🐞⭑

Next weekend, it’ll be the robot he’s spent months building that’ll be fighting in the ring, and it’ll most likely win because he’s just as smart as he is handsome. 

A genius, even.

You guess he’s just one of those people who really grew into themselves after leaving their hometowns. Flourish, even. He joined clubs, made friends, even dated a couple of girls. 

As much as you loved watching him come out of his shell and become someone who smiled a little more and hated people a little less, a part of you wishes you never gone to the same university together. The admiration you’ve had for him since you were kids has only grown. Some nights it’s so unbearable that you lie awake trying and failing to control that ache you get in your chest from knowing you would always just be a friend to him. 

He’d never even consider you when thinking about what kind of girl he’d want to be with. 

Meanwhile, you’re finding it harder and harder to control your heart rate whenever you really look at him, realizing just how much of a man he’s become within these last couple of years. The braces are gone, his eyes have gotten sharper, his jawline’s stronger, and is now surprisingly covered in tattoos. He even started working out in his freshman year, and after studying the science of bodybuilding and proper nutrition, half the gym started wondering if he had started taking steroids. The other half wondered if they’d be able to fuck him. 

You understand them. He’s huge. Tearing your eyes off of him is hard.

The glasses definitely make him more approachable, but if there’s one thing about him that’s stayed consistent over the years, it’s that smart ass mouth of his. 

He fucking hated the attention he started receiving after getting hotter, and it comes out when he has to tell someone to fuck off so he can finish his damn workout. He doesn’t go there to fuck around and socialize with a bunch of idiots that don’t know how to isolate their own muscle groups. He just goes to get his reps out of the way so he can go back home and continue studying.

The whole time, he’s completely oblivious to the fact that you’ve grown to like it when he’s not home— that you’ve started to prefer his absence. 

Yes, you two share an apartment together. Roommates. It’s fucking torture— watching him take naps on the couch, the small glimpses of him half naked as he walks out of the bathroom after a shower, late nights spent studying together at the dining room table. 

Even now, as you stand in a loud, crowded warehouse with him, it’s torture. All you want to do is look at him, watch all the faces he makes, and the way his muscles flex as he pumps his fist in the air. But no– you had to force yourself to look forward, watching two mid-sized robots pummel each other to death. 

You feel bad for whoever's going to lose, all that time they spent on building the damn thing wasted in just one night.

Sukuna doesn’t take forever to leave once the fight’s done— he’s more of the Irish goodbye type. Had it been the opposite, you would’ve stood around awkwardly, waiting for him since he was the only one you knew here. You’d like to think you wouldn’t have come at all, but he would’ve found a way to drag you here. 

You two practically did everything together— it’s always been like this. 

The ride home is quiet. It’s one of those nights where neither of you remembers to connect your phones to the speakers and play music, all that can be heard is the low thrum of the car's engine and drops of water tapping against the metal. He notices you looking out the window, watching the raindrops fall as you absentmindedly bite on your nails. You never bite on them unless there’s something wrong. 

“You alright?”

“Hm?” The question snaps you out of it, but still, you lie. “Yeah, I’m fine.” 

He tries to keep his eyes on the road, but looks back at you a couple of times. That's a bullshit answer. He can read you better than anyone else can.

“You sure? You’re lookin’ a little…” There’s a pause as he does some weird hand gesture toward you. “Off.” 

“Off?” you let out a small laugh, looking at the phone to check the time. “I’m just tired, that’s all. It’s already one in the morning.” 

He all but hums in response as he drops the subject, feeling tired himself and growing impatient at the thought of getting into his bed to sleep. He’d probably be speeding home right now if you weren’t in the car with him. 

The lack of response doesn’t translate well, furthering the belief that he just doesn’t care that much. 

You weren’t fine. Truth be told, you haven’t been fine for a while now. It happened slowly, until one day over the summer, you looked at him and a realization crashed over you, and quite frankly, scared the shit out of you. It wasn’t just admiration or an innocent crush. 

You love him. 

And there was nothing you could do about it. 

—

The longer you go without talking to anyone about your pathetic, unrequited feelings, the more your frustration grows. At times like this, it’d be nice to have a therapist, get down to the bottom of what attracts you to your best friend in the first place, and snip it right at the stem. 

Maybe even douse it with weed killer. 

In a way, you kind of are. The weed killer part, that is, not finding the root cause of what the hell is wrong with you. After much thought, you decided to start distancing yourself from him, and it started with sleeping in.

It seems small, but putting a stop to your morning routine with him seemed effective. No complaining about school and internships over coffee. No talking about your plans for the day, which usually lead to what time you’d be home and what you two were doing for dinner, since you often shared meals as well. 

For a couple of days, it worked. Sukuna chalked it up to you just being more tired than usual from school. While you two shared enough in common, you were nothing like him academically. 

The combination of a short attention span and lack of interest in most subjects always made school harder than it should have been for you. He used to tease you for being dumb, up until the 8th grade when shit got real and your school counselor told you that you’d have to repeat the year if you didn’t get your grades up. 

Sukuna was not going into high school without you, so the obvious solution to that was to do your homework himself. He didn’t have the patience to actually sit down and teach you. He still doesn’t, and still does your homework from time to time when he hears you sniffling over it in your room— yanking papers out of your hands, grumbling about how useless you are and how you need to grow the hell up, as if you were the one forcing him to do it. 

You have no idea how you even got accepted into the same university as him. Sukuna claims not to know either, despite already knowing you’ve always had more to offer than just stats. He’s sure they figured that too when looking through your application— the one you refused to let him help you with. 

He let you have your time to mope around, but it’s Friday, and so he lays three stern knocks on your door. 

You’re still trying to avoid him, so naturally, your heart drops to your fucking ass. 

It takes you a minute to gather yourself, only for your courage to fall short when you let out a measly, “yeah?” 

“Can I come in?” he murmurs, sounding inconvenienced by the fact that he had to ask in the first place. Usually, you just tell him to. 

There’s another pause as you try to think of an excuse as to why you haven’t spoken to him much this week. The excuse never comes to mind, though, as the annoyed sigh he let out cut off your train of thought. 

“…Yeah.” 

The doorknob twists before you even finish the word, and he walks through the door with a scowl on his face, eyes tracing over your body with judgment as you stay in bed under the sheets. 

“I was gonna go to the book fair later tonight if you wanted to go.”

“I think I’m gonna pass on that.” It pained you to say, you’ve actually been looking for it ever since you started seeing the flyers all around campus. “I kind of wanna stay in this weekend.” 

“Alright,” he scratches the back of his head, trying to accept that answer. 

He doesn’t. 

“Wanna watch a movie then?” he asks, pushing up his glasses. “There’s a couple of bags of popcorn left from last time.” 

“No, it’s fine.” Turning him down is a struggle on its own— his stubbornness doesn’t help one bit. “I don’t know, I uhm— I’ve been feeling kinda sick… my stomach’s been bugging me all day.” 

“Alright,” he shrugs, hand wrapping around the doorknob. “Hope you feel better then I guess.” 

The words don’t sound very sincere coming from him, but you’d take that over him continuing to prod. He’s annoyed, doesn’t even bother to look at you anymore as he walks out of your room, missing the half smile you gave. 

Don’t feel bad. 

It’s not like he’s putting himself out there by going alone tonight. Sukuna has to know at least a couple of people who’ll be there— he’d never go somewhere that made him feel uncomfortable. And even if he were to put himself out there, it wouldn’t be as hard as it would be for anyone else. Anxiety isn’t in his vocabulary— the last thing he’d ever care about is how people perceive him. 

Sukuna leaves an hour later. You hear his heavy footsteps walk down the narrow hallway until he’s out the door, and once again you remind yourself that there was nothing to feel bad about it. 

30 minutes later, you hear the front door open, hardly getting a chance to wonder why he’s back so soon, since he walks straight to your door and knocks. 

At least you think it’s him.

“…Kuna?” 

“Who the fuck else would it be, dumbass?” he asks rudely. 

The only reason his words don’t offend you is knowing that you, a young woman, can never be too safe in this day and age. You don’t respond to him with that though, he’ll probably say something even ruder. 

“Come in,” you murmur rather grudgingly.

The doorknob turns, followed by the light shake of a plastic bag as he just barely lifts it to show you. 

“What’s that?” 

“Soup,” he says, setting the bag down on your nightstand and opening it to reveal the said soup along with a bottle of tea. “You never eat when you’re sick— probably why your stomach hurts.” 

“Yes I do.” You pout as you sit up in bed, watching him open the lid and drop a spoon in the tub.

“Don’t argue with me right now,” he responds in a bored tone, handing the soup over. 

The guilt builds up once again after muttering a quick “thanks” to him, stirring the liquid for a moment before giving it a try. He doesn’t say much— just watches you with an expression that’s as unreadable as it always is. 

You try to fill the silence. “Why didn’t you end up going?” 

“I dunno,” he shrugs. “Didn’t feel like it anymore.” 

The truth was, it wouldn’t have been as fun without you. He also figured you’d be suffering in bed for the rest of the night, wondering why your stomach hurt so much, not realizing that half of it was just hunger, so he turned around and went straight to the restaurant you usually order takeout from. 

He keeps his eyes on you for a few more seconds, then exhales. “I’ll be in the living room if you need anything.”

“Okay,” you murmur back. “Thanks for the soup.” 

“Yeah,” he hums. “You better finish it.” 

Even through the discomfort you feel in your chest from lying, you manage to smile. “I know.”

You walk out to the living room once you’re done eating, holding the same plastic bag Sukuna had in hand a while ago. It’s filled with an empty take-out container and an empty bottle, along with a couple of other pieces of trash that were slowly cluttering the desk in your room. 

You catch sight of the back of his head, hair all messy from the beanie he put on when leaving in case it started to snow. He could’ve easily driven to campus or the restaurant, but he just doesn’t see the point— both were just a ten to fifteen minute walk away. Even on days when it’s extra cold, he’ll still walk, arguing that he’ll warm up anyway from the walk itself. Something about the human body being more than capable of adapting to extreme weather by doing shit like shivering to produce heat and what not. It was great to know, but you’d prefer not to shiver in the first place.

Sukuna turns his head around before you get the chance to greet him. He had a takeout container full of stir-fry in one hand and a pair of chopsticks in the other, taking his time to finish chewing his food before saying anything. “Feelin’ any better?”

“Mhm,” you nod, turning the corner into the kitchen to quickly drop the bag into the trash. “Thanks again. The soup was good.”

“Yeah,” Sukuna murmurs back— he’s never been the type to say ‘you’re welcome’ to others. He turns back around to focus on the tv screen, exhaling as he leans back further into the couch to get comfortable. 

“What’re you watching?” you ask. 

“Some crime documentary,” he says, clearly unimpressed by it. “Couldn’t find anything else to watch.” 

“Maybe I can find something,” you offer, walking around the couch to sit beside him. Well, not exactly. With all the space he takes up from his current man spread, you make a spot for yourself at the very end of the beat up, albeit comfy, sofa. 

He hands you the remote with zero protest, and you spend a good 10 minutes trying to find something to watch, only to forget about your task as you find yourself more focused on talking to the man. It starts with you making a comment about one of the movie's titles, then Sukuna responding with something it reminds him of, and eventually snowballs into talking about nothing in particular for the next two hours. 

Neither of you remembers falling asleep, but he finds himself waking up at first at around 1:00 am. There’s a message on the t.v screen asking if he’s still watching, and you’re leaning against him, snoring, cheek squished against his shoulder. 

He smiles a little— it’s nothing new to him. If anything, he’s surprised you didn’t get any drool on him. You did last time. 

And just like last time, he scoops you up into his arms and takes you back to your room. He tries to be gentle when he sets you down on your bed, just so you wouldn’t wake up and ask him what the hell he was doing, but you still stir the moment you’re out of his arms. 

“Kuna.”

Sukuna holds his breath for a moment, waiting for you to say something else. He quickly realizes you were just talking in your sleep, though, which brings him some relief. 

He’s always avoided getting too touchy after you two reached a certain age. Not because he didn’t want to touch you, but out of basic respect. He didn’t need you thinking he was trying to get something out of it. It’s awkward enough when people mistake you for a couple— he’d rather not add to that discomfort, which is why he got the fuck out of your room while he still had a chance. 

—

Sukuna met you when he transferred schools in the 4th grade. 

The teacher sat him right next to you. You two didn’t really talk at first. His first impression of you was that you were shy and spent half the day looking out the window. He didn’t get why you did it when the teacher was obviously peeved by it and constantly singled you out by asking you to repeat what she had just said. It went on throughout the year— after about a month, he found himself wishing you would just pay attention already. He hated feeling sorry for others. 

His second impression of you was that you weren’t as oblivious as he thought you were, and spoke up when you noticed a kid in another class trying to pick on him when they weren’t in the teacher's view. The bully didn’t listen to you, because why would he? He towered over the two of you. 

So he continued to bug Sukuna, who, believe it or not, was the shortest boy in your grade at the time. And for some reason, he took it. That is until the boy tried to yank his glasses off his face, which ended in Sukuna knocking his front tooth out, an action that could’ve gotten him expelled had you not stepped in and lied, claiming that he was chasing after Sukuna and slipped. Nobody else was there to see— there weren’t any cameras around that time. 

Just your words against the boys. 

It wasn’t until the following summer that you two had become friends. 

Sukuna remembers that day— 7:00 pm, the temperature was finally starting to drop. He had about one more hour before the sun went down, so he decided to make the most of what was left of the day by riding his bike around the neighborhood. 

He soon found out that you lived just one street away from him when he saw you sitting under a tree on your front lawn, sketching in a notebook. 

And of course, you didn’t fucking notice him, even as the brakes on his bike screeched when it came to a halt. 

“Hey.” 

He's always had a stern voice— you almost thought you did something wrong as you looked up to see who barked at you. 

“Hey,” you responded back, sounding slightly confused. 

His brows furrowed as he looked over your house. “You live here?”

“Yeah. Do you live nearby?” 

“Yeah.” He pointed right behind him. “On the next street over.” 

“That’s … cool.” You had no idea how to even respond to that. He was glaring at you, and you were so sure that he was just waiting to say something rude. 

He never did. 

“Do you have a bike?” he asked.

“Yeah.” 

“Wanna ride around together?” 

Looking back, he had no idea how he was able to be so straightforward with you. He was a loner through and through, it took a lot for him to even want to be friends with someone. It probably made him more comfortable knowing you were a decent enough person to stick up for him the way you did. 

Before you were able to say yes or no, you heard your mother calling from inside the house, letting you know dinner was ready. 

“Coming!” You got up, putting your notebook under your arm as you started to pick up your colored pencils. For a moment, he thought you forgot that he was there, but then you looked back up. “I’m not allowed to go outside anymore after dinner. Do you wanna ride bikes tomorrow?” 

“Yeah.” A bit of excitement threatened to peak through his voice. “What time?” 

“Uhhh… could you come at 5?” 

“Yeah.” He wasn’t actually sure if he could, but he was determined to make a friend and decided he’d make it happen. 

“Okay, cool!” You turned on your heel, waving at him as you started to walk back inside. “See you tomorrow!” 

After riding around the neighborhood for a couple of hours, he ended up eating dinner with your family that next night, after riding back home and asking his dad, of course. 

There was no separating you from each other after that. 

His favorite thing about you was that you were always open to learning about his interests, rather than shutting him down for not knowing or liking what he liked. He remembers coming over one day with a binder full of Pokémon cards and being able to show you each one despite you not knowing anything about Pokémon prior to that. 

That’s how your friendship went— you’d willingly follow him down whatever rabbit hole he was in, and he did the same for you. He’s aware of how close of a bond he has with you. You two can talk for hours, about anything and everything. You don’t run out of things to talk about, nor do you get tired. 

At least that’s what he thought.

There’s been a shift, and for the life of him, he cannot figure out what’s caused it. The last time you were this quiet was after you went through (another) failed talking stage, but that only lasted a week. It’s been 3 weeks of you turning down his invitations and giving him short answers, slowly retreating back into your bubble that apparently doesn’t have any room for him anymore.

But even then, it’s not something that starts to weigh heavily in his mind until today, when he saw you studying in the library alone. You always let him know whenever you were going there in case he wanted to come along, because that was another thing you two did together— study. From the library, to random coffee shops, to the dining room table where you two could easily stay up until 2:00 AM writing papers and rereading notes for the hundredth time. 

Sukuna would never outwardly admit it, but you were his entire life. He liked it that way.

He thought about going up to you, but decided against it. It was the first time he thought he’d be a bother and decided that he’d rather not feel like one with you— not ever.

Not to sound dramatic, but it was paralyzing in a way. Knowing he should probably give you some space and trying to do so, when literally half of his thoughts are about you. It could be something as simple as finding a new song that he liked, and he’d start to wonder if you’d like it too. So no, realizing that you’ve been distancing yourself from him doesn’t feel very good. 

And he hopes he never has to feel like this again. 

—

Between you and Sukuna, you were honestly more of a loner. While he’s made a handful of friends in the three years of being in college, you’ve only really made one, which was Yuki. Maybe two, if you count Shoko, but she’s always been so withdrawn from everything that you considered her more of an acquaintance.

But even then, Yuki had her own group of friends. You were okay with that and didn’t mind being the friend you catch up with once a month. 

Today is that once a month catch up. Instead of going out somewhere though, you both opted to just make dinner at her place. It gives a sense of coziness that’s needed when it snows for a week straight. 

You thought you could come here to relax, but you find yourself nearly choking on spaghetti when she asks what’s wrong with you and Sukuna. 

You try to act normal about it, but you weren’t fooling anyone, especially with your initial reaction. Stumbling over your words, eyes all wide as if you got caught with your hand in the cookie jar. 

“I mean, look at you,” Yuki starts to go in on you. “You haven’t mentioned his name once, and you look depressed as fuck.” 

You frown. “That doesn’t mean it’s because of him, though.”

“Then what is it?” she asks, twirling some spaghetti around with her fork. 

No answer. 

She sighs at how bad you are at trying to hide it. “C’mon, you can tell me. Who knows, I might even be able to give you some advice.” 

You doubt it, but you tell her anyway— about how you’ve been trying to avoid him, thinking about how the distance will make you get over something that was never even a was. 

At first, she laughs at how surprised you look when she says she already knew you were into him. To her, it was pretty obvious with the way you were around him. Granted, she’s only really seen it once, but seeing the way your eyes softened as you looked at him for a little longer than a friend would was all she needed to see.

Sukuna on the other hand? She had no idea. She’s had a couple of classes with him in the past, and he’s always been hard to read. 

Maybe? Is what she told you when you asked if she thought he liked you back, which may look a little harsh to some people, but you asked her for the truth, and the truth was he was hard to read.

“He clearly likes having you around, though, if he’s been able to live with you for almost 3 years with no complaints,” she adds. 

“Well, yeah… we’re friends, and that’s the problem. He’d never see me as more than that.”

“You don’t know that,” she scolds you for being so pessimistic. “Why don’t you just ask him?” 

You’d rather fucking die. “And then what? Make things awkward if he says no and ruin a 10-year friendship? At this point, I don’t even care if he feels the same or not, I just wanna get over it so I can go back to being normal with him.” 

A little self-sabotage-y, but fair enough, Yuki thinks. “Well… if getting over him is the goal here, why don’t you come to a party with me next Friday? I’m sure meeting new people will help out with that.”

“I dunno.” The mumbled words are followed by a sigh. “Parties aren’t really my thing, but I’ll think about it and let you know.”

They really weren’t. You didn’t mind going to the ones Sukuna took you to since everyone, for the most part, knew how to act right and didn’t drink that much, but a frat party? Just thinking about it gives you a headache. 

But who knows, maybe you needed to get knocked off your axis to forget about it. 

—

Sukuna took an astronomy class in his freshman year. He didn’t talk that much, but was still able to build a bond with his professor since he was one of the very few students who actually showed up during office hours. 

Which is why he came home today with not one, but two telescopes sticking out of his backpack. He couldn’t really afford one right now and figured it’d be worth a try asking if his former professor had any he could borrow. 

And since the professor was more than happy to lend him some, Sukuna figured he might as well grab a second one since you watched the last meteor shower with him and pouted whenever he took it back from you. 

The last few times he hoped you’d be home, you weren’t, so hearing some rummaging come from your room wiped away some of the doubt he felt during his walk back from campus. His heart may have even skipped a beat as he gently set his backpack down on the couch. It’s felt like forever since he actually got to sit down and talk to you. 

Yet the moment you opened your door after hearing a knock, something in his chest tightens. You’ve got a full face of make-up on, tits pushed up in the tightest top he’s ever seen you wear, paired with quite possibly the shortest skirt he’s ever seen, period.

“Hey.” You try to smile at him, but he still notices the flicker of guilt on your face as you try to pull your skirt down. “What’s up?” 

“Nothin’, I was just wondering if you were free tonight.” There’s a bit of disappointment in the small laugh he huffs out. “There’s gonna be a meteor shower later.” 

He doesn’t even know why he mentioned it when it’s already clear you’re going to be busy. 

“Fuck— I’m sorry.” You knew how much he liked going to that hill not too far from campus to watch them. “I already made plans with Yuki.”

“It’s alright. I asked at the last minute anyway.” He tries to act like he’s happy for you. “You two going to a party or something?”

“Yeah, some frat party,” you try to sound as uninterested as possible. He’s expressed his hatred for frat parties many times in the past. 

He thought you hated them too, but evidently not enough, given how you’re all dressed up to go to one. 

“Nice,” he responds a little too flatly, lips thinning into a fake smile as he nods and mentally checks out. “I’ll uh– let you go back to getting ready then, I guess.” 

“Yeah.”

You wanted to say more, but the words just got caught in your throat as you watched him turn away from you and walk to his room. 

He never came out in the last hour you were home. You considerate saying bye, but what was the point when you hadn’t said that in weeks? 

As you’re walking out the door, something from the corner of your eye catches your attention. His backpack. You had to do a double-take at first, but your eyes eventually landed on two telescopes, and the mere thought of hurting Sukuna tonight made the guilt you already felt spread through every inch of your body. 

. . .

Coming to the party with Yuki was a mistake. 

You hated crowds, especially the one here. Even with a couple of drinks in you, having to be around people plastered out of their minds annoyed you. Just drunk and sweaty and stumbling into everything. 

You found yourself having to step outside, and even though you didn’t get to escape people completely, at least you had some fresh air. You found a wall to lean against and checked your phone— no notifications. You shouldn’t have even expected to have any. Then you do something pretty annoying, go on instagram to see if Sukuna posted anything on his story. He doesn’t have that many people on there, but he’ll still post from time to time. You were hoping to see something, maybe something about the meteor shower.

Nope.

Fuck. What if he didn’t end up going? The thought makes you feel like the worst friend ever. You probably are the worst friend ever at this point. You practically ditched him to go to a frat party. 

Through the window, you see Yuki making out with some guy, and figure it's time to go since it’s with the one she was planning on spending the night with. You really aren’t in the mood to spark up a conversation with somebody else tonight, either. 

The Uber you called was already on its way when you went to say goodbye to Yuki, and got home 15 minutes later with your tail tucked in between your legs. You had no idea what you were going to say to him. You didn’t want him to think he was your backup plan either. 

The silence of the apartment and seeing one telescope left behind felt worse. 

—

Of course he went alone. 

Sure, he was admittedly bummed, maybe even a little irritated that you chose a fucking frat party, of all things, over him, but that didn’t stop him from getting out of the house for the night. He would’ve borrowed the telescopes for nothing if he stayed. 

He was alone, but the night was nice. Clear skies, thick blankets of snow silencing the air around him and muffling the hoots of an owl that was somewhere in the trees. If only there was a little more snow to shut that thing up, too— it was ruining everything for him. Just as he’s about to turn around and yell at it, in hopes that telling it to shut the fuck up himself might work, the sound gets clearer. 

It sounds like someone's calling his name, which spooks him a bit despite not believing in the paranormal. 

“Kuna?!” 

Oh, great. It was something worse than a ghost, you. 

And you forgot to bring your survival instincts, too. You have to walk through a sketchy path to reach the hill, and not only did you decide to go alone, but you are yelling his name, proving to anybody nearby that you are alone and most likely lost. 

He pinches his nosebridge and lets out a disappointed sigh before just barely yelling back. “I’m over here.”

He hears a rushed ‘okay’ right after and pictures you fast-walking through the snow. For some reason, he thought he’d see you in the same outfit he last saw you in and was glad to see you didn’t show up half naked. You’re wearing the same thing as him right now— boots, snow pants, goose down coat. 

You’re a little shy as you walk up and sit next to him. 

He’s not. “What happened to your little party?” 

“Didn’t like it,” you murmured. 

He laughs under his breath, having already known you wouldn’t. “Good thing you had a backup plan.” 

“You can’t be the backup plan if I never even knew there was going to be a meteor shower when I made plans,” you huff out. 

“Right,” he grumbles, noticing something protruding under your coat. He nods at it. “The hell are you hiding under there?”

“Oh.” You look down and reach under your coat to pull the object out. “The other telescope.” 

“Seriously? You couldn’t even stuff it in a backpack or something?” he complains, snatching it from you to take a look at it. “You could’ve dropped it and I would’ve been fucked.” 

“Good thing I didn’t,” you proudly say, and he rolls his eyes, handing it right back to you. 

But not before looking at you dead in the eye and saying, “Don’t break it,” in an authoritative tone that would've scared the living hell out of most people. 

You, on the other hand, are very used to his grumpy side at this point and don’t think much of it as you take it back from him. You do steal a glance at him, though, unable to tell if he has any leftover resentment from earlier. He can try to act as unbothered as he wants, but his original response was telling. The way the interest in his eyes faded, just waiting to end the conversation once he found out where you were going. 

“I’m sorry about tonight.” 

He lets out a laugh. “For what?” 

“I don’t know…” you mumble, bringing your knees to your chest and hugging them. “Still going even when I knew I probably wasn’t going to like it.” 

“It’s got nothing to do with me, remember? Those plans were already made,” he murmurs back, adjusting his glasses before looking up at the sky. You’re not sure if he’s being sarcastic or not. 

“I know. I still feel bad, though.” 

Sukuna hums at first, not sure how to even take that. He doesn’t like it when people feel sorry for him. Hates it when people treat him like he’s fragile, like what you’re doing right now. Yet, he still can’t find it in himself to respond in the snarky, passive-aggressive way he usually does to people who do that. 

“Don’t be. I’m fine.” 

“Alright,” you say with a sigh, not pushing it any further. 

And while the night was nice, you couldn’t help but think of how it barely fixed what damage had already been done by your own doing. Sukuna was still kind to you and spoke softly for the most part, but you finally felt the distance you’ve been silently asking for. It was as if he stopped caring about including you, only keeping the thoughts he’d usually share to himself as he looked up at the sky and not bothering to direct where you should look. 

For a moment, you wanted to ask him what was wrong, only to quickly stop yourself. You knew what was wrong, and knew you had no right ask when the problem was you. 

—

Avoiding Sukuna wasn’t healthy in any way, shape, or form. It was childish. You felt like nothing but a coward, but it was the only way you knew how to protect yourself at this point— convincing yourself that maybe the feelings you had for him would disappear if you stayed as far away from him as possible. 

They haven’t, they’re just like any other problem in life— they don’t go away just because you ignore them, acting as if they weren’t there. They get worse, they fester, and in your case, you probably think about him now more than ever. How he doesn’t deserve to be dodged like this, how you’re ruining a perfectly good friendship just because you couldn’t keep your feelings in check. 

You want to tell him there’s nothing wrong with him, but you’re afraid that more words will slip out. Like how much you miss him, everything about him. From the late nights talking about anything and everything, all the way down to the annoyed look on his face whenever you say something he finds stupid. That yeah, he can be really rude at times, but even in those moments, there’s still nobody else that you feel more comfortable with. There’s nothing wrong with him. He means everything to you.

You wish you never followed him here. You wish you never signed that lease. You are going to lose him because of it. 

That day was bound to happen— you just didn’t think it’d happen so soon. 

Avoiding him didn’t work. You see him now, talking to some girl in front of the library. He doesn’t seem to be looking to get out of the conversation anytime soon with how relaxed he looks. Comfortable. 

You wish you never followed him here. 

Aside from your degree, it got you absolutely nowhere. You could’ve been smiling just as much as the girl in front of him with somebody else had you not spent the last three years pining over him. 

Hell— the last ten years.

. . .

Two weeks later, Sukuna bursts through your shared apartment and bangs on your door so hard that your heart starts to race. You don’t think you’ve ever actually felt scared to face him until now. 

“I know you’re home, your keys are still on the coffee table,” he roughly says, continuing to pound on the door. “Open the fucking door.” 

You try to look him in the eyes when you finally do, but you couldn’t handle the weight you felt under his gaze. 

He tries to catch his breath as he walks into your room— it’s as if he ran home just so he could talk to you. With one last deep breath, he speaks. “What the hell is your problem?”

“What do you mean—“ 

“This!” He holds his phone up, hands slightly trembling, showing you the text his father sent him regarding your lease, and how you told him you didn’t want to renew it for the next year. “You couldn’t have told me yourself, so you reached out to my dad? You look like you’re trying to escape me or something! What did I even do to you?!” 

“Nothing! I just—“ 

“Like hell it isn’t— you’ve been avoiding me for fucking weeks, and now you don’t even want to live with me anymore. What the fuck did I do to deserve all of that?!” 

Your eyes began to tear up the more he yelled, growing more and more overwhelmed to the point where you just blurted it out. “I can’t stay here anymore— I need to move on with my life.” 

“What do you mean, move on?” His face twists from confusion. “What is there to even move on from, huh?” 

“From you!” 

He defensively throws his arms out, still completely and utterly confused. “You act like we’re in a fucking relationship!”

“I know— that’s the problem!” you finally snap, a small hiccup leaving your body as you try not to cry in front of him. 

You didn't have to explain any further from there. 

It was clear he understood what you meant by that with his reaction. Going radio silent as he sat down on your bed, resting his head in his hands for a moment while he tried to process your pathetic confession. 

“I-“ he cuts himself off and sighs, looking up to see you just awkwardly standing there, sniffling and wiping your eyes. 

He wants nothing more than to hold you right now and wipe the tears away, but has no idea how to tell you that— guess you’re both stupid in that sense. 

“Do you want to be in one?” 

You stop sniffling and look at him like he’s fucking stupid. “What kind of a question is that?”

“I don’t know,” he argues back. “You’re the one crying about not being in one.”

“So you’re going to ask me to be in a relationship with you just to appease me?” Your eyes widen in disbelief. 

“I’m not doing it to appease you— 

You cut him off with a bitter laugh, “Yeah? What is it then?”

“I’m doing it because I love you and I want you to fucking stay.” 

The room grows dead silent, save for the sharp breath you take as you try to come up with a response. 

“What?”

“You seriously want me to repeat that again?” he scoffs, and then spells it out for you quite aggressively. “I love you. You are the most important person in my life, and I want you to stay. Don’t. Leave. Me— is that enough for you, or would you like me to write it down on a piece of paper so you can read along while I say it again?”

You avert your eyes as if you were a child being scolded, picking at your cuticles as you mumble, “I got it.”

A laugh escapes him because you are un-fucking-believable. “That’s it?”

“Yeah,” you respond quietly. 

The mattress creaks as he gets up from the bed. “Does that mean you’ll stay?”

“Mhm.” 

“Good.”

Your cheeks begin to heat up as he starts walking closer, and by the time he’s standing in front of you, you feel like you can hardly breathe. There’s no telling what’s on his mind when you meet his gaze. Though it’s not like you had much time to think. 

Your brain short-circuits when he gently cups your jaw. 

Then shuts down completely when you feel the warmth of his soft lips pressed against yours. 

There’s a satisfied look on his face when he pulls back— it’s not often he leaves you speechless like this. You always have more to say. Now? Nothing. He’s starting to wonder if you’re even breathing. 

“Was that okay?” he asks, rubbing his thumbs over your cheeks.

“Yeah,” you nearly whisper.

He hums as he leans forward again, kissing you with more certainty than the last. There’s a light smack, then he deepens it, and you’re left holding his arms as you go along with it, following him like you always do. 

It happens fast. 

One minute he’s bending down, grabbing the backs of your knees to pick you up. The next, your back is hitting the sheets, and you’re reminded of just how big he’s become when he’s on above you, caging you in with his arms. 

“You sure you’re okay with this?” he asks again. 

“Mhm,” you’re the one cupping his face this time, watching his eyes soften. “I want you.”

“I want you too.” 

He gives you one last kiss, then leaves a trail of them down your neck and chest. Suddenly, your shirt’s off, and his hands are sliding down from your waist to your hips— fingers hooking around the waistband of your shorts, making your stomach flutter as he slowly pulls the shorts and your panties down in one go. 

You don’t even realize how wet you are until you’re completely exposed to the air, having Sukuna spread your legs wide open as he gets in between them. 

The grip he has on the back of your thighs tightens. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this.” 

Now, neither of you are virgins, and the number of people you’ve slept with can be counted on one hand. You knew it wouldn’t be awkward or anything with the moderate amount of experience you had, but you did not expect him to bury his face into your pussy and start eating you out like some starved whore. 

He has you gasping and squeezing your legs together, and he just keeps going— groaning as he laps away at your pussy, flattening his tongue against your hole and licking a fat stripe up to your clit before sucking on it. 

It’s so good that you have no idea whether you want more or if you want to push his head away, and you’re not even sure if pushing him away is even possible with the iron grip he has on your waist. Even when you squeeze your thighs together, he just rubs his face further into your folds, letting his nose work against your clit while he starts to fuck you with his tongue. 

It drives you insane. You’re grabbing at his hair, letting out the neediest moans that have ever come out of you in life. None of the guys you’ve had sex with has ever made you cum. 

Sukuna’s making you cum on his tongue— groaning while licking and lapping at the mess you’ve made while you’re disheveled and gasping for air. 

There’s slick dripping down from his chin, glasses somehow perfectly on as he pops his head up, checking to see if you’re okay. “Wanna keep going?” 

“Fuck—“ you’re still trying to catch your breath as you begin to nod, “Yeah, please, need you inside me.” 

He’s already taking off his shirt, revealing the toned body he’s spent quite an effort working on. Then his jeans… and boxers. 

Your eyes grow wide at the sight. 

His dick’s fucking perfect. Long and thick. Couple of veins running up his length. A big red tip perfect for hitting all the right spots— just thinking about it makes you drool.

“You’re not paying attention, are you?” he asks in amusement. 

“I am,” you say, looking up at him before your eyes start trailing down again. “Can’t believe this is what you’ve been hiding under your pants this entire time.” 

“You’re right— I probably should’ve told you about it a while ago,” he says sarcastically, kneeling back on the bed until he’s above you again, hooking his hands under your knees and dragging you closer. 

You squirm a bit as he rubs and taps the head of his cock against your clit. “Will you go slow at first?” 

His face softens as he looks at you. 

“Yeah, of course.” He was already planning on it, but something about being asked really does something to him. Triggering some need to be extra gentle with you. “Let me know if you want me to stop.” 

You nod, and he lines himself up with your entrance, tip already coated in slick. He pushes in and bites back a groan as he watches you stretch around him, taking him inch by inch. Your eyebrows are slightly pinched together when he looks up, and a low laugh escapes him before caging you in and grabbing your jaw with a gentle hand. 

His lips graze over yours as he pushes in some more. “Breathe for me— there we go— almost there, you got this.” The praise makes you squeeze around him  more, and he finds himself struggling to stay controlled. You’re so tight and look so pretty struggling to take him, letting him swallow up your little moans as he starts to slowly rock his hips back and forth. 

With a low grunt, he finally bottoms out and gives you a moment to adjust. “How’s it feel?”

“Good,” you murmur. “Keep going.” 

There’s a sly smile on his face. “You sure?”

“Don’t make me beg for it,” you whine back. 

“I won’t, I won’t,” he lets out an amused sigh, then starts moving again. 

He’s less careful as he starts thrusting into you, pulling his hips back a little more each time, making you feel every inch he’s giving you with the leisurely pace he’s going at. Your legs wrap around his waist, holding on to his shoulders as he fucks you deep and slow.

"Kuna—"

"I know," he hums against your temple, hips rolling into you as if he had all the time in the world. "Shoulda done this sooner— feels so fuckin’ good."

“Yeahh– fuuck– m’sorry,” you moan a little too softly in the shell of his ear, so blissfully unaware of just how crazy it drove him in that moment.

“I’m sorry too.”

He wasn’t apologizing about the past, by the way. He was apologizing for the way he drove his cock into you afterwards, just to hear that sweet little sound again and again and again, until your moans start filling the room. 

Getting you to go dumb on his cock wasn’t very difficult at all. Sukuna knew how to fuck— rolling his hips into you just right, his fat tip bullying into your sweet spot until you’re clawing at his back, which does nothing but turn him on even more.

He grabs one of your legs and hoists it up to his shoulder, allowing himself to fuck into you deeper at a new angle. His grip on your legs tightens as he snaps his hips against you harder, faster, until a wet squelch between you can be heard. 

“Oh my god, right there,” you whine out as you start to feel the pressure in your lower belly start to build. “I’m gonna— fuck!”

“Shit– me too,” he groans out, letting go of your leg to cage you in with both arms. He starts pounding into you desperately, letting out low, drawn out groans in the shell of your ear. After one particularly rough thrust, you're crying and cumming all over his cock, unable to hear whatever he’s rambling about in your ear. You can feel his cock absolutely throbbing against your walls though as he starts chasing his own relief, groaning and cursing to himself as he starts pumping you full of his cum. 

It takes you both a moment to process what the hell just happened. There’s nothing but short breaths as your chests rise and fall. Your stomach threatens to drop when he rolls over and falls on his back beside you, afraid of whatever he has to say next. But then he pulls you in, moving you to rest your head on his shoulder, grabbing the back of your knee to pull your leg over him. 

He closes his eyes and takes a breath, drawing little circles over your waist with his thumb. “Does this mean you’ll finally stop avoiding me?”

“Yeah,” you let out a small but tired laugh— you’ll probably be all over him after this. 

“Good,” he grumbles, shifting as he settles into the bed some more. “Because you’re really never getting rid of me after this, bestie.”

He sat two chairs away from you, and he hasn’t moved too much ever since he arrived once he explained the situation to his superiors through a quick phone call that sounded less like an emergency, and more of a formality in this line of work.

The two of you had just gone back from a mission along with your other colleague who was currently in the operating room after he nearly got obliterated by an unsuspecting bomb that turned everything into bits and pieces of shrapnel. Thankfully, you and Leon had reacted quickly, calling for extraction before you even realized your colleague was losing so much blood. 

After your superiors were notified, all three of you were immediately taken to the hospital. The surgery began two hours ago, and the silence that had elapsed since then was beginning to bug you, because there was so much to be said about what happened earlier, except, it was truly an oversight. The bomb that had detonated had been hidden away from sight, thus making it more difficult to decipher in the dim conditions you were already faced with during your mission.

Thankfully, your directive had been accomplished—you managed to secure the sample of a degenerate virus that was about to be sold to a black market to create more bio organic weapons. 

But this happened at the expense of your colleague, whose family was sure to be worried sick. Your superiors had done the work to explain the situation to his family, and you’re sure they will be swarming up the waiting room in a while.

For now, however, it’s just you and Leon. 

He had his elbows on his knees, hands loosely clasped with his head bowed just a little—almost in defeat if not exhaustion, or perhaps a mixture of both. It was the kind of stillness that felt as though he’s holding himself together in your presence. 

You glance at him. His jacket was gone, and his sleeves were rolled up to his forearms, exposing the veins that ran along his skin. There’s a faint smear of something crimson across it—something dried. Or not. But perhaps he had just not bothered to check after the adrenaline had worn down and had been replaced by a silent contemplation.

Again, the clock on the wall ticks and you’re vaguely aware of how it’s become a rhythm that fills the silence. You don’t like it. The stillness, the silence, the quiet anticipation for some good or bad news—it all felt out of your control.

You bounce your leg a little, a habit of yours that gives your nerves away. You look at Leon once more, before you look away.

“Hey,” you say after a few heartbeats of silence, your voice softer and quieter than you had intended. 

Leon doesn’t respond immediately. For a second, you think he never heard you, but then he exhales quietly, as if he’s coming back from somewhere else in his mind.

“Yeah?” came his quiet, steady response. Leon glances at you once, before turning away. There’s a certain dread laced in his tone. Something that mirrors you.

Then, you slightly hesitate. The question you want to ask sits heavily on your tongue, and you're unsure if you should even voice it out. 

It’s not as if the two of you left the scene unscathed. If anything, you’re sure you’re sporting a few cuts and wounds, maybe even a bruise on your side that left you sitting stiffly. But these all seemed secondary to the state of your colleague inside the operating room. His life was on the line.  

Leon, on the other hand, wasn’t very vocal about his injuries. Maybe he hasn’t noticed it yet, or maybe he has. Either way, you’re unsure if you should point it out. 

Instead, you say, “you should probably get that looked at.”

There was a beat of silence before Leon glanced down at his arm as if he’s seeing the wound for the first time. Then, he looked back at you, his gaze partially softening when he looked at the state of you—disheveled hair, dirt and grime on your cheeks, and a nasty cut on your forehead that you’ve barely acknowledged. 

“It’s nothing, Y/N.” He answered you, and you’re fully aware of how he’s suddenly scanning your frame like some detector made to discover wounds and bruises.

You shift uncomfortably in your seat as he looks at you. “Of course it’s nothing.” You mutter underneath your breath, but you’re sure he heard you. 

Leon exhales a huff, not quite a laugh but almost. “I’ll live. You, on the other hand, should get that cut on your forehead cleaned up and checked before it gets infected.” He tells you as if his words are your new directives. 

“It doesn’t hurt.” You answer him back, your gaze focusing on his arm and the way crimson stains his honeyed skin. “But I could say the same to you.”

A tiny smile curves on his lips as he hears the stubbornness in your tone. “Fine. We’ll both stay here then.”

That makes you smile a bit.

Silence settles again between the two of you, and this time, it lingers slightly. 

Somewhere down the hall, a door opens. You hear the footsteps approaching, and you nearly stand up in your seat, until you hear a voice calling out a name that isn’t yours or your colleague’s. Leon’s gaze shifts toward the sudden sound of it instinctively, sharp for a split second, then he eases down when he realizes it’s not who you’re waiting for. 

You notice it—the way he seemed on edge, earlier until now. He didn’t even have to say it. Some time early on, when Leon became your assigned partner, you had learned to read his tells, his little habits and quirks. Yet somehow, he’s still unpredictable to you.

The words escape your lips before you could even stop yourself from asking.

“You think he’ll be okay?”

Leon doesn’t answer immediately. You notice his jaw tightening just a bit as his eyes drop to nothing in particular, as if he’s searching for the answer himself too. You know he’s not one for blind, empty promises, and even something as simple as reassurance feels too complex given the gravity of the situation right now.

“He’s in good hands,” he says after a moment. 

It wasn’t really an answer, you knew. It was the kind of thing that people say when they don’t have a definite answer to give, and while you needed the certainty, you knew Leon didn’t have enough of it to give, especially when your colleague’s being nursed back to health inside that room that you stare at for minutes, hoping it’ll make the operation go faster.

You notice Leon looking at you again. There’s something unreadable in his expression, but it lingers too long for you to say something, but before you call him out on it, he stands up and walks past you, rounding a corner to the nurses station. He probably went to ask about the operation again, you thought. Both of you were already growing impatient.

But when he returned at least a couple of minutes later, he was holding a packet of wet wipes in one hand, and two bottles of water in the other. This time, Leon sits right next to you, handing you one bottle, and then the packet of wet wipes.

“What’s this?” You ask, but taking the item nonetheless.

“It’s for your forehead,” Leon answered you simply. “Figured we should at least try to clean up while waiting.”

You offer him a small smile, one that feels appropriate to the situation. There’s that feeling of endearment welling up in your heart, but you remind yourself it’s just the typical nature of how he acts around you. 

Still, you thank him for his kindness. “Thanks, Leon.”

“Don’t mention it.”

You pull a wet wipe from the packet before you bring it to your face, dabbing what you could to get the grime off and away from your skin. Leon did the same, except he’s cleaning around the edges of the wound you pointed out a while ago. You hear him hiss quietly, as if containing himself, and it was so like him to refrain from showing too much vulnerability in a public space.

Even if it was just the two of you in that waiting room at the moment.

“You missed a spot,” Leon pointed out, looking at your face.

That makes your brows furrow. You bring the edge of the wet wipe around the cut on your forehead which makes you wince. “Here?” you ask him, having no available mirror at the moment.

Leon shakes his head. Before you could even ask where, he reaches out and wipes a smidgen of dirt away from your cheek, his calloused touch lingering over the heat of your skin. He holds your face for a second, his thumb wiping away the leftover specks, before his touch settles there.

For a moment, you hold your breath. You stare at him, how his face softens up as he gazes at you, as he takes in the sight of your injury, and you’re briefly aware of how his pupils dilate when he looks at you, then his gaze drifts lower, then back up to your eyes. 

“Leon—”

“It’s all good now.” He releases you, and you suddenly feel a pang of loss, a longing for his touch you never knew existed within you. 

Swallowing hard, you try to hide the heat creeping up your neck, or the sudden thrum of your heartbeat. “Thanks.”

Leon returns to his earlier composure, focusing on cleaning up his forearms while you sit there beside him, acutely aware of his largeness, his warmth. There was a time when Leon’s presence never bothered you this way, as if you were never subjecting yourself to the scrutiny of being close to him. 

But something shifted, along the way. 

Maybe it was because of the hours you spent together in the office, time poured over reports and briefings. Or, the proximity you find yourself in with him whenever you’re on missions, where he’s asking you to stay closer and only lets you go when you really need to part ways—the whole divide and conquer thing. If anything, Leon preferred it less when you were away and out of his sight. Though, he’ll never openly admit that to you just yet, won’t he?

Maybe it’s the quiet intimacy you find yourself in after missions. The silence when you’re patching yourselves up, or the relief the two of you feel when it’s another mission accomplished and you’re finally able to call it a day.

Being assigned as Leon’s partner meant a lot of things and it wasn’t nothing to you. Perhaps it wasn’t nothing to him either, but there was just something about the way he treats you that makes you wonder—is there something there?

Surely his offers and invites for lunch, dinner, and coffee mean something?

You aren’t even sure. 

Despite this, you’re sure of many things—in the battlefield, on missions, Leon has your back more than you’d like to admit. If you believe for a second you’re alone, he reminds you by making sure he’s always two paces behind. He prefers watching your back. He prefers being able to see what’s ahead, and what’s trailing from behind the two of you. It’s safer that way, even when it’s at the possible expense of his own safety.

Shaking away these thoughts, you lean back the seat and uncap the bottle of water. You take a few reluctant sips, the refreshing water hydrating your parched throat. Setting it on your lap, you tilt your head back against the wall, gazing up again at the clock.

“He’ll be in there for a few more hours,” Leon suddenly tells you, setting the dirtied wet wipes aside and reaching for his own bottle of water. “I talked to one of the nurses. He’ll be okay, but he’ll be in there a while.”

You hum. “I see.” 

“You should probably get some rest,” he offered gently. Leon turns his head to look at you, his blue eyes swimming with depth. “I’ll wake you up if anything happens. But you should close your eyes for a bit, get some shuteye while waiting.”

You knew you were in no position to complain. When Leon pointed out getting some rest, you’re suddenly very aware of the exhaustion in your limbs, the way your joints screamed for protest when you stretch or move them. Your legs are aching from all the running, and even your neck feels strained from staring up the clock.

It was second nature for you to refuse. You wanted to tell him that he also deserved to rest, but knowing Leon, your needs were primary to him. He always mentioned that you should always be at your best, and he’ll make sure of it. 

Both in and out of missions, it appeared.

“How kind of you,” you reply with a hint of playfulness in your tone. “Always looking out for your junior, Kennedy?”

Leon huffs. “I’m looking out for my partner, Y/N.”

Somehow, that makes you feel flustered.

The way he says it—my partner—feels more serious than he’d let on. You want to acknowledge it, but the moment feels raw and unready for you to say anything more. Instead, you just bite at your lower lip and look away, pretending to gaze at the doors again, anything to deflect the words he’d so casually thrown at you without sparing a thought for your sanity.

Then, feeling the exhaustion take over you, you lean back your head against the wall and close your eyes as your vision blurred over the edges. You can feel Leon’s shoulders touching yours, a steady presence in the uncertainty of the moment. 

It wasn’t long before you were dozing off. The way you sat upright wasn’t exactly the most comfortable position, but you’ve learned over the course of over a dozen missions that it was better to get some rest like this than none at all. 

In fact, you were sure you were asleep for a while, because when you woke up, you weren’t sitting upright anymore—your head was leaning on Leon’s shoulder. You froze and held your breath at the realization; so much so that it wakes you fully. 

You wanted to lift your head almost immediately, afraid to inconvenience Leon any further, but you realize, with the way his breaths are a steady rise and fall, he’s asleep as well. You sneak a glance, and he’s sitting upright for the two of you, arms crossed over his chest while his brow furrows a bit. 

It stole your breath. 

You were so close to him that you can feel his warmth, can inhale his scent, and even feel the muscles of his arms brushing against your own. You had never been this close to him before, and you felt a sudden gush of giddiness, however subtle, but there nonetheless. 

Deciding to take advantage of the moment, you sneak a few glances. He doesn’t look too peaceful while he’s asleep, but there’s a semblance of quiet calm written over his features that makes you want to burn the image of his face in the back of your mind forever. You’ve taken first watch during missions before, and Leon’s never looked like this when he’s closing his eyes.

Furrowed brows… that perfect nose, and even more perfect lips—

Wait, what?

Before you could reprimand yourself for having these thoughts, footsteps approach you and you pretend to be asleep on his shoulder again.

“Mr. Kennedy?” One of the surgeons stands before you.

You feel Leon shift carefully, as if trying not to jostle you. 

“Is everything okay?” Leon’s voice was slightly groggy, a raspy husk that tickles you, somehow. 

The surgeon starts explaining the condition of your colleague, mentioning that he’s now stable after all that they’ve done to him. All the while, Leon remains still, acting as your pillow and your cornerstone right now, and your heart begins pounding beneath your chest again. It was so easy for him to do nothing but affect you more than you realize, and you’re unsure if you like the feeling or not.

When the surgeon excuses himself, that was your cue to stop pretending to be asleep. You waited a couple of seconds before opening your eyes again, adjusting the fluorescent lights and the scenery around you, sterile and quiet. 

“Hey, you’re awake,” Leon murmured, and you felt his breath fanning over the top of your head. You sit back upright, and adjust your position on the seat. “He’s okay. He’s stable.”

You hum, pretending as if you hadn’t heard the surgeon's explanation just moments ago. “That’s really good news.”

“Yeah,” Leon agrees with you, his eyes briefly glancing over you to observe your expression. “Did you get some sleep?”

Of course you did. You were comfortable on his shoulder, and you had hoped you could have more seconds if not minutes laying on it again. It felt right—to be that close to him. It felt safe. 

“I did, yeah… thanks for letting me nap on your shoulder.” You say, offering him a small, drowsy smile. “Beats all the hotels we’ve been to, huh?”

The tease makes him chuckle quietly, a reference to your conferences or mission briefings. “Sure. Hospital waiting rooms take the five stars right off the bat.”

That elicits a small laugh from you before you shake your head. 

Suddenly, there’s a certain lightness in the atmosphere. Your colleague’s fine, you and Leon are fine, and the mission has been a success without any fatalities. It felt like a relief, and a reward all in one. Especially after you’ve spent at least an hour or two napping on Leon’s shoulder without you even realizing it. 

“The company car will be here in a few minutes,” he tells you as he looks at his company-issued phone. “About time we go home and get some proper rest.”

Nodding, you clean up your mess of wet wipes and the half-empty water bottle he’d gotten for you. When Leon stands up, you follow suit, stretching your languid limbs and feeling the ache in your joints—telling you that you deserve to rest on your queen-sized bed in your comfy apartment and shut off the world for at least ten hours before your debriefing in the office with your superiors afterwards.

You follow Leon as you both navigate the hospital corridors and lobbies before you reach the main entrance. Outside, there were two company cars, supposedly taking both of you home—individually. 

You don’t know why that bothers you, when usually, you both left separately after a mission. It was only after debriefings that you got the opportunity to linger around Leon or vice versa.

But then, he was walking you towards your vehicle first. He opens the door for you and waits for you to get in, and you don’t miss the chivalrous intent. Before you do, you stand there, not because you’re stalling, but because he looked as if he had something more to say to you. It was written all over his face—you just needed him to say the words.

“What?” you prompt, tilting your head to the side in curiosity.

Blinking, Leon shakes his head. “Nothing. Just wanted to make sure you’re getting home safely.” He murmured, loud enough for the two of you to hear, like a spoken secret.

“I’ll be fine.” You reassure him, though you don’t know why you’re doing such a thing. “The company car will have me snoozing in a few minutes.”

Leon smirked at that. “I’ll make sure to tell the driver to go easy on the road.” He says as if he’s promising you such a thing. “Take care of yourself, Y/N. I’ll see you later.”

Then, before you could say anything, he’s leaning in, pressing a ghost of a kiss against your forehead, lingering just a few millimeters away from your wound. He knew you would patch yourself up later. Just how he’ll do the same when he’s back at his own apartment. But he felt the need to remind you, to tell you that your comfort and well-being mattered to him just as much as his own.

He’s pulling away before you could even react. Leon just gives you a nod, before encouraging you to get in the car. And you do. Wordlessly. Trying to pick up the pieces of your bearings for what he just did, because he’s never done that before. 

As soon as you’re settled in the car, Leon gives you one more meaningful look before he closes the door with a thud. Then, he circled the car to the driver’s seat, where he murmured something to the driver before walking towards the next vehicle and climbing in. 

You are genuinely so confused, but it’s not like his touch was unwelcome. You were still grasping the fact that he had so bluntly kissed your forehead as if he was bidding a lover goodnight. You weren’t that to him, were you?

At least, not yet.

The thought makes you shudder.

Your mind was already going to various places tonight, and Leon certainly gave you so much to think. But as soon as you arrive at your apartment, you shut the door behind you. It was a little over four in the morning then, and your debriefing’s at two in the afternoon, so you were eager to get in bed.

After washing up as quickly as you can, you change into an oversized shirt and some underwear, before climbing your bed and settling in the sheets. You were ready to drift off to sleep, but your mind has you replaying the moments of a while ago, when Leon pecked your forehead.

You touch the spot he’d kissed, as if feeling the phantom sensation of it all over again. Somehow, just the reminder of it made your heart stutter in your chest as a warmth bloomed over your face. Leon has definitely given you so much to think about, and you aren’t even sure if you’re ready to acknowledge all of it. 

Number one, he’s your colleague.

Number two, he’s your insanely attractive, chivalrous, and witty colleague. 

Number three, he’s probably just being nice. Right?

You groan against your pillow and force yourself to stop thinking about it. 

When you do convince yourself to stop it, you easily drift off to sleep as the exhaustion consumes you. You like to believe that you’re the only one hung up over this, and so, that was enough to make you think about getting enough sleep and rest rather than focusing over whatever Leon has done to you.

Little did you know, however, that somewhere across the city, Leon was thinking about you too.

You are his last thought before falling asleep, and somehow, even in the middle of a dreamless slumber, you still are.

⤷ a/n: if you're reading this, then thank you for taking the time to read this fic! it's a bit poorly written since i wrote it on a whim (no beta read) and i'm thinking of doing a part 2 for this but that's still being decided (though if you want one, let me know in the replies/my asks!)

anyway, i'm not very good with tension and writing slow burn so i'm truly sorry if this feels so rushed 😓 i promise i'll have something more afterwards!

by the way, thank you so much for 800+ followers! this account has grown ever since i started writing here, thank you for supporting my works 💗 i sincerely appreciate each and every single one of you! it means the world to me!

also, my taglist is open if you're interested of being a part of it! moreover, my requests are open as well, but i'll only consider a few since i'm working on other requests, but feel free to stop by and chat and send in anything! 🫶

thank you so much for reading! i'm so excited to share more of my works with you in the future (and quite possibly a series too 👀) have a lovely day, wherever you are! 💖

🔖 taglist: @rednnedy @eu4rialy @jqsjournal @ce98ne @itimisu @danigirls-missions @hugeblanket @midnightsummerrain @kennedysbbyy

note: dividers are from @/cursed-carmine.

Dean is scared. Like really, really fucking terrified.

He’s faced everything a person can be afraid of. Vampires, ghosts, weird one-of-a-kind monsters. He’s fought enough demons—both physical and metaphorical—to drive the strongest man crazy. He fucking had to build the pyre where his father’s body would eventually turn to ashes by himself, for God’s sake. 

But nothing, nothing has scared the shit out of him more than you flirting with him. 

The first time it happened, he didn’t even notice you were flirting. His mind was just so closed off to the possibility, the idea so far-fetched and insane that even now—weeks later, as he stares at the peeling painting on the wall, ruminating—it still blows his fucking mind.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

You and Sam had been talking non-stop the whole ride from Tennessee to a dingy motel in rural Virginia, completely engrossed in your brainy shit. Dean caught bits and pieces of it every so often, when the thin but comforting fog that a long drive provides to his brain dissipates enough for him to actually register your words. 

But it’s not like it mattered if he paid attention, it’s all Greek to him anyway.

It was only once he stopped at a gas station, leaning against Baby’s side while he waited for the tank to fill, that he actually tried to follow your conversation. 

He opened the driver’s door and rested his arms on Baby’s roof, pressing his forehead against the crook of his elbow and peaking down at his baby brother and his best friend, the cold leather of his jacket a relief in the southern summer heat.

Sammy was leaning against the front seat’s backrest so he could meet your eyes, long limbs all twisted and his face still exhausted with everything that’s happened in the past year. His eyes were glittery as he nodded along to whatever you were saying, shaggy hair flopping around his head, and once again Dean has to wonder just how the fuck Dad pretended for Dean to kill the kid. 

The memory of John’s words always leave him wilted and venomous, Dean tries so hard not to think about them. He turned his eyes to you instead. You were draped across the backseat—long legs bare thanks to your tiny shorts, socked feet pressed against the left door, your back resting against the right one.

You always make sure to take off your shoes before propping them up on the bench, without Dean even having to ask. You just seem to instinctively sense how much he cares for Baby, working as hard as he does to keep her clean and pretty. Dean doesn’t dwell on it.

He also didn’t dwell on how good you looked then, with the afternoon sun flaring behind you and making your hair glow, all sprawled out in his car. He’d gotten over the fantasies of climbing on top of you and kissing you until the two of you melted into the Impala long ago, around the time he’d gotten over any hope of you ever wanting him back. 

Still, seeing your smooth skin against the black, shiny vinyl sent a shudder down his spine. If only. 

His life lately has become nothing but just a long, boring list of cobweb-covered If-Only’s.

He quickly drew his attention to the words leaving Sammy’s mouth and away from your chest in that thin, translucent tank top. 

“Blue eyes are genetic mutations to adapt to the sun.” The kid sounded the exact same as he had in middle school. Dean wondered if the reason why he didn’t get bullied more often was because two rogue teenage boys staying in the town’s cheapest motel was always a scary enough tale that kept most ruffians away. “Just like dark skin.”

“Yes! That’s also why people who live near deserts have longer, thicker eyelashes. It’s a mutation to protect their eyes,” you chimed in with an eager little smile. Dean almost saw you pushing phantom reading glasses up the bridge of your nose. “And, actually, lighter skin would be the mutation, since humanity originated in Africa.”

Sammy nodded enthusiastically, just like he did whenever he was presented with new information. Dean remembered then why, when you were younger, he used to memorize random fun facts in the library and then report them back to you two after a bad hunt or a nightmarish evening.

That pair of bright, dorky, always-too-wide eyes staring at him with that exact same awe always did wonders to keep the venom in his blood from spilling.

“How did you even get there?” he asked, voice dripping with laughter. “The last thing I heard from you was Halle Berry.”

“Of course it was, horndog.” You rolled your eyes, a wide smile tugging at your lips. The teenage instinct to puff up with pride at the sight stirred, he stomped on it until it stopped moving. “We were talking X-Men. Genetic mutations just kind of fell into place.”

“Right, obviously.” He scoffed. “You’re gonna infest my car with your nerd-virus, geeks.”

“May I remind you of all the Marvel Comics hidden in the trunk, under all your porn ones?”

“No, you may not.”

You snorted, crossing your arms and turning back to Sammy, widening your eyes as if saying: Can you believe this guy?

“I thought you’d be interested in the topic, Dean. Since you seem to try and prove Darwinism in every motel mini-fridge you find.”

Dean glared at his brother, one hand leaving Baby’s roof so he could flip him off. It only made you laugh harder. If Dean preened then, it’s between him and the voices in his head. 

“I’d think you Winchesters have a genetic mutation that calls for trouble. The Winchester gene.” You pulled your knees closer to your chest, leaving him with a perfect view of your ever-bruised knees. He wanted to kiss them away, he wanted to leave more. The heat was getting to him. “Call Professor X, I’ve found a new mutation. Gene-W, which stands for Worst Fucking Luck in the Whole World.”

You’re such a fucking idiot. 

How was Dean supposed to spend almost every waking moment with you, and not love you? It was impossible. Dad had to know he couldn’t do it, even when he yelled at Dean to get his head out of “some random chick’s cunt and man up. Focus on what’s important.” 

God had to know as well, even when He made Dean fundamentally unlovable. It has to be divine punishment, sending him the perfect girl and making her so holy that she was untouchable, especially when Dean’s hands are coated with sacrilege.

“That’s three W’s.” It was the only thing his brain could spit out that wasn’t pleasepleaseplease. 

Just once, just one time.

I need you so bad, it’s killing me.

Please.

“I’ll call it the 3W-gene, then.” You shrugged, wiggling in your place until you were sitting with your feet on the car floor. You stared at him then, eyes scanning his face with a nebulosity that he’d never seen before. They burned on his skin, hotter than the sun and more intoxicating than the scent of gasoline. Finally, your lips twisted upwards. “Which I’d have to guess makes up ninety percent of your DNA. Though it looks like you were made for the desert as well.”

Dean frowned, blinked down at you, wondered if you were having a heat stroke. 

“But I’m… white? I mean, I know I don’t really get sunburnt, and I tan easily, but—”

“No, I mean—” You gaped at him, like you were trying to figure out if he was intentionally playing dumb. Dean didn’t realize what he was missing, the truth so far removed from every stone-set belief in his head that it seemed ridiculous to even go there. You had to sense his genuine confusion, because the disbelief vanished and left behind only giggling. “I was talking about your eyelashes, dummy.”

Ouch. Dean tried to hide the pang that traveled down his ribs, his lips pressed together in what he will never admit was a pout. “What’s wrong with my eyelashes?”

“Jesus Christ.” You sounded exasperated as you huffed, but also fond. Dean felt adrift. “Forget it, Dean.”

“No, no. Wait!” But you were already sliding out of the car, walking across scalding concrete and spilled oil toward the restrooms, too far away for him to stop you. He bent down and tried to read some answers out of Sammy's face, but all he got was a mocking smile. 

He searched for you again, but by then you were already walking into the gas station’s Dunkin Donuts. Still, he yelled after you. 

“What’s wrong with my lashes?!”

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

He didn’t get it the second time either. 

Actually, it took him until the third time you shamelessly flirted with him for Dean to catch up with the situation. But it was just so… unimaginable. 

Dean spent every waking moment of his younger years trying to charm you. Well-trained grins and lingering hands, compliments spilling like honey from his lips and pick-up lines flying your way like perfectly-aimed bullets. 

But Dean missed every time.

You used to laugh, hiding your smile behind your hand and shoving him back like he was just being silly. At first, he was. You were gorgeous, and Dean was nineteen and horny. He could tell there was something different about you, with the quick hammering of his heart and the fuzz that tingled his brain when you walked in the room, but he paid it no mind. 

Being a hunter meant that knocking on love’s door would always be risky. Being a Winchester meant that door was closed and locked forever. Being Dean meant that there was no door at all. 

Love wasn’t an option, but he could have sex. He took that small grace and ran with it.

He never expected more than a night with you, maybe a fortnight if he was lucky enough. Then you could leave, or stick around for a while and ditch them when you got tired of him, and Dean wouldn’t mop over it. He’d gotten what he wanted—or all he could afford to want—and you’d just be another speck of dust on his rearview mirror.

But then you’d turned every single one of his advances down, always with a teasing but sweet smile on your face, and you’d stayed.

Through his twenty-first birthday, through Sam’s escape to college, through Dad’s death. Dean has been rattled with grief a million times since then, breaking down into pieces and glueing himself back together with scotch tape and stale beer, and still you stay by his side. 

Dean doesn’t get it, but once again, he takes the grace—miracle, he would call it—and does everything he can to keep it.

No more flirting, no more secret touches under tables, no more trying to sleep with you. 

It soon became evident that having you in his life meant more than casual sex could ever mean, and so Dean buried all of his desire so deep down that he thinks it might’ve backfired and infused with his soul instead of disappearing. He pretends it did, though, never letting his sickness get in the way of your friendship.

He’s good at pretending. It’s all he’s ever done.

At some point in time, that desire began to transform, bubbling up and becoming syrupy—like tar. Dean keeps throwing dirt over it like a dog trying to hide the bones of his last meal, fangs still bloody. It’s barely enough.

All of this to say, you’ve had a million opportunities to make a move on him. 

Back in that shack in Oregon when you were twenty, or ten months ago when Sam had just entered your lives again and Dean was getting sloppy, giving you sultry looks over diner menus, his bantering quickly taking on a seductive undertone whenever you went back and forth. He’d pulled himself together soon enough, but you had still brushed him off just as easily as you had back in ‘98. 

Because that’s just how the universe works—Dean swallows it all down until something escapes him and then you turn it down. You don’t flirt, and you sure as fuck don’t call his eyelashes long and thick or his face pretty.

That time… yeah, Dean should’ve probably gotten it then.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

You were sitting in the bed of a rusty-red pickup truck, parked in the middle of nowhere Virginia, just a week after the first incident. 

You were already a quarter down your way to North Carolina when Sam remembered the witch’s shadow book he’d forgotten back in the motel. You’d all considered just leaving it, but the risk of some poor maid coming across it and wandering down a dark and dangerous path was too big. So Sam had left you in some ghost town in the middle of the woods, taking off with Baby before Dean could regret offering her to him. 

Dean had stolen a truck, driving you out of the road and between the trees until you’d found a small clearing near a lake, far away enough from town that no locals would give you trouble. 

It was still hot as fuck, the air thick and humid, leaving your hair frizzy and Dean’s throat dry. The sky was clear, a million stars winking down at you, and so you settled on the bed of the truck, desperate for as much fresh air as you could get.

Sam at least had the decency to let you pull a few things out of the trunk before he sped away, including a big blanket that you spread over the dirty metal before climbing inside, Dean following close by.

You laid on your back with a flashlight in one hand and a book propped up over your face in the other, bathing in the moonlight as your eyes hungrily absorbed every word in those pages. Dean lit up a cigarette and watched the smoke travel with the breeze, listening to the familiar buzz of the forest and fidgeting with his M1911. 

His back was pressed against the bedside, leaving him with the perfect view of the tree line. And you. 

You looked like an angel. Definitely divine punishment. 

At some point your legs ended up tangled, blissfully-bare skin against stubborn denim. You knocked your knee with his but kept your eyes on the book, Dean watched you. The way you held the flashlight between your teeth when you needed to flip the page, the light that reflected on the paper and highlighted the curve of your throat, the scar on your cheek from when you jumped between Dean and a knife the witch had thrown at him. 

“Watcha reading?” He couldn’t keep the words down, they swirl in the air along with the smoke. This time you spare him a glance.

“Gothic horror. Very Americana, fits the vibe perfectly.” With your hand still holding your book open, you gestured to your surroundings. Dean chuckled. “You’d like it, if you could read.”

“Hey!” He kicked you softly in the shin. “I know how to read, thank you very much!”

“You do? Woah, news to me.”

“I’d be the worst hunting partner if I didn’t. Research would take us ages.” Your eyes went back to the book. It was unbearable. “At least have the decency to look at me when you insult me, you little dweeb.”

You dropped the novel next to your head, getting up on one elbow so you could finally meet Dean’s gaze. The flashlight kept pointing up, enveloping everything in faint yellow light. Dean’s hair stuck to the back of his neck with sweat, his white ratty t-shirt suddenly too tight.

“Sam and I always do the research anyway.” You flexed your leg, your knee now hooked over his as you laid on your side. Dean was an adult, he could handle this. 

“So what’s my job then, attack dog?”

A small frown crossed your face, it was quickly replaced by a teasing smirk. “Nah. Your job is to sit there and look pretty.”

The overwhelming quiet of the wilderness and the haziness of the tacky night made it all feel like a dream. Dean had to be hallucinating the slight tilt of your face, the warm glint in your irises, your teeth grazing your lip.

“What?”

“Every team needs The Pretty One. Makes it easier to be approachable, you know how a shining smile can do wonders.” Dean almost wanted to clear his ears with his fingers. What the fuck was happening? “Though you just had to be pretty and good at fighting, you could fill all the team’s positions if you wanted. I blame it on the 3W-gene.”

A lot was going on, Dean’s brain would start leaking out of his nose if you didn’t stop. 

“You think I’m pretty?”

Not his smoothest moment. He’s not proud. 

You scoffed, and if Dean was a little more certain of anything at this point, he’d thought you blushed. “Please, Dean, everyone thinks you’re pretty.”

No they don’t. They think he’s hot, or handsome, or badass. He’s heard beautiful a few times. Pretty… he doesn’t hear that one often. For some reason, it sent lightning down his spine. 

“You have never said it, though,” he whispered, mellower than intended. He took one last drag of his cig and stubbed it out against the bedside. He quickly grabbed another one, if anything, just to keep his hands busy. 

There was a slow, terrifying moment of silence before you spoke again, and Dean held his breath until the smoke burned in his lungs.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t see it.” Something haunted flashed on your eyes, Dean felt the need to float closer until he charred within it. “That I don’t know it.”

His world started to crumble, the ground under him shaking. You finding Dean attractive—pretty, even… it was life-ruining. 

All of his defenses started to crack. 

“You’ve seen me covered in enough fluids to make the toughest surgeon vomit.” 

You giggled, the sound breaking through the still air like a bullet. Dean’s grip on his gun loosened, his whole body melting. 

“It’s that freakin’ Winchester gene, I’m telling you. Good looks, bad luck, weird ass charm.”

“So you think Sammy’s pretty too?”

He wished his voice hadn’t been that bitter. You rolled your eyes before picking up your book, flopping back down on your back as your eyes left him. Dean shivered even though the air was stuffy, musk and salty heat filling his nose. 

“You’re the prettiest, De. You should know that.”

Well, he knows now. 

He smoked half his pack of reds and you got through another third of your novel before you decided to get some shut-eye. Dean agreed to lie down next to you after you plead with him, even if he knew he would stay up all night regardless. Your pouty expression was too much for him to resist, he’s only human. 

You didn’t have any pillows, but Dean was stubborn and he took his jacket everywhere, even when it was a thousand degrees. He bundled it up and offered it for you to use. “It’s not the comfiest, but it’s something.”

This time, Dean was sure he saw your cheeks reddening.  

He kept on watching the clouds and listening in for any dangers as you got ready to sleep, throwing a thin sheet over the two of you and curling into yourself at his side. He put out his last cigarette against the sole of his biker boots, refusing to take them off even after you nagged at him for it.

He’d learned long ago to always be ready to escape. Old habits die hard.

“I wish you’d put them out on me.”

The words barely reached him, getting lost in the whistling of the wind. He quickly turned his head toward you, eyes wide and breath ragged, but you had already fallen asleep by then. 

Your face was hidden against his jacket. It stayed there all the way until morning.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The few days after that had been torture. Even now, Dean still isn’t sure that last part was even real, the words too good to be true. 

If only you could be as sick as him, if only under your skin lived a beast as rabid as his, if only the immensity of his desire and obsession could be reciprocated instead of abhorred. If only.

But by the third incident, Dean had enough evidence to believe he heard right and he didn't need to get hooked on antipsychotics. And oh, what a thought that is.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Dean was working on Baby, two weeks or so after Virginia. 

You’d driven to South Dakota a few days ago after ganking a vampire nest in northern Iowa, still waiting for Ash to get back to you with any demonic omens. Bobby had welcomed you with open arms and a cooler full of beer, and God knows Dean needed the break. 

He didn’t know how long he could keep handling being locked in the Impala with you, your clothes getting skimpier and the days getting longer. Your head stuck out the window, your hair floating in the wind, your voice echoing in his head. 

“You’re the prettiest, De.”

Even motel rooms didn’t serve as a relief. You’d still walk out of the shower with your skin flushed and bare, filling the boy-stinking room with your sugary smell and girlish sweat. It was hell, it was paradise. Dean had to rush into a cold shower every time. 

He thought that being at Bobby’s would stop the avalanche of prohibited thoughts. That once there was a bit more space between you—other people around and open windows and air conditioner—he could go back to pretending that your strange confessions in the past few days hadn’t shattered all of his careful guards.

But it only took you flashing a smile across the dining table or your shape lounging by the bay window for all his pent-up frustration to claw at his throat. He was restless, fingers twitchy and temper irritable, his whiskey glass almost cracking under his hand when you strode down the stairs in a tiny skirt and a tight top, clearly not wearing a bra. 

Before his head could explode, he grabbed a cold beer and dashed out the door and into the salvage yard, Baby’s keys in one hand and his crumbling sanity in the other.

He’d been at it for hours, tinkering here and there with the Impala’s undercarriage, the old car creeper he’d stolen from Bobby’s garage stiff and bumpy under him. He welcomed the distraction. 

There was nothing to fix, really. Baby wasn’t up for an inspection for quite a while, and Dean knew exactly when she needed work done. She was golden. 

Still, he fidgeted with the exhaust and turned a few screws uselessly, stalling. The sun beat down on him, his shirt was stained with oil and sweat, his vision was getting splotchy. The smell of metal and dirt was comforting, familiar, manly. No soft vanilla or flowery shampoo. Just Dean and his life on the road, no space for anything else.

But being trapped under an engine only made the heat even worse, his throat closing up and his eyes stinging. He finally decided to slide out and into the fresh air, sitting up with a gasp as he reached for his beer, the condensation dripping from the bottle a small heaven. 

He chugged the drink down and threw the bottle on the ground, wiping his forehead with the hem of his dirty shirt before dropping back down on the creeper, his eyes scanning his arid surroundings. Big mistake. 

Because there, stepping out of the house to his right, were you. The stupid skirt left him as breathless as it did the first time, the little perk of your nipples under the soft fabric of your top still filling his mouth with saliva. There were two beers in your hands, your skin glistening as you stepped in the sunlight, Dean’s grip on the wrench tightened. 

“Brought you some libation, so you don’t pass out under that thing.”

“Hey! Put some respect on her name.” Dean petted the underside of Baby, your laugh washing over him like a waterfall. 

You reached his side and handed him one of the beers, the caps already off. He took a long swig of it, mostly to keep that syrupy tar from spilling. He was still lying on his back, with you towering over him. Dean focused on the sharp dig of metal against his spine and not the way he could almost, almost peep under your flowy skirt. 

“What are you working on, anyway?”

He didn’t have a real answer, so he spit out some bullshit excuse full of technical words that he knew you wouldn’t really understand, hoping it was enough to keep you from asking more questions. 

“Uhm—right…” You nodded, like you’d understood anything Dean had just said. It made him smile, how you always tried to pay attention even when the topic couldn’t bore you any more. 

The two of you stayed there for a few more moments, sipping on your beers and letting the seconds trickle by. You swayed to a phantom tune in your head, Dean could nearly hear it. It was nice to know you could still have moments like this, when your minds swirled into one and you didn’t need words to communicate, like tuning into the same radio station. 

If Dean was a little cheesier, he’d say you’re soulmates. 

Because he’s Dean, he says you’re just trauma-bonded.

A small but glorious breeze glided between you, making your skirt and hair twirl and lifting Dean’s shirt halfway up his chest, his torn-up jeans laying low on his hips like a good mechanic.

Dean watched as your eyes caught the movement, drinking in the sight of golden skin and scar tissue. You ogled shamelessly, from the ridges of his ribs down to the V of his hipbones, licking your lips as you followed the trail of faint hair that disappeared down the waistband of his boxers, the elastic peaking out of his jeans slightly.

Too much, it was too much. Your teasing had made him reckless, this was his last straw.

“Take a picture, darlin’. It’ll last you longer.”

Instead of snapping back into yourself and running back into the house, you just hummed mindlessly, gaze slowly moving up to Dean’s face. Your cheeks were pink, it could be just the incandescence. The darkness of your eyes differed. 

“Left my phone inside. Such a shame.” He wasn’t expecting that. He laughed hoarsely, trying to pass it off as a weird joke. Friends could joke like that, it wasn't that crazy. Your expression remained consuming. “You shouldn’t stay out here for too long, De. You’re gonna roast under all that metal.”

Dean thought you sounded hungry, he finished his beer in one go. 

“Hey, it’s a good way to go.” He gave you one of those relaxed, I’m-not-freaking-out-you-are smirks. “I’ve always wanted to die under a hot girl or a cool car.”

Okay, he walked right into that one. He was trying, okay?

This time, you laughed. It was velvety, stickier than summer and more addictive than any adrenaline rush. Dean became a junkie after just one hit. 

“Great philosophy, really.” You chugged half of your beer, stepped a little closer, stood with your legs parted. Dean kept his eyes firmly on your face. “Well, you can choose now. Which one will it be?”

For a second, Dean wondered if he’d drink more than he remembered. Only when he was really, really hammered did he daydreamed this vividly. But he’d barely had three beers today and half a glass of whiskey, he was nowhere near wasted. 

His breath hitched, he gaped up at you. His brain racked for excuses, for another explanation to this that wasn’t your best friend who you’re inescapably in love with is making a move on you. 

There wasn’t any. There’s only so much you can lie to yourself before the truth becomes imminent.

“I’m just a hardworking mechanic, ma’am. I’m trying to do my job here.” It was so easy, to just fall back into the playfulness that’s been dying to crawl out of his mouth and wrap all over you for years. 

“Mhm.” You grinned foxily—which was new—and then stepped even closer, a foot on each side of his extended leg—which was even newer. You were still too far away for him to actually see anything, but the scene was still too familiar, from grainy videos in Sam’s laptop and raunchy magazines. Oh god. “I think I have a problem for you to check out, Mister Mechanic. Don’t worry, I can pay you well.”

You winked at him, and Dean’s breath grew ragged. The line of just-friends had started to blur long ago, but this was definitely stepping over it. He wanted it so badly, that was always a sign that it shouldn’t happen. 

He tried to convince himself you were just joking around, making fun of his cliche porn indulgences, calling him out for being a little freak. 

“You can’t just come into my workshop and demand to be served, ma’am. That’s no way to treat a humble, blue-collar man.” 

Another one of those laughs, Dean relished in the ecstasy of it. “I think I know how this blue-collar man likes to be treated after all these years.” 

His mouth was full of spit and tar, he swallowed it all down. It still spilled. 

"You’re gonna let me take a look, then?”

Surely, this is where you drew the line. It was all fun and games up to here, just a little healthy flirting between best friends with a broken silent understandment—nothing unfixable. 

This, this is where everything could go up in flames. Dean was delirious, frothing at the mouth and begging to be put down. To be woken up from this dream, to go back to when everything ached but was familiar, to have you snap his neck in mercy.

Instead, you drenched everything in kerosene. 

With a wicked smirk that screamed danger, you crept higher up his body. Your foot resting between his legs moved and installed itself next to his shoulder, until you were completely straddling his frame, right over his head. 

Shadows covered his face, the ruffles of your skirt fluttered, that musky smell of vanilla and salty skin enveloped him. Dean panicked.

There was no coming back from this. He wasn’t ready to ruin the best thing that had ever happened to him. He wasn’t sure this was even happening in the first place. 

He shoved himself back under Baby, a yelp logged in the back of his throat, his eyes still shut closed even when all he could sense around him was rusty metal and motor oil.

That laugh again, vivid and electric, now muffled by the car shielding Dean from the demon that's taken the shape of his best friend.

“I thought I—I heard a rattle.” He’s not sure his words even reached you with how scattered they were. You sighed in delight. 

“Of course, Mister Mechanic. I’ll stop bothering you.” You softly kicked his boot in goodbye, even that made Dean’s breath stutter. “Don’t stay here too long, or you’re actually going to faint.” 

“Sure.” He sounded wrecked. Goddamnit he can be pathetic.

You giggled, this time tender and almost… enamored. Dean seriously needed to go see a shrink. 

He listened closely as you walked away, waiting until the back door of Bobby’s house clicked shut before rushing out from under Baby. He got on his feet so fast that his head spinned, his vision blurring as he made his way between the maze of broken-down cars and hills of old tires. 

He found a sun-bleached school bus that looked like it had been there for ages, big enough to conceal his form as he leaned against its side, fumbling at his belt with shaky hands. 

He came a few minutes later, with his back against scalding, yellow-painted steel and his dick fisted furiously in his hand. He kicked dirt over his cum on the ground, still trying to catch his breath and process what the hell just happened. 

His cock twitched at the memory of you climbing over him, he pulled his jeans back up and darted into the house, locking himself in his room until he was able to function again. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Dean had been able to bury the cum well-enough that day, but you’ve done irreparable damage to his desire’s grave. No matter how hard he scratches at the earth and tries to cover the bones, you’ve resuscitated something invincible. 

He’s doomed, even more than before. 

Because it’s not just desire anymore. Now it’s also a sunrise on the beach, quiet mornings in a suburban kitchen, soft kisses that promise more than just a good time. Now Dean wants more, he wants everything. 

Oh, what have you done?

It was hard, moving on from that day. After a lot of self-reflection and many, many jerk-off sessions, he’d gotten to the conclusion that you were, indeed, flirting. 

He knows, he knows. Give him a Nobel prize. 

The knowledge is almost impossible to live with. He wants to put his head through the wall, he wants to scream until his lungs give in, he wants to kneel at your feet and ask you why.

Why now, why not before, why not never. Why when he was finally getting the hang of it, why when he had just gotten used to the ache of longing, why when he’d ultimately made his peace with never having you. 

He didn’t know how to act after that, not when he was holding his guts inside his body with trembling hands and he didn’t know exactly what you needed. Because that’s the scariest part of all. 

Just to what extent do you want him?

At first, he assumed you wanted the same he did at nineteen—to fool around. 

Maybe you’re lonely. Dean hasn’t seen you leave the bar with anyone in months, hasn’t caught you sneaking out of your motel rooms, hasn’t heard you talking about that college boy you became friends with during your Hook Man case in Iowa. 

Maybe you’re wired, and needy, and Dean is a safe choice. No awkward introductions or dangerous meetings. Just the pleasure of skin against skin and the haven of being with someone you know like the back of your hand. 

Dean isn’t sure if he could handle casual, after all these years, after you’ve wiped away his dumbest tears and patched up his ugliest wounds. For once, Dean might not be able to muzzle the beast under his skin. 

So he panicked, and tried to put some distance between the two of you. But his line of work doesn’t accept mental health leaves, and you were back in the Impala just a few days after. You didn’t mention Mister Mechanic again and Dean didn’t quite look you in the eye, but everything went virtually swimmingly, aside from Sammy’s occasional side-eyes. 

Still, the taste of worry lingered on his tongue and the beast wailed with every glimpse of you in the rearview mirror. More if-only’s made it to the list. 

If only he was a better man, maybe you’d want all of him. 

If only the yellow-eyed demon had never existed—that one wasn’t new, but it always stung like it was.

If only you could love him, the way he loves you.

That one was the most terrifying of them all. It made Dean want to throw up all of his innards and flush them down the toilet. He wondered if he’d even be able to focus on the case with your face hovering over him flashing behind his eyelids every time he blinked. 

But then, incident four happened. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Dean was struggling with his necktie. 

He fucking hated dressing up as FBI. Even the priest costume had been more comfortable than this cheap rental suit and too-small dress shoes. It was still way too hot for a suit jacket, and the white shirt buttoned all the way up made him feel like he was choking. The stupid tie wasn’t helping. 

He stood in front of the mirror, clammy fingers tugging at the fabric fruitlessly. Dean had known how to tie a necktie since he was six, when Dad was too drunk or hungover to do it himself. By the time he’d gotten old enough to start wearing the disguises himself, he’d been pretty fucking good at it. 

But his hands hadn’t stopped shaking since that day in the salvage yard, and he really, really didn’t want to go deal with useless small town sheriffs and sobbing widows. Especially not when you’d be staying behind, deciding to take over research while Sam and Dean collected as much information as they could on the five married men who’d shot themselves within the past week. 

Sammy was out getting all of you some coffee, everyone exhausted after the drive all the way down to Berthoud, Colorado. So when the door creaked open, Dean scoffed without turning away from the closet mirror. 

“I can’t tie this stupid thing, Sammy. C’mere and help me.”

He was expecting the ribbing chuckle that followed his words, but he didn’t expect it to be so high-pitched and lovely.

He spun around on his heels as the door closed, messy knot making the collar of his shirt pop around his neck, eyes wide as he took you in. 

“Hello there, Agent Dracula.” You were leaning back on the wooden door, hands behind your back and a little smile on your face. You hadn’t been alone in the same room since Sioux Falls, Dean secretly started to pray to any deity that would listen. 

“Hey.” He hoped he didn’t sound as sulky as he thought he did. “How did you get in?”

You stared at him for a few seconds, long lashes fluttering—and Dean wished he could turn back time and tell you that no, you were made for the desert. But once again, he was too late. 

You chuckled, seemingly incredibly amused by a silent joke that Dean missed, and knocked your knuckles twice on the door behind you before walking toward him. 

“Sammy gave me the second key, just in case.” Dean stayed frozen in place as you approached him, wondering if this is how deer felt when they heard the snap of the trigger. Your fingers latched onto his collar, and you grinned at him as you started to fix his tie. 

“The little fucker told me nothin’.” Your fingers were swift and delicate as you twisted the navy blue fabric around them. Dean swallowed harshly, your thumb brushed against his Adam’s apple. “You should knock, y’know. I could’ve been changing.”

You hummed, your smile widening. Dean wanted to lick behind your teeth, he wanted to rip all of his out. “And we wouldn’t want me seeing that, would we?”

He didn’t dignify that with an answer. Whatever game you were playing, Dean knew he’d lose. He might as well give up now. 

Of course, you couldn’t even give him that.

You finished with his necktie, adjusting it against the base of his throat before fixing his collar. You tugged on the fabric, hard, until his chest was almost pressed to yours and your faces were just inches apart. 

“There you go, agent. Handsome and ready to go dazzle all those poor mourning widows.” You ran your hands across his shoulders and down his biceps, smoothing out the wrinkles of his button-up. Dean bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood. 

“What better pillow talk than all the gory details of your past husband’s suicide, am I right?” At least he could still joke. That was a relief. “You might wanna give that key back, so you don’t walk into one of my private investigation sessions.”

He wasn’t sure what he was looking for with that. He hadn’t brought back a girl in years, always keeping his encounters in dark alleyways or the chick’s home. Encounters which, he’d never admit, were starting to happen less and less. 

It was hard, keeping your name off his tongue when all he could think about was you, even when he was balls-deep inside someone else. It had gotten him kicked out a few times, he never took it personal. It was all a distraction, one that was barely working now. 

You frowned, your fingers around his arms twitching. Your eyes stayed fixated on his tie for a long moment before they flickered up to his, swirling with something that made the tar start to boil. 

“You don’t need to do all that. You’re smart, you’ll find another way to make them talk.”

Your voice was too solemn for the comment to be brushed off as a joke. Sweat started to bead up on his hairline, he’d have to turn on the ceiling fan as soon as you left. 

If you left. Dean wasn’t sure if he wanted you to. 

“I thought I didn’t know how to read?”

You giggled, leaning closer until your bodies were flattened against each other and Dean could feel the warmth of your skin through your clothes. 

“You can be an idiot sometimes. You can also be a genius when you want to.” Your breath brushed against his lips with every word, his lips parted on instinct. Another beat passed by, your hands slid up to cup the back of his neck. “Don’t fuck any widows, Winchester.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want you to.”

The words were barely audible, Dean tried to close the distance between you, hands wrapping around your waist. His lips just grazed yours before you tilted your head back, shaking it almost imperceptibly. He had to bite down the urge to whine. 

He whispered your name, pained. 

“Not now,” you whispered back. Outside the room, Baby’s engine roared before shutting down. You pulled him closer again, turning your face until your lips were pressed against his cheek, leaving a feathery kiss against his just-shaven skin. It was still sensitive, Dean exhaled harshly. “Just—come back to me tonight, mh?”

Before he could say anything, the door opened and you took a step back. His arms awkwardly stayed in the air long after you’d made your way to the door, still holding the shape of you. Sammy walked in after you beelined out of the room, giving him a suspicious look. 

Dean was just as lost. 

But one thing was for sure, whatever this was, it wasn’t casual. You were right, Dean could be smart when he wanted to, and he knew damn well you couldn’t fake that look in your eyes. 

He came back that night, alone, as soon as interviews were over. Sammy was left behind getting copies of the mortuary reports and at least two ladies ended up alone and kindly rejected in their homes—all for you. 

He knocked on your motel door, your pretty head popped up after a second. You quietly gave him an up and down look, eyes glistening under the streetlights as a satisfied beam made its way into your mouth. 

“Good.” You nodded before winking at him, already retreating back inside your room. “Good night, De.”

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

 And so that leaves him here, the morning after, lying shirtless on scratchy motel sheets and staring at the water-stained ceiling in search for answers. Sammy is deep asleep in the bed next to him, the kid’s soft, familiar snores doing nothing to keep Dean anchored in time. 

He feels like a teenager, he feels a million years old. He wants to barge into your room and childishly demand an explanation, he wants to retire to a monk monastery and find divine wisdom. He wants to tear his own heart out and for you to keep it in a glass vial forever. 

If-only’s start to spiral into maybe’s. Fears turn to hopes and hopes to fears. He tosses against the pillows and the cheap mattress springs dig into his back.

With an agonizing groan, he leaps out of bed. 

His boots are still on his feet, of course, so it’s easy to pull on his dirty jeans and dart out of the motel room. The early morning sun welcomes him with a wave of warm air and a brief second of blindness, his skin already growing damp as he sits on the curb of the lonely parking lot. 

He’s already reaching for a smoke before his vision even gets used to the sunlight, the torrid pavement burning his skin through thick denim. He blinks back white spots as he takes a long drag, letting the taste of tobacco erase the traces of angst clinging to the corners of his mouth. 

The parking lot is almost empty, barely any cars waiting for their owners to be done with whatever they were doing on a Wednesday at eight in the morning inside a pay-by-the-hour motel. So when footsteps start to slowly get closer, light and measured, he knows exactly who it is. His eyes stay glued to a far away billboard with a generic anti-smoking slogan printed in the center.

The first thing he sees is your boots, stepping down the curb right next to him. Then your bare calves, miles of smooth skin, the muffled sound of fabric dropping. Purple-peppered knees bend as you lower yourself on his right side, that soft smell of sugar and sun-kissed skin mixing with marlboro and mildew. And then, when his eyes flicker just a little closer but not quite land on your shape, he sees white cotton and lacy edges. 

He chokes on the smoke gliding up his throat. 

“Jesus Christ.” He coughs, finally turning his head to take you in completely. A tiny cup of coffee held in your hands, thin white tank top hugging your bare chest, soft cotton panties, boots. Nothing else. “What the hell?”

“It’s hot as fuck.” You shrug, gazing toward the same billboard. You’d dropped one of the motel towels over the spot you’re sitting on, the fabric frayed but thick enough to keep your skin from burning in the concrete. “You’re naked too, you know?”

“I’m more modest than you, that’s for sure.” 

With languid movements, you set the porcelain cup down between the two of you and reach for his cigarette, your fingers stroking over his as you steal it and press it against your mouth. Your eyes meet his as your lips wrap around the filter, just where Dean’s were a second ago. 

“I was using that, you know?” Maybe one day he’ll be able to talk to you again without his voice failing him. You chuckle. “I could’ve just handed you a new one.”

“But where’s the fun in that?” 

“Give it back.” You smile lazily, tilting your head and taking a long drag, goading. “Fucking—whatever.”

His hand fishes into his front pocket for the pack smokes. You lean closer, again, just enough for Dean to feel your skin reflecting the warmth of the sun. Your hand wraps around his thigh, making him halt. Delicate fingers pull the cig away from your perfect mouth, and suddenly your parted lips are brushing his. 

“Stop being a baby. Open up if you want it so badly.” 

“Why are you doing this to me?”

His answer comes in smoke being blown into his mouth. He breathes it in, starving for the slightest taste of you between all the earthy bitterness. 

“Why do you think?” 

He’s way too dizzy to process the words, and it isn’t until you’ve pulled away enough for Dean to see your whole face that his brain starts to work again. 

“Because you want me dead?”

You laugh, so fucking sweet and heavenly. Dean allows himself to revel in it this time. 

“I love you, Dean. But you already knew that, didn’t you?” The way you’re looking at him makes him feel even more naked than he is. Dean stutters.

In concept, yes, he knows you love him. As a friend, as a partner, as family. In the lives you lead, there’s only so many people you can trust, and when you finally find them—yes, it’s easy to love them. Especially when the rest of the world is either too ignorant to feel real or too cruel to keep close. 

“I know.” He gulps, the words stinging on his tongue. “I—I love you too.”

He’s said so very few times in his lifetime. Kneeling by your hospital bed after a rugaru left you bloody and with a raging concussion, on the phone the night Sammy left for Stanford and he got hammered by the seaside, the day Dad died. It was always secretive—with the shadow of sorrow hiding the severity of the words, protecting him from their consequences. 

But here, when he’s shirtless under the brightest, hottest sun of the year, there’s nowhere to hide. 

You drop the cigarette to the ground, cupping his cheek in your palm instead. Dean leans into the touch like a stray puppy, heart pounding against his ribcage. 

“How do you love me?” 

He murmurs your name dejectedly. “Don’t make me say it.”

“Please, Dean. I—” You take in a trembling breath, and for the first time, the confident mask you’ve been wearing since this whole thing started falters. “I need you to say it.”

“I love you more than anything. I love you like a best friend, I love you like family, I love you like a piece of myself. You’re part of me, darling. The better, lovelier part of me, the part I would go insane without. I love you like I dream of spending my last days on earth with you. I love you like I have never loved anyone before, and it scares the crap out of me. But fuck, I don’t care, because I fucking love you.”

Tears glint in the corner of your eyes. Before Dean can blow his brains out for making you cry, you lunge yourself into his lap, knees hitting the pavement on each side of his hips hard enough to scrape skin.

“Fuck, fuck.” You sound crazed as you cradle his face in your hands. Dean can barely follow what’s happening. “I love you too. I love you so fucking much, Dean. Goddamnit.” 

Dean’s hands have barely landed on your thighs when you’re already engulfing his mouth with yours. It’s desperate, feral, long-awaited. Teeth clashing and hands groping, years and years of longing spilling from the seams and sealing the two of you together. 

“What the fuck—” His words are licked away, he bites down on your tongue in retaliation. It only makes your hips grind down onto his. Instant karma. “—is happening?”

Your laughter this time is low and fevered. Dean’s hands can’t stop mapping all the exposed skin offered to him—calloused fingers wrapping around barely-clothed hipbones and slipping under flimsy fabric and drawing shapes against silky forearms. Your flesh dips under his fingertips, he finds scars he didn’t know of before, his mouth waters. 

“I’m in love with you, Winchester. So in love I’m fucking dumb with it. That’s what’s happening.” 

Dean drags you closer and drapes himself around you, arms encircling your middle and face buried in your hair, taking the moment in. Just a second to breathe, and make sure he isn’t dreaming. 

“What changed your mind?”

You chew on his question, your hands doing some exploring of their own. His back pricks with the scorch of the sun and your adoring touch, your bodies stick together with sweat and Dean’s tar, now flowing freely from his chest and coating all of him. 

“I’ve always loved you. I think I was born loving you.” Your nails trace every dip of his muscles. Dean flexes for you, you smack his shoulder with a giggle. He nuzzles his nose against the line of your jaw. “But when you used to flirt with me—well, you know your reputation, De.”

He does, he spent decades crafting it. He leaves a kiss on your cheek before pulling away enough to look into your eyes.

“It wasn’t like that, not with you. Maybe at first, but now… I wouldn’t know what to do without you.”

“I know,” you whisper, your lips pressing against his in a chaste peck. “I know now.”

“How?”

It’s hard to focus on talking when you’re sitting on his lap in nothing but sheer undergarments, but his curiosity is slightly stronger than his craving. 

“Do you remember that time Sam got cursed? The truth spell you tried to convince me was a contagious diarrhea curse?” 

Dean remembers, unfortunately. Sammy couldn’t stop spitting out every thought that crossed his head, and Dean knew that if the kid was in the same room as you for even a second, his meticulously-concealed love would be bared before you quicker than Dean could knock his brother out. 

So he’d made up a lame excuse as to why you shouldn’t go back to the motel until Dean had a cure, and prayed that taking Sam’s phone and locking him in their room would be enough to keep everything from falling apart.

Until a second ago, he was sure it had been.

“You’re a good liar, Winchester, but you can’t lie to me. I knew something was up.” Your hands find their way to his hair, Dean represses a grunt when you tug on it softly. “So I picked the lock to your motel door and had a very… insightful conversation with your brother.”

“You really took advantage of the poor kid, baby?”

The endearment brings a beautiful flush to your cheeks, he’s rewarded with another smoky kiss. 

“He looked quite eager to share, actually. Told me all about you keeping a picture of me in your wallet and calling other girls my name.”

Dean plops his forehead down on your shoulder, groaning. “I’m gonna gut him.”

“No, you’re not.” You thumb at his sideburn. Dean grumbles unintelligibly against your skin, teeth grazing the spot right beside the strap of your top. “Because without him, we wouldn’t be here.”

He hums in the back of his throat, getting lost in the enchanting sensation of having you all around him. “What was all the torture about, then?”

“Well, I had to test you first. Make sure you actually feel the same way.” You drag him back by the hair, until your noses are brushing and Dean can count every mole in your face. “Because I love you so much it kills me, Dean. Does it kill you, too?”

Dean takes a slow breath, his arms tightening around you. “Not anymore.”

You kiss him again, this time slow and deep. No more rushing, no more fear. There’s nowhere to be, nothing to escape. For as long as you’re with him, sitting on his lap and holding his bleeding heart in your hands, never letting go—you’ll be okay. 

“You know,” He sucks your lower lip into his mouth, you whine lowly. Dean should really get you off the dirty curb and into your room. “I demand a redo in the whole Mister Mechanic thing. That wasn’t fair.”

You giggle breathlessly, your clothed crotch rubbing against his lower stomach. Dean grips the back of your thighs hard enough to bruise. “I still can’t believe you freaked out so bad.”

“I can.” He leaves featherlike kisses down your neck, already obsessed with the way you squirm in his arms. “Look at you, of course I freaked out. Still, I’m ready for it now.”

“Calm down, cowboy. Patience is a virtue, and we have plenty of time for that.”

“Do we?” He reaches the hollow of your throat, lips sliding lower over your tanktop, the fabric now translucent and sticking to your skin with perspiration. “Because I might have a list of things I want to try.”

“Of course you do, horndog.” Your mouth hovers over his ear, making his eyes flutter shut. “We can try whatever you want. I’m yours, De. I’ve been yours for a while.”

“That’s a dangerous offer, baby girl.” His hands find your ass, fondling the tender flesh before he squeezes, making your pretty cunt grind against his torso again. “You’d really let me do anything I want to you?”

“It’s—A-ahh. It’s that 3W-gene. You could charm me into anything.”

Dean chuckles, low and husky, still guiding your hips down on his. 

“You’re really obsessed with that.”

Your lips brush the shell of his ear, gnawing on his lobe before you whisper. “What can I say, I want my kids to have it. Though it’d be good to dial back on the bad luck.”

Dean’s brain stopped working after kids. Your kids, with his genes, because they’d be both your kids. You, carrying his baby. Him, putting a baby in you. 

“That’s it.” 

With a guttural growl, Dean jumps to his feet, taking you with him. You shriek when he throws you over his shoulder, nails clawing at his sides and feet flailing in the air. He smacks your ass once, a warning to stay still. You bite down on his lower back in revenge.

Thankfully, you’d left your room’s door open. Dean kicks it shut behind him and makes sure to lock it before he throws you onto the bed, crawling over your giggling form and shutting you up with his tongue. 

Baby’s keys get thrown somewhere on the floor when he kicks off his jeans, Dean doesn’t bother picking them up. He doesn’t plan on leaving this room any time soon. 

Suicidal husbands can wait, Dean’s been waiting for too damn long. 

Now, when you whisper filthy words in his ear that make his cock weep, he doesn’t feel scared anymore. 

The door he thought didn’t exist at all swings wide open, and Dean will never be terrified again for as long as you hold the key to it.

NOTES: this literally originated from me and my cousin talking about genetic mutations to adapt to different environments. you can tell why i'm a virgin loser. I MISS THIS FICTIONAL MAN SO BAD.

my classes have been cancelled because we're snowed in, so I had time to finish and edit this quicker than I expected. YAY!

anyway, thank you sm for reading, and I love you all!!! mwah<3

TAGS: @mostlymarvelgirl @pink-ghost666 @rafeskitty @otteropera @xoswiftieprincess @tinas111 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @losers-clvb @pieandflannel @southernimpala @jays-bonnie-on-the-side @that-stanford-girlie @immodestly-marina @angellust333 @cupidzbunny @scatorcciosbabe @angrydragon90 @urblondiebaby @fertilise-me @angelicjackles @fratbrochrisgf @deerplaygroundpoetsflowers13 @mfstargrll @stars4birdie @cccayliexx @madslxz @spaghettiwoes @crumpledroses @madyyyslovs<3

one thing with leon, is that he will remember every single thing you say. your car is doing those weird noises when you drive? the very next day he’s standing there in front of your car, hood open, dirty hands digging in the mechanic. you mentioned your favorite flowers being peonies? soon enough there is a HUGE bouquet of peonies sitting in your arms, almost too big for you. you hate the cold? if he’s inviting you over, he’s setting his thermostat to 22° celcius to make sure his place will be warm enough for you — even if he, himself, prefers lower temperatures. he just wants to know everything about you: your hobbies, your favorite movie, your favorite book, what you like or don’t… and will memorize them all.

confessing to you was… challenging, to say the least. between the fear of being rejected, and the guilt of falling for someone much younger than him, leon felt like it was selfish of him to make a move, when you had your entire life ahead of you. but what he couldn’t see were the gentle glances, your hand pressing his ever so softly, the hope blooming in your eyes the closer the two of you get. so when he finally managed to gather enough courage to tell you about his feelings, it felt like the sun would never stop shining above you. it was clumsy, he would sometimes stutter over his own words because even if he is leon s kennedy the dso agent, he’s also very vulnerable and completely unfamiliar with opening up. but you were patient… as you always were. holding his hands with yours, thumbs gently rubbing the back of them, eyes never leaving his face. you didn’t try to rush him, didn’t cut him half sentence even if he was struggling… you just let him be. showing him you will always listen to him, that talking about his own feelings was more than alright. of course he told you about how he probably wasn’t the best choice, that you most definitely had dozens of men waiting for the smallest opportunities… and that made you laugh. because, again, he couldn’t see how in love you were with him, since the very beginning. his worries all vanished when your lips met his in a gentle kiss… right after telling him you waited for this very day for the longest time.

if pride wasn't his best friend, then he would have already stated that he really, really misses you. instead, he replaced it with a low chuckle and put his handgun back into the holster.

"what, you became a lil' guardian angel around my ear now?"

a small pause.

"sounds like that."

he could hear an amusement behind your voice. he checked his phone one more time, the light from the screen bounced off his red eyes. he zoomed in on a photo of the target you had sent him. a nearly faded stitch wound was clearly visible on the man's forehead.

"what exactly is this guy up to?"

"force the evolution of humanity by merging all of humanity with the merger through his experiments. to create a new, transcendent form of bioweapons."

"the merger?" sukuna furrowed his eyebrows.

"master tengen is the first person you should meet. i will send you the coordinates."

"fucking hell."

"just think of this as your visit after a long time, sukuna. i'm sure that she misses you so much," you said while typing on your keyboard to search for the best route for him.

sukuna just scoffed as he put his smartphone on the dashboard, "yeah, misses me so much that i'm sure that old hag would punch me in the face."

sukuna started the engine of his car, his hands turned the steering wheel and looked back as he moved backwards. he started to step on the gas and left the investigation area.

"i never thought i would hear your voice again." sukuna said while leaning back in his seat with his eyes on the road.

"hm? is it still sweet?"

one of his favorite things about you is how you handle every situation with your nonchalant nature. it's undeniable how many times sukuna has misunderstood you because of that. his heart—actually.

"don't act like you haven't haunted me for years, woman." sukuna shaked his head slightly.

"i didn't ghost you, you're the one who's too in love with your own work." you finished sending him the coordinates, now resting your chin on your hand while the reflection of the monitor light hits the glasses you are wearing.

"sure." sukuna said gruffly, "after all this shit ends, i know there's a good steak house around here. they served good."

"so?"

oh how he so despise how you made him acted like this when no one's around. sukuna plucked his lips, "so i want you to come with me."

"why steak?" you tried to hold back your smile as you could feel sukuna rolling his eyes.

"i promised you that a few years ago." sukuna only breathes slowly, stepping on the brakes when he saw a red light in front of him.

now his thoughts were mixed, between how he should deal with master tengen's heavy blow and your presence that disturbed the rhythm of his heartbeat.

"you never change, ryo."

"yeah," sukuna murmured under his breath. "neither do you."

It would be so much easier if Leon could be heartless.

Or at least an idiot. Then he would easily ignore some things and simply move on…

But now? He was bid to recall all the things that he had seen, unable to detach his private life from the job. It was all one big cruel joke of fate. His good memory for faces didn’t make it any better – he remembered every single person he ever hurt, forced to do it or not.

Somehow, he found comfort in people who didn’t know him as the agent Kennedy. Ever since he moved to this area, he has liked chatting with strangers if there was an occasion. He feared he appeared too weird, but eventually he found a few faces that quickly turned familiar and always brightened up when they saw him. He must have looked the same.

Still, he found making friends rather challenging. Whenever the simple questions started – “So where do you work, actually?” “Wife or girlfriend, Mrs. Leon?” or simply “Did you grow up around here?” – that's when he drew away without even meaning to do so.

After some time he decided his behavior wasn’t actually so crazy. He had reasons to be afraid and reasons to be alone. He didn’t mind that much, after all, did he? When he felt uncomfortable during the conversations, he excused himself just to think about it for the rest of the day. Eventually he gave himself silent permission and stopped feeling so damn bad.

Yet, the lingering loneliness was still there.

The starving, bony animal that showed up on Leon’s doorstep  must have sensed his rejection of company and decided to save him. Leon barely opened the door, and the poor thing stuck its head inside, shaking and raising its head to look up at him. Scared, half-empty eyes.

Leon knew that look.

He crouched down to let the cat smell his hand or… whatever he was supposed to do. Well, the animal apparently didn’t know either, because it settled on hissing and roughly biting his finger. Still, it refused to leave the apartment, and Leon had to accept a strange animal walking around, while he looked outside the door again. Maybe it ran away from someone? But it looked too poor to belong to someone… How did it even get inside the building?

The only certain thing was there was no one else in the hallway nor on the staircase. Just Leon and the cat. He cursed under his breath, took his shoes off again to stay inside, and sat on the floor to watch the animal carefully.

A few days later, the cat was eating straight from his plate and sleeping in his bed, despite still being a bit conscious about Leon's presence. He felt like he found a purpose in life once again… and it was just a piece of skin and bones. His piece of skin and bones, and now he would turn his whole life upside down to care for it properly. Her, actually.

She turned out to be a girl and ended up with the name Felicity. A strange story for later that involved running away and the upstairs neighbor. Leon liked the name enough, so it stayed that way. He was lucky, actually. If he were to pick it on his own, it would take weeks. His girl deserved  a thoughtful name, after all.

“What did you do to my other sock, huh, Fel?” He muttered while pacing around the flat, already late for a meeting.

The cat watched him from the couch, too occupied with cleaning its paws. Truth be told, Leon could spend all his days just watching her like that. He never thought much of cats and didn’t know they were so fascinating.

Today he was slightly nervous, though. Felicity was fine with staying alone when he was at his office job. She greeted him happily and never appeared too bothered by his absence.

He knew what a suddenly called meeting meant, though. There was a mission coming, and he had to figure it all out. A whole day and night… maybe even more. What was he supposed to do, hm? He felt like a single father in a situation like that.

It made him spiral into his thoughts again. Felicity made the most disgusted face a cat could when he stopped petting her, too lost in his own mind. She scratched him to mark her presence, and he quickly apologized. She had him around her little cat feet and made him worry all over again.

She was enough for him, but wasn’t he miserable? Shouldn’t a man like him have at least a few people to ask to watch his cat while he’s gone? That’s the worst scenario. In any better case, he would have a spouse, someone to share his space with. Someone to share Fel with…

Leon was officially out of making new friends, let alone dating, though. He had a few close people, mostly from work. He kept in touch with his pal from the police academy; hell, he was even a godfather to the man’s kid. Still, he kept his distance and was that weirdly lonely uncle everyone except the kid whispered about. 

He liked his neighbors – he was good friends with the elderly lady on the first floor and the married couple from number 5. He had something for older people, clearly… But you know what’s bad in it? Asking an elderly person to climb four floors just to feed and pet his cat felt awful. Bothering them in general felt awful.

Then he thought about you, the newest addition to the weird group of people in this building. You lived almost door-to-door, so it wouldn’t be such a problem. Also, you seemed nice enough… And Leon thought that he managed to make a rather good first impression himself, which could make things easier.

In fact, he helped you out a bit when you first moved in a few weeks before. You struggled with all your boxes, and the driver from the moving team said it’s not his problem if you can’t carry them upstairs on your own. Guess what – that’s where your rather charming and very selfless neighbor showed up like a knight on a white horse.

It was so natural to Leon that he didn’t even think much of it. He remembered, of course (you don’t forget a smile like yours, after all), but that was all. He was still in some after-mission adrenaline back then, and he was too preoccupied with his own mind to strike up a real conversation. You stuck to basics like where did you live before, how’s the neighborhood, and stuff like that…

You thought he didn’t really listen. He not only did, but also remembered all of it. And the best thing about it? He remembered you mentioning being a babysitter from time to time. Wasn’t that perfect?

Now he had to approach you about it somehow.

Good thing he still had a few days before the mission.

At this point in his life, Leon could sleep in a bunker ten feet underground and still be woken up by the slightest rushing outside. Sadly, that meant when the sounds coming from the apartment upstairs started, he was immediately yanked out of his comfortable slump. He liked that weird state between true sleep and simple warm unconsciousness.

His eyes shut open, and his body went stiff. For quite a while the moans rang in his head as ones of hurt, let out by the throats of the indeed that plagued most of his dreams. It took him a moment to calm his breath properly again. Then he looked to his side, which was a bit pathetic since he hadn't shared his own bed with anyone in years– and why the hell would he search for the source here?

Well, sleep did strange things with people’s minds, and he wasn’t immune.

The air finally hit his brain, and he could think properly. The newlyweds upstairs, obviously.

Felicity seemed unbothered and continued sleeping on her pillow next to Leon, but then a particularly loud moan was followed by something he registered as the bedframe hitting the wall. The cat raised its head and looked at Leon like it was his fault. Nonetheless, she followed him when he decided to get out of bed.

Who the hell built those walls? He wondered if others also struggle right now, or if it’s only his flat that is unlucky and perhaps somehow connected to the higher condignation…

He didn’t know what truly led him outside, but after forcing himself to drink a few glasses of water, he opened the door to peek. He saw nothing, just the dim light that signaled that someone had moved on the staircase a few moments before.

He sighed and looked out more, just to be met with you standing on your doorstep. Well, standing wasn’t maybe the best word. You were leaning on the wall, arms crossed over your chest and head thrown back. You looked like you stood there for quite a while, but somehow on your face the annoyance mixed with… calmness. That’s at least what Leon saw.

His door cracked, and he was glad because at least he wouldn’t scare you by staring without a word. He could see your vague smile in the light.

“Hey there, neighbor,” you greeted, fixing your posture to save your back from suffering later. “Mr. Kennedy, right?”

“Leon, please.”

“Leon.” You nodded, and he couldn’t help but return the smile and look at you a bit too fatuously. “Don’t know if you remember helping me out a few weeks ago. I’m–”

“Y/n. I remember.”

It seemed to brighten your mood even more, but then some sounds were hearable even in the hallway where you stood, and you both grimaced.

“So you, uh…” Leon tried, but the words died on his tongue. He told himself it was because of his sleepy state, of course.

“Can't sleep too, sure. At least they have a good night,” you sounded like you wanted to giggle but were too tired. “Shame I have to go to work tomorrow.”

“That’s a generous approach, honestly,” he admitted and nodded upstairs with his finger. “Should I…”

Pathetic. He was a grown man, and a normal sentence couldn't come out of his mouth. He cleared his throat, bracing himself. He didn’t let himself wonder for too long but… Was it you? Or was it that he had a kind of  deal for you?

“Sorry, I’m half asleep,” he explained his hesitation. “Should I go ask them to be quieter? For the sake of a whole building.”

“You’d be a hero for all of us,” you joked, but he still stood on his own doorstep. You quickly livened up, frowning and throwing him a questioning look. “Was that a rhetorical question, actually? Did you mean to ask me if I want to do the honors of being their least favorite neighbor? Because no, not necessarily, yet…”

You looked straight at him, and he must have taken it as judgment. He opened his mouth to explain again, but you brushed it off.

He was a fine man – now you had a chance to look. A few days stubble marked his face, and he was wearing a long sleeve and pajama pants. He had some strange seriousness to himself. The kind of guy that could be your boss that you could never imagine sleeping, eating, or doing something too human.

He seemed awfully awkward too, which made him much more approachable.

“I'll go,” you decided, pushing yourself away from the door. “They probably won't shut up anyway.”

“Think so?”

“I’m sure,” you claimed, yet continued to climb the stairs lazily. Suddenly you stopped to look at him again. “Actually, the last time something like this happened to me at my previous place, I learned that it only bothers me because ‘I'm jealous.’”

“You don’t look like the jealous type,” he joked and shrugged, already deciding to wait till you come back.

You let out a pretty laugh.

“I know, right? But you never know… And a man who was interrupted always knows everything about you.”

He didn’t hear much more than your fist banging on the door, but the sound stopped a few minutes later.

When you walked down, Leon stood in the same place, now with Fel in his arms. She wanted to look outside and seemed extremely interested in everything. He could already sense that he would spend the rest of the night playing with her.

You rubbed your tired face and eyes, jumping down the final step, then looked at your next-door neighbor.

“They said– oh my, you’ve got a cat!” You cheered, immediately waking up. “Gosh, what a beauty!”

He rocked Felicity in his arms like a proud parent, and honestly, you smiled like that’s what he was.

“Yeahh, she likes to run away, so I have to hold her,” he explained.

“She seems delighted about it,” you noticed, letting the cat smell your hand before petting her gently.”

“Think so?” Leon asked with some hope, and it sounded ridiculous. That animal clearly adored him, but he still sometimes wasn’t sure.

“Oh, trust me. She loves it,” you assured.

It looked like you knew what you were saying, and Leon let out a loud breath.

“Otherwise she would just scratch and run, right? I don't know much about cats, but I'm trying…”

You nodded like you understood his struggles.

“Yes, absolutely! If she allows you to pick her up, then you have nothing to worry about.”

“It all stresses me a lot… “

“That says you care! That's the best thing you can do for her. She will know. And you know… if you ever need something, then I’m happy to help.”

“You know a lot about cats, don’t you?”

It was easy to assume after how confidently you’ve spoken.

“I want to believe so. I certainly understand them better than humans, most of the time.”

“I think I know the feeling… Still, I wouldn’t want to bother you.”

“Not at all. Even now, I don’t think I will sleep anyway.” You said it so lightly that if he had less composure, he would immediately move to let you inside, make you some tea, and start some silly, meaningless chat. You probably realized that the offer was strange. “I mean… if you…”

“Are you sure?” He asked, and Felicity started purring when you scratched her chin.

“Are you?”

“Yeah. I surely do need some help… It would be amazing. Great, yes.”

He stumbled a bit, at which you only smiled.

When he finally asked you in, you fixed your attention on his little, furry girl. It was mutual, honestly, because she almost instantly fell on her back and demanded more scratches.

“So what’s this lady’s name, hm?” You babbled to her.

“Felicity.”

“Adorable.”

It was, actually, Leon agreed. The thought put a smile on his face.

On her second day with me, she got spooked by a trash can and managed to run up to our neighbor. That older lady at 12, I don't know if you…”

Mrs. Spencer, yes.”

“Exactly her. She watched over her before I figured everything out. When I went to collect her, Mrs. Spencer talked about her first granddaughter being born and that we have to honor it… So I ended up naming my cat after some woman’s granddaughter.”

He didn’t know why he was telling you all of that at once, but you surely didn’t mind.

“That makes it even more adorable.”

Finally you stood up from your knees, and Leon offered you something to drink. With two steaming cups of herbal tea, you sat in his flat absolutely preoccupied with a cat. Funny, Fel probably didn’t even know that she shook Leon’s world.

“So, anything in particular you’d like to ask?”

“I’m looking for someone, actually,” he admitted, but decided to keep it to himself that he essentially picked you for the job. “To watch over her. She's already a bit unhappy when I'm in the office, and now… well, I have a demanding job, you know. It might be necessary for someone to take her in for a few days, even if that wasn't planned.”

You hummed, nodding your head but more like it was to yourself, not him. Then you looked up, and he found himself more mesmerized than he expected.

“And you are what? A Spanish inquisitor?”

He frowned and scratched his chin.

“…sort of,” he muttered. There was a strange truth to it.

You didn’t mind the mystery, though. He clearly wanted to start apologizing, but you sent him a smile.

“Well, it’s usually human children I look after. But I suppose it’ll be fine. Less chemistry homework and complaining, right?” You joked.

“Don’t get me wrong, but I need to find a proper person for her… I-I don’t mean that something’s wrong with you, but…”

“I get it. You want someone who will take good care of her. It’s understandable.”

“Okay… good. So…”

Now he noticed that your warm spirit was also stained with some melancholy. He understood it now. The fondness with which you looked at Felicity… it was longing too.

“I have had cats since I was little and… Oh god, you’re going to make me cry. I loved each one of them. The sick ones, the mean ones, ones without legs and eyes, smart, dumb as a brick… They all mattered to me the same.”

“How many do you have now?”

He didn’t notice you with any carriers or cat stuff.

“None. I get too attached, and then… you know.” You sent him a sad look but laughed when Fel tried to climb on your lap.

“Well, now it seems like you have one,” he muttered, looking at the cat, who was feeling even too comfortable. You rolled your eyes playfully. “Sorry, I don’t make the rules. It’s all on her.”

“I suppose I can live with it… So when are you leaving?”

“Wednesday. Does it mean you agree?” He asked with hope. 

“Sure. I’ll come.”

He expected it to be tougher. You didn’t even talk about payment yet. It felt weird to speak of it now, but he felt bad.

“Oh, no, it’s alright. I can just bring her to you.”

“Don’t,” you instructed firmly. “Cats don’t like the change of environment.”

“She sure doesn’t mind it every time she tries to run away…” he jested with forced frustration.

Fel looked at him with her sharp green eyes.

“Is he lying, Felicity? You are a good girl, right? No running away…” You spoke to the cat, and Leon could already feel his mistake. You were already pairing up with his cat against him…

“I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

“That’s your problem now. I will spend some time with my new bestie anyway.”

Leon had to give you a spare key earlier that day instead of simply waiting for you because your working hours collided. You were ending your shift half an hour after he had to leave, so the only option was to give you the key. Not that you gave him any reasons to be concerned, but it was his professional hint of distrust. Still, you were his neighbor, right? It’s not like you’re gonna rob him and run. That was enough to calm him.

Damn all his material property, though. Fel was what he was concerned about. You proved that you were good with cats and that the girl loved you, but would she be okay? Would she miss him? Ever since he took her in, she had little contact with other people, and he only hoped it would be fine…

He certainly didn’t expect the sight he saw late in the night when he got back.

He turned the key in the door slowly, carefully, to not make much noise. He stepped in like a father aware of the sleeping children inside… Sometimes he thought it was hilarious, but he genuinely felt something warm in his heart.

Stopping by the living room, he stood in the doorway and watched with amusement.

You were comfortably half-lying on the couch, your ankles crossed, while Felicity climbed on your chest and drifted off to sleep. The late hour must have gotten to you too, because you were clearly napping yourself.

Leon couldn’t blame you. He would gladly curl up on the other side of the couch, steal some of the blanket you were tangled in, and stay like that since morning.

For a short second he felt awkward about a strange woman being so domestic in his place, sleeping on his couch, but it was a nice kind of awkwardness. He would consider himself cruel if he woke you up, so he truly thought about just lying nearby (respectfully far, obviously) like he wanted.

But then one of your eyes slightly opened, and you yawned.

“You’re back,” you noticed, but had to take a break to wipe the sleep out of your face and stretch your arms. Finally, you looked at him with a fully conscious gaze, and rubbed Fel’s back. “Hi there.”

“Hi,” he greeted and scratched his neck before moving to sit on the couch.

“How was work, inquisitor?”

He was trying to think of something suitable to say. Something between not having to lie and not seeming too gruff. Before he could figure something out, you spoke up again. “Ohh, I know that look. You don’t have to say anything… You can if you like, but don’t force yourself for my sake.”

“Okay. I’m just glad to be back.” You nodded and smiled in response. “Thank you… For everything, really.”

“Of course. It’s a pleasure.”

He watched you pet Felicity’s fur, and he was shocked by how comfortable she seemed. She adored his touch as well, but she rarely slept on him.

“She never does that to me…” he muttered before he could stop the words from coming out.

You chuckled, trying not to shake too much so as not to bother the animal.

“Cats like to cuddle with soft things.”

“Like–”

“Like tits, yeah.”

That was unexpected, and it made Leon crack a smile.

“Bold,” he said, draping his hand on the backrest of the sofa.

“Is it? Then you are not bold enough for a man your age.”

“Woah, alright… Are you trying to offend me?”

“No, I’m judging.”

Only now he realized you were making fun of him. You wanted to laugh at his slightly bashful face, but you were interrupted by another yawn.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, either for joking or yawning. Then Felicity stirred and started shifting on your chest. “Oh, sorry, sorry… I won’t move anymore.”

Your promise wasn’t enough, because she looked up, blinking slowly. When her green eyes landed on Leon she was on her feet immediately. With a happy meow she jumped off you and run over the couch to cuddle with him.

“So you did miss me,” he noticed, no less happy than she was.

“Obviously she did. She checked all the corners before she agreed to come sit with me,” you explained, while moving to sit up and watched them with some fondness. “How do you feel as a mother, Leon?”

Felicity made her way to his lap and snuggled his arm with her head.

“A mother?”

“She must consider you her mother at this point. She really loves you.”

“That’s mutual then,” he admitted and the corners of his lips moved up when he looked at the cat. Then he looked up at you. “Thank you again. It really means a lot to me to know that she’s safe and happy when I’m not here.”

“I imagine… And I guess we get on well. Like girls do, you know.”

He laughed warmly.

“Yeah, no doubt.”

Your relationship with your next-door neighbor went that path and was based mostly on watching over Felicity. Leon often stopped by your place to ask a question or two, and you accompanied him a few times on shopping for cat food. Whenever he saw you with your groceries, you were given no chance to protest against him moving the bags to your door.

Still, it was mostly casual, due to Leon’s restraint. He would love to know you better, but feared bothering you too much or even worse, boring you.

That was until you were forced to knock at his door on some afternoon for a reason that didn’t concern his cat at all.

“Heyy,” you said in a voice too forcefully happy to be true. You could take a guess that your miserable face explained everything anyway. “Sorry to bother you, Leon. I wanted to ask if you have painkillers by any chance? 

He almost froze, still holding onto the door and staring at you with widely opened eyes. If you watched it from afar you would say the guy was looking at an astonishing painting that he liked but didn’t understand at all.

“Sure, yeah!” He finally broke out of his state.

“I just… I have such an awful headache I'm not sure that I can survive going out and facing the sun.”

“Absolutely, do you want to just, em–” he spoke, pretending that Felicity wasn’t currently biting his feet while he tried to push her back from the door with his other leg.

Luckily you understood and moved inside.

“Come on, I'll look around for some pills. I definitely have some.”

“Thanks, you’re saving my life,” you offered weakly.

“Call me whenever you need that again,” he brushed it off almost nonchalantly, which was comical considering his previous stare.

Moving inside, you noticed the pans and plates in the kitchen.

“Oh, you're cooking.”

You took a seat nearby when he crouched to go through a locker with some bandages, drugs, and antiseptics.

“Trying to cook,” he corrected.

You smiled softly, and that made him realize you truly must feel awful. You looked thinner than usual, even if he saw you only yesterday. Your skin was not so glowy, and your eyes were tired over the means.

He quickly found what he was looking for and offered you a whole box. You didn’t even have to ask for some water, because it was placed in front of you.

“Actually, do me a favor,” he said after you thanked him again.

“Oh. A favor of what kind?”

He nodded at the prepared food.

“Take some of it for yourself. It’s nothing fancy, not the best, but I promise it’s edible,” he promised with a concerned face, like you were already questioning his skills. “I’m still… you know, figuring it out. It’s embarrassing, but whenever I try to cook, it turns out to be a meal for a whole military unit. I was always more of a takeout person since… recently.”

Looking at your pained expression made his heart clench a little. He only hoped the painkiller would work fast and give you some relief. It was adorable that you still tried to keep the conversation going and told him to “shut up” when he mentioned that he probably talks too much. “Shut up, as in like… Do not actually shut up,” you corrected.

“Trying to set healthier habits?” You asked.

“Something like that,” he agreed.

“I imagine you must be busy in your big grown-up job of saving the world from heretics,” you said, making him smile and roll his eyes.

“Is it still this ‘Spanish inquisitor’ thing?”

“Mhm.”

It was good to know, though, that you understood, and didn’t think of him as a disaster because he was a grown man who struggled with a basic thing like cooking.

But he didn't really struggle; he just used wrong proportions, and he wasn't a disaster at all. His flat was clean and taken care of, his clothes washed and ironed, damn, he even had pillows for different seasons – red for winter and light blue for spring. He was far from miserable, but Leon had the tendency of being overly critical about himself.

“And I was, yes. Pretty busy.”

“Was? You're a retired inquisitor then?”

“As long as I'm not needed.”

Oh, I get it. But I shouldn't take your food away. If you have too much, it means you can save it for longer, and you don't have to worry about cooking.”

He literally had to fight to not stare at you the way he stared at Fel when she did something cute.

“Y/n. Please, save me from the fate of eating the same pasta for the rest of the week,” he pleaded. “I won’t even mention that I have too much sauce, and I'll have to cook more pasta, then I’ll have too much pasta, and…”

“And you will have to make more sauce. I know it. The never ending story.”

He offered that you should stay if his company doesn’t make your headache worse. Little did he know that it was actually like the best cure.

After fifteen minutes you looked much better, and he relaxed himself.

“We should become business partners,” you said suddenly with a smart smug. “Do you want to trade?”

“What do you propose, m’am?”

“I hate cooking, but I’m a hella good baker.”

“Sounds tempting.” He had to admit that it was indeed a deal he couldn’t turn down. Especially since it came from you. “I can give away some of my dinners for your baked goods.

“Lovely.” You clapped your hands, then offered him one like you were just buying some joint investment. “We have a deal.”

After that day, everything started shifting. Slowly and comfortably for both sides, but it did.

You felt the silent permission to strike up more personal conversations. Leon was a private guy, and you wanted to respect that. You started mentioning books and CDs you saw around his flat. You never did that before to not make him feel like you were getting into his space too much, but now he seemed glad that you noticed things.

And truth be told, you noticed everything. Or at least a lot.

You could recognize when he thought too hard about an answer or when he shifted nervously, not knowing if he should offer you his arm, hug you goodbye, or just nod his head. You saw when he watched you, and well… you watched him too.

You talked about music, and favorite movies. After sharing a few evenings spent over the best title, he came to your flat a few times to play a video game. The whole arrangement of sharing food quickly turned into hanging out together when one of you cooked or baked, whenever possible.

And when it was not and Leon was away on a job, you stayed with Felicity, who grew to love you almost as much as she loved Leon.

“I'm having a free day tomorrow. Can I come sit with her?” – It was a common question that quickly turned into coming over without asking, because it was so obvious.

It was a custom; after some time he stopped dropping the spare key at your place and simply gave you one for good. That was enough of an invitation.

He would be a liar if he said he enjoyed it any less. He loved coming back home now. He loved it before too, when it was just Fel, of course, but now he knew his girl… both of his girls were happy together. It made the missions more bearable.

Sometimes he just stood there on the doorstep, a jacket still on his shoulders, and watched. He took in the simplicity. The adorable simplicity… Abandoned puzzles somewhere on the floor, toy mice, and in the middle of it you, playing with Felicity, who tried to hunt your hand.

“Nice smell,” he noticed one day, thinking that you got out of your comfort zone and tried cooking for once.

“It’s for her,” you said immediately, and Fel used your lack of focus to catch you off guard. She jumped at your back, and you squealed in surprise.

The little beast lightly bit your ear, but despite the playful nature of it, Leon moved to take her off your back.

“Cooking for the cat?” He dared.

“Yeah, I found this old recipe in my notes. My mum was doing it for our first cat!”

“And I thought I was crazy about her…”

All of it felt… Well, heavenly. For a long time in his life, Leon thought that a miracle would have to happen so he could be happy. If that was the case, the miracle had four legs, a few scars on her belly, and a torn ear from a rough life on the street. The miracle also now enjoyed sleeping on his favorite chair but liked your lap much better.

Then he noticed something was off with his cat… He was probably too serious about all of it, but how could he just brush it off?

“Do you think she… I mean, is she breathing properly?”

He looked to the side to try to read something out of your serious face. You were both bent over Felicity, who lied on the sofa and looked rather fine, despite her annoyance about the unwanted attention she was getting.

“It’s… better than yesterday,” you admitted, only worsening his worries.

“Better? But it’s not perfect, right? I knew that I shouldn’t have taken her… God, I just wanted… I’m such a fool.”

You quickly gripped his forearm to stop him from spiraling into guilt.

“Hey, come on. It’s not on you. It’s probably some sort of infection. It will be fine.”

“I’ll take her to the vet… Shit, but I'm working tomorrow.”

He felt bad asking, but it was Felicity’s health on the line, alright?

“Do you…”

You shook your head like you were offended he even had to ask.

“Of course I’ll take her.”

He breathed out the air he didn’t even notice he was holding.

“You are an angel, you know that?”

“And you’re a good person, Leon. Never forget that… Fel is lucky to have you.”

He didn’t feel that way, though, when he sat on the plane, knowing that you and Felicity were at the vet right now. You both probably struggled because you were worried too, and the cat… to put it lightly, she wasn’t a fan of strangers in white kits.

You texted him right away when you got home that she was mostly fine; the doc prescribed her some medication and said it was nothing to worry about. She was annoyed with the trip, though, and looked for him around the flat.

He warned you that he could be unreachable for a longer time, but it didn’t make you any less worried. He never talked about his work much, and you could see the idea of doing that pained him. It wasn’t difficult to guess that it was of a dangerous nature, though.

You kept your phone charged and never abandoned it when he was away (despite having the habit of always losing it in his flat). Waiting for any sign from him was tough. Sometimes it felt like you already knew how military wives felt… and you were just a neighbor. A cat sitter, if you will.

You didn’t give it a name, not even in your own head, to not rush it, but Leon was so much more to you.

He called you late at night, and he actually wondered if he should do that for a longer while. Eventually he decided that he didn’t know when the next considerably safe moment would happen, if it would, and it would be a shame to let the opportunity go.

You picked up almost immediately, like you were waiting. You quickly admitted that you, in fact, were.

Leon’s heart beat faster when you showed him the adorable view of Fel curled up on your stomach while you lay on his couch.

“I wish I could be there with you. How is she doing?”

“Much better. She was very brave at the vet’s. Got snacks and praise.”

He chuckled. Of course she was bribed with snacks.

“Hey, um… “Your soft voice almost made him panic that something happened, but you forced a smile for him. “Do you maybe know when you will be back?”

You never asked him that before. In general, you didn’t ask about his job, and he appreciated it a lot. Somehow you both knew that he couldn’t answer most questions and didn’t want to answer the other half. You were fine that way… But now you must have felt truly awful if you tried to ask.

He was unable to say when he would be back. Damn him if he knew.

The silence placed a sad expression on your face, and suddenly Leon could feel something tightening in his chest. For a moment he feared that he wouldn't be able to take a breath, but he forced himself to calm down.

Thousands of thoughts went through his head, but he cared only about one of them. Only one was worth the bother – it was all you needed to know. Well, for now at least, he hoped.

“Hey, you know that it means a lot to me? I said it before, I know, but…”

“Taking care of Fel?”

He gave himself a moment to think, but there was nothing to wonder about. Didn’t he make up his mind a long time before, after all?

“Yeah, and… just you hanging around. Y-you. You mean a lot to me. Your presence. You know?” He felt like a fool hearing his hesitant voice despite knowing what he wanted to say. He laughed at himself, but you were only shaking your head slowly. “I’m making no sense-”

If you could be there with him, you would take his hand in yours. Staring at the screen of your phone suddenly wasn’t enough.

“It's perfectly fine, Leon. I get it.”

You wanted to add something, say it all back, but the call was cut, making your breath stop. Without a single rational thought, you could feel your eyes tearing up.

Only then did the spiral start. What if he was hurt? If something happened and he won’t be back. Or that he will be back but very injured…

Felicity felt your nerves building up and stirred.

“It will be okay,” you said to the sleeping cat.

Or to yourself.

All you could do for now was shamelessly curl up in a blanket that smelled like Leon and not disturb the cat. You could always try calling him again in the morning. You agreed that then – if he wouldn’t pick up – then you could panic, and it would be justified.

And you did.

He didn’t pick up in the morning nor later, and after the third attempt, you stopped trying in case you were interrupting him or something.

You called your employer to say you were sick, which wasn’t much of a lie. You felt sick, and staying in with Felicity was the only thing that could make it at least a bit more bearable.

You cleaned the flat, made something to eat, then left it untouched, and eventually ended up sitting without any occupation anyway. Putting your mind on something would help, you knew that, but you couldn’t force yourself…

Time was your enemy. Not only because of how slowly it passed, but also when you lost track of it. The sun set down, and you still sat there like the shaking bundle of nerves that you were.

You didn’t allow the tears to flow again, though.

Well, at least until you heard the door opening and rushing in the hall. Then you couldn’t control any of it anymore.

You stood up, almost kicking the chair back and startling Felicity. Your head was spinning, and your sight was fuzzy, but you made your way to Leon, only stopping for a few seconds in front of him.

You didn’t notice the bouquet that he was holding, and he almost dropped it when he saw the wet traces on your cheeks.

“Hey,” you said, like a sob wasn’t just trying to break out of your throat.

“Hey… Darling, wha–”

“You mean a lot to me too, you know?”

He stopped with his mouth open and blinked a few times.

“What?”

You tried wiping the tears away so you could focus better, but they were winning. Before you could notice, Leon shifted closer, the flowers long abandoned on a shelf, and he cupped your face in his hands.

“When the call was cut–” you tried to explain but had to focus on steadying your breath. Leon nodded his head like he wanted to encourage you. “Before that you said I mean a lot to you. I don't know if I catch what you meant, but it's only fair if I say it back. Because it's true. You mean a lot to me, Leon.”

“I did mean it… and you know me well enough to understand how I mean it.”

The corners of your lips twitched when he brushed your cheeks gently with his thumbs.

“I missed you…”

“I missed you too, darling, trust me,” he let out quietly, yet firmly.

A fuzzy presence made itself noticeable with a loud meow and rubbing on Leon’s legs.

“Oh, right. She missed you too, obviously,” you added with a chuckle, trying to break away from his embrace, but he didn’t allow you.

He kept you close but did it gently, leaving you space if you truly wanted to step away from him. You didn’t.

Leon’s affection wasn't quick or sudden. The wall he has built around himself over the years wasn't easy to break through, even for himself. He wanted, yearned, to pull you into him, crash his lips to yours and cradle your hair with his hand.

It felt too bold, though. Perhaps you were right when you were joking a few weeks ago. He wasn’t bold enough for a man like him. But that’s who he was, and he liked the idea that you cared for him despite his flaws…

Thankfully, you cuddled into his chest yourself, and his embrace on your body tightened. He kissed the top of your head and your temples when you finally looked up at him.

“Stay with us?” He asked unsurely.

Just like he was still hesitant if you even wanted to be here.

You couldn’t help but laugh before pulling him closer by the collar of his shirt.

There’s no hero in this story, just loss and bloodshed. One where the monster comes out victorious, bold horns and venom-spitting teeth curled in delight as it takes pleasure in taking the lives of others. It’s the kind of tale that needs to be dulled at the edges before your dad ever tells you it.

Those whispered words brought you nightmares, of cruel vitriol and vicious snarls of a monster taller than your home. Claws protruding from digits that don’t breathe of humanity, used only to rip and tear. Eyes so cold and dead that those who saw them were doomed to their end before they could get a word in edgewise.

Over the following year, the story would warp. It would become far more suitable for the younger crowd, nothing more than a shadow of the spine-chilling tale you once heard. A hero added to the outskirts to slay the monster with a victorious shout, burying the truth even farther from what it ever was.

The story you once heard would fade in your memories with time, replaced by the one with the brave warrior and his beautifully crafted long-bow. After all, can one ever truly blame a child for their naivety? The world is nothing if not yours to explore when you’re barely a few days over four.

“Saya! Sayaaa!” You call out for your friend, padding through the leafy undergrowth behind your village in search of her. Your kimono brushes against your knees as you push through a series of flimsy branches, scanning your surroundings for any signs of your hidden counterpart.

Sun beats down between gaps in the growth above, briefly blinding you as you make your way through a sunny patch of trees. Blinking hard to adjust to the sudden burst of light, you round a tree and rub at them as you make out the shape of a small human crouched down before you.

“Found you!” Gleefully, you bound further into the clearing, lowering your hands from your eyes when you come face-to-face with a small boy, rather than your best friend. “Oh–!” With lips pursed into an ‘O’ shape, you peer down curiously at the little boy cautiously peering over his shoulder at you.

He wears silks far too large for his stature that pools on the ground around him. The fabric’s edges are tattered and filthy, the seams tearing where he seems to have stepped on them. The boy himself seems to be your age if you were to make a guess. His cheeks are rounded, covered in enough grime to make you wonder how his parents let him get that way.

His hair is the kind of pale pink that makes you think of the fish your parents prepare here and there, a pretty near-salmon that doesn’t suit the glare being shot at you. The pupil you can see is a pinprick, tossed over his shoulder as though he’s hiding something from you. He seems to brandish a scar beneath the eye you’re able to see, some sort of slice located at the edge of his vision.

In spite of the scorn being tossed over his shoulder with just one look, he’s still just a boy.

“Hello!”

If his eye could narrow any further, it does. He doesn’t reply, curling in towards whatever you now realize is on the ground before him.

Rocking back and forth on your heels, you clasp your hands behind your back, introducing yourself. When he still doesn’t reply, his pupil flitting across your features dangerously, you take a cautious step forward, trying to peer at what it is he seems to be protecting.

He shuffles further away from you, his back still to you as he stops you from seeing whatever it may be.

Chewing on your lip as the boy makes things difficult, you tilt your head. “What’s your name?”

His piercing stare doesn’t falter as his head swivels back towards you. He examines your face just long enough that you’re about to take another nosy step forward, when he finally takes a breath to speak.

“I get called Ryomen Sukuna.” He mutters his words, speaking in a rough tone, as though his voice hasn’t been used in a while.

Straightening, you tilt your head in the opposite direction as you work through the memories of your brief four rotations around the sun. It’s familiar, in a spine-chilling sort of way that any adult might recognize and run the other way. Your instincts lack that knowledge, even as you recall where you’ve heard it before.

Two-faced Spirit. The monster known for curled horns and sharp fangs, long claws and deadly slices.

“Like in the stories?”

His gaze momentarily flickers away. “Yes.”

You pout. It’s a rather mean-spirited name for a child, and that just won’t do.

“I think Ryo is better.”

He shifts, less guarded as he sits upright and looks you up and down suspiciously. As he turns more towards you, you’re able to make out some sort of protrusion from the side of his face that he’s guarding. He’s also far more covered in grime than you had initially gathered, with a smearing of blood across his cracked lips, dripping freshly down his chin. It should scare you.

It doesn’t.

This time when you take a step towards him, peering over his shoulder, he doesn’t stop you.

You recoil at the sight. Once a rabbit, now barely more than a pelt. Your nose wrinkles. “Did you eat that?”

“Yes.”

“Ewww!” You proclaim in the kind of way only a child can manage.

His brow furrows again as he faces away, pulling his kill closer as though your judgement is expected. Still, you don’t leave as he expects, and when he throws another glare over his shoulder to find you still there, that’s when his lips finally curl in disdain. “What do you want?”

“Where are your parents?”

He turns away from you again, briefly silent. “Not here.”

“Are you alone?”

He picks at the rabbit’s thigh, shoving raw meat into his mouth that has you nearly gagging at the sight. “Yes,” he answers between chewing.

“Why?”

His head whips around to face you, frustrated, if his scowl is anything to go by. This time, you’re able to make out the protrusion on the other side of your face. It seems to be some sort of mask or plate of flesh. An eye as red as the one you’ve already seen tilts, as though he’s watching you from all angles. You notice there seems to be another scar of sorts beneath it, just like the other eye. He’s otherwise a normal kid, as far as you can tell. “Because.”

You step closer, barely a stride away now. “Do you wanna help me find my friend?”

Irises as red as the blood that decorates his chin narrow to mere slits. “Why would I do that?”

“We’re playing hide and seek!” You explain with a wide grin.

“You want to… play?” He repeats the sentiment, his voice rife with confusion.

“Yeah!”

His left eye averts as he considers your proposition. Shifting the rabbit corpse nearer the tree he’s crouched before, he covers it in leaf litter and nods. “Okay. How do I play?”

With a delighted hop, you grab his wrist and drag him away from the clearing where he was hunched over. “Saya’s hiding somewhere near the village, we just–”

“Village?” He repeats warily, freezing before you can drag him too far.

As he tugs you to a halt, you turn to face him. He has a sizable amount of height over you for a kid who seems to share your age. If it weren’t for the rounded cheeks and limited vocabulary you both share, you might think he was a bigger kid.

“Yeah, my parents are there,” you explain simply, attempting to tug him once more.

“No.” He holds his ground. “I won’t go near your village.”

“Why not?” You pout, hands on your hips indignantly.

He stares back with equal indignance. “They won’t like me.”

For all of your naivety and innocence, you can’t begin to understand where he’s coming from. “They have to meet you before they can like you!” You insist. “Duh.”

He scowls, but as you tug his wrist once more, he obliges and follows after you.

“Saya loves climbing!” You explain, casting a glance back at the uncertain boy. “Check the trees!”

As you bound between thick cedar stumps, kicking up leaves and dirt, the little boy rather quietly allows you to drag him with you. “What do you do when you find Saya?”

“Then one of us will hide instead! Have you really never played?”

“Never.”

“It’ll be fun!” You insist, slowing your pace as you near one of Saya’s favorite spots. The trees in this particular clearing are prime for climbing with branches low enough that even a clumsy four-year-old can make their way up into the overhanging greenery.

Sure enough, as you slow to a halt, the boy’s head whips around as something catches his attention. Hackles raised, he steps back on bare feet, hands braced before him as though he might need to defend himself.

Confusion is clear on your expression as you watch his strange reaction before following his gaze curiously. “Found you!”

Saya’s face peers from behind the cover of leaves, wide auburn eyes focused on the little boy a few steps behind you who cautiously eyes her. “Who are you?” She calls down, pushing short raven-black hair behind her ear.

“This is Ryo!” You introduce him with an exaggerated wave of your hand as though you’re presenting a discovery. Which, one could suppose you are.

She leaps from branch to branch, landing heavily in leaves that are too summer-green to crunch quite yet. She confidently strides up to him, standing between you both with hands on her hips as she evaluates the robes that he swims in, his arms barely visible under the sea of silken fabrics. Were they his size, one might think he had come from money.

She’s silent for a long moment as she curiously looks over the protrusion on his face. His gaze hardens, a small frown forming as he braces, when–

“Not fair,” Saya finally decides, turning back towards you with an arm outstretched towards Sukuna. “He helped you find me!”

Proudly beaming, you nod. “See!” You insist, leaning around Saya. “I told you it would be fun!”

Slowly, he lowers his guard as his hands fall to his sides. He examines Saya and nods decisively, as though coming to terms with the fact that she’s equally as little of a threat as you are.

“Okay, your turn to hide!” You insist as you turn to the little boy. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, dried hare’s blood falling from his skin in little flakes. “Not too far, though.”

He blinks, standing upright as though he was carrying something on his shoulders initially and has finally set it down. His shoulders are more relaxed, his gait more event as he agrees, a hint of something genuine behind his irises. Had you blinked, you might even miss the slight tilt to his lips. He nods, and bounds off as you and Saya count.

As the sun travels across the sky, the shadows being cast by the layer of leaves overhead grow longer. You hide in bushes while Saya slinks through the trees, and Sukuna curls under large root growths protruding from the underbrush.

Hide and seek turns into an unfair game of tag as you realize Sukuna’s legs are far longer than yours. It’s not until you hear Saya’s father calling that your games slow with a defeated groan. Sukuna freezes, all signs of playfulness draining from his body as he steps back.

“Coming!” Saya calls back, pushing up from the spot where she had tripped over own feet. “Are you going home, Ryo?”

His gaze is still trained on the space between the trees where Saya’s father’s voice echoed. One eye briefly flickers towards her, a curiosity in itself that he seems capable of, but he’s still hyperfocused on the gap in the trees. “No.”

Saya exchanges a glance with you. “Where are you going after this?”

He backs himself closer to the tree behind him. “My rabbit.”

Your nose wrinkles as Saya’s face twists in confusion. “You can’t eat that!” You insist. “You have to cook it first!”

He shrugs, still gradually moving back as though he might retreat any moment. You reach out to take his wrist, fingers curled around it softly. “Come with us. My mama cooks so good!”

The boy adamantly shakes his head, a hand rising to touch the eye that protrudes from the left side of his face. “I have to go.”

Adamantly tugging his wrist closer to you, you shake your head. “Pleeeaaase!”

As Saya nods by your side, the little boy’s entire demeanor shifts, as though the afternoon has had more of an effect on him than he could have imagined. His lips part as he contemplates your offer, his gaze sliding between you and your short-haired friend. His head swivels back in the direction of his early afternoon kill, the closest thing he has to home, before his chest rises and falls in a huff. “Okay.”

The run back through the wooded paths you’ve grown used to is short even as you pull Sukuna behind you. His robes drag through hardened mud, picking up twigs and thorns along the way until you reach the outer edge of the village.

Your newest friend lowers his gaze. His hand pushes back through his spiky pink locks as though it might prevent those around him from getting a good look at him. Saya’s father is at the outer edge of their crops awaiting his daughter.

The man’s expression relaxes as Saya runs up to him, clambering at his sleeves as she excitedly tells him that she got to climb the tallest tree ever. It’s when she mentions making a new friend that the man’s expression falters. He lifts his attention to Sukuna a step behind you, the right half of his body tilted away from the adult.

His jaw clenches at the sight of the grime-covered boy as he makes his way slowly towards you both. Patting your head in greeting, the man moves just past you, kneeling down. Face-to-face with Sukuna, he introduces himself, met only with a short “hello” when Sukuna makes no moves to look up.

“Where are your parents?”

Sukuna’s hand falls from his hair. Before he can even reply, Saya’s father’s balance falters and he stumbles back. A stunned expression dons his features as he casts a glance between you two girls and back at Sukuna.

The boy hesitates. “Gone.”

Uneasily eyeing the child, Saya’s father calls for his wife. She must sense his concern, as she makes haste to his side. He eyes your friend as he whispers to her, his words lost on all three of you. Still, Saya’s mother regards the little boy with sympathy as he peers up from beneath his lashes in a pile of dirty fabrics.

Her brow knits as she speaks to her husband in a tone you manage to catch, something akin to disbelief. She must make a decision of her own volition as she steps forward, kneeling before Sukuna. “What’s your name, dear?”

Sukuna blinks, glancing sidelong at you. “Ryo.”

Saya’s mother cracks a smile. “How lovely. Let’s get you indoors. You need to be cleaned up.”

The boy’s expression morphs into something of shock, but he obliges, letting the kind woman take his hand as she leads him inside. As Saya’s mother extends her kindness to the child in need, her father gathers your parents within their home. As you and your friend play with a number of wooden figures on the floor, the adults’ conversation is mostly lost on you, although you catch bits and pieces.

“–could he be a descendant from the tales?”

“–what if he does it again–”

“–kill–”

“–he cannot be seen–”

“–the real monster here is–”

“–there is no reason to be unkind–”

Your attention rises to the door as your father’s closest friend–the village leader– joins the gathered adults. They exchange greetings, filling him in on details. It’s not until Sukuna and Saya’s mother return that you gather that there’s a level of severity to the discussion they’re having about nothing more than a little boy. Your new friend.

The silence is thick as your parents and your father’s friend both get a look at the boy.

Freshly bathed with strands of pink sticking up in all directions and robes that are moderately closer to his size, he looks far more presentable. The robes seem to bunch oddly in his middle section, almost as though he’s hidden something beneath them. He has a few scrapes along his hands and arms and a small cut on his cheek, but otherwise he mostly just seems tired. His eyes have a droop to them telling of a child who needs a nap. Still, he doesn’t seem to think twice as he comes to join you and Saya on the floors, his legs folding beneath him as he picks up a wooden figure to examine it.

Glances are exchanged between the adults. Whispers ripple through the shadows. It’s Saya’s mother who puts herself out there for the boy.

“We will not be throwing him out,” she adamantly states. “He is the same age as your daughter, could you truly treat him in such a way knowing that?” She accuses her husband. Your father shares his shame, though if the village leader– Murata-san– has any reservations, they’re quieter.

“How are we meant to take him in? No one can see a boy like that. He’ll be killed.”

“I will take him in.”

All heads whip towards Murata.

“It may be his only chance at safety,” he explains as though it’s a no-brainer. His green eyes narrow in Sukuna’s direction. “Besides, is he not just a child?”

He leaves behind little room for doubt as they find the boy already nodding off on the floor. For all of the uncertainty gathered in the room, no one can deny that the little boy slowly slumping over is as human as they come, no matter what the hateful may say.

–

No living creature could ever hope for a life of loneliness. Even the most solitary of creatures will seek out habitats where others roam nearby. Even those shunned from their own homes long for a life of companionship.

Perhaps that’s what brought you together. Without prejudice, you see him for what he is, and still want his friendship.

The boy once treated like the plague and discarded after an early life of vitriol and violence had already amounted his life to one of loneliness. At only five years old he hides in his adopted father’s fields. At age four, he scavenged for berries and sliced rabbits in an effort to keep his head above water. At age three he writhed and screamed for his mother as he was torn from her grasp, unknowingly awakening a boy with the potential to be a cursed king.

Abandoned by the gods, he knows only the cruelty of man, the child of tragedy itself.

You and Saya, however, take his beliefs down another path. Perhaps he’s still shunned by those who don’t understand him, but you offer him peace, solace, and normalcy.

“Ryoooo!” You call out into the crops where he can usually be found. You can’t see him through the large plant stalks, but a small shuffle in the distance tells you that you’ve captured his attention.

He emerges in a flash of pink from between the wheat stalks. 

In the year since you met, he’s grown into quite the little helper around the more rural areas of the village. He grows like a weed, always a good couple of inches over your head. Murata-san often complains about the rate in which new fabrics go to use, though you might argue the real issue is his tendency to rip them.

He may not be as talkative as Saya or as curious as you are, but he makes a great listener and he’s adept at your favourite games.

The hat he dons blocks much of his blood-red eyes, but his left eye glints with intrigue as he awaits what you called him for.

“There’s a celebration today, you should come! Saya and I are gonna go look!”

For a split second, something akin to thrill passes over his expression. It doesn’t last when he casts a glance back in the direction of his home. “I can’t.”

“Is your father making you work again?” You pout.

His lip twitches. “Yes.”

“Come on, can you just sneak away for a little bit?”

His grimace widens, but it’s not an immediate no. You’ve come to know that he can be convinced fairly easily to sneak away if it means spending time with you and Saya. You seldom invite the other children to play, as the rest of the boys have always been far too rough, but Sukuna has the tendency to keep to himself.

“Fine,” he sighs. “If Murata-Sensei finds out, he won’t be happy,” Sukuna frowns, casting a glance back through the fields where his home lies in wait.

“He won’t find out!” You insist with all the care of a young child, positively brimming with excitement. “Come on!” Taking hold of his wrist, you drag him away from the fields. The coarse fiber of his sage-green garments gathers at the point where your limbs are tangled, brushing your arm.

“I’ll be underdressed for the celebration,” he mutters as you drag him further from the home where the crops are his sanctity and shelter from prying eyes.

“We’re just watching!” You insist, “It’s for the adults, anyway. They’re doing archery!” You glance back, beaming.

That seems to get his attention. “Archery?” No longer allowing you to drag him to Saya’s, he catches up with you as you lead the way to the home tucked within the back corner of the village.

With his interest now piqued, you pridefully hold the information over his head. “Mhmm! It’s a competition. They’re showing off for the emperor!”

Sukuna stiffens, his steps faltering. Your hand tears from his wrist as he stops dead in his tracks. “The emperor will be there?”

Stopping to peer back at him, you tilt your head. “Yeah. Why?”

Your friend’s jaw tightens. For as much as he appreciates your friendship, you’ve never really clicked with the fact that he’s different. In spite of his different face, you’ve always struggled to grasp that not everyone views him with so little prejudice. At times, he’s grateful for your childish impartiality.

Other times, he’s reminded of how alone he is in the world.

It settles heavily in his chest as you happily wave your wide sleeves through the air, awaiting his response.

“The emperor…” He grits his teeth, casting his glance aside as he spares you the gruesome details. “He won’t like me.”

Too naive to understand, you surge forward to grab his wrist again. “I told you, we’ll just be watching anyway!”

His brow furrows, but he lets you drag him to Saya’s house. Being within a farm-abundant village sets the houses a small distance from another, something he’s grown to appreciate as it allows him to remain in the shadows of the kind man who took him in. He’s strict and particular, but Sukuna would never mistake that for unkindness. He’s treated well, and even at his young age, the child has learned better than to take that for granted and not return that respect.

He stands behind you as Saya emerges from her house at the knock of your knuckles. She’s dressed up in pinks that match your kimono. Crimson irises flit down to his attire, the hemp woven into a coarse material that keeps him safe from the sun as he wanders the land behind Murata’s house– his house. He doesn’t feel nearly as done-up as you and Saya are. Regardless of your dismissal of his concerns, he still feels underdressed for the occasion.

“You look so pretty!” You gasp as Saya twirls at the door.

“Thanks!” She grins in the flower-laden kimono. “Mama put the flowers on it!” She gleefully shows off the embroidered detailing along the sleeves. Her hands fall to her sides with the rustling of the excess material. “Are you guys excited?”

“Yes!” You hop in place as Sukuna quietly nods at your side. “I love watching the archers! We need to make sure we don’t miss it,” you insist with the sun high in the sky.

The three of you tear through the field outside Saya’s house, kicking up dirt and dust in your trail without a care at all. One would almost think you were on top of the world, just three care-free children on their way to a celebration that your parents deemed unnecessary for the three of you to attend. But what reasonable five-year-old listens to the rhetoric of a parent?

Sneaking through the trees in a flurry of giggles, you find yourself on the outer edge of the gathering quickly. You stick close to trees in case you’re spotted by anyone, let alone your parents.

“Where’s the archery?” Saya whispers, clinging to the bark of the tree you’re hidden behind as she peers at the crowd.

“It must be what everyone is looking at,” you murmur, staring up above you. “Climb the tree, Saya!”

“Good idea!” She whispers back without a care at all for the Kimono she’s wearing. She clambers at the bark, trying to get a good foothold on anything, but the tree is taller than what she can manage. “Ryo, help!” She pleads with the tallest, who’s scowling quietly as he cautiously watches the crowd.

Still, he steps forward and tries to help lift Saya.

“Put your foot on my knee.”

“You’re slippery!”

“You kicked me!”

“Just a bit higher!”

“Ow!”

With all of the kerfuffle, it’s a miracle you aren’t heard. Saya scales the branches once she reaches the first one, tossing her sandals down once she realizes they’re a detriment to her climbing.

“You almost hit me!” The boy at your side grumpily whisper-yells, fully scowling at this point with his arms crossed as he side-steps the shoe.

“Yeah, but I didn’t!”

“Stop fighting,” you insist, more focused on the celebration in the clearing ahead. “Do you see it?”

No longer distracted, Saya seats herself atop a branch. “They’re just starting! Get up here!”

Hopping up and down, you shed your own sandals without putting Sukuna in danger this time, and turn to him gleefully. “Help me up!”

His frown tightens, but he obliges. You use his thigh as leverage as he hoists you up to the best of his ability while you pull yourself up to the first branch. Saya helps with footing as you make your way to her side, shortly followed by the pink-haired boy. As the three of you plop down on a pair of strong branches, you’re able to finally get a good look at the competition, and the emperor’s men, though you don’t see the man himself.

Your eyes are full of wonder as you watch arrows soar through the air. You recognize one of your father’s friends among the line of archers, alongside many people you’ve seen around but scarcely remember.

“I want Okamoto-san to win!” You proclaim, pointing out your father’s friend.

“No way!” Saya nudges your shoulder as she points out where his arrow landed on his target. “His arrow is way off!”

“I know but they fire more than one arrow, Saya!”

Within the cover of the trees, Sukuna relaxes at your side, his arms clinging to the branch beneath him as he stares down at his dangling feet. The air is still warm from the mid-afternoon sun as it filters through the leaves above, and the breeze is nice on his skin.

The sun knows not real warmth compared to you and Saya, though. Even bickering at his side over pointless drivel, his friends are what truly provide him with the kind of happiness that could keep any kid content. Even as the sensation that he shouldn’t be here creeps up on him, he finds himself drawn to your conversation.

“I could be a great archer someday,” you proclaim, mimicking the archery pose used by those with far more experience than you.

“You can’t be an archer,” Saya reminds you with the sort of resignation that’s typical of someone forced into the box of societal expectations herself. “You’re supposed to run the farm like your mom,” she states, a reminder of how your futures are more than likely shaped for you.

“I think you could be,” Sukuna chimes in, not privy to the expectations of your father after only having known you both for a year. He’s far too young to grasp much for societal norms beyond that of one’s appearance.

You whip your head around, kicking your feet out beneath you with a beam. “Thanks!” You stick your tongue out at Saya triumphantly, which has your friend giggling.

“Well maybe I can be an empress someday, then!”

“You already look like one!” You beam as though half of the battle is solved. “I would defend you from big bad monsters.” You shut one eye as you mimic an archery pose once again, spine straightened with one arm extended and the other bent. “I want pretty pink armor to match your kimono.”

“What about you, Ryo?”

Sukuna’s gaze falls to the underbrush several feet below in thought. “I can be a monster, I guess.”

Both of your heads tilt in confusion. “What? No way!” You exclaim. “You would be the mightiest warrior there is!” You shift on the branch, painting a picture before you with the exaggerated motions of your hands. “When you’re all grown up, you’re gonna be the biggest and most loved that there is!” You grin.

Sukuna’s cheeks warm at your proclamation. He scratches haphazardly at what you can only guess are extra materials gathered at his waist that must be itchy, though he pulls his hand back suddenly like you’ve caught him doing something he shouldn’t be. “Maybe,” he agrees, though for once it’s nice to feel included.

“Come on, they’re taking too long for the next round,” Saya whines as she clings to the branch and makes a motion for you both to get down. “Let’s go play empress and warriors!”

As your group clambers from the tree and runs off in the direction of your farm, Sukuna takes on the role of a mighty warrior leader. He chases Yokai and fends off opposing armies with his most trusted archer at his side for the mighty empress. Cucumbers are prematurely pulled from the crops surrounding you as they become unfortunate fodder for Sukuna’s mighty wooden dowel, a pile of bruised and dirtied vegetables that you’ll surely be reprimanded for once your mother finds them.

When his back is turned is when Saya tosses the biggest one she can find, catching him by surprise as he’s thrown off-balance, just barely catching himself.

When he stands up with an indignant huff and brushes the dirt from his clothes with not one, but two pairs of arms as the second tears through the tie of his upper garments, that’s when you all take pause. He’s caught between two owlish pairs of eyes, equally incredulous expressions regarding him. A cold sweat gathers on his brow as he takes a step back.

No. Not you and Saya. Anyone but you two.

“I don’t– I won’t–” His thoughts choke him as he searches for words when tears gather at his furrowed brow. Panic rises, gripping his chest and bringing a level of incoherency to his already childish vocabulary. “I won’t do it again.” It comes out choked, nearly as a sob, when he desperately tries to pull his limbs back under the fabrics of his robes, haphazardly attempting to conceal them again although the fabric won’t cooperate. “I promise,” he murmurs as cold dread creeps up his spine and tears well frustratingly in his young eyes.

Still, as neither of you make a move to spit cruelties at him or restrain him, he doesn’t know how to react. Warm tears well and fall down tanned cheeks too young to know the pain of rejection, of the cold and biting nights, or hunger.

In what feels like a painful rejection of his body to his mind, he blinks heavily, revealing yet another secret as you and Saya are met with four fearful red irises.

“You have… four arms and eyes?” Saya finally pipes up, rocking back and forth on her heels as though she’s just counted them herself.

His fists ball at his sides as he backs away.

“That’s so cool!” You yell in your fit of excitement, stepping forward with a hand out and no regard for personal space.

Sukuna flinches as you approach him, the lower set of hands pulled towards his torso as something emptily slices through the air between you. You pull back at the strange sound as the air moves in ways you’ve never seen, staring curiously at him as it visibly clicks for him what you’ve just said. “Cool?” He mutters hoarsely, an air of resentment to his voice, although it doesn’t appear to be directed at either of you.

“Yeah!” You take another step forward, slower now as you extend your hand cautiously. His gaze flickers wildly between you and Saya, lowering to your hand as you curiously examine his arms. “Can I see?”

Saya is close behind you, as inquisitive as you are as Sukuna warily holds out one of the arms he usually keeps hidden. You can’t say what you’re expecting, it’s just another arm, but it confirms that you’re not seeing things. When you’re a child, that’s pretty cool.

“You could hold two bows!” You loudly exclaim, your mind wandering to the farthest reaches of possibility.

Your newer friend’s face contorts into disbelief, working through multiple stages of acceptance that you’re completely unbothered, before he finally envisions himself holding two bows. “What? No, how am I supposed to aim?”

“Oh.” Your shoulders fall as you picture him holding a bow on either side, his limbs horribly tangled. “But you could load a new arrow so fast! Or, or–! You could hold–”

“– four swords!” Saya chimes in excitedly as you finish the thought together, giggling in excitement.

Sukuna’s arms, all four, fall to his sides as his extra eyes blink at the both of you, unable to comprehend your fearless and accepting reactions. Even the children from his last village spewed scorn at him, what makes you both so different? He wants to associate it with the fact that you already know him and are friends, but even from the day you met, you never batted an eye at how different he was.

But something changed, in that moment. For Sukuna was no longer the cursed child, but a friend. Maybe life was different for him, maybe his time would be spent with two eyes closed and two arms hidden, but he didn’t have to do that around you or Saya any longer.

Bewildered, he stands silently as you both imagine worlds where he’s an emperor, the strongest, the kind of person people look up to. The kind of thing he could only ever dream. Coming from both of you, it feels more tangible, like he could reach out and grasp at it.

“Come on, Ryo,” you call, snapping him from his trance as you begin running off in another direction. He blinks, starting slowly as he makes a move to follow you. “You have to lead our army to save Saya!”

His short legs move faster, padding over dirt and patches of dried mud as he chases after you both with a wide grin on his face, the tears a long forgotten piece of his past.

main masterlist || series masterlist || next ➵ - coming soon

➴ a/n ; i hope you're enjoying it so far!! please be prepared for angst for these poor babies :') each scene will be from different points in their lives and childhoods for the first few chapters, and we'll follow them well into adulthood as well. i think the shorter chapters give me the space to put out work more frequently too which i'm really liking, and i'll likely work on the occasional other series or oneshot as well. i hope to share a lot more work!! anyway, tysm for all the excitement for this series and for reading <33

➴ taglist ; OPEN. age must be visible in bio. 18+ only. @sukubusss @matchaenthusiast1111 @peachhiz @seellove @ecrindermeister @msrinnnn @amenabiii @jasontoddscumslut @asimpinamillion @rottenrange @ricktastix @indiewritesxoxo @cosmotoic @berry-marys @eli54sa @lovers-roq @arcanelusttt @cheol-lies @scarletcachecyclone @bam-boozledx @cherryredkissez @icebearcucumber @meatboy167 @t4ters @slushycoookie @yarimarjane @dishs0pe @martianzmars @lilrosyhaven @tiny-mimi @grimm3r @yujisredkicks @knittybritty98 @sukunahs @saezzi @epicderpface @ynishalee @pandabiene5115 @silibiliballs @ane5e @feyrinnn @jkslvsnella @maomimii @martianzmars @megumuro @beaniesayshi @suguusatoo @ryomeowie

"Ah!" called Hiromi, walking faster now with his sloshing bucket, like a father who had caught his child mid-nonsense. You, halfway through sinking into the bath, looked up. "Ah! No, no, no, thank you very much! Not today, thank you!"

"I beg your pardon--"

"That, is my bath!" Hiromi huffed, grunting as he set the bucket down on the lip of the tub. "That is my bath, I think you will find, and I have been filling it for hours--"

"Not a chance, I've been eyeing this up for days, I've brought bubble bath and everything--"

"Well!" Hiromi sniped, pouring the cold water into the bath, and grimacing with grim satisfaction as you squealed. "Well! That's just too bad, isn't it, because it's mine--"

"I'm already in, so it's mine."

A laugh, hysterical and mirthless. "Oh, no, that's not how this works, sweetheart-- out, now-- get out--"

Splashes. Cries of outrage. Oofs. Roars of irritation.

Hiromi's top half was drenched. He scrabbled to haul you out of the bath; and failed. You proved a slippery customer, and slid around in his grasp like a freshly-oiled dolphin.

"For goodness' sa-- keep still!"

"Shan't."

"You fucking child--"

Splashes. Giggles. Huffs of laughter, tongue in cheek and sour.

Eventually, drenched and growling to himself, Hiromi straightened up. You smiled up at him, sitting pretty. He shook off his soaked sleeves. He looked at you, pink with outrage; and, perhaps, something else. Something different.

"Fine," he snapped, petulant again. Though you had at least removed your socks and shoes, he did not, and clambered into the other end of the bath as you preened at him. "Fine. Have it your way. Be quiet. Don't talk to me."

"I've got bath bombs. And wine."

"Now we're talking."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"...and so it comes to a point where it's no longer nihilism to say that the world is a cold and unjust place, and that nothing really matters, it's just miserable, hard fact--"

"Very hard to take you seriously when you're covered in bubbles."

The man you now knew as Higuruma Hiromi yanked on your bare foot, tickling it and pulling you towards him as you squealed. It was your turn with the one glass of wine, but he reached over and plucked it from your hand, draining it in one fell swoop.

You watched his Adam's apple bob. You shivered. He noticed. He draped your leg across his chest and shoulder, leaning his cheek into it with a sigh. His smile fell away, his face becoming hangdog and drawn again.

"It is a bit cold, isn't it?" he mumbled into your calf.

Your eyes softened. You sighed, and took a swig straight from the bottle, before leaning over and passing it to Hiromi. "The bath, or the world?"

"Both."

"The bath, yes. The world, I...I can't bring myself to condemn."

"Then you're a foo--"

"And neither can you."

Higuruma stilled. His grip on your leg tightened. You felt every strong fingertip, mapping constellations upon your calf. You continued, softer.

"And that's what makes this so hard. Because you keep waiting for the apathy to come, and it's not coming. However many people you kill, however you try to convince yourself that the Culling Game is 'full of possibilities', it's not coming. The truth remains; you see the human cost of this, and it eats you up inside."

Hiromi did not answer. He stared into some endless place past the curtains, where red and black mixed as one, until you could not tell where one ended and the other began.

"There is joy to be found," you whispered; even in the depths of despair, yourself. "And there will always be the need for someone to fight for the justice required, for joy to be possible. And, you're covered in bubbles, and drinking straight from the bottle, and--"

"--in the bath with a beautiful woman," Hiromi murmured. You fell silent. Heat bloomed in your cheeks; down your breasts, your belly, your thighs, and then upon the inside of your ankle, where his lips and nose did graze. When his lips began a slow, longing press, he paused. His eyes flicked over to you, reading. You did not stop him. His lips finished their press, hot and branding.

"I don't want to keep doing this," he admitted, parting your thighs to slide himself up and between them, into something of an embrace with his chin rested between your breasts. Your heart could have broken, with the shards of soul in his eyes.

"Not...not this," he clarified, gesturing wanly at you as you sniffled out a laugh. "But this. The...the murder. The bloodshed and...and violence. I don't know what I am. What I've become. Just a murderer, covered in-- in--"

"Sadness and bubbles."

"Sadness and bubbles, yes," he huffed, nosing at the spot between your breasts until you arched up into him. You did not need to talk; the consent implied and the touch electric, and his mouth found your collarbones, your neck, your cheeks, your mouth, kissing, groaning as he tasted you and you buried your fingers into his hair.

Still, Hiromi fretted, even as he twitched and groaned and precum spurted to mix with the waterlogged cloth between his legs.

"If-- if I feel this," Hiromi panted, grinding his aching cock at the crest of your thighs until you reached down and released him, to his hiss and bared teeth. "If I feel this, what else will I feel-- fuck--"

"Then feel it," you gasped, shuddering as his mouth closed around your nipple and sucked, tongue swiping, teeth scraping. "Feel it-- and if you start c-crying halfway through, that's fine, no judgement--" A laugh, deep and appreciative. "--that's fine-- kind of hot, honestly--"

Another laugh; this one, thicker. "Shit...alright. Stay with me, at-- at the end. In for a penny--"

His hand, long-fingered and deft, had just slid down towards your pussy, when the theatre door creaked open way up at the top of the stairs. You froze. So did Hiromi. He turned his head slowly, and you felt rage beginning to prickle along his shoulders, unbound, until--

"Er, are you Higuru...uh...erm--"

You could hear the peach-haired boy's blushes from all the way down on the stage. You buried your face into Hiromi's chest, stifling your laughter. Hiromi, still mercurial and high-voltage, was less amused.

"You're interrupting," he toned, low and deadly smooth. You felt the peach-haired boy tense. You cut it before it built.

"Hey," you whispered to Hiromi. "He's just a boy. Give him a chance."

Hiromi nosed at your ear, huffing a little. He stilled, and thought, then spoke up, barking up to the boy.

"Give me twenty minutes. Then come back. And I'll give you anything you want."

The boy froze. He looked baffled; sweetly so, as if it should be so easy. "Oh, uh...really?"

"Yes."

The boy scarpered. You turned back to Hiromi, and bit your lip. Hiromi grumbled, and reached down, and covered your hand that grasped his cock with his own, stroking himself with your grasp once, twice, three times, until he thickened and twitched and moaned.

ryomen sukuna. oh, you knew him. everybody knew him in fact, though you felt you knew him better than anybody else. you were his biggest fan, an obsessive freak hidden behind a glittery mic and a sparkly smile. everyone knew you..but did he know you? that was the only thing that really started to matter in your life, him.

what kind of slacking agency would let the world’s most cherished pop star fall in love with a husk, disaster of a man? he was a cigarette, and you were the poor, poor, addict. cigarettes..he always held them so nicely. the way his lips pursed when he blew out smoke, the way he held them so effortlessly and lazily in his hands. the most mundane things appealed you when it came to him. more so, how you couldn’t figure him out.

sukuna wasn’t misunderstood, it’s just that he simply couldn’t be understood. some interviews, he was rash and gravely—others, he was kind or seductive. confusing his fans and the whole film background in general had become his reputation, his mission.

maybe that’s why he had so many fans. what kind of girl wouldn’t obsess over a badass, ripped actor? such a silly thought, and yet you got yourself foolishly caught up in it all. knowing of his existence was what halted your entire life, your entire career. your agency wasn’t to blame, well, you had only yourself to blame. that and another person.

shoko—your manager.

she really set you up there. the day she showed you a movie starring ryomen sukuna was the day your whole life crumbled and contorted into a core of obsession and yearning. your dreams had completely shifted, it was shameful and worrying how much he influenced what you did.

“are you seriously making me watch a romance film? since when were you into that stuff?” you teased, your arms trapping a pillow against your chest. mandatory movie nights were a system you set up! that way, boring managing talk wouldn’t ruin your friendship with her. it was shoko’s turn to pick a movie, and you weren’t pleased! well, yet.

shoko blew spoke out of her pink lips, like some sort of beautiful humidifier. “maybe it’ll inspire you to write something other than sad, doomed music.” she angled, the tips of her lips quirking up in preparation to wrap around her cigarette. how cunning. “plus, i think there’s an actor you’ll like in there. he’s totally your type.”

now that caught your attention. you raised an eyebrow, easing the grip on your plush pillow to a gentle embrace. “i didn’t know it was my manager’s job to hook me up with some actor.”

shoko huffed out a laugh, accompanied by smoke, of course. “you’re cute. you’ll have to put in the work for this one.” she said, almost informing. she pressed play on the movie, and the previous pit of dread in your stomach had lifted a bit.

not even ten minutes in and you were ruined. this was easily the sexiest guy to ever bless your eyes—was he real? what kind of ritual-love-spell was put into the air while creating this creature? your eyes were blown so wide it made you look like a goldfish, your entire frontal lobe was shattering and rebuilding itself in the most self destructive way. shoko dabbed at the drool trickling off your bottom lip before you even realized it was there.

“hot, right?”

“i’d suck him dry, shoko. dry.”

a startled and delighted gasp left her. “you’re ridiculous! get in line, sweet pea.” she laughed, patting your head. “maybe you should dm him or something?”

“you want me dead, miss manager.” you sighed. trying to snatch the remote from her. “turn this off, i’m jealous of the female actress.”

shoko easily clicked off the movie, unaware of the turmoil she had caused.

but..what about sukuna? did he know you? why, of course he did! his best friend, satoru gojo, could be blamed.

sukuna had been invited to collab with some kind of cigarette company—being that famous for smoking is quite an impressive feat! he was in the dressing room letting gojo assist him with his hair.

assist was a pathetic way to describe gojo, the man was scrolling on his phone and leaving his friend to struggle. stalking girls on instagram was clearly a priority..evidently he didn’t know he was best friends with the biggest stalker on earth. sukuna couldn’t even growl out a complain about gojo’s uselessness before he was interrupted.

“dude, have you seen this chick?” he asked, proceeding to..not show his phone. greed! “she’s a pop star, sexy as hell—i’m telling you!”

sukuna, meanwhile, was putting gel in his hair in a way only he could make look so furious. “show me the damn phone then, dumbass.” he reached behind, snatching it for himself while gojo squawked like a bird.

pulled up on the screen was your instagram, to which sukuna’s features tightened at. you were stunning—more than that. more than anything he’d ever seen. he never really busied himself with girls and recent times, he was more known for that at the beginning of his career. but this was different.

lust, heat, desire, obsession—it all swirled low in his gut like a twisted flame. his feelings were a black hole, and he found himself unable to resist it. how he developed obsession was peculiar. usually, such feelings would take time to develop, at least more than ten seconds. but just from seeing a photo of you, sukuna knew. he knew that he’d have you one way or another, that, he was confident in.

“holy shit.” he breathed, gripping the phone so tight gojo was sure he’d be at the phone store later on his behalf. “a pop star, you said? how the hell do i not know of her?”

gojo looked down, the visible boner in sukuna’s pants made a shit eating grin form on his lovely features. “i mean, she’s not really your type, man.” he shrugged, making no attempt to snatch the phone back. “maybe you should dm her!”

sukuna clicked his tongue, sending your account to himself before handing the phone back. “does your head live in your ass?“ he rubbed his head, ruining his practically manufactured hair. “..i’ll consider.”

“maybe you should consider getting rid of that tent in your pants before shooting a commercial. unless that’s your guest speaker.”

“maybe i should CONSIDER shooting YOU!”

it got quite messy from here. since the day you discovered him, you binge watched every movie he starred in, even ones he had a single scene in. though, those weren’t common. if sukuna was in a movie, he was the whole plot. that was in your favor.

late at night, you found yourself with your hand between your thighs, replaying was scenes from his movies over, and over, and over. your lyric notes would lay discarded elsewhere completely, neglected and unimportant. you’d go until your thighs shook, until your cunt felt numb and achy. you’d imagine it was him that made you so sore, instead of your stalking self.

god, how you wished it was you. how you wished it was his bare chest pressed against yours, how you wished it was him filling up your needy pussy so nicely instead of your cold fingers. the desire to hear how he actually moaned was unbearable. you envied those actors, so much. but when you pretended it was you, it almost numbed it—just enough to let you cum.

was sending him a photo of your wet pussy too far? maybe your refrain on that.

on the other side, whenever sukuna heard a song of yours, all he could wonder was how that pretty voice of yours would sound moaning. were you loud? quiet? high pitched? breathy? he had to know, just had to. he started refusing to do sex roles in fear he’d imagine the girl as you, and totally wreck them. your posts, your interviews, he studied them. did your face on his computer screen count as studying? even when he’d shoot loads of cum on it?

talk shows, interviews. messy. messy. messy. you even found yourself pathetically releasing a single about yearning for somebody. how utterly foolish you had become.

you wanted him to ruin your life. but the truth was, he already did. subconsciously.

but then the letters came, from both sides. you sent them first, anonymously, secret admirer style. surely he’d discard them as another random fangirl trying to get in his pants, but you didn’t mind. you told him how obsessed you were with him, how you needed him so bad the ache became physical and settled between your thighs—ah! new lyric idea!

you told him that you watched every one of his movies, that you were tempted to show up at his house, that you’d build a music career off him. safe to say, you were losing it. and shoko didn’t know a thing, thankfully. you’d be in deep shit.

gojo was going through sukuna’s mail one day, just out of nosy curiosity. he picked a stack of your letters, unopened. he carefully peeled back the paper to reveal messily written love confessions—and maybe crime ones too.

“yo, ryomen.” he waved the paper up, “you’ve got a true fan here, dude. she’s obsessed.” his eyes found the paper again, reading the part about music. “call me crazy but..i think it’s that popstar you’ve been drooling over. she’s talking about making music dedicated to you.”

that got his attention. he whipped his head around so fast the muscles grew taut and achy. “let me see that.” the paper was out of gojo’s grip on seconds, as sukuna’s eyes read over every like.

music. make music about him—no way. “holy shit, you really think it’s her?” god, he was a fucking animal. his pants were already starting to feel uncomfortable. “fuck, god i hope she’s stalking me. that’s the only stalker i want.”

gojo huffed out a laugh, though it was mainly disbelief. “jesus, man. you’re twisted.”

you managed to get through another tour successfully—as in..no visible mishaps apparent to the public!

a letter you had received replayed in your mind for a shameful count of hours. it was a love letter, the idea was that this guy wanted to have sex with you, which wasn’t unusual. the catch was, he talked about making a movie with you. a movie? but what if he just meant porn? something in your soul was telling you that you struck gold anyway, to follow your delusions

the after party. one you’d been looking forward to. drowning your feelings in alcohol had never appeared so enticing. you wanted forget the stress, forget him. forget the way his body looked, forget that sultry stare of his. a few drinks down, and you found yourself in the same spot.

“nice show, sweetheart.” a gravelly voice echoed behind you—a voice you couldn’t mistake for anybody else. your soul tied husband.

you whipped around so fast the fruity drink in your glass spilled over the edges. you were in the presence of sukuna, the man you had been dreaming of, the man who had consumed your life by just existing—and you were utterly frozen. “oh my-holy shit-!” you gaped. “ryomen sukuna?! what are you doing here?”

no, this wasn’t real. did the bartender lace your drink? surely he was just there for the fun of the party..though the tension swarming him like a swarm of wasps made you doubt it. you were getting in your head again.

sukuna couldn’t believe he was standing in front of you—the girl he practically tracked down. that wasn’t the right word, every move was intentional. he’d been watching you for awhile, he documented every tour date, every plausible after party, absolutely any way he could get his hands on you. and there you were, looking even better in person. his facade was careful and constructed, he didn’t let the fact he was reeling show on his face at all.

“i happen to be a fan.” he held his cigarette near his lips, his signature. “y’kickin’ me out?”

“no—god, no!” did you seriously say that out loud? fuck! “i-im so surprised you’re here! i wasn’t expecting this at all. thanks for being a fan..” how awkward.

he snorted, taking a drag of his cigarette. you wished his lips would purse around your clit like that. shameful. “are you a fan of me?”

a fan? you declared him your husband—soulmate, even. “big fan.” you replied.

he smiled, smoke permeating through the air between you like some sort of love spell, a spell neither of you needed. so you did know him..that was good. “big fan, huh? i’m honored, you look gorgeous.”

your clit jumped in your panties at that, this couldn’t be real. the club started to feel unbearably hot, all the heat settling in the one place it shouldn’t. “why thank you!” you smiled sweetly, hiding the way you eyed him up and down like a piece of meat. meat you wanted to tear into. “i could say the same about you. did you dress up for me?”

sukuna seemed appealed—almost worryingly so. “why? would that please you?” his voice was a purr, fuck, how maddening. “maybe i did. i can’t say i didn’t plan on seeing you here.” plot was a better word, but he didn’t say that out loud.

your heart immediately started racing, every thump rattling every nerve and flaming vein in your body. “planning on seeing me? do you want an autograph or something?” you giggled, trying to recover from your inner turmoil.

“nah..” his ringed fingers twitched and ached to find the warmth of your body. “no, more than that.”

a pause.

“y’happen to write letters, sweetheart?” there was a grin plastered on his sexy face, though it looked unhinged and eager. how odd, usually reading the kind of confessions you put in those letters would deeply disturb someone, but not him.

oh, you were so fucked. how did he know? were you that obvious? your body pushed for even a sprout of shame to eat at you, but..there was none. no, it wasn’t shame you felt, it was excitement.

you didn’t care at the time you wrote it, since you never thought you’d encounter him like this, let alone be confronted. that was the difference between you and sukuna. he knew he’d encounter you, knew you’d find out it was him that said all those things—and that’s why he did it.

“yeah..i happen to write letters quite often, actually.” you admitted, the inside of your cheek caught between your teeth.

“is that right?” a grumbly laugh left him, the sheer expanse of his smile made you sure it’d snap. “i do to.”

you’re face visibly contorted. the pure shock and disbelief in your eyes had changed into something that mirrored his own. obsession wasn’t a strong enough word, but the tension that settled there could make your glass shake.

“wait, you—“

“—yeah, baby. i write you too.” somehow, he had gotten close to you. his usual cold eyes absorbed every wave of excitement you could offer. “is it true? you wish you could do a sex scene with me in a movie?”

a thick glob of saliva forced its way down your throat with an audible gulp. you quickly tried to recover, despite the fact your whole body burner with so much thrill you were sure you’d catch fire. “is it true you want to hear how i sound when i moan?”

his grin was all teeth and dark satisfaction, it settled in his gut like poison—poison he had created with his own thick, obsessive thoughts. it was like a curse brewing inside him, ready to destroy everything in his life he’d worked for. he was a king of curses in that way.

“touché.” he laughed behind his glass, the bob of his throat when swallowing was like some sort of sick hypnotic practice. “if i knew it was you stalking me, i would’ve come sooner.”

if you knew it was him sending those letters, you would’ve sent him nudes already! one of those practiced laughs left your body, the kind you’d let yourself give out like candy during something like a talk show.

“well you’re here now. so..now what?” you asked, setting your drink down. your full attention was on him, which was something he clearly liked.

“now what? you’ll give me your number so we can arrange something.” he wasnt asking, this wasn’t a request. it was scary how aware he was of your feelings towards him. you were being perceived with more intensity than your PR team. his ringed hand found your lower back easily, god, it took everything in you to not pounce on him.

you plucked the pen you’d been using to sign things off the open part of your dress, dragging the tip down his chest. he wore an open buttoned shirt, so naturally you wrote your number in the dead center. “call me.” you winked, as if this wasn’t everything you’d been waiting for. that cool minded facade could only be held for so long, so you found yourself speed walking towards the bathroom to scream.

and just like that, you had placed yourself in the palm of ryomen sukuna’s hand—just like you wanted. but things didn’t settle down from there, oh no, it only got messier. it was only a matter of time before the rumors started to spread, social media had a way of pairing celebrities together based on appearances alone. was that why there were edits and fanarts of the two of you? or could everyone feel the same tension you could?

what you weren’t expecting was sukuna to be all on your case like he was your new manager. he texted you all day long, and if you didn’t respond he’d start to call you. one date turned into two, then three, then four. how you didn’t end up in his sheets by then was beyond you, though you were unaware of the need he had to worm his way into your brain first.

this whole situation was basically permission for him to completely invade your life. he’d send you photos from outside your window, commenting on how sexy you looked and how bad he needed you. when you’d find him, he would be there with some sort of gift for you—buying your affection as if your obsession wasn’t enough for him.

you had gotten used to many of his sides within the first week.

“why were you talking to that guy? i saw you eyeing him.”

“you’re so perfect, baby. the most important thing in my life.”

“send me another photo. i’m close.”

“i’ll fucking kill that bastard of a host. tell your manager you can’t do talk shows with guys anymore.”

he knew you were obsessed with him, yet he felt the need to come out on top anyways.

you weren’t much better, no, not at all. you made it a mission to be the number one priority in his life. not talking to him for even a moment filled your soul with dread, he was a drug you couldn’t quit.

“please hurry up, i miss you.”

“kuna i can’t focus please talk to me, i need you.”

“i’ll burn those other letters myself. get rid of them, you don’t need the attention of other girls.”

things he said started to influence everything you did. if he liked pink on you? suddenly, every post you made for a week straight would star a pink outfit. he liked a perfume you wore? the bottle would be empty in days. and god, you didn’t mind.

you ended up at his place again—of course you did. you were sitting on the couch with him, letting his hand lazily trace your thigh. your eyes found his crimson ones, and you seemed to reflect the same feeling.

“i want you to reject that role you were offered.” you said, “i can’t handle you being even fake romantic with another girl.”

like clockwork, he grinned. “is that right? such a jealous girl.” his fingertips bit into your skin, “if that’ll please you, i’ll do it.”

a smile finally crept onto your face. “i love when you try to please me.” it was true, he chased after your approval and affection like a dog. no matter how hard he tried to act like he was in power, he wasn’t in that way.

“i’d do lots to please you, baby.” he murmured, hand snaking further upward. that was also true, you couldn’t name a thing he wouldn’t do. the fire in his eyes had never once dimmed, not a single time.

you raised an eyebrow at that, placing your hand on top of his. “lots, huh? like what? quit acting?” you teased, but the way he didn’t laugh made you confused. surely he wouldn’t go that far, right? did he expect he same?

“i would.” he admitted, something more eager rising in his chest as he studied your face. “or, i’d make you feel like you’re one of the girls in my movies. make you feel so damn good you can’t think of jealousy, only me.”

he didn’t let you respond. “would you quit music to please me?”

that..was the question. you weren’t sure you would. your hesitance brought a cold to his eyes you hadn’t seen before. you ducked your head nervously, a practiced smile tugging at your features with even more practiced grace. “well..i’m not sure. music is my passion.”

that didn’t sit with sukuna. he wanted to be the first thing, he couldn’t help but feel dissatisfied. “i could give you more than that. passion can’t even describe what i could give you.”

you didn’t doubt him, but you played along anyway. “then give it to me, show me how much you should be worth in my life.”

somewhere between the lines, you ended up in his bedroom. he had you pinned against the door, unable to even make it to his bed first before overwhelming you. his lips were pressed urgently against yours, kissing you with so much hunger you almost couldn’t keep up.

his tongue massaged yours like he was trying to own it, map out what he intended to take full control over. he kissed you like he was trying to extract your soul through his lips, just so he could have it all to himself.

all to himself..that’s all he wanted. he’d give anything away to have that. he bit your bottom lip, tongue darting out to taste your metallic blood while sucking in your weak little gasps.

your fists were balled up on his chest, the fabric of his shirt caught between your fingers. his breath was warm, his saliva a sick poison you let him inject you with. drool dripped down your chin, oxygen hardly even entering your burning lungs.

he pulled away to let you breathe, his large hand covering the entire bottom half of your face. your eyes, that’s all he looked at. “god, such pretty eyes. fuckin’ lovesick, huh?” your nod only fueled him, “y’think you can handle me? that confident?”

you kissed his palm, which made him release his hold. “i trust you. and i want you even if there’s a possibility i can’t handle it.” god, it was like you were purposely handing yourself into a curse, one that would ruin the harmony of everything in your life and leave him there, on top where he belonged.

his smirk was sharp, all teeth and morbidity. “you shouldn’t trust me, baby. but the fact you do makes me want to do disgusting things to you. so keep fuckin’ trusting me.”

“i trust you, kuna.”

“i know you do, m’so damn glad y’do.”

he was kissing you again not even a second later, his tongue shoving its way between your lips to make you overwhelmed on purpose. your teeth clanked against his due to the sheer messiness and uncoordinated desperation between you two, though neither of you stuttered once.

you pulled away, attempting to sink to your knees. he quickly grabbed your jaw, forcing you upright. “ah, ah. where’re you going, sweetheart?”

a pathetic noise left you, half whimper, half sob. “please—“ another sob, “please, please i wanna suck your dick. pleaseletmesuckyourdick—!”

sukuna laughed, almost mockingly so. “oh? you wanna suck my cock?” he queried, his hands mapping out your body direly. “m’not done with you yet.”

his hands fisted the fabric of your shirt, before ripping the fabric clean off your body. there was no time to mourn your shirt. his hands found your breasts easily, kneading them in his palms carefully. “i’ve always wanted to touch you right here. right on these sweet nipples.” he breathed, pinching your left nipple between his pointer finger and thumb enough to make you yelp.

he grinned wolfishly at the noise, his other hand continuing to toy with your other tit. “always wondered how fuckin’ loud you’d shriek when i played with them.” he pinched again to prove his point, making you squeal, “jus’ like that..”

“e-ease up, god!” you panted, but not once did you move away. this was everything you wanted, more than that.

in seconds you found yourself looking down at the man you were infatuated with, since he had lowered himself down to catch your tit in his mouth. his tongue teased the hard bud of your nipple, sucking hard enough for you to suck in a hiss of air. his other hand moved down, groping your ass with so much eagerness you nearly stumbled forward.

it wasn’t long before your nipples started to feel sore, among other things. you weakly tugged on his hair, trying to pull him off. “k-kuna..i-i—mghh! can’t..” you whimpered, though your efforts were useless. he was like a blood drunken leech.

eventually he realized you were tugging on him, and pulled away from your raw nipple with a pop! he looked up at you with a lazy smirk, drool dripping down his chin. “sorry, sweet girl, got distracted.” he planted one final kiss between your breasts before standing up. “still wanna give me head?” he asked, as if he didn’t know. he was already palming his bulge.

you nodded almost desperately, your knees hitting the ground not even a moment later. your eyes found his from below, as you kissed on his clothed outer thigh. “can you take your shirt off? please?” you requested, already undoing his belt.

sukuna had his shirt over his head in seconds—anything to please you, right? by the time he looked down, you had already pulled his pants halfway down. he helped you get them off, before holding his heavy cock in his hand right before your airy face.

god, he was big. just like you imagined. it was enough to make your jaw ache from the weight, that much you knew already. enough to stretch you out and plug you up so good.

he slapped the tip against your face, spreading his precum all over your cheek as you whimpered. “you wanna please me, baby? want my cum down your throat?”

“i do, baby. so much.”

“then show me. take my cock like a fuckin’ slut.”

a whine left your dry throat at that, as your tongue darted out and slotted right on his sensitive slit. you kitty licked the tip, wrapping your lips around it just enough to make him groan. his hand easily found your hair, though he didn’t push you. peppered kisses were planted down the heavy length of his cock, your tongue tracing the veins as if to memorize their respective placements

“holy shit..” he breathed, running his fingers through your hair. “good girl..good fuckin’ girl. take me, baby. all of me.”

you looked up at him again, keeping eye contact as you took more of him. your head bobbed back and forth, and god, you made the filthiest slurping sounds. the heavy weight of him strained your jaw, but you couldn’t stop yourself even if you wanted to.

there you were, your mouth stuffed full with the man of your fantasy’s cock. not once did you break eye contact, not with the way he was looking at you. his hand on your head urged you, making you find a quick pace.

sukuna groaned lowly, before pulling you off carefully. he watched desperation and devastation flood your irises, a string of saliva still connecting you to the head. “i want my autograph.”

your eyebrow visibly arched at that, what the hell was he talking about. you tried to put his cock back in your mouth, but he held you still, expecting you to answer. “y-yeah, okay, please just—kuna i wanna—“

“you’ll give me an autograph.” he said, eyes darting down, then back up to meet yours once again. “right on my dick, baby. sign your name there, it’s yours.”

your heart caught in your chest, drool dripping off your bottom lip inevitably. “mine..” you whispered, the feeling of his grip loosening on your hair was a sign for you to move again. he was right, it was yours. all of him was yours and yours only.

your tongue found the underside of his cock again, drawing lines of spit down every inch of them. the tip of the muscle grew taut, you closed your eyes to remember what your signature looked like.

sukuna tugged your hair once, tutting with that almost unsettling smirk on his face. “ah, ah, eyes on me.” he scolded, watching intently as tears gathered on your waterline.

a whimper left you at that, something that had become routine. your tongue started slowly tracing a path down his cock, signing your name right there, right where it belonged. it wasn’t visible, but he could feel it.

“that’s not right, baby. do it again.”

you did, a sob leaving your stuffed mouth. your tongue was starting to become tired and achy.

“no, try again. i have it memorized too, sweet girl. don’t you want to please me?” his voice was a mocking thing, and it was enough to make tears stream down your face.

eventually you got it right, though your tongue was numb and feeble. you bobbed your head slower, drool slicking your chin and everything else in its wake. he took the initiative to start thrusting into the warm heat of your mouth, that way you didn’t have to do any more work.

“jus’ stay still for me, let me..haah..d-do it.” he panted, groaning at the sight of your teary face. “so pretty crying f’me, you’re so fuckin’ perfect.”

perfect. so badly you just wanted to be perfect for him. hearing that praise did something to you—no it did a lot to you. with his words of praise, and his dick in your throat, you came completely untouched. you whined, eyes rolling back as your lips tightened around his intruding cock. your panties had become a soiled mess sticking to your dripping cunt. humiliating and sticky.

and oh, sukuna loved it. that just about doubled him over. “h-holy shit..mmh..you’re such a fuckin’ slut..” he husked, slamming into your throat hard enough to make you gag around him. the little convulsion of your throat did it for him, and he spilled spurts of cum all down your throat, painting it white with his sticky seed.

the feeling or his warm cum flooding your throat was everything you could’ve hoped for. you’d been stalking him for so long, analyzing him, watching him. wondering how he’d grace your tastebuds when you finally had him.

you pulled off his cock with a pop, a filthy string of cum and saliva departing you. it snapped onto your chin, to which he immediately wiped off with his thumb. his hand lingered on your cheek, evidently, the sight of you on your knees before him was enthralling.

naturally, you were zoned out. the only thing that snapped you out of it was when you felt your back hit the mattress. sukuna loomed over you like some sort of devil, nearly shrouding you.

“still with me?” he asked, patting your thigh. when he received your nod of confirmation, he smiled, pointer and middle finger hooking around the hem of your pants. “need to see what you’ve been hiding from me.”

you lifted your hips up to accommodate him, allowing your shorts to be slid down your shaky legs. if you actually allowed yourself to send that nude awhile back, this would be far less special. however, you didn’t see yourself getting in his sheets ever. life was surprising in that way.

the cold air cooling your slick cunt made you shiver against his hands, nipples hardened once again. but his expression was what really got you. his jaw muscles had grown tense and taut, his pupils were blown so wide he looked drugged. oh, he was ruined before even doing anything. pussy drunk without even indulging.

“fuckin’ hell..” he breathed, running the same two fingers through your sopping pussy as he did to discard your pants. he gathered your juices onto his fingers, the way you twitched against them made him groan. his tongue met them halfway, sucking them clean with so much vigor it made you whimper. his cock twitched the second he tasted you.

“such a pretty pussy, she’s crying f’me too.” he was grinning again, “my fuckin’ pussy, yeah?”

“y-yeah” you replied, writhing as he practically cupped your whole cunt in his hand like he was trying to extract it.

sukuna’s fingers teased your pussy, lubing up his fingers with your own slick. one finger pressed teasingly at your entrance, putting weight on the nerves just to see you squirm. as he slowly eased in one of his digits, you sucked him in greedily.

“tell me,” he started, slowly thrusting his thick finger in and out of your weeping hole. “how many guys have you had sex with?”

the question made you jolt—what was he talking about? “what are you—“ a squeal tore from you when he aggressively slammed back in, this time with two fingers.

“i don’t want to know.” he laughed, thumb finding your puffy clit. “they were practice for me, that’s all. did they matter to you?”

“..not anymore.”

“i like that answer, that’s my good girl.” he purred, curling his fingers deep inside your squelching heat. he pressed right up against your g-spot, sending your back arching towards him with a weak cry.

you watched with half lidded eyes as he reached off somewhere else, slightly upset you didn’t have his full attention. his hand returned, but with a phone.

instinctively your eyes widened—he wanted to film this? a rush of excitement flooded your quivering body, and you smiled at him. “y-you..haah..wanna film this?”

sukuna was delighted by your eagerness, slamming his fingers in hard enough to make you jolt. juices spilled around the base of where his skin met your leaking hole, god, what a sight.

“wanna have your moans for later. you know how hard i fuck my fist just to your face?” god, you didn’t know. but you wanted to. he pressed record, starting to finger you harder. the camera picked up all your sweet sounds, as well as the even sweeter sight or your fucked out face.

“fuck..mmh, god!” you whined, pushing back against his fingers greedily. “y-yeah..you said so in your letters.” you panted, loving the way he looked at you instead of your recorded self.

a strained laugh left his throat at that, his thumb pressing down on your clit and rolling it. “want you to sample these sounds baby, sneak ‘em in a song.” he groaned at the thought, grip on the phone tight, “can you do that for me?”

you nodded without hesitation, breathing getting heavier as he abused the perfect spot inside you with every curl of his fingers. “a-anything..i’ll do anything f’you..”

“yeah? even cum all over my fingers?” he asked, keeping his unfair pace steady. “give it to me, baby.”

“k-kuna!” you squealed, kicking your legs once more uselessly as you came undone. your walls clamped around his fingers, juices gushing out around the base. he fucked you though it until your foot was weakly pushing at his chest for mercy. the video was turned off immediately after your orgasm, he needed both hands on you.

sukuna extracted his fingers, filthy strings of slick following him. his hand immediately went to his cock, pumping it a few times and using your cum as lube. “y’ready for me, baby?” he asked, pressing the head against your overstimulated hole.

despite that, you still nodded, spreading your thighs further for him before wrapping them around his waist. as if to urge him inside you faster. “mmh..please..”

any other time, he’d probably make you specify what you wanted—but he needed to be inside you too bad for that. he slowly pushed in, the tip of his cock was thick and heavy, the stretch stung and made you suck in a hiss of air. “fuckkkk..!” you whined, panting as he filled your tight pussy to the aching brim.

sukuna groaned, pushing inch by inch until he was as deep as he could go. “so damn tight..god, what a perfect pussy.” he breathed, his hands grabbing at your hips. “s’this what you dreamed of? to be stuffed full of my cock?”

you nodded quickly, salty tears streaming down your cheeks. he leaned forward, collecting the droplets on his tongue—he couldn’t waste any of you. his lips stayed on your face, as if to butter you up before he ruined you. “i dreamed of it too. but unlike you, i knew i’d have you one way or another.”

he pulled out slowly, setting a leisure pace so he didn’t hurt you. he knew he was too big to get reckless. his tip dragged along your slick walls deliciously, kissing your cervix with every thrust.

“kuna…” you panted, legs tightening around him. “m’good now..you can—“ you were cut off by an almost punishing thrust, one that sent your tits bouncing and your back arching.

he began to fuck into you like an animal, each ruthless drive of his hips had you sobbing and clawing at his back helplessly. god, it felt so good. the feeling of him ruining you, the sound of skin slapping every time he fucked into you, all of it. it was filthy the way you moaned for him, long strings and chains of pleas poured out of you like a faucet.

“that’s it, baby. get loud for me.” he panted, sweat gulfing down his broad chest. he yanked your hips in tandem with his punishing thrusts, his cock pulsing and twitching whenever a tear fell down your perfect face. your cervix was practically taking a beating, the slurping sounds of you sucking him in only egged him on more.

the bed groaned and creaked below your connected bodies, the headboard banging against the wall in a way your senses didn’t even register. you kept eye contact with him the whole time, you hardly even let yourself blink. “k-kuna..f-feels so good..”

a teethy grin appeared on his face, and he didn’t even try to hide his moans. he was loud and unashamed. “yeah? tell me about it.” he demanded, clearly loving the way your voice cracked for him.

you wracked your brain for a thought, already cock drunk beyond belief. drool dripped down your chin, each brutal thrust forcing air out of your lungs and a moan from your previously cum painted throat. “mm..s-so deep..c-can feel you in my stomach..” you panted, a sharp thrust eliciting an even sharper cry.

sukuna looked almost fascinated, more so at the little bump that jumped on your lower stomach whenever he slammed back inside you. he pressed down on it, making you squeal. “mmh? feel that baby? i belong in this pussy. it was made for me, only me.” he panted, a crazed look in his eye.

it was too much, too overwhelming, too filthy. in a haze of desperation, you wiggled your hips, trying to escape the consuming feeling, to have a moment of mercy. but he didn’t accept that, no, he yanked you back on his cock so harshly you almost screamed. and you loved it.

“don’t run from it. is that why you wrote all those letters, stalked me?” his voice was condescending and oh so convincing, “just to run from my cock when it gets too hard to take?”

you whimpered at the mean turn he’d taken again, as he kept fucking you like he was trying to discard everything in you that wasn’t him. “n-no! no, i’ll take ittt!” your stomach tightened again, and you were sure it wasn’t from him pressing on the bump he was creating. “kuna..k-kuna i’m—c-close again..”

sukuna kept his pace, continuing to slam into you and wrack every bone in your body with every ruthless stroke. your juices were coating his pubic bone, spurting out like small splashes whenever he drove back in. “i know you are, you’re so damn obvious.” he chuckled, groaning at the way your walls grew even tighter somehow. “cum all over my cock, now. god..such a slut, my fuckin’ slut.”

you came again, your pussy convulsing almost wildly around his cock as your breaths came out in ragged, pleased sobs. but he didn’t stop—only for a moment, just to flip you over. you were on your hands and knees, hardly able to hold yourself up. your body felt utterly boneless, it didn’t help that you were so overstimulated it nearly hurt. but the feeling was numb whenever you’d feel his sweaty abs press against your back. you wanted to lick them.

your head hung low, but then your eyes caught something—one of your letters. a weak whimper left you when the recognition washed over your clouded senses—he still read them? in fact, there was a cum stain on the left hand side. “y-you—“

“—read it.” he ordered, cracking a sharp slap across your ass when you hesitated. his hips kept slamming into you, cock ruining your insides beyond belief. “read it out loud, baby. go on.”

you whimpered pathetically, tears clouding your vision. your face was a mess of desperation, tears, and drool—all poured an mixed together in a concoction that was perfectly sukuna’s. you squinted a bit, trying to read your sloppy writing.

“d-dear, sukuna..” you sniffled, “you don’t..know me..but i know you. we are smack! s-soulmates! i dream about..mghh! you e-every night, fuck-fucking myself asleep at the thought of being one of those girls in your movies.”

you felt his cock twitch inside you again, veins stirring the juices in your syrupy pussy. “keep going.” he said, slapping your ass again and listening to you wail. god, he loved how you cried for him.

“i-i want..want you t’ruin my life..i-i’d mmh..l-let you..” you panted, dark blobs starting to appear on the paper from where your tears fell—some hitting the cum stain. “n-no matter what it takes..m’gonna..make you all mine..”

that was enough for him. he pulled your head back by your hair, making you look over your shoulder at him. you sobbed pathetically, weak whimpers wracking you as he kept fucking your sore cunt.

“you still want me to ruin your life, baby? do you? answer me, do you?” there was an unhinged desperation in his voice, like hearing your answer would make or break his entire existence.

“mmhh—mhmm..!”

“use your words. say it, fucking say it. sweetheart. i need you to say it.”

“y-yes! p-please ruin my haah..life! r-ruin everything about me..!” you squealed, unable to even think anymore.

“then that song, the one with all those sweet noises you’re gonna make..” he started, voice so hoarse and grainy it was almost difficult to understand him at all. “it’ll be the last fucking song you release, you hear me? then we’ll go away, somewhere where i can have you all to myself.”

you nodded clumsily at that, god, it was your dream. at that moment, it felt like he was the only thing you needed in your life—above water, above oxygen. his cock pounding you ruthlessly made you feel so alive. “y-yes, yes, kuna!” you sobbed, “i’ll d-do it!”

an unhinged, guttural moan tore from his throat at that, everything he wanted was being given to him so easily. “that’s it, atta girl. maybe i should breed this tight little pussy right now.”

“y-yes! k-kuna please fill me upppp—!” your orgasm hurling towards you. you let out a loud, sinful cry, your release splattering all over his front and the sheets below you.

not even a second later, he buried himself to the hilt, and flooded your pussy with his warm cum. spurts painting your cervix like ownership, white trickling out of your hole where he plugged you up. you pulsed and clamped tightly around his cock, milking him for all he had.

you realized in that moment, even in that hazy mind of yours, you had placed yourself perfectly in the palm of ryomen sukuna’s hand.