Avocado Friend

Remember Me

Pokémon Sword & Shield: Leon x OC

Status: Hiatus (I WILL GET BACK TO IT SOON!)

After stripping away your Champion title and freedom in Alola due to your parent’s sacrifice gone awry, you and your younger sister embark on a new life in Galar, the only region untouched by Team Rocket. Amidst all the challenges, you unexpectedly reunite with your long-lost love.

Tags: Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut, Loss of virginity, Romance, Friends to Lovers, Eventual Happy Ending, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Loss of Parent(s), False Identity, shield needs more love, I aint writing y/n lol

Chapter 1 (ao3 ver)

Chapter 2 (ao3 ver)

Chapter 3 (ao3 ver)

Chapter 4 (ao3 ver)

Chapter 5 (ao3 ver)

Chapter 6 (<- on ao3)

Chapter 7 (available on ao3!)

Fractured Bonds

My Hero Academia: Toshinori x Reader x Aizawa

(This is not a poly fic)

Status: ongoing/revamp in progress

For old version, please go to the fractured bonds archived hashtag on this post :)

Once known as All Might’s second sidekick and the younger sister of the late Oboro Shirakumo, you return to U.A. High School as its apprenticed nurse, working under Recovery Girl’s guidance after a five year hiatus from the Pro Hero spotlight.

Old friendships resurface. So does your former high school sweetheart, Shota Aizawa. And the man you were never able to fully define your relationship with, Toshinori Yagi.

In the end, returning to U.A. may not just reopen old wounds. It may determine who you’ll become when everything falls apart.

Tags: Overall Story Tags: Romance, Love Triangles, Friends to Lovers, Opposites Attract, Eventual Smut, POV Second Person, Second Chances, Not Beta Read, Angst, not a poly fic, Porn With Plot, No Use of Y/N for Reader-Insert, Fluff, Boss/Employee Relationship, Age Difference, Reader Has a Healing Quirk

Chapter 1 (ao3) behind the writing

Year Two:

The moon hung low in the sky, bathing the quiet, empty streets of Musutafu as the snow falls slowly to the ground.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Kitsune’s just having fun in the snow. I can send pictures if you want.”

“You sure?” Oboro’s voice crackled softly through the phone, below your earmuffs, pressed against your ear. “I don’t mind coming to get you with my cloud.”

“No, stay there,” you reassured him with a small laugh, waving toward Kitsune after she launched herself headfirst into a mound of snow. Only the tips of her ears poked out, twitching mischievously before she finally peeked her head free. “I’m almost home anyway.”

A loud yawn echoed through the speaker.

“Alright, fine,” Oboro muttered. “But my ringer’s staying on, so call me if anything happens.”

“I will.”

A quiet exchange of “love you” followed on both ends before the call disconnected, leaving a familiar warmth lingering in your chest even after the screen went dark.

You slipped your phone back into the pocket of your coat before motioning Kitsune to keep moving. After several failed attempts and one promise involving sweets tomorrow, she finally agreed, trotting ahead through the snow while you resumed the walk home.

Your thoughts wandered again to Recovery Girl’s office.

To nursing.

To the guilt in your stomach whenever you imagined leaving the hero course behind entirely.

The snow crunched softly beneath your boots as you absentmindedly kicked a small clump of snow down the dim alleyway, Kitsune continuing padding ahead of you without complaint.

Then suddenly, she stopped.

Her ears shot upright before turning swiftly to the right.

Before you could react, a violent tug pulled sharply at your chest. “Kitsune, come on,” you sighed, teleporting beside her in a scatter of spectral petals. “We can’t just keep stopping every—”

Your voice died instantly. Your breath vanished with it.

There, slumped against the snow beneath the dim overhead light, was a boy.

Dark wavy hair clung damply against pale skin. His school shirt had been discarded somewhere across him, crumpled in the snow as though he had ripped it off without thinking. Frost clung to the ends of his hair and lashes. His breathing was so shallow it barely looked like he was moving.

Your stomach twisted at the sight of him.

Shota…

“Shota!”

Your body moved before your mind caught up. You dropped hard to your knees beside him while Kitsune whined, nudging against him until his body tipped weakly forward.

You caught him before he could collapse face first into the snow, his weight sagged heavily against you.

You gently leaned him onto the wall, pushing his damp hair away from his face with shaking hands, only for your heart to drop even further at the sight of his lips tinged blue.

No.

No no no…

Your hand fumbled into your coat pocket as you yanked out your phone and unlocked it with trembling fingers. Emergency call. Three numbers.

But before you could press it, the phone slipped from your grasp.

Shota slumped against you, his forehead dropping weakly against your shoulder.

“…Don’t go.”

The words were barely audible, strained and broken from the cold.

Warmth immediately surged through your palms…

But you stopped yourself.

Recovery Girl’s voice echoed through your mind.

“You only warm the core first,” she had instructed earlier that evening. “Neck, chest, and abdomen.”

You remembered nodding along while writing the notes down.

“Because the last thing you want,” she warned, “is to send a hypothermic patient into cardiac arrest.”

Your hands immediately moved to his neck, warmth glowing against his frozen skin before trailing down to his chest and abdomen, exactly where Recovery Girl had told you to focus.

Your mind raced back to the forest. The way he pushed you away, saying he was distracted whenever he was around you.

Back then, it felt cold, almost cruel.

Now, kneeling here with his barely conscious body trembling against yours, you finally understood.

He had never been trying to hurt you.

He had been trying to leave before you could see how badly he was falling apart.

You thought about the boy you met in the rain. The one who always hesitated before accepting kindness, as if he expected it to disappear the moment he reached for it.

The boy who quietly convinced himself he was not worth staying for.

Your breath caught when his chest finally rose again, uneven but visible this time.

“Shota?” you whispered.

Carefully, you pulled him back just enough to look at him properly. Relief nearly made you dizzy when the purple tint faded from his lips, though his body still hung limp in your arms, unconscious and exhausted.

You eased him into your lap before hurriedly shrugging off everything you could. Your coat. Scarf. Gloves from your coat pocket. Even the earmuffs tangled in your hair. Kitsune appeared beside you at once, whining softly as she helped nudge the layers over him.

The moment you zipped your coat around his frame, another awful realization settled in your chest.

He was thinner than before, it shouldn’t have been that easy to zip up your coat on him considering the difference in height.

You reached for his discarded shirt and backpack, needing to put everything away until he woke up.

But his parents needed to know.

Guilt twisted in your stomach as you unzipped the bag, forcing yourself to remember this was an emergency. Shota would understand later.

At least, you hoped he would.

But the moment the bag opened, your hands stilled.

No phone. No wallet. No emergency contact card.

Only worn clothes, school supplies, eye drops, and belongings packed hastily.

Then your eyes landed on something familiar.

A bright pattern.

Your umbrella.

And beneath it, folded carefully between his notebooks, was the pink note you had given him months ago.

The edges were softened with wear, like he had handled it countless times.

Your chest tightened painfully as your thumb brushed over your own handwriting.

He kept it. He kept all of it.

And somehow, despite that, he still had nothing.

You swallowed hard, quickly stuffing his shirt back into the bag before zipping it shut. When you turned, Kitsune stood beside you holding your phone gently in her mouth.

The screen merely displayed a dead battery symbol.

Of course.

You stared at it for a moment before exhaling shakily.

That decided it.

You shoved the phone back into your backpack and slung it over one shoulder, pulling Shota’s onto the other. Then, gathering every ounce of strength you had left, you carefully lifted him upright and wrapped one of his arms around your shoulders, remembering the rescue training.

And you’d never thought you needed to use it for something like this.

Still, you tightened your grip.

Hopefully he will understand.

Kitsune guided you out of the alley as you partially carried Shota through the snow. The moment you reached the street, she was already waiting at the end of the block.

A pull tugged at your chest.

You blinked, and suddenly you were beside her again.

Before you could steady yourself, Kitsune bolted toward the next block, forcing you to teleport after her once more. You had never been more grateful for her presence than you were now.

With Kitsune leading the way, home was finally only a block away.

Except now you were the one shivering.

Your gloves and coat wrapped around Shota instead, and the cold had finally started to sink beneath your skin. Kitsune, thankfully, barely seemed affected by it at all.

The moment your house came into view, though, your steps faltered.

The security camera.

Your parents were away on a business trip, leaving you and Oboro alone for the entire winter break. Before leaving, they installed cameras around the property.

You were already late getting home. Your phone was dead. By now, there were probably several missed calls waiting for you.

And somehow, that felt like the least important problem right now.

You glanced down when you felt a weight against your shoulder.

The hood had slipped, exposing familiar dark waves of hair as Shota’s head rested weakly against the side of your neck. Your coat could only hold so much warmth.

Wait…

The side gate.

You looked up just in time to see Kitsune trotting toward the side of the house, careful to stay beyond the camera’s range before slipping through the gate.

The side connected directly beneath your bedroom window.

You blinked again, trying to follow her pull, but the distance was farther than you were used to.

The moment you teleported, your knees buckled.

You crashed into the snow with Shota collapsing against you, the impact knocking the breath from your lungs.

No…Not now…

You only needed one more jump.

“Kitsune…” Your voice came out strained as you forced yourself upright. “I need you to get to my room.”

She was still recovering too, her form flickering weakly in the snow.

“Kitsune, please,” you whispered, pointing shakily upward. “Use the fire escape. Get through the window.”

Kitsune stared at you before glancing toward Shota in your arms. Then, gathering what little strength she had left, she leapt upward onto the metal fire escape above you and vanished through your bedroom window.

The pull returned, and warmth slammed into you as you stumbled into your bedroom, barely managing to steady yourself before lowering Shota carefully onto the floor along with your backpacks. Kitsune dissolved back into your body the second you arrived, exhausted from the strain.

But there was no time to rest.

You moved through your room frantically, running on pure adrenaline as you yanked blankets from your closet and piled them onto the bed. Then you hurried back to him.

Shota remained limp and barely conscious as you knelt beside him, quickly removing your coat, scarf, gloves, and earmuffs from where you had bundled him up outside.

Then you stopped.

His pants were still soaked through.

Your stomach twisted at the thought of how long he must have endured the cold like this. If the wet fabric stayed on him any longer, it would continue draining whatever heat his body had left.

Which meant you had no choice.

You squeezed your eyes shut, apologizing under your breath in frantic whispers while your trembling hands worked quickly. You fumbled with the button of his slacks before pulling the soaked fabric down his legs, only to curse softly when you realized you had forgotten about his shoes and socks.

The loafers were ruined beyond saving, waterlogged so badly they practically dripped onto the floor.

Even through the panic, part of you noticed how light he felt when you finally managed to lift him properly onto the bed.

Still, you pushed the thought away and wrapped him tightly beneath layers of blankets instead, tucking them securely around him before dragging your desk chair over beside the bed.

The chair was backward when you dropped into it, your arms folded over the top rail as exhaustion finally began catching up to you.

And only then, sitting there in silence did the reality finally click in.

Shota would’ve died out there.

——————————————————————

Shota hated your smile.

He hated your eyes.

He hated your voice.

To be specific, he hated the way your smiles never reached your eyes the way they used to.

He hated the shine gathering in your eyes whenever you tried too hard not to cry.

He hated the faint crease between your brows that made his fingers itch to smooth it away again.

And he especially hated the broken “okay” you whispered before leaving him alone in the forest.

Because the moment you walked away, he wanted to take every word back.

Every lie.

If anything, seeing you had become the only part of his mornings he looked forward to anymore. The only thing that made the endless repetition of each exhausting day feel bearable.

But he couldn’t voice any of that.

And fortunately, Oboro never questioned the sudden distance between the two of you. If anything, he and Hizashi seemed relieved for him to fill the space Nemuri had left after she began spending more time with you instead.

Still, it did not take long for them to notice something else.

The lack of sleep.

The skipped meals.

The way Shota pushed himself during training until his hands bled through the wraps.

There were times Oboro and Hizashi physically attempted to drag him over to where you stood just so you could heal him before the injuries worsened, only for Shota to pull away before they could move him a proper inch closer to you. Other times, he hid it entirely, covering bruises and cuts himself rather than risk you noticing.

Hizashi tried speaking to him alone once.

The seriousness in his voice unsettled Shota more than the yelling ever could. He was used to Hizashi being loud, energetic, impossible to take seriously.

Shota brushed him off anyway.

Oboro tried too.

Shota still remembered the hesitant look on his face when he finally asked if it had something to do with what he said on your shared birthday.

“You asked me if I liked her,” Shota answered quietly.

Even now, he remembered how clammy his hands felt.

How he stared downward because he couldn’t bring himself to look Oboro in the eyes. Instead, his gaze fixed somewhere between his brows, the same trick he had used with you in the forest just to force the lie out without breaking.

“You made me realize I didn’t,” he continued, ignoring the bitterness filling his mouth, “I didn’t want to get her hopes up.”

Oboro had gone quiet for a moment before humming in acknowledgment, thanking him for being honest.

Honest.

The word almost made Shota sick.

Lying was nothing new to him. He’d done it for years, twisting half truths into whatever he needed to survive another day.

But this was different.

This lie had nothing to do with survival.

If anything, it was destroying him slowly.

Shota would still catch himself glancing your way during training. Tiny glances. Small enough to avoid attention.

But every time he looked, Nemuri would already be glaring daggers at him from across the field, forcing him to look away before he could get caught staring too long. Most of the time, he didn't even realize he was watching you until she reacted.

Habit, he supposed.

Still, he wouldn’t have blamed you if you had told her everything.

If you called him a liar, a loser, an asshole.

A nobody.

Someone that’ll be easy to forget.

And maybe that was for the best.

So the distance remained.

Though, he did remember Oboro mentioning one afternoon that Kitsune had stopped wanting sweets lately, sounding genuinely worried because apparently that never happened before.

And he remembered watching you continue healing classmates even when they were rude to you, smiling politely while exhaustion showed beneath your eyes. It was concerning that even Oboro eventually told you that you were overdoing it.

Shota wished he could’ve said the same.

Wished he could have told you to stop running yourself into the ground for people who barely noticed.

Wished he could have asked whether you were sleeping enough, whether you were eating properly, whether the smile you kept forcing had started hurting yet.

Wished he could have stayed beside you long enough to make sure you were okay.

But he had given up that right the moment he pushed you away.

If only he had been born into different circumstances. If only he had someone he could run to for answers about all of this.

About you.

About whatever this feeling was that tightened painfully in his chest every time he looked at you.

Then came warmth. Familiar warmth.

He thought at first he was hallucinating again.

A figure surrounded by petals held him, eyes and hair glowing so brightly as if the snow itself manifested into an otherworldly being, barely looking human at all.

Something far too pure to belong in a world like his.

He remembered her beginning to pull away.

And with the last scraps of strength he had left, he begged her not to go.

The scent of flowers clung to her so strongly now.

Why?

Had the snow finally taken pity on him?

Had it decided to end his miserable life peacefully instead?

Slowly, painfully, Shota forced his eyes open.

Warm stars greeted him overhead.

Not the blinding star from before.

These were dimmer, scattered across the ceiling.

His gaze drifted sluggishly around the room.

Pink filled his vision immediately.

Pink curtains draped around the bed like a canopy. Posters lined the walls beside shelves crowded with figurines and plushies, all matching the same soft aesthetic. Bookshelves overflowed with novels, stacked so tightly together that some leaned sideways to fit.

Shota never cared much for religion or gods, but he was fairly certain no afterlife anyone described looked remotely like this.

It felt less like heaven and more like he had somehow woken up inside another universe entirely.

Only then did he glance down, only to find blankets buried him nearly to his chin.

Too many blankets.

He pulled at them carefully, peeling them away one at a time until he paused at one that clearly did not belong with the others.

A grey blanket covered in black cartoon cats with blue collars around their necks.

He recognized the character vaguely from store displays he passed often, usually noticing how quickly the merchandise sold out except those cats in particular.

Before he could dwell on it further, he pushed the blanket aside.

Then froze.

He was only in his boxers. His eyes widened immediately.

A glow flickered suddenly in the corner of his vision.

Shota whipped his head sideways so fast he nearly collided with a glowing snout inches from his face.

A fox.

Kitsune.

The spirit blinked at him.

He immediately jerked toward the opposite side of the bed, only to freeze again at the familiar sight slumped beside him.

Familiar colored hair.

School uniform.

You.

Your head rested awkwardly against the back of a chair shoved beside the bed, your breathing slow and even as exhaustion kept you asleep.

His thoughts stalled as he sat up fully this time, taking in the room around him again.

The pink curtains. The books. The fairy lights overhead.

This was not a hospital. Not a shelter. And certainly not some stranger’s apartment.

This was your room.

And he had to leave. Now.

Careful not to wake you, Shota slowly lifted Kitsune’s paw from where it rested against his chest. The spirit let out a small huff of protest but allowed him to move her, glowing eyes watching him carefully.

But the second his feet touched the floor, dizziness slammed into him hard enough to make the room tilt.

He barely made it two steps before stumbling.

The impact jarred something deep in his stomach.

A sharp wave of nausea rose violently into his throat.

Shota sucked in a shaky breath, clapping a hand over his mouth as he fought it back.

Kitsune was already waiting beside a partially open door.

He rushed toward it immediately, barely registering the fox slipping through the door before he shoved the door open himself. Her glow lit the bathroom just enough for him to find the toilet, fumbling with the seat before dropping to his knees.

His stomach emptied painfully.

At that point, he could not bring himself to care whether you heard him or not.

If you hated him after this, he would understand.

If you yelled at him, kicked him out, looked at him with disgust…

He would deserve it.

So he didn’t understand the sudden warmth brushing against the back of his neck.

Gentle fingers gathered his hair away from his face, holding it back carefully while he tried to steady his breathing.

Once the nausea finally eased, he flushed quickly and reached for toilet paper to wipe at his mouth.

Then paused.

His eyes lifted slowly.

The bathroom was dark except for Kitsune’s glow curled beside the doorway, yet somehow a napkin had appeared beside him.

He took it before he squinted.

And there you kneeled, right beside him.

Your expression looked painfully worried, hands clasped tightly together like you didn’t know what to do with them.

Your voice was awfully quiet despite the silence, he had to strain himself to hear you.

Like it was meeting you in the rain for the first time all over again.

“Everything you need is in this drawer,” you murmured, pointing at the cabinets beneath the sink.

Then toward the shelves above the toilet.

“There’s soap and towels there.”

You hesitated before pointing toward yourself.

“I’ll get clothes… and something to eat and drink.”

Finally, you pointed back to him.

“You don’t have to say anything, but please…” Your lips pressed together tightly as you looked away, voice wavering near the end. “Don’t leave yet…”

Something in his chest twisted painfully at the falter in your voice.

For once, Shota had nothing to say.

You disappeared quietly with Kitsune trailing behind you, leaving him alone in your bathroom.

And despite the shame clawing at him, despite the humiliation of you seeing his life laid bare like this…

You looked worried.

Not disgusted, nor judgmental.

Shota lowered his head slowly, staring at the floor tiles beneath him.

Just for tonight.

He would stay just for tonight.

And then he would disappear for good.

————————————————————————

Please don’t forget to like before heading towards the next parts! 🥲

Part Four (Year Two) || Behind the Writing (Part 3,4,& 5) || Masterlist || AO3

“got outta the gym late. lost track of time,” he walks two steps to the kitchen pulling out two energy drinks, a protein drink, and a couple protein bars. “fuck,” he cups his crotch, palming himself through his low hanging sweats. he opens his shake. “accidentally swiped on that video ya’ sent me from the summer. I watched the whole thing between my sets.” his hand tips back, throat bopping as he chugs the shake, eyes closing as he sees the video play back in his mind, hand still on his bulge.

you’re leaning against the column between your smaller than small living room and kitchen, eyeing the way he’s shamelessly groping himself in front of you, men. you sigh, internally.

“hey,” he suddenly appears in front of you, towering. his musky scent fills your nose as he cups your neck, the other resting on your hip. he slowly lowers himself, tilting your chin up with a thumb as his lips connect with yours again. “haah,” he sighs, kissing your lips like it’s his saving grace, his sweats hang low on his hips as he presses himself against you. “remember that video?” he husks, “the one with ya’ spreading your legs out for the camera—“

you gently press a hand to his chest again, cheeks flushed, but stomach churning uncomfortably. “ryo—“

“wanna see this pussy,” he doesn’t even hesitate, he drops his head to your neck, kissing the exposed skin before dropping to a knee, hands on your hips. “wanna smell how good she is—“

“ryo,” you press a hand to his forehead, face aflame, as you push him back. your heart hammers as he frowns up at you, jaw tight and hands tightening around your waist. “I got my period yesterday.”

….

a silent beat passes.

then.

FUCK!

sukuna is horrible at controlling his face.

you immediately notice his dilated pupils dissipate, and the excitement die behind his eyes. your lips purse, making a my bad king type of face. but sukuna looks absolutely destroyed, his head drops forward, desperately trying to control his eye roll, but you catch it , along with the way he presses his face into your stomach, and groans. loud. uncontrolled.

“sorry…I forgot to text you, and you came all the way here,” you pat his shoulder apologetically, though you’re not super sympathetic since it’s not your fault.

“ya’ have cramps or some shit?” he grumbles against your sleep shirt.

“had crazy cramps this morning, but just like…not in the mood right now,” you cringe while saying it, but sukuna just sighs.

you bite your cheek as you watch him sit back on his heels. his black sweats straining against his thighs, his bulge shameless as it presses up against the material. your eyes flick over him again, wetting your lip as you reach for his hair. hesitant. but eventually…your manicured nails run through the slightly damp, salmon colored hair. you watch in silent awe as his lashes weigh down, and his jaw tightens like he’s holding himself back. your nails scratch his scalp, lightly, but enough to elect a raw groan from the back of his throat.

you bite your lip, eyeing the dark flush crawling up his neck, and dusting his cheeks a light pink. his large palm rests on your outer thigh and the other flexing as it grips his erection. how far will he—

“not cumming in my fucking sweats,” he suddenly barks, getting to his feet. your hand drops as he walks towards the bathroom, pulling his shirt over his head, he kicks the door shut behind him.

your lips purse again, biting your cheek as you hear the shower turn on. men.

that was how sukuna dealt with his fuck buddy being on her period. somehow always finding out last minute that you’re bleeding, and in no mood for action — except for those very rare occasions, well he can’t divulge too much now since you never want him to mention it again — and he’s forced to take care of his problem in your shower. his rough calloused palm — a contrast from your soft smaller ones — jerks his painfully hard throbbing cock to the images of you floating in his mind until he’s finally shooting his thick white load all over your shower wall. haze clearing up as he watches the cum slide down. and then he’ll step out of the bathroom, usually wearing a pair of sweats he’d forgotten here, along with a plain black tee, and crash on the couch as you do your homework. he’ll eye you a bit, but eventually shift his attention to the tv and knockout.

it would be difficult for those five to seven days, especially when you would be slightly more clipped with him, or just plain bitchy and short tempered (like him). but it’d get him all hot and bothered, especially since he can’t act on it.

that was sukuna’s perception of a woman’s cycle. before he never cared, now he cares just a little more because he can’t have sex with you when you’re on your period.

but as smart as sukuna is, it takes a little more brain power for him to realize what this is.

this being, how he’s wound up because he’s trying to get through this studying for an upcoming exam. he’s far from prepared for and the best way for him to study is to be around someone who takes it seriously— you. and yet…

you won’t stop moving!

at first you were sitting across from him in the library. then you shift to the seat at corner of the table, and then you move to sit directly beside him.

“you need help?” he suddenly cuts. you’re shifting beside him stops, brows pulled in confusion.

“was just uncomfortable, am i disturbing you?”

his brow twitches, but you were completely innocent. your brow pulled up, like he’s the crazy one, and not you, who’s moved around like ten times in the last hour!!

“just a little,” he mutters, putting his headphones back on and turning back to his work. luckily, you seem to have settled down, attention back on your own studies. engrossed in your review sheets and notes, as sukuna reviews for his own exam.

however, what the fratboy did notice was even when shoko stopped bye to chat, and utahime came to whisper some gossip to you between her class, you didn’t move once. his brow quirked briefly when utahime chatted across the table, and instead of getting up and going to the hallway to talk freely, you remain seated, right beside him, and right against him.

what’s going on?

“I swear I told the girl I didn’t even know who she was talking about it—but she didn’t even care. girl! I wasn’t talking to your ex,” utahime rambles in hushed whispers, similar to the whispered conversations at other tables.

your brows furrow in shock, “what the hell?? why the heck is she even confronting you in the middle of class though? that’s so weird.”

“that’s what I’m sayinggg!!!”

sukuna has every reason to snap at you both right now. to tell you two to shut the fuck up or go outside. seriously, it was distracting as fuck. but his mind was short circuiting and stumbling around all because of how fucking close you are to him.

his arms are leaning over the table, biceps bulging from his tshirt, scribbling practice equations and notes. and you’re leaning over in an identical position, but your side is fully pressed against his arm. your zip up hoodie resting around your hips after you’d shrugged it off, and your usual cold skin was searing hot against his. skin to skin. and it’s been like that for the past twenty minutes.

usually when your friends stop by to ramble, you have the courtesy to step away so he can study. but not this time— well you did a similar thing a month ago too. sticking to him like glue. brushing your fingers over the veins of his forearm—

“okay, I’ll update you later, but thanks for letting me borrow your airpods!” utahime concludes her rant with finally returning your airpods and running off to her next class. sukuna lets out an air of relief, relaxing beside you.

finally, some peace and quiet in the library.

…shift…

well, it could only last so long.

his brows furrow as he glances over at you, your cheek is now resting on his arm, mindlessly reading your notes like this is normal. is it because he’s finally anxious about an exam after so long, that he’s noticing how touchy you’re being? or maybe you’re not in the mood to do your work and in the mood for something else—

tch, he doesn’t have time to find some room to fuck you in though. it’s the middle of the day and the library is packed. the last thing you’d want is for someone to see you both. however, he can’t even tell if you want any action right now. it just looks like you’re tired…and clingy…?

sukuna exhales, thumb pressing against his jaw in thought, while you shift again, oblivious to his internal turmoil, cheek smushed against his arm…

“you hungry?” he interrupts, desperate for his mind to quiet down.

“not really,” you mutter, focused on your homework.

his lips downturn, pen tapping the desk, “I’m gonna grab another celsius.” he suddenly stands, startling you for a moment, noticing the way your pretty lashes blink in surprise. you’re definitely just focused on school…but last month you were acting the same-ish…if he’s right, then when he comes back…you’ll…

he places a celsius in front of you, eyes flicking over you as he sips his drink. you hum in distracted appreciation, like you can’t even see him sliding back into his seat, legs spread, and arms coming up back to the table to grab his pen. but like glue, you’re sliding yourself right beside him, pressing your cheek to his shoulder, and taking a subtle inhale.

what the hell?!? it’s like he can predict you’re every move now?!

it doesn’t stop there. the puzzle pieces are starting to come together slowly. especially when you subtly kept a grip on his arm muttering how he can finish studying at your place, without the distraction of the frat—which you rarely pressure him to do a night before an exam. except instead of going straight to the bathroom to shower, you followed him to your couch and sat beside him.

“do you mind if I turn on the tv?” you ask with such an unnerving amount of gentleness, glancing at him with your full undivided attention.

his brow quirks, why’re you looking at him like that? “it’s your place, woman.”

you hum, relaxing back, albeit pressed to his side and your knees tucked up, as he leans over on the coffee table (aka your only desk in your small ass apartment) reviewing more work. but just moments later he’s sliding to the floor for more comfortability—

“why’d you move?” your voice cuts through the quiet apartment.

“huh?”

sukuna glances back, brow quirked with confusion at the frown you’re wearing. “leaning over is fucking with my back,” he tsks, earning him an uncharacteristically quick attitude switch from you — your eyes roll, your entire body slumps further back on the couch that you’re basically laying across it, and your cute bottom lip juts out in an irritated, subtle pout. seriously? sukuna scoffs internally. you’re acting like such a brat??? for real this time.

your cheeks press against the cushion. your hypnotizing eyes flick between his, then eventually settle on his lips. they’re slightly chapped, pink…pretty…kissable…

“ya need something?” he snaps without any bite. you’re zoning out again. your eyes drift off, and your lips part lost in thought. “zoning out—“ are the words you hear before you feel an aggressive (light in his mind) flick to your forehead. “again!”

“ow!” you groan loud, face quickly turning and pressing into the cushion in annoyance. “what the hell!” your muffled yell barely comes out.

“what the hell me?” he tsks, rough hand landing on your head, and turning your face back for air. “I was talking and you did that shit again—“

“what thing?!” you scoff, brows pinched in anger as you stare into his eyes….his deep…dark…lidded…crimson eyes…..haah—

“that,” he exhales, hand softening on your temple, and irritation slipping away with your usual antics. “how do you even zone out that fast?”

your glossy lips part, manicured nail brushing your bottom lip, heat pooling between your legs, and eyes half lidded… “was thinking about your eyes.”

the softness of your tone was more shocking than the actual words that came out of your mouth. or it’s the combination of both. or the bluntness of your gentle honey sweet voice that took sukuna by surprise…

but he blinked.

“first it was your lips,” you whisper with a breathless sigh. your finger carefully reaching out and touching his lips. you mimic the way he parts his lips with your own. his thick brows creating a shadow over his lidded eyes. “then your eyes.” you explain with such clarity, it had sukuna short circuiting as he tries to rationalize why you’re acting this way—

“that’s why i zoned out,” you conclude, shifting closer to the edge of the couch, closer to him. your eyes dot up at him, brushing his bottom lip, pulling it down with a thumb. “you distract me sometimes.” you’re tired…it was a long day of classes and it was the middle of the week. that has to be the reason, sukuna thinks.

by now, he knows that look.

you wanna fuck.

“Mmm,” you whine the moment he presses his lips to yours. your tongue immediately finding his as your nails course through his hair. tugging. “make me cum, ryo.”

he snorts in your mouth, rough hand pushing your shirt up, thumbing your bra before hooking his thumb under and lifting up. “should’ve just told me ya want your pussy wet—“

“it’s already wet,” you cut, “been wet all day.”

shiit, he groans into your lips, pushing his hand down, past your waistband. “fucking slut.” a breathy gasp slips out as he cups your wet sticky pussy. “fucking drenched, dirty brat.” his teeth sink into your bottom lip as you whine louder, unaware how sukuna’s neck is unbelievably red. why do you taste sweeter?

“Mmm lift your hips up,” he husks. you don’t get the chance to react when he’s suddenly yanking your pants and drenched panties off. “spread ‘em.”

your tongue pokes your bottom lip, opening your legs for your fuck buddy. his huge palms press against your thighs, grabbing fistfuls and licking his bottom lip as your sticky pussy comes into view. his pupils dilate as he watches your hole twitch. and your scent immediately hits his nose. “you’re gonna taste so good today.” he mutters to himself, but your brow lifts.

“what’s different about today?”

he leans forward, eyes flicking up as he exhales. is he drunk? his eyes roll back, cock throbbing in his pants and he inhales again—fuuck, you smell so much sweeter, “nothin.” his tongue shuts you right up as he licks a long wet lewd strip up your folds. your back immediately arches off the couch, nails digging into his scalp as his beefy arms lock around your thighs, moaning. your sweet honey floods his taste buds…this pussy has always hypnotized him, aroma consuming him and taste intoxicating him…but now that he thinks about…this small little difference in taste and scent, a bit sweeter, happened last month—

“ryo—haah ah mmh ya like my pussy?” your eyes flutter as you keep them on sukuna’s flushed face.

his eyes roll back, completely falling apart between your thighs as he groans a deep husky, “fuck yeah.”

your stomach burns hot at his voice, and voice pitching higher as his tongue delves inside your hole. “haaaah—your mouth is so good, baby—ngh been wet all day,” you confess in your pleasure. “was staring at your hands all day, ryo—they’re so big…l-like your di—ahh—“ fuck you’re talking a lot, sukuna groans, annoyed how worked up your voice is getting him.

his tongue laps and sucks, his salvia creating an even bigger mess. he pulls away, cheeks dusted a deep red as he spits directly onto your puffy clit, pupils dilating as he spreads the mess all over your swollen clit. “these hands,” he runs his calloused palm over your lower stomach. your pupils grow black with lust. pupils blown as you stare at the way his hand encompasses the entire surface. his crimson irises dilate once he sees the lust all over your face. “want them inside ya?”

you nod, immediately.

he doesn’t wait.

two long, thick fingers push past the initial tightness, feeling the gummy walls of your pussy hug his digits with delight. your jaw falls slack, drool slipping as he leans down to plant wet kisses along your lower stomach, forearms and biceps flexing as he pistons his fingers in n out. the squelching fills his ears as you moan above him.

“ngh! fuh ryo, feels good, kiss—kiss me down there—“ you push his head down until his lips connect with your clit again, sucking. rough. mean. teeth sinking just hard enough to make your eyes water and a choked cry slip your lips. “ryo,” you mewl with such lewd sweetness that this huge 6’5 hunk is practically moaning in response. “ry—my pussy—ahh gun —mmm c-close—gun cum—“

but sukuna has already lost all sanity with how good your slick tastes. his eyes roll back pushing you over the edge. “mmm fuck!” you cry, lashes wet as they flutter from the pleasure coursing out of you. his throat bops swallowing and lapping your sweet slick like it’s a drug — which it might as well be with the way his cock is throbbing in his boxers just from eating his fuck buddy’s sweet pussy. “taste like fucking honey,” he groans, cleaning you up like a dog. he pants, catching his breath as he climbs up to your lips like a starved animal. he smashes his lips against you, kissing your spit slicked lips with a loud groan. how do your lips taste sweet too?

“gonna be a good brat and let me fuck this tight pussy?” He grunts, unbuckling his belt and pushing his jeans down along with his boxers, freeing his painfully erect cock.

your tongues collide, dumb whine coming from the back of your throat, and hands running up and locking around his neck. “f’course.”

fucking you rough and fast on the couch as you babbled like a dumb slut, drunk on his cock, had him seeing stars. he was desperately trying to figure out how you're handling him with how uncharacteristically rough he’s being, but you haven’t told him to stop.

"ry—aa-haah!"

shit. he'd flipped you onto your stomach, grabbing your hips , ass in the air as he slams his thick throbbing cock in from behind. his rough palm is pressed into your lower back keeping you in that deep arch he loves, and hand cracking the nth spank to your sore ass. "feel good?"

"so good ryo—wanna cum again -cum-ngh haah please please-"

unbelievable.

and it’s not until he’s panting on the couch, your limp body resting across it, completely and utterly spent, does he realize just how rough he was being. his jaw tenses, as the fog clears up.

“hey…” his voice treads lightly, cautious as he turns on the couch, glancing at your resting form. your shirt covers your breasts after he finally came and let you lay back on the couch. but his spend leaks out of your abused hole, and your ass is still burning from his mean spanks. “hey…” he leans over you, hand brushing your waist. grounding. “you okay?”

he watches carefully as you turn on your side, eyes heavy as you blink up at him. “yeah…you okay?”

“you okay with how we fucked?”

you don’t blink, “yeah.”

yeah, somethings up. he was rough, even he knows that much. and you took it well. more than well, you were begging for me.

all of those should’ve been signs. the closeness, the slight sweetness spike in your slick and saliva. how unbelievably heavenly you smell, all the time. how you didn’t mind how rough he was. but the cherry on top was the party friday.

the frat is lit up like a damn fever dream. neon strips line the railings, glow paint smeared across walls and skin, bass from the dj bleeding through the floors as the pool outside shimmers under colored lights. it’s packed, but not suffocating. invite-only for once. people actually have room to breathe, but it was mainly because they didn’t want any complaints so early in the semester.

sukuna is sat back on the patio couch, shirtless, skin still damp from the heat, a thin sheen of sweat catching the lights every time he moves, tattoos flexing over his well defined muscles. gojo was loud beside him, geto half-listening while scrolling on his phone, a couple other guys scattered around with some girls mingling between them. but sukuna isn’t paying attention to any of it.

he has a drink in his hand, untouched. his eyes keep drifting. back to you. somewhere near the edge of the pool, laughing at something utahime is saying, glowing under the neon lights. your bikini hugged your tits so well he’d pop a boner if he stares too hard. the droplets run down your soft skin, as he sees you fix your necklace as you say something to your friend.

he clicks his tongue, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “you ever notice they act different sometimes?” he mutters, low enough that it doesn’t carry past the music.

nanami, sitting beside him in swim shorts, thick legs spread open for all to eye and an open button up putting his defined abs on full display, along with the sneaky patch of blonde hair peaking out of his waistband, doesn’t even look up from his phone. “that’s a very broad statement.”

sukuna exhales through his nose. “nah, like—” he pauses, frowning slightly, like he’s trying to piece a puzzle together. “it’s not random.”

nanami studies him for a second, then follows his line of sight, and finds you immediately. is he starting to realize his feelings for you?— “not random how?”

sukuna tilts his head, “just… different. clingier. or—” he gestures vaguely with his drink. “more into it.”

nanami raises a brow. “into what.”

sukuna gives him a look like don’t be fucking stupid.

nanami hums, finally catching on, taking a slow sip. “you’re asking if there’s a pattern to women’s behavior.”

“i’m saying there is one,” sukuna mutters aggressively. “i just don’t know what the hell it is.”

“you know,” nanami says calmly, “they have cycles.”

there’s a beat. then sukuna leans back, jaw ticking slightly, still watching you. “yeah I fucking know that,” he mutters. “It’s annoying.”

nanami glances at him again, lost. “what is.”

sukuna doesn’t answer right away. just takes another sip, eyes narrowing faintly. “the way it’s not consistent.”

nanami huffs quietly, amused now . “if you’re starting to notice now then it is consistent.”

sukuna side-eyes him. nanami is no better than gojo or geto, he’s just more subtle about his innuendos. “I’m not noticing shit—“

nanami shrugs, setting his glass down. unaware that gojo and geto have agreed on teams.

“okay! water volleyball!” gojo’s voice cuts clean through the bass, already halfway to the pool as he grins like he’s been waiting for this all night. a cheer ripples through the patio. of course it does. a house full of athletes, half-naked, girls in bikinis, a competition handed to them on a silver platter? yeah, they’re moving before the rules are even explained.

geto stretches his arms above his head as he stands, “hey,” he shouts loud enough for the frat president t to hear him, “try not to break anyone’s teeth this time!”

gojo laughs, already hopping to his side of the pool because obviously he’s one of the captains. “no promises.”

sukuna’s already up, taking the second captain title and just like that — whatever train of thought he was stuck on snaps clean in half. gone. replaced with something sharper, more familiar. his shoulders roll once, loose, eyes narrowing as he sizes up the space, the people already splitting into sides. his team or gojo’s team. they’re always on opposite teams. it makes it more fun.

“don’t get in my way,” he tosses to gojo as he steps around to his end of the pool, his hand brushing his stomach as he cracks his neck.

“you wish,” gojo shoots back.

people start gathering, some hanging back to watch, others eager, slipping into the water, calling out sides, laughing as they pick teams. a younger pledge scrambles to the middle, already trying to take control after geto shoves him in, to the play referee, whistle in hand like this is some official match.

and of course, even as chaos takes over the yard. your eyes find him. instinctive, something in you locks in and refuses to look anywhere else.

sukuna stands at the edge, skin still glistening under the neon, muscles flexing lazily as he stretches his arm over his head. his back, his shoulders, the deep v- line that has your eyes following down to the tuft of light hair peaking out waistband. the same one you always find yourself caressing during foreplay— it’s too much. it’s always too much, but tonight it sits heavier in your chest, lower in your stomach, something warm and insistent that doesn’t let up between your legs.

your clit throbs.

“wait—” utahime grabs your wrist, staring at you like you’ve lost your mind. “you hate this stuff.”

you don’t even look at her. “it’ll be fun,” you murmur, already pulling away. and then you’re moving. slipping from your seat on the edge of the pool and jumping in.

the water hits cool against your skin, a sharp contrast to the heat that’s been building under it. you swim to sukuna’s side, breath catching slightly as you orient yourself to the chaos around you, because normally, usually, a crowded sweaty pool was something you’d avoid, but—he’s already looking at you. your thighs press together.

his eyes are not casual, not passing, he’s looking. his gaze drops first. slow and deliberate, catching the faint mark on your neck, the one he left last night, barely visible under the colored lights. his jaw ticks. then lower, just for a second, the way your body shifts in the water, the ripple of movement as you steady yourself, the rise and fall of your breasts threatening to spill out. the water calmly rocks underneath them. then his gaze shifts back to your face, and you’re still staring at him. you’re not even trying to hide it.

something about that makes his brow twitch.

because you’re not looking away. not when he meets your eyes. not when the noise around you spikes, not when someone splashes too close. your focus stays locked on him—heavy, almost… expectant.

it lingers a second too long. then—

“teams set!” the pledge yells, blowing the whistle way too aggressively. “first to ten wins— oh and no cheap shots—“ he glances around before catching geto lounged on the other side of the pool, some girl already pressed against his arm. “OH! no punches or choking too!”

“shut up and start it,” gojo calls from the other side, already grinning, bouncing lightly in the water.

sukuna doesn’t take his eyes off you for another beat. then he exhales through his nose, turning slightly, shoulders squaring as the ball is tossed into play and he’s in the pool.

the game starts rough. the second the ball is tossed, two guys are already lunging for it. water splashing high, bodies colliding mid-air before someone spikes it hard across the pool. girls move out of the way, squealing as huge men fight. a chorus of shouts erupts from the sidelines, music still blasting behind it, neon lights flickers over wet skin and moving bodies.

gojo, the ever responsible fraternity president, grins like a man possessed on the other side. sukuna, the very responsible vice president, is barking like a mad man.

and of course, the competitive idiots fall into rhythm with each other. fast, aggressive, locked in, and every hit gets harder, a slightly more violent. every return is sharper and people start gathering closer to the edge, phones out, recording, yelling their names like it’s a real match instead of a stupid drunk frat game.

“c’mon, kuna!” someone shouts.

“gojo! spike that shit!”

water slaps against the tile as everything moves fast. bodies move out of the way so they’re not hit by the aggressive spikes from the frat hosts, but they still refuse to leave the pool because it’s fun.

and then the ball comes your way. your eyes widen, barely able to think, so you just react. your hands come up, fingers pushing against it just right, and somehow, you’re sending it up in a clean arc, right to him.

sukuna moves instantly….he jumps, sculpted body cutting through the air, arm pulling back before he slams the ball down with violent force, sending it crashing into gojo’s side of the pool.

a winning point. a cheer explodes. sukuna lands, water dripping down his shoulders, then he glances at you. his canines are on display, as his deep voice cuts through the chaos to say, “good girl.” it’s low, automatic, and it slips out without thought, just like how he’d praise you when you’re alone, and his voice is raspy as he whispers it in your ear, cock usually deep in your guts as he gives you another mean thrust that you take with pride, pussy clamping when he bottoms.

something fast, hot, and dizzying rushes through you. your chest tightens, skin buzzing as your breath stutters for a second. your thighs press together instinctively under the water, pulse kicking up in a way that feels almost overwhelming. and from that moment on, you stick to him. you try to chase the ball for him, pushing it back into his reach every chance you get, doing your best to avoid the large men playing the game. but your focus narrows, locked in on your hot fuck buddy like nothing else exists. every movement feels sharper, more urgent, your body reacting before your brain can catch up.

on the sidelines, people notice. how can they not? most of the girls “playing” cling to the perimeter. and then there’s you, being an idiot, but a very hot one, throwing yourself in the middle. your bikini clings tight from the water, fabric hugging every curve, shifting every time you jump or twist. a few guys on the edge of the pool don’t even bother pretending they’re watching the game anymore. their eyes track you instead, murmurs passing between them. someone whistles when you jump to set the ball, breasts bouncing freely in the flimsy bikini top, your nipples hard underneath as water cascades like some playboy ad.

but sukuna, is too locked in the game to notice.

the first round ends with his team winning, and the second starts almost immediately, louder than before. people are picking sides now, chanting, recording, some still dancing on the grass behind them, focused on the dj, drinks sloshing as the party refuses to slow down around the chaos of the pool’s game.

you’re still right there again when it starts. you doubt you’re even playing anymore, but you want to see him, watch him jump high and spike the ball. watch the ink on his back ripple with his muscles. the same defined lines that you caress at night, and hug—

your attention is so narrowed, that you don’t even notice the guy at first. bodies are moving, all a blur that you don’t focus on another body moving behind you. until it’s too near, too familiar for someone you don’t know. then, a hand brushes your bare side under the water, lingering just a second too long making your blood run cold.

your eyes snap wide. “what the fuck!” you twist instantly, shoving him off hard, water splashing between you as your stomach turns. only a few people notice, the rest too consumed by the game until you’re moving straight towards a certain captain.

“THAT’S A FUCKING FOUL GOJO—what the—“

your arms wrap around him from behind without hesitation, pressing into him, chest flush against his back as you cling to one familiar form. tight, and instinctive.

it catches him off guard, just for a second. his body tenses slightly under your grip. his muscular arms lift, head turning halfway to see, “who the fuck—“ grabbed him in the middle of game! but then he sees you. and his eyes glance down at your familiar hands holding his chest. your name slips out of his lips, confused what you’re doing, but then the ball’s already back in play. and somehow he keeps going.

even with you wrapped around him, weight clinging to his back, he still moves, still blocks, still lands a hit that sends the ball flying back over the net. it’s messy now, uneven, but he’s too competitive to stop, jaw tight, focus split but still sharp. water splashes everywhere. people are yelling. gojo laughs from the other side. “what the hell is that— you got a handicap now?”

sukuna clicks his tongue, annoyed, shifting slightly to keep his balance with you still latched onto him. you don’t let go. not once. “you drunk?” he tries to talk to you mid-game.

“yeah,” you mutter over the music. but as more people fill the pool, and the third round feels much more chaotic, sukuna begins to notice. your grip tightens every time someone gets too close, every time someone accidentally touches you, every time your head spins just a little from the alcohol and the heat and everything. your cheek presses against his back, breath uneven, body still buzzing in a way you don’t fully understand, other than the fact that you can feel how hot it is between your legs. he smells so good…

the game drags on— until finally— gojo’s team takes the last point. a loud cheer erupts from his side, people splashing into the pool, celebrating, phones still up capturing everything.“told you,” gojo grins, pushing his wet snowy hair back, muscles flexing for the cameras as he sticks his tongue out.

sukuna exhales sharply through his nose, annoyed, shoulders tense— he doesn’t shake you off. but unfortunately, he doesn’t get the chance.

you’re suddenly ripped away.

“wha—! what the fuck!” you yelp as a pair of hands grab you from underneath, a drunk junior dunking under the water before popping up with you lifted high onto his shoulders. just for the crowd to erupt.

“OH SHIT— chicken fight!”

“LET’S GO!”

“get her, get her!” other guys in the pool dunk under and lift a few laughing girls up. but you’re not one of them. your thighs clamp instinctively around the stranger’s head just to keep from slipping, heart racing, balance completely shot as water drips down your legs and chest. your hands fly to his hair, trying to steady yourself, panic flashing across your face. you didn’t agree to this. your eyes lock with sukuna immediately. wide. confused. he’s not your boyfriend— but he’s still…

something in him snaps. he straightens, fast. too fast. the playful edge from seconds ago gone completely, replaced with something sharp and violent, jaw tightening as his eyes drag over the way the guy’s hands are gripping your thighs— and the whistles from the crowd don’t help, especially when your hand reaches to adjust the way your bikini top had shifted.

“damn!”

sukuna’s fist curls. “get your fucking hands off her,” he bites out, already moving forward through the water, splashing hard as he closes the distance.

the guy just laughs, drunk, clueless and not listening. “relax, man, it’s just a chicken fight. ever heard of those?”

he doesn’t get to finish. sukuna’s already pulling his arm back, when you squeak.

“wait—!” you gasp, trying to shift your weight, panic spiking as the situation spirals way too fast—but before anything can land another pair of bodies crash into you. a second drunk chicken fight slams into your side, bodies colliding, completely losing balance. and then everything goes under. water rushes over your head in a blur of limbs and noise, the guy beneath you losing his footing as you both go down. you barely have time to register it before a hand grabs you. hard.

sukuna’s arm wraps tight around your waist, yanking you up and out of the water in one sharp motion. you cough, sputtering slightly, fingers clutching onto him as he steadies you against his side. he doesn’t even look at you at first. he’s glaring past you.

“what the fuck is wrong with you?!” he snaps, voice low and dangerous, water dripping from his hair as he stares down the guy who just broke the surface, coughing. “you fucking grab girls without permission and I’m fucking snapping your arm in half!”

the junior lifts his hands, half-laughing, half-defensive. “yo, chill— it’s just a game—”

“i said don’t touch her,” sukuna cuts in, sharper this time, stepping forward like he’s ready to swing anyway.

the energy shifts instantly. people nearby start stepping in, hands coming up.

“aye, chill, chill—” one tries to come between them. sukuna doesn’t even notice that you’d managed to slip from his grip, still coughing as you swim to the steps of the pool, heart pounding as utahime, having seen the entire interaction helps you out.

“you okay?” she sits in front of you on the edge handing you water.

you nod, chugging half the bottle, before breathing again, “swallowed like…” you gag, “a disgusting amount of that pool water.” utahime cringes as she glances at the pool. the interaction growing even more heated, as a crowd watches sukuna curse out the junior.

“anyone else fucking grab a girl without her permission is getting fucking banned from this frat permanently!” sukuna shouts. murmurs break out across the crowd, a few glance towards you, as utahime notices, but you’re too busy washing your mouth out to care.

gojo’s aloof attitude steps in after coming back with a sweet juice in hand. “okay, okay, we’re clear on consent aren’t we guys?”

people hum, cheering for the games to continue. but then…

“didn’t know she was your girlfriend.”

it lands this time, cutting through the noise and sticking just long enough for a few whistles and low laughs to ripple through the crowd. the kind of comment meant to poke, to stir, to see what the hot headed vp will do with it. but what’s worse is that a majority of the crowd has no clue what your relationship is with sukuna. aside from the frat members.

sukuna doesn’t even look at him, and he doesn’t correct it. it’s not because he wants to claim you. not because it’s true. but because it’s annoying—because explaining it, denying it, entertaining it at all feels like more effort than it’s worth. he’s your fuck buddy, he knows that, you know that, and thats all. his jaw tightens once, eyes already elsewhere, done with the conversation before it can grow legs because then he’ll really break his fucking arm.

the party moves on like it always does. music swells back up, as gojo and geto thank the heavens that sukuna was in a good mood before the argument that he wasn’t tempered to continue the fight. luckily the drinks are raised again. gojo’s already laughing, pulling attention away, and just like that the moment dissolves into noise.

sukuna’s focus shifts and lands on you.

you’re still on the edge of the pool, legs dangling in the water, skin slick and glowing under the neon lights. your bikini clings tighter now, nipples pebbled under your soaked top, every curve on display, highlighted by the shadows of the lights above. it makes it impossible not to look. droplets trail down your thighs, catching the light as you tilt your head back slightly, still rinsing your mouth out, brows furrowed in clear disgust.

utahime sits in front of you, just as eye-catching to the hungry men around, her own bikini hugging her frame, water beading along her collarbones as she watches you with a mix of concern and amusement.

and people are staring. not subtle glances—staring like you’re something to watch. something to linger on. like the game earlier just shifted into something else entirely and now you’re part of it without agreeing. no wonder you hate these parties.

it irritates him, fast.

sukuna clicks his tongue under his breath and pushes forward through the water, tall enough that even standing in the pool, he closes the height between you easily. the neon catches on his skin too. his broad shoulders still damp, muscles flexing as he moves, water sliding down his torso in slow lines. he’s not unaware of the way people look at him either—girls nearby pausing mid-conversation, eyes dragging over him openly—but he doesn’t care. not right now. not when he reaches you.

his hand comes up without hesitation, settling on your exposed thigh where it hangs over the edge of the pool. his palm is warm even against your wet skin, fingers spreading slightly, firm enough to ground, possessive. the contact is immediate. deliberate.

the shift is noticeable. a couple of those lingering stares drop off instantly. only then does he look at you. his gaze flicks over your face, still a little flushed, still catching your breath, before settling. his gaze is steady, assessing the way your glossy lips part with an exhale after chugging an entire bottle of watet.

“you good?” he asks, voice lower now, rougher around the edges from the leftover tension. his thumb moves slightly against your skin without thinking, a small, absent motion that doesn’t match the sharpness in his expression.

utahime has to hold back an eye roll, especially when his gaze flicks over your face, then your lips. unbelievable. what’s with him? what’s stopping him from asking you out if he gets so hot headed and possessive—ughhh…utahime holds back her anger, because she was pissed when someone suddenly grabbed you and then had you dunked in the water. why does sukuna have to be so fucking weird though?! she internally curses out sukuan for being the person that always protects her best friend, but acts like a complete jerk another second.

“how much sweat did you drink?” sukuna asks, tone laced with amusement .

your eyes snap, face grimacing, “shut the fuck—up,” you gag again, hand coming up to your mouth just for utahime to snort and sukuna to bark with laughter.

“did i tell ya why we had to drain the pool last year—“ sukuna starts, utahime’s eyes widen.

“oh my god I remember!”

your face pales, nails digging into sukuna’s shoulder while the other still covers your mouth. “don’t you dare tell me.”

sukuna grimaces with an amused expression remembering what happened at last years pool party. but distracting you has somehow managed to isolate everything else around him and have his sole focus on the way you wipe your mouth with a napkin utahime — and now nanami and geto at her side — comes back with, and the way your fingers shift from his shoulder to his forearm resting across your damp lap. and the conversation flows afterwards.

gojo was still on the dance floor, completely in his own world, some girl is pressed to his side as neon lights strobe over him laughing, loud, untouchable in the way he always is. meanwhile, the edge of the pool has settled into something more intimate and funny. the conversations around overlap as you all joke loudly and throwing around slight bickering, cooling off from the chaos, but still very much alive.

and with all that, you hadn’t left. even after everything, you’re still sitting where you are, leg still dipped in the water, skin dewy under the lights, bikini keeping your pretty tits in view for a certain salmon haired man. your hair is slightly damp, pushed back from your face, exposing the curve of your neck—the faint mark sukuna left the night before still visible if someone looks close enough. and you smell heavenly. fuck if you’re alone, he’d bury his nose closer to your breasts to smell the sweat clinging.

but people are looking. they always are now.

they just don’t linger as long anymore. not with him there. sukuna leans into the edge of the pool, upper body braced beside you, his arm draped behind your back like it naturally falls there. his other hand rests lazily against your thigh, fingers tapping absently against your skin as he takes a sip from his beer. his shoulders are broad, still slick with water, veins visible along his arms as they flex with every small movement.

he looks just as much of a problem as ever. and the attention doesn’t stop, girls nearby still steal glances, whispers, watching the way he’s positioned so close to you, the way his hand hasn’t moved from your leg once. but what’s more interesting, is that you don’t move either.

you don’t push him off, don’t shift away. if anything, you lean just slightly into his space, your fingers absentmindedly tracing along his forearm where it rests across your lap, like it’s second nature. you like it there.

and sukuna notices. of course he does, with how touchy and clingy you’ve been these past few days. yes, he’s shocked you haven’t left, or haven’t asked him to go upstairs with you. instead you’re being so uncharacteristically attached.

his gaze flicks down for a second, watching the way your fingers move against his skin, something unreadable passing through his expression before he looks away again, taking another sip like it didn’t just register. his stomach churns when you lean forward slapping nanami’s stretched out hand after he said something funny.

“why the fuck are you guys sitting here?” gojo’s voice cuts in suddenly, dripping with disbelief as he approaches, hair damp, grin lazy. he looks down at your little group, then at the pool like it personally offended him. “this is embarrassing.”

utahime snorts. “she almost drowned, idiot.”

“she’s alive,” gojo shrugs immediately, already grabbing a drink from someone nearby. “get in the hot tub. it’s waaaay better!”

a couple girls attached to him nod eagerly, already following his lead as he starts heading that way without waiting for an answer. utahime glances at you. “you wanna stay out or…?”

you don’t even hesitate as you hum, soft. “yeah, why not.”

sukuna catches it.

the group starts moving, the energy shifting with them as they make their way toward the hot tub. somewhere along the path, nanami and utahime get pulled into another conversation, stopping off to the side, leaving you and sukuna to keep going without them. your skin burns as sukuna keeps a subtle hand in your lower back, biting his lip when you reach the hot tub and you step in front of him. his gaze drops to the movement of your ass, your bikini was so skimpy it’s definitely clinging on to your pussy lips too. fuck,

by the time you step into the hot tub, the heat hits instantly. you sigh without meaning to, tension melting from your shoulders as the warmth wraps around you, soaking into your skin. your body relaxes almost immediately, the contrast from the cooler pool making everything feel heavier, slower.

sukuna steps in right after you. and immediately shoves two guys aside with a sharp nudge of his shoulder. “move.”

they do quickly without argument, clearly frat members. he settles in beside you, close again, like earlier, like he didn’t just create that space for you.

gojo drops in for half a second, splashing water everywhere before grimacing. “it’s too hot,” he complains, already climbing back out. “i need another drink.”

and just like that, he’s gone again. leaving you, sukuna, and the rest of the group laughing, talking. the conversation easy as the night keeps rolling around you. especially when geto comes back with some girls and red solo cups for beer pong.

“don’t spill any in the hot tub!” sukuna barks as the girls organize the cups in place on the edge. geto slides into the pool with the ping pong balls.

“shh shh i know,” he zips his friend up as he takes aim. and as the party is brought back to the hot tub, you’re all swept up again. and your eyes are following every movement of your friend beside you. the way he’s shouting and laughing with his frat brothers, the conversations turning to fog when sukuna flexes his large bicep, the ink that wraps around it highlights how big they are. you can’t even recall the context of this sudden flex off, but you’re not complaining.

you watch his throat bop as he throws back another cup of beer, standing beside geto. your eyes trail over his sculpted chest. you suck in your bottom lip as sukuna falls back beside you. his arm draped behind you along the edge of the hot tub, barking another laugh at some crap geto is spewing, completely distracted.

“I swear TO GOD, you told me to go for that dive!” geto throws his hands up, flabbergasted.

“nah nah nah—“ sukuna shouts over, shaking his head with an amused expression, “I told you—“

“nah—satoru!!” geto looks over his shoulder, waving down the president. “SATORU!”

gojo’s head whips around. however, the debate is the furthest thing from your mind, honestly you can’t even understand what these idiots are talking about. but— there’s one idiot that smells heavenly.

sukuna distracted, doesn’t notice how much closer you’re pressed to him, how your lashes flutter at the mix of cologne and chlorine flooding your nose, and dizzying your mind. he’s so—uh..when men— your brain is short circuiting. literally. mind so consumed by how big and strong this man beside is, that all you can think about is how he protected you. he pulled you out of the water. snapped at that guy…for you.

you’re not normally this moved. but it was the series of events that unfolded, all in the last few hours, that has you doing what you do next.

“please! you know i did not agree to that!” geto tsks, pointing his finger at gojo who’s laughing, sitting at the edge of the hot tub, legs in. and the two — along with the rest of the group involved in the debate — are distracted, and unaware of the fact that the pretty girl that sukuna almost started a fight over, is slipping her pretty hand inside his swim shorts.

sukuna tenses. breath hitching.

his eyes snap to you, stomach clenching. “what’re you—“ he chokes when you squeeze his thick base without warning. your cheek casually presses against his shoulder, wetting your bottom lip. your leg is tucked against his side, as the other swings over his knee, pretty tits squished against his arm. your wrist rolls, stroking his flaccid cock alive.

“ryo…” you speak low enough so that only sukuna can hear. “was jus’ thinking about you.” his jaw tenses, hand clenching at the edge of the tub, leaning his head down.

“you’re the one that doesn’t like this shit,” he husks, throat bopping as you bat your lashes up at him, bitting your lip as you give his cock another squeeze, pushing your wet tits against his arm. “there’s people—“

“then be normal, ryo,” you say, all while nuzzling him like a clingy g— “just wanted to feel how big you are.”

his heads tips back, what’re you even saying?

you keep your cheek pressed against his shoulder, lip tucked between your teeth as you stroke the vp’s fat throbbing cock in the middle of a party and in a hot tub full of his close frat friends.

it wasn’t difficult for his dick to fully harden within seconds of your hand making contact. you let out a soft exhale, pressing your practically naked body against him like you could get any closer than you already are. but to make matters worse, he was so unbelievably turned on that you were touching him in public! fuuck, his stomach flexes, biting back a groan when your thumb swipes his bulbous tip, the water made it difficult for you to keep a fast pace stroke, but his skin was still prickling with heat.

“ryo, is this okay?” you softly pant in his ear, a hum like moan escapes your lips just by the way he exhales through his nose, turning his head to you, aroma engulfing you.

to anyone else it just looked like you were having a private conversation with each other. the hot tub and pool, a few feet away, booming with chaos, no one was paying attention to you guys. but even with all that information, sukuna — who spreads his legs further apart in the water, biting his lip when you kiss his neck now, sucking a light bruise on his flushed skin — knows that you’d never do this. you get touchy when you’re drunk, whispering dirty shit in his ear. but you’ve only had a couple drinks to make you tipsy enough to enjoy the party and remember, not black out drunk to jerk him off in public.

“yeah—it’s okay,” his head drops forward, hot red flush crawling up his neck and stinging his cheeks as he nudges your head with his.

“yeah?” you repeat with a coo.

he bites back a pathetic groan, arm sliding to your waist under the water, gripping your flesh like his life depends on it. you’re intoxicating.

“yeah baby.”

a flush of heat runs between your legs at his deep bedroom voice. sukuna is so hot, he’s so hot, so pretty, so sexy! you squeal internally, leaning closer to press your lips against his sharp jaw, whining just low enough for him to hear. your wrist twists down his cock. you hadn’t even full realized that you’d taken him out of his swim trucks, to possessed to care as his fingers dig into your waist, while the other balls into a fist against the tub’s edge.

“are you close, ryo? is your big cock gonna cum?”

unbelievable.

sukuna’s jaw tenses, abs tightening just by your voice. you’ve been hanging up on how big he is. how big his hands are. how big his dick is — scratch that, you’re using the word cock now. yeah he’s gonna fuckin’ cum soon if you keep talkin’ like that.

“there’s so many people around ry,” you shy quietly, “you don’t think they know I’m playing with you?” your slightly tipsy eyes bat up at him, pupils completely dilated. his eyes briefly sweep around him, the alarms flashing in his mind don’t seem to phase him as he drops his lips down to brush yours.

“what if they are aware?” he husks, lidded eyes boring into yours. “does that make y’r pussy wet?” he wets his lip, thighs flexing when you give his cock a squeeze as he speaks. “ya like knowing that there’s eyes everywhere…watching your slutty self jerk me off.”

your brain short circuits. face burning hot.

“I’m not a slut,” you whisper, just as you’re practically straddling his thigh now, with the way you’re inching closer to him every second. his hand slides from your waist to your ass, gripping the flesh as he pulls it apart letting you feel the warm tub water touch your heated pussy.

“you’re gettin on top of me—“

“to protect your dignity,” you attempt a frown, but your eyes keep flicking to his lips, brushing your lips against them again, just for him to pull back, again.

“didn’t take you as someone so generous,” he quips, hips angling up, subtly telling you to keep stroking him, even if it’s starting to feel like edging. “but,” he bites back another groan, “but to me, ya just look like another slut that wants to get her little pussy stuffed.”

you blink.

sukuna can see the lust burst behind your eyes. your thighs clamp around his beefy thigh, your hand squeezing his tip, and your lips parting. “is that so bad?”

ah fuck.

“you can’t say those words to a man,” sukuna’s rasps.

you pout, pressing your wet breasts against his chest, trapping his cock between your bodies. your hot breath fans against his face, scent invading his mind, and your lips brush against his, this time licking his bottom lip. once. twice. your tongue strokes his bottom lip, waiting for him to invite you in, whining a little louder when he refuses. “ryo.”

his large palms grip your ass. your flimsy bikini could easily be pulled to the side, exposing you just like him. your cheeks flush, arching even more, your arms are tossed around his broad shoulder, fingers tangling in the hair at his nape, desperate. needy. “I’ve been holding myself back ryo,” you quietly speak, unaware how much like déjà vu this feels. memories of last month flashing in his mind about those exact words coming from your lips as you climbed into his lap in the middle of a party. “you have to take care of it.”

“i have too?” he quips with a sharp edge in his tone.

your flush with embarrassment, lips parting as your lashes flutter shut, “please…please can you take care of it.”

unbelievable.

his cock twitches violently against your stomach. his muscular thigh flexes under your pussy making your lips part.

as you and sukuna speak in hushed whispers. a good group of people have take notice of the awkward shifting in the hot tub and the unrecognizable look on sukuna’s face. but specifically the girl that the sukuna let attach herself to him during a violently competitive water volleyball match and almost pick a fight with. he’s smirking as she whispers in his ear, her lips even pressing his lobe, making the intimidating vice president blush?!

“her tits are all over him,” one whispers, taking a sip as they watch from a distance, both sitting at the pools edge watching the events unfold a few feet’s away in the hot tub. it’s not obvious unless you’re staring as hard as these guys, or if you’re a certain man laughing as you stand up at the edge of the tub, face dropping for a millisecond when you catch your vice president getting off by a hot girl.

fucking animals, geto shakes his head, eyes flicking to gojo, easily communicating with him about you know.

gojo’s brows pinch glancing over from his seat at the edge of the tub, to— “oh shit!”

geto elbows him. “idiot!”

gojo’s hands fly to his mouth, laughing hysterically as he stares at the way his short tempered friend is blushing like crazy, and making it obvious to anyone that he’s getting his dick touched right now. “do they know what they’re doing?” gojo speaks in hushed whispers.

“obviously,” geto sits beside gojo, the tub water doesn’t seem to be appealing anymore. and yet there’s still a few people on the sides laughing, too drunk to notice.

“fucking pervs,” gojo snickers.

a beat passes.

then gojo turns, eyes wide when he sees geto staring blankly at him. “what?”

“you’re worse!” geto slaps him upside the head. gojo gasps in shock. “I can’t even remember how many times you fucked someone in here and in the pool—“

“hey,” gojo frowns, cheeks flushed from the alcohol. “that was…b-because they were hot.”

geto scoffs, “you weren’t even subtle about them, everybody knew you were fucking them. YOU’RE the biggest perv.”

gojo nods, “yeah…”

your whine flows directly into sukuna’s ear, lips coming back to his. “why won’t you kiss me?” you quietly demand.

his dimples press into his cheeks as he bites back a smirk. “we’re jus’ talking,” he says your name, but in that deep way he does when he’s stuffing you with his cock…which he’s not.

you sit up closer, sliding higher up his thigh, knee rubbing harshly against his cock — “ah!” you squeal suddenly straddling his lap instead of his thigh. his red irises sink into yours, watching the way your glossy lips part glancing at the surface of the hot tub trying to make out how close his cock is to where you need him. “you’re hard ryo.”

“and?”

your eyes flick up to him, pretty brows pressing together, “and we’re not jus’ talking—“

“y’know—“ he suddenly chokes.

you’ve moved your bikini to the side, and pushed his cock down, fully sitting on his cock and sliding across it, hips shaking, stimulating your needy clit.

your name cuts through the air, his grip moves to grab your hips, trying to keep you still, but his body betrays him as he bucks against you. “fuck, woman.”

your lips press against sukuna, whining like a desperate slut when he finally kisses you back. and this was why he didn’t want to entertain you this quickly. the sweet taste of your lips immediately sends a rush of heat down to his cock, his arm wraps around your back, holding the back of your head as the other grips your ass, groaning as your lips smack in wet hungry kisses. your tongues collide, spit collecting in your mouth as he groans in response.

sukuna has to be responsible. he has too. but you’re such a fucking slut— touching his cock, stroking him in public, rubbing your body (his biggest weakness) against him like you’re alone together. and now you’re humping his cock like you can feel something with the water’s friction.

all of it was a factor, and for some unexplainable reason, all the dots seemed to have connected at this exact moment—like a huge light bulb going off in his head.

“shit.”

you hum at the way his deep voice sends a warm heat blooming in your stomach. “are you turned on, ryo?” your lips purse, kissing his, unaware of the sudden realization he’s come too. “keep kissing me.”

your fingers thread through his short locks, gripping him as you keep his lips moving yours.

but sukuna’s palm splays across your spine, groaning at the way you don’t stop to catch your breath. then his grip tightens. his mouth drags slower this time, more deliberate. he’s testing something, and the way you react—how quick you melt back into him, how your nails press into his shoulders like you’re holding on and the pitched whine that leaves your lips when he tries to pull away.

“how bad d’you need me?” he murmurs, voice low, rough, right against your pretty lips.

you don’t hesitate. “so bad,” you breathe, almost frustrated, because it’s obvious.

his eyes flick over your face, searching, calculating—then narrowing slightly. “yeah?” he hums, thumb pressing into your waist, grounding you as you shift again, his cock snug between your folds. “why,” he asks, tone not soft or gentle, but testing.

you shake your head slightly, breath catching, fingers tightening on him. “because— i just—” you exhale sharply, frustrated, needy, “i just want you to touch me.”

that’s all he needs. a quiet, almost amused exhale leaves him, something darker settling behind his eyes now. nanami’s little comment about “noticing now” makes his stomach churn uncomfortably. it doesn’t mean anything that you’ve had this friend with benefits deal long enough for him to start noticing a pattern every month. especially when this part of the cycle comes around and you’re practically begging him to just touch you. he highly doubts that you even notice it.

“been like this all night,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, but his grip doesn’t loosen. if anything, it gets firmer. “can’t keep your hands off me, huh?”

you don’t even deny it. you just pull him back in. and this time he lets you. let’s you kiss him like it’s your last time, let’s you tug his hair like he belongs to you. let’s you pull away… you’re panting at him through glossy, lidded eyes.

and then sukuna notices.

the shift.

your breathing breaks. shallow and uneven. you can’t quite catch it as your lips part, soft, glossy, letting out these higher, breathier sounds that you’re not even trying to hold back anymore. it’s quieter than the music, but he hears it. feels it.

his grip tightens instinctively.

your hips are moving without any rhythm now. they’re slow, needy, desperate. your body chasing something it can’t reach fast enough. your fingers press into his lower stomach, clutching there like you need something solid to hold onto, your head tipping forward, lashes fluttering like a fucking angel. and your mouth falls open. a soft, pitched sound slips out of you—one you don’t even seem aware of—and it’s enough to make something dark flicker across his expression.

“…fuck,” he mutters under his breath, eyes locked on your face now, watching every little change. his cock twitching uncontrollably.

your brows pinch, as you completely fall apart, cumming right then and there. your grip on him tightens, thighs pressing in, grounding yourself on his cock without even thinking about it.

and he doesn’t move. doesn’t interrupt it. he just watches. and all he can think is how unbelievably hot you look in his eyes. women that are ovulating mean they’re more likely to get pregnant. fuck. why is his brain latching onto that part? you’re his fuck buddy. this is simple. it is simple. it’s perfectly reasonable—completely normal, even—for him to get turned on thinking about how much you cling to him, how much you crave him, how much you need him, how your body reacts to him like this. that doesn’t mean he wants to get you—

absolutely the fuck not.

but still…fucking women. you’re insane. his brain is short circuiting while you’re coming undone on his lap, in a hot tub, in the middle of a packed party.

and the way you’re panting, your breasts pushed together as you keep a hand on his lower abs, pussy spasming as your orgasm rocks through you, has something low and satisfying settling in your fuck buddy’s chest. his hand slides up your back again, slower this time, more deliberate.

“yeah…” he murmurs, almost to himself, thumb pressing lightly into your side as your breathing tries to steady. “that’s what i thought.”

his lips ghost over you.

then he feels it…the eyes.

his dark gaze flicks up. meeting the dilated blue and black ones, along with the others in the crowd. they all saw, didn’t they? witnessed something that had his jaw tightening and his pupils returning to their size.

“fuck me,” you pant quietly, arms lazily coming back to his shoulders coming down from your climax. you kiss him deeply, unaware of the mess you’re causing inside his brain. “I’ve heard people say hot tub’s make you orgasm better,” you lick his tongue, “because of the hot water.”

his grip tightens around you, eyes open and staring past you at the people eyeing the arch in your back as you make out with him like you didn’t just hump yourself to an orgasm in public.

“do you wanna cum too ryo?” your mischievous smile would’ve made any man buckle, but sukuna wasn’t any man. and he sure as shit isn’t a fucking cuck.

“no.”

his sudden tone shift had you pulling back, wet hand touching his damp cheek. sukuna’s thick brows were pulled tightly, clearly angry, at what? you’re not sure. but you’re too lax to think much of it as you squish his cheeks between your fingers. his tatted arm possessively hugged you, eyes briefly leaving the not so subtle audience behind you, to meet your glass eyes.

“you mad I came before you?” you tease, head tilting in mockery. cute. “it’s okay, I’ll make ya cum,” you whisper, smile gracing those sinful lips of yours. “I’ll let you choose too…”

fuck, you’re insane.

“…my hands…my lips….or..” you smile. “my tight, pretty pussy….”

sukuna snorts, eyes meeting yours. “unbiased much.”

you shrug biting your lip, batting your pretty lashes at him. “you always call it that. I’m just using your vocabulary, mister suh…ku…nuh.”

that was his final straw, because in a blink of an eye, sukuna’s tucking himself and pushing off the tub’s seat, standing up. water cascades down the sharp planes of his abs, his swim trunks clinging low on his hips—leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. and people notice, of course they do.

your jaw drops for half a second, eyes going wide before heat floods your face so fast it burns. you shoot up right after him, fist clenching at your side, brows pinching tight. “what’re you doing?”

“we’re going upstairs,” he says simply, like there aren’t a million eyes on him, more specifically on his thick bulge. girls are openly staring now, not even trying to hide it as their gazes drag over him, over the obvious outline pressing against his trunks.

your stomach twists. uncomfortable. ugly. you don’t name it. you won’t name it because it’s stupid. you have no right to feel any type of way about who looks at him or how they look at it. but still, your jaw tightens because the way they’re staring is making your blood boil and they’re looking at something that has nothing to do with them and everything to do with you. just you.

your eyes flick back to him, to the way the water trails down his body, down the dark wet hairs of his happy trail. the way he stands there like he doesn’t give a single fuck about the attention. and it only makes it worse. he looks like he’s been carved out of stone. something untouchable. and everyone’s fucking touching him with their eyes.

your lips press into a thin line, pulse uneven, heat sitting low in your stomach now for an entirely different reason as you step closer to him without even realizing it, hand settling on his stomach blocking the view from the onlookers. your fingers twitch. and you hate…hate how much it bothers you.

“you’re hard,” you huff, pushing him to step out of the tub, heart beating uncontrollably.

sukuna snorts, leaning down, “yeah no shit.”

“people are staring,” you grit.

your pulse stops. the air shifting around you, then you feel it. sukuna’s eyes bore into you, as his palm cups the side of your neck. your lips part in confusion when his gruff voice cuts.

“they’ve been staring.” the muscles on his jaw flex, pupils moving over your face as his gaze drops to your body. “they all…” his words trail off. he can’t say it…he can’t tell you they all fucking saw you cum, or the way your entire form looked like something straight out of every guys wet fantasy. all because of that unspoken tug that twists in his chest as you look up at him.

his head tips back in defeat.

unaware of the turmoil, you continue pushing him back, glancing briefly over your shoulder to see a few eyes not on the party but staring at sukuna.

“can you walk faster,” you mutter.

sukuna suddenly grabs your wrist after another push backwards, almost making him trip. his grip is firm and fast, yanking you back toward him before you can take another step, your body colliding lightly into his chest. water still drips from both of you, heat clashing with the cool night air as he steadies himself, jaw tightening for a second.

“watch it,” he mutters, low, though there’s no real bite to it. if anything, there’s something else there. his hand doesn’t leave your wrist. instead, it slides up, fingers curling tighter as he pulls you closer until there’s barely any space left between you. you barely get a word out before he leans down and kisses you hard. it’s sudden and messy, all teeth and heat, like he’s cutting off whatever rush of thoughts were building in your head. your hands come up instinctively, gripping into his shoulders as he angles you just right, one hand now firm at your waist to keep you there. your lips part, immediately tasting his skilled tongue.

and around you, the party doesn’t stop. it never does when it’s grown this chaotic. but there are small pockets, where people notice. gojo, still leaning back against the hot tub’s edge, lets out a low laugh. “zero awareness,” he mutters, clearly entertained. geto just shakes his head, amused, watching the scene unfold like it’s expected. neither of them have the energy tonight to call their friend out, but they’ll be sure to give him shit tomorrow.

but off to the side, a couple girls lean into each other, whispering behind their solo cups, eyes flicking between sukuna and the very obvious situation he’s not bothering to hide. further back, a few of the same guys from earlier in the pool linger, their stares a little too heavy, a little too interested, but sukuna doesn’t register it.

he’s too focused on you. too focused on the way you kiss him back just as hard. how you’re still letting out those fucking whines and moans into his hot mouth. too focused on how quickly you fold into him like he’s the oxygen keeping you alive. to him, this urgency and impatience, just reads as one thing. you want him so bad.

he pulls back just enough to breathe, lips still brushing yours, his gaze dropping to your face, slightly dazed, flushed, and lips parted from the kiss.

“…yeah,” he exhales, almost amused, thumb pressing into your waist. “you taste so good.”

your fingers tighten around his bicep, the other around his shoulder, breath uneven as you blink up at him, still catching up.

“can we—” you swallow, then try again, quieter but more urgent, “can we go upstairs now?”

there’s a beat. then his hand slides down to yours again, grip tightening as he turns, already moving toward the house without another word—pulling you with him. he pushes straight through the noise that follows inside, the lights, the bodies still dancing in the kitchen like nothing. all the way up to his room, and immediately kicking the door shut.

and within a blink of an eye, your tongue is lolling out as sukuna sits behind you, fingers digging into your ass and face buried from behind.

“fuh—fuck yeah,” you drawl, lips wet at the feel of sukuna’s tongue dragging inside your pussy, lapping up and toying with your rim before going back to suck your slick juices. “c’mon ry, haah…” you’re pushing his head back, so you can sit up. you move to tug his wet trunks off, crawling onto his lap once he discards them. unbothered by the tick in his jaw at your stubbornness, because in seconds, your head is tossed back, and your back is arching as you sink down on the nine thick fat inches. “a….ah—“

your lashes flutter, eyes rolling back at the unbelievable stretch. your pussy swallowing every inch like the slut he loves.

“there ya go,” he praises, fingers digging into your ass as you stare at his lips. his sharp teeth sink into his bottom lip as your slick lubricates his cock. your pussy a generous fountain as you roll your hips, letting his cock stuff deep inside you. “take this fuckin’ cock like a good bitch.”

“ry…haah…” you’re moaning in choked gasps, drool peaking at the corner of your lips as you finally sit back on his thighs.

the man’s pupils dilate as you stroke your lower stomach, feeling the bulge as you bat your lashes up at him. “you’re inside me now, ryo.”

fuck you. seriously.

his brain short circuits in seconds. and now all he sees is you.

his body reacts like a dog with his master. obeying your needs like he’s wired to do that. and he’s not complaining. his hand falls on your ass, beefy thighs spreading, as he meets your bounces with rough snaps of his hips. your ass claps against his thighs with each bounce, gasps piercing the air as he fucks up into you with full force. and you let him.

“look like a fuckin’ porn star on top of me,” he grunts, swallowing a moan when you clamp around him, finger tugging on the knot around your neck letting your bikini finally fall off, freeing your gorgeous tits. “fucking brat—“

his tongue falls out, licking your tit that bounces in his face, lips wrapping around your nipple and sucking desperately. and he’s not nice about it. because now he knows. he knows you’ll let him. knows when you’re ovulating you’ll let him be a little harder, meaner, because it feels good. it feels good to feel his teeth bite down on your nipple possessively. it feels good when he spanks your ass for the nth time until your eyes are rimmed red and flooding with tears.

it feels good to have him obsessed with you, because all you’re begging for is…

“cu—uh—cum.”

an electric current runs down his spine, jaw clenching and head tipping back, flooding your tight pussy with his thick load.

“shit—nghhh fuuuck—fuck baby,” he’s gripping your hips as you press against his stomach, rocking on his cock. he doesn’t fully realize his back is laying against the bed. not when you’re milking his cock like he’s some fucking cow…and yet… “shit keep goin, baby—yeah ya want m-Mmm shit.”

“feel so good ryo.” you shake your ass, feeling his cock twitch inside you when his arm wraps around you, tugging you down to his chest.

“you can keep going?”

you smile, hand touching his cheek, as your tongue strokes his bottom lip. “yeah.” you sigh, whining so softly he would’ve missed it. and you continue like that, kissing him over and over, sighing and calling his name as he pulls out, his fingers push inside your pussy from behind.

“y’r killing me with this tight pretty pussy,” he coos, sending a wave of heat through your veins.

you mewl against his lips, earning a mean spank to your ass, just for his middle and ring finger to slip back inside you. and he does that for god knows how long, until you finally spasm around his digits. he’s then flipping you over, easily getting on top.

“keep em open cmon.” his low voice has your pussy pulsing, pushing his previous load out right in front of his eyes. he must know his voice’s affects on you.

you hold your legs open, bottom lip between your teeth as you watch sukuna stroke his member over you. the room smells of chlorine, you, and him. “theere we go,” he groans, palm pressing against your knee as he kneels closer to your open legs, dilated pupils staring at the mess between your legs as he slaps his hard cock on your puffy pussy. “what a dirty fuckin’ girl,” he drags his cock between your slippery folds, exhaling through his nose when his engorged tip catches your sore clit.

“ryoomen,” you call softly, like you haven’t been all over him these last two days.

he snorts, “what happened to mister sukuna? don’t tell me you’ forgot how you humped yourself to an orgasm in the pool—“

“hot tub.”

“my bad,” he remarks sarcastically, tip pushing inside then pulling out again, teasing. “still rubbed this pussy raw, look,” he slaps his cock again, thumb rubbing your little bundle of nerves making you let go of your legs— “ah—keep em open.” he spanks the inside of your thigh. “dirty girls need to be taught a lesson.”

“please,” you scoff, sitting up on your elbows, “you were literally slapping everyone around with your hard dick.”

sukuna barks out a laugh. “my dick’s that big?”

you glance down at him, then back up. “I wasn’t being dirty. you were dirty too.”

“me?” he’s baffled, you’ve been throwing yourself at him all night!

you raise a brow at him, relaxing back on the pillows pressed against the headboard, eyeing him. “you never took your hands off me.”

sukuna scoffs, “as if, you latched onto me on the pool.”

“then i went to hime to wash my mouth out, and you—“ you point at him with emphasis, “came swimming to me, touching me, stroking my thigh, my back.” your brow quirks again, and sukuna goes mute. his jaw ticks, glancing over your face as your calf subtly hooks over his thigh, stroking up as your hands lay on your stomach, waiting.

“you…” he licks the back of his teeth, sharp eyes threatening, but… “so what if I had my hands on you?” oh, he admits it. your cheeks sting, wetting your lip as you shrug.

“well,” you tilt your head again, slightly embarrassed now, glancing down at his inked chest. “like…you can’t blame me for getting turned on then.”

“because I’m touching you?”

you nod.

“like this,” his palm trails from your knee, slowly up your thigh. the warmth of his skin feels burns a trail up your body.

you nod.

his hand reaches your waist, eyes boring into yours. his cock throbbing at this point, he can feel the slick of your arousal costing his cock as it rests against your pussy.

turning to some light foreplay after just fucking you was messing with his head…because….it feels so good.

“what about when I’m touching your waist,” his thumb strokes the soft skin. “it’s not your ass.”

your breath is uneven. your heart beats against your rib cage. “still,” you exhale.

“still turns you on?” he clarifies, catching the way your lips part, breathless just by the way he’s flirting with you. his cock twitches…you’re gorgeous.

you nod.

his free hand caresses your hips, moving it up your body in feather-like-caresses. his other arm is pressed beside you, keeping himself up as he watches your arms lay bent on the bed. his hand lightly brushes the side of your breast before trailing over your collarbone. “still?”

you nod, wetting your bottom lip, blown pupils maintaining eye contact.

his thumb caresses your collarbone, eyes flicking between your eyes and the way your chest is rising and falling in uneven breaths. “how about now?” his palm glides over your bicep, then down your arm, before threading his fingers with yours.

you squeeze his hand, eyes unable to tear away from his, cheeks hot. his face inches closer to yours, exhaling against your lips. “I think you’ve jus’ proved how horny you’ve been these past few days.”

your breath stutters, angling your chin up, “obviously,” you mutter against his lips. “I’m pretty sure I’m ovulating.”

something dark and electric flashes through his eyes. a low exhale leaves him, almost a laugh, but there’s no humor in it, just heat, thick and immediate. his grip on your hand tightens to the point it almost borders on rough.

“yeah?” he murmurs, voice dropping, rougher now, like it’s scraping out of his throat. his forehead nudges against yours for a second, grounding himself, but it doesn’t work. if anything, it makes it worse. “tell me you want me to stuff you then.”

“I want you to stuff me, ryo,” you repeat, breathless as his jaw slacks finally rocking his hips into yours, slick cock massaging your folds. “with your cock…your cum….”

“keep going,” he husks.

your free hand trails up his bicep, the other still holding his hand like an anchor. “I want you to fuck me. hard. use me. cum in me.”

“ah fuck—“ he slips his hand between your bodies, pushing his cock down and snapping his hips into yours, sheathing his entire length inside. your jaw drops, broken cry slipping out. “y’ really know how to make a man fucking hard.”

your lips are glossed with spit as he presses his lips against yours. he swallows your moans, snapping his hips with a mean hard thrust, picking up a brutal pace without warning.

and you love it.

the base downstairs shakes the bedroom walls, the laughing and chatter outside is nothing compared to the way you’re panting and crying in his ear. the lights flickering from the pools strobe lights, only serve to illuminate your flushed face as you cum.

“fuck, you still want more,” he’s already kissing you again, and again. spit mixing together against your tongues as he pulls away. he pants over your face, his cheeks flushed pink and his cock rubbed raw. “fuck gunna cum…ngh yeah fuck fuck—“ he pistons his cock inside your poor cunt, dilated pupils zeroing on the mess that’s gushing from you. his chuckle is broken with his groan as he fucks you through it all. “keep squirting baby, it won’t make me stop.”

and he doesn’t. his thrusts are rough. engorged tip bruising your cervix with every snap of his sharp fit hips. he’s harder than usual, and even as you’re gasping, back of your hand raised to your mouth, pussy spasming as sukuna slams his body weight into each thrust — you don’t push him away.

“gunna cum…shiit, shit it’s coming—“ his voice breaks, and it feels like a damn crashing. his cock pulses inside you, squirting buckets inside your poor cunt. “haah fuh—“ his abs flex, body weight dropping on top of you, hugging you tight as he rocks his hips into lazy harsh humps, burying himself deep inside you, you’re sliding against the mattress. the rasp in his throat has you holding onto him tight, unbothered by how unbelievably heavy he is on top of your smaller body.

and sukuna stays like that. face buried in your neck, arms clutching onto you, and brain fried.

“you also smell sweeter,” he mutters. “when you’re ovulating.”

“I don’t. you’re just a freak.”

he buries his nose deeper in your neck, inhaling sharply. “haah fuck, nah you definitely smell good.”

your brain short circuits, cheeks flooding hot as you wiggle underneath him. “you can’t—“

“you humped me in the hot tub.”

your brows scrunch together. “so?”

he licks your neck, “then you can’t blame me for still being turned on by you.” he licks a strip up to your ear, a tingle runs down to your pussy, squeezing around him.

he smirks.

of course he does. and why wouldn’t he? you’re already nudging him to your lips, kissing him again, like you aren’t stuffed with loads of his cum.

“you’re cute,” he mutters between kisses, and even if that makes your stomach flip, your face burn, and your heart skip a beat…you don’t comment on it. you don’t address it. and you sure as shit don’t think about it.

and the simple answer is, he’s kissing you right now and that’s all you want to think about it.

more frat!kuna here

a/n: I’m blaming the grammar errors on you guys for the rush (I also hate proof reading). but I hope u guys enjoyed it. believe me when I say, I was not expecting it to be that freaking long, I just really wanted to write sukuna and reader kinda skinny dipping, without losing their dynamic or doing something super uncharacteristic, so I dragged out the plot. but still I hope u guys liked it!

The years came and went. The hurt he once felt inevitably dulled. Yet, you always managed to linger around in the back of his mind, like a little ghost haunting him. 

To this day, he still has no idea what he did wrong. You may have ghosted everybody, but he wasn’t just anybody. If anyone deserved an explanation, it was him. 

He still cares for you, sorta, but it’s been so long, he’s not sure if he’d even want to reconnect with you. Not with how you just dropped him like that.

. . . . . . 

“Are you excited?”

“No,” you respond a little too flatly for Ieiri, who shoots you the look right after. “Ugh, I’m sorry. It’s just been forever since I’ve seen everyone.”

She sighs, redirecting her attention back on the road— there’s not much to look at. Most people stay home on gloomy Sunday afternoons. 

The GPS says you’re nine minutes away from your destination, making you remind yourself once more to relax. Though, you really wish you could be one of those people staying in right now. Cuddled up on the couch, watching a movie. 

Ieiri taps her finger on the steering wheel. “It’s like what I said—”

What didn’t she say? 

She held you hostage on the phone for over an hour last weekend, threatening and bribing, and then threatening you again if you didn’t go with her to Kento’s surprise birthday party. 

You thought you had a good argument at the time.

“Do you realize how annoying that sounds? Kento doesn’t even like surprises, could you imagine how irritated he’d be if I just randomly popped up, too?”

“If you were Satoru? Yes. You? Doubt it. If anything, he’d probably like the distraction from it.” 

“Yeah– probably,” you murmured. 

“Can you please get out of your fucking head for once?” she scoffed. “Yeah, it’s been years since you’ve seen everyone, but it’s not like it’s because of a falling out. I don’t know where you got this weird idea that they hate you now because of it. It was them who told me to bring you!” 

“Who’s them?” you stubbornly responded. 

“Suguru, Satoru, Yuki, Choso— even Toji said something about bringing Megumi so you could see him.” 

As much as you’d love to meet his kid, it would also be another reminder of all the years that’ve passed— how everyone moved on with their lives. Getting married, buying homes, having children, starting families. 

The most you’ve done is get the job. You’d include the condo if you actually got to enjoy it, but it’s been a year since you bought it and you haven’t even bothered furnishing the place despite all the money you've saved up for it. The last thing you want to do after work is look at a screen and make more decisions. Deciding between color palettes and aesthetics, deciding on what decor and accents you want— it all sounded exhausting. Hiring an interior designer was an option. Except, you barely want to talk to a stranger, let alone work with one. 

It’s too many decisions to be made for someone that didn’t want to make them. You often wonder if you’ve simply just become someone that couldn’t make them. 

You’re well aware of the things that are wrong with you, but it didn’t make it any less surprising. You, paralyzed by choices and options? 

The people who knew you professionally would laugh. Hard. Any sense of certainty that could be felt in the air almost always emanated from you. You were decisive. Sharp as hell— honed to perfection. Someone that was more than capable of a task as menial as filling a space full of items they liked. 

You know what you like, don’t you? 

No, not really.

You are sharp, there’s no doubt about it. It’s what your boss favors you for, and sure, one could say you’re valuable to the company, too. It’s a nice feeling for a while. 

Then you realize there is quite literally nothing more subjective than the value of something.

Luckily, you are very useful. It was simply a fact, and every single one of your quarterly reviews solidified it. A coworker, or god forbid a client, could spend an entire hour talking shit about you, and they’d eventually reach the point where they’d have to backtrack with a little ‘well’ or ‘however’, before giving credit where it was due. 

The devil works hard and you stole his pitchfork. Ripped it right out of his hands, because apparently, you needed it more than him to become the youngest portfolio manager the company’s ever seen. 

Who cares about the value of something when you need it? Mr. Yaga claims to hate black tea, but leave him out in the desert long enough and he’d easily drink gallons of it. 

Having you at the company isn’t a matter of life or death, there’s thousands of others out there that are more than qualified for your role. More than half probably had resumes twice as long as yours, too. 

But for Yaga, there is no guarantee that day to day operations would run this smoothly, ever again. 

You may be a little blunt. At times, impatient. But in a world full of sexual harassment allegations and sleezy managers abusing their power, not once has there ever been a formal complaint made against you. You’re not always like that either, you’re great with the clients and stakeholders. 

It’s a talent, really— remembering all the personal details people tell you, like childhood stories, the places they’ve vacationed to, a spouse's birthday month that was briefly mentioned months ago. It makes people feel special. 

It was very handy, too. Especially in the case where the company might deal with someone that isn’t likely to give them their hard-earned money or signature. Your job was to either sweet talk or gaslight. No arguing needed.

Yaga may have not preferred you at first. You were essentially a kid compared to the people that applied for the position. 

The plan was to let you down easily, tell you to keep working hard and you’ll eventually get there. You were already lucky enough to have your foot in the door as an employee. 

Yaga had a list of goals he wanted to reach before his retirement, though. Any of the other candidates would’ve helped with that, but none would've given him the opportunity to make a second list and cross that off as well. 

The decision took months. 

In that time, he realized a few things. 

One, he spent his entire adult life playing it safe, which is an obvious sign of fearing growth. You’re not sure who taught him that, but at least he realized it was okay to start over and try something new. It was like a rebrand for him and he embraced that the “new” him craved more profit and welcomed different approaches. 

The different approaches being, finding more aggressive people because they bring in the money quicker. 

He never saw you as aggressive, though. He never saw you at all, actually. It wasn’t personal, those under 30 usually come and go, so he didn’t see much of a point in remembering names. What he did see, when he finally opened his eyes, was efficiency. 

You were straight forward in a way that saved time, had an air about you that screamed “don’t ask me how my day’s going or what I have planned for after work”, yet approachable enough for work related questions. Stellar reports, received every quarterly and year-end bonus. Sharp. 

Making you one of the managers meant he could wield you like a weapon, now you are the one he uses the most. You had the salary to prove it, yet no time or energy to enjoy it. 

You’re respected. The young interns, the girls in particular, look up to you more often than not. Eyes bright and filled with ambition. Romanticizing everything, from how much coffee you drink, all the way to your style that they labeled as “effortless”. They’re not wrong, it is effortless— always some variant of trousers, a t-shirt, heels, and a long coat. They’re never planned, yet they somehow always manage to work thanks to the lack of color in your wardrobe. 

You overheard your lack of jewelry and unpainted nails being appreciated once for how “clean” you look. All you could think of was the girl that used to do her hair and paint her own nails at one point. Except for the ones on her right hand. She saved that job for her best friend who surprisingly had a steady hand, despite complaints flying out of his mouth the entire time. Even on the days he gave in and painted his own nails black, he’d find something to be grumpy and complain about. 

It was always you choosing whose house to hang out at, which movies to watch, what places to grab food from. He was a big brat whose favorite answer to most questions was an inaudible ‘I dunno’ from the way he’d mumble it. So, you always led the way. 

Now it’s you mumbling that same exact ‘I dunno’ when you’re all alone. 

You’re tired. Worn out. If you were a blade, you end each day dull and chipped. Nobody sees it, not even those young girls with all the time they’ve spent studying you, blinded by their own dreams and aspirations to be just as important, not knowing the difference between being valuable and useful. 

Maybe it’s better off that way. 

Who were you to try to burst their bubbles when you never had dreams or aspirations to begin with? Your eyes were never as bright as theirs— not as a student, not as an intern, and definitely not as a new hire. 

You never had a spark to begin with, what makes you think they’d eventually lose theirs? 

Maybe you were the unlucky one here. 

You were the one whose head went under water after one bad semester, after all. Even now, years later, it still feels like you’re stuck in the deep end while everyone else has moved on. 

Toji chose to get married and have a kid. 

You can’t even choose yourself on most days. 

“You have arrived at your destination.” 

Fuck. You have a hard time believing the GPS was that loud when it was telling Ieiri which exit to take and where to turn. 

Her lips thin into a reassuring smile as she makes the final turn into the apartment building’s parking garage, and you fail to return it as you take a deep breath. Ieiri doesn’t say anything this time, figuring you’ll probably just have to see everyone's excitement for yourself to realize this wasn’t a pity invite. It’ll settle half of your nerves. 

The other half should settle itself with time and a drink. Several drinks, honestly. She did the best she could with telling everyone that what you pulled during your second year of college was 100% a you thing and to not talk about it unless you brought it up. Which you probably won’t— everyone will understand. No one wants to talk about being in a dark place when they haven’t fully left it. 

One moment, you’re sitting in the passenger seat with your seat belt still buckled. Next, your chest is tightening as you watch her open the door to Satoru’s apartment. There’s already chattering, which stops once she announces your guys’ arrival. 

You barely get the chance to look around before Suguru’s peaking his head out of the kitchen to see if you really did show up and lets out a laugh once he sees that you did. It was light and airy, the kind that’s accompanied by the warm feeling that you should get in your chest when seeing an old friend. 

He’s obviously changed, it’s been 7 years. Yet, he never lost that quality that managed to make people a little more comfortable.

“Hey stranger.”

Your lips thin into a shy smile, “Hey.” 

“Well?” Suguru asks, holding his arms out. “I know it’s been ages but there’s no need to be shy.”

“Sorry,” you murmur, stepping forward and accepting the hug. 

He lets out another laugh. “Don’t be— it’s nice to see you.”

“Where’s mine?!” 

You easily recognize the offended, slightly childish tone. You slowly turn your head around to see a slightly less lanky Satoru. Aside from getting some much needed meat on his bones, he doesn’t seem to have changed much. He’s still as unserious as ever, still wears sunglasses indoors like an asshole. 

Ieiri stood back the entire time, sipping on a drink she had already managed to make, patting herself on the back as she watched her little plan run smoothly: Show up early and let you build some confidence from awkwardly greeting the old friends you shared together one by one. 

It’s funny, you told her that they’d eventually move on to talking to the friends they made after you, but they all seemed more interested in circling back to you, whether it be handing you a shot or introducing you to a new face. 

If there was one burden she wishes she could take from you, it’d be the burden that has you walking through the world as if you were everyone’s last choice. 

Today should be enough to prove that.

“Yeah, no— at this point, fuck Nanami and his birthday. This is a better surprise.” Satoru throws an arm over you, slightly swaying from the shots he’s already taken. “Pfft– he doesn’t even like his birthday. I’m sure he’d be happier to see her, too—”

“He’s coming up the elevator,” Suguru cuts him off. 

“SHIT! EVERYBODY SHUT THE FUCK UP AND HIDE,” Satoru suddenly yells, as if he weren’t just talking shit just seconds ago. 

No one would be surprised if Kento heard him yelling at everyone like that, and given how hesitant of a knock there was at the door. The blonde probably already knows there’s something up. 

Suguru goes to open the door, and the moment he opens his mouth to greet him, there’s a loud wave of people yelling ‘SURPRISE’ behind him, with Satoru saying it a split second sooner than anyone else did. 

Kento’s eye slightly twitches. Half surprised, half irritated. He fucking hates surprises and knows that’s the only reason why Satoru decided to throw him one. Before a complaint can leave his mouth, Ieiri hands him an old fashion. He tries to speak again, but gets interrupted once more when she tells him who’s here. 

At first he scoffs, already having enough of people of fucking with him today. 

“No, I’m serious!” she swears, looking around trying to see where you were at, eventually catching a glimpse of your head in the kitchen. “There she is— come say hi.”

Ieiri grabs his wrist and pulls him through the living room and into the kitchen, where you, Yuki, and Choso were talking. She turns back to look at Kento, who’s already surprised by her rare display of excitement, as she gestures towards you. 

“See? Surprise!”

“Yeah, surprise!!” Yuki says right after. 

“Holy shit.” Kento rarely curses, but finds himself unable to come up with better words. “It’s been ages!” 

“I know!” You try to sound more apologetic, but ultimately fail from the nice buzz you had going on. “Happy birthday!” 

And for once, he’s a little less uptight about it when he gives you a hug and says his thanks. It was a nice surprise, he had to admit. If only Satoru didn’t have to ruin the moment with the way he barged into the kitchen with some stupid, frilly party hat in hand, begging Kento to put it on. 

“I said no!”

“C’mon, Nanamin!” Satoru whines, taking a step forward each time the blonde takes a step back. “You’re not getting any younger.”

“I don’t want to get any younger— I’m a grown man, and so are you. Maybe you should start acting like one.” 

“I do! I’m just fun,” he continues to pester him, ignoring everything Kento mumbles under his breath. 

You end up excusing yourself to use the restroom, somewhat bummed you couldn’t stick around longer to watch them bicker some more. You’re sure it went on for a while, though, unaware of how it was cut short when Shoko grabs Satoru by the arm. 

He hisses at how tight of a grip she has on him, fingers digging into his skin as she pulls him aside.

“What is your problem?!” he asks through a clenched jaw. 

“Sukuna’s here?!” 

“Yeah?” He tries and fails to free himself from her grip as he answers. “I thought it’d be a nice surprise!”

She looks at him like he’s stupid, nails continuing to dig into his flesh. “A nice surprise? He fucking hates her. I wouldn’t have brought her here if I knew he was coming!”

“Ow ow ow— No he doesn’t?! Do you actually believe that?!” he groans in between each sentence. 

“Yes! He says it every time someone brings her up!”

“Ow ffuck! You know how dramatic he can be sometimes— fuck, Shoko, please, you’re breaking skin.”

“You deserve it!” she responds in a clipped tone, despite finally letting go. 

“Jesus Christ— you can’t just assault people like that,” he pouts, rubbing his arm. “It’ll be fine! It’s been years, he can’t hold a grudge that long.”

. . . . . .

Sukuna can absolutely hold a grudge that long. 

Except, he was staring at said grudge like some fucking loser, and had to remind himself that it was still alive and well. 

At first he thought you were just one of Satoru’s new friends as you walked through the living room, shyly making your way around everyone, but then you just so conveniently looked up in his direction.

His eyes nearly widened. 

And yours actually did, looking as guilty as you should be.  

The longer you two stood there, looking at each other from across the room in shock, the guilt you had in your eyes started to fade. He was sure everyone else welcomed you back with open arms, and in turn got irritated because you probably thought he’d do the same. So before you could even think to take a step in his direction, he wiped the shock off his face and replaced it with a look that’s able to make even grown men turn around and walk the other way. 

Which is exactly what you did, stomach slowly twisting into a tight knot as you immediately began to replay the death glare he gave you over and over in your head. 

Sukuna didn’t stay long and left shortly after. Not without pretending like he didn’t know you when he said goodbye to everyone, including Kento, who he never even got the chance to say hi to in the first place. 

Shoko didn’t think that was enough to have a complete 180 in your mood. She then realized you were already quiet before that. You also decided to stay in the kitchen, where there was a wall in between you and him. 

So yeah, she blames Sukuna.

“Are you sure he didn’t say anything to you?” Ieiri asked one last time as she pulled up to your apartment building. 

“Nah— my stomach just started to hurt. I don’t drink alcohol that much.” 

She still didn’t believe you, not with how big of an asshole Sukuna can be, which is why a certain someone got an earful over the phone the moment you got out of the car. He barely got a word out while she threw nothing but insults and threats so specific his way, that he had begun to believe them.

Of course Satoru felt bad! He didn’t want you to disappear again for another seven years and have it be all of his fault. So, he gives Sukuna a call, continuing the cycle of abuse started by Shoko. 

The phone rings three times. Sukuna never finishes saying hello before Satoru tries to grill him. “Alright, what did you say to her?”

“Who the fuck are you even talking about right now?”

Sukuna knows exactly who he’s talking about, Satoru can just see his face crinkling in fake disgust over the accusation because he’s just a bullshiter at the end of the day. 

“Shoko thinks you said something to her— she said she was acting all weird and shit when she came back from the bathroom.” 

“She’s already fuckin’ weird,” Sukuna scoffs. 

“So you did see her before you walked into the kitchen to say bye?” 

“Yeah, I saw her. Doesn’t mean I said anything to her though, you fuckin’ moron.”

Satoru sighs and rubs his temple, knowing he probably looked at you like he wanted to skin you alive. 

“What? Is looking at her a crime now?” 

“With the way you look at people? It should be.” It’s clearly not the first time Sukuna’s managed to simply offend someone his face with the way it comes out as a complaint on Satoru’s end. 

“Why do you even care?” 

“Don’t turn this back around on me?!”

“Then quit trying to grill me over the way I look at people. Seriously— she comes back and you all are fuckin’ babying her like she’s some victim. It’s not that serious.”

“Well Shoko—”

“Shoko can fuck off.” Sukuna cuts him off. “Don’t bother me about something stupid like this again. If she can’t handle someone looking at her in a way that she doesn’t like, maybe she should stay home and lock herself in her fuckin’ room.” 

“I– she already did!” he tries to come to your defense. “Shoko won’t tell me much, but she was going through it for years. She probably still is! She doesn’t go out at all. I tried telling you before and you wouldn’t listen.”

There’s a long pause before a disappointed sigh could be heard. Satoru could tell it was directed towards himself instead of you. “She was going through it, so she locked herself in a room for years?”

“Not literally,” he scoffs. “Look, all I know is she was dealing with depression and now she’s all anti-social because of it.”

“She should’ve fuckin’ said something then.” 

“Well, she fuckin’ didn’t.” 

“That’s–”

“If that’s an opinion, it doesn’t matter,” he cuts the man off, starting to grow impatient. Satoru has adhd— the severe, annoying kind. There’s only so much he could handle before getting the violent urge to scream out random noises. “I’m just gonna give you her number so you can talk to her if you want. Who knows, she might even open up to you more since you were the one closest to her.”

“I don’t want her n—”

“YES YOU DO.” Satoru yells, leaving Sukuna more appalled than annoyed. “I just sent it. BYE.”

click.

Sukuna glares at his phone for a moment as if it were an extension of Satoru, convinced he was dropped as a child or something and just doesn’t know it. He knows he definitely wouldn’t tell his kid if he dropped them as a baby. 

He relaxes his tensed brows and shakes his head as he pulls up the number Satoru sent. For some reason, he expected it to be your old number that he still somehow knew by heart. 

He hates that he remembers it. 

He also hates that the actual reason why you disappeared isn’t as dumb and selfish as he wanted it to be. 

. . . . . .

In the three weeks he’s had your number, he hasn’t tried reaching out. He also hasn’t accepted any invitations to hang out with anyone as a group, despite being told that you were okay with him showing up. Part of it was spite, the rest being him genuinely tired from work. 

His old man’s been taking more time off under the guise of letting him ‘take over for the day’. He acts so gracious with it, too, as if Sukuna should be thankful for the opportunity, when really, Wasuke should just fucking retire already so he can hire someone else to take his place as site manager. He’s essentially working two jobs now and when he asked for a raise, that old piece of shit laughed so hard that he damn near coughed up fifty years worth of cigarette tar.

You’d think watching his father nearly hack up an entire lung would be enough to make him quit smoking himself, but that shit pissed him off so bad that he smoked three cigarettes in a row just to calm down before going back to work. It still pisses him off. He doesn’t regret taking $50 out of that old man's wallet on his way out to cover his gas for the day. He honestly should’ve taken more. 

It’s been months since he’s gotten home at a decent time. Tonight was probably the worst thus far. 

He drags his feet into his apartment and kicks off his boots, heavy eyes landing on the clock that’s two minutes away from 10:00 pm. 

The next ten minutes are spent shoveling leftovers into his mouth, followed by a hot shower that was mainly spent just standing there, zoning out as the hot water hit his back. It’s been days since he’s jacked off, realizing it doesn’t even give him the urge, his sex drives plummeted all the way down to hell. He just wants to sleep at this point. 

Except when his head hits the pillow, he’s wide awake. It doesn’t help that he ends up scrolling through instagram— there was hardly a point for someone that barely followed anyone to begin with. 

There’s not much to scroll through. The most interesting thing being a recent post of Suguru’s night. He absentmindedly looks through them, then pauses at the 4th photo of you and Shoko with your little drinks in hand. 

You were barely smiling. 

Your lips curved just enough for the camera— nothing like the photos of you from before, grinning and laughing. That’s how he’s always remembered you.

Would it have even made a difference if he told you not to move so far away for school? It’s not like he could’ve known, you never said anything. He thought you were doing just fine and you deleted everything one day and changed your number. 

He taps the photo to see who’s tagged. Just Shoko. You still haven’t gotten back on social media, no profile to see what you’ve been up to. All he knows about you is that you moved back to the area after graduation and scored a cozy finance job without telling anyone. The only reason why you got in touch with Shoko again was because she ran into you at some bakery and made you give her your number. 

It didn’t even matter if you did have a new phone with no contacts by the time you moved back. You didn’t need to text him or call him, you could’ve just shown up. Sure, he might’ve been annoyed at first, but he wouldn’t have turned you away. 

You’ve known each other since 8 years old, you disappeared at 19. That’s his whole childhood right there. You played together, ate lunch together, walked to school together until he got a car, ditched school together. You had your own shampoo and toothbrush at his and would just use his clothes if you didn’t have a spare set with you.

It’s just dumb.

Still thinking about it, that is. It’s been years. It may have been fine to still be thinking about it at 21 or 22, but now it’s just ridiculous.

. . . . . .

You aren’t expecting Sukuna to warm up any time soon. At all, really. You couldn’t blame him for the reaction he had seeing you at Kento’s birthday. If there was one person that deserved an explanation, it was him, and you’re just about seven years too late for that. 

He wasn’t the same person you knew. You couldn’t just go up to him expecting that you’d get to have a conversation. A civil one, at least. 

It’s been years. 

And honesty, it might not even be about being several years too late. He’s a grown man, why would he care about a childhood friend that just up and left?

All there’s left to do now is to stay out of his way. You’re sure his temper’s the same and the last thing you want is to bug him. Hopefully being at a kids birthday party shields you from it in the case that you accidentally do. From what you heard, he seems close enough with Toji to know not to fuck with his sons special day. 

It’s not all bad. Toji couldn’t come to Kento’s birthday since his wife and son woke up sick that day, so you were more excited than nervous for today since you’d get to meet them. 

This time it was you that picked up Ieiri. You felt a little guilty for being the one that constantly got rides, despite having a running car of your own. Once you two got to the little park in their neighborhood, everyone was already there, including Sukuna, who was stuck having to watch his nephew that you’ve heard about through Choso. 

The biggest plot twist of all was probably learning that Jin is now technically Choso’s stepfather. You knew Choso had a teen mom, you didn’t know she was that young, though. You also had no idea how much of a milf hunter Jin was, either. 

Jin apparently didn’t know that was Choso’s mother. No one believes him, especially not Sukuna, who still looks at two like they’re a couple of fucking sickos for making him Choso’s step-uncle. 

The kid’s name is Yuji, and he looks just like Jin and Sukuna when they were kids. He’s the same age as Toji’s son, who’s turning 3 today. Yuji acts nothing like his father or his uncle. Jin was always quiet and sensitive. Sukuna was sensitive, too, but he was always very vocal about the things that annoyed him. The toddler was more like Gojo, hopped up on sugar and bouncing off the walls. 

Sukuna calls out to him like an angry mother at a grocery store, gritting his teeth as he tells the kid to, “get your ass over here, NOW,” all while Yuji pretends not to hear or see him…. up until Sukuna gets up from the bench, which is when the little boy decides to run back to him, whining about how he’s sorry and how he didn’t know. 

Megumi’s more quiet and follows Yuji around. He even ran back to Sukuna with the boy, worried that his friend's uncle was going to leave him at the park too, even though his father was at the grill just a few feet away. 

Watching the two boys play is adorable, but you try not to look too much in an attempt to avoid making eye contact with the grumpy uncle, which ends up becoming more difficult than you’d imagined. The kid eventually wore him out to the point where he managed to slip out his view. 

Yuji didn't go very far. 

“...es’cuse me?”

You feel a little tug at your shorts and look down to find an incredibly worried Yuji, who should’ve gone to an adult he knew, but here he was after quickly deciding you were the trusted adult for whatever problem he had. 

“What’s wrong?” You crouch down, getting at eye level. “Are you okay?” 

“No,” he shakes his head, pointing to his feet. “I donno how to tie my shoes.”

“You don’t?” you ask, sounding just as concerned. “Do you want me to tie them for you?” 

He pouts. “Yes, please.” 

Your heart melts at his little voice. “Aw, okay.”

Like any other kid, Yuji’s amazed at how fast adults can tie shoelaces, unable to keep up with the strings crossing and looping around each other to create the little bow at the end. 

“Yay!” He claps his hands, jumping in excitement. “We can play again, Gumi!”

Megumi thinks to celebrate with his friend, but closes his mouth right after opening it. 

Then you’re startled by a scoff made directly behind you. “You make a stranger tie your shoes and you can’t even say thank you?” 

The last to freeze is Yuji, who side-eyes him, rather than turning to face him. “Um.. ya I did..”

“No you didn’t?!” The toddler's ability to lie over something so simple amazes and offends the man at the same time. Does Yuji seriously think he’s that stupid? “I watched you lie about not knowing how to tie your shoes and then I watched you try to run off with even thanking her.” 

“I donno how to tie my shoe!” Yuji stomps a foot on the ground to prove whatever point he thought he was making. 

“Yes, you do— now thank her, before I take your shoes away.” 

“Oh no, not my shoes!”

“Yeah. Bye bye, shoes.” Sukuna snorts, clearly enjoying this. “You’re a big boy now, remember? You don’t need them.”

“Yes, I do!” Yuji whines.

“Then have some manners and say thank you.” Sukuna continues to glare at the kid while pointing at you.

“Thank you for tying my shoe,” Yuji tightly grabs the bottom of his t-shirt with both hands and bows at you, then turns to his uncle and starts whimpering. “Don’t eat my shoes, Unkakuna! I need them!” 

Sukuna’s even more annoyed now at how specific that was. “Who said I was gonna eat them?!” 

“I dunno! You eat everything!” Yuji claims, bottom lip quivering and all, making his uncle's eye twitch in disbelief. “It’s all stuck in your big belly.” 

Sukuna’s face drops, as if he didn’t see a 6-pack in the mirror this morning with his own eyes.

“I don't have a goddamn belly,” he scolds him through a clenched jaw, then lowers his tone as he begins to crouch down. “Do you want me to hit your Papa Jin?” 

“No!!!”

“Then quit acting like I eat everything in sight, you little shit.”

Yuji scratches the back of his head as he continues to whine, trying to force a couple tears out. Eventually he turns to you. “He’s gonna hit my papa with his big belly.” 

“Uh-oh. That's not nice,” you begin to laugh, all while Sukuna grumbles something about Jin being the one with love handles. 

“Papa gonna cry,” he claims, continuing to act distraught over the news, trying to get all the sympathy he can from you. “My poor papa.” 

You giggle. “I don’t think he’ll hit your papa, though.”

“He’s gonna EAT my papa!” Yuji stretches his arms out, emphasizing how big of a meal that would be for Sukuna. As if it couldn't get any worse, Yuji finds a random basketball and tries to stuff it under his shirt. “Then his belly will be big like THIS.”

“Stop it,” Sukuna snaps, pointing off into the distance behind the kid. “Get out of here before I barbecue you on that grill Mr. Toji’s using.” 

“Hey!” Yuji gasps. “You can’t do that!”

“You can barbecue anything when you have barbecue sauce, Yuji.” he informs the kid, then notices a mortified Megumi standing off to the side. “You’re next.”

“DAAAADDDDYYYYYYYY.” 

The boys run to Toji at full speed. Yuji thinks it’s a game, but Megumi’s genuinely scared, sobbing as his father picks him. His dad’s obviously confused as to why his son’s crying like someone threatened to kill him. Once Megumi’s able to actually get a full sentence out as he points right as Sukuna. 

If Megumi thought he was going to receive any sort of comfort from his father, he was dead wrong. Toji bursts out laughing and doesn’t stop, even when Megumi starts screaming and hitting him for not being more concerned over something so dire.

“Megumi says you’re not allowed to have any cake,” Toji yells out. 

“I’m taking Yuji home if I don’t get a slice.” 

Sukuna’s response has the two boys whining in the distance. 

“NO barbecue me.” Megumi glares as he tries to strike a deal with the most difficult person he’s encountered so far in his short, yet stressful life. 

“Give me three slices and I won’t barbecue you.”

“But Unkukuna, you’re belly!” Yuji rounds his arms out in front of him, emphasizing how detrimental those extra calories would be for his physique. 

Everyone grows quiet as Sukuna stares him down, wondering who the fuck even taught him that. Whoever it was better pray to god that he doesn’t find out. 

“I’m not gonna be your uncle anymore if you keep talking about my belly.”

Yuji reaches out in despair as he screams, “NOOO.”

“No? You don’t want that?” he asks, fighting back a smile. 

Yuji throws his back dramatically, shaking his head. “NO.”

“That’s what I thought,” he barks, not bothering to hide how proud breaking Yuji down with a singular sentence made him. “Now ZIP IT.”

“KAY’.” 

Yuji looks away for a moment to take a deep breath, trying to calm down, all while sneaking little peeks at Sukuna. 

He quickly looks away after seeing that his uncle’s staring at him, then peeks again. It happens several times, yet his uncle hasn’t moved a muscle once as he continues to just look at the boy like he’s better than him. 

What kind of a sick game is this? 

Naturally, he grows irritated knowing Sukuna is winning whatever game this is, which isn’t fair since he’s already going to have three slices of cake later. Even one slice was pushing it, to tell you the truth. He was too young to put into words why it pissed him off. All he knows is watching Sukuna enjoy good things, that are meant for good people, will never sit right with his spirit.

By the time Sukuna decided to stop staring at the kid as a form of psychological warfare, you had already been awkwardly standing there for quite some time, unsure if you should leave or not. It was either look rude or look too comfortable, neither of which you wanted to come off as.

Sukuna wasn’t mad at you anymore. At least not since Gojo called and told him you were and still are dealing with some mental health stuff. 

He wasn’t planning on talking to you today, either, purely because he didn’t believe he should have to apologize for giving someone a harmless look. But then he caught Yuji trying to get your attention and figured it would’ve been fine since 2 minutes with him would make anyone want to choose peace for the next hour.

You couldn’t tell what he was thinking when your eyes finally met his, but at least he wasn’t giving you that same disgusted look you got at Nanami’s birthday. 

You weren’t the best at starting conversations outside of work, though, and quickly embarrassed yourself with how bad you stuttered while trying to find something to say, which ended up being an apology for tying the kids' shoe. 

In turn, Sukuna looked at you like you were a fucking weirdo. 

“What? No, it’s— that’s fine,” he waves a hand, still thrown off by the apology. “He just goes around annoying anybody he can.”

“Oh– don’t worry, he didn’t annoy me. He's adorable.” 

You suppress a laugh as he shoots you a look saying he’s anything but that. 

“He’s a pain in the ass,” he grumbles, already rubbing his eyes from how tired he is. “We passed around a baseball for an hour before coming here and he’s still running around trying to convince people that I’m a fatass.”

He has to be at least 200 pounds of pure muscle and has the ass of a baseball player, so you neither confirm nor deny the words out of fear that you’d make yourself look stupid again. “He probably just likes your attention.”

“That’s the problem— he’s probably taken 10 years off my life already because of it,” he smiles a little, obviously more fond of the kid that he lets on. 

You avert your gaze as you find yourself smiling as well. “His poor parents.”

“They have good life insurance, he’ll be set.”

“Oh, I'm sure,” you laugh with him until it dies down into another awkward silence. You’ve barely looked at him and try not to think too much about it after the realization. Having a conversation with him was surprising enough. Difficult on your end, too, but you pushed yourself. “How’ve your dad and Jin been?”

“Jin’s been good, he’s—” he huffs out a laugh, “you know he went and made Choso his fuckin’ stepson right?” He openly points at Choso, not very worried about getting caught. 

“Yeah,” you nod, just as surprised by it, more so by the fact that Choso and Yuji and brothers. 

“Well. He’s still going strong with Kaori. Just bought a house,” he struggles to list things worth sharing— aside from the mommy kink, his brother’s pretty boring. Sukuna quickly moves on to Wasuke, who he has no issue talking about. “Old man’s driving me nuts. Says he wants to retire, instead he just takes a bunch of days off and pretends he’s doing me a favor by letting me play boss while he’s gone, so now I’m doing my job and his.” 

“You’re working for the company?”

He sighs deeply. “Yeah.” 

It pains him to say, remembering all that talk about him wanting ‘something of his own’ when he was younger. Now here he is, set to take over daddy’s company. 

“I mean… it’s already there,” you try to offer some words of reassurance, being the one that heard most of the said talk. “All you have to do is maintain it once it’s yours.”  

“Exactly,” his tone changes, less ashamed of pulling the nepo baby card. “I’m not tryna work any harder than I should at this point.”

“Does he pay you extra on the days he’s off, at least?” 

“Fuck no.” He laughs, even though there is nothing funny about being exploited at his grown age. “Yeah— nope— he works me like a fuckin’ dog.” 

Hence why he’s been helping himself to whatever cash is in the old man’s wallet and whatever food he has in his pantry when he visits. He makes good money to begin with, so it’s not like he can’t afford any of it, it’s just the principal. 

He’ll take Wasuke’s toilet paper, too. 

That old man has one year to either give him a raise or retire completely before couches and T.V.s start to go missing. 

“Old man’s been good, though… still kickin’,” he mutters, then stops himself before saying something really fucked up, “What’ve you been up to?”

You shrug as you let out an indecisive hum, knowing you didn’t have much to share. “Nothing really— work usually has me pretty busy.”

He’s well aware of how boring of a life you have, but still tries to push for more details. “Yeah? Suguru says you’re in finance now.”

“Mhm,” you nod, growing shy, “portfolio manager.”

“You spend the day telling people what to do now?” he asks as if he were almost impressed. 

“Not really,” you laugh. “A lot of it’s research, reporting, meeting with clients, I— yeah, I mainly just take care of more of the sensitive stuff. If my manager hat’s on, it’s usually just collecting reports from the other managers or figuring out what’s going on with their teams if they’re not performing the way they need to.” 

He nearly barks out a laugh. 

You look at him with confusion. “What?” 

“So instead of managing a bunch of people, you just terrorize their managers?”

“I don’t terrorize them,” you murmur, shifting in place. “It’s their job to make sure that their teams are performing well and if they aren’t—”

“You ask them why they aren’t doing their jobs,” he finishes your sentence with an amused grin. “Then they sit there for the next hour, trying to come up with an answer for that.”

You pause for a moment, wondering if he has to do the same. “Well— kind of.”

You don’t have time to sit there and listen for an hour, nor do you want to. The longest one went just over twenty minutes before you had to stop her. 

“Listen, Linda— I,” you stopped to think twice about what you were going to say, “I’m just asking why there’s been a dip in the performance, I really don’t need an entire life story for that. Why don’t we take a few steps back— how has your team been?”

“Well… uhm… well… they…” You nodded, thinking it’d encourage her, and it did, but 5 minutes later she went off course to talk about her failing marriage, again. “And then Dave, he—”

“Is Dave a new hire?” 

Her eyes dried right up. “No… Dave is my husband.” 

You knew damn well who Dave was, but she was starting to get on your nerves.

“Okay, let’s talk about your team right now… this is about work— Dave doesn’t work here.” You tried your best to be patient with her, but it was like teaching a kindergartener how to self regulate. “I wanna know things like how everyone’s been mentally— are they eating, are they getting enough sleep, are they taking their breaks? Are they having to work through them?”

She didn’t know. She just wanted to give you a sob story so you’d let her off the hook. So, when she mentioned Dave a third time:

“This isn’t working,” you murmur to yourself as you turn to your computer and start typing. “I’m going to make a little worksheet for everyone, including you. Think of it as a peer review. You’ll have one for each team member and each team member will have one for you. I think that’ll be an easier way to get to the bottom of things.” 

Instead of excusing herself, she stares at you like a deer in headlights.

“There’s no need to wait on me by the way, I’ll have them emailed out to everyone within the next hour.”

On the rare occasion that you do have to ask performance related questions, you send them the same exact worksheet so they have an idea of what you wanted to talk about— which is the only part you mention to Sukuna. He’d probably accuse you of terrorizing Linda when you know you could’ve been ten times worse.

You’re just glad he didn’t ask about any of the other stuff you had to do.

Sometimes you wished you spent your days in Linda’s professional shoes— god forbid you ever had to deal with a man like Dave. Her job was less demanding than yours. More human. Working with others and collaborating with them must be great in terms of keeping you grounded— normal people, that is. 

You wouldn’t consider any of the people you answer to now as normal. The stakeholders, clients, the higher ups, Yaga— they’re all fucking crazy. You couldn’t just pretend like they were normal, you had to match their energy and in some cases, you had to be worse to finish whatever job you were tasked to do, which drove you closer to their territory with each day that passed.

“Do you like it there?” Sukuna looks at you and asks, tone fond and filled with warmth, as if he were proud of you. 

In the same moment you realize that you were only fooling yourself earlier when you tried to believe that he hated you. 

You wish you could turn back time by just a few seconds to change the subject. You didn’t want to answer a question that he clearly wanted a yes to— you’re sure it’d make him feel better about knowing you chose to spend all those years alone, when you had someone would’ve easily stayed by your side. 

You grew stiff, eyes glossing at the question because you hated the real answer to it. 

“Not really,” you murmur, almost ashamed to admit it. “That’s kinda how I feel about most things, though.” 

It was true. You don’t even know why you’re wishing for a job like Linda’s, you always came off as cold and hardly spoke to others before the big promotion. 

He didn’t know what to say to that, he wasn’t even sure if there were any words you could give to someone as apathetic as you sounded when answering. It’s not like he was the type to offer anything encouraging to begin with. Instead, he stayed quiet, comfortable in the silence as he let his own mind run free for a bit. 

Just as you were starting to think you made him uncomfortable—

“Did anyone have to drag you here today?” he asks. 

“No.”

“So you chose to come to soot sprites' birthday?” he asks, as judgmental as ever.

You smile. “I did.” 

He gently rests his hand on top of your head, leaving you with a familiar sense of comfort as he leaned in. “You’re not doing too bad then.” 

“Uncle-Kunaaaaaaa!” The man looks up to see his nephew sprinting towards him. “My tummy growling!!”

“This kid’s always coming up with the most extra ways to say things,” he mutters under his breath as he pulls away. “So you’re hungry?”

Yuji slows down the closer he gets, until he’s skipping towards the man. “Yeah. Mr. Toji says he make chicken sticks.” 

Sukuna looks at Yuji the way he always does whenever the kid decides to rename something. “You mean skewers?”

“Yeah, chicken sticks,” Yuji nods, confidently repeating himself, because Sukuna was obviously wrong, even though Toji said skewers, too. Both men obviously don’t know what they’re talking about. 

The man actually looked to you for help, and given how it’s an issue between a 3 year old rage baiter and a grown man that will make time to argue with a child, you decide to stay out of it. 

“That sounds yummy,” you say to Yuji, and you could feel Sukuna glaring at you for not even bothering to call them skewers, too. “You guys should probably grab some before Suguru arrives, he loves chicken and leftovers.” 

Sukuna lets out a mixture of a scoff and a laugh since it’s true, but if anyone’s taking those skewers home, it’s him. 

Which is why he lets Yuji start to pull him away to get some. 

. . . 

Getting to talk to you more, after being pulled away from Yuji, hardly counted since it was with groups of other people. 

Luckily for Sukuna, your car’s parked right next to his and you’re leaving at the same time he’s trying to get the little brat in his car seat. He’s half asleep and won’t let go— each time he physically tries to pry Yuji off of him, he does this weird muted scream. 

He’s about 2.5 seconds away from wrestling this kid when he hears someone. 

“Bye.” 

It comes off as a little unnatural, but it’s in more of an awkward ‘I don’t know if I should say goodbye to you right now’ way. 

Sukuna turns around. “Oh, wait—” 

His hand slides into his pocket, only to find it empty, then realizes it’s in the pocket of his jacket. The side where Yuji’s on and won’t leave. You stay in the place the whole time, wondering if he’s aware of how funny he looks grumbling to himself as he checks all his other pockets. 

He eventually finds his business card, then rolls his eyes after realizing he’s about to give you a business card, because he’d rather not tell you he already has your number. To add salt to injury, he didn’t even need to pull his phone out, because the goal was to give you his number. 

“Here.” He hands the semi-decent card over for you to take, surprised it’s not more broken down since he’s always leaving them in his pockets, even when he’s throwing his clothes in the washer. “You don’t have to of course, but feel free to reach out if you’re interested in catching up sometime over lunch or something.” 

“Yeah, that’d be nice.” You look at the card, flipping it over a couple times. “Um… I don’t actually… need this, though.”

He stares at you for a moment, wondering if it was just some pathetic, last minute excuse to turn him down. 

“I already have it,” you shyly admit, handing the card back to him as if it were better off going to someone else. “Satoru gave it to me a couple weeks ago. I just wasn’t sure if you wanted to hear from me.” 

“Fair enough.” He shrugs, reluctant to say more— he might be down to catch up, but he’s still not apologizing for his face. “Shoot me a text sometime, then. I wouldn’t mind.” 

“Yeah, I will.” You smile a little, trying to hide a bit of the excitement that was starting to bubble up. “Alright, well— it was nice seeing you.”

“Yeah, you too.”

. . . . . . 

‘You’re not doing too bad.’

It took around 3 months after the words left Sukuna’s mouth to actually start believing them. 

It’s not like your life was crazy interesting now. It just slowly started to fill up with things you looked forward to over time. Whether it be hanging out with others or simply sitting in your living room with a latte you took your time making. Your apartment started to feel more like a home with each new addition you added to it. You were nowhere near done, but you found yourself enjoying the process of casually looking through items and randomly falling in love with different ones. 

The newest addition was a painting you saw a year ago and decided not to buy, despite how much you loved it. You stood in that gallery for over an hour, convincing yourself that it would never get that much attention from you again once you took it home. You were convinced that it’d find a way to collect dust in a space that felt as sterile as yours, and left it for someone that had a home where it wouldn’t. 

You found it again in a consignment store with a big coffee stain on the side of the canvas. The person who ended up buying it probably got rid of the moment it spilled. They didn’t even bother hanging it up, and most likely had it on some counter before the accident happened. By the time you got to it, it was collecting dust with dozens of other paintings leaned against the wall since they weren’t good enough to be hung up.

You paid less than a quarter of it was originally worth, but a part of you thinks you would’ve purchased it for its original price if it meant you got to take it home. You’ve thought about it nearly everyday since you stepped out of that pristine gallery, after all.  

Sukuna stared at it for a while before hanging it up. You can’t remember how the conversation started, but he came over and put it up for you after finding out you were going to do it yourself, claiming you didn’t have the right tools. You probably don’t. 

It wasn’t until the canvas was up on the wall when he finally asked the question you had been expecting to get after you caught him looking at it funny. 

“That brown stuff on the bottom corner is a part of the whole thing, right?”

“Nope.” 

He just stood there and continued staring at the damn thing with you, waiting silently for an explanation that he soon realized he’d never get on his own.  

“Are coffee stains some new trend I don’t know about?” 

He was dead serious. It was almost funny how he couldn’t believe that you’d just buy something that was stained like that. 

“Nope, not a trend.” 

He continued to stare at you, so utterly confused as to why you want that thing hung up on your wall when you could just walk into one of those art shops and buy a new one. It’s not like you couldn’t afford it, he’s seen some of the shit you own and you’re clearly not bothered by commas on a price tag. 

You eventually told him the story. He probably still didn’t get it, but that didn’t really matter. 

“How cute,” he says rather boredly, wondering why you couldn’t just tell him that in the first place. “You didn’t buy it for more than 50% of its price, right?” 

You shoot him an annoyed look. “I spent almost an entire year sulking over it, do you seriously think the price of it matters at this point? I wanted it.” 

“You probably ended up cursing the damn thing so no one else could have it. People don’t usually spill coffee on paintings.” he says, starting to laugh the longer he thought about it. 

You don’t laugh with him, but he does catch the proud look on your face as you walk away, just happy to have it. He walks after you with another question in mind, hoping now was an okay time since he always forgets. 

“Mind me asking why you’re just now starting to furnish the place?” 

You shrug. “I was just always too tired to get out of bed. If it wasn’t for work, I wasn’t getting up,” you remind him. “Too many choices to make, too. I’d get overwhelmed and stop looking for stuff.” 

“Yeah, there’s a lotta shit out there,” he murmurs, helping himself to one of the white claws in your fridge. 

The can cracks open and he takes a sip, looking over your living room that’s become a bit more filled in since the first time he came over to help you put your couch together. The place was so empty that he automatically assumed you had recently moved in. 

He’s been helpful since Megumi’s birthday— at least he tries to be. 

It never feels forced, most of the time it’s just him asking if you wanna come along to a place he was already going to, just to get you out of the house. 

He also asks how you’re actually doing, a lot— figuring you were just someone that needed some extra support, given how one lonely, difficult semester made you isolate yourself to the point where you started to believe you weren’t worth missing.

Once, he almost asked how you could’ve ever put him into that category. He loved you, both platonically and not platonically. But he never asked, the past is the past and that’s probably just how it is when someone’s spirit’s in the dumps.

He’s far from a therapist and never has any advice to give, but he was surprisingly good at getting you out of your head— pull you back to reality, without the reality check. You’ve obviously had more than enough of them. It’s why he doesn’t bother being harsh with you, at all. Even during the times he’s come off as more straightforward, you don’t feel any judgement or malice behind his words. The last thing he wanted was to say or do something that made you think you couldn’t give him a call. 

It’s probably why you’re so comfortable with having him come over and why you don’t mind telling him certain things, like the fact that you spent most of your free time sleeping at one point. He never bats an eye. He just wants to be around you, like he’s always had.

“Summers’ coming up. Getting anything for the balcony?” he asks, nodding in the direction of its doors. 

You turn your head, looking over at the empty space. “What would I even get?” 

He’s mid-sip when you ask, but hums in acknowledgment. “Some seating, a little table, maybe a fire pit if you’re feeling extra crazy.” 

You fight back a smile, “Oh? Thanks, asshole.”

“You might be a grandma, but I never said there’s nothing wrong with it.” 

“I’m trying not to be, okay.” You give him the finger as you walk to the fridge, hoping he didn’t take the last seltzer. Seconds later you’re cracking one open yourself.

He chuckles at the little pout you get on your face when you’re offended. “I’m just fuckin’ with you— you’re fine.”

“I guess,” you murmur, leaving him in the kitchen to go take a seat on the couch. 

He trails behind you, leaving enough space between the two of you as he takes a seat on the couch he nearly lost his mind trying to put together. The instructions were in a language so uncommon that most people go about their lives without knowing about it.

“What do you mean you guess?” 

“I don’t know,” you murmur. “Kinda feel guilty for all the years I lost, I wish I could get them back.”

“I bet,” he leans back in his seat. “You ever considered making more time for yourself, now?”

“What do you mean?” 

“Taking some time off. Could be a week, could be a couple months. You could even try working part time for a little. You have a savings, I’m sure you could get away with taking a break.” 

“Oh— yeah, I have actually. The company has really good benefits, though. It’s kinda why I haven’t even tried to leave,” you turn towards him, leaning against the arm rest as you hug your knees. “I’ve been considering asking for a demotion, though.” 

You’re not quite sure how Yaga would handle that. You’ve been coming up with different ideas all month— a hybrid schedule, switching to a 4 day work week, maybe leaving early some days, a demotion. You’re sure taking on another role would have its own difficulties, but it’d be easy to handle compared to all you do now. The workload you have really should  be split between two people, maybe even three. 

“That’d definitely be a lot less work,” he remarks, still shocked at all the shit he has you do. 

“A lot less— I’m hoping Yaga agrees to one of them. If not, I might just find some place else. I could probably take a few months off then. Free time does sound nice.” 

“Yeah you could sleep in, hang out with anyone who’s free, find a hobby, go on a date—“

His last suggestion gets shut down with a laugh. “Yeah, right.” 

“What?” he smirks.

“I suck at dating,” you inform him. “I don’t even know how to anymore.” 

He snorts. “That’s a little dramatic, no?”

“It’s true— last time I went on one was three years ago.”

He raises his brows, then flatly asks, “Three?”

“Don’t judge me,” you grumble. 

“M’not. It’s just— 3 years of completely nothing?”

“God— obviously.” You hide your face in embarrassment. “You are judging me right now.”

“I’m not,” he laughs, taking another sip. “Just a long time to go without having someone take care of you.” 

"Well I slept through most of it anyway so I'm fine,” you roll your eyes, annoyed at how he’d even make a joke like that when he knows you can support yourself just fine without anyone’s help.

“You’re awake right now, though.” 

“So?” you scoff.

“I can take care of you, if you want,” he offers.

“Not funny,” you murmur, just about ready to kick his ass out. 

At first, he’s confused as to why his little offer had you that offended. Then after a minute, it clicks. Since you refuse to look at him, you miss the amused grin on his face after realizing you two are thinking about two entirely separate things in terms of ‘being taken care of’.

You only finally look at him when he gets up from where he’s sitting and there’s a shit eating smirk on his face, making you think he’s just being a dick and leaving.

Then he takes a seat right next to you, leg just barely brushing against yours.

“What are you d—”

“I think you’re a little confused here,” he says a little too calmly, throwing his arm over the backrest and leaning in way too close.

“Listen, I looked forward to hanging up that painting of yours all day, same goes for all the other stuff I’ve helped you out with.” You feel your cheeks start to warm as a result of the low, honeyed tone he’s using on you. “I really like helping you. It makes you a little happier, and with all the assholes I have to deal with everyday, it makes my day a lot better. So, why not just let me do a little more?”

“I don’t— what are you even talking about right now?” Your words come out all nervous and jumbled, failing to stay calm from how close this guy is. 

“I’m talking about all the times I’ve caught you looking at my dick print.”

Your eyes widen in horror and he laughs. 

“Yeah, you’re not slick,” he tucks some hair behind your ear and leans in closer. “C’mon— you’re not even at work right now and your mind’s still all over the place trying to find stuff to be stressed about. Aren’t you tired?”

Your heart pounds against your chest as you hesitate to answer. “I mean— yeah.” 

“Let me fuck you then,” he murmurs, tracing the backs of his fingers down your arm. “You won’t have to think about anything, won’t have to do anything— just gotta take it. Super easy. Sounds fun, huh?” 

“I… I don’t know,” you just barely whisper, shifting in your seat from all the nerves, looking like a deer in headlights.

“I think you do know.” He continues to toy with you as he waits for you to say anything else. Surprise: you never do. 

“I’ll stop if you tell me to.”

You look like you’re about to have a panic attack and it’s adorable. “Stop what?”

“This.” He smiles, pressing a soft kiss right under your ear, humming against your skin, not missing the way it makes your breath hitch. Then he presses another one on your jaw, then another, getting closer to your lips and pulling back right before he does, meeting your glazed over, half lidded eyes. 

He snakes a hand around the back of your neck and pulls you in, making your lips meet his. The first kiss is slow and gentle, letting you warm up to it. You put your legs down trying to get closer, not expecting for it to grow more heated, too. 

An arm wraps around your waist and you're being pulled in to straddle his lap. His big hands roam around your hips and ass as you start to full on make out, grinding you down against something long and hard until you’re desperately panting against each other. 

He gives your ass one last squeeze before finding the bottom of your shirt and pulling it up over your head, rushing to unclip your bra and tossing it in whichever direction the shirt went. A soft gasp slips through your lips once you feel the wet heat of his pierced tongue drag a slow stripe over your nipple, not thinking much about the way Sukuna smiled at you afterwards. 

You should’ve braced yourself for the level of greed you were about to experience. 

Many minutes later, your tits are covered in spit and you’re failing to bite back moans out of self preservation. 

And it’s fucking hard. 

Sukuna’s groaning and dragging a heavy tongue over each nipple 1, 2, 3, 4 times before wrapping his lips around them and starts sucking. He goes back and forth between each, pulling away with a wet, lewd pop before moving on to the next. At first, he’d replace his mouth with his fingers— rubbing, rolling, and pinching on the sensitive bud so it’s not completely neglected while he works on the other one. 

They’re now firmly planted on your hips, because apparently he needs the extra friction. So now your shorts are soaked through and you’re trying not to cum as he continues to push you down back and forth against his cock.

Your fingers are digging into his shoulders, the moans you’re struggling to bite back come out as whines and the one thing that actually pulls one out of you is when Sukuna’s palm cracks down on your ass. 

“Come here.”

He pulls you in by the back of your neck and swallows all the little sounds you try not to make with a kiss messier than the last. 

The air's hot and heavy once he breaks it. A small string of saliva hangs on and then breaks as you pull away, already looking like a mess while trying to catch your breath.  

“Bed?”

“Yeah,” you nod, sounding more desperate. 

“Thought so,” he stifles out a laugh as he suddenly gets up, easily taking you with him as he makes the short walk to your bedroom. 

He sets you down on the mattress before pulling his shirt over his head. The buckle of his belt lightly clinks as he undoes it to take his pants off, leaving just his boxers on that leave little room for imagination. He leans forward, hooking his fingers over the waistband of your soaked fucking shorts, taking them off along with your panties in one go. 

You don’t even get the opportunity to be shy around Sukuna because he's immediately grabbing the backs of your thighs and letting out a low whistle while pulling them apart to get a good look at how wet you already are. 

“Shit— look at you,” he groans. 

Without warning, he dips his head down in between your thighs, and he licks a long, fat stripe up your slit, not missing the extra friction from the metal ball on his tongue. There’s a shit eating smirk on his face when his head comes up, teasing you as he pushes you back further up the bed to make more room for himself. 

“Told you this was fun.”

“Shut up.” You giggle as you watch him get settled back in between your thighs, only for it to die out once he dips his head back down. 

He draws a long sigh out of you once he starts to slowly lap at your sensitive clit. He goes at an unhurried pace, just barely using any pressure and you’re sure he’s just doing it to fuck with you. With the way you are right now, the lazily licks are fucking torture, making you squirm around while you clench around nothing.

The more you move, the tighter his grip around the back of your thighs gets, until you find yourself pinned in place as he finally starts to pick up the pace, adding more pressure until that metal ball starts swiping across your clit like you need it to. You focus on it, until it gets ripped away once you finally feel his tongue press flat against your hole and begins dragging heavy stripes up to your clit. 

Your breathing grows sharp and uneven, hand moving down to his head, locking strands of hair in between your fingers as drawn out moans start spilling past your lips. He goes from pressing his tongue against your entrance to pushing past it, dipping further and further until deciding to just stay there and fuck you with it.

The shallow thrusts have you squeezing and clenching, back arching off the bed, desperate for more. You nearly let out a pathetic cry when he pulls away, but then he fills the empty space right back up with not one, but two of his fingers. They’re long and thick, and he’s curling them in. The pads of his fingers rub right up against that spot inside that has you seeing stars. 

Through half-lidded eyes, you watch as he starts to pump them in and out faster, until a light squelch can be heard. “Oh fuuuck.” 

“You like my fingers?” he asks with a low, amused hum. 

You nod. “Feels so good— oh my god.”

“I bet— look at how fuckin’ soaked they are from you.” He pulls them all the way out for you to see, then stuffs them back in. He starts curling faster, thumb pressing your clit and rubbing little circles until you’re clenching and whining. “Yeahh— that’s it, show me how good that feels.”

He keeps hitting your sweet spot until something in you shifts, making you close your legs out of instinct, only for him to keep them open so he can keep going. 

“Oh my god— fuck— wait!” you cry out. 

“What’s wrong, baby? Gonna cum?” Instead of letting up, he goes faster, letting the room continue to fill up with the filthy sounds of his fingers scissoring into your cunt, pushing you over the edge until you give him what he wants. 

And he gets it quick. You let out a sharp cry as you gush around him, finally cumming after holding it in from earlier.

“Fuuck yeah, there you go,” he rasps, fingers slowing down as he works you through it. 

He waits for you to catch your breath before leaning forward and kissing you a couple times, humming with each one. 

“Tired or you wanna keep goin’?” he asks. 

You’re still trying to catch your breath as you answer. “Yeah, keep going.”

“Atta girl.” 

He pushes himself off the bed to take the boxers off and your eyes widen at his cock that’s bigger than you originally thought it’d be. It springs out of his boxers with multiple piercings and precum smeared all over his darkened red tip. 

And of course, you stare for longer than you should.

“You alright?” he asks, sounding cocky as hell, and actually having the right to be. 

Taking your eyes off feels impossible— 3 rows of barbells on the underside of his shaft right below his tip, and another one on the underside of his tip. It almost feels wrong, he’s already long and thick. 

“Yeah— I just— holy shit.” 

“I know.” He says with full confidence as he gets back on the bed and situating himself in between your legs. “Gonna be fun watching you take it.”

He grabs the backs of your knees and spreads your legs further apart, getting a better look at how wet you still are, fighting back a smile knowing it’s from him.

He gives his cock a couple pumps, then looks at you, not sure whether you’re excited or nervous. “You ready?”

You look at him, then back down to the absolute monster he has in his hand, then back up at him. 

“Mhm.”

He stares at you for a few seconds, then casually shrugs. “Alright.”

You’ll get used to it.

He runs the head of his cock through your slick folds, tapping it over your clit a couple times, making you a bit more nervous after feeling the cold metal ball from his piercing nudging at your entrance. 

He pushes in, and you both have the same reaction to how easy it slides in despite how tight of a fit it was. You take in a sharp breath as he starts to sink in, inch by inch, with no resistance, all while feeling an immediate stretch and the added friction from each piercing. 

Once he’s halfway through, he slowly starts to rock his hips back and forth and you find yourself having to bite back on a moan, realizing those piercings were also rubbing back and forth against your walls. 

“You doin’ okay?” he raises a brow, clearly enjoying the sight. 

“You’re so fucking big,” it almost sounds like a complaint.

“I am,” he hums, leaning down and caging you in with his arms. “I’m gonna push the rest in.” 

“How much is there left?”

“You’ll be fine.” 

He thrusts right in and you're letting out a shattered gasp. At the same time, he’s humming in satisfaction since he got to watch the whole thing.

“Fuckin’ tight,” he murmurs, giving you a moment to get used to how stuffed you are, stealing a few kisses while he’s at it since he’s not entirely an asshole. “Remember what I said, all you gotta do is take it.” 

You don’t get a chance to respond before he’s pulling out all the way and sliding back in, working up a pace as he stuffs you over and over again, dragging those small metal balls right over the spot that made your toes curl. 

It still took you a little bit of time getting used to him though, all words dying at your throat once he started to actually fuck you like it was nothing. Feeling betrayed by your body for letting him stretch you so easily like this. 

Each drive of his cock has you moaning and gasping, making you cover your mouth trying to hold them in— something he did not like since he pushed your hand away. 

Then without warning, he shoves two fingers in your mouth. 

“Mmmh— you look good with my fingers shoved in your mouth like this. Now suck.” 

You do as he says, swirling your tongue around his digit a few times before he presses them down it, making you softly moan as you sucked on them. He pulls them out with a wet pop and starts muttering in your ear. 

“Don’t cover that pretty little mouth again, alright?”

Thrust. 

“Fuck— okay,” you whine back. 

“Good girl.” He gives you another rough thrust, pulling another choked noise out of you. “Don’t try to hold out on me thinkin’ snot and tears are gonna turn me off, cry on it if you have to. I like it ugly.” 

At first you wanted to cry from how fucking mean that was, only to realize that urge to cry may have just been from that one spot he wouldn’t stop hitting, which eventually stopped being overwhelming once you finally get used to him.

“See? That wasn’t so bad now, was it?” he asks, though it was more of a condescending remark rather than a question. “Bet this feels good now, huh?”

“It’s been a while,” you say in an attempt to defend yourself. 

“Yeah, no kidding— pussy’s fuckin’ tight,” he says all smug, getting harder at just the thought. “Feels good like this.”

He brings your legs together and throws them over his broad shoulders. Moans start to spill out of your mouth the moment he starts hitting at an angle that manages to hit your clit too. His hips crack against your ass as he picks up the pace, slick spreading past your thighs as he pounds down deeper, bed steadily rocking from all the force behind each thrust.

“Shit— look at how much of a mess you made,” he groans once the wet squelch between you becomes unavoidably louder. “Did you squirt or somethin’? You’re fuckin’ soaked.” 

“No. I don’t— nghh— who cares, just keep going.”

He looks at you in amusement, keeping the same pace as he pushes further back against your legs to go deeper, making you nearly squeal. “Is this what’s got you lying about squirting?”

“I didn’t squirt,” you say with an airy laugh. “Fuuck— just feels good.”

“Right,” he mutters slowly as he pushes back against you even more, slowing down until he’s just grinding against you. “What about this?” 

It’s a full blown mating press at this point.

“Mhm— yeahh.” Your lips curl into a small smile. “Better, actually.”

“Good,” he hums. 

He leans down to press his lips against yours while slowly picking up the pace again, soaking up all the sighs and soft moans he pulls out of you from the deep strokes of his cock, letting the base of it rub against your clit while his tip mushes against that special little spot inside.

The slow, lazy kisses go on for as long as they can, and for you, it’s when your teeth threaten to clash against each other each time his hips snap against you. By then, Sukuna’s going harder. He pulls all the way back, then drives back in— the force behind each thrust growing greater than the last.

“F-fuck— Kuna, that’s—” 

“What? Too much?”

“No, no— keep going,” you damn near start pleading with him, feeling a little bit of pressure start build. “Don’t stop— please, I think I’m gonna—“

Your cunt stretches helplessly around him, feeling every inch and vein he stuffs into you over and over again as he fucks you with reckless abandon. The sight’s nothing but obscene as he fills the room with the sounds of him pounding you senseless. 

“What’s wrong, baby?” he asks, honeyed and condescending. “Can’t take it?”

“I don’t– fuck– I don’t know.” Your words are cut off by sharp sudden gasps, feeling something unfamiliar build up. It’s not until he gives you one particularly rough thrust when tears start streaming down your cheeks. 

“You poor thing.” If you hadn’t known any better, he sounded quite pleased with himself. He leans down to lick a fresh tear streaming down your cheek before going back to business. “Look at you, getting fucked so good that it’s making you cry. You’re probably close, aren’t ya?” 

You take in a sharp breath, wondering how bad it would be if you did. You already thought you came. Instead, Sukuna’s right and he’s letting one of your legs back down, leaning in close and cradling your head while he continues to absolutely ruin you. 

“Cum for me,” he murmurs. His fingers trail down to your clit and starts rubbing over it with just the perfect amount of pressure, making clenching like fucking crazy. “Thaaat’s it— c’mon. Give it to me.”

He drags his heavy cock all the way out with a wet schlick, then slams back in— again and again and again— pushing you over the edge until your nails are digging into his back and you’re breaking out into a cry. 

You’re gushing around his cock and he keeps drilling into you like he’s trying to work as much as he can out of you— just powering through it. This is the hardest you’ve ever cum in your life, you’re fucking sobbing and he’s just encouraging it with the way he licks a stripe up your cheek, groaning about how fucking hot you look crying on his cock. 

“Oh my g-god— I-I can’t— ffuck it’s too much—” your nails start to claw down his back as he drives you into overstimulation. 

“I know— I’m so fuckin’ close,” he husks out, and you can tell he’s not entirely all here anymore. “Shhiittt almost there— keep squeezing me like that, baby— yeahh just like that,” his hips desperately slam into you, deep groans start to rumble out of his chest as he chases his own relief. “Fuck— ffuuck.”

He lets out the most drawn out guttural groan once it hits him. He slams in, burying his cock deep inside of you and flooding your walls with so much cum that it starts to spill out while he grinds every last drop of it out. 

He pulls out but keeps you caged in underneath you, pressing lazy kisses against your lips with short uneven breaths in between, skin damp and glistening from sweat. It takes a moment to come back to reality, and for someone that doesn’t even know where to start, you’re surprisingly comfortable with the silence between you. 

It eventually ends, though. You’re the first to break it. 

“Did you still want me to go out on those dates you were talking about?” 

Immediately he lets out a breathy laugh. “If you don’t mind me trying to fight them, then sure.”

. . . . . . 

Six Months Later 

You walk step inside Sukuna’s office, giddier than usual with the small pink cake you bought after handing in your resignation letter to Yaga. His feet are kicked up on the cherry oak wood desk and you doubt he’s doing anything work related. But he’s the boss, who’s going to yell at him? He does sit up straight once he sees you, though, ready to hear the news. 

Unfortunately, he doesn’t get to hear it right away since you just had to look at the wall shelves and catch sight of something that wiped the smile off your face. 

“Why is Yuji’s face crossed off in that photo?”

He rolls his eyes, “don’t worry, it’s whiteboard marker.” 

“But why would you do that?” you continue to interrogate Sukuna, because unlucky for him, you two are the best of friends now. 

Jin visited him earlier today and brought Yuji along. He started off the visit strong by pointing to Sukuna and asking his father ‘Does Uncle have a reezding hairline, too?’ and eventually took a look at the protein snacks he had in the corner, which made him look Sukuna up and down, and go “you eat too much.”

Sukuna rubs his temple as he grows annoyed again. “He called me fat and bald, so I told him we weren’t family anymore and crossed his face out to prove it.”

Despite the words that come out of Yuji’s mouth, the kid loves him in all of his grumpiness. 

“So you made him cry?” 

Yuji cried so hard that started dry heaving and nearly threw up. “No,” he grimaces. “He just pouted and said sorry.” 

The apology being, ‘No, PLEASE! I’m sorry, I'm SORRY,’ and, ‘I LIED— huhuhuhu my tummy hurts, yuji gonna frow up— I’m sorry’.

You look at him rather suspiciously as you grab a couple forks from his little snack station in the corner, but let it go this time. 

He takes your silence as an opportunity to change the subject completely. “How’d your boss take the news?” 

“Oh my god, he was distraught,” you reveal, still surprised over how panicked he looked when you turned in your resignation letter. 

He waves a dismissive hand, believing it’s the least he deserved for not trying to meet you halfway when trying to cut some of your hours down and refusing to demote you. 

“You’ll forget all about it after sleeping in tomorrow,” he reassures you before taking his first bite of cake. 

“Yeah— I,” you give a nervous laugh, “okay, so about that.” 

He stops chewing and just stares at you. 

“I’m gonna stay with them.” 

“What?” he almost snaps. “We’re going on vacation in a few weeks. I— what the fuck? What did you get a fuckin’ cake for then?!”

“We’re still going! He’s giving me that time off.”

“How charitable of him.” He snorts out a bitter laugh, then goes back to be mad. “I thought you hated that fuckin’ place?!”

“I did! But he offered to shorten my hours and said I could work from home.” 

That piece of information does nothing for Sukuna, who is grumbling profanities under his breath, acting like he’s the one being forced to stay there. His words start going in one ear and out the other after telling yourself he’ll get it eventually, and take a bite out of the victory cake since you also got a small raise, despite the decrease in hours. 

“Are you listening?”

“What?” you look up and ask, still chewing on the food. 

“Tch– nothing.” Sukuna takes his aggression out on the cake by stabbing the damn thing when getting more. “He shoulda’ given you all that before you tried to quit if you were that important. Hell— he shouldn’t have dumped all that work on you in the first place.”

“He’s a greedy old man that’s hungry for money,” you remind him. “What else would you expect from him?” 

Sukuna’s delusional and does this thing where he just assumes the world sees you the same way he does, and then when it doesn’t, he gets offended. Last week at the grocery store, someone reached for the produce in front of you and he snapped at them for not saying excuse me. Then he snapped at them again for not having any patience, given how you would’ve eventually moved.

“Whatever,” he gets up from his seat to grab a water from the mini-fridge and takes a sip, but before sitting back down, he stops next to you and gets at eye level. “If Mr. Crabs calls you while we’re gone, I’m ripping that phone out of your hand and cussing him the fuck out, you hear me?”

You suppress a laugh. “Loud and clear.” 

“Good,” he says, stealing a quick kiss from you. “Proud of you.”

The sincerity in his tone pulls a smile out of you. “Thanks.”

He glances at the door, notices it’s locked, then places a hand on your thigh when the sudden realization that there was no one that could fire him hits him. 

He gives it a squeeze. You already know what he’s thinking.

“Seriously? You can’t wait until we're at home?”

“I’ll make it quick.”

She was always so quiet. A soft voice, paired with soft steps and an even softer temperament, left her not forgotten but easily camouflaged. She could slip in and out of a room without being noticed, even with that bright hair of hers. 

“What are you working on?” She asked, tilting her head. 

You reached for her and she stepped forward. You brought her between your legs, leaving your knees to hover near her hips and you jerked your chin over her shoulder. You pointed at the lever and Richeh, fully immersed in your explanation, pressed her palms into your knees as she leaned back. 

“Your music player from Master Qifrey?” Her small hands plucked at your skirt.

You hummed in acknowledgement, “It’s broken, look,” you reached around her and turned it, the player sputtered. Richeh tried it herself, “we can fix it.”

“And do you have an idea of how?” You asked.

She hummed, her lips pursed as she leaned in to examine it, “…no.” 

You chuckled, ruffling her hair, “well if you come up with anything, let me know, okay?” Richeh seemed rather engrossed in trying to repair the thing. With her chin on her hand, she studied the smudged sigils that lined the side of it. Volume, speed, and time related spells that kept the thing going without much human interaction. That was as much as you were able to decipher. You weren’t sure if she would understand more, but who knows? She was bright.

“Let’s not ponder too much,” you said, fondly placing your hand on her head, “We’ve got somewhere to be.” 

As if on queue you heard incoherent hollering from the girls' rooms. You both looked up and watched as Tetia trapeze down the steps with a bag in her hand and a grin on her face. 

“Give that back!” Agott yelled. She came rushing after her, face flushed. 

“But I wanted to see!” Tetia cried out as Agott descended upon her. “It’s so pretty, you never make stuff like this! Coco was making one similar yesterday, right? A little ink bag.” The statement only made Agott flush. Coco came stumbling after them, her hands shaking placidly as she tried to calm the two.

“Tetia, that’s Agott’s,” she looked nervous, eyes darting between the girls. You raised your brow curiously. While they did fight, it was extremely rare. Families always had their quarrels and if you knew anything about sisterhood you knew that sometimes they were something vicious. Even if it was just over a little ink.

Tetia, thinking it was better to cause more of a ruckus than end it, darted to the opposite side of the table to avoid Agott, the meager ink pouch held in her hand. From what you could see it was decently constructed if not a bit uneven and patchy. 

“What is going—” You tried to gather their attention but their bickering drowned you out. 

“Give it back, Tetia!” 

“But it’s cute! I want to show Master Qifrey.” Agott’s face was lit aflame.

“Children.”

“Tetia!” Coco squeaked. Now the pink haired girl was pinned between Coco and Agott and she simply found it amusing. Your voice fell on deaf ears and you sighed as you felt an oncoming headache. “My lord, childr—” 

“Girls, enough.” All of the children froze, including Richeh who clutched your skirts silently, as Olruggio’s voice commanded them from afar.

“What is goin’ on?” He asked. He moved casually from his perch, descending the stairs and approaching you with a basket in hand. You thanked him appreciatively, it was a woven piece you’d often used for groceries and had broken just a few days ago when you were lugging herbs in from the garden. You’d tripped over a rouge brush buddy and stepped on the handle, cracking it right in half. 

You thumbed the newly woven wicker as you watched him. 

“N-nothing, Master Olruggio.” Coco started, trying to keep the peace. “Tetia just—!” 

“Tetia took my things and won’t give them back!” Agott accused pointing at the girl. 

You always admired how Olruggio handled the girls. Both you and Qifrey had a bad habit of letting them get away with things. You were stern but when they looked up at you with those big puppy dog eyes you tended to buckle, and it worked on Qifrey more often than it did you. Olruggio though, the girls had to work to get him to side with them. Olruggio didn’t put up with the bickering and the pouting, he made them stand tall and speak confidently when they wanted something. While he disciplined them far less often, respecting how you and Qifrey were raising them, when he spoke up it meant the children were uncharacteristically out of line.

He ignored Agott’s yelling and Tetia’s whining as he tied his cloak around his shoulders. He nodded towards the two who weren’t creating chaos, “Richeh, Coco, go get yuh coats an’ caps.” The two scurried off obediently. 

“Rain shoes girls, the ground is still soft!” You called after them.

Olruggio reached for your cloak, where it lay draped over the banister. He approached you while addressing the girls that remained. 

“Tetia, should yuh have taken Agott’s things withou’ permission?” He asked. He shook out your cloak and unbuckled the front clasp before stepping in front of you and swinging it around your shoulders. Your immediate reaction was to tell him he didn’t need to do all of that, but Tetia interrupted you. 

“N-no, but—” 

“There are no ‘buts’,” Olruggio said, he brushed away the dust at your shoulders and adjusted the fabric that draped over your front. “Tha’ is not yours.” Tetia handed the small pouch back to Agott who quickly shoved it into her pocket. 

“Agott,” Olruggio said, as he placed your cap in your hand. It’d been sitting on the coffee table. “Do we yell like that when there’s a problem?” 

“...no, sir.” 

“What should we have done?” 

“Get an adult…” she kicked her toe against the hard wood, gaze low.

“Good, now apologize t’one another an’ go get yuh things. We’re leaving shortly.” 

You smiled softly as you watched the two girls offer each other defeated apologies before they left to go gather their cloaks and caps. You looked at Olruggio, “thank you.” 

He shrugged, “they’ve been testy lately. Bein’ cooped up in here has done ‘em no good.”

This spring season has been wrought with storms, and you all, more often than not, have had to stay indoors. Today was one of the only clear days the atelier had seen in weeks and thank god, because you were down to your last loaf of bread and a block of cheese that was starting to grow a second life. You needed to head to Kalhn…for both home goods and your sanity.

When the girls were ready and the carriage was secured you all piled in. The wide seats accommodated the children comfortably. You and Olurrgio sat directly across from one another, while the girls split themselves into two beside you and him. When Olruggio tapped the roof, the pegasus jolted and the carriage soared through the sky. The girls spoke amongst one another, much calmer than they were moments ago while you struggled to un-twist the embellishments of your cloak. You sighed in frustration, the tassels had some how managed to hooked themselves carelessly to the buckles.

Olruggio’s large hands settled over yours and gently pulled at the threads.

“Where is Master Qifrey?” Agott asked. 

“Meetin’ with a client, he’ll catch with us in Kalhn,” Olruggio said, not looking away from his work. When the tassels fell away he mumbled in satisfaction. The sound made you pause and your eyes caught his as they lingered on your skin that poked out of your collar. When you adjusted your shoulder, the image of your flesh falling away, he cleared his throat and moved to look out of the window. You observed him for only a second before smiling at the girls. 

“Now, would we like to play our game this trip?” 

Tetia cheered, “Yes!” 

You laughed and pulled a set of lists from your pocket, handing each child a page. “Remember, you should all work as a team.” You gave Tetia and Agott a pointed look, “and?” 

“Whoever finishes the list first gets to pick something from the Starry Sword!” Coco said cheerfully. 

It was a simple game, the girls would race against each other in groups of two to gather all of the items on their list with a limited amount of money. There were never penalties for ‘losing’ but there were rewards for finishing first. You only ever did this when they were willing to. It was a fun activity that taught them time and money management along with speaking and navigational skills. They’d have to talk to vendors to get the best deals, keep track of their cash, pick the right produce and work together to do it all in a decent amount of time. In the future, when they started working with their own clients, they would be far more prepared to negotiate with the more…stubborn ones of the bunch. 

“Tetia and Agott,” you started “you will work together today.” Both girls nodded, expecting it. 

“That leaves you and me, Richeh!” Coco said. 

“Yes.” Richeh replied. 

A little game never hurt anyone.

The market was packed, nearly shoulder to shoulder, clearly you weren’t the only ones who thought it was a good idea to take advantage of the nice weather. Olruggio helped you down from the carriage and just as the girls were about to disappear into the fray, he whistled, “Oi, yuh have two hours and we meet at the park. Understood?” They saluted him, all grins and giggles before ducking into the sea of people. 

You chuckled and thanked the man, “a bit of peace and quiet?”

“With this crowd, hardly.” He grumbled. He stood close to you. Heat radiated off of him like a furnace but it was surprisingly comforting in this atmosphere. 

“How much money did you give those kids?” He asked as you weaved in and out of the masses. The front stalls were the most crowded but it started to calm as you got closer to the city center. 

“Hm…enough.” You said playfully. You always gave them a little extra cash to buy themselves something. You knew what each of them would come back with. Tetia would be carrying a small bag of chocolate. Richeh with a new trinket. Coco with a little accessory for her brushbuddy and Agott would come back with nothing. She hoarded her cash until she saved enough to get something big. 

“Yuh spoil ‘em,” he said. 

“As if you don’t?” you countered, he looked away. You see what he does for them. It’s often small. Extra servings at dinner, letting them get away with things that Qifrey wouldn’t, offering them contraptions that solve problems that are unique to each girl. He tried to act aloof but he loved seeing them smile and he loved seeing them safe.

You opened your mouth to tease him further but a young man crashed into you nearly sending you to the ground if it wasn’t for Olruggios fast reflexes, “Oi! Watch where you're goin'!” The boy didn’t stop but you figured he wouldn’t. You patted Olruggio’s arm as he balanced you back on your feet. 

“Y’alright?” You hummed in response. You were a little startled but not harmed. You heard annoyed cries from the crowd as the kid continued his race. Crowded, indeed.

“Let’s just get off the street,” you said, searching for a stall you recognized. Ah, the repair shop! You grabbed Olruggio’s wrist and tugged him along. He followed without any protest. When you pushed back the curtain you were greeted by a portly man with oil stains on his forehead and an unruly beard.

“Hi, darlin’, what can I help you with?”

“I’m looking for a crank, for an old record player.” 

“Ah,” he wiped his greasy hands on his apron, “let me see if I have some, it's been awhile since I’ve sold any. You know how big it needs to be?”

You grimaced, “uh, no, unfortunately.” 

He chuckled, “that’s alright just give me a sec.” He disappeared behind the counter, tucking into a room that was piled high with gear and gadgets. 

Olruggio observed a cuckoo clock in the corner, it chimed at the 30 minute mark. “What do you need it for?”

“The record player in the living room broke, I’m still trying to figure out the spells used on it but the manual crank needs a replacement. It only plays for a few seconds before it dies.” Olruggio hummed, “ah, an’ do you know what yer doin’?” 

You chuckled, “no but I was gonna guess until something worked.” Olruggio chuckled and the sound made your chest ache. 

The older man slipped back into the room, digging through a rusted bucket of spare parts, “I don’t think I have what your looking for, must have sold the pieces and forgot. I’m sorry darlin’”

You wave your hand casually, “it’s alright.” 

“Try Louis at the end of the street, he’s got parts for instruments. He may have it. Don’t tell him I sent you through.” You smiled and nodded offering him a gentle thank you for his time before stepping back to it into the market place. Bummer, you’d simply have to wait to fix it then. Something was bound to crop up eventually. 

“Off to get the food then,” you said, Olruggio used his body to carve you a path. You didn’t really notice but the crowd did, they parted for him like water.

“Are you alright with stew this week? It’s been awhile.” You’d wanted to make some during the rain storms but you didn’t have the ingredients. You needed bones for the broth and the last time you cooked a full chicken was weeks ago. 

Olruggio grunted, “you know I’ll eat whateva’ yuh cook.” 

You smiled and held up a head of cabbage, “if I get some bacon will you make those things again.” Olruggio rolled his eyes, “yeah, just put'em in the basket. I’ll buy.” You silently cheered. You were a well enough cook and actually did most of it out of everyone in the household but there were some dishes that only Olruggio and Qifrey could make. Not because they were difficult but they always tasted so much better made by their hands. 

You tapped your chin as you continued down the line, greeting familiar vendors with a warm smile and waving at the little ones that sat stationed in the back. The produce looked divine, surprisingly. The wet weather did little to deter their growth. You plucked tomatoes and carrots from one stall, apples from another. Your favorite flour for dough and some spices for seasonings. You bartered with a gentle tongue and made enough deals to save you some cash.

“Y’okay if I step off for a second. Want to check that place out.” He nodded towards a newly opened contraption shop, run by a younger woman and her father. They made easy to cast contraptions readily available for the public. Olruggio had talked about wanting to visit a few weeks ago. 

“Yeah, go ahead. I’ll be here.” 

When you reached the end of your list you spent a moment looking over the wine at Mrs. Hannah’s stall. She was an interesting woman with only one eye and a pesky cat but she did make the best liquor in Kalhn and you knew the boys were running low. 

Qifrey doesn't drink as much as Olruggio does but you knew he liked to partake every so often. You turned the bottle over in your hand, a little to expensive. 

You wondered when Qifrey was. He left the atelier much earlier, before the girls even woke. You'd seen him just long enough to get a kiss good morning and a kiss goodbye before he slipped out the door. Him taking a client is extremely rare given his obligations to the girls but he said it was an opportunity he simply couldn’t pass up. When you tried to pry the information out of him, he smiled sweetly and told you not to worry.

Which, honestly, made you worry. A little.

While you were examining a bottle of rich apricot wine you felt a tap on your shoulder. Your head turned. At first you thought it was the boy from before, coming to apologize for the ruckus he caused, but it clearly wasn’t. 

“Name's Senaka.” He said confidently. He was a few years older than you based on the smile lines that decorated his face, but still relatively young with warm brown eyes and slightly crooked teeth.

You offered your name politely but didn’t say anything else. 

“So, Hannah’s homemade wine?” He mused, “the stuff’s strong.” You caught Mrs. Hannah taking a long drag of her cigarette as she watched your exchange. 

“Um, I don’t really drink. It wouldn’t be for me.” You said.

“My girls love a good drink,” he laughed, his smile was charming but that’s all you would give him credit for, “the two of them can put me under the table with how much they can gulp down.” You paused, ah. You knew where this was going. “They’ve even hoping for another drinking buddy, since I can’t keep up.”

He was trying to recruit another wife.

It wasn’t unusual for witches to take more than one partner. It’s an old tradition that can be traced back to the end of the war, where witches would tie themselves to multiple families to ensure the security of their legacies and the safety of their practice. While many of those unions still existed and were legally recognized, they were significantly less common. 

No one really wanted their marriages to be treated like a trade. Your hand for mine. His hand for hers. The magic stays in the family, the power comes with the name. The lifestyle does attract a manipulative lot who often took advantage of the system to gain things for themselves. Whether it be more money, more power, more sex, there was a benefit to the exchange that was almost addictive.

While you'd never thought about adding a third to your marriage and Qifrey has never brought up the possibility, you wouldn't be against it if it were the right person. 

“Are you married?” He asked. 

“Yes.” You said, picking up another bottle. Peach, delicate, sweet, light. Discounted. You reached for the cash in your breast pocket and handed it to Mrs.Hannah. A small black, yellow eyed cat popped up when she went to take it, his tail caressing your wrist, blessing the exchange.

“Hm, children?” 

She handed you your change, it’s twice what it should be but from the glint in her eye you knew she did it on purpose. For your troubles. 

“A few.” 

He whistled, “wow, must be a happy marriage.”

“Very.”

“You’re gorgeous,” he chuckled “so I’m not surprised that you—ah.”

You squeaked when a hand slid along your lower back and settled on your hip. 

“Everythin’ alright, honey?” You looked up and nearly choked. Olruggio observed you casually, as if approaching you like this was the most normal thing in the world. His fingers were stretched across your hip; they didn’t press or poke, but they felt like lead weights. Have they always been that big? 

“O-oh,” play along you thought to yourself, play along. The ring on your finger glints as you point at your basket. “Look at what I found, your favorite!” Olruggio casually reached for it with his other hand, making sure to pull you in a bit closer as he examined the label thoughtlessly. 

Senaka tried to speak again, Olruggio cut him off. “The good stuff, thank you.” He brushed his chin against the side of your head in such a way that the angle looks like he kissed you. His narrowed eyes catch Senaka’s over the crown of your head.

“Can I help you?” He asked but before Senaka could reply he’s interrupted again by your actual husband. 

“Darling, there you are! I’m sorry it took so long, I meant to join you all much earlier. But, look at this pen set I found. It’s adorable, perfect for the girls. Do you think—” He paused when he noticed how Olruggio clung to you, how you were tucked carefully into his side as the dark haired man looked at him over his shoulder. 

“There y’are,” Olruggio said, “come here. Our wife has a bit of stuff t’carry.” 

…our wife? Qifrey blinked. He looked between you and Olruggio. You knew he wouldn’t suspect anything untoward about the situation but you couldn’t help but be nervous under his careful eye. When he noticed Senaka, his face relaxed in realization. 

He stepped forward, slipping the package into your basket and grabbed for the handle. He pulled it away delicately and kissed your cheek. 

“It’s okay,” you tried to take it back but he held it out of your grasp.

“Let ‘im take it, honey.” There that nickname was again. You shivered. 

They slipped into this shared roll a little too easily.

Qifrey’s shoulder brushed yours and for the first time in your life you’re intimidated by them. Not in a way that caused you to fear or made you feel like you needed to cower. It was just…intense and the sensation that filled the pit of your stomach was something you wouldn’t even be able to share in a confessional. 

Olruggio’s grip on your waist tightened when the man in front of you examined you like you were a freshly purchased center piece. You felt Qifrey’s hand twitch against the back of yours. 

There was a sudden gasp and the tension snapped as you craned your head over your shoulder to find the source. 

A middle aged woman clutched her collar as your four children slid around a group of people, nearly toppling into a stray vegetable cart. You winced. No one was hurt and they missed the cart by a hair but the near crash made your heart skip. When they spied you, they rushed forward, crashing into the backs of one another as they skid to a halt. Agott, then Tetia, then Richeh followed by Coco, yelling and waving their purchases like victory pennants. 

Olruggio quickly dropped his hand and casually stepped away.

Qifrey smiled crouching to their level. He's well acquainted with their race, he's the one who created it. “and who won?”

“We did!” Both pairs yelled. You laughed, reaching over and prying them apart. You brushed the dust from their cloaks and smoothed down their wild hair,  “Oh, a tie?” 

Senaka was forgotten as you spoke, standing to the side of the family like a ghost. 

“Oh hello, sir. Did you need something?” Coco asked, ever observant. She greeted him kindly and he seemed to receive it well. He opened his mouth to speak but paused when he caught sight of her bright hair and cap. He looked back at Qifrey and then to her. “Nothing, my friend.”

Senaka’s gaze lingered on Coco. She tilted her head, inquiring silently as to why he was there. She doesn't recognize him and it doesn't seem like the adults did either. 

“No, he was just leavin’ weren’t yuh?” Olruggio said.

Senaka blinked, prying his gaze away from the girl and looking at you. “Yes, right, well…have a wonderful day.” He bowed with his cap in hand before turning, his cloak billowing behind him as he disappeared into the crowd. 

“Curious, I’ve never seen that pattern before.” Qifrey hummed. Most witches recognized each other’s cap designs. It was a calling card, an identifier. You knew what atelier they were a part of, who their teacher was, where they lived. But Senaka’s was unknown to the both of you. 

“Neither have I,” you said, watching the man leave.

“Master Olruggio, look what we got!” 

“You girls cause nothin’ but trouble.”

“It’s this contraption that Agott found,” Richeh said, “got it from the new store.”

“Let me see that.” 

You clear your throat, he’s too close to you, this tall man, with tattoos that you just can’t rip your eyes away from, adorning huge hands with raised blue and purple veins underneath taut skin. The music and lights of the bar all fade, like some dumb movie you’d watch, your thighs pressing together, trying to rip your gaze from him and focus.

“I’ll have a whiskey on the rocks,” you hear it then, there’s no mistaking that voice, the one that used to make you so fucking angry, the man who’d had your mother dumb in love. You glare up then, for him to look down at you, taking his glass and smirking, ruby eyes lidded as he studies you. “Ah, it’s the brat.”

“The brat? Excuse me?” You roll your eyes at him, while Sukuna studies just how fucking sexy you look right now.

You’re a little older now, you lost some of that baby face, becoming even more pretty, a sharper jut to your chin, narrowed eyes with your lips all glossy and pursed together in irritation. Your hair falls against bare shoulders, you’ve got a different style than you did then to it, silky against your bare skin in that slutty little excuse for an outfit you’re wearing.

He drifts his gaze down to breasts begging for his hands, nipples pressing against pathetic fucking material, some velvet and lace bodice that should be in a bedroom only. He resists the urge to throw his coat over you, before eyeing the boy behind you trying to make conversation.

He gives him such a look that the boy literally fucking runs away, much to Sukuna’s amusement, smirking when you look over your shoulder. “Huh, looks like he got annoyed by you finally.”

“You’re still such a dick, nothing’s changed, huh?” You scoff, rolling your eyes then, he sits down casually, eyeing your empty glass.

“Want a drink?” You pause then, his thigh is brushing against yours, he’s close - too close again. “You’re old enough now, yeah?”

“Twenty-five. And you? Fifty yet?”

“You’re still bitchy as ever,” he rolls his eyes at you, leaning back on the seat a bit, sipping his glass, you watch his adam’s apple bob, the dark lights glinting off his frosty pink locks. “Thirty five.”

“I forgot mom was a cougar,” he chuckles a bit, the sound throaty and doing too much. “You still talk to her?”

“Yeah, I do. She invited me to your sister’s wedding. Me and her were pretty cool with each other – you were the little brat.”

“Yeah well sorry I didn’t want you trying to tell me what to do,” he leans forward, a fist under his chin, elbow on the bar.

“Your mom still a bitch to you?”

You pause, blinking a bit. “She’s always disappointed, if that’s what you mean, she’ll always be her favorite.”

Sukuna pauses a bit, the reason he and your mother didn’t work out had a lot to do with how stuck up and pretentious she was, of course she was beautiful and fun for the time, but she also just didn’t give a fuck. Especially about you from what he can briefly remember sticking around when you were eighteen and trying to figure out college.

“You got invited, huh?” He blinks a bit, the past slipping some. “Mom want some dick again?”

He laughs then, a husky, throaty laugh, running a hand through his hair. “If she does, I sure won’t be giving it to her.”

“What are you dating? My condolences to her.” His eyes narrow at your mean little smile.

“Nope,” he taps your glass again. “Do you want a drink or not?”

“I dunno, former step-dad.”

He scowls now, you’re giggling until he leans far too close, lips a breath away from yours. “Never was your fucking ‘step dad’. Unless,” his fingers drift across your cheek now. “You wanted me to be, ya got that many mommy issues?”

“You fucking wish,” you slap his hand, scowling up at him, meeting his energy in that moment. “Get me one then.”

“What little bitch drink are you having?”

“Dirty shirley.”

He laughs at you again, you shove his big ass, feeling those biceps under your hand. “The bitchiest of drinks.”

“Oh fuck you,” he chuckles and orders you one anyway, judgy as fuck when the bartender pops in a pretty cherry. “Thanks I guess.”

“Yeah, whatever,” you brush your hair back off your shoulders, exposing far too much of your pretty shoulders, lips wrapping around the straw. “Drinking your sorrows?”

“What do you care?”

“We’re both here, might as well catch up with my former almost step daughter.” You shove at his big body, he snorts in laughter, irritating you to no end. “Thought this was your kink.”

“Psh, you’re so annoying I swear. I’m doing music and busy being the family disappointment.” You raise your glass in a toast, he can’t stop the grin on his face.

“Could disappoint them more.”

“You think so?” He leans back, putting the crystal glass back up to his lips.

“Of course you can. You could become a stripper, they'd love that.”

“Shit, I could, maybe dance at the bachelor party?”

“There you go, that’d really get ‘em going,” you laugh then, the sound too pleasing to his ears. “You’re failing at being the disappointment.”

“I am, truly,” something feels almost comfortable about Sukuna in that moment, you try to ignore how sexy he looks when he loosens his black tie, swallowing more of your pink drink down. “I never liked you.”

“I know,” the lights flit a bit, casting shadows on a face that looks a little too fucking good to your buzzed senses. “I didn’t like you much, just a little brat. You still are it seems.”

“You’re still a dick it seems,” Sukuna just winks at you. “And pretentious.”

“Any other words?”

“Obnoxius, rude, annoying-”

“Just say you wanna fuck me already,” you shove at him again. “You ready for the wedding then? Gonna be in some ugly bridesmaid dress?”

“Of course I will be, it’s the ugliest thing I’ve seen too.” You pick up your phone, showing him a picture of you in it.

“Disgusting.”

“I know!”

“You’ll look like a fucking yellow bird in that thing.”

“It’s so ugly, I have to wear it to the rehearsal dinner too. Are you going to that?” 

“I am, I’m not looking forward to seeing your mom again.”

“Aw,” you trail your fingers up his chest teasingly, a pout on your face. “Poor Sukuna, did she break your wittle heart?”

“You’re such a little brat,” he snatches your wrist then, big fingers entrapping it, leaning close to you. “You know your mom.”

“Not quite like you.”

“We’ve both been inside her tech– shit come back!?” You’re already hopping your drunk ass off the seat.

“I’ll deal with you tomorrow,” you mumble, so done with him then, yet he’s following you. “Are you bored?”

“Are you mad?” You scowl at him now, standing towards the entrance, your jacket slung over your arm. “Upset it isn’t you?”

“You’re trying to piss me off, doesn’t make any sense either, I won’t get you hooked back up with mommy.”

“You keep bringing her up,” he leans low, brushing your hair back, you tremble just a bit at the proximity. “You look good as fuck, y’know that?”

“Oh shut up,” you shove at him again. “What, do I look like mom?”

“Much hotter,” you scoff then, but the words have their fucked effect, his big hand on your waist with his lips against your ear when you phone rings. He pulls back and you take a step away, outside catching your breath. The fucker follows you out, lighting up a cigarette casually.

“Yeah, what’s up mom?” You ask, eyes flitting over to Sukuna’s form, leaning against the brick wall.

“What are you doing, I need you to help with plans! This is your sister’s wedding, you know!” Your jaw sets, hands clutching the phone tightly.

“Mom I’ve helped a ton, I just really needed a break.”

“And where are you – let me guess, drinking?”

“And?”

Her sigh of disappointment is louder than anything. “Get yourself together, your sister at your age was already engaged! She was in charity events and-”

“Yeah, I’m aware she’s perfect,” your voice is quiet, but Sukuna hears it, taking a drag on his cigarette, poking around on his own phone. “You don’t have to constantly remind me.”

“Maybe it will be motivational,” you almost laugh at her then. “Fine just don’t show up hungover to this rehearsal, the entire family will be there.”

“And they’ll all be drinking anyway, but sure I will be bright eyed and bushy tailed.”

“I’ll see you then.” She hangs up, you look up at the night sky for a moment, seeing the soft twinkling of the stars, before looking back.

“You smoke now?”

“Bad habit I picked up,” he murmurs, lips wrapping around it to take another drag, puff of smoke rising into the air, he flicks it quickly, hands back in his pockets. “Does mommy want you to leave?”

You laugh a bit without humor then, eyeing the time. “It is eleven, but I have my own suite, she just wants to have plenty of control.”

“Ya gonna give it to her?” You walk over then, shaking your head and brushing past him to the door.

“Wanna play darts?”

He grins, and soon the two of you are going head to head, and fuck Sukuna is competitive at it. They fly with expert precision, zooming past and landing bulls eyes over and over, your own join and meet his, red and black darts scattered all across the board. He’s got you another drink, you’re throwing back a shot with him and laughing, it’s far, far too easy to be around him.

Something you really never expected was that, Sukuna being easy to be around, he was intelligent and sarcastic as can be, but ultimately just fun. You’re laughing so much you almost forget the shitty mindset you were in before, a little too close to him when it’s your turn, soon people are watching you two, seeing the insane back to back competition.

“Hah, I owned your ass!” You flip him off as you pull back your last dart on the board, a big grin on your face that Sukuna finds far too attractive, it’s entirely impossible to register you as the same girl who used to piss him off all the time.

When he dated your mom you hated him, but you also seemed to not be able to stand your own mother. At first it seemed you were just a little brat or something, but he realized that there was clearly more to it in time. You never failed to stick your tongue out at him or 

“I guess you did win,” Sukuna leans too close, chest right against your face as he pulls out your winning dart, you inhale that cologne, tummy tightening with his every movement. “What do you want for winning?”

“I get something, huh?” He nods, his hand slipping across your bare shoulder, leaving goosebumps in its trail.

“What would you want me to do, huh brat?”

“You’re at my mercy?” You raise a brow, body thrumming with a heady mix of desire and how fucked up this would be, to do what you’re thinking of with him.

“Never mind, you look scary as fuck, whatever you’re thinking,” he goes to pull away when you tug at his tie, pulling him down to you. “What is it?”

“Make me cum.”

Sukuna doesn’t spend another minute before he’s kissing you right there, lips mean and messy, hands slipping up your hips to tug you against him, leaning you against the wall with his hard body pressed against you. You gasp out, letting his tongue slip in, the faint taste of cigarettes and whiskey lingering on his lips. Sukuna moans and his hands grip your ass right there.

“Not here, are you insane?” You pull back and see his grin plastered on his face now.

“Make you cum, been a while?” He cups your face in a way that’s anything but delicate or sweet.

“Maybe,” you admit, his thigh pressing against your heat, pressing up so that you’re right against him.

“Fingers or mouth?” You blink in surprise then, flushing and looking down, Sukuna chuckles. “Cock? All three?”

“You’re slutty.”

“You’re slutty,” you kiss him again, the alcohol making your head swirl, any decisions being made in your brain shoved away for just how wet you are. “Slutty and soaking wet.”

“Shh,” you grab his wrist, navigating your way through the sea of bodies until you’re both stumbling into a bathroom, he tugs down your top, moaning.

“Filled out-”

“I will hit you,” he snorts and picks you up like you’re fucking nothing, dragging you over to the counter and spreading your thighs. “Mnh!”

“Shh, keep it shut,” he murmurs, your hands grip on his pink locks when he shoves up your dress, slipping your panties aside and groaning out. “Fuck…”

You arch your hips for him, when he laps up juices that have already spilled down your inner thigh, they’re trembling on either side of his head, cunt already pulsing from his breaths. Some odd, fucked up part of you wonders if your mom had him like this, and you try to feel some guilt, but the moment he parts your folds and flicks his tongue up your slit, the thoughts vanish.

“Oh fuck!” He chuckles and covers your mouth, hovering over you, looking down at you fucked out eyes.

“Keep it down, brat, ya that pathetic? Gonna cum from a lick?” You’re just desperately whining against his palm, when he’s back down there, tongue flicking mean while your head presses against the mirror.

“Sukuna…” You’re gushing down his mouth, ecstasy shooting straight through everywhere his tongue dives and slips, fucking you with it then. Your walls grip his wet muscle, the man you couldn’t stand who was with the woman you can’t stand, worshipping you right in the club bathroom. “Ah!”

“Mmm,” he’s slurping up all of your juices then, gummy walls gripping his tongue so tightly he can’t stand it. You’re so sweet then, for the mean little brat you usually are, all pliant and needy. He can’t help but look up at your already fucked out face and grin against you. “Prettier than moms.”

“You’re so fucked up,” you’re wetter though, he notices when his fingers slip up inside your hole, curling up and down, stretching you so much. “Tighter?”

“You’re the fucked up one,” he flicks his tongue on your clit. “Mommy issues out the ass.”

“Shh, get back down,” you shove his face back against you, and he’s so hard it hurts, throbbing and leaking pre, dying to be back inside you. “Mnh! There, there…”

He pulls back right before you’re about to cum, earning your soft whine, he keeps his two fingers pumping up and down, gripping your hair and pulling you to him. “Open, brat.”

You don’t know why, but you easily obey his command, doing just that and opening for his spit, mixed with your flavor, you swallow it down and get even wetter, so wet his fingers slip out, earning your frustrated whine. “Lemme cum, please.”

“You will,” he yanks them out again, shoving them in your mouth so deep you almost choke, sucking yourself off them desperately. “Good little whore.”

“Fuck you,” he just chuckles, pulling you down, you hear the unzipping of his slacks as he turns you to face the mirror then. “Watch your face while I make you cum, huh?”

You would say something smart, but you’re aching, soft moans escaping your throat – nodding quickly as he slips his spit soaked fingers down and into your snug little hole again. He moans against your ear, your taste soaking his mouth now, stroking his cock with his other hand, dying to slip it inside you, but also noticing your face is just too pretty.

He’d thought so years ago, you first met him the summer before college, in some tiny little outfit that had him feeling fucked up, but he promised then he’d avoid that. Yet he couldn’t help himself, finding you on instagram later, jerking it to your pictures long after he split up from your mom, and your body was better than he could imagine, he almost whispers it to you.

No way he gets that vulnerable though, you clearly want to cum and have some serious issues with your mother, and he’s glad to enable if it means he can fuck your pretty cunt at least once. You’re gasping out the quicker they go, teeth clenched together with the stretch, trying desperately not to make much noise though your cunt is loud enough with every movement.

Your hazy mind wonders just how you got here then - With Ryomen Sukuna’s fingers scissoring in and out of your slick cunt - the man who dated your mom for years, the one you can’t fucking stand, arrogant smirk devious as he moves them up and down. The pressure is too much, your head falls back, for his tattooed hand to grab a tit and squish.

“Ah!” You can’t stop that noise from escaping, before biting your lip, trying to hold back the noise.

“Such a little slut, already squirting down my fingers,” you looked in the mirror, Sukuna’s thick digits coated in your slick slipping into your mouth again, while his cock started rubbing up and down your slit. “Hah - fuckin look at you, ya want this inside you brat? Should beg for it.”

You shook your head, even as you arch your ass out for his cock, letting his tip glide between your folds, making lewd and wet noises that echo in the club’s bathroom, teeth nipping his fingers. “No, sure won’t – can’t stand you.”

“Ah, really? Why ya so soaked then, huh?” he’s grinning with a sharp flash of white teeth, lifting your thigh up so a knee was on the counter, pressing in then, hearing your gasp. “Fuck, feel her gripping me. You really hate your mom this much?”

“Just fuck me and shut up already - ah!” Sukuna needs no further urging, his cock is stretching you out so much you can’t take it, screaming out and earning a hand clamped around your mouth.

“So tight, loosen the fuck up,” he grumbles, you scowl even as your hole is quivering, gushing liquid all down his shaft, his fingers sink into your thighs, shoving his cock in so deep you can’t take it. “Feel her grippin’ me, tryna make me bust quick?”

“No, want you to make me cum first,” you take his hand off your face as you speak, slipping it down to touch your clit, he groans, fucking you harder, your hand guiding his to get that perfect angle, your legs are shaking, your vision blurring.

"Feel better than her too," you're desperately crying out at that, clamping down on his thick, veiny cock. "That get you closer? Fucked up little girl, aren't you?"

"Fuck you," you are but right now you just want every thought fucked out of your head, and Sukuna’s cock is so big it’s hard to get irritated with his snarky grin in that reflection. He pulls his finger off and you gasp. “Put it back!”

“Not till I say so,” he smacks your clit hard instead, lifting you when your knees buckle like it’s nothing. “Think you tell me what to do?”

“Lost darts, such a l-loser -hah!” He scowls and fucks you harder, which was exactly your goal, pretty grin on your face that makes him pulse inside you - tightest little grip he’s ever felt.

“Crazy little brat,” he huffs, but he’s lost in you, in not just how good you feel on his cock, his tip slamming that cervix, but your little sounds, your movements, your eyes rolling back in your skull. Sukuna loves to fuck, but he’s never felt whatever psycho witch magic you’re putting on him, burying his face for a moment. “Feel s’perfect.”

“Huh? Ah!” You think you hear something, but Sukuna just bites the fuck out of your neck instead, your head falls to the side, crying out to let him finally toy with your needy, twitchy clit. “Please, there, there.”

“Needy whore,” he is spitting the meanest words but all it does is make you closer, tummy clenching with hot need, his cock ruining you for anyone – even if you’d never fucking say it. “Need it?”

“Yes, f-fuck just, keep going,” your voice is a hoarse little whisper, one of his hands is toying with a nipple, the other working your clit while his cock drags on your spot, blinding you. “Oh god…”

“That’s it, cum on your stepdad’s cock,” you glare at him, even as he chuckles against your skin, ruby eyes lit up in the mirror. “Cunt is pulsing, you love that nasty shit, admit it.”

“You’re n-nasty, shut the fuck up and – oh my god,” you’re shattering with one more thrust and roll of his rough fingers, desperately whining out while he keeps pumping. Sukuna is holding you there in that sweet spot, making you shake and quiver while your orgasm shuts off your damn brain. “Ngh!”

“Look at that, the stepdad got you squirting,” you would glare if you weren’t trembling, he’s thickening inside you, slowing his movements, letting you ride it out on his slick cock. “Damaged fucking brat, feel this good?”

“It’s the m-mental issues,” he grins and you weakly laugh, for a moment you don’t know why you hated him so much, but only a moment. "Fuck me harder."

God Sukuna thinks he’s in love right now.

“Freaky slut, just wanna get used?”

You nod, he grabs your throat and chokes you, slamming into you like he owns you, like you're just a toy for his pleasure. He's relentless, his cock hitting you in all the right places, making you feel so full, his filthy strokes so loud they’re echoing.

"F-fuck... you're gonna make me cum," he grunts, his grip on your hips tightening. "You want it?"

"Y-yes," you pant, throat constricted, your eyes wide with lust. You want to feel him fill you up, to know that you've made him lose control just like he's made you.

“Can you take it all?”

“Shut up and cum, stepdad,” you tease, but he moans then, kissing your lips all sloppy, saliva dripping with the drool that’s pooled down the side of your lips, his hot cum flooding your pussy. 

For a moment, you're lost in the haze of pleasure, the world outside the bathroom forgotten completely, so warm and dripping him already. But reality quickly crashes back in after he pumps a few more times, murmuring your name, pastel locks damp and sticking to his brow. You start to come to a bit, even drunk, and you realize what you've done. What you're still doing.

Maybe you feel just a little bad that his cum is starting to drip from your hole, but only the tiniest bit. He pulls out with a wet, suctioned pop and leaves you so empty you have to bite back the whine. You struggle to get your breath, shaking your head to clear your mind and grabbing at napkins, he smacks them out of the way, smirking and turning you to face him.

“Lemme clean up, weirdo,” he chuckles, slipping his two fingers down to where his milky seed is dripping, swirling around it until he shoves it back inside you. You gasp, head falling back, lashes fluttering shut and the soreness you already have, he just presses that cum right back in. “What are you doing?”

“Don’t waste it, you won it you know,” he pumps it up again, curling his fingers so that you almost cum again, pushing it even deeper, before pulling them out with a filthy wet squelch, sucking his own white ropes and you arousal off his fingers. He moans then, pink lashes fluttering shut, cheeks hollowing.

You stare, mouth open, waiting for red eyes to focus on you. “Wh-what are you doing?”

“Tasting us,” he tilts your chin up and kisses your lips, mixing both of your flavors on your tongue in the sluttiest fucking action. “Mnh…”

You both pull apart quickly when someone opens the bathroom, Sukuna has your tits put up but they’re stumbling drunk and giggling, staring at their phone. Your reality does start to hit, cursing yourself and rushing out then, adjusting your dress that he had up your thighs.

Fuck that felt too good.

Your sister calls you now, you answer as Sukuna unhurriedly steps out of the ladies room. “Yeah sis?”

“Oh my god, did you hear Sukuna is coming? Ah I loved him! I wish mom had stayed with him, you know?”

You frown, eyeing Sukuna and his shit eating grin. “Um… yeah I guess he was okay.”

“Mom still has the hots for him, wouldn’t it be romantic if she got back with him?” You almost laugh out loud at the absurdity of it, the smallest guilt seeping in more and more, but you throw back another shot, drinking it down. “Also if you got with someone finally!”

“Yeah, I dunno about mom or me, but I’m glad for you sis,” she sighs. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yes, love you!”

“Love you too,” you hang up the phone, Sukuna leans over the bar then, handing the bartender his card.

“Pay for hers too,” you raise a glass to him, his lips twitch up at the corners. “You got a ride back?”

“I’ll get an uber.”

“It’s nothing to -”

“There, got one,” you smile at him and wave the screen. “But thank you for offering.”

“Yeah,” he wants more of you, that could not be enough. He won’t say that shit out loud though. “See you at the..." he smirks now. "Rehearsal.”

“Yeah, um…” you awkwardly stand there, looking down as he looks too intently at you. “Night.”

You rush off without another word, inhaling the night air and wondering just how bad you fucked it all up.

Among the trees, she were seating with a needle and the finest embroidery threads from all Mirkwood in her hands, gold and green leaves were being woven onto one of her husband tunics, Thranduil had said that his new, freshly made tunic seemed incomplete when he put it on before her.

The tunic, in a dark shade of green with gold details, seemed "plain" to his eyes, as almost all his other clothes would have been tailored by his beloved wife.

"It seems... boring, there's nothing here that is..." The word "boring" rolled onto his tongue, his eyes filled with dissatisfaction as he looked at himself in the mirror.

"Mine?" she lifted her body from the bed shared by the couple, going to him and letting her hands slide down the tunic that was on his body. "I can arrange something for you!".

He gently held her hand, preventing her from going any lower. "Careful, Meleth nín, you know exactly how you got to this beautiful state." He brought her hand to his own lips as he gazed at her " Oh".

She shook her head slightly with a smile on her lips, drifting out of the memory, losing focus on what was in her hands, the needle made a small prick in her finger, causing her to let out a small cry of surprise.

The hurried footsteps were unmistakable, the not too soft taps on the ground certainly belonged to someone in a hurry.

He scanned her with his eyes, one of her hands was resting on her belly, and the other was raised in the air, showing him her index finger.

"Isn't that a magnificent shade of red?" A small pearl of blood formed on his finger. "An embroidery thread of that color would look great with black fabric!" The tension in his shoulders, though almost imperceptible, gradually fadded.

"You're a madwoman, I should have known that from the start!" Thranduil took her hand carefully, examining it. "But... it's a beautiful red indeed!" the heavy sassy tone carried in his voice.

Some nights it’s quiet. He drapes over your bed and stares. He doesn’t think too much. He watches as you shift and occasionally hum, stuck in some fantastical dream that doesn’t involve him. Other nights he twirls a small blade within his fingers, and then he thinks. 

He’s not usually so hesitant with frivolities. It’s a quick in and out of the blade pressed right into the sweet spot. Silent, barely any discomfort, kind of romantic if you think about it. The idea of your white sheets slowly dampening to a deep red as you gasp in pain. 

You would reach out to him instinctively, and wondrously his name would be your dying words. 

See? 

Romantic. 

Not many people think that way, though. And well… it’s hard to just stab a Cleaner and get away with it. 

Also there’s another problem he can’t quite manage. 

He likes you. Not in the way he likes the others—and that’s not much. He can stomach Delmon for perhaps an hour (and maybe two in a good day) but that soon comes to a close when the man starts hollering in Tamsy’s already ringing ears. He thinks he’ll go deaf within the next two years. 

But you’re more pleasant to stick around. It’s possibly because you don’t talk too much. Maybe you’re shy, maybe you just have nothing to say, but he appreciates it. Tamsy has sidled up next to you many times, purposefully shattering your very apparent boundaries to drape over you like a woolen scarf. 

You never raise your discomfort with him. 

Now he behaves like a weighted blanket. He finds comfort in your presence. Very few times (and admittedly, it’s embarrassing) has he fallen asleep on your shoulder. It’s usually in the quiet of your room after you’d begun to invite him inside to continue a quiet conversation. 

So, all that lost time of him being asleep on your bed this evening is made up by him just… staring. It’s fun. It’s better than staring at the ceiling. 

You shift to face the wall. 

It’s harder now, because your shirt has ridden halfway up your back, and he gets a sickening taste of your spine. He once suggested piercings to which you hesitantly turned down. Ouch. 

But your skin framed by silver would look beautiful in the dark. He can imagine it. He could hold you down, pull your tongue and slit a hole through it with a needle. You would cry and it would hurt, but it would be worth it. 

He’d like to feel it on him, too. 

Tamsy reaches over and presses a single pad of his finger to the middle of your spine. You don’t stir. 

This happens. He touches, you don’t react. Same old, same old. He breathes down your neck and you don’t stir. It’s strange. He finds he’d wake up the minute he heard his door creak. 

You hum and sigh. 

Your skin is soft. Mostly unmarred, too. You’ve got a scar that runs along your back from who knows what. Probably an accident when you were younger. He risked once pressing his tongue to the corner of where it begins. One day he’ll slide his tongue along it, maybe when you’re awake, maybe when you allow it. 

Maybe you’ll let him slice new scars across your body. And lick your wounds.

You’re nice enough. You rarely reject things, even if you’re not interested. When you were a new recruit and Enjin tried veering his head too close you only smiled awkwardly until he eventually got the hint. No “I’m not interested” or even a half-baked “I’m seeing someone” to get him to go away. 

Tamsy tried once. You were clearly on your way to meet someone for a date so you’d dressed up. Not dramatically. Just a bit more colour, and nicer shoes. He said you looked nice, like a gift. As strange as it was given you were on your way to meet someone for dinner, you’d hesitantly leaned forward and kissed his cheek. 

Tamsy did two things after that occurrence. First he’d sauntered back to his room and stared at his reflection blankly for an hour with a dried gloss stain on his face. He elected not to wash his face after a headache-inducing debate. Then, he’d followed you, and the person you were seeing mysteriously never responded to your attempts to reach out after that. 

He can tell something is wrong.

It’s sudden, actually, the way the air shifts, like it flexes and bends at random intervals. Tamsy stands quickly and backs away. He’s practised this before: how to leave without a trace. He grabs the blade tight and steps through the door, purposefully leaving it ajar. 

He doesn’t exactly move though. He stands outside and waits. 

He hears you stir until you sit up. The bed creaks. You switch your lamp on. Like always, you stumble to the bathroom. It’s muffled through the door. You’re quick as you try not to lose the drowsiness. 

The problem is when you exit the bathroom you don’t immediately go back to bed as you normally do. 

He stands there completely befuddled as he listens through your door. You move around. It sounds like you’re pacing. The lamp remains on. He hears your feet shuffle over the tiles. This isn’t your usual routine.

Tamsy’s eyes dart around the door. 

He expects you to close it. 

Maybe you don’t notice it. 

Maybe he should run and hold it closed with string. You’ll probably just think it’s jammed. You’ll eventually give up too. 

Instead, he plays his cards. He’s bored. He’s still awake. He loves to bother you. He peers cautiously through the gap in the door. 

Thankfully, you’re facing away. You’re fiddling with something on the nightstand. It looks like a tube of lip balm that you continuously open and close. Free of blood stains, free of scratches and bites and drool that he leaves. Maybe you had a nightmare. Poor thing. 

He grins. 

And then, he pushes the door open. It’s slow. It creaks. 

You look up in alarm, suddenly wide awake. The knife slips up his sleeve. It points inwards towards his wrist. 

“You’re still awake,” he comments idly, like he hadn’t realised. Like he hasn’t been standing next to you for an hour now twirling your hair around his finger. 

You huff, “you scared me.” 

“Sorry.” He’s not. 

You adjust your position on your bed, trying to console your racing heart. 

He knocks quietly on the side. “Your door was open. I saw the light was on.” He looks sheepish, almost nervous. You think he feels bad for intruding. He doesn’t. 

“Yeah…” You’re still recovering. “I think I had a weird dream.” 

Tamsy hums. 

“Like…” You glance up at him from the floor. “Someone was watching me.” 

“Sounds awful.” He leans against your doorframe. He looks exhausted, but it’s strange, like he hasn’t slept a wink. It must be early in the morning. You don’t know the time. It’s still dark out. 

You swallow nervously. “You couldn’t sleep either?” 

Right. He needs some sort of explanation. “I was going to get cake.” Then, he brandishes the small knife from his sleeve and holds it out. 

“You… just walking around with that?” 

He hums, amused. “I keep it in my room.” He tilts his head. “You don’t keep cutlery in yours?” 

You shrug. “Not really.” You watch the knife closely. “What’s the occasion?” 

Tamsy raises an eyebrow. 

“The cake.” You sniff once. “Felt like it?” 

He shakes his head easily. “Birthday.” 

You sit up. “Birthday?” 

He nods. 

“Whose?” 

“Mine.” 

“Yours?” 

“Yes.”

“Really?” Your eyebrows furrow together. 

Tamsy nods again. 

“Oh…” You clear your throat. “Happy… birthday.” You glance quickly to the left. “I don’t have anything.” 

He grins. “I didn’t expect you to.” 

Your brows furrow. “But that sucks. Not getting gifts.” 

“Don’t need them,” he reassures. He’ll throw out anything you give him anyway. “Would you like some?” 

“Hm?” 

“Cake.” 

“Oh…” 

Sometimes he’s thankful his strings do more than just tie things together. In the other room, the ropes have wrapped deftly beneath a box he bought the other day for the occasion. Just in case you wanted to share. 

And eat off the same fork. 

Yuck. He pulls his head out of the doorway, both to visibly gag and to retrieve the box that slowly pulls down the hallway. 

“It’s chocolate,” he says. 

You croak sleepily. You pull your legs up on the bed. That’s a good sign. That means you’re comfortable. Even when he’s holding the knife right out in front of you. Your eyes flit to it every now and again; he’s disappointed. He wants you completely relaxed. 

For now, you look docile. That’s good enough. 

Tamsy doesn’t grant you the opportunity to respond. Instead, he lets himself in slowly and kicks your door shut behind him. His hair looks yellow in the golden light of your lamp. It’s a nice antique. The shade is made of a red glass and the stem is golden. It bathes the room in orange and pink. 

You look warm. 

He sits down next to you on your bed. 

And then he pulls a fork from his sleeve. 

You snort. “Do you have a spoon as well?” 

“No.” He sounds dejected. “I also don’t have any plates. Those didn’t fit under my sleeves.” 

“You tried?” you ask.

“Of course.” He opens the box carefully. It’s a simple white cardboard with a plastic top to showcase the display. It’s nothing fancy; it’s a mud cake of sorts with slices of strawberries and cream frosting around the edges. He takes the knife—that unbeknownst to you was grazing over spine only moments ago—and slices through a decent portion of chocolate. He pulls it slightly away from the cake.

You expect him to give you a piece. 

You don’t expect him to swipe a corner from the slice and hold it up to you. 

You stare at it for a moment. Tamsy only stares at you. He blinks like a frog, expectant, patient, passive. 

“Shouldn’t you have the first bite of your own cake?” you ask cautiously. Still, you slowly lean forward. 

So, he spins the fork and pops the cake in his mouth. His eyes crinkle as he grins. You purse your lips together before you take the fork from him and slice off another portion. 

You hold it up to him. You’re also embarrassingly giggling like an idiot. He thinks it’s pathetic, but his smile says differently. It doesn’t help as time progresses and he keeps accepting every bite he inches closer and closer. It’s a test, he tells himself, of your boundaries. How close can he get before you start cowering? 

It seems he’s underestimated you. 

Not only is he now practically straddling your lap, but every so often he giggles. Like a girl. It’s humiliating. It’s corny. It sucks. It’s genuinely revolting. This is like  textbook romance. This is the stuff teenage girls read in their off time and kick their feet. 

He’s kicking his feet. 

Not only that but after two bites you left the room and returned with a bottle of champagne. He hates the stuff; it burns his tongue and it tastes like shit. But, he drinks from the rim because your lips have touched it. And he gets buzzed. And so do you. 

“You need to have more,” you insist lazily. Half the cake has vanished. “‘Cause it’s your birthday.” 

Tamsy hums stupidly, “I feel sick.” 

“Same.” You end up laughing. “Are you staying?” 

He turns his head to look at you. He stares blankly, maybe comprehending what you’re saying. His brain sloshes for words. His nose is buried in your blankets. 

“I think you should,” you try lightly. “I’m a bit tipsy.”

“Me too.” He’s dizzy. There’s faded black spots swimming in his vision. 

Your nose presses to the side of his face. “‘T’s okay.” You kiss the fat of his cheek lightly. “Thanks for coming.” 

He’s too drunk to even acknowledge anything. “Mhm.” 

“Happy birthday,” you slur to him. 

He’s almost asleep. Maybe he feels safe around you. Maybe he’s faking it so he can pull the knife out of the chocolate and ram it through your sternum. Maybe he can grab your heart while it’s still beating. 

That sounds lovely. 

For now, he sleeps soundly as he usually does. He thinks he sleeps better in your arms. You don't; mostly because you have a mouthful of his hair in the morning to deal with. Still, you suppose the warmth is nice.