resident weirdo

You hate fighting with mean bf sukuna. You can never win, mainly because he can rarely resist the urge to rile you up even further. Unfortunately, he thinks you're even hotter when you're angry. And that's how your little spat over his habit of immediately dumping approximately a gallon of Franks's all over your homecooked meal ended with you camping out on the couch.

"Hope you forget to wash your gross hot sauce hands before you jerk off, asshole!" you'd shouted before slamming the door on his resulting laughter. He'd dragged you back to bed a couple of times without apology but eventually relented.

Now, you halfway wish that you had been the one to cave as you stare at the ceiling and shiver under your comforter. You cross your arms over your chest, determined to resist the temptation to slink back to bed and crawl in next to him.

You're attempting to bolster your resolve by picturing the way he would smirk and tease you when you hear the bedroom door creak open. You squeeze your eyes shut and feign sleep.

mean bf sukuna whispers your name, but you don't stir. Not even when he plants a soft kiss to your forehead and whispers, "sorry, I guess, brat." When you hear the shuffle of fabric as he settles onto the floor next to the couch, you can no longer resist and peer over the edge. It's your turn to smirk when you see the tattooed bulk of him wedged into the space between the couch and the coffee table.

So he's like: what?

And I'm like: can I come on you?

mean bf sukuna gets intense cute aggression when it comes to you. He doesn't know that it's actually a normal phenomenon, although it is most common among women. He doesn't realize that his brain is so overwhelmed by intense positive emotions when he sees you do something super cute, like tuck a lock of hair behind your ear or push your glasses up on your nose, that it actually short circuits, resulting in the breif but strong inclination to sink his teeth into your soft flesh. No, your mean bf sukuna presumes that the sudden urge to grab you up and squeeze you until your brains come out of your sweet little ears is simply a natural consequence of being the hypermasculine testosterone factory that he is.

"You okay?" You ask, noting the way he is nearly ripping the stuffing out of the couch cushions the way he's gripping them as he looks down at you nuzzling his chest.

"Yeah," he says through gritted teeth. What is he supposed to say? 'Yeah, I just love you so much I want to crush you half to death?'

Wanna join my murder cult? :)

〢 lost on you | yearner namami x oblivious reader

Pre-relationship texts in which you just don't get it.

"Oh, god," corrupt priest suguru geto whines. "Turn it off." The words are muffled as he buries his face into the pad of fat below your belly button.

You giggle at the image of him on the tv screen, his easy smile crinkling the corners of his eyes as he reminds his congregation - which, at times, seems to outnumber the city lights glittering outside the floor to ceiling windows of your penthouse - to tune in for his televised Sunday morning mass. "You look pretty, though," you murmur as you twirl a silky lock of his hair around your finger.

"Be quiet," he says, turning his cheek. His dark eyes seem to fixate on the rise and fall of your bare chest, but you know better. By the time the commercial ends, he's far away, retreated into the depths of his troubled mind, his mouth a thin line. You could ask, but it's easier to spider your fingers over his shoulder blade to tickle his neck. It is enough to bring a version of him back to you. He gives you a smile that, you suspect, is as much a costume as the robes folded neatly and over the back of a plush accent chair beside the bed.

He hums into your skin and kisses the soft flesh of your lower belly. "Su," you whine as you try to squirm away.

"What?" He murmurs. His fingers sink into the fat of your thighs, holding you in place as he drags his tongue across your hip bone.

"I can't," you protest despite the flutter he's causing between your legs. "I have a client in 30."

"You're not kicking me out," he says. His hair brushes against your skin as he leaves wet kisses along the inside of your thigh.

"I am," you say as you work against his hands to close your legs. "Like I said, I have a client."

"Cancel," he says, pushing up onto his palms to crawl on top of you. His tone is playful, but you recognize the brief flash of anger in his eyes. "I'll pay." He settles his hips between yours, already hard again and pressing urgently against your belly.

"Mm mm," you hum, shaking your head and resisting the powerful urge to arch into him.

"I'll pay double," he whispers into your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point.

"No, Suguru," you sigh, pressing your palms into the springy flesh of his pecs in a very half-hearted attempt to push him away. "I feel weird taking money from you."

He pulls away and regards you with lidded eyes. "You don't seem to feel 'weird' about me paying the lease on this place."

"Uhg, that's why I feel weird about it. You do enough."

"Is that the only reason?" He asks, that gaurded look creeping back into his eyes.

Truth be told, all the man would have to do is ask and you wouldn't take clients anymore, wouldn't fuck them, anyway. You would let him keep you in this castle in the sky. You would let him purchase you for himself. But, he won't ask. He'd rather you offer, you suppose. "That's the only reason," you answer.

"Fine," he says, pushing himself off of you.

"Wait," you say, dragging him back. "Okay, I'll cancel. Hand me my phone?"

He leaves a trail of gentle kisses over your ribs as you tap at the screen. "Thanks," he says. "I feel like I can be myself when I'm with you... "

It's a pretty sentiment, and one you would have eaten up when you first met him. Now, you're unsure if Suguru is truly genuine with anyone.

aka your big brother's friend sukuna is kinda funny looking.

part one | two | three | four | five ‹soon›

Your ringtone interrupts the thoughts you were just trying not to think about how it might be to fuck someone (something?) that your nervous system can't seem to distinguish from a charging grizzly.

"How the hell should I know, Toji?" You mumble into the phone wedged between cheek and shoulder as you tamp grounds for your espresso. Although you're annoyed that you're suddenly expected to answer for your big brother's friend sukuna when he fails to check in. "You want me to wake him up?" You scoff. "Not. Happening." The line goes silent as the espresso machine hums to life.

"Sooner I talk to him the sooner he's out." Toji says. Magic words.

Of course that freak would choose a room adjacent to yours to spend the night in. "Can't believe I'm doing this," you whisper into the phone as the door creaks obnoxiously on its hinges. That's fine, you'd like to be as far away from him as possible when he wakes up. "Hey!" You shout. As your eyes adjust to the dark you can make out the steady rise and fall of his massive chest. "Sukuna!" You shout. It is impossible to tell whether or not any of his eyes are open.

Against your better judgement, you step into the dark. "Hey, Toji needs to talk to you," you're saying, reaching out with trembling fingers to tap his shoulder. Before your fingertips make contact with his skin, the world spins and you find yourself crushed underneath the feverish weight of him.

The ease with which he pins you down, clamps a hand over your mouth, and holds the phone to his ear with hands to spare has you fuming and shouting muffled protests into his palm. He hardly seems to notice your struggling as he growls into the phone. When he flicks away an errant bead of water from his brow you notice that his skin and hair are damp. From the shower, judging by the smell of him. You realize he never was asleep, as your eyes trace the tattooed lines of his bare chest to land on the alarmingly small towel knotted around his waist.

The sudden realization that he's practically naked has your heart thundering in your ears loud enough to drown out any coherent thoughts. By the time you drag your eyes back to meet his, you find him looking at you like you're something to eat. Having finished what seemed to be a mostly one sided conversation, he releases your face and arms, but plants his hands on either side of you. "Couldn't stay away?" He says, leaning in. Your mouth opens, but no sound comes out.

Evidently, Sukuna interprets your speechlessness as an invitation and fastens his mouth to yours for the second time in less than twenty four hours. You find yourself thinking strange thoughts behind your closed eyes. Thoughts about how you're glad you brushed your teeth and how it's odd such a creature seems to enjoy kissing so much. Odd that he's so good at it, you're thinking as his tongue glides over yours.

You didn't mean to moan into his mouth, but it's beyond your control, really, when his teeth tug at your lip like that, when two of his massive hands grasp your waist, another tugs at your hair, and yet another wraps gently around your throat. When your hands trace the dips of his abdomen only to touch something warm and wet, you think, dazedly: oh, that's right, there's another tongue down there. Your thoughts only get stranger from there. Down there. Right where you are beginning to urgently need some part of him or another. You are rapidly becoming less picky.

There is so much to feel that your brain is incapable of sound judgement. You would never consciously choose this. That's what you tell yourself, after. After he peels away from you, laughing as you gasp at the loss of him. "Thought you didn't like me," he says, standing with his back to you, and drops that little towel before you truly have the chance to look away. At least his ass is... normal, you note.

"I don't," you spit back as you search for your discarded phone in his bedding. "Can't fucking stand you," you mutter, but he doesn't hear you. He is already dressed and gone, presumably to wherever Toji needed him to be. Maybe he won't come back, you think, even as you look around the spare room for evidence to the contrary and try to ignore the ache between your legs.

a/n: Thank you guys for showing an interest in this fic. Appreciate you all! It's super nice reading all your comments although I am not the best at responding lol. I will keep the taglist open for now, so some will be tagged in a separate post, just fyi. ♡

part one | two | three | four | five ‹soon›

Your husband Nanami surprises you when he comes home from work early. Normally, you've showered and fixed your hair, maybe put on a little makeup by the time he gets home. Today, how've, you'd only gotten as far as pulling on one of his old long sleeves after tossing your sweaty workout clothes into the hamper. Your hair is falling out of a messy bun as you knead dough for the bagels you've been craving. "Oh," you say, leaving a smudge of flour on your chest when your hand flies there in surprise.

Your husband Nanami is framed in the kitchen doorway, briefcase in hand. The way he stares at you has you feeling suddenly quite self-conscious.

"Wow," he says, still rooted to the spot.

"Oh, God. I'm a mess," you exclaim, looking down at yourself.

Your husband Nanami has closed the distance between you by the time you lift your eyes again. You gasp when he runs his hands down your sides, sliding them down the curve of your ass before lifting you up to straddle his narrow waist. You giggle as you press your thighs into his obliques to anchor yourself.

The spotlight is blinding. Thus, to Satoru Gojo, who is always haloed in the glow of it, you were invisible, once. Another face in a dark sea of people that swirl around or break against him like waves, all without ever truly touching him.

You wish you had stayed that way. Invisible. Instead, the slide of his diamond eyes from the top of your head to the tips of your toes makes you feel like you are underneath a microscope, even from across the room. It makes you nervous and uncomfortably warm.

"Leave her alone, Satoru!" Your sister whines as he plops down on the couch next to you, his lanky limbs encroaching on your personal space as he sinks into the cushions.

"Huh?" He mimes bewilderment as he pushes his glasses back to the bridge of his nose. "Oh." His eyes slide in your direction once again as you dig your heels into the cushion and press your little body into the corner of the couch as far away from him as you can get. "Didn't see you there," he says.

You don't believe it for a second, although you make a point not to look up from your phone as you mutter a tepid, "It's fine."

You are grateful that he is distracted by a group of chattering students that gathers around him almost immediately. The way his slender fingers keep inching toward the bare skin of your thigh has you praying for the timely arrival of your study partner. Come on, Suguru, you think to yourself as you check the read receipt on your last text for the hundredth time.

Satoru excuses himself, mumbling something about the restroom, shortly after he feels the weight of you leave the couch. The only reason he comes to your sisters stupid house parties is for the opportunity to get you alone. He is eager to unravel the mystery of how you, a lesser moon, had managed to pull him into your sad, little orbit.

The wind was already giving you enough trouble lighting your cigarette before Satoru's bright voice rings out from behind you. "Whatcha doing out here all by yourself?" He asks. And, before you even have the opportunity to find your stolen breath, he's closed the distance between you and snatched up your wrists in his hands. "You're shaking?" He hums as you drop your smoke. "What's the matter, hm?"

There isn't the faintest trace of true concern in his voice and his eyes glitter with amusement as he leans in even closer. "Shouldn't smoke, you know," he says, releasing a wrist in favor of grasping your chin and prodding at the shocked 'o' of your lips with his thumb. "Don't want these pretty lips to wrinkle."

You're still stuttering, "Er... I- huh- wha-" when he presses his lips to yours. He tastes sweet like whatever fruity drink he'd been nursing. And when did your lips part, for his tongue? You hadn't meant to tug at his bottom lip with your teeth like that, although, judging by the appreciative hum that bubbles out of his throat, he doesn't mind. Your hummingbird heart threatens to burst out of your own as you tear yourself away from him and sprint towards the safety of your room.

"Can't believe you're going for that guy," Suguru, who is already lying across your bed, says with his usual easy smile as you slam the door shut behind you.

"He went for me!" You exclaim, cheeks burning. "When did you get here? I was waiting for you!"

"So it's all my fault, huh?" He says, propping himself upon an elbow and closing the book in front of him.

Before you can answer, there is a knock at the door and Satoru muffled voice whining to be let in. You can only gape at your friend with a look of wide-eyed terror.

"Let him in," Suguru says, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. "I'll deal with him." You have little choice as the slender man is already shoving the door open and wedging himself inside.

Ryomen Sukuna looks down at you from beneath furrowed brows as you kiss the corner of his tummy mouth. Even those auxiliary lips are drawn tight in a scowl.

"You waste your kisses there? Of all the things you could do with your mouth, this is what you choose?"

"Does it not please you, my lord?" You ask, feining an innocence that does not quite match the mischievous gleam in your eyes.

He only huffs in response, watching with gaurded interest as you trace the seam of his second mouth with your tongue. The tip of the thick, pink muscle inside - which seems to have a mind of it's own, at times - protrudes, drawn out by your attentions.

"Enough," he growls when you latch onto it, hollowing your cheeks as you attempt to draw at least part of the oversized tongue between your lips. You laugh as he drags you up to face him.

 〢dissonance | sukuna x reader smau

You're new in town and Sukuna is everywhere you go, unfortunately. Enemies to lovers kinda thing.

one | two | three | four | five | six ‹soon›

a/n: I changed the colors to match my other sukuna posts bc I am anal and bored at work. I hope it's not super confusing. Also, I used an app instead of texting myself bc it's easier, and I'm lazy. That's why it looks different. Thanks for reading. Have fun.

part one | two | three | four | five ‹soon›

You are in the kitchen fussing over a curry when your big brother's friend sukuna returns the very next day. Alone. Toji had the decency to warn you, so when sukuna sneaks up behind you, you manage not to jump out of your skin. You do however, shoot a glare at him over your shoulder when he powers off your Bluetooth speaker and gives your ponytail a hard tug. "Hey brat," he says, sniffing over your shoulder. "Miss me?"

"Smells good," he says, when you don't dignify his question with a response.

"It's not for you," you huff.

"Not talking about that slop," he says, close enough that you feel his breath against your neck.

"Back off," you round on him, brandishing your curry-stained spoon.

"Scary," he says, before he leans in and licks the utensil with the broad flat of his tattooed tongue, much to your dismay and his subsequent amusement.

You groan as you turn away to rinse the spoon in the sink. Why Toji thought it would be a good idea for his overgrown lackey to stay here until his return, you just can't understand. Doesn't help that he refuses to explain it to you. "Just tell me if he leaves," he had rasped at you before abruptly hanging up. You question what gods you have angered to put you in this situation as you watch the suds circle the drain.

"Toji says you have to stay so-"

"I don't give a fuck what Toji says," he interjects.

"So you're leaving?" You ask hopefully as you dry your hands.

"No."

"Then we should set some ground rul-" you trail off as you turn to see him tugging his shirt off over his head with his lower pair of arms. His chest and abdomen are tattooed in a similar linear pattern as his jaw line, you notice. Bold black marks like nature might bestow on some highly poisonous insect as a warning. Fitting for him, then.

"You were saying?" He prompts with a smirk as you realize you are staring instead of speaking.

"Can't you do that somewhere else?" You snap, rapidly losing what little patience you had to begin with.

"Do what?" He asks, as if he doesn't know. He crosses both sets of his stupidly muscular arms over his stupidly muscular chest, making every striation and vein stand out. On purpose. He does it on purpose. Why does he have to look like that? It's so annoying. You hate him. Hate him.

To your horror, you feel heat creeping up your neck all the way to the tops of your ears. The flush must be visible, judging by the amused expression on his face, which makes you even angrier.

"I don't know," you begin, gesturing wildly at him, "Exist? Could you just go exist somewhere fucking else?" You realize distantly that you are shouting. He is smiling and inching closer. "And if that's too much trouble, maybe you could - I don't know - do the world a favor and fucking kill yourself, huh? How about that?"

You continue on screaming at him, expelling at top volume and long last, your extensive list of grievances. You don't even realize that you have been backing away from him until your ass connects with the counter. By then, it is too late because his upper hands are cupping your chin, squishing your cheeks so that your words come out slurred just before he silences you completely with his mouth. You can taste the curry as your lips part for his tongue, out of pure shock, of course.

Your lips remain parted even after he breaks the kiss, panting as he grins at you. Before you can collect your scattered thoughts, movement drags your eyes down his abdomen, which, to your horror, splits open just below his navel. At first, you think he's injured, but when a large, wet tongue lolls out of the opening, you realize that it is just another anatomical anomaly. Stomach mouth. Why not? You scream all the way to your bedroom. His laughter echoes after you even after you've slammed the door shut.

A vague desire to not burn your brother's house down - at least not with yourself still in it - finally pulls you from your hiding place. The monster is nowhere in sight and, it would seem, he turned off the stovetop for you. The curry is salvageable, although a bit of the sauce is burned to the bottom of the pan. Your pride, on the other hand, well, that remains to be seen.

part one | two | three | four | five ‹soon›

taglist ‹ age in your bio to be added ›