Smothered Steak

next record ⡴ series masterlist

art : @/su2kuna + @/hunnismokah

BESTFRIEND!NERDJO X READER X MUSICIAN!SUKUNA

SUMMARY ⡴ your best friend since college, satoru, is so sick of hearing about your dumb, dropout, fuck buddy, sukuna >:/naturally, the moment you hint you’re not seeing eachother he gets too caught up in his excitement and ends up flexing too hard about you “crawling back to him”… which ends up traveling right back to sukuna. and now sukuna has a grudge out for gojo under the assumption he stole you from him. messy messy messy.

WARNINGS (content) ⡴ fem!reader, grad student!gojo, physics major!gojo, drummer!sukuna, heavy jealousy, mentions of sex

You press open the door to your apartment, tired and legs half working. They’re still sore and wobbly from your time at Sukuna’s place that you just got back from, and all you know is that it’s late. Was it twelve?—two? fuck you still had work the next morning. You can hear the faucet’s still dripping as you pass through the kitchen of your apartment and pad through in one of Sukuna’s band’s shirts and thin cotton shorts that cling to your body. It’s the ones Sukuna picked out for you when you passed by the store in the mall with him and joked they’re basically underwear.

You press your finger aimlessly along the wall to flick on the living room light as you wander through the dark. The main light beams on and illuminates your living room.

And right there, lying on the couch like he’s half dead with a book forgotten in front of him, is Gojo—though he insists at this point in your friendship you should call him Satoru. You jump back in surprise, forgetting entirely he has a key to your apartment and studies here when his roommate and friend, Suguru, is working or being loud.

His bright blue eyes flicker as they open up, looking down at the drool pooling on the pages in front of him, then up at you and your heaving chest after being essentially jumpscared. He squints and brings up one of his hands to cover his eyes, sensitive from the light above you. You quickly scatter to turn off the overhead and then the knob to a table lamp instead.

“You’re still here?” you ask, eyebrows coming together.

His hair might as well be as messy as yours. He’s lying in loose grey sweatpants he probably stole from Geto and a shirt that reads a physics joke you don’t get that looks boxy on his lean frame.

He lifts himself up by his forearms, yawning as he does so. He closes his textbook and slides it on your coffee table, also littered with candy wrappers he’s left there, with little care. He tiredly hums in agreement, nodding while he looks back over to you. His eyes wander about you, your face, hair, and body. Your hair still looks messy and your bra—the lace one that could only be used to impress— is sticking out from your tank top.

Long story short, it looks clear you got fucked. his eyes thin again, and his bottom lip juts out in a pout. You settle down on the arm of the couch, dropping your keys down on the table.

“Were you with Sukuna again?” he says his name like it tastes disgusting on his tongue. His eyes bore into you as he asks, white eyelashes batting at you, awaiting your answer.

You sigh. If you say no, he’ll 100% know you’re lying. If you say yes (the truth), he’ll throw a fit and lecture you before storming out of your apartment.

“…Yeah, Satoru. I was.” He thinks his world stops. He already knew you were, in the back of his mind—but, fuck, it doesn’t make him any less pissed—any less pained thinking about it. He’s never even met the guy, and yet he already hates him. He already wants to bash that stupid, chiseled, tattooed face in. That face you were probably staring at all night—or maybe he’s too much of a dickhead to do it in missionary and get attached. He feels sick to his stomach knowing wannabe rockstar managed to get in your pants—how many times now? Five?

Your face looks strained, like you’re feeling guilty almost. But Satoru could never be mad at you. Never. Sure, he’s currently questioning your standards if you’re allowing a greasy fuckboy drummer to hit, but you’re somebody he doesn’t think his body has the physicality to be mad at.

He slumps back down into the cushion of your couch. “I don’t get it,” He says, muffled from how he says it into the couch. “You’re really just letting that asshole use you for sex?”

“It’s not like that, Satoru,” You whine leaning back and thumping your head back against the wall. “It’s not just sex.”

He turns over to his side, looking up at you through his tussled white bangs. “So you’re dating?” He thinks he’s going to throw up.

“…Well not dati—” He rolls his eyes and scoffs obnoxiously. You turn and kick him but he catches your leg before you can. His touch lingers just a smidge too long before you jolt out of his grasp.

“Go to sleep here or go home, Satoru.”

And like always, he’ll take the former.

The bass from Sukuna’s car is loud enough to jitter around your bones before you even step in. He rolls down the passenger window as you walk up to the door, shoes clattering against the pavement.

“Get in here already.” He looks at you, biting back the smirk that wants to form on his lips. He’s staring down your outfit, a simple skirt and t-shirt he’d lended you with flats and dark tights slipped around your feet. The purse on your arm even has a little keychain with his bands logo. Both you and him have come to an agreement you look good, mostly because you look like his girlfriend. “Can’t be late again.”

You settle yourself in the passenger seat before looking over to him. He’s got a near matching band tee that looks too tight around his bulky arms. You peer over your shoulder to the backseat.

“Where’s all your shit?” You know, for a guy about to perform you’d figure he’d have some drumming equipment with him before going.

“Left it at the venue earlier,” He starts on the road, cruising his car like it’s second nature to him. “Believe it or not I’ve done this before.” His eyes narrow as he half chuckles—or at least as close as he’s gotten in the time you’ve known him.

“Kay.” You shrug. “I’m excited to be VIP. If i didn’t know any better I’d think you’d like me.” He grunts as he takes a turn, gripping the wheel harder as he does, concealing his dark painted nails with the curve of it.

“I like you enough.” He quips. He presses his finger into the play button of the built in cd player, something already inserted. A drum count starts before you perk up at the familiarity. One of his songs, one of the ones he let you hear a couple weeks ago early. “Better know all the lyrics before we get there, brat.”

“I will.” You chuckle into your words. “It’s kinda easy to remember when you’re fucking the drummer.”

You watch his tattered, rough hands grip his drumsticks as he plays, nodding your head along to the rhythm.

The venues loud, way louder than you assumed it be. It’s their last song of the night and the only one you have true confidence to sing at the front row, being the one you’ve had played for you and asked opinions on after you’ve gotten done having sex.

His brown, nearly red, eyes drift to you, smiling differently than any other girl he’s taken to one of his shows. Smiling in the VIP, backstage accessible, pass he’d landed you. Smiling like you actually like him and aren’t just doing it so he’d keep fucking you. He stares, attention barely on his drum-set as his sticks clatter against it. It’s not like he needs to anyway, it’s one stupid repeated part he drafted up in his room for 5 minutes and has practiced a billion times.

You wave at him, finally spotting his eyes lingering on you that have been for half the song. A natural smile he could stare at forever appears on your face, as if your enjoyment skyrocketed from what it already was seeing him.

He has no idea why you look at him like this. Especially not now, he probably looks sweaty, greasy and just disgusting with his hair pushed back after Uraume insisted it would look ‘nice’.

When the final song finally concludes all he does before leaving is run his hands through his sweat ridden pink hair and stare at your backside, currently reading a bunch of past tour dates, while you hurry to lead backstage.

He’s collecting up his backstage stuff when you come up behind him. You tap on his tall, towering shoulder and squeal his name in excitement.

“Kuna, you did so good!” He fights a smile, feigning nonchalance. The truth is he is glad you’re excited to see him. He’s so goddamn ecstatic that your eyes light up as you look up at him.

He turns around and fights the heavy urge he has to kiss you right now. He pushes it down, realizing you’re not his girlfriend and are just in it for sex. He settles for a hug, arms landing around your waist while yours cling to his broad shoulders.

“Glad you liked it.” He hates how much he wants to impress you. Hell, it’s half the reason he was nervously tapping his fingers against the steering wheel while driving earlier. “You wanna go back to mine? Just have to deal with some quick management shit and then we can leave.”

You pout, like you feel guilty for what you’re about to say.

“I’m sorry I can’t,” You sound genuinely disappointed. “I got a text like halfway through the show. My friend is feeling sick and he’s so goddamn annoying when I don’t take care of him.” You pout again.

He? Him? Just who the fuck is your friend?

“He’s a grown man that can’t take care of himself?” He scowls. He grabs your wrist, tightly, as if your little friend is there to watch him hold you possessively. “Why the hell are you even friends with him anyway? Are you fucking him?” He sounds a lot more like an asshole than he means to but it sort of comes natural to him.

“Jesus Christ, no, Sukuna!” You spit out, the other hand he’s not holding coming up to his chest to calm him down. “He’s a friend from college. I can come over after maybe but—” You’re cut off.

“Don’t bother.” He lets go of your wrist. His voice drops lower, like it’s insulting to even hear about Satoru. “You got him, don’t you?” He walks away like some goddamn diva. He pushes past a band member, grunting to himself.

“Are you seriously that jealous over this?” You squint your eyes, trying to figure out how a grown man who used to pride himself on being a fuckboy is really this possessive over you.

If he was telling the truth, Sukuna was pissed. Hearing about you so casually talking about your guy-friend, so casually talking about taking care of him like he was your boyfriend instead. Like you’d done it a million times for him before you did it for Sukuna once. He slams his car door after shoving all his equipment inside.

And then you’re there—well not there. You’re probably 20 meters away, standing on the side of the road shivering in the nighttime cold with a phone in your hand, pressed up against your ear. You look cute. God, if you hadn’t brought up that stupid friend of yours he would’ve been the one keeping you warm with the heat of his car, maybe even cuddling when the night ends after he ripped that sexy skirt off of you and railed you.

He sees you hang up the phone and tuck your phone in your purse, shoulders relaxing, reminding Sukuna of how they do when he pushes his cock into you slowly.

He finally steps into his car, maybe one of your girlfriends you talk about will pick you up. His shoulders tense when he can’t bring himself to leave just yet with you standing by the curb like that. He’ll just watch until someone picks you up—he’s not evil. The thoughts about having to apologize to you rack in his mind. He knows he’ll have to, knows he’ll text you to come over so he can say sorry and end up screwing the mad out of you. Maybe he is evil for thinking this way—being so pissed about you acting all girlfriendy with another guy and only being able to think about your sexual memories together.

He drafts what to say in his mind. Maybe “I fucked up. Was just pissed off and I took it off on yo—”

He stares at his rearview mirror blankly. You just got into the car with some jackass. Messy white hair and red snuffly nose as he smiles and greets you.

Your stupid friend that he’s contemplating murdering right now.

Exquisitely Falling

Watercolor On Black Paper

2022, 10"x 14"

 PART 1 SUMMARY:

While trying to escape the clutches of criminals and cutthroats, you stumble across a castle beyond imagination. The corpses staked at the front aren’t enough to keep you out. But after entering, you begin to wonder what you got yourself into, and what the castle is hiding within its walls…

─── Alucard x black female reader

─── imagery + fiction

─── explicit smut

─── TW// slight gore, general mentions of rapists// Fantasy, vampires, hurt/comfort, enemies-to-friends-to-lovers, magic user, cute bats, gardening, cooking, cottagecore MC, castlecore Alucard.

☾ next.

┌───────────━┿──┿━──────────┐

└───────────━┿──┿━──────────┘

You fight through the underbrush of the woods, hurrying as quickly as your feet will allow.

They’re on your trail.

You’ve been evading these criminals from the last town you’d passed through, but they just keep stalking after you. They’d been all too eager to see a lone, beautiful woman traveling with no companions, no guides, and no guardians. 

They had tried and failed to corner you alone several times in the town and on the roads, but you haven’t made it this far on your own without some learned skills. A finger-bolt of lightning at one’s eye, a fire-heated palm tight on another’s wrist, swings of sharp dagger at all of their torsos, their throats. 

EVERYTHING'S BEAUTIFUL // HIATUS KAIYOTE [Love Heart Cheat Codes, 2024]

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