silly little girl

𐙚

he sinks back into his chair as you sat crisscross on the black velvet couch behind him, “so does that mean we’re staying here longer?”. he looks at you with sorry eyes, “yup…”

you pouted for a second, then accepted it as you starting scrolling on your phone again, leaned on the arm rest. connie’s eyes traced over your body. from your uggs slippers to your short pajama shorts to one of his grey hoodies lazily draped over you, he sighed quietly in adoration. “c’mere…”

“hm?” you looked up from your phone, connie’s lap open while he taps on his thigh, invitingly. you happily obliged, unplugging your phone to attach it to his computer. you sat on his lap, legs over his. your arms wrapped around his neck as you embraced him and his hands found their way to the small of your back. he pulled away for a second only to catch your lips off guard slightly by his own. you breathed him in as your hands glided over his soft outgrown buzz. connie deepened the kiss, biting your bottom lip as if asking for more access, but as your lips part more for him, he pulls away.

you groan and roll your eyes as you feel him snort as he buries himself into your neck, amused by his own teasing while he goes back to work on his computer. you shift your legs to have your back facing him letting his head rest on your shoulder where started stamping light kisses from your shoulder to the back of your ear, casually, as if you were a cone of ice cream he was slowly working on. his right hand was on his mouse and his left was on your waist creeping over your stomach and playing with the strings of your shorts. you swallowed and the hairs on your body stood up as heat collected underneath your teal shorts.

connie’s hand rested for a moment on your lower stomach. he kissed the back of your ear before asking: “you really think they sounded good, mama?” soft lips brushing your neck as he arranged tracks on his screen. “mhm, why? did you think they didn’t?” you asked as his left hand exploded you more down south tugging at the lace of your panties.

he always did this, hiding foreplay in regular conversation bringing you to his level slowly like quicksand. one moment you could be asking him about the weather and the next he’ll have you louder than rainstorms, begging for more of him.

“i don’t know…” the low voice in your ear sent chills down your spine and pools to ur cunt. his slid under ur lace as his thick fingers traced your slit, finding your wetness. “just feel like…something’s missing,” he circles your clit and you can’t help but slowly grind with his rhythm. “ha- we have all night” your low eyes glance towards the time on the corner of his screen. “yea, i feel like i should give it one more play through though. your eyes followed his cursor as his middle finger began pumping into your dripping pussy. he added a second finger and started playing the track.

“ahh~ mm~”

it wasn’t long before you were letting out soft sighs over his digits as the music played he used his free hand to guide you jaw back towards him feeling his plump lips again. he swallowed your moans and his tongue requested entry, this time not pulling away as you rid his fingers aching to feel him deeper. “yea mama take it, take it like it’s yours don’t hold back” he whispered against your lips. he started thrusting faster and the friction of his palm slapping against your clit made you dizzy “oh fuck baby…”

your sighs harmonized with the vocals but his fingers were nowhere near on beat with song. he held your jaw in a way that kept your lips parted, your moans slid out effortlessly.

“ahhuhhahhh~ oughhmffuckk!”

“sing it baby,” he teased as his eyes shifted in between you and the recording track. “‘sound so good for me baby, so pretty” you’re bucking up at him by now, he can tell your close as your juices pool over his lap. the edge of his thumb reaches for you clit and circles that sweet spot. your precious whimpers rang through his ears like his music as he pulled you closer to your edge.

˗ˋˏ♡ˎˊ˗

as you came down from your high you leaned back as connie stopped the recording, you watched him cut and move tracks and heard the sounds of your own pleasure aligned with the music. he massaged your folds as you cooled down and kissed the back of your ear.

Unknown Number: Hey, can we talk? 2:31am delivered

You don’t need the name saved to know who it is.

Your thumb hovers over the screen. You didn't realize that you’ve been holding your breath , like your body recognized it before your mind fully caught up. It’s almost automatic at this point, crazy how something so small can change your whole mood.

Hey, can we talk?

You’ve seen that before. It's not always coming from a number you deleted out of frustration or impulse but the wording of it. The tone… it’s the same.

One deleted contact doesn't erase the past four years.

You lean back, letting your phone rest in your hand as your eyes stay on the message a little longer than they need to. You already know what this is.

It comes after arguments like clockwork. After things get too tense and one of you says something disrespectful. Neither of you knows how to fix it at that moment. So you break up until he comes back with this.

Hey, can we talk?

This is the part where you’re supposed to pick it back up and smooth it over.

Your jaw tightens slightly as you look away from the screen for a moment, exhaling through your nose. You're trying not to overthink his message and already doing exactly that.

Because it’s not just this message.

It’s the fact that lately, it feels like that’s all it’s been. Arguments that don’t go anywhere. Conversations that circle back on themselves. You say one thing, he hears another, and somehow you both end up frustrated for completely different reasons.

Not seeing eye to eye.

Sometimes you both are not even trying to see eye to eye and just trying to make yourselves heard. The worst part is that it’s familiar and not in a comforting way anymore. As a realization settles in, something in your chest sinks.

You’ve been here before.

~~~~

-Two years ago-

You remember the drive to his apartment. You were excited because you hadn’t seen him much that week. Both of you were caught up in your own schedules and missing each other in small ways that didn’t feel serious enough to question but you told yourself it was fine.

This was normal.

You pull into his apartment complex as the sky starts to dim. The light stretches longer across the pavement as you park. You sit there for a second after turning the engine off. Your hands still rested on the wheel like you’re giving yourself a moment to transition from your work mindset to the open arms in that apartment.

You grab your bag, step out, and make your way up the stairs like you’ve done a hundred times before. When you reach his door, your fingers are already on your keys, pulling the spare key he made you so you can come over anytime.

You slide it to unlock with a gentle click.

The door opens and you step inside. You already expect him to be in his usual spot. Usually on the couch, watching the same rerun football game, and knowing exactly how it ends.

But he’s up and moving around like he’s getting ready to leave. He’s walking back and forth between the kitchen and the living room, grabbing things, checking his phone, like his attention split.

You pause just inside the doorway. His actions catch you off guard before you can fully place why.

“Where are you going?” you ask. Your voice sounded more curious than anything. Sukuna glances at you briefly, like it’s not a big deal.

“Oh, Toji asked if I wanted to go out for drinks.” He says it so casually like an afterthought and it doesn’t conflict with anything else. You just stand there, trying to line that up with what you thought tonight was supposed to be.

“I thought we were hanging out?” You remind him as you slowly close the door behind you. Your hand lingers on the handle before you let it go.

“We are when I come back later,” he replies, already reaching for his keys, though he's not really looking at you.

You step further into the apartment, setting your bag down on the counter. Your movements are slow as you’re trying to comprehend something that doesn’t quite add up.

Did he forget or something?

“We haven’t even seen each other all week,” you say in a quieter tone but there’s a tension starting to boil underneath it.

“I know, that’s why we can hang out later,” he says, still distracted in trying to get ready to leave.

Later.

You let out a small breath.

“Can’t you just hang out with him another time?” you ask, turning slightly toward him now. Actually watching him instead of just standing in the same space.

He pauses for a second and gives you a quick glance like he's trying to register what you just said. He shakes his head as he puts on his watch.

“I already told him I’d go.”

“And you told me we’d spend time together.”

That’s what finally makes him look at you properly, but there’s already something defensive in it.

“It’s just drinks... it’s not a big deal,” he says, his tone is a little harsher now.

“It is a big deal Ryomen. We haven’t gotten to spend time together, and the first chance we do, you’re leaving.” you say, your voice tightening despite yourself.

Don't cry. Don't cry.

He exhales, running a hand over the back of his neck. His frustration is creeping in more openly now.

“Why are you making this such a big fucking deal, Y/N?”

He says it like you’re the one overreacting. As though this is something you pulled out of nowhere. His deflection makes something in you snap just a little. You stare at him, trying to understand how he doesn’t see it.

“Because we don’t see each other, what part of that is not clicking for you?” you say with more force behind your words. You point to your head like he's stupid.

“I’ve been working all week, I want time for myself too.” he shoots back, his tone matching yours now.

"Tch, yeah... okay," you mumble to yourself but he heard it. He scoffs back like it's crazy you guys are arguing about this. His hands come up to rest on his hips as he looks at you with a somewhat colder look.

“Are you seriously trying to argue right now?” he says with disbelief laced through his tone. This is the last thing he wants to deal with.

You let out a small, frustrated breath as you shake your head in response. “I’m not trying to start anything, I’m just-” you cut yourself off, your jaw tightening before you try again, this time with less patience.

“You act like you don’t care about this relationsh-”

“Oh, don’t start that shit, Y/N, you know I care about you,” he cuts in, raising his voice at you.

“Then why does it feel like you don’t?” you shoot back, the words overlap, not giving him space to redirect it.

“Why does it always turn into this whenever I want to spend time with you?”

“It doesn’t always turn into this, you just get like this every time I do something without you,” he says, already defensive.

Your eyebrows pull together as disbelief flashes across your face. “Every time? I’m asking you to spend time with me after we haven’t seen each other all week, and somehow that’s me ‘getting like this’?”

“You get so damn defensive when I’m not with you 24/7,” he shoots back, showing his frustration on full display. He’s been holding onto that longer than just this moment.

“How is it defensive that I want to spend time with my boyfriend? Explain that to me, Ryomen.” you ask, crossing your arms. The built up frustration has finally pushed past whatever patience you had left.

Instead of answering, something in him just… shuts off. You can see it happen in real time. You can see it in the way his expression shifts and how his shoulders tense up.

“I’m not doing this,” he mutters as he is already mentally checked out of the conversation. He throws his hands up like there’s nothing left to say.

Your stomach drops watching him turn and head towards the front door like the argument is already over on his end. He walks away like that is easier than actually staying and dealing with it.

“I’m going out,” his tone was firm and final. Something in you snaps.

“If you walk out that door, we’re done.”

“You can’t be serious,” he says.

“You’re going to end our relationship over me hanging out with my friend?” He adds on.

He says it like it so fucking simple... His closemindedness angers you so much, you don't even try to hold back how you feel now.

“This isn’t about you hanging out with your friend. This is about you not caring about this relationship.” you fire back. Your voice matches his energy. The last word catches slightly in your throat.

“Like do you even hear yourself?” you shake your head. Your hands waft in the air as you talk like you’re trying to physically make him understand what you’re saying.

“We don’t see each other all week, I come over thinking we’re finally going to spend time together and you’re already halfway out the door like it doesn’t even matter.”

“It’s one night-”

“It’s not just one night!” you're almost screaming at this point.

“It’s never just one night with you. It’s always something, it’s always later, or next time, or ‘it’s not a big deal,’ and I’m the one that’s supposed to just go along with it like it doesn’t bother me.”

He exhales, looking away from you for a second.

“Do you remember how you used to be?” you ask, peaking his interest on what you are about to say.

“You wouldn’t go a day without seeing me. You’d call me just to hear my voice or to check in just because you wanted to. You made time for me without me having to ask.” Your chest tightens as you keep going though the more you say it, the more it hurts.

“And now it’s like…” you hesitate for a second.

“Now it’s like you got comfortable. I don’t feel like you even try anymore because you already have me.”

“That’s not-”

“I’m standing here asking for the bare fucking minimum and you’re acting like I’m asking for too much.” you cut him off again. Your voice cracks slightly. You both are standing five feet apart, just staring at each other.

...

“You know what?” he says suddenly. His tone shifting into something... calmer?

“If that’s the way you feel, then I guess we’re done.”

We’re done.

It’s strange because your body feels suspended in time. Everything in you goes still and the air around you starts feeling thin. Your thoughts pause mid motion as if they’re waiting for him to follow up.

Nope... you're just left standing there in front of your boyfriend ex who doesn't care.

We’re done.

“Are you serious?” you ask but he doesn’t answer you. He doesn’t speak or show any signs of reconsidering. Hell, he's not even looking at you.

He just turns away, grabbing the door handle, and opens it like there’s nothing left here worth staying for.

The door shuts behind him with force that causes the picture of you and him to fall. Yet, you stay where you are. Your body is slow to catch up to what just happened.

The silence feels different now. Just empty space that makes the little noises of the AC blasting sound louder.

Your legs feel heavier than they should, like you don't want to move at all. As long as you stay still, you don’t have to fully deal with it yet. Unfortunately, your mind doesn’t give you that option. It keeps replaying everything all at once.

We’re done.

The words keep circling in your mind, waiting for something to prove that they weren’t meant the way it sounded.

You’ve argued before and said things you didn’t mean, walked away, came back after a couple of hours, and fixed it like it was just another part of being together.

This didn’t feel like that.

There wasn’t a moment where it could be taken back. He didn’t even look back.

You try swallow but your throat was dry. Your chest felt like it was caving in making it harder to take a full breath. All you do is just stand there, trying to make sense of something weird.

You know you should leave.

You glance around the apartment, feeling unwelcome in the very space that held comfort. Oddly enough, everything looks the same as it always did.

You finally force yourself to move, walking slower to the counter and reaching for your bag while feeling out of body. Questions stacking on top of each other without answers.

Was I overreacting? Did I push it too far? Why didn’t he stay? Why didn’t he even try?

When you reach the door, your hand lingers on the handle like you’re giving yourself one last moment before stepping out of something you’re not sure you can step back into.

~

It’s been two weeks since you’ve heard from him.

Even now, the word ex feels unfamiliar coming out of your mouth. You're scared that the more you say it, the more final it feels and you're not ready to accept that.

So you avoid it, letting yourself exist somewhere in between that grey area where nothing is clearly defined and everything still feels like it could go back to the way it was.

At first, you just told yourself that you needed time and that things had gotten too heated. You waited to see if he would come back around once things settled. So, you didn’t question it too much in those first few days, not letting yourself fully process the situation.

You slipped into a routine without even realizing it, and it started the second you woke up. Your hand would reach for your phone before your eyes were fully open. A little bit of anxiety would bubble in your stomach as the screen lit up.

There was still a part of you holding onto the possibility that there would be a message, a missed call, or literally anything that would break the silence between you two.

But there never was.

Just emails you didn’t care about, promotions from stores you barely shopped at anymore, a random notification from your doorbell camera catching your neighbor walking past your apartment, and an Instagram message from a friend sending you some video about how 'men ain’t shit'.

You’d stare at the screen longer than necessary, waiting for something else to come through, even when you already knew it wouldn’t. Then you’d lock it again like it didn’t matter as much as it did.

It wasn’t one moment that made it real. It didn’t hit you all at once in some overwhelming way. It was slower than that, quieter, building over time until the absence itself started to feel louder than anything he could’ve said.

He wasn’t going to reach out and once that thought settled in, it didn’t leave.

You tried to push it aside at first, and make sense of it in ways that didn’t feel as final, replaying everything that led up to it like there was still something to figure out.

Your mind kept flashing back to the argument, picking it apart from every angle. Looking for the version of it that could’ve gone differently if you had just said something else, or had approached it differently, or been a little more patient, a little less reactive.

There were moments you even found yourself defending him. Maybe he actually needed space or he was actually overwhelmed with work. He could’ve been going through something he wasn’t telling you about. Maybe he just didn’t know how to come back and apologize yet.

Every time you followed that line of thinking, it led you right back to the same place. One you couldn’t avoid no matter how much you tried to soften it.

If he wanted to fix it, he would have.

That truth didn’t feel harsh at first. It made it easier to understand the situation in a way.

Eventually, the waiting stopped feeling like something you were choosing and started feeling like something you were just… done with.

It didn’t happen all at once or some dramatic shift where everything suddenly felt better. It was almost unnoticeable at first, until you realized one morning that you hadn’t reached for your phone right away and you only would think about him if you were bored.

So you kept yourself busy.

You let Shoko and Utahime pull you out for a girls night more often. Even on days when you would’ve rather stayed in, you let their energy carry you through the parts where your own felt drained.

They talked enough for all three of you sometimes, reminding you in small ways that your life didn’t revolve around whether or not he decided to show up.

Slowly but surely, you started to feel that too.

You found comfort in your own routines again, and in things that had nothing to do with him. You let yourself enjoy experiences without tying them back to what you were missing.

Sitting in a salon chair a little longer than you needed to, just letting someone else care of you for once. You paid more attention to yourself in ways you hadn’t in a while like your hair, your nails, the way you carried yourself when you weren’t constantly aware of how someone else saw you.

You bought things just because you wanted them and didn't need a reason or occasion for them. It felt good to choose yourself without overthinking it.

Life started to feel lighter. It wasn’t perfect but it was easier to move through.

~

1:13 AM.

Buzz.

Your phone lights up on your nightstand, the screen lights up the dark room, pulling your attention without fully waking you.

You almost ignore it.

You’ve gotten used to not expecting anything important from late night notifications, but sometimes Utahime or Shoko get too drunk and need a ride or they are in an emergency situation.

All you need to do was give quick glance just to make sure they are okay. Your hand reaches for it, your fingers brushing over the screen as you turn it toward you.

Your eyes take a second to focus.

Unknown Number: Hey. 1:13am read

Just like that, the quiet you had finally gotten used to doesn’t feel as vacant anymore.

You don’t need the name saved to know who it is.

His contact is just a string of digits where his name used to be, but it doesn’t matter. Something in the timing, and how he shows up out of nowhere after two weeks of nothing, makes it obvious without needing confirmation.

It’s him.

Your thumb hovers over the keyboard while your mind moves faster than your hands do, already weighing out how you want to respond before you’ve even decided if you should.

There was a time not too long ago when this is exactly what you were waiting for. When you would’ve answered immediately without thinking twice and just relieved to see something from him at all.

Now, it feels different because answering him now isn’t the same as it used to be. Neither is he.

A part of you that knows you could make this easy and fall back into the way you've always responded to him. The other part of you isn't so willing this time. It's more certain about letting this stay what it is instead of undoing it just because he reached out.

Not after how he left things and how long he left you to ponder around without saying anything at all. You don’t want to give him that kind of access again.

Not without making him feel, even a little, what it’s like to be on the other side of that distance. So you type something simple.

You: Who’s this? 1:18am read

You send it, setting the tone before he gets the chance to. His reply comes faster than you expect.

Unknown Number: Ryomen 1:18am read

You look at it for a second, your expression barely changing, though your lips press together in a way that says enough. The name sits there like it should automatically fix whatever damage the distance didn't fix.

Not this time.

You: Yes? 1:20am read

No greeting or warmth. Your phone buzzes again and you pick it up almost on instinct.

Unknown Number: Can we please talk? 1:20am read

It shouldn’t feel like that much because it’s just a sentence. But the second you read it, an uneasy pull in your stomach that spreads before you can stop it.

Your thumb rests against the side of your phone, while your mind moves in two completely different directions at once, neither of them willing to give the other any space.

One part of you makes almost annoyingly clear how you had to pick yourself back up on your own. It reminds you of the last two weeks. That version of you that was more sure of yourself.

But the other part of you is just as present.

It's just there, lingering around and getting harder to ignore because it doesn’t push at you, it just… stays. It reminds you of everything that wasn’t bad. The little moments that made it so easy to fall into him in the first place.

What if he’s different?

The thought almost sounds reasonable and that’s the problem.

You stare at the message, knowing you’re already leaning in before you’ve fully admitted it to yourself, your fingers type something that feels safe enough to send.

You: Go on 1:23am read

The typing bubble pops up almost immediately then disappears.

Then comes back again, like he’s trying to figure out how to say something he should’ve figured out before reaching out in the first place. You watch it longer than you want to, more focused on those three dots than you should be.

Unknown Number: Can I see you? I dont want to do it over text. 1:26am read

You exhale slowly, your eyes lingering on the screen as something shifts again, not as sharp as before, but enough to make you pause.

Of course he doesn’t want to do it over text.

In person, it’s easier to read tone into things and easier to soften what should probably be taken at face value.

You know that and still, you don’t put the phone down.

You could say no.

You could leave it right here andlet this be the moment where you choose yourself without circling back just to see if something feels different.

But you don’t.

Because there’s still that stupid part of you that wants to hear what he has to say, even if it doesn’t change anything. Just to see if it confirms what you already know.

Your fingers move before you overthink it too much.

You: Sure. Come over. 1:30am read

~

Less than fifteen minutes later, there’s a knock at your door. It was soft yet insistent.

It’s too soon, you knew it would be fast, but not this fast.

You open the door anyway and there he was.

He’s wearing the hoodie you bought him. He used to pretend he didn’t care about it until it somehow became his favorite along with a pair of sweats that look like he threw them on without thinking too hard about it.

He looks off. Not put together or looking like himself.

There’s something melancholy in the way he’s standing there. The confidence you’re used to seeing on him didn’t quite make it to your doorstep with him.

You don’t say anything about it.

“Come in,” you say, stepping aside.

He nods once, dipping his head slightly under the door frame as he walks past you. You close the door behind him as you guide him to sit on your couch.

You leave space between you, enough to make it clear that things aren’t what they used to be.

He leans forward with his elbows resting on his knees, his head drifts toward the patio window while he figures out how to start.

For a moment, neither of you says anything.

It’s strange? You’ve never been this quiet together before.

“So…” you start, the word feeling thin, but it’s all you have.

He exhales, running a hand over his jaw before finally speaking.

“Look… Y/N,” he says, his voice lower than you expected and not as guarded.

“I’m sorry about everything that happened. I was a dick.”

The bluntness of it catches you slightly off guard, but it doesn’t make it any easier to respond. Your eyes drop to your lap, your fingers fidgeting because you don’t actually know what to say to that.

“I’ve missed you and I’ve been thinking about how I treated you… a lot,” he continues, his tone sounds honest and not something that feels like he rehearsed it on the car ride here.

You hear the words. You do. He's saying all the right words but there's a disconnect in the way it's supposed to feel. Not necessarily an empty statement...

Before you can decide how to respond, you feel his hand reach for yours, his fingers wrapping around it like it’s something he still has a right to.

It startles you but not enough to pull away.

“Please, just give me a chance to make it up to you.” he says, his eyes searching your face like he’s trying to read something. The eye contact makes it harder.

It always has.

You hold it longer than you probably should, before your gaze shifts away again. Your thoughts overlap in ways that don’t make it easy to separate what you feel from what you’re thinking.

“Why now?” is all you manage, your voice is quieter than you intended, but it’s the only question that actually makes it out.

There’s more you would like to say.

Where was this two weeks ago? What changed? Did something actually change?

Your mind moves faster than the conversation itself, trying to find a way to see his side of things.

He didn’t cheat, so it could’ve been worse.

But that doesn’t erase the way he made you feel or how your time and your effort didn’t seem to matter as much as they should have.

“I thought you were still angry, I didn’t want to make things worse, so I figured I’d give you time to cool off,” his grip on your hand tightening just slightly.

You nod absentmindedly.

Or you just got comfortable with the silence until it got too quiet. Your thoughts can't help but contradict what he says.

But still, he’s here and he showed up. I guess you can count that as 'trying'. That matters… doesn’t it?

“Yeah… I understand that,” you say, even though it doesn’t fully cover what you’re feeling.

He looks at you like he’s waiting for more, bracing himself for whatever comes next. You can see it in the way his jaw tightens slightly, like the strong facade he is trying to show is cracking.

You should think about this more. You should take your time.

You shoul-

“Okay, I forgive you” you say instead.

“But if it happens again, I'm leaving,” you add sounding firmer now, like you’re trying to ground it in something solid,

For a short while, he just looks at you. His shoulders drop as the tension eases out of him as he nods, a small breath leaving him like he’s been holding it this entire time.

“It won't, I promise,” he says, almost too quickly.

The room fell quiet leaving only the silent hum of the fridge in the kitchen and the ticking of the wall clock. Suddenly, your mind came back to reality and realized Sukuna's hand was still wrapped around yours. His grip is firm though tentative.

His dark eyes lift to meet yours, drawing you in closer without any conscious movement on his part.

You could pull away.

The thought takes over your mind like a warning sign. A reminder of how the scars of his abandonment weren't fully healed. But there was an undeniable familiarity in his touch. A pull that echoed the years you shared.

So instead of backing away, you close the distance. Your lips locking with his in a slow kiss that was both a surrender and a claim.

His body tensed a first. He could feel it subtly in his shoulders as if he hadn't expected you to actually kiss him. The surprise was evident in the way his breath caught against your mouth.

Yet, he melted into you almost immediately. His resistance dissolved into a deep, rhythmic dance of tongues that spoke of unspoken apologies. The kiss grew more insistent while your hand trailed up his chest to feel the steady thump of his heartbeat.

He pulls back slightly and stares into your eyes. His voice a low whisper laced with vulnerability. "Are you sure? We don't have to if you don't want to."

The timing of it all hit you like a wave. This is the first time you've seen him after weeks apart. The absurdity of the ease with which your bodies remember each other from countless nights before. His question hangs in the air as if to protect you from your own impulses.

Yet, looking into his eyes, the ones that had once shattered your world and now sought redemption... you were certain.

"I want this," you murmured lowly, your voice steady as the heat built between you both. His hand softly caresses your thigh to reassure yourself.

"I don't want to force you to do anything," he added. His fingers play with the edge of your shorts. His confession fueled something low in your core. In that shared breath, the line between past and present blurred once more.

As your lips pressed deeper, the world outside your apartment faded. He shifted slowly, his strong arms guiding your back onto the couch cushions. You sunk deeper into the couch as he crawled over you. His weight was a comforting anchor that made your pulse race.

Your breast brush against his chest and the thin fabric of your shirt does very little to mask the ache of your hardened nipples.

Your finger threads through his soft pink hair. The strands slipped between your knuckles as you gripped them tightly, pulling him closer in a silent plea for more.

"I've missed us so fucking much," he whispered. He lets out a low husky growl against your mouth.

His kisses trailed down from your mouth to the curve of your jaw. Then down to the sensitive part of your neck. You felt the gentle suck of his mouth, his tongue sliding over the spot in slow circles that left a tingling warmth.

He marked you with hickies that you wouldn't discover until later. A soft moan slipped from your throat, your body arched instinctively toward him.

"I need to show you how sorry I am," he muttered against your neck. He slid his hand under your shirt, fingers brushing the soft swell of your breast before cupping it firmly. His thumb teasing your nipple with a possessive squeeze that made you gasp.

Your shirt was gone in an instant, tossed carelessly to the floor as he pulled back just enough to reveal your bare chest. Your breasts rising and falling with each labored breath.

"God, you're beautiful."

Sukuna’s eyes darkened with hunger as he kissed a slow path down your sternum. His lips linger on the curve of one breast before teasing your nipple with a kiss. He then puts it into his mouth, the gentle sucks sent jolts of pleasure straight to your throbbing pussy. His fingers twist the neglected nipple.

You let out a soft, fragile whimper that made his cock strain harder. The rigid length pressing insistently into your thigh as if demanding more.

He shifted to your other breast, treating it with the same love. His tongue swirled in teasing circles, teeth grazing sending jolts through your body.

As he kissed a trail downward, his lips mapping the curve of your stomach with heated presses. You could feel the warmth of his breath. When he reaches your navel piercing, his lips brush it with a light, intimate kiss.

He looks up as your eyes share a knowing glance. The metal is a reminder of the impulsive day you decided to pierce each other. He did your navel and you did his eyebrow.

A bond time hadn't fully erased.

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down and discarding them carelessly to the floor. Leaving you nothing but a thin thong that outlined your wet pussy.

"Look at you, so wet for me already," he growled.

He pushed his own sweats down, kicking them aside to reveal his massive bulge straining against his underwear. The thick outline of his cock demanded attention as it pulsed with need. He then followed by slipping off his hoodie.

He climbed back over you and settled between your thighs. His body pressed down on you with deliberate slowness as he began to dry hump you. His hips rolled in unhurried thrusts that built a delicious friction through layers of fabric.

"Feel how much I missed you," he murmured huskily, his face hovering near yours. His hot breath fanning across your cheek.

His movements deepened gradually, each slow grind pressing his rigid length more firmly against you. The fabric rubbing over your clit, drawing out a flood of sensation that made your body remember all the times Sukuna has fucked the shit out of you.

You missed this.

You could feel all his weight on top of you. Little noises escaped unchecked as his breathing grew heavier, syncing with the intensity of his thrust.

"You're mine, y/n, mhn, always have been," he whispered roughly.

He sat up and hooked his finger into your panties, sliding them off. The cool air kissing your exposed skin before his mouth lowered. His tongue dove into your fold with a hungry and exploratory lick.

Sukuna circled your swollen clit with teasing strokes, the wet heat of his mouth drawing out gasps that echoed in your quiet apartment. The sensation built, his lips sucking gently at first, then with increasing urgency, pulling you deeper in pleasure that made your body tremble uncontrollably.

You tried to scoot away, your hips lifting off the couch in an attempt to escape the intensity but Sukuna's strong hands gripped your hips firmly. He yanked you back to his mouth with a possessive growl, his finger digging into the soft flesh of your thighs to hold you in place.

Your hips buck wildly against him, fingers tangling harder in his salmon hair.

"I'm g-gonna..." you whimpered. The broken words came from your lips in a desperate plea, on the edge of release.

He didn't stop.

His tongue dives deeper in your slick folds, lapping at you with insatiable hunger knowing exactly what you needed.

The pleasure mounted until your body convulsed as you came hard on his tongue. He kept going, slurping up every drop of your juices with greedy and appreciative sounds.

He finally pulled back, his lips glistening as he crawled up your body, capturing your mouth in a deep, searing kiss that let you taste yourself on his tongue.

It made you ache all over again.

You eagerly press your body against his as he stripped off his underwear, revealing his thick and throbbing cock. Precum is already beading at the tip.

With a firm grip on the undersides of your thighs, he spread your legs wider, positioning himself between them. He slid his length between your wet lips, rubbing the head of his cock against your still-sensitive clit. His thrusts are deliberately slow.

You moaned at the overload of the sensation, the wet sounds of both bodies filling the air. The friction of his cock rubbing your folds emphasized just how much bigger he was than you.

"Fuuuck~" A groan escaped his lips.

He lines up his swollen tip at your entrance. He pushed in slowly as a deep moan rumbled from his throat as he sank deeper. The thick length fills you completely, your inner walls clenching around him in a mix of pain and pleasure.

You winced at the initial stretch as your fingers dig into his bicep for support. The ink on his skin pressing against your palm.

"You can take me," he muttered, his voice a low and commanding whisper.

"That's it, just like that."

Fuck he's still going?

Once he was fully inside you, he paused, giving you a moment to adjust to his aching cock. He searched your face.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his tone softening with genuine concern.

You nodded.

Your breath comes in short gasps. The fullness of him reminds you of how perfectly he fits. He always knew how to claim you. He began to move slowly. Your toes curl and your core aches with renewed hunger.

You forgot how good he feels.

He picks up the pace, his hips snapping forward with need, drawing a low moan from him.

"God, I've missed this pussy," he growled.

His moans made you arch your back, rolling your hips along his. Your breast heaving with the force of his movements. He sat up while keeping his eyes locked onto you. His thumb finds your clit, rubbing it in firm circles that made your vision blur from the dual sensations overwhelming.

"You miss this dick?" he demanded as his thrust never faltered. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing your ear. Dirty words pour out.

“Mhmm,” you moan.

"Yeah? My babygirl missed this cock fucking her?"

His endearment makes your heart flutter wildly. He shifted his position, his strong hands sliding under your thighs with a possessive grip. He lifted your legs effortlessly over his shoulders, spreading you wider and exposing you fully to the relentless drive of his cock.

He then bends down and captures your lips in a deep, bruising kiss that tasted of shared desperation. His thrust intensified, each power slam hitting your cervix with a throbbing impact that made you see stars. The pleasure-pain blurring into an intoxicating rush that left you gasping in his mouth.

You threw your head back, eyes rolling shut as the overwhelming sensations crashed through you. He took the opportunity to trail his lips down to your neck, sucking and nipping at your skin once more. The slick slide of him filling you over and over pushes you closer to the edge.

"That's it babygirl, take every inch o-of this cock," He whispers filthily.

"Feel how deep 'm fucking you, that tight little pussy wrapped around me." His words heightening the fire in your core, your lower stomach tightened with that familiar, coiling pressure. The orgasm is brewing like a bad storm.

"Mmm, I'm gonna cum," you whimpered in a broken tone. Your fingers claw at his back, clinging onto him for a few more brutal thrust.

Your hands go to his chest like that was going to stop him. Your pussy clenched around him violently, pulsing as you released all over his cock. Your body shudders uncontrollably.

He pulled out just in time, his cock throbbing as he stroked himself. Ropes of cum spill hot across your stomach in a thick, erratic burst. Both of you are left heavy breathing, his chest heaving as he milked the last drops from his shaft.

He leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. Without a word, he got up and walked to your restroom. He remembered exactly where you kept the extra towels from past experiences.

He returned with one in hand, gently wiping the mess from your skin. He tossed the towel aside, sliding back onto the couch and wrapping you in his arms in a warm embrace.

Your head rested on his chest where you could hear his heart rate slowing down. You traced lazy patterns on his tattooed chest, the ink's intricate swirls feeling smooth under your fingertips.

For a while after that, things were good. Better, even. It was easy to believe that everything you went through had actually meant something.

He showed up differently, in ways that felt thoughtful without you having to ask for it. He offered to drive you to and from work just so he could spend a little extra time with you. He planned small surprise dates that didn’t feel forced, or would bring you 'just because' flowers for no reason other than the fact that he knew you liked them.

It wasn’t grand or overwhelming, but it was consistent enough that you let yourself relax into it. Slowly, you started to let go of that tension you didn’t even realize you had been holding onto.

You started to trust it again. Started to trust him again.

There were nights where you’d sit together talking about things that felt bigger than the both of you. It consisted of conversations about the future that used to feel distant but suddenly didn’t anymore.

You both tossed around ideas of what your lives could look like if everything stayed like this. You even talked about kids once, sort of joking at first until it turned into something more real. Both of you settled on the name Yuji for a boy.

His apology started to feel genuine the more time passed, not because he kept repeating it, but because his actions seemed to back it up in those early weeks. You let that be enough to quiet the part of you that had doubts.

But the shift back didn’t happen all at once.

It came in almost quietly. It's easy to overlook at first because you had already convinced yourself that things were different. He got busier, or at least that’s what it looked like from your end, his replies taking longer, turning into hours instead of minutes, his energy feeling slightly off even when he was right next to you.

And when he was with you, he wasn’t always with you.

Conversations started feeling more surface level and you found yourself repeating the same phrases throughout the day. "Hey, what are you doing?" "Okay, bye. I love you," "When can I see you?"

It was nothing obvious enough to turn into an argument without feeling like you were reaching. Your suppressed emotions eventually started to build up.

When it came out, it was a scramble of words that consisted of everything you've wanted to say. It would all hit him all at once and that's when the arguments started. It became familiar enough that you recognized the pattern almost immediately

You were too embarrassed to even admit it.

They always ended the same too. One of you walking away. Doors slamming and no contact that lasted long enough to make it feel like you were done for good each time.

But he always came back and you always let him.

No matter how many times you told yourself you wouldn’t fall for the same words again, you did. You let his apologies coax you into a false sense of hope. You let his actions convince you to stay, even when something in you knew they didn’t fully match what he was saying.

The arguments got more frequent after that.

Heavier.

Most of the arguments started over something small that shouldn't have even escalated the way it did but it was never really about that. It was about everything hidden underneath the surface. If you were being honest with yourself, some of the fights started because of you.

You didn't want to fight but the resentment built up had nowhere else to go.

The way you both spoke to each other changed.

Words got careless, being thrown around in the heat of the moment without thinking. Then followed by softer ones later like they could undo the damage. As if saying I love you was enough to cover what had already been said.

Like it could fix it and it never really did. You’d fall back into each other anyway, into something intense enough to make everything else feel distant for a little while, using closeness as a way to smooth things over instead of actually resolving anything, and for a moment, it always worked.

Until the next time.

Your friends started to notice it too. Shoko and Utahime would exchange looks whenever his name came up. Their patience was running thin, they tried not to make it obvious but you could feel it.

There only so much convincing they can do, the conversations always ended with the same saying. "If that's the hill you want to die on."

You started leaving things out when you talked to them, filtering the story so it didn’t sound as heavy as it actually was. Convincing yourself you were just avoiding unnecessary concern when really, you just didn’t want to feel like a burden.

And before you even realized how much time had passed, it wasn’t just a phase anymore and now had became a pattern. Something you had both fallen back into without ever really fixing what broke in the first place.

And now here you are...

~~~~

...two years later, standing in the same place again.

Having the same arguments, feeling the same frustration, and watching the same cycle play out.

Stuck with the same predictable man, staring at the same message that’s been sent more times than you can even count anymore.

Twenty three.

If you’re being honest with yourself, it stopped feeling like a number a long time ago and started feeling more like a pattern you could trace with your eyes closed.

Unknown Number: Hey, can we talk? 2:31am read

It’s so funny that it doesn’t make you laugh. Words so simple have come to mean so much more than they should, carrying the weight of every argument that never really ended and every time you told yourself it would be different this time.

You know how this goes.

You know the way your mind starts weighing things that shouldn’t need to be weighed anymore. The quiet hope that slips in even when you try to shut it down, telling yourself that maybe this time he turned over a new leaf.

You know the way he softens his tone with you and the way you start to soften with him because part of you still wants it to work. Every outcome came with you forgiving him and having the same astonishing makeup sex.

You know how it ends.

Unknown Number: Hey, can we talk? 2:37am read

You block him.

His message disappears like they were never there in the first place. The last four years were just reduced to a setting you can toggle on and off.

Your grip on your phone loosens slightly as it slips from your hand, landing somewhere beside you on the bed. Every emotion hits you at once.

Your chest tightens and your throat feels like its closing on you. Your vision blurs and your breathing becomes uneven. You don’t try to stop yourself this time.

You don’t reach for your phone again.

You just let it happen.

The tears come quietly, slipping down without you stopping it but they don’t feel the same as before. They don’t feel desperate or frantic or tied to whether or not he’s going to come back.

You press the heel of your hand against your eyes, letting out a breath that trembles on the way out. Your shoulders sink into the mattress as everything you’ve been holding onto starts to loosen its grip, piece by piece.

It hurts... it still hurts.

Yet, there’s something else underneath your tears, something you don’t fully recognize it's there...

relief.

-

Unknown Number: hello? 2:39am [blocked]

Unknown Number: y/n did you seriously block me… 2:39am [blocked]

Unknown Number: you’re dragging it atp 2:40am [blocked]

Unknown Number: wtv bro fuck you. 2:41am [blocked]

-2 weeks later-

Unknown Number: i didn't mean that. can we just talk? 9:37am [blocked]

-3 months later-

Unknown Number: am i still blocked? 7:12pm [blocked]

Unknown Number: be honest 7:14pm [blocked]

Unknown Number: i’ve been thinking about you 8:26pm [blocked]

Unknown Number: this isn’t funny anymore... 8:39pm [blocked]

-1 year later-

Unknown Number: i’m sorry. 1:41am [blocked]

Unknown Number: for everything 1:41am [blocked]

Unknown Number: i know i fucked up 1:41am [blocked]

Unknown Number: please just give me a chance to fix it. 1:41am [blocked]

it’s his pet names that linger instead— sounding all soft and familiar, worn warm from use. the ones he returns to without thinking, like second nature. schatzi. simply sweet. ever so precious. the word curls from his mouth with an ease that feels almost absentminded, yet never careless. and liebling, his favorite, his darling. it’s usually spoken quieter, closer, like it belongs to you and him alone.

those are the few words you come to know. not by translation, but how they’re given. by the way his voice lowers around them, the way they brush against your skin like something tangible.

mixed by blood, eren's heritage lives in the small details about him more than anything else; his cadence, his features, his mannerisms. he doesn't necessarily talk about it. his tongues, german and turkish, live elsewhere. like in fleeting moments on the phone with his family, voice softened with a familiarity different from the kind he shows you.

it's admirable, how effortlessly he slips into the rhythm of home when catching up with his mother and father. you hear it only then, in fragments and tones, something distant. you try to glimpse into that part of him, but he leaves it unshared. 

it isn't that your boyfriend withholds any aspects of his life, or his culture, from you. rather, he lets untranslatable words fall as they come, shaped more by his feeling than intentionality. there's a certain intimacy in that. he thinks that you don't have to understand every syllable to feel the weight of it.

because with him, it's about how it lingers in the space between you long after the words have fallen away.

you know eren doesn’t make much use of deutsch in his everyday life, no. it remains tucked away as the one thing he doesn't reach for, but something that exists all the same. and maybe, that's what makes it all the more enticing, when it surfaces in the moments his control finally begins to slip.

it’s in those instances, when his breath grows uneven and composure frays at the edges, that something from deep within him begins to rise unbidden. words he doesn't consciously choose, tones he typically wouldn't shape, leaving him in a low, broken lilt. there's nothing intentional about it, just the rawness of instinct when the sensation is so overwhelming that he can't help himself any longer.

and in that unraveling, there's something disarmingly sensual. not just the act itself, or the hot slide of his hands when he touches you, but a side of him that can't be hidden away, revealed only when he's too far gone to hold it back.

"scheisse!"

it slips out of him without warning. his mind’s so muddled by the way your dewy walls squeeze his cock that he doesn’t even think to translate. he’s drawn fully into the hilt of your gushing pussy, his presence heavy both in-and-outside of you. he's got you splayed out on your back, displayed ever so beautifully, soft textured hair fanning out on the pillows, like that of a halo. how fitting, for his precious angel. 

eren has you tucked under the breadth of him and slovenly folded into missionary, your body immovably pressed beneath the heat and heaviness of his imposing frame. his attention narrows on you, you, you, until nothing else seems to exist outside of it.

your trembling leg is held in his left palm, secured at the pit of your knee as he guides it up against your shoulder as a means to fucks deeper into you. his other hand rests hot upon your waist, grip tightening whenever you react, kneading at warm brown flesh whenever you clamp down on him. he's unrelenting with how he draws out, plows in, does it again, again, again. dense clapping resounds in hollow echoes throughout the dim-lit bedroom of his paradis-city penthouse.

"e—ren! eren, erennn,” his name falls fractured from your lips, each syllable hitching as it leaves you. he hears it, and something in him shifts. a slow, unmistakable reaction that pulls at the corner of his mouth before it fully settles into a smile. it spreads wide, brazen and sharp in a way that looks as feral as he feels; all teeth, cutting sharp and boyish across his face, features drawn tight with ardor.

pleasure has already taken hold of him; face flushed, sweat gathering and rolling in narrow paths down his skin. his dark manbun sits slightly undone at the base of his head, loose strands slipping free to cling to his temples and the nape of his neck, his tattooed body damp with the same heat that coats him. his brows, thick and dark, knit tightly together, while his bright-teal eyes stay intense and wild, fixed on you with a look that doesn’t waver. you’re his maker and weakness alike, the only thing holding his focus together as he unravels for you.

"komm schon, engel," eren dips low, his large frame folding over yours, shoulders rounding as he closes the space between you, brushing the plush of your lips with his own. "hngh, wha—?" you whine against his mouth, needing of clarity. his breath is warm and close when he murmurs, earnest for a taste of your lips, "küss mich."

you don’t fully comprehend him, but eren closes the gap regardless, until there’s nowhere left for your voice to go but into him. his large hand lifts up, cups your jaw nice and steady, tilts you upwards just enough to meet him as he presses his lips to yours. firm at first, then deeper, more claiming than it is gentle. when he pulls back, it’s only by a breath’s width, enough for the curve of his smile to linger against your mouth. 

his hips take to a slow roll, grinding into yours so sweetly. the rounded end of his hard cock nudges the inner pudge of your softest spots, with the lean ridge of his pelvis brushing over the sensitive peak of your clit. the both of you hold no inhibitions, breaths pouring into each other's mouths in uneven waves, panting and moaning with not a sound refrained.

him and you, you and him, him in you. all sense becomes lost in a heated slew of sloppy strokes and the wettest kisses. he's making such a mess of you; stealing your breath, bruising your flesh, fucking stirring your insides.

for eren, countless sensations begin to merge. your velveteen walls are clamping down, tight, on his pulsing dick, dripping and sobbing all over the length of it. then there's the way you cling to him, just ferocious. the powder-white arch of your fresh nails do well at drawing fiery marks down the broad plane of his tatted back. his olive skin is warm and damp under your palms, glowing sheen with a film of sweat. 

your breath brushes against the reddening shell of his pierced ear, sounds uneven and soft in a way that makes him grow impossibly harder. eren responds in kind, groans amplified, his hold at your waist tightening just enough to keep you anchored to the you-shaped dip in his king sized mattress. you're so pretty, so perfect; behaving so well that all he wants to do is just give you more. 

so he does. 

"shh, lass mich einfach . . stillhalten." eren’s hands span down your shaking thighs, dancing around around your calf until they close around both of your ankles. his fingers wrap fully, thumbs rubbing circles while the rest of his grip adjusts you without effort. he translates what he knows you didn't catch, "don't move." 

eren shapes the physical space between you, and he continues to bend you at angles until the right silhouette is captured. he brings your knees toward your shoulders, folding the form until thighs press firmly against the core of your tummy. shifting his weight low, he transitions into a deep squat, strong thighs flexed as he assumes the position of sitting on his haunches, all without pulling out of you.

with the new vantage, he drives forward and plunges into the tightness of you with sudden, intense momentum that draws the sharpest, most involuntary cry from your lungs— a sound that brings a knowing smile to his face. eren frees self-satisfied laughter, for he always manages to pry out the very reaction he sought to provoke. he finds your body familiar. so easy to mold, too easy to play with.

"ffuuuck! p-please, papaaa, please—"

his response comes rippling out as an unintended growl, sourced from the depths of his chest, and the bass of it makes you clench helplessly around him. with every surge, every thrust forward, he loses another piece of his restraint. an especially taut squeeze of your soaked pussy is all it takes for his snark to dissolve into total surrender.

"fuck . . du bist so eng," his words grow reckless to match just how you undo him. he rambles on about just how tight you are, freeing terribly desperate praise and german incoherencies. he's too far gone to realize he'd even switched languages. frankly, eren doesn't even know what he's saying anymore, and you sure as hell don’t either. it’s hard to follow when he’s digging you out like that; hips slamming down, the fat of his balls clapping against the seam of your ass with every thrust.

more foreign words tumble from his lips— dark, guttural, yet somehow melodic, leaving you in a haze of both lust and confusion. despite it, your body understands the intent perfectly. the way you arch into him, cunt swallowing every known inch of his dick whole, slick walls clamping around him like a desperate vice, tells him everything he needs to know. 

eren finally seems to be returning to himself, eyes clearing as he grows aware; and with that, comes the teasing. another predatory smirk pulls at his mouth as he realizes just how cockdrunk he’s made you, sensitive even down to the veins that drag within you. and so, he draws out the friction, slows his pace to an agonizing crawl, buries himself into you with impossible depth.

each heavy thrust knocks at your cervix and prods at the very limit of you, blunt and demanding, as if he’s trying to leave his mark on your very soul. he's so all-consuming that the heady scent of his skin and the licking heat of his salt-slicked body fills your lungs. you’re crying, you think, unsure as to when it started. all you know is you’re breathing him in, tasting the raw, primal edge of him with every gasp and tear you choke on. 

"aww, poor baby,” he croons, tone darkened with condescend, “macht dich das an, schatzi?" he murmurs, the grunted slew of german humming against your skin. he’s asking if it turns you on— the suddenly rough shift into his mother tongue, and though the meaning of his words escape your mind, you can only nod helplessly, teeth sinking into the swell of your spit-streaked lip as a flush burns across your chest.

"feels good, yeah? i'm fucking you so deep, aren't i? mm, c'mon, angel . . . talk to me, talk to daddy." he eases more of his weight onto your pressed frame, feeding you deep, languid strokes so slow you can hear the wetness sloshing.

"yeahhh, it's good, er-en . . hnn, feelssogood, d-daddyyy," his name tears out of you in a pulled shudder, the syllables breaking over one another. it’s the type of sound that invites his wolfish grin, curled with a special kind of satisfaction. his smile is purely predatory when he gets to hitching your leg up higher, rocking into you faster. the lewdness of unfiltered noise begins to swell throughout the room.

before long, you're both trembling over the pace he’s taken; his fingers twitching along your pushed-up thighs, while you're left grappling for purchase along his bulging, corded biceps, your fingers digging into the sinuous centipede inked across his firm rounded muscle. frantically, you cling to one another as the world outside seems to fade away.

eren leans in, ink-dark strands escaping his hairtie, feathering your neck, and cascading over his shoulder to curtain your faces. overzealous, he captures your lips with his own once more, silencing your soft sounds with a deep kiss that tastes as saccharine as love itself, wettened by the salted twinge of adrenaline. his moans tumble out of him helplessly once you get to licking at his tongue. he juts it out for you to suckle on.

the tension brews to a fever pitch. you’re close, and so is he.

"komm und hol mich," he wants—no, needs you to cum for him, pleads in breathless sounds so gritty that you can feel them pass through your bones. those bright-teal eyes, glassed over with brimming tears of pleasure, desperately lock onto yours. his touch is just as urgent.

eren brings the calloused pad of his thumb to your clit, each deliberate rub a targeted press that sends fresh jolts of heat spiraling through your tummy, makes your hips buck up into the onslaught. his breath comes out in ragged puffs as his fleshy, kiss-bruised lips meet your ear, grazing the shell, words unfamiliar yet sweet all the same. “komm auf meinen schwanz, bitte.” the vulnerable rawness of his voice is a love language all in its own. something in you knows to follow his command, even if the meaning is a mystery. 

that building pressure low in your gut begins to coil, tightening into a concentrated knot that demands release. it’s a heavy, mercurial ache that pulses in sync with his movements, making your vision swim as you reach the precipice. your every nerve-ending screams for the sweet, sweet release that only his next deliberate strike can provide.

as for eren, his focus is simply fractured; hands moving with a restlessness that betrays how close he is to the edge. he lifts his free hand to knead and possess the soft weight of your right breast, his grip firm and demanding, before his fingers lift to heedlessly lace around your neck, as a means to keep you pinned in the middle of the storm of his movements. 

that same grasp trails away from pressing your artery, slinks down, and squeezes a big, greedy handful of ass into one palm alone. he delivers one smack— two, three. the fourth leaves red in its wake, blooming faint along warm-brown flesh. he merely smiles when you mewl at him. 

the combination he grants you is far too much, too fucking frantic; the stinging heat of his palm against your skin and the possessive weight of his hand at your throat leaves you feeling hazy and unmoored, your thoughts dissolving into a thoughtless, honeyed fog.

a few more of those slowed, plunging thrusts, paired with how nicely he toys with your puffy clit, is what finally shatters the dam and sends rolling waves of your orgasm to crash right through you. it washes over, heavy and thick, the feeling purely electric as it zips through the base of your spine all the way down to your tightly curled toes. your quivering legs lock around his lean waist as he fucks you through the height of it, dark-chestnut hair swinging over hunched shoulders.

"don't you let go yet— m'not done." eren rasps against your agape lips, voice a broken wreck. he taps your soft cheek in two firm pats when your eyes begin to flutter shut, peers at you through hooded eyes, forcing bitten words out through grit teeth, "look at me, schatzi," his fingers tangle into the soft, dense curls of your hair to tilt your head his way. "you came so fuckin' hard, tell me you felt that—shit! mm, p-please, baby . . tell me you’re mine."

you manage to open your mouth, try for an answer, but every brutal impact of his hips knocks the air from your chest, splintering your voice into meaningless little sounds. the rhythm of his pounding, loud and heavy, turns shaky and imprecise as he utterly loses the battle for control. you can see the strain in the way his adam’s apple bobs in his throat, his breath hitching as he teeters on the edge. 

eren frames your face with a sudden tenderness, his large hands encompassing either side of your head as if you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth itself. he pulls you in until your foreheads touch, eyes locking in a feral, heavy-lidded stare that teases at his release. you babble out his name with every sloppy knock of his hips.

your inner walls clamp down in a steady, involuntary pulse around him, and the friction becomes too much for him to bear. then comes a guttural sound, ripping straight from his chest, followed by a smaller, vulnerable whimper that echoes out, almost like a plea:

"scheisse, ich komme— fffuuuck!"

he jolts forward with an almost animalistic force, burying himself to the very hilt as the first warm, heavy spurts of his release spill free from his cockhead and into your awaiting womb. you feel him throbbing deep within your silken walls, the pulsing erratic as he stuffs your cunt with thick loads of his cum; emptying himself, filling you.

a hushed stillness sets over eren's thirtieth-floor apartment. all movement drifts to a weighty pause; until, eren eventually collapses his full weight onto you with a long, shuddering sigh. the solid, unyielding mass of him drives a soft huff out from your throat, pinning you into the charcoal sheets in a way that feels strangely grounding.

his inked forearms bind around you like vines, pulling your bodies flush-tight until there’s no room left between you. in turn, you drape your arms over the broad expanse of his back, your thumbs tracing soothing circles over the angry, reddened lines of the skin you tore. 

"ugh— rennie, you're heavy."

"mmn." is his heedless response. you both lie there in a tangled, breathless heap of afterglow, your lungs working for shallow air as the adrenaline begins to recede. after threading through the dark, damp silk of his long hair, weaving and undoing braids in the same sitting, your arms finally loosen their hold around his nape. eren nuzzles his face into the soft swell of your breasts, the tip of his nose grazing the sensitive bone of your sternum as he seeks out your warmth.

a small, balmy laugh escapes you, the sound light and surreal against the dense, syrup-thick atmosphere. the air is heavy, saturated with the salt-sharp scent of skin, the musk of his cologne, the lingering sugar of your arab perfume, and the sweet, pungent tang of your collective release— a sensory memento of every orgasm you just shared.

"damn . .” the silence breaks around his voice, low and winded, “didn't think y’had a kink for that."

"hmm," you blink slow, the wisps of your curled lashes fluttering. "for what?"

"uh-uh, don't play dumb now," eren noses your jugular, tickling your neck with a nudge so fleeting you can’t help but break, a shy giggle bubbling up and out into the open. "could've just told me you wanted me to switch languages, princess."

“i didn't even know it was something i’d enjoy that much," you bite down on a drowsy laugh, manicured fingers lifting to idly twirl a stray, dark lock of his hair. you’re secretly glad his hair-tie snapped under the pressure.

"i like the way your brain just . . . shorts out when you hear it. makes you so . . ." a kiss, breaking the pattern of speech, is pressed to your upturned lips, so pink and soft.

“—much more," another, then a suckle to your jaw, "—responsive." there's a gravel-like texture to the sound of his teasing. "i don't think i've ever heard you get that loud before, baby.” eren hums aloud onto your skin, a low rumble of pure satisfaction that thrums low in his throat and vibrates against your chest.

he shifts his weight just enough to pepper wet, uncoordinated kisses along the sensitive expanse of your throat, his every movement sluggish with pleasure. 

“verdammt gut,” he murmurs against your skin, testing the effect he has over you, simply wishing to witness how tightly you’d pulse around him in response. sure enough, he smiles to himself when you do, walls clamping down where he remains stuffed inside you. a whispered moan falls from you, eyes screwed impossibly tight. 

his lips latch to your pulse as he mouths praises you don’t need to translate to understand. the meaning sounds as sweet as his kisses taste. “du bist so gut, liebling.” even though his brain's misted over with lust, and his dick is still warmly nestled deep inside you, he can’t help but nip playful marks into your flesh. you find yourself cooing at his affections, your fingers tangling in the deep-brown spill of his hair as you shallowly rock your hips onto his softening cock. 

he mumbles more foreign little nothings into the damp, sweat-slicked crook of your neck, the tone so tender it feels like a physical caress. 

“ich liebe dich so sehr, angel . . .” he breathes, the confession soft and embracing against your skin. it’s meaning is devotional, so unmistakable; he loves you, he loves you, he loves you. 

the ardency of the past hour's lovemaking seems to evaporate, leaving only the two of you sinking in the cooling sheets. from the crevice of your chest to his broadened one, your hearts beat heavy against one another in a synced tempo.

with one last, lingering kiss to your collarbone, eren lets his heavy eyelids fall shut. the silence that follows isn't empty. instead, it’s full and warm, smelling of salt, sandalwood, and the raw fragrancy of his adoration.

the darkness of the room feels like a protective veil. in the stillness, with his warmth still grounding you and his scent filling your lungs, you finally let your own eyes close, drifting into a deep, dreamless sleep cradled in the arms of the man who loves you more than he has the words to say.

© 𝒫𝐼𝑁𝐾ℳ𝐼𝑅𝑇𝐻.ᐟ ⸻ all rights reserved! do not steal, plagiarize or repost any of my works. reblogs are highly appreciated! please and thank you! ❤︎

"Oh I'm just—"

"I heard whispers from the grapevine that you were looking for someone to take your virginity, is that right?" He cooed at you, taking the opportunity to twirl a lock of your hair in his hand, his other large hand holding onto a can of Pepsi. A small chuckle escaping his lips at the blush spreading across your cheeks when you darted your gaze away. So fucking adorable, he thought.

Frantic eyes darting away, you refused to look at him. It was so embarrassing for him to know. Not to mention, how did he even know?

Amidst the smell of sex, sweat and alcohol in the loud, raging party, all you could focus on was Suguru's piercing gaze on you. The way he licked his bottom lip, his piercing shifting slightly from the movement. "Uhm... how'd you know about that? I didn't tell anyone.." you muttered, seeing as you had only ever told the nerdy guy you sat next to at the anime club on Thursdays, Gojo— oh. oh.

His best friend. Of course Suguru would know, since Satoru wasn't able to keep his mouth shut about a single thing.

"How I know, is not important," Suguru hummed to you before giving some random guy passing by his half drunk Pepsi can, flashing a charming smile before turning his attention back to you. "What is important... is the guy you're choosing, and so far I'm not likin' the looks you're giving Kento."

"Yeah, but I don't wanna choose Satoru since he's already dating suk—" you were speaking, before cutting yourself off with a frozen look. Suguru's soft lips pressing gently against your forehead.

"I'm not talking about Satoru. I'm talking about me."

...

You don't even know how you ended up here. In Suguru's bedroom. With a naked Suguru, and a naked you.

A blush kissing your soft cheeks and the tips of your ears, the tip of your nose burning red. Clammy hands, and spread legs as you were overthinking every minuscule detail. Small whined and whimpers slipping past your lips as you wished to keep those embarrassing noises inside.

Suguru grumbled, looking up from between your legs. His hair a mess, his mouth, lips and chin dripping from your slick. "Hey. Eyes on me, and stop hiding your moans..." he trailed off when lowering his head again and suckling on your clit, flicking kitten licks over the sensitive nub, "...you sounds so good."

Needy whines and moans escaped your pursed lips, as you arched your back and dug your hands into his hair, "...S-sugu... mm-mh.."

"fuck yeah, moan for me," a muffled groan came out from between your thighs, drowned out by the lewd and loud suckling and slurping. His hands kneading your hips, keeping you close, while your thighs tightened, keeping his head trapped against your leaking, wet pussy. "More.." you moaned out for him, a little embarrassed.

He let out a wet chuckle from between his erotic groans. "Yeah? Want more?"

He slipped a finger inside your tight little hole, making your hips buck up, and you bite down on your bottom lip from the sensation. Curling it to rub up on your gummy walls, he licked around your folds and pussys lips, before doubling down on his licking at your clit.

A second finger soon slipped inside, making you moan in a loud, lewd tone. Your walls were beginning to quiver, a new sensation taking over your body. "w-wait–"

"shh, just let it happen doll.. fuck, just cum on my tongue.."

You drawled out a moan of his name, eyes squeezing shut and your back arching, pushing out your tits into the air. Nipples pebbled, and a warm, numbing feeling washing down your waist. Warm liquid trickling down your thighs, as Suguru groaned deeply and eagerly suckled up your cum, fingers digging into the plush of your hips.

He pulled away after about a minute, breathless with your cum dripping down his chin and completely coating the lower half of his face. He wiped it with the back of his hand before a lazy smirk took over his lip.

"Didn't know you were such a slut... cumming all over my tongue like that and moaning my name."

"it's embarrassing... don't talk about it," you muttered in the haze of bliss, blushing shyly when Suguru shifted to be on top of you, your thighs spread and wet pussy rubbing against his navel. You could feel his erection, hard and striking brush against your ass when he damn near folded you in half.

"don't talk about it? Are you fucking serious? it's all I can think about right now..." he trailed off, eyes lustfully gazing over the naked you pinned beneath him.

“Do you even realise—” Suguru huffed before grabbing the length of his dick, pre cum dribbling down onto your wet pussy lips. He rubbed the head over your folds, before gently parting your folds to start pushing the thick head of his cock inside your tight, wet hole. “—just how much I’ve wanted you?”

You hiccuped softly, beginning to whine and claw down his back. Bringing him down closer down against you, “h-huh? Whatdda mean..?” You drawled, moaning when the thick head of his sock popped inside your hole. He let out a guttural groan, nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck. “H-hurt… go slow,” you whined softly, feeling the initial pain. Tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

“Shh.. shh.. I’ll be gentle, baby just—just f-fuck.. don’t squeeze me like that..”

He started to thrust. He was… surprisingly gentle with his hips, knowing exactly how to touch you and tease you without making you burst into tears from the pain. “F-fuckfuckfuck… you’re gonna make me blow my load on the s-spot..!” He groaned before letting out a small needy whine against your neck.

“You s-seriously never noticed? I literally asked for your number on orientation week..!”

You whined against his shoulder, nails digging into his back as you were being fucked dumb, just a floor above one of the loudest parties you’d ever been to. His cock slipping in and out of your walls with ease, the lewd shlicks telling a story between the creaking on the bed. The stretch of having a cock inside you for the first time was… painful, you wouldn’t lie about it.

“W-whennn? I don’t remember—“ you whined between moans and whimpers, before hitching your breath when realising what he was talking about.

His purple eyes, big dorky glasses, black silky hair in a messy bun, and pursed lips as he gave you his phone with trembling hands. Talking about wanting to get your number, and about to introduce himself… before feeling his phone quickly given back to him and seeing you run off into the distance.

You blushed at the memory, knowing why you had ran away.

“I— *hic* I was scareddd.. you were the first guy who asked for my number and I got s-scareddd..” you let out a small needy whine, tightening your arms around his neck and scratching, leaving red lines on his muscular, sweaty back. Moans escaping your lips without control.

His thrusts got faster, deeper, as he cooed and shushed you against your ear. His lips pressing kisses all over your neck, before sucking small purple hickeys. The thick head of his cock pressing against your gummy cervix, the squishy head prodding at it insistently.

Before you felt another orgasm wash through you. Moaning, “S-Sugu..” out against his shoulder with a lewd cry.

His thrusts got wetter, his balls now covered in your slick cum, slapping against your ass. His plunging cock slowly slowing down, even if he didn’t get to cum himself yet. A gentle kiss was pressed against your forehead again, before your eyes met his purple ones that seemed so soft under the moonlight that flickered through the blinds of his window. The room smelled of sex and sweat now, but Suguru wasn’t nearly done with your body.

“…you wanna get my number now, doll?”

You nodded to him, hiccuping softly with a pout when you felt emotions wash over you. The hottest guy in your university had asked you out—and you had run away scared when he did.

“And hey— those friends you told me about? Yeah. Not happening. You hang out with me now.”

the overplayed spotify playlist (composed of majorly lucki and carti because what else could you really expect?) blaring off someone’s bose speaker wasn’t enough to tune out the telltale roar of geto suguru’s skyline r34, paired with headlights that nearly made you see the pearly white gates when he pulled up to the lot.

and because one couldn’t be seen without the other, gojo satoru’s aventador svj wasn’t left too far behind. he parked next to geto, the two cars contrasting one another like ying and yang. while geto’s skyline was wrapped in all black matte paint with white detailing and dark purple rims, gojo had opted for all white and cerulean detailing.

conversations continued like normal, the truck skidding tires and doing donuts in the middle of the lot continued, and yet their presence was ever prominent. a couple were discreet; giving them a side eye glance before whispering back to their friends while a couple others were more direct. coming up to them and striking up conversation.

"so, i'm trying to figure out how to get past 180 horsepower, and..." the rest became a warbled mess, suguru nodding along like he hadn't mentally checked out of the conversation from the moment the guy opened his mouth.

suguru looked around the lot before noticing you standing off to the side. the guy somehow managed to get the clue that suguru wasn’t listening to him anymore, following his gaze before letting out a groan. “don’t even bother. she smoked my ass last week.”

that only made him want to bother even more.

“you’re gonna wanna do some ecu tuning if you don’t wanna spend so much money getting a whole new engine,” suguru suggested, bringing the conversation back to what it was before you noticed the two of them staring like creeps. “you can do some cheap mods like a better air filter or a turbo too.”

the guy’s eyes sparkled up like suguru was speaking out of a religious book, pulling his phone to type out his word exactly. “thanks man.” he gave suguru a bow before retreating, leaving off to who knows where. he turned to look back over at you, watching you scroll through your phone.

“you’re not being sleek, suguruu,” gojo spoke up in a sing-song tone next to him, resting his chin on his shoulder. what a fucking pointy chin.

suguru reluctantly looked away from you to look over at satoru, raising a brow and ready to deny, “i have zero idea what you’re referring to.”

satoru let out a loud groan, right next to his ear and attracting a group of people passing by. getting a few questioning stares in response before he so non discreetly gestured over to where you were standing. looking like you wanted to be anywhere but here. “you’ve been staring at her for like, five minutes now, you’re so obsessed.”

suguru swore the man could’ve had six eyes with the way he picked up on nearly everything. he pushed his head off his shoulder, turning around to face gojo. “one,” he raised his finger for effect, “it hasn’t been nearly five minutes. two, i’m not obsessed. merely… intrigued.”

it sounded like bullshit even to his own ears.

gojo pointed him with a single unimpressed look. “yeah, yeah, go talk to the love of your life,” before suguru got a chance to protest any further, he pushed him off the car and in your direction.

suguru stumbled forward, turning to give gojo the dirtiest fucking glare he could muster before noticing the white haired freak had already gone to bother someone else. the worst you could say was no, right? he swallowed dryly, making his way over to where you were parked. at a distance from everyone else.

trying to avoid exactly what he was about to do just now.

“nice car.” suguru motioned over to your bright, shiny purple 2000 mitsubishi gts, leaning against it all too comfortably. as soon as the words left his mouth, he wanted to facepalm immediately—he sounded just like every other dick at the meet.

and well, you, on the other hand, you actually found it kind of nice. he didn’t try to automatically assume the car was a boyfriend’s, that you had no idea of where the gas tank even was.

“thanks.” god, the look of sheer awkwardness on your face nearly made him ask you to run him over.

and despite that embarrassment gnawing deep in his mind, suguru continued. “this doesn’t really look like your scene,” he remarked, looking around at the lot. it resembled a high school cafeteria in a sense—everyone finding comfort in their own clique. well, everyone except for you apparently.

“it’s not,” you were quick to answer, nudging him off your car before leaning against it yourself.

“so why bother coming then?”

you gestured over to where your friend was standing next to ryomen sukuna, leaning against his hellcat where they were making up or arguing? you couldn’t really tell anymore with the two. “apparently it’s a waste of money to modify a car if you’re not bringing it out to meets.”

suguru shrugged, folding his arms across his chest. and you had to force yourself to look away, not wanting to ogle just how well his muscles strained against the leather of his jacket. “if you like it, it’s not a waste.”

you gave a small shrug of your own, seemingly happy with letting the conversation die out here and now. suguru, get out of there. is this how the people who came up to him felt?

“what kind of mods have you done?” again, suguru sounded like every dick at the meet. but he was pulling at scraps, trying to see what would get you to open up a bit.

just enough to continue a conversation with. why he needed to talk to you so bad, you weren’t sure.

“you asking to inflate your ego or out of curiosity?” you questioned, looking over at him with thinly veiled annoyance.

now that made suguru crack a barely there smile. at least he was starting to get more than two word answers. “curiosity.”

“you’re asking me that like you haven’t modded the shit out your own car.”

he leaned forward, meeting your gaze. neither of you broke eye contact. “and i don’t want to talk about my car. i’m asking about yours, pretty girl.”

a scoff left your lips, “what kind of self absorbed asshole doesn’t wanna talk about their car at these things?”

“this self absorbed asshole.”

“self aware too, how humble,” you muttered, letting out a quiet sigh before starting to get into what mods you’d worked on. from cosmetic: the paint, the rear wing, and the carbon hood to mechanical: a v8 engine that cost you nearly three months worth of savings (excluding the install) and a supercharger.

suguru’s attention didn’t falter once while you were talking, occasionally nodding along. it was the most animated he’d seen you throughout the night. he figured it wouldn’t hurt his luck to ask one more question, “so how’d you get into doing car mods, anyways?”

“my dad’s a mechanic. he worked on his own cars for a while, fixing them up and stuff to sell. but as corny as it is, i guess, i started getting involved after watching the fast and furious movies,” you explained, looking over at suguru, “how about you?”

now you were asking about him? he had this in the bag, for sure. he answered your question, talking about how he’d gotten inspired by some of the movies as well. it was surprisingly.. not the worst conversation you’d ever had. he was easy to talk to, great at listening and remembering.

and then he remembered what the guy said earlier. “race with me.” a simple suggestion, like he was asking you to go on a walk to the park with him.

“what’s the catch?”

suguru clicked his tongue, pressing a hand over the left side of his chest as if you’d made it your personal mission to wound him, “can’t a guy just ask for a friendly race without having any ulterior motives?”

you raised a brow, giving him an unimpressed look.

he folded in .2 seconds. “okay, okay, fine.”

suguru simply hummed, pretending to think. like he hadn’t been planning this for the last half hour. “if i win, i’d like to have you for the night, pretty girl.”

“what?” an incredulous scoff left your lips, your face doing absolutely nothing to hide your disbelief. you were half expecting to hear you had to drop a semester’s worth of cash in one night.

suguru had become notorious for scamming finessing thousands upon thousands (mostly to pay off his ever growing pile of speeding tickets) from other guys at the meet.

specifically those guys. those guys that yapped on and on about the importance of horsepower and maximum velocity like they weren’t driving a stock car. the ones overcompensating for a lack of personality.

he did have some semblance of morals, you know.

“i said that if i win,” suguru tilted his head down to whisper in your ear like it was a highly coveted secret, a shiver running down your spine from just how close he was, “i’d like for you to spend the night with me.”

you turned your head away, refusing to let him see just how much he affected you, “and what about if i win?”

suguru simply pulled back, an amused smile on his face that had his eyes crinkling at the edges, “name whatever you want in exchange.”

you didn’t feel a sense of mockery when he spoke those words—and yet it almost seemed like he wasn’t threatened by that possibility at all.

“when i win…” maybe you should’ve thought this out a bit further. you looked around, trying to see just what you could get in exchange before zeroing in on—“your jacket. when i win, i get your jacket.”

“it’s a bet.” suguru didn’t even show an ounce of hesitation when he agreed, extending his hand out. despite having your own share of doubts, you extended your hand out a couple seconds to shake his.

you definitely did not pay attention to how that handshake seemed to last a couple more moments than was necessary.

the conditions weren’t that bad you supposed. if you beat him—you got his prized ferrari jacket and to hold it over his head. and well, if you lost, maybe at least you’d get a good orgasm out of it. maybe.

“we’ll take the backroads since cops usually don’t lurk around at this hour. three laps?” you agreed to his suggestion, walking over to where your car was parked.

adrenaline coursed through your body and the race hadn’t even begun—your fingers twitching as you twisted the key into the ignition. deep breath in, deep breath out. not like it was the first race you’d done.

gojo strutted around the two of you like was one of the women announcing a wwe match, dramatically raising a checkered flag over his head, “on your marks! three, two…”

you turned to look over at suguru , barely making him out through the dark. he’d been easygoing and relaxed when he first agreed to this, but he looked more serious than you’d seen him throughout the night. his right hand gripped on the stick, his foot ready to go from break to gas.

“on- ah! not yet,” gojo prolonged it even further, keeping the flag up above his head. groans escaped from the people standing next to him, glaring over at his way.

“start the race already, dumbass!”

“c’mon, we don’t have all day!”

gojo gave them a groan in response, rolling his eyes. (which could very well serve as street lights on their own if these were to go out) “god forbid a man try to create suspense, fine!”

“… one, go!” he brought the flag down, indicating that the race had begun.

both engines roared to life as the two of you pulled off the makeshift starting point, the screech of tires rubbing against asphalt muffling any other noises from the sides. street lights blended together into a kaleidoscope of colors, each passing you through in a blur.

the cheers from the sidelines became background noise, your focus solely on the speedometer that couldn’t seem to go up fast enough. 60… 80…. 100… 150. and then came a sharp turn. forcing you to slow down.

suguru recovered faster than you did, speeding past you. deep breath in, deep breath out. you knew these streets, the familiar scent of rubber burning with each race, the rush of adrenaline—it was nothing foreign. you sped up, going from 45 to 70 in two seconds, catching up to him.

you nudged past suguru just the quarter of an inch, barely noticeable to anybody but you two. he moved past, more than just half an inch. it was a slow dance, speeding past one another before the other took the lead.

the first lap was over in 2:34:09 minutes, the two of you crossing over the line at nearly the same time.

the second lap was over in 2:34:06 minutes, neither of you letting up on your spot. if anything, you pushed your foot harder on the gas like it’d make the car go faster.

and just when you saw the familiar checkerboard flag waving up in the air, suguru pulled up next to you. you could win, you could practically feel the sense of victory reverberating through your veins.

and just as quick as the feeling came, it vanished.

in a final surge of speed, suguru floored the gas, leaving you in the proverbial dust. you tried—you really did try to catch up, keeping a steady foot on the gas and your grip on the steering wheel tight.

a cloud of smoke exuded from the gtr’s muffler covered your windshield for just a couple seconds as he passed you, the couple seconds that he needed to gain a leg up on you.

you drove past the finish mark at 2:34:15 minutes.

“suguru, my man, that might be your best time!”

“oh my god, you were going sooo fast!”

multiple people were talking over one another, just dying to know what recent mods he’d done to his car, and yet suguru could only look at you. watch as you made your way through the crowd before stepping right in front of him (conveniently ignoring the scowl a girl was sending your way.)

“congrats, you did pretty good with the turns,” you spoke up, extending your hand out. suguru wondered how badly that’d wounded your pride. he cleared his throat, shaking your hand.

he cut off the conversation about whether or not he’d be willing to race a cybertruck, unwilling to plague his mind with the image of that monstrosity. it was already bad enough seeing the occasional one around on the narrow roads for ‘display.’

suguru didn’t say anything, simply getting off his car and pushing his hands into his pocket. he heard footsteps behind him before they halted, the person seemingly changing their mind. good.

he stepped in front of you just the same way you’d done just a few seconds back. “i’ll see you later tonight, yeah?”

“if your adoring fans let you take a break to see lil ol’ me, sure,” you responded, driving back to the lot. leaving him to get eaten by the sharks.

✩ ✩ ✩

you wondered just how suspicious it would look if you were to disappear right now. no one would notice. probably. even your friend had left for the night, continuing to make up with sukuna if you had to guess.

a clean leave. you turned to get in your car before you heard, “you goin’ somewhere?”

a great escape worthy of rivaling dantès' prison break (ie. getting in your car and driving off the lot with the hope that nobody notices) fumbled before it even began.

you turned to look back at suguru, letting out a nervous laugh. he was not convinced. “psshhh, what? no, of course not, i was just getting my phone,” you shrugged him off, shutting the car door.

“the same phone that’s in your hand?”

you rubbed the back of your neck, you weren’t even sure why you were still trying to continue. “oh, that’s where it went.”

suguru let out a quiet hum, folding his arms. “you don’t have to spend the night with me if you don’t want to, y’know. you could chicken out of the bet.”

you both knew you weren’t going to do that. which is exactly how you found yourself in the backseat of suguru’s prized gtr. in an abandoned side of the lot, where not a single soul wandered about.

“you just go around asking people if they wanna race in exchange for a night with you?” you questioned, fiddling with the end of your skirt.

“should i have just tried to ask you on a date?” he responded, letting out a dramatic sigh, “and here i thought i was being swoon-worthy.”

you rolled your eyes. “what would a date consist of with you, anyways?”

“the pinnacle of modern romance, of course,” suguru responded, reaching over the center console to grab the aux cord before handing it over to you with a cheeky smile on his face, “boba and a view.”

you took the aux cord, blinking slowly before daring to ask, “you’re serious?” you wondered just how much of a chicken you would look like if you jumped out of his car right now.

suguru looked at you through the corner of his eye, a quiet laugh bubbling from his chest, “nah, i’m not that much of a slut.”

“you say that like you didn’t just make a bet to have me for one night,” you countered, giving him a pointed look.

“i never said what the night would consist of. for all you know, i could’ve invited you to read car manuals of all things.”

“did you?”

absolutely not. suguru’s throat bobbed. you were too close. even if the backseat wasn’t that big, it was still spacious enough. and you’d chosen to sit right next to him, your thigh pressed against his. he could feel every single shift and movement and it was absolutely killing him.

his fingers twitched against his sides, gaze locked onto your lips and the ungodly way they shimmered. like an invitation. how badly he wanted to taste you, have the taste of you lingering on his tongue and engraved into his brain. you leaned in, “you can kiss me.”

suguru pulled back before you got the chance to get too close, leaving you dazed and confused. no way you’d been reading that wrong all along. you blinked slowly before whispering, “did i do something wrong?”

“no! no, nothing like that,” he shook his head quickly, reaching out to take your hands in his own. you could see the gears whirring in his head—see just how much he was struggling to articulate his point. “i know we agreed on you spending a night with me. but i’m not going to force you into anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“i know you convinced yourself i was trying to leave earlier—” suguru only rolled his eyes, “—but i wouldn’t have agreed to the bet if i didn’t want anything to do with you.”

“so why did you try to leave?”

you buried your head in hands, letting out a groan. “because i got embarrassed. there was a crowd listening in when i was acting all cocky before the race.”

suguru reached over, gently prying your hands off your face. “they probably forgot it five minutes later. plus, you’re one of the more talented drivers i’ve seen.”

“you mean that?”

“yeah, of c-mmph, fuck—” you shut him up, pressing your lips against his. the kiss nearly made his brain short circuit. your lips were soft and tentative, testing out the waters, hands cupping his cheeks.

he hoisted you up onto his lap, his hands resting on your ass immediately and cock twitching underneath you. tenting in his pants, straining against the material. “you’re this hard already?” you asked innocently, running the tip of your nail down his shaft. like you weren’t dripping in your panties, the lace material sticking to your folds.

“so if i were to move my hand up—” he mused, relishing in the soft gasp you let out, “—i wouldn’t find you soaked?” his fingers trailed upwards slowly, pushing your skirt out of the way. you spread your legs apart just as he was getting closer to your pussy, but he completely pulled away.

“not yet, wanna enjoy this.” every movement was slow—like he was really taking the time to relish in this win.

suguru buried his head into the crook of your neck, immediately intoxicated with everything that smelt like you. from your body lotion to your perfume, he was practically high off it. a high that he didn’t even know if he wanted to come down from.

he nipped the side of your neck, kissing his way down. “you’re so pretty, taste so good,” he rambled breathlessly, latching his lips onto whatever inch of skin he could reach. he moved down to your exposed collarbone, sucking and biting onto the sensitive skin.

suguru looked too relaxed—leaning back against the leather while he let his gaze travel down your body. slowly, wanting to imprint every inch to memory, from the mole on your breast all the way to how you felt underneath his fingertips. “so beautiful,” he whispered, a quiet admission that almost seemed like it wasn’t meant to be uttered out loud.

he reached out, tracing the tip of his finger from your navel all the way to your pretty lace bra, following the pattern on the hem. tracing the tip of his fingers against your stiff nubs, rubbing and pinching through the material.

dexterous fingers reached behind you, unclasping the multiple hooks of your bra with relative ease. the flimsy material slid down from your shoulders to your elbows slowly before you shrugged it off completely, watching suguru’s eyes follow your bra falling on the car floor before coming back up to your tits.

he slipped the leather jacket off his body, slipping it over his shoulders. the scent of his cologne—a mix of sandalwood and amber immediately hitting your nose. “you’re giving me your jacket?”

“yeah, consider it a pity present. for being the loser and all,” suguru replied with a laugh, letting out a small ‘ow’ when you smacked the side of his arm.

“asshole.”

“so, you don’t want the ferrari jacket, is that right?”

you fought back a smile, “i guess i can take it.”

his lips trailed down from your collarbone down your body, his fingers still gripping onto your ass. peck. peck. peck. “good, it looks better on you than me,” he mumbled, suctioning and biting down into the valley of your tits. leaving behind a little mark that only you two would see.

his tongue swirled around your areola, his other hand cupping your breast while his fingers twisted and toyed with the other one. giving each his undivided attention. “o-oh fuck,” breathless gasps left your lips, your back arching against him. practically engulfing him in your tits. no complaints here.

“lay on your stomach for me,” he spoke up once he managed to find the willpower to let go of your tits.

it was a tight stretch but the two of you managed to maneuver your way around. or more so, he decided to leave you the back seat while he sat outside. his hands spread out of your thighs, and without even looking at him, you could feel his stare boring into your cunt.

suguru was quick in taking off your skirt, before remembering he was supposed to be relishing in this. his fingers hooked around the waistband of your thong, sliding it down inch by inch. moving at the speed of molasses. and when he was finished, you could’ve sworn lace being shoved into his pocket.

“you’re just gonna stare?”

“i’m appreciating my meal, hold on.”

after what seemed to be an eternity (five seconds), suguru finally leaned in. his lips pressed against the back of your thighs, kissing his way up to where you were leaking for him. he rubbed his pointer and middle against your folds, watching your slick glisten off them before deciding to feast.

suguru swiped his tongue up and up your slick folds up until he reached your clit, the warm metal ball of his piercing rolling around the throbbing bud. “o-ohh, fuck!” you let out a moan, digging into the leather seats and pushing your hips back against him.

and suguru, well suguru, couldn’t really give a shit about his leather. he spat onto your cunt, watching how you clenched around nothing, before smearing all over with his tongue. swiping his tongue back and forth, dipping the tip into your hole. “best prize ever, so good,” he groaned just as loudly as you were.

he slurped every single drop that your cunt had to give like it was something divine, moaning and rutting his hips into the air. he swiped his tongue like a credit card, moving his head back and forth, before latching his lips onto your swollen clit. sucking on it before letting the ball of his piercing roll around figure eights.

“d-don’t stop, fuck!” between your pussy and your moans, suguru was in paradise. your nails dug even further, leaving behind crescent shaped imprints on the seats. a small price to pay.

“how about you get these all nice and wet f’me, baby, please,” he leaned forward and pressed two fingers against your mouth. you wrapped your lips around the digits, sucking and swirling your tongue down to the knuckle. slobbering over the expensive rings adorning his fingers.

“ah fuck, just like that.” you looked up to meet his hungry gaze before releasing his fingers with a loud pop.

his fingers pushed inside, moving in a scissoring motion to spread you wider and wider. your walls clenched around his fingers, leaving them covered in a mix of your slick and your spit.

“get ‘er nice and open, just like that,” suguru mumbled, too drunk off the taste of you to try to make too sense. his mouth returned to its rightful place—your clit, where he started to roll his tongue again. suck. spit.

he added in a finger, curling them to hit that spongy spot inside of you. “so close, so close,” you whined like a broken record.

“cum for me, i got you, i got you ma,” he babbled against your clit, each vibration going up your spine like livewire. the tip of his tongue traced figures, letters, shapes onto your clit, treating it like his own whiteboard.

“f-fuck!” you threw your head back, letting out the loudest moan he’d heard so far before your release washed over you. coating over his fingers and his chin, leaving him completely soaked. and suguru still wasn’t satisfied.

“w-wait, ‘m sensiti- mm shit!” a moan ripped out from your throat when he went back for seconds, his tongue prodding into your cunt to taste every drop. to absorb as much of you as could, as much as you had left to give.

suguru pulled back once he’d gotten his fill, wiping his glistening mouth with the back of his hand. he shed off his clothes like a second skin, quickly kicking his pants off before getting situated in the car seat.

you got on top of him, wrapping your fingers around his cock before slowly starting to jerk your wrist. up and down, rubbing your thumb across the slit and smearing precum all over his reddened tip. “sooo good.” suguru bucked his hips into your hand, head thrown backwards.

taking that opportunity like a golden ticket, you leaned in to kiss down his neck just the same way he had. you felt him shiver underneath your touch, his hips moving erratically against your hand. “you don’t get to cum yet,” you whispered, pulling your hand away much to his dismay.

but he supposed he couldn’t complain too much.

you took hold of his shaft, aligning it with your slit before slowly starting to move down. “o-oh oh shit,” your lips parted into a ‘o’ shape, forehead pressed against his as you sunk down. his own lips were parted, shaky breaths exchanged between the two of you.

“f-fuck, there you go, that’s it,” suguru sucked in a harsh breath, chest heaving. and yet, that didn’t matter. he was too entranced by the way your pussy dripped over his cock, the way your walls stretched around him to mold to his shape perfectly. “use me, use my cock, it’s all yours, baby.”

you hadn’t even moved and he sworn he could’ve fallen in love with you and your cunt right there and then.

“all mine, huh?” your voice shook, hands coming up to rest on his shoulders where your nails dug into his skin in the most painstakingly pleasurable way imaginable. you started to move—inch by inch, you could feel the stretch as you tried to get accommodated.

“mhm, all yours,” suguru confirmed, leaning in and licking the warm drops rolling down your cheeks. you hadn’t realized when you started tearing up. his mouth was on yours in a span of seconds—no longer taking his time. no, this time, it was all a mixture of teeth and tongue.

like you’d disappear at any given moment.

your hips started gyrating and undulating down his cock, dripping over his thighs and onto the leather seats. “tryna kill me already, shiit, don’t stop,” suguru panted, digging his fingers into the fat of your ass. something to keep him grounded.

and somehow that just opened the watergates for him to keep babbling. completely pussydrunk babbles. “just like that, fuck, keep going,” suguru moaned unabashedly against your mouth, allowing you to taste yourself on him. his hips rutted against you, matching the rhythm you set for yourself.

“s-sugu, you’re so big,” you whined out, practically feeling the man in your throat with each punishing thrust. his thighs clapped against your ass, your cunt squelched like you were a running faucet.

“y’know, maybe if you rode this fast, you would’ve beat me, pretty girl.” maybe he’d gotten a bit too cocky.

SLAP

your eyes widened in disbelief, either from the fact that you’d slapped him in the first place or that he’d moaned. you weren’t sure yet. a breathless laugh left his lips, his hips pummeling into your pussy like she owed him money. like he hadn’t nearly bust his load right then and there. “do it a little harder next time, yeah?”

“who said there’ll be a next time?” you countered in between shaky breaths, moaning out broken babbles of your own with each time his tip brushed against your g-spot.

“you’re right, you’re right,” he conceded, (despite already thinking about next time, maybe somewhere that wasn’t so crowded, maybe a date first), “so for now, you okay? you need me to do anything, baby?”

talking as if the slap had never happened in the first place.

“need your hand, sugu, please!”

“take my hand and put it where you want it, then.” you took hold of his hand, bringing it down your body down to your clit. “right here?”

“uh huh, right there, right there!” you nodded your head fervently, arching your back even further when he started to rub circles around the nub. your thighs ached. you pushed through it, bouncing and grinding down on his cock. feeling the bulbous tip almost touching your cervix the deeper he got.

“sugu, sugu,” it was the only sense of warning you could give him. you leaned forward, biting down on his shoulder to muffle your moans.

“i know, i know, give it to me.”

with that, you came harder than you did the last time. your toes curled as your orgasm washed over you, dripping and covering his shaft in your essence. suguru’s hips stuttered, barely thrusting inside in chase of his own orgasm.

your cunt clenched around his cock, milking him for every drop of cum. suguru groaned loudly, burying his head in the crook of your neck. shiver after shiver ran down his spine, cock twitching inside of you with his impending orgasm. “s-so tight, fuck!” he practically whined before ropes of cum shot inside of you.

suguru slumped back against the car seats, taking hold of your hips and gently guiding you off his cock. “here,” he whispered, taking a hold of a rag in the glovebox. he wiped off the globs of cum dripping down your twitching cunt.

he wasn’t winning aftercare of the year under these conditions, but his movements were still relatively gentle. “you’re okay?”

“i should be asking you that,” you countered, clearing your throat. and because suguru apparently kept himself prepared for every occasion, he passed over a water bottle in your direction. muttering out a quiet thanks, you began to gulp down the water.

he simply shrugged, starting to put his clothes back on. well, as best as he could while he was smushed. “i liked it. we’re good.”

finishing with getting dressed, you were about to hand him back the jacket but suguru quickly shook his head. “i told you, it looks better on you. keep it.”

you shoved your hands deep into the pockets of his jacket back when you got to your car, feeling a small slip of paper at the bottom. his number you realized—scrawled onto the sheet like he was a rush while remaining relatively neat.

so when he knocked on your door months later, leaning against the frame like he owned the whole damn building, sunglasses pushed up into his hair, a lazy grin playing across his mouth, he really believed he’d open the door and see you melt.

he really expected you to gasp, throw yourself into his arms, cling to him the way you did that night when he left you standing alone in the kitchen, mascara streaked and lipgloss smudged, whispering don’t go like you already knew he would.

but the door opened and it wasn’t you.

it was a guy. a tall one. broad shoulders, polite smile.

satoru blinked once, twice, like his brain had been unplugged for a second. “uh. hi. i’m looking for-”

the guy stepped back, voice calm and maddeningly unbothered. “sweetheart, it’s for you.”

sweetheart.

the word hit him harder than any curse ever had.

and then you appeared from around the corner. hair brushed out, wearing a cute little top he’d definitely seen you buy but never got to see you wear, lipgloss sparkling like you were glowing from within.

you looked… happy.

happy in the way you never were when you begged him to stay.

“oh,” you said, blinking at him like you didn’t expect to see him again in this lifetime. “satoru?”

you didn’t sound excited or breathless or relieved. you sounded… normal.

something inside his chest twisted, sharp and merciless.

“hey, princess,” he drawled, trying to recover, sliding his sunglasses down onto his nose like a shield. “i was in the area and figured you missed me.”

his smile was practiced, easy, cocky. but it didn’t land the way it used to.

you just shifted your weight and gave him a small, polite smile. the kind you used for cashiers or strangers who held doors open for you.

“oh. that’s nice. but i’m kinda busy right now.”

busy.

he stared at you, waiting for the joke. waiting for the punchline, waiting for the little giggle you always did when you were pretending to be mean but wanted him to cling harder.

but you didn’t giggle. you didn’t blush. you didn’t reach for him.

the guy behind you wrapped an arm around your waist, casual, secure, familiar.

satoru’s stomach dropped.

“who the hell is that?” he asked, voice too sharp to hide the crack beneath it.

you looked behind you like it was obvious. “my boyfriend.”

boyfriend.

boyfriend.

the word hit him like a curse technique straight to the ribs.

his tongue went dry. his ego, usually invincible, wobbled like glass under a hammer.

“your… boyfriend.” he said it like he’d never heard the word in his life.

“mhmm,” you hummed, leaning gently into the guy’s touch the way you used to lean into his. “he’s really sweet. treats me super good.”

you smiled when you said it. you glowed.

and for the first time in his life, satoru felt small.

“i thought,” he muttered, jaw clenched so tight it ached, “you’d still be… y’know. mine.”

you tilted your head, pink gloss catching the light. “satoru… you made it pretty clear i wasn’t.”

no anger, no bitterness. just a sad, soft truth that made his chest tighten painfully.

you weren’t his, not anymore. probably never again.

you gave him a sweet little wave, the same carefree wave you used to give him when he picked you up for dates he arrived late to.

“i hope you have a really good day, okay?”

and then you closed the door right in his face.

the strongest sorcerer in the world, left staring at peeling paint and a cheap doormat with a cartoon cat on it.

and for the first time in a long time, satoru felt something unfamiliar.

regret.

deep, hollow, echoing regret that settled heavy in his chest as he thought to himself. 'i didn’t think you’d actually stop loving me.'

but you did. and he was the only one left behind, finally understanding what it felt like to be disposable.

•●SUGURU GETO●•

suguru never expected to see you again. not after everything he’d become and everything he’d done, not after he’d cut himself away from the world so completely that even memories had started to feel like foreign languages spoken to a version of himself that didn’t exist anymore.

but then there you were, older, steadier, stronger. standing in front of him on a ruined street in shinjuku, robes torn from battle, hair sticking to your cheek, eyes wide with something he couldn’t name because it hurt too much to identify.

and for a moment, just a moment, he wasn’t the cult leader, the cursed user, the murderer. he was the boy who used to walk you home. the boy who listened to you laugh like it was scripture. the boy who loved you with a softness he no longer possessed.

“you look different,” he heard himself say, even though his throat felt too tight for words.

you smiled, sadly, quietly, beautifully. “so do you, suguru.”

he wanted to ask how you’d been, wanted to force the world to freeze long enough for you to talk the way you used to, soft and rambling and sweet, but the battlefield behind you was still burning, and your grip on your weapon was shaking, and suguru could feel every sin sitting heavy on his tongue.

you shouldn’t have been looking at him like that. not with recognition. not with softness. not with that small, aching kind of love that still lived under your ribs even after all these years.

“you’re fighting against me now,” he murmured, a hollow smile twitching at his lips. “never thought i’d see the day.”

you looked away first, something you never used to do, your jaw tightening like you were holding back a century of grief. “i know what you did, suguru.”

that was what finally shattered him. not the battle, not the curses, not the cities he’d scorched. you. saying it so gently he wanted to scream.

“i know,” he said quietly. “and i don’t expect forgiveness.”

he meant it but he hated how pleading it sounded anyway.

you shifted your stance, hand flexing around your weapon. “you didn’t have to become this.”

and suguru wanted to laugh, wanted to grab your wrists and pull you close and tell you that he didn’t want to either, that he didn’t know how else to survive the world he’d been born into, that if he had met you just a little later or fought just a little harder or broken just a little differently maybe he would have stayed.

but then he saw it. the thin gold band on your finger. simple, elegant, worn from years of being loved.

his breath hitched in his chest.

“you’re married,” he said, softer than a whisper, softer than air.

you hesitated, then nodded. “i have two kids.”

he didn’t know why it hurt so much. maybe because the life you were describing was the kind he used to imagine with you in his quieter moments, the ones he never admitted to, the ones he pretended he didn’t have anymore.

“is he good to you?” suguru asked, and he hated how raw his voice sounded, how exposed.

your smile was small but real. “yeah. he is.”

he closed his eyes. for a second he let himself picture it, you in a warm kitchen, children tugging at your sleeves, laughter ringing through a house he would never set foot in, sunlight touching your skin he would never get to kiss again.

it hurt. god, it hurt in a way even curses couldn’t replicate.

“i’m glad,” he finally said, forcing the words out. “you deserved… everything safe.”

you looked up at him then, eyes glassy, not with weakness, but with memory. with mourning.

“i loved you, suguru,” you whispered.

he smiled, a twisted, broken thing. “i know,” he answered, because lying would’ve been cruel. “and i love you too.”

your grip on your weapon tightened. your duty was clear, his fate was sealed and there was nothing left to say.

“this is the last time we’ll ever see each other,” suguru murmured, stepping back, letting the distance fall between you.

you nodded.

and he didn’t tell you that for years, for all the empty nights, all the bloodshed, all the wandering, he had hoped you were out there somewhere, alive and untouched by the rot that had eaten him alive.

he didn’t tell you that he had imagined a different ending for the two of you. he didn’t tell you that seeing you now, older, happy, loved, was both a mercy and a punishment. he didn’t tell you that letting you go this time hurt worse than anything he’d ever done.

and when he turned away from you and walked toward his own death, he carried one small comfort with him.

you never became like him and that was enough.

it had to be.

you would never know that suguru’s final thought was of the life he could’ve had, the one where you were his wife, where your kids were his kids, where you lived in peace instead of war that he created.

but not here. not in this life. not in this ending.

this time, suguru geto loved you from a distance, and died loving the version of you that only ever lived in his memory.

•●KENTO NANAMI●•

nanami doesn’t run into you by accident.

he tells himself he does, tells himself it’s coincidence that he walks past the same bakery you’ve been working at for a few months now, tells himself it’s just the route home from his office and not a detour he’s been taking every evening for weeks hoping the universe might give him a mercy he no longer deserves.

but the truth sits quietly beneath his emotionless exterior, he came because he wanted to see you and he hates that about himself.

it’s late afternoon when he spots you through the window. sleeves rolled up, hair pinned back in a soft messy knot, wiping down a table while humming to yourself, the same little tune you used to sing while brushing your lip gloss on and nanami feels that familiar ache settle in his chest, the one he thought time might numb.

he walks inside, the bell rings and you turn.

your eyes widen for a single, fragile moment. not with longing, not with anger, not with anything dramatic, just surprise, soft and simple, the kind that says- oh. you’re still alive. i hope you’re well. i’m okay now.

“nanami,” you say gently, wiping your hands on your apron, voice warm in that way that used to undo him. “i didn’t know you were in this part of town.”

he swallows, forcing a polite nod. “i… moved offices. it’s close by.”

you smile, small, genuine, but different. grounded. peaceful. like someone who’s spent a long time repairing herself piece by piece and finally succeeded.

a version of you he wasn’t patient enough to stay for.

he clears his throat. “i heard you left jujutsu work.”

“yeah,” you say, tapping your nails against the counter in a soft rhythm. “it wasn’t for me. i needed something calm for a while. i’m actually… doing really good now.”

the words hit him harder than they should.

because he remembers the way he used to look at you. like a problem to solve, a responsibility, a too bright thing he wasn’t mature enough to hold without smothering.

he remembers telling you that he needed someone who understood him, someone more grounded, someone with fewer “girlish impulses.” he remembers how your face fell, how you nodded quietly, how you apologized, apologized, for not being enough.

he hates the man he was in that moment.

“i’m glad,” he says softly. and he means it. “you look well.”

“thank you,” you say, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “and you… you look the same. a little more tired, maybe.”

he lets out a quiet breath, almost a laugh. “i suppose I am.”

your smile turns sympathetic, warm in that unguarded way you used to give him. “i hope you’re taking care of yourself.”

he wishes he could say yes, he wishes he could lie but looking at you, steady, healed, glowing in a soft, simple way makes it impossible.

“i’m trying,” he murmurs.

there’s a pause. a soft, quiet, painful pause.

nanami realizes something then, something that twists deep in his chest, you’re no longer reaching for him. no longer hurting over him. no longer waiting for him to come back changed.

you learned that it wasn’t you who needed to be different, it was him. and he’s the one who arrived too late.

“i should let you get back to work,” he says, voice low.

you nod, giving him that same gentle smile. “it was good seeing you, nanami. really.”

he steps back toward the door, hand on the frame, but something in him cracks. the part of him that still remembers how you smelled like strawberry lip gloss and hope, the part of him that wakes up some mornings thinking he’ll hear your voice in the kitchen, the part of him that regrets choosing “someone more mature” only to find himself unbearably bored, lonely, and comparing everything, every little thing, to you.

“you know,” he says quietly, not turning around, “i’ve been… thinking about the past.”

you look up, eyes softening. “yeah?”

he exhales slowly. “i wasn’t kind to you. and i wasn’t fair. you deserved better from me.”

you study him for a long moment, long enough that he nearly turns to leave.

then you say, gently but firmly, “i know. it took me a while, but… i know.”

he nods, head bowed.

“and i’m okay now, nanami. i really am.” your voice is full of truth, not bitterness, not softness, just… peace. “i hope someday you will be too.”

the bell rings when he leaves. you don’t follow him out, you don’t watch him walk away.

and for the first time, nanami understands.

you healed from him.

you grew past him.

you outloved him in every possible way.

and he will spend the rest of his life wishing he had been the man who deserved the version of you he’s seeing now.

•●CHOSO KAMO●•

choso never understood humans, not really. their warmth, their unpredictability, the softness behind their cruelty and the cruelty that sometimes hid behind softness, none of it ever made sense to him. but you had always made him want to try.

and losing you… even though he hadn’t meant to hurt you, had nearly ruined him.

he’d spent weeks replaying the moment in his head, the way you stood there with those glossy eyes, the shine dulling just a little when he said the wrong thing, when he didn’t realize you needed reassurance, when he didn’t know how fragile human hearts were compared to curses. he hadn’t broken yours on purpose, he just didn’t know how to hold it.

and gods, he hated himself for it.

for the way your voice got small when you asked if he still wanted you. for the way he froze, because feelings were still strange and heavy and terrifying. for the way you walked away before he could find the human words he needed.

he’d practiced them now, over and over. in the dark. in alleys. in empty train cars. whispering apologies into the night like prayers.

so when he saw you again, sitting on the low wall outside the humming vending machine where you used to share warm canned cocoa, he didn’t think. he just moved.

“y-you’re here,” he said, voice cracking the way it always did around you, rough but reverent, too full for one throat.

you looked up, surprise rolling across your pretty face, lip gloss shimmering the same way it always did when he used to kiss it off.

“choso…?”

he almost broke right there. the sound of his name in your mouth always did that.

“i’m sorry.” it came out fast, breathless, almost panicked. “i didn’t mean to hurt you. i didn’t understand what i was doing. i didn’t understand you, humans, feelings, any of it. i never wanted you to think you weren’t enough. i never wanted you to think i didn’t want you.”

your lips parted, soft and unsure. “cho…”

he stepped closer, hands shaking, massive, cursed things that had taken so many lives but were now trembling because they might never hold you again.

“i didn’t know how to say it then,” he whispered, “but i love you. i love you the way humans love each other. the way brothers love family. the way someone chooses another person over everything else.”

your breath hitched. and he kept going because if he stopped, the words might kill him.

“i didn’t know how to show it,” he said, voice scraping like gravel, “but you’re the only warmth i’ve ever known. and i don’t want a life without you. i’ll learn. i’ll try. i’ll do anything you ask. just… just don’t go where i can’t follow.”

your eyes softened, slow, warm, bright. like sunrise breaking over snow.

“choso…” you reached up, fingertips brushing his cheek, and his whole body shuddered at the gentle contact. “you didn’t mean to hurt me. you just didn’t know.”

he nodded desperately, leaning into your hand like it anchored him to the earth. “i know better now,” he murmured, “and i want another chance. if you’ll have me.”

you smiled, sweet and soft and impossibly kind, tilting your head as you whispered, “i missed you too.”

his breath collapsed. his knees nearly gave out.

you didn’t pull away when he wrapped his arms around you, holding you against his chest like something sacred, something fragile, something he would protect with the last beat of his cursed heart.

and as your fingers slipped into his hair and your lip gloss smudged against his jaw, choso felt something he never had before.

hope.

a warm, steady, human thing. a thing he now knew how to hold.

•●TAKUMA INO●•

takuma always thought you’d still be there.

that was the stupid part. the naïve part. the part of him that believed, without ever saying it out loud, that you were the kind of girl who would wait forever, even when he didn’t deserve it, even when he kept choosing his girl best friend over you, even when you finally caught her leaning in to kiss him and he didn’t push her away fast enough.

he really thought you’d still be there.

and when he finally showed up at your door weeks later, hair messy, shirt wrinkled, eyes frantic like he hadn’t slept in days, he looked so stupidly confident that your heart almost cracked from secondhand embarrassment.

“baby,” he said, leaning against your doorframe like a man who assumed he still had that privilege, “i know i messed up, okay? just… let me in. let’s talk.”

you stood there, holding the door halfway open, wearing a cute little outfit that made you look like sunshine if sunshine had lip gloss and thigh high socks. you looked healthy. rested, soft, glowing in that way heartbreak sometimes made girls glow after they finally stopped bleeding from it.

and for the first time in his entire life, takuma realized you weren’t hurting anymore.

you smiled at him, sweet, clueless, heartbreakingly gentle but it wasn’t the smile you used to give him. it wasn’t the one filled with hope and devotion and stupid, rose colored love.

it was the smile you give a stranger.

“hi takuma,” you said softly.

that alone made his stomach drop.

he blinked at you, a little thrown. “uh- hi. can i… come in?”

you tilted your head, thinking about it, like he was someone trying to sell you an extended warranty.

“mmm… no,” you said finally. “i’m busy.”

busy.

with what? surviving him? getting over him? breathing without him?

he laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “c’mon, baby. don’t be like that. i’ve been trying to call you.”

you nodded cheerfully. “i know. i blocked you.”

he froze. “you what.”

“blocked you,” you repeated, still smiling like this was a perfectly normal thing to say. “because you make me cry. and my therapist said i shouldn’t talk to boys who make me cry.”

therapist. you had a therapist now. he had driven you to a therapist.

“baby-”

“don’t call me that,” you said, not harshly, not angry, just… done. “you call her that too.”

that one hit him so hard his hand dropped from the doorframe.

he swallowed. “she kissed me. i didn’t kiss her.”

“i know,” you said gently, “but you let her try.”

he opened his mouth, because he wanted to argue, to defend himself, to explain, but the truth was sitting there between you like smoke that burned to breathe in.

and then behind you, from inside your apartment, a voice called out.

“sweetheart? did you want me to brew the tea now or- oh.”

a guy appeared in the hallway behind you. tall. cute. soft looking. the kind of man who probably used coasters and asked how your day was and didn’t have girl best friends kissing him behind your back.

takuma’s heart plummeted.

“who the hell is that?” he whispered.

you turned to look at the guy fondly. “oh! this is hiro. he’s my… um…”

you paused, thinking really hard, lips pursed, expression adorably slow.

hiro stepped closer, smiling warmly, placing a gentle hand on your waist like it belonged there. “i’m her boyfriend,” he said politely.

takuma’s world dropped out from under him.

you didn’t deny it. you didn’t correct him. you didn’t look confused or flustered or guilty.

you looked happy.

glowing.

he thought you’d still be waiting. he thought you’d still be his and now you were leaning into another man’s touch like it was the most natural thing you’d ever done.

“i gotta go,” you said softly, giving takuma that same sweet, distant smile. “we’re… gonna drink tea.”

you began to close the door.

takuma panicked.

“wait- baby, please- just- just give me a chance to fix it, i’m better now, i swear, i swear i’ll drop her, i’ll change, please just- please-”

you shook your head, smile sad and soft. “takuma,” you whispered, “i don’t want you anymore.”

the door clicked shut.

and he stood there in the hallway long after you’d gone, holding all the flowers he never gave you, replaying every choice he made that led him here, realizing far too late that you weren’t his to hurt anymore.

he broke your heart more than once, now you were the one who walked away. and he never got the chance to follow.

•●HAJIME KASHIMO●•

the battlefield smells like metal and ozone and the end of things, and hajime tastes blood on his tongue long before he feels the weight of his body beginning to fail him. everything is shaking, not the ground, not the sky, not the world, just him, just his own hands, trembling as if they’re finally tired of pretending he’s made of something indestructible.

someone is shouting orders in the distance. someone else is screaming. everything blurs, smears, bends. it all feels very far away, except for the one thing that crawls into his skull with terrifying clarity.

he should’ve stayed with you.

it hits him like a second wound, sharper than whatever is currently tearing through his chest. a quiet, devastating truth he’d avoided for so long that it finally cornered him here, in the last place he ever wanted to understand anything.

he remembers you, stupidly vivid, the way you used to tilt your head when you tried to understand something he was explaining, how you’d repeat his words under your breath like you were tasting them, trying them on your tongue. the way you’d hum when you walked beside him. the way you’d smile at him like you didn’t know he was a weapon, like you didn’t care that his hands were built for violence.

he remembers all the moments he brushed you off with half answers and half interest, not because he didn’t care, but because he was terrified of what caring too deeply would do to him. he remembers the way you’d wait for him, how patient you were, how soft, how painfully hopeful, and how he thought he had time to come back to all of that.

he coughs, hand pressing to his wound, warmth spreading between his fingers. the world spins again, and for a moment he has to shut his eyes. it doesn’t help because every time he blinks, he sees you.

the time you tugged on his sleeve because you wanted him to look at clouds with you.

the time you called his name with that soft breathy way that made his pulse jump.

the time he almost admitted he wanted to kiss you and then backed out at the last second, pretending he didn’t care.

the regret hits him hard, a crushing pressure behind his ribs.

you would’ve forgiven him for everything.

you would’ve made things simple.

you would’ve held his face in your tiny hands and said he wasn’t as unlovable as he thought.

he should’ve let himself believe you. he should’ve stayed.

a crack of energy explodes somewhere nearby, shaking dust across his vision. he slumps sideways, barely catching himself. he’s running out of time, he can feel it in the way his heartbeat stumbles.

and all he can think is,

she’s going to cry when she finds out.

she’s going to think she wasn’t enough.

she’s going to blame herself, because she always does.

the thought destroys him.

he drags in a breath that rattles his lungs. “you should’ve told her,” something in his head whispers, cruel and honest. “you should’ve told her you loved her. even if you thought you didn’t deserve it.”

he imagines you now, healed, softer around the edges, surrounded by people who keep you safe the way he never managed to. he imagines you picking lipgloss in the drugstore, humming to yourself, smiling at strangers. he imagines your new life, one he wasn’t brave enough to choose when he had the chance.

he’s glad you’re safe. he’s glad you’re happy. he’s glad you got everything you used to talk about in that dreamy voice of yours.

but god, he wishes he could hear you say his name one more time.

his knees finally give out, body folding into the dirt. the sky above him spins, hazy and bright and unbearably indifferent. he tastes iron. he tastes regret. and as his vision starts to fade at the edges, softening like someone is dimming the world around him, he thinks,

she deserved a future with me in it.

i should’ve let myself be hers.

i should’ve stayed long enough to see what loving her felt like.

a weak, broken laugh slips out of him, because the truth is so obvious now, so blinding in a way that feels almost cruel.

he didn’t fear dying. he feared dying without ever telling you he wanted to stay.

his eyes slip shut, the noise of the battlefield fading into something distant. the last thing he feels is the ghost of your hand in his, warm, small, and imagined, because that’s all he has left now.

the memory of what he ruined, the regret of what he never said, and the soft echo of your voice in the back of his mind, the way you used to say his name so sweetly, like you were sure he’d always come back.

this time, he knows he won’t.

but god, he wishes he had.

•●HIROMI HIGURUMA●•

higuruma never meant to keep tabs on you. really, he didn’t. but life had a way of handing him updates whether he asked for them or not, little scraps of information passed through mutual friends, colleagues, old classmates who’d light up when your name came up because you were just… that kind of person.

and he told himself he didn’t care.

he told himself it didn’t matter.

he told himself that time had dissolved whatever fragile thing existed between you two back then.

but every time someone mentioned you, softly, casually, in that offhand way people discuss weather or weekend plans, something in him stuttered, like the world hiccuped and his chest went tight.

“did you hear? she’s doing better these days.”

and higuruma would nod, calm as ever, but his throat would feel strange. tight, heavy, like he was swallowing the ghost of what he should’ve been to you.

another update came months later, “she cut her hair, you know. looks cute on her. she said it made her feel lighter.”

lighter. a word that made his stomach twist because he remembered how weighed down you’d looked the last time he’d seen you, lipgloss smudged, voice cracking as you tried to make sense of why he was walking away.

you were always so soft with him. he wasn’t soft back.

then another, “she’s seeing someone new. really sweet guy, actually. treats her good.”

and he felt it. jealousy, regret, a quiet ache blooming behind his ribs, because he’d once been the man you looked at with wide, trusting eyes, the man you tried so hard to love with that sunshine, sweet heart of yours.

he hadn’t known how to hold it. he hadn’t known how to hold you.

and life kept moving.

“she’s engaged.”

“the wedding was beautiful, apparently.”

“she cried when she walked down the aisle. happy tears.”

he pictured it too clearly. you in white, smiling that soft smile that used to be his favorite quiet thing. the way your hands would shake when you were excited. the way you’d babble when you were nervous.

and he wondered, all the time, how different things would’ve been if he’d tried harder, if he’d chosen you instead of pulling away, if he’d understood the warmth you offered before he let it slip through his fingers.

but the world doesn’t build do overs.

years passed.

another update came unexpectedly, “they just had their first kid. she’s a really good mom.”

and this one hurt the most because he remembered the way you used to talk about the future in soft, unsure little whispers, like you weren’t sure if you were allowed to want nice things.

you deserved every one of them.

he was glad you got them, really, truly, but the sweetness of that relief tangled with something bitter, something that curled low in his stomach and said:

that could’ve been you.

that could’ve been yours.

but along with the jealousy, there was acceptance, heavy and inevitable.

because he knew he lost you long before another man ever had the chance to love you. he lost you the day he failed to choose you. he lost you the day he couldn’t love you the way you needed. he lost you when you walked away with trembling hands and a wobbling lip and he let you go instead of reaching for you.

and now he watched your life from the outside.

you healed. you bloomed. you found someone who didn’t make you question whether you were enough.

and higuruma carried the weight of that truth with a strange, aching tenderness.

you were happy.

and he was late.

so painfully, devastatingly late.

and instead of being the man holding your hand through all those milestones, he was only the quiet echo carrying news of them. secondhand, distant, muted.

he told himself he was grateful you got the life he couldn’t give you.

he told himself this was what you deserved.

and he told himself that if this was the price for your peace, he’d pay it twice.

but sometimes, late at night, when everything was still, he’d catch himself imagining a parallel world where he didn’t let you slip away.

a world where your kisses were still scattered against his jaw. a world where your sweet questions echoed through his living room. a world where he got to see that soft smile every morning.

but not this one.

in this one, he just watches from afar, learning of each new chapter of your life through other people, carrying a quiet, private ache alongside a complicated kind of joy.

and every update ends the same way in his head:

she’s happy.

she moved on.

you did this to yourself.

•●RYOMEN SUKUNA●•

you didn’t expect to see him again, not after everything he said. not after the night he told you you bored him, that he’d find a new toy, that you were nothing but a pretty distraction he’d grown tired of.

you left because he told you to, and because you believed him. because you always believed whatever came out of his mouth, even the shards meant to cut you.

so when he materialized in front of you months later, sharp, terrifying, cruel as ever, you froze only for a moment before straightening your back and stepping behind the man you were with.

he didn’t like that. not even a little.

the air shifted sharply, like the world itself flinched.

“you’ve grown bold,” sukuna said, voice low and jagged, eyes dragging over you with something that wasn’t desire anymore but wasn’t hatred either. “hiding behind insects. how adorable.”

your partner stiffened but didn’t move. you gently touched his elbow, silently telling him it was fine. sukuna’s jaw ticked at the gesture.

“what do you want?” you asked softly, because you were different now, and you didn’t tremble the way you used to.

his smile twitched. almost a smirk, but not quite. “you disappeared,” he said, like you owed him an explanation. “i didn’t give you permission.”

you blinked. “you told me to leave.”

the amusement dropped from his face so fast it was almost funny. he stepped closer, shadows curling around his feet, voice dipping into something venomous. “and you listened.”

“yes,” you said simply.

your partner shifted protectively, and sukuna’s eyes flicked to him, cold and dissecting. “this,” he sneered softly, “is who you crawled to afterward?”

you opened your mouth, but he spoke first, too fast, too sharp, like the words were ripping themselves out.

“does he touch you better?” you froze. your partner tensed. sukuna smiled like he knew he’d struck bone.

“does he make you tremble?” he murmured, “or did you finally lower your standards?”

you didn’t rise to the bait. that disappointed him.

“you don’t get to ask me those things,” you said gently, like you were talking to a wounded animal. “we’re not… anything anymore.”

he didn’t flinch, but his expression fractured for one second, barely a breath, before sealing itself shut again.

“you think you’ve moved on,” he said, stepping closer until your partner had no choice but to move away or get crushed by cursed energy. “you think this little life you’ve built matters.”

“it does,” you whispered.

for the first time, something like real anger flashed across his face, anger that wasn’t born from cruelty but something far more dangerous.

something wounded.

something regretful.

“you were mine,” he said quietly, voice like cracking bone. “mine to ruin. mine to keep. mine to destroy when i chose.” he leaned in, breath brushing your cheek, eyes burning. “not his.”

“i wasn’t yours,” you corrected gently, “i was just… there.”

the silence that followed was suffocating.

you saw it, just for a blink, the truth behind the teeth. the aching, bitter recognition that losing you had carved something out of him he couldn’t grow back.

and because he was sukuna, the king of curses, he covered it with the ugliest thing he could find.

“go,” he spat, backing away as if your presence burned. “leave before i remember why i kept you the first time.”

but you didn’t miss the way his eyes lingered, or the way he didn’t vanish immediately, or the way his hands curled at his sides like he was fighting something he didn’t have the language for.

you walked away. your partner slipped an arm around your waist. and for the first time in his existence, sukuna didn’t follow, didn’t threaten, didn’t tear the world apart to get what he wanted.

because he finally realized he no longer had permission.

he watched you leave until you were gone and the regret sat heavy in his mouth, ugly, unfamiliar, unforgiving. because he would never, ever admit that losing you was the first thing in centuries that felt like punishment.

•●TOJI FUSHIGURO●•

you came home on a tuesday. a normal one. the kind of day where you bought flowers because they were pink, and you hummed along to a song you didn’t really remember the words to, and you felt… steady. not perfect, but steady. the kind of steady that only grows after months of slowly rebuilding the parts of yourself someone else cracked.

so when you pushed your apartment door open and saw him sitting on your couch like he owned the air in the room, elbows spread wide, legs relaxed, eyes sharp and smug like he was waiting for applause-

it felt like walking into a memory you never asked for.

“miss me?” toji drawled, head tilting just slightly, like he wasn’t sure if he should smirk or look apologetic, so he settled for something messy in between.

your stomach twisted. not with longing, not with love, but with that awful, old ache of you shouldn’t be here.

“what are you doing in my house?” you asked, voice soft, but the tremble underneath wasn’t the one he remembered. this one was colder. steadier. final.

he blinked once, like he wasn’t expecting you to skip the crying and the slow motion run into his arms.

“relax, sweetheart,” he said, waving a hand at your grocery bags, “you always forget to lock the back window.”

you didn’t laugh. didn’t blush. didn’t melt. and that, that made something flicker in his expression.

because he came here certain. cocky. convinced that the second you saw him, you’d crumble in that way he used to like, soft, needy, too loyal for your own good. he thought you’d look at him like you did before you caught him in someone else’s bed. he thought you’d fold.

he thought wrong.

you placed the flowers on the counter, hands gentle even while your heart pounded. “you need to go, toji.”

he scoffed, leaning back deeper into the couch. “you’re cute when you pretend you don’t want me.”

“i’m not pretending.”

that froze him more than any curse ever had.

you walked past him toward the hallway, not rushing, but not stopping, and he stood up so fast the cushions groaned.

“hey,” he snapped, anger sharp but panic sharper, “don’t walk away from me.”

you turned, calm in a way that made his chest tighten. “you already walked away from me,” you said softly. “you just didn’t look back long enough to notice.”

the room went still. he stepped closer, slow, measured, like he thought if he moved the right way, he could slip back into the version of you he broke.

“c’mon, princess,” he murmured, voice dipping into that low, dangerous affection he used to weaponize, “we were good together.”

“no,” you said, shaking your head just once, “i was good. you were careless.”

he flinched. he actually flinched.

“i can do better,” he tried, voice strained, jaw tight like the words cut him on the way out. “i came back to do better.”

“you came back because you thought i’d still be waiting,” you corrected, gentle but unshakeable. “and i’m not.”

you weren’t cruel. you weren’t shouting. you weren’t even angry. you were just… done.

and for a man like toji, the kind who could survive blades and bullets and curses and his own self inflicted hell, this was the one wound he hadn’t prepared for.

“sweetheart-”

“don’t call me that.”

silence. thick, heavy. he swallowed, eyes dragging over your face like he was trying to memorize something he’d taken for granted.

“so that’s it?” he said quietly, voice losing all its swagger. “i’m just… out?”

you took a breath, soft but steady.

“you left first,” you whispered. “i’m just catching up.”

for a moment, one small, fragile moment, he looked young. human. breakable. and then he nodded, jaw tight enough to crack.

“fine,” he muttered, stepping toward the door, shoulders tense, hands shoved in his pockets like he needed somewhere to hide the tremor. “but you’re gonna miss me.”

maybe once, that would’ve been true.

but you only smiled, small, sad, real. “i miss the girl i was before you. not you.”

that one nearly dropped him.

he left without another word. you locked the door behind him and for the first time in a long time, it stayed locked.

•●SHIU KONG●•

you didn’t even feel the wind change when shiu came back into your life.

no warning. no message. no creeping presence on your fire escape. just a sudden shift, the kind that makes your stomach twist because somewhere in the city’s noise, something familiar is breathing again.

you were on your way home from the market, tiny cherry print tote swinging at your hip, humming along to whatever song was playing in your head. life had finally started feeling soft again. warm again. normal in the way you didn’t think you’d ever get back.

and then you turned the corner and he was there.

leaning against the lamppost like he’d never left, cigarette glowing between his fingers, eyes fixed on you with that quiet, terrifying stillness that always made your knees weak. except this time, this time it didn’t make you blush. it just made your heart drop.

“hey, doll,” he murmured, voice low, smooth, dangerous in the way you once found addictive. “been a while.”

you froze, clutching your little tote so tight the plastic handle creaked. you thought he’d look different. colder. sharper. something monstrous after what he’d done.

but he looked exactly the same, and somehow that was worse.

“oh,” you whispered, trying to keep your voice steady, “it’s you.”

he flinched, just slightly, like the sound of your voice hurt him in a way bullets never did.

he pushed off the lamppost, approaching slow, like he was afraid you’d bolt. “i heard you got out of tokyo for a while,” he said quietly. “heard you’re… alive. safe.”

you nodded, keeping your eyes down. “yeah. i am.”

“good.” his jaw tensed, cigarette burning low between his fingers. “that’s good.”

it was strange, seeing him hesitate. shiu kong never hesitated. not when killing, not when lying, not when betraying you for a paycheck. but today he looked like someone standing at the edge of a drop trying to decide whether falling would be worth it.

“i shouldn’t have taken that job,” he said finally, voice cracking just barely. “i shouldn’t have even thought about it.”

you laughed, soft and sad, not mocking, just tired. “you did more than think about it, shiu. you accepted it.”

he inhaled, sharp enough to hurt. “i didn’t hurt you.”

“you were going to.”

he closed his eyes, like the truth was something physically painful.

“i didn’t want to,” he whispered.

“you did it anyway.”

the silence stretched long and heavy, filled only by passing cars and your heartbeat pounding in your ears. he looked like a ghost standing in front of you, not dead, but missing something essential.

“you look different,” he said softly, eyes tracing your face like he was memorizing you again, “happier.”

“i am.”

his throat bobbed, cigarette trembling between his fingers. “are you… with someone?”

you swallowed, not wanting to answer. not wanting to hurt him. not wanting to lie.

but he deserved the truth the same way he once deserved your kindness, gently, even if it ruined him.

“yeah,” you murmured, “i am.”

his hand dropped to his side, cigarette forgotten and crushed under his boot.

for the first time since you’d known him, shiu looked genuinely broken.

not angry. not calculating. just empty.

“does he make you happy?” he asked, voice barely there.

“yeah. he does.”

he nodded slowly, the motion small and strained like his neck could hardly support the weight of it. “good,” he managed, even though he clearly didn’t mean it. “that’s… that’s good.”

you felt the ache then, that stupid, lingering ache for someone who nearly destroyed you. because despite everything, there was a version of the world, one tiny branching timeline, where he could have chosen you instead of money.

and maybe he would have been happy.

maybe you would have too.

but that wasn’t this life.

“shiu,” you whispered, almost reaching out before stopping yourself, “why are you here?”

he lifted his eyes, and god, they were wrecked. not wet, not red, just wrecked, hollow and desperate in a way that made your chest tighten.

“i wanted to see you,” he said, honesty pouring out like a confession he didn’t know how to hold. “just once. to know you’re still you.”

you nodded, tears stinging the corners of your eyes. “i am.”

“not because of me,” he murmured bitterly, “but in spite of me.”

you didn’t correct him. because he was right.

he took one small step back, like he knew he had already overstayed the moment. “i won’t bother you again,” he said quietly. “i promise.”

you felt your breath catch. “shiu-”

but he shook his head, eyes falling away from yours. “you’re better off now. i just needed to see it with my own eyes.”

he turned, rain starting to mist the street, cigarette smoke fading from around him like he’d never been there at all.

you watched him walk away, hand curling over your heart, not because you wanted him back, but because you finally understood something he would never say.

he loved you in the only way a man like him knew how. too late, too painfully, and with nothing left to offer but regret.

and this time, you didn’t follow.

୨୧●• note: don't hate me for making the reader kinda soft with some of them i felt like it was needed for readers healing/maturing process :(( i’ve lowk already started writing an alternate part 2 of reader being absolutely unhinged with it like taking them back just so she can hurt them like they hurt her, thoughts????

୨୧●• tags: @rengoku-wifeskylar @lavenderloss @yegrnn

Sukuna sighed, rubbing his eyes and scratching his nape. He stretched his legs, getting up. 

His large stature was immediately noticeable within the crown on the balcony. He grabbed his whiskey, finishing it with a grimace. “I’ll walk around, boss.”

His long legs took him to the bar, the music so loud he felt his teeth vibrating. 

You were sitting on a stool, arms crossed as you waited for your margarita. The bejeweled navy brasier and matching jean skirt didn’t do much to cover your skin, and you were shivering slightly. 

Sukuna leaned against the bar, whistling over the bartender. “Double whiskey. Thanks.” He ordered.

The bartender nodded, getting quick to work. 

You couldn’t help but look up at that deep voice, blinking at the man beside you. He was…large, to say the least. And tattoos marred his face, which was rare for a man like that to be in such a fancy setting. 

Sukuna had a sixth sense. He knew when people looked at him. He’s had it ever since he was a little kid. People always stared when they were judging something. So it was normal for him to confront the person. 

He turned his head over to you, about to scold you or mumble something roughly before he paused. 

You were…beautiful. An angel in his eyes. That was the first time that Sukuna’s heart stopped while looking at someone. 

This was better than being behind the wheel. 

You froze, surprised to see the serious man glaring at you.

“Uh, Hi?”

Speak, speak, you dumbass, he thought.

Sukuna straightened up, clearing his throat. “Hey. I’m-”

“I know who you are.” You said with a small chuckle. “I think everybody in this club knows who you are.”

Sukuna couldn't help the smirk that graced his lips. God, you were as sassy as him too. 

“How long have you been waiting for your drink?” He rasped, crossing his arms. His biceps bulged against his baggy Armani shirt, looking down at you.

Your eyes couldn’t help but look at his arms, before bringing your eyes back to his dark ones. 

“About…seven minutes.” You answered, nodding at his scoff. “I know, seven minutes for a margarita.”

Sukuna turned over to the bartender, holding back a smirk. “Watch this.”

The pink haired man whistled the bartender back. “The lady’s drink, man.” He said, tone serious and deep. 

The bartender frowned, eyes looking between the two before nodding quickly. “Apologies, sir.”

Sukuna let out a grumble, waving him away and turning back to you, steeling himself back. 

You held back a chuckle. “Thanks.”

“No need, ladies first.” He shrugged. 

After a bit of small talk and laughter, you two finally got your drinks. 

“So, are you an influencer? Model? Sure look like one.” You blushed lightly at his flirtation, lips pursed around the rim of your glass. 

“I’m a singer. My producer booked me here. Said something about a guy named Shiu giving him an invitation.”

Ah, yes, his manager’s manager. Sukuna nodded, taking a sip of his whisky. 

“And the…outfit?” He asked, lips pursed in a smirk at the flamboyant outfit. 

You snorted, getting up and doing a small three sixty. “Well, Redbull won. Your color’s blue, no?”

Sukuna hummed. “I prefer red.”

You couldn’t help but grin. “Well, maybe next time I’ll wear red.” You teased lightly. 

He remembered that smile. He’s seen it plenty of times in photoshoots and interviews.

Sukuna froze, straightening up. “Now I recognize you. You’re the girl with…uh, with the love song.”

You nodded, looking up at him. “That’s me.”

“...Aren’t you, like, dating your producer?”

You paused before laughing, snorting and wheezing.

You didn’t even know how that rumor started, but you weren’t going to knock it down. 

You shrugged, a teasing grin stretched on your lips. 

He might’ve not noticed, but Sukuna was pouting, looking around the balcony. 

“Seee, that dude- oh…oh he’s kissing my partner.” He said with a grimace, looking back down at his drink. 

“So…you’re single?” You nodded, blushing lightly. 

Sukuna couldn’t help the dopey smile on his lips. He nodded, finishing his drink.

“Does that mean I can get your number?”

You pursed your lips with mock decisiveness. “Mhm, I don’t have my phone.”

Sukuna made a fake noise of disappointment and you copied it. 

“...But, I was hoping for a signature. So I’ll give an ultimatum.” You said with a wink. 

“I’m listening.” He leaned in slightly, looking down at you.

“Mhm, I’ll dm you my number tomorrow, if you stay the whole night shirtless with my signature on your abs.”

“Absolutely not.” Sukuna shook his head, going red.

“I’ll let you sign my tits.”

“Where’s your sharpie?”

Sukuna stared down at the first ever picture you took together. The day you met. 

You were mid-laughed while he held you on top of his shoulder, your signature over his abs while you pointed at your cleavage. 

Shiu passed, handing him his whiskey. Sukuna immediately closed his phone, mumbled a thanks as he grabbed the whiskey. 

“The restaurant is completely rented. And I got us a suit at a Hilton near the airport.”

Toji let out a small chuckle of improvement, fist bumping Shiue as he sat down on the chair. 

Sukuna chugged down his drink, sighing. “I…I’ll be staying with her.” He said hesitantly before looking up at his managers. 

Shiue paused, meanwhile Toji grinned. 

“Finally. God, I’ve been sick and tired of your bitchy attitude.” Toji sighed. “Not to mention losing streak during these last races. Get back with your goodluck charm. Don’t know why you two even broke up.”

Sukuna paused at that, the silence filled with guilt. “Yeah, me too.” He said sheepishly, scratching his ear.

Satoru entered the cabin, grinning. “And I’ll be staying with them. I’ll finally be back with the love of my life.”

Toji rolled his eyes, going back to talking with Shiu. 

Sukuna’s heart accelerated like an engine every mile he got closer to the airport. His hands were sweaty and his knees were weak. 

You’d been working at your family’s bookshop most of your life. Managing the finances, stocking the shelves, working the cash register. Whatever was needed whenever it was needed. No questions asked. But your mind drifted, dreamed of doing something different – where you weren’t sleeping in a tiny studio apartment you could barely afford and got to express yourself outside of the stupid chalk signs you drew on to advertise on the sidewalk. 

“Are you still all prissy because I said-”

“No,” you interrupted him, even though you knew he hated that. You sipped the awful beer, nose scrunching as you pressed your lips together and forced yourself to swallow. 

“Good,” he grunted. “Don’t need that shit today.” 

You didn’t reply to that. Stared ahead at the bottles of liquor lined up on the wall, the distorted mirrors behind them as you listened to the heavy music thumping behind you. 

“First client was fuckin’ awful, didn’t even tip after I spent-” Sukuna was still talking, grumbling under his breath between swigs of his own beer. You weren’t paying that much attention though. Picking apart what you could make of yourself in those stretched-out mirrors, wondering if you’d really only be Jin’s friend to him. Someone annoying he could boss around, that he barely tolerated. 

How much time were you wasting waiting for him to wake up and notice you were a girl? That you liked him? 

“God, I need to get laid,” he continued, and your head swiveled over to him, brows knitting together as it hit you what he said.

He noticed, chuckling at whatever expression you were making before slamming his now-empty beer down.

“What? Are you, like, a prude?” Sukuna asked, and you flinched, flustered as your mouth fell open.

“N-no, I’m not,” you defensively said, heat crawling inside your skin, uselessly shaking your head just for him to laugh at you. 

“C’mon,” Sukuna snickered, rolling your eyes. “I’ve known you, what? Like a decade? And you’ve never had a boyfriend?”

“I’ve had boyfriends,” you muttered, wishing you could drown yourself in your beer when you forced yourself to take another drawn-out sip. 

Several of them. Some longer than others. 

But they all came to the same conclusion you had a long time ago. 

They weren’t the guy you wanted. And the one you did couldn’t care less about you.

“Sure,” he shrugged, all gruff and gravelly, waving over the bartender to get another beer. “Whatever you say.”  

“You don’t believe me,” you pointed out before you could stop yourself, and all you got was another bob of his shoulders. 

“It’s not my business.” Which really just meant he didn’t give a shit. 

You could probably pick a random guy from the dancefloor and drag him back home with you and he wouldn’t blink. 

Instead of a beer, the bartender pushed a stein of something strong to him, nodding down the bar to a pretty girl who was already looking at him, glossy lips curling up when his head turned in her direction. “On her.” 

Sukuna smirked, and you wondered if he’d be leaving with her tonight.

“Someone’s got you beat,” he commented, glancing back over to her with a glint of interest in his eyes. It was a joke, you guessed. But you didn’t laugh. 

Just felt it sit in the bottom of your stomach like a goddamn boulder. 

She had his attention, and she barely had to try. 

You pulled out your purse, scrounging together enough crumpled cash to cover the bill before tossing it on the bartop, swinging your legs off to stand. 

“You’re mad at me,” he huffed, and you wanted him to stop you. Some sad little shriveled part of your brain desperate for him to do something to show you were more than just – well, whatever it was he saw you as. 

“I’m not,” you insisted, even though a hot lump had formed in your throat, lungs constricting as you became acutely aware of how little air you could suck in. 

He frowned for a second, but he didn’t say anything. 

Didn’t reach out. 

“Gotta get up early tomorrow,” you excused, even though he didn't ask. 

For the first time in forever, you didn't look back when you left. And when you got home, you blocked his number after deleting the message chain that was mostly you sending him stupid shit he probably only ever skimmed over.  

Removed the temptation entirely to text him now, tried to call and clip the image of him from the corners of your heart when you curled back up in your bed. 

It wasn't like it was easy. But the humiliation of wanting someone like him had sliced too deep this time, embarrassment etching into your fingers every time you attempted to draw and thought back to his reaction. His rejection. 

So you did the only thing you could do. 

Move on. 

Focus on your job, your meager social life, although you made Jin come over to your apartment when he wanted to hang out purely out of fear you'd bump into Sukuna’s at his place. 

Two weeks passed, then three, killing time while you scrubbed the ghost of him from your mind. 

Today hadn't been much different. 

Stuck with another hour left at an exhausting shift, feet aching as you shifted behind the counter, a pen in hand as you attempted to sketch something on the back of a sticky note. A few animals, a couple of fish, thin lines and unsure strokes as you questioned what was even the point any more. 

“Whatcha doodlin’?” A cheeky voice distracted you, snatching the crumpled paper from underneath your palm before you could stop him. You knew who it belonged to before you saw him.

The white-haired menace who only showed up for the sweets in the adjoining bakery, chocolate usually smeared in the corner of his mouth when he pretended to browse books. Although he'd always find some excuse to come chat with you, sometimes bringing around his friends who would buy stuff. 

“It's nothing-” You started, straining over the counter to yank it back, but he was too fast. 

Gojo held it over your head, squinting at the lines you etched into it and tilting his head to the side with faint surprise. 

“These are cute,” he smiled, pointing at the little koi fish at the bottom. 

“You don't have to lie to me,” you frowned back at him, getting just close enough to grab it. You rolled it into a ball, throwing it away in the trash can under the counter. “It's nothing.” 

“I meant it,” he grinned, propping himself up on his elbows and getting on your eye level. “Don't believe me?”

Gojo was full of shit. 

You hadn't known him as long as Sukuna or Jin – but you still knew him well enough to know he liked to flirt and fawn, none of it worth anything when he was like that with everyone. He was more of a mutual friend than just a friend, but boundaries were more like suggestions he preferred to ignore, physical, emotional, every flavor of rule he rejected. 

“Not really,” you muttered, glancing down at both his rather huge hands. All pale and veiny, long fingers that weren't holding anything. “No treat today?” 

“Want something a little sweeter tonight,” he hummed, and you stared blankly at him.

“Like what?” You deadpanned. 

“A date with you.” 

You blinked. But he didn't budge, waiting for an answer. 

“Like, a date date?” It made you feel like a moron to ask, halfway thinking he'd laugh at you even when he brought it up. 

“Duh,” he chuckled. “What time do you get off?” 

“Um, an hour, but-” You started, and since it wasn't a no, he was already smiling like it was a yes. 

“Or we could do dinner tomorrow if it's better, y’know, whatever's good with you is great with-’

“Tomorrow,” you answered, surprising yourself a little bit at how quickly you said it. Gojo was cute, even if he wasn't exactly the type you usually went for – i.e. tattooed men with commitment issues. He probably had a big dick if it was even half the size of his attitude. 

It might not go anywhere, but didn’t you deserve a single night without him on your mind? 

Sukuna could sleep around. 

So why couldn't you? 

Something was fucking wrong with him. 

Sukuna’s life had been oddly quiet lately.

Something was different, missing, maybe– but he hadn't quite figured out what. Just that the world had been duller. The days dragged on longer, nights bleeding into morning in broken fits of sleep. 

He'd never exactly been a man of emotions. Most of them he rejected entirely. But there was a pervading feeling that he could only describe as bad. One that refused to go away no matter how much he tried to drown it in alcohol or nicotine. 

He hated half of his clients. Couldn't stand the bright city lights or boring chatter people constantly tried dragging him into. His old favorite songs sounded more like static and background noise, grating on his nerves when he turned it on to focus on new designs. 

But despising the universe wasn't anything new to Sukuna. 

Loathing his life was typical. 

But this slimy pit in his stomach, balled up too tight to dislodge, stuck there and festering, that was something he wasn't used to. 

It wasn't until he went to Jin’s to talk shit about his latest awful day that he figured out what it was.

Guilt. 

Jin was alone, watching some boring movie on his couch, feet propped up on his coffee table without even sparing him a glance as he went straight to his fridge to find a cold drink. He glared at the healthy foods, fruits and meats neatly organized inside – only a couple sparkling waters in the back. He begrudgingly grabbed one, cracking it open and looking back to the living room just to freeze. 

He stared at the empty spot next to Jin for a few seconds, struggling to conceive why he was looking at the couch like an idiot until it hit him why. 

You weren't there. 

“Where's your friend?” He gruffly asked, bringing the drink to his lips to sip. 

“On a date,” Jin casually said, and he choked. 

Drink dripped down his mouth and onto his shirt, wiping it away with the back of his hand as he cleared his throat. 

“Her?” You? 

It was inconceivable. 

The girl who could barely even look him in the eye half the time? Who stuttered and stammered and could hardly get through a single sentence without getting flustered? 

Honestly, Sukuna figured you were probably a virgin and too shy to admit it. It wasn’t like you weren’t attractive, but you’d always been off-limits. 

Besides, there were always tons of other women out there – why would he stoop so low as to sleep with one of Jin’s friends? 

“With Gojo,” his brother added, tossing a piece of popcorn in his mouth, completely oblivious to the way he froze behind him. 

Did Jin just not give a fucking shit about you? Was he seriously letting you go out with that prick? 

Gojo’s reputation was almost worse than his. 

But just because he took girls on dates before he fucked and fled, he was somehow better. 

At least he didn’t pretend he wanted a relationship just to get someone in the sheets. At least he didn’t lead them on and let them think they were something more. 

“And you just fuckin’-” He clamped his lips shut right as Jin threw a confused look over his shoulder at him. 

“What?” He asked, all confused, like he couldn’t fucking perceive the very apparant problem. 

“That guy’s an asshole,” he protested.

Jin didn’t say it, but the look on his face made it obvious that he thought Sukuna was one too.

“Where’s the date at?” He grumbled, arms folding tight across his chest as he tapped on Jin’s fake wood flooring. 

You weren’t his friend.

So why the fuck was he walking into some upscale restaurant on the nice side of town, fixing the collar of his jacket, ignoring the stares sticking to him. 

“Sir?” A hostess tried talking to him, but he waved her off, already scowling.

“I need a drink,” he dryly said. 

Preferably a strong one. 

He beelined over to the bar, reluctantly ordering a ridiculously expensive whiskey in his best attempt to blend in before scanning the dining room for any sign of you. 

He spotted you almost immediately. Sitting in one of those back booths, probably one Gojo told you would be more private – even though you were really just on display for the rest of the restaurant. 

You dressed up. For him. 

Sukuna didn’t know why it surprised him so much, dumbly staring at the sight of you in a short dress, the kind that clung to your thighs and your chest, too much cleavage showing. Too much skin showing period. Elbows on the table as you leaned in to listen to Gojo ramble on, who was surely too focused on the sound of his own voice to pay attention to how good you looked tonight. 

He shook the thought from his head. Strangled it, actually, tried to twist it into nothing. Glad he didn't have any utensils to gouge his eyes out so he couldn't consider the cute tilt of your head or how glossy your lips looked when you chewed on your bottom one nervously. 

Why the fuck were you here? 

You weren't a moron. You knew better than to buy a guy like Gojo’s bullshit. 

His last conversation with you came back up, floating from the depths of his brain in bits and pieces, his own words echoing. Was it because he commented on your lack of a love life? Asked if you were a prude? 

Did you just go to the biggest manwhore (other than him) that you could find? 

If you wanted to get laid, you could've just asked- 

No, no. That was wrong, Sukuna reminded himself, blinking hard like it would change what he was seeing. You smiled at Gojo, mouth moving as you said something that made him chuckle and lean forward, reaching over the table to grab your hand like you were a couple. His thumb tracing down your knuckles, drawing little shapes on your skin that obviously made you giddy. 

Sukuna wasn't jealous. 

He'd never been jealous before. Over anyone. 

He was, uh, just doing what Jin should've been doing. As your friend. Even if every giggle and grin of yours made him feel physically fucking ill as he watched and waited for the moment to intervene.

It wasn't like he could just let this happen. 

Leg bouncing anxiously until Gojo got up, counting to thirty in his head before he followed him to the bathroom, glancing back over his shoulder to make sure you hadn’t noticed him. But you were glancing down at the table, tracing over the scratches on it, your face soft, almost serene. Pretty. 

He kept walking, picking up the pace to catch up to Gojo, wondering how hard he’d have to deck him to make sure he’d stay down long enough for him to block off the bathroom door to prevent him from leaving. The staff would probably notice after a couple minutes – sooner if someone else tried to use it. 

He didn’t have a real plan, his brain jumping from idea to idea too fast to let him land on one.

If he was less impulsive, more in control of the monster twisting around inside of him, maybe he would have considered having a conversation with Gojo. Threatening, sure, but mature enough to make it clear that you were not a girl he could screw and scram from. 

Instead?

He was scanning the stalls in front of him to make sure no one else would overhear, noting that they opened out instead of in. Only spotting Gojo’s ridiculously shiny loafers, listening to him yap on the phone with one of the other pricks he chose to surround himself with.

“I know, I’ve gotta go, she’s waiting for me,” he was chuckling, his casual confidence already grating down his resolve not to dunk his head in the toilet. He laughed again at whoever was on the other line. “Shut up, you know I’ve been trying to get in her panties for months.”

Anger didn’t suffice. 

Couldn’t cover the heat warping his judgment, boiling into something he couldn’t control at the idea of that white-haired fucker slinking around and searching for a way inside of you. 

His body was moving on autopilot, banging hard on the stall door, fingers clenching into a fist right just in time for Gojo to hang up the phone and yank it open, his annoyingly bright blue eyes narrowing in an appalled squint at him. 

“What the-” 

His punch connected. Busting open his bottom lip, bruising Sukuna’s knuckles too as Gojo’s head snapped to the side. He groaned, stumbling and losing his footing, probably slipping in his own piss from his surely shoddy aim. 

“The hell is your problem, dickhead?” Gojo grunted, pushing off the toilet seat, palm pressing on the stall as he struggled to stand up straight. 

It was easy to push him back down, just another rough punch that he hoped fucking hurt.

But recognition was now glittering across the bloody face beneath him, amusement dancing in his dark stare as Gojo let out a low laugh.

“You’re here for her?” He said it like it was some joke Sukuna wasn’t in on. Or maybe he was just the butt of it. 

“You’re not getting in her panties,” Sukuna repeated in a hateful hiss, more repulsed by the word when it was on his own tongue. “So stay the fuck away from her.” 

“Or what?” Gojo challenged, a plucked brow arched up. “You’ll drown me?” 

His eyes flickered from the white-haired fraud in front of him to the toilet, considering it. 

“Maybe.” 

He saw the second it registered for him that it wasn’t just a threat. Then Sukuna leaned down, grabbing his phone from where it had hit the ground during his first hit. 

“Wait-” 

He tossed his phone in the water instead. 

Sukuna kicked him while he was down, hard enough he heard a rib crack before he stepped back, slamming the stall door shut and looking around at what he had at his disposal. Dragging over a ridiculously heavy trash can from the corner, one of the obnoxiously designed ones that was supposed to be art as if people weren’t just tossing trash in it. He shoved it against the stall while Gojo groaned again inside. 

He’d be able to get out, if he crawled under or climbed over the stall, or summoned the strength to shove it out of the way. But it’d delay him for a while. Enough that Sukuna was able to look back out of the bathroom, getting lucky enough to see one of the staff heading into a supply closet down the hall, marked employees only. 

“You asshole,” Gojo snarled, voice muffled, strained from the pain of a probably broken rib. 

But it was too late. 

He was sneaking out and into the closet once it was empty, snagging an ‘out of order’ sign from a shelf before he put it back up on the bathroom door when no one was looking. 

Sukuna wasn’t really one for fate, didn’t hold any believe in some higher power pulling his strings, but he could admit that it seemed like the universe was colluding with him when he caught the attention of some overworked waitress and casually commenting that they should probably block off the men’s bathroom if there was something wrong with it, pointing to the sign. 

It had taken ten minutes, maybe fifteen, walking back to your table with a smirk twitching up in his lips at the thought of how long it would take Gojo to pull himself off of the floor and figure out how to leave. Especially now that he managed to get someone to move a bunch of those huge ceramic fake-potted plants in front of it to stop it from opening – and no one would hear him requesting help through the thick walls and the bland dining music still loudly thumping through the speakers.

He had won. 

A little voice in the back of his brain said, for now, added addendums to his meager victory. Marked it down with the reminder that you might not be thrilled to see him after you left the last time you were together. 

You were still staring at the table when you came back into view, but your nose was scrunched up, lips pressed together tightly. Aware that it was taking too long for your date to come back, fear starting to seep in that you’d been ditched. 

And then you saw him. 

For half a second, just a brief moment he almost missed, you smiled, relaxing reflectively before you suddenly went stiff again. Forcing a frown and tucking some hair behind your ear self-consciously, defensively.

“What are you doing here?” You asked, all wide-eyed, fiddling with your hands in your lap. Pulling the hem of your dress down like he hadn’t seen how high it’d been earlier. 

“Saw you on a date with that loser,” he muttered, begrudgingly glancing around like he didn’t know where he was. “Did he leave?” 

You swallowed, squirming as you shrugged.

“He said he was going to the bathroom,” you muttered, fishing your phone from your purse to check the time, or maybe send Gojo a message. Sukuna could see the way disappointment snuck up in your face, how it crept into the corners no matter how hard, how desperately you were trying to hide it. 

There was an awkward pause, tense and heavy as he tried to figure out how to say what he wanted to. 

“You wanna get out of here?” He gruffly suggested, pulling his wallet from his pocket and tossing down some cash on the table. Enough to cover your half – even though there was only an appetizer out. 

You hesitated, your eyes finally flickering up to him. 

Your stare was as soft as it had always been, but it was like he was seeing your face for the first time, the air in his lungs sucked out like he’d been knocked flat on his back. 

Reassessing every little line, realizing that you weren’t just pretty, or cute, but beautiful. Lashes fluttering, canines chewing on your bottom lip as you looked back in the direction of the bathroom one last time. 

You’d been there for so long. Lingering in the background and by his side. And he’d been completely goddamn blind.

“I’ll buy you some real food,” he added, nodding towards the barely-touched plate of pretentious-plattered blobs of food with herbs thrown on top. 

“Fine.”

You weren’t that happy in the passenger seat of his car, riding shotgun, knees pointed away from him while you leaned against the cool window. He turned up the heat, the lump in the back of his throat bobbing watching you shiver and curl up inside yourself. 

He couldn’t remember if you’d ever been in his car like this before. A couple years ago, he’d been stuck in the backseat with you in Jin’s sedan, crammed against the window while you were stuck in the middle, but back then, he’d been too distracted arguing with Kaori in the front seat to notice the weight of your thigh against his. 

Now he couldn’t stop himself from wishing he paid more fucking attention. 

Eyes flitting over to your form, throat going dry at the sight of your still-plush thighs so out of his reach. 

“Why him?” He grunted when he pulled up to a stop light, fingers tapping his steering wheel, molars grinding as he stole another glimpse at you. 

You shrugged, just a little raise of your shoulders while you sighed. 

“He said he wanted to go on a date with me,” you murmured, refusing to look back at him. “Guess he changed his mind.” 

“He’s a moron,” Sukuna half-snarled, cringing when he realized how it came out.

A flash of hurt crossed your face, as he felt the fear of fumbling this chance with you rear back up. 

“For changing his mind,” he clarified, omitting the tiny detail that you’d be back on your date discussing Gojo’s salary or how big his cock was if he hadn’t intervened. “Not for-” 

“Don’t,” you mumbled. Stopping him before he could say what he meant.

“Look, I’ve been a dick,” he started, discomfort churning in his stomach having to apologize for anything in his life. 

“When aren’t you?” You muttered under your breath, swallowing hard as you continued to avoid looking straight at him. Just scanning over the road, glancing out the window or down at the floorboards, anywhere that wasn’t him.

He let out a disappointed huff, brow twitching. 

“The last time we talked, I was a fucking asshole,” he added, gravelly and gruff, even when he was trying to sound sincere. “You didn’t deserve that shit.” 

You turned to face him fully, but the light turned green, and he couldn’t see what face you were making as his foot shifted back to the gas pedal. He could make out your mouth starting to open in the edges of his vision, but he forced himself to continue. 

“I’m sorry.” 

You made a small noise that sounded like a squeak – and he was pretty sure his heart stopped. Something small but fierce sprouting in the deepest crevices of his chest, all his organs constricting as he struggled not to react with a noise of his own. 

“You’re sorry?” You repeated, as if an apology was totally absurd. 

“Yeah,” he soberly said, knuckles tightening across the steering wheel, barely able to keep his eyes on the road instead of studying your reaction. 

“For what?” You asked, and it felt like a test. 

One he was embarrassingly desperate to ace. 

All of it? 

Dismissing you and distancing himself the same way he always did? Convincing himself that all you would ever be was Jin’s friend? 

“For not seeing you,” he said under his breath, the answer landing in the air. 

You hesitated, pausing before you nodded. 

He didn't know if he got it right. 

But you relaxed over his version of dinner. Trading in your fancy appetizer for fast food, intently watching you dip your fries in sauce as you listened to him grumble about how shitty everything had been lately, begrudgingly admitting that he missed you coming around to his shop. 

You casually shrugged, as if you didn't miss him back. 

“Been busy,” you hummed, and he hated how the little curl of your lips after you said it made his stupid heart stall. 

Somehow though, you were still free tonight.

Enough that by your fourth or fifth yawn, he talked you back into watching a movie at his place. 

Jin would probably kill him if he knew. But then again, he hadn't stopped you from seeing Gojo. So how much could he actually care?

It wasn't like he was fucking you. 

Even if he was beginning to consider just how much he'd like to. 

But it felt almost more intimate for you to be this close, your thigh not quite touching his, knees curled up against your chest while you shared a blanket with him. Grabbing popcorn from the bowl on his lap and cracking jokes he might've called lame a few months ago before rolling your eyes at whatever was happening on screen. 

“This movie kinda sucks,” you whispered to him, as if you were in a theater instead of his apartment.

Speaking to him like a friend, giggling a little as one of your buttered fingers reached up to poke the crease between his brows. 

Were you always this fun? 

This pretty when your the shadows from the tv flickered across your face? Did your eyes usually glimmer like that, looking up at him like he was some kind of knight instead of just another dickhead? 

“Want me to change it?” He grumbled, already about to grab the remote before you shook your head. 

“I still want to see how it ends,” you half-whispered, and the softness to your voice did something treacherous to the pit of his stomach. Ripped open a gash, pried him apart until all he could think of was how hollow he felt. Hyper aware of a missing piece he was pretty sure was right in front of him. 

He wanted to see how this would end too. 

If you were another girl, he would've made a move. Slipped a hand underneath the blanket and ran it over your thigh, leaned in to trail hungry kisses down your throat. A means to an end – all to get his dick wet. 

But he wrapped his arm around your shoulders instead, pretended he didn't see the suspicious little glance you tossed his way. Satisfied himself just with the fact you didn't shove him away. 

You didn't get to see the end of the movie after all. Lulled to sleep with the pressure of his arm or the quiet comfort of the dim lights and low volume. Head tilted to the side at an uncomfortable angle as you dozed off and dreamed about – well, he didn't know what, but he hoped it was about him.

He waited until the credits were rolling to creep off the couch, readjusting you until you were resting on one of his pillows instead, pulling up the blanket so you were covered. 

Sukuna paused, just staring for a moment before he picked you up, cradling you against his chest and carrying you back to his bedroom where you'd be more comfortable. 

You didn't wake up. Not even when he walked over to where you left your stuff by his kitchen counter. Or when Sukuna slipped your phone out from your purse, coming back to unlock it with your thumb while you were still passed out. Scrolling through your recent slew of texts to find where Gojo was basically throwing himself at you and clicking on his contact. There was a message from an unknown number too, a huge paragraph that Sukuna didn't need to read to know was from him too, pointing fingers and directing the blame for tonight right his way. 

Blocking Gojo was easy.

Getting him to stay away from you? 

Well, it wasn’t that much harder. 

You softened up around him the next morning when you woke up and realized he'd taken the couch, nudging him awake to thank him before ditching like a one-night-stand would. But you were smiling again when you saw him, saying yes when he offered to pick you up and drop you off at work. Beaming when he admitted your drawings were never actually bad and asked to see them again. Letting him occupy your free time by slyly suggesting you come to his shop or his place for extra lessons and tips, a new weekly occurrence he caught himself thinking of as dates as one month bled into the next. 

It wasn't like Gojo could slip back in your life if you were too busy. 

And he couldn't visit you at work when Sukuna had made sure your family was aware of your, ah, stalker, and suggested they get a guard – claiming it would deter shoplifters too. 

If you were suspicious, you didn’t say anything. 

“So what, are you like, in love with her or-” Jin stopped himself mid-scoff, staring at Sukuna from across the counter, propping himself up on his elbows as he blankly stared at his brother. “You are.” 

“No, I’m not,” he grumbled, counting the cash left in his register as the sun set behind the trees outside. You had said so yourself. Called him a good friend for showing you proper shading on your last piece, before tucking a sketchbook underneath your arm and disappearing through his door to go back to your place. 

Despite his best efforts, you were still keeping him at arm’s length. 

And through all his attempts at shutting down his own feelings, they only seemed to burn brighter, the flames fanned by the realization you were more than he had ever given you credit for. Far more than he fucking deserved. 

Your awkwardness had become endearing. You were attentive and attractive and it was awful how many other things had only now started to register and rob him of his breath when you were around. 

“Don’t even think about making a move on-” 

The bell on the door chimed, and you were stepping through before Jin could say your name. 

Your eyes landed on Sukuna, soft and sparkling, a lit match thrown inside his chest as your mouth curled up in a pretty smile. His brother knew him better than he knew himself. 

Sukuna was falling for you fast. And he wasn’t sure he could catch himself anymore. 

“If you guys have plans, I can-”

He didn’t let you finish.

“Jin was just leaving,” Sukuna grunted, glaring at his brother like he’d toss him out if he didn’t go soon.  

You didn’t really get it. Couldn’t fully comprehend his sudden shift into being a semi-decent guy. You kept waiting for him to go back to normal, to push you back into the sidelines where you always belonged.

But he didn’t.

Week after week, he just seemed to worm his way deeper into your life, trying to occupy as much of it as he could. What? Did he have some weird change-of-heart and decide he didn’t want to be a dick?

Or were all those lingering touches and drawn-out stares just a figment of your imagination?

You glanced up at him again, mouth twitching into a smile you couldn’t help when you caught him already zeroed in on your face. 

Jin let out a low exhale, but you didn't even turn. 

“Don't make me an uncle,” he muttered, quiet enough you almost didn't hear him on his way out. Once it registered though, your nose scrunched up, now fully twisting towards him, ears perked like you were expecting Sukuna to scoff and say how ridiculous that was. 

“Get out,” he grumbled. 

You watched both of them, unsure eyes flickering back and forth until Jin left through the frosted glass doors. 

Sukuna sighed, shutting the cash register a little too hard, his cheeks almost tinted pink under the warm lights, aware you were studying him and still not offering some snarky retort back. 

“Surprised you didn't throw something at him,” you commented. This was it. 

The moment he'd make it clear how he saw you and remind you of where you were meant to be in this weird relationship.

Except – he shrugged. 

As if Jin wasn't in the wrong for suggesting there was something going on between the two of you. 

“Are you really surprised?” He muttered, and you could only blink. 

Holding your breath so he didn't catch how instinctively it hitched, frozen in place as your fingers fidgeted around your sketchbook. 

And then Sukuna stepped closer, cocking his head to the side as he assessed your stunned expression. 

“I like you,” he abruptly admitted, like he had to drag it from the depths of his stomach. Begrudgingly chewing over his next works as he walked right up to you, stopping just shy of touching before he plucked the book from your hands. “A lot.”

You waited for him to rip the rug out from under your feet and reveal that he didn’t actually mean any of it. 

“Sukuna,” you started, swallowing hard like it would make it any easier to choke down. 

How long had you been dying for him to say something like that? Dreaming of this moment right here? 

And the best you could offer was his name? 

“You don't believe me,” he accused, and all you could think of was being back at the bar, when those words came from your own lips. 

He had said it wasn't his business then. 

But what had made him decide you were now? 

Was it just the idea of you slipping away? Becoming someone else’s? Faced with the fact you weren't who he thought you were when he saw you on that dumb date? 

“Should I?” You asked. 

“What can I do to prove it to you?” He frowned, thick brows scrunched together. 

“I don't know,” you honestly answered. 

And you didn't really expect him to try to find an answer for you. 

It started small. Sort of. Awkward compliments he grumbled under his breath. Soda cans and snacks waiting for you when you came over. His fingers skimming over your skin, always standing a little too close. 

But after a couple weeks of you squinting at him, convinced he was still just trying to have sex with you, something changed. 

You just weren't sure which one of you cracked first. 

Perched prettily on the stool behind his counter, drawing on spare paper as he cleaned up from his last client of the day, pretending you couldn't feel him staring. 

“Hey,” he grunted, grabbing your attention easily as you glanced back at him. 

“Hm?” You tilted your head, fingers pausing on the pen. 

“You want a tattoo?” 

He was a bad influence. You'd always known that. But his dark eyes dragged you right down to his level. 

You couldn't believe you said yes. 

Or that you agreed to a goddamn tramp stamp. 

You readjusted, turning your head to the side, cheek squished against the cool leather as he tugged your shorts down. 

Shivering as you tried to keep yourself from reacting, painfully aware of everything that he was doing.

Every step felt excruciatingly slow, each drag of his gloved fingers over the small of your spine as he cleaned and prepped it. 

“Scared?” He grumbled, and you barely nodded. 

“Kinda,” you breathlessly admitted. 

“You change your mind?” He asked, and if you were smarter, maybe you would've told him to stop. 

Instead, you shook your head no. 

“Keep going.”

What was a better work of art? 

You, face-down and shivering on his chair? Or the fresh ink on the base of your spine, permanently marking you as his? 

The design was his, one you picked and approved, his initials worked into the fine lines. 

R.S. 

Maybe he should've pointed it out, but then again – you spent ten minutes reviewing the mock up and said you loved it.

And besides, he could always get your name on him too. Ask you to draw something just for him, sign it all pretty.

Make it even. 

“You wanna take a look?” He softly asked, jaw locked as he tried to permanently imprint the image of you like this in his head. 

“You can take a picture and show me,” you hummed, a cute little whine to your voice that made him unfortunately hard. 

Sukuna was still working on his listening skills, pulling his phone from his pocket and obediently snapping a few, ah, artistic photos. Ones that included your pretty ass and how your panties were pulled low on them so he had the space to work on your tattoo. 

It would be easier to walk around and show you, but instead he leaned forward, let his chest touch the top of your back as he held his phone in front of your face. 

“Pretty,” you softly said, pleased. 

“You're prettier,” he automatically replied, cringing when he remembered he was putting down his own work by accident. 

But you just giggled, trying to crane your neck back to look at him. 

“You did so good for me, gorgeous,” he murmured before you could mock him, purposely letting his mouth graze against your neck as you shivered. Shoulders scrunching up as you reflexively glanced up at you. 

God, he wanted to fuck you right here.  

And the way you were looking at him right now? 

He'd wager you would let him. 

“Do I have to pay for it?” You whispered, and he grunted. 

“I don't want your money,” he scoffed. 

He wanted something else. 

And after so fucking long, he was finally about to have it.

Sukuna hooked two fingers in the band of your panties, tugging them down hard and letting them get caught around your knees. Pausing, waiting for you to tell him to stop just to be met with silence as he readjusted, moved to where he'd have better access. 

Dragging his gloved hands up your thighs, spreading them apart and looking at how prettily you glistened for him. Soaked just from being in his seat.

He slowly took his gloves off, needing to feel you for real, skin on skin, truly touching instead of just skirting around it. Tracing over your ass, tender this time, taking his time to slip inside. 

Your warmth was a fucking wonderland. 

How many nights lately had he spent stroking it to the idea of this?

Hearing you moan was the closest he'd get to heaven, the sound reverberating inside of him as he added another digit, slowly shoving them in deeper, scissoring you open as your slick dripped down into the leather. 

“Gotta stretch you out,” he hissed, throat constricting when you clenched down around him. “Make sure it'll fit.” 

“Y-you're so cocky,” you whined, your lip forming a cute little ‘o’ as your cheek smushed against the seat. Moving in time with the thrusts of his fingers, wiggling down to meet his knuckles. 

“Gonna show you why,” Sukuna promised, just to feel the way you shifted and squirmed underneath him. 

It was addicting. You were. 

All your reactions, all those pretty faces you would make, everything about you left him craving more, more, more. 

His cock was leaking, aching pathetically where it was constrained in his boxers. Pre-cum dribbling out and making him aware of the dampness as he reluctantly pulled out to tug the zipper of his jeans down next, his dick springing up the second it was freed. 

Your eyes went wide, glancing back at him with an expression that made his cock twitch. Veins pulsing Z he tried to contain his impulse just to shove it all the way in. 

“I'll be careful,” he grunted, and you just nodded. 

You trusted him. 

And the thought of that made that little invisible string inside him snap. 

Careful. 

He repeated the word in his head, leaned against it like a crutch he could actually rely on. Shoving your shirt up higher, knowing he should probably fish a condom from his wallet for this, but unable to do anything except stare. 

“I thought you liked me,” you murmured, hips shifting like you were trying to snare him even more. 

“I do,” he breathed. 

“Then show me.” 

He was seeing fucking stars the second his cock was inside you. Eyes rolling back as inch by inch of his girth sunk into your heat, how you fit even better than his gloves did, snug and tight as he drove in deeper. Groaning your name, grabbing your hair, trying to tether himself to your body. 

His sanity tied to the sounds you were making, those cute whimpers as he rammed his hips down into your ass, careful not to press down on your new tattoo. 

“My pretty girl,” he claimed, gritty possession in his voice he no longer cared if you picked up on. So what if you did? You were his now. Not a fling or a fuck. Forever. “You're so goddamn perfect.”

“S-shut up,” you hissed back, nails digging into the chair as your grip on your own rationality slipped. 

You didn't need reason anymore. 

You had him. 

“You like me,” he accused, cock throbbing inside you when you whined at his tip kissing your cervix. 

“I-I-” You stuttered, so painfully pretty here. Sweat collecting on your brow, broken breathing loud in the quiet space, only the background music of his playlist joining it. 

“You do,” Sukuna huffed, pressing a kiss to your shoulder blade. 

Maybe he'd leave another tattoo there some day. His teeth marks? Some other subtle sign to mark you as his? 

 “M-maybe,” you half-whispered. 

And that was enough for him. 

Fucking into you harder, the chair beneath both of you creaking and protesting at the combined weight, his muscles straining as his thick cock continued to stretch you thin around him. His free hand slipped around your front, your body squirming at his touch, shuddering so sweetly. Rubbing drawn-out circles over your clit, massaging it with dedicated pressure, paying attention to how you liked it and adjusting properly. 

Sukuna wanted to drag his tongue over your throat, taste your sweat and tears as you whimpered his name. 

But he'd settle for feeling you twitch when you came, how your thighs trembled and shook, his hips rutting down as warm ropes of his cum spilled out into you. 

You'd be dripping by the time he pulled out, but he kept you plugged full of his cum even when you were both finished, relief still some far-fetched dream when his body was burning so hot for you. 

“Did you-” You swallowed hard, lashes fluttering as you looked back at him.

“I can buy you plan B,” he exhaled, still not pulling out – halfway hoping his seed would take anyway. 

“Okay,” you sighed too, shutting your eyes as your face relaxed. Just accepting it. Letting him hold you like this the same way you let him leave his mark on your skin. 

“We can shower at my place,” he muttered. “Still have to cover up your new tattoo.” 

“Oh,” you yawned, like the sex had made you sleepy. Content. “Okay.”

You blinked though, eyes slowly opening back up as you looked back at him one more time. 

“You're acting like you're my boyfriend,” you commented. 

“Because I am now,” he huffed. 

One of your brows arched up, lips pressing together. But you didn't say no. Didn't turn him down. 

Your hips shifted, and he saw the pearly-white cum starting to seep out from where his cock was slotted between your folds, connecting him to you. 

It was probably wrong to hope you'd get pregnant. 

But really, all he wanted was to take care of you now. And that couldn't be wrong. 

Could it? 

blinking rapidly, you tried to focus, your vision sharpening just enough to catch a glimpse of him. there he stood, Sukuna—towering, imposing, his body a canvas of intricate tattoos that seemed alive under the morning light. his crimson eyes bore into yours, their depths cold, unrelenting. the sharp lines of his face were cut from stone, handsome yet devoid of warmth, his expression as still as death itself.

a small smile tugged at your lips despite the unease blooming in your chest. your voice, rough and raspy from sleep, managed a soft, “good morning, baby.” your hand stretched toward him instinctively, seeking comfort in his familiar presence. but before your fingertips could graze his skin, he stepped back.

your smile faltered, replaced by a frown that deepened as the distance between you grew. the sheets crumpled around you as you sat up, your chest tightening at his rejection. the way his cold, crimson gaze lingered on you sent a chill down your spine, a feeling of vulnerability washing over you like ice water.

“baby?” you whispered, your voice laced with confusion, almost pleading. the light that once felt warm and comforting now seemed harsh and unforgiving, illuminating every crack in the fragile peace you thought you shared. your heart thudded heavily, the silence between you stretching unbearably.

what was wrong? why was he like this? the questions tumbled through your mind like an avalanche, threatening to suffocate you, but his expression revealed nothing. he remained stoic, a living fortress, impenetrable and unyielding. the golden morning light framed him like a phantom—beautiful, distant, and untouchable.

but he didn’t respond. his silence felt heavy, like a storm cloud looming overhead, ready to break at any moment. your chest tightened with unease, the warmth of the morning light now doing little to combat the cold sinking into your bones.

you sat up straighter, clutching the blanket to your chest with trembling hands. the soft fabric felt like a fragile shield, barely enough to protect you from the weight of his gaze. it wasn’t like this with him—never like this. the sukuna you knew could be sharp-tongued and cruel to others, but with you, there had always been something softer beneath the layers of his rough exterior. but now, as he stood there, unmoving and silent, it felt as if that part of him had vanished.

“baby…” your voice broke the stillness, trembling yet desperate. “what’s wrong?”

your eyes searched his face, hoping to find a trace of the man you loved, the one who held you close during your darkest nights and kissed your forehead like it was sacred ground. but his expression remained unreadable, carved from stone.

the light coming through the curtains illuminated the details of his tattoos, the dark, intricate patterns that wrapped around his arms and climbed his neck, a stark contrast to the vulnerability you felt in that moment. the tension in the air was suffocating, your pulse quickening as you awaited a response—any response.

his silence was deafening, and the distance between you felt more vast than the few steps he had taken away from the bed. your fingers gripped the blanket tighter, the soft material wrinkling under your grasp as you tried to steady yourself.

“please,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, breaking under the weight of your emotions. “baby, talk to me.” still, he said nothing, his crimson eyes watching you with an intensity that made your stomach churn. the morning light, once gentle and golden, now felt harsh and accusing, casting stark shadows across the room and magnifying the growing chasm between you.

his silence was an abyss, a vortex that threatened to pull you in and devour you whole. fear prickled at the edge of your consciousness, making your heart race. the man who used to hold you close, who used to whisper reassurances into your ear, now stood there like a stranger, his gaze as cold and distant as the frozen tundra.

you took a deep breath, desperately trying to steady your voice. “d-did i do something?” you cursed the quiver in your voice, loathing the weakness it betrayed.

sukuna stayed silent, his gaze unwavering as he studied you. for a brief moment, you thought he might finally answer, but instead, he scoffed—a low, derisive sound that cut through the stillness like a blade. he rolled his eyes, the sharp motion as dismissive as the scoff had been, before turning his back on you. the weight of his retreat felt like a physical blow as he strode to the wardrobe across the room, his movements deliberate, almost cold.

“why are you asking?” he said, his voice carrying that familiar edge of irritation. “i thought you already knew what was going on.” his words hung in the air, dripping with accusation, and your heart sank further. his tone was indifferent, like he couldn’t believe you’d dare to ask. he flung the wardrobe doors open with a sharp pull, the sound of the hinges echoing in the quiet room.

you swallowed hard, clutching the blanket tighter around you as if it could shield you from the storm brewing within him. his broad back was turned to you now, the muscles in his shoulders shifting under the patterns of his tattoos as he rummaged through the clothes, seemingly more interested in the contents of the wardrobe than in giving you a real answer.

your mind raced, trying to piece together what he meant, what you could’ve done—or not done—to warrant this reaction. the way he spoke, like you should already know, only deepened the ache in your chest. “i… i don’t understand,” you murmured, your voice trembling as you tried to make sense of his words. “what are you talking about, ryo?”

your words were like a whisper in the face of his silent storm. sukuna continued to rummage through the wardrobe, unbothered by your plea. each movement was harsh, filled with a restrained anger that sent a shudder down your spine.

his silence spoke volumes. as he sifted through the hangers, each rustle of fabric seemed to punctuate his irritation. sukuna’s shoulders tensed at the sound of his name. the familiarity of it, the way it rolled off your tongue like it belonged there, grated on his nerves. he clenched his jaw, the muscles flexing as he continued to rummage through the wardrobe, his fingers yanking clothes off hangers with a bit more force than necessary.

“you don’t understand?” he echoed, his tone biting, “or you’re pretending not to understand?” he didn’t look back, his gaze fixed on the row of shirts in front of him, like they were the most fascinating thing in the room.

then, without warning, he stopped. his fingers stilled, gripping the edge of the wardrobe door. for a moment, you thought he might say nothing more. but then he turned, slow and deliberate, the weight of his gaze crashing into you like a tidal wave.

his crimson eyes burned with an intensity that made it hard to breathe, and yet his expression remained unsettlingly calm. “you asked for a breakup yesterday,” he said, his voice low but firm, steady as a heartbeat. the words hung between you, heavy and unrelenting, as his eyebrows arched slightly, as if daring you to deny it. “remember?”

your mind reeled, his words slamming into you like a punch to the gut. the memories of the previous night stirred, rushing in like a flood you weren’t ready to face. you had called him, your voice trembling with emotion as you told him you couldn’t do this anymore. you’d said it so clearly, so desperately—“i think we should break up.”

you could still hear his response, as clear as the ache in your chest now: “i don’t do breakups.”

and then, like the cruelest twist of fate, the two of you had ended up in the kitchen, the place you’d shared countless meals and stolen kisses over the years. the intimacy of that moment had been almost unbearable—his hands gripping your hips as though trying to anchor you in place, his lips trailing fire down your neck, as if to remind you of everything you were trying to leave behind.

but now, standing before him, hearing those words fall from his lips, you were dumbfounded. your chest constricted, and you clutched the blanket tighter against you, as if the fabric could hold you together when everything inside you felt like it was shattering.

“ryo…” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you searched his face for some kind of reprieve, some trace of the man who wouldn’t let you go last night. “but you said…” but the words faltered, dying in your throat, because a part of you didn’t know if that was true. sukuna watched you, his gaze unwavering, silently gauging your reaction to his words. a twisted satisfaction coiled in his chest seeing the dumbfounded look on your face, the way your body seemed to shrink away as the reality of last night’s conversation dawned on you.

he let you struggle for words, relishing the way your voice broke mid-thought. “but i said…?” he echoed your phrase, his tone laced with mockery. his lips curled into a cold smirk, the edge of his canine peeking out as he took a step towards the bed, closing the distance between you. “but i said…” he leaned down, his face now just inches from your own, his breath warm against your skin as he spoke, his voice a low, dangerous murmur. “you’re not going anywhere.”

the words were a stark contrast to the gentleness of his movements. he reached out, his fingers tracing the edges of the blanket you clutched to your chest, as if they were caressing the fabric rather than you. the small touch still sent a shiver down your spine.

he took another step forward, his body now towering over you, caging you in with his presence. “you’re a trembling mess,” he continued, his gaze moving over your face, taking in every small reaction, every flutter of your eyelashes, every shake of your breath. “it’s pathetic.” a hand shot out, gripping your chin, forcing you to look at him directly. his fingers pressed into your skin, not enough to hurt but with enough firmness to make you feel constrained, as if he owned every inch of you—heart, body, soul.

you looked at him, eyes wide and glassy, the tears that threatened to spill over gathering at the edges but refusing to fall—as though even they were terrified of him, too. your chest felt as though it were weighed down by an invisible stone, each breath shallow, a laborious effort, as you struggled to process the poison dripping from his words. his tone, sharp and unforgiving, sliced through the fragile shell of your composure, leaving jagged wounds in its wake.

his crimson eyes locked with yours, but they were not the same as they once were. gone was the warmth, the fire, the spark that once breathed life into them. in their place was an emptiness, a coldness so profound it seemed to swallow everything whole. they were no longer eyes, but hollow pits, mere remnants of what had once been, as if the embers of some long-dead flame flickered weakly before finally expiring, leaving only ash and the residue of something lost.

his smirk widened, distorting his once-beautiful features into something cruel and alien. the face you had known, the face that had once smiled with a warmth you thought was reserved just for you, was now unrecognizable, a mask of mockery and disdain. his hand tightened around your chin, forcing your gaze upward before it was shoved away, not violently, but with such casual cruelty that it made you feel as though you were nothing—small, insignificant, a mere afterthought in his world.

“but i say a lot of things,” he murmured, his voice dripping with mockery, the words slipping from his lips like poison. he savored each syllable, letting them hang in the air, thick with bitterness, each one designed to wound deeper than the last. “you should know by now that you can’t ever really trust me.”

he bit down on his lower lip, as if he found some faint amusement in the scene unfolding before him, though it was a cruel sort of amusement—half-hearted, a shadow of something darker. the smirk that had briefly faltered now returned with a force that made your heart tighten, twisting the knife already lodged deep in your chest.

“isn’t that something you should’ve learned by now?” he continued, his voice almost playful, as though he were talking to a child who had failed to learn even the simplest lesson. his head tilted slightly to the side, a subtle gesture that made the room feel even smaller, as though the walls were closing in on you, bearing down on you with the weight of everything he was. “years of dating me, and you haven’t figured out even one or two things about men?” he paused, letting the silence stretch painfully between you, before leaning in closer, his breath barely a whisper against your trembling lips. “especially me?”

his tone softened, but it wasn’t kindness that softened it. it was venom, deliberate and calculated, each word a subtle stroke against your unraveling spirit. his presence enveloped you, suffocating, like a fog that had settled in, thick and unyielding. his form loomed over you, an oppressive force that seemed to stretch beyond the room, beyond your ability to comprehend, leaving you trapped in his shadow.

you blinked, the tears in your eyes now a silent threat, trembling on the edge of release, but you refused to let them fall—not yet. not in front of him. the ache in your chest deepened, like a weight pressing harder against your lungs, each breath becoming more difficult, more fragile, as though your very existence was being drained away by the sheer presence of his cruelty.

“ryo…” your voice cracked, the sound little more than a fragile whisper, broken and torn between the desire to speak and the fear of being heard. but he only watched, his eyes cold and piercing, cataloging each nuance of your suffering, waiting for the precise moment when you would shatter completely, when the pieces of you would finally crumble under the unbearable weight of it all.

sukuna’s smirk widened, a grotesque expression of satisfaction at the fragile crack in your voice, the soft, desperate pleading that trembled from your lips. his eyes, once drawn to the warmth and depth in yours, now found only the shimmer of unshed tears, a mirror of the suffering he had inflicted. yet, within the storm of pain that had settled in your gaze, there remained a flicker—a stubborn, defiant glimmer that refused to yield to him, that would not grant him the pleasure of seeing you utterly undone.

he leaned forward, his presence overwhelming, his face hovering just beyond the point of contact, his breath a searing, suffocating force against your skin. “you’re even more pathetic than i thought,” he whispered, his voice a languid mockery, each syllable dipped in contempt, the venom in his words thickening the air around you.

a warmth surged inside you, not the softness of vulnerability, but the sharp, sudden burn of fury. anger, that strange and alien force, slithered its way through your chest, cutting through the dull ache of your own misery, its heat rising in knots that twisted tightly within you. it was fierce, a sharpness that stung with every beat of your heart, and it fueled the fire of defiance that now began to smolder beneath your skin. how dare he? how dare he stand there, that twisted smirk still clinging to his face, as though his cruelty could diminish you?

your thoughts spun in a haze, a flickering montage of last night’s events, each image more jarring than the last. if he truly wanted to leave, to sever the fragile thread between you, he could have done so with honesty, in the silence of an agreement. no games, no theatrics, no bitter proclamations that left you questioning your place in a relationship that had, until then, felt like the ground beneath your feet. no promises veiled in intimacy, no sweetness masking the brutality of his indifference, no gestures that now felt nothing but hollow.

and now this? now, in the sterile light of the morning, he discarded you as though you were a discarded object, leaving you trembling, reduced to a mere echo of yourself? the cruelty of it gnawed at you, an unbearable weight pressing down on your chest.

your fingers dug into the blanket, the fabric biting into your skin, your knuckles turning pale as you clung to the familiar sensation, the only thing in the world that felt solid, that didn’t dissolve like ash at his touch. the anger, now a fire burning hot and insistent, pushed against the fragile walls of your composure, demanding to be released. you gritted your teeth, the tension in your jaw nearly unbearable, and as your gaze met his, a flicker of something defiant rose up within you.

“you’re a fucking asshole,” you said, the words tumbling from your mouth like venom, raw and jagged, cutting through the suffocating silence that had enveloped the room. they were harsh, brutal in their simplicity, a fleeting relief against the weight of the moment. yet, even as they left your lips, you could feel the echo of their truth linger, not in the comfort of release, but in the strange, hollow emptiness they left behind.

sukuna’s smile stretched wider, his crimson eyes glinting with a sadistic amusement, as though he found a twisted pleasure in seeing you unravel. there was an unspoken satisfaction in the way you looked at him, your glare, laced with fury, only feeding the darkness in him, stoking the flames of his amusement as if your anger were an exquisite form of entertainment.

he drew closer, his presence overwhelming, and the space between you seemed to disappear, his face now so near that you could feel the heat of his breath, thick with the scent of musk and spice, an intoxication that tangled with the weight of your emotions, making everything feel unbearably heavy.

“so, you’re finally showing some spine, are you?” his voice was low, a mocking rumble that curled around the room, his words almost savoring the moment. “how amusing. it’s almost endearing to see you so riled up.”

his hand reached out, fingers tracing a delicate strand of your hair, the touch light, almost gentle, yet laced with a quiet malice that made your stomach churn. “but, you’re still the same. still fragile, still breakable,” he whispered, as though examining the very essence of your being, reducing it to something delicate and fleeting.

the anger surged within you, a wildfire now, fierce and uncontrollable, and for a split second, the thought of smashing that smirk off his face crossed your mind like a fleeting, violent impulse. yet, even in your fury, you were still trapped, his towering form pressing in on you, your fingers tangled in the folds of the blanket, as though the fabric itself were the only thing anchoring you to reality.

his chuckle rang out, deep and unsettling, a sound that slithered through the air, sending a tremor through your bones. he tilted his head, studying you with the careful gaze of someone who saw your every nuance, as if he were cataloging each flicker of emotion, each broken piece of you. “so much fire, so much defiance,” he mused, his eyes narrowing, “and yet… here you are. still here, clinging to the futile hope that things might somehow return to what they were.”

his words hung in the air, suffocating, as though they carried a truth you had no choice but to accept—an unspoken acknowledgment that the past had long since slipped away, lost beneath the weight of his cruelty.

sukuna’s gaze locked onto yours, his crimson eyes dark and inscrutable. he was watching you, reading you, but giving nothing in return. sukuna was a master of concealment, his emotions tucked away behind a mask of indifference. no flicker of regret, no sign of pain—nothing to betray what he truly felt. and that made it worse. you couldn’t read him, couldn’t find even the smallest crack in his armor. he was impenetrable, a fortress of cruelty and coldness.

he finally pulled away, stepping back, the distance between you growing with every measured movement. the space felt suffocating and freeing all at once. “i have class,” he said, his voice flat, almost bored. “so, i hope you’ll be gone. from my apartment, my life… before i come back.”

the finality in his words hit you like a punch to the chest, knocking the air from your lungs. you stared at him, your lips parted, trembling, but no words came out. disbelief washed over you, followed quickly by a wave of pain so deep it felt like it might drown you. and then the tears came. they spilled over, falling in heavy streams, as relentless as rain desperate to meet the earth, drowning everything in its path. your body shook with the force of it, but your voice was steady, low and sharp like a blade as you spoke.

“i hope you have everything,” you began, your teeth clenched, your words dripping with venom. “everything you could ever want in life. i hope you get it all. and i hope you never feel satisfied.” his expression didn’t change, but his eyes—those crimson eyes you had once loved so deeply—stared back at you with a hollowness you hadn’t noticed before. an emptiness that made your chest ache, even in the midst of your fury.

your voice cracked, but you pressed on, the weight of your pain propelling you forward. “i hope you grow up. i hope you have a wife, a job that pays well. i hope you have beautiful children who adore you.” you paused, your voice dropping to a whisper that was no less deadly. “but i hope there’s a hole inside you that never goes away. a hole that makes you suffer every single day.” you met his gaze, the fire in your eyes burning through your tears. “i hope you have everything, sukuna. everything. and i hope it’s never enough.”

the words hung in the air, heavy and unrelenting, as sukuna stood there, silent and unmoving. for a moment, you thought you saw something flicker across his face, something like regret or sadness, but it was gone before you could be sure. and then he turned, walking away without another word, leaving you alone in the space that had once been yours together, now shattered and broken beyond repair.

sukuna clenched his jaw, his footsteps heavy as he walked away, the weight of your words clinging to him like an invisible chain. they echoed in his mind, taunting him with a cruel persistence—your curse, your wish for his endless dissatisfaction, for his perpetual hunger, struck him deeper than any physical blow ever could.

his hand rested on the doorknob, but he paused, his back turned to you, your sobs reverberating in the quiet space, each cry a sharp thrust to his chest. he longed to turn, to look upon your face, but he could not summon the will to face you again.

the following day, you found yourself standing outside his apartment, your heart heavy with the weight of everything that had unfolded. you didn’t want to be there—didn’t want to confront the aching void that seemed to consume you whenever you thought of him. you didn’t want to feel the raw sting in your chest deepen, yet you knew you had no choice. there were fragments of your life, scattered among the remnants of your shared past, and though you longed to leave them behind, you could not bring yourself to walk away entirely without reclaiming what was left.

your fingers hovered above the keypad, hesitant, the numbers embedded in your memory like scars. you pressed the code, half-expecting the door to reject you, to lock you out for good, sealing the end of everything. but it didn’t. the lock clicked open, as it always had.

for a fleeting moment, a thought brushed against your consciousness, a whisper of something you wished you could ignore. perhaps he had left it unlocked on purpose. perhaps, deep within him, he wanted you to return, hoped you might come back. but you dismissed the thought quickly. no. that was not him. not anymore.

you pushed the door open, and for a brief instant, the silence greeted you like an old, dissonant friend. the air was thick with the memories of laughter, arguments, love—each corner of the room steeped in the ghosts of your time together. everything was exactly as it had been, as if nothing had changed, the furniture, the faint scent of him still lingering in the stillness. it was a cruel trick, how the space could feel so familiar, yet so estranged at once.

then, a sound—soft at first, but unmistakable. moans, sighs, the low grunts of a voice you knew all too well, mingling with the sound of another. a woman’s voice. your breath caught, and in that moment, it was as though the ground had fallen away from beneath you. you didn’t need to see to know. the sounds painted a clear picture, a cruel and bitter one.

a hollow laugh rose from the depths of your chest, though it never made it past your lips. of course. of course he couldn’t wait. couldn’t even allow the ashes of what you had to settle before diving into someone else’s embrace. the realization struck you like a knife, sharp and unrelenting, twisting deeper as it sank in.

your feet felt frozen to the floor, as if the weight of the moment held you captive. the world spun around you, but you remained frozen in place. the pain was acute, raw, consuming. it wasn’t just the betrayal—it was the confirmation of what you had already known, but refused to acknowledge. sukuna was exactly who he had claimed to be, and you, in your foolishness, had convinced yourself you were the exception.

you swallowed, the burn of your throat making it difficult to breathe, the ache in your chest threatening to overwhelm you. your hands trembled as you stepped back, the door still ajar behind you, its silent invitation to leave hanging in the air.

you didn’t hesitate. you turned, your legs carrying you away from him with a sense of urgency, as though staying even a moment longer would suffocate you. the rest of your things, the remnants of a life you once shared, no longer mattered. you couldn’t bear to be in that space, couldn’t bear the thought of his voice—so familiar, so intimate—intertwined with hers. the love you had once shared, now belonging to someone else.

the door clicked shut behind you, and for a moment, the sound felt like the finality of a chapter ending. but it was not clean. it was not easy. the pain still clung to you, wrapping itself around your ribs, squeezing until each breath became a struggle.

as you walked away, your thoughts churned. it wasn’t fair. he was fine, wasn’t he? perfectly fine, moving on, living his life, while you carried the weight of this broken love. it felt as though you shared matching wounds—his had already healed, smooth and unblemished, as though it had never been. but yours… yours were still raw, still bleeding, black and bruised.

yet, you kept walking. one step after another, carrying yourself away from him, from the life you had once built together. it hurt more than you had thought possible, but beneath the pain, there was a quiet resolve. because this time, you were not just leaving the apartment. you were leaving him.

the sakura trees lined the streets like guardians of fleeting beauty, their delicate pink petals drifting down with the breeze, blanketing the ground in a quiet surrender. each petal lay still, crushed underfoot without complaint, their sacrifice unnoticed by the hurried world above. sukuna walked briskly through the scene, his long strides carrying him across the familiar paths of the park, his destination clear: the ice cream parlor.

his presence was as sharp and cold as ever, his crimson eyes glancing briefly at the cheerful chaos of the park. laughter and joy filled the air—children racing each other across the grass, couples walking hand in hand, families gathered beneath the blooming trees. it was all so ordinary, so unremarkable, and yet it gnawed at him.

the park hadn’t changed. not a single thing had shifted in all these years. the bench where you both used to sit still stood beneath the shade of a sprawling sakura tree. the open field where you used to spread out the red-and-white checkered blanket you’d picked out still invited picnics. he could almost see it—him sprawled on his back, you lying against him, your head on his stomach. the warmth of those quiet afternoons came rushing back, unbidden.

you had a way of making silence comfortable, he remembered. sometimes the two of you would just lay there, lost in your own thoughts, his fingers absently twirling a strand of your hair. other times, the quiet would give way to playful arguments, your voices rising in mock irritation before collapsing into laughter. this park was a haven for you both—a place where the weight of the world couldn’t quite reach.

but now? now it was just a park.

sukuna stepped into the ice cream parlor, his voice cool and detached as he ordered. “two ice creams.” he didn’t bother glancing at the menu. his eyes were elsewhere, scanning the park with a hunter’s precision, though he wasn’t sure what he was looking for. he was about to turn away when something—no, someone—caught his attention. his sharp eyes narrowed, his breath hitching ever so slightly.

pink hair. a bright smile.

his twin. yuuji.

sukuna’s brows lifted in faint amusement, his lips curving into a smirk. what’s that idiot doing here? he wondered, already imagining some clumsy attempt at flirting. his eyes followed yuuji, watching his every move with a predator’s patience. but then yuuji turned slightly, revealing the person beside him.

and sukuna’s world shifted.

it was you.

the air seemed to still around him, his smirk falling as if the weight of the moment had stolen it away. the color drained from his face, and for the first time in years, he felt truly unmoored. it was as if the ground beneath him had crumbled, leaving him suspended in disbelief.

you hadn’t changed. not in the ways that mattered. the curve of your back, the way you carried yourself, the softness in your expression—it all came rushing back to him, a flood of memories he hadn’t asked for.

he took a step forward, then another, each one slow and deliberate as if testing the solidity of the earth beneath his feet. but then he saw it—yuuji’s arm around you, the way his lips pressed to your cheek, the way you smiled up at him.

the world tilted further.

just as he was about to take another step, his eyes caught movement by the swings. a child—a boy, no more than a few years old. his pink hair shone in the sunlight, his laughter ringing out like a melody sukuna hadn’t realized he missed.

then the boy called you “mommy”, his voice bright and pure, as if it carried no shadows.

sukuna froze. his breath caught in his throat, his chest tightening as his mind raced. his gaze darted between you, the child, and yuuji, piecing together a puzzle he didn’t want to solve.

was he…? no. impossible.

the boy’s face was round, soft, bright—none of the sharp edges sukuna saw when he looked in the mirror. there was no darkness in his eyes, no coldness. just light.

“what the fuck?” sukuna muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his own heartbeat. you and yuuji both turned at the sound, your eyes locking with his for the first time in years.

and in that moment, everything—the sakura trees, the children’s laughter, the warmth of the spring sun—seemed to fade away. it was just you and him, standing on opposite sides of a chasm neither of you knew how to cross.

you sat side by side on the bench, close enough that the sakura petals falling around you landed in your hair, yet the distance between you felt infinite, an ocean of memories and regret stretching wide. your hands trembled, curling into fists on the fabric of your dress as if the pressure could hold your emotions in place. you didn’t look at him. maybe it was the pain, still raw and deep despite the years. or maybe it was because you had moved on, and seeing him no longer filled the hollow space inside you.

no, you didn’t starve for him anymore.

he sat rigid, his long limbs folded in a posture too controlled to be casual. his crimson eyes, those piercing eyes that once held you captive, were now fixed on the child playing in the distance. the boy laughed brightly, running to yuuji, who scooped him up with ease, their matching smiles lighting up the park.

sukuna’s chest ached, the unfamiliar weight of it catching him off guard. he didn’t expect this—didn’t expect to feel anything. but watching the boy—your boy—he felt something sharp, something he couldn’t name.

regret?

his gaze lingered, tracing every familiar feature: the pink hair catching the sunlight, the laugh that rang like a melody, the wide, innocent eyes. it was all so achingly familiar, yet so far removed from him. and the way yuuji looked at the boy, the ease in their interactions, the warmth of their bond—he has everything, sukuna thought bitterly.

and yet, somewhere deep down, a selfish part of him wished it was his. his throat tightened, the unspoken words clawing at him. he didn’t know what to say, didn’t even know why he had stopped here, why he hadn’t turned away the moment he saw you. but instead, he let out a breath, low and shaky, before speaking.

“how are you?” his voice was softer than he intended, a hesitant tremor running through the words. you stiffened, your fingers clenching tighter on your lap. for a moment, you didn’t respond, the silence stretching unbearably between you.

sukuna’s jaw tightened, his gaze dropping to the ground. you’re fucking lame, he cursed himself, the words echoing in his mind. of all the things he could have said, this was what came out? after everything he had done, after all the time that had passed, the best he could manage was a shallow pleasantry?

he felt your exhale, slow and measured, before you finally answered, your voice quiet but steady.

“i’m fine.”

the words were simple, but the weight behind them was heavy. they carried years of hurt, of healing, of learning to exist without him. you didn’t look at him as you spoke, your gaze fixed firmly on the boy in the distance, on the life you had built without him.

sukuna felt your words pierce him like a blade, deep and cruel. fine. just fine. nothing more, nothing less. after everything, after all the destruction, all the chaos he had unleashed upon you—this was all you could say. ‘fine.’ it was a slap to his face, a reminder of everything he had lost, and the bitter weight of it suffocated him.

his throat tightened. he didn’t know what he had expected from you, what he had hoped to hear after all this time, but ‘fine’—that word felt like a finality, an impenetrable wall of cold distance. the silence that followed stretched between you, suffocating and heavy. his gaze flickered to you, lingering on your face, yet seeing you as if for the first time. the years had marked you, yes, but the angles of your face, the way your eyes held a spark of something that was undeniably you—everything about you felt the same, and yet it was so utterly alien to him. his fingers clenched at his side, the muscles taut with the desire to reach out, to touch, to trace the lines of your face as he had done before. but he could not. there was too much hurt between you, too many wounds that he had carved deep into your soul.

the silence became unbearable. sukuna was a man of words—of sharpness, of mockery, of heated arguments. but here, beside you on this park bench, he was mute. there were no biting remarks, no cruel barbs. just an oppressive quiet, a world of things unsaid.

his gaze drifted to the child, laughing in the distance, as yuuji chased him with exaggerated panic. a part of sukuna's chest tightened painfully, and his words came out fractured, thinner than he had meant them to be, choked by something he couldn’t hide.

“kid, huh?” he said, the words thick with a bitterness that didn’t come from the sarcasm he had intended. “and yuuji’s?” they were meant to cut, to wound. but they fell flat, weak, crushed by the vulnerability he had tried so hard to bury. his voice cracked under the weight of something he couldn’t name, a storm of emotions tangled within him.

you turned to him, lips parting as if to respond, but the moment was stolen by the sound of small, hurried footsteps. your son came stumbling toward you, his legs unsteady with joy. his laughter, pure and untainted, filled the air, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop. his eyes, shining with uncontainable happiness, locked onto you, and he collided with your legs, wrapping his tiny arms around you in a clumsy hug.

you chuckled softly, steadying him with gentle hands, your voice a whisper of tenderness as you murmured, “careful there.”

he grinned up at you, his little face lighting up with something he had to tell you. but then his gaze shifted, and he looked at sukuna, studying him with an intensity that seemed too thoughtful for someone so young. the child’s eyes widened. he blinked, his brows furrowing in a silent question. and then, for the briefest of moments, his gaze met sukuna’s—eyes of crimson red.

the same red that stared back at sukuna in the mirror every morning, that had stained his soul, that marked him in ways he could never escape. the breath left his lungs in a harsh, silent gasp. his body froze, a shiver running through him. it wasn’t possible. it couldn’t be. but there it was, undeniable and raw.

the boy blinked, confused, still staring at sukuna, but before he could speak, yuuji was there, scooping him up effortlessly, lifting him onto his back. “gotcha, kiddo,” yuuji said, his grin wide as he carried the child away toward the playground, the laughter spilling from the boy in a carefree squeal.

but sukuna remained frozen, his eyes wide in disbelief, his chest tight with something he couldn’t identify—something heavy, something ancient, something that churned and shifted deep within him.

you didn’t meet his gaze. your eyes remained trained on the ground, as though avoiding his stare could keep the truth from surfacing. “those eyes…” sukuna murmured, his voice barely a whisper, the words trembling as they left his lips. “those eyes are…” his breath caught, his chest tightening further as the truth settled around him like a cold fog.

he knew those eyes. he would know them anywhere. they were his.

your voice broke through the thick silence, soft yet heavy with the weight of what you were about to say. “i found out i was pregnant a month after… that day.” the words hung in the air between you like a thread ready to snap. you finally looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time since he had appeared in the park. the wind carried the faint scent of sakura, making your hair sway gently. strands danced across your face, brushing your cheeks, which had turned a delicate pink from the cool breeze. your eyes met his, unflinching yet filled with a raw vulnerability that made his chest ache.

sukuna froze, his crimson gaze locked onto yours. he couldn’t look away, even if he wanted to. this moment, this version of you—standing against the backdrop of falling petals, the soft pink tint to your skin, the weight of years etched into your expression—it was something he would never forget.

he had always been good at reading people, at seeing through their masks, but with you, it was different. even now, as you stood before him, there were layers he couldn’t unravel, emotions he couldn’t pin down. all he knew was the sudden tightness in his chest, the guilt clawing its way up his throat, and the realization that no matter how much time had passed, you still held a piece of him that he couldn’t reclaim.

“and you didn’t tell me,” he said finally, his voice quieter than he intended. there was no malice, no sharp edge—just a quiet bewilderment, a pain he didn’t know how to mask. your gaze didn’t waver, but your lips pressed into a thin line as if holding back a flood of words. “what would it have changed?” you asked, the question soft yet pointed. “you told me to leave. to be gone. i just… listened.”

those words hit him harder than any curse ever had. he wanted to argue, to demand why you hadn’t fought back, but deep down, he knew. he had made you feel like you had no choice. he had driven you away, and now, years later, he was standing in front of you, realizing the depth of the consequences he hadn’t dared to imagine.

his gaze flickered to the playground, where your son—his son—was laughing with yuuji. sukuna’s hands clenched at his sides as he turned back to you, searching for the right words and finding none.

“he’s mine, isn’t he?” he asked, though the answer was already written all over the boy’s face. you nodded, the smallest of movements, but it was enough to shatter the fragile barrier he had been holding up. “why didn’t you—” he stopped himself, exhaling sharply. “why didn’t you tell me back then?”

“because you didn’t want me,” you said simply, your voice steady though your eyes glistened. “and if you didn’t want me, why would you want him?” the wind carried your words away, but they left a hollow ache in sukuna’s chest.

sukuna’s heart pounded against his ribs, the sound deafening in the silence that followed. how could he explain what was going on in his head, when he wasn’t even sure himself? all he knew was that finding out he was a father, suddenly, out of nowhere, was throwing his whole world off-kilter, turning his reality on its head. and the fact that you hadn’t told him, kept his own flesh and blood away from him—it was infuriating and yet, in a twisted way, made sense.

sukuna was silent, the park suddenly feeling too crowded, too noisy, yet incredibly empty all at once. his heart pounded in his chest like a drum, each beat a reminder of how much time he had lost, how much he had missed. he swallowed, the lump in his throat thicker than he had anticipated. he had been ready for a lot of reactions from you—anger, perhaps even indifference. but seeing you so calm, so unbothered, stung more than he ever thought it would.

sukuna’s eyes never left yours, studying your face, the small tics and twitches that spoke volumes. but behind the veneer of calm, there was something different—an undercurrent he couldn’t quite place. he could feel it, sense it in the air between you, in the tension that had settled in your shoulders.

“all those years,” he began, his voice a low rumble. “i had a son, and i never knew.” his eyes flicked back to the playground, where yuuji was now pushing the boy on a swing. the kid was laughing again, his little legs kicking up dust with each push forward.

sukuna watched him for a moment, taking in every detail. his hair, the same shade as his own. his eyes, those wide, innocent crimson pools that mirrored his own. the sound of his laughter, a sound he’d never heard before but recognized as his all the same. you smiled softly, your gaze drifting to your son as he soared higher on the swing, his laughter cutting through the hum of the park like music. for a moment, your expression softened in a way that made sukuna’s chest ache, a bittersweet mix of warmth and loss. when your eyes returned to him, they held no resentment, no anger—only a calm acceptance that he wasn’t sure he deserved.

“he’ll be four this december,” you said quietly, the corners of your lips lifting just slightly. “yuuji and i are planning a party for him. something simple, with his friends from kindergarten.”

your voice was steady, each word so matter-of-fact that it twisted like a knife in his gut. sukuna studied your face, searching for something—anything—that hinted at lingering bitterness or regret. but there was nothing. you looked… content. beautiful in a way that felt distant, like a piece of art behind glass.

his eyes flicked back to the playground. the boy—his son—was shouting something to yuuji, his tiny hands gripping the swing’s chains as he kicked his legs. the sight made sukuna’s throat tighten. he had missed so much. “kindergarten,” he murmured, almost to himself, the word foreign on his tongue. “he’s already in kindergarten.”

you nodded, your hands folding neatly in your lap. “he loves it there. he’s made so many friends. and the teachers… they always tell me how bright he is, how full of life.” sukuna could only watch, listening to your words as you spoke about your son. a part of him was proud—proud that his son inherited his own intelligence, his own vitality. but most of him was just lost, drowning in a sea of emotions he couldn’t fully comprehend.

he had missed all of it. the first words, the first steps, the first laugh—all because he had been so stupid, so blind to what was right in front of him. his hands clenching into fists. he didn’t want to hear about how the kid was thriving in kindergarten. how he had friends. how he was happy without him.

yet he could hear the pride in your voice, the undeniable love and adoration you had for your son. it was clear in the way your eyes sparkled when you spoke of him, the protective, motherly instinct that emanated from you like a force field. it was so foreign, yet undeniably human. “he never... asked about his father?” he asked, the question slipping out before he could stop himself.

you shook your head, your expression calm, yet tinged with a bittersweet sadness that sukuna couldn’t quite place. “no,” you said softly, your eyes drifting back to the playground where your son was now tumbling in the grass with laughter, yuuji playfully chasing after him. “he’s never asked. maybe it’s because he sees how much he and yuuji look alike… the hair, the face. he doesn’t question it.”

your voice was steady, but there was an undertone that lingered, a quiet weight beneath your words. sukuna stared at you, his crimson eyes narrowing as his mind reeled. of course, the kid wouldn’t question it—not when yuuji was always there, stepping in, filling the void sukuna hadn’t even realized he had left behind.

his hands twitched at his sides, his jaw tightening. “so that’s it?” he asked, his voice low, almost a growl. “he just assumes yuuji is his father?”

you looked back at him then, your gaze unwavering. “he doesn’t assume anything, sukuna. he’s just a kid. he doesn’t need the weight of complicated answers right now.”

the words hit harder than he expected, the implication slicing through him. you were protecting him—shielding him from the chaos sukuna’s presence could bring. and deep down, he couldn’t blame you.

but it still burned.

sukuna swallowed, the lump in his throat feeling like sandpaper. the fact that his own son didn't even know who he was, the fact that yuuji was taking over the role he should have had… all of it stung like a thousand knives.

he didn’t know what to say. didn’t know how to process the emotions swirling inside him. he could feel a storm brewing within, but for once, he didn't want to unleash it. not on you, not in the middle of the park where his son—his son—was playing gleefully.

sukuna’s jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as he watched his son’s joyful antics. the kid was climbing on a jungle gym now, his small hands grasping the metal bars with determination. yuuji stood below, ready to catch him if he fell, a small smile on his face.

the sight should have been endearing—the carefree boy playing with his surrogate father. but all sukuna felt was a bitter mixture of anger, regret, and envy. he should be the one standing there, spotting his son, ready to catch him if he fell.

sukuna’s fists clenched at his sides, the desire to march over and rip yuuji away from his child overpowering. but he held himself back, a bitter taste in his mouth. that wasn't his place, not anymore. he had made sure of that. instead, he turned to you, his eyes locking with yours. “how can you just sit there?” he spat, his voice low and laced with anger. “how can you let yuuji play father to my own son?”

you held his gaze, unruffled by the sharpness in his words, your expression calm yet firm. you had always known how to stand your ground with sukuna, how to weather the storm of his anger without losing yourself. “and what would be the point?” you replied steadily, your voice soft yet unyielding. “to stir up confusion? to fill his head with questions he’s too young to understand? he’s happy, sukuna. he’s safe. isn’t that what matters most?”

your words were deliberate, cutting through his anger with a quiet precision. sukuna’s jaw tightened, his crimson eyes flickering with a mix of emotions—rage, guilt, and something far more vulnerable. “he’s my son,” he bit out, his voice low, almost trembling. “he should know who i am.”

“and he will,” you answered, your tone unwavering. “when the time is right. when he’s old enough to understand what it means. i’m not keeping him from you, sukuna. i’m protecting him—from the pain, the confusion, the chaos. i’m protecting him the way a parent should.”

your words hung in the air, heavy with meaning, and sukuna found himself at a loss for a reply. he wanted to argue, to fight back, but deep down, he knew you were right. it didn’t make the bitterness in his chest any easier to swallow, but it made him pause, his anger faltering.

you glanced back at the playground, your gaze softening as you watched your son laugh, his small body swinging from the jungle gym with unrestrained joy. “he’s all that matters now,” you added quietly, more to yourself than to him. “and i won’t let anything—or anyone—take that away from him.”

sukuna remained silent, the weight of your words settling over him like a heavy blanket. for the first time, he truly saw the depth of your love for your son, the lengths you would go to keep him safe. and it left him reeling, his emotions a tangled mess he couldn’t begin to unravel.

sukuna swallowed, the lump in his throat feeling like a stone. all the anger, the rage that had been brewing inside of him—it all evaporated in an instant, replaced by a bitter sense of realization.

you were right. as much as he hated to admit it, your words were true. you weren’t keeping his son from him. you were protecting him, shielding him from the chaos that sukuna’s presence could bring. the kid was happy, thriving, blissfully unaware of thecomplicated web of emotions surrounding his existence.

he gazed at you, truly seeing you for the first time in years, and in that moment, he recognized something in you he had never expected to find: the quiet strength in your eyes, the resolute determination etched into the curve of your shoulders. you had changed, morphed into something he couldn’t fully comprehend. you were no longer just the person he once knew—you were a mother now, shaped by a fierce love that had carved new paths in your soul. there was a wildness in you now, a power, a willingness to move mountains to protect the child you had brought into this world. and in some dark, twisted corner of his being, it made him love you more than he ever had before.

“i…” he began, the words choking in his throat, as if the very sound of them was foreign to him. he faltered, unsure, because nothing he could say could ever match the storm inside of him, the chaos that had long since swallowed him whole. he had no words for the depth of the feelings that tore at him, no way to untangle the mess of love, regret, and longing that knotted in his chest.

you offered him a smile, and for an instant, it was the same smile he had once known, so long ago—genuine, warm, and familiar. it was like the briefest glimpse of light breaking through the oppressive clouds that had settled over both of you, soft and fleeting, yet undeniable.

“i’m sorry,” you spoke, your voice unexpectedly tender, carrying a weight that caught him off guard. “for the things i said that day. wishing you everything in life but never being satisfied—it was cruel. it’s the worst thing i could ever wish on anyone. i wouldn’t want anyone to curse me like that, so i shouldn’t have done it to you.”

your gaze held his then, steady and unwavering, but gone was the venom and resentment that had once filled it. now, there was only warmth, a soft tenderness he had long forgotten. “i just… i just want you to have the life you deserve,” you added, your voice unwavering, as if the words were not born of this moment, but of something far deeper, something more enduring.

he opened his mouth, the words dancing on the tip of his tongue, but they faltered, suffocated by a weight he couldn’t name. for once, sukuna—the man who had always prided himself on his sharp tongue, his biting words—was rendered speechless.

before he could collect himself, you rose, brushing the coat from your shoulders as you called for yuuji. he turned at the sound of your voice, his eyes catching yours, and with a silent understanding, he scooped up your son and began walking toward you.

your son’s delighted giggles filled the air, his tiny arms wrapped around yuuji’s neck in pure joy. when they reached you, you glanced back at sukuna for the briefest of moments, your eyes meeting his. but there was no anger, no regret. only something unspoken, something that neither of you could articulate.

the image of you, with yuuji and the child in tow—so perfectly entwined, so whole—was a blade lodged deep in sukuna’s chest. he wanted to rise, to speak, to confront the weight of this impossible truth, but his body remained frozen, bound by the gravity of what had not been said.

you did not look back. without a word, you turned away, your son’s laughter echoing through the cold, empty air as yuuji carried him toward the car. sukuna could only watch, his gaze locked on the fading figures, as you disappeared down the path. and in that moment, he was utterly alone, left to drown in the silence he had created, swallowed whole by the dimming light of the day.

sukuna remained frozen, his crimson eyes fixed on the space where you had just stood, the weight of the silence settling over him like a crushing blanket. the world seemed to shrink around him, the laughter of the child, the warmth of the moment fading into a hollow echo that only deepened the emptiness inside him. the weight of his own solitude was unbearable, a crushing, gnawing feeling that clung to his bones and choked the very air from his lungs.

it was a solitude he had always known, yet never truly felt—until now. it was as if the universe had conspired to bring him to this very moment, to this precipice, and now that he stood at the edge, he realized how terribly alone he truly was.

his heart, which he had long since buried beneath layers of indifference, thudded painfully in his chest, each beat like a slow, agonizing reminder of his own failures, his own incomprehensible loneliness. he had spent years in a fortress of his own making, convinced that he could bear the isolation, that he could find solace in his own darkness. but now, as the light of your departure seemed to wash over him, he realized how false that belief had been.

it was as though the very ground beneath him had crumbled, leaving him suspended in a void that threatened to consume him. the void was cold, oppressive, and suffocating. he opened his mouth to speak, to call out, to demand something, anything—but no words came. they were swallowed by the silence, absorbed into the air that was thick with the weight of what had been lost.

he wanted to scream, to tear at the sky, to shatter the world around him until there was nothing left but the raw, bleeding truth of his own desolation. but he remained still, paralyzed by the overwhelming realization of how utterly empty his life had become without you.

the laughter of the child, now distant, reverberated in his ears like the sound of mocking, bitter fate. how had it come to this? how had he, who had once held so much power, so much control, been reduced to this broken thing, left behind in the fading light of a world that no longer included him?

his chest tightened with a suffocating ache, his hands curling into fists, nails digging into his palms, as though the pain might anchor him to something, anything, other than the suffocating void that stretched before him. yet, nothing could fill the emptiness, nothing could undo the damage he had done to himself, to you, to everything he had ever touched.

he had been a fool. a fool to believe that time would erase the wounds, that power would shield him from the consequences of his own choices. but now, with nothing left but the hollow echo of his own regret, he understood—the price had been far higher than he could ever have imagined.

and as you disappeared from his sight, so did the last vestiges of hope, the last thread that had held him to any semblance of meaning. he was alone. utterly alone. and the weight of that truth felt like an insurmountable mountain pressing down on his chest, each breath a labor, each moment a torment.

the same toji who still has your contact saved under 'mama' with a heart he refuses to delete even after the papers got signed. the same toji who answers your calls at 3 a.m. when megumi has the flu, who shows up with bags full of groceries and your favorite flowers with a cup of your go-to drink from the cafe you love when you text him “we’re out of milk” like it’s nothing.

yeah. that toji.

you thumb through your contacts, heart doing a stupid little skip when his name pops up—big dumb photo of him shirtless holding megumi as a baby, smirking at the camera with that look that makes you melt every time. he knows exactly what he does to you even back then.

you hit call before you chicken out.

megumi hits record on his phone.

it rings twice.

“hey mama,” his voice rolls through the speaker, low and raspy from sleep, that rough edge that always scrapes down your spine in the best way.

you hear sheets rustling, like he just rolled over in bed. “it’s been a while. everything good?”

your mouth goes dry. megumi’s eyes go wide like he didn’t expect his dad to pick up. yuji slaps a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing.

you clear your throat. “mhm, just calling to say goodnight.”

silence for a beat, then that deep, sleepy laugh that makes your thighs clench on instinct. “oh really? just goodnight?”

“yep,” you say, popping the word like gum, “is that a problem?”

“nah, baby. just curious is all. it’s the middle of the night, i know you’re not hitting my line for a bedtime story.” you hear the grin in his voice, the way he drags out the pet name like he tastes it again after years. “missed hearing from you.”

yuji fake gags and megumi elbows him, trying to keep the angle right.

you decide to fuck with him. “um, well…i just got my feelings, you know? wanted to call you.”

the line goes quiet again, then his voice drops softer, all gravely and worried. “yeah? talk to me, baby. what’s going on?”

that’s when megumi makes the loudest retching noise known to man, “i’m gonna vomit,” and bolts, yuji cackling behind him as they both sprint down the hall. the phone shakes from your laugh, megumi yelling “turn it off, itadori!” before his door slams.

toji laughs too, low and warm. “our kid set you up, huh?”

“you have no idea,” you say, flopping back against the couch cushions, legs stretching out. “they wanted to film me calling someone to say goodnight. some dumb tik-tok trend. i dunno...but of course, i thought of calling my dear ex-husband.” you say teasingly.

“ex-husband,” he repeats, tasting the word like it’s sour. “still hate that shit.”

you bite your lip, voice a little sad. “yeah, well, the papers say what they say.”

“well, the papers don’t say that i stopped wanting you,” he retorts, voice rougher now like he hadn’t meant to let that slip.

your heart does something embarrassing. you hear him shift again, mattress creaking. you gulp down any emotions creeping up as you change the subject. “you answer the phone fast for somebody who was asleep.”

“ringer’s always on for you. you know that.” he yawns, big and lazy, the kind that ends in a growl.

you smile at that, always appreciating the fact that no matter what happened between you two, he’s always there for you and megumi. just a call away.

then he speaks again, you can hear his shit-eating grin through the phone. “what’re you wearing right now, baby? somethin' real pretty, i bet.”

you roll your eyes, of course he'd ask something like that. you chuckle a bit as you glance down at yourself. hoodie sleeves pushed to your elbows, the hem riding up your thighs.

“your hoodie.”

“mmm…i thought so. that’s cute. real cute.” you hear the soft smile in his voice. the one he always gives you. he pauses, you hear him gulp a little like he's at war with his own thoughts.

“well…alright, baby. goodnight then, yeah?”

“wait—” you blurt before you stop yourself. “don’t hang up yet.”

he goes quiet just long enough for you to panic, then he says, “alright. don’t worry, i’m here. not going anywhere.”

you let out a little sigh of relief and he hears it, his heart doing flips and tricks, what a traitorous thing.

he shifts a little in bed, putting his phone on speaker, resting it on his chest almost as if it’s you laying your head down on him like you once did. he surprises you a bit, breaking the silence.

“so…what’s the real reason you called, hm? ‘cause i know you didn’t wake me up at—” a pause, checking the time, “eleven-thirty just to say goodnight. surely you could’ve called someone else.”

you drag a hand through your hair, heart thudding stupid loud. “honestly? i don’t know…it’s been a minute since we talked just us. it’s nice hearing you.”

he exhales slow, like he’s been holding his breath for years. “come over tomorrow.”

you blink. “what?”

“you heard me. megumi’s got that baseball thing, right? drop him off at yuji’s after, then come here. i’ll cook for us. like old times. dinner and a movie. whatever. just—come over. it’s been too fucking long.”

your thighs press together under the blanket, imagining yourself curled up at his side, his big arms wrapped around you, making you feel so safe. “toji—”

“i still think about you.” he blurts out. “i keep our pictures around at my place. shit, i still wear my wedding band, you know that? god, baby. i’m so in love with you, i never stopped. it’s fucking pathetic, i know—”

you laugh, wet and surprised. “you’re insane, toji.”

“yeah. for you? always was.” he pauses. “come on. say yes, mama.”

you swallow hard, pulse in your throat. “okay, tomorrow. after i drop the gremlin off.”

“good,” he breathes, sounding way too satisfied. and of course, being the nasty dog he always is, wanting to tease you a little, “and wear that lingerie set i like. i know you still got it.”

you shake your head with a smile and roll your eyes even though he can’t see it. “i’ll think about it.”

he laughs. “you do that. night, gorgeous.”

you hang up before you say something stupid like 'i never stopped loving you too' and toss the phone on the couch, screaming into a throw pillow like a goddamn teenager who just got asked out to the junior prom.

meanwhile megumi yells from his room, “you’re both disgusting! i’m moving out!”

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eli's notes: saw a cute video of this trend on tiktok and it was giving toji for sure, so i had to write it!