I hate this show.

this long distance thing you had with yuji was sure to be the death of you. it hadn’t always been this way— and you wished he had never left in the first place.

you craved him in more ways than just hearing his sweet voice— tired from his long day— ask you about how you were, what you’d done, if you’d eaten, and overall just reminding you that he loved you more than anything on this planet.

you’d resisted the urge to turn your sweet phone calls with him into something else, but your patience was wearing thin— and you swore on your life, touching yourself was nothing like him touching you.

you were telling him about your day now, telling him that it was probably the same as yesterday— boring, nothing really exciting, but he was determined to listen to you, and it made your chest tighten with fondness.

your rambling was cut short by a deeper voice, similar to your boyfriends, but not quite the same, “enough chat then— what are you wearing?”

you sputtered, embarrassment rising hot in your throat, yuji’s voice ringing out next, “are you joking, sukuna?” silence filled both ends of the call, before he began to speak again, “you don’t have to answer hi—“

there was a problem. you did want to answer him— the logical part of your brain reminding you that it wasn’t yuji that asked— it was sukuna. but they shared thoughts— so itadori must have been thinking it too? you steeled your nerves, a small twinkle of arousal lighting deep in your stomach.

you cut off his sentence, answering shortly, “lace,” before continuing, “yuji’s favorite ones.”

you could hear someone swallow through the phone, a nervous habit— yuji then. your suspicions were confirmed when his question broke the heated silence— and you could imagine the flush of his cheeks from what he was asking, “the red ones?”

you answered softly, “..yes.” and if the hitch it yuji’s breathing told you anything— it was that he was remembering the curve of your body— the way the lace outlined you perfectly— how beautiful you looked in fucking red.

“you wore them for me when I left..” a pause, “looked real pretty in those ones.”

sukuna spoke next, “yes. very beautiful. now, take them off.”

the moment your bare body moved to kneel between his bare thighs he knew he was in trouble— he could feel it.

your eyes were lit with something taunting— teasing. your lips parted in question— Yamato’s breathing hitching at the sentence.

“mouth— or tits… you pick.”

his eyes fell from your mouth to your breasts— cock jumping at the very sight— your lips pulling into a grin— question answered.

you shifted on your knees— hands moving to palm at where his gaze was burning through you.

one hand moved to grab the root of his cock— pulling him towards you, rubbing the tip of him against your sweat slicked skin— pearlescent drops smearing across the peak of your breasts— his dark eyes never once leaving the sight, until the sound of you spitting drew his gaze back up to your face.

more wetness dripped between the valley of your breasts— and before he could speak— you were moving around his cock— hands pressing on each side of your tits— the friction making his head fall back against the couch.

he looked lovely like this, and when his head tilted back to look at where you were joined— where you were fucking him— he looked like he could swallow you whole.

he loved when you came to watch him practice— and you loved watching him practice.

you knew it was a trap— it always was. your eyes followed his movement around the court— long legs pushing him to move faster— thick thighs fucking jiggling with every movement.

if you kept watching— you were sure you would have to wipe the drool from your chin. god really took his damn time with Ushijima.

you watched, mouth parted with awe, as he left the ground— broad back moving with the movement of his arm, open palm making harsh contact with the volleyball. you’d never been more jealous of a ball in your life.

you should have been cheering— that was match— they’d won. practice was over— but your brain was in overdrive— thinking about him— thinking about later.

he approached where you were sitting slowly— broad frame moving carefully past his teammates, until he was hovering above you— eyes darkened with adrenaline, and something you couldn’t quite pinpoint.

you stood to meet him— eyes never once leaving his face, “you were great.”

your hand gripped at his sweaty bicep— pushing yourself on your tiptoes in an attempt to reach his cheek, his free hand gripping tightly at your hip— fingers dipping towards your ass.

it took everything you had in you not to whimper at his very touch, and your hand clamped tighter on his arm— his name falling from your mouth in a desperate whisper.

he hushed you softly, his own hand tightening it’s grip on your hip, “just a few more minutes… you can wait, can’t you?”

a soft nod was all you offered in reply— brain already melting into putty at the thought of him, “good.. good girl.”

you missed Kakashi when he was gone for so long. you loved him— loved what he did— loved that he was so determined to protect the village— to protect you.

it didn’t stop the ache that settled in your bones when he left.

you caught your own gaze in the mirror— fingers dragging along the skin of your neck— digging them in until you winced— hoping the fading purple marks would flush back to the bright color they were when he left.

‘something to remember him by.’ that’s what he’d called it when he left them— mischief shining bright in his dark eye— the only thing it made you remember was how much you longed for him to come home.

your fingers trailed lower on your body— nipples peaking at the soft touch— your eyes following them hungrily. you, again, found yourself digging your fingers into the bite marks he’d left along your chest— breathing picking up at the thought of the pleasure he’d brought you with that sinful mouth of his.

your hands danced over your skin until you reached the apex of your thighs, and you shifted your legs to see the marks he’d sucked into your skin there— they were fading faster than you liked.

again, you opted to take your time making sure they bloomed back to life, the pressure making you hiss— but it slowly melted into a soft whine of pleasure.

it didn’t feel like him at all, you thought to yourself, fingers dancing over your clothed crotch— head falling back at the soft motion of your fingers dragging across the tackiness of your arousal there.

you pushed your underwear aside— fingers sliding into yourself softly— already being to root around in an attempt to find the spot you were sure could make you come with one brush—your other hand bracing the sink to make sure you were steady— this would have to do for now.

your eyes opened to catch your own gaze once again, before wandering to the soft blossom of purple and red along your skin, a beautiful mosaic he’d left for you in the wake of his absence.