About me: Lottie 𑣲 19 𑣲 she/her 𑣲 writer 𑣲 college kid 𑣲 working on a novel
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Rules
Sorry guys, I don't write smut. It might be crazy what I'm about to say but gasp I'm a virgin!! So I can't properly write sex scenes since I have absolutely no experience.
I will not write about minors. If they have a timeskip, that's different. But there's no way in hell I'm gonna write about a character that is freshly 16. It gives me the creeps.
Be respectful guys. I'm actively trying to write better each day. If my work isn't up to your standards then it's super easy to just block or scroll.
I only do x reader content. Sorry chat.
On that same note, I can write about woman x woman and man x woman, but I cannot write man x man. Sorry men, I'm not a man.
I do not negotiate on my commission prices. WHICH they are relatively cheap like cmon guys, it's $4 for 1k.
Commissions
In order to commission me for requests, you must DM me.
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If you hold back one more cough, you might actually explode.
It’s day three of pretending you aren’t sick because the second Nanami finds out, he’ll abandon work entirely and hover over you like a mother hen.
You know how important his job is to him. Even after exhausting shifts and bruises hidden beneath dress shirts, he still insists on working so hard to give you the best life possible.
Usually, you can handle a slight fever on your own, but today feels different.
You wake up drenched in sweat despite feeling a violent chill throughout your body. Bonnet half way across the room, and head throbbing where it rests against the pillow.
The short walk to the bathroom nearly kills you. And by the time you stumble back into bed your body gives out against the mattress, trembling from the effort.
You curl beneath the blankets, dizzy and exhausted, using the last of your strength to order chicken soup and tea from a nearby restaurant.
You try to stay awake until it arrives but your eyelids are heavy and eventually you succumb to sleep.
—
The vibration of your phone buzzing against your cheek jolts you awake sometime later.
Oh shit. The food.
You try sitting up too fast and immediately regret it. Every muscle in your body aches. There’s absolutely no way you’re making it to the front door. Groaning, you scroll through your contacts before pressing the only person nearby enough to help.
The call rings twice.
“Heyy, how’s my favorite nanami,” Satoru’s sing-song voice answers cheerfully. “Have you finally come to your senses and realized im the better sorceror?”
Your short laugh is cut off by a cough so hard it rattles your chest.
He pauses.
“…Why do you sound like that?”
“Please tell me you’re on lunch break already,” you mumble weakly. “I ordered food but I’m too sick to go to the door, can you stop by the apartment to bring it inside for me? Pleaseee? I’ll owe you.”
Across the office, Nanami looks up from the paperwork in front of him the second he hears your voice through Gojo’s speaker.
The disappointment in his voice somehow feels worse than anger.
You hear rustling, then keys.
“I’m coming home.”
“Ken—”
The line disconnects.
—
Exactly twenty minutes later you hear the front door unlock.
Nanami walks in carrying multiple bags you definitely didn’t order. Besides your tea and soup he carries a plastic bag filled with medicine, electrolyte drinks, and basically enough supplies to survive a mini apocalypse. You’d roll your eyes at his antics if it wasn’t hard enough keeping them open.
His tie is gone. Sleeves rolled to his elbows. Hair slightly disheveled like he ran straight from work.
The second he sees you trying to sit up, his face tightens.
“Don’t you dare get up.”
You still try anyway.
He’s at your bedside instantly, one hand against your forehead, the other steadying your shoulder as he gently pushes you back into the pillows.
“You’re burning up,” he mutters, brows pinching together. “How long has this been going on?”
“…Three days.”
Nanami goes completely still.
“Three,” he repeats flatly.
You wince under the weight of his stare.
The exhaustion in his face twists into shame.
“Fuck. What kind of husband am I if I don't even notice you’re sick?”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Why’d you hide it from me?”
“Because you would’ve called out of work.”
“I would have.”
There’s no hesitation in his answer.
That’s what gets you. He’s not even frustrated.Just genuinely hurt that you were suffering alone while he sat completely unaware.
His expression softens slightly when he notices yours crumpling.
He sighs quietly, sweeping your braids behind you. “What am I supposed to do with you?”
Despite the scolding tone, he carefully opens the soup container, testing the temperature before handing it to you.
When your shaking hands struggle to hold it steadily, Nanami simply takes the spoon back with another quiet sigh.
“Cmere, open your mouth.”
You shoot him a weak glare but obey anyway, letting him feed you spoonful after spoonful while he watches carefully to make sure you eat enough.
The warmth of the soup settles heavily in your stomach, exhaustion pulling at you all over again.
Nanami notices immediately.
Without a word, he sets the container aside before piling blankets around you.
He leans down then, pressing a lingering kiss against your feverish forehead.
“You should’ve called me first,” he says quietly against your skin.
Guilt twists in your chest. “I didn’t want you worrying.”
“That was never your decision to make. You’re my wife. I love you and i’ll always worry about you.
“Mm sorry Ken, I love you too, I just didn’t want to be a burden.”
The words come out slurred with exhaustion, barely above a whisper.
Nanami’s expression softens immediately.
“A burden?” he pulls away slightly, like the thought itself burns him.
His hand slides up to cradle the side of your face, thumb brushing beneath your eye with careful affection.
“You being sick is not an inconvenience to me.”
You blink tiredly up at him while he adjusts the blankets tighter around your shoulders, making sure not even a sliver of cold air gets through.
“I take care of you because I want to,” he continues. “Not because I have to.”
The fever leaves you too drained to hide how much the words affect you. Your eyes sting slightly as you lean further into his touch.
Nanami notices, of course he does.
“Baby,” he coos softly, brushing his lips against your forehead once more. “Don’t cry now.”
“I’m not,” you mumble weakly, voice wobbling.
A rare hint of amusement flickers across his face.
“You’re a terrible liar, love.”
Before you can argue, he slips into bed beside you fully clothed, ignoring your weak protest about getting him sick. He simply pulls you carefully against his chest, tucking your head under his chin as one arm wraps securely around your waist.
“Next time you feel like this, I’m your first call. Understand?”
You hesiate. “…Even if you’re working?”
“Especially if I’m working.”
You let out a tired hum of agreement, curling closer into his chest.
“Good,” he says quietly. “Next time your first instinct should be your husband, not the six-foot manchild.
older-bf!nanami who always wakes up before you. he makes sure your coffee is exactly how you like it and leaves a small note on the counter every morning—even if he’s running late for work—always ending with “have a good day, darling.”
older-bf!nanami who is incredibly protective. he walks on the outside of the sidewalk, keeps a hand on your lower back in crowded places, and stares down anyone who looks at you for too long.
older-bf!nanami who gets especially possessive protective when younger men look at you weirdly. he doesn’t make a scene, but his stare turns ice-cold as he watches them. he’ll pull you closer by the waist and give them a look that says “touch her and you’re dead” without saying a single word.
older-bf!nanami who knows exactly how to make you loose your mind in bed. years of experience have made him incredibly skilled. he knows how to angle his hips to hit that perfect spot, when to go slow and deep, and when to fuck you hard and senseless. he reads your body like a book and he doesn’t make a secret out of it.
older-bf!nanami who loves leaving hickeys on your neck and thighs where only he can see them. he’ll grip your jaw and make you look at him while he’s buried deep inside you, murmuring, “tell me who you belong to,” then gently kiss every mark he left the next morning.
older-bf!nanami who fucks with patience, like he doesn’t rush. he always takes his time stretching you open with his fingers first, watching your face the entire time. “breathe, darling,” he’ll say calmly, even as he’s pressing his thick cock into you inch by inch.
older-bf!nanami who sometimes fucks you with too much patience. he edges you for what feels like hours, bringing you right to the edge only to slow down or stop completely until your whimpers fill the room. he’ll keep his thick cock buried deep inside you, barely moving, while he kisses your neck and whispers, “not yet, darling.”
older-bf!nanami who loves the way you whine and beg. he’ll hold your hips down so you can’t chase your own pleasure, looking at you with that calm face while you tremble and plead. “shh… be good for me,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead even as he denies you again. “i’ll let you cum when i think you’ve earned it.”
older-bf!nanami who has gotten noticeably more veiny with age. his hands, forearms, and especially his cock are heavily veined. when he’s fully hard, the thick veins running along his length are so visible, and you can feel every single one dragging against your walls when he slowly pushes inside you.
older-bf!nanami whose dick is thick, heavy, and slightly curved upward. even when he’s soft, it’s impressive. when he’s hard, it’s almost intimidating—fat head, those veins, and always leaking for you. he loves how you struggle to take all of him, enjoying the way your pussy stretches around his girth.
older-bf!nanami who is constantly teased by satoru about your age gap. gojo never misses an opportunity to poke at him. but nanami has grown completely used to the teasing. he doesn’t get visibly annoyed anymore. instead, he just sighs, adjusts his glasses, and replies something like, “at least my girlfriend doesn’t run away when i speak, gojo.”
older-bf!nanami who tolerates the jokes but draws the line when they go too far. if anyone ever implies you’re “just a phase” or “with him for the money,” nanami’s expression turns icy cold in an instant that makes everyone shut up immediately.
older-bf!nanami who sometimes gets mistaken for your father in public. waiters, store clerks, or strangers often say things like “it’s so nice to see a daughter spending time with her dad” or “your daughter is beautiful, sir.” he stays perfectly polite on the outside, offering only a small smile, but you can feel the way his hand tightens on your waist.
older-bf!nanami who acts unfazed in the moment, simply correcting them calmly with “she’s my girlfriend, actually.” but the moment you’re alone, especially in the car or back home, he feels stupidly lucky, almost greedy, that someone as young and beautiful as you is his. and it always leaves him with a sudden urge to claim you right away.
older-bf!nanami who often ends up fucking you in the car shortly after. the second you’re both inside, doors barely closed, he’s already pulling you into his lap or pushing your seat back. his hands are impatient as he tugs your clothes aside, breathing rough against your neck while he pushes inside.
older-bf!nanami who gets especially talkative during these quick, needy car fucks. between deep thrusts he’ll whisper things like “let them think i’m too old for you… as long as you keep moaning for this old man’s cock.” he loves making you cum fast and hard, one hand covering your mouth so people walking by won’t hear you.
older-bf!nanami who, after cumming deep inside you, stays buried in you for a while, gently stroking your hair and kissing your temple. he’ll softly say, “i don’t care what anyone thinks… you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
older-bf!nanami who has started getting a few silver strands in his hair. you sometimes find them when you’re playing with his hair, especially at his temples. he used to be a little self-conscious about it, but now whenever you touch the grey hairs he smiles.
older-bf!nanami who especially loves when you kiss the grey hairs at his temple or run your fingers through them while he’s inside you. it makes something possessive and soft twist in his chest at the same time. he’ll press you deeper into the mattress and whisper, “these grey hairs are because of years of waiting for someone like you.”
older-bf!nanami who secretly worries that he’s too old for you. sometimes when he sees you laughing with people your age, a fear settles in his chest. he never says it directly, but he makes up for it by being even more attentive—spoiling you more, fucking you harder, reminding you with every touch that no one else could ever take care of you the way he does.
TW: girl reader, slowburn, childhood love, poverty, soft mention of heavy topics like sickness
The moisture clings to Sukuna’s shirt as the sun blazes on the rural neighborhood in a small town nobody knew about. Beads of sweat collect on his brow and stain the seat of his bike, his friends pedaling closely behind him. It was normal for them to ride their bikes around the block in the summer. Usually they make their way to the only arcade in the town with their pockets heavy with spare change found under their home’s couch cushions.
But today was different. A new neighbor was moving in. Which was strange. Who would want to live in the middle of nowhere? They don’t even have a Dollar Tree in the area. What could this place possibly have to offer?
“I hope they have a kid.” The one who always has a snotty nose shouts as they turn the corner.
“I hope it’s a boy. Girls are no fun. All they do is play Barbies and house!” Another adds. They all nod in agreement. Slowing down, Sukuna drags his feet on the road.
One by one, the friend group sits on the burning curb. “Do you think they’re rich?” Young Gojo asks, plopping down next to Sukuna. They watch the move-in vans pull into the driveway of the house.
“No one rich moves into this neighborhood.” Sukuna grumbles, poking at the torn up soles of his sneakers.
“Buzzkill.” Gojo mutters under his breath before he gasps and points. “Look! Look!”
The van’s door creaks open slowly. Sukuna cranes his head to the side, squinting to get a better look. A pair of feet plop down onto the driveway. The rest of their body was covered by the door. “Scooch, bro.” He shoves Gojo over, who shoots him a glare.
“Is it a boy? Is it a boy?” The other kids whisper-scream.
“Wait, jeez. I can’t see anything.” Sukuna scoffs. Pink nails grip the door. A chorus of groans sound. The boys around him slump in disappointment.
“We never get any guys!” Gojo whines with his hands dragging down his face.
Sukuna narrows his eyes, still fixed on the pink-nailed hand. “This neighborhood is full of boys. She’s the only girl in here.”
“Whatever. It’s one girl too much.” Gojo retorts.
The door shuts and Sukuna finally sees her. She looks about his age. Maybe a year or two older. He can see her wide smile from here. She’s a cheerful girl. He can’t understand what’s there to be happy about when you are moving into this dump of a neighborhood.
He watches her eyes trail from her house to the homes around her to the street when her gaze snags on his. Her already wide smile somehow grows wider, reaching her eyes. Her hand shoots in the air, waving at him. Sukuna scrunches his face, lines forming between his brows before looking away. “I’ve got Minecraft back home. Let’s go.” He stands up, dusting off his pants before picking up his bike.
“Dibs on first!” Gojo shouts, shooting up from his spot. All of them begin grabbing their bikes, talking about the latest mob added. Sukuna turns his head one last time, out of curiosity. There’s an empty spot where the girl used to be.
Weeks go by and life goes on as usual. Nothing much changed with you as the new kid on the block. You never left your yard. Often he finds you basking in the sunlight with a blanket under you and a book in hand. Never once have you stepped onto the street. Not even to get the mail.
It was easy to ignore your presence. You were peculiar but purely uninteresting to him. It was an odd combo. Not that he cared, but he hasn’t seen you in a couple days. It’s a thought he shrugs off.
“Mom, where’s dad? He needs to bring me to boxing practice.” Sukuna asks, lugging his dingy duffel bag to the kitchen stool. He grabs his water bottle out the bag and shakes it. Empty. “We’re already late.”
“He’s at work.” She replies shortly. Not bothering to give any further explanation.
Sukuna’s fingers curl around his bottle tentatively. “But it’s Saturday.”
“Well, sometimes adults have to sacrifice their time off.” His mom wipes her hands on her apron. “Take this over to the (Last Name)’s.” His mother slides a container of luke-warm spaghetti over the kitchen counter.
Sukuna’s eyebrows furrow. “Who?”
“The people who just moved in, Ryomen.” She spares him a glance before limping to the sink. The metal of her leg clinks against the tile flooring.
His fingers clasp around the handles. His stomach rumbles as the savory scent hits his nose. “Isn’t this our dinner?”
She sighs heavily, putting the dirty ladle under the running water. “We help our neighbors when they need it.”
An acidic feeling creeps up his throat. His temper has always gotten the better of him. Something his parents have yet to beat out of him.“We don’t even know them,” he throws his hands up.
The metal ladle clashes against the sink. His mother glowers down at him with her head held high. “Enough. Go now before I put soap in your god damn mouth.” With her back turned to him, Sukuna rolls his eyes dramatically, silently mocking her words as he grabs the container off the counter.
A couple of minutes later, he is stomping down the street, holding what used to be his dinner to his chest.
It’s not fair. First, he doesn’t even get to go to practice and now they are giving HIS dinner away to strangers who they don’t know. This is stupid. Just plain stupid.
As your home comes into view, his mood only gets worse. And when it’s time to knock on your door, he is in a rage. The door opens slowly, revealing the weird girl: you. You’re in pjs, eyes sunken like you have just woken up from a nap.
You blink, staring at him unabashedly. Sukuna holds the container out, shaking it in your face. “Are you going to take it or what?”
“Huh?” You tilt your head with a confused expression.
His jaw clenches. “The food, idiot.” Sukuna shoves the container in your arms. You stumble back. He didn’t even push you that hard.
“But why?” You ask.
“Because it’s yours now.” He answers.
“Why?” You repeat.
“Because my mom told me to give it.”
“Why?” You ask again. You shove the container back in his arms. He wants to bang his head on the brick wall of your house. Sukuna takes a deep breath, trying not to lash out and deal with his mother’s wrath later.
“Just take it.” He puts it back in your arms.
“No! What if you poisoned it?” You return it.
…
…
He opens his mouth and closes it, completely dumbfounded. “Why the hell would I do that?”
“To kidnap me, hold me for ransom, and kill me!” You say with the utmost serious tone. Sukuna scoffs exasperatedly. He’s never met a girl—scratch that, a person as out of touch as you. He should have never come over here. He should have told his mom no.
“I guess you’ll just have to eat with me to prove it’s safe.” You chirp, turning on your heels.
“That’s not-” He interjects, but it’s already too late. You’ve disappeared into your home with that big grin he noticed on the first day he saw you. So, Sukuna just waits there on your doorstep, the container in hand, standing awkwardly, shifting his weight on his feet. What has his day come to? A flurry of footsteps later and you’re in your doorway with two forks in hand.
After being dragged to your front lawn, he stabs the piece of lasagna he cut out as he tries to ignore your expectant stare. He can’t lie, he really is hungry and the smell of his mother’s cooking does not make it better. It doesn’t take much urging on your end to get him to eat. He almost sighs in relief when the food harmonizes on his tongue. With his mouth full, he barks, “See?”
You nod with a cheeky expression on your face like you got to one-up him. You quickly follow suit. “What's your name?”
“Sukuna.”
“Can I call you Suki?” You cock your head to the side, gauging his reaction.
“No.”
“Oh, well, what about Kuna?”
“No.” He repeats. Holding his temper in check, he changes the subject, “What’s wrong with your family?” The question comes off harsh, but you seem to pay no mind.
Your eyes track his fork with the last piece of lasagna. “My sister’s sick.” Your voice thickens with something he can’t name. Dozens of questions rush to the tip of his tongue, but he decides not to push. Mostly because he doesn’t feel like dealing with tears and hysterics.
“Your name.” He demands more than he asks. Your eyes raise to meet his. You answer and he nods shortly.
Dropping the fork in the container, he stood up and left without looking back once. That marked the beginning of Sukuna’s friendship with you. Even though back then, he never considered you to be a friend.
His mother would make him bring meals to your family and every single time, you managed to convince him to stay. He swore that he hated dinnertimes with you and you would say “right” in that snarky, condescending tone that made his blood boil. Oh, you sure did love to annoy him with those wide eyes feigning cluelessness. You were smarter than you let on.
It became a routine over the summer, to the point where he associated food with you. No, seriously, one time he was riding his bike around the block with his friends and you were outside, like usual, sunbathing. When your eyes met, his fingers raised slightly from his handle bars as his version of a wave—and then hunger pains shot right through his abdomen.
GRRRRRRR
His stomach rumbled so loudly that he felt his organs tremble. His face burned furiously as he turned his cheek. It was really embarrassing for him honestly. Anyways, the point is that ever since you two met, you have slowly wormed your way into his life. He found it endlessly annoying.
The last day of summer was unusually chilly. Auburn leaves crunched under Sukuna’s sneakers as he carried a container of spaghetti to your house. The sun began to set, casting an orange glow over the horizon.
He’ll miss the heat when winter arrives, but he doesn’t have to worry about that now. Not when he’s going to have to stomach your chipper attitude for an hour with no breaks, no pauses.
“Kuna!” You greet him loudly when he steps on your porch. He narrows his eyes as he takes in your appearance. Your shirt had holes as if they were torn up and your jeans were full of grass stains. However the most suspicious thing about you was the fact that your hands were behind your back.
Taking a step back off the porch, he holds the food tightly to his chest. It’s unlike you to be full of dirt. Especially considering you had strict parents that didn’t let you leave your yard. “What?” Sukuna says warily.
“I’ve got a surprise for you!” You say in a sing-song voice. You motion for him to put the food down. His shoulders fall and he sighs. Sukuna leans down and places the container on the concrete.
You skip to him and pull out two crowns of messily assorted twigs and flowers. You grin so hard that your eyes crinkle. Your fingers were cut up and red as if you put your hands into a rose bush.
“One of them is wilted, dummy.” Sukuna points at the drooping flowers. The corners of your mouth turn down as you levy the crown in your hand. He takes a sharp breath and puts a hand out, “give it.”
“No, no, you get the nice one!” You tap his shoulder, looking at him expectantly. He presses his lips together. He stares down at you in a silent battle that he loses because eventually he drops his head and lets you place the fresh flower crown on top of his head. The branches lightly itch his scalp and honestly, he’s a bit worried that he might get lice, but he keeps his mouth shut.
He watches you place the ugly one on your head. The lifeless flowers fall upon your forehead like curls. Your chubby cheeks are marked with dirt. “You smile too much.” Sukuna grumbles, ignoring his rosy cheeks.
“And you frown too much. You don’t see me complaining.” You huff, crossing your arms over your chest. He resists rolling his eyes as he bends down to pick the container up. “Whatever,” he says, “let’s go eat.”
An hour later, he walked back home with a full stomach and a tiny smile on his face. Being friends with you is something he could get used to.The following day after his first day of school, he found himself knocking on your door.
But the door never opened.
And it didn’t the next day nor the one after that or the one after that. Not even the week after that. His tries slowed as concern kicked in. Did you move? What happened? Eventually, he stopped knocking at your door. Worry turned into anger. You didn’t want to be friends? Fine. He doesn’t care. Not a bit.
Life went back to normal. His mother stopped packing food for your family. He hung out with his friends more. His parents finally agreed for him to do boxing competitions after months of begging. He filled up his time with practice, forgetting anything he’d ever done with you. Autumn passed slowly and Winter did too.
It’s Spring when he sees you again.
But you look different…
A/N: sooo how did we like it? Please comment your thoughts. I'm so sorry this took so long. College is really time consuming.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Little disappointed to be honest. I put a lot of effort into my Sukuna fic and the turnout just wasn't what I expected. I'm grateful for the likes I got on it, I really am.
I'm just a bit confused. Because the Nanami fic I wrote(with worse writing) got over 300 likes. And I barely even proof read my Nanami fics.
TW: girl reader, slowburn, childhood love, poverty, soft mention of heavy topics like sickness
The moisture clings to Sukuna’s shirt as the sun blazes on the rural neighborhood in a small town nobody knew about. Beads of sweat collect on his brow and stain the seat of his bike, his friends pedaling closely behind him. It was normal for them to ride their bikes around the block in the summer. Usually they make their way to the only arcade in the town with their pockets heavy with spare change found under their home’s couch cushions.
But today was different. A new neighbor was moving in. Which was strange. Who would want to live in the middle of nowhere? They don’t even have a Dollar Tree in the area. What could this place possibly have to offer?
“I hope they have a kid.” The one who always has a snotty nose shouts as they turn the corner.
“I hope it’s a boy. Girls are no fun. All they do is play Barbies and house!” Another adds. They all nod in agreement. Slowing down, Sukuna drags his feet on the road.
One by one, the friend group sits on the burning curb. “Do you think they’re rich?” Young Gojo asks, plopping down next to Sukuna. They watch the move-in vans pull into the driveway of the house.
“No one rich moves into this neighborhood.” Sukuna grumbles, poking at the torn up soles of his sneakers.
“Buzzkill.” Gojo mutters under his breath before he gasps and points. “Look! Look!”
The van’s door creaks open slowly. Sukuna cranes his head to the side, squinting to get a better look. A pair of feet plop down onto the driveway. The rest of their body was covered by the door. “Scooch, bro.” He shoves Gojo over, who shoots him a glare.
“Is it a boy? Is it a boy?” The other kids whisper-scream.
“Wait, jeez. I can’t see anything.” Sukuna scoffs. Pink nails grip the door. A chorus of groans sound. The boys around him slump in disappointment.
“We never get any guys!” Gojo whines with his hands dragging down his face.
Sukuna narrows his eyes, still fixed on the pink-nailed hand. “This neighborhood is full of boys. She’s the only girl in here.”
“Whatever. It’s one girl too much.” Gojo retorts.
The door shuts and Sukuna finally sees her. She looks about his age. Maybe a year or two older. He can see her wide smile from here. She’s a cheerful girl. He can’t understand what’s there to be happy about when you are moving into this dump of a neighborhood.
He watches her eyes trail from her house to the homes around her to the street when her gaze snags on his. Her already wide smile somehow grows wider, reaching her eyes. Her hand shoots in the air, waving at him. Sukuna scrunches his face, lines forming between his brows before looking away. “I’ve got Minecraft back home. Let’s go.” He stands up, dusting off his pants before picking up his bike.
“Dibs on first!” Gojo shouts, shooting up from his spot. All of them begin grabbing their bikes, talking about the latest mob added. Sukuna turns his head one last time, out of curiosity. There’s an empty spot where the girl used to be.
Weeks go by and life goes on as usual. Nothing much changed with you as the new kid on the block. You never left your yard. Often he finds you basking in the sunlight with a blanket under you and a book in hand. Never once have you stepped onto the street. Not even to get the mail.
It was easy to ignore your presence. You were peculiar but purely uninteresting to him. It was an odd combo. Not that he cared, but he hasn’t seen you in a couple days. It’s a thought he shrugs off.
“Mom, where’s dad? He needs to bring me to boxing practice.” Sukuna asks, lugging his dingy duffel bag to the kitchen stool. He grabs his water bottle out the bag and shakes it. Empty. “We’re already late.”
“He’s at work.” She replies shortly. Not bothering to give any further explanation.
Sukuna’s fingers curl around his bottle tentatively. “But it’s Saturday.”
“Well, sometimes adults have to sacrifice their time off.” His mom wipes her hands on her apron. “Take this over to the (Last Name)’s.” His mother slides a container of luke-warm spaghetti over the kitchen counter.
Sukuna’s eyebrows furrow. “Who?”
“The people who just moved in, Ryomen.” She spares him a glance before limping to the sink. The metal of her leg clinks against the tile flooring.
His fingers clasp around the handles. His stomach rumbles as the savory scent hits his nose. “Isn’t this our dinner?”
She sighs heavily, putting the dirty ladle under the running water. “We help our neighbors when they need it.”
An acidic feeling creeps up his throat. His temper has always gotten the better of him. Something his parents have yet to beat out of him.“We don’t even know them,” he throws his hands up.
The metal ladle clashes against the sink. His mother glowers down at him with her head held high. “Enough. Go now before I put soap in your god damn mouth.” With her back turned to him, Sukuna rolls his eyes dramatically, silently mocking her words as he grabs the container off the counter.
A couple of minutes later, he is stomping down the street, holding what used to be his dinner to his chest.
It’s not fair. First, he doesn’t even get to go to practice and now they are giving HIS dinner away to strangers who they don’t know. This is stupid. Just plain stupid.
As your home comes into view, his mood only gets worse. And when it’s time to knock on your door, he is in a rage. The door opens slowly, revealing the weird girl: you. You’re in pjs, eyes sunken like you have just woken up from a nap.
You blink, staring at him unabashedly. Sukuna holds the container out, shaking it in your face. “Are you going to take it or what?”
“Huh?” You tilt your head with a confused expression.
His jaw clenches. “The food, idiot.” Sukuna shoves the container in your arms. You stumble back. He didn’t even push you that hard.
“But why?” You ask.
“Because it’s yours now.” He answers.
“Why?” You repeat.
“Because my mom told me to give it.”
“Why?” You ask again. You shove the container back in his arms. He wants to bang his head on the brick wall of your house. Sukuna takes a deep breath, trying not to lash out and deal with his mother’s wrath later.
“Just take it.” He puts it back in your arms.
“No! What if you poisoned it?” You return it.
…
…
He opens his mouth and closes it, completely dumbfounded. “Why the hell would I do that?”
“To kidnap me, hold me for ransom, and kill me!” You say with the utmost serious tone. Sukuna scoffs exasperatedly. He’s never met a girl—scratch that, a person as out of touch as you. He should have never come over here. He should have told his mom no.
“I guess you’ll just have to eat with me to prove it’s safe.” You chirp, turning on your heels.
“That’s not-” He interjects, but it’s already too late. You’ve disappeared into your home with that big grin he noticed on the first day he saw you. So, Sukuna just waits there on your doorstep, the container in hand, standing awkwardly, shifting his weight on his feet. What has his day come to? A flurry of footsteps later and you’re in your doorway with two forks in hand.
After being dragged to your front lawn, he stabs the piece of lasagna he cut out as he tries to ignore your expectant stare. He can’t lie, he really is hungry and the smell of his mother’s cooking does not make it better. It doesn’t take much urging on your end to get him to eat. He almost sighs in relief when the food harmonizes on his tongue. With his mouth full, he barks, “See?”
You nod with a cheeky expression on your face like you got to one-up him. You quickly follow suit. “What's your name?”
“Sukuna.”
“Can I call you Suki?” You cock your head to the side, gauging his reaction.
“No.”
“Oh, well, what about Kuna?”
“No.” He repeats. Holding his temper in check, he changes the subject, “What’s wrong with your family?” The question comes off harsh, but you seem to pay no mind.
Your eyes track his fork with the last piece of lasagna. “My sister’s sick.” Your voice thickens with something he can’t name. Dozens of questions rush to the tip of his tongue, but he decides not to push. Mostly because he doesn’t feel like dealing with tears and hysterics.
“Your name.” He demands more than he asks. Your eyes raise to meet his. You answer and he nods shortly.
Dropping the fork in the container, he stood up and left without looking back once. That marked the beginning of Sukuna’s friendship with you. Even though back then, he never considered you to be a friend.
His mother would make him bring meals to your family and every single time, you managed to convince him to stay. He swore that he hated dinnertimes with you and you would say “right” in that snarky, condescending tone that made his blood boil. Oh, you sure did love to annoy him with those wide eyes feigning cluelessness. You were smarter than you let on.
It became a routine over the summer, to the point where he associated food with you. No, seriously, one time he was riding his bike around the block with his friends and you were outside, like usual, sunbathing. When your eyes met, his fingers raised slightly from his handle bars as his version of a wave—and then hunger pains shot right through his abdomen.
GRRRRRRR
His stomach rumbled so loudly that he felt his organs tremble. His face burned furiously as he turned his cheek. It was really embarrassing for him honestly. Anyways, the point is that ever since you two met, you have slowly wormed your way into his life. He found it endlessly annoying.
The last day of summer was unusually chilly. Auburn leaves crunched under Sukuna’s sneakers as he carried a container of spaghetti to your house. The sun began to set, casting an orange glow over the horizon.
He’ll miss the heat when winter arrives, but he doesn’t have to worry about that now. Not when he’s going to have to stomach your chipper attitude for an hour with no breaks, no pauses.
“Kuna!” You greet him loudly when he steps on your porch. He narrows his eyes as he takes in your appearance. Your shirt had holes as if they were torn up and your jeans were full of grass stains. However the most suspicious thing about you was the fact that your hands were behind your back.
Taking a step back off the porch, he holds the food tightly to his chest. It’s unlike you to be full of dirt. Especially considering you had strict parents that didn’t let you leave your yard. “What?” Sukuna says warily.
“I’ve got a surprise for you!” You say in a sing-song voice. You motion for him to put the food down. His shoulders fall and he sighs. Sukuna leans down and places the container on the concrete.
You skip to him and pull out two crowns of messily assorted twigs and flowers. You grin so hard that your eyes crinkle. Your fingers were cut up and red as if you put your hands into a rose bush.
“One of them is wilted, dummy.” Sukuna points at the drooping flowers. The corners of your mouth turn down as you levy the crown in your hand. He takes a sharp breath and puts a hand out, “give it.”
“No, no, you get the nice one!” You tap his shoulder, looking at him expectantly. He presses his lips together. He stares down at you in a silent battle that he loses because eventually he drops his head and lets you place the fresh flower crown on top of his head. The branches lightly itch his scalp and honestly, he’s a bit worried that he might get lice, but he keeps his mouth shut.
He watches you place the ugly one on your head. The lifeless flowers fall upon your forehead like curls. Your chubby cheeks are marked with dirt. “You smile too much.” Sukuna grumbles, ignoring his rosy cheeks.
“And you frown too much. You don’t see me complaining.” You huff, crossing your arms over your chest. He resists rolling his eyes as he bends down to pick the container up. “Whatever,” he says, “let’s go eat.”
An hour later, he walked back home with a full stomach and a tiny smile on his face. Being friends with you is something he could get used to.The following day after his first day of school, he found himself knocking on your door.
But the door never opened.
And it didn’t the next day nor the one after that or the one after that. Not even the week after that. His tries slowed as concern kicked in. Did you move? What happened? Eventually, he stopped knocking at your door. Worry turned into anger. You didn’t want to be friends? Fine. He doesn’t care. Not a bit.
Life went back to normal. His mother stopped packing food for your family. He hung out with his friends more. His parents finally agreed for him to do boxing competitions after months of begging. He filled up his time with practice, forgetting anything he’d ever done with you. Autumn passed slowly and Winter did too.
It’s Spring when he sees you again.
But you look different…
A/N: sooo how did we like it? Please comment your thoughts. I'm so sorry this took so long. College is really time consuming.
If this gets enough support, I'll make a part two.
Please may we have part 2 of wires and chains 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏
I might make a part two. Possibly. If I do, it'll honestly take a good bit of time because I've been writing majorly slow. Butttt I will announce it if I do :)
TW: girl reader, slowburn, childhood love, poverty, soft mention of heavy topics like sickness
The moisture clings to Sukuna’s shirt as the sun blazes on the rural neighborhood in a small town nobody knew about. Beads of sweat collect on his brow and stain the seat of his bike, his friends pedaling closely behind him. It was normal for them to ride their bikes around the block in the summer. Usually they make their way to the only arcade in the town with their pockets heavy with spare change found under their home’s couch cushions.
But today was different. A new neighbor was moving in. Which was strange. Who would want to live in the middle of nowhere? They don’t even have a Dollar Tree in the area. What could this place possibly have to offer?
“I hope they have a kid.” The one who always has a snotty nose shouts as they turn the corner.
“I hope it’s a boy. Girls are no fun. All they do is play Barbies and house!” Another adds. They all nod in agreement. Slowing down, Sukuna drags his feet on the road.
One by one, the friend group sits on the burning curb. “Do you think they’re rich?” Young Gojo asks, plopping down next to Sukuna. They watch the move-in vans pull into the driveway of the house.
“No one rich moves into this neighborhood.” Sukuna grumbles, poking at the torn up soles of his sneakers.
“Buzzkill.” Gojo mutters under his breath before he gasps and points. “Look! Look!”
The van’s door creaks open slowly. Sukuna cranes his head to the side, squinting to get a better look. A pair of feet plop down onto the driveway. The rest of their body was covered by the door. “Scooch, bro.” He shoves Gojo over, who shoots him a glare.
“Is it a boy? Is it a boy?” The other kids whisper-scream.
“Wait, jeez. I can’t see anything.” Sukuna scoffs. Pink nails grip the door. A chorus of groans sound. The boys around him slump in disappointment.
“We never get any guys!” Gojo whines with his hands dragging down his face.
Sukuna narrows his eyes, still fixed on the pink-nailed hand. “This neighborhood is full of boys. She’s the only girl in here.”
“Whatever. It’s one girl too much.” Gojo retorts.
The door shuts and Sukuna finally sees her. She looks about his age. Maybe a year or two older. He can see her wide smile from here. She’s a cheerful girl. He can’t understand what’s there to be happy about when you are moving into this dump of a neighborhood.
He watches her eyes trail from her house to the homes around her to the street when her gaze snags on his. Her already wide smile somehow grows wider, reaching her eyes. Her hand shoots in the air, waving at him. Sukuna scrunches his face, lines forming between his brows before looking away. “I’ve got Minecraft back home. Let’s go.” He stands up, dusting off his pants before picking up his bike.
“Dibs on first!” Gojo shouts, shooting up from his spot. All of them begin grabbing their bikes, talking about the latest mob added. Sukuna turns his head one last time, out of curiosity. There’s an empty spot where the girl used to be.
Weeks go by and life goes on as usual. Nothing much changed with you as the new kid on the block. You never left your yard. Often he finds you basking in the sunlight with a blanket under you and a book in hand. Never once have you stepped onto the street. Not even to get the mail.
It was easy to ignore your presence. You were peculiar but purely uninteresting to him. It was an odd combo. Not that he cared, but he hasn’t seen you in a couple days. It’s a thought he shrugs off.
“Mom, where’s dad? He needs to bring me to boxing practice.” Sukuna asks, lugging his dingy duffel bag to the kitchen stool. He grabs his water bottle out the bag and shakes it. Empty. “We’re already late.”
“He’s at work.” She replies shortly. Not bothering to give any further explanation.
Sukuna’s fingers curl around his bottle tentatively. “But it’s Saturday.”
“Well, sometimes adults have to sacrifice their time off.” His mom wipes her hands on her apron. “Take this over to the (Last Name)’s.” His mother slides a container of luke-warm spaghetti over the kitchen counter.
Sukuna’s eyebrows furrow. “Who?”
“The people who just moved in, Ryomen.” She spares him a glance before limping to the sink. The metal of her leg clinks against the tile flooring.
His fingers clasp around the handles. His stomach rumbles as the savory scent hits his nose. “Isn’t this our dinner?”
She sighs heavily, putting the dirty ladle under the running water. “We help our neighbors when they need it.”
An acidic feeling creeps up his throat. His temper has always gotten the better of him. Something his parents have yet to beat out of him.“We don’t even know them,” he throws his hands up.
The metal ladle clashes against the sink. His mother glowers down at him with her head held high. “Enough. Go now before I put soap in your god damn mouth.” With her back turned to him, Sukuna rolls his eyes dramatically, silently mocking her words as he grabs the container off the counter.
A couple of minutes later, he is stomping down the street, holding what used to be his dinner to his chest.
It’s not fair. First, he doesn’t even get to go to practice and now they are giving HIS dinner away to strangers who they don’t know. This is stupid. Just plain stupid.
As your home comes into view, his mood only gets worse. And when it’s time to knock on your door, he is in a rage. The door opens slowly, revealing the weird girl: you. You’re in pjs, eyes sunken like you have just woken up from a nap.
You blink, staring at him unabashedly. Sukuna holds the container out, shaking it in your face. “Are you going to take it or what?”
“Huh?” You tilt your head with a confused expression.
His jaw clenches. “The food, idiot.” Sukuna shoves the container in your arms. You stumble back. He didn’t even push you that hard.
“But why?” You ask.
“Because it’s yours now.” He answers.
“Why?” You repeat.
“Because my mom told me to give it.”
“Why?” You ask again. You shove the container back in his arms. He wants to bang his head on the brick wall of your house. Sukuna takes a deep breath, trying not to lash out and deal with his mother’s wrath later.
“Just take it.” He puts it back in your arms.
“No! What if you poisoned it?” You return it.
…
…
He opens his mouth and closes it, completely dumbfounded. “Why the hell would I do that?”
“To kidnap me, hold me for ransom, and kill me!” You say with the utmost serious tone. Sukuna scoffs exasperatedly. He’s never met a girl—scratch that, a person as out of touch as you. He should have never come over here. He should have told his mom no.
“I guess you’ll just have to eat with me to prove it’s safe.” You chirp, turning on your heels.
“That’s not-” He interjects, but it’s already too late. You’ve disappeared into your home with that big grin he noticed on the first day he saw you. So, Sukuna just waits there on your doorstep, the container in hand, standing awkwardly, shifting his weight on his feet. What has his day come to? A flurry of footsteps later and you’re in your doorway with two forks in hand.
After being dragged to your front lawn, he stabs the piece of lasagna he cut out as he tries to ignore your expectant stare. He can’t lie, he really is hungry and the smell of his mother’s cooking does not make it better. It doesn’t take much urging on your end to get him to eat. He almost sighs in relief when the food harmonizes on his tongue. With his mouth full, he barks, “See?”
You nod with a cheeky expression on your face like you got to one-up him. You quickly follow suit. “What's your name?”
“Sukuna.”
“Can I call you Suki?” You cock your head to the side, gauging his reaction.
“No.”
“Oh, well, what about Kuna?”
“No.” He repeats. Holding his temper in check, he changes the subject, “What’s wrong with your family?” The question comes off harsh, but you seem to pay no mind.
Your eyes track his fork with the last piece of lasagna. “My sister’s sick.” Your voice thickens with something he can’t name. Dozens of questions rush to the tip of his tongue, but he decides not to push. Mostly because he doesn’t feel like dealing with tears and hysterics.
“Your name.” He demands more than he asks. Your eyes raise to meet his. You answer and he nods shortly.
Dropping the fork in the container, he stood up and left without looking back once. That marked the beginning of Sukuna’s friendship with you. Even though back then, he never considered you to be a friend.
His mother would make him bring meals to your family and every single time, you managed to convince him to stay. He swore that he hated dinnertimes with you and you would say “right” in that snarky, condescending tone that made his blood boil. Oh, you sure did love to annoy him with those wide eyes feigning cluelessness. You were smarter than you let on.
It became a routine over the summer, to the point where he associated food with you. No, seriously, one time he was riding his bike around the block with his friends and you were outside, like usual, sunbathing. When your eyes met, his fingers raised slightly from his handle bars as his version of a wave—and then hunger pains shot right through his abdomen.
GRRRRRRR
His stomach rumbled so loudly that he felt his organs tremble. His face burned furiously as he turned his cheek. It was really embarrassing for him honestly. Anyways, the point is that ever since you two met, you have slowly wormed your way into his life. He found it endlessly annoying.
The last day of summer was unusually chilly. Auburn leaves crunched under Sukuna’s sneakers as he carried a container of spaghetti to your house. The sun began to set, casting an orange glow over the horizon.
He’ll miss the heat when winter arrives, but he doesn’t have to worry about that now. Not when he’s going to have to stomach your chipper attitude for an hour with no breaks, no pauses.
“Kuna!” You greet him loudly when he steps on your porch. He narrows his eyes as he takes in your appearance. Your shirt had holes as if they were torn up and your jeans were full of grass stains. However the most suspicious thing about you was the fact that your hands were behind your back.
Taking a step back off the porch, he holds the food tightly to his chest. It’s unlike you to be full of dirt. Especially considering you had strict parents that didn’t let you leave your yard. “What?” Sukuna says warily.
“I’ve got a surprise for you!” You say in a sing-song voice. You motion for him to put the food down. His shoulders fall and he sighs. Sukuna leans down and places the container on the concrete.
You skip to him and pull out two crowns of messily assorted twigs and flowers. You grin so hard that your eyes crinkle. Your fingers were cut up and red as if you put your hands into a rose bush.
“One of them is wilted, dummy.” Sukuna points at the drooping flowers. The corners of your mouth turn down as you levy the crown in your hand. He takes a sharp breath and puts a hand out, “give it.”
“No, no, you get the nice one!” You tap his shoulder, looking at him expectantly. He presses his lips together. He stares down at you in a silent battle that he loses because eventually he drops his head and lets you place the fresh flower crown on top of his head. The branches lightly itch his scalp and honestly, he’s a bit worried that he might get lice, but he keeps his mouth shut.
He watches you place the ugly one on your head. The lifeless flowers fall upon your forehead like curls. Your chubby cheeks are marked with dirt. “You smile too much.” Sukuna grumbles, ignoring his rosy cheeks.
“And you frown too much. You don’t see me complaining.” You huff, crossing your arms over your chest. He resists rolling his eyes as he bends down to pick the container up. “Whatever,” he says, “let’s go eat.”
An hour later, he walked back home with a full stomach and a tiny smile on his face. Being friends with you is something he could get used to.The following day after his first day of school, he found himself knocking on your door.
But the door never opened.
And it didn’t the next day nor the one after that or the one after that. Not even the week after that. His tries slowed as concern kicked in. Did you move? What happened? Eventually, he stopped knocking at your door. Worry turned into anger. You didn’t want to be friends? Fine. He doesn’t care. Not a bit.
Life went back to normal. His mother stopped packing food for your family. He hung out with his friends more. His parents finally agreed for him to do boxing competitions after months of begging. He filled up his time with practice, forgetting anything he’d ever done with you. Autumn passed slowly and Winter did too.
It’s Spring when he sees you again.
But you look different…
A/N: sooo how did we like it? Please comment your thoughts. I'm so sorry this took so long. College is really time consuming.
hey guys sorry for the delay in the Sukuna x Sickly! Reader fanfic. College has been hounding me. I'll release the first part of this fic this weekend and if it gets enough support, then I'll make a part two.
Comment to join the taglist if you haven't already!
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Just wanted to let you guys know that there are two pages on this app that like to troll and make very degrading stories about black readers! @/suckmuballs and @/whotookmynameareuserious these are two little white girls pretending to be black, who are MINORS.
For starters, im a black girl myself in case you guys didn’t know that. I find this very disrespectful and this is not my first time encountering something like this on an app built around community. So if you support me and follow me and you happen to find their accounts “funny”???? Please feel free to block me or message me to have yourself removed.
I don’t play that weirdo and disrespectful shit, it’s not cool and I don’t fuck with it. It’s 2026 and we’re still making trolling pages and lying out our age AND race to tear down another just because black girls and boys come on here and have to request for things to be inclusive. These are minors. Report them, do whatever. PLEASE SPREAD AWARENESS & REPOST‼️‼️
I haven’t seen any big accounts spreading awareness on this topic so please. Thank you guys, that’s all.
I'm feeling white fatigue. Please report these losers. What's sad is that they think the fics they are writing are funny.
Woah you said the n word, ha ha ha ha. Such peak humor. Please consider being comedians, I laughed my ass off😐😐 if you can't tell, I'm being hella sarcastic.
The best way I could ever describe ADHD hyper fixations is kind of like a water hose.
You first have that mist setting that has a wider range, it's not that powerful and that's how I see a adhder that isn't having a hyper fixation. Their focus is on everything around them and yet they aren't paying proper attention to any of them. So things end up never getting done.
The beam setting on the hose is how I see hyper fixations. Their range narrows to the point that they don't pay attention to anything but their fixation. But the fixation and focus are so much more powerful.
Okok, I took a very much needed break from writing. Anddd now I'm backkk. But, I'm gonna make some changes.
The whole reason I started this blog was to get better with writing, but I can never do that if I'm just pumping out fics left and right, never getting to actually revise and think about how to make them better.
So, I'm going to start making these fics more slowly. Also, I have a proof reader, I do still need more though, so if you want early access to my fics or want to help in the creative process, just dm me.
Anyways, right now, I am currently working on a Sukuna x Reader fic. It's inspired by Your Lie in April, which is perfect because lol it is April.
If you would like to join the taglist for this fic, please comment below. Okay byeeee
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A/N: I am medically diagnosed with ADHD. This fic is based on my experience. Not everyone has the same experience with ADHD as me. Also so sorry I was late with this final part!
Your phone nearly falls out of your hands with the way they are shaking. Sending that message to Nanami after a week of avoiding his calls was the hardest thing you’ve done and your stomach hasn’t stopped turning since. A wave of nausea makes you want to double over the bathroom toilet.
Swallowing thickly, you find yourself staring in the speckled mirror. Your finger prods the red, irritated zit on your cheekbone. You’ve got noticeable eyebags. Unbrushed teeth with breath that stinks. It feels like the motivation to do anything, even to take care of yourself, was left at the home you don’t know is yours anymore.
The past week you have hidden away in your parent’s house. Slumped in the guest bed, binge-eating with food from your parents fridge and watching a show that honestly doesn’t entertain you in the slightest. None of it distracts you from the truth of your feelings.
You’re angry is what you try to tell yourself and you aren’t wrong, but anger is a secondary feeling. It is always accompanied by something more raw and that is what you are scared to confront. However, you’ve overstayed your welcome and your parents are ready to go back to their childfree lifestyle(you keep eating all their food).
Throwing on a dirty hoodie, your wet, dripping hair stains the fabric on your shoulders. If he isn’t already planning to divorce you, he surely will when he sees what a mess you are now. A week ago, you would have signed the divorce papers without a second thought. Ridding yourself of the selfish bastard that he is.
You stare at the gleaming diamond on your ring finger. Does a month of shaky waters really overwrite the years of happiness you’ve had with him? So many questions are unanswered it makes your brain reel.
Save your energy.
A soft knock echoes on your bedroom door. The moment you’ve been dreading has finally come. You’ve thought of a million scenarios of what you might do, but none of them was to stand frozen in the bathroom connected to the bedroom. Icy panic flooding your system, muscles contracting and tensing.
Time warps and straightens, leaving your brain in a whirlwind of confusion. Should you open the door? Is it too late? You want to look normal to him. He can’t know how much this has affected you.
But when you hear him call out your name, the door opens before you even realize it’s your hand turning the knob.
He looks…hollow. He has a prickly stubble on his chin which is odd because he shaves every night. His white button-up shirt is wrinkled along with his slacks. Worse, he has eyebags matching yours. Your gaze falls to the flowers clenched in his fist. You wonder if he’s as anxious as you.
Catching yourself staring, you school your expression into something neutral. Clearing your throat, you step aside to let him in. His steel eyes wander along your room, snagging on the pile of clothes on a chair. Fuck. You meant to clean, but of course got distracted.
“I apologize. I assumed you would have a flower vase.” His hand trembles ever so slightly. “I suppose we can put these in a vase when we go home.”
We?
You suck in a sharp breath. “Nanami, don’t start-”
“I’m sorry.” He pauses, letting you process. “I’ve never acted so foolishly in my life. I made you feel like you weren’t enough. As if you could aggravate me when that is furthest from the truth.”
“You lied about the work events, you lied about overtime, you acted like I was an outcast in our own home when you know you’re the only one I have ever felt comfortable around.” The words tumble out of your mouth before you could stop them. That fiery feeling rising in your chest. “I don’t know what the truth is anymore.” Your head drops, scared to see how he would react.
For a moment, the room is silent.
Drip!
You watch a tear splash against the cool wooden floor. His cheeks tinted red, lashes wet. He’s crying. Your stoic husband, Nanami Kento, is crying. “Oh, baby,” you whisper. Forgetting what you were even fighting about, your arms instinctively pull him in. His arms wrap around your waist, crushing you into his chest. He nestles his face into your neck, breathing you in like a man needs oxygen.
It’s there that he tells you everything. Not a detail left out. The company was going down and he couldn’t save it no matter how hard he tried.
“I wish you had told me. If this wasn’t the first time I’ve seen you cry, I would probably slap you.” The strands of his hair curl around your fingers.
“I was too prideful. Embarrassed. I’m supposed to take care of you and I failed.” His words are muffled as his head cuddles into your shoulder more.
“And I failed too. I never saw how stressed you were. I should have asked you.” You confide.
His arms tighten like he’s afraid you’ll leave again. “None of this is your fault. It’s mine.”
“I’m not going to play the blame game with you.”
He doesn’t respond, deciding that fighting is counterproductive to getting you back. His head has been killing him. But with you in his arms, his mind is silent. Right now, he couldn’t wish for anything more.“I love you. I love you so much it hurts when you aren’t around.” His voice is hoarse.
Your breath stutters. You try blinking away the tears. “...Even when I’m annoying or needy or overstimulated? When I’m too much?”
“There isn’t a side of you that I’m not in love with. I want all of you. I always will.” He presses a soft kiss to your neck.
There is still a long way to go before your trust in him is rebuilt, but there’s no one in this life that you would rather be with.
Thank god I'm done. Holyyyy. The reliefffff. This was very fun to make. I'm just excited to see it finished so I can move onto other projects.
Don't be afraid to comment! I love reading your thoughts❤️
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Im so happy that i have found a fellow adhd fanfic writer on here you have no idea ^^
Omg hiii, sorry for responding so late, went on a little writing vacation. Anyways, it's always great to find authors that relate to you. Especially with adhd like that is a different level of relatability
