#kamesama

he is neat. you catch a glimpse of his living space one morning when he answers the door to you, black cotton t-shirt and denim jeans already on. "i'm sorry to bother you, but would you happen to have an egg?" you asked, because your last one rolled off the kitchen counter and onto your tiles. he furrows his brows for a moment, as if processing the question before answering, "yeah... yeah, i have one," and he doesn't bother closing the front door as he walks over to the fridge. you notice that there's no clutter; no random wraps or leftovers littering his kitchen counter, no stray socks on the vacuumed floor ( come to think of it, you recall hearing the vacuum rather often ). you noticed him straightening the news papers and advertisments in the news papers box upon entering the building once, "they just threw them in," he commented, as if it was offensive.

he is helpful. he'd held the door open for you and taken the heavy grocery bag out of your hand. carried it to your door and set it on the floor of your hallway when you unlocked the apartment. he took a look around, casually, his eyes trailing across the walls and doors as if checking for exits. he observed the way afternoon light burst in with its golden glow through the windows. you caught it, but hey, it's natural to be compelled to catch a glimpse or two. when you thanked him, he smiled, "don't mention it." he seemed happy with himself. he casually drops off a can of cat food for the feline you'd never told him you have. "i hear it meow sometimes," he said. one time, he'd given you a ride home — it started pouring, you'd had no umbrella and dex happened to be at the mall at the same time. you noticed the monocular in the pit between the driver and passenger seat, "what's that for?" he glanced over to what you were pointing your finger at, his jaw clenching as he looked back onto the road, "it comes with the job."

he is attentive. when you run into each other in the hallway first thing in the morning — which seems to happen often — he asks you about your night, "is everything okay? you came home late," he pauses, "fumbled with your keys. it made some noise." he nods his head when you mention losing track of time with a friend of yours. at some point, you've brought up a trip and how you need to call a friend to ask them to water your plant while you're away, "your peace lily? i can water it for you. if you want." you raised your brow, "how'd you know i have peace lily?" and dex pauses, and shrugs, "saw you bring it in. they're easy to recognise." there was an old man living two floors above and he would continuously throw some sleazy comments your way when you checked your mailbox at the same time — nothing obscene, but just enough to be uncomfortable. dex happened to be there once, "this guy bothering you?" he asked, and you sighed, "he's just... creepy and annoying. the usual..." dex shakes his head lightly, "must be annoying." it was a good riddance that he was found dead three days later. hit his head or something. sounded unfortunate.

he is around. you find yourself walking back home with him more often. it's such a funny coincidence, you think, that you ran into him in the coffee shop earlier that week, and then at the parking lot, and now at the grocery store down the block. the world's a small place, indeed. it's decent quality time; you get to know him and his quirks better. like the fact that he seems to get a joke a second too late, for example. you don't really know it — and you shrug off the odd sensation of being watched — but he's around even when you don't see him. his eye is behind the peephole when you come home from work, taking your keys out of your pocket. he looks through his window to spot your route on the days you go out outside of the pattern — for a sudden ice cream craving, an unexpected emergency meet-up with a friend, that meeting you forgot about. he knows the 'why' behind your trip by the end of the day — he's observed you from the car, after all. you get a text whilst out one day, "you've got a package. want me to bring it in?" and your brows furrow, "dex? sure. thanks." when he hands you the delivery several hours later, you ask him about how he got your phone number. he reminds you that you're in the inactive group for the building's residents.

he is the best. he knocked onto your door one evening. he seemed pale, thirsty breaths coming in and out of his mouth like his lungs couldn't get their fill of the oxygen. knuckles painted crimson, sweat on his forehead, words a mess that he barely spat off his tongue, "please, i—" he swallows, "it's bad, i'm bad, and i just need... i need you." he ends up in your kitchen chair, wincing slightly as you dab the soaked cotton over the back of his hand, one fist clenched against his thigh as he looks at you, "sorry for the trouble, it's just... been a rough day," but you cut him off, "hey, dex. it's okay. you're good," and his mouth goes dry. your gaze drops back to his bloodied hand, but he remains looking at you before his mouth twitches into a smile, "you... you think i'm good?" and you look up, brow raised, "yeah. you're definitely the best neighbour i had."

it made him happy, though. there was something about the way your eyebrows furrowed with the odd mixture of pain and relief, bitten lips pushed out in a trembling pout as he didn’t let you reach that peak just yet. he grinned, mouth stretching out into a wicked smile, teeth perfect and eyes dark. you’d swear the sight alone made your velvet walls flutter.

“not yet, sweetheart,” he sounded amused. frigidly so.

you let out a trembling gasp as he pulled the glistening digits out of you, wet skin catching dim light so obscenely as he left you hollow. in response, your hips desperately ground against nothing but hot air, chasing as much as a tidbit of friction and relief, but to no avail. you couldn’t do better, or rather, he wouldn't let you do better; dex’s knee between your legs did not allow you to press your thighs together for some vague bliss. 

“dex…” you whined, eyes all watery and shiny as he grabbed your jaw only to slip his two fingers into your mouth. the taste spread across your own tongue, and it was almost by instinct that your lips closed around his knuckles with a hum. 

“can’t keep that pretty mouth shut, huh?” he rasped, eyebrows lifting in wicked amusement, “you don’t want to?” he pressed down onto your tongue, tracing his fingers across its hot surface. he tilted his head as if in thought, and when the idea seem to spark a light in his head, the corner of his mouth twitched, “yeah, you’re gonna scream for me.” 

the ease and speed with which he flipped you over onto your stomach was too impressive. the sheets wrinkled beneath you, but dex couldn’t care less about the lack of order now.

now a little crush turned into a like and now he wants to grab her by the hair and tell her;

before your head could go so comfortably slack against the sheets, dex grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling so roughly that you winced as your spine curved. his breath was hot against your ear, his skin scorching, his body heavy. he was rock hard against your ass, and you wished that he’d just fill you properly already.

“come on, sweetheart, i want you to scream for me,” the raspiness in his rough, low voice did unspeakable things to you — the warmth in the low of your belly continued to simmer and burn. he yanked onto your hair a little rougher, making you mewl as his other hand worked between your bodies to line himself up. 

he didn’t ease in, and it made you wince. your muscles were so sweetly strained by the time he let your hair go, and your head fell against the mattress, lips parted open to shamelessly spill out all the unholy sounds that he wanted to hear and you could not bother witholding. his hand snuck to wrap around your neck, pressing tightly for just a moment before easing the grip and massaging your hammering pulse instead. the other moved beneath your belly onto that, by now oversensitive, sweet spot. 

his bodyweight held you down, hard thrusts pushing out more desperate sounds out of your throat. he could feel each sound through the skin of your neck against the palm of his hand. your vision blurred, and your body remained still and slack save for what moved from the force of his own hips ramming against you.

i want to hold you close, skin pressed against me tight… lie still, and close your eyes girl… so lovely, it feels so right… i want to hold you close,

his hand moved from your neck and down to wrap around the underside of your breasts, pressing your back tighter against his chest. it was an oddly comforting act, to be pulled so close to him.

soft breasts, beating heart,

he could feel your heart slamming against your ribcage, pumping fast and hard. he could hear you tighten around him, and it made his jaw clench.

as i whisper in your ear, 

he leaned down, nose brushing your sweat-laced temple before his heavy, burdened breath scorched against your ear,

“i want to fucking tear you apart.”

you’ve seen her march and stomp to his chamber, leaving an invisible trace of the scent so strong you could swear it still haunted your nostrils. her lips glistened in the candlelight as if coated with a thick layer of honey that she must have rubbed into her tongue and gums earlier that eve. she wore her eroticism proudly; the subtle arch of her mouth was an aphrodisiac of its own. 

the walls were always thin, but that night, they seemed thinner than ever. you could swear you’ve heard every gasp, every moan, every writhe. the curl of her toes, the grip of her slender digits at the sheets as her back arched in that wondrous curve. did his lips touch every inch of her body? from the saccharine spot on her neck to the delightful mounds on her chest? the thin skin of her hip; the lush softness of her thighs?

did his tongue utter praises of her performance, of her appearance, of her? did he claim her with nothing short of delight coursing through his accursed veins?

the sole thought made you so sullenly disappointed. your own bedding had never felt colder.

“you look miserable, woman. what is it with that attitude?” as blunt as ever, sukuna questioned, his knuckles sunken into his cheek as he watched you peel a pomegranate. despite the skillfulness faithfully coating your movements, your digits remained stained with the rich hue of the fruit’s insides; despite the effort to be flawless.

your lips pursed in response, a small sign of displeasure standing hand-in-hand with reluctance. perhaps you are acting coy — sukuna concluded — lacing your foul mood with a girlish act and bratty demeanour. not that it would render him surprised. rather, it tickled his curiosity, fueled his fantasy, and made him just a tidbit of something somewhat akin to concern.

“speak, princess,” he cooed, deciding to humour your wits with barely a mouthful of niceties. he leaned back in his seat, patting his lap with one of his hands, whilst one rested on the thigh of his other leg. the remaining two were crossed over his chest either out of boredom or superiority; or perhaps both. 

you wanted to disobey; to turn your head away with a huff as your fingertips dug into pomegranate seeds. to maintain your shred of pride, wearing your displeasure with a sense of dignity out of sole respect for all the umbrage and anguish lulling you to sleep on the nights when you weren’t worthy enough. 

but you didn’t.

almost too eagerly, you put away the fruit into a bowl to bleed, nearly crawling to his lap. despite the willingness of your body to nest so closely against his, however, your face remained with its little scowl, your eyes almost overfilled with chagrin. 

“am i not your favourite?” 

the audacity soaked your words, dripping heavily off them. sukuna sensed it; the thickness of envy in your voice, and all the more loathing that nearly looked like some deranged form of self-pity.

his slit brows rose up, his crimson gaze intense enough to have made you feel that — if he were to look just a little deeper into your eyes — he would see the way your hands massaged your own breasts as if to grasp whether or not they were shapely enough; the way you trailed one same line underneath your eye time and time again in an attempt to determine if sleeplessness has made you revolting.

“why should you desire another to warm your bed?”

a grin tugged at the corners of sukuna’s mouth as a sense of understanding weighed on his shoulders. a small hum of acknowledgement sounded from the top of his throat, his eyes closing as he took your stained hand and brought it up to his lips.

“so that’s what this is about,” he mused, his tongue shamelessly trailing across your digits to lap up the sour sweetness coating them, “jealousy is a pesky thing, little one.”

“i don’t care,” you scoffed, trying to ignore the way he gently sucked on the tip of your finger before looking at you, one of his hands absentmindedly caressing up your thigh through the silken material of your clothing, “it should be me. just me. i am the only one you summon to peel your fruits and to accompany you while you write, so why call upon another to please you at night?” you demanded. it seemed to amuse him all the more.

he raised a brow at your words and their curious tone, “you’re forgetting your place, woman,” he spoke coldly, yet the edge of his statement was somewhat softened by a dash of entertainment. nonetheless, it was enough to send shivers down your spine as his fingers sunk into your cheeks, making your luscious lips pucker. he observed your features; that small tidbit of defiance standing in defence of your vulnerability, your need, your craving. it made him grin with a certain kind of wickedness.

“but i do suppose that makes you my favourite,” he uttered, “no one else would dare be such an audacious thing…” his thumb grazed over your lower lip, parting your mouth open just enough to catch a glimpse of the pink flesh inside, “i could rip your tongue out for your insolence,” he cooed slowly, as if imagining your bleeding mouth, filled to the brim with crimson, “and you’d still be just as pretty.”

a shiver ran down your spine enough to make your bones feel frozen to the marrow, yet his touch left your body scorched; blood boiling with desire for whatever wicked debauchery his mind could conjure up.

“but i do appreciate your tales. very much so.” he spoke, easing his grasp on your face, instead morphing it into an almost appreciative caress.

the uncharacteristically gentle kiss planted to your brow seemed to calm your pounding heart for a mere few moments.

“perhaps i have some reminding to do.”

thank you for reading!

it was enough to make him look up, his brows going up to express an undeniable interest at the sight; your proud expression bearing gingerly mischief at its outlines as you slowly swayed your hips in order to make the skirt of your dress flow as if in the spring breeze. it was a lovely piece, hardly provocative save for a subtle v-line providing a small glimpse at cleavage. innocent. too innocent – excluding the way it revealed dying love-bites creeping up your neck. he would have to revive them, he thought.

something in your eye – an expectant, hopeful gleam – reflected an eager impatience; you were waiting for a praise, for something saccharine. honeyed. perhaps just a little indecent. you saw it in his gaze; coated and hazed with something akin to amour, softened in the manner familiar to you alone.

“oh? what’s this?” sukuna hummed, “do a little twirl for me, doll,” his phone was now abandoned and left to lay by a cushion, “let me see the whole thing.”

you obliged with sheer delight, the pirouette causing the material to flutter like a bud opening into a graceful flower. the movement exposed your knees for a split-second; a sight of forbidden fruit, teasing and tempting. a sense of warmth filled sukuna’s chest – you were utterly endearing and a sight to behold.

he would have patted his lap, as he always did when you, his precious little thing, chose to treat him to such a show. however, before he could set his palm onto his knee to deliver a message of that nature, you waltzed over with a grin tugging at the corners of your painted lips, straddling him with breathtaking decisiveness. the palms of your hands nested against his chest and made his body lean against the backrest of the sofa. instinctively, his own large ones came to lay across your thighs, moving up a little and dragging the skirt of the dress up merely a few inches. 

his gaze gently devoured the make-up on your face; every hue, every line, every blend. the angle of your jaw. the tease at the edges of your lips. the loving provocation reflected in your eyes as you teasingly ran your palms across his breasts before wrapping your arms around his neck.

there was something in-between the lines of your approach that made it vividly demure. your skin did not seem to ache for the fervorous touch and bittersweet bites. you looked at him with a tender genre of hunger which let him know you would prefer he lay you gently rather than pin you down. 

“you like it?” you whispered, your lips ghosting against the shell of his ear before you kissed his jaw. it sent shivers down his spine and then caused his body to relax.

“yes,” he admitted, “you look lovely, little one.”

“lovely?” disappointment dripped off your tongue as you pulled away to look down at him, your lips pursed and expression distorted to further express a sense of discontent. there was a dose of sarcasm subtly sprinkled over your alleged chagrin. sukuna chuckled at your reaction; a smooth, rich sound that never failed to tug at your heartstrings and stir something deep within the pit of your stomach.

“ravishing, my dear,” he added, lifting one of his hands off your thigh to cup your face between his fingers, “delectable,” his digits pressed into your skin, the pad of his thumb tapping over your pouting lips as if to inspect the lipstick and its quality, “and a little needy, too, i would say.” 

his other hand trailed up your leg, slithering across your hip before moving to squeeze your buttock. you smiled, your own moving to rest against the one on your face. 

“you’re imagining it,” you uttered against his thumb, placing a small kiss onto it before nuzzling his palm with your cheek, “i saw it on sale today. had to get it.” you elaborated for no reason in particular, “it’s so… dainty. leaves a lot to the imagination, doesn’t it?” there was something suggestive in your tone, dragging and tugging at your words very subtly. 

“not everything,” sukuna claimed, his hand nudging your chin up so as to have you expose your neck all the more. the dress left a good patch of your skin bare, nearly to the valley of your breasts. sukuna leaned in, pressing a small, chaste kiss against your collarbone before moving his lips up towards your pulse. his open mouth ravished the expanse above your clavicle, and you shut your eyes in ecstasy as your fingernails gently scraped across his scalp; digits sunken into the strands of his blush hair. it was a form of encouragement. 

a soft breath drifted off your lips, urging him to kiss you all the more; his teeth grazed your skin just enough to leave it ever so slightly aroused and pink. 

the air grew thicker and sweeter; honey-like.

the dedication with which sukuna tended to you made you aware that his mind was slowly getting clouded by desire. the way he pulled you closer against him, his hands trailing across the outlines of your body, spoke volumes of starvation slowly heating up inside of him. 

you had to make it worse.

“i might have bought new lingerie, too…” your voice trailed off, and you could almost hear the way sukuna’s eyes rolled back behind his closed lids as he groaned against the sweet spot at the curve of your neck. it took him just a second to push you down onto the sofa. 

it was nearly a pity that his desire to undress you peaked whenever you chose to dress up for him. 

thank you for reading!

no one gets to bully sukuna's younger brother — other than him. sure, now when they are older, yūji can handle his own ordeals, but as children, one glare from sukuna was enough to provide salvation for his little brother. sukuna also had a way with their parents to get them out of trouble. how he managed to talk things out with them is beyond yūji even today, but sukuna always saved his ass, walking into crying yūji's room with a confident grin on his face to tell him problem's been solved and he can start kissing his feet.

sukuna found a scrunchie laying around at some point and gave yūji the worst time ever because he teased him so much.

yūji — god bless his wonderful soul — is undoubtedly the more respectful one of the two, unsurprisingly so. that pudding in the fridge that he knows belongs to sukuna? he doesn't touch it. he has no interest in it whatsoever. sukuna, on the other hand, will devour anything and everything he gets his hands on with no regard for ownership. i licked it so it's mine kind of logic. yūji starts hiding his snacks. sukuna nonchalantly finds them.

sukuna busts into yūji's room with nearly no announcement and regard. yūji, on the other hand, always knocks. at some point in the early teenagehood, sukuna's room was a yūji-free zone. no brats allowed. as such, yūji has lesser knowledge of sukuna's room than sukuna has of yūji's.

blackmail. threats. vile words and promises. "brat, give that back or you will never see your vanity fair jennifer lawrence poster again." "*gasp* you wouldn't." "oh, i will."

sukuna finds ways to get certain posters, photos, stickers, merch and absolutely whatever else yūji is dying to have, only to bully the poor boy. "can i see?" "no." "you don't even like that show!" however, these things always find their way onto yūji's desk in the end, or wind up under his bed. when they do, yūji strolls over to sukuna's room with the brightest sun-kissed smile on his precious mouth and expresses his gratitude with the utmost of sincerity and child-like joy. sukuna responds with aloof indifference and a middle finger. it's the tough love.

the times they do get along is when they watch movies together. it's never explicitly admitted, but it has to be their favourite way to spend time in each other's presence. they will binge a show, discuss characters, eat an unhealthy amount of snacks along the way, completely unfazed while someone's guts get clawed out and slurped on screen. horror movies are their forte but yūji successfully got sukuna hooked onto some slice-of-life romance drama here and there. if they are not watching something on some brimming-with-viruses-and-completely-illegal website at home, then they definitely go to the cinema.

the 3 am conversations about life happen. they chew on leftovers of a cold pizza, home alone, under the kitchen light, slowly and calmly commenting on the unyielding passage of time, importance of ambition and drive, and the paradox of life's meaningful meaninglessness. they do so for nine minutes before falling into silence and commenting how stupid that cliff hanger was and how a manga chapter will be delayed again.

yūji's music taste is a spectrum far wider than sukuna's, and although he prefers pop, there are some questionable and edgy songs that seem to crawl their way into his ear because sukuna keeps listening to them on high volume while showering.

surprisingly, yūji is messier than sukuna. both are relatively clean in a way that neither of their rooms resemble a pigsty, but yūji has stray hoodies on his chair or textbooks spread and splattered over his desk ( whether he actually reads them is a separate topic ). sukuna keeps his things relatively neat and leans more towards minimalism in certain aspects.

their styles most definitely clash, but not too drastically; sukuna always seems to wear something of a darker hue to the point yūji strongly questions if he owns something that isn't red, black, white or some shade of grey. on another hand, yūji adores his vivid colours; ugly mustard yellows and pastel pinks and forest greens. sukuna likes his accessories a little edgy but tasteful; yūji finds those to be a hassle because he moves around so much. however, they both seem to show affinity towards comfortable and casual wear.

because of their contrast in terms of dressing, they rarely steal borrow one another's clothes. however, there is a very cool-looking dark blue denim jacket of sukuna's that yūji's got heart eyes for, and every now and then he wears it without having asked for permission. yūji's cheeks are stuffed with his order of burger and french fries when he gets a call from sukuna. he picks up, and all that greets him is a frigid and irritated, brat, did you steal my jacket again? yūji swallows and hangs up.

yūji's socks keep disappearing. it takes him a while to realise it's because sukuna is stealing them, solely because they are made of cotton and comfy.

yūji likes sukuna's phone cases; most of them are dark-ish, sure, but they have this visual effect of elegance that makes the phone look nice. no, sukuna does not give them to his brother. the chambers of his heart are not that vast.

sukuna is more familiar with yūji's friend group than yūji is with sukuna's. he gets along with megumi, enough to acknowledge him as a good friend of his little brother. originally, he teased yūji about nobara, but once he met her, he stopped with a claim that there is zero chemistry between the two and that they're just no fun ( nobara gave him a death glare ). he calls them brats, collectively. on another hand, yūji is not well-versed enough to have a stable opinion of uraume, who seems to be sukuna's partner in crime, but he is very familiar with how irritating his brother finds yorozu who just cannot seem to stop annoying him.

thank you for reading!