imora

the air in your lungs thinned as your heart thumped rapidly. it was like it was threatening to explode. it's moments like these where it didn't matter how clever you were. his words—plain to the naked eye—dug deep, stunning your fast tracked mind into absolute shock. he said them so simply, like he was merely just stating facts, but they were so much more to you. they hinted that he possibly thought of you in That way and you weren't delusional. at least, not completely.

"yes, yes you do." you quickly looked away, flustered at just his words once again, and reached for the car door.

"hold on." he said abruptly. you shot him a puzzled look as he got out of the car and jogged over to your side of the car. the way your eyes widened when what he was doing dawned on you made he only made his smile grow bigger as he opened the car door.

“jesus woman, it looks like your eyes are about to pop out of their sockets.”

you blinked rapidly at him before getting out of the car. you cleared your throat to buy yourself sometime to recover. of course you sold the bag by being a dork over him opening your door. but you couldn’t help it. you liked how he was with you. it was sweet and made you blush…like excessively. it was bad.

“thank you,” you mumbled softly as he closed the car door shut. he shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “no big deal, just doing what every guy should do.” he took in your flustered state with a quick glance. “i’m guessing this might be the first time in a while?”

“first time…ever.” you corrected him, voice barely above a whisper. your dating life was pretty much non existent considering the fact you were too afraid to talk to people and you were convinced that you were reading too much into things half the time. sukuna was the exact opposite, having his fair share of girlfriends. you’ve heard some of the stories too. how close they got was a stark contrast from what you’ve done.

“how am i doing then?” he asked, a little to confidently. your embarrassment dissolved as you crossed your arms. “not bad, could be better.” you teased him again. he didn’t make you feel bad about it. you were glad, you were sure the shame would swallow you whole if he had.

“yes ma’am,” he replied. he gestured to the store. “time to step into my mastermind tutor’s world.”

you scoffed and walked up to the store door. “this is my safe haven. that’s a better way to put it.”

he opened the door and held it for you. “wait…does that mean i’m special?” he raised an eyebrow as he waited for you to walk in. he followed behind you and waited patiently, expecting a response. by default, he was special. you’ve never done anything remotely close to this with any of your other peers you've tutored with. but would pointing that out water down how monumental this truly was? it’s your first ever date. you’ve watched enough romcoms to have high expectations, and he wasn’t doing too bad. you decided right there and then to take a leap of faith.

“i suppose you could say that…” you trailed off. okay, you never said it was a big leap. he grinned at you, but his attention shifted as pam approached the two of you.

“i’ve been wondering when you’d come back to visit me,” she squealed. “ooo, and you brought a guest? my, my, my, isn’t he handsome? who’s this?”

you wished for a way to disappear. you forgot how strong of a personality she was. you’d been needing to warn sukuna, though he seemed to be eating it up.

“you’re too kind,” he replied with the fattest grin on his face. “i’m sukuna, nice to meet you. and you are?” he asked, extending his hand out.

“pamela. but you can call me pam,” she took his hand with a wink. she turned to you, smile still huge. “you have excellent taste, i’m proud. you look so cute together.”

“thanks pam,” you mumbled, embarrassed out of your mind. she was adorable, yes, but there wasn't anything crazy going on here. you didn’t want to scare him off. “i’ve missed you. i had to cut myself off, i was draining my bank account.”

she laughed and shook her head. “oh honey, don’t worry. i’m just glad to see your face again. now,” she clasped her hands together. “anything you have in mind? i received a new shipment of pens and stickers if any of you needed some…” her eyes darted between the two of you.

you shook your head. “oh, it’s okay. he’s looking for the same highlighters i use actually, that’s why we’re here.”

“alright, then i’ll leave you two to it!” she exclaimed, disappearing as quickly as she appeared.

you turned to sukuna with a small smile. “sorry about that, she’s a bit…” you hesitated. you weren’t sure how to explain it. excited you had a “boyfriend.” he wasn’t anything of the sort.

“what? no i loved her. she’s funny.”

you tilted your head at him. “okay, just making sure. let’s go find the highlighters.”

you led the way to the infamous corner where she had her highlighter display. infamous because it’s where a lot of your money has gone. not only did it have highlighters, it had stickers, pens, and bakery themed erasers… your weaknesses. you kept your eyes zeroed in on the highlighters. you were out of mysterious sources of income, so you couldn’t afford to go ham.

“lo and behold. the savior of my grades. now i definitely won’t get kicked out of college.” he reached out to grab a packet, but stopped abruptly. “wait—why are there so many different versions, what the hell??” his eyes scanned the rows. “pastel rainbow. pastel pink. pastel cotton candy, pastel…” he listed off. “i just want the one you have, holy crap.”

you snorted. he couldn’t be serious. “i have several of these actually, so just pick your favorite. odds are i probably already have it.”

he sighed. “it’ll take forever to pick one. pastel sunset, pastel gelato,” he muttered under his breath and started to search. a soft laugh bubbled out of you from the sight of the fraternity leader going crazy over pastel markers. you’ve truly seen it all.

in the corner of your eye, you saw a display you haven’t seen before. you walked up to got and almost gasped. it must be the new shipment pam had mentioned earlier. stickers and pens galore—they lined the shelves and your heart broke into too. they were so adorable. you wanted them all. too bad your bank account wouldn’t be able to take it. it was a stationary geek’s wet dream.. your wet dream. you just stared in awe, taking it all in. you didn’t notice sukuna spearing behind you, arms full of aesthetic highlighter packets.

“these are so you,” a voice said behind you. you spun around to see the pink haired man siding you carefully. “i’d definitely see you having these things. this pink vomit.”

“you say that while having pink hair,” you pointed out, slightly annoyed. this idiot.

“…good point.”

you both laughed and shook your head at his stupidity. “i’m joking, i love your pink vomit, it’s much better than mine.” he gestured to the packets in his arms. “so, what’s it gonna be?”

“huh?”

he nodded to the display in front of you. “what do you want from there?”

you waved your hands frantically, alarmed by his gestures “nothing, it’s okay, i’m just looking since she mentioned it earlier and all.” you plastered a fake smile on your face, but somehow, he saw right through you

“bull. you’ve been starring at it longingly the whole time i was getting the markers. pick what you want or else—” he narrowed his eyes at you.

“or else… what?” you challenged him.

“i’ll buy the whole thing.” he said simply. it took everything in you to not laugh in his face. the only time he bluffed this hard was when he was sure his answer was right over yours during tutoring, and everyone knew how that ended. you were in shock. this was not first date behavior. this was a whole other beast.

“you don’t believe me?”

“…not really, no,” you admitted. who would?

without a word, he turned and marched to the cash register. you followed, hot on his heels, absolutely terrified of how this would play out.

“pam, sweet pam,” he started off. you rolled your eyes. “would you please encourage her to pick something from the new display that she likes. she won’t stop eyeing it.”

pam peered over her reading glasses. “well, of course! let him spoil you. and me too," she giggled. "i'm just joking, no pressure on either side."

sukuna glanced at you over his shoulder. "take your pick."

maybe he wasn't bluffing. frankly, all of this was ridiculous and unserious. you walked back over to the display, dragging your feet. you grabbed a restock of stickers and made your way back to the cashier's counter.

sukuna swiped his card with the biggest grin on his face. you pouted, but the second you said goodbye to pam, you thanked him.

"thank you so much...even though you basically peer pressured me into doing it." you said half jokingly.

he unlocked the car and shrugged. "you constantly set time aside to take care of other people to make sure they succeed, including me, so you deserve a treat for yourself. there's no need to thank me, don't be ridiculous."

he opened your car door and you scrambled to get in. as he started the car you just sat there, processing what he said. he wasn't wrong, but you didn't want him to feel obligated to do this. to feel like he owed you. you tutored people because you genuinely liked helping them—and the subjects too of course.

"thanks 'kuna, that means a lot," you started, reaching to buckle your seatbelt. "but i don't want you feel like you owed me a favor back or anything. i love our sessions, they are fulfilling enough." you reassured him. you played with your hands in your lap, anxiety bubbling in your stomach.

he furrowed his brows and frowned. "i did it because i want to. i know how badly you wanted them too, you aren't slick," he shook his head, "maybe we just, you know, enjoy each other's company and wanna see the other happy?"

you pressed your lips together, eyes widening at his words. you nodded slowly before looking away and he laughed. "okay, rate our first date?"

he actually called it a date. you didn't expect that. sure it was pretty obvious, but still...it felt good to hear.

"10/10!" you beamed at him.

he smirked, pleased with himself. "i agree. now, the real question is... is your playlist 10/10?" he handed the wire over for the second time today and this time, you grabbed it with confidence. you weren't as self conscious around him as you were earlier. you had fun today. you already put him on one today, might as well add to the list.

"be prepared. you heard pam... i have excellent taste"

he laughed and the two of you jammed out all the way back home.

series m.list

© DOLCEMISU

He was making good time at first until his last client showed up wanting a huge ass shark across their whole leg. Sukuna worked well under pressure but this would be cutting into the time that he had to pick his nephews up from school.

To make things worse, his client was a wimp when it came to pain so they were taking breaks every ten minutes. On one of those breaks Sukuna went to the bathroom and called you.

“Kuna! I haven’t talked to you all day, everything okay?” Your bubbly voice relaxed Sukuna’s shoulders immediately. You had that effect on him.

“Yeah, it’s all good. This last tat is runnin’ into the time I’m supposed to pick up Yuji and Choso though. I gotta figure some shit out.” He sighed.

You frowned, balancing the phone between your ear and shoulder as you continued responding to an email.

“Well, how about I go get them? If you’re comfortable with that of course.” You offered sweetly. Sukuna’s quirked an eyebrow— surprised you suggested that.

“You’re working, no?” You gave a small hum to say he was right. “Then stay at work, I’ll figure some shit out.” Your chuckle came in statically.

“I’m already leaving, babe. I’ll get the boys and get them something to eat, and I’ll make sure they do their homework.” You said, Sukuna could hear you shuffling around for your keys on the other end. “You still there, Kuna?”

“Yeah, uh— thank you. I owe you one.” You laughed softly.

“No you don’t, baby. Just get back to work.” With that you hung up.

It didn’t take you long to get to Yuji’s preschool first. His classroom had a few kids still left, their parents were probably busy as well with work. Yuji noticed you the second you walked in, he abandoned his backpack Sukuna brought too big for him to run into your arms.

“Auntie! What are you doing here!?” He exclaimed, clambering into your arms. You smiled and balanced him on your hip.

“I came to pick you up. Uncle Kuna’s still working, so you’re with me.” You smiled, ruffling his cute pink hair.

Choso’s elementary school wasn’t too far from Yuji’s, you picked the ten year old up and then you three were off to Sukuna’s place.

You got the boys settled in and had them doing their homework at the table while you whipped something up. Sukuna walked through the door looking exhausted a few minutes later.

The three of you all looked towards the door. You smiled softly, continuing to stir the pot, Choso waved at his uncle then went back to his homework, Yuji on the other hand fully abandoned his work to wrap around Sukuna’s leg like a koala.

“Hey to you too, brat.” He picked the ball of excitement up and ruffled Yuji’s messy hair in some attempt to be affectionate. He moved over to the kitchen where you were making dinner.

“Hey,” he wrapped his strong arm around your waist and leant down to press a kiss to your cheek. You smiled, adding seasoning into your pot. “You didn’t have to cook either. We could’ve ordered something.” You shrugged sweetly, setting your spoon down to turn and face your pink haired guy.

“Don’t worry about it. I like doing this, it feels… warm.” The ghost of a smile graced Sukuna’s face, he quickly hid it by leaving a kiss in your hair.

Sukuna helped the boys finish their homework before dinner was done. Surprisingly there were no tears this time which made everyone happy. Soon after that, the table was cleared for dinner time.

They all ate their food like men starved, throwing in a compliment between every few bites. Sukuna made the boys wash dishes after you all finished eating. You offered to do it of course, but Sukuna insisted they needed some responsibility.

While they completed that task clumsily, you and Sukuna enjoyed a glass of wine on the couch. You leaned your head on his bulky tattooed shoulder. “The boys are so sweet. You should get overbooked more often.”

“I don’t see how you put up with them.” Sukuna said despite him loving the boys an indescribable amount himself. “I really do appreciate you helping out. You’re too kind.”

You tried to hide your smile behind your glass, but he still saw. “It’s nothing, really. I love those boys like my own. And I love you too.” You leaned up and kissed his chiseled jawline.

Later on, Sukuna got the boys were bathed and fast asleep. You were waiting in his bed waiting for him to finish cleaning what the boys missed. Soon enough he walked in, all shirtless and handsome.

“Hurry. I need my heat furnace.” You giggled, watching him clamber into the bed, the mattress creaking under his weight. Sukuna wrapped his body around yours, you sighed from the immediate heat he gave off.

“Good night, baby.” You whispered into the air as you adjusted yourself on his chest which would serve as your pillow for the night.

your hand moves from your robe to your stomach, pressing against the plane of your belly. you're small. you know this. delicate in a way that makes people underestimate you. and blind. gods, the blindness. the one thing that has sent every single suitor running in the opposite direction.

princes would see your face first—the one they called ethereal, otherworldly, beautiful in a way that seemed impossible—and they'd fall to their knees.

they'd whisper sweet words, promises of devotion, declarations of love at first sight. and then you'd speak, and they'd realize your eyes didn't track their movements, didn't meet their gaze. and slowly, painfully, you'd listen to them pull away. hear the hesitation creep into their voices. feel the distance grow until they were gone.

you were used to it.

but sukuna? sukuna had looked at you once, for a single moment, and said yes. the entire empire had been shocked. the king of curses, the ruthless murderer, the emperor who had never shown interest in any woman, accepting a blind bride from a neighboring kingdom? it was scandalous. impossible.

and you'd felt hope.

you hate yourself for that hope now.

because three months of silence have taught you the truth. he doesn't want you. he tolerates you. and honestly? you'd almost prefer cruelty. at least cruelty would be a reaction. at least cruelty would mean he saw you as something worth acknowledging.

but this nothingness? this endless, suffocating nothingness?

it makes you feel like you've already disappeared.

the servants guide you through your days with practiced efficiency. they dress you, feed you, lead you through the palace halls. you've memorized the layout of your chambers, the path to the gardens, the number of steps from your room to the dining hall. you've learned to navigate this world without sight, just as you've always done.

but you can't navigate him.

you don't know where he sits at meals. you don't know if he watches you. you don't know if he even notices when you're in the same room. his presence is a void—a massive, oppressive absence of warmth that you can feel but never touch.

tonight was bad.

you'd been led to the gardens by a new servant, someone who didn't know your habits. she'd taken you left instead of right, and you'd walked straight into a hedge, thorns scratching your calves before she'd yanked you back with a flurry of apologies.

then you'd almost fallen down a staircase—the grand staircase with its uneven steps—your foot catching on the edge, your heart lurching into your throat as you'd pitched forward. a guard caught you just in time.

and the whispers.

you can't see their faces, but you can hear their voices. the concubines. the noblewomen. the servants who think you can't hear them.

"the blind empress."

"does he even notice her?"

"i heard he hasn't touched her once."

"what a waste of a pretty face."

"she must be so lonely."

"she must be so pathetic."

you'd smiled through all of it. kept your head high, your shoulders back, your voice steady. you learned long ago that showing weakness only invites more cruelty. so you'd walked through the halls with your practiced grace, your cane tapping against the marble floors, your face serene.

but inside, you were crumbling.

and now, lying in this massive bed, with your hair spread across a silk pillow and the scent of incense curling through the air, you can feel him beside you. he's so close. you know he's sitting up, his back probably against the headboard, his presence a heavy weight in the darkness.

does he ever sleep?

you've never heard him snore. never heard him shift in his sleep. he's so still, so silent, you sometimes wonder if he's even real.

a long, long time passes. the candles burn down. the incense fades. the night wraps around you like a shroud.

and you can't take it anymore.

"ryomen?"

your voice comes out soft, barely above a whisper. you hate how small you sound. how vulnerable. you'd wanted to sound strong, confident, demanding. instead, you sound like a child calling out in the dark.

silence.

you wait. count your heartbeats. one. two. three. four. five.

just when you're certain he's ignoring you, just when the familiar ache of rejection settles into your chest, a voice cuts through the darkness.

"what."

it's gruff. low. a single word that rumbles through the air like distant thunder. and it's the most he's said to you in days.

you swallow. your throat is dry. your fingers twist in the sheets.

"i...i want to ask you something."

more silence. you can feel him staring at you. you can't see it, but you can feel it—the weight of his gaze, heavy and unreadable.

"ask."

you take a shaky breath. this is it. this is the moment you've been building toward for three months. the question that's been eating you alive, consuming you from the inside out.

"do you hate me?"

the words hang in the air between you. they sound so small. so pathetic. you wish you could take them back, but it's too late. they're out there now, exposed and raw.

"hate you?" his voice is strange. almost...confused?

"because of...because i'm...y'know, blind." the words taste like ash in your mouth. "i know it's...i know i'm not what you expected. i know i'm not the best option. i know i'm—"

"stop."

the word is sharp, and you flinch. your breath catches in your throat. you brace yourself for anger, for cruelty, for him to finally confirm what you've suspected all along.

but instead of harsh words, you feel movement. the bed shifts. his weight moves closer.

and then, without warning, a hand wraps around your waist and pulls.

you let out a frightened shriek as you're yanked from your position, your body colliding with something solid and warm. your hands fly out, grasping at fabric, at skin, at anything. you're on his lap, straddling his thighs, your chest pressed against his. he's so big—so impossibly large—that you feel like a doll in his arms.

"ryomen!" your voice is high, panicked. "what—"

"quiet."

his hand settles on your thigh. it's huge. calloused. rough in a way that sends shivers down your spine. but the touch is gentle. impossibly gentle. he strokes your thigh once, twice, a soothing motion that slowly calms your racing heart.

"you really think," he says slowly, his voice rumbling against your chest, "that i hate you?"

you can't speak. your throat is too tight. you settle for shaking your head against his chest, even though it's a lie.

a low sound escapes him—not quite a growl, not quite a laugh. his hand slides from your thigh to your chin, tilting your face up. his thumb brushes across your lower lip, feather-light.

"open your eyes."

the command catches you off guard. "what?"

"your eyes. open them."

you blink, confused. your eyes are already open. you can't see anything, but they're open. you tell him as much.

"no." his voice is strange. softer. "i mean...look at me."

"i can't see you."

"i know." his thumb traces your jawline. "but i can see you. and i want to see your eyes. please."

please.

the word catches you off guard. the king of curses, saying please? to you?

you don't move. don't breathe. just let him hold your face in his massive hand, his touch devastatingly tender.

"i don't hate you," he says, and his voice cracks on the words. "gods, woman. i could never hate you."

your heart stutters. "then why—"

"because i'm fuckin' terrified."

you blink. "what?"

"do you know what i am?" his hand slides from your face to your hair, fingers threading through the strands. "i'm a killer. i've been killing for centuries. my hands are stained with blood i'll never wash clean. i'm rough, and violent, and i don't know how to be gentle."

"but—"

"but when i saw you..." he trails off. his fingers tighten in your hair, just barely. "when i saw you, i couldn't breathe. you were so beautiful. so small. so... perfect. and i thought, 'she's too good f'me.' , 'i'll break her.' , 'i'll hurt her.'"

his voice drops to a whisper.

"so i stayed away. because every time i look at you, i want to touch you. and every time i touch you, i'm afraid i'll destroy you."

tears prick at your eyes. you don't understand. you can't understand. this entire time, you thought he hated you. you thought he found you repulsive, broken, worthless.

but he was...

...afraid?

"you don't hate me?" you whisper.

"no." his forehead presses against yours. "i love you. i've loved you since the moment i saw you."

a sob escapes your throat. it's ugly and raw and you can't stop it.

"but you never—you never talked to me—"

"because i didn't trust myself." his other hand comes up to cup your cheek. "because i knew if i started, i wouldn't be able to stop."

"then don't stop."

the words leave your mouth before you can think. they hang in the air, bold and desperate.

"don't stop," you repeat. "please. i don't want you to stop."

sukuna goes still. so still that you wonder if he's stopped breathing.

"you don't know what you're asking."

"i do." you reach up, your fingers finding his face. you trace the planes of his cheeks, the sharp lines of his jaw, the curve of his lips. "you're my husband. i want you. all of you."

"i'll hurt you."

"i don't care."

"i'll break you."

"i don't care."

his breath hitches. and then, finally, finally, his lips crash against yours.

the kiss is desperate. hungry. it tastes like three months of longing, of confusion, of aching loneliness. his hand fists in your hair, pulling you closer, and you gasp against his mouth. his tongue slides against your lower lip, asking for entry, and you give it willingly.

he tastes like sake and power and something darker. something that makes your toes curl and your heart race.

he pulls back, breathless.

"tell me to stop, and i will."

"don't," you say immediately. "don't stop."

he groans. his hands slide down your back, gripping your hips, and he lays you down on the bed. you fall against the silk sheets, your hair spreading around you like a halo. you can't see him, but you can feel him—his weight on the bed, his heat surrounding you, his breath ghosting across your skin.

"m'gonna show you," he says, his voice low and rough. "m'gonna kiss every inch of your body. gonna taste you until you scream my name. i want to make you feel so good that you forget every single doubt you've ever had about yourself."

your breath catches. "ryomen—"

"let me." his lips brush against your neck. "let me show you how much i love you."

you nod, unable to speak.

his hands find the tie of your robe. he undoes it slowly, reverently, like he's unwrapping a gift he's been waiting centuries to open. the fabric falls away, cool air hitting your skin, and you shiver.

"beautiful," he breathes. "so fucking beautiful."

you feel his lips on your collarbone. soft. worshipful. he kisses down your chest, his tongue tracing a path between your breasts. his hands cup your breasts, thumbs brushing across your nipples, and you gasp.

"sensitive," he murmurs. "good. i'll remember that."

he takes one nipple into his mouth. his tongue circles the peak, slow and deliberate, and you arch into him with a desperate moan. he laves at you, sucking gently, nipping with his teeth until you're writhing beneath him.

"more," you gasp. "please—"

"patience." his voice is a dark promise. "i haven't even started with ya' yet."

he switches to the other breast, giving it the same attention. his hand slides down your stomach, fingers tracing patterns on your skin, until he reaches the apex of your thighs. you're already wet—embarrassingly wet—and he lets out a low growl when he feels it.

"fuck," he mutters against your skin. "you're soaked. f'me?"

"yes," you whimper. "only you."

he groans. his fingers slide through your folds, collecting your wetness, and you buck into his touch.

"tell me what you want."

"i want—" you gasp as his thumb circles your clit. "m'want your mouth."

his laugh is dark and breathless. "demanding little thing, aren't ya'?"

"please," you beg. "ryo, please—"

"shh." he kisses your stomach. "i'll give ya' what y'want."

he moves down your body, his lips leaving a trail of fire. he kisses your hips, your thighs, the inside of your knees. by the time he reaches your core, you're trembling, desperate, aching.

and then his tongue touches you.

you cry out, your hands flying to his hair. he laps at you like a man starved, his tongue sliding through your folds, circling your clit, dipping inside you. he moans against you, the vibration sending shockwaves through your body.

"taste s'good," he mutters against your skin. "could eat ya' forever."

he sucks your clit into his mouth, and you scream. your hips buck against his face, but he holds you down, his massive hands gripping your thighs. he alternates between sucking and licking, building a rhythm that has you climbing higher and higher.

"that's it," he praises. "let go f'me...lemme taste ya'."

his fingers find your entrance, sliding inside you without warning. two fingers, thick and long, stretching you. he curls them, hitting a spot that makes you see stars, and you shatter.

you come with a scream of his name, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure crash through you. he doesn't stop. he laps at you through your orgasm, drawing it out until you're sobbing from the intensity.

when you finally come down, he crawls up your body, his lips finding yours. you taste yourself on his tongue, and it's the most intimate thing you've ever experienced.

"m-more," you whisper. "m'want more."

his eyes—you can feel them—search your face.

"are you sure? we can stop. we can—"

"i'm sure." you reach for him, your fingers finding his chest. "i want you...please."

he hesitates. you feel the tension in his muscles, the restraint he's barely holding onto.

"m'bigger than ya'," he says, matter of factly. "a lot bigger. and i have...i have two dicks, woman. i don't know if—"

"i don't care." you pull him closer. "i trust you."

he groans, pressing his forehead against yours.

"if it hurts too much, tell me. and i'll stop."

"okay."

"promise me."

"i promise."

he shifts above you, and you feel something heavy and thick press against your thigh. and then another. two cocks. the thought should terrify you, but instead, it sends a thrill through your body.

he aligns himself with your entrance, and you feel the tip pressing against you. he's huge—so much bigger than his fingers—and you wonder if you can actually take him.

"relax f'me," he murmurs. "breathe."

you inhale deeply, and he pushes in.

just the tip, and you gasp. he's stretching you in a way that's almost unbearable. it hurts. there's a burning sensation, a pressure that's too much and not enough.

"shh," he soothes. "you're doing s'well. so good f'me."

he pushes deeper, inch by agonizing inch. you feel your body struggling to accommodate him, your walls clenching around his length. and then—

a sharp pain.

fuck...you forgot.

you cry out, your nails digging into his shoulders. he stops immediately.

"did i hurt ya'?"

you can't answer. the pain is fading, replaced by a strange fullness. you feel something wet trickle down your thigh. warm. sticky.

blood.

his eyes slowly flicker down, and you can hear his breath stop. he's tense. too tense.

"fuck," he hisses. "you're—you're a fuckin' virgin?"

you nod weakly, biting your lip. your heart is pounding fast. loud. "is that...bad?"

"no." his voice is strained. "no, it's not bad. i just—fuck—i didn't know. i would have been more careful, woman."

"you are being careful," you whisper, fingers pressing into his shoulders "keep going."

"you're fuckin' bleeding."

"i don't care. please. i want to feel you." you sniffle. god, the pleasure is making you bold. too fucking bold.

he lets out a shaky breath. "you're going to kill me."

but he pushes deeper, slower this time. gentler. his lips find yours, kissing you softly as he sinks into you. the pain fades, replaced by a deep, aching fullness that makes you moan.

when he's fully sheathed, he stops. lets you adjust. his forehead presses against yours, his breath ragged.

"y'feel incredible," he breathes. "so tight. so...fuck...perfect."

"move," you beg. "please."

he pulls out slowly, then pushes back in. the friction is delicious, the stretch exquisite. he sets a rhythm—slow, deep, deliberate—each thrust hitting a spot that makes you see stars.

"ryomen," you gasp. "r-ryo—"

"i know," he murmurs. "i know, doll. feels s'good, doesn't it?"

"yes—yes—"

his hand slides down your stomach, pressing against the slight bulge where he's buried inside you. the feeling makes you moan.

"look at that," he says, awe in his voice. "you can feel me, can't ya'? right here."

he presses down, and you feel it—the outline of him inside you. it's obscene. it's incredible.

"more," you gasp. "harder—"

"y'sure?"

"yes—please—"

he obliges. his pace quickens, his thrusts becoming more urgent. the bed creaks beneath you, the sound mixing with your moans and his grunts.

"gonna come," he warns. "where do you want it?"

"inside," you gasp. "please—i want to feel you—"

he groans, his hips slamming into yours. and then he's coming, hot and thick, filling you so completely. you feel it—his release pouring into you, painting your walls, claiming you from the inside. his cum is already trickling down your thigh, oozing out of your cunt.

at the same time, he's stroking his other cock. you feel the wet spurts hit your stomach, warm and sticky.

he collapses on top of you, careful not to crush you. his face buries in your neck, and you feel his breath, ragged and uneven.

"i love you," he whispers, gruff. it's funny. you've always thought the word love doesn't exist in his vocabulary. but here he is, saying it over and over again. "i love you so much it terrifies me."

you wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer.

"i love you too."

a long moment passes. then another. and then—

"we're going to do that again."

you laugh, breathless.

"right now?"

"after i clean you up." he kisses your neck. "and then again. and again. and again. until ya' can't walk."

"promise?"

he pulls back, and even though you can't see him, you know he's smirking.

"promise."

you're already half asleep when he pulls you against his chest, his arms wrapped around you like he's afraid you'll disappear. his lips press against your hair, your forehead, your eyelids.

"my wife," he murmurs. "my perfect, beautiful wife."

you smile against his skin.

"my husband."

"forever."

"forever."

2026 ── 𝓦𝐎𝐑𝐊 𝐎𝐅 @atelphobist 𝜗ৎ

ᥫ᭡ | © 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘱𝘩𝘰𝘣𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘳. 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘥. 𝘯𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘱𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘪.

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

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

"why? need an escort?"

"no, i know the way."

"well, someone might hassle you."

"somebody already is hassling me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"nuh-uh."

"uh-huh."

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

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

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

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

"with his giiiirrrllll," geto teased.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"baby? hey, slow the hell down!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"ryo—"

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

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

"tell. me."

"promise me you won't be mad!"

"no."

"ryo!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"this happened just now?"

"um... like ten minutes ago."

"where?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"in what way."

"huh?"

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

"not my fault she didn't—"

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

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

"ryomen!" you cried from behind him.

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

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

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

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

"i'll take care of her."

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

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

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

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

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

"you always say that, baby."

"i know."

"ok. sushi and boba."

you smiled. "i trained you right."

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

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

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

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

send me asks <3

buy me a kofi

And growing up overly conscious of error, oppressed verbally, and trained to bear the plights of other people, you turned your nose away from any notion of vulnerability, and any possibility of you taking on your mother's flawed behaviors.

I'd never treat my kid this way, you would tell yourself, holed up in your closet with your face burrowed in your arms, tears streaking down your heated face as your mind replayed the accusations of disrespect and the belittling of your character for expressing opposing opinions. I never want to be like this.

For a while, you think swearing by this oath will work some kind of magic on you, wipe away your genes, and free you of all the memories and experiences you have with overpowering emotion, with your mother.

You think that when you fly the coop, you'll get a clean slate.

But suppression only leads to explosion.

You hide away behind a wall of toughness, as you've long struggled with letting people in, with letting them see the real you for fear of their judgment. Every time anyone has ever managed to peel away at the layers and expose the truth in your unsaid thoughts and your overthinking tendencies, they villainized you.

You've accepted a lot of bullshit in your early years, thanks to the skillful way your mother formed you into a durable doormat for others to stamp their complaints into. Boys guilting you into having sex, expressing insecure possession - declaring you too friendly, uncaring, rude for speaking your mind.

Excessive blame for things outside of your control, lies about secret attraction toward friends, forcing you to drive everywhere, to pay, to be at their beck and call but not to bother them while they're occupied.

Lack of communication. Hours into days without texts. Weaponized incompetence. Never thinking to hold the door, never cleaning you up after sex, gaslighting, lusting, preying.

And they were never like that in the beginning. Always scheming, always putting on a mask to be able to say that they could obtain you, a prize, then letting it drop once you were within their grasp.

Disheartened by betrayal, tolerance worn thinner with each disappointment, the very worst act upon your tender heart. You crumble, you burst, you pour out the years of pent up anguish. Every moment you've held onto when you felt belittled, or ignored, or unseen by those you've trusted rockets from your chest into a spew of heavy, harmful truths that sever the connection between yourself and others.

In moments of unreciprocated action and the antagonization of your pleading words, you step outside of your body to look down upon yourself - you realize that you aren't much different from your mother.

Overexplaining, pleading with someone to hear you though they can not provide the things you need, to understand your pain, to feel the sorrows you feel every day. You've begged for someone to lean on. Someone who can handle knowing you, who can learn about you without tilting his head and saying that your emotions are...

A lot.

But that someone has yet to come.

You recall telling your mother the same thing in your early college years, when you finally worked up the courage to advocate for yourself. To fight back. To create a sense of self separate from hers.

You shiver at the comparison. Kids really are doomed to be their parents from birth. You know, now, that there is no escaping it.

You aren't good with friendships. You're horrible with relationships. You don't trust others with your love, with your whole self. You've only ever truly felt safe within your own mind, where no one else can harm you. Where you can't harm anyone else.

You tell yourself that you don't mind being single. In fact, you're better off. You have more room to develop yourself, to work toward your goals, build upon your career, nurture yourself in a way that you know you can't when you are in love and consequently overextending.

You try to push down the feelings of loneliness that often consume you when you see a happy couple walking by. You ignore the longing, the desire to be seen and loved in such a way by someone other than yourself. You convince yourself that it will never come, so you don't wait for it. You push on and try to forget.

Then, you meet Nanami completely by accident.

You're having a particularly unpleasant day, and after your shift, you decide to treat yourself to a fresh baked pastry to soothe your troubles and consequently destroy the diet you've put yourself on.

You're in front of the line, scanning the assortment of baked goods, and you finally decide on a tea and a chocolate croissant half the size of your head that's been calling your name. The lady behind the counter smiles politely and tells you the total you owe. When you reach for your purse, however, you realize that it is not on your person, but recall that it is lodged under the passenger seat of your car, after you'd tossed it off of you upon leaving work.

Embarrassed and annoyed, you sigh heavily and close your eyes. "I'm so sorry. I - forgot my wallet in my car. I'll be right back to go get it."

Before you can turn to go, someone walks up to the counter beside you. You think, at first, that he is rushing you, so you shoot him a hard glare, but instead, you are met with the side profile of quite a handsome man, tired and softspoken as he interjects.

"No need," he starts, voice formal and low with fatigue. He slots his fingers through his wallet calmly, clad in a grey work suit that brings out the soft yellow color of his blonde, fluffy hair. "I'll cover hers as well as mine."

You freeze, face falling with shock. "Oh god, don't do that," you step toward him again, reaching your hands out as if you can stop him, but he's already handing the lady a couple of bills as he recites to her an order that she seems to be all too accustomed with.

He turns to look down at you with the kindest chocolate eyes. "I assure you. It's not a problem."

"Really, though, my wallet's only a few steps away. I'd hate for you to pay for something I can easily take care of."

"Perhaps, but then you'd have to wait in line all over again. I figure this is more convenient," he explains simply, and you furrow your brows with a blink. The lady behind the counter darts her eyes between the two of you, hesitantly reaching for the money that is still extended toward her, unsure of what the consensus is.

"Sir, please," you chuckle awkwardly. "You're... too kind, but I can pay for myself."

"I insist."

"No, I insist. You don't even know me."

"I hardly think that matters."

"But-"

"Girl, just let the man pay! Damn."

Both of your heads swivel to the older woman behind you, her hand propped on her hip with a sour impatience scribbled onto her wrinkled face. Your brow twitches, and you turn to look up at the stranger beside you and catch the ghosting smile that graces his exhausted, pretty features.

You open your mouth to protest, but then consider the long line behind you, and deflate. "Okay fine." You nod toward the lady at the counter who finally takes the man's money.

She grins, counting the bills then putting them into the register. "We'll have your orders out shortly. Thank you! See you at the end of the week, Nanami!"

You step to the side as the man who paid for you nods into the woman's direction with appreciation and familiarity, before stepping to the side along with you.

The two of you stand next to each other awkwardly, your arms folded over your chest, and you clear your throat. "Thank you," you manage.

The man shakes his head. "Don't. Really. It was my pleasure."

"Still, you didn't have to do that. It's not like I forgot my money at home."

"I was happy to. Regardless." You slim your eyes with skepticism, unsure of his angle. He seems to catch your suspicion with a soft chuckle, as he proceeds to ask, "I take it you don't believe me."

Slightly taken by his forwardness, you stumble to explain. "It's not that I don't believe you, I just don't really get... why?" you shrug, smiling awkwardly with your teeth.

The handsome blonde ponders you thoughtfully. "Does there have to be a reason other than me wanting to?"

"No one ever wants to cover someone else," you wave him off.

"I just did."

Your mouth curves up. "Out of obligation."

"Because I wanted to," he corrects you for the third time.

You press your lips together tightly, and he chuckles something light and unexpected. "Are you laughing at me?" you quirk a brow.

"No."

Your eyes slim. "Liar."

The handsome man shakes his head, a smile line creasing over his warm skin. Tired eyes blink before landing back on you out of the corner of his eye. "Not at all," he says earnestly.

You look away. So does he.

You find yourself unsure of what more to say, so you let more awkward silence fill the small space between you as the cramped bakery grows busier. You tap your foot against the floor as you wait, and the man named Nanami checks his watch multiple times. You're keenly aware of his presence beside you. You try not to let it further bother you.

It shouldn't bother you, but the excited flutter of your heart proves otherwise, though you endeavor to ignore it and brush it off as nerves.

The call of your name soon comes, and your brows furrow as you and the blonde stranger move to grab your order at the same time. With hands outstretched, you find each other's gaze again, and you frown skeptically - Nanami seems to have reached your warmed croissant and hot drink before you.

"I was closer," he offers as he turns to you, tea in one hand and bag in the other. Your brow twitches as you hastily take your order from him. He lets you, his hands falling instinctively to his sides as though to surrender power back into your jurisdiction. "You would have had to push through-"

"I'm aware," you cut him off. "You don't have to go doing everything for me now."

"That wasn't my intention..." the brown eyed man trails off. Suddenly, his name is called behind him, and his head turns slightly at the sound but his eyes remain on you as he fumbles with his thoughts, bearing an indifferent expression. "I'm sorry. I've offended you."

You watch as he grabs his own order, nodding toward the worker with pressed lips of acknowledgement. You look down at your own order in your hands, and back up at him. "No... you haven't. Sorry. It's - just been a long day. Not used to random acts of kindness," you say as an excuse.

The man faces you again, a large loaf now tucked under his arm as his veiny hand clasps his coffee. "I understand."

A lull in the conversation strikes once more when the two of you realize that you have nothing more keeping you within the establishment. "Well, thank you. Again. Really, that was... unnecessarily nice of you."

"You don't need to keep thanking me. It really was nothing."

He walks a few paces behind you as you both go to leave the bustling bakery, and as he lunges from behind to stretch his free arm toward the door, pushing it open from the angle he discovered just above your head, your brows pinch again. And you thank him. Again.

You give him a tight smile before turning over your shoulder to walk to your car, when you hear his steady, polite, subtly hesitant voice.

"Pardon me, but you're very beautiful."

Your heels halt their clicking against the pavement. You freeze, whipping your head over your shoulder with tight muscles and wide eyes. The suited man stands there in the middle of the sidewalk, face blank and eyes honest. He does not try to perform. Does not try to add anything more to the compliment. He simply lets it linger in the air, making himself known to you for fear that he would never see you again.

Your lips part, your breath hitches. You're hardly new to such praises, but the gentleness of his tone when he spoke, the humility in his words, the lack of expectation in his eyes is what frightens you.

You see his lips tighten under your gaze, and he shifts the bread under his arm. "That's all."

"Is that why you paid for my order?" you ask suddenly, cheeks warm and brain stirring with confusion. “Because I’m beautiful.”

Something in him dissipates, as though the tension in his body has eased slightly at your voice. "Partially. I saw you walk in before me. You looked stressed so, I thought I'd try to make you feel better."

"And how would you know if I was stressed or not?"

"Because I'm stressed all the time. I can sense it from a mile away."

There is, once more, no performance behind his words. Just truth in exasperation, in the lidded state of his warm eyes and the lines creasing beneath them. You inhale to speak, but the words get caught in your chest again. You have nothing to bite back with, nothing to scoff at, no excuse to chastise, and you're unsure of how to go forward accordingly.

You swallow hard. "Well, I hope you don't think that buying me something when I don’t even know you is gonna give you some kind of advantage."

"I don't think that," he shakes his head simply. "Like I said before, it was my pleasure. I don't expect anything from you in return."

You raise your brow, unconvinced. "Really?"

"Truly."

Your brows come down and your teeth sink into the inside of your lip. A light smile returns to the stranger's lips, something soft and observant. "Then," you start, drawing your tea close to your chest. "I'll be taking my leave now."

You wait for an outburst, an explosion, for him to go on a tangent about how you haven't even given him the decency of providing a number, or at least for his expression to shift with irritation. But none of which comes. Instead, he just nods simply and goes to walk off as well. "As will I. Have a wonderful day, miss."

Your jaw drops when he walks away, slow, easy, tired strides, and you stand frozen in place, watching the back of his head as he moves away.

You clamp your lips shut and swallow hard, moving to turn around as well, but something in you fights back. You clench your jaw hard and close your eyes before- "Excuse me!" you call out. Now a few yards away, he stops and turns over his shoulder with surprise and curiosity. Your lips crinkle, your skin flushing as passerbyers glance at you, and the blonde's attention is once again yours.

You can't believe you're doing this.

"W-What was your name again?"

He blinks, genuinely surprised that you stopped him to ask. "Kento Nanami."

You nod. “Okay. Good. Goodbye.”

You swiftly turn over your shoulder and leave, and the blonde watches you, shocked, before smiling.

You see Kento a handful of times before you finally give in and give him your number and your full name. You realize that, due to his frequent appearances in your recent life, that he must live within the same vicinity as you. A few hopeful conversations and approaches initiated by the blonde, cautious yet earnest, and a text from your friend is what pushes you to finally give him access to you outside of short interactions in the middle of the cereal aisle.

You're guarded from the beginning, terrified by his generosity, his respectful good morning texts, the way he checks in on how you're doing when he has free time in the day - unprovoked, unpressured, seeking no ulterior motive.

You would stare at the lit phone screen with your chin propped angrily in your palm, fingers thumping against your lips as your glare sharpens on his perfect grammar. You're waiting for the gentleman routine to die away, to fade out, but it remains steady over a week of phone conversation. Still, a week is just a week. Hardly enough time to know someone's true motivations, and you've been with men who have kept up the act for months before finally revealing his hidden, careless identity.

But then, Kento asks you out.

You read the text over and over after having initially dropped your phone and jumped away upon receiving the message.

Kento | I would love to take you to dinner, if you would be willing to let me.

It's a trap, you immediately think. You can't remember the last time you've been on a date, the last time a man actually asked you properly, the last time a man planned something for you without expecting you to jump through hoops to see him. You're prepared to tell him no, or that at the very least you'd think about it, but after leaving him on read for nearly six hours, and another call with your best friend, you accept, as she claims that you would be crazy not to go out with him.

But she can not account for the discomfort that seizes your body when he meets you outside of the nice restaurant he picked, after you insisted on driving separate cars; when he opens the car door for you and stretches his hand inside the vehicle to gingerly take yours in his; when his eyes capture your face and not your body as he tells you that you look absolutely stunning; when he pulls out your chair for you to sit down, having guided you by your hand throughout the twists and turns of the dimly lit space, an air of natural dominance crowding him when he interacts so calmly with the staff.

He does not suffocate conversation with arrogance, but asks you questions about your life, holding your gaze as you speak to show that he is truly listening. When you notice him staring, he apologizes, ducking his head with the intrusion of stifled shyness as he continues to compliment you, your mind, your beauty.

You're out of your depth. Your heart flutters the whole night as your (e/c) hues hold his warm ones, and your skin crawls with something you can't quite name. You don't remember the last time you felt so seen, so prioritized, so catered to. And more than Kento's swiftness to pay without blinking an eye or letting you even see a peep of the bill, and more than his haste to make sure you aren't too hot or cold, that your food is just the way you wanted it, is the manner with which he treats you. As though wining and dining you at some fancy place you always wanted to try is nothing near a chore, but something he feels that you are entitled to, that he is expected to do as a man in pursuit of your heart.

And at the end of the night, after he has offered to walk you back to your car, instead of expecting once more, he asks if he can take you out again.

You look at him with a dumbfounded gaze for a long moment, as you likely have for the majority of the night, and you mindlessly nod, your skepticism warping into fear.

Fear over the fact that this is the first man you've felt a genuine connection with after years of shielding your heart from any possible vulnerability.

You wreck your brain, wondering what this man could possibly want from you. Sex? A mistress? Someone to manipulate? 

The speculations die one by one with each date you have with him, with every fact you learn about his personality and his daily life, about his morals and values, his drive, his grit, his responsibility. Three dates fly by, and he has yet to ask you to join him at his place or to accompany you at yours. He keeps a respectful distance whilst continuing to pursue you, to treat you, to court you as a man should.

You feel yourself actually beginning to like Kento, and that prospect alone is enough for you to disappear for a couple of days after your discovery. You tell him that you've been busy, that you don't have the time you once had to talk on the phone every night or plan your next outing.

Ordinarily, you get away with your habitual isolation, but one rather serious text is enough to tell you that you won't be able to get away with such things with Nanami, especially since he has made his intentions with you very clear - that he plans to be yours.

Kento | Hello, beautiful. I understand you need your space. Please correct me if I'm wrong, but from your tone and distance, I've sensed that you are upset about something. I recall you mentioning that you tend to take steps away when you aren't feeling like yourself. I won't further intrude in honor of your space, but whenever you feel ready, I am here to talk or listen. I sent you something to help take your mind off of whatever is bothering you. I hope you like it.

You open your door to find a bouquet of flowers lying at your doorstep, and a note attached with Kento's name and I'm here written in cursive. Your nose flares and your eyes glaze over as you look down at the thoughtful gift. No one's ever sent you flowers before. Not like this.

And no one's ever noted your habits, ever paid enough attention to you to tell when you're overstimulated or overthinking. You'd mentioned that about yourself one time, and Nanami remembered. And he didn't just remember, but he acknowledged it. He didn't antagonize you for it. He made himself known, and reminded you that you aren't alone. That you don't have to be anymore. That he sees you and wants to continue seeing you in every sense of the word.

Your heart pangs. You like him and you're terrified.

You don't reach out to him until the next morning. You've placed your flowers on the counter for display and lean against the kitchen sink with your phone in hand. Your leg bounces restlessly against the cabinets as you harshly tap on his contact to call. It's the weekend, so he answers rather swiftly.

"Hello?"

"You scare the shit out of me," you bluntly confess into the speaker, voice tight.

The other line is silent for a moment before Nanami's voice, low and thoughtful, comes back in. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to," he apologizes. You click your teeth with a huff of a laugh. "Could you tell me what I've done to make you feel that way?"

You suck in a sharp breath, for there truly is no way to get this man to show any bad side. Your gut trusts him, but your mind screams at you to run, while your heart yearns to feel his arms encase you as he tells you that everything will be alright. You're at odds with yourself.

But you want him so badly.

"You're too nice," you exhale through an anxious laugh, looking longingly over at your flowers.

"...Too nice?"

"Yes. I-It's confusing. You don't need to check in all the time or - or send me flowers-"

"You don't like them?"

"No," you quickly say. You sigh. "I mean... no - yes, I do like them. They're very sweet. T-Thank you. But that's not what I mean. I just mean... like... you're so..."

You stumble over your words, struggling to find the right way to express yourself whilst evading judgment. Your mind frantically searches for the right path and you fumble.

"(Y/n)," Kento calls gently.

"What?" you heave.

"Take your time," he guides. "Just tell me how you feel. It's alright."

You freeze. "...Wha...What?"

"I'm listening, sweetheart. Just take your time to sort it all out," he assures.

Your lips press together in a pout as you stare ahead, wide-eyed, your heart pattering in your chest. Your eyes sting with humiliation, and that hardness around your heart softens as you feel that you will finally be heard, that someone is happy to hear you.

You take in a shaky breath. "Why are you so nice to me?" you whisper.

"I'm happy that you think I’m kind, but I’m not trying to be nice, (Y/n). I've only aimed to be honest. I like you, and I want to be with you someday if you would like that too. I want to treat you the way you deserve to be treated. In all honesty, I haven't done anything very remarkable."

"You haven't-" you stop yourself with another laugh, sniffling slightly. "Kento, what do you mean you haven't done anything remarkable? You - you're so sweet to me all the time. You go out of your way to do things that you don't have to do."

"Like what?"

"Like... planning our dates all the time, or picking me up, or sending me things, or-or listening to what I say-"

"(Y/n), those aren't remarkable things. That's the least I can do for the woman I care about."

"You say that, but you don't get it."

"Perhaps I don't," he agrees. "But I'd love for you to help me understand what you're feeling more."

You trace your finger over the countertop sheepishly, blinking back the tears in your eyes. "Can you come over?"

"Absolutely."

And he does. And the two of you talk for hours, or rather, he listens to you spill your vulnerabilities, your feelings, vent your concerns and frustrations with a trust that you did not realize you had formulated with him. And unlike every guy who brushed you off or told you that you were too demanding or too emotional, Nanami holds your hand, looks you in the eye, tells you he hears you, and means it.

Your bottom lip trembles as the past month or so spent with him flickers through your mind. You can feel the race of your pulse against the blonde's skin, and you frown at yourself. At how giddy he makes you feel. "I know how I get," you say. "When I have feelings for someone, they're not something I take lightly. I'm not casual. I can't pretend not to care, and I don't want to feel like I'm grasping for attention when you finally get me. I don't want to delude myself into thinking that just because you're nice, you can't do what other people have done."

Nanami watches you with a fondness you can't name, silent and steadfast, warm and enticing. His thumb traces over the back of your hand as he sits close to you on the couch, unhurried, patient, present, and grateful to be.

"I can't pretend to know what other men have put you through, or how deeply it continues to impact you. I know you're scared. You have every reason to protect yourself the way you do," he begins. "But I'm not that kind of man. When I say something, I mean it. When I promise something, I have every intention of fulfilling that promise. When I treat you one way, it's not for show. It is how I intend to treat you for as long as you will allow me. I know trust is not something that can be built overnight, but I'm willing to do the work. I want you to feel safe with me. I want to make you happy. I won't try to rush that happiness or that trust. You're entitled to your space when you need it. You owe me nothing. But when you're ready, I'll be here. I'm not going anywhere unless you tell me to."

You sink into his words, your walls cracking, your heart surging. Glassy, red eyes search his face for some trick, and you once more come up empty handed. He presses his lips together in that tired, half smile, reminding you that it's okay.

Moved, you lean forward and press your lips to his impulsively, parting shortly after with a soft smack and sad eyes. You go to start apologizing when his palms raise to hold your face and your lips are slowly brought back into his.

Nanami kisses you for the first time like he is holding something precious. He does not attack you, but he savors you, slow and kind like his voice and the way he interacts with the surrounding world. You feel your chest tighten and warm, your skin tingle all over, and your flesh run hot as he holds you to him carefully, politely, gliding warm lips over your own with an appreciation so firm, he can't bear the thought of breaking away.

You part for a moment with heavy eyes, his thumb tracing over the skin of your cheek. Your hands press to his shoulders as you release a hot breath. "Please don't hurt me," you plead against his mouth, surrendering yourself from this point forward.

Nanami cradles you close. "I'll do everything in my power not to."

And even then, his words ring genuine, for Kento is aware that he can not promise such things, that people hurt their loved ones without attempting to all the time. But more importantly, he will work to honor your desires, to remember your triggers and fears, to know you well enough for that not to happen as long as he can control it.

And that, to you, means more than he could even begin to understand.

The two of you take it slow. You don't have sex until after he has asked to be your partner, and when you do, Kento asks for your permission before making any move to touch you further. He sees, feels the anxiety in your eyes and your body language, the fear that sexual intimacy will draw him further away from you, but he stays.

He stays with you while making love to you, holding your gaze, interlacing your fingers, pressing his body flush to yours, eliminating any exposure to the cold, keeping himself present. 

He stays with you after, holding your shivering body against his, murmuring soft praises into your ear and pressing warm kisses to your skin.

And rather than creating a distance, sex brings you inexplicably closer. The passion is thick in Nanami's enamoured eyes every time he sees you, every time he utters your name. After months of chipping away, you mirror his smitten nature, opening yourself up to the affections he always, always provides.

That's what Kento is, a provider, financially, physically, and emotionally. You feel light with him by your side, like the burdens of the world have lifted from your shoulders just long enough for you to breathe and simultaneously enjoy the good that it has to offer.

You never find yourself overexplaining your frustrations, because Kento has already noticed them and taken action to help you through them. 

You never feel as though you are carrying anything alone, because Kento is always there to share the load or take it on himself.

And you never experience a moment in which you feel unloved, because Kento ensures that he spends every second of every day reminding you what you mean to him, showering you with unforced, unconditional ardor.

Sukuna is about to respond with his own opinion that, once you come into contact with his unbridled amounts of energy, Yuji Itadori is not cute- his pierced lips hang open, poised and ready to speak, until you move to scoop Yuji’s friend into your arms and Sukuna stands there stupidly.

“Nobara!” You beam, “how was school?”

She grins proudly. “Really great! Me and Yuji spoke to Megumi all day, but he had to leave early to see the- the dentist.” She whispers quietly, voice dropping as she looks around like the dentist in question will jump out of a nearby bush, “I hope his teeth are okay.”

“I’m sure they are.” You laugh and turn to Yuji, who’s trying to climb Sukuna like a tree, little tongue poked out in concentration as he tries to scale his leg. “Oh, you’re here for Yuji!” You say surprisedly, “you aren’t Jin.”

“Definitely not.” Sukuna grumbles, pulling Yuji away from his jeans with one hand and little strength required.

“Yeah, this is my Uncle Kuna!” Yuji beams, hugging Sukuna’s leg, smile like sunshine as you take Nobara’s backpack from her. “He’s really tall, and mean- but not to me!- and cool, and he has loadssss of tattoos, and he uses bad words-“

“Brat.” Sukuna mutters, before turning back to you and trying his best to recover. “Wow, I didn’t know they let siblings do pick ups.”

Nobara rolls her eyes. “She’s my mommy, idiot.” Sukuna glares at her- the one time he comes to collect Yuji, the one time a pretty lady seems interested in him, and it’s ruined by her daughter?

You giggle, and the sound melts like honey in Sukuna’s ears; you really are pretty, he thinks, eyeing up the warmth in your face and the motherly lilt to your voice when you speak to Nobara. And he definitely isn’t looking at the tiny sliver of cleavage your top affords him.

“We’re going home, Yuji.” He says abruptly, tossing his squirmy nephew over his shoulder despite his squealing protests. You take Nobara’s hand in yours to walk, umbrellas catching the splashing rainfall while she jumps in a puddle. Her rainboots squelch, and you beam down at her.

Sukuna starts filling in for Jin a lot more after that. Jin gets to relax, Yuji gets to see his uncle, and Sukuna gets to speak to you- it’s a win for everybody really, he thinks, watching as you walk up to the gate and smile at him.

“Hey, Kuna.” You tease, bumping your elbow with his. He wishes you’d just call him Ryomen, but the nickname Yuji gave him stuck, apparently. But it’s still a nickname, at least- and the acknowledgment makes his chest do something sappy and stupid.

It’s sunny today, rays glittering down onto your hair like a personal spotlight; as such, Nobara and Yuji spend a few minutes running around on the playground, pushing each other on the squeaky roundabout and laughing as they go down the slide, while their respective adults chat,

“I see Jin’s been slacking on pick up duty more often.” You observe, looking up at Sukuna- and the height difference is still staggering even after speaking to him so many times. He's broad, you've come to appreciate in sly glances, shirts stretched over his muscled back and strong arms that flex when he tosses Yuji over his shoulder.

Is it really that morally wrong to be jealous of a four-year-old?

“What, do you never slack?” He questions- it lands a bit sharper than originally intended, but you just smile. “Well... I love picking Nobara up. She makes my day.” You begin, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear.

Sukuna’s hand twitches like it wanted to get there first.

“And besides, it’s not like I have a responsible husband to come and help. It’s just me and her-“ you say wistfully, gazing over at your daughter as she giggles, your face breaking out into a smile, “-but I don’t think I’d have it any other way.”

Sukuna will feel guilty later about how he internally celebrated that little piece of information- no husband, no boyfriend, you absolutely dote on his nephew and you’re pretty? He must be dreaming!

There’s practically a tiny cupid flying around his head, sprinkling puffs of stupid pink sparkles onto his stupider grin- never has Ryomen Sukuna been this desperate to make a woman laugh, and never has he been stopped from doing so by his nephew!

He’s about to say something in response, something smooth that’ll have you giggling- but he doesn’t get to, because an uncomfortably loud smack! suddenly emanates from the playground. It’s followed after a few beats of silence by sobbing, tiny little wails that make your heart clench.

Of course.

“Oh, Yuji-“ you coo worriedly, already hurrying over to scoop him up, “what happened?”

“I f-fell off the- the swing-“ he hyperventilates, cheeks bunched up as streams of tears make their way down his face. Nobara pets his head sympathetically, stood to the side. “I want my uncle-“

Despite his nonchalance, Sukuna’s already there- awkwardly holding onto his crying nephew like he isn’t sure where to exactly put his hands; it works enough for him, though, since Yuji’s hysteria dies down almost immediately into fading hiccups.

“I bruised my knee.” He says miserably, tears already welling in his big eyes, “it stings.”

Sukuna grimaces and picks Yuji up, carefully buckling him into his carseat with all the attention you’d give a nuclear bomb. Beside him, you appear, perfume wafting into his nose as you hold Nobara’s little hand.

“You’re a good uncle.” You say softly, peering up at his scoffing expression. “No, seriously, I mean it.”

“Thanks.” Sukuna mutters, toeing awkwardly at a rock on the ground because he isn’t used to compliments on the way he handles anything, let alone his nephew.

“See you on Monday for the trip?” You say hopefully.

“What?” Sukuna says, head snapping up, “Jin wants me to go on a fucking trip?” The expression on his face contorts into a scowl you'd find intimidating if it weren't for the exact replica of him shoved into his car. Nobara stares up at him, scandalised. “That’s a bad word-“

“Shh, Nobara.” You say, “he’s an adult.” You turn your attention back to Sukuna, “don’t worry, you aren’t actually chaperoning. We just need to drop them off a little earlier in the morning, maybe stick around long enough to wave them goodbye.”

He nods like he’s absorbing the most important information of his life. “Yeah. I’ll be there.”

⋆⋅ ❀ ⋅⋆

Monday arrives in a swirl of black coffee and misery for him.

"Yuji. Car." He says gruffly, voice still tinted at the corners by sleep. He turns to his older nephew- "Choso, make him move."

"I don't wanna be mean to him," the brunette huffs, holding onto his little brother's hand like he doesn't want to let go, even as he reluctantly walks out the door. "Why can't you take him?" Sukuna groans, pinching the bridge of his nose as Yuji punches his leg. It doesn't hurt, obviously- Yuji's tiny fists pack as much punch as a ball of cotton- but it's still annoying.

"Because I get the bus, and he is four?" Choso says flatly, "I don't even go to the same school as him."

"You-"

"Bye, Yu!"

"Byeee, Cho!"

He’s already on his third coffee of the day by the time he gets to the car, where he wrestles an overexcited Yuji into his seatbelt, his tiny legs kicking. “The trip’s gonna be so fun, Uncle Kuna, Megumi told me there’s gonna be bunnies and frogs and owls-“

Sukuna groans, forehead resting on the steering wheel- it’s far too early for this. “And, and, and-“ Yuji continues, squealing out his polysynthetic list, “Megumi also said-“

It goes on and on and on like this until Sukuna finally, finally reaches the end of the drive; this time, it doesn’t take him any effort to deal with Yuji, who’s already fumbling at his seatbelt with chubby hands and waving at his tiny friend.

“Hi!” He squeals, running over to him as Sukuna drags behind, rubbing his eyes with one hand as they protest against the sun.

“Hi.” The spiky, dark-haired one says, his freakishly adult demeanour only slightly diminished by the chubbiness of his bright little cheeks as he turns accusatorially to Sukuna. “Why are you helping out.”

“Megumi, be nice.” You chastise, already walking up from behind- right on cue- with Nobara in hand. “And he isn’t, he’s just here to say goodbye to Yuji.”

“Oh.” Megumi says, as though this is a conversation he doesn’t have any scheduled time for, immediately turning his back on Sukuna. When they’re called onto the minibus by their teacher, the trio lines up dutifully next to the steps, tiny bags clenched importantly in even tinier hands.

“Bye, Nobara!” You yell, waving her off as she beams at you through the window, shouting something back you can’t quite hear.

When your fingers brush Sukuna’s on the way up, neither of you say anything.

You’re too focused on smiling at your daughter with pride as she waves back with a small hand and a big smile- but when she turns around to speak to her friends, something crests inside your throat and your heart clenches.

“She’s getting so… so old.” You whisper to yourself, parents already vacating the spot you’re stood in.

“She’s four.” Sukuna says blankly, “she’s not going anywhere anytime soon.”

“I know, I’m being dramatic,” you sniffle into your palm, “but I wish she’d just stay this little forever. Don’t you feel like that with Yuji?”

Sukuna deliberates on this for a moment. Sure, Yuji can be a pain, but he does find some slight fascination in watching him grow; from holding him tightly in a bundle at a few weeks old, his eyes crinkled shut, to playfighting with him on Jin’s living room carpet as he tugs at his scalp and calls his tattoos cool. “Yeah.” He says slowly, “yeah, I guess so.”

A small, perfect tear beads up in the wet outer corner of your eye and your lip wobbles along with your casual facade- you’re ready to let it fall, to allow a single solitary line trail down your face, but it never makes it that far.

A calloused thumb swipes it away without a second thought, the action awfully loud for something that made no noise at all. Sukuna stares at you for a moment, skin lingering against your cheek, then rips his hand away like it burns.

“My, um…” you breathe, eyes glassy, “my house is only down the street, if you wanted to come over.” When Sukuna’s eyebrow raises, you flush. “Just for a drink and a talk. If- if you’re thirsty, that is.”

He smiles down at you, teeth glinting almost predatorily in the sun. “Parched.”

Sukuna’s lips are softer than you imagined, is the initial thought that crosses your mind when he first crashes his mouth to yours in your hallway. The kiss is messy and rushed, like you’re making up for lost time- the ceramic dish on the side jangles quietly as you toss your keys, and he kicks the door shut.

“God-“ you gasp against his greedy mouth, cool orbs of his snake bite piercings cutting into your warm lips. “Slow down-“

“I can’t.” Sukuna groans. His hands are already mapping out each gentle curve, learning the topographical details of your body. “I’ve wanted to do this for weeks.”

Despite the breathlessness in your lungs, you giggle. “Me too.”

Your teeth nip at his lips, soothing the bruises with your tongue before tangling into his mouth in a messy mix of saliva and hushed moans.

Large palms grip at your waist, manoeuvring your body backwards against the wall like he’s been planning this out for as long as he’s known you. Sukuna would like to say this all comes naturally to him- and it does- but never has somebody invaded his senses like this. Like you.

He feels like there’s an audible hum below his prickly skin, made worse when your shirt falls to the ground and his fingers are free to map out the frayed lace on your bra.

“That’s nice.” You breathe, eyes fluttering closed as your scalp meets the wall and your hands rest on Sukuna’s shoulders for support. The entirety of your consciousness is consumed by the feeling of your tits under his grip, so you barely register when the button of your jeans pops open below.

“Yeah?” He whispers into your ear, the cartilage warm under his mouth when he bites down.

“Yeah- fuck!” You gasp suddenly, his fingers finally swiping through the cloying wetness building between your soft thighs. He laughs, but there’s no bite to it this time- because you’re clenching around his fingers, hips jerking in search of the friction of his palm, and he’s harder than he thinks he’s ever been in his life.

Spit slicks shinily across the marks Sukuna’s leaving on your chest, purple and red and shades of bruising pink. His head is tucked fully into the junction between your neck and shoulder now, nipping at warm skin while two of his fingers curl between your parted legs.

“Wait, wait-“ you squeak in panic, nails digging into his back, “fuck, I’m close-“

“That’s the idea.” He laughs shakily, thumb painting wet circles over your sensitive clit. The breathy noise your throat expels into his ear when you cum, legs shaking and clamping around his hand, is the prettiest thing Sukuna’s pierced ears have ever had the pleasure of hearing.

“My...“ your speech falters when you look down, eyes widening at the much larger than anticipated bulge in his jeans, “my bedroom’s upstairs. First door on the right-“

Sukuna doesn’t need to be told twice- barely even once, as he hoists you into the air. Your legs clamp automatically around his waist, looking for the hot slide of friction even despite your recent orgasm, seeking the noises he allows to slip deliciously from his lips when you bite down on his neck.

The duvet makes a comforting backrest for when he lies you down, sheets parting under your body as you prop yourself up onto your elbows to watch him unbuckle his belt one-handedly.

It slides out of place with a gentle clink, dropping to your floor in a loose coil of material before Sukuna goes to unzip his fly.

“Wait,” you say suddenly, curling up onto your knees on the bed. “Let me. Please?”

How could he say no?

“Go ahead.” Sukuna smiles down at you, hands held loosely at his sides to watch the way your breath catches in your throat as you pull the denim down and palm him just once over his underwear. “Shitttt.” His head falls back briefly, pupils dilating behind closed eyelids as he drinks in the feeling of your fingers trembling on his skin.

A faint coral happy trail starts at his navel, decorating the soft plane of his v-line and disappearing below the waistband. You look up at him, eyes glassy and lips parted, your fingers hooked into the elastic, and Sukuna has to resist the image that suddenly flashes across his mind.

He wants to cram your cheek against the bulge and watch the way you’d go nervous, cheeks flushing more as he holds you there against the throbbing outline of his cock through the damp spot in the fabric, but he doesn’t. He lets you have your fun.

Although, it’s significantly more entertaining for him when you finally do get the underwear down his thick thighs and you gasp. “Oh my god-“

“Never seen one before, sweetheart?” He grins, lifting his shirt over his head with muscled biceps and tossing the fabric somewhere in the room.

You both know he isn’t just talking about his dick. You’re staring disbelievingly at the tiny silver ball studded at the tip- pierced, rather. Your mouth waters against your will.

“Shut up.” You breathe, fingers tentatively curling around the base of his dick. But you aren’t even looking at your hand or the silken skin it's wrapped around.

Your gaze is heavy but focused, transfixed entirely on the way glittery beads of pre start to shine over the piercing at his flushed tip; you don’t catch them with your fingers, you just look at the way they spill over and down his length.

“Yeah, like that.” Sukuna groans from above you, watching as you press light kisses to his hip beside your bobbing hand.

Your hand shimmers as it works him, scrutinising the way his face flutters and twitches, the way the breaths he’s expelling become more and more ragged until his hips are jerking up-

And you stop. Completely.

His red eyes snap open immediately, shock splashed across his features. “Why the fuck would you stop, woman?”

You shrug, casually peeling your remaining items of clothing off. “Wanted it inside.”

He narrows his eyes in curiosity. “You’re not-?”

“Birth control.” You say, unclasping your bra fully and letting the lace slip down your shoulders before settling back on the sheets in waiting. “Perimenopausal precaution.”

“Ah.”

He’s about to say something else, snake bites glinting in the sunlight your curtains let in, but the moment you spread your legs open a little further his brain blanks.

His hands meet soft skin, pushing your thighs apart to settle his hips between them. Hair falls into his eyes in spiky tufts of pink, and you instinctually raise a hand to brush them back.

“You’re so fucking wet.” Is the first thing to leave his mouth as he lines himself up, the words stuttered through a thick groan as his tip brushes your clit. You sigh into his mouth, wrapping your arms around his back, and he pushes in.

The stretch is perfect, the feeling of being so full after so long almost too much for you to take; you can feel the piercing, feel the way it rolls coolly inside you like something designed solely by him, for you.

“You- you can move.” You keen against his throat. “Now, please.”

“Bossy.” Sukuna says, voice coming loose at the edges already as he buries his face into your shoulder.

The movements he affords you are languid at first, testing to see what angles make you moan the loudest and which rhythm makes you squeeze tightest around him. It turns out you hardly have a preference as long as he's moving; just the knowledge of him being seated inside you, stretching you out, is enough.

Your nails run smooth patterns over his broad back, etching red lines across the inky tattoos while you lose yourself in it. Every drag is perfect, pace increasing steadily until the room is full with quiet, slick noises that have a flush creeping up your chest.

Just when you think he’s as deep as he could possibly be, when there’s nothing left for him to give you- a calloused hand moves from your hip to your thigh, lifting it upwards and pushing the limb against your torso.

“Fuck!” You gasp, scrabbling for purchase on his arms as he grins above you. The new angle lets him hit even more spots, stars bursting behind your eyelids.

“You like that?” Sukuna asks rhetorically. He knows you can’t answer, he knows your brain is melted into slush every time he rocks forwards, he knows- but it’s fun to watch you struggle.

“I- mhm-“ you whine, back arching into a curve below him. “Kuna-“

The nickname does something unexpected to him, the sugared syllables dripping like messy honey from your tongue into his mouth when he kisses you again. “Fuck, say that again.”

“Kuna-“ you beg, digging into his skin, “please-“

“Yeah,” he pants into your mouth, “yeah, s’okay.”

The softness of your legs wrap around his waist tighter, heels digging into his back as he releases the hold on your thigh to drop his full weight onto you.

The pressure is gorgeous; the feeling of his abdomen against your soft torso makes you squirm, fluttering tightly around his cock as the piercing keeps rubbing across your soft insides. It maps you out, cool metal gently roving over the smoothest spots your pussy has to offer.

The polish on his nails is chipped, black giving way to reveal the curves of keratin carving pretty crescents into your sticky body- he looks down at them in pride, knowing that only his hands could mark you up so perfectly. But his red irises never stay in one place for long; he can get impatient.

They drift from the mess spilling onto your thighs, the sight of him actively pushing inside almost an assault on his self-control. Then, he stares greedily at your chest, at the soft bounce of your tits when he releases his chest far back enough to appreciate the view.

But he saves the best for last; your face. Lips dropping open into a picture-perfect circle, mouth tightening then becoming lax as moans slip freely into the heated space between you, eyes shiny and bright. God, you're so pretty, Sukuna thinks.

“M’gonna cum.” You breathe tightly, stomach clenching when two of his fingers slide between your bodies to rub messy circles over your swollen clit.

“Yeah, me too.” Sukuna admits roughly, voice dropping to vibrate against the cartilage of your throat.

The orgasm winds tight, humming and heavy, twisting beneath your sweaty skin and shattering. Your lips part around a silent moan, babbling something unintelligible- maybe it was his name, maybe it was a plea; whatever it is, it pushes Sukuna over the edge with you.

A sharp little gasp sounds from him as he stills, hips stuttering inside you as thick pearlescent strings soak your sheets, overflowing from your cunt and onto the duvet.

He catches his breath before rolling off you, slumping in a mess of sweaty muscle and spit-slicked skin beside you in the mess of your bed. “Fuck.”

“Mmm.” You agree breathlessly, chest still heaving with exertion, limbs boneless.

Sukuna stands first, unashamedly naked, sun painting a halo behind him as you adjust onto your side and speak with hoarse vocals. “Going somewhere?”

“Well-“ he begins, a blush creeping onto his face that has nothing to do with the post-sex afterglow, “I was gonna get you a drink, or somethin’, but I realised I don’t know where your kitchen is.”

The absurdity of the situation hits you then; your daughters friend’s uncle is stood totally naked in your bedroom, his cum is leaking onto your sheets, and he doesn’t even know where your sink is.

You laugh, collapsing onto your front and hysterically giggling as he stands there confusedly. “Something funny?”

“No, no-“ you wheeze, wiping tears from your eyes, “not at all, actually.”

It isn’t raining when you arrive at the school- in fact, it’s even more sunny than it was earlier, big strips of light illuminating the flowers around your feet as you wait. You aren’t alone, as usual- Sukuna stands beside you, waiting too; but this time, your hands aren’t empty.

Instead of waiting outstretched for Nobara’s backpack, your hand rests cosily in his; fingers tangled together like they’ve been used to it for years, Sukuna’s thumb brushing comfortingly over your knuckles.

“They’re staring.” You whisper, anxiously eyeing up the gaggle of bored parents around you, some curiously peering at your hands.

“Ignore it.” Sukuna replies, glaring at a woman who looks too long. Her head snaps around immediately, and he grins to himself.

Your hand never leaves his, even when your breaths get nervous and anticipatory as you wait for Nobara to see you. Her shoes are soft when they land on the gravel below, her face plastered with a huge smile.

“Mom!” She yells, walking over to you, “it was so fun, Megumi and Yuji were right, but I didn’t like the frogs- why are you holding hands?” She squints at your fingers braided with Sukuna’s at her eye level.

“Well-“

“Uncle Kuna!” Yuji squeals, throwing his arms around Sukuna’s leg in the strongest hug he can muster, “there was bunny rabbits- are you holding hands?”

Two pairs of tiny eyes- three if you count Megumi Fushiguro, who’s been watching the whole time as he waits for his sister with a bored expression on his pink cheeks- travel from you, to Sukuna, to your entwined hands, like they’re slowly figuring something out.

Aside from Megumi, who likes to act like he's figured everything out already.

Yuji gasps loudly enough to turn heads. “Does this mean you’re my auntie? Does this mean he’ll finally stop talking about you to my dad? Does this mean me and Nobara are cousins?”

Nobara stares at you, and you nervously stare back. “Okay. But he-“ she says, pointing a finger at Sukuna, “is still annoying.”

You breathe a sigh of relief at her approval- to you, it means more than anything. “Yeah, he is.” Sukuna’s mouth twitches at the corner. “Do you wanna go home now?”

She nods, grabbing onto your spare hand. As Yuji tugs Sukuna towards the car, yelling something nonsensical about his ‘new favourite auntie’, his fingers slip from yours regretfully.

Two matching heads of pink hair walk away from you, Sukuna struggling as usual to clip Yuji into the car. You giggle.

“Tell me about the trip.” You ask Nobara, clasping your hands together, “what about the bunnies?”

“They were with their mom,” she says thoughtfully, face breaking into a toothy smile, “it looked like us in my baby pictures.”

Your heart tugs. You want to say something, like ‘I love you’ or ‘you’re still a baby to me’, but words die in your throat. You settle for a hug, crouching down to wrap your arms around her as she giggles and squirms in your grip.

From behind her, as he reverses onto the road and Yuji giggles from the backseat, Sukuna waves one-handedly from the steering wheel.

ೃ࿔*:･

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a/n: thank you soooo much for reading! have a lovely week + comments appreciated! <33

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