Jasmine 🌼

Criminal!Sukuna who lights up in the most feral way whenever your name comes up. Won’t admit it, of course. But it’s obvious how he stops pacing when the mail comes. He snatches your envelopes out of the stack like a territorial dog, scowling at anyone who looks over.

Criminal!Sukuna who sits in his cell reading pages upon pages of you calling him a brain-dead brute with no sense of decorum. Threats piling up saying you’ll break things off completely if he doesn’t clean up his act when he gets out.

He smiles anyway. Because the letters smell like your perfume. Lips splitting wide in that creepy, clinically unwell way that has Gojo surmising Sukuna must have stockholm-syndromed his way into his relationship somehow.

Criminal!Sukuna who writes back instantaneously. Pencil scritching against paper like he’s got a vendetta – and perhaps he does, because he writes venomous, downright heinous shit. All watch your tone and you won’t find a better fuck, signed with a little sketch of his dick. For good measure, of course.

𓀐𓂺 𓀐𓂸

Criminal!Sukuna who spends half his sentence arguing with you through busted-up phone receivers and glass partitions. Sometimes you’ll be face to face at the visitation area, nary a word spoken. Once, you threaten to “start seeing someone normal”, and he slams the counter so hard the whole thing jostles.

There’s something special in the way you speak to him. Like he’s an exceptionally stupid man, and not a dangerous bastard with an egregiously extensive crime record.

“Do you want to get out of prison,” you hiss, enunciating each syllable with a finger jabbed hard at the glass, “or do you want to buttfuck your cellmate?”

Sukuna’s sprawled in his chair, massive arms folded with a sleazy grin, eyes glimmering with mirth. He leans closer.

“Depends. You gonna dump me if I do?”

“Maybe.”

The phone receiver slams against the cradle on his side so hard the inmate six seats down flinches. Sukuna stands to full height, chair scraping back loud across the floor. Hunched over the counter.

“You try it,” he sneers. “See what happens.”

A normal person would back down right about now. Think: hey, this probably isn’t a healthy or sustainable relationship! I should end things right here!

You do not. Instead, you stand and collect your things, a vein pulsing at your forehead as you muster a sweet smile. “Maybe I will.”

He stares ahead three long seconds after you leave, then drops back into his chair, muttering curses beneath his breath as a reprimanding guard draws near.

Criminal!Sukuna who finally gets that long-awaited conjugal visit slot after years of good behavior (read: not slamming anyone’s head into a wall for about a week and a half). And lucky him, you’ve requested special accommodations! – a little trailer just off prison grounds. 

He would’ve been fine fucking you for all to hear, too, but he digresses.

He’s half-hard just from the walk out the confine, veins prominent as his cuff-clad hands twist together. Too busy thinking to bother snarking at the guards who trail behind him.

He wonders what he’ll do when he sees you first. Maybe he’ll smirk, make a snide comment. Or maybe instinct’ll take over, and he’ll bury his face in your hair and his dick in your pussy. Who’s to say?

He’s excited. Very. In many ways.

Criminal!Sukuna who’s one foot into the trailer when he freezes up. The guards have to push him through, slamming the door behind him as his system reboots.

Something tambourines across his ribcage as his eyes meet yours, pounding, pounding– fuck. There you are.

God, he’s missed you.

“You’re staring.”

“..you’re breathing.”

“Yes, that tends to happen.”

His fingers twitch, a soft exhale escaping.

He can’t even find it in himself to be pissed. You’re so pretty. Especially when you’re mad. The angrier you get and the sharper you snap back, the brighter that little gleam in your eyes burns.

Sukuna likes it. He likes it a lot.

He likes you a lot.

The sole reason he even bothered to behave long enough to earn this visit was so he could see that exact frown on your lips once more.

Criminal!Sukuna who’s snapped out of his reverie with the telltale warning of your fingers threading through his hair.

Then those exact lips slam against his with a hiss, your teeth clashing, biting and pulling at his bottom lip as if punishing him for all the time you’ve lost.

His hands – still restrained – press into your waist.

He can’t be bothered to care.

He’s on a sugar high for the first time in months, swallowing down your sativa taste until he’s lightheaded and preening, the outline of kuna junior™ peeking out his orange garb to wave hello.

Your grip on his hair tightens, tugging when his metal cuffs digs into you. In the way. You shoot him a glare, and he snarls beneath his breath.

“Hold still, woman.”

“I am holding still, you dolt–”

There’s a sharp crack!

All you see is the flex of his forearms before the cuffs give way, steel snapping like cheap jewelry and skewing across the trailer floor.

Criminal!Sukuna who hauls you up by your thighs, slamming your back against the flimsy trailer wall so hard a framed motivational poster clatters to the floor. His mouth’s on your throat, kissing tattoos into your skin while he grinds his aching length against the warmth of your clothed cunt.

Criminal!Sukuna who swipes your panties to the side instead of bothering to take them off. There’s a wet spot where he’s been grinding that has his smile spreading mean, two fingers rubbing at your clit before dipping in and crooking up.

“No one’s been spreading you right, huh? Miss me that bad?”

“Missed the dick. Didn’t miss the mouth.”

He snorts at that. Mutters “brat” beneath his breath as he drags his fingers out, slow and glistening, smearing slick along your folds before pushing them back in deep. “Lucky the mouth missed you.”

Criminal!Sukuna who drops to his knees. More collapse than kneel, weight falling hard as he plants himself to the floor, thighs spread wide, hands gripping at your ass to pull you closer. Then he smiles up, tongue running along his molars in anticipation.

Criminal!Sukuna who eats you out like he’s starved. Who dives in with no preamble, mouth sealing over your cunt, tongue flat and broad and greedy as he drags it from your entrance up in one long, lewd-sounding swipe. He takes a moment to grin against your clit, tongue swirling messy circles as his nose presses to the warmth of your skin. Then he’s enveloping the puffy nub between his lips and sucking hard enough to make your hips jerk, humming low when his fingers swipe through your folds and meet a gush of arousal. You buck into the feeling with a whine his name, nails scraping through his scalp, and he practically groans, a hand dropping down to unzip and jerk himself off.

Criminal!Sukuna who gets slower when he’s about to insert himself. Who brushes his tip through your folds, kissing gently at your clit before going back down to gather slick. Then he notches himself at your entrance and thrusts in, agonizingly unrushed, grunting as he sinks into your warmth.

It’s been a while, but his dick still recognizes the feeling like a soldier coming home from war. The fluttering, the way you suck him in like you never forgot him at all – like you waited for him just like he waited for you and worried for him wholly more.

The stretch aches. Your nails rake bloody reality down his back. A groan escapes unbidden – guttural and painstricken and all the more relieved that he’s here, and you’re here, and you’re his.

Criminal!Sukuna who fucks you mean. At first. Sharp and punishing, hips snapping like he’s trying to escape by rocking the trailer to nirvana. Each thrust has a gasp slipping out of your pretty lips, of which he drinks down with fervor, tongue swirling and coaxing yours to muffle the sounds so the guards outside don’t get a free audio show. His balls slap wet against your skin, swollen from months of nothing but his own fist and your perfume-stained letters.

Criminal!Sukuna who slows down when your legs lock tighter around him and your teeth find the side of his neck. He’s still buried to the hilt. His hips rolling in filthy circles, grinding his length against that sweet spot that makes your toes curl and your vision go blurry.

His forehead drops to yours, sweat-slick hair sticking to skin as his voice lowers.

“..say you love me.”

Criminal!Sukuna who lets out a tch when you don’t answer fast enough. Who pulls almost all the way out, letting you feel the drag of every veiny inch, then slams back in so deep your mouth opens in a silent cry.

“Say it. Tell me you’re mine, tell me you– fuuuuuck. Been thinking ‘bout you. Dreaming ‘bout you, every night. Jerked off so much I thought my dick would fall off.. c’mon, baby. Say it. C’mon.”

Criminal!Sukuna who starts begging when your walls pulse around him. Not pretty begging, either – pissed-off. Hoarse.

“Don’t do this to me, please– fuck– just say it. Say you love your piece-of-shit boyfriend. Say you’ll wait. I’ll be good, I swear– only you, just for you, I’ll get out– so say it. Say it. I need you.”

His thrusts turn erratic. Sloppy. He’s close, and he’s trying not to be, trying to drag it out as long as possible before the moment fades into steel bars and white walls of nothing.

Criminal!Sukuna who shivers when you finally card your fingers through his hair, yanking his head back so you can look him in the eye.

You’re pretty. Always pretty, but especially pretty like this, lips swollen and tears pooling at your eyes out of overstimulation.

“I love you, you stupid, stupid man.”

Criminal!Sukuna whose whole body locks up. Whose cock pulses violently inside you – once, twice – and then he’s cumming with a strangled groan, doubling over to hold you tight as he fills you up. He keeps grinding, encouraged by the way your walls milk his length, cum leaking out in a frothy little ring that has his chest preening.

Criminal!Sukuna who doesn’t pull out after. Just stays seated inside, trembling, face buried in the crook of your neck and arms wrapped around you like you might disappear. Who mumbles against your skin, barely audible –

“..missed this pussy.”

He’s still half-hard, twitching every time your walls clench around his oversensitive length. Already thinking about round two.

But despite his perverted words, and his overeager dick, you know exactly what he’s trying to say.

Criminal!Sukuna who spends the rest of your visit inside you in some capacity – fucking, eating you out with your thighs locked around his head, making you ride him on the tiny bed ‘til the frame creaks dangerously. Every time he cums, he begs to hear you say you love him again, hissing it back at you like a promise.

When the guards finally bang on the door to collect him, he snarls “five more minutes” and shoves his tongue back in your mouth. Trying to swallow you whole and take you with him.

Criminal!Sukuna who leaves the trailer with his shoulders loosened, lips swollen, fresh bite marks ringed around his throat and oh-so visible with his head held high. The dopiest, most lovesick grin painted fond across his lips.

He’s gonna get out of here. And when he does, his girl’s gonna be waiting.

––––

Criminal!Sukuna who gets released on parole after god knows how long. The guards walk him out, and the world feels a little different. The air is clearer. And his woman–

.

Where the hell are you?

Criminal!Sukuna who’s a little disappointed when his parole officer is the one to escort him home. But he can’t be too upset about it. You must’ve had it hard, too. He’ll make it up to you.

Criminal!Sukuna who almost breaks down the door on his way in.

DAAAARLING. GUESS WHO’S BACK FROM JAIIIIIIL–

You’re sitting on the couch, legs tucked beneath you, remote in one hand. Unimpressed.

“Hi,” you sniff.

His eye twitches.

“Woman.”

“Yes?”

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Sitting.”

He drops his duffel bag with a heavy thud. “Yeah. I can see that.”

Criminal!Sukuna who starts prowling around the apartment like a bloodhound. He checks the kitchen and the hallway and the bathroom and the bedroom – including the closet, the door to which he swings open so hard it bangs against the wall.

Bathtub. Bed. Under the bed. Back out again.

He stands silent for a long moment before storming back into the living room, planting himself in front of the couch and looming over you with a scowl.

“You told me you were seeing someone.”

You lean a little to the left so he doesn’t block your view of the TV, ignoring the freshly released menace like you haven’t been yearning for his presence for the past four years. Serves him right. “I told you maybe.”

“Maybe means yes.”

“No,” you reply, calm, “Maybe means maybe.”

“Maybe means there could be some guy sitting in my apartment right now.”

“Our apartment.”

“Same difference.”

You don’t respond, and he feels the panic set in.

Sukuna trusts you. He knows you waited, and he knows you didn’t have to.

What he’s more uncomfortable with is the memory of all those nights in his cell staring at the ceiling wondering if he would come back changed.

It’s not like he’d know if or when that would happen. It’s not like you’re blind to that possibility. You’ve probably spent just as much time wondering the same thing – if the man who came home would still be the one you loved, or just some asshole you’d have to learn to live with until your lease was up.

And if you did anticipate that, and you did move on, and there is some other guy? What then? What useless method of intimidation or blackmail or torture could possibly earn back your heart if he had already lost it somewhere along the way?

You glance up after a bit. A wry smile blooms across your lips when you see the worried set of his brow.

“There is no guy,” you snort.

“You sure about that?”

“Yes.”

“Then why didn’t you pick me up?”

“You know where the apartment is.”

“..would’ve liked balloons, at least.”

You register the little quiver in his voice with a hum.

It’s kind of funny, because when he first got into prison four years ago, he was the one who tried to cut things off. Said he didn’t know you at first – assumed you wouldn’t want to associate with a convict. And now here he is, asking for welcome-home balloons.

“Wow,” you muse, pausing your show, “prison really softened you.”

He glares down at you. You smile back.

And then he lets out a long, aggravated exhale, drags a hand down his face, and plops down onto the couch. The whole thing dips under his weight.

“Missed you,” he murmurs.

You laugh and let him pull you into his arms.

“You big baby.”

Criminal!Sukuna who’s “reformed”. On paper. Ankle monitor long gone and patrol officer off his case. He’s even scored a legitimate (albeit mundane) part-time mechanic gig, which you’re 90% sure he got solely because the owner of the shop used to joyride with him. Some big burly guy named Toji who overcharges his clients and busts all his earnings in a casino at 4am, no doubt.

Still, the itch never leaves.

Criminal!Sukuna who can’t quite give up that pesky little habit of his. He’ll steal anything he can. Snatching your lacey panties right out the hamper just to shove them in the washer four hours later after jerking off until the fabric is soaked. And if ever you ask, he’ll just shrug and feign innocence.

“Dunno. Maybe they ran away from your stank ass pu–”

You don’t let him fuck you for the next two weeks, and from the desperate look on his face when you pass by, it isn’t difficult to assume he’s in just as much agony as he was when he was behind bars.

Criminal!Sukuna who “borrows” your car keys and drives off. He doesn’t have anywhere particularly important to be, but the jingle in his palm and the roar of the engine give him that good ol’ dopamine hit. He goes down three blocks to the gas station just to buy the same energy drink you already have three packs of in the fridge, then comes back home and acts like he wasn’t just driving on a suspended license.

Criminal!Sukuna who’s reintegrated into society. And yet he’ll never truly get rid of the urge – the whisper that he could do something, and he could probably get away with it, too.

But he won’t. He’d kill himself before getting locked up again.

Scratch that – his girl would, first.

It felt wrong to admit to, but you were almost glad that things were definitively over with him. To some extent, you’d just been searching for a reason to end things, aware that you were never really going to feel that passion for him. 

Not when your passion always seemed reserved for someone else. 

You wished you hadn’t had to deal with a load of vile name calling in the process, but you’d blocked his number and what was done, was done. 

“Shit, I’m sorry. He seemed like a mostly good guy,” Yuki said, dragging the varnish brush slowly over her own nails, half focused on the task and half on you. She was the type of girl who liked to make a lot of eye-contact when speaking, and subsequently orange paint was getting all over her skin.  

“Mmm. Want me to do your nails for you?” 

“Nah, you’ll smudge yours. I’ll manage.” She waved you off. “So you’re not speaking with him at all anymore?” 

“No way. We’re done, I really wasn’t sure how into him I was anyway.” 

“I get that. It didn’t look like the chemistry was really there.”

That made sense, considering that you spent the whole reunion speaking to Yuki and Shoko rather than paying Kashimo any attention. Oh, and there was also the fact that you couldn’t take your eyes off Sukuna half the time that you were at the damn gathering. 

Somehow, seeing Kashimo and Sukuna in the same place only made you more certain that you’d never really feel anything for the former. The way that Sukuna stirred your heart with a single look was unlike anything that anyone else had made you feel. Kashimo would certainly never manage it - even the nice version of him that you’d originally known. 

“Yeah, it is what it is.” You shrugged. “Plenty of fish in the sea, I’ll find someone else.” 

You were pretty certain that you wouldn’t have to look very hard to find someone else - in fact, there was one fish in particular that was simply begging to be reeled in, but you’d keep him on the hook for a little longer. No point in making things too easy for him. 

Lately, your reservations about Sukuna had been dwindling. Kashimo had been one of your main excuses, and now that was all out of the way. The other excuse had been Ryu’s ghost haunting you whenever you’d look at the pink-haired man, but with all the time you’d been spending with him lately, you found that the guilt bothered you less and less. 

It had been four years since Ryu’s death, and he’d cheated on you in life. Why should you have to punish yourself forever just because of an unfortunate coincidence? Sukuna had made a very good point that Ryu would’ve likely died whether you’d been faithful or not. 

So why were you denying yourself happiness? 

You’d planned to break up with Ryu back then anyway, had planned to choose Sukuna before all hell broke loose. Now that time had moved on and things were calmer, it felt foolish to let a dead man stand in the way of things. Being with Sukuna was your choice alone, and the way that he’d comforted you outside the reunion had eroded away the last few shreds of doubt that you’d been hanging onto.

Not that you could tell Yuki any of that, because she’d absolutely kill you. 

“Honestly though, I almost thought that Gojo was lying - figured Sukuna had paid him to make Kashimo look bad or something,” Yuki said, “y’know, because he’s a conniving little shit.”

To be honest, you’d initially had some of the same suspicions, but Gojo was far too specific for it all to be lies. Sukuna didn’t know Kashimo well enough to provide Gojo with information about gigs and such - it had to be legitimate. 

“Sukuna definitely had no idea - he seemed so shocked when he found me crying. Besides, Kashimo's reaction over text said it all.”

Yuki’s eyes narrowed, and you cursed yourself for that idle slip of the tongue. As far as she was concerned you’d had very little to do with Sukuna recently. You hadn’t even told her that the two of you worked together. 

“When he found you crying?” She echoed, looking thoroughly unimpressed. “Was that at the reunion? Tell me that you walked away and didn’t bother telling him anything.” 

Shrugging, you stared down at your shiny nails. “We just chatted for a bit, it's not a big deal.” You must not have sold that line as well as you were hoping, based on the way that Yuki was staring at you with utter disbelief. 

“If it's not a big deal, what’re you blushing for?” 

“I’m not.” You lied, feeling suddenly defensive. You weren’t sure if it was better to deny any claims of association with Sukuna, or if you should just turn around and tell Yuki that you were a grown woman who could do what she liked. 

Neither option was all that appealing. 

“You are. If all you did was chat, I’m sure you wouldn’t mind telling me what you were chatting about.” Yuki’s voice was cold, tinged with disappointment. There had been only a few times in your life where you’d been the subject of her ire, and you always hated it. It made you feel smaller than being disciplined by your actual parents. 

Chewing on your lip, you wondered what would placate her most effectively for the time being, without it coming back to bite you in the ass one day. You certainly weren’t going to mention the kiss, nor were you going to share just how much talk of a potential future relationship there had been. 

However, it probably didn’t serve you to omit the fact that Sukuna was working for your dad, and that your friendship had been steadily growing over the last few weeks. If you were to keep that information quiet, it was likely that it would come out down the line and then Yuki would be really mad at you for lying. 

Better to face a little bit of her anger now rather than a lot of it later. 

“He was just comforting me,” you said finally. “He ran into me when I was leaving the bathroom all teary-eyed, and I was frazzled so I told him about what had been happening. He listened and gave some words of reassurance while I calmed down, that’s all.” 

Yuki didn’t look convinced. “Let me guess - did he wrap an arm around you and tell you about how you deserve so much better? Did he tell you about how there are plenty of guys out there willing to give you everything you deserve? Oh, oh, did he tell you that he’d never treat you the way that Kashimo did?”

“No,” you lied easily. 

So what if he said and did all of those things? You had faith that he was being honest about it, and it wasn’t like he had negative intentions for you. He’d been waiting patiently for a chance with you for over four years - that was more dedication than either Ryu or Kashimo had shown. 

He wasn’t the villain that Yuki believed him to be. 

But there was no convincing her of that fact, so it just felt easier to lie. 

“He’s been working for my dad,” you added. “We’ve had a few opportunities to talk since I got back into town. We haven’t discussed the past at all and he’s been nothing but pleasant - I don’t think there’s any need for you to hate on him like you are, he’s just a guy.” 

Yuki was silent for a while, avoiding eye contact. It had you feeling antsy, because she was clearly thinking about what to make of your statement. A deep sigh wracked her body, and she took her time screwing on the lid of her nail polish before looking at you once more. 

“If there’s nothing untoward going on, why are you only now telling me that you’ve been working with him?” 

A valid point, but you tried not to appear flustered by her response. The best course of action here was to make it look like she was blowing things out of proportion and acting ridiculous - which she kind of was. Sukuna’s only crime was sleeping with you while you were in a relationship, and it wasn’t like he coerced you into it - far from it. 

You’d wanted him as much as he’d wanted you. 

“Because I knew you’d freak out like you are right now. You act like he’s the damn antichrist.”

Yuki scoffed. “He manipulated you into cheating on Ryu.” 

“He didn’t, and I’m sick of pretending that he did. I’m capable of making my own bad decisions and that night was one of them. I shouldn’t have cheated, but it wasn’t Sukuna’s fault. I’m the one that was in a relationship, not him.” 

The roll of her eyes told you that Yuki didn’t accept that excuse for even a second. “He waited until you were most vulnerable to prey on you, and I’m pretty sure that you’re smart enough to know it.” 

“No, he-” you started to argue, only to catch yourself. There was no point in squabbling over this - Yuki had made up her mind about Sukuna long ago, and no argument would serve to change her mind. The only thing that would have an impact is seeing Sukuna’s positive treatment of you with her own eyes.

And that was something that she’d potentially have to come to terms with one day. 

“Look, let's just not talk about this, okay? I came over to hang out with you, let's not waste time talking about boys.” 

It was frustrating, because you could really do with talking about the Sukuna situation with someone impartial. You were attracted to him, you’d always known that, but it would be nice to have someone objectively tell you if giving things a go was a good idea. You’d get no objectivity from Yuki, and that made discussing it a waste of time. 

Perhaps you could talk it through with Shoko instead. She’d shown vitriol for Sukuna when in Yuki’s presence, but she wasn’t the type to get amped up about anything really. It was likely that she’d be able to give you a more honest opinion on how you should proceed. 

“You’re right.” There was something in her tone that told you that she didn’t really want to cut the conversation short, only willing to concede for the sake of avoiding any damage to your friendship. It was clear that she was eager to bring you over to her side, unsatisfied at the idea of you defending him or spending time with him in any capacity. 

It was fine for her to feel that way. She just needed to understand that it was your decision to make. Not hers. 

“Before we move on though - please tell me you’re not considering getting with him.” 

Yuki’s expression was pleading, the worried furrow of her brow painfully evident. For the last four years she’d desperately tried to talk down the concept of Sukuna whenever he’d come up in conversation, along with running interference to ensure that the two of you never ran into one another whenever you were in town. 

You imagined that she was seeing four years of hard work unravel before her eyes, and was desperate to cling on to some semblance of it. 

It was likely that you were going to have to apologise to her for your actions in the coming weeks, if you went along with the desires that were currently building within you. But you could cross that bridge once you came to it. 

For now, what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. 

“Me getting with Sukuna?” You asked, waving your hand flippantly. “Oh no, definitely not!” 

—

“Double cheeseburger, that’s mine. Here’s your chicken burger.” Sukuna was rummaging around in a paper bag that he’d picked up from Doug’s, distributing lunch out between the two of you. “Oh, they ran out of the strawberry flavouring so I got you a chocolate milkshake instead, hope that’s okay.” 

“Thanks.” Your fingers brushed his as you took the plastic cup from him, sending a pleasant shiver through your hand. You took a sip before placing the milkshake down on the world’s best dad coaster at your side, focusing your attention back on the ancient computer while Sukuna got started on his meal.

Your father was currently facing an audit, and that meant that you were working overtime to get his records in order. Subsequently, you couldn’t head out for lunch like you usually would, which had led to Sukuna bringing lunch to you instead. He seemed perfectly content sitting across from you in that little trailer, quietly watching you work while he enjoyed his break from manual labour. 

“Can I help?” He asked, after a period of silence, gesturing to the computer.

“Nah. This thing just happens to be the slowest machine in the universe, so organising everything is taking ages. It doesn’t help that my dad doesn’t bother putting anything into folders - there’s documents everywhere.” 

“Mmm. I saw Satoru’s desktop the other day and it was chaos. Icons all over the screen and some random popups and shit.” Sukuna said. 

“This one isn’t that bad. But I am gonna tell my dad to buy a new one - if I’m going to work with the damn thing everyday, I need it to run faster than this.” 

A chime of a text sounded from your bag, and you glanced over at it but didn’t bother to check. It was most likely just Yuki messaging with a plan for the weekend - one of Choso’s siblings was getting married and she wanted you and Shoko to go dress shopping with her in the city. You were considering faking a cold, still on shaky ground with her after your conversation the other day. 

So instead of reading her text and lamenting about it further, you turned your attention to your food, unwrapping the chicken burger and taking a big bite. You had to admit, it was nice to have Sukuna bringing you lunch - you probably wouldn’t have eaten all day otherwise, too focussed on the task at hand. 

“Heard from Kashimo again?” Sukuna asked, nodding his head in the direction of your bag. 

You were almost surprised that he was asking - you’d figured that the second your ex was out of the picture, Sukuna would wipe the name from his mind. After all, you imagined that he saw Kashimo as nothing more than an obstacle that had now been thoroughly removed. 

“No, nothing. Wasn’t expecting to though.” You said with a shrug. 

“No? You didn’t think he’d come crawling back to beg?”

You scoffed in disbelief. “I told you what he said over text, right?” 

Sukuna hummed. “The abridged version, I guess.” 

Your retelling of the story to Sukuna had been a little fragmented, since you’d been so enraged. The evening after the reunion, he’d called you to check that you were okay after your tearful day, only to get a full rant about the texts that Kashimo had sent you after the party. You probably didn’t explain it well, but you were sure he got the gist. 

Either way, you hadn’t really talked about it since then. You had no interest in bringing it up, and you assumed that he saw it as something of a touchy subject. 

“You can read the texts if you want.” You rummaged in your bag, pulling out your pink flip phone, ignoring the message from Yuki and opening up the texts from Kashimo, before handing it over to Sukuna. 

“Cute.” He mused, inspecting the Hello Kitty charm hanging off the side of your cell before turning his attention to the messages. 

“I mean- I can’t believe that I ever thought he was a nice guy. It was all just some dumb act. I really need to thank Gojo for giving me a heads up, because who knows how long it would’ve taken me to see this side of him otherwise. Imagine if I’d moved in with the guy only to find out that he was acting like this behind my back.” 

Sukuna hummed, carefully reading through the messages, his brows furrowed in displeasure. “He called you a whore? When he was the one sleeping with other people?”

“Yeah.” You rolled your eyes. “Called me a lot of other shit too. Guess he didn’t like being rejected.”

“What a jerk. Want me to kill him for you?” 

You stared up at Sukuna, unimpressed by his amused expression.

“Don’t even joke about that.” 

“Sorry, poor taste.” His grin didn’t drop, but you let it go easily. 

You knew that he’d never really been broken up over Ryu’s death - he’d never actually liked the guy. Making morbid jokes didn’t register in his mind in the same way that they did in yours, and the thought of Ryu’s death probably only came up for him when you’d bring it up. 

Besides, it had been four years. When were you going to get less sensitive about it? 

“Seriously though, I could track this guy down and give him a beating - if that’s what you wanted?” Sukuna’s expression was painfully earnest, not unlike a dog waiting for their owner to give them a command. 

Shaking your head, you offered him a soft smile. “He’s really not worth all that. Besides, I don’t want you beating anyone up.”

He shrugged. “Your choice. I would do it though.” 

“Noted.” 

You definitely believed him. Even though you’d never been witness to it, you heard all the rumors about fights he’d been in when you were back in school. He’d even punched Ryu once, before the two of you had started dating - not that Ryu had ever been interested in discussing it, apparently humiliated by his loss. 

Before Sukuna could make further promises of violence towards anyone who caused you strife, the door creaked open and your dad walked in. He was holding a paper cup from the nearby coffee van, but seemed to stop in his tracks at the sight of Sukuna and the food laid out on the table between you. 

“I was coming in to bring you a coffee but it looks like someone beat me to it!” 

To be fair, while Sukuna had bought you lunch, he hadn’t brought you a coffee, and you could really do with the caffeine. “I’d still like it! Thanks dad.” You smiled at him as he walked over, gratefully taking the warm cup from him and putting it down beside your half-drunk milkshake. 

He straightened up, hesitating for a second as he glanced between you and Sukuna. It was obvious that he’d expected to find you alone in the trailer, certainly not having lunch with his most rough-around-the-edges employee. You tried your best to ignore his unease, going back to eating your meal and pretending that your dad wasn’t fidgeting in your periphery. 

You couldn’t decide if his awkwardness was due to a dislike of Sukuna, or if he simply had something that he wanted to tell you in private.

“Are you done with that foundation, kid?” He asked, as Sukuna finished the final bite of his burger.

“‘Course.” 

“Good, good.” 

From what you could tell, Sukuna was an excellent worker, easily one of the most productive employees that your father had. It was likely a result of age - at twenty-two Sukuna was in the prime of his life where physical strength was concerned. The majority of your dad’s men were over twice that age. 

The silence stretched out for a few seconds as your father continued to awkwardly linger. “Everything okay?” You asked, eager for him to spit out whatever was sitting on the tip of his tongue. 

“Yeah, I’d really just dropped by to keep you company, but I guess I didn’t need to…” 

Your brow furrowed at the slight distaste in his tone. You weren’t sure if this was one of those typical overprotective father quirks - you’d never really seen him around guys that you liked before this interaction. He’d never met Ryu, because you’d kept the relationship a secret, and when Kashimo came to visit, he’d seemed largely unbothered. 

Probably because he’d seen how unbothered you were about the man. 

But there was something about his demeanour which felt threatened, or perhaps irritated, by the fact that someone else was here taking up your time. Perhaps it was about that person specifically being Sukuna - you didn’t really know anything about the nature of their working relationship. 

“I should probably get back to work anyway!” Sukuna chirped with a smile, breaking through the awkwardness. 

He tossed the burger packaging into the trash can at the side of the desk and stood up, stretching his arms above his head. He looked a little out of place in the tiny trailer - far too big for the space when drawn up to his full height. 

“We’re still on for tomorrow, right?” Sukuna asked as he drifted in the direction of the door. “For Misery at the drive-in?”

“Yeah, of course.” The way that he smiled back at you made your heart flutter desperately. He’d invited you over the phone a few days ago, and although he hadn’t said it outright, there was no doubt in your mind that he viewed it as a date. 

You’d almost turned him down, almost reminded him of your chat at the reunion in which you’d made it clear that any conversation about the two of you would take place exclusively on your terms. 

But the issue with that was the fact that you did want to go with him. 

You were sick of delaying, sick of having dream after dream of Sukuna’s hands on you, sick of your heart practically jumping out of your chest whenever he’d come by to grab you for lunch. You liked him, you’d always liked him. Knowing that was true, what was the point in wasting more time on silly games? 

The best way to find out if things would work was to try. If you kissed him properly and all you could think of was Ryu’s dead body, then you knew that it would never be possible. But if you kissed him and the horrible, soul-crushing guilt remained absent? Then you could have everything that your soul had been yearning for.

“Perfect, I’ll pick you up at eight.” 

You gave him a nod as he stepped out of the trailer, the door creaking and slamming shut behind him. Turning your attention to your dad, you caught the way that his brow was furrowed ever so slightly, a mix of curiosity and disappointment present on his weathered face. 

“I didn’t realise you guys were so close,” he said, waving his hand in the direction of the door. You supposed that made sense - the last time he’d seen the two of you interact was when Sukuna had been in here with his injured hand, and you’d shown an overall reluctance to even talk to the man. 

You shrugged, before moving to clean up the table a little bit, anything to avoid eye contact. “We’re friends.” 

“You know him well?” 

“Well enough,” you answered. “He’s the only person here even remotely near my age, so he’s kinda the only choice for someone to talk to.” That was a partial lie - because while there really weren’t any other employees in your age bracket, you would still be hanging out with Sukuna even if that wasn't the case. 

“You aren’t dating him, are you?” 

Balking at the straightforwardness of that question, you were quick to shake your head. “No, we’re just friends. God, dad, I only just broke up with Kashimo, what do you think I’m like?” 

He put his hands up defensively, clearly a little embarrassed by your response. “Sorry, sorry. I just had to ask. It's just- with him bringing you lunch, and going to drive-ins, it kinda seemed that way.”

You’d long since learned how to play the guilt game with your parents - you’d used it to hide your relationship with Ryu and get your way in other areas of life for years, so instead of accepting his apology, you pushed your advantage. You didn’t want him asking about Sukuna again anytime soon. 

“Well it isn’t. It's been so hard for me moving back to town, living with my parents again like some kind of failure, all on top of my boyfriend cheating on me. Sukuna is one of the few people who’s actually been a good friend to me. Besides, I’m going to the drive-in with him and several other friends, you don’t need to be so suspicious.” 

“I hear you-” 

“Plus, I’m a grown-up! You don’t get to come in here and dictate anything to me that isn’t work related. I can’t believe that you still don’t trust me to make good decisions, it makes me so upset.” You were sure that the look on your face was sufficiently frustrated, because this exact act had been working on your dad for at least fifteen years at this point

“Sorry, honey,” he said, looking dejected. “I was just being nosey. There’s nothing wrong with being his friend - he’s a good worker. But I was just hoping you weren’t dating a guy like him - you deserve better than spending your life in some shitty little apartment with a guy who can barely make ends meet.”

His tone was soft, disarming. It was clear that he was trying to make amends for upsetting you, inadvertently making you more annoyed in the process, because there was no reason to be so prejudiced against Sukuna for his financial situation or for anything else. He’d always been kind to you, and in your mind that mattered more than having a nice house and a fancy corporate job. 

“I think it's wrong that you speak about your employees like that,” you said. “He can’t make ends meet because you pay him minimum wage.” 

“Look, it's not just the money.”

Of course he glazed over that part. 

“I just don’t want any daughter of mine marrying some guy with face tattoos. It's unsavory - gives off the wrong sort of impression.” 

You could kind of understand the sentiment, but Ryu didn’t have face tattoos and he cheated on you. Kashimo certainly didn’t have face tattoos and he also cheated on you. You were pretty sure that outward appearance did little to dictate a person’s quality.

But your dad was old-fashioned, so that was unlikely to move him, and therefore not an argument worth making - especially not when you were in the process of trying to convince him that you weren’t interested in dating Sukuna. 

So you just held your tongue and rolled your eyes, deciding that you were done having this conversation. Just like with Yuki, if something happened with Sukuna, you could cross that bridge when you came to it, but you wouldn’t be having the argument now. 

“Well then,” you said softly, giving your father a pointed smile, “aren’t you lucky I’m not dating him?” 

—

Sukuna came to pick you up for your date at 8pm. 

You were already waiting outside for him, not eager for him to encounter either of your parents. Even if you were certain that your dad felt sufficiently awkward to not cause any further strife, you didn’t want to take the risk. 

Especially considering that you’d lied and said others were coming - when they clearly weren’t. 

Sukuna had openly looked you up and down as you hopped into his truck, doing little to conceal the desire glimmering in his crimson eyes. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t dressed up specially for him, meticulously planning your outfit to ensure that he took notice of the way it hugged your body. 

“You look pretty,” he purred. “Making me feel underdressed.” 

He was dressed pretty casually, wearing a grey Bullet for my Valentine hoodie and loose fitting black jeans. He looked incredibly good all the same, just as he always seemed to, no matter what he was wearing. Part of you pondered what it would be like to wear that hoodie, fantasising over the idea of him putting it on you if you got cold later in the night. 

It probably smelt great - just like he always did. 

You shrugged. “I just wanted to dress up for once.” The line was innocent, but the way you fluttered your lashes at him was not. He offered you a grin, shaking his head just a little before starting the car, driving you over to the drive-in on the edge of town. 

It was a nice little spot, albeit slowly dying now that so many people had flat screen TVs to rely on and an extensive collection of DVDs all in the comfort of their homes. Either way, you had great memories of swinging by as a kid, McDonalds Happy Meal clutched in your hands as you watched whatever family-friendly movie they were putting on that weekend. 

For some reason it was always your dad that used to take you - your mother would never go. You assumed that she used those precious two hours a week to get some alone time while your dad was watching you, considering that she did the majority of the child related labour. 

As you’d grown older, you’d started going along to the drive-in with friends, watching a number of classic teen movies like Grease and The Breakfast Club. The second that Yuki had gotten a car you’d all piled into it to come to the run-down place, enjoying that taste of freedom that you’d never had before, laughing at the sight of poor teens who were still tethered to their parents. 

You hadn’t been there since Ryu’s death. After that situation you hadn’t felt like doing anything in town, living in a total state of isolation until you went off to university, completely overwhelmed with the idea of how to deal with anything. 

Since you’d come back to town, you felt like you’d almost been reborn. You no longer lived in fear of doing things and going places, and could look at everything with a comfortably nostalgic view rather than one riddled with guilt and anxiety. Perhaps all you’d needed was time. 

To an extent, you wondered if some amount of your calmer mental state was due to Sukuna’s presence. So much of your fear and guilt had been centered around him, and perhaps your avoidance of the man had built those feelings up into a storm disproportionate to reality. 

Spending time with him could almost be seen as exposure therapy - a way of facing that fear and guilt you’d been running from and letting it all go. It was a practice in accepting your faults and choosing your own happiness. 

“So what’s this movie? Misery?” You asked as you parked up. There weren’t a massive amount of cars in the lot, maybe only a dozen others. It was likely that the drive-in wouldn’t keep running for many more years with the lack of patronage. 

“Yeah, based on the Stephen King book, y’know?” Sukuna’s voice was a little muffled as he reached behind him between your two seats, rummaging about in his bag for something. The action brought him in closer proximity to you, and your heart picked up slightly at the light scent of his cologne. “Here, brought you some M&Ms.”

You scrambled to catch the bag of candy as he tossed it over to you. “Oh. I haven’t read any Stephen King.” Somehow that felt like a crime to confess to considering how popular he was with so many people when you were in high school. You’d been assigned to read Salem’s Lot for one of your classes, but had ultimately just asked Shoko to give you a summary. 

Back then you’d been too invested in your fresh relationship with Ryu to focus on anything else, and that included reading. 

“Well, Misery is pretty good. I think you’ll enjoy it.” He leant back in his chair and popped an M&M in his mouth. “We should watch The Shining sometime, that one’s really good.” 

“No way. Too scary.” 

“Aw, if you get scared I can comfort you.” 

“Or we could just not watch the scary movie in the first place.” Horror movies had never really been your thing. You’d only agreed to watch Misery because Sukuna had explained that it was supposed to be more of a psychological thriller, but you knew that wasn’t the case with The Shining.

Sukuna hummed, gazing down at you with an amused glint in his eyes. “Don’t you think it's fun to be a little scared sometimes though? Gets the blood pumping.” 

While that statement might ring true for others, it certainly didn’t resonate with you. 

“I think I’ve had enough real fear to not want to be frightened by movies. I feel like you’re forgetting I saw my boyfriend with his guts all ripped out. I don’t need to watch shit like Scream when I literally had to live it.”

To some extent, the situation with Ryu had been more harrowing than the events in Scream, since they never caught the guy who did it to him. The police had concluded that it was some nasty drug related matter, since Ryu had cocaine on him, but you weren’t so sure. Some nights you wondered if the culprit was still living in your sleepy little town, going about their day like nothing ever happened. 

“Mmm. Point taken. What kind of movies do you like then?” He asked, keen to move the conversation away from Ryu. 

“Romance, I guess?” You weren’t really sure that you had a specific preference outside of disliking horror, but most of what you’d watched lately was romance. “I really like 10 things I hate about you.” 

“Haven’t seen it. You’ll have to show me sometime.” 

You giggled at the thought of Sukuna sitting down and watching a teen romance movie, but nodded anyway - mainly because you liked the idea of being huddled up next to him while watching Heath Ledger and Julia Stiles fall in love on screen. You wanted him to kiss you like the two of them kissed in that paintball field. 

“Sure, sometime.” 

The two of you fell quiet as the movie started, your attention dedicated to the screen in front of you. Sukuna was right to describe it as not really a horror, but he had neglected to point out how chilling a story it was. You felt all the fear of that poor man kept captive against his will by someone so insanely obsessed with him, your heart lurching anytime he failed to obey her ridiculous desires. 

During the scene where his legs were smashed by his captor, you found yourself covering your eyes, keen not to see the mess that she’d make of the poor man. Sukuna took that opportunity to wrap an arm around you, pulling you to his side and holding you there. His hand traced softly over the skin of your upper arm, comforting you. You stayed like that for the rest of the movie, enjoying the feeling of his warm body pressed against yours, his breath soft against the top of your head. 

You let out a breath of relief as the movie finally drew to a close, happy that the poor protagonist managed to escape the clutches of his captor, but deeply saddened by the way that the experience had messed with him mentally. In a way, you could relate - you understood what it felt like to have a traumatic experience colour your future. 

Sukuna didn’t let you go immediately, keeping you close as the credits rolled. Likewise, you made no effort to move away, even as cars started to vacate the lot. 

“What did you think?” He asked. 

“That lady was insane.” 

“I feel like she was just misguided,” Sukuna said with a laugh. “Sure, she needs therapy and stuff, but what she was doing was almost romantic.” 

You sat up then, staring at him in utter disbelief. The woman had held a celebrity author hostage in her house claiming to be his biggest fan, claiming to love him, only to smash up his legs and ensure that he could never be truly free of her. You weren’t quite sure where he was reading romance from that. 

“Wanna elaborate?” You asked, keen to see if Sukuna was just genuinely media illiterate. 

“Obviously not in a good way. I mean more that her drive felt almost romantic - to love someone so much to be driven to such insanity, it must’ve felt intense. I feel almost bad for her y’know? All she really wants is his attention but she can’t have it. It’s sad.” 

You scrunched up your nose. “I guess. But she isn’t entitled to him. She’s a psycho.” 

“Not arguing against that, baby.” 

The pet name didn’t go unnoticed, and you felt a blush crawling up your neck. Sukuna still hadn’t released you, drawing slow circles against your shoulder. It had your heart fluttering desperately, your stomach filled with butterflies. You tried not to focus on it too much, eager not to show just how much of an effect he was having on you. 

Mainly because you liked this game with him, to some extent. Even though you did want him, you were also enjoying having the upper hand, knowing that he was doing everything he could in his power to gain your affection. 

“So, if I hadn’t agreed to this date, would you have gone all Annie Wilkes on me? Kidnapped me and kept me strapped to a bed in your apartment?” You asked jokingly, staring up at him. 

“Nah,” he said with a laugh, “but if I did, I definitely would’ve treated you way better than she treated him. I wouldn’t be breaking your legs, I’d be treating you like a princess. I feel like that’s where she went wrong - she should’ve been softer on him and then he would’ve wanted to stay. It isn’t that hard.” 

You giggled. “I feel like you’re just describing a relationship - captivity aside, obviously. But I don’t think what you're saying would’ve worked for Annie, because he would’ve left and never come back. Which, you know, is good for him but not for her.” 

“I think she was just looking too short term.” Sukuna said with a sigh, giving you a soft squeeze. “She should’ve let him go and given him some time, kept in contact and stuff and maybe things would’ve blossomed. She was too hell bent on that instant gratification and it fucked everything up for her.” 

You hummed, and for a moment the two of you sat in silence, reflecting on the movie. You were certain that Sukuna wasn’t the type of guy to give into obsession like the woman in the movie. Likewise, you were certain that he wasn’t the type of guy who would ever hurt you or restrict your freedoms. 

But his final line felt like it related more directly to what had transpired between the two of you over the last few years. 

“Is that how you feel about us? About what happened four years ago?” 

He tilted his head in question, peering down at you. You couldn’t help the way that your stomach flipped under the scrutiny of those crimson irises, still a little nervous under his gaze, just like you’d always been. 

“What do you mean?” 

“That we were too fixated on instant gratification and it fucked everything up?” 

He barked out a laugh. “I wasn’t insinuating anything by it, but now that you mention it, yeah, I guess that applies to us.” Softly, he reached out to you, his fingers brushing along the length of your jaw. You bit down on your lip slightly, drawing in a breath. “Fortunately, nothing between us is as dire as broken legs or captivity, so I think we can recover.” 

You blinked as he leant in closer to you, lips slightly parted. His breath fanned over your face as he searched your eyes, clearly trying to get a read on you. Your mind was going haywire, your body freezing in place beneath his touch. 

“At least, if that’s what you want? I don’t wanna jump the gun and spend four more years on your avoidance list.” 

You snorted, eyelashes fluttering as you peered back at him. Your voice came out as a whisper, and barely audibly you said, “It is what I want.” 

He wasted no time after that admission, pulling you in close and crashing his lips into yours, stealing the breath from your lungs. His lips felt surprisingly soft, almost tender against yours. There was none of the roughness that you’d felt the first time the two of you had slept together, instead it was pure, unbridled passion. 

His tongue traced your lips carefully, requesting entry that you gave him easily. Your fingers found their way into the fabric of his hoodie, pulling him closer to you. The centre console between the two of you was an annoyance, creating a space that neither of you wanted. Sukuna was quick to resolve the issue, breaking the kiss for just a moment to drag you into his lap. 

His lips were back on yours immediately, like he was making up for lost time, desperate for you like a man in the desert searching for water. It wasn’t like you were much better, overwhelmed by the feeling of him pressed against you, dizzy with how hard he was kissing you. You hadn’t been kissed like that in a long time. 

Not since Sukuna had you in that bathroom all those years ago. 

It was a while before you parted for air, your forehead pressed against his, both of you breathing heavily. It was nice and warm in his lap, with one of his hands curled around your waist, the other caressing the skin of your thigh where your dress had ridden up a little. You could feel the evidence of his arousal through his jeans. 

Although, that evidence felt unnecessary, as the longing in his expression said it all. He was looking at you like you’d single-handedly placed all the stars in the night sky - like you were something truly worthy of his unwavering reverence. 

He was looking at you like he couldn’t quite believe how lucky he was. 

And it made your heart race, because despite your two relationships, despite all your forays into one night stands during your first year at university, no one had ever looked at you like Sukuna was now, with an affection so overwhelming that you weren’t quite sure what to make of it.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he murmured, planting a few kisses on your face, his fingers rubbing circles into your skin. 

“I have some idea,” you said with a giggle, reflecting on the many nights that you’d spent fantasising about him over the past four years. 

“No,” he said sternly. “You really don’t.” The way that he looked at you told you that there was more desperation from his side than there was from yours, and you decided that you might as well take his word for it. Your mother had always said that it was ideal to find a man who was even more into you than you were into him. 

Your breath hitched as he slid his hand higher up your thigh, a pulse of desire going straight to your core at the idea of stripping off right here in his car. You could fuck in the front seat, let him fill you up as you sat so nicely on his lap. 

However, your last sexual experience with Sukuna had been in some impromptu awkward location, and you’d promised yourself that if you were ever going to do it again, you’d do things properly - in a place where you could take your time, free from any prying eyes. The front seat of his car certainly didn’t fit the bill - especially not with a few other cars still dotted about the lot. 

It was almost as if Sukuna read your mind. 

“So, do you want me to drop you home, or…” 

The statement hung heavy in the air and he grinned at you, intentionally trailing off and letting you fill in the gaps. He wanted you back at his apartment, wanted you to keep doing this with him and more. There was a reasonable part of you that thought you should turn him down - this was a first date, just a test, you should go on a few more before making any rash decisions. Not to mention, you’d barely broken up with Kashimo two weeks ago.

And yet, you found yourself completely unmoved by any logical argument that you presented to yourself. You wanted to go to Sukuna’s place, wanted him to touch you even more than he currently was.

It wasn’t like this was some first date with a guy you barely knew - you’d known him for seven or eight years now, knew him well enough to be sure that this was what you wanted. So why should you waste any time? 

You went on this date with him because you were ready to admit that you wanted him. Why bother with hesitation now? Besides, it wasn’t like the two of you hadn’t had sex before - now that you weren’t in a relationship, there was absolutely nothing stopping you from doing it again. 

Sometimes it’s best to throw caution to the wind. 

“Let’s go back to your place.” 

—

Sukuna lived on the east side of town in a relatively run-down area. It was the type of place that your parents had always warned you against visiting throughout your teenage years, mainly because it was known to be a hotbed for drug-related activity, and they didn’t want you caught up in such affairs. 

You felt safe enough with Sukuna at your side. He’d lived in the area his whole life, and was more than intimidating enough to scare off anyone who might have unsavory intent. You wished that your dad paid him better so that he could move to a nicer place somewhere else though - it wasn’t a good neighbourhood to be in. 

He pulled up outside his building, shutting off his truck and turning his attention to you. There was a desperately giddy look in his eyes, one that had you feeling more than a little flattered because you couldn’t quite comprehend the fact that he was so excited to be doing this.

Wasting no time, he led you inside, his hand tangled with yours, pulling you along up the stairs and into his home. It was a surprisingly neat little space, one that Sukuna had clearly taken good care of despite its sub-optimal location. You’d half feared that he’d have one of those average male living-space type apartments, with no furniture except a camping chair, a TV and a floor mattress. 

On the contrary, it was decorated nicely, with hints of his personality shining through in the furniture and other carefully selected decor. He released your hand for a moment to turn on some lamps, illuminating the room. A little side-tracked by your new environment, Sukuna hovered semi-impatiently as you thoroughly assessed the place. 

You felt like Sukuna was someone that you knew relatively well, but that didn’t decrease your interest in snooping - there was a lot to be learned about someone based on the way that they had their living space set up. The main thing that drew your attention was how many bookcases he had lining the walls, filled to the brim with a mix of books and DVDs. 

The fact that he was an avid reader didn’t really come as a surprise to you, since he always seemed knowledgeable whenever literature came up, but you were surprised by how many beautiful versions of books that he had, with so many of them clearly being collector’s editions. They must’ve been a priority to him, considering his fairly limited cashflow. 

Scanning the titles, it seemed like most of the books were horrors or thrillers, with a few sci-fi novels mixed in. That fit in with your general assessment of Sukuna’s likes - you couldn’t really imagine him reading some flowery romance or epic fantasy, he’d always seemed much more interested in the gritty stuff. 

“Nice collection.” 

“Thanks,” he responded, lip quirking upwards ever so slightly. If this were any other day or time, you were certain that he’d take his time talking you through the books that he owned, telling you all about them, no doubt recommending you some, just like he had when you’d been discussing Stephen King earlier that evening. 

Right now though, there was obviously something more pressing on his mind.

A slightly devious scheme that popped into your head was to play with him for a little while before giving him what he wanted - you figured that you could drag out the conversation about books or some other feature of his decor, really test his patience to the limit to see how long it would take him to snap. You doubted he wanted to wait long now that he was right on the precipice. 

But he was so impatient that he didn’t even give you a chance to put your plan into action, because one moment you were considering the best question to ask about Bram Stoker’s Dracula, and the next he was grabbing you and smashing his lips into yours once more. You gasped against him and he took that opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, picking up right where you’d left off in the car. 

Refusing to break the kiss, he walked you over to the couch, pulling you onto his lap as he sat down. The two of you made out for a little while, his hands roaming over your body, running tenderly along the skin of your thigh, beginning to play with the edge of the fabric, pushing it up your legs ever so slightly. 

It was then that you pulled away, a sly grin on your lips, still eager to tease him in some capacity. “Woah, straight to it with no conversation first?” You asked, with a cutesy tilt of your head. 

His face was a picture of disbelief and frustration, biting down on his lip softly as he stared up at you. The need in his crimson eyes was palpable, but he showed you restraint all the same. 

“What exactly would you like to talk about, baby?” He asked, in a clipped tone. 

He was painfully hard beneath you, and his fingers were digging into your thighs. You would’ve liked to have kept your act going a little longer, delay his gratification for at least ten minutes or so to really test his patience, but the desperation on his face was so cute that you couldn’t help but giggle at his question.

Besides, your own desire was bubbling in your gut, and you weren’t sure how much idle conversation you could hold without it turning into torture for you rather than him. 

“I’m just fucking with you,” you whispered with an airy laugh, leaning in to kiss him once more. He gave in for a second before pulling back, a devious glint in his eye. 

“Yeah? Think it’s funny to make me wait longer? Have your fun baby, I’ll put you in your place in due time.” You squealed with delight as he manhandled you down onto the couch, pinning you beneath his weight. His body felt warm on top of yours, skin tingling in his grip. It was the way you’d felt all those years ago, the first time he’d touched you. 

How could you have allowed your guilt to part you from this feeling for so long? 

Soft whines escaped your lips as he kissed down your neck, leaving a hot, wet trail of bites that he sucked so lovingly into your skin. You knew that he had a thing for leaving a mark - he’d done it all those years ago too, sucking a purple hickey onto your shoulder, claiming you as his own despite the fact that you’d belonged to another man. 

This time, there was no reason for you to stop him. There was no Ryu, no Kashimo, nothing to stand in the way of you letting Sukuna have exactly what he wanted. There was nothing standing in the way of you getting what you wanted. Because you did want it, you had for years. 

All of those nights picturing Sukuna on top of you like this weren’t some sort of mistake, they betrayed your deepest desires. Had Sukuna spent the last four years experiencing the same thing? Spending long nights imagining you beneath him, squirming in his grip? 

Perhaps he’d been imagining it for even longer than that. 

Either way, it felt foolish that you’d likely spent hundreds of nights in separate locations imagining being with the other. You and your foolish guilt towards a man who had shown you little to no respect. You should’ve never let Ryu come between you and Sukuna, should’ve never run after that terrifying night. 

If you’d simply had the courage to face Sukuna back then, maybe you wouldn’t have lost four years to your self-imposed suffering. 

A shiver ran through you at the feeling of Sukuna sliding the straps of your dress carefully down your arms. It wasn’t like he’d never seen you naked before, but you’d both been drunk that night in the bathroom. It felt different to be all exposed before him like this, completely sober, your nipples perky from all the attention he’d been giving you. 

Swallowing nervously, you watched him drag his gaze over your torso, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Aren’t you just an angel? Even prettier than I remembered.” The praise had your cheeks warm, your mind searching for the last time a compliment had been given to you so freely when having sex. 

It was probably the last time Sukuna had been with you. Ryu had never done anything to make you feel special, and Kashimo had largely kept quiet the handful of times you had been together. With Sukuna, the words seemed to come easily, like praising you was the most natural thing in the world for him. 

Throwing your head back, your fingers sunk into Sukuna’s biceps as he made his way down to your breasts, lips brushing against the sensitive skin until his mouth reached one of your nipples. His tongue was warm as it flicked against that hardened bud, teasing you for a few moments before wrapping his lips around it and sucking. 

The feeling went straight to your core, and you writhed beneath him in pleasure. One of his hands moved to your other breast, his thumb toying with the nipple, leaving you overwhelmed with the dual sensation. “Fuck, Sukuna-” 

“Feel good?” He asked, pulling back with a pop. He looked beautiful, looking up at you in the way that he was. You couldn’t understand why someone as handsome as him had been so deadset on your affection - four years was a long time to wait for anyone, and yet here he was, gazing up at you as if you were worth everything. 

“Really good.” 

He huffed, shimmying your dress further down your body, leaving a trail of kisses in its wake. “All your resistance, for what? Could've been making you feel good for years, dumbass.” 

You made an attempt to bite back, to point out that it hadn’t been quite that simple, because how were you meant to understand what the right path was after seeing your boyfriend murdered in cold blood? 

How could you have known that the man you’d been unfaithful with was the right person to seek comfort in after everything? 

It wasn’t like there was a handbook for that. 

Sukuna didn’t give you enough time to formulate that into words before his hands reached the top of your panties, sliding his fingers beneath them with little hesitation. You jolted ever so slightly at the sensation of his warmth against your sensitive skin, flushing at the way he grinned as his fingers discovered the slick between your thighs. 

“And here I thought I was the desperate one.” 

“Shut up,” you mumbled. It was clear that he paid you no mind, suddenly attentive, as if he’d just had an epiphany. 

“Do you always wear these?” He asked, his hand pulling back and moving to trail along the pink, lacy panties you were wearing. They were the nicest pair that you had, and they weren’t particularly comfortable. Generally, you wouldn’t wear that at all, apart from for something like this. 

Sukuna cottoned on too quickly for your liking, practically beaming down at you. 

“Don’t tell me, you’d planned for us to do this tonight? Here I was, thinking that you were playing things all innocent, that you were genuine when you told me that this was just a test-run of a date.” His fingers toyed with the fabric a little more, watching your reaction carefully. “I guess you were just teasing me, huh? You always knew you were gonna come back here.” 

You shrugged as nonchalantly as you could. “I wasn’t sure, I just figured it was better to be safe than sorry on the outfit front.” 

“Mmm, sure.” It was clear that he didn’t believe you for even a moment. “These are so cute, I almost don’t wanna take them off you.” 

His fingers had moved slowly to your clit, rubbing softly over the top of the fabric. You wished that he'd go back to what he was doing before, eager to remove the thin layer of fabric separating you. 

“Gonna have to take them off though,” he continued, “I want full access when you sit on my face.” Your heart stuttered for a second at his words, not quite sure that you’d heard him correctly. 

“What?” You asked, dumbly.

“I want you to sit on my face,” he repeated, easily, as if it were obvious. You blinked at him, a little taken aback by the request. That wasn’t something you’d done before - Ryu hadn’t been all that interested in giving oral sex if he could avoid it, and everything you’d done with Kashimo had sat firmly on the tame side of things. 

“That’s- I- I think I’d be too embarrassed,” you choked out, cheeks flushing red. It was one thing to have sex with him - you were even comfortable with him giving you oral, but to do it in a manner like that felt insanely vulnerable, especially to do with a man that you hadn’t slept with in four years. 

He didn’t seem deterred by your statement, his face still lit up with that giddy, elated expression which had barely faltered since you’d kissed in his truck. “You know, if you’re gonna be with me, we’re gonna do far more embarrassing things together than just that.” 

Heart fluttering at the implication, you let your mind wander to what those things might be. Sukuna had always been the type of person who gave off the impression that he knew what he was doing when it came to sex - his penchant for one night stands had been the reason you’d never believed that he’d really wanted you before you’d gotten together with Ryu.

You were pretty certain that he had an expansive list of favoured kinks, and the idea of him trying them out with you made you shiver. It wasn’t like you’d ever ventured far out of vanilla with past partners, but Sukuna seemed like he’d be unsatisfied with basic sex alone.

“Come on, baby. Wanna see you up close.” The lust in his tone had your thighs quivering, and despite the embarrassment of it all, you offered him a little nod. You wanted him to make you feel good, wanted to feel that tongue piercing of his pressed up against you. 

You watched him lay back on the sofa, discarding his shirt and gesturing you over to him. His body was still as well-sculpted as you remembered, with sharp black lines cascading down his clearly-defined abs. He was the type of guy that you’d expect to see in a magazine, not working on some dingy construction site. 

Trailing your eyes down his form, you couldn’t tear your gaze away from the pink happy trail rising from his jeans, following it down to the prominent bulge practically begging to be freed from his trousers. Tentatively, your hand reached for it, squeezing gently through the cloth, pulling a restrained moan from Sukuna’s mouth. 

His reaction gave you an unprecedented surge of confidence. 

“If I’m going to sit on your face, perhaps we can kill two birds with one stone.” Your smile was sultry as you addressed him, wetting your lips slowly and giving him yet another squeeze to ensure that he caught your meaning. You’d expected him to jump at the idea, thrilled at the thought of you taking him in your mouth while he ate you out. 

Instead, his hand darted out and gripped your wrist, pulling your hand away from his still covered cock. You tilted your head in question, eyes wide with surprise at just how tightly he was gripping you. “No. I won’t last. If I’m gonna cum I want to do it inside you.” 

Most guys would feel embarrassed to admit to such a thing, but evidently not Sukuna. He didn’t care that you were aware of just how intense his desire was for you, on the contrary, he wanted you to know. You had to admit that it was flattering, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to control himself if you started touching him. 

You weren’t used to being in a situation where a guy wanted to focus on your pleasure first, before even thinking about chasing his own. Although, going by the enthusiasm in Sukuna’s eyes as you slowly got yourself into position above him, it seemed like he was deriving great pleasure simply from serving you. 

His hands ran slowly along your thighs, caressing your skin and tugging you down to sit upon his face. You felt a little nervous, shivering at the sensation of his hot breath against your exposed pussy. You weren’t sure what to do with yourself, having never been in this position before, uncertain on what to do with your hands as Sukuna licked a broad stripe up your slick folds. 

“Oh!” You let out a little squeak, legs trembling. Your hands flew to his hair, finding solace in the pink strands, no doubt tugging on his scalp as he set to work lavishing you with attention. You’d been eaten out before, Sukuna had done it to you all those years ago, kneeling between your thighs while you leant up against the sink. But this felt different - more intimate and special than it had before. 

The mix of embarrassment at being so vulnerable and the intensity of Sukuna’s optimal position had you fidgeting desperately, your body jolting ever so slightly at every pass of his wide tongue, leaving no part of you untouched. One of his hands released its grip on your thigh to move to your clit, rubbing that sensitive bundle of nerves in tandem with his tongue’s careful ministrations. 

The way that he flicked his tongue so precisely told you that he knew exactly what he was doing, understood how to touch you to elicit the strongest reaction. More slick was dripping from you, lapped up enthusiastically by his mouth, and you found yourself whining desperately at the sensation of that round piercing skimming your folds, contrasting against the soft texture of his tongue. 

“So sweet.” He murmured against your pussy, the vibration sending a pleasurable jolt right up your spine. You could feel the pressure building in your gut as he continued to lap at you, giving you no respite, feasting like a man starved. How long had he been waiting for this? Did he look at pictures of you when he was alone at night and imagine you sitting on him like this? 

If it was possible, the thought turned you on more than you already were. 

You could feel yourself growing close, the fuzzy feeling in your stomach growing to near unbearable levels, your vision growing a little blurry as you chanced a look down at him. The sight took your breath away - his eyes were heavy-lidded, watching you unfold on top of him while his tongue continued its onslaught, a heavenly expression on his face. 

You found yourself choking out his name, a little overcome by the evidence of his desire. 

It had you coming unexpectedly, letting out a soft little moan as you released on his face, causing a surge of embarrassment and pleasure to meld together in one overwhelming ball of sensation. Ultimately, the pleasure won out, because unconsciously you found yourself grinding down against his face, moving your hips with a desperate vigor to chase more of what he was giving you. 

If it was suffocating to him, he did nothing to try and stop you. Instead, he seemed to revel in your active participation, the movement of his tongue never faltering, letting you ride out your orgasm to completion. You couldn’t quite believe how eager he was, memories of Ryu’s general disinterest with eating you out flashing through your mind. Sukuna didn’t have to be asked to provide you with pleasure - he wanted to provide it. 

When he finally released you, bruises left in his wake from his grip on your thighs, your head was spinning. A sheen of sweat had summoned itself on your forehead, your pussy tingling from the overstimulation. You couldn’t find it in yourself to move on your own, your legs acting like they were made of jelly. 

It didn’t matter, because Sukuna was more than happy to lift you, depositing you down onto his couch for a second. He shot you an impish grin as he stood up, undoing his belt and shedding his jeans. “Still with me, baby?” He asked, taking note of your dazed expression. 

You were pretty sure you nodded, but you were too preoccupied to give him a proper answer, all of your attention focused on his hands, which were slowly dragging his boxers down his muscular thighs. 

The first time you’d done this, you hadn’t really gotten a good look at him - between the alcohol and the fact that he had you positioned facing the mirror, you’d only had the chance to feel his size rather than witness it. Now that you were staring at him, you found yourself swallowing nervously at the sight, wondering just how you’d taken that before. 

“Aw, don’t look so worried, baby,” he purred. His hand was stroking the shaft idly, red eyes heavy-lidded as he fixed them on you. “I’ll let you have it nice and slow. Nothing but the best for my princess.” 

No words came to your mind, you found yourself staring at him dumbly, lips parted as he settled down on the couch beside you, his thighs spread. He was watching you with a smile, patting his leg invitingly, encouraging you over. 

“Come here.” 

On shaky legs, you shuffled yourself over, letting Sukuna’s hands grip your hips and help lift you back into his lap. A soft whine fell from your lips at the feeling of his cock pressing up against you. He let out a low laugh at the way that you instinctively ground yourself against him, your body needy even after everything he’d already given you. 

“Aren’t you just the sweetest thing?” He hummed, watching your movements carefully. “You really want it, huh?” Gripping his cock, he responded to your movements in kind, rubbing the tip up against your entrance, smearing the pre-cum through your folds. 

“A-ah, condom.” You just about managed to regain clarity of mind to remember that little detail. Even though you were on birth control pills, you were intelligent enough to know that it wasn’t wise to fuck anyone without one if they hadn’t been tested for STDs and the like. 

Even if it was Sukuna. 

The flicker of irritation in his eyes was gone as soon as it appeared, replaced by a more pleasant look of total innocence. “I don’t have one,” he said easily. “I can just get you the morning after pill if you’re worried.” 

You shook your head. “I take contraception, it's more about- umm…”

“I haven’t fucked anoyone since I was with you.” 

You blinked at him a few times, struggling to comprehend that statement and instantly wondering if he was lying to you. The claim seemed unlikely, considering how much he got around before he’d slept with you for the first time, but his expression was unexpectedly earnest. 

And he’d been nothing but honest with you up to now. 

“In four years?”

“You’re the only one I want.” He was chewing on his lip, waiting to see how you’d react - if you’d believe him. The two of you hadn’t used a condom last time, you’d been so frazzled by everything going on that it had completely slipped your mind - if he really hadn’t been with anyone since then, it didn’t matter if you used one now. 

“You’re not just saying that so you can still fuck me tonight, are you?” 

“Come on, baby. Can’t you see how devoted I am to you?” He started pressing soft kisses along your neck, peppering the bruises he’d already left on your skin. “After I’d had you for the first time, there was no way I was ever gonna touch another woman again.” 

You weren’t sure what to make of that, once again caught off guard by how strong his affection for you was. You hadn’t assumed that he’d put his sex life on hold in the hopes that you’d one day come back, but now all of his neediness made sense. Not being touched for four years must’ve been tough for a guy like him. 

Who were you to keep him waiting any longer? 

Sliding your hand down between the two of you, your fingers found his cock, feeling it twitch in your grip. He relaxed a little, clearly relieved that you were proceeding, eagerly watching you line up the tip with your pussy. His hands came to settle on your hips once more, gently guiding you as you eased yourself down onto his cock. 

Containing a whimper, your nails dug hard into his shoulders. He felt bigger than you remembered, your body no longer assisted by the effects of alcohol to numb the pain like the first time you’d done this. “That’s it, good girl,” he murmured, bringing one hand up to your hair in a gentle caress. 

Leaning forward, he kissed you some more, his lips moving along your neck, up to your chin and finally capturing your lips, distracting you from the intensity of the stretch as he bottomed out within you. 

The two of you stayed like that for a few moments, losing yourself in the feeling of his lips on yours, the soft feeling of his chest pressed tight against your breasts. The pain slowly began to give way to pleasure, turning into a delightful feeling of closeness with the man you’d been more desperate for than you liked to admit. 

You were the one to move your hips first, lifting yourself experimentally, finding joy in the way that his cock dragged against your walls, before dropping yourself down once more with a soft whine against his lips. He took that as a sign of your comfort, repositioning his hands on your hips 

Considering the position, you’d assumed that you’d be doing most of the work. You’d thought that Sukuna had chosen it intentionally, eager to make you please him after all the pleasure he’d gifted you with his tongue. But instead of sitting back and watching you ride him, he made it clear that he was still very much in control of the situation. 

His grip on you was firm, taking care of moving you up and down his shaft like you weighed nothing to him. All you had to do was hang onto his shoulders. Pulling away from his lips, overwhelmed by the new, intense feeling of him thrusting into you, you buried your face into the crook of his neck, whining each time he brought his hips up to meet yours. 

The feeling was heavenly, better than anything you’d experienced before. It felt like you were moulded just for this, made for him to fit inside you so snugly, like you were always meant to be together. 

“Fuck, been waiting so long for this-” The way that he groaned was insanely sexy, filling you with a sense of pride. Based on gossip that you’d heard before doing anything with Sukuna, girls he’d been with had claimed that he was quiet during sex, that he opted for positions where he wouldn’t be looking at their faces. 

And yet here he was, all vocal for you, gazing at you with round eyes. 

It was definitely an ego boost. 

“You’re so hot, I wanna have you like this all the time, shit- I’m not gonna last long.” 

A mewl of agreement escaped you. You were already so sensitive from him eating you out, your pussy squeezing needily around him with each stroke of his thick cock. You were pretty sure that you’d never cum this fast in your life, not without external stimulation at least. And yet, Sukuna’s cock felt good enough to get you there all on its own.

“Please, Sukuna-” you whined against his shoulder, sinking your teeth into his skin at one particularly deep thrust, keeping yourself from wailing out his name. You couldn’t think of anything but how good he felt buried inside you, desperate to do this over and over again. 

But Sukuna was reaching his limit, and your little love bite was what tipped him over the edge. 

Your name left his lips in a soft groan, his grip on your hips tightening as he filled you up. The last time you’d done this, you’d asked him to pull out, but no such thought had crossed your mind this time around. The sensation of warmth flooding inside you all while he kept up his rhythm was too much for you. 

“Cum for me, pretty girl,” he rasped against your ear. One of his hands shifted down from your hip and pressed softly against your clit, the feather light touch sending you right to your peak along with him. Your vision turned white as your orgasm washed over you, your thighs tensing against his, milking his cock for all it was worth. 

Riding out your high, you slowly came to still on top of him, gaping for breath against his shoulder. He recovered faster than you did - one of his hands was already steadily tracing your back, the other stroking your hair comfortingly. He was softening ever so slightly inside of you, but you weren’t eager to pull away just yet. 

The intimacy of being connected like you were just felt too pleasant. 

Sukuna seemed to feel the same, making no effort to rush any further movement, enjoying the sound of the two of you breathing softly, clinging tightly to the other. You’d never felt so safe in someone's arms after making love, had never wanted to stay tangled up like this. Sukuna was special - he always had been, you’d just been too scared to admit it. 

You’d wanted him to hold you four years ago, and unfortunate events had dictated otherwise. This time, you’d let nothing tear you apart. 

“Doing okay?” He asked, brushing hair out of your face and tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. 

“Mmm, just a little tired.” You felt downright exhausted, and even though you knew that you should probably go home to prevent any suspicion coming from your father’s direction, the last thing you wanted was to be parted from Sukuna’s comforting grip. 

“Let's get you to bed then.” 

He didn’t wait for your answer before standing up, keeping you wrapped around him as he walked over to what you assumed was the bedroom, pushing the door open and depositing you gently on the bed. It was only then that he pulled out of your warmth, dragging a soft whimper from you at the cold emptiness he left behind. 

You remembered zoning out for a while after that, while Sukuna went through the process of tenderly cleaning you up with a warm cloth before bundling you up beneath the duvet on his comfortable bed. He went to the bathroom for a while to get himself cleaned up before joining you, huddling his body up close against yours. 

“Are you gonna avoid me for another four years now?” He asked quietly, a teasing lilt to his voice. Even if it was a joke, you were almost certain that there was some level of fear hiding within him that had prompted him to ask the question. You didn’t know how he’d react if he woke up in the morning to find your side of the bed cold and empty. 

“No, not after that.” 

“Oh, so you would’ve done it if the sex was bad?” 

“Maybe.” You let out a giggle, gazing up at him with amusement. 

He rolled his eyes but there was no malice behind it, a lazy grin lighting up his tattooed face. “I guess I’ll have to make sure I always please you then.” 

“I guess so!” You chirped, as if Sukuna was capable of anything less than that. It was apparent that you were not seeing him at the top of his game right now with how needy he was for release, and you could only imagine the type of things he would do once you were having sex all the time. 

He huffed humorously against your ear, tightening his grip on you. He had one arm resting beneath your head while the other snaked firmly around your waist, pulling your face into his chest. It was hard to think about anything but him with the way that his scent was overpowering your nose. 

You could get used to being pressed up against him like that. 

Things just felt right with you there, snuggled up in his arms. His body felt so warm against yours, curled around you in a deeply protective grip, like he was ready to fend off the world to keep you there at his side. You were relatively certain that he’d have to do no such thing, but you liked the sentiment regardless. 

You’d been wrong in your judgement, in your decision to wallow in guilt after Ryu’s death. You hadn’t felt this happy in years, since long before you were ever even with Ryu. Sukuna was the person you were meant to be with, this was exactly where you’d been destined to be. 

Everything that had happened, it had all been for a reason. All the horrible things that you’d gone through had been the world’s way of helping you along to this moment, leading you into the arms of the person you were meant to be with. 

And as you drifted off in the arms of the man who had loved you for years, you felt like you’d found a place of peace, a place where you’d be safe from the horrors that you’d encountered throughout your life. 

You’d drifted off too quickly, too soundly, to see the glint of victory in Sukuna’s eyes, to feel the way that his nails dug so possessively into your delicate skin. For now, he had what he’d always wanted - his object of affection tangled up so intimately with him. 

All he needed to do was ensure that he kept you there. 

And he wouldn’t be taking any chances. 

a/n: isn't he so fine!? I'm sure he'll be a totally normal boyfriend!! there's no way that he'd immediately start crossing boundries and acting insanely possessive haha!!

(we'll be going back to sukuna's pov for the next chapter where he will immediately start crossing boundries and acting possessive 😭)

hope you enjoyed the chapter and thank you for the support! comments and reblogs are appreciated as always! <3

taglist: @indiewritesxoxo @alebrasil0101 @unikittylover57 @maomimii @xadenpoop @mxchiii @tinkspen @martianzmars @drasticallyinluv @grimm3r @choyuxx @janellawliet @nanamigirl4ever @actuallynarii @aiive @chloe022r @targaryenposts @erasersslut @loulasav @natsolox @kenstarsworld @elviqss @blu3berryies @cupidstrace @ksjtozaki @feyrinnn @heartless-rythm @beaniesayshi @shazzer29 @mortallyshadysoul @neverlandqueen36 @sweethoneycream @mikkmmmii @sikurgvx @8nitxe @lexispeak @inmywhitegown @unlimited-impressions @absolutelycaffeinateddevil @paulineeo @onlykuna @jjkfannn34 @queendom-of-yuki @blinmkk @emmaiscool22 @angelbabyy111 @moonsquid49 @0imliterallybatman @crunchycathy @yailuxe

the underground club pulses like a living thing, dim lights flickering in time with the bass that vibrates through the floorboards. neon signs buzz overhead, advertising cheap drinks and forgotten promises you learnt early on never to indulge. bodies grind together on the dance floor in the low haze of smoke, laughter and music bleeding into one indistinguishable blur. 

you lean against the scarred wooden bar and pretend to nurse a glass of whiskey while your eyes sweep the room. it’s a bit of a habit now, the way you catalogue people without thinking. you cross off all the things on your list, exits, cameras, security, potential weapons, and just for precaution’s sake, anyone who looks like they might cause a problem. 

luckily for you tonight, your gaze slides past them all easily. 

the bartender, a man well into his thirties, a ragged scar running down the corner of his mouth, slides another glass in front of you without a word. 

when you tilt your head up at him in question, toji only grunts and turns to serve the next customer, waiting for you to take a sip. 

as you abandon your current drink and lift this one, you catch the faintest smudge of ink on the bottom of the glass, visible only when the strobe lights flicker across the surface. it’s a small, otherwise unassuming symbol, yet it’s kind that you dread to see, not because it elicits fear but because it means you’ve just confirmed you’ll be working overtime.

everyone has dirty laundry that needs taking out but no one really cares to think about the ones that do the washing. 

you sigh, mentally drafting the text you will eventually send to your best friend about flaking. swiping your thumb across the glass, you tip the drink back and let the alcohol slide down your throat in a pleasant burn, your sunday plans disappearing with it. 

oh well, that’s a future you problem. right now, you have a job to do. 

you set the empty glass down and slide it back across the counter delicately. “that’s all i get? no hello, no welcome back, no you look fucking radiant tonight? it’s been two months since we’ve worked on the same job together, the least i expected was a hey, how are you.”

toji doesn’t even look at you. he drags a rag over the bar like it won’t dirty again seconds later from overly drunk patrons and says, “you got a free drink. that’s welcome enough.” 

“a free drink and another job? geez, don’t overwhelm me with your companionship."

“it’s not like it’s my job. it’s something else from higher up.”

“figured. you never change, toji. always the lapdog, huh?” 

that gets the smallest twitch at the corner of his mouth, gone almost as soon as it appears.

your co-worker finally glances at you, dark eyes sweeping once over the dress, the heels, the hair you had to spend your own money on at the salon because your employers never pay for that kind of stuff. chivalry is truly dead. 

“you’re looking expensive today.”

you giggle, flipping your hair over your shoulder. “that’s because i am.”

“bet it’s rented,” he guesses and when your face falls he snickers, grinning. “just don’t get anything on it this time. you know it’s me maki will blame.”

your good mood drops quickly. “you know, this lack of tact is exactly why you can’t settle down.”

“like i want to,” he sneers, flipping the towel over his shoulder, nodding his head as a customer comes up to the bar for a new drink. “tell me you looked over the file at least.”

“i’m a professional, toji. of course i did.” 

“i bet you only took the job because the kid’s hot.” 

“you think he’s hot?” you question, turning your head to meet his eyes with a lazy smirk. “and don’t call him kid, you’re only, like, eight years older than him. you guys are still in the same decade.”

he snorts, wiping the edges of a clean glass. “and five years older than you so watch your mouth.” 

you giggle. “and what’s this about him being pretty? don’t tell me you’ve had your eye on him because then that’ll make us competition which is kind of awkward.” 

“i get paid to keep my eye on your targets,” he says dryly, utterly unfooled. that, at least, is one habit of yours he’s long since grown immune to. “and you get paid to shut your mouth and take them out.”

“on a date?”

“you’re really going to make me drop the k word in a public setting?”

“kiss?” you guess incorrectly, just to watch his face curl into an annoyed sneer. “relax, it’s not like we haven’t been subtle about the whole deal. but sure, let’s keep up this facade and talk about work, you downer.” 

toji waits until the bar empties out, or at least as best as it’ll clear at 11pm on a saturday night. “we don’t know who leaked his information so you should be careful of a third party.”

“it wasn’t us?”

“no, and that’s all i’ll say about it. even if there’s no other eyes on him tonight, you should still be on your guard. i’ve been watching him for the past few weeks and he never lets anyone get in close. he might even run if you come onto him too strong.”

you look away, letting your fingers linger around the rim of your fresh drink as if you’re deciding whether to order another, as if you’re here for the same reason everyone else is and not because somebody somewhere has decided a certain vigilante has become inconvenient to keep alive.

it would almost be laughable, really. the great nightwing felled not in the middle of some dramatic rooftop fight or after a city-wide manhunt, but in the sticky-dark backroom of a club where drinks are watered down and the bathrooms don’t have functioning locks nor paper towels to wipe your hands. instead, you have to wipe them down your skirt every time which is most definitely the worst part of these nights. 

if your boss had been any less generous with the zeros, you might even have been offended on the superhero’s behalf. 

you hum, noncommittal. “the file says he’s popular.” 

“he is. comes here around ten most nights. but he never takes anyone home. just sits there and talks to whoever comes by.” 

you wrinkle your nose. “there’s no way i can murk him in this place. you’ve done good to keep up the numbers.”

“word of advice,” he starts, ignoring you, and you snort softly, keeping your eyes from rolling since the time is drawing close where you have to watch your manners.

“you need to be careful this time around.” toji looks away to give the illusion that your conversation is anything but important. “don’t give me that look. you weren’t there when he crashed the big boss’ shipment. swung in and cracked open three heads before leaving with the precious cargo.” 

“what’s the cargo?”

“not in your paygrade,” he says shortly with a lazy grin. “point is, he’s not just a pretty face. if you don’t want to die tonight, you should remember that.”

“i’ll be the one to judge if he’s pretty or not,” you remark drily. “where is he?”

toji jerks his chin toward the back without lifting his eyes from the bottle in his hand. “corner booth, in the black shirt.” 

you find him immediately.

draped in the one part of the club where the lights don’t shine down directly, sipping a glass tucked away in a corner booth like he’s trying to seem mysterious and nonchalant. you can’t make out his face from over here, the lighting is no help either, but from the way he has one arm over the back of his couch, the other nursing a glass and his legs spread wide, you can only salivate as you imagine.

“fucking fantastic,” you sigh. 

toji makes a sound that might almost be an agreement. “tell me about. the kid’s pretentious."

“i was talking more about the fact that he’s hot as fuck.” 

your long-time coworker lets out a disgusted sound. “woman, keep your boner down, you’re going to give yourself away. you’ve killed prettier but this is the one you give a fuck about?” 

“don’t be such a prude, toji. i just meant it’ll be a shame to kill him without having some fun first.”

“just talking for the sake of talking,” toji grumbles. 

your boss had not been subtle when he handed over the assignment. he had been livid, which on him looked almost elegant, a dangerous kind of elegance, the sort that only rich men with violent hobbies ever seem to perfect. not that you’re here to judge. but if toji had been telling the truth, then three weeks ago nightwing had crashed the shipment halfway through the transaction and absconded before anyone could stop him, then somehow leaked enough information from the seized files and items to bring half a dozen shell companies under investigation by morning. months of work ruined, buyers spooked, shipping routes frozen. 

several very important people suddenly became less interested in doing business afterwards.

there was something particularly important nightwing had stolen. 

the item itself had never been fully explained to you, but that was because you never asked. as toji had said, that simply wasn’t in your paygrade. all you needed to know was that whatever nightwing stole had cost your employer money, momentum, and face, and men like him could forgive many things, but never humiliation.

so now, you’re here. kill gojo satoru and take back this elusive object. 

you set your glass down with care, though not because the drink deserves gentleness. beauty has always been a wonderful place to hide a weapon, and you slip into the role like it was tailored for you, straightening your shoulders, lifting your chin, and letting your smile soften into something men always melt for.

“any pearls of wisdom before i go?” you ask, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from your dress. 

toji doesn’t bother looking impressed by your sudden change in attitude. “yeah. don’t get yourself killed chasing a better orgasm.”

you almost break your persona to laugh. “toji, please. i’m a professional.”

you don’t give him the satisfaction of getting one more word in. instead, you slip from the bar and into the crowd, letting the club swallow you in flashes of light. neon catches against bare shoulders and spilled drinks. a body bumps yours from the left and mumbles an apology you don’t bother to respond to. 

you don’t need a refresher on how good gojo looks sitting alone in the dark like a creep, but he gives you one anyway, black shirt open just enough at the throat that your eyes flicker down before snapping back up. you’re surprised he doesn’t have a flock of women draped over him, and after scanning the room, it isn’t due to a lack of female attention. 

you decide you’re going to be the brave one that tests her luck first. 

gojo notices you before you can speak, eyes lifting from his drink and settling on you as you walk up, a flicker of amusement quickly dissipating into neutrality. his eyes drag over you once, catching at your mouth, throat, the line of your waist, before returning to your face completely shameless. 

you smile.

“am i too late?” you ask, voice sweet as cut fruit, “or is there an open place for me here?”

“depends,” gojo says, placing his glass down. “are you good under pressure? it’s a little competitive over here.” 

so he’s not unaware of all the stares he’s getting. 

“pressure?” you repeat lightly. “i prefer being the thing that makes it a little harder to breathe” 

he laughs, a low delighted sound that slides over your skin and settles somewhere hot and treacherous in your stomach. “let me buy you a drink then.”

the shitty little file photo clipped to your assignment does not do him justice. a still image cannot capture the way his face moves when he’s amused, or the exact changing colour of his eyes under the low club light, bright and sharp behind those ridiculous tinted glasses and when his silver bangs don’t cover his forehead. 

you take a seat. “i thought this spot was a little more exclusive than that. it kind of takes away the appeal.”

gojo leans forward, lifting a hand to flag down a waiter. “it’s just a random booth in a club. doesn’t get any more ran through than that.” 

“please, like you haven’t noticed how you’re the eye candy of the night.”

“jealousy already? don’t be, there’s enough of me to go around.”

and god, you usually hate these types, all polished arrogance and self-importance, men so used to being looked at they assume attention will simply be handed to them. but when they look a little something like the man before you, with that mouth and those eyes and all that offensive ease draped over broad shoulders, you find you can spare a little more patience than usual.

“i don’t get jealous of women doing charity work,” you say.

“you’re the one coming over here, sweetheart. i doubt you’re the kind of woman that goes for something that doesn’t catch her eye.”

“maybe i just wanted to see who the community attraction was.”

gojo’s grin turns crooked, brightening instead of fading and you realise you might enjoy messing with him more than you thought. “that’s harsh. i was hoping for something along the lines of a ‘local legend’. something with a cleaner reputation.” “it’s cute that you think that but i’ve seen far prettier.” “but clearly i’m something special if you crossed the room to come talk.” “i guess i did,” you admit easily enough. “was that a mistake?”

you hear footsteps approaching from behind and, after considering the gait, you already know it’s toji before he talks. 

toji sets down a drink at your elbow at the wave of gojo’s hand without so much as glancing at either of you, the picture of disinterested service not that gojo seems to mind. his eyes are locked on you. 

“i hope this lives up to your expectations.” 

you don’t need to worry about your own safety when it’s toji who has prepared the drink and set it down, so you easily lift it to your lips and take a sip. 

it’s smooth and warm, and you don’t know who to appreciate, toji for making the drink or gojo for choosing it. 

“so,” gojo says, “did i win you over?”

you reward him with a smile, mirroring him and leaning forward. “let me see, something that tastes expensive. i was just thinking that if i’m going to let a strange man subsidise my evening, i’d at least like it to taste like he’s trying.” 

his mouth curves. “and here i was hoping my face had bought me a little grace.”

“your face,” you say, letting your eyes dip to his mouth once more before returning to his, “is the only reason i haven’t left yet.”

he huffs, finding nothing else to comment on. “i’d much rather you call me a stranger than a strange man.”

“you don’t have to be either of them,” you say, and it’s as much as a gesture of approval than simply saying he has you hooked. 

gojo doesn’t miss it and smirks. “gojo satoru.”

you enjoy the sound of his name from those pretty, pink lips before offering your fake name as smooth as ten years in the business of pretending can be. he repeats it once, softer than necessary, turning it over like he’s testing the sound of it. 

you cross your legs as he gives you his verdict. 

“it’s pretty.” 

“don’t think i’ll fall for a cheap line like that, gojo.” 

“satoru,” he corrects. “and i think you like me more than you want to.”

“weird because i’m still deciding if your face is enough to justify the personality attached to it,” you pout your lips condescendingly. “what i’m actually thinking is that you’re a lot prettier with your mouth shut.” 

he grins. “oh, sweetheart, you’re going to want my mouth open.”

you roll your eyes and drag your thumb around the rim of your glass, watching the condensation gather and slip under your nail. “tell me, satoru, is this what usually works for you? sitting in corners, watching from the dark?”

his laugh comes low and easy, entirely too pleased. “is that jealousy again?”

“god, you wish.”

“i don’t know,” he says, leaning back just enough to look relaxed while his eyes stay much too fixed on your face. “you crossed a room for me, you’re drinking what i bought you, and you haven’t left yet. i think my ego’s doing just fine.”

you hum, like you’re considering the point seriously. “that says more about my patience than your charm.”

he chuckles a little. “what do i have to do for you to warm up to me, hm, pretty?”

“tell me about yourself,” you say simply, hiding your grin behind a sip of the drink. 

he blinks, resting his elbows on his knees, hands loose between his legs. “what is this, some kind of bad first date? here i was thinking you came over here with intentions.”

you let your gaze drop deliberately to his mouth, then lower. he makes it too easy really, considering he’s manspreading across the entire fucking couch. he shifts under your gaze, making the effort to spread a little wider, lean back a little more alluring.

“i did come over here with intentions.”

“good ones, i hope.” 

“but you’ll be wrong to think that i’m easy.”

he laughs under his breath. “you really know how to make a man feel special.” 

“don’t give me that, satoru. you’re eating this up, be honest.”

“sweetheart,” he says, the word all warmth and certainty, “if i wasn’t, you’d be halfway to the bar by now.”

you let your foot brush his under the table, casual as an accident, and feel rather than see the tiny stillness that follows. his gaze doesn’t drop but his eyes do twitch, shoulders losing a little of that loose ease, tension replacing it in small, satisfying increments.

you don’t say anything, which leaves it up to him to please you.

“i have a motorbike,” he says suddenly. 

you smile encouragingly, this time letting your foot slide up with a little more purpose. “do you?”

“yeah.”

“where do you bike to?”

“just around.” 

you click your tongue disappointedly, letting the heel of your shoe slide down. 

“around my block,” he corrects quickly. “to the park. there’s events there sometimes.” 

“did you travel anywhere specific in the past month, maybe these last three weeks?” your heel creeps up his calf, dragging toward his inner thigh under the table. “or are you not much of a travel person?”

he swallows. “no, i stay around the city. didn’t do anything too exciting recently, either.”

you hide a smirk. what a fucking liar. 

in your silence, he tries for a grin but it’s hard to take him seriously when you can feel the hardness of his muscle beneath his pants. “this is new. i don’t usually get interrogated like this when i’m at the club.”

“i like to know what i’m taking home. “you’re quick to reply with and drink in the satisfaction of hearing his breath catch. 

all men do is lie, honestly. gojo is lying to your face, talking about some ‘didn’t do anything too exciting recently’ like you wouldn’t kill to drop in on a ship undetected and swipe their goods from under their nose. sometimes you wonder if you’ve chosen the wrong profession, but you suppose you balance out the boring stabbing bits with things like this, like twirling your victim around your pinkie before pulling the ends tight and cutting off their airways. 

toji was lying to you considering gojo is not the threat he told you he is. he’s just a pathetic, arrogant rich boy that probably gets off to an older woman telling him what to do. targets like these are exactly what makes your job worth it. 

you look up at him through your lashes, foot creeping up. “do you have a girlfriend?”

that, at least, coaxes a grin out of him. “would i be here with you if i did?”

“just making sure there’s no one who’ll get mad at me,” you pout again because he seems to stiffen the most when you look up at him with those big, round eyes. “i’m a very fragile person, you know?” 

gojo licks his lips. “i should ask you the same. i’m not very strong either.” 

you fight the urge to snort, catching toji’s eyes from across the bar. “no one like that.” 

you start to withdraw your foot from his leg but he catches your ankle quickly, pressing the sole of your heel into his skin, not seeming to care what you might have stepped on.  “don’t run away. you started this.” 

“baby,” you purr. “this is an opportunity for you, not for me. and you’re getting a little boring.” 

“you’re the one that asked about me like you’re interested.”

you tilt your head, batting your lashes at him. “is that a complaint?”

satoru straightens immediately, face free of any of that mischief from earlier. “my name’s gojo satoru, age 31, i work in tech, go to the gym in the morning, foster kittens in my free time and i really need you to stop touching me before i clear the table and fuck you on it.”

hook, line and sinker. 

you grin, all charm and beauty. “there it is. was that really so hard? i know you’re doing your best but, satoru, really—”

you let your foot slip free of his hand and stand, looking down at him, triumph flushing your face pink, anticipation buzzing through you, hot and heavy. 

“try to keep up.”

gojo is an incredible kisser which seems unfair because he already has his superhero charm to woo the ladies. and now he can actually put money where his mouth is and render you dizzy and weak as his lips crash against yours in the hallway of his apartment? 

you had barely made it into his apartment before his hands were all over you, roaming your stomach and caressing down your side as his mouth ravishes yours. you gasp when his lips press against yours but eagerly part them to match the intensity. you’re not stupid, far from it when this field requires all five senses to stay razor sharp, but it never hurt anyone to indulge a little, right?

you’re not the only one indulging. his hand slides under your thigh and hooks your leg around his waist. 

“eager, much?” you tease against his lips and he chuckles, his breath fanning across your face. 

“don’t act like this isn’t what you wanted.” his hands slide up from under your thigh, holding your ass to grind you against his boner. “feel that?” 

“no,” you tease, letting him guide your movements. “is there even anything there?” 

he laughs fully now, pulling back to look at you. his eyes roam from yours to your lips, down to your neck and the cleavage you meticulously pushed up moments before you entered the club earlier that afternoon. manipulating this finicky dress seems worth it now when his eyes are drawn to it. 

“oh, you’re going to be fun.” then, without another word, he surges forward again, crashing his mouth back onto yours with a raw hunger. the kiss is anything but gentle, it’s messy, all teeth and tongue clashing in a frantic rhythm that leaves you both breathless. 

he tastes sweet which surprises you considering you were so sure he had been drinking something coloured at the club. perhaps it had just been the flashing neon lights that gave it that shade. 

saliva slicks the corners of your mouths, dripping slightly as you tilt your head to deepen the connection, your hands fisting in the collar of his shirt to demand more, sucking on his bottom lip and tangling your tongue with his in wet, sloppy strokes. 

if there’s one thing you pride yourself in aside from all the killing, is that you’re also a damn good kisser. 

gojo seems to agree as he pants against your lips, chest heaving with each ragged breath he takes between kisses. his hands, those strong, capable hands that you’ve watched swing through the night as nightwing, are now put to work in worshipping your body. 

one palm presses flat against the small of your back, arching you into him, before sliding up to cup your face. but that’s not what you want at all, so you take his hand and slide it down to where your body aches for him the most.

he huffs, warmth against your face. “who’s eager now?” 

“can you blame me for wanting to get off first since your dick definitely won’t?”

he smirks but doesn’t reject your demand, pulling your dress up so he can slip a hand under the fabric. your breath catches a little when his fingers trace the lace edge of your panties, his thumb lightly brushing over your mound. 

“looks like i won’t need to work on making out, at least,” he comments smugly, feeling the dampness.

his fingers don’t hesitate after that, pushing the thin fabric to the side with a deliberate swipe that exposes your slick folds to the cool air of the hallway. you bite back a gasp as his middle finger traces the length of your slit, gathering your wetness to circle your clit with just enough pressure to make your hips jerk forward. the sensation shoots straight through you, a spark that ignites the heat pooling low in your belly and you curse yourself for drinking more than you usually do on missions like this.

“fuck, you’re soaked already,” he murmurs against your mouth, his voice rough with arousal. 

“don’t let it get to your—ngh, head,” you mumble and kiss him harder in response, dominating the angle, your tongue plunging deep as you suck on his. 

it’s agonising how slow he’s rubbing you, how languid, and you buck against his palm, breaking the kiss just enough to whisper, “what’s wrong with you? are you a virgin? do it faster.”

hey obeys with a low groan against your lips, his thumb joining the assault, flicking back and forth over your swollen numb while his finger dips lower, teasing your entrance. 

“like this? feel how wet you’re getting on my fingers?” he asks, but there’s a hitch in his breath, his cock straining harder against your thigh through his pants, grinding subtly as if begging for friction. 

you’re the one in control here though, and so press your body closer, forcing him to feel every inch of your curves while you rock against his hand. 

his finger finally pushes inside you, thick and curling right against that spot that makes your walls clench greedily around him. “shit, this tight pussy's sucking me in—gonna finger fuck you until you're dripping down my hand,” he growls between kisses, but his pace matches yours, thrusting in time with the roll of your hips.

you gasp into his mouth, the stretch burning deliciously as he adds a second finger, scissoring them to stretch you wider, his thumb never letting up on your clit.

he pulls back to laugh. “still don’t think i’m any good?”

you glare up at him but you’re sure it doesn’t look all that intimidating, not when your body is sucking him back in with every thrust. “average at best maybe?”

“really? why are you about to cum for me, then—squeezing my fingers, soaking them with your pussy?” he taunts, his voice strained, eyes dark with lust as he watches your face contort in pleasure. “come in, give in to me. that’s it, pretty girl.”

your orgasm hits like a wave, crashing over you as your walls pulse around his fingers, gushing wetness that coats his palm and drips down your thighs. your legs shake uncontrollably, knees buckling slightly, but you hold onto his shoulders, refusing to let him take over completely.

“fuck, yes— that's it, cumming so hard on my fingers,” he praises, slowing his thrusts to milk every aftershock, his lips brushing yours in softer kisses now, letting you catch your breath. you sigh into him, the greed sated for a moment, and grab the front of his collar to pull him back into a proper kiss.

when you both stop for a breath, he smirks down at you. “should i hope for the favour to be paid back or are you done?” 

“i’m not heartless,” you pant, voice still husky from the high. “but it’ll be on my terms.” 

you shove him back, mind mapping out the layout of his house and finding the crude drawing toji had made of the apartment surprisingly accurate. so accurate in fact, that you have no trouble kissing and walking him back and shoving gojo down on his bed. 

your hands are already working his shirt buttons, his chest heaving as he lets you undress him. his own hands hover over you, waiting for your cue, even as his arousal strains against his pants. 

you straddle him in one fluid motion, your dress hiked up around your hips, panties still askewed and soaked. “are you seriously waiting for me to strip you? with these pretty hands?” 

“bossy little thing,” he murmurs but complies, shrugging off his shirt to reveal a scarred, toned torso that you wouldn’t have expected with that pretty face. scars from battles no doubt, muscles honed from swinging through gotham’s nights. 

you stare at them in awe. it’s not like you’re without scars either, but none in places like these. half of the mission is killing the target, the other is getting out unscathed so you can wear a pretty tight dress the next night for your next victim. it made sense why he has so many, though. 

you trace a finger down his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath. he arches up slightly, but doesn’t stop you, letting you investigate. 

“i also do bouldering,” he says. 

you look up at him in disbelief. “what mountains are you scaling? these look like they hurt.”

“worried?” he takes your hand and brings it up to his mouth to kiss your palm, eyes looking up at you the entire time. “that turns me on.” 

you scoff, pushing that thought to the back of your mind to look into another day. right now, you have a hot, shirtless man beneath you, and you weren’t stupid enough to let an opportunity like this slip through your fingers. 

you grind against the bulge in his pants, feeling it throb under you. “enough to beg?”

he grins. “oh, it doesn’t take a lot to make me beg.” 

you unzip him, his cock springing free, hard and leaking pre-cum from the tip. you wrap your hand around it, pumping slowly, thumb circling the head to spread the slickness. 

gojo hisses, hips jerking up but you pin his thighs down with your weight. “fuck, that feels so fucking good. look at your hand getting me off—fuck. you’re so pretty.” 

he licks his lips, trying for a grin while you stroke him slowly. “think you could give me a little more?”

“do you know how greedy you’re being?”

“just let me see your tits, baby. c’mon, please?”

just because he’s so pretty when he begs, you guide his hands to the zipper on your side and let him free your boobs, his groan all you need to stroke him faster as he leans forward to capture a nipple in his mouth, sucking. 

“you taste so fucking good. thought that even when we were just kissing,” he moans against your skin, grazing his teeth over where it’s sensitive and drinking in the small gasp you give him. “snuck a taste of you when you weren’t looking. could get addicted if i’m not careful.” 

“do you ever shut up?” you huff, squeezing him just because you can. 

he hisses. “you think i’m doing this for me? you’re the one rocking against me, beautiful. don’t act like it isn’t turning you on.” 

you bite your lip and stroke him faster, if only to shut him up. his words immediately dissolve into a low, drawn out groan, lips detaching from your tits. “your grip’s so perfect. that’s it, twist it like that. make my cock leak for you,” he all but begs, body tensing up. 

his breathing turns a little more ragged and you know you’ve got him, smirking as you let go of his cock. 

gojo whines, hands grabbing your waist. “what—why? i’ll shut up, just don’t—”

“no, baby,” you coo, shifting on his lap. “i’m right here. i need you inside me.” 

he nods eagerly, the frustration melting slightly as he reaches over and fumbles at his nightstand. 

you look over to find him grabbing a condom from the drawer and you intercept it on the way back to tear it open. “look at you. you’re a real gentleman, you know that?” 

“don’t be silly, wrap your willy.”

you roll it on him while he grabs the front of your dress where it’s sitting a little uncomfortably above your breasts, and tugs. you’re certain he didn’t exert much energy at all but it gives way easily, ripping it apart and leaving you bare, the rest of the fabric settling at your waist. your tits bounce once at the force and his eyes devour you, cock twitching in anticipation. 

“how did you—” you blink, a little taken aback and panicked. 

“get on me—fuck, please, need that pussy,” he groans, but you take your time, positioning yourself above him, rubbing the tip along your folds, coating it in your lingering wetness. 

the tease makes him growl, hands gripping the sheets instead of you, yielding to your control. you almost pull back, just for a second to recuperate, but he whimpers and you’re a lost cause. 

“fuck it.”

you sink down slowly, inch by inch, savouring the stretch as his thick cock fills you up. 

“ohgod,” you sigh, eyes fluttering close. 

gojo throws his head back with a gasp, fingers curling into his dark sheets deliciously as his hips give a pathetic thrust upward when he decides you’re taking him too slow. he only spares a few seconds for you to adjust to his large size before he’s grinding up shallowly, urging you to move.

“ride me—use this cock, baby. your pussy’s gripping me so tight, fuck,” he rasps, hands rising to lift the rest of your dress to watch where you’re joined but you stop him, guiding his hands to your hips instead. 

to distract him, you lean down and kiss him, tongues tangling as you start a languid grind that picks up in speed, bouncing now, the slap of your ass against his thighs filling the room. 

your hands brace on his chest, nails digging in, and when he hits that spot inside you gasp, breaking away to throw your head back and properly slam down. 

“fuck, pretty, please. harder, bounce on it faster, i know you can,” he pleads, voice breaking. 

it turns you on even more and the rhythm builds and builds and builds, your moans mixing with his, kisses turning sloppy as sweat slicks your skin. he really does feel so, so good, that you almost feel bad. 

you grab his jaw in your hand and pull him up. he follows the movement eagerly, sitting up so you can wrap your arms around his neck for support to slam back down.

“god, oh god, oh fuck—” he’s moaning freely now, hair sticking to his temples, hips thrusting back up pathetically. 

you can feel the climax approaching as your hand slides down under your dress. 

this is usually the easiest part, so why do you feel hesitant? you’re probably just missing his cock already, call it anticipatory grief, so you push that unknown feeling to the back of your mind and level the needle at his nape. 

you bounce harder, feeling his hands on your hips lift you up and down and up and down, cursing obscenely in your ear, breath hot against your cheek. you glance at his face through half-lidded eyes and almost cum at his expression, that cute little frown as he chases his orgasm, the way his mouth hangs open to gasp in air between every delicious jolt. 

“satoru,” you finally let yourself moan, half-sob,half-gasp, clinging to him tighter and he reciprocates, almost squeezing you in a bear hug as he loses himself in your tight, wet heat.

he tilts his head to look at you, leaning in for a kiss that you know will push you over the edge. just before you shatter, just before your lips touch his, and most importantly, just before you press the needle against his skin, you whisper, “sorry.”

then you cum. 

a ragged moan escapes your throat, entire body tensing before relaxing into him, clenching and milking him dry like there isn’t plastic separating him from properly filling you. and now that he'll be dead in a few seconds, you’ll never have the chance. 

you sigh as you come down from your high, catching your breath in heavy pants. what a shame. you should probably get off him before the poison kills him.  

wait a minute, did you even end up piercing his skin? 

your eyes snap open as the daze leaves you and you sit up straight, looking at gojo as he watches you with a smirk. his hand wraps around your wrist. 

“naughty girl,” he purrs, voice low and laced with dark amusement, but there’s an edge to it now. your blood freezes in your veins, the post-orgasm glow shattering into icy dread.

“what the fuck,” you breathe, yanking back instinctively, but he doesn’t budge. 

in fact, his grip only tightens, twisting just enough to make your bones ache, forcing the thin syringe to clatter from your numb fingers onto the bed beside you. he swipes it away and it hits the floor, your payroll for the week disappearing with it.

ah, hell. 

“oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, thrusting up once, cock still buried deep inside your pulsing pussy. “you poor, poor thing. you think i didn’t notice?”

pleasure twists into fear because those eyes—god, those eyes—burn with knowledge, stripping every layer of your deception. 

“you think i didn’t know since the very second, the very moment you sauntered into that club, batting those lashes, working me up like i was just another one of your men to tease. i knew what you wanted.”

he lifts his hips so his cock grinds against your sweet spot and you gasp, catching yourself on his chest despite the situation. “but i—”

“sure, you wanted to fuck yourself silly on my cock. but you wanted something else, didn’t you? i’m sure that file looked pretty appealing to you. kill nightwing, walk away with a million in your pocket. and you thought a little prick in the dark would be all you needed? that really breaks my heart, baby.”

his free hand trails up your spine, nails scraping lightly, sending unwanted shivers racing across your skin. you try to shift off him, to break free, but he locks his arm around your waist, holding you impaled on his length. “no point running. it’s game over.” 

you shiver at his condescending tone and also at reality as it sinks. “fuck. it was you, wasn’t it? you leaked your own information.” 

“caught,” he grins easily. “i knew there were a few people interested in my head on a stick. but i had no idea who. so i set some bait and watched it lure you in.”

“dickhead,” you growl. “you can kill me but i’m not the one who wants you dead.”

“oh, i know, pretty. you’re just a pawn. but your mouth still works just fine. so tell me.” in a blur of motion, he flips you onto your back, the world inverting as he pins your arms above your head with one unyielding hand. his body covers yours, heavy and inescapable, cock slipping out slightly just for him to push it back in with a lewd, wet sound that makes your cheeks burn despite the terror.

“tell me who sent you,” he growls, voice dropping to a feral rasp as he pulls out to thrust back in.

“no—ngh—fucking way,” you hiss, bucking up against him as he fucks you proper. “get off me, you—”

but the words die as he slams into you hard, hitting your sweet spot and making your eyes roll back, mouth open. 

“ah, fuck,” he groans. “tried to end me while you rode my dick? pathetic. but hot as fuck—ah, shit, you’re so tight. gonna fuck that killer instinct right out of you.”

you try to protest but he kisses you, teeth clashing, tongues invading, swallowing anything you have left to say. he bits your lower lip until copper blooms on your tongue and in one last act of defiance, you bit back. he only laughs into your mouth, the vibration humming through you. 

“you are so fun. i like it. i’m gonna mess you up so good, baby.” his hand dives between your thighs, fingers long, calloused from years of vigilante work, rubbing against your clit roughly without preamble. 

you gasp, hips jerking involuntarily as he thrusts against that spongy spot inside you with precision, his fingers at your clit only bringing you higher. “stop—fuck, satoru, too soon,” you whine, but he only shushes you, voice against your ear and you only vaguely hear him through the obscene squelches. 

“too soon? but look, your cunt’s begging for it. clenching around me and everything. you want me to cum, don’t you? want to squirt all over me and have me fill you up.”

you shake your head but whether it’s just you writhing or if you really want him to stop, you don’t know. “fuckfuckfuck, it’s too much!”

his eyes lock on your face, drinking in every twist of pleasure as he fucks you into the mattress good, hips slamming into yours over and over and over again, fingers working in unrelentless circles. “too much? i think killing me on the first night is too much. but—fuck, okay. you want to kill me? let me ruin you first, fuck you until you can’t get fair. until all you remember is my cock splitting you open instead of whatever bastard wants me dead.” 

the pleasure builds up fast, overwhelming, your legs trembling as he ruts into you harder, more erratic, getting close to his own orgasm. “come on, give it to me. soak the sheets like the messy bitch you are.” 

it hits like lightning, your back arching off the mattress as you shatter, clear fluid gushing over his dick, dripping down to your ass. you cry out, vision whiting, body convulsing in his grip. gojo doesn’t let up still, working you through it until you’re a quivering mess, tears streaking your cheeks, until he lets out a strangled groan and pulls you down one last time. 

he lets out a long, satisfied sigh as he empties his balls inside you and you whimper, mind fucked out and wishing the condom wasn’t there. 

“good girl,” he praises, pulling out to take the condom off. he loops the end around into a knot and slaps your throbbing clit with it, grinning when you let out a surprised yelp. “what’s wrong? still want more? come on up here.”

he manhandles you onto his lap, his back leaning against the headboard and all you can do is let him, limbs feeling heavy. he presses your hips down so your clit rubs against his thigh and you whimper, almost collapsing forward if his hands weren’t there to catch you. 

“you’ve had your fun,” he says. “tell me who sent you.”

you shake your head, gasping. 

“wrong answer.” gojo guides your hips forward along his thigh. “give me a name, sweetheart. i know i didn’t fuck you that good. open your eyes and tell me.” 

your eyes flutter open at his command, dragging up to look at him. you part your lips and whisper through the rawness of your throat, “fuck you.”

he snickers, helping you grind as your hips betray you. “trust me, i will. but give me a name first, sweetheart, hm?”

you moan, the feeling of his hard muscle under you too much for your oversensitive clit.

“cute answer,” he coos, brushing your hair behind your ear so he can watch you struggle. “but try again. and this time give me something i can actually use.” 

“in your dreams,” you choke out, rutting despite yourself. 

“i know, baby,” he coos, and you’re caught between slapping him across the face and melting into that sweet, condescending tone of his. “you’ll be there. poor thing, you just want to cum again, isn’t that right? but i’m not giving it to you, not until you tell me who sent you.”

you lean forward, sinking your teeth into his shoulder, hoping it’ll stop you from spilling the beans when his touch is making him oh so persuasive. 

he chuckles low, thumb finding your clit and pressing. “you can bite, squirm, pout, whatever helps, but eventually you’re still going to tell me. come on baby, just tell me their name.” 

if he really wanted to know, he shouldn’t be getting you off like this. all you can do is fuck his thigh and thumb as best as you can, biting down to stop yourself from whimpering as if your pathetic state isn’t embarrassing enough. 

he growls, pulling you off him and pressing you against the headboard, holding your face against the wall. 

“last chance, sweetheart. tell me who sent you.” 

you grin despite the tears in your eyes, despite the throbbing of your clit, despite the fact that your mascara is surely running down your cheeks and there may be drool leaking from the corner of your mouth. “you want me to call out another man’s name that bad?” you spit out. “make me.”

you really should learn to keep your mouth shut. 

one moment you’re bare and wanting, still hovering on the cusp of that promised orgasm, and the next he’s sliding back into you, hips pressing all the way in and hitting your ass. 

you moan against the wood, body jolting forward as he sets a punishing pace. 

you thought the file given to you had been clear enough. gojo satoru, some freelancer tech guy who also happens to be nightwing. 6'3", doesn’t have a girlfriend, doesn’t have a drivers’ license, certainly not for a motorbike, travels frequently in and out of cities for work. one thing they failed to mention was his incredible stamina. 

he takes you over and over, well into the night, groaning in your ear, telling you how pretty you look, how hot and tight you feel wrapped around his dick, how sweet your moans are, but in the same breath he’ll tell you to watch him fuck you, hand on your jaw to make sure you can’t look away. he’ll thrust into you hard and fast, than make you finger yourself on his lap while he strokes to the rhythm of your hand. 

you’ve never known pleasure so good, never felt so swept away in the currents that all you want to do is drown in his waters, to please him with your lips around his cock and whimper and nuzzle into his hand when he pats your head. 

his feet find your neglected pussy as you suck and when he presses into you, a cruel mirror to that moment in the club, you’re so far gone that you rut against and finish when he cums in your mouth. 

over and over, never giving you a moment to breathe or think or feel anything other than his hands on your body and his dick ramming into your pussy. 

you can’t even remember when he had stopped fucking you but one moment you’re moaning around his cock, and the next there’s only darkness and his voice by your ear. 

“sweet dreams, y/n.”

fuck, you think, he knows my name. and then you’re gone, swept under the waves of sleep, uncertain what you’ll wake up to next.

you want to credit your assassin instincts for waking you up only a few hours after you passed out. though, you have to question where exactly those instincts had gone when you were moments away from killing your target and somehow still ended the night asleep in his bed. 

when did you first begin to lose your grasp on the situation? was it when you had willingly wrapped your hand around his cock and let him suckle and mouth at your tits? was it when he had gotten you off with a cruel press of his fingers, your dress bunched over his wrist as his teeth and tongue clashed against yours? or was it before even then, way before, all the way back to the club when you approached him with the assumption that he was bottom feeder prey and nothing to get your panties in a twist over. 

it is painfully obvious now that that had been nowhere near the truth. for one thing, you don’t even know where your panties are. 

you crack open your eyes just slightly, just in case he’s the sort of creep who watches women sleep after fucking them stupid. after tonight, you’re not exactly in the mood to make any more assumptions.

the room is still drowned in the dark blue of early morning, the sun not yet risen, the city outside his windows reduced to a few scattered lights. when you don’t hear the slightest change in his breathing, you finally open your eyes properly and assess the damage. 

okay, so maybe toji had been right. maybe you had gotten a little cocky over the years. but could he really blame you when all you’ve known is win after win for the past year? then again, none of them had been a feared vigilante, just rich old men with nothing left to do with their lives so they turn to crime. nothing to do late game, as toji had said

speaking of, your co-worker is going to eat this up. that is, if you can even make it out alive to tell him. it seemed one thing about gojo’s report had been right at least: gojo satoru is weak to older women, if the fact that you’re still alive and being spooned by him was any indication. 

you test the weight of his arm around your middle and feel him stir, a quiet mumble brushing against the back of your neck. you freeze instantly, muscles locking. but then he only exhales, deeper this time, and settles again, his grip going slack with sleep. 

you carefully, slowly, pry his fingers apart. it takes longer than it should, he’s still infuriatingly stubborn even in his sleep, but when you finally manage to ease his hand off your stomach, you grab the nearest pillow and wedge it into the space you’ve left behind. 

gojo makes a soft, unhappy sound in his sleep, brows pinching until you find your discarded dress on the floor and pull it over the pillow. then, he nuzzles into the fabric and quiets again.

your feet pad silently across the floor as you gather whatever clothing you can find in the dark. you had to sacrifice your dress for the good of the cause, so you settle for the easier solution, his shirt. you pull it on, wincing slightly at the ache between your thighs as you button it in haste. it falls indecently low on you, hem brushing the top of your thighs, but it’s better than nothing. his pants are easier to find than those missing panties of yours, so you drag them on too.

then, you take the easy way out and descend through his window. 

landing on the fire escape, you take a second to breathe in the early morning air and pretend you haven’t just survived the most embarrassing failure of your highly professional assassin career. the city is quiet in that strange hour before dawn, all muted traffic from early morning-goers and the scent of morning dew.

there, now it’s like nothing happened at all. except for the fact that your employer will definitely have some creative choice words for you, followed by an even more imaginative method of ending your life.

with a sigh, you dig through his pants and find a coin, slipping it into the nearest payphone and dialing a familiar number. 

it rings twice. 

“hello, this is toji from nanami’s bar,” your co-worker says, lazy and dry. 

“it’s a wonder how you keep that bar running when you greet customers like that,” you reply, voice hoarse from the lack of use. or maybe from the overuse. 

you hear the shift in his voice when he registers it’s you. “congrats on another job. the boss will want to see you this afternoon. get rid of the body and we can talk about the final payment.”

“that won’t be necessary.” 

he pauses, a slight tilt of disbelief in his voice. “you don’t want a promotion? that’s a first.” 

you pinch the bridge of your nose and lean your shoulder against the booth. “no, genius. he’s not dead.” 

there’s a silence as toji registers your words that stretches out for so long you have to check the line to make sure it hasn’t cut.

“the fuck are you talking about? why isn’t he dead?”

“i don’t know if there’s another way i can phrase that for you. he’s still alive.”

toji swears and you hear the ruffle of a towel being thrown down on the counter. the sound of the bar fades as he, you assume, steps out to the back. “you better tell me what the fuck happened or we’re both dead.” 

you shrug, twirling the cord around your finger. “what else is there to say? he’s not dead. i wasn’t able to kill him.” 

“you?” 

“yeah.” 

“and you started this call by shitting on my customer service skills? are you fucking kidding me?” 

you shrug despite the fact that he can’t see the gesture. “it was just that bad i had to say something.”

you hear a long sigh on the other end, somewhat static-y through the old payphone. “it’s not like you to go all soft but i’ll ask anyway. did you let him go?”

“i didn’t.”

“so you failed because he was stronger than you.” 

your mind flickers back, to his hand on your waist hoisting you up like you weighed nothing, to his mouth against your throat fanning warmth that tightens that coil of pleasure low in your abdomen. “something like that.” 

“did you have sex with him?”

you lean your head back against the glass of the booth and grin despite the dryness of your lips. “fuck yeah i did.”

“i told you not to think with your dick,” toji growls. “did you think only you would be affected by this? this is our mission, doll, if the boss hears about this, he won’t just want you dead. he’ll want us both dead.” 

“trust me, i know. it wasn’t like i wanted to lose my life on a random sunday afternoon.” you let the silence linger to let reality sink in for toji since you’ve already come to terms with the situation.

“so,” you start, awfully casual.  “how attached are you to nanami’s bar?”

the silence ends when he swears again and you imagine he running a hand over his face, a gesture he always seems to do when he’s exasperated. “fuck, you whore. not again.” 

“come on, it’s not that bad.” 

“you know, i actually liked this place a little. they actually give you a break room to have dinner in and it’s relatively clean.” 

you hum sympathetically. “say goodbye to that clean room, toji.”

“you fucking owe me. fine.” there’s more rustling as you assume he strips out of his apron and exits through the back of the club. “care what place?”

“just somewhere where the boss won’t find us.”

“i know a guy.”

“oh, how trustworthy. i’m lucky to have you as my partner, huh?”

“you bet your ass you’re lucky. lucky the pretty kid didn’t kill you too.” you hear the sound of a car engine turning on. “give me your location. i’ll come pick you up.” 

you tell him and there’s a roar as the car starts, picking up speed down the street. before you can say goodbye and wait for him by the curb, he speaks again, “you do have clothes, don’t you?” 

“probably.”

“probably?”

you grin into the receiver, thinking about gojo’s stupid face when he finds you missing from his bed, only your clothes to ever suggest you had been there. “just drive, toji.” 

many people seek you out for your extensive coding portfolio. of course, all of it is fabricated. not that you had no experience, you were a computer science student in college before your life was flipped upside down. your coding background is average at best, but average can be made exceptional with enough lying, enough forged certificates from toji’s many i know a guy’s, and enough confidence to pull it off. 

a tweak here, a fake internship there, and suddenly you’re the sort of candidate a respectable company such as this one might drag into an interview.

you look up at the impressive skyscraper before you, squinting slightly when the sun glares back down at you. “this is the place?” 

toji grunts beside you, equally unimpressed despite the formal attire you forced him into. “can you imagine working in a pretentious ass company like this?”

“you better start imagining because that’ll be us soon, fushiguro.” you test out his new last name and find that it suits him, oddly enough.

he snorts. “does it really count for me? i’m going in as a janitor. you drew the lucky straw showing up as an intern.” 

“you’ll have more freedom to move about. i can’t imagine you behind a desk, anyway.”

he looks you up and down, taking in the blouse, skirt, and the pair of work appropriate heels already starting to make your feet ache. “i could say the same thing about you. at least you clean up nice, doll.” 

“save your compliments for when you actually mean them.” 

toji snorts, patting you on the back hard enough to kick start your stride towards the sliding doors, him following after. “just take it as one instead of complaining. and make sure to not accidentally murder someone while you’re on the job. you made sure to put that life behind us so stick to it, yeah?”

you shrug him off. “yes, mother.”

he grins lazily at that. “i prefer daddy.”

hiding the urge to gag, not for his sake but for any watching eyes (you can leave the assassin lifestyle but can it ever truly leave you?), you roll back your shoulders and straighten your back. 

the receptionist greets you with a smile that you return, bowing slightly when she gestures you towards the elevators. the interview for janitors is separate from interns so you quickly part ways with toji, though not without a meaningful look. and then you’re off, ascending up the plentiful stories of your potential new workplace, the taste of a new life on your tongue. 

you’ve never once dared to dream of normality before, not after you failed to graduate, and not even during the days living in toji’s car as the two of you travelled to a new city to start anew. you didn’t even dare to hope on the ride here, talking toji’s ear off about anything else just to hide the strange feeling in your gut from leaving your assassin life behind. but as the number above the elevator doors slowly counts up, you start to wonder. 

an apartment would be nice. something under your name (and probably toji by extension but you could honestly do worse for a roommate). you imagine coming back from a long eight hour work day of doing normal people things, with some fast food and a beer and slumped into your couch you got secondhand from facebook marketplace to watch a random show on netflix. maybe when you and toji save up enough you could adopt a cat. waking up early on saturdays and baking. hearing toji sing in the shower and yelling at him to turn it down. telling yourself you’ll start going to the gym in the mornings and consistently meal prep. falling asleep under a rooftop knowing you’re safe. 

the elevator dings and you straighten, mouth already set into the kind of polite smile that you hope is soulless and kind so that your potential boss-to-be will think you’re exploitable and hire you immediately. first impressions are everything, especially when the whole point of this one is to disappear into it.

the corridors seem to fold endlessly into each other, and by the fourth corner you’re starting to think you’ve looped back on yourself when you finally see it. the last office sits at the very end, larger than the others, tucked behind a stretch of frosted glass that the other rooms don’t seem to have.

you pause in front of the door and take a deep breath in. the smile that appears on your face is partly genuine excitement at the prospect of starting something new. 

maybe you should even start crocheting and going to pilates. 

with your heart beating faster than it would if you were knowingly walking into an ambush, you knock. 

a voice from inside says, “come in.” 

you push open the door with your eyes already lowered and something akin to nervousness joining your anticipation. 

“good morning,” you begin, stepping inside. “thank you so much for meeting with me. i’m really—”

“please,” the voice says, warm and familiar in a way that rips the rest of the sentence out of your throat. “after the night we had, i think you can skip the formalities.” 

everything in you stops, your pulse, your breath, your smile. the only thing that moves seems to be the slow swing of the door as it closes behind you, sealing you in the room. your mind tells you that you could try your luck at smashing the windows and jumping out the 50th floor.

instead of breaking your legs, you look up. 

he sits behind the desk. not half-dressed in a club booth like a man whore, not sprawled across dark sheets with your name caught in your mouth, not a face on a thin file and the words “caught dead or alive” stamped over. 

gojo satoru leans back in his chair, his suit rustling, one hand resting on the folder in front of him the other tapping against his armrest. the folder has your face and name on it, it’s your resume. your fake, careful little life stacked neatly under his fingers. the dream of a domestic, nothing life shatters into a million pieces by your feet. 

his eyes move over you once, from the sensible blouse to the neat skirt to the stunned stillness you haven’t managed to hide, and his smile arrives slowly, beautifully, with all the ease of a man watching a trap finally spring. 

“well,” your new boss says. “this is awkward.”