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Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Synopsis — Never satisfied with anything in his life, Sukuna had always taken what everyone else wants. But nothing brought him more satisfaction than competing—and winning—against his co-captain and rival, Gojo. When he learned that Gojo has a dream girl, well, he wants her too. And he'd do anything to win her over.
Content — you're lowkey fillipina!coded but there's no descriptions, sukuna’s lowkey an asshole (but is it ooc…) this is perhaps the start of a new series, oh everyone makes an appearance eventually but rn its gojo, geto, toji and sukuna, a bunch of fluff (ig) and bantering but it's like... reader don't give a fuck haha. uhhh, be prepared is all i can say. oh! yes. this is like set in a d1 hockey team; sukuna, gojo and geto are juniors and you're like a freshman but there's reason! you have a tattoo and you're from hawaii (kinda, ok. that's it no more spoilers!!!)
Word Count — 2.6K
Art Credit — @to00fu i believe!! correct me if i'm wrong!!
Sukuna was late.
Two weeks after preseason, Coach had invited him for breakfast. At Jujutsu College, there was a tradition: Coaches always invited their players to the off-campus bistro to announce their captainship. Sukuna had been excited; he had been waiting for this his entire academic career, having decided since freshman year that he was meant to make the position.
But when Sukuna arrived in high spirits, dropped his name at the reservation booth, his footsteps had slowed when he recognized his Coach, the two assistant coaches, and an additional, unwelcome player at the table.
Co-Captain.
What a fucking joke.
Breakfast ended tensely with Sukuna staying afterward to chat with the assistant coach about the decision, only to be quickly shot down. All decisions were final, Coach had said. Suck it up. He practically added.
He would not suck it up. In fact, he would un-suck.
A short drive later in his Porsche, stuck in an awful traffic jam as they transitioned from the interstate to the narrow college roads, Sukuna parked his car and rushed to his first class.
His hands shoved the door with more force than necessary, causing it to swing hard and banged against the wall. Students turned away from the board to stare, even his professor cut her lecture to glance at the entrance.
“Sorry,” Sukuna said without sympathy. Professor didn’t grace him a response, returning to her slides as Sukuna slid into the first open seat in the far back of the lecture hall.
He was strumming with adrenaline. Disheveled by the earlier news—especially when he couldn’t do anything to change them—Sukuna was still reeling. His skin was warm, his cheeks felt flush. He combed a hand through his pink hair, slinging back against the foldable chair with a swivel platform for a desk.
His eyes slid across the board, the presentation slides moving fast. He didn’t even hear what Professor had been saying for the past five minutes.
“Shit,” he muttered, unzipping his bag to search for his tablet but luck wasn’t on his side. Through every pocket, every unsought flap, Sukuna couldn’t find it. He had forgotten. How the fuck did he forget it?
He knew how. He had been bursting with excitement about the invitation this morning, he rushed out of his dorm without a second consideration. He had anticipated it would be quick—a title, a meal, and a few congratulatory handshakes—before he would be able to go back and get ready. Clearly, Sukuna was wrong about more than one thing today.
He glanced to the front again. Professor had moved to another deck of slides, completely different from the last few. Images flashed but none burned a memory in his retina. He was falling behind, and he couldn’t have that.
It wasn’t be a wise decision to interrupt the class a second time to ask for a pencil, and he was nearly certain that Professor didn’t carry a box of unused pens. He was an asshole, but he wasn’t wasteful.
Turning his head, the only person next to him was you. You hung your head low, inches from the swiveled desk, scribbling all of Professor's words as fast as you could.
You must be a freshman, Sukuna thought, letting his gaze travel. No one takes notes like that but freshmen.
But you didn’t look young. A tattoo stamped at the back of your left bicep of Hawaiian flowers. Most freshmen had that wide-eyed innocence that radiated whenever they walked across campus for the first time, settled in their first seats. You didn’t have any of that.
You also looked like you would be a good fuck.
But that wasn’t what Sukuna needed right now.
He glanced down to his empty desk and relented. “Hey, can I borrow—“
You handed him a pencil. Without a word, without even looking up. It almost seemed rehearsed, like you had anticipated his actions. Sukuna muttered a quick “thanks,” and took the worn pencil, observing the teeth marks covered chunkily with Hello Kitty stickers. Normally, he would never touch such a thing, but he didn’t have much of a choice.
When he tried to return to the board, he realizes he had another issue. Paper. Turning to you again, “Can I borrow a—“
You ripped off a clean lined sheet from your notebook. Smooth. Efficient. Not an ounce of clumsiness that came from freshmen who typically stuttered through interactions with upperclassmen, and double in his case, athletes. Once again, you didn’t bother looking up as you slid it across his own desk.
You could predict anything. He couldn’t help the smirk forming on his face. He wanted to try something else.
“If I ask for a kiss, would you give me that too?”
Your head shot up.
Sukuna had been right; you were pretty. But you also seemed older—his age, if anything.
“Is that supposed to be a pick-up line?”
A joke, but sure, let’s go with that. “It can be.”
Your brow arched perfectly, but there wasn’t judgment behind your gaze, just stanch disbelief. “In the middle of class?”
“Sure.”
“Same one you were late to?”
Sukuna shrugged. He knew all of this.
You scoffed with a disbelieving smile, shaking your head. You turned back to your notebook, twisting your pencil in your fingers. “Maybe instead of thinking of hitting on girls who are way out of your league, focus on getting to class on time.”
“Who said you’re out of my league?”
You chuckled, but didn’t answer him. It riled something inside of Sukuna. Abandoning the lecture, Sukuna swiveled his entire body to her direction, stretching his arm to the back of your chair. “I’ll have you know, many girls would throw themselves off cliffs for a chance with me.”
You waved him off with your free hand. “Sure.”
“I’m serious.”
“I’m trying to focus.”
Sukuna’ face broke into a grin. You were still jolting down every thing Professor said—and coming from a woman who spoke quicker than the speed of light, that was a hard feat.
“Since we’re so friendly, I’ll return the favor.” He tapped your desk with the pencil’s worn-down eraser. “Next time, don’t write down everything. Bring a tape recorder for that.”
You chuckled again. All of his comments seemed to glide off of you like water on a duck. Unbothered. He didn’t know this feeling in his stomach. “Thanks. I’ll be sure to take the word of an ill-prepared jock.”
“What gave it away?”
Without looking up, you gestured to his backpack and found the ‘C’ black armband tucked in his side pocket haphazardly. He didn’t even realize. You were more observant than he gave you credit for.
He leaned forward to tuck the armband into a secured location, and by the time he turned back, you had moved a few seats away. All without making so much of as a noise. Earlier this morning, he left with a bad mood that he was certain going to dictate his entire day. But it seemed that this was a pleasant turn of events.
With an exhale, he turned back to the board and started writing.
—
Rest of classes went by in a blur. Before long, Sukuna grabbed lunch from the Commons and headed to the locker room to change for the first preseason practice of the season.
He was tying the laces to his skates when Toji slid into the seat beside him on the bench.
Toji Fushiguro was a sophomore enforcer and the closest thing Sukuna had to a best friend. He didn’t have many close friends but Toji was one of the very few people Sukuna could tolerate outside of practice. Mainly because Toji was a mercenary of sorts, the type who earned the nicknamed “The Hustler” on the ice. There wasn’t a single thing he wouldn’t do for the right price.
And Sukuna had money.
Toji grunted as he settled down, flexing his ungloved hands to reveal the bruises stretching across his knuckles. Keeping his arms between his spread legs, Toji didn’t ask about Sukuna’s meeting that morning. Irritatingly so. He knew that Toji wasn’t the type to engage in small talk and he had appreciated those days when Toji and Sukuna sat in a comfortable silence.
“Co-Captain,” Sukuna spat out the word like it was poison. He tucked one laced foot beneath the bench as his hands moved to the next shoe. “Have to share it with that bastard.”
“I know.”
Sukuna snapped his gaze to Toji, who took his time to align his forest-greened gaze with his. “You knew? About Coach’s plans?”
"There were speculations.”
“You didn’t think to share them before I was blindsided at breakfast?”
The slightest curve on his mouth formed while the rest of Toji’s hardened expression remained impassive. He shrugged. “Forgot.”
Sukuna scoffed. Toji may had came from a poorer background, but he knew how to leverage it against his teammates—especially those who were tax brackets above of him. It was one of the things that Sukuna, admittedly, respected about Toji.
Laughter bounced from the entryway and Sukuna looked up to see Gojo and Geto entering the locker room. Both of them had their hockey bags slung over their shoulders as Geto—taller one of the two—set it on the bench across from him. Gojo clapped Geto on the back with a wide grin and Geto grimaced. To others, Geto wouldn’t tolerate such physical contact but it had always been different between them. They grew up together.
“Look at that guy,” Sukuna said, jabbing his padded elbow into Toji’s side. “He comes in late and Coach made him Co-Captain?”
Toji turned in time to catch Gojo shed his clothes, a swirl of flowers against his sun-kissed skin, just above his left hip.
A freshman clumsily stumbled into the room, holding his stick hazardously like a weapon. A tick of irritation passed through Sukuna and he prepared to stand and scold the young underclassman about proper hockey ettiequte.
“Woah,” Gojo quickly catch the freshman from falling over a pair of discarded shoes. Holding the kid’s elbow, he caught the stick and kept it upright—instead of a swinging sword ready to chop off someone’s head. “Watch where we’re going, yeah? You don’t want an early introduction to the emergency room. At least wait until your first game.”
He mumbled his deepest apologies but Gojo shrugged it off with a friendly smile. The freshman visibly relaxed. Gojo clapped him on the back, jerking his chin to the other side of the lockers, where the fourth lines changed.
Without ceremony, Gojo turned back to Geto, entering another easy conversation about their classes.
“You got your answer right there,” Toji said, pulling out a pair of ragged wired headphones and an old iPod that didn’t belong in that decade. “He connects with people.”
“I connect with people.”
Toji leveled him with a look that said that he didn’t even believe that Sukuna believed his own words.
Sukuna scoffed, turning away.
There was some truth to it. Coach had even said it himself. Sukuna was a good candidate for captainship because of his sharp perspective, clever strategy, and impenetrable focus—but Gojo had the people aspect Sukuna hadn’t quite nailed down. Gojo knew how to engage with his teammates, motivate them before games, keep them tethered as a unit. Sukuna could too, but it wasn’t too the extent of Gojo’s accomplishments. There was a reason why he was called the “Bad Boy” by the media.
They were meant to balance each other out. Keep one another accountable.
Gojo had taken the opportunity with grace. He had been the one who thanked the coaches and left politely after offering to pay the bill, while Sukuna stayed back to argue about the order.
Truth of it all, Sukuna understood. If he had been coach, he would had done the same thing if he had to select between two candidates with separating strengths.
But Sukuna wanted the title all to himself.
“What?” Gojo blurted, blue eyes widened with frigid surprise. Color lost on his face. “Y/N's here?”
“Calm down,” Geto said lowly. He didn’t seem to share the same expression of shock as his best friend did. “I only saw her in one of my lectures. It might’ve been a mistake.”
“But you know it wasn’t, don’t you?” Gojo said, looking to Geto, pleadingly. Reluctantly, Geto nodded. Gojo stepped back, staggering into the nearby bench and took a much-needed seat. “Fuck. Y/N’s here. My Y/N.”
Geto looked awkwardly around, but settled on placing a hand on Gojo’s shoulder. Well, at least he tried to when suddenly Gojo shot from his seat. “I gotta see her.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. She hadn’t even settled down yet and you have practice. Your first practice as captain.”
Co-Captain. Sukuna corrected in his head.
“No, I need to see her. I need to—“ He cut himself off, scrubbing a hand down his face. He glanced around the room, catching Sukuna’s stare and his posture stiffened. His expression sobered enough, just for his next exchanging words to come out in a quiet, imperceptible sound.
Quickly after, Gojo and Geto shuffled out of the locker room—either to practice or to find you—and Sukuna turned back to Toji. His ears plugged with the yellowing earbuds and his eyes closed. Always before games or practices, he meditated.
“Did you hear that?” Sukuna asked but Toji didn’t respond. He wasn’t certain that he heard him, given that his music was blasting as a concerning volume. “Who’s Y/N?”
When Toji didn’t answer the second time, Sukuna ripped the headphones from his ears and his eyes popped open. In lightning speed, Toji snatched the wires back as if it was precious cargo, and wrapped it around his iPod for safekeeping. “What?” He snapped.
“Y/N. Who’s Y/N?”
“What’s it to you?”
“Gojo and Geto were talking—“
“I heard,” Toji scoffed, shoving his iPod into the side pocket of his duffel bag. “Something about Geto seeing her in class.”
“Do you know her?”
“No.”
“Don’t you have classes with him?”
“He’s an upperclassmen,” Toji said dryly. “We don’t have much overlap.”
Sukuna ground his jaw, knowing that Toji was going to eventually relent—he didn’t know why he was giving him the runaround. “Can you find out?” He gritted out.
“Maybe,” Toji said, turning his head away, to the exit where players shuffled out to go on the ice. “How much is it worth to you?”
“Name your price,” Sukuna said, standing from his own seat. He gave one parting glance over his shoulder to where Gojo and Geto stood moments ago.
“Anything else?”
“Yeah,” Sukuna nodded, kicking Toji’s bag under the bench. He met his gaze head-on. “Next time I ask you something, answer me the first time.”
being real honest w/ yall, i'm writing a series rn and the mmc is yemeni LOL and the fmc is fillipina but i was like... wait... this lowkey worked for sukuna... and so now i'm here. welcome to my jjk era! also if there's grammar mistakes, oops! i did not edit
summary you work two jobs. by day, you’re a maid for the cameron household, where rafe teases you any chance he can get. by night, you’re a cam girl, hiding your face so nobody can recognize you. when you discover your new subscriber, the filthy-mouthed man obsessively paying you to do everything he can think of, is rafe, you’re not sure what to do next.
» masterlist
note this is a repost of series i wrote. the smut is FILTHY!!! you’ve been warned <3
“Make sure to bend down real low.” Rafe’s deep voice startles you.
You’re kneeling down as you fill the freezer with the groceries that were just delivered. You thought you were alone in the massive kitchen, but sure enough, Rafe is taunting you again.
You don’t even need to turn to look at him to know he’s wearing a self-satisfied smirk. A depraved part of you is excited he’s there.
“Is there anything I can get you?” you mutter, your attention still focused on your work. It’s your go-to phrase whenever he bothers you. Professional, but not exactly friendly.
“Yeah, is that the only uniform they give you?” he asked. “You don’t have anything tighter?”
You stand and turn to finally look at him. His baseball hat is on backwards and his arms are crossed, large biceps bulging beneath the hem of his t-shirt.
You smooth down the loose gray knee-length dress you’re wearing and you swear he’s undressing you with his coy blue eyes. You hate that it arouses you when he looks at you like that.
You’ve gotten used to Rafe teasing you. You’re almost sure he gets off on degrading you. There are other maids but you’re the only one he does this to.
“Nope, this is it,” you say curtly. If you didn’t need this job, you’d cuss this man out. Probably even slap him. But you need to stay cordial, and he knows that, riding the power trip whenever he can.
“Too bad.” Rafe knocks on the kitchen island before turning to leave. “I can tell you’re hiding a nice ass under there.”
You feel your cheeks burn as you go back to work. You only come to work at the estate on Wednesdays and Saturdays and the days can’t go by fast enough.
You appreciate every dollar you can make these days as a struggling college student. Thankfully, your other job as a cam girl has been bringing in more and more money.
After you finish up your day at the Camerons’ estate, you drive your rusted, old car to your apartment in the south part of the island. The space is tiny, but it’s yours, and it’s good enough for now.
You go live for half an hour at 10 pm every other night of the week. Getting your start as a cam girl took some time, but now you have 32 subscribers and are starting to make good money off the website.
Tonight, you’re dressed in a black push-up bra and matching thong. You never show your face higher than your lips, refusing to risk anyone recognizing you.
This is just for the money, although you can admit to yourself that you find pleasure in knowing you can turn on so many strangers with your body. You sit on your bed, your toys ready off-screen.
Over your last session, a new user with the screen-name figure8 joined your chat. It threw you for a loop for a moment, prompting you to worry it was somebody you know from the Kooks’ part of the island, but the chances are slim. Figure 8 is a general term and the man could be from anywhere.
“Hey,” you say slowly. “How was everyone’s day? Mine was so long.”
figure8 didn’t say anything the other night, just watched and subscribed at the end of the stream, but tonight, he types something a minute into the session as you sit in front of the camera, running your hands over your satin bra.
figure8: you gonna show those perfect tits?
You giggle, immediately stepping into your cam girl persona. You check to see that twelve users are now viewing your stream.
“You’d like that, huh?” you ask, peeling off a bra strap. “Anyone else wanna see what’s underneath?”
You notice the bouncing dots on the screen that tell you that viewers are typing.
v2bo: yes
dragon89: take it off
stonyon: play with your tits
You strip off your bra, touching yourself, your breath hitching as arousal tightens in your core.
Without hesitation, you picture Rafe’s hands on you. He’s always on your mind during your cam sessions as you impulsively imagine his broad frame on top of you, dominating you.
You try to play it off when he taunts you at work, but it’s not until you’re touching yourself that you realize just how much it turns you on when he talks to you the way he does in his deep, mocking tone.
figure8: you like to get your tits played with?
You smirk, surprised someone is asking you what you enjoy. Typically, viewers like to simply compliment you or order you around, but you never get asked about your preferences.
“I love getting my tits played with,” you purr.
You press your arms to squeeze your tits together.
figure8: you like a cock between your tits don’t you princess
The sexy nickname makes you quiver a little. You bite your bottom lip.
“I’m so wet already,” you moan. “And thinking about a cock right here…”
You take a dildo you keep off-screen and place it between your tits. You part your lips as you rub the toy up and down, hearing the chimes of tips from your chat coming in.
figure8: bet you’re so good at sucking dick. i’d fuck your tits and that pretty little mouth so nicely
“You wanna see how I use my mouth?” you tease.
v2bo: deepthroat
You put the tip of the dildo on your tongue, flicking and rolling it. When you finally put your mouth around it, you close your eyes, thinking of Rafe in his kitchen, thinking of getting on your knees and sucking him off.
dragon89: put it in your pussy
A new notification pops up on your screen: figure8 is requesting a private show. Your heart-rate skyrockets.
You’d never gotten the request before. You had set the rate at $250 for a private session, half-expecting that you wouldn’t get any takers. You’re excited about the money and the fact that this new, intriguing viewer is the one who requested it.
You quickly type privately to figure8: This session ends at 10:30 and then I’m all yours, baby.
You continue to play with the dildo using your mouth, getting it wet all over, when a private chat comes in from figure8. how much for u to end the live and go private with me right now?
You don’t want to risk asking for too much and scaring the man away, but the possibility of making more in a private session than you would in a live one is compelling.
You never know much the live sessions will bring, but a private show is guaranteed money. Ending your session early might piss off your subscribers and maybe even make you lose some of them… but you impulsively reply: $1000.
Within a few seconds, you get a tip notification.
figure8 tipped you $1000.
You quickly end your live session, deciding to later tell your subscribers that your internet went out, then open the private session with figure8.
“Hello,” you whisper. “You want me to be your own personal toy, huh?”
figure8: i dont share
You laugh. If he’s willing to continue to pay you for private sessions, you’re happy to oblige.
“What would you like to see?” you ask. “You wanna see how I’d suck your cock?”
figure8: tap it against your mouth
“You’d tease me, wouldn’t you?” you whisper. You tap the dildo on your lips, sticking out your tongue.
figure8: princess i’d go so slow with you until you’re soaked and begging for my cock
You feel yourself get wetter reading his words. He’s not like any of the other viewers you’ve had. He’s asking what you like, calling you a sweet name, not rushing anything.
“You want me aching for it, huh?” you purr. You put the dildo in your mouth again, slowly sucking and slurping.
figure8: that mouth is so fucking pretty
You continue to lick and suck, moaning on the toy, your panties drenched now.
“I want it inside me,” you say, realizing you’re not even speaking through your persona anymore. You’re actually turned on by him, actually wanting to fuck yourself with the dildo.
figure8: not yet. keep sucking it
You giggle, half-frustrated, and obey him.
“You touching yourself right now?” you ask.
figure8: yeah. wanna see?
You have the option of enabling media from viewers, but you never thought you’d want to see a stranger like that. But this man is something else. You click on the button to allow him to send you a photo.
“Send it so I can imagine you hard in my mouth,” you purr.
A few moments pass before the picture comes in. He’s lying down in bed, showing a bit of his toned stomach, his large hand at the base of his dick. It’s thick and long and so damn perfect.
“Shit,” you whisper. “Such a nice cock. I don’t think I could fit it all in my mouth.”
You’re not just saying it to flatter him. He’s huge.
figure8: you could if you tried hard enough
You lick your lips, pushing the dildo deep into your mouth, gagging a little.
figure8: the way you choke on it is so hot. fuck
“How am I doing?” you half-whisper.
figure8: such a good girl. let me see how you touch your pussy. keep the panties on
The praise makes you ache for it even more. This started off as a job, a way to make money, but now you’re genuinely excited, wishing this guy could fuck you for real.
You tilt your laptop down, spreading your legs in front of the camera as you sit on your bed. Your thong is still on, but it’s see-through. You watch yourself on the screen, tits still in view as you put your hand over your pussy.
figure8: be slow with it
“You’re torturing me, you know,” you giggle. “I’m not a patient girl.”
figure8: i’ll make u be patient. i want u to beg
“Please let me take these panties off,” you whimper. “I need to touch myself.”
figure8: put your panties to the side
You obey, moaning at the pleasure of your fingers finally on your clit. You rub in circles and up and down, trembling.
figure8: wish i could eat you out right now. you want my mouth on your pussy?
“Fuck, I’d love that,” you say, imagining Rafe looking up at you through his beautiful eyes as he licks you.
figure8: show me how wet you are. put your fingers up to the camera
You do as you’re told, showing him your wetness as it shimmers in the white light from the screen.
“See how much you turn me on?” you say.
figure8: take the panties off and stretch out your pussy for me
You eagerly slide your underwear off and throw them beside your bed. With your legs spread again, you pull your lips apart, giving him the perfect view.
figure8: good girl. you listen so well
You get a notification that he tipped you $500. You never thought you’d make this much money in one night.
“Thank you, baby,” you giggle. “You love this pussy, huh?”
figure8: ur so fucking perfect. i want to cum inside u. put the dildo in nice and slow, princess
“Finally,” you say. “Your cock would slide in so easily right now. I’m so fucking wet.”
The toy fills you perfectly, making you quiver. You start to slowly thrust it in and out, but the chat chimes again.
figure8: i know you’re needy but i said slow. put the dildo in and move your hand. i wanna see it inside you
“Sorry,” you tease. You move your hand so he can see the toy inside you. You watch yourself in the screen, the dildo hugged perfectly between your walls.
figure8: you’d squeeze my cock so fucking well
“What if you’re too big for me, hmm?”
figure8: princess we’d make it fit
You’re nearly writhing at this point. You scroll back up to see his nude photo again, imagining it inside of you.
“Your dick is so fucking nice,” you groan.
figure8: show me how you like to be fucked. make yourself cum. don’t fake it. i wanna hear u cum for real
You obey, thankful he’s finally letting you orgasm. You hold the base of the toy and plunge it in and out of you, the lewd sound filling your bedroom, and use your other hand to rub your clit. You whimper, making sure to keep your face out of frame, imagining this stranger thrusting into you.
You let the sounds of pleasure spill out of your mouth, uninhabited, knowing he’s stroking his dick to you right now.
The orgasm hits you hard, your legs shaking. You’re panting as you look at your screen to see what he said.
figure8: i just came so fucking hard
“I wish your cum was inside of me,” you say breathlessly. You try to catch your breath as he continues to type.
figure8: what’s ur favorite position?
“Doggy,” you say, surprised he wants to know more. “What’s yours?”
figure8: thats mine too. you can show me next time, princess
“You wanna do this again, huh?” you tease.
figure8: i dont want you showing your body to any other guy. i’ll pay you double what you make on your streams if you only do private shows for me
The idea intrigues you. It’s sexy how he doesn’t want to share you at all.
“How often you want to do these, baby?” you ask.
figure8: every night. i’ll give you 1000 for every show and tips for when you deserve it. i want to buy you some things and watch you use them. you’re mine and mine only
The thought of making $1000 a night is unbelievable. This guy is loaded with cash and wants to spend so much on you.
You would lose the following you worked hard to get, but you’d undoubtedly make way more money being this man’s personal cam girl.
“Deal,” you finally say with a disbelieving laugh. “Same time tomorrow?”
figure8: don’t be late
The chat window notifies you that he left. You’re still breathless, shocked at how you didn’t have to fake the orgasm with him.
You scroll to find his photo again, as if you’re addicted to looking at it. You turn your camera off and now that you can angle your screen up, you can take a better look at the image.
Your stomach drops. The gold ring around his forefinger. The bedsheets you change twice a week. You know who it is.
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went to a sorority event the other night and thinking of shy!sorority!reader at installs (an event where you “cross” officially into your sorority, and your sorority hosts a big event inviting other sororities and frats to come celebrate your class’ crossing) and her being hella drunk, to the point she’s crying because of SOMETHING, and she grabs the nearest guy from the crowd and sits on his lap and all of her sorority sisters is trying to get her off frat!sukuna - whose known to have a bad temper - but his arms are around reader and he’s refusing to let her go
Merry Christmas ( if you celebrate)!!! Just wanted to stop by and say I’m obsessed with you and you genuinely have made this space and my life so much brighter by being here!!! You deserve all the flowers in the world 💙💙💙💙
AAAAA SO SORRY FOR BEING LATE TO RESPOND BUT IM BACK ONLINE NOW!! merry belated christmas AND an early new years for you!! you’re one of the SWEETEST souls on this app so i appreciate you SO much 🩵🩵🩵
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୨୧ — "Where is she?" Sukuna demanded, crimson eyes scanning your floral shop with predatory focus.
You glanced up from where you were arranging a vase, not bothering to hide your smile at his agitation. Five years together had taught you when his rage was genuinely dangerous and when it was… well, this…
"Good morning to you too," you replied calmly, tucking a spring of baby’s breath into the arrangement.
As he moved past you, you noticed a small splotch of blood on his cheek. Without a word, you reached out, catching his sleeve to stop him momentarily- his eyes flashed down at you, but he allowed it. He watched as you dabbed at the smeared mark with a wet cloth you’d been using to wipe up the counter… Wiping away the evidence of whatever or whoever he’d encountered before coming home.
Releasing his sleeve once his face was clean, you pressed a sweet kiss to the corner of his lips, "Last I saw her, she was out in the back garden counting butterflies."
"She called me," he growled, "Said she needed me for 'urgent business."
Your chuckle only darkened his scowl, "I told her, not to use your emergency number unless it was an actual emergency."
"But this IS an emergency!!" A tiny voice piped up from the garden doorway.
There she stood, his five year old daughter, a miniature mirror of himself. Even at her young age, she commanded attention with the same natural authority as her father, though her methods relied more on charm than intimidation.
"Someone stepped on Mr. Squiggles…" she announced, crimson eyes -identical to Sukuna’s- already brimming with tears.
Your heart broke at the sight, and you instinctively moved towards her. However she completely dodged your approaching form, instead running straight to her father, her small flip-flops slapping against the wooden floor.
Sukuna's brow furrowed as he looked down at her, towering over her tiny frame, "Who the fuck is Mr. Squiggles?"
"Language," you murmured, though the truth is you accepted long ago that battling Sukuna’s vocabulary was a losing war.
"My caterpillar!" She whined, grabbing her father’s much larger hand and tugging with surprising strength, "You have to fix him!"
Sukuna’s eye twitched at the fact he was called from what he was doing to come home to this, but still he allowed himself to be led through the kitchen and into the garden. He shot you a look over his shoulder that clearly said, This is what constitutes an emergency?
You merely smiled, following them outside where the morning sun warmed the small garden.
"There!!" She pointed dramatically to a small patch of milkweed where, upon closer inspection, a slightly squashed monarch caterpillar lay motionless…
Sukuna crouched down, his massive frame folding with surprising grace as he examined the tiny creature. His hands -those same hands capable of unspeakable violence, hands that had broken bones and drawn blood without hesitation- hovered with unexpected gentleness over the crushed caterpillar.
"Who stepped on him?" He asked, voice deceptively calm in a way that made you tense slightly.
"It was mama’s helper," she sniffled, wiping a tear from her cheek...
"Mama's helper, huh?" Sukuna growled, his eyes sliding towards you, a dark glint in his gaze, "I'll have a nice little chat with them later, sweetheart."
Sweetheart. The endearment rolled off his tongue in a way that seemed to go against his very nature, but that's precisely how you knew he was serious. When Sukuna used terms of endearment, it meant he would make sure this person paid for making his little girl cry.
His attention turned back to the caterpillar, and he gingerly poked it.
"Can you help him, daddy?" She pleaded, with complete faith in her father’s abilities shining in her bright little eyes, "Make him all better?"
"He’s pretty fucked up" he said bluntly…
"But-" She looked up at him, little hands clutching his sleeve, wrinkling the fabric, "You fix everything… mama told me lots of times how you make everything better!"
Something tightened in Sukuna's chest- that familiar, uncomfortable squeeze that happened whenever his daughter looked at him like he hung the fucking moon. Like he wasn't the same man whose name made certain parts of the city go silent with terror.
"Not everything can be fixed, kid," he said, gentler than most would believe him capable of.
"Mr. Squiggles is hurt pretty badly, sweetie." Your voice was soft as you kneeled beside the two of them, the grass cool against your knees.
Her eyes started to well up again, tears spilling over, "B-but… Daddy makes us better when we get sick… an- and when my tooth fell out… an- an-"
Sukuna gave you a look that asked for backup, but you merely smiled sympathetically, leaving him to navigate this particular minefield alone.
Traitor.
Sukuna's jaw tightened the moment he looked back at his daughter, "Fuck," he whispered under his breath, a muscle working in his cheek as he carefully scooped up the flattened caterpillar onto a leaf, "I’ll try... No promises though."
It was a strange sight, watching Sukuna- this feared and powerful man, gently cradling this little creature in his hand. His expression was stern, yet focused as he brought it close to his face, examining it intently.
"Ah! Thank you, daddy!!" his little girl threw her arms around his neck, nearly toppling him backwards.
"Yeah...," Sukuna murmured, "No problem." His large scarred hand came up to steady her, patting her back with affection that had become less awkward over the years, "Now go get me a box, brat."
She beamed at him, eyes practically sparkling at the use of her favorite nickname before darting off, her footsteps quick and excited.
Sukuna remained crouched over the very much dead caterpillar, feeling rather foolish.
"How's the patient?" You asked, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders, kissing the nape of his neck.
"You told her I make everything better?" his tone almost accusatory.
"I mean, you do~" you replied sweetly, and he snorted, turning his head just enough to give you a warning look, which only made you giggle. "Think of all the things you fix and make better. My life is significantly better with you in it,” he rolled his eyes as you continued, “and you fixed that leaky faucet, broken toys, scraped knees… Your motorc-"
"Not dead bugs."
"Mm… Yeah… Well, maybe Mr. Squiggles is just stunned…" You glanced at the small green body still unmoving on the leaf, "I'm sure if anyone can wake him up, it's you."
"It's fucking flattened," he muttered, examining the leaf in his palm.
Your daughter returned with a small pink box lined with fresh leaves, her face scrunched in concentration as she focused on not tripping, "Here, daddy!! The bug hospital!"
She leaned in close, her small hands braced on her father's knee as she watched him place Mr. Squiggles in the box. The contrast between them was striking- his hands scarred and powerful, hers tiny and unmarked. Yet there was no fear in how she pressed against him, no hesitation in how she invaded his space.
"Is he going to be okay?" she asked, voice ever so small and hopeful.
Sukuna's eyes remained fixed on the container, his mouth set in a hard line, "Don't know. Might take him a while to recover."
"So we have to wait?" she sighed, and you smiled at the familiar sound.
Sukuna nodded, and you felt a rush of affection at how patiently he was trying to deal with this.
"Oh..."
Then, without any kind of warning, she looked up at him, "Daddy," she asked with the sudden, left field logic that only children possess, "would you still love me if I was a worm?"
Sukuna went absolutely still, his entire body tensing... The leaf he'd been adjusting tore slightly under the sudden pressure of his fingers. He turned his head slowly to look at his daughter, eyes narrowing as if she'd just asked him a trick question.
"The fuck kind of question is that?" his voice was rough, but his tone lacked any real bite.
She didn't flinch at his harsh tone- she never did. Instead, she just blinked those crimson eyes -so like his own- and repeated herself with the stubborn persistence only a five year old could muster, "If I was like Mr. Squiggles… I- If I got stepped on and turned into a worm. Would you still be my daddy?" her little eyebrows scrunching up in worry.
Shit… It was a serious question.
He ran a hand over his face and then back through his hair, a gesture you recognized all too well… he was thinking, very hard. You'd never seen him so thrown off, and you couldn't help but hide a smile behind your hand.
"Listen," he said finally, setting the box aside and turning to face his daughter fully.
"B-Because, maybe you wouldn't-" a small hiccup interrupted her, "maybe you wouldn't l-love me anymore."
You moved to step in, but Sukuna held up a hand, stopping you. His eyes never leaving his daughter's face, "Look at me," he commanded, his voice low but steady as he dropped to one knee, brining himself to her level.
It was a position he would allow with no one else, an exception he only made for her. "Listen carefully, because i'm only saying this once," his finger hooked under her chin, tilting her face up, "You're mine. My blood. You don't get to escape from that." his tone was deadly serious, the same tone he used when making promises that would be kept regardless of cost. "So," he continued, thumb swiping across her cheek to wipe away a stray tear, "worm or not, you're still my brat. That clear?"
Her red rimmed eyes widened, "Really?"
"Really." taking his thumb from her cheek he lightly flicked her forehead, making her giggle, "And if anyone tried to step on you…"
"You'd protect me?" she leaned against him, arms coming up around his neck, hugging him tightly, "Just like always, right?"
Over her head, his eyes met yours, and something passed between you… "I’d burn this whole damn city to the ground," his words carrying the unmistakable weight of truth, "Anyone who touched you would die screaming."
What should have been horrifying was instead comforting- the absolute certainty that this man, this monster who had chosen to be your protector, the father of your child, would tear apart the world to keep his daughter safe. To keep you both safe.
"I knew it," her tiny voice was muffled against him, "Mama says your heart is bigger than you pretend…" nuzzling into him, she added those three little words that made his throat visibly tighten, "I love you, Daddy." and you saw the moment Sukuna's eyes softened as they did only for you and her.
"Yeah well… Your mother talks too much," he grumbled, his hands moving to throw her over his shoulder.
"Daaaaadddyyyyy" she squealed, tiny legs kicking playfully against him, but there was no real resistance, no fear when he was the one holding her.
Sukuna turned to leave the garden, pausing by your side. His large hand reached out, grabbing a handful of your hair to draw you in with controlled force for a rough kiss. It was his habit- the physical equivalent of an ‘I love you.’
"Love you too," you whispered against his lips.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Later that night, after Sukuna had tucked his daughter in bed, you found him sitting out in the garden, nursing a glass of alcohol and staring at the pink bug hospital.
You slid onto the bench beside him, and he lifted his arm automatically, allowing you to tuck yourself against his side. For a long moment, neither of you spoke, content in the quiet and each other's warmth.
"I replaced it," he broke the silence first, his voice rumbling in his chest against your ear.
You blinked in confusion as you looked up at him, "Replaced what?"
"The flattened bug. What else? It was dead as shit. Found another on a bush at the edge of the garden."
A small laughed escaped you, "Of course you did."
He shot you a look that was both irritated and slightly embarrassed, "Don't start with me."
You trailed your fingers along the tattoos marking his chest, feeling his heart beat steady beneath your touch. "You know," you murmured, "for someone who claims to care about nothing, you’ve gotten awfully good at caring for everything that’s yours." You pressed your lips to the hollow of his throat, feeling his pulse quicken.
"Tch," he clicked his tongue, "fucking ridiculous." he grunted, but his arm tightened around you, "This is what i've been reduced to. Hunting a replacement bug for a five year old..." His expression sobered, "You ever regret it? This life?"
The question surprised you, Sukuna never voiced uncertainty about your relation, ever... "Not for a second," reaching up to caress the mark beneath his eye, "I knew what I was getting into."
He caught your hand, pressing a rare, gentle kiss to your palm, "No you didn't."
"I knew enough," you insisted, "I knew I was in good hands when it came to you, and that's all that mattered."
His eyes, crimson and sharp, searched yours, finding nothing but absolute certainty and trust, "And you're still not afraid?"
"Not of you. Never of you."
He made a sound low in his throat, pulling you into his lap with an ease that still thrilled you to this day. His hands -the same hands that cupped his daughter's face with tenderness, the same hands that would come home time to time stained with blood- framed your face, thumbs brushing your cheekbones.
You smiled, leaning into his touch, "And I’ll always be yours, even if you turned into a worm."
A startled laugh escaped him, genuine and unguarded, before he captured your mouth in a kiss, deep and possessive- promising things no words could quite capture and a lifetime of protection.
