glass with a subsequent growl. Much like yesterday, it’s not a warning but something entirely else. “Ship my design. No sound.”

“No sound? Your design?” You gawk, sitting down at the window. Sukuna follows suit opposite you behind the glass. His movements are heavier in nature and far more languid, one corded muscular arm keeping him upright as he takes a seat. In spite of his constant aloof expression, you note that he does still seem intrigued. “Wait– oh my god, are you an engineer?”

He shifts his jaw, eyes narrowing thoughtfully as he attempts to use context clues to put the word engineer into place in his mental dictionary. He says something in his own language, reaching for the device he used yesterday to show you a hologram of CRM-12. This time, he flicks it on into some sort of 2D image, a screen of sorts. In concise, easy strokes, he pulls up a blueprint of his ship. “Engineer?” He queries, confirming the term.

“Yeah,” you breathe in disbelief. “Yeah, you’re definitely an engineer. Holy shit,” you laugh, tone wrought with disbelief. “The photo you showed me with that yesterday, the uh– beetle species?”

His gaze narrows and he grunts, almost a low growl.

“Um–” you lower your gaze to your whiteboard, drawing a quick sketch of CRM-12 again, writing its name beside the image. “This guy.”

The confusion rife across his features dissolves as he chuffs. “Kerm.”

“Kerm?” You blink, unsure where this word has come from.

He points to ‘CRM-12’ like it’s the most obvious thing he’s ever pointed out, blatantly frowning. “Kerm one two.”

You laugh, airy and light, grinning. “Yeah, Kerm. Yeah, okay. Kerm. Um, you’re looking for them too, does that mean you’re a scientist too? Like, um–” setting the whiteboard aside, you tap your fingers listlessly along your thigh. “You study life and elements? And learn about creatures?”

That clicks with him and he chuffs again.

“Holy shit,” you practically bound to your feet, quickly sitting back down at the revelation with a multitude of further questions.

Sukuna’s brow tents as he watches, disdain dripping from his expression as though you’ve offended him in your bout of excitement when he shuffles back slightly. He leans back on one arm, the other three held as though you might present a threat to him. Still, he remains silent.

“Wait, so you’re the captain, engineer, and a scientist? Oh my god, that’s incredible. Human life is so short we could never even dream of studying all three things and exploring space.” You don’t even pause as your thoughts simply spill from your lips. “You must be able to live so much longer than us. Or maybe you’re just that much smarter. Wait–” Your hand presses to the glass. “Where are you from? What planet–”

“Human.”

“–are you from? How long are your years? How old are you?”

“Human.” Sukuna’s hand presses to the glass with a jarring bang as he leans over you in spite of the barrier, the size difference growing apparent. His voice booms, stopping your endless trail of words in their tracks. Once he has your silence, Sukuna proceeds to click and growl in a series you’ve heard once before, though you now recognize it as displeasure.

It doesn’t take an understanding of his language to put together that he’s calling you ‘too much’. He’s telling you you’re annoying.

Your cheeks heat up and you take the opportunity to sit back, sucking in a breath.

Sukuna’s hand peels from the glass, his prints remaining in the spot where it was. He sits back with a loud huff, rubbing at his temple with one hand as he leans back on another. “Planet is–” he states the name in his language first, then pauses to think before providing something you understand. Removing the noises between the syllables, he lands on a simple name. “Simuria,” he starts, choosing one of your questions and going with it. “Age–” he glances down at the hologram, waving his hand through it to erase the blueprint. He makes ten markings through it like a whiteboard, then clicks, his word for ‘ten’.

“Ten,” you nod your understanding.

He points at the markings. “Ten tens.”

“One hundred,” you nod your understanding.

“Ten one hundreds.”

Your lips part. “One thousand?”

He chuffs, staring blankly at you. 

“You’re over one thousand years old?” Your disbelief is palpable as your jaw hangs slightly ajar, taking in the details of his face and overall physique. He looks to be in his late thirties or early forties, but if there’s one thing you’ve learned in your time interacting with aliens, it’s that you don’t know the first thing about them.

He chuffs again, like it’s plain to see and his age is obvious. “How old you?”

“Um, three tens,” you hold up three fingers. “And a five,” you demonstrate the next number. “But I, uh, spent the last ten years sleeping to get here,” you offer a tight-lipped smile. His eyes narrow as he attempts to decipher the emotion written across your face, but you train your expression back to neutral before he can. “We only live to be about nine tens, though.”

“Nine tens?” He recoils at the mere thought. “Weak.”

You let out an airy laugh. “Weak, yeah. Humans tend to be.”

“Three thousands. Or more.”

“You can live three thousand years?” Once again caught up in the sheer difference in time you’ve both experienced, you’re forced to sit back, leaning on your arms. “Holy shit.”

That’s not even beginning to touch on the fact that his planet’s years could also be longer than Earth’s.

Sukuna has come to recognize your exclamations as disbelief and puffs out his chest. You can’t be sure whether it’s pride or a sort of bragging right he holds over your head, but it’s heartwarming to bond with someone so similar, and yet so different.

“Where your crew?”

“Oh–” You push a hand over your neck, staring back into the ship. “No crew. Just me. Just a scientist. I’m an entomologist. I study bugs.”

His brow dips as he attempts to put together what he understands based on your statements. “No captain?”

“No. No captain,” you reply coolly, the most calm he notes you’ve been since arrival.

“Captain?” He points to the photo of you and Shoko as he peers closer.

“No, that’s my friend Shoko. Another human, on Earth. And these are my bugs. I’m a bug scientist.” You point to the beetle.

“You study bugs?”

“Yeah!” You grin, followed by the familiar feeling of information running through your brain as your most passionate subject arises. “There are thousands and thousands of them on earth. Like, a thousand thousands. More than that. We’ve barely scratched the surface of what we know about them!” You pridefully explain.

“Scratched the surface?”

“Like, we barely know anything about them. So I study them to learn more.”

Leaning back on one pair of arms, he crosses the other pair over his chest, fixing you with a perplexed expression as he clicks and chirps out a word, followed by ‘human’.

You smirk, lopsided but wholehearted. It’s yet another of those familiar moments where you recognize the word from context alone. Weird human, he called you.

“Do you not like bugs?”

“Bugs on Simuria big.”

“They’re big? How big?”

He tilts his head to either side, casting a quick glance off to the side as some sort of debris hits the hull of the ship. His gaze returns to you, unbothered otherwise by the noise. “Big like that,” he presses his finger to the glass separating you.

Following the direction in which he points, you whirl around to find he’s pointing to a duffel bag of sorts. “Oh, we have some like that. Most are smaller though,” you explain as you turn back. “These two are my friends, like Shoko. That’s Spike,” you point to the stag, “and Stipple,” you point to the spiny stick insect.

“Stipple like Simuria bugs.”

“Really?” Your eyes widen, filled with wonder, and Sukuna’s head tilts as he lets out a pleased chuff. The revelation only brings up more questions. “Simuria,” you breathe the word like something sacred. Were the circumstances of your trip to reach CRM-12 any different, you might even be racing to document this beyond messy scribbles in a journal. “Do you all have four arms and eyes?”

Sukuna follows your gaze before he growls, which you take as a no.

“Is it based on region? Or– oh, maybe modification or–”

Sukuna huffs loudly, staring intently at you. “Human weak and loud.”

Ah– insults. The default when you’re bothering him or going too fast. “Sorry Sukuna,” you laugh, still lighthearted and chirpy in spite of his grumpy demeanor.

“Simurians all different,” he explains, waving his hand through the hologram still sitting off to the side to erase it. He draws a stick figure of sorts with horns and an eye on its forehead, then another with a tail that seems prehensile from what you can tell, like a monkey.

“All different? So, it’s not based on regions?”

He growls, confirming your thoughts. “I need four arms for science and making ship,” he points broadly around him.

You blink in complete and utter disbelief, the buzzing of the bay lights audible even over the gears turning in your mind. “So you… grew two extra arms? Like, your body made them yourself?”

He chuffs, pleased once again by your disbelief with a hint of what you might call a smile. You’re coming to notice that he seems to like that. He enjoys praise, even if it’s of his species rather than himself. He enjoys being above you in any way he can. It’s probably one of the most human things about him, in a roundabout sort of way.

“That’s incredible,” you shake your head regardless, watching as he puffs his chest out again, his chin tilted up. You can’t help a smile at the sight of him, the boyish pride on his face is something of a marvel. “What other adaptations do you have?”

He considers this for a moment, before running a hand through his hair and presenting a second ear hidden under pink strands over his humanoid ear. It’s far less human than the first pair, you would consider it closer to an owl. Your lips purse as you near the glass, leaning with both hands splayed across it. He then lifts the hem of his shirt and you damn near choke.

You can’t even decide which part it is that actually chokes you. The fact that he’s sporting a six pack like no other and a second pair of pecks that sends heat to places you do not want to think about while trapped in a box in space, or the huge mouth plastered where a belly button would otherwise be. You cough to distract him from the way your throat seizes, then sit back in an effort to disguise how you’ve reacted to an alien you hardly know.

Sukuna tilts his chin up slightly as he regards you. You want to chalk it up to nothing more than a natural reaction to your cough, but there’s a gleam in his eyes that you recognize. You’re then unfortunately reminded that his hearing is like nothing you’ve ever experienced and he can likely hear your pounding heart. It puts an idea in your head that his sense of smell may… also… be better on that note, too. Breezing past the moment as quickly as you can, you cough once more. “What’s, uh– what’s that for?”

“Eating large food.”

The sensation is jarring, but it occurs to you that you’ve never once asked what he eats. “Like… what?”

To your surprise, he smiles. Actually smiles. “Noisy food. Good food.”

“Are you joking with me? Are you joking about eating me?” You sputter.

His toothy grin is replicated on his stomach mouth as he lets the hem of his shirt drop and for the first time you hear him rumble in laughter.

You don’t even have the instinct to wonder if he’s lying when you’re too intrigued by the whole ordeal and just shake your head. “Oh, so you have jokes now?”

“Always have jokes,” he grins, wide. “You not understand, weak human.”

You scoff. “I see how it is,” you tease, curious about his ability to pick up not just language but the deeper meaning behind it. With a sigh, you cast a glance back at the spot where he revealed the stomach mouth, focusing back on your mission. For as curious as you are, at the end of the day you’re trapped in a box in space with a limit on time and supplies. “How quickly can you evolve?”

He tilts his head from side to side, something he’s seen you do when you reply with ‘maybe’.

“Does it depend? Is it based on how your surroundings are?” You make a motion to everything around you.

“Yes,” he replies affirmatively for the first time in your language, rather than his usual Simurian response.

“How fast are we talking?”

His brow tents, head tilting like the question is stupid. “We talk at normal speed for you.”

You bark a laugh at the realization that he’s now completely misunderstood. “No, it’s a saying, sorry. How fast can you evolve? One planet rotation around the sun? Two?”

Clearly displeased with your laughter, he takes a moment to fix you with a glare before replying. “Not one planet rotation. Smaller time.”

“Less than one planet rotation around the sun or less than one planet rotation?”

“Less than one planet rotation.”

You swear you need to pick your jaw up off the floor. “Less than a DAY?” You shout in disbelief, hand raising to the glass in a slam that echoes over the metal bay.

Sukuna growls, recoiling away from your reaction. It’s not out of fear, but rather that you’re being noisy again. “Human. Weak human. Stop.”

Sitting back down, you offer another apology to the begrudging man sitting across from you. Pieces of the puzzle all suddenly begin to click into place. That’s why he picked up your language so quickly. He didn’t just learn, his throat adapted to the sound. His vocal chords changed in less than a day to work around the fact that humans can’t. His species is advanced in the kind of way you could only dream. Hell, you never even realized he lost the strange rasp to his vocalizations in your language. “Sukuna, I–” you pause, raising a finger as you become aware that you’re about to get ahead of yourself when you go dashing back to the lab.

You gather a space meal, several beakers, pipettes, gloves, and a sterile handling box. When you return and dump it all on the ground beside you in a cacophony of glass, Sukuna still seems displeased with the noise.

“Humans sent me here because of this,” you present a phial of liquid to him. Held within the small glass container is a dark red, almost black liquid with yellow separation. “These are Alveoli. Normal ones. They’re cells in our lungs,” you point to your chest. “And this,” you present another phial, but the color of the liquid is off, almost more of a brown. “Is Alveolarium. It appeared on Earth I guess ten years ago now and we can’t find a cure. Around the same time it showed up, I got called to an island in the middle of nowhere to research a new discovery,” you explain. “They sent a ship somewhere around here back then, and picked up a CRM– um– a Kerm.”

Sukuna doesn’t move, but you have his attention.

“I was sent to research behaviour since it looks like a bug, but they also discovered that Kerm have cells in their shell that are really similar to the pathogen causing Alveolarium which was spreading a lot, but Kerm cells seem to carry properties that might help or stop or kill the disease or something,” you explain, shutting your eyes tightly as you search for vocabulary he’d know. “Basically they have similar cells,” you explain.

Sukuna inhales, long and slow as he sits up. Interestingly, his gaze splits as he looks over both samples at once. His languid movement makes sense when you consider that he’s well over a thousand years old and still has two thousand to go, if not more. Of course life isn’t short for a creature like him.

“We had one Kerm,” you continue. “But it died.”

“Died. Gone?” Sukuna confirms the meaning of the word.

“Yeah.”

He grunts. There’s no real emotion behind it, it’s nothing but sheer acknowledgement.

“So I need to get more Kerm. It’s…” You stare down at the sealed contaminated cell sample. “It’s bad, Sukuna. A lot of humans died. Probably way more since I’ve been gone.”

He stares at you for a long moment, his jaw moving as he evaluates your expression and every little micromovement of your body. He has a way about the manner in which he moves like he’s above life itself, everything in his mannerisms is lazy and unbothered– that is, until you grate on his nerves, anyway. There’s something almost kingly in the way he carries himself. After a long pause, he sets a forearm on his leg, leaning forward. “You want cells. Mine.”

Your jaw hangs open as you attempt to explain yourself. “I mean– you might be able to save us, but obviously only if you’re okay with it! I just– We don’t actually know anything about the Kerm, and I can’t guarantee if it’ll make it back alive or even at all, and–”

“Human.” There’s less heat in his voice as he shuts you up with the low rumbling of his timbre. “I help. You get suit,” he speaks like he’s ordering you, pointing.

“Suit?”

His eyes narrow as he gets to his feet, offense dripping from the very click of his tongue he gives you. “You scientist. You help.”

Your jaw hangs open as you glance back between him and the ship. You seal your lips into a tight line, staring down at fidgeting hands. “Sukuna, I–” You shake your head.

“Your atmosphere weak, humans weak. Use your second heart, my ship pressure not crush you. Stop scared movement,” he points mildly at your twiddling thumbs.

Before you can explain the truth, you’re perplexed by his words. “Second…? I only have one heart.”

He huffs. “Then I help reinforce oxygen tank to survive pressure of sulfur gas atmosphere. Weak human. Foolish weak human.”

You’re left in utter disbelief and mild shock, frozen in place as he turns on his heel to, you suppose, make you a new tank fitting of the pressure of his ship. When the hell did he even pick up the word foolish? Did you say that? Shaking your head of the thought, you need to focus on what matters here.

“Sukuna!”

He stops a short distance away, his gaze thrown over his shoulder.

“Sukuna, I can’t– I can’t leave.”

He crosses his arms– all four of them– unimpressed. “Why?”

“This was always meant to be a one-way trip. I don’t get to go home. I’m sealed in here. I have no depressurization pod, no suit, no way to unseal the ship without losing the oxygen in here. No portable generators, nothing. When the ship loses power, that’s it.”

Slowly, he turns towards you, straightening as he regards you. He doesn’t just look displeased, he looks downright offended. His usual go-to doesn’t seem to cut it either as he spews out something more than just ‘weak’. “Wrong.”

It likely doesn’t convey what he wants, but you get the gist anyway. “Yeah. It’s stupid,” you agree.

“Your stupid.”

“Yeah,” you laugh half-heartedly. “My stupid.”

Clearly realizing you’re butchering your own language to appeal to his limited use of it, he turns on his heel again, muttering something under his breath. Your hand slips away from the glass keeping you safe and trapped in tandem as you watch Sukuna disappear. You find yourself staring at the photo of you and Shoko again. What you wouldn’t give to check in on her right now. Or ever again.

This will be it for you. Your food supply is limited to what it was deemed was a reasonable amount of time to– somehow– procure not just one but multiple specimens of Kerm or CRM-12, or whatever you’re meant to call them. Your power will fizzle out. Your oxygen supply will end. Your ship’s fuel is already near its limit. You’re sealed in a death trap as a final sentencing. You shut your eyes tightly, rubbing your hands over your face in an effort to reset.

When Sukuna doesn’t return in a couple of minutes, you move around the ship in an effort to clear your head and get some exercise. Anything that stops reminding you of just how trapped you are in a void of uncharted territory with an alien that far exceeds any of humanity’s feats.

You grab a bite to eat, rehydrating some macaroni and cheese in a flimsy bag. It’s unappealing as all hell but it’s better than starving. Eating straight out of the bag, you meander back towards the window, blinking when you find Sukuna setting up a mobile science lab of some sort just outside the bridge. You jog closer to the window, taking a seat to watch as he sets out largely similar and recognizable equipment, although the shape and build of much of his technology is infinitely more advanced. Bigger, too, given his size.

One set of eyes glides to your movement, an eerie feat of having an extra pair, while he continues to set up. Your mind goes into overdrive trying to figure out just how much that sets apart his biology from yours to have the energy production and sheer brainpower to manage so much at once.

His nose wrinkles when he watches you spoon food into your mouth. Chuckling, you approach the nook by the window, presenting the bag to him. “It’s macaroni and cheese.” You tilt the bag in his direction.

“It’s bad.”

“Hey!” You chide with a grin. “It’s better than it looks. You can’t call it bad until you try it.”

With an unusually pompous huff, he turns back to the mobile set-up and picks up a box-like device, connecting it to the window by suction. He runs his thumb along the edge like a dial and it comes to life, seeping a sort of caulk onto the glass before it begins drilling through the window. Your survival instinct recognizes the structural instability. Your curiosity chooses to ignore it as the device uses some sort of nanotech to recreate its shape on the inner glass, sealing itself.

You purse your lips, your spoon held in mid-air. “A mini pressurization chamber.”

He chuffs. “Give macaroni and cheese.”

“You need to learn manners,” you mutter more to yourself than to him as he literally holds his hand out to bluntly demand your lunch with that unnatural edge to his voice that never quite fits his genuine intrigue.

“Manners?” He queries, though his hand never moves.

Chuckling to yourself as you give in and offer the small bag and spoon of food to him, you watch as your door closes and the pressure within the device changes. “We say please when we ask for something and thank you when we’re given something if we want to be polite or nice to someone.” When his side opens, the bag and food as a whole are crushed under the pressure of his differing atmosphere, presenting him with a dripping mess of squished pasta.

Admittedly, it does look bad now. As it begins dripping melted cheese that’s entirely too watery out the other side straight onto his shoes, he stares at you with the kind of tight-lipped expression that transcends any language barrier.

He’s not thanking you for this.

“Sorry,” you wince, offering an apologetic grin.

He growls, trudging back across the large expanse of hangar bay to get something to clean up the mess. By the time he returns and cleans up the cheese, he finally opts to take a bite of the crushed food, fixing you with a glare.

“Bad. Bad food for weak human.”

You can only smile, because it figures that he would hate it. “Fair enough,” you laugh, watching as he sets it along with the dirty rag he used to clean the cheese. Your eyes widen a fraction at the thought. “Wait, what do you–”

Rolling his shoulders, he points to the small chamber that connects you. “Give Alveolarium.”

Your thoughts are already long forgotten as you pick up one of the cultures, chewing on your lower lip as you examine the glass. “I think your ship’s atmospheric pressure might crush the vial.” You hold it up to him. “It’s pretty thin.”

With a hum, Sukuna offers a box through the exchange to put the phial in. As you exchange materials and Sukuna begins separating the infected cells into smaller cultures within an oxygen-controlled box with barometric pressure equal to your ship’s, it occurs to you that in spite of your life being cut short, some part of you is happy for this experience. Even if your notes and findings get stranded out here, you can say you found companionship in a grumpy ten-foot-tall genius alien, and that’s pretty cool.

With your plights long forgotten as you watch Sukuna work with your face practically plastered to the glass, the technology and rate at which he’s able to work grabs your attention. Your chest practically rattles in excitement as he moves through practiced motions like he already knows what to do.

“What’s that?” You query, watching eagerly as he injects something into a lower arm.

One pair of eyes flicks to you. “For cells.”

“For stem cells? Like from your bones?”

He chuffs, pulling out a rubber band as he restricts his blood flow to take a sample.

“It’s that fast?” You gawk as he already begins drawing a sample.

His brow twitches as you break his concentration, but he chuffs to give you a reply regardless.

“Oh my god. We have a drug that does that too, but it takes a while before it produces any neutrophils– um– stem cells. You’re so much more advanced than us, I never imagined how much different life could be!” You watch as blue blood is extracted from his arm, and he begins separating the sample in order to work with it. “Your blood is blue? Is that because of the differing atmosphere? Or maybe it’s an adaptation somehow–”

“Human,” Sukuna groans, disenchanted with your rambles. He fixes you with a tired expression, pointing to the experiment in an effort to get you to focus. “Stop. Noisy.”

“Right, sorry!” You apologize with a wide grin.

A series of clicks, syllables, and growls escape the brutish man as he mutters something to himself, undoing the band from his arm and flexing his fingers a couple of times before pulling a sleeve back down. As he introduces his cells to the Alveolar cells that are infected in the controlled environment, he moves a small device over the culture slide, projecting hologram of the microscopic cells. His cells are so different from anything you’ve observed on Earth that you have no issue telling which belong to him in spite of your differing major.

The cells collide once, the Alveolarium attempts to attack Sukuna’s cells, then simply… backs off. “They’re incompatible,” you state dryly, your shoulders dropping. 

Sukuna grunts. “Alveolar cells still functional. My cells not see issue.”

“That could be it.” You shrug.

He hums, tapping a finger twice along the table. “Then we change environment.”

“Create artificial stress until your cells react,” you breathe, your hand snapping down to the ground beside you with a metallic clang that has Sukuna flashing you another glare.

“Loud. Loud human.”

“Sorry, I just– I’m a bit overexcited,” you offer with a smile.

Sukuna continues to stare for a moment, then adjusts the pressure within the glass box where the experiment is taking place to something more dense. He attempts to alter the environment enough that his cells recognize a threat, while not outright killing yours. Striking a balance between them proves to be a multi-day endeavor. In the moments where you can only wait, you slowly begin to unravel the enigma that is Sukuna.

You can’t count how many times Sukuna huffs or makes his disdain known with a very dramatic look in your direction when you suggest something altogether dumb, but you also note that he tells you you’re noisy less often. He picks up on more scientific terms, and even begins to pick up on prepositions purely from your use of them. He teaches you about Simuria, how the Simurians all have extra eyes, two hearts, and are fairly large compared to humanity, though they largely don’t resemble one another. He teaches you about one with horns, who you assume is a friend. He, on the other hand, refers to the horned Simurian as a neighbor.

You get the feeling Sukuna isn’t the friendly type.

“You’re invasive,” he gruffs out in reply to your question.

Your head falls back as you stare at the ceiling with a groan. “I literally just asked if you choose to be alone!” You retort lightheartedly. “You don’t even have to give me a reason!”

“You’re invasive. Like Kerm.”

“Like–” You gawk at him, watching a slow smile curl at his lips. “Like Kerm?”

“Loud like them too.”

“Hey!”

His head tilts as you exclaim your displeasure with that statement, but it’s one of the rare moments where he does seem pleased, which brings a smile to your face regardless. For whatever reason, nothing seems to get him boastful quite like belittling humanity. And since his only knowledge of humanity is you, that puts you at the center of his jokes.

“You know,” you meander back to the topic of Kerm, pulling the smile straight from his lips when you change the subject. “You never did tell me why you’re here. You know the Kerm too, so is it for them?”

He chuffs. “I did tell you. The Kerm are invasive.”

“That’s not really a reason. That’s just like– a statement.”

Seated on the floor with his back against the glass that separates you, he rolls his head along the rigid surface, his gaze finding you. “Kerm are smarter than you humans think,” he grumbles out a baseline explanation. He utters something in his language, then puts together a few sounds until he has a new word for you. “Methalonian weapons. They aren’t natural. They’re–” he taps his fingers on the bay’s floor briefly in thought. “Created by another species.”

“Methalonian,” you test the word. “Are they artificial? Or are they mutated? Like, completely not real or mutated from something that already existed?”

He taps his finger decidedly. “Mutated. Another species mutated them. I’ve been circling this planet for a while now to find where they come from,” he explains. “There are no other species here. They ate all of their resources. Now they invade.”

“How do they even leave? Are they that smart?”

He growls. “They attach themselves to ships and invade.”

“Oh. What are you planning on doing to them, then?”

He sucks in a breath. “Killing them.”

You freeze, staring at him as he examines your expression. You’ve never been much good at training your emotions, your pupils narrowing to mere pinpricks. You swallow, gaze averting to the photo of Shoko. “You were never gonna let me take any.”

“... No.”

“That’s why you trapped me. You knew I was here for them.”

“Made a guess,” he agrees with a hand motion that you’d equate to a shrug.

Slumping back against the bridge’s floor, you stare at the ceiling. Your alien counterpart watches in silence as you process what you know of the Kerm, your current situation, and your species’ survival. You consider Shoko back home, and the rest of your family and friends. You consider your nights out together ten years ago and what that might look like now if you ever make it back. You consider the failing government, and how it’s possible everything has completely fallen apart since your launch. But what really gets to you is that if this doesn’t work, there’s no world where Sukuna lets you send a Kerm back.

Maybe you shouldn’t care. You’re physically welded into a ship in the middle of nowhere. Yet here you are, even after everything, still being hopeful. It’s the most human thing you could possibly do. “What did The Kerm do to you?” You quietly murmur, still staring at the ceiling.

He inhales once, long. His eyes shut. “They’re mutated to kill,” he grunts. “The cells your scientists found in their shells…” his jaw ticks as he clicks, something you can’t decipher as syllables follow it. “It is not your cure.”

You lift your head, leaning on two elbows to look at him.

“It is your cause.”

Your lips part, brow furrowing. “But– I– That’s not–” Your chest tightens, emotions betraying you as you feel your waterline wet. Quickly wiping away the evidence, your fingers curl against the metal floor beneath you.

Sukuna doesn’t budge, his fiery gaze pinning you to place.

“But Alveolarium has been around longer than the Kerm was on Earth.”

He moves a knee, tilting his head. “Has it?”

“I… Don’t know, actually.” At last, you admit it, but things don’t fully add up from what you know. You let yourself fall onto your back again. “The company that sent me here, we had a bit of a disagreement. I guess… Maybe they were right, but still.”

Sukuna’s eyes narrow, minute, as he attempts to decipher the vagueness of your statement, but by nature of a language barrier, he can’t make out what emotion it is that you’re so graciously dancing around.

You swallow hard. “Did… Did they kill a lot of Simurians?”

“Yes. Humans?”

“If it’s them then… yeah, I guess. Millions. Like, thousands upon thousands.”

Morbidly intrigued, Sukuna shuffles to get a better look at you, his face closer to the glass than ever. “How many humans are on Earth?”

“Um–” You quickly pull up the whiteboard, demonstrating a number for ten, then a thousand, then a million, then a billion. “There were eight billion.”

This is the most baffled you’ve ever seen Sukuna, who physically recoils at the mere thought. “How do you keep distance? How do you celebrate the union of humans?”

“Union of humans?” You laugh. “Weddings? I don’t know, you invite a hundred people and call it a day.” But the question sparks something in you as you sit up to face your baffled friend. “How many Simurians are there?”

“Seventy nine.”

“WHAT?” You gape, noting that he doesn’t complain about your noise in spite of his narrowing eyes and defensive posture. “Are you guys close to going extinct? Like, being gone? Are you not worried?”

He simply growls in reply. “No, human. Things are…” He hesitates, his gaze averting. “We all have space and resources, it isn’t cramped.” He rolls his shoulders back. “We celebrate all weddings every year. Then stay alone with our partners.”

There’s a pit of jealousy in your stomach that you cover with a smile. “So you have someone you’ll be going back to, hey?” You grin, prodding at him through the window. You equate the unsettling feeling to a yearning for having someone like that back home, or even the option to return, but it would be ignoring the bigger picture that you’ve both been sitting in this bay for several days together and you’ve grown fond of him. You may not have a choice in being here, but he does. And he chooses to help in spite of his own goals. Your heart likes that he chooses you a bit too much.

To your surprise, your question irks him and his eyes narrow. A harsh hiss erupts from his throat as he suddenly turns back towards the pressurized box where your experimentation is taking place.

Your shoulders fall, watching the muscles over his back pull taut as he busies himself with little more than prep work for a next experiment as you continue to wait.

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist (hah) to realize that Sukuna has no partner. The thought trickles through the pockets of your mind. Seventy nine people on a planet total… You can only imagine how lonely that gets. Even you, who chooses to be with bugs a majority of your life, always returns home to Shoko and your bugs at the end of a trip.

Seventy nine. That’s thirty nine weddings. Is he the only Simurian with no partner? “Sukuna…” You watch him work, his movements unbothered as he dilutes samples and ups heat to push his cells to react. “Are you lonely?”

He freezes. A muscle in his cheek twitches as he flexes his jaw, choosing not to reply when he continues in his motions.

Your shoulders fall as you watch him silently work, pulling the rug out from under you on the reality of your relationship. A working relationship, really. He’s always chided you for being invasive, and you suppose this is why.

“I’m lonely,” you offer, quietly. His movements don’t freeze altogether, but they slow. He moves as though any noise might distract him from what you’re saying, in spite of the fact that there’s no keeping secrets from a man with ears like him. “I wish I could go back to Earth. Or maybe meet the Simurians, or see more of the universe. I wish I could study bugs again.”

When he still doesn’t reply, but his movements slow to a crawl, you pick up the photo of you and Shoko, presenting it to him again. “I’d love to tell my friend what we’re up to.”

After an extended moment’s silence, he removes his hands from the box, resting them on the table he rolled in. The dense metal protests his weight, even though it was designed for him. Likely designed by him, too. He still doesn’t face you, choosing to protect himself from your prying eyes by continuing to face somewhat away from you.

“It’s not so bad up here though, you know. I mean, I met you. That’s pretty cool.” You scoot closer to the glass, hoping to find common ground through friendship, if you can call this such a thing.

Your movement grabs his attention. His gaze flickers towards you, the only sign he’s heard you at all. He continues to face forward, his shoulders hunched over the cool metal table.

“Why are you alone?” He finally speaks up, unmoving otherwise.

“I’m uh– pretty noisy,” you offer with a grin in terms he knows well, deflecting the question. “So I guess it just never worked out with other people.”

Sukuna straightens, turning to face you. “Not what I meant.”

You smile, half-hearted. “I’m a criminal, Sukuna.”

“Criminal?”

You nod, pulling your knees into your chest as he slowly nears the glass again. He takes a seat, cross-legged as he leans over his forearms to give you his full attention. “I did a really bad thing. Other humans got hurt and I’m here as a punishment. Our technology isn’t as good as yours and the crew that signed up for this mission knew they wouldn’t get to go back to Earth. The choices I made landed me here instead of them.”

“What did you do?”

Your arms tighten around your legs as you settle your chin along your knees. “The Kerm, you know how I told you we had one?”

He chuffs.

“We put it in a cell, a big cage or room,” you explain to the best of your ability. “I was told they just caught it and I was brought in to study it, because it looks similar to our bugs so people in charge made assumptions,” you haphazardly point at the photo where your bug pets are crawling on your clothes. Their features are close enough to the Kerm that you can see the train of thought that led to you. “In my time studying it, I realized it was smart. Like, way smarter than any bug on Earth. Maybe even smarter than any animal. It was listening. It was learning.”

“You opened its cell.”

With a drawn out sigh, you bury your face in your folded arms, muffling your words. “I opened its cell.”

“It ate them all.”

“It ate the crew for this mission. Every last one of them. And then the people in charge killed it, too.”

With two arms relaxed in his lap and two holding him up, Sukuna watches in relative silence as emotions swim through your eyes. He doesn’t have a name for most of them, but he’s seen them in himself. Over a thousand years of life will do that to you.

Your voice is a mere whisper. “It was so smart, Sukuna. I just couldn’t watch it live out its life in a cell.”

“Now you live your life in a cell.”

You lift your head, gaze flickering across the buttons you never bothered to figure out and the white walls you never quite grew accustomed to when all you ever see is Sukuna. “Yeah, I guess so. Funny how that works, huh?”

“It’s not funny,” he hisses, his brow furrowing in such a way that actually has you curious.

It’s not as though you didn’t consider yourself acquaintances at least with him by this point. You've spent several days together and he chooses every day to return when he could have dropped you off at any point and cleaned up his scuffed hangar, but he doesn’t. Every day, he pushes his own goals and mission back another day into the future and chooses to help the trapped little entomologist residing in the back corner of his ship. The whole thing is funny if you’re grim enough about it.

In spite of his frustration, you shuffle forward, pressing a hand to the glass. “It’s okay. I’m glad we met before I’m gone.”

His brow twitches not once but twice as he stares at your hand like it’s a personal affront. “My ship can get you home.”

Your fingers curl just slightly against the glass. Your body inadvertently winces at the thought. “Maybe. But if I go home, I’ll still be arrested and live life in a cell down there. That’s… worse.”

“Even if you bring back a cure?”

“Humans are… complicated.”

“Stupid.”

A puff of air leaves your nose. “Yeah. Humans are stupid.” You do what you can to mask your underlying sadness as your lips curl up into a smile.

You can’t read Sukuna’s expression as his intense crimson stare burns into you. You know there’s a level of disbelief and maybe even frustration at your self-sacrifice in his eyes. Whether you want to admit that an alien could feel something like that for you is another story.

You can see the internal battle raging within him, although you can’t identify what battle it is that he fights. In spite of his troubled scowl, you’re shocked when an arm slowly lifts from where his elbow rested on his thigh. He brings it to the glass, his fingers pressing first over each digit, before his palm splays over yours. The heat he radiates is warm enough that you feel it through the glass, befitting of a ten foot alien that expends far more energy than you. As if you weren’t already aware, it makes it apparent just how much he dwarfs you.

You peel your gaze from his hand, examining the way he refuses to look at you. Softly, you pose a question that might answer some of your own. “How many Simurians were there before the Kerm?”

His frown deepens, his head falling. “Over one thousand. I evolved. Most… did not.”

Something briefly occurs to you of the whole ordeal. You wonder if maybe there was someone that even he– a scientist and engineer clearly capable of incredible feats– could not save. “Your family?” You query, your voice a near-whisper that you know he picks up on.

His eyes slowly drag across the glass, staring straight through you as his reflection startlingly pins him in place. He swallows hard, refusing to confirm when it’s not you staring him down, but his own misplaced guilt that reflects back at him.

His jaw locks, teeth grinding as he pulls back suddenly, on his feet in an instant with an expression you can’t place. He’s scowling with wide eyes, turning on his heel as he excuses himself with nothing more than an “I’m tired,” trudging away with footsteps that echo throughout the bay.

Sitting back, you let out a sigh as you’re left alone once again.

–

The somber tone of that day never fully recuperates itself into something easier. There’s a constant pressure looming overhead that unfortunately isn’t barometric. It’s that of a ship set to fail and a man who treats revenge like a cure for loss. But on the other hand, one thing does change. Sukuna opens up.

He shows you a hologram with images of Simuria that leave you wistful for the greater universe. Space was never your forte, but the dense petrified wood forests and gaseous craters and mountains have your brain tripping over itself in curiosity of what insects could exist in those biomes, much to Sukuna’s dismay as he brushes you off as noisy.

As the days pass and your food supply begins to run short, you’re left with no option but to eat less as you quietly enter survival mode upon realizing Sukuna eats… well, rocks. So you’re left only with what was packed for you.

You were intended to have sent Kerm back by now. You weren’t intended to find life like Sukuna. You weren’t intended to bond. You weren’t intended to be left with a yearning to explore the universe and see the things he’s seen. You weren’t intended to slowly begin to wither. There was an out for you, as morbid as it is. A single dose ready to take once your mission was complete.

And yet, every day, Sukuna brings something new for you to see or experience. It’s small, but it’s surprisingly meaningful. He shows you the vast cliff faces of a Simurian coast that’s a famous vacation spot. He tells you stories of the gaseous craters within the planet that make much of it uninhabitable, hence the far smaller population across it, even before the Kerm. He demonstrates the use of four arms to their full extent and how his brain adapted. He shows you his tattoos. God, the tattoos.

He tells you all about how they each have meaning. How in Simuria, they’re a mark of life events. His wrists were banded when he finished an equivalent of elementary school at twenty-eight. His upper arms were an equivalent of high school at thirty-six, and something akin to university marked his shoulders at sixty-two. It’s a wonder to hear someone graduating university at sixty-two with their life still ahead of them.

He lifts his shirt and points to stripes along his shoulder and back. You swear you’re paying attention. You swear. He smirks, but he tells you nonetheless that they were from what you might consider a bachelor’s degree equivalent.

“What about your face?” You ask, tracing the ink on his jaw along the glass as you leave behind a smear.

“That,” he states, “was my choice. We all choose what our face will look like.”

“No special event?”

“Just me,” he breathes.

It makes you smile.

He hates how much that very action sits under his ribs. It pokes at him, prods at him like it belongs there, reminding him that this won’t last forever.

One morning, he arrives with dark circles under his eyes. He notes that you both look tired. He knows his reasoning, but he can’t place yours. Your energy is largely spent, yet you just awoke. You’re not noisy anymore. He places a circular device on the ground. A holographic device, you recognize it right away, but it’s far larger than the usual one.

“You wanted to see the mountains,” he states simply, ignoring the failed experiment to his left, in spite of the fact that he needs to start a new one with time of the essence. “You will.”

Awaiting him in your usual nook by the window, you’re wrapped up in a blanket, smiling in spite of yourself. For the first time since you met, weak feels as though it properly describes your appearance, but you refuse to give up despite your body’s shortcomings as your stomach rumbles. Sukuna never points it out.

He runs his finger along the outer dial that his machinery tends to run on and it springs to life. You bring a hand up to block the light protruding from a high-lumen-count projector, squinting as the hologram doesn’t just project something in a controlled, small environment, it extends to every wall as though you’re there. The bulb remains bright as Sukuna steps away from it, allowing you to see a mountain as though you’re there.

It’s not a rebuilt landscape either, you realize as you press your hands to the glass to get a better view. It’s a video. It’s a bit shaky, and you’re certain that if it played audio, you might hear the camera operator panting. Every time it shakes and the hologram can’t make sense of what it’s projecting, you squint, but it comes back in a moment. When it flashes suddenly, you catch a glimpse of Sukuna, following along behind the camera operator. He looks young. In human years, you would guess his twenties. Maybe three hundred for him. You can’t help a smile as you note that he doesn’t seem to have four arms. You wonder if they came later.

The camera flashes again as the operator moves it, revealing his own face along with Sukuna and four laughing Simurians. Sukuna still bears his usual aloof expression, but the joy in his eyes is palpable as they all pose for a photo. The camera operator looks largely like Sukuna, though he bears no facial tattoos and only a simple set of extra eyes. A twin, perhaps.

To Sukuna’s left is a Simurian with shoulder-length white hair who’s much shorter than the rest of them with an eye in the center of their forehead, a tall and slender Simurian with horns and the same third eye, one with shaggy white hair and six striking blue eyes, and one with silky-looking black hair and four eyes, purple beyond your wildest beliefs.

“Are those your friends?” You query, covering a cough in your elbow.

Sukuna intently watches the action, chuffing when the camera turns away. “We went on a trip after my fourth tattoo.”

“You look young.”

He steps around the projector, moving closer to your window. “I was.” He’s never been the most talkative, but he does ask more questions. You chalk it up to scientific curiosity. “Are Earth mountains like this?” Were you more keen, you might realize he’s deflecting you from the subject of the friends of which he’s mostly lost.

You stare around at the landscape. Simuria is largely rocky with giant craters. It’s covered in iridescent minerals that seem to form under the far more gaseous and toxic-leaning environment. “Some,” you decide. “The more harsh environments get colorful like this. Mostly, they’re gray with trees. Kinda spiky green ones with pointed tops. We get snow, too, at the tops where it’s colder.”

Simuria is warm, from what you’ve gathered, and his head tilts curiously at the thought of snow.

“You know when you bring a liquid to a cold temperature and it freezes?”

He chuffs.

“Like that, but tiny shavings of it. It’s white and cold. It falls from the clouds.”

“Fascinating.” And he means it, too. It’s the most intriguing part of all of your interactions with him. You don’t learn through questioning as scientists anymore, you learn through sharing as friends.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmur to yourself, watching the video clip play out. It cuts off without so much as a sound of warning, the room returning to the usual bright and barren metal appearance you’ve grown accustomed to. “Snow doesn’t have much friction, so humans would go to the top of mountains and slide down.”

“You have no cliffs?”

“Not really on the snowy mountains.” You scoot forward, leaning your shoulder against the window as you pull yourself into a tight ball with a blanket draped over your shoulders. “Mostly in deserts. Desert mountains look more like Simurian ones, but mostly one color. They’re warmer, too. Most of the time.”

Subconsciously, Sukuna leans against the glass, his shoulder warming you enough that your eyes flutter shut. “What color?”

You yawn. “Orange. It’s kinda like a darker version of your hair. If you squint.”

Absently running a hand through said locks, he stares out at the hangar’s walls, where the hologram projected mountains mere moments ago. “I think I know the color,” he murmurs mostly to himself. Rising from where he leans against the glass, his lips part to speak when he finds you sound asleep slumped against the glass.

His jaw tightens, a sharp pain rising behind his teeth at the sight of the tiny Human he’s grown fond of curled into a little ball aboard her ship. His friend. Slowly, a hand rises to the glass as something in his chest twists painfully. He recognizes the feeling, he’s no fool. He’s spent over a thousand years alive and isn’t a stranger to the pang gnawing at him as the noisy stowaway he picked up passes out in his presence.

To you, he’s safety. To him, you're more than just company.

And you’re wasting away in his hangar bay because some species he’s never come across decided that would be the case simply for having compassion. It brought about a mistake, sure, but you had compassion nonetheless where they did not.

He sucks in a breath, taking long strides over the metal floor to continue experimenting until you rise again. He works quietly, although he knows your hearing doesn’t compare to his. He moves with silent ease in spite of his lumbering form and watches with a frown as every environmental change he puts either of the cells through doesn’t bring out the result he wants. His cells adapt to the environment, but never recognize the Alveolarium as a threat.

Stepping back as he attempts to re-evaluate, he casts a glance back at you. Even if your energy wanes, your heart still beats steadily in his keen ears. He can get you back to Earth so long as he can figure out a solution to get energy back into your system somehow given that his food doesn’t fit within your diet.

You stir with a yawn, seemingly roused by his glance. You press against the glass, sitting up and blinking a number of times. When you meet his gaze, a spark of energy ignites that has Sukuna wincing. You clamber against the metal, some sort of button or zipper on your clothes clanging hard against the metal. “Sorry, Sukuna! I didn’t realize I fell asleep.”

He growls, rubbing absently at his second ear tucked within salmon locks. “It’s fine,” he grumbles, although your company is more welcome than he gives off as you sit upright to watch his experimentation once more.

You offer suggestions that get you deadpan expressions and a dramatic roll of the eyes given your lack of knowledge on the subject of medicinal chemistry is lacking. You figure you’re better at telling stories anyway, and even if you lose your place here and there when your tiredness catches up with you, Sukuna always offers a guiding suggestion when you falter.

The following day is when he starts to notice a trend that doesn’t greet either of you with warmth.

You drag yourself to the bridge later than usual without your morning granola bar. Sukuna offers you a mineral, but he knows it would break your teeth. He also offers meat, but you both already know your system rejects it. The blanket you’ve been dragging around with you for the past few days is bundled so tightly around you that Sukuna would wager a guess that you’re colder than usual, too.

When you make a motion to point at something on the table, his gaze lingers on your trembling finger. He can hear your stomach. He knows you’re starving. He’s watching your spirit fade, completely helplessly.

Sukuna, a man who’s spent over two hundred years coming to terms with the past and adapting to being alone, finds himself completely at a loss and frustrated beyond his means when he finds you the following morning. Or– more accurately– when he doesn’t find you.

His footsteps are even as he makes his way across the hangar. Your belongings remain at the glass, but you aren’t there yet. He tilts his head, catching your heartbeat as a slow, steady thump that keeps him at bay, and moves to check on his most recent experiment. He frowns as he finds after the allotted time, his cells remain by their lonesome, still unable to identify your Human disease as a threat.

Truthfully, it perplexes him. You determined early on that you share enough DNA to potentially be susceptible to the same diseases. Hell, by all means this is something Simurians have already overcome. It came from the same source, so he can’t figure out why his stem cells have yet to take to yours.

Carding his finger through his hair, he lets out a forlorn sigh, eyes shut for a long moment. Your heart is a steady drum in his ear, a reminder of what it is that he’s working towards. Had someone told him two weeks ago that he’d be helping such a pitiful little species overcome a disease of their own doing, he might not have believed them. But there’s more to you than your brittle bone structure and weak muscle mass. You’re smart. Perhaps not as advanced as he is, but you’re smart far beyond your thirty five years.

You’re smart in the kind of way Sukuna can only dream. He’s seen the way your mind works, how thoughts pour out before you even have time to put them together. He’s seen how resilient you are in the face of certain death. But what really gets him is your attitude. You grin through every shortcoming. You ensure him that if you keep trying, eventually your minds will come together and you’ll figure it out. You never acknowledge that breakthroughs like this take centuries. You didn’t even blink when he revealed that he’s been searching for the source of the Kerm for over a hundred years.

You’re unlike anything Sukuna’s ever known. And something dark crawls beneath his skin when you don’t rouse by the time you’re usually eating. Noon, you called it once.

With his experimental cells set in an extremely cold environment, he leaves the workspace to round your ship. His head tilts as he listens for your heartbeat as though it ever left his periphery, but it’s as sound as it’s ever been. Slowed by sleep perhaps, but sound. He comes to a halt when it grows louder as he nears your sleeping bay. His hand drifts across the scraped metal where your ship tilted on its axis when it scraped the ground as he scooped you up, resting along the damaged hull.

He hones in on you, and finds you’re still breathing. Still there. Still alive. But shallow. There’s no wheeze, no sharp inhales. It’s simple and shallow.

His brow furrows as he turns to fully face the ship. You aren’t just malnourished anymore. Something is wrong. His gaze lifts, traveling along the mechanics that keep your ship in one piece, far more primitive than the smooth and compact design of his. He doesn’t know what he expects to find, but when what he’s faced with isn’t an easy explanation, he turns on his heel.

He moves with more severity than he has in a century, no longer silent as he pads over extended corridors of metal that leave him questioning ever having a ship of this size. When he reaches his lab, he reaches for a scanner and jogs back to your ship.

It only takes a moment to calibrate its sensor to search only for organic matter. He lifts it to your ship. Alveolarium, as expected. Blood, and healthy stem Alveolar cells, as expected. All in small quantities.

Until everything lights up red. Immense amounts of blood, of musculature and tissue, along with a high volume of water. He’s found you. And along with everything he expects of an organic creature, a revelation that makes his blood run cold.

An uncontrolled quantity of Alveolarium. You’re infected.

Somehow, between the multitude of items you’ve exchanged and the experiments you’ve run by your lonesome, you must have been exposed. Your energy is being sapped because your body is fighting a disease engineered to kill.

He harshly clicks and growls to himself in a series of muttered curses, as he stares at the reading. For the first time since the bioweapon you call Kerm was found on Simuria over two hundred years ago, he finds himself completely and utterly helpless yet again. Control slips through his fingers like the sands of time as he raises the scanner once more as though it might reveal a different fate, but it never does. 

His chest rises and falls heavily, his arms falling to his sides as he stares blankly. His mind takes a moment to wrap around the reality that you’re not Simurian. You’re human. You’re noisy and weak, your mind can’t keep up with your thoughts, and you’re invasive as hell– you won’t adapt to the illness. And god, is it quiet without you.

Urgency kicks in like a long-dormant volcano coming to life as he moves back to the table, evaluating how many samples he has left. He draws more of his cells, ignoring the tingling feeling in his arm as he injects himself with a drug to draw stem cells from his marrow. He drags more of his lab to the hangar, setting out tables and creating extra boxes able to pressurize to the same barometric pressure as that of an oxygenated atmosphere.

He lowers incubation times to do more tests, changing the parameters so often that his notes become a mess.

You don’t move. He hears you shuffle once on the first day. On the second, he grits his teeth as he listens to your harsh breaths. Your moans, your groans. You move at one point in what sounds like a drag of your feet and he hears water, but he’s not even positive if you make it back to your quarters.

As he watches one of his cells back off from Humanity’s infected lung cells, he leans over the table on two arms, sucking in a long breath. He doesn’t know how long he has. He doesn’t know how long you can survive without food. He doesn’t know if you have more water.

His second pair of hands ball into fists at his sides as he shuts all four eyes tightly. He didn’t know what to do two hundred years ago watching something so similar take out his entire species. He doesn’t know what to do now, stuck in the same situation. His knowledge is far more advanced than everything he knew back then. His technology and abilities exceed everything from back then. So why the fuck can’t he figure it out?

Is it that your suggestions were more useful than he gave you credit for? No, is it that he simply misses them? That they kept his mind from running off-rails into mania?

He works himself to the bone until he’s leaning with his back to your window. With one knee pulled up, he rests his elbow atop it, using his hand to block the light from his pounding head. He absently rubs at the bridge of his nose, eyes shut as he runs through formulas in his head until his mind begins to give in. The only thing he can bring his mind to hone in on is the sound of your heart. The steady reminder of the noisy human he’s doing this for in the first place.

Just as he begins to drift off, the gentle buzz of lights in your ship comes to a halt, a mechanical voice brought to life by necessity.

“Backup power activated. Life support systems online.”

The alien jolts, his slumber interrupted as he stares up at your ship with wild eyes. They flick all around the bridge as he takes in the red light and the way the buttons along the navigation board have dimmed, many shutting off altogether.

“Backup?” He states the word as though the program might respond to him. “Online?” Neither word is in his vocabulary, and as he gets to his feet, all four hands pressed to the glass, he searches desperately for meaning. “Human? Human?” His mind is too worn out to fill in the gaps with context as panic coats his movements like a snake slowly seeping its venom into its prey.

With a final call of your name, his fingers squeak as they drag along the glass. He turns back to his work station, dragging his hands violently over his scalp. He clicks and growls to himself, slamming a lower hand down over one of the sealed pressurized boxes. It cracks easily from his strength, putting his experiments immediately at risk. His eyes widen, two hands raising as though he might be able to stop it with his bare hands. He rushes back through his ship, racing through corridors to find something capable of stopping the crack before it shatters altogether.

Returning with a handful of options, he opts to melt a stone element from his planet into the crack. It’s the safest option he can think of. Sitting back from the soldering gun, he collapses onto the floor in a flurry of exhausted limbs. His stomach mouth parts as his body expends much of his energy on his mental state, only furthering his trouble.

In an effort to gather his thoughts, he leans over his knees, dragging his hands down his face. Backup. Red lights came on, some systems shut down. Using context clues, he can put that together. He pushes down his panic as he works on the second word. Online. He can still hear your ship whirring. He can hear your breathing. Life support must be working.

Okay. One problem down.

No matter how he changes the co-culture or adjusts the selective pressure, no matter how he adjusts his hypothesis or the duress he puts his cells under, the results remain the same. His cells adapt. But never to the disease. They co-exist in separate worlds.

Two eyes flick towards your ship, reminded of you, stuck on your own in a cell of your own doing. His fingers curl into his palm as he drives his focus back to his makeshift lab.

He can’t figure out why his cells won’t recognize yours. You may be different species, but his cells should recognize the pathogen in the Alveolarium as similar to the same illness that took out a majority of Simuria. He’s already adapted past it, and the cell structure isn’t that different.

He drags his nails over his scalp while his lower arms remain in fists. How much power do you have left? How much longer can you survive without water? You’re largely compounded of it based on his scan, can you survive without intake?

With a harsh growl, he pushes to his feet, ignoring the way his muscles protest. Pain simmers as he pushes them, keeping the reins on his control over this situation with an iron grasp. He pushes through the burn, pushes his mind to its limits as he works out chemical compounds with what brain power he has left, all the while continuing to alter the cells’ environment until he has nothing left to give.

–

Your ship doesn’t do its usual chime come morning. What’s worse is that your coughing startles him awake. Your heart stutters, a deadly sound for any species.

Hunched over in an odd position on the floor, Sukuna cracks his neck, rubbing at it as adrenaline pumps through his veins.

You’re dying. For all the tireless work he’s doing, you’re still dying.

He reaches out for the window where you once sat, dragging his fingers over it like your very ship might fall from his grasp at any moment. His breathing accelerates, his chest leaden with the gravity of the situation. Resting his entire body against the glass, all four arms settle along the panel. His head rests unevenly on the panel, off-kilter at the whim of the plate that resides over the right side of his face. A low rumble starts from deep within his chest, erupting in a full-blown furious fit of hisses, clicks, Simurian syllables and roars.

He curses in his mother tongue like he did over a hundred years ago. He’s spent over a century learning, advancing, and searching the damn stars for a bioweapon only for the very same thing to be his demise once again.

Peeling himself off of your ship, he reaches back to rub at a kink in his neck. His first issue was a lack of understanding of your ship system. He fixed that. His second issue is the cells. He can’t fix that without trial and error. His third issue is you dying, which is made up of two issues. The pressure of his ship would crush you, but your own life support systems are failing. When your ship depressurizes, the hull will be crushed, your oxygen will flow out into the sulfuric compounds that make up his air, and you’ll suffocate.

And then there’s the dehydration. And he doesn’t know which one is a more immediate threat. Regardless, his immediate problem is your ship. He stares at it in an effort to figure out how to remove it from the equation.

He could create a new box for you, something smaller than your ship, create his own life support systems for you and pressurize the box by pumping in oxygen and out carbon dioxide, similar to the box he uses for experiments. It’s not impossible in theory, but he doesn’t have the materials on-board to build a box of that size, nor does he have an extra generator capable of creating oxygen at that scale.

The only materials aboard are from your ship, the very thing he can’t tear apart right now. 

He drags his hand back through his hair, tearing it straight from the scalp as he fails to find a way to guarantee containment while also pressurizing whatever he can work out. On a small scale, he can manage with what’s in his lab. On a large scale, all he can truly manage is his ship itself. His shoulders fall slowly. His ship.

The pressure of your atmosphere wouldn’t be a big deal on a creature like him. His ship could handle that without question. His muscles would survive. He could wear a suit, pump the sulfuric components through it. He could save you from the immediate threat. For a moment, the thought sits with him. It slips into his chest along his ribs, curling around his pounding hearts. It almost doesn’t feel real.

But when the dust settles and he’s left simply staring at your window, it becomes suddenly, startlingly, real. He turns on his heel like a man on a mission, moving through the ship as he heads for the mechanical room. He wrenches the small metal door with too much force, causing it to bend as he slips down into the tight space.

Machinery hums and breathes around him, worn pipes humming on every side as he shimmies through the space you might think was built by someone else given how much Sukuna is forced to squeeze through it. A whirring tank brushes his skin– hot– burning him in the process, but it’s barely a distraction when he’s aiming for the back of the room.

Sure enough, the sulfuric gas generator residing at the back comes into view quickly. The generator currently keeping his ship pressurized could be repurposed for oxygen through chemical reactions similar to what’s currently generating his sulfuric gasses. He can suit up, and–

His hands come to a halt as he finds himself scanning his surroundings like it might change his fate.

]He only has one generator. He can only create sulfuric compounds for his own atmosphere on a small scale with what he has onboard his ship, but not enough to support him long-term, and what’s currently stored won’t last forever. And that’s only the tip of the iceberg, when he considers that he still has to kill the Kerm, on a planet whose atmosphere he knows nothing about, with creatures built to kill whether through sheer violence or illness. He can’t risk using what sulfuric compounds he has stored while aboard his own ship.

In the cramped space with the generator’s hatch open, he presses the ball of his palm against his temple. There’s an answer. One that he’s already considering. But the cost could be his life. He could make the change to oxygen and pray his body is forced to adapt and maybe save you, should he survive. It’s either that or sit here and listen to your heart and breathing weaken until you’re nothing but a shadow in his hangar bay.

On the flip side, if he doesn’t adapt, then you’re both dead.

Sukuna has always been a man of certainties. He chose science because it makes sense. He chose science, because variables don’t react without reason. He chose science because it gives him control of his outcomes through error and studious attention. But this decision isn’t about science or reason.

This decision is about the hundreds of Simurians he feels responsible for losing. It’s about his revenge against the Kerm. It’s about the noisy human wheezing in his hangar bay who told him she wanted to see Simuria. It’s about the stupid girl whose heart stuttered as she solemnly lied to him about being okay with her fate. It’s about how cold your hand felt, even through the glass.

He barks out a Simurian curse, reaching for the tools necessary to begin generating a different gas.

He wrenches on a cable, giving it a harsh twist to unlock it from its position. The ship comes alight with warnings that he opts to block out as the pressure of the hull begins to shift. It’s not painful to begin, even as the ship’s very structure complains with harsh moans and groans. He floods the chamber with sodium chloride and ups the heat until it begins producing oxygen. As the remaining sulfuric gas runs into a reserve chamber, he shuts the generator and continues to ignore the creaking and warnings his ship spews.

Getting to his feet again, he slides through the tight space, sucking in every last breath he can of sulfuric gasses as they begin to dissipate.

Oxygen hurts. He pushes through the pain, trudging through the halls as he fails to catch his breath, certain that the generator is working when his muscles feel loose as the pressure of the ship adjusts to the new gas flowing through its chambers. He turns down a long hall, ignoring the flashing lights along every wall while the hull groans. When he finally reaches the hangar, his chest doesn’t ache or burn, it sears like something is clawing at him from within, begging to be let out. It’s not his first brush with pain like this, but there’s something different when it’s his lungs. Tears form along his lash line as he lacks sulfuric gasses to his brain, the compounds unable to pump blood to his most important organs.

When he reaches your ship, he stumbles into it, still upright through sheer willpower alone. He slams his fist into the panel nearest where he last knew you were, loosening the edge. His fingers curl around the newly revealed edge and with all the might left in his body, he tears it off. Along with it comes a series of mechanics as your ship begins to beep and protest in tandem with his. Only once he tears through some wiring with a series of flashing lights does your ship finally shut off.

This is it– the test of his own scientific capabilities. Whether or not you survive in the environment he’s artificially created within his own ship.

The blaring alarms mitigate his ability to find you, his head whipping one way or the other. He drags himself through the pain, through the mind-numbing brain fog, picking up a half-finished bottle of water he spots on a counter along the way, until he finds you.

You’re sitting awkwardly in a corner, shivering, but conscious. Alive.

Your eyes are harshly lidded when you stare up at him, clinging to your blanket like it’s a lifeline. Your dry lips part, a look of sheer confusion falling over your expression like you doubt what you’re seeing in the dark corridor of your ship whose systems have completely failed.

Sukuna’s chest struggles to rise and fall evenly, every breath furthering the pain behind his eyes as his lungs fail to pump sulfuric compounds into his bloodstream and his brain function falters. He doesn’t let his knees give out until he’s able to hand you the water bottle.

“S’kuna?” Your voice sounds as though it’s been scraped against the very compounds that make up Simurian mountains. You sound as though you don’t trust your voice, let alone your mind.

Close enough to leave the water within your reach, the giant alien’s body finally gives out. The water hits the floor beside you just within reach as one arm attempts to grab the counter that you lean against. His palm brushes the surface, but his body drops like a stone to the floor beside you, scraping his palm. His vision is narrow as he uses what little strength he has left to envelop you in his arms, acting as a blanket for your shivering form.

The moment he touches you, clarity shoots through your mind like lightning. This is no fever dream, you’re not waking up out of sheer necessity of needing water or a way to warm up. It’s a shock to your system in more ways than one. He’s not just warm– his body runs like a furnace in comparison to yours. He’s so warm that curling into him isn’t a choice, it’s survival and he knows it.

The very thing that kept you apart for so long hits you harder than the shock that Sukuna is beside you. “Wait–” the word comes weakly as you give his arm a shove. It barely affects him. “You can’t–” A cough settles at the back of your throat, interrupting your thoughts. “What did you do?” You rasp out between the kind of coughs that wrack your body and send spikes of pain to every receptor that will listen.

But he doesn’t respond, any semblance of consciousness long gone as his arms go limp. You can’t move him. You can barely move yourself. The most you can do is hope that his body takes to oxygen like it did to science, or whatever it was that truly gave him an extra pair of arms. You assume that’s his hope too.

The flashing lights and warning buzzers continue to blare outside the hull. Your ship offers very little cover from the noise, but enough that your already-foggy mind is able to drown out the noise with the static of illness. Unable to fight the heaviness held over you, you shakily grab the water. You may be too delirious to grasp the true gravity of the situation and what Sukuna’s done, but you know better than to overlook the gift of water.

The massive alien wrapped around you on the ground makes it easy to lean into him, basking in his warmth as it quells a modicum of your shivers. The longer you sit there in the flashing lights and blaring sirens, the more your body gives in to the grasps of the sandman. Subconsciously, you lean into Sukuna– passed out beside you– until your head leans against his shoulder. It doesn’t rise and fall, but you find comfort in the fact that when you press a hand to his chest in search of something, anything, that might give you hope, his heart pushes a single beat through. One after another, each of his two hearts continues to push through the unlikely situation.

That reassurance makes it easier to give in to the forces pushing you to unconsciousness. Because you recognize Sukuna’s actions as more than just kindness in the face of danger.

This is a species you’ve never witnessed whose primary goal was revenge, brought to his knees by the very stowaway he huffed and puffed over being noisy. Not by manipulation or force either, but by choice. Sukuna didn’t just choose to save you. He chose pain, he chose to bet on low odds. He chose to put off his mission, and he chose to endanger and expose himself to disease, all for you.

He isn’t just asking you to live. He’s commanding it.

–

Sukuna doesn’t stir for forty eight hours. You aren’t much better, but at least your body faces wakefulness in the face of dehydration. You don’t know how long Sukuna can survive without food or water, but you have no other option but to hope it’s longer than you.

Midway through the third day is when he finally stirs. It comes in twitches at first. It’s not dramatic, but in the few moments where you’re awake and delirious and you spot any semblance of movement, you cling to him like your life depends on it. Because it does.

Next come the wheezing breaths. Then groans, and sharp inhales that sound unnatural. You feel his pain deep in your ribs like a stabbing sensation. His fingers drag so harshly against the metal floor that his fingers break through it, the metal proving to be little more than an ant to his elephant strength.

Consciousness is dramatic for him.

Like a switch being flicked, his body comes to life and with it, his pain and confusion. He flies back, head ramming harshly into the cabinets you had been leaning against. He huffs out his displeasure, but the sensation is harsh in his chest. His lungs may have adapted, but oxygen is a harsh forced change to sulfur. The compounds shred within his chest, something that has one of his many hands flying up to grip at his chest.

He mutters a harsh curse under his breath in his mother tongue that sends pain back through his throat like a ricocheting bullet. In the cramped confines of your torn-open ship’s hull, he rests his head back against the door to the lab. Every breath is fire in the large expanse of his chest, his lungs accepting the oxygen not out of desire, but need.

He mutters a curse again, recoiling far less as he pushes through the pain. Ignoring the deliriousness of pain and the cramping in his gut, he cards a hand through mildly oily locks, pushing them away from his forehead. When his gaze glues itself to you, blearily watching him from the floor in a state of suspended wakefulness, he freezes altogether.

You’re alive.

His chest finds a new way to deliver pain as he hunches forward, sliding back to the spot where he had clearly been your pillow if your odd position is anything to go off of. He glides over the floor, taking a seat where he had been in an effort to provide a pillow.

The sensation of his returned warmth has your lashes fluttering as you stare up at him. He can see the gears physically turning in your mind as you make sense of him being there, awake, and alive as well.

For a moment, his brain betrays him. He moves on instinct, brushing his thumb over your collar. Only to be met with a weak smack to the chest. He blinks, staring down at you with confusion woven within his fondness.

“You could–” you cough, “have died.”

A series of growls and clicks between syllables you don’t recognize fall from his lips like he’s giving you a full scolding in a foreign language. It almost brings a smile to your dry lips as you recognize only two words.

“Noisy human.” His muscles are fraught from disuse as he hoists you into his lap.

The alarms may have stopped blaring, but the lights around him continue to flash in warning, reminding him of the reason he underwent this in the first place. Under the duress of having very little energy after evolution and his chest protesting his every movement, he groans as he pushes to his feet with you cradled close. He pulls you into his chest, casting a glance down at you as even in sickness, your eyes seem to shine as you watch your environment change. You never fail to bring wonder along with you, no matter the circumstances.

He treats you with the fragility of a flower as he brings you to his lab, moving over a panel that has no identifiable buttons, yet as Sukuna moves his hand over it, you hear the shift behind you. A bed reveals itself from the wall, not entirely unlike that of a human, though it’s a far harder material that he makes adjustments to in order to conform to your body as he lays you down.

His medical equipment isn’t unlike yours. He gets you started on an IV without hesitation, preventing the first of his major worries, and watches as your body shuts down, grateful for the new fluid intake. Every time you fall asleep is no easier than the last. One of his hearts skips, then the second one, but he takes the opportunity to continue his work. He moves the samples back to the lab, no longer bothering with the oxygenated box as he’s able to work faster now.

Waiting is the hardest part. It leaves him feeling powerless, pushing himself to his limits to distract himself from the fact that you look weaker every time his eyes glue themselves to you.

“Dabura’s anniversary was yesterday,” he mutters one morning, standing between you and his experiments where he can monitor both.

His lower hands rest on his waist, the upper arms crossed over his chest like twisting wrong doesn’t still send a shock to his system as his lungs continue to mold themselves to their new dual-purpose. He pushes through, idly taking a step towards you and the pile of blankets he stole from your ship that keep you from shivering.

“You would like the celebration,” he remarks, meandering to the side of your bed. He lowers himself to take a closer look at you, before sinking to his knees. His upper arms rest along the edge of the bed, chin seated atop them. “We have a–” he pauses, glancing aside at the realization that he frustratingly can’t even tell you about the celebration because he lacks the words. He growls, his expression pushing into a scowl as he utters the Simurian word for ‘fire’. “A heat light. It’s big,” he presses on. “We use chemicals to create oxygen vacuums,” he continues. “Everyone comes from across the planet. We eat a lot. Drink.”

You don’t stir.

“You would have liked Satoru. He was noisy, too.” His gaze rises from where he sits to sweep your face. You don’t have the gentle look he’s grown accustomed to anymore, your features sunken and permanently pulled into a pained expression. It wrenches at his chest more than the pain of evolution somehow. “He studied the Kaliyans. Some Simurians have deep ties to them. Neither him or I did, so he chose to study them. We never did find answers before…” He huffs, muttering a curse of clicks and growls. He lets his cheek fall to his arms, at a loss. He shuts all four eyes at the sound of a timer going off, sucking in a breath as he wearily pushes to his feet.

He stares at the hologram emptily. It irks him to see the Alveolarium still rampant, but he expects no less at this point. He doesn’t know what exactly he’s expecting to get out of these at this point when experiments like this don’t just take days. They take years. They take materials and vigorous testing and… He throws his gaze over his shoulder, noting how shallow your breaths are now.

He doesn’t have years. He might not even have days, yet again. He bought himself more time, but he’s back to square one with control slipping through his fingers yet again. He grits his teeth so harshly it sends a sharp pain straight to his brain. One would only catch his wince if they were paying attention, as his bottom left eye twitches from the sensation.

Padding out from the room to give himself a break to eat as he overthinks every equation until there’s no semblance of hope left, he sits casually at the bridge, staring out at the planet below. Green clouds and space debris make up the remnants of the species that created the Kerm, long extinct by the hands of their own bioweapon. Below those clouds are the pinks and blues that make up the largely crystalline surface where the beetle-adjacent species now resides, hungry and in search of new prey.

Kerm. The thought settles between his ribs alongside the pain of his evolution. He always envisioned his arrival at their planet to be more triumphant. He envisioned traveling to its surface to ensure that his hypothesis was correct and they’ve eaten beyond their means, invasive to their own planet and destroying its very ecosystem until all that remains are themselves. Then leaving without a trace of the Kerm, the planet, or his own actions.

Yet all this trip has done is resurface every scar he buried a century ago. He scratches at them until what remains are no longer just scars, but open wounds. Forcing down what food he can manage, he drags a hand down his jaw, staring out at the planet, Methalon. It’s silent for a long moment as he inhales and holds the breath.

In Simurian, he finds himself muttering to himself. “What if you’re right, human?” Another extended silence as the thought lingers. “What if… Kerm are more than your cause? What if they’re your cure, too?”

He taps his finger along the panel in which controls reside as he mulls the thought over, before springing into action. He doesn’t have the luxury to consider the consequences, pressing a palm to the controls as they react to electromagnetic pulses emitted from his brain and read through his fingers as he brings the ship to life for the first time in a couple of weeks, disturbing the spacerock that’s settled around the ship.

With a groan, the ship’s nose shifts as he points it towards the planet’s surface. The pressure surrounding the ship shifts as he nears the atmosphere, far more dense than what you would be accustomed to, so he thanks the stars that it’s him going in place of you. He stops the ship a short distance from the planet’s surface, setting it to hover within the densely gaseous atmosphere. It’ll keep you out of reach of the Kerm, which he hypothesizes shouldn’t be able to reach you with their stubby wings.

Should he be wrong, he supposes you’ll both succumb to his stupidity. He almost cracks a morbid smile at the thought. Not that you both might be a lost cause because of his decisions, but because he so often chides you for being stupid, when he’s recklessly allowing himself to be stupid now, too.

But he’s certainly not noisy. No, he talks to you because you like it. Not because he does. He’s quiet.

Suiting up, he drops to the planet’s surface with his limited sulfuric compound supply, his tank unsuited for oxygen. Gravity pulls him down like nothing he’s ever experienced as he drops heavily to the surface. He expected the dense atmosphere, but it still presses down on him like a weight.

Crystallic compounds crunch underfoot, and he shouldn’t consider himself shocked when he comes across the first series of Kerm, or as he knows them, Methalonians. He supposes the name isn’t very fitting, however, given that they’re unnatural. They killed whatever species was more befitting of the name.

The first one turns towards him, its head swiveling as its iridescent shell reflects the gorgeous light of the crystalline environment aiding it to blend in. It regards Sukuna with an entirely animal head tilt that might fool someone who doesn’t know their methods, but Sukuna isn’t fooled. He grips his EMP gun tighter, preparing himself for the inevitable. While the Kerm believe he’s fooled, he sets down a heavy containment pod, opening it with a hiss.

When he faces the group again, all fifteen or so creatures are facing him. Their wings buzz and hiss as they communicate, their antennae twitching through the air as they coordinate what Sukuna already knows to be an attack.

This time, however, he’s prepared. The first one approaches him slowly and curious, feigning a kindness they don’t possess. The brutish alien keeps up the facade in an effort to keep himself from being buried by a sea of Kerm.

He reaches a suited-up and reinforced hand out to the creature, watching its mandibles click together. It approaches slowly, peering up at Sukuna’s outwardly non-threatening demeanor. Its head tilts as it nears, nudging his fingers like it might provoke him.

But it’s not Sukuna that breaks the facade first. The creature zips forward, smashing its mandibles together where Sukuna’s hand just was, giving him enough time to lunge back. As the rest of the group moves in a coordinated hive towards him, he unleashes a small EMP attack that temporarily disorients the Kerm, sending them in more varied directions.

One that approaches him meets the fate of a heated vibrating dagger to its thorax, while another leaps at Sukuna’s shoulder. He spins, wrenching his shoulder in an effort to dislodge it from his suit, but its mandibles dig into the material. The material is impenetrable by their mandibles, but fuck if it doesn’t hurt anyway.

Hissing, Sukuna throws an arm around the Kerm to prevent it from leaving as he pulls the gut-ridden blade from the previous Kerm to lodge it into the next one. He remains largely in control, throwing one off to tear another from its own thorax with the blade the following moment until the smaller crowd re-coordinates itself. Sukuna launches another small EMP attack, throwing two of the group off, while the remaining four all leap at him at once. Mandibles clamp down on one shoulder, while another clings to his abdomen, choosing to methodically jab at the spots where his organs are.

Smart little asshole.

Sukuna recoils, hissing as pain rips through his stomach just beyond where his second mouth can reach. It momentarily disorients him, knocking him to the ground long enough that the remaining two Kerm are able to pile themselves onto him as well. They separate him from both the EMP and dagger, the sound of the vibrating tool over the crystalline earth grating on his nerves.

He shuts his eyes tightly, attempting to reset himself as he evaluates how much he’s been stamped down. He grits his teeth, grunting as he manages to lift an arm and throw one creature off with enough force to disorient it. The freed hand allows him to get enough leverage to flip himself over, slamming one hand straight through the creature’s shell. With one fierce glare, he flips the fight back in his favor, grabbing an incoming Kerm by the head and crushing it in one hand.

With a majority of his movement freed, he picks up the EMP again, blasting the remaining three insects and smashing them too, leaving only the one he tossed aside earlier. He grabs it by the thorax, wrangling it between two arms as he shoves it into the containment box with his spare set of hands. Once it’s inside, he lets out a huff, staring down at his gut-covered suit. He’ll need to be sure he carefully washes himself and his suit after this, given that he doesn’t want to expose you to more diseases that the bioweapon could have hidden beneath its shell.

Getting back to his feet, he better evaluates the surrounding environment. There’s evidence of trees, of civilization and buildings in the distance now turned to rubble and ash. He doesn’t have much sulfuric compounds left to breathe, so he figures he’ll do a once-over of the planet from within the ship, focusing his efforts back on a cure for you as he returns to the safety of his ship.

–

Splaying the Kerm’s insides across his workbench proves to be a disgusting feat. Even within a containment box, the smell permeates the damn room. He ends up moving it into the hangar, which by some grace has better filtration, but Sukuna finds himself further beaten down by the smell. As if his failures weren’t enough.

Unlike his cells, the Kerm’s stem cells do attack the Alveolarium… Unfortunately, no matter how he attempts to alter them, they only ever seem to act as aggressors.

For as smart as Sukuna is, he finds himself missing your curiosity. Your stupid questions. You challenge him. Not just because you’re noisy, but because you’re far more willing to approach the unlikely with an open mind. You lack the knowledge he has, specializing in natural biology where Sukuna excels in chemistry, cytology, geology, archeology, and engineering, but he’s also had a few extra years. Your lack of specific knowledge allows you to excel in general knowledge that Sukuna found himself praising you for.

Mentally. It’s easier to show fondness through actions than words, after all.

Bringing a hand up to his eyes, he presses a thumb and forefinger into them, yawning as every continued failure sets him back not just physically, but mentally too.

He collapses at the base of your bed, your breathing setting his nervous system into a furious rage of emotion as he realizes for the first time how close he truly is to losing you, with no cure in sight. Your species is weak in every sense of the word. Your muscles lack the build that Simurians have, your brain’s capacity is low, your immune system could be knocked over by a harsh wind, and yet Sukuna can’t help but find you endearing. Your lifespan is barely a smear in the grand scheme of his life, and yet the brutish alien, a species who mates for life, finds himself wondering how many ways you might be able to throw his life into disarray.

He wants your annoying quips. He wants your too-loud rambles. He wants to feel you warm in his arms, your eyes bright and wide as he shows you a Simurian mountaintop in some dumb-looking suit of his creation.

He slams his head back against your bed with enough force to rattle the very stone that makes it up. Dragging his hands down his face, the most he can do is stare at the experiments as one by one the timers go off and he’s left with one failure after another. His gaze splits as he looks between not just one, but four separate failures. Pushing his hands back through his hair, he balls his fists within the strands, eyes shut tight. Sitting so close to you, he still feels far. He finds himself mourning something he has yet to lose.

You haven’t awoken in several days, and as much as he wishes he could equate it to illness, the fact is that you’re dying. He can pump as many nutrients as he wants straight into your body without allowing your stomach the opportunity to reject his food, it’ll only do so much when it’s not your stomach fighting you anymore. It’s your lungs.

Every round of failed experiments is another scathing tear at his wounds as he leans against your bed on the floor. His gut aches where the Kerm attempted to strategically puncture his suit and beneath his performance longsleeve are several mild puncture wounds that only serve as annoyances in the grand scheme of things.

“I’m the foolish one,” he states simply out of the blue. “Not you.” He doesn’t follow it up with a long-winded explanation or flourish, it’s as simple as he makes it. You only ever did what you thought was right, giving every living creature the benefit of the doubt. It landed you in a cell, parked in his garage, but god damn it. You gave life your all. You lived without regrets. Sukuna’s lifespan trumps yours, and yet he lives with every weight he’s ever conjured still boiling under his skin.

He’s spent over a hundred years building himself into an impenetrable wall. The kind of man that doesn’t let his past haunt him. Yet here you are, under his skin like a leech and wrapped around his mind with roots that dig straight for his hearts.

He’s so wrapped up in his thoughts that he doesn’t feel your hand at first, as it slips into his hair. He jolts when at last he feels movement against his head, whipping up to face you. He meets your eyes from barely over the bed, heavily hooded as you regard him with a small smile in spite of yourself.

His shoulders fall as he approaches the side of the bed again, resting his head atop his arms. His lips press into a thin line as he doesn’t just let you reach back out, but leans into your touch against his cheek.

“You know,” you rasp, unsurprisingly coughing. “I was wrong about Kerm, but I wasn’t–” another cough, “wrong about you.”

His brow furrows, a deep scowl overtaking his features. Your words sound startlingly like the kind of thing that one might say when they’re coming to terms with the decisions they made in life, further wrenching his hearts.

“Thanks for trying to help Earth.”

He growls and clicks his displeasure with your words, earning a laugh that feels warm even in sickness. When you quiet down, his muttering is nearly unintelligible. “I don’t care about Earth.”

“I know,” you smile, your thumb trailing down his cheek as one lower eye flutters shut. “I like you too, Sukuna.”

He allows himself the peace of shutting his eyes, kneeling beside your bed with his cheek in your hand until his legs go numb and you pass out again. Pain spikes through his knees when he finally rises and straightens them, sighing as he wearily looks over his experiments again. His gaze passes over a hologram displaying one of his cells idly standing by as he considers what the hell he could possibly be doing wrong when something finally hits him like the full force of a jet engine as something dangerous surges into his chest– hope.

His cells are part of a system. A system capable of sending electromagnetic pulses like thoughts to his cells in order to trigger mutation. Sure, the cells will mutate on their own no matter what you put them through, but could the reason they aren’t accepting your cells be because there’s no system to indicate to his cells that there’s an issue?

He’s been approaching the whole situation under the lens of his cells being anti-pathogens, when in fact they’re closer to mutagens. They aren’t a cure, they would never be accepted as a cure. In fact, he’s willing to wager a bet that you’re right and there is a cure that could be pulled from the Kerm, but he doesn’t have the time to figure that out.

His cells could very well re-write your DNA. They could overwrite important information, they could make you more sick. He doesn’t know. His experiments will never work without a live test subject. But on the flip side, they could save you. They could mutate your cells into something capable of handling Alveolarium. Quite frankly, when both alternatives are death, he’s willing to give it a shot.

He moves across the room quickly, hitting a dial that brings to life a hologram in order to act as a whiteboard. He takes your weight and general body size, measuring the exact quantity of his cells that would need to be injected in order to fight a full system infection without the dose being lethal, or possibly mutating beyond control. Gene therapy is a risky move by all means, but he doesn’t have any other options.

He moves through the lab with ease as he extracts a new sample from his lower arm, moving it in a box to ensure his cells aren’t contaminated. He isolates the cells necessary at a dosage he prays is non-lethal and injects them into a sample of healthy stem cells you provided before you got sick to act as carriers.

With a final check of his calculations, he moves to your bedside, praying the healthy cells trick your body into accepting his cells. Sucking in a breath, he injects the gene therapy, and pulls up a chair to wait.

There’s nothing ceremonious about the wait. Sukuna busies himself by continuing to search for a cure, something you can send to Earth assuming he didn’t rip through the return vessels in his effort to get to you. After every pair of gloves he tosses aside, he always returns to the same chair to wait, resting his head on the edge of your bed.

On the second day when he wakes up with his hair glued to his forehead by sweat and drool dripping down his cheek, he moves to wipe it when he finds his head weighed down. He blinks, unable to see past the arms crossed under his cheek, but when he lifts his gaze just slightly, he finds you’ve shifted for the first time in days. Your hand is settled on the back of his head, fingers curled into his hair.

When he tries to tilt his head, your hand falls away again. You’re still asleep, but the hope in his chest surges.

Your face fills out properly over the next couple of days. He seems to miss your waking hours whenever they do happen on his horribly varied sleep schedule, but your coughing fits begin to die down and your breathing evens out.

It’s almost a week later when you wake up with an ache in your muscles like no other, but relief in your chest. The ceiling should be unfamiliar, but even within your fever dreams, you knew glimpses of him were real. Your head lolls to the side, the bedding beneath you rough in spite of its conformity to your body. Across the room, Sukuna moves around the ship in a frantic bout of quick movements. There’s a crudeness to his movements that doesn’t fit the put-together Simurian you’ve come to know. You catch a glance of the side of his face, noting the dark circles under two eyes that rest in a familiar fashion on his face, while those that sit angled along flesh are simply squinting more than usual.

He yawns, betraying the obvious. There’s a slight tremor to his hand as he uses a pipette to transfer cells. He sets a phial down, his lower arms heavily leaning over his work table. It’s obvious weariness plagues him to his marrow, but he doesn’t stop for a second.

“Sukuna?”

Crash!

In the flurry of his limbs leaving the table as he whips around, he sends an empty flask to the floor. Not a single one of his eyes shifts to follow the mess, frantically flickering around your face as he searches for signs of illness. Rather than the dull look he’s faced for the past week, he finds a gleam that he mentally pockets for later. He moves towards you in slow, lumbering steps like he doesn’t quite believe what he’s seeing, before lowering down to a kneel. His skin is deeply calloused, far denser than human skin, as his hands come to rest on your cheeks.

You find yourself biting back a smile as the stoic alien you’ve come to know keeps his intense gaze on you as he nuzzles his nose against you. You may not know Simurian, but you know animals. In some species, that’s a kiss.

“Sukuna?”

He hums.

“Was that a kiss?”

His lips press into a line, nudging his nose slightly against yours again like action is easier than a reply.

“Humans kiss with their lips,” you explain softly.

He doesn’t move immediately, his face a breadth from yours. Something cocky and knowing gleams within his gaze. A laugh bubbles from within your chest but it comes out as a cough, which you attempt to stifle, pulling back momentarily. Sukuna drags you back like he can’t stand the mere thought of distance.

Your laughter subsides quickly as you try hard not to grin.

The stoic Simurian’s breath comes out in an eager puff against your face. “Lips are usually for other things,” he offers with a suggestive tone. But he doesn’t know how to deny you anymore. The corner of his lips quirk up as he surges forward, engulfing you in a claiming kiss. You don’t know what exactly a kiss means for a thousand-year-old being that spends their life with one person when you only live a fraction of his lifespan, but in spite of that you don’t think you mind finding out.

Everything about the kiss is all-encompassing. His smell floods your senses first, the sort of sterile musk that comes with a man working himself to the bone in a lab. His taste doesn’t match it, though. There’s a spice to his taste that isn’t Earthly in nature, but it’s pleasant like a warm herbal tea. It’s intoxicating and addicting all the same, the kind of taste you could get drunk on, should he let you.

His grip doesn’t let up, hands sliding up the base of your scalp as he tips your head back to deepen the kiss. Your hands fly up to his collar, curling into the thick material of his muscle-tight shirt for purchase. It’s dizzying, and not just because your head is spinning with the sheer amount of thoughts bouncing around your overactive mind like ping pong balls. His lips move against yours in the kind of rhythm that doesn’t just insinuate passion, but something far deeper. A desperation that can only be conveyed through actions.

You can sense his resistance as you pull back, but you find yourself laughing as your hands splay across his broad chest. “Sukuna,” you tease. “I’m feeling better, but you still need to give my lungs a break.” You laugh airily, chest rising and falling heavily as he refuses to break contact.

The lumbering giant’s shoulders tense for a moment, then relax, his hands gliding down the column of your neck to rest on your shoulders. He takes the opportunity to envelop you in all four arms, grateful to find you’re no longer shivering. You don’t hesitate for even a moment, arms snaking around his neck as you bury your face into his neck.

“How’d you do it?”

He inhales, letting out a breath of relief as he relaxes into your grip in spite of his awkward hunched position over your bedside. “My cells aren’t like yours. They react to neural oscillations and signals sent through electromagnetism. We were trying to use them like anti-pathogens, but they aren’t.”

“They’re mutagens,” you finish the thought in an excited burst, pulling back to face him with those wonder-filled wide eyes he’s come to adore. “You did gene therapy.”

He chuffs proudly, puffing out his chest under your hands. It’s somehow far more endearing up close.

“Wait, oh my god–” You proclaim suddenly like you’ve come to the greatest realization on earth. “Do you think that means I can breathe sulfur? Or– Or maybe I can grow extra arms,” you murmur, wiggling your fingers over his chest.

His expression deadpans. “No.”

“But if you changed my DNA with alien DNA–”

“That’s–” He breathes out a sigh, amused with your overactive imagination and how fast your mouth moves before your mind can catch up. “That’s not how gene therapy works.”

“Bummer,” you pout. It’s clear the word perplexes him as he narrows his eyes, but he cracks a hint of a smile. He gets it regardless.

You let the moment hang, laughing airily as the reality of your last two weeks truly hits you. Sukuna doesn’t handle the situation with the same lightness as you do, pulling you back into his chest and muffling your laughter altogether. You wrap your arms around his torso once more in reassurance. “I’m still here,” you promise.

“Stupid human,” he mutters, his chin dipping over your shoulder as he locks you tightly against him with a squeeze. When you bury your face into his broad chest, he winces, hiding it behind another squeeze as he attempts to ignore the meager injuries left behind by the Kerm. “Stupid, weak human.”

“I know,” you murmur into his chest. “I know. But I’m here now.”

–

The difference between Human and Simurian traditions turns out to be greater than you think. Not in the sort of grand way you might expect, but in the sense that Sukuna doesn’t quite seem to know what to make of being close. Of course, Humanity aims to choose a person for life, but not without trial and error. For Simurians, there’s some sort of instinct. Something Humans don’t possess that has Sukuna uncertain how to navigate the idea of courting you. In particular, while you’re still recovering.

Your pulse increases to a steady waking beat as your lashes flutter open. You’ve gotten accustomed to the strange way the stone bed conforms to your shape, but you have yet to grow accustomed to the way you’re greeted every morning, even a week into your recovery where– by and large– you just have a cough.

You’ve barely roused when Sukuna’s hand is firmly planted on your jaw, tilting your head left and right. “Nngh, Sukuna,” you sigh, fingers wrapping around his wrist. He doesn’t budge, not satisfied until he’s determined that you’re still on a steady road to recovery. His fingers loosen once he lets out a steady breath, his palm sliding down to your cheek. He doesn’t hesitate for so much as a moment to lower himself to his knees and brush his nose against yours. The Simurian nuzzle is something you’ve grown fond to waking up to and even in your half-asleep state, you find yourself unable to hold back a grin.

“You haven’t coughed yet.”

“I just woke up,” you reply groggily, amused.

“You’re better.”

“Getting there,” you chide, staring down at the mountain of a man on his knees for you. Every morning gets easier, and every morning you have a menacing-looking puppy greeting you at your bedside. It makes recovery easier, especially when you’re forced to eat some sort of alien vegetables he cultivated for you upon converting his compost room to a garden as the only food your body won’t reject, alongside nutrients he continues to inject into your bloodstream.

Slowly pushing up to a sitting position, you suppress a cough that comes across as a personal affront to the bulky alien, who stands upright with you. “How did the experiment from last night go?” You query, your vision still mildly blurry from sleep as you look over the holograms opposite you.

“We’re close,” he murmurs, long strides taking him across the room. “Your hypothesis was right. The Kerm cells react to heat, but not too much heat. I was killing them before.”

Rubbing your eyes, you smile. “So we’re close to a cure that we can send back?”

He pauses, facing you. He’d been unwilling to send his own cells back to the very people who sent you to your death, but at your request, he’d continued experimentation for a cure that didn’t require gene therapy. “I don’t understand why you care.”

“There were eight billion Humans, Sukuna.” Your head tilts in sympathy for the fact that he resents a whole species for their treatment of you. “The hundred or so involved in sending me here shouldn’t be responsible for punishing the rest of the species.”

“Punishing,” he repeats the word, though he doesn’t need an explanation when he can use context clues.

Pushing to your feet, you walk on weakened feet to join him, sidling up to his warmth. “You know, I never got the chance to thank you.”

Two eyes flicker down to you, questioning, while the other two evaluate the weakened state of your muscles.

“You’re breathing oxygen.”

“I am.”

“And you risked getting Alveolarium from me.”

He stubbornly looks up. “I did.”

If there’s one thing that remains the same between your species, it would seem it’s embarrassment. Sukuna is over one thousand years old with no partner. You can only assume he never found someone, or prefers solitude. Or, more aptly, preferred. It’s safe to say he doesn’t know how to navigate your healthy return to his life.

As you jovially grin at his side, Sukuna adjusts the temperatures of his experimentations, each by a fraction of a degree, before he turns to face you. The tension in his shoulders has released upon seeing you eagerly facing him with clasped hands. “Yes, human?”

“Can I see the rest of your ship?”

“Not until you’re well.”

“I’m literally fine!”

He crosses both pairs of arms over his built chest. “You coughed.”

“There was something in my throat,” you counter.

His lip curls in haughty frustration. He clicks with intermittent syllables that you’re unable to put together. Missing the word, he goes with the simplest train of thought. “No.”

Stepping towards him, your palms settle over his lower veiny forearms. Your thumbs rub small circles into his tough skin, the hair on his arms noticeably standing on-end. “Please? I promise I’m okay.” His eyes narrow a fraction. “I wanna see how you keep your food, and where you’re growing those turnip things. Oh–! And the bridge, and– Wait, your ship is so big, what else do you even have here? Do you–”

He huffs loudly, but you note that in spite of the scowl pulling his brow down, relief floods his gaze and his lips fluctuate wildly between a frown and smile. It doesn’t take much for him to give in, loosening an arm as he wraps it around your shoulders in an effort to steady you as he leads the way through the ship.

It’s massive beyond anything you could ever comprehend. Metals you’re not even positive exist on Earth line the walls and natural bioluminescent amoebas are used to light long stretches of hall where wasting energy is unnecessary. Light only exists where needed, like bathing a large medical bay with a missing bed and several bottles and boxes thrown astray as though the room was flipped upside down in search of supplies. Your heart surges with something dangerous at the sight, as you know the stoic creature beside you– who doesn’t so much as bat an eye at the mess– did this for you. He tossed aside equipment and tore through supplies in order to keep you alive, who barely lives a fraction of his lifespan.

Hell, he’s almost twice your height and keeps walking at your unsteady and slow pace without so much as a peep. His hand shuffles from your shoulder to your back as he briefly points out a food hall complete with a garden and a large freezer for overgrowth and cured meats. There’s a pungent smell to the room befitting of what was once a compost bay.

“Is this what I’ve been eating?”

He chuffs, lifting a heavy arm to point at what you would otherwise describe as a radish. He states its name in his mother tongue, not bothering to translate given that the syllables thrown in between each click sound painfully like ‘engine’ and he’s heard you use that word before, so it simply doesn’t translate into a word you can both use. You nod your approval as he continues his tour with little fanfare, his hand gliding from your back to your elbow.

“I’m lucky,” he states, “they’re the only plant that will grow in oxygen from what I tried.”

Next, he leads the way through an exercise hall, a gravity converter, and a communications bay. His ship dwarfs yours in every possible way and it’s all intended for just one person. The real enigma, however, is the way his hand keeps shifting on you, like he isn’t quite sure what to do with himself now that he has you back and you’ve kissed.

“I didn’t think you’d be so awkward,” you blurt out without a care in the world, pleased as you tilt your head to find his expression narrowing just slightly.

“Awkward?” He searches for confirmation despite being able to put the context clues together.

“You keep moving your hand. Seven times now, Sukuna,” you tease, your grin widening.

“I’m guiding you,” he grumbles dismissively.

“I don’t need a hand to guide me through a ship. I’m a good follower.”

His gaze glides to the side, teeth gritting as he clicks his disapproval. “Noisy.”

Laughing, you give him a nudge that pulls his attention back. His usual aloof gaze briefly flickers across your face like he expects signs of sickness before fixing on your chiding grin. “You’re allowed to be nervous, Sukuna.”

“I’m not.” He growls out some sort of curse word in Simurian, continuing on the walk through the ship as he finds the explanation he needs. “I don’t know Human traditions. I don’t know how to move forward.”

You bite back a smile at the sweet admission. “Well, humans are a bit different.” You give him a thoughtful peek from beneath your lashes, catching the way it disengages the tension in his shoulders. “We try to stay partners for life, but we’re complicated. Emotions get in the way, people change–”

“You would separate from your partner in such a short life?” Sukuna sounds utterly shocked at the thought, his nose wrinkling as he stops dead in his tracks. He turns to face you, staring at you like he wants to shake the mere idea from existence by your shoulders.

“We try not to. But sometimes it’s inevitable.” You shrug. “Sometimes you fall out of love with the person you marry or date, or sometimes things change or distance gets in the way–”

“Then you talk about it. Or visit.” His voice comes out clipped with edge. You can’t tell whether he intends it to.

“Our transportation isn’t very advanced. The ship I was in,” you explain, pointing over your shoulder, “it’s the tenth one capable of space travel beyond our own moon.”

The brutish alien’s scowl lessens as something of far greater importance occurs to him suddenly. You allow the silence that stretches on as you recognize his troubled expression. He’s grappling with something he doesn’t know how to address. The ship stands by idly in the moment where Sukuna straightens, settling a pair of hands on his hips while the others cross over his chest. He doesn’t move as he speaks with a flat tone that almost conveys solemnity. “I can take you back. To Earth. Along with the cure, once it’s ready.”

Somewhere between the kiss, the illness, and the acceptance that your fate was to die, you forgot that there was another option. “What if I don’t want to?”

Sukuna’s gaze travels listlessly left and right. It’s clear this is something he’s considered. After all, imprisonment awaits you on Earth regardless of the cure. What point is there in returning? And yet, Simuria would be imprisonment in a roundabout way, too. You can’t breathe the sulfuric gas. He isn’t even confident in your ability to withstand the barometric pressure in one of the suits in his ship.

He doesn’t answer immediately, either pretending something caught his attention by tilting his second ear towards something, or genuinely listening to something. Regardless, he glances aside as he considers your question before proceeding to completely ignore your query. “How do Humans wed?” He mutters, as though the concept that he doesn’t know makes him mad.

“We date first,” you chuckle. “We impress one another. We go out and do fun things together. We give gifts and spend time being intimate. Like, cuddling and kissing. Oh–! And then if things are going well, one person presents the other with a ring with a pretty stone in the middle and if things are right, that person says yes and then they wed and there’s a big ceremony, and then both people get rings, and friends come visit, and–”

Sukuna bends down to your height, nudging your nose once, then kissing you. “What’s a ring?”

Giddily, you can’t help a giggle as he shuts you up without complaint of your noisiness, simply backtracking to the portion of your rambling he doesn’t understand. “It goes around your finger.” Instinctively reaching for his face, your finger traces along the edge of the protruding plate from his face. One of his eyes twitches, but he allows you to do so. “It signifies to humans that you’re in a committed relationship with another human.” Your finger traces the side of his face as he stays bent to your height. “Do Simurians have something like that?”

“Tattoos.”

Your eyes brighten. “Humans do that sometimes in place of wedding rings, too. Basically, you present one ring when you want to get married, and then when you do get married, you get matching tattoos around your fingers instead of matching rings. It’s actually really–”

He kisses you again, that familiar spice of tea flooding your senses pleasantly.

Undeterred, you inquire about Simurian traditions. “What about for you?”

“We simply… Know.”

You pout at the mere thought. “Like love at first sight?” You whisper eagerly.

He nudges your nose, growling his disapproval. “Instinct.” He straightens. “No rings. The date of the ceremony is decided based on when other Simurians are available.”

“Oh right, they’re like holidays.”

He chuffs.

“Were they always, though? You said… I mean, you–”

“There used to be over a thousand of us, yes.” He doesn’t bother skirting around the question. “No, we didn’t always do things this way. We used to be selective.” He sucks in a breath, pushing past the question with little fanfare. “The ceremony has a fire,” he states now that he has the word after some experimentation involving it, “and a ceremonial dance.”

“I can’t picture you dancing,” you giggle.

His eyes narrow. “I don’t. The dancers dance.”

“Of course, of course, my bad,” you grin.

“Then, we braid one anothers’ hair, and an elder tattoos us.”

You smile at the differing culture. “That sounds beautiful.” Your gaze slowly rises to his short, pushed back hair. “Your hair isn’t very long, though.”

“Our hair has to be long enough to braid before Simurians can be wed. Or in some cases, exceptions can be made.”

“So you’d have to grow it out?” When he chuffs, you tilt your head with a grin. “That’s kinda hot.”

Catching the compliment in your tone, Sukuna shifts, a rare smirk crossing his features as he tracks the way your hands rest on your hips.

“Are we talking like a braid in your whole hair or just a small portion?”

“A small portion.”

Your grin widens. “That’s kinda cute. You’d be like a Jedi apprentice! Only, I don’t think it’s fitting to call you an apprentice, you’re more like–”

“Human.” Sukuna’s chiding carries far less annoyance since your recovery. “I don’t know ‘Jedi’.”

“Oh–! Right, yeah, I guess you guys don’t have Star Wars. Well, at least you avoided the sequel trilogy,” you mutter more to yourself than him when he lets out a huff as you turn to explore his ship again. He no longer leads the way, allowing you to explore all on your own, only keeping a hand on you to ensure steadiness as though your dwindling cough might blow you over. At least, that’s what he would tell you if you asked why he insists on keeping a hand on you.

His ship is vast. It could be compared to several acreages where your ship is barely the equivalent of a small apartment. The size is staggering, and you begin to realize exactly what he meant when he said Simurians enjoy having large properties to themselves.

“So, do your instincts just like… line up with the other person?”

“Generally.”

“How do you tell one another that you’re in love?”

Sukuna is silent for so long that you stop at the precipice that leads down into a storage and whip around to face him. He’s scowling at you with that kind of look that has you realizing your bug-based brain has missed a very Human– or in this case, Simurian– social cue.

“We nuzzle.”

You purse your lips as you’re faced with an intensity that’s oddly sweet given the frown it’s accompanied by. It’s not like you haven’t figured out by now that Sukuna is fond of you, but the reality of Humanity and Simurians is that he’ll outlive you. You’ll be nothing more than a distant memory by the time his hair goes gray. Assuming it does that, anyway. That’s not even beginning to address the planetary differences, atmosphere issues and dietary needs amongst other things.

Or the fact that you’ve known him for only a few weeks. Unusual by Human standards to be in talks of marriage, but by Simurian standards, you suppose he’s implying he chose you already. As much as the very Human part of you wants to call him yours, the scientist in you knows only compatibility. He’s a Thorny Devil Stick Insect to your Isopod Cubaris. Everything about the situation is absurd and your brain and your heart are fighting for keeps– Sukuna, or the reality that you should return to Earth and let Sukuna find a Simurian that allows his instincts to kick in.

As you stare blankly at him with pursed lips, he steps closer into your space, examining the way you fiddle with the hem of the hoodie draped over your shoulders. His movement kicks you back into the present.

“O-oh–! The nose, uh– The nose thing? The kiss?”

He huffs, shockingly cross as he averts his gaze. “Yes, the nose thing.”

You swallow hard, the reality of your harshly pounding heart bringing to light every issue you’ve already gone over in your head in spite of the fact that you’ve spent so long craving the touch of this ten foot tall man you have no right to. “Sukuna, I barely live like a thirtieth of your life span.”

The noise he lets out is something between an affirmative chuff that he knows and a grumble of sorts. He lets the moment hang, unsure what to make of it before brushing it off with something too simple. “Instincts,” he grumbles, nearing you again as his face lowers to yours. Without knowledge of dates or Earthly traditions, the most he can do is press his lips to yours. There’s something pleading in it that melts every reservation your brain screams at you.

His lips are never soft, neither in texture nor movement. He’s a being that lumbers around and his strength is beyond obvious. You feel that, too, in the way he aims to claim you, should you let him. When he leaves the ball in your court, you press forward, wrapping your arms around his neck as the kiss deepens.

Your tongue slips against his lips like an invitation that he doesn’t hesitate to grasp as he takes charge again. He still tastes of something with an overall spicy tang that you can’t place, but it’s no less pleasant now than it was the first time. No longer weakened by illness, he takes the opportunity to lift your thighs with his lower arms while his upper arms support your torso as he hoists you up, straightening. His lower hands knead your thighs in what feels like a subconscious manner, thumbs gliding over the stretch marks and scars of a life not yet fully lived.

He stumbles towards the wall, caging you between him and it, the strange coarse texture of the metals that make up his ship cool against the spot where your hoodie’s ridden up. He presses in, his lips moving faster, his body pressed against yours so tightly that you can feel the fact that his stomach mouth is panting.

The things that does to your body should be studied. Just as you grip him tighter, fingers curling into fists in his hair, he pulls back with a strange rigidity to him. “You never– I can still bring you back. To Earth,” he offers through pants in a tone that doesn’t suit his usual clipped and formal one. The uncertainty swimming in his gaze is unbefitting of him.

“Wh–” You look around like someone might be around to share your incredulous stare. “You’re asking that now?”

He swallows hard, the movement betraying his embarrassment. Good to know he’s capable of that, truly. “I want to give you the option.”

“Is it greedy of me to ask for both?”

He tilts his head curiously, something of a clicking noise coming from deep within his throat as he places just enough distance between your faces to take in your expression.

“It would be nice to make sure the cure gets delivered to the right people when we get there,” you admit, “but I’d like to say bye to Shoko and my family.”

He sucks in a breath. “You lost ten years getting here. You would lose another ten returning, and–” his hands dig into your thighs, his shoulders tightening as he calculates distance based on where you identified the Milky Way in your many scientific discussions prior to your illness. “Seven more, at least, on the trip to Simuria.”

Your gaze falls. “Oh.” Leaning back against the cool wall that suddenly feels nice on the back of your head, your fingers curl into Sukuna’s multi-sleeved compression shirt. “So I’d be over fifty,” you murmur. It shakes you to your core, and you lean into Sukuna.

He adjusts his arms to embrace you, nuzzling his face into the crook of your shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

The silence that follows is a welcome one of mourning. You had accepted death sealed in a tin can in the void of space. You had accepted death faced with illness, grateful to have met such a wonderful otherworldly being. You had been satisfied knowing you fell for someone, even if it never came to fruition. It had all been enough.

Until Sukuna came barreling through the hull keeping you imprisoned, unwilling to let death be an option.

To say you fell harder would be an understatement. If the option ever presented itself, there was never a question what you would choose. There is no question what you’re choosing.

After an extended period of silence, you lift your head from Sukuna’s shoulder. “The pods aren’t too damaged to make it to Earth?”

He blinks a number of times, questioning your decision-making. “I didn’t damage them.”

“Then… As long as my friends and family know I made it to the cure, that’s enough.”

Slowly, Sukuna sets you back on the ground, a surprising amount of conflict in the way he runs his tongue over his teeth, casting his glance at the makeshift garden whose artificial sun has set.

The low bioluminescence of the hall light glows softly over his features as you watch his expression pull taut. “You don’t seem happy.”

“I am,” he argues, flashing you a glare as he mutters something under his breath in Simurian.

“Then what’s wrong?”

He sucks in a breath, stepping forward as he leans his massive form down to your height. “You’ll be stuck aboard this ship until I can figure out something better.”

“I could use a suit!” You offer gleefully. “Actually, that would be kinda cool if you think about it–” you begin, your mind wandering. “It’ll be kinda like all the movies and shows I watched growing up and then I can come back to my little– no, actually this place is huge– my huge ship, or I guess our huge ship–”

Sukuna doesn’t interrupt you for once, chuffing not in affirmation but amusement. There’s almost a purr to it as you prattle on about how every kid on Earth dreams of being an astronaut and here you are on an alien ship. He casts you a sidelong glance as you make commentary on the hot alien company you’ve found, sidling up to him with a grin as you compliment him.

“Hey, um– Do you wait until marriage?” You query with warmth in your cheeks, sending the conversation in a complete one-eighty.

“For what?”

“Sex.”

Sukuna’s jaw shifts as he regards the small being beside him. “Sex?”

“Um–” Your gaze averts as your cheeks warm further. “Like reproduc–” you pause when you narrowly catch his lip quirking up out of the corner of your eye. “You know what I mean. You’re fucking with me.” You face him with a deadpan expression.

The creature rumbles in amusement. “Noisy human,” he chides. “I’m not having sex with you here. My ship is meant for one. We don’t wait, but this is unsightly.”

“Oh, so now you have decorum?”

Using context clues to put together the meaning of your retort, he straightens. “When have I not?”

“You call me annoying all the time!”

“I call you noisy. And I’m right,” he puffs his chest out as he crosses his arms over his chest as he continues your little tour.

–

The long-awaited day comes far sooner than Sukuna could have imagined. After countless temperature adjustments and endless suggestions from you that may have had him rolling his eyes weeks ago, the fresh Kerm stem cells attack the infected Alveolar cells, curing them.

He straightens, watching the immediate reaction under the duress of an exact temperature, and replicates it once more. Then again. And again.

You’re already watching, on the edge of your seat as you set aside the roasted turnip you were eating. You both wait with bated breath as the fifth experiment comes out as a success.

“It worked,” you breathe, getting to your feet. “You did it.” Disbelief coats your tone, the dimmed lab lighting reflecting off of Sukuna’s gloves as he discards them and steps back, staring at all five successes.

“A cure,” he states. His disbelief is plain, but there’s something far greater woven within the way his fists ball up at his sides and his shoulders rise.

He failed once and his species suffered for it. Maybe it’s not Simuria, but Earth means something to you. And this time, he didn’t fail.

As control weaves itself back into his grasp, he stares down at his hands, sucking in a breath. Blinking as tears prick his waterline, he stays put so as to not reveal his vulnerability to you.

But you’re already bounding towards him, practically whipping yourself around his immovable form to hug him with unmatched ardor. “You did it!” Your whole body trembles with relief at the thought that just maybe Shoko is still out there, and this might save not just her, but your entire home. Your family.

With a sharp inhalation, Sukuna’s arms curl around you, lifting you effortlessly, as he hides his relief in your shoulder. “We did.”

But as you put together instructions for cell breeding and duplication and prepare the cure to be sent to Earth, so too comes the day Sukuna has been dreading.

Staring out the window after sending off the cure, you lean over the control panel, wide-eyed as the stars twinkle back at you. You whip around to face your companion, but your question is met with a solemnity you aren’t expecting. “What now? To Simuria?”

Sukuna’s lips are drawn into a frown. It’s not unbefitting of him, but the dullness of his cerise eyes tells another story.

The pieces fall into place with every ounce of tension in his musculature. The gleam in your eyes burns out like a solar system’s light at the realization that faces you. “You’re gonna destroy the planet.”

Two slanted eyes turn to face you, followed by the two more humanoid ones, his arms crossed over his chest as his heart pangs at your disappointment. He’ll never fault your compassion, but this is something he can’t let go.

“It’s a sacrifice,” he admits. “A few to save many.”

“I know they’re the cause of so much destruction but… do you have to? It feels… wrong. Even if they’re artificial.”

The alien’s voice is a low rumble. “You’re kind, little human. I like that.” The warmth in his compliment echoes over hard stone lining the interior of the bridge. “I flew over the planet’s surface while you recovered,” he explains as he stares down at the stark green gas buildup around the planet that’s been increasing the longer the ship sits just outside of orbit. “There are no other species on the planet. No flora, no fauna. Where there were cities, there are now ruins. Trees are shredded. There’s nothing left. If I leave them, they will evolve. Someday, they will escape, or another unsuspecting species will do what Simuria or Earth did.”

When he puts it like that, you can understand his reasoning. After two hundred years of searching for the Kerm, you can sympathize with his need to follow through.

“This decision doesn’t need to involve you. This would have happened regardless.”

You turn to face him with your arms around your middle, hugging yourself. “I know, but after letting that one go on Earth, I feel like I’m involved now.”

“You had no way of knowing. Then or now,” he excuses your action, something you’re grateful for, as much as you’ll always harbor that guilt and the vision of a creature tearing through a crew.

After a moment of silence as he allows you to grapple with reality, he moves towards the control panel, sliding his finger along a series of sensors as his ship turns to move further from the planet while more systems come to life as he prepares a laser.

The planet looks beautiful from a distance. Pinks and blues scatter the surface, while a gaseous blue-green surrounds the planet. You don’t doubt Sukuna told the truth, but your heart pangs to know that the gorgeous sight will dissipate in mere moments at the hands of someone you care for. Hell, maybe even at your hands, if you think too hard about it.

Guilt bubbles in the pit of your stomach as the whirring of Sukuna’s ship ramps up, a bright light beginning to form somewhere from the side of the bridge where you can’t see. The brutish alien glides his hand over a few sensors, pressing something with finality before returning to your side. His palm settles along your shoulder, pulling you into him as his chest rises and falls, his own guilt palpable in the air between you.

The whirring of the ship comes to a sharp halt, the laser’s light suddenly brighter than the sight of the sunlit planet itself. Sukuna’s grip on your shoulder tightens as he moves deftly, pulling you face-first into his chest and wrapping you tightly in all four arms to prevent you from seeing the blast. With one hand on the back of your head, he prevents you from turning your head.

Even in your peripherals, you see the light. You shut your eyes tight, Sukuna’s grip on you increasing as the blast goes off. Some part of you expects to hear something, forgetting that space is a vacuum, and you’re met with nothing. But nothing is worse. An entire species eradicated, and you’re met with nothing.

Sukuna’s heart pounds hard as he watches the planet splinter. His curse to live with, but never your burden to bear. He won’t let it be. He holds you tight until the planet’s remains are little more than debris floating every which way. You’re far enough away that whatever else was blasted into space isn’t visible, and for that, he’s grateful.

He holds you so long that he isn’t sure whether it’s for him, or for you.

“It’s done,” he murmurs, allowing you at last to look out over the wreckage as his ship’s whirring slowly winds down.

“They won’t hurt anyone else,” you murmur as your brow tents when you look over the wreckage of stone and crystal that floats where Methalon–as Sukuna referred to it– once was.

“Let’s hope that’s true,” he murmurs in return, his body hunching over as he drops his face to your head, eyes shutting tightly.

–

It’s a wonder you make it to Simuria at all. Not because of any extenuating circumstances, but because you have so many questions and queries and noisy impulses that Sukuna seems to perpetually scowl at you. On equal grounds, however, you catch him with a longing stare when you least expect it.

In the midst of a full explanation on the reproduction of Scorpions. When you’re desperately trying to yank a Simurian radish’s roots from the ground while it protests you, sweat dripping down your spine. Even when you’re sifting through the remnants of your belongings from Earth. He trails after you with nothing short of zealous loyalty.

When you arrive on Simuria, you’re trapped on the ship as you expected, only able to experience the planet from the bridge’s window. Still, it’s more than you ever could have hoped. Not unlike Methalon, Simuria is primarily crystalline in nature with petrified trees growing crooked from mountains. You’re able to expand your diet to more vegetables, supplementing your vitamins with injections that Sukuna is damn-near overbearing about.

“Sukuna, I can do it myself!” You try to insist as he nuzzles you, intermittent with kisses.

“It’s my job to take care of you,” he insists into your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin to distract you before pulling back to inject your daily supplement into your thigh while you’re distracted.

“You’re a menace!” You insist through giggles, and the injection becomes nothing more than an afterthought.

Still stoic, you see his warmth within that familiar four-eyed gaze. “You chose me without instincts,” he points out in a teasing manner, pride held within his straightened back. “Now come.”

Rolling your eyes at his shockingly witty retort as he gets too good at your language, you let him lead the way through the ship until you reach the exit door. You’ve only seen the planet’s surface through glass as he promised you an oxygen tank to withstand his atmosphere someday. It had been taking so long that you figured he ran into a snag, but as you stand at the bay and watch his hand glide along the sensors, you realize just how foolish you had been.

For the first time, the bay opens up and you find yourself instinctively trying to search for a way to protect yourself from the sulfur.

“Sukuna, I–”

“Give me your trust, ange.” He holds your bicep as you begin to back away, his gaze insistent.

Ange. The syllables that, intermittent with clicks and growls, make up the word ‘angel’ in Simurian, and french–the language of romance– and his favorite nickname for you. He had explained that when he takes you to meet the rest of his kind, it would be helpful for you to understand more of his language, and that if you paid attention to– and spoke– in only the syllables of the words, you would largely be able to communicate with his kind without issue. The clicks and growls come out of necessity of Simurians having broadly low voices and living in craters. The second ears and extra sounds in each word allow them to communicate from longer distances without the necessity for the syllables, but the same is true for communicating without the clicks. The syllables can also stand, mostly, on their own.

Your jaw tightens as you stop resisting his grip, allowing him to lead you through a small bay door where you’ve often seen him leave through the pressurized chamber. When he leads the way through it, there’s shockingly no change in barometric pressure. Or oxygen.

Off to the side of the ship where you aren’t able to see from the bridge, Sukuna has built out a massive domed biome with oxygen production within, allowing you to touch the surface for the first time. Your lips part as your feet scuff over the crystal-threaded dirt beneath your shoes.

You take small steps at first, glancing to the left where petrified trees protrude from a cliffside within the barrier of the biome, hanging over the mild seafoam that coastal waves leave behind. You tread towards the beach, your shoes sinking into the sand as you take in the smell of the salt water, your mouth still agape at how massive the space is.

To your right is a cavern that you know to be partially artificial, Sukuna’s home held within. You turn to face him, the shock of it all pinning you in place, when you’re met with another surprise.

He’s not down on his knees, but in his hand is a ring crafted from metal with a gorgeous off-pink crystal in the center, clearly carefully procured. It’s simultaneously gorgeous and obvious. The jewel matches his hair. It’s romantic, but it’s claiming too, something you’ve realized of Sukuna over the months that you’ve resided within his ship.

Your hand raises to cover your lips as you stare down at it. “Are you…?”

He runs a hand through his locks. “My hair’s not long enough yet for a ceremony,” he states, the strands falling through his fingers, “but I think your traditions are different.”

“I–” You breathe, staring down at the stone. It’s not like you didn’t know this would all happen in time, but to wrap your brain around being proposed to by an alien who made a barometric dome of oxygen for you is still a feat. Slowly, you reach for the gorgeous stone. “Yes. I’ll marry you.”

His brow scrunches as though there was no need for an answer and he already knew such a thing, but he hands the ring over regardless, watching as you slide it down your ring finger with a gorgeous grin.

“This is beautiful, Sukuna,” you breathe.

He chuffs pridefully, four palms finding their place along your body– two on your hips and two your waist. He doesn’t hesitate to pull you in, his fingers kneading your skin as he nuzzles you hard. His hooked nose rubs against yours before he dips down to kiss you passionately.

Given that kissing in its Simurian form is so different from Humanity’s version, it’s almost unfair just how good he is at it. Your body goes warm as you grip the Simurian robes he’s begun wearing now that he’s home.

Kisses with Sukuna are never slow and sweet. There’s intention behind every swipe of his tongue as he invades your mouth, pleasantly flooding your mouth not with the usual herbal tea you’ve come to expect, but something more minty, like there was thought behind this kiss that makes you smile into it.

He swallows your smile as he deepens the kiss, tilting your head up. There was a point where you were convinced you would die alone in the darkness of a welded ship without feeling the warmth of the sun on your skin again, and by some miracle, the very man who held your life in his hands now holds your heart instead.

When he pulls back, his thumb brushing your waist softly, he inhales, long and deep. “It isn’t Earth,” he concedes, a rare vulnerability within his baritone voice. “But I hope you’ll be happy here.”

Reaching for his cheeks, your thumb brushes the plating along the side of his face. “Sukuna, this is everything I could have hoped for.” You smile softly, turning around in his grip to stare out at the ocean as you shed your shoes and wriggle your toes in the sand, his hands never once leaving you. “I could live here for a lifetime.”

“Good,” his chest rumbles behind you as he chuckles, watching the tide swim ashore to your feet. “Because you very well might, ange.”

You grin up at him, wading further into the warm water. The planet is so much warmer than Earth due to the heavily gaseous atmosphere that the water isn’t cold like much of Earth’s oceans, pleasant around your ankles. “I’m kinda like Sandy Cheeks, if you think about it.”

“What?” Sukuna’s nose wrinkles, perplexed.

You laugh heartily, staring down at the stone around your finger. “Don’t worry about it.”

–

“Are you sure I look okay?”

“You,” your fiancé heartily purrs, “look like my dinner for tonight.”

The worst part is that you can see the maw on his stomach grinning from under his white robes.

You whack his arm softly, earning a playful chuff in reply as he looks you up and down, already mentally undressing you of the traditional Simurian wedding gown that Sukuna had an elder Simurian make for you, giving your measurements and no further details as he perplexed the poor elder on just who his bride-to-be might be.

The robes drape over your shoulders elegantly, the pale green accents of the off-white robes complimenting your traditional makeup. The sweet young (in Simurian years, anyway) woman doing your makeup and using traditional natural skin dyes hadn’t stopped gushing the entire time about Sukuna finding a mate, something you had picked up through broken understanding of their language.

You had even caught on that as it would turn out, he was the only Simurian adult who lacked a mate of those remaining.

“Have you picked out your tattoos yet?” She excitedly inquires, sure to slow her speech down so you can piece together what you can.

In extremely broken Simurian, you reply, “Yes! He chose design and I chose placement.”

She squeals in excitement, going on to tell you about how a Simurian named Dura recently took up tattooing, and you two would be his first wedding tattoos. There’s a certain solemnity in knowing that, with dwindling numbers, you very well may be his last, too.

Your nerves hit hard as you grow closer to emerging from Sukuna’s home where you’ve been prepping.

“If you’re still worried,” Sukuna offers as the young woman heads off to prepare herself for the ceremony, “just remember you and I are the only ones that can breathe oxygen. They’ll all be in suits.”

You’re pretty sure he just told you to picture them all in their underwear essentially, but it helps ease some nerves regardless.

“You’ve got a point,” you breathe out a sigh of relief before sucking in a breath. “Remind me how this goes again?”

Sukuna steps towards you, lowering himself to a knee to speak with you. His hand raises, his fingers gliding along your palm as he takes a moment to stare at your palms pressed together. To think that glass once separated you feels like another reality now. His gaze moves from your hands to your eyes as he intertwines your fingers. “You will wait in a tent by the beach as I am readied,” he explains, referring to his own traditional makeup that needs to be applied, his hair shaggy and a complete mess now that it’s much longer and ready to be braided. “Dabura is to wed us, as he’s my closest ally. He’ll come get you. There will be a ceremony with dancers and a large bonfire, then Dura will tattoo us.”

“And then?” You chew on your lower lip eagerly.

“Then,” he nears you, his fingers delicately brushing your robes. “The night is ours.”

You let out a breath, biting back a smile at the thought given that you had chosen to wait to have sex after all when it took so long to get you out of the ship.

“Are you nervous?” He gruffs, tilting your chin with a calloused hand.

“For the sex, or the wedding?”

“Either.”

It takes you a moment to consider the thought. “Yeah, I guess so. Both.”

“No one can understand your language. If you need something, just say so. I’ll be here the whole time.”

“You know, you never would have had me thinking you were so sweet when we first met.”

His brow twitches, his gaze averting. “I’m not.”

Stubborn.

“Noisy.”

Your eyes narrow. “Just curious, can you hear my thoughts?”

“No, why?”

“No reason.”

The night carries out as he promised. Seventy eight Simurians gather from far and wide, of tribes from a bygone era, of all ages and appearances. A fire is stoked and dancers do what you’re sure was once a much more elegant dance without the added bulk of spacesuits beneath traditional outfits.

The Simurians are kind to you, regardless of your broken ability to speak their language. They pick up on the occasional word in your language too, not unlike Sukuna.

Once the grand part of the ceremony is over, the rest of the Simurians take their seats on the beachside surrounding you and Sukuna as you both take small portions of your hair and braid them for one another. Your husband’s fingers are surprisingly deft, and upon finishing the braid, he gets the rest of his hair cut back down to his preferred length. Once the ceremony is complete, you’re met with cheers as Dabura declares you officially wed.

The horned alien is somehow more aloof than your husband, and the largely disinterested looks he shoots everyone you come to realize is his neutral. Were you not surrounded by far more boastful Simurians, you might even think they’re all like this.

Following the cheers of the ceremony, as things begin to quiet down, you’re approached by a Simurian with long, flowing white hair tucked into his spacesuit. He has a friendly look about him as he grins at you. “Dura,” he introduces himself, extending his hand.

Your brow raises at the realization he’s given you his name in your language, keen to the fact that your ability to speak is broken. Sukuna seems to respect that, taking a step back from the protective shadow he’s been all night with so many people so close to you, wary that someone might disprove his choice to wed a Human. You shake Dura’s hand in turn, offering your name as though he hasn’t been hearing it all night.

“Have you chosen a design?” He asks in his mother tongue.

He speaks slowly, allowing you to keep up. “Sukuna chose design, I chose– um–” your brow furrows as you attempt to place the syllables for the word in Simurian.

“Placement?” Dura steps in.

In a harsh tone, Sukuna steps forward, his lip curled into a snarl. “My wife is talking,” he snaps, the growls and clicks far more bitter than you’re used to hearing.

Dura’s hands raise. “I was just helping with words, Sukuna,” he smiles easily, waving the white flag before anything breaks out amongst the Simurians still lingering from the ceremony. “I wasn’t interrupting.”

You exchange a sympathetic glance with Dura, setting a hand on your husband’s arm. “It’s okay, Sukuna,” you murmur. “I just didn’t know the word, he was helping,” you agree.

Your husband’s shoulders fall slowly into something less aggressive, his gaze immovable as it glues itself to Dura. The tension between the two men is brief, before Sukuna gives into your sweet touch and softens, describing the design and placement to Dura. The white-haired man proceeds to prepare a table for you, sanitizing everything and pulling out what, by Earth’s standards, would be traditional handpoke tattoo materials.

Once ready, Sukuna goes first. The design is small, two zigzags mirroring one another with a simple tear in the center right where you chose– on the ring finger. He’s completely still throughout the process without any complaint, and you find yourself embarrassed when you wince at the first tap of the stone tool. Dura does what he can to distract you, attempting to speak with you– though at you is probably more apt given how broken your Simurian is. Still, you’re proud of yourself for your proficiency with the language and your ability to sit through the tattoo, which isn’t so bad once the first few punctures are through.

Once it’s complete, you hold your hand up to Sukuna’s, comparing the ink to one another with a bright smile before Dura bandages them. Your husband leans down to nuzzle and then kiss you, succinct but meaningful.

As the night winds down and the attendees begin to take their leave in ships of varying sizes, you sit by the entrance to your now-shared home with Sukuna. The stars twinkle overhead as you marvel at how different they are from Earth’s. In spite of everything, you stare out at the same vast expanse of space as your family back home does. You wish they could see that you got married. Pulling your knees to your chest, you rest your chin on them as you stare up at the sky, only able to wonder.

A bulky shadow leans over you after saying his goodbyes to Dabura and shutting the dome for the final time of the night. He blocks your view of the stars, pulling your attention to his ever-intense gaze. His chest rises and falls evenly as he regards you fondly. “I’m sure that was a lot.” Sukuna doesn’t often apologize, and you’re fairly sure it’s what he intends when he speaks.

“I liked meeting everyone,” you shake your head, relaxing as you lean back on your splayed palms. “I just wish my friends back home could see.”

“See how well the robes compliment you?” He comments in a smooth tone, although his expression remains unchanged.

You scoff, shaking your head. “The ring. The tattoo. That I’m married. Here, Simuria. All of it, really.”

Sukuna’s fond smirk fades as the moment hangs. The waves washing ashore have an ambient white noise that barely manages to hide his small sigh. “I’m sorry,” he starts, kneeling down to your level in an act that reminds you just how big he is. “But Humanity doesn’t deserve my ange.”

You let out a breath through your nose, offering a lopsided smile. “Thanks, baby.”

It took him a moment to get used to that nickname, but now he fondly chuffs. “But,” he tacks on, a little more chipper than you’re accustomed to. “I do have something for you, too.”

“For me? Is that something we were supposed to do?” You worry. “Oh god, I didn’t get you anything– I don’t even know what I would–”

“Always so noisy,” he jeers, growling out what you recognize as a Simurian word for ‘mouthy’ even as he offers his hand to help you to your feet.

“Hey!” You smack him playfully, earning a grin as he casts a glance at you, his gaze dipping down to the portion of your leg that protrudes from your robes as he helps you up.

He’s quiet as he leads the way into your shared home, strings of lights and domed bulbs decorating the walls at your request given that your then-fiancé lived largely in the dark aside from bioluminescence, much like his ship.

It seems to be the Simurian version of when men just put a chair and a TV in a room and call that decorating. Despite living in a cliffside, the rest of the house is well-decorated, just not well lit. It isn’t largely personal by any means, something you hope to change with art and photos, but at least you can say he does have furniture.

When you reach your bedroom, the most expansive room in the house, decorated with plants and a small bug-like creature you found within the dome that you’ve been studying– to Sukuna’s dismay– he reaches within a closet and pulls out a large box. Blinking as you stare down at what you recognize as a device, you slowly approach the box as he sets it atop the bed that you requested he make plush, rather than the conforming stone he was accustomed to. With a glide of his thumb, a hologram comes to light.

“What is it?” You ask your engineer husband, nothing immediately giving it away as the light displays nothing.

“Your species uses frequencies to speak from long distances on Earth, right?”

You straighten, staring at the brute in disbelief as he continues fiddling with the machine. “Sukuna, you didn’t.”

It’s all you can manage as you watch Sukuna fiddle with a dial, tapping his nail along the smooth surface of the machine as he makes calculations to figure out how many parsecs the signal will need to travel and at what speed in order to allow you to speak to your friend in real time. Once he’s finished fiddling with it, he turns back to you like this is just another day, handing you what, effectively, looks like an old phone hooked up to the box.

“You use numbers, right?” He chuffs for the latter portion of the sentence, completely ignoring your slack-jawed expression.

“I don’t– I can’t– You did all of this for–”

“Ange.” He chuffs, nuzzling your nose as he pulls you close. “Dial the number.”

A lump sits at the back of your throat, but no amount of swallowing will rid the feeling as you stare at your husband. Tears prick your eyes as slowly you find yourself needing to set the device down in shaky hands, curling into his chest as warm tears trail your cheeks. “You did this for me?” Your voice is hardly a whisper, frail in its delivery into his chest as your makeup inevitably stains his white robes.

“Obviously,” he clicks in his mother tongue, positive you know the meaning.

“You didn’t have to,” you sniffle, muffled. “I brought a bug into our room and I know you think I’m loud–”

“Human,” he growls, his voice clipped as he pulls back. The ceremonial red makeup streaking across his forehead and nose has smeared with the day’s activities, a sheen of sweat over his skin as he lowers himself to your height, holding your cheeks. “You are loud. You are noisy. And you are my wife. I want you to be those and more.”

“Even the bugs?”

A pair of eyes swivels across the room to the beetle-esque creature in a large glass enclosure. A grumble begins in his chest. “I’m less fond of those,” he admits. “But, yes.”

You smile. Lopsided, but genuine. “At least you’re honest.”

“Put in the number for your friend.”

Given that it’s not common to memorize numbers anymore, you’ve never been more grateful in your entire life that you actually know Shoko’s off the top of your head. Your fingers betray your disbelief by trembling as you turn back to the remote of sorts that he gave you, typing Shoko’s number with no regard for what time it might be. It rings once, twice, three times, and a final fourth before your friend picks up.

“Hello?”

Your voice breaks into something between a sob and a gasp the moment you hear her. She sounds older. There’s a rasp to her voice that betrays the weariness of her trade, but she also sounds well. Not sick. Alive. “Sho?” You breathe her nickname in sheer incredulity.

The shuffling on the other end is immediate, a flurry of static as you can practically imagine her flailing out of whatever chair or bed she was slumped over in. “You’re alive?” More static follows, a distraught shout for someone, then, frantically, “oh my god, I thought you were dead, or– I mean after the cure got here, I just had to assume you had taken the drug and I just– where are you? Can you facetime or something?”

It brings a smile to your face to hear your friend again, tears continuing to silently trail down your face in disbelief as tremors ripple through your muscles like waves. You laugh airily at just how much she sounds like you, her mouth at least ten steps ahead of her brain. Turning to Sukuna, you wipe your tears with the back of your hand. “Sukuna? Is there a way to connect to video?”

Standing idly behind you, his gaze lowers to the glimmer of fresh tear trails, his adam’s apple bobbing as he steps forward. He lowers himself to nuzzle your nose first, undoubtedly wiping tears along his own cheek, before fiddling with the box. “What frequency are your videos run on?”

Shoko is practically vibrating on the other end of the line. “Oh my god, who is that?”

“I don’t think Facetime uses frequencies, I think it’s on like… internet. Or LTE, or something.”

Sukuna hums, though he doesn’t seem confident.

“Google says two point four gHz to five gHz!” Shoko much more helpfully adds on the other side.

“Tell Google that helps,” he gruffs as he fiddles with frequencies until the blank hologram gains static.

There’s a brief silence on the other end as Shoko attempts to process how strange that sentence comes across to someone on Earth, but she doesn’t have time to question it when at last a video is displayed for each of you.

It’s clear when the video connects that life has been harsh in far different ways on each of you. Neither of you are the spry twenty-five year olds finishing up degrees and putting out papers that put you at the top of your fields at young ages. Smile lines adorn the corners of her mouth and her eyes have an ever-lidded look to them that only time and exhaustion could bring about. To your surprise, you recognize another acquaintance in the background in Utahime Iori, Shoko’s biggest crush at the time and a big rock on her ring finger.

A wide smile crosses your face and if she were right in front of you, you would surge forward to hug Shoko. Utahime, too.

Shoko’s gaze flicks around your surroundings as she holds up her phone. “Where the hell are you?” She queries as Sukuna rises from where he was fiddling with the long distance radio, popping into the frame behind you.

“Simuria. It’s gorgeous, and the people are so kind, you would love it here.”

“What’s on your face?”

“Oh–! Right, it’s ceremonial makeup,” you explain as you hold up your ring finger to display both your engagement ring and wedding tattoo. “I got married like two hours ago,” you giggle, bubbly.

The sight has your husband closing in on you, unable to stand so far apart when the very sound of your happiness draws him in like a moth to a flame.

With her jaw already on the floor at the revelation of your marriage, she can hardly contain her next question. “Who is that?” Shoko exclaims again, her image a blur as she nearly drops the phone at the sight of your husband.

“This,” you hold a hand out to the brutish alien, “is my husband. Sukuna, this is Shoko.”

It’s not often that Sukuna greets others in your mother tongue, so as he leans into frame, revealing four arms and four eyes, he simply waves at your gawking friend.

“Nice to meet you!” She starts, before it devolves into that scientific disbelief programmed into her brain. “He’s– I mean–” Shoko shakes her head incredulously as she attempts to make sense of the situation. “Aliens are real,” she mutters to herself. “Not just beetle things, either.”

“I feel like you’re really breezing over the four arms and eyes part here,” Utahime comments, surprisingly calm given the situation. You were never particularly close, but the way she evaluates you both seems to anchor your best friend. “Also hey,” she greets you by name with an easy smile. “We’re married too.”

Before you can even congratulate them as well, Shoko is already continuing, too many things to catch up on in too little time. “Honestly after CRM-12, nothing comes as much of a shock.” It comes as an observation more than any kind of blame as she evaluates your towering husband behind you. When he hums, you note that his more talkative personality may be reserved for you only.

“Congratulations, by the way! Wait– Sho, did the cure get there?”

“THE CURE!” She cries out suddenly. You grin through a laugh as everything hits you both at once, over ten years to catch up on. “Girl, yes. You saved– I don’t know, billions of people. And you didn’t even need to send any of those fuckass beetle things back. The company was pissed at first, but I swear they didn’t actually want a cure.”

“They still spread the cure out though, right?”

“They didn’t have a choice. One of the pods landed with NASA. We got lucky.”

“Thank god. I was worried about that.”

“Wait, speaking of beetles–” The hologram flashes and flutters as Shoko moves about the room, a clicking noise followed by something snapping and at last the camera faces her again. “Look!”

You stare in disbelief at the Stag Beetle on her fingers. Sukuna curiously leans forward.

“There’s no way in hell Spike survived this long.”

“Meet Spike Thirteen!” She grins as the stag’s antennae reach for her phone, its mandibles curiously snapping together.

Barking a laugh, you lean back into Sukuna’s warmth. Under the dim lighting of the strung up bulbs, he relaxes into your touch as he instinctively reaches for your waist. “Thirteen makes way more sense.”

Changing the subject again with so many things she wants to go over, Shoko sets Spike on her shoulder. “Are you able to come visit?”

You knew the question was inevitable. The one you were dreading hearing, for there’s no easy way to say it. “I can’t. We’re about seven years apart. I’d be almost sixty by the time we get home.”

There’s a brief somber silence, but it surprises you when Shoko smiles, genuine and kind. “Home.” She repeats the sentiment. “Never thought you’d find one. I think I’m okay with that, knowing that you found a home.”

Your vagabond tendencies make her sentiment make sense, and a tender smile graces your features as Sukuna’s remaining two hands find your hips, like he’s grounding himself in his own home. “Yeah. I hope you did, too.”

“Yeahh, Hime and I are doing pretty well,” she agrees, mirroring the sentiment that perhaps home can be unconventional. For you, an alien in a dome (and just one little bug in a tank), and for her, a person.

“Good. That makes me happy,” you murmur softly.

Shoko’s lips part and it’s clear she has further questions and ten years’ worth of stories to fill you in on, but she shuts them with a smile. “I should let you enjoy your wedding night.” She sits back, Utahime’s hand barely in frame as it rests on Shoko’s shoulder, opposite Spike Thirteen. “Can we talk again?”

You swivel towards Sukuna for confirmation. He shrugs. “I built it for you. Use it as you wish.”

Your hand finds his, threading your fingers through the thick ones resting on your waist. “Yeah, I’ll talk to you soon, Sho.”

“You too,” she can’t help her grin as the line cuts out.

Leaning back into Sukuna, you bask in the thrill of seeing your closest friend again. It doesn’t quite compare to your old dinner and ice cream outings where you claimed dessert was for your second stomach and nearly threw up when that proved to not be the case, but it’s more than you could ever have expected. The lumbering form of your husband leans down slowly, nuzzling your neck from behind. His hooked nose nudges your chin. “Happy, ange?”

“Than I ever thought I could be,” you murmur, tilting your head as you allow him access to the sensitive skin of your neck. There’s a level of harshness to just how much he grinds his face into your neck, earning a giggle as he pulls you closer with ease.

“My wife deserves nothing less.” His lower arms anchor you to his chest as his upper hands trail delicately along the green accents of your robe. One hand dips between your breasts, resting on the tie around your waist. In Simurian, he mutters, “may I make you mine?” against the warm skin of your neck.

A shiver runs stark up your spine as you nod. He sets the transmitter aside, effortlessly lifting you onto the plush of the bed.

“I don’t know how you ever had sex on those stone beds,” you comment breathily as Sukuna parts your legs with a knee.

“My skin is denser,” he replies between nips and licks at your skin. “You’re weak.”

“Yet you married me.”

“Weak and noisy.”

“Whatever you say,” you hum when his lower palms press your hips into the mattress, his torso slipping between your thighs. It comes as a shock when he’s wet on his abdomen and you’re damn sure you’re not the reason. You instinctively search for the cause to find his stomach maw must be drooling under his own robes, more emotive than your husband is himself.

Eager to feel him, your hands slip to the tie of his robes where he leans over you, pulling one end until they hang loosely from his shoulders, revealing a toothy smile along his stomach. The maw’s grin widens, his tongue slipping from within teeth so jagged one would almost think your husband were a predator, not that he eats rocks. Along with his drooling maw, you discover something far more debauched that you had yet to come across.

Simurians don’t typically wear undergarments during wedding ceremonies given that it’s typical to give oneself to the other following the ceremony, hence why the party left at a reasonable hour.

So why on Earth– or in this case, Simuria– does this man have two massive dicks?

“Why do you have two?” You query in bewilderment as he deftly unties your robes.

His expression twists as he lifts his gaze to you, searching for an explanation to your perplexity in the fact that–

“Why don’t you?”

“Why would I need two?”

He points to his two throbbing dicks, each with a black band around the base. “Two,” he states plainly.

“Yeah, I–” You chuckle at the absurdity of it all. “I see that you have two dicks, Sukuna.” Covering your face as you can’t help laughing, you shake your head from behind your palms. “But why?”

“Twice the pleasure,” he states, letting out a throaty noise that you recognize as Simurian for ‘duh’. “Where’s your second one?”

“I don’t– Humans don’t have a second one, Sukuna!”

He hums, something of a grumble. “We’ll make it work.”

Left staring straight through your husband as he moves on while you’re still caught up on him having two dicks, on top of the fact that he’s almost twice your size, he returns to his musings. His nose trails the length of your neck, nudging your robes aside and kissing along the red dyes used to mark you for the ceremony, leaving new marks in their place.

“Gorgeous,” he clicks and purrs in his mother tongue, slipping his hands beneath the ceremonial garments as he pulls your mind to the present. Slipping your arms from the sleeves, you let your hands run along the tattoos that wrap over his shoulders, reveling in the way his rough skin still seems to get a rise from your touch, goose bumps following your fingers’ trail. Ten feet of alien bulk and a tiny human still brings him to his knees.

You let out a gasp as drool from his stomach drips to your abdomen, trailing down to your thighs, warm and wet. If he wasn’t already obvious with how hard he is, his stomach mouth gives him away entirely.

“You’re soft,” he comments, the words slipping from his lips like an idle thought unintended to be spoken. A large tongue swipes from the bottom of your slit to your clit, the sensation sending shivers up your spine as you breathe in a soft gasp.

The room is already warm with the anticipation of arousal, the musky smell of the night’s earlier activities pungent around you. Your husband drinks in the way your back arches for him when he gets a taste of you, a languid pace to his movements as he crawls further over you in spite of his eagerness. Once he realizes he has something, he’s not quick to let it go. The size difference between you allows him to lap at your entrance with his second mouth while he delves his tongue between your lips. Your fingers curl into his shoulders as your nails leave stark half-moons in their wake.

When he adjusts the way in which he laps at your dripping pussy, the flat of his tongue puts pressure on your clit as you realize that his tongue has a mildly rough texture as though it’s intended for your pleasure. Your back arches once more, separating your kiss. One pair of hands drives your hips further into the mattress, while the other pair steadies your cheeks, allowing him to swallow your moans once more.

It’s downright euphoric the way he uses his tongue to work you to the edge so quickly. You want to chalk it up to being over ten years since you’ve felt this sensation, but the only thing to blame here is him. Not unlike your language, he’s learning your body. Fast.

“Hah- fuck–” You breathe when he finally lets up for air, his chest heaving as you cling to him for purchase. “Don’t stop, Kuna.”

His chest rumbles as he lowers himself to one pair of forearms, continuing to knead the plush of your hips with the other pair. His fingers run along the imperfections of your skin, committing each and every stretch mark, scar, and beauty mark to memory without so much as pulling his gaze from your expression.

He drags his massive tongue slower against your clit, the barbed texture pulling you closer and closer to the edge and leaving you breathless altogether. Blood roars in your ears as he slows his pace to keep you right where he wants you, crimson irises mere rings as his blown pupils watch whimpers pour from your slacked jaw.

“I like you like this,” he murmurs, his nose nudging your cheek where makeup has already smudged. “At my mercy and begging me not to stop.”

“That’s because you have a superiority complex,” you mutter even through the haze, still mouthy at the worst of times.

His tongue pulls back, your head lifting in disappointment just in time to watch his stomach maw nip at your inner thigh. You yelp, clinging tighter to his shoulders as you undoubtedly leave behind marks. “I like you noisy during sex, but not mouthy,” he coyly remarks.

“You’re such a–” You sharply gasp when his tongue returns to your clit with another long drawn out stripe up your slit.

“Don’t be smart,” he chides in Simurian, although he speaks so fast he’s positive you don’t catch it. Your head’s already in the clouds, thrown back into the mattress as you cling to him for purchase when at last he gives you what you want.

Adding to the pressure of his tongue, he finally throws you over the edge with shorter, faster licks. Stars encroach on your vision, your nails digging into his tough skin as he nuzzles your chin affectionately while your body twitches with each jolt of static to your abdomen that could damn well be slowing time and you would never know.

When your vision begins to even out, you shift against your husband, suddenly very aware of just how much drool and cum has collectively pooled between your thighs. Your movement rouses his attention as he lifts his head to inspect you. The bliss lighting up your features has his chest puffing out, that stupid prideful and boastful purr that you’ve grown fond of rumbling his chest.

Your lips part as you catch your breath, pulling him back into your shoulder. He doesn’t protest, nuzzling into you so hard you might think he wanted to live there.

“I love you too, Sukuna.”

He lifts his head, his slanted eyes curiously narrowing. “Is that how humans express partnership?”

You smile as he picks apart your traditions so scientifically. “It’s one way,” you murmur softly, tracing a finger along his cheek. His left eyes flutter shut, only opening when your nails rake through his hair.

He chuffs his approval, returning his attention at last to your body with kisses to your breasts. He shifts you up the bed, spreading your legs over his thighs as he sits between them. His cocks are heavy against your stomach, twitching, and equally slick with his own drool and your cum.

As he leans over you, kissing you once more with ease given his extra height. Two thick digits gather the mix of cum and drool, bringing it to his mouth. He runs his tongue along his lips, bringing his wet fingers down to your core. Regardless of species, he clearly knows better than to try sex without adequately working you open for him. You’re small and he has no intention of hurting his wife.

One finger eases in without any friction, the saliva coating it acting as a natural lubricant. The second is met with little resistance too, and he uses the opportunity to pump them slowly. He moves his fingers not like a human might, but as though he’s searching. Like he knows, biologically, that you derive pleasure from a specific point. And god, does he find it. Your hips buck for him as he locates your g-spot, a devious smirk curling on his lips. Your nails rake down his back with each slow pump of his fingers, your arms trembling as you cling to him.

A third finger swipes up the amalgamation of drool and cum and slowly he slips it in to the first knuckle. He watches your shoulders tense, allowing you to pull him closer until your chests are slick with one anothers’ sweat. Your walls don’t clamp so tightly around his fingers as you adjust and slowly, he slides the third one in to the knuckle.

The stretch of three fingers from your massive husband is immense as-is. You both know he isn’t fitting the second of his dicks in you, but he seems satisfied regardless as he watches your expression with blown pupils.

“Fuck, that feels good,” you breathe as he works you open slowly but surely, picking up the pace until he’s got you damn-near at the edge again.

He hums, pulling his fingers away with a wet squelch just as your nails dig into his skin. “Keep that feeling going for me, ange.”

When he lines himself up with you, a shudder rocks your body. He’s always been big. From this angle, he looks massive and his cocks are no different. The upper cock is heavy as it rests atop your abdomen, leaking pre-cum and coated in saliva all the same, both of you equally a mess. When he pushes in the tip, you suck in a breath, a hand flying to his chest to stop him from pressing in too quickly.

He hisses at how tight you are, the size difference more apparent than ever. Swallowing hard, all four eyes turn their attention to you. “Relax, baby,” he coos, his voice dropping an octave as he uses your preferred pet name for him on you. Anything to allow you to anchor yourself. His gruff attitude flips on a dime, with no intention of causing you anything but pleasure and the knowledge that it’s not only been a long time, but you aren’t the same species.

He wets his thumb with his mouth, bringing it down to your clit to massage small circles into it. Your lashes flutter, the muscles in your arms slackening as the pain of the stretch twists into ecstasy, searing and hot. His body runs so warm that the sensation of him stretching you open all the while warming you up is nothing short of heady and intoxicating. Slowly, he sinks in past the black band around his cock until he reaches the hilt, heavy balls resting against your ass.

Your walls convulse, still short of an orgasm but grappling with his size, until they finally let up and he shifts his hips slightly, testing how you react. You throw your head back in a searing moan as you grab his shoulders again, the kind that rips from straight in your chest and to your surprise, your husband groans in response. “Fuck, that’s it,” he gruffs with a pleasureful lilt to his tone. He’s only ever heard you curse twice, but it seems he got the gist of its meaning quickly.

He pulls out to the tip, his breath hot on your sweat-slicked chest, gliding back in swiftly, though he watches you carefully. When he’s met only with a louder moan and your hands raking down his back, he takes the opportunity to dive in.

His hips rock slow at first, speeding up as he chases both of your highs. He keeps one finger perpetually on your clit, moving in calculated circles in spite of the fact that his hips now snap into you. Moans, pants, and the sound of his balls slapping against your ass fill the air as the scent of sex fills the room. 

Your head is too hazy to look, but you’re fairly sure his stomach’s tongue is pleasuring his upper cock, if the feeling of pressure on your abdomen is anything to go off of. It’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced before, and just as his hands ball into fists in the sheets where they rest on either side of your head, both begin twitching. A heavy load of cum fills your pussy and coats your stomach all at once. He doesn’t stop once they begin jerking, chasing your orgasm and riding his own out.

The sensation of his cum filling you is enough to push you over the edge moments later like glass shattering as it rocks your body in ways you’ve never experienced before. You cling to him as your vision goes black, the world around you fading into an afterthought when all you can think of is your massive husband, hunched over and finally having stopped his movement. All four of his arms hold him upright and in one unsteady movement, he lowers himself to his forearms.

Both of your chests heave as you ride the highs, eyes lidded when he nuzzles the crown of your head. “I love you,” he murmurs into your hair, a hint of a question to the statement, as though he isn’t positive that he’s using it correctly.

Through pants, you chuckle at his uncertainty, lifting your hands from his back to the nape of his neck. “I love you too.”

He slowly pulls himself from within you, rolling to the side so as not to crush you. As you come back down, you give yourself a onceover, blinking at the mess along your stomach and thighs and coating the sheets.

“Sukuna, there’s drool everywhere.”

“That’s your fault,” he grumbles, eyes shut as he lays to your left.

“Literally how?”

With no words in your language for the matter, he replies in his mother tongue. “You feel too good.”

You can’t help a smile, but you do take the opportunity to turn and curl into him, coating him in every fluid you’ve shared.

“Mm,” he hums as you intertwine your legs, your head resting on his bicep. “You might be right.”

“Just a little bit.”

“I’ll clean us up,” he murmurs, leaning down to nuzzle the crown of your head. “Just give me one more moment of this.”

–

The tides are low as you sit with your bare feet in the wet sand. The water scarcely reaches your toes, coming up to your husband’s calves as he naps in the sun, a hat laid over his head. He stirs every so often as you read a Simurian romance novel with your legs thrown over him, the written text coming easier to you these days.

The couple in the novel are so young– relative to the species– that it has you feeling wistful for days long past.

“Sukuna?”

You know he’s awake, having recently adjusted his hat. His chest rises and falls in a content sigh before he chuffs.

“What will you do when I’m gone?” You wonder about your husband, a species that mates for life.

He moves lazily as he sits up, hunching over you to parse what you’re reading. When it isn’t of interest to him, he adjusts the hat back over his head to block the sun. “I’ll mourn you.” He stares out across the ocean of the dome he’s grown into a much larger space over the years. “But I’ll celebrate your life, too.”

The thought brings a smile to your face in spite of the somber tone of your conversation. “Will you take care of my bugs?”

“That’s what you’re worried about?”

You shrug. “Yeah, a little.”

He sighs. “Not the ones that sting. I don’t like them.” He wrinkles his nose at the thought of them. “But the rest, yes. I like the ones with extra legs.”

“Yeah, the tarantula-looking ones are pretty cool,” you agree, leaning back into his chest.

His gaze softens as he looks over your features. You’ve aged beautifully over the past several years of marriage, and he knows your reservations about the difference in your species’ lifespans, but he knows something else, too.

Your aging has slowed to a near-halt. At around forty in Human years, your body stopped showing the signs of age that you so often describe. He’s more than positive that you haven’t noticed, but every minute change in your features is something he categorizes mentally.

It was never on purpose, but by the will of some God, whether Human or Simurian, his injected cells have slowed your aging. He isn’t sure if he’s gained a lifetime with you, or simply a few more years, but he considers the action the sort of thing you might call star-crossed. Like the gene therapy that saved your life acted as a string of fate too, bonding you together not just for your life, but several Human lifetimes.

One pair of arms holds him up as he leans back on them, the other pair sliding around your waist as he pulls you closer, the feeling of your bare skin familiar and comforting to the lumbering man. His fingers curl into your skin as he watches you happily turn a page, content with his reply. His gaze lingers on the ink on your ring finger that matches his.

However many lifetimes it may be that you’re blessed with, he knows he’ll cherish each and every one.

☾⋆ a/n ; okay so i watched phm and between that, iron lung, and alien earth, i got alien sukuna brainworms. i didn't anticipate it being like 38k 💀 i hope you enjoyed though!! this one was a lot of fun and i'm proud of how it turned out. you may also notice a difference between the tumblr and ao3/wattpad versions of this fic which is because i found tumblr's post limit (1000 paragraphs) and had to do some quick combining/editing. forgive me for any strange pacing on this piece in the tumblr version <3 i also wanna take the time to thank you all for the patience while i deal with some medical issues, i promise my regular series should be coming back soon <33 ☾⋆ taglist ; @lilrosyhaven @tiny-mimi @grimm3r @yujisredkicks @knittybritty98 @sukunahs @saezzi @epicderpface @ynishalee @pandabiene5115 @silibiliballs @ane5e @feyrinnn @jkslvsnella @maomimii @megumuro @beereadzzz @sukunas-one-n-only-peach @beaniesayshi @ryomeowie @suguusatoo

Navigating the concrete floor as quietly as you can, you weave past stacks of heavy tires and loose equipment until you reach the front of the sedan. Dropping into a low crouch beside the front wheel well, you lean down to peer beneath the chassis, trying to catch a glimpse of him.

"Need a hand down there, mechanic?" you call out, grinning with way too much energy.

At the sound of your voice cutting through the space, the frantic scraping of his wrench stops cold. A socket clatters onto the concrete somewhere beneath the car, and with a sharp, impatient shove of his boots, Sukuna rolls out from beneath the car and sits up, eyes already searching for you.

His heavy canvas coveralls are peeled down to his waist, with the sleeves knotted carelessly in front, a concession to the thick summer heat. What's left is just a dark ribbed tank top clinging to his broad chest, leaving the ink across his arms and shoulders on full display. Sweat beads along his skin, catching the light, while grease smears his forearms and a bold streak of grime slices across the sharp line of his jaw.

The moment his eyes find your face, every trace of irritation from that stubborn bolt disappears. A wide grin splits his mouth, and his gaze immediately drops to the soft collar of his old shirt slipping off your shoulder before settling on your sweats. As he takes you in, he realizes exactly what you've done, and his smirk turns wicked, thoroughly pleased.

Without hesitation or bothering to wipe his hands clean, he catches you by the waist in one effortless, powerful sweep of his arms. Grease-stained fingers dig into your sweats, rough and insistent, and with a sudden, needy tug, he pulls you straight down to him. A startled gasp escapes as you tumble, landing hard and ungraceful, sprawled right across his lap.

"Sukuna!" you laugh, swatting at his bare shoulder, though you instantly wrap your arms around his neck anyway.

His grip on your waist tightens, drawing you in until his racing heartbeat hammers against your ribs. He leans in, crashing his mouth into yours in a kiss that leaves you breathless and reeling. Rough stubble scrapes your jaw as he tilts your head, deepening the kiss and holding you as if he’s been starved for weeks. His large, calloused hand slips beneath your shirt, tracing a slow path up your spine until it settles warm and heavy against the nape of your neck.

“Didn't know you were coming, angel," he rasps after he finally pulls back, just barely, a helpless grin tugging at his mouth as his thumb traces a streak of black grease along your collarbone. “Fuck—needed this," he murmurs, closing the distance again to peck your lips before letting his forehead rest against yours.

You laugh brightly, eyes crinkling as you tip your head back, fingertips absently gliding over the tattooed circles on Sukuna’s right shoulder as you settle comfortably across his lap, letting him feel every bit of your joy.

His eyes drop to where his arm has shoved the hem of your shirt up, leaving a broad strip of your waist bare, and a low, drawn-out groan rumbles from deep in his chest at the sight.

"Ruined your shirt, by the way," he purrs, not even bothering to lift his gaze from your exposed skin.

"It's your shirt," you point out, fingers of your free hand toying with the ends of his hair as you shake your head at your hopeless husband. "And I wore it on purpose."

Another quiet, utterly pleased sound rumbles low in his chest as his free hand wanders lower, slipping beneath your shirt from the other side, his thumb absently brushing along your waist.

Only then does he finally drag his eyes back to your face, and whatever smug amusement had been there melts away. His chest rises with a slow, shaky breath as he just stares at your smiling face, completely undone by you wearing his old clothes just so he wouldn't have to think twice about wrapping his grimy hands around you.

His grip on your waist tightens, but then his eyes drift past your shoulder, catching sight of the brown paper bag and the drink resting on the bottom shelf of the cart. A loud, dramatic groan escapes him as his head falls back against the sedan's front wheel well, gratitude written all over his face.

"Tell me that's food," he groans, his stomach growling on cue. "Please tell me you brought me something. I haven't had a damn second to eat all day. I'm about five minutes away from eating a customer."

"Yeah, I figured," you laugh. "You're impossible when you're hungry."

Sukuna stretches out one long arm, tearing eagerly into the top of the paper bag. The scent of burgers hits the air, but then he catches sight of his own hands—palms nearly black, grease caked under his fingernails and smeared across his knuckles. He lets out a defeated, annoyed sigh, tossing the crumpled top of the bag back onto the cart. His hands drift back to your waist, giving you one last firm squeeze before he gets ready to hoist you to your feet.

"Hold up a sec, angel," he mutters, slouching in exhaustion. "Gotta wash this shit off before I get it all over the food."

"No, you don't," you cut in with a knowing smile, batting his hands away from your hips before he can push you off his lap.

Surprise flickers across Sukuna's face as you twist to the side and your clean hands dive into the bag, fishing out his massive double smashburger. Peeling back the last layer of paper, you fold it neatly beneath your fingers and hold the hot, juicy burger well out of reach of his dirty hands before offering it to his mouth.

"Bite," you command softly, unable to hide your triumphant grin.

For a moment, Sukuna just stares, crimson eyes going wide before a slow, helpless grin tugs at his mouth. The deep, gravelly chuckle that follows rumbles straight through your lap, shaking you with its force, rich with affection as he lets you take care of him. For once, he doesn’t argue or posture—he just leans in, jaws closing around the burger as he takes a massive bite, satisfaction written all over his face.

Chewing, he wraps those thick arms loosely around your waist, settling you more comfortably against him. A deep, contented hum vibrates against your neck, his whole body melting under your hands.

While he works through that bite, you pull a few hot, salty fries from the bag and pop them into his mouth one by one. Sukuna takes them eagerly, his rough tongue grazing your fingertips as his gaze locks on yours, the heat making your chest ache and swell all at once.

One of his hands reluctantly leaves your waist to reach for the drink on the cart, and he takes a long, slow sip, his throat working as he swallows.

"You're too damn good to me," he mumbles against your fingers, voice going all soft as he sets the cup back down. "Seriously."

"Oh, I know," you say with a tiny, pleased smile, reaching into the bottom of the bag to pull out your own burger and peel back the wrapper. "I wasn't going to make you eat alone."

A low, deeply contented rumble escapes Sukuna as he waits patiently for you to offer up his next bite. The radio hums somewhere in the background, the shop floor still as dirty as ever, but neither of you pays it any mind. Sitting in the middle of the bay, sharing burgers and fries while tucked comfortably in his lap, feels so wonderfully, perfectly normal that neither of you has any intention of moving anytime soon.

a/n: so, this is a little thank you drabble for @aenn00 for supporting me from the start <3 thank you so, so much!

“Wha– What are you doing?” He has you fumbling and it only embarrasses you further. “Get off me.”

“Tell me why you’ve been avoiding me or I’ll literally never get off you, in fact… I will only get closer,” one of his hands moves to grab at your waist but you slap him away.

His head weighted on your thighs has you remembering your explicit dream of him and you can’t help but grow a few degrees warmer in temperature. “I can’t tell you.”

Gojo frowns at that and you hate how you’re noticing just how attractive he is even though he’s growing annoyed, “It involves me directly, but you can’t tell me?”

“That’s right,” you cement, like it shouldn’t even be an issue.

He sits up again and stares at you dead on, “Tell me or I’ll tell all our friends about… the incident.”

A small breath of disbelief leaving you, “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me,” his eyes stern, he’s completely serious.

You try bargaining, “It’s not that deep, Satoru… give me another week or two and I’ll be completely over it.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“So, you’re blackmailing me?!”

“I wouldn’t call it that, that’s such an ugly word,” he shakes his head.

Your brow raises at him, “What would you call it then?”

“I don’t know but not that,” he shrugs easily.

“You’re so annoying, I can’t believe I even—” you cut yourself off, realising you were about to freely give away that you couldn’t believe you had a sex dream about him. It’s frustrating that it was such a good dream too because he’s so annoying in real life.

Despite you stopping yourself, he clings to your words, “‘You can’t believe you even’ what?”

Playing dumb is your only defence but to be fair, you aren’t entirely convinced you’re playing anymore, “I don’t know.”

He stares at you for a moment before speaking again, “Okay, well, I’m calling it blackmail now, I’m officially blackmailing you.”

“Evil, evil man,” you accuse.

He motions at himself with his hands, dismissing your words, “Mhm, now tell ‘Toru all your problems.”

“Ew,” you grimace at him, “that was almost as bad as when you referred to yourself as ‘daddy’.”

Smirk on his face at your response, “Would you prefer that? I didn’t know you were into—”

“—I said almost as bad!”

“Sure, whatever,” he rolls his eyes, “now tell me what’s going on, I won’t let you wiggle your way out of the main issue at hand.”

“Fine,” you groan, giving in, “but you have to promise to not be weird or make it a big deal.”

His head tilts at you, “What? Like you mean how you’ve been doing?”

“Just promise, stupid,” you grumble at him.

“I promise,” he pauses, “sort of.”

“Seriously?”

“I said I promise, now come on,” he leans in, ready to listen, “lay it on me.”

Ignoring his giddy attitude, you take in a deep breath before carefully letting it out, “Well… the other night, I was sleeping—”

“—Truly groundbreaking stuff.”

“Don’t interrupt me or I will never tell you,” you glare at him.

“My bad,” he raises his hands in surrender.

“Anyways,” your heart is hammering in your chest because it’s so embarrassing to be looking at him as you try to confess. It feels like you’re being crushed under his intense gaze, it’s making you even more nervous.

He must be able to tell you’re working yourself up, “Geez, calm down, sweetheart, whatever it is it’s not that big of a deal.” He moves to pat your head as a means to comfort you, but you flinch away.

And before you can control it, you’re suddenly blurting out, “I had a sex dream about you the other night and now I feel really funny around you.”

The reaction from him isn’t immediate, only blinking back at you for a moment before suddenly turning his head to the side as he tries to hide his laugh but the snort he lets out gives it away. Your lips are downturned as you suffer through the agonising moments of mostly silence, the embarrassment you’d already been feeling growing tenfold at his reaction.

Wordlessly, you rise from the couch and go to walk away, to go away to anywhere but here in this moment. Gojo stops you though, his hand on your wrist pulling you back to the sofa. Now closer to him than you had been before, something you’re overly conscious over. Keeping your head turned from him, annoyed at his reaction and also your lack of tact.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he apologises, “I’m not laughing at you, I swear.”

“You need to get out of my apartment.”

“Don’t be so harsh,” he whines, “I have follow up questions.”

You pull your wrist from his grasp, still refusing to look at him, “I don’t wanna answer them, you only want to torture me.”

“Not true!”

He tries to get back in your line of sight, but you keep turning your head away. Your arms cross over your chest, almost like you’re trying to shrink in on yourself.

“I’m curious about a few things now though,” he hums at you, “since your reaction to having sex with me has been so cute.”

His phrasing is so poor that it has your head whipping to look at him and his overly pleased expression, “I did not have sex with you.”

“Right, right,” he waves off, “you dreamt about having sex with me.”

“I dislike you so deeply right now.”

“If you agree to answer my questions, I will literally never bring up the fact that you had a wet dream about me ever again.”

You point at him angrily, “It was not a wet dream! What the hell is wrong with your phrasing of things?!”

He smiles sweetly as he grabs your finger, using the hold he has on you to unfurl your hand and loop your fingers together to hold hands, “Are you gonna answer my questions or not?”

“If I do… you’ll never speak about this again, right?” You try pulling your hand from his but his hold on you is firm.

“Sure,” he agrees all too easily.

You glance down and away from him, “Fine.”

“Perfect!”

And at his incredibly joyful tone, you can’t help but feel like you’ve made a misstep somewhere along the way. Maybe you shouldn’t have told him… or maybe you should’ve concealed your reactions more effectively… or better yet, your stupid brain shouldn’t have conjured the image of you and him having sex to begin with.

Glancing at your interlocked fingers, you ask, “Can you let go of my hand now?”

“Why? Is it making you uncomfortable?” His tone isn’t upset or accusatory, only curious.

Sighing at him in response, “I’m embarrassed to even look at you right now, of course it’s making me uncomfortable.”

He, thankfully, releases his grip on you. Choosing not to taunt you any further but you have a feeling it’s only a small reprieve. Just as your heartrate is finally calming, he asks, “Was I good?”

You’re completely taken aback, knowing what he’s asking but still confused by his bluntness, “What?”

“Was I good?” He repeats shamelessly. “I’d be a little offended if I weren’t.”

If you have to answer his ridiculous questions then you’re going to be purposefully vague, “You were… fine.”

He hums thoughtfully, “You won’t even look me in my eyes, and you said you’re feeling funny around me so I was either horrendously bad or really great, which is it?”

“I don’t like your questions,” you grumble at him.

“I wanna know though,” he whines, “It’s your fault for being so weird about it.”

Your body droops into the couch, head resting against the back of it, “A normal person and good friend would take this information at face value and let me live quietly with my shame.”

“I disagree,” you can feel his eyes on you, but you still won’t look at him, your own eyes closed. He continues on, “I’ll let you live quietly after you tell me everything I want to know… probably.”

You squint your eyes open at him, “There is literally nothing in this for me, you’re blackmailing this information out of me.”

He grins at you, “Are you saying you’d respond better to positive reinforcement?”

“I’m saying I’m still reluctant to answer your embarrassing questions and it’s starting to feel like if I do, I’m only giving you future blackmail material.”

“This is untrue, I’m blackmailing you, yes but I also agreed to never bring it up again if you answer my questions.”

“Oh my god!” this is getting annoying, steeling your nerves, you decide you’re just going to answer everything so you can end this quickly, “You were good, it was a good dream.”

A stupid and happy smile takes over his face, you don’t bother reading too far into it. “You said you were feeling ‘funny’, what do you mean by that?”

“Huh?”

“Funny could mean any number of things, I’m asking for specifics here,” he’s still too happy and it’s annoying you because you don’t really understand why.

“Hmm, like…” you look at him intently to better think about how you feel, your heart fluttering as you do, causing you to close your eyes as if you’re in thought, “…I feel embarrassed to have had a dream like that about you.”

He pushes back on your answer, “That’s all?”

Cracking an eye open at him as you chirp, “Yep.”

His gaze is already trained on you, apparently never having stopped looking at you, “You’re such a bad liar.”

You deflate at your failed deception, “I think we’ve just known each other too long…”

“You’ve always been a bad liar though?” He claps his hands together suddenly and it makes your heart skip a beat, “Now, out with it.”

Quiet as you start your explanation, “Every time I look at you…” he nods his head as if to encourage you, “…I think about the dream and it makes me feel funny, that’s all, can you leave me alone now?”

His lips purse as he mulls over what you’ve just said, “You sure you’re not just horny?”

“Satoru!” you chastise him, shocked and also frustrated that he’s pretty much hit the nail on the head. Ever since your dream you can’t help but look at him differently. Mind feeding you images of what having sex with him might be like—what having sex with him was like.

“I’m being genuine.”

“That makes it worse,” kicking your legs a little about it all.

He starts giggling, “You had a dream about getting fucked by me so good that just being around me turns you on.”

“Stop!” you move to sit in front of him properly, face clearly unhappy, “I did not say that.”

“You basically did,” he dismisses, “So… what did I do to you?”

It’s a bit ridiculous that he’s going in this direction, but you should’ve known he was going to do this. You need to shut him down because just his words alone are affecting you more than you care to admit, “I’m done answering your questions.”

It’s his turn to groan and grumble, “Aww, but it was just getting good.”

Rolling your eyes at him, you say with the intention of ending this interaction, “Satoru… It doesn’t matter what you did in my dream because there’s no way you’d be that good in real life.”

The smile on his face drops, “I can’t help but take that personally.”

“Take it how you will,” you shrug, “there’s no way you could live up to the dream version of you, it’s not logical.”

“Wanna find out?”

“Don’t be childish,” you brush him off, overlooking the way those words send a shock through you.

He pushes, “Treat it like an experiment, I wanna know what’s better.”

Blinking back at him, “You’re so weird.”

Quickly pointing out, “Maybe, but you’re the one who dreamt about fucking this weirdo.”

“Yeah, dreamt, it was a dream.” You shake your head in disbelief at him, “Why are you acting like you’re jealous of dream you?”

“Maybe I am jealous of dream me.”

“That’d be stupid.”

“You’re always telling me I’m stupid.”

Gojo’s eyes keep flitting to your lips every time you speak, the look in them suddenly much darker than the glee that was held in them when he was teasing you earlier. Trying to be stern but not entirely convincing when you state, “I’m not going to have sex with you for a reason as stupid as that, grow up.”

“But you’ll have sex with me for a good reason?”

“Stop putting words in my mouth,” you tilt your head at him in exasperation, “why are you even acting like this?”

Ignoring your question and instead posing his own, “You sure you’re not curious, not even a little bit?” His hand cups the side of your face, his thumb pulling down on your lower lip, “I know I am.”

That simple touch has your heart leaping bounds, suddenly so hyper aware of how deep the effect he has on you is. It scares you, how much you want him, how much you want to say yes. You shouldn’t get carried away, he’s being ridiculous, this is all so ridiculous. Your years long and best friendship could be ruined because of this moment.

All things you’re worried about, all valid concerns, all thoughts that slip from you so quickly when he leans in and licks teasingly at your lower lip. The gasp you let out is his entrance into your mouth, his lips plush and demanding against yours. Eyes falling shut as you let yourself get lost in his kiss, full and delightful and something you’ve never felt before.  

It’s messy and uncoordinated, like he’s not really focusing on how to kiss you and more on the fact that he gets to kiss you. You’re getting dizzy, body buzzing pleasantly at how he sucks on your tongue. String of saliva keeping your lips connected when he pulls back, snapping as he wipes his lower lip with his thumb, only to then push it into your mouth. Your immediate response to suck, feeling depraved but enjoying the look on his face you get when you do.

He speaks under his breath, eyes a little dazed, “Fuck.”

As soon as your tongue licks against the tip of his thumb, he’s pulling it from your mouth and hurriedly slotting his mouth over yours again. Barely giving you a moment to think before he’s kissing you so completely, consumed by his need and the delicious way he partakes in your lips.

It’s so overwhelming, to be desired like this is foreign and has your thighs clenching together. Gaining confidence when you finally wrap your arms around his neck, a move he appreciates if his groan and grabby hands are anything to go off of.

The way he parts from you is full of huffed and short breaths that only ends in him kissing you again, like he’s fighting with himself to say something, to do something more but ending up not strong enough to move on from your lips.

A pathetic moan that you don’t even recognise as your own leaving you, the sound only spurring Gojo on. Using his body to push against yours until your back is on the couch, not bothering to explain what he’s doing, far too busy and far too fixated on how you taste.

Filled to the brim with thoughts about how good his kiss is, how kissing can’t possibly be this good, how you’d let him do more. Fingers threading through his hair, nails scratching against his scalp in a way that pulls a shudder from him.

What feels like far too soon he’s properly pulling back, quickly putting distance between you both so he’s not immediately gravitating back. Arms holding himself up, hovering over you, taking his sweet time to appreciate the look on your face. Pride exuding from him at what he’s reduced you to with a few kisses.

“Stop staring, Satoru,” your voice comes out more whinged and unfortunate than you were hoping.

“No.”

It’s a simple response, one that’s weighted with meaning and intention. Maybe if you weren’t only concerned with how good of a kisser he is, of how you want more, of how he looks indescribably good over you, you’d ask him why he’s acting this way. Maybe you’d even ask what this means for your friendship but when you’re in this deep and enjoying it this much, thinking that deep slips from you all too easily.

“I’m gonna touch you,” his gaze wanders over your body before looking back to you, “okay?”

Already nodding back at him, “Okay.”

And only when you verbally affirm him does he let his greedy hands travel your body, sitting back on his knees so he can grope at your thighs and hips. You can tell he’s enjoying your squirming immensely, eyes simultaneously lidded low and lit up.

Quickly glancing to meet your eyes when he asks, “What did I do to you?”

It takes your brain a second to catch up to his words, stuck on his big hands resting against your hips, his fingers digging into your plush skin. “You mean…”

“In your dream,” he slips into your waistband and starts to slowly pull your pants off, “what did I do to you in your dream, sweetheart?”

You feel your skin heat, his fingers tickling against your thighs. “I’m not answering that.”

A low hum sounds from him as your pants are finally removed and tossed to the side, “Why not?”

Keeping your legs together, self-conscious of the fact you’re in your underwear below him. Though he’s not bothered at all, groping and massaging at your thighs, “What happened in that dream is private.”

“That hardly seems fair,” his eyes bore into your own, “since I was there and all.” Paying no mind to your small protests as he manoeuvres one of your legs to rest against his side, feeling much more exposed now that he’s spread your legs.

“Satoru, you can’t just!– mmph—”

Further protesting cut off abruptly when he places his palm on your lower stomach, thumb drawing over your covered slit. His touch there was unexpected but not unwelcome, small shocks of pleasure thrumming through you.

“Did I use my fingers?” he keeps stroking your cunt, touch light and nowhere near enough to satisfy. “How about my mouth?” pausing to blatantly stare at your pussy, not even really addressing you when he adds, “please tell me I used my mouth,” his last words come out pitchy, almost like he’s begging for it to be true.

“I don’t know,” you’re feeling overwhelmed, head foggy, “I can’t remember.”

“I don’t know why you keep bothering to lie to me,” he murmurs low, using both thumbs to pull apart your folds, pressing into your hole only to be stopped by the material of your panties.

His action has you shooting up, face to his chest, your hands grab onto his shirt and all he does is chuckle at you. “Stop playing with me,” you huff at him.

Leaning down, he drags his lips over your skin gently. Leaving behind soft kisses all over your neck and chest, blowing air by your ear just to make you twitch. Voice almost a whisper when he asks again, “What did I do to you?”

“You’re embarrassing me,” you look through your lashes at him.

His smile is pleased, “Yeah, well, you’re turning me on.” Grabbing you by your hips and pulling you into his lap, your cunt pressing right into his erection, “Feel that?” He can’t help the way he gives small grinds into you, your warmth too enticing, “All your fault, so tell me what I did to you.”

The grinds he’s giving you feel too good, he’s big and so hard and couldn’t he just, “Can’t you just put it in?”

He laughs airily, surprised by your need and shifted focus, “I think you can feel enough to know that I can’t.”

“You were nicer to me in my dream,” you pout at him.

“Somehow, I doubt that—” his head drops back and a soft groan leaves him, getting lost in how you’ve started to rut down into him.

Thinking back to your dream, you decide to mention, “You did.”

Distracted reply coming from him, “Hmm?”

“Use your mouth, I mean—”

Just as you’d gotten the words out, he’s pushing you flat on your back again, not even pausing to think as he pulls your panties off in one movement. Settling between your thighs impatiently, eyeing up your cunt, “You been holding out on me.”

Your legs thrown haphazardly over his broad shoulders, “Wait just a sec—”

“—Why?” Tongue already hanging from his mouth and hovering over your pussy, just about drooling onto it.

The sight of him has your brain rebooting, “No– nothing.”

Keeping his eyes intently on you when he licks your whole pussy, smiling at how your mouth drops opens and hips squirm, “You’re cute.”

“You– you’re– hnn—” you don’t get to retort properly, his tongue flicking at your clit each time you try to say something.

“Mhm,” he’s enjoying this, you can tell, his tone too amused. “You’re so wet, practically begging for me to put my mouth on you.”

And then he shoves his tongue inside you, holding your hips down so he can fuck you with it. Delighting in the moans tumbling from your lips, cunt syrupy sweet and begging for him to stuff it full. Swallowing down all you have to give him, shudders running down his spine as his cock jerks in his pants. He’s been horny ever since you admitted to having had a sex dream about him. And if he’s being completely honest, maybe since he had his head in your lap.

It feels a little cruel that you kept it from him for so long, he would’ve gotten on his knees for you the second you asked him to. Groaning into your pussy when your hole tightens around his tongue, pressing his face closer to you. Nose stimulating your clit with how desperate he is to taste your cunt.

He’s messy in how he’s devouring you, sloppily making out with your pussy. Small groans leaving him as he relishes in it, like he’s getting just as much out of this as you are. It’s too good, back arching and thighs fighting to close, held open by his wide frame between your legs. This is the first time someone has gotten you so close so quickly, it’s almost embarrassing how easily he’s about to make you cum.

Gojo knows you’re close, it excites him, he wants your cum in his mouth, he wants to feel how you shake underneath him. But there’s something wicked inside him that wants to tease you a little more. Choosing instead to wait until you’re just about to finish before suddenly pulling back.

You whine at him, eyes wet when you look at him in confusion. He only smiles back at you, tongue licking his lower lip before he asks innocently, “I forgot to ask, did you cum like this?”

Brain taking a moment to catch up before realising he’s still asking about that damn dream, “I don’t– I think so?”

Pressing open mouthed and wet kisses over your inner thighs, remarking, “Not very memorable, was it?”

Somehow, it feels like he’s trying to compete with his dream counterpart, and the thought is just ridiculous. “It was very memorable,” you’re only hoping to be a little teasing but by the look in his eyes he takes it personally. Opening his mouth wide and chomping down onto your thigh, biting you enough to nearly break skin. You jump at the shock, “Hey!”

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he murmurs into your skin, licking over the impression of his teeth before pressing a kiss to it, “try remembering this instead, yeah?”

It’s a little bit cute of him to be so jealous of your dream, “You’re stupid.”

He knows he’s stupid, he’s all too aware of it but that changes nothing to him, “I’d be more careful with your words if you wanna cum,” blowing air onto your clit, reminding you of how close you were.

“Satoru…” you don’t really like how he’s got you backed into a corner right now.

He hums in acknowledgement at you, “Need something?” Head leaning against your thigh as he smiles smugly up at you.

How frustrating of him, to know exactly what you want but choosing not to give it to you for his own enjoyment. “You’re a tease,” you huff at him.

“Hmm… not usually,” his hand slides up your inner thigh, single digit slipping inside your hole, “I think that’s something you bring out of me,” pleased with the small sounds you let out at his finger stuffing you.

Gasped moan leaving your lungs, trying to tell him how unbearable he is, “You’re– hnn!—”

A sound of awe leaving him as he drags his finger out, “How obscene, you really are so fucking wet.” He says it like you should be ashamed of yourself but he’s smiling too big, eyes full of loving obsession. Clearly incredibly happy with how dripping and soaked your cunt is, “Basically drooling for it, sweetie. How embarrassing~”

You might have to kill him because he really is embarrassing you. Hell, it was already embarrassing doing this with your best friend and now he’s teasing you for his own sick pleasure, “Stop…” not able to help the completely pathetic look on your face, “…stop being so mean to me.”

Gojo feels his heart drop and then start beating a million miles an hour, you’re so cute that he can’t help but breathlessly laugh, “My bad, will making you cum make up for it?”

“Yes,” you assert.

Ah, his head is spinning, you might be too much for his poor heart to handle. He can’t bear having you upset with him though, pressing soft kisses to your pussy lovingly. It’s as if he’s apologising for being so cruel to you, deepening his kiss to your cunt by stuffing you full of his tongue again.

The way you twitch and moan under him really does drive him wild, how he’s going to stay sane while fucking you is beyond him. Lapping at your sopping cunt so devotedly, eyes dazed and pussy drunk as he watches how your eyes roll and brows pinch. Giggling to himself at how surreal it is to be tongue deep inside you, to have you this needy for him.

When he suddenly pushes your legs back, you squeak. Damn near folded in half and bent for him, “Satoru, you can’t just– mmph!—”

He doesn’t grace you with the kindess of listening properly, simply going back to eating your pussy like it’s his last meal. The way he’s holding you is pornographic in nature, a position you’ve never even thought to be in, and he’s easily manhandled you into it. Lower back no longer even touching the couch, held up by Gojo.

With how he’s positioned you now, all your dewy slick and his saliva slides from your cunt and drips crudely onto your poor couch. Head dizzied as he gets you closer and closer to finishing, building you up so much faster after the loss of your last orgasm.

“I– ah!– so close– mmph—” you don’t want him to stop, hand holding onto one of his on your hip tightly, begging that he doesn’t pull away again.

Lucky for you, he desperately wants you cumming for him. He barely brought himself to deny you the first time, there’s no way he could do it a second. Completely and whole heartedly dedicated to making your pussy cream for him, salivating at the thought alone.

Moans you don’t even register pulling from your lungs as he finally pushes you over the edge, hips shaking as you try to ride out your own high with little success. The position you’re folded in keeping you at his mercy. Orgasm feeling oh so sweet after he denied you, lashes fluttering as it washes over you.

Gojo hums happily into your pussy, drinking down all your creamy slick and then still not parting from you. Too addicted to your scent, to your taste, ignoring all rationality as he keeps licking and sucking at your cunt. Whining when your weak fingers dig into his hair and pull him back by force, shaking underneath him from how he’s nearly forced you into overstimulation.

“Too much,” your voice trembles with your words.

His lower face is a complete mess of you and you’d feel bad but the stupid smile and dazed look he’s wearing tells you that you don’t have to. “You got a great pussy,” he compliments, moving his thumbs so he can lewdly pull your cunt wider for his greedy eyes.

“Ah!– stop staring, have you no shame?”

Eyes flicking to yours when he states seriously, “None.”

You’re feeling far too exposed in this position, “Can you let me move—”

Ignoring you and instead musing aloud, “—How many fingers do you think you could take?”

“What?”

“Your hole was tight around my tongue so maybe only one?” Slipping a single finger inside you and stroking against your walls. Your back fights to arch and a soft mewl sounds from you, “ahh, that’s a nice reaction. Let’s stretch you out yeah?”

“You’re so– hnn!—” barely biting out, “You’re such a pervert.”

His head tilts at you, “Did you expect anything else?”

Managing to babble out, “Weren’t so– hah– perverted– hnn– in my dream– mmph—”

“I take pride in that,” his chest vibrates with his words. Of course he takes pride in it, why wouldn’t he? Stuffing another finger inside your snug cunt and scissoring them, trying to open you up enough to be able take him, “This sweet pussy might fucking kill me, I don’t know how you’re gonna take me.”

Could he have a bigger ego? “Don’t be ridiculous– hah!—”

“I’m not just being cocky, sweetie.” Fingers brushing up against so many spots you can never quite reach on your own, “You might actually struggle to take it all.”

Eventually giving you a third finger, spread wide around his digits and leaking into the palm of his hand. He’s got you a squirming and moaning mess under him, mind melting from the mouth-wateringly sinful way he’s playing with you.

“Satoru– hnn!—”

“Something wrong?”

Now he knows damn well… “Please, just– hah—”

He laughs at your whimpered neediness, completely aware of how bad you want him inside of you. “Being real cute right now.”

“Don’t—”

“—Don’t what?” Using his fingers to tease your most intimate spots.

“‘Toru– hnn– please,” lower lip wobbling as you pout at him, “I want you…”

That’s not fair, you’re not playing fair at all. “You’re evil,” he mumbles at you, cheeks and tips of his ears flushing red with how turned on he is, “but I’ll give you what you want, since you’re so adorable.”

Thick fingers drawing from your cunt, the loss of him pulling a whine from you; it makes him smile. You’re genuinely so pathetic right now and aside from how horny it’s got him; it’s also got his heart stuttering in his chest.

“Take your shirt off,” he points at you, letting you finally lower your bottom half to the couch.

Grumpily following his instruction, feeling especially docile right now, “You’re being too bossy.”

His words come out a little muffled as he pulls his own shirt off, “Your pouting would have more effect if you weren’t also listening so well.”

“Maybe I’ll stop listening then.”

He stands from the couch to tug down his pants and boxers, brows drawn together and head tilting, “When you’re this close to finally taking it all?” Holding the base of his hard cock, tone smug.

Embarrassed for yourself at how your cunt throbs for him, desperate in a pitiful way that you’ve never imagined yourself being over him or anyone. “Are you in any position to be this big of a tease?”

“For you? Always,” he taps your thigh and leans onto the couch again, “now spread your legs for me.”

Already opening up to give him room before really thinking twice on it, hating that you’re this willing to follow his instruction. His hands on you are gentle, almost reverent in how they trail along your inner thighs.

Gojo can’t help himself, touching you as much as he can, wanting to prolong this whole experience. Your skin so soft and delicate under his touch, fingers digging into your flesh just to see proof of him touching you. Completely bare and willing under him, heart hammering in his chest at this fact.

Dragging his cock through your sopping wet pussy, shivering at just how gooey your cunt is. Not intentionally trying to torture you but doing so anyways, squirming and impatient under him the more he plays with you.

“Satoru,” voice pitchy, “please.”

Not moving immediately, only cursing as he gazes at you all lost.

You wrap a single leg around his waist and pull him forward, encouraging, “C’mon.”

Smug expression suddenly back on his face, “Alright, here we go,” tapping at your entrance a few times first. “Ohh, biiig stretch,” word drawn out and provocative as his cock head slowly slips inside you.

Big stretch is fucking right, chest squeezing as you struggle to adjust. Hands gripping onto his biceps for dear life, needing to be grounded.

One of his hands reach out and strokes against your head, you keen into his touch and he chuckles. Leaning down to whisper, “You need to breathe, sweetheart.”

His hips have stopped moving forward but it hardly seems like it, already feeling obscenely full. “H–how much– hnn– more?”

Gojo dips his head down to look at where your cunt is bulging around him, teeth digging into his lower lip as he stifles a strained laugh, “Not much at all.”

“Are you lying?” Unable to help the way your lip wobbles a bit with your question.

“Yeah,” he thrusts just a little bit more into you, “but you’re doing so well, feel fffucking fantastic.”

You’re clawing at his shoulders, feeling like you’re being stretched to your limits, “Why– ah!– why is it so big?” Somehow, you feel annoyed at him for it.

“I’m God’s favourite,” is how he chooses to reply, ego growing tenfold at how you’re falling apart just from the shallow thrusts he’s delivering.

How the hell are you meant to take all of him, “How– hah– how much?”

He can’t take his eyes off how you’re sucking him in, hands gripping your hips and thumbs drawing circles into your skin soothingly, “Why don’t you just watch for yourself?”

You shake your head at him, eyes scrunched shut, “No.”

“And why not?” Still, he’s feeding you more of his cock, your pussy pulsing around him making him dizzy, “It’s a good fuckin view.”

“Don’t– hnn– don’t torment me.”

Blinking your eyes open to give your best glare, it only comes across half hearted. Completely taken with the look on Gojo’s face, flushed pink with his pupils blown wide, teeth digging into his lower lip again to stop from whining. Eyes flicking to yours and he’s completely melting when seeing just how pathetic you are under him, moan stumbling from his lips so suddenly that it takes him by surprise.

He's just as big of a mess as you and it has your cunt positively creaming around him, turned on by the fucked out horny look on your best friends’ face. Gojo shudders at your pussy getting slicker around him, his dick jerking inside you.

“Getting this– hah– wet over your best friend…” fucking his hips quickly, pelvis now flush to yours, “…how shameless of you.”

You’re quivering around him and writhing under him, the feeling of being completely stuffed full overwhelming on its own. His taunting cruel and mocking and unfortunately turning you on that much more, upset that you’re letting him get away with it.

Lips downturned when you fire back, “You’re more shameless– hnn– pervert.”

Gojo can only be charmed by your weak insult, especially since he’s pretty sure you’re unaware of how your hips are twitching under the weight of his hold. Fighting upwards for the hope of getting fucked but kept frustratingly still by him. Your neediness has piqued his interest, now wondering how long he can stay still until you’re shedding tears out of pure frustration. Quickly growing addicted to the idea of teasing you like this.

He's so still it’s driving you crazy, able to feel his dick twitching inside you, veins throbbing against your sensitive walls. Obviously wanting it just as bad as you but still not moving, shifting one of your hands to tap at his on your hip, gaining his attention.

Eyes on his, “What are you waiting– mmph– for?”

God, the look on your face is killing him, so sweet under him. It’s almost like you’re coming apart already, his hands dig into your thighs and it has you keening under him. Pitiful whine leaving you as your hips start grinding into him quickly, trying to alleviate some of the desire you’re feeling.

“Now why on earth…” he straightens his back up more, pulling your lower half up with him, not giving the chance for his cock to slip from you, “…are you this touch starved?”

“Huh?” it’s the only response you’re capable of giving, having finally seen just how he’s shoved inside you. Cunt stretched obscene around his fat dick, dripping happily and syrupy sweet around him. Chest fluttering at the shock and excitement.

“I’m so sorry for not noticing, sweetie,” he coos at you, “I would’ve helped you if you’d told me.”

Complaining back at him, “I am not touch starved.”

“You definitely are,” he trails his hand from your hip, up your side, just to show you how you twitch into it, “it’s okay though, I’ll take good care of you.”

Pussy shivering involuntarily around him, giving away that you’re lying. How he managed to know you were deprived, you have no idea but the fact he did is embarrassing to you. He doesn’t need to be aware of how long it’s been since you were last touched so intimately.

“I—”

“—Don’t bother lying again,” he keeps caressing you where he can reach, “I’d much rather hear about how much you like when I touch you.”

Maybe he’ll start moving if you’re honest, “I like when– hah– you touch me,” pouting slightly and barely fighting off the shudder running down your spine at his touch.

“Good,” he smiles at you, all glib, “‘Cause I’m gonna touch you. Lots.”

Eyes sparkling at him, hoping, “Does that mean you’re– ah– hnn– actually going to fuck me now?”

“Why?” his head tilts at you, “Do you want it?”

Giving your best glare back at him, he’s proven to you sufficiently by now that he can read you incredibly well, much to your dismay. Muttering out, “Dream you was– hah– much more indulgent of me.”

“Ouch,” though he says that, he doesn’t seem hurt at all, “Dream me was a fool then ‘cause you’re much more fun to play with like this.”

He’s being so evil, “Can’t you just give me what I want?”

“I might,” his gaze is lecherous as his eyes rake over your body, “if you ask for it properly.”

“Satoru…” you try to call out to him as sweetly as possible, “…please fuck me?” lip quivering slightly as your neediness bleeds through your façade of togetherness, “please?”

Gojo’s heart squeezes in his chest, he’d planned on tormenting you a little more but he’s not sure he’ll be able to keep his sanity any longer. Already he feels like he’s a second away from cumming, caught between wanting to give you everything you want and teasing you until you cry. He guesses he’ll just have to settle for fucking you until you cry this time, next time, he promises himself he’ll tease you properly next time.  

“Satoru?”

Your voice breaks him out of his reverie, grin back on his face, “I heard you, pretty. I’ll give you what you want.”

Dragging his cock from you slowly, so slowly, the heavy weight of him pulling out driving you up a wall, insides shuddering. Broken and gasped moans leaving you, rushing out quick, “Thank you, thank you, thank you, oh—”

The laugh that leaves him is too attractive, amused by your gratitude for something like this. It’s cute how the thank-yous just keep tumbling from your lips over and over as he keeps pulling back to the tip of him.

“Don’t thank me for that…” his hands dig into your hips more, “…thank me for this,” slamming into you all at once with his last word.

The wind is completely knocked from your lungs, shocked whine louder than you’d want it to be. Desperately clawing at any part of him you can reach, struggling to take it and keep it together. Feeling like you’re completely melting, head spinning as pleasure thumps through your veins.

“Mmph– I– ahh—” barely coherent as your eyes fight to not roll to the back of your head, “thank hnn– you.”

Small giggle leaving him at just how adorable you’re being, heart hammering in his chest as he sets a consistently mind ruining pace. He can’t wipe the fucked out smile off his face as he keeps pounding into you, giddy with how he gets to have you under him like this.

Babbling varied compliments, “You’re so adorable,” he huffs out a whimper, “hnn– and you’re so fucking tight around me,” less coherent as he carries on, “God, and so fffucking wet– hah– what the– so hot– I—”

He feels insane, how you’re this warm and perfect around him has him at a loss. Almost like you were made just for his cock, something he’ll let himself believe because the idea of you being with anyone but him breaks his heart a little bit.

Hypnotised by how you’re sucking him back in, clinging onto his dick desperately. It’s almost like every time he pulls out, you’re begging him to fuck right back in, and of course he’ll comply. The idea of pulling out before he’s finished with you a painful thought, not willing to give up this moment even if someone walked in on the two of you.

Such a genuine thought, he’s completely certain that someone could walk in on you both and his thrusts wouldn’t even slow down. If anything, they’d speed up, finally he’d get to show off how you’re his. Possessiveness tumbling around restlessly in his head, his dick only getting harder.

All you can do is take it, take all of the jaw slacking and toe-curling pleasure he’s delivering you. Your pussy making obscene sounds as he fucks into you, skin hot from how depraved it all feels. Gojo looks so completely wrecked, eyes glazed over, lips still moving as he continues to mutter out sweet praise. Praise that would probably have your insides flipping and body growing hotter, but you can’t hear anything but your heart thumping in your own ears.

Delirious grin making its way onto his face as he’s struck with a wicked realisation, large hand sliding its way from your thigh to your stomach. Pressing down the littlest bit and watching how you squirm and shudder under him, gasping for breath and hands slapping at him, trying to speak.

“Don’t– hnn– don’t do that– ah!– too much– it feels too—”

“What? Good?” He hisses out, still managing to be taunting.

“It’s too much– hah– mmph– I’m too sensitive,” your eyelashes feel wet, like you might’ve started crying but you can’t even be sure of that right now.

His hand presses down more into your tummy, “I know you are~” he giggles a little, “it’s turning me on.”

“Seriously– hnn– don’t– I’m gonna– ah!—”

He’d completely ignored your pleas causing you to cut yourself off with a moan, orgasm suddenly washing over you. Spasming hot and snug around him, so sinful that he’s shocked by his own high, cumming deep inside you as you shake and shiver around him.

“Ohh, you’re– haah– you’re killing me sweetly,” Gojo’s head feels like it’s spinning, swimming in so much euphoria as he grinds into you.

You’ve slumped under him, trusting him to keep a hold of you, not even thinking to chew him out for making a mess of both your cunt and sofa. Brain feeling all fuzzy and melted in your skull, blissed out from how good you’re currently feeling.

Busy basking in the afterglow when your world is suddenly spinning, Gojo’s taken advantage of your rag-dolled state and flipped you over onto your stomach. Quickly realising that he’s still hard when your hips are being pulled up and his cock is sliding through your folds.

“You gotta stay with me, pretty,” he groans, positioning his tip at your hole, “we’re– hnn– not done yet.”

“Satoru– ah!—”

Both your moans are debauched and loud as he stuffs you so fucking full all at once, lungs seizing in your chest. If he weren’t holding your hips so tight, you would’ve collapsed to the couch. Your fingers dig into the cushions below you, biting back pitiful sounds that so desperately want to leave you.

“Don’t– don’t do that,” he shoves inside you somehow that little bit more, “let me hear you, sweetie.”

Sulking back, “Noo– hah– it’s embarrassing—”

“—It’s arousing,” he counters, skin on fire with how badly he wants to hear you moan for him.

He supposes it’s fine though, he’ll just have to drag those sweet sounds from you himself. Giving sharp and angled thrusts, purposefully driving right into all those delicious spots he found earlier while playing with you. Grinning wide, overly pleased with himself when you squeak out the cutest moan he’s ever heard.

He’s falling apart inside you, wrapped around your little finger and you don’t even realise it. He didn’t even intend to cum earlier, you just felt too good. All sticky cum and clingy walls, he couldn’t help himself.

Able to feel how his cum leaks out around his shaft, hear how your pussy gushes with his cock inside you. He feels borderline feral, something deeply possessive dancing around in his heart at how your cunt squelches around him, stuffed full of his hot semen.

The desire to see his face hits you, remembering just how good he looked as he got lost in how pleasurable everything felt. Whining pitifully below him into the couch, feeling far too shy to tell him how much you enjoy looking at him while he fucks you stupid.

“Satoru– hnn– it’s—” drooling onto the couch as you moan out to him, “it’s good– hah– it’s too good– it’s good~” nearly sobbing with just how damn good it feels.

“I bet,” he chuckles, loving your reaction.

Biting at him, “Hnn– shuddup—”

Easily ignoring you, “Now be honest… what’s better?”

Your eyes are rolling to the back of your head; you can’t focus on whatever the hell he’s saying when he’s fucking your gooey sweet spot so perfectly that you’re in bliss.

“Focus,” he fills you completely and stills his hips, refusing to move, “what’s better? This or your dream.”

Cunt so creamy and cock drunk for him, throbbing and pulsing so lovingly on him. He’s a little bit annoyed that he has to stop but he needs your answer. Hips twitching back into him, small noises of frustrated and deprived pleasure slipping from your lips.

He purrs low at you, “If you want me to move then you gotta answer me,” hand smoothing down your back, “you know I will torment you until you do.”

If you weren’t so turned on and delirious you’d recognise it as the bluff it is, he may have been able to torment you earlier, but his patience is barely hanging on by a fucking thread at this point. But you are that turned on and delirious, so instead you answer earnestly, “This, this is better. It’s lots better, now please. Move.”

“There ya go,” he pats your ass a couple times, “such a sweet little thing when you’re fucked full of my fat dick.”

Words meant as a warning but failing to hold any weight, “‘Toru– don’t—”

“—Don’t stress, pretty,” giving you a single thrust, “I’ll give you what you and your pussy are begging me for.”

Your response is smothered into the couch cushions, “Please.”

Groaning a giggle at how you reply, finding it cute that you’re displaying manners you don’t usually bother to with him. You must have it bad for him right now because otherwise you would not be so docile under him.

Fucking into you so you can feel it, really feel it. Intending to pull you apart so perfectly, wanting you to feel this just as much he is. Pelvis smacking into your ass obscenely, admiring the way your back arches for him, damn near presenting yourself to him.

“More– hah—” you stutter out at him, trying to explain what you need, “I want– hnn– I want you to touch me more.”

His eyes close and he intakes a deep breath, controlling himself as he registers your words. Arm reaching around you to pull you up, his chest to your back. He’s pressed so close to you, warm and comforting. You’re keening into him again, relishing how close he is to you, how much of him you can feel. Butterflies dancing in your stomach at how intimate it is and how it’s so much better because of it.

His hands grope at you, your hips, stomach, tits, anywhere he can grab, “Someone’s being greedy.”

Huffing back at him, “Hah– I am not.”

“I wasn’t talking about you,” amused with himself as he breathes into your ear, thrusting desperately into your dripping cunt.

You grab hold of his hands and tug, encouraging him to wrap his arms around you properly. All too easily, he gives into your will, holding you tight. His face tucked into your neck and breathing in your scent, lips delicate as they trace your skin.

Brain hazy and muddled as you babble out your feelings to him, “It’s good– I like your dick– hnn– I like– hah– I like you.” Head turning to the side to press a small kiss to his head.

He’s quick to move so he can capture your lips with his, groaning into it. His dick grows impossibly larger inside you at your small confession, throbbing and leaking inside your tight heat.

Pulling back with a last suck to your lower lip, “Don’t say such sweet things to me, pretty,” tongue licking your ear, teeth nipping you, “or I’ll never leave you alone.”

“You– hah– you– hnn– do that anyways– ah!—”

“I’m about to become much worse,” it’s more of a promise than anything else, you thought of him as clingy before but he’s about to become so so much more worse.

The idea of that alone should probably be less appealing but while stuffed full of his aching cock, you can’t find it in yourself to feel anything other than pathetically whipped for him. Pussy weeping around him, begging for more, for it to never stop.

His dick so deep it feels like he’s in your lungs, spasming around him as your high gets closer and closer. Pleasure climbing up your spine as you melt around him, loving his touch on your body, his breath by your ear.

Gojo moans, head tipping back before he leans forwards again, “You’ve got me obsessed with you, sweetheart,” voice cracking with a whine, “both you– hnn– and this sopping wet pussy of yours.”

Sobbing out your warning, “‘Toru– hah– ah!– I’m gonna cum—”

“Hmm?” his chest vibrates against your back, “Gonna cum because I told you I’m obsessed with you? That’s pretty lewd of you.”

Cheeks wet with your shed tears, “Don’t– hng– don’t tease.”

“Just let yourself enjoy it,” hand pressing into your stomach like he had earlier, “your cunt sure does.”

Long and pitchy moan leaving you, orgasm knocking into you like a tonne of bricks. Trying to curl forward but unable to, Gojo’s arms are firm around you, not letting you go anywhere as he keeps fucking into you. His pace suddenly much quicker as he doubles his efforts from behind, chasing his own high.

It doesn’t take him long at all to follow behind you, face burying into your neck, teeth biting into you as he shudders. Muffled whimpers vibrating against your skin, his hips jerking shallowly, he can’t bring himself to stop fucking into you. You’re too stupid to think about telling him off, not even sure you’re able to process thoughts let alone talk coherently.

Eventually he stills to a complete stop, planting kisses over his bite mark. He doesn’t want to let you go, content to hold you up like this but you’re on the verge of passing out. Gentle in how he lowers you down onto the couch, the pair of you groaning when his cock slips from you. Shared cum connecting his dick to your stuffed hole obscenely, he has to bite his lip to stifle the most pathetic sound at the sight.

While you gather yourself, he kneads your back, his large hands digging into the knots there. The massage nice and calming, helping to soothe your aching muscles after the way he manhandled you to his hearts content. Almost feeling like you could fall asleep like this, feeling so safe and warm under his ministrations.

He leans over to check you, “Stay awake,” fingers brushing against your cheek, “you’re gonna need a shower.”

“No moving,” you protest.

“Yes moving, I know if you fall asleep like this you will be pissed when you wake up,” he brushes down your spine delicately, “and you’ll be pissed at me… which I’d personally like to prevent.”

“Can’t do it.”

“I’ll help you,” he hops off the couch, “Come on.”

Groaning dramatically the whole time as you sit up, standing in front of him with the help of his hands on you. Legs wobbling under you, balance precarious. As soon as you’re on your feet, his cum leaks from your cunt and down your inner thighs. It catches Gojo’s attention who crouches down to get a better look.

“Wooow,” he comments.

Shy at his reaction, “Wh– what?”

He glances up at you and looks deep into your eyes, “I came a lot inside you,” eyes dropping to stare at your pussy obviously, “sorry but this is really turning me on…”

Barely finishing his sentence before his tongue is lolling out of his mouth, head tipping forward to lick up the mess. Mouth swapping sides to travel up each of your thighs, eyes locked onto yours as he does. It’s overwhelming you, feeling beyond embarrassed at the lewd display. His grip the only thing keeping your wobbly legs from completely giving out from under you.

Gojo’s actions are ravenous and simultaneously dazed, somehow both feral and on autopilot. Moaning into your pussy as he licks and sucks your cunt clean, tongue hitting so many over-sensitive places. Your hands dig into his hair to pull him back only to see the completely pussy drunk look in his eyes. If it had been possible, he’d probably have hearts in his eyes, so far gone.

“Stop– hnn– you need to stop,” legs shaking much more now, “too sensitive,” grip more forceful with your last tug.

He pouts back at you, “But you’re so cute when you’re overstimulated.”

Pulling back from you to stand to his full height, smirking down at you. All self-satisfied and also blissed out on the taste of your shared cum. Your tummy is full of butterflies from how he’s been treating you today, legs still weak under you as your knees cave. Thankfully, he’s quick and catches you, effortlessly picking you up and carrying you to the bathroom to wash the both of you up.

Letting yourself be wiped down by him in the bathroom, sitting on the sink as he uses a warm cloth to clean you up better than his tongue could. “I was serious you know,” he says unprompted.

Head fuzzy and a little lost on what he means, “About?”

“I’m obsessed with you.”

α.η. THIS IS A REPOST .. a repost from my old account @/lovelivision, if you feel like you've read it before, maybe you have !

a-knee-wayssss .. i hope you liked it ! i didn't change much about this one since it was basically just pure smut and also i still fucked with it teehee (๑•̀؂ <๑) ✧

The lake shimmered beneath a setting sun behind your back, with a small beach and a volleyball net ready for children's play.

Your hand tightened on the suitcase that rolled behind you at a snail's pace, while you tensed your shoulders from the heavy backpack.

Cabin number three appeared on the horizon, its number elegantly bending and curving like the sweetest reward. You had been dreaming of nothing but jumping into the quick shower to wash away the sweat from your burnt skin.

After a minute, you took the first steps onto the little porch and opened the front door. Woody fragrance immediately hit your nostrils, seeping into your marrow with the heavy warmth. Stepping further in, you looked around at the walls and simple, creamy furniture. The small table in the living room, the soft rug, a rather large sofa…

The sofa…

Oh.

"Oh my god!" you screamed, immediately covering your eyes. "I'm, uh, sorry, I didn't mean to–" walk in on you having a make-out session?

Right on the sofa lay two women. Your roommates for the next month, most probably. One with her breasts fully spilling past the gently slipped top, legs wrapped around someone's head. Fluffy, white, nuzzled into the woman's pussy, pushing soft, crying moans from her throat.

Both of them quickly turned your way, yet none felt as mortified as you.

"Apologies, sweets. We forgot ourselves," one of them said, and you soon heard the quiet rustle of clothes. A few snickers and laughs, then she added, "You can open your eyes now."

With even more sizzling warmth, you looked shyly at the two women standing right in the middle of the living room.

Beautiful.

Yet even such a word was too simple to capture their true beauty. Something else needed to be said.

Something about one woman's long, raven hair, falling softly to curl below her breasts. Of the lavender, cat-like eyes that curled up, and her plush, cherry lips, gently smudged with lipstick. Of her threaded-gold skin, seemingly smooched by the sun's kisses.

Oh, she was utterly breathtaking. And when your eyes fell down her heavy breaths and thick thighs wrapped by nothing but flimsy shorts, something in your heart panged.

Moving your look at her friend, a soft "Oh" slipped in shyness.

She looked so much different. Taller, leaner, with muscles bulging under her pale arms. Smaller breasts wrapped by a simple top, long legs dressed in loose bermuda shorts, brushed her knees. Almost unnaturally white hair curled at the end of her neck, falling rather messily, shaggy, right over the soft forehead.

Crystal-pale eyes looked at you with a hint of cheekiness, lips curled into a rather sly smile.

And then, there was… you. Sweating, panting, with a speeding heart and something else, something foreign, bubbling in your lower belly. Spreading a sort of eerie, yet unknown warmth all over your body, till you felt it dripping from the fingertips.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know you were… here."

The slightly shorter girl giggled, pushing a lock of dark hair back behind her ear. "Don't worry, sweetheart. It's our fault. We thought we would finish quicker."

"That you would finish quicker." Her friend added, with a sly smile dancing on her handsome face.

Because that was the most accurate way to describe her. Handsome.

Beautiful seemed too plain to describe someone as ethereal. Someone who rather reminded you of the modern goddess, with her thick thighs spilling from the tight–

"I'm Suguru, by the way," she brought your thoughts back, although noticed a warm face peeking at her legs. "And that's Satoru."

You mumbled your name with a slightly hoarse voice.

"That's pretty," Satoru said, tilting her head slightly. "So you're also a camp counsellor. First time?"

You nodded, feeling the hellish heat still dancing behind your eyelids. Your fingers curled tighter around the suitcase handle as you cleared your throat.

"Yeah. I have summer break at university and thought about earning a few pennies."

Suguru hummed, nodding her head. "It's so fun, truly! It's our third time here. Other camp counsellors are also super nice-"

"I wouldn't exactly call Sukuna nice," Satoru added, walking your way slowly and grabbing the suitcase. "Let me show you our room, hm?"

Our sounded almost threatening. You knew there was no chance of a separate room, yet seeing a little performance you accidentally walked into, you found sharing a room with two women at opposite ends of your exact type seemed dangerous.

With still heated cheeks, you nodded and allowed her to lead farther into the cozy cabin. Suguru followed you two, her bare feet softly peeling off the wooden floor.

"She is nice around pretty girls," Suguru laughed, seeing the cherry flush creeping up your neck. "But may also be quite harsh, that's true. Toji, on the other side-"

Satoru scoffed, pushing one of the doors. "Sweets you better stay away from Toji. Dumb as hell and yet all the camp counsellors always land in her sheets."

You bit down on lower lip, letting out a soft chuckle. Satoru's eyes glimmered as he looked over her shoulder before inviting you in with a smile.

The room was small yet rather cozy, with three single beds, a wardrobe, and a window looking directly out over the lake. You immediately noticed that their single beds were snuggled together, while yours stayed on the other side of the room.

Suguru followed your gaze before her soft fingers wrapped around your arm. "Oh, we usually like to cuddle. It's, hm, warmer, you know?"

An it's a fucking hell outside, and sweat drips through my butt cheeks; I almost slipped past your lips, yet you answered them with a simple nod.

Satoru hummed, her crystal eyes crashing with Suguru's lavender cheekiness. "I couldn't describe it better. Warm indeed. You can join us if you wish."

There was a moment of silence, stretching between the three of you like a silk thread. Almost invisible, thin, yet pulling your bodies towards each other, seeping into the thinness of your spines.

The world spun before your eyes, and bubbling warmth filled your belly. Your lips curled into a clumsy smile. Fingers tucked a lock of hair back behind a warm ear before you coughed shyly, "It's okay. I'm quite fine by myself."

Satoru hummed, eyeing your face.

The heaviness of her gaze settled on your chest, and Suguru's sweet, slightly musky sweat wrapped around your senses.

Satoru leaned against the doorframe as she clicked her tongue, then draped her arm over Suguru's shoulders. "The bathroom's over there. Take a quick shower and join us in ten minutes. The kids will be here soon, buzzing around like a swarm of ants, so get ready."

You nodded before seeing them out further into the house. After a few muffled giggles and Suguru's, "She's so pretty, isn't she?" followed by Satoru's hum, the cabin's door closed.

Leaving you sweating and panting, with a sticky mess seeping through the drenched panties.

Oh, the next month will be nothing but pure hell.

You sighed, grabbed fresh shorts from your suitcase, and snatched the red, tight, camp staff top from your bed before stepping into the cold shower. The icy water ran down your spine like the glacial waves of heavy snow. Only a freezing shower could truly reset your senses, washing away the scorching heat that coursed through your veins.

With still slightly wet hair, and sunglasses high in your nose, you left the house.

The main cabin for all the camp counsellors' meetings lay in the middle of the lush plain. Sunlight caressed your skin with gentle kisses, and birds chirped high in the forest trees, caging the campsite in their tight clutches.

As you approached the main cabin, faint laughter and shushing sounds surrounded you. The sense that most of the counsellors already knew each other felt like a prickling sensation on your skin, and so you took a deep breath.

The house was a bit bigger, with the door wide open as if inviting you in. Voices merged into a chaotic splash of cheer, making you even more nervous. Biting your lower lip, you lingered a few seconds in front of the low steps, fingers fiddling with the hem of your tight shirt, sweat beading at the back of your neck.

One step after another, you walked up the porch, stress already eating you alive, when-

"Auch," you hissed, bumping into someone's big body. "I'm sorry."

Yet when you raised your eyes, your voice suddenly got sucked into your throat.

A woman stood there. Another, utterly beautiful, yet with a sly smirk playing on her cut lips and her emerald eyes slightly squinted. She seemed oh-so-much more muscular than Satoru and Suguru, with heavy breasts hidden tightly beneath her counsellor's shirt and beefy arms slick with glistening sweat.

The heat again hit your cheeks as you coughed awkwardly and took a step to the side.

"Sorry for standing at the entrance."

She chuckled, her slightly raspy yet sweet voice kissing your ears.

"It's okay, sweetie." Her eyes fell to the camp staff sign printed in white on your red top, lingering a moment longer. To trace the skin of your breasts, shimmering with a gentle sheen of sweat beneath the feverish sun, before slowly drifting back to your eyes. "You're our new girl, right?"

Her voice dropped low on our part, sending a cold shiver down your spine. Though you longed for nothing more than to drown yourself in the nearby lake. 

"That must be me," you laughed awkwardly, pushing a hum past her lips. "Am I the only one who's new here?"

She looked over her shoulder, eyes falling on someone inside the cabin. "Well, it seems so. Not many students want to spend their holidays with a bunch of noisy kids. We've been hanging out together for the past few years. Getting our fun at night and keeping the brats clean during the day."

You laughed softly again, peeking inside the cabin too. You've caught a peek of Satoru's snowy hair and Suguru's hips straddling her thighs.

"I'm Toji, by the way," the woman said, stretching her hand.

Oh.

Toji.

The one Satoru told you to avoid at any cost.

Great.

You shook it, shyly stammering your name too. Her emerald eyes locked you in place; her slightly tilted head forced a few raven strands to fall loosely over her shoulder.

Although a few calluses coated her palm, it still felt smooth. Delicate, with long fingers brushing yours.

"I'm responsible for sports here," she said, pulling you a little closer. She leaned in to meet your gaze, then smiled cheekily. "Do you like sports, sweets?"

"Why?" fell softly, as you traced the beauty of her face. Your throat bobbed; fingers went slightly limp within her grasp. "Do you want to teach me?"

Only after the words fell from your lips did you realise how flirty they sounded. How silly yet cute you seemed, asking such a question – a clear and open invitation to sex.

"It depends on how good you are at cardio." Her giggle set your cheeks on fire, and, oh, she seemed to take so much pleasure in all your humiliating reactions. "Although I don't mind if you, hm, prefer to be on the more relaxed side. If you want, my cabin–"

Yet before she could finish, someone pulled you away from her grasp, hugging you to their soft side.

Soft, plush, slightly sticky, carrying a sweet, flowery fragrance, only then did you notice that your cheek was plastered against Suguru's soft breasts. With her boobs barely contained by the camp staff top, she held you in an almost protective, motherly hug, as if trying to guard you from danger. 

"You really have the audacity to go after the new girl," Satoru hissed, standing in front of you and Suguru. In a similarly protective manner, she crossed her muscular arms over her chest.

Toji rolled her eyes. "I don't see how that's your problem."

You felt dumbstruck, clammy, yet cosy, with your cheek pressed to Suguru's softness and her gentle hand brushing your hair.

"Are you okay, sweets?" She cooed, sweet breath hitting your cheeks.

You barely managed to nod, pulling yourself back slightly. Suguru was a little taller than you, so her lavender eyes looked down at your warm face with a tender gaze. Fingers tucked a few strands back behind your ear; thumbs brushed your cheeks.

"Oh, you're a bit warmish."

"No, i-it's okay," you gave her a weak smile, pulling yourself away from her touch. "I overheated myself a bit… I guess."

Satoru and Satoru and Toji were still bickering on the side, yet you gave them no mind. Not when Suguru was still watching your face so carefully, and a few other people were staring at your little performance from inside.

Only then did you notice that you were all standing in the small living room. Large doors led to the terrace, and a faint breeze from a weak fan barely cooled the faces of the other camp counsellors. They all sank onto brown sofas, sighing heavily as they watched Satoru and Toji.

A girl with long, blond hair muttered, "I hope they live on the other side of the camp."

"I hope they won't try to drown each other like last year." Added the only guy sitting in the living room.

With dark hair brushing his shoulders and tired, slightly purplish under-eyes.

"Well, Satoru sucks at swimming, so I don't know why she tried to challenge Toji."

Suguru shot her head towards the girl with a cigarette hanging off her lips, eyes throwing cold daggers. "She's not that bad."

The girl chuckled. Before she could light a cigarette, another woman snatched it from her lips and broke it in half.

"That's it. Can we please focus before the kids arrive?"

She stood in the middle of the living room, squinting at all the staff seated on the sofa. Blond locks fell down her spine, coiling into a long braid. Sunglasses rested on her head, a folder of documents waiting silently between her hands.

Her shirt was different from others, with a camp chief stretched on her breasts.

"Hi, I'm Nanami," she smiled, coming slowly towards you. "Sorry for all of this. Some of our camp counsellors still don't know how to behave."

Her blue eyes narrowed at Satoru and Toji, who were now entering the cabin. Toji sat on the sofa next to another muscular woman with pink hair, while Satoru wrapped her arms around your and Suguru's shoulders.

Nanami looked at the three of you with a smile dancing on her tired lips. "I see you already had a chance to meet your new roommates?"

You nodded, yet before any words could leave your lips, Satoru pulled you closer to her chest. Smaller than Suguru's, yet spreading a comforting mix of sweat and sweetness that made your mind go balmy.

"Of course, we're besties already, right?"

"Yeah," you murmured, feeling her blue eyes look down at your cheeks. Oogling the heat creeping up your cheeks and a shy nod that made her fingers dig deeper into your arm. "We a-are."

Oh, you were so fucked.

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You thought living with Satoru and Suguru would be manageable. That they would somehow control themselves around you.

That the camp you were working at for the past week wasn't just a yearly meeting made up of only hot women and one actually helpful guy, whose main devilish aim was to seduce you.

During the day, you all worked together with the children, organising a range of events, from swimming classes and archery to arts and crafts, even building bases in the woods, before the brats went off to rest, allowing all the staff to enjoy their time by the fireplace.

When you were taking the children to swimming class, Toji and Sukuna were already there. With muscular arms glistening in the sunlight, tight swimsuits barely covering their tits and nothing but cheeky shorts wrapped around their hips.

You couldn't keep track of how often they tried to pull you into the lake. You noticed their eyes linger on your body as you entered the water in a swimsuit. Fingers were gentle as Sukuna corrected your posture, softly saying, "good girl, like that, mhm, that's perfect." Her crimson eyes fixed on your slowly rising breasts, her hands beneath your back as you floated on the water, supported by her arms.

"You're a natural, baby. Doing so well for me."

And so, after the morning swimming classes – which were meant for children, not you – a cold shower was quite needed.

In the afternoon, when you joined archery with your assigned group of children, Satoru kept putting her hands on your hips. Pulling them toward her, with lips close to your ear, warm breath tingling across your skin like petal kisses, as she whispered instructions on how to draw a bow.

"You should feel it here," fingers pressing some spot on your back. "Mhm, that's good. Correct your stance. Push your hips a bit further back."

You took a deep breath, feeling her hips brushing against your ass.

"Shouldn't you look at childr–"

"They're fine. Let's focus on you, sweets."

Thus, after the archery class, a shower was needed too. Cold, like the glacier peaks of unfathomable mountains, as you tried to think about anything but Satoru's long fingers making circles on your hips.

During the arts and crafts with Suguru, oh dearest. She was always eager to sit behind you. With her heavy bust pressed against your back, cherry lips near your ear, chin resting on your shoulder.

"Press it a bit harder, sweets," she would mutter, wrapping your linked hands around the clay vase. "That's good. Now make gentle circles here. This way, we'll get a nice pattern, hm?"

But you couldn't focus on her words at all. Not when her sweetness heightened your fever, and gentle touch of skin made your mind whirl. Raven hair, always fragrant with the richest fruits, carried hints of peach, raspberry, and soft lavender, tumbling over your shoulder as she watched you from behind. Her lavender eyes followed your awkward effort to craft a vase from clay.

"You're doing great," she giggled, pushing a low chuckle past your lips.

"Am I? The ten-year-olds seem to be doing better than me."

Suguru shook her head, breast pressing to your back tighter. "Don't worry, I'll teach you. I'm quite good with my hands."

And as you might have guessed, the pottery class was also ending with a cold shower. The one that would finish with your soft moans echoing off the small bathroom, while one of your hands was pressed to your lips, another playing with your swollen clit. Smearing the stickiness all over your drenched pussy, thigh, feeling the desperate clenching of your walls as if in need to feel something longer, softer.

Something reminding you of Satoru's long, pale fingers and Suguru's strong pressure.

For the past week, you've felt as if the hormonal rush of our teenage years had hit you twice as hard. The horny sensation that seemed never to leave your body. The heat lingering in your cheeks and chest, constantly bubbling deep within your lower belly.

Living with Satoru and Suguru was a mix of a nightmare and every lesbian's dream. They fucked almost every night, with soft whispers and giggles filling your small bedroom, as if you weren't even there.

But they knew you were.

They knew because every night, Satoru whispered, "She looks so pretty when she sleeps," and your name, softly spoken by Suguru while she was climaxing, kept echoing in your ears.

Their pants and moans and cries, with the nasty squelch echoing off the wooden walls, when Suguru was eating Satoru's drenched pussy with wet smacks.

And as you lay with your back turned their way, facing the wall, you simply couldn't help but let your hand slowly fall between your thighs.

To push the muffled breaths into your pillow, while fingers rolled the plump clit. To allow yourself to get aroused, wretched, upon hearing their soft moans and cries. Suguru's fingers slipping deep inside Satoru's pussy. Satoru changing their positions, to press her drenched folds to Suguru's. Lips wrapping around her full breasts, tongue swirling around her nipple, as her hips moved.

The squelching friction of their cunts rolling against each other made your head spin. Your fingers rolled the clit harder, thighs clenched at the sheer thought of feeling their tongues, fingers, lips on your body.

Oh, you truly hoped they couldn't see your body writhing in the darkness of your shared room, with your bed neatly tucked into the dimmest corner. And thank fucking God.

Their climax always sounded lovely. Almost too sugary, with the softest moans slipping past their lips, when they both cummed in each other's wet, sweating embrace.

The room was filled with nothing but the smell of their arousal, pinching your spine as you let yourself cum too. Shyly, silently, as if you didn't want them to know how badly you wanted to join.

But your virgin mind was simply too… shy to ask. Horny? Oh, dearest, you've never felt as horny as you have over the past week. Yet you couldn't bring yourself to agree to Satoru's repeated offers to join your beds.

To allow Suguru wrap her arms around your waist, when she was slipping behind you in the kitchen.

Their touch set your body aflame, and most of the time you simply tried to wriggle yourself out of it.

And then, during one evening, you might have spilt a few intimate details about yourself, setting in motion a chain of consequences that would soon spin your whole world.

When all the camp counsellors met by the fireplace, with a light wine and food, simply enjoying spending your time together.

Yuki, Choso, Nanami, your two nasty swimming teachers, Shoko and even Utahime too. A sweet camp cook, who always left a few extra cookies for you on the side.

"Oh, you're a virgin?" Satoru was almost dumbfounded, and Suguru slightly smacked the back of her head.

"As if there's anything wrong with it!" She said, already a bit tipsy.

"Of course there's nothing wrong with it," Satoru hummed. "You just don't look like the type."

Oh, truly, because from your perspective, it couldn't be clearer that all their soft touches and whispers were driving you absolutely mad.

"Well, I'll take it as a compliment then. I never had a, you know. A chance," your tongue was already overly loose, yet mind too tipsy to stop the blabbering.

You didn't mean to reveal this secret. Not with all the women who were forcing you to act like a horny teenage boy.

But the atmosphere was sweet, Suguru placed soft circles on your lower back, and Satoru sat on the grass, leaning against your legs, as you sat on the thick log.

"Never had a boyfriend?"

Fire kissed her pale cheeks gently, casting a soft glow on the side of her face. Crystal eyes looked up, gazing at your plush lips twisting into an awkward smile.

"No, I've never had… a girlfriend," your eyes fell down your slippers, fingers tugging on the soft end of your hoodie. "I come from a small town, so it was difficult to find anyone."

Because all the other lesbians lived in secret, just waiting for a chance to leave for their studies, just as you did. Even at university, finding love still seemed quite difficult.

You weren't sure if the issue was yourself or just that you hadn't met a woman who would truly set your heart aflame.

Well, at least until now.

An awkward silence stretched among you all, and you groaned, feeling utter embarrassment that those new people knew about your little secret. Dearest heavens, you shouldn't drink with them again.

With head hanging between your shoulders, you stared down at Satoru’s cheeky face. Slightly curled lips, eyes shining wickedly, as Suguru squeezed your thigh.

"At least you'll be the one who survives if the killer gets us," Yuki suddenly chuckled, pushing a soft marshmallow into her mouth.

You furrowed, looking between all the other people who groaned. Choso shook his head, while Toji only sighed, taking another can of beer.

“What killer?” you asked, looking at Nanami.

The only reliable one, always mostly polite, acting in an almost gentlemanly way. She sighed and shook her head.

"Well, there's a story going on. About the guy who drowned here as a child because of the counsellors' negligence. He supposedly lives somewhere in these woods, killing the staff and campers," she said softly, yet the fire smouldering her cheeks gave her an eerie aura. The one washing cold shivers down your spine. Seeing your twisted face, Nanami chuckled. "Don't worry, it's just a fable. As you can see, we're all alive."

You bit the inside of your cheek, feeling Satoru wriggle by your legs. Her head fell back on your knees, hair scattering around the milky forehead as she winked.

"Don't worry, sweets, I'll protect you."

Your eyes rolled, yet fingers clenched tighter on the log's edge.

"No, he's alive. I know it. And you should be happy you're a virgin, because virgins always survive in slashers," Yuki stuck out her tongue, tipsy head falling onto Choso's shoulder as she posed as dead.

Utahime, sitting on the ground in a similar way to Satoru and allowing Shoko to brush her hair, pinched Yuki's calf.

"Stop blabbering! You're scaring the shit out of me."

You chuckled, yet a sudden thought slipped into your mind. Your forehead visibly wrinkled, fingers tapped on the log, as Satoru looked at you from below.

"What's going on in that pretty head of yours?" She asked, while Suguru tucked a lock of your hair behind the ear.

"Well," you started, tilting your head. "Virgins survive, but gays always die first. So if the killers come, most of us will be their first target."

Another thread of silence stretched between a few people seated around the bonfire. The evening was deep, slipping slowly into night. Moonlight crept through the thick trees, and the lake settled into a peaceful slumber, allowing a few frogs to sit on the warm stones and chirp like crickets among the bushes. Crickets sang a soft melody, mingling with the fire's gentle crackle.

Yuki furrowed her forehead, clearly thinking about your words.

"Oh, you may be right. So even if you are a virgin, you'll die anyway," she giggled, her head falling drunkenly down Choso's thighs.

He sighed, brushing away the blond locks of her cheeky face and covering her tighter with a blanket.

Nanami shook her head, slowly rising. "Well, fortunately, there's no killer and no one has to die. It's just an old fable to scare the children," she shot you a smile. "Let's use it tomorrow on all the naughty brats trying to slip out of the cabins past curfew, hm?"

With that being said, the evening has ended. With Choso taking Yuki on his back, Shoko wrapping her arm around Utahime's shaking shoulder, Toji and Sukuna going back to their own cabin, while Satoru took her sweet time before slowly rising.

Suguru's cheek pressed softly against your shoulder, her gentle breath brushing you, creating a warm, soothing mist of her sweet aura around you.

"Don't worry, we won't let you die a virgin," she giggled, nuzzling herself closer against your arm.

And back then, while allowing Satoru to help you stand up from a log and wrap her arm around your and Suguru's shoulders, you had no idea how prophetic her words would turn out to be.

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Another week passed before all the camp counsellors gathered again. This time, inside the warm cabin, as the rain and storm danced over the towering trees, the midnight sky lit up here and there, with a deep, rumbling sound carried through the air.

This time, Satoru and Suguru stayed in your cabin, as if hoping to enjoy a bit of time alone. You left the house gladly, without even looking over your shoulder, shaking off the sticky warmth creeping up your neck with a tremble.

And up to your surprise, Sukuna and Toji also decided to skip the meeting.

"I think they caught a cold after morning swimming class," Nanami waved her hand. "They'll be fine, don't worry."

You nodded, plumping down on the brown sofa.

The gentle flicker of warm lamps lit the small room as you allowed yourself to relax and grow tipsy in the company of other staff. With Nanami, as usual, nodding with a smile and sipping wine; Yuki blabbering about all the embarrassments from previous years; Choso adding a few snippets of his own; and Shoko and Utahime busy with themselves.

Shoko wrapping the girl's hair around her finger, a grey smoke wrapping around Utahime's squirming nose.

A honeyed warmth filled your body, with the red wine trickling down your throat. Fogging your mind in an utterly pleasurable, almost balmy way, a feeling dangerously close to everything that pinched your body on those nights. When Satoru's tongue worked on Suguru's pussy more deliciously than usual, with the raven-haired girl's moans kissing your ears.

"Hm, I think it's time to do a quick round," Nanami sighed, looking outside into the heavy, rainy night.

Before she could stand, you pressed a palm to her thighs, sitting her back down. "You should rest. I'll go, don't worry."

Her chestnut eyes held yours for a moment before she nodded in thanks and let you slip into the warm storm. With an umbrella over your head and a flashlight in hand, you set out on the last evening walk.

Checking whether the kids didn't try to leave their cabins or spend the night with their friends. Whether the sixteen-year-old didn't have a foolish idea of slipping into the nearby woods to get drunk on cheap beers they managed to slip into their backpacks – you've been there and done that too, after all – or whether all the lights were off.

The crystal droplets bounced gently off the umbrella, sinking into the drenched, muddy earth. You walked slowly, humming softly, allowing yourself to breathe in the fresh, woody smell.

"Oh!" you gasped, slipping on something. Muggy, moist, sticking to your already wet shoes. "Ew, what is–"

But when the soft light fell to the ground – your throat tightened. Your heart throbbed, as if something heavy were hitting it with a hammer weighing a ton. The raspy breath was muffled by the heavy pattering rain as you stared at the crimson liquid pooling beneath your feet.

Carrying a metallic fragrance that tickled your nose in most unpleasing manner.

Your hand trembled, letting the umbrella slip into the muggy pool, light falling sharply on the bloody trail that led you deeper into the forest.

You shouldn't go.

Of course you shouldn't.

But what if one of the children was attacked? What if they needed your help? A weak, reckless child who came upon something, someone treacherous, hiding deep within the murky woods.

There's a story going on…

A wave of shivers ran down your spine, breath again slipped in a shudder.

"Fuck," you muttered, brushing droplets from your forehead with the back of your hand. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

Rain drenched your skin, hair stuck to cheeks, as you slowly walked into the woods. Following the crimson trail that seeped deep into the mud, mingling with the rain and dirt, yet still letting you see the faint traces of the shining, burgundy droplets.

The trees seemed to draw closer, as if wishing to trap you inside. Lock you within the crooked branches, wrapping your hair around their petal leaves.

The faint traces of blood marked moist earth, before something else appeared.

Something black and silky, and soon you noticed it was the hair. Dark locks sticking to the pale skin, falling over the pale cheeks and slashed lips.

Toji.

And right next to her, a sprawled body with long, pink hair wrapping around the creamy skin, covering half of the crimson-stained face, so similar in colour to Sukuna's beautiful eyes.

A sharp cry fell past your lips. Your hand pressed to your lips as a thought of a murderer still being somewhere around quickly flashed through your mind.

How is it possible that no one heard the screams? Could the rain truly be that heavy, muffling the cries of your friends? After spending two weeks together in close company – friends, could they be?

You wished to touch them. To see where the blood was coming from. Whether it was still possible to save them.

But instead, with feet slipping on the sloppy mix of mud and blood, you ran back towards the camp. Specifically, your cabin, as you rumbled through the door and locked it tight behind you.

Drenched, terrified, with shaking hands and shuddered breath, you ran through the little hallway before storming into your bedroom.

"They're dead!" you cried, yet a second later a soft, "Oh" quickly joined.

You forgot why Satoru and Suguru stayed back. Why exactly you decided to leave the cabin.

As both of them were now sprawled naked on their connected beds, Suguru's thighs wide open, head slightly lolling to the side, fingers buried in Satoru's hair.

Satoru lying between Suguru's thick thighs, pushing them even wider, to lap through the drenched, swollen folds of her glistening pussy.

She looked over her shoulder with cheeks smeared in Suguru's cum, shooting you a sly smile. "Hi sweetie. What did you say?"

The familiar warmth started bubbling in your belly. Mixing with a dread, a shaken soul, a heart that wished to race out of the ribcage. The picture of Toji's and Sukuna's dead bodies merged with a full view of Suguru's sweet, dripping pussy.

Oh, you were a horrible person.

Horrible, horrible, horrible.

Egotistic and wicked and blinded by the horniness that was building up within your body for the past few weeks.

Both women stared at you with slightly tilted heads. The room was thick with their sweat and breath, a fog that clung to the windows, smooching them with creamy kisses.

"I want you to fuck me," slipped suddenly. "Both of you."

Satoru's lips fell open, crystal eyes slightly bulging. Suguru raised her eyebrows before she cleared her throat. "Sweetheart, did anything happen?"

But you didn't answer.

No, instead your shirt fell to the floor with a wet splash. Short followed soon after, before you finally took off the bra, allowing your soft breasts to spill past the lost cups.

You didn't know where the sudden confidence came from, yet the conversation from a week earlier hit you like a hammer. If you were meant to die anyway, there was no way in hell you would die a virgin.

So you joined them on the bed on all fours. Slowly drawing closer to Suguru's wicked, lavender eyes, before stopping right in front of her face.

The beauty unmatched, kissed by a thousand divine goddesses. With lips in a pout, bewitching gaze squinting into a kitty-like shape, as you placed a hand on her delicate cheek. Gliding your thumb over her lower lip, savouring the cosy warmth radiating from her sun-kissed skin.

"What are you waiting for?" She whispered, kissing your finger softly.

With a shuddering, deep breath, you pressed yourself against her. Her sweet lips and moaning puffs drew you closer. Her tongue met yours, teeth clashed, and saliva dripped down your chin from the messy kisses filling the foggy room.

Satoru hummed, and before you could turn her way, strong fingers wrapped around your ankles. Quickly pulling you away from Suguru's lips, turning you on your back, only to put you back into the same position. With thighs pressed to your chest, glistening pussy wide open for Satoru's beastly maw.

"Don't mind me," she giggled, lowering herself down to take a deep, groany smell of your cunt. "I'm going to make out with her."

Suguru sat beside you, looking down at your shocked, already dizzy face. With hair scattered across the pillow and slightly lidded eyes, she slipped her hand to brush your breasts.

"Hm, do you want to try too?" She asked, rolling your perked nipple between her fingers.

"Try wh–ah!" A cry fell past your lips when Satoru fully pressed her tongue to your pussy.

A feeling... impossible to describe. Nothing could ever match your poor attempt to pleasure yourself with those pitiful fingers of yours. The numerous toys you kept tightly hidden beneath your bed – vibrators that never satisfied, warming lubricants that yearned to mimic the true heat of Satoru's delicate tongue.

She hummed, sending trembles deep into your pussy and pushing another cry past your throat. Suguru giggled, drawing closer to peck your cheek.

"Do you want to eat me out?" she whispered, peppering your fallen lips with kisses. "I'm already so wet for you, sweetheart. Can I sit on your face?"

Oh, you dreamed only of feeling her thighs wrap around your cheeks. Feel her warmth close to your face, and you nodded. Her lips curled into a cheeky smile before she lowered herself over your face. Hands gripping the bed's wooden frame, cushy thighs brushing your cheeks.

"Stick out your tongue, sweetheart," she said, seeing you obediently do so. With sparkles of awe shining in your eyes as you looked at the woman hovering right over your face. "Mmm, such a good girl. Now, be gentle, ahh."

The moment her pussy met your tongue, something beneath your belly burst. She tasted simply like skin, with a slightly musky scent of sweat, yet your eyes rolled back at the sweetness spilling over your tongue. The sheer fact that you could finally taste her made your head spin, fingers clenching on her thighs to pull her closer.

Satoru chuckled, sucking on your clit softly. Licking, slurping, kissing the softness of your drenched pussy the same way you did it with Suguru's. One of her long, pale fingers poked your fluttering hole, pushing it gently through the tight walls.

"Sorry sweets, next time I'll use my strap," she hummed, feeling the plush clench around her fingers.

Suguru moaned softly as you sucked on her clit the same way Satoru sucked yours. In fact, you tried to mimic everything you felt. The slurps and smooches and nasty squelch, when her juices trickled down your tightened throat. Your moans hit her core whenever Satoru pressed her face closer to your pussy.

"Mhm, she's going to fuck both of us, one after another. What do you think, sweetheart?" Suguru brushed a few stray locks from your forehead, giggling at the deep furrow between your brows. "Oh my, so–ah–focused. Am I that good?"

So fucking good. So, so, so good, you wanted to say, but instead moaned loudly right into the plush of her pussy.

Your hands slipped up, tracing the smoothness of her thighs, hips, and belly, before finally cupping her heavy breasts. The flesh spilled between your fingers, with nipples just begging to be pinched, and you did so with genuine pleasure.

Nothing, really, brought you more pleasure than watching Suguru's body writhe in bliss on top of yours. Her hips moved against your tongue, head slightly tilted back, allowing raven locks to cascade down her back. Soft fingers gripped the bed frame as she began chasing the rising heat in her belly.

And you did it too, with tears swirling beneath your lids, as Satoru found your sweet spot. And, oh, she used this to her utmost wicked pleasure, massaging it with two long fingers, while licking your sweet, leaking cunt. With a cheeky smile of satisfaction tugging on her lips, seeing your belly rise and fall faster. Thighs clench around her head, hips rolling against her tongue.

"You're so close, sweets. Aren't you?"

You couldn't say anything. Not with Suguru's hips straddling your face, her warmth fully pressed to your starving mouth.

"Satoru, she's–ahh fuck–a bit busy," her velvety voice echoed somewhere from over your head, but you didn't notice.

In fact, you couldn't register anything, completely enwrapped by the pleasure coursing through your body. Your focus was solely on cumming and making Suguru climax, as you gently increased the pressure on her clit. Your tongue flicked inside her pussy, fingers rolling erect nipples, until she finally stilled on your face.

Her body shaking from pleasure, as you joined her with a pitiful moan. Letting yourself cum all over Satoru's face, as her strong arm pressed your belly to keep your wriggling hips in place. Giving your folds one last lick before slipping higher.

And higher, kissing the plush of your belly, the mound of your breasts, and when Suguru slipped herself off your drenched face, connecting her lips with yours.

"You did so well, sweets," she murmured, cupping your cheek. "Such a good girl."

She kissed you slowly, sweetly, much lighter than Suguru. With body pressed to yours, thigh between your wet legs. When she pulled away, a long stripe of crystal saliva connected your swollen lips.

Suguru cupped Satoru's cheeks and pulled her into a short kiss, swallowing each other's laughs and giggles.

You watched them with pure bliss and heavy breaths. Their naked bodies embraced one another with a passion you'd never had, yet you were ready to accept if only they wished to share it.

"How about we take care of Satoru together, hm?" Suguru asked, lavender eyes looking down at your dreamy face.

With a soft nod, you sat, letting Satoru fall down the plush pillows with a soft laugh.

"I'm fine, trust me," she said, yet watched you and Suguru slowly kiss down her body with a twinkle in her crystal eyes. "I'm–ah, fuck."

A low moan escaped her throat when your lips wrapped around one of her nipples, while Suguru took care of the other. Kissing, pinching, and sucking it gently before you started going down.

And down, through the lean, muscular belly and creamy hips, as you slowly spread her legs open. White pubes tickling your nose as you nuzzle your cheek into the mound of her pussy.

"How could I not return your kindness?" you giggled, watching a smile tug on Satoru's lips.

"Oh? And how do you plan to do that, hm?" She bit down on her lower lip, watching two beautiful, completely wet naked women nuzzle themselves between her spread thighs. "My sweet girls, next time remind me to bring a camera. Fuck, I would hang your photo over my–nghh."

Fluffy hair fell back as both you and Suguru started lapping through her folds. The saliva dripping from your tongue mixed with her creamy cum, as you both slurped on the wetness of her cunt.

Satoru looked down, another low, "Fucking hell," slipping past her lips.

As both you and Suguru started kissing right over her fluttering cunt. Licking her folds clear, before pressing your lips into one, as if wishing to taste Satoru's cum off your tongues. Sucking, drinking, moaning right into your throats, before going back to Satoru's pussy and lapping her with nasty squelch.

Your fingers pressing into her fluttering hole, brushing the soft, clenching walls till finally pressing something soft.

Something that forced a loud sigh past Satoru's lips and spread her thighs even wider. In a desperate need to feel her two beautiful girls get sugar high over her glistening cunt.

"Fuck, I'm close," she whispered, brushing away your and Suguru's locks from your faces. "So good, oh god, my sweet girls, you make me feel s-so good."

You sucked on her clit with a soft moan, hand already slipping down your body to press the swollen clit. Suguru thrusted her fingers in an almost brutal manner, yet still pressing onto Satoru's sweet spot with softness.

"Come for us, baby," she whispered, her lavender eyes catching the crystal, blurring gaze. "Show us how good we make you feel. Our sweetheart has been working so hard to pleasure you, hm?"

Your eyes twinkled at seeing Satoru's face filled with pure pleasure. Small breasts heaving with rapid breaths, eyes half-closed, abdomen tightening to release the final droplets of creaminess, before a loud, sweet moan echoed in your ears.

Her cunt clenched on your and Suguru's fingers, a gush of liquid cum splashing all over your faces.

And together with Satoru's moans… something else crashed.

The door to your bedroom opened with a thud.

"Fuck, you already started?"

Something in your chest clenched. A sudden dread washed over you as you slowly looked over your shoulder to see no one but Toji and Sukuna. With a few traces of crimson still coating their faces, their hair fell wetly over their shoulders.

Seeing your bulging eyes, Sukuna chuckled. "Surprise, sweets."

You looked between her and Toji, your throat tight, before turning back to Satoru. An innocent, pouted smile twisted her lips, but it reminded you of a rather devilish creature.

"Listen, we just wanted to play a little prank."

Yet before you could say anything, someone's strong fingers settled on your hip. Perking them up, another hand pressed against your shoulders. With a slight turn, you noticed Sukuna taking off her wet top, while Toji was already looking down at your glistening cunt.

"Yeah, yeah, trick or treat, or whatever. I've been waiting too long for it, so how about you relax and let us take care of you, hm?"

©liahcharms all rights reserved. Do not copy, plagiarise, feed AI, translate or modify my works.

Part two of Fem!Toji and Fem!Sukuna fucking reader with TWO strap-ons....

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