𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘚𝘊𝘐𝘌𝘕𝘛𝘐𝘚𝘛

── 𝐏𝐈𝐗𝐈𝐄 𝐃𝐀 𝐒𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! 💒

🧷 ̟ !! she/her eighteen manga reader

mariah the scientist choso jjk enthusiast.

── ❝𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐌𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐈 𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐘𝐎𝐔,𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎, 𝐈 𝐆𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐒.❞

🧷 ̟ !! jjk m.list kny m.list blurbs

EARTH2PIXIE on WATTPAD!

⭑ INBOX OPEN, TAKING REQUESTS, CHAT TO ME. — CLOSED

© 2026 satoruswetgf. all rights reserved.

no reproduction, translation, reposting, or AI use (including feeding into AI platforms or bot creation) is permitted without my permission.

streamer!jo is mid-stream, leaning back in his chair, one hand on his mouse, the other lazily resting on the desk. when the door opens, he doesn’t even look but instead plays.

“chat, if I clutch this, you all have to donate at least—”

you walk in and he immediately looks back. “hey,” he says, already smiling, voice softening without him realizing. “what’re you doing?” you’re holding something carefully in both hands, eyes bright. “I made something.”

gojo swivels his chair toward you, completely abandoning whatever he was doing. “lemme see.” you step closer and lift it proudly.

a full lego set. clean, detailed, and clearly not easy.

“I built it,” you say, a little proud, a little shy. gojo blinks then grins. “no way you did that by yourself.”

you gasp, offended. “i did! don’t start.”

the chat as usual, explodes.

pinkglossbaby: SHE DID THAT??? itadori.exe: nah that’s actually impressive domainexpansionTHIS: gojo doubting already 💀

you turn toward the stream, holding it up carefully so the camera can see.

“do you guys like it?,” you question, reading some comments, “this was my first time and i had to follow the instructions exactly or it wouldn't align.”

gojo leans back, watching you instead of the screen, elbow on the armrest, chin in his hand, completely dazed

you keep going.

“and people think you can just skip steps—no. you cannot skip steps. because then the top layer won’t connect properly and everything collapses.”

cursedenergyLOL: SHE’S TEACHING US 😭 nanamisworkwife33: the tone shift is crazy gojosblindfold: she said STRUCTURAL

satoru snorts softly, eyes flicking to chat, then back to you. “you hear yourself right now?”

you ignore him.

“and this part—” you point at the set, “this took the longest because the pieces are similar but not the same, so i had to pay extra attention.” you lean in a little closer to the camera, completely focused.

satorus hand comes to your waist automatically, just resting there, holding you in place. “guys,” he says lazily, “she didn’t let me help, by the way.” you turn your head, frowning. “because you would’ve messed it up.”

he gasps, offended. “i would not—”

“you would’ve skipped steps.”

limitlesscrybaby: CLOCKEDDD sukunaIRL: yeah toru man ur cooked tojiZenin: sounds like a skill issue

satoru narrows his eyes at the screen then he looks back at you, lips twitching into a grin. “it does look good though,” he admits, quieter and you brighten instantly.

“i know,” you say proudly.

he laughs under his breath, pulling you a little closer into his lap again like it’s second nature.

“yeah,” he murmurs, more to himself than anyone else. “you’re cute when you explain stuff.”

you blink, shying away behind the lego piece.

KingZenin_Naoya: down bad, could never be me. cursedenergyLOL: don’t worry we know gojoswifeREAL: THANK GOD frankoceansgf: did this guy really make a new acc😭 tojisleftballsack: mute him already... LimitlessGojo muted KingZenin_Naoya LimitlessGojo banned KingZenin_Naoya

© 2026 satoruswetgf. all rights reserved.

no reproduction, translation, reposting, or Al use (including feeding into Al platforms or bot creation) is permitted without my permission.

the concept of thinking about how hiromi higuruma either sleeps like he’s dead or doesn’t sleep at all.

like there’s literally no in-between.

on the nights he does sleep, it’s quick. final. like someone flipped a switch inside him.

he comes home late. tie loosened, blazer already being pulled off, the faint smell of paper and cold air clinging to him. he doesn’t say much, just a quiet “i’m back,”. his voice is lower than usual, distant, sounding heavy.

he sits for a moment. shoes still on. staring at nothing. hands resting on his knees. then he stands, disappears into the bedroom, and collapses.

no scrolling, no light left on, no turning over. phone not even plugged in.

just stillness.

hiromi is flat on his back, arm draped across his stomach, breathing slow and deep like his body had finally forced him to shut down after working all those hours. he doesn’t stir. doesn’t twitch. doesn’t mumble in his sleep.

and you don’t disturb him.

then there are the other nights. the ones where he comes home just as late, just as quiet—but sleep never comes.

he showers. changes. sits at the edge of the bed. lays down, stares at the ceiling and lets the hours pass.

his body is tired, aching, but his mind refuses to follow. his thoughts linger. cases replay. voices echo. not loud, just persistent. he turns once. then back again. exhales slowly. closes his eyes then opens them again.

he’s not restless, just awake.

the clock ticks. the room stays quiet. and he lies there, fully aware of every passing minute, like sleep is something just out of reach but not worth chasing.

sometimes, he doesn’t even try.

he just sits up, runs a hand through his hair, and quietly leaves the bed. he makes tea he won’t finish. he stands by the window, looking out at nothing in particular.

and when you turn in bed—huffing, he notices.

like always.

you shifting in bed. the quiet rustle of blankets. the way you glance at him, half-asleep.

he pauses.

then, softer than usual, almost hesitant “go back to sleep,” he murmurs. not cold, not distant, just gentle, in the only way he allows himself to be infront of you.

and sometimes on rare nights—if you reach for him first, fingers brushing his wrist or sleeve, he stills.

then slowly, quietly, he lets himself sit beside you again.

not because he’s tired.

but because, for a moment, it’s quieter with you than it is in his own head.

© 2026 satoruswetgf. all rights reserved.

no reproduction, translation, reposting, or Al use (including feeding into Al platforms or bot creation) is permitted without my permission.

streamer!jo mid-sentence, leaning back in his chair, headset slightly crooked, the soft click of the door barely registers over the sound of his stream when you walk in. he stops, just for a second. his eyes flick over you. your tight, soft pajamas, the way they hug you just right, the faint scent that follows you in. his whole expression shifts into something quieter.

“hey,” you hum softly, walking over like it’s nothing.

the chat explodes and he doesn’t even glance at it.

voidking99: BROOOOO WHO IS THAT satorusimp420: HE GOT A GIRL?????? angelmilk: she’s so pretty what 😭 gojosleft_toe3: WHY IS SHE IN HIS LAP LIKE THAT IM SICK

“oh my fuck,” he says instantly, voice lower now, already reaching for you.

you don’t question it—you never do. you just step between his legs and sit in his lap like it’s your spot, because it is. his arms wrap around you immediately, pulling you close, one hand settling at your waist, the other resting along your thigh.

“you look so gooooood,” he murmurs, nuzzling lightly into your shoulder for a second before straightening again, like he just remembered he’s live.

his hand doesn’t move though. it drifts. slowly. absentmindedly. down your thigh, fingers brushing soft circles like he’s not even thinking about it. then back up, resting at your waist again.

the twitch chat is going insane.

you notice quickly

you’re already leaning forward slightly, eyes scanning the stream, curious. “what are they saying?”

“nothing important,” he mutters quickly, tightening his hold on you just a little.

too late.

you squint, reading out loud, confused, “I usually skip this part…?” your face still contempt, you tilt your head, genuinely puzzled. “what does that mean?” and then you shift. just a little. trying to get closer to the screen. but it makes you press back into him.

torus breath catches, just barely but enough.

you’re still focused on the chat, completely oblivious, squirming slightly again to get comfortable. “wait, there’s more—”

his arm tightens around your waist. not rough, just firm.

grounding.

his other hand stills on your thigh, fingers pressing in just a little like he’s trying to anchor himself. “hey,” he says suddenly, sharper now—directed at the screen.

the chat floods faster.

softgirlcult: she’s literally clueless this is insane domainexpansionTHIS: “i usually skip this part” LMAOOOOOO gojoswifeREAL: GIRL DONT READ THAT OUT LOUD blueeyeaddickt: HE TENSED UP DID YALL SEE THAT

he exhales through his nose, jaw tightening slightly before he leans forward, voice dropping into something more commanding.

“alright, that’s enough,” he says, tone lazy. “don’t read that stuff,” he murmurs, voice softer now.

you blink, looking back at him. “I was just asking—”

“don’t worry about them,” he murmurs, softer now, eyes locked on yours. way too focused, way too intense. his arms tighten around you again, pulling you flush against him, chin resting lightly on your shoulder as he leans back into his chair.

chat? forgotten.

game? paused.

and satoru? completely, helplessly distracted by you.

megumislostdad: stream is over guys pack it up sukunaIRL: move chat i’m watching this KING.naoyazenin: embarrassing. stand up bro LimitlessGojo banned KING.naoyazenin

© 2026 satoruswetgf. all rights reserved.

no reproduction, translation, reposting, or Al use (including feeding into Al platforms or bot creation) is permitted without my permission.

frat!jo who is physically incapable of giving you a normal kiss. every kiss turns into slow, soft lip kisses.

frat!jo who memorizes your exact lip combo like it’s sacred information: liner shade, gloss brand, balm scent. he eventually starts carrying your lip products in his pockets “just in case” —but it’s really so he can keep kissing you.

his jean pockets = your makeup bag.

frat!jo who pulls your gloss out like a flex in front of his friends, and even sukuna himself is impressed by the way he doesn’t care if people tease him. he gets genuinely offended if you use a different brand without telling him.

frat!jo who kisses you just to taste your lip gloss and how soft your lips are. he reapplies it for you with way too much focus, one big hand on your jaw while the other touches up your smudged combo. he loves when your lips are glossy—says it makes you look “too kissable.”

frat!kuna who secretly loves being pampered but would neverrrrr admit it. hard and cocky around his frat bros, but with you, he melts. even just a soft touch or a headband holding his hair back makes him clingy and quiet.

frat!kuna who believes skincare days are his favorite thing to do with you. he’ll let you clean his face, put on masks, and massage moisturiser into his skin. the little gestures make his ears go red and whine about how it’s cold, even if he acts like he’s “above it” in public.

frat!kuna who’s used to it. he trusts you completely. he doesn’t question your hands on his skin, the way you lean into him while applying the products, or the way you think he looks so cute when he relaxes.

frat!kuna who lowkey gets clingy afterwards. once the skincare is done, he’ll stay wrapped around you, hands moving from your back down to your ass as you lay on his broad chest.

frat!kuna who’d never tell his frat bros about what happens on days like these when you come over, especially not frat!jo. who does make fun of him for having such glowy skin whenever he comes back from your sorority house.

It’s one of those slow sunday evenings. the snow falls softly outside, and inside your sorority room it’s warm and quiet. kuna’s sprawled on your bed in sweatpants and shirtless, messy short cut hair, looking half asleep,but when you hold up the cute headband, he gives you an annoyed stare but obediently lets you push it back over his ears.

he fucking hates that cute headband.

“mm…you always do this,” he murmurs softly, voice low and rough, but there’s no bite today, just warmth and trust. you giggle, holding the cleanser in your hands. “I know, and you love it,” you tease gently. he grunts softly, leaning into your touch as you start massaging the foam into his cheeks, eyes fluttering closed. “shut up…only allowing this because it’s you,” he admits, the usual fratboy arrogance replaced by something tender.

you lean over him, brushing his stray hairs back, humming softly as you work. every so often, he catches your hand and holds it to his lips, giving your fingers a sweet kiss before setting them down and closing his eyes. by the end of the routine, he’s quiet, still, soft. head on your pillow as you smooth the moisturizer into his skin. his hand softly rubs up and down your thigh, barely above a whisper, “your so lucky to have me.”

and you know, he’s never saying it in public, never admitting it to anyone else, but in this little bubble, he’s yours completely

you perch up, “wait shouldn’t it be the other way around..?”

© 2026 satoruswetgf. all rights reserved.

no reproduction, translation, reposting, or Al use (including feeding into Al platforms or bot creation) is permitted without my permission.

frat!jo who becomes a menace about your attention. if you’re not looking at him, he’ll literally lean into your line of sight. if you’re talking to someone else too long, he’s suddenly there too, smiling, friendly, but with that subtle claim in his posture.

frat!jo who's touchy in the most obvious way. hand on your waist. thumb rubbing circles on your hip. fingers laced with yours in public like it’s natural. he doesn’t ask, he just does it, like your body is his comfort object.

frat!jo who flirts like it’s a sport. he’ll whisper compliments and sweet nothings in your ear in the middle of conversations just to make you blush. he lives for your reactions, your little embarrassed noises, the way your eyes widen when he gets bold.

frat!jo who’s clingy when you’re alone. the second you’re in private, he’s on you. head on your shoulder. arms around your waist. following you from the kitchen to his room like a damn cat.

“where are you going?”

“to the bathroom.”

“i’m coming.”

frat!jo who acts needy on purpose. he’ll whine for kisses, complain dramatically when you don’t cuddle him, pout when you’re studying. he’ll lay across your lap like dead weight and stare up at you until you give in. he gets territorial when he’s drunk. not angry, worse. affectionate. he’ll pull you into his lap in front of everyone, bury his face in your neck, kiss your cheek like he can’t stop. he becomes unbearably sweet and clingy, like he wants the whole room to know.

frat!jo who's protective in a quiet, dangerous way. if someone tries something with you, satoru's smile stays, but his eyes don’t. he’ll step in with that light tone, polite, playful, while making it clear the guy should leave before it becomes a problem.

frat!jo who loves making you feel wanted. satoru is a tease, but when he’s obsessed, he’s also soft. he’ll tell you you’re pretty, that you’re his favorite, that he likes you close. and he’ll say it like it’s obvious, like he’s not capable of liking anyone else the same way.

© 2026 satoruswetgf. all rights reserved.

no reproduction, translation, reposting, or Al use (including feeding into Al platforms or bot creation) is permitted without my permission.

frat!kuna doesn’t “keep up” with people, he monitors.

you notice it first in the smallest ways. how he’s always the first to view your story, even when it’s 2:13AM and you’re just posting a dumb mirror pic in your pajama shorts. the little viewer list always has his name sitting there like a threat.

then it gets worse. you post a selfie? he likes it in under a minute. you post a sunset? he doesn’t react, because it’s not you. you post yourself dressed up for a night out with your friends? suddenly there’s a notification.

sukuna ryomen replied to your story:

where are you going dressed like that?

you laugh, thumbs hovering, heart tapping a little too fast.

why do u care? lol

three dots appear instantly.

because I’m looking at you.

you swallow. heat creeps up your neck. and like clockwork, ten minutes later, you hear it. a car outside. not honking. not calling.

just waiting.

your phone lights up again.

come outside. i wanna see you in person.

and you swear you can practically hear the smirk in his voice through the screen, like he already knows you’re gonna do it.

like he already knows you’re his.

© 2026 satoruswetgf. all rights reserved.

no reproduction, translation, reposting, or Al use (including feeding into Al platforms or bot creation) is permitted without my permission.

MDNI!

sexdrunk!choso who’s always needy around you when he's horny, voice soft, whining, almost like he’s embarrassed by how much he craves you. you could just lean close, and he melts, muttering your name over and over.

he loves it when you take the lead, like you’re in control of the situation. the way you move and ride his aching cock, your pussy juices releasing and making your pussy soooo slippery, the way you smile down at him, all hot and cute—it makes him desperate. you can see it in his eyes, that low whiny sound escaping whenever you tease him.

he’s clingy and whiny in private, holding onto your ass like he’s scared you’ll leave. and when you pull out his hard pink cock, just to graze and tease his tip, he groans in frustration, muttering under his breath, “baby—don’t stop… please.”

he can’t hide how much he adores your attention. every time you shift closer, every time your warm tits brush up against his face when you ride him, he melts and whines softly, voice cracking with desire, cock leaking his hot cum , tensing as he moans loudly. leaning into you as if he can’t get enough.

even though he’s whiny and soft, he’s obsessively attentive. he notices your little movements, your reactions, and he’s desperate to make you feel good. the way you tease him? It drives him wild, and he openly loves every second of it.

© 2026 satoruswetgf. all rights reserved.

no reproduction, translation, reposting, or Al use (including feeding into Al platforms or bot creation) is permitted without my permission.

MDNI!

sneakylink!satoru who hates condoms.

hates it when you insist. hates it when you try to be responsible. hates it because it gets in the way of him feeling you, all of you. and he makes it very clear. “baby…” he whines, voice low and whiny, pressing his forehead to yours, lips brushing your cheek. “why do you make me use this thing? it’s not fair.”

you roll your eyes, trying to push him back gently. “gojo, don’t start. You know why.”

he groans, dragging his hands down your sides like he can’t help himself. “i know, I know, I know…” he leans closer, voice dropping, needy. “it’s just, I hate it when I have to wait. I hate it when I can’t feel you.” he whines again, soft, desperate, like a spoiled child, but it’s intoxicating. you feel him pressing into you, every inch greedy and impatient, like he’s about to melt if you pull away even slightly.

MDNI!

dadsbestfriend!toji who lingered in the garage doorway, pretending to examine tools. your dad had gone inside to grab another drink, leaving him alone with the sight of you in the blazing afternoon. he told himself he was just admiring, just noticing how effortless you looked, how alive in the sun—but his chest tightened in a way that was hard to ignore.

the summer sun beat down, making the driveway shimmer with heat. you were bent over the car, hands moving in careful circles across the windshield, sweat sticking your hair to your neck, and trickling down your chest. the tight white tank top that harshly outlined the hardness of your nipples and the teeny tiny shorts you wore that rode up when you bent, not out of design but because the sun was relentless. you were focused, plumpy glossy lips bitten in concentration, unaware of how easily your movements caught the eye.

he stared hard. his eyes not leaving the heavenly sight of you in the blazing, hot sun. he licked the bottom of his scared lip.

you tilted your head, catching a stray splash of water that had landed on your tits and arms, and you shook it off with a small, frustrated sigh. he watched the droplets settle into your white tank top, seeping through and outlining the roundness of your tits. toji’s hand flexed at his side, not moving, but the heat in the air between you made his jaw tense. every subtle motion—the way you bent, the way your tits bounced signalling that you wore no bra as you moved—was impossible for him to look away from.

and then you noticed him. your eyes met his from across the driveway, and you gave a casual wave, sweet lips curved in a small, flirty smile. it was innocent enough to be sweet, teasing enough to make his chest tighten. that smile, the way you looked at him like he was part of your world for a second, was enough to leave him frozen, his usual composure slipping just slightly.

he swallowed, voice low as he finally spoke, more to himself: “shit.”

you laughed softly, the sound warm and light, and waved again, completely unaware of how much attention you had him under. toji stayed where he was, pretending to lean against the doorway, but every inch of him was watching, memorizing. the sun, the summer heat, the effortless way you moved—it was all a trap he didn’t want to escape from.

and as your dad’s voice called from the house, toji’s dark gaze followed you for a moment longer before he finally tore himself away. but he didn’t walk inside. not yet. he lingered, imagining a hundred ways he could make you notice him—not in words, not in gestures, but in the subtle, commanding way he always moved through a space.

because in that moment, the sun and sweat and laughter were just background. you were all he saw.

© 2026 satoruswetgf. all rights reserved.

no reproduction, translation, reposting, or Al use (including feeding into Al platforms or bot creation) is permitted without my permission.

two

dadsbestfriend!toji who notices you before you even speak. not because you’re loud. because you’re soft. the kind of soft that doesn’t belong in his world, clean, sweet, sheltered. you walk in like sunlight through a cracked door, and for a second he just stares, expression blank, eyes sharp like a blade. he’s not impressed easily, but something about you makes him pause like he’s been caught off guard.

dadsbestfriend!toji who clocks your “daddy’s girl” vibe instantly. the polite voice. the gentle smile. the way you look to your dad for approval without even realizing you do it. you’re the kind of girl who’s been protected, adored, spoiled in all the right ways. toji doesn’t judge it—he registers it. like he’s reading a label that says: not for you.

dadsbestfriend!toji who hates how pretty you are in such an innocent way. it’s not the loud, obvious kind of attractive. it’s the kind that makes men stupid. your glossy lips, your warm scent, the way you look up at him like he’s just another adult in your life. it does something to him, something dark and impatient, because you don’t know what you’re doing just by existing like that.

dadsbestfriend!toji whos eyes are disrespectful even when his mouth is polite.toji’s voice stays calm. low. casual. he says the right things. “nice t’meet you.” “you’ve gotten big.” the normal stuff. but his gaze drifts in a way that’s not normal. slow, heavy, instinctive. like his body reacts before his brain can correct it.

you’re sweet to him, and that’s what makes it dangerous.you smile like you trust him because your dad trusts him. you offer him a drink. you ask him how he’s been. you treat him gently—like he’s family. and toji feels something sharp twist in his chest because he knows he’s not the kind of man who deserves that softness.

dadsbestfriend!toji who tests you without looking like he’s testing you. he asks little questions—where you go to college, what you’re studying, what you’re into. his tone stays lazy, almost bored, but his eyes don’t miss anything. he watches the way you react. watches how easy it is to make you flustered. like he’s learning your weak spots out of habit.

dadsbestfriend!toji who when you call him “mr. fushiguro,” ruins him. because it sounds innocent. pretty. like you’re trying to be good. And something in Toji reacts, something possessive and wrong, like he wants to hear you say it again, closer, softer.

dadsbestfriend!toji who keeps his distance, but he’s always aware of you.even when he leans back on the couch and acts like he doesn’t care, he tracks you. where you stand. When you pass by. when you bend down to pick something up. his attention is silent, constant, animal.

your dad doesn’t notice. but toji does. your dad laughs with him like normal. like old times. like this is safe. and toji’s face stays neutral, but inside he’s thinking: if he knew what I’m thinking right now, he’d kill me.

And toji would deserve it.

dadsbestfriend!toji who can’t stop thinking about you. not in a romantic way. in a hunger way. like you’ve gotten under his skin. like you’re the kind of mistake a man makes once and never recovers from. he tells himself you’re off limits. he tells himself he doesn’t care.

but toji’s self-control has never been about being good. It’s always been about choosing when to be bad.

© 2026 satoruswetgf. all rights reserved.

no reproduction, translation, reposting, or AI use (including feeding into AI platforms or bot creation) is permitted without my permission.

two one MDNI!

that night, stalker!choso doesn’t go home the way a normal person does.

he goes home like he’s carrying something sacred in his chest, something fragile and holy and wrong. his hands are steady, his face unreadable, but inside him there’s a pressure building with every breath. like the memory of you is too big for his body. like your voice is still in his ear, soft and polite, like you trusted him without knowing what that trust would do to him.

he locks his door. checks it twice. then a third time, as if someone could steal the thought of you out of his head.

is room is quiet. Too quiet.

choso sits on the edge of his bed and stares at nothing, trying to force the feeling down into something manageable. he tells himself you’re just a stranger. that you were kind to him because you’re kind to everyone. that he shouldn’t be thinking about you at all.

but his mind betrays him with cruel devotion.

the way your eyes lifted to him. the way your lips parted before you spoke. the tiny hesitation—like you were nervous asking for help. like you didn’t know how easy it would be for him to say yes.

choso leans back, head hitting the wall behind him, and lets out a slow breath. his chest feels tight, like he’s being squeezed from the inside. his thoughts keep circling back to the same thing: you walking away. your back turned. the sound of your footsteps leaving him.

the mere thought of you makes his cock stiff. the way your pretty, glossy lips formed a nervous smile. the boxers he was wearing suddenly became too tight, pressing against his cock, and his breath hardened.

he hates that you can leave. that you can exist without him.

he closes his eyes and tries to picture you again, but it’s too vivid—too alive. his imagination isn’t gentle. It’s greedy. It fills in everything: the warmth of your skin, the softness of your voice, the way you might sound if you said his name like you meant it.

he reaches down into his pants and grabs his firm, pulsing cock. his finger brushed the tip where the pre-cum had started to seep as he looked down.

he let out a loud whine.

his hand drifts up, not even fully conscious of it at first, fingers pressing against his mouth as if he can silence himself. as if he can stop the ache by force.

It doesn’t help.

because the ache isn’t just physical—it’s emotional. It’s spiritual. It’s the horrible, tender feeling of wanting someone who doesn’t even know you’re suffering over them.

he thinks of you unlocking your door, grabbing him by his shirt, placing your pretty lips onto his. your arms hooking around his neck for him to carry you, squeeze you, feel your pussy grind on him.

and the thought turns him sick with devotion.

his hand wraps around his cock and squeezes tight, so much pre cum leaking, it’s unbelievable. his other hand pulls back his long strands. they were getting in the way.

he wants to be good. he wants to be the kind of man you could trust if you ever looked at him long enough to know him. he wants to be someone worthy of the softness in your voice.

but he’s already crossed the line.

© 2026 satoruswetgf. all rights reserved.

no reproduction, translation, reposting, or Al use (including feeding into Al platforms or bot creation) is permitted without my permission.

one three

the first time stalker!choso follows you home, it isn’t planned. he tells himself he’s just walking the same way. that it’s coincidence. that the ache in his chest is concern, not desire. but when you turn left and he turns left too, something quiet and irreversible settles into him.

he keeps his distance. always half a block behind. far enough that you won’t hear his footsteps. close enough that if something happened—if you tripped, if someone spoke to you wrong, he could reach you. his hands curl into fists the entire time.

he memorizes your pace. the way you slow at corners. the way you hesitate before crossing the street. the tiny hitch in your step when you’re tired. he adjusts himself to you like instinct, like his body already knows how to move around yours.

every time you glance over your shoulder, his heart stops. he freezes. lowers his gaze. becomes nothing. he hates himself for the relief that floods him when you don’t notice, because part of him wants you to. Just once. just enough to look at him again.

when you reach your building, he almost leaves. almost. he watches you unlock the door. watches you step inside safely. the rational part of him screams that this is enough. that this is where he should stop.

he doesn’t.

he stays until the light in your window turns on. counts the floors. counts the seconds. when it finally glows, his chest loosens like he’s been holding his breath the entire walk.

that night, he can’t sleep.

because now he knows where you live. and knowing feels like both a sin and a promise. he tells himself it was just once. just to make sure you were safe. just because angels shouldn’t walk home alone.

but deep down, stalker!choso already understands the truth: Once was never going to be enough.

© 2026 satoruswetgf. all rights reserved.

no reproduction, translation, reposting, or Al use (including feeding into Al platforms or bot creation) is permitted without my permission.

two

stalker!choso who never thought he’d meet an angel in real life. the way you asked so politely, voice barely above a murmur. the way your eyes flicked up at him like you were unsure he’d say yes. He reached the top shelf without thinking, but he couldn’t stop thinking about you after.

stalker!choso who replays your voice in his head. the soft thank-you. The breath at the end of it. he tells himself it’s normal to remember a stranger’s voice, but no matter how hard he tries, it won’t leave him alone.

stalker!choso who lingers in that aisle long after you’re gone. he stands there pretending to read labels, heart steady but heavy, wondering if angels shop alone… or if you belong to someone who doesn’t deserve you.

stalker!choso who starts going to that supermarket at the same time every week. not to see you—he tells himself that’s ridiculous. just in case. just to make sure you’re safe. Just to exist in the same space again.

stalker!choso who notices the smallest things. the brand you reach for. the way you tuck your hair behind your ear when you’re thinking. the hesitation before you choose something. he learns your habits like prayers.

stalker!choso who convinces himself this is protection, not obsession. he watches from a distance. always a distance. he’d never scare you. never approach again unless you speak first. he just needs to know you make it home.

stalker!choso who feels something ugly twist when someone walks too close to you. His jaw tightens. his blood hums. he hates himself for the thought—but part of him believes no one should touch something so gentle.

stalker!choso who memorizes your face so he can dream of it. not touching. not claiming. just watching you exist in peace. in his dreams, you smile at him again. ask him for help again. need him again.

stalker!choso who whispers your thank-you like it’s a vow. he never forgets you. not after one moment. not after a thousand days. because angels don’t come down twice—and he refuses to miss you if you do.

© 2026 satoruswetgf. all rights reserved.

no reproduction, translation, reposting, or Al use (including feeding into Al platforms or bot creation) is permitted without my permission.

frat!kuna who hates you in that lazy, arrogant way—like you’re an inconvenience he can’t believe he has to witness. You’re too sweet, too quiet, too present, too you, and he acts like it makes his skin itch.

he’s mean about it in the beginning, too sharp-tongued and smug, always looking for a way to knock you down a peg. if you greet him, he barely responds. if you try to joke with him, he stares at you like you’re stupid. if you sit near him, he shifts like you’re invading his space.

so you try to ignore him.

but the worst part? The more you try to ignore him back, the more he starts paying attention.

it starts with him watching you, like he can’t help it. you’ll be talking to someone else and you’ll catch him staring from across the room, expression unreadable.

the shift is slow, but it’s real: his hate turns into fixation. he starts remembering things about you. your favourite drink, the snack you always steal, the hoodie you wear when you’re cold. and he doesn’t say it out loud—god no—but he starts making sure those things are around. you’ll mention you’re cold and suddenly there’s a blanket thrown at you from across the room, and when you look up he’s already staring like he dares you to say thank you.

once he crosses the line into liking you, he becomes lowkey possessive. not in a sweet way. In a “don’t test me” way. he’ll start calling you names—sweetheart, pretty thing, brat—but only when you’re alone or when he’s annoyed. he’ll stand too close when you’re in public, towering over you like a threat disguised as a boyfriend. And if you ask him what his problem is, he’ll tilt his head, smirk, and go, “my problem is you,” like it’s your fault he can’t stop thinking about you.

frat!kuna who gets jealous before he even admits he likes you. that’s the funniest part. If another guy talks to you too long, sukuna’s mood turns nasty. not obvious—he’s too prideful for that,but he’ll start interrupting. he’ll talk over them. he’ll physically insert himself between you like it’s normal.

The first time he realizes he actually likes you, it makes him furious. He acts like you did it on purpose. like you trapped him. like you cursed him. he’ll glare at you more, act colder, avoid you for days—then show up again like nothing happened. except now he’s always touching you “accidentally.” his hand brushing your waist when he passes. his knee pressing against yours under the table. His fingers catching your wrist when you try to walk away. He’ll do it like it’s casual, like he isn’t losing his mind.

he’s also protective in the most infuriating way.

at parties, he turns into a menace. he pretends he doesn’t care, pretends you’re not special, pretends you’re just “some girl” he can’t stand, until you look too good. then he’s staring. tracking you. Following you with his eyes like he’s hunting. if you’re talking to someone else, he’ll show up behind you and murmur something rude into your ear just to make you jump, just to see your reaction. and when you glare at him, he smiles like he won. like he just needed proof you still feel him near you.

eventually it becomes obvious that he doesn’t hate you anymore. He’s just in denial. he’ll complain about you constantly while always being around you. he’ll act like you’re a pain while saving you a seat. he’ll pretend he doesn’t like you while memorizing your schedule. It’s ridiculous.

then one day you finally get fed up. you snap at him. you tell him to stop acting like he hates you. you tell him you’re done trying.

and Sukuna, the cockiest man alive, goes quiet.

because that’s when it hits him: he doesn’t want you to leave. he doesn’t want you to move on. he doesn’t want you with anyone else.

so he does the most sukuna thing ever, he doubles down. he corners you. He blocks your path. he leans in too close, eyes burning, voice low and rough. “you’re not done,” he tells you. “not with me.” like it’s not a request. like it’s a fact. Like he already decided.

because once frat!kuna stops “hating” you, he loves you like a damn curse. clingy, territorial, obsessed, acting like he’s still annoyed while keeping you wrapped up in his life. he’ll still insult you, still act arrogant, still pretend he doesn’t care,

but now he’s always there, now you’re his.

© 2026 satoruswetgf. all rights reserved.

no reproduction, translation, reposting, or Al use (including feeding into Al platforms or bot creation) is permitted without my permission.

frat!kuna who watched you with that arrogant, amused stare, chin tilted, eyes half-lidded like he already knew exactly how this was going to end.

you, meanwhile, were fighting for your life.

your breathing was getting uneven, soft pants slipping out between your lips as you tried to keep your grip steady. your arms trembled—tiny shakes you tried to hide, like sheer willpower could stop your muscles from burning. “mmn—” you whined under your breath, cheeks puffing in a pout as you adjusted your hands again. “I can do it,”

sukunas mouth twitched, like he was holding back a laugh. “you sure baby??”

“yes,” you snapped instantly, voice small and stubborn at the same time. “stop staring at me like that.” “like what?” he asked, leaning forward a little. his tone dipped lower—teasing, dangerous in the way it sounded like it could turn into something else. “like I’m enjoying the view?”

your breath hitched, and you hated that it did.

you tried to focus again, tried to pull through the burn, but it only made you pant harder. your whole body tensed, shoulders tight, hands straining—your grip slipping for a split second before you caught it again.

his eyes tracked every little movement, every tremble. “You’re shaking,” he murmured, like he was pointing out something indecent. “I’m not,” you insisted immediately, even as your arms betrayed you again. You shot him a glare, lips pushed out in a pout. “stop distracting me.”

“I’m not doing anything,” he said, voice sweet with mock innocence. “You’re the one making those cute little noises.”

he came closer.

the shift in his presence was instant, suddenly he was right behind you, close enough that you could feel his body heat. you stiffened, still panting, still struggling, still refusing to give up even when your arms felt like they were about to give out. his hand slid to your waist, firm, steadying you.

your breath stuttered.

“that’s enough,” he said, almost gentle. you turned your head, cheeks burning, still breathing hard. “I had it—!”

his smile widened—boyish, annoying, gorgeous. “Sweetheart,” he drawled, finally saying it like the punchline to a joke, “it’s a ten-pound dumbbell.”

there was a beat of silence.

“…shut up.”

sukuna laughed—loud, bright, completely unbothered, and you made a wounded, whiney noise as you shoved his chest with both hands.

“I hate you!”

© 2026 satoruswetgf. all rights reserved.

no reproduction, translation, reposting, or AI use (including feeding into AI platforms or bot creation) is permitted without my permission.