wheredidallthedreamersgo

[wheredidallthedreamersgo]

MALEVOLENCE IN SPRING || R. SUKUNA || - XIX. MIRRORS

TAGS: Hades!Sukuna x Persephone!Reader, arranged marriage, forced proximity, kidnapping, True Form!Sukuna, Husband!Sukuna, fantasy, soulmates, Ancient Greece AU

OVERALL WARNINGS: MDNI, DDDNE, extreme violence, graphic depictions of death, blood, body horror, physical torture, psychological torture, Stockholm Syndrome, Lima Syndrome, manipulation, toxicity, cannibalism, suicide, blood kink, spit kink, breeding kink, biting kink, size kink, monster-fucking (That man is a monster, like actually), S&M, marking, stomach/belly bulges, a/b/o concepts (i.e. mates & one instance of what one might consider a heat, but that's all) THIS CHAPTER: violence, gore, blood, little bit of angst, touch of torture, depression, mentions of SA, body insecurities, Sukuna being a bad influence on Yuji, a lil bit of fluff, Yuji is a happy baby and he likes Sukuna for some reason, baby's first worship, baby's first words, too, it's cute imo

WORD COUNT: 5k, loosely edited

SUMMARY: you were taken from your home and forced to become Sukuna's wife.

“The next time you run from me, run fast and run far. Pray that I never, ever find you. If you get away from me, I swear to you, I will not stop looking for you until you’re beside me again. Mortals and deities fear me for a reason, and I don’t mind showing you why they all share that sentiment. Understand, wife?”

|| MIS M.List || >TBD> MIRRORS; καθρέφτες; kathréftes

Despite the gore you were subjected to, you could admit that you were beginning to enjoy the hearings that Sukuna would hold. The feeling of sitting on the king's lap, his right hand gently skimming up your spine, with his other making slicing motions at the victims before him, was mind-numbing, and the squelching of another severed limb tumbling onto the ground was almost like a siren’s cadence, lulling you into a deeper state of thinking. The culmination of it all was like a caress to your psyche; it was calming, it settled your brain, giving you time to just think.

However, the hearing you attended this morning was not one that you enjoyed, no matter how wonderfully the sound of death drowned out the deafening chatter of your brain, no matter how loving Sukuna’s touch felt against your skin, and no matter how hungry you were to watch a slaughtering–this hearing was different. This hearing was one you entered while already angry. 

It had been a couple of weeks since your nightmare–the night you found out that there was something wrong with your looks that your husband wanted to shelter you from, and that your childhood best friend had touched you while you were unconscious, and that the sounds you heard in your head–which had not let up–were the echoes of maggots and worms that had feasted on your insides while you were dead.

Luckily, the begging mortal in front of you took care of the last blight for you.

“No, please, my ki-”

And another head severed from its body fell onto the floor, rolling until the terrified eyes of the slain mortal were looking up at you from the steps to your king’s throne. It was this which made the hearing almost unbearable for you.

Even those eyes–those dead eyes–made you feel uncomfortable when they met your own, yet you couldn’t look away, not even if you wanted to. He looked at you with horror, as he should when gazing upon you, for you were the queen of the underworld, but there was no other recognition there–this mortal didn’t know who you were. The stare was giving you a terrible feeling, one that was almost bitter, so you should have looked away to save yourself the nausea, but you didn’t. 

You knew you were masochistic just as you were sadistic, but this was a new sort of self-inflicted torture that ate you up inside. It wasn’t healthy. You needed to look away.

With the silence of the throne room, the festering sound of pulsing maggots only got louder and louder, and that mortal's stare bore deeper into yours, and Sukuna’s touches started to feel less like his own, and more like Mahito’s, and-

And before you could delve even deeper into your psyche, so deep that you weren’t sure if you’d be able to find your way back out, you wrapped the decapitated mortal’s eyes with thick, thorned vines to shield yourself from his judgment. 

Sukuna noticed, of course, and leaned forward, resting his chin on your shoulder. “What a waste of effort. That man is dead, you know?”

“I didn’t appreciate the way he was staring at me, my king.”

You felt his lips curve into a slight smile against your neck. “Fret not, the mortal was simply seeing his life play out in front of him.”

“He was looking at me,” you said, watching the small droplets of blood bead from where your thorns were piercing the mortal’s skin. 

“Yes, but he was not seeing you. Only one entity has the pleasure of doing so, and it’s me.”

You snorted, all too sardonic, grumbling, “Right. Not even I am allowed to see myself, not even in a reflection.”

“Ah, the mirror debate again,” he surmised, picking up on the cause of your souring mood in an instant, even before you knew it for yourself. “Why are you so eager to stand before your reflection?”

“I want to know what I look like,” you answered, earning his sigh. 

“Why is that so important to you? It has been many, many years since I’ve seen myself-”

“Just because we share a bond, does not mean that I am you through and through, and just because you are okay not knowing what you look like, does not mean that I have to share those feelings.”

He huffed out a laugh, pulling you in closer with his arm around your waist. When his lips pressed against your temple, you leaned out of it, making him chuckle. “You are extra bratty today, and all I’ve done is ask you a simple question.”

“And in doing so, you’ve also managed to silently deny my request yet again.”

“I think you mean I’ve ignored your request yet again, because I’ve already verbally denied your request a couple of weeks ago. My answer has not changed, and it won’t, so quit asking.”

Your molars gnashed against one another as you gritted your teeth. “You said you’d consider it in the midst of our consummation.”

“I have considered it, and after doing so, I’ve come to the conclusion that mirrors are an unnecessary fixture in our shrine as of right now. I’ll give it some more thought at a later date.” He wrapped his fingers around the base of your braid and pulled you back to him. Instinctively, you bared your neck to him, which he took advantage of, sinking his teeth just above your pulse. “Does that placate you enough to drop your attitude?”

“Not even close.”

“What a shame,” he hummed derisively, “You will have to stew in your anger for the time being.” 

You rolled your eyes and leaned out of his touch when he allowed you to. “And stew, I will, my king.”

“You do that,” he chuckled, and his nonchalance pissed you off something terrible, but your anger turned into a seething rage when he called out a certain name. “Yorozu.”

Sitting straight now, you watched her approach the throne, stepping over the smeared blood of the previous victims that had not yet been washed away. You could only hope that instilled a little bit of fear in her. 

“You begged Uraume for the chance to ask something of me, so you earned your spot with the mortals in this hearing. How lucky you must feel that I’ve granted you this wish after I told you to keep your distance.”

Keep her distance?

“Yes, my king. It’s an honor,” she answered shakily, keeping her head bowed low. 

“Glad you can recognize that. Before you begin groveling, I must address your queen’s jealousy, for it’s starting to suffocate me.”

You scoffed at him, crossing your arms over your chest. “Eat me,” you huffed, disregarding his taunt with dismissal that slipped out of your mouth before you remembered who you were throwing it at. 

“Very tempting,” he purred behind you, “But your jealousy would taint your flavor, and I’m not interested in eating something so bitter. Yorozu, show your queen your hand, and tell her what I told you before I rendered it to the bone.”

You perked up at that, watching as the whore raised her scarred palm, showing you the recently healed blisters. 

“The king told me not to approach him of my own volition, and that that order was one of yours, my queen. He burned my hand for touching him.”

“As you can see, wife, there is nothing to be jealous of. My loyalty lies with you.” Your eyes widened at the sight, a scoffing laugh slithering past your lips as he asked, “Do you like it?” 

“I’d like it more if you’d taken her hand in the process, but then again, if you had, that would be one less cock for her to service at one time.” Your husband's laughter brushed the back of your neck as he pulled you in closer, dipping his face into your shoulder with a pleased hum. “I suppose you could have killed her. It would have rid our shrine of one more rat.”

“My, you woke up pissed off at the world, didn’t you?”

“Waking up next to a beast like you tends to do that.” With that comment, you heard a faint snickering from in front of you–more specifically, from Yorozu. “Something amuses you, does it?”

“Just… the irony, my queen.” 

You cocked a brow at her statement. “And what is it that you find so ironic, whore?” 

From behind you, you felt Sukuna lean back in his throne, his hands moving to the armrests, finger tapping into the metal as if he, too, were curious as to what Yorozu found so ironic.

“Permission to speak freely?” she asked, a slight quip in her tone. 

“Go on.”

She cleared her throat before daring to answer, “The irony lies in you berating our king for looking beastly, when you yourself are not far off.”

The finger tapping against the armrest came to a stop as he grabbed onto it, squeezing so hard that it nearly crumbled the metal. Yet, Sukuna didn’t say anything about the insult, which you found odd given his display at the market when two children questioned your appearance. His silence rubbed you the wrong way–why was he not coming to your defense when it was his whore who insulted you right in front of him?

You swallowed back the emotion, not allowing Yorozu to hear that her words had struck a nerve in you. You remained calm and composed, just as your husband did, as disheartening as that was to you.

“My scars are what you’re referring to, yes?” Shifting uncomfortably, you asked, “Am I so hideous?”

With her head still cast down, she answered your question with one of her own. “Do you want honesty?”

“Do you want to commit treason in front of me?”

Your retort served to make her smirk.

Taking in a small breath, she said, “I think you returned from the surface a mangled woman, my queen.” 

The few mortals who were attending the hearing gasped at her words, while Sukuna’s teeth ground together, but all you could really hear were the words he spoke to you all those months ago, repeating in your head.

“...And I’d hate to be wed to a mangled mess of a woman for the rest of my existence. The way you look now is perfection; there’s no need to risk scarring your face…”

A saddened chuckle slipped past your lips just as the tears slipped out of your eyes. Sensing your mixed emotions, two giant hands circled around your waist as Sukuna leaned forward again. “I would not be opposed to you leading another execution right now. In fact, I encourage it,” he spoke quietly, voice grazing the shell of your ear, but you disregarded his offer entirely. 

“What is it that you’ve come to ask for, Yorozu?” And much to your delight, you watched the confidence and arrogance wane in her as she realized she had let her ego get the better of her when she was supposed to be kissing your ass to get what she wanted. You were overjoyed to be the one to turn down her request now, and you would be sure to appreciate the moment at a later time, when your emotions weren’t too much for you to handle. “Go on, tell me what I can do to make your life better. What is it that you need this mangled mess of a woman to do for you?”

Your voice echoed off the walls of the throne room as a new type of silence ensued–one that fueled something nearly manic in you. 

“I’m waiting-”

“My sister, my queen,” she muttered, “I wanted to ask again about inviting my sister to the shrine when the battle commences.”

You waited a couple of moments before answering through your laughter, “Your sister? You want to invite her into my shrine?” The tears were hot and thick as they streamed down your face. Your fingers sank into Sukuna’s thigh, finding some stability there for a moment before you slipped off his lap, taking the stairs down to the aisle. “This shrine has one too many swamp whores running around; your sister is not needed. So, if that is all, this hearing is adjourned-”

Yorozu stiffened, opening her mouth to plead with you, and just as you passed her, she grabbed onto you.

“Please, my queen, I did not mean-”

“Your confidence is overwhelming,” you goaded as you latched onto her wrist, twisting it off your body until it cracked, making her scream. Tossing her away, she landed in a heap on the floor. “I’ll be excited to see how well your insults of me fare when your lungs hang limp outside of your chest. You’ve not seen something mangled, Yorozu, for I haven’t had a chance to play with you yet. And once I’m finished, we’re going to sit down in front of a mirror together, and look at our messes-”

“Forgive me, my queen! Please! I did not mean it!” You paused then, looking down at the trembling woman through your tears. “My sister needs-”

You cut her off, not interested in what her sister needs at all. The woman could be burned a crisp in front of your eyes, and not even then would you care about her needs. “How badly do you want my forgiveness?”

She closed her eyes, tears of her own falling down her cheeks. “I would do anything.”

“Would you?” When she nodded, you gave her a command that had her stalling. “Strip.”

Swallowing thickly, she mumbled, “What?”

“You heard me. I said strip.” When she still made no move to do so, you continued, “You are a whore, after all. Is bearing yourself to those who command it not part of your job? Do you not wish for my forgiveness at all?”

“I-I do-”

“Then strip. Now.” On shaky legs, Yorozu stood and began peeling her clothes off her body. When they pooled in a ring of fabric around her feet, you said, “Turn around. Allow your king to see your backside. And pull your hair to one side.” She did as you commanded, and you turned to face your husband on his throne, who was watching the entire display without a hint of emotion on his face. To him, you gave a new order. “Carve my name into her back. She belongs to me now.”

“Brutal,” he simpered, swiping his finger through the air in quick motions, slicing open the skin of Yorozu’s back. She screamed so loud, nearly shattering your eardrums, but it was such a sweet sound to you. When he was finished, she crumpled to the ground at your feet, crying. You stepped around to see the gashes and hummed at the perfectly straight lines he cut her with. 

“This is nice. They’re so deep,” you said, pressing your fingers into the wounds, tracing over the split-open nerves that were torturing her. “So deep that it should scar over nicely.” Stepping back in front of her, you sucked her blood from your fingers and grabbed onto her face, raising her teary eyes to meet your own. “One day, you’ll learn to hold your tongue around me.”

Sobbing, she asked, “Why can’t you just make me leave?”

You tilted your head at her question, finding it a bit odd. “Is that what you’re waiting for? My dismissal?”

“I won’t leave him on my own–I can’t.”

Your eyes flicked to Sukuna’s, seeing that he was watching your display, seeming rather bored. 

“You’ve brainwashed your whore, my king.” Finally, that comment drew a bit of emotion out of him as he rolled his eyes, grumbling under his breath that Yorozu was not his whore, and that you were in a terrible mood for the day. “Brainwashed her into thinking she can speak to me that way, and you just let her.”

“If you wanted me to take care of it, you should have said so-”

“I shouldn’t have to ask-”

“Well, I am not a mind reader-”

“Nor do you have common sense, it seems.”

“Then you have even less than I, if you’re trying to taunt someone like me.”

Squaring your shoulders, you crossed your arms and asked, “What are you going to do about it?” With only a slow blink as his answer, he relaxed back onto his throne, resting his chin in his hand while he waited for you to finish. You turned back to Yorozu then, regarding her crumpled form with a disgusted scoff. “I won’t dismiss you, Yorozu. If you want to leave, then leave; it’s your own volition-”

“Then I’ll only stay,” she spoke, like that was a true threat to you. 

“Then I’ll play with you again and again.” The heel of your boot pinned her hand to the floor as you turned to the doors. “See to it that the throne room is cleaned up nicely, Sukuna. Have them open the shutters to air this place out. The scent of desperation and cock-breath wafting off your bed whore reeks.”

Just before the doors shut behind you, you heard his raspy chuckle echo around the room. 

You were losing yourself, more than you already have–and that’s really saying something when you’ve lost your life and met death seven times already. And though Sukuna wasn’t making things worse for you, he wasn’t making them better because the only way to do that would be to set you in front of a mirror so you can see yourself. 

Or so you think. 

You don’t remember what you look like anymore. You don’t remember who you are. You don’t remember what you used to act like, your likes and dislikes have meshed with Sukuna’s–you enjoy the taste of blood now, for fucks sake, and your temper has only become more touchy. Your skin wasn’t your own, your hair was dusted with pinkish hues, and you’re covered in scars from head to toe–ones that are so noticeable, apparently. 

Briefly, your mind wandered to the time when Satoru gave you the compliment: “The underworld suits you nicely.” Does it still? Would Satoru still think that, or do you have a face that only Sukuna could love now? But that’s not even by choice–it’ll always be forced thanks to this bond. 

The novelty of being brought back to life had worn off the second you started questioning yourself, which has left you bitter and irritable and so fucking sad all the time–you were always fucking crying now, constantly experiencing some sort of exhaustion or fatigue, and the one thing that almost made you feel better was the same man who wouldn’t let you see yourself. 

But, at least you weren’t alone with your change in appearance, at least as far as hair color went–Yuji mimicked Sukuna almost exactly now, and you hated that it was something you adored. 

Well, not really. You didn’t hate it that much. 

Your husband was attractive, and having a mini-Sukuna, all chubby and cute, to hold in your arms and tickle and listen to him giggle was lifting your spirits. While Yuji lacked the black ink that adorned Sukuna’s body, he did have a few markings right under his eyes. You wondered if they would maybe grow to mirror Sukuna’s face tattoos as well.

And speaking of growing, Yuji did–very quickly, too. 

Within a few weeks of you coming back from the dead, the infant managed to master the art of rolling onto his stomach.

The day that it happened, you had taken Yuji outside to the garden to play in the flowers, and despite your attitude, Sukuna still wanted to join you, too, since he was finished training the mortals for the day. While you sat in your silent, vindictive anger, both of you watched Yuji squirm around until he finally managed to roll himself onto his belly, though his face was pressed into the grass. The movement seemed to shock the infant, for as soon as he situated himself, he froze–as did you. 

You were hoping he would raise his head, squirm some more, and maybe start crawling, but all he did was freeze, and the sight of it made you laugh. 

“What the hell is he doing?” Sukuna asked, equally as amused as you. He leaned forward and grabbed Yuji by the back of his garment, raising him off the ground to hold him in the air. Finally, Yuji started moving again, giggling and kicking his feet the whole time. It was such a sweet moment that was obviously ruined by Sukuna asking a stupid question that instantly soured your mood. “Do you think he’d cry if I dropped him?”

Your smile immediately fell as you shot a scowl at your husband. “Don’t you dare.” At your scold, he pretended as if he were about to do it, making you gasp, ready to fight him, until you realized he was only messing with you. “That isn’t as funny as you believe it is.”

He chuckled, asking, “No? Humor is subjective.” He lowered Yuji to the ground, this time setting him up on his hands and knees, only for him to fall on his face again when his hands couldn’t hold him up. “So malleable and flimsy. I was not this weak when I was younger.”

“Can you even remember back that far?”

“No, but can you imagine me ever being like this? I must’ve come out of the womb with bones as strong as stone.”

That little bit of progress in Yuji’s strength paid off because just a few days later, he began to crawl. This time, you were the only one around the witness the milestone, but you were overjoyed nonetheless.

In fact, you were so happy and proud that you completely forgot you were upset with Sukuna in the first place, which is why you didn’t hesitate to scoop Yuji up and carry him toward the training field where you knew Sukuna would be. 

Were you being a hypocrite by taking him to the training field after you made a big deal about Sukuna doing the same thing? Yes. But this was a special occasion.

The second you stepped onto the training field, the scattered soldiers parted for you, now knowing that you were the queen instead of a crazy homeless woman. You didn’t pay any mind to them as they bandaged one another up, and instead moved closer to the sidelines of the current training brawl that Sukuna was overlooking. 

Unlike last time when you made your appearance on the training field, you didn’t catch him off guard. As soon as you were only a few feet away, he glanced over his shoulder with a frown, probably having just caught your scent in the wind. When he realized it was really you, he ordered the men in front of him to stop.

“What are you doing here?” he questioned just in time for Yuji’s little fingers to reach out for him, grasping at the air in front of Sukuna’s chest. He gave the baby a dry look before grumbling under his breath about the brat being so clingy, but took him into his arms anyway. “Thought he wasn’t allowed on the training field, lest he ends up traumatized.”

“I have something to show you,” you excitedly said, latching onto his arm, ready to lead him away. 

“I’m busy right now, so you will have to show me later.”

Dejectedly, your smile slackened. “Really?”

His red eyes flicked around your dismal stare before he sighed, “No. But make it quick. We’re almost finished for the day, and I’d like to get this over with so I can bathe. You’re joining me, by the way.”

“Mm, doubtful,” you quipped, then poked at Yuji’s arm while brushing off Sukuna’s subtle suggestion of bathing with him. It was an initiation of something intimate, something you had not been as of late. “Someone learned to crawl today.”

He cocked a brow, looking entirely disinterested. “You brought the brat down here to show me that he can crawl.”

“Indeed. Now, set him down and watch.” With a sigh, Sukuna did as you asked and placed Yuji belly-down on the ground. Except, like the day when he learned to roll onto his stomach, he lay still, face in the dirt. “Yuji,” you whined, seeing as he was about to make you look like an idiot. Even when you poked his stomach, not even then did he move a muscle.  

“Oh, my,” your husband huffed wryly, crossing his arms. “What a milestone, he’s learned to play dead like a true runt.”

You slapped his shoulder, making him chuckle. “I swear, he was crawling in the garden earlier.”

“Well, he’s not doing much of that right now by inhaling dry dirt, so remove him from my training field.” With that, Sukuna bent down to grab Yuji by the back of his garment, raising him off the ground to hold him in front of his face. The infant giggled and cooed, reaching out for the god in front of him. You didn’t miss the flicker of the smallest smile on Sukuna’s mouth before he ushered Yuji into your arms. “Quickly. We’ve wasted enough time-”

The sound of Yuji’s babbling interrupted him, something Sukuna would normally ignore in favor of finishing his sentence; however, this round of babbling had a bit of coherence in it. His eyes flicked to the infant, as did yours.

“What did he just say?”

You shrugged, raising Yuji higher on your hip, praying the word that came out of his mouth was mama, and not what you thought you heard. “Babies babble, so it’s-”

“...‘ku…na,” Yuji hummed, still reaching out for Sukuna, who looked all too smug.

You forced a laugh, pulling Yuji away from the god. “As I said, babies babble-”

“That was not babbling, woman. The brat clearly said my name, so hand him over.”

Squaring your shoulders, you turned, further removing Yuji from Sukuna’s vicinity. “No. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. And why do you care anyway? You said you do not claim him as your son.”

“Yes, but he just said my name. Now, that is a milestone to be proud of; the infant’s first choice of a god to worship, and he chose me,” he spoke, too delighted for your liking. 

“He is not worshiping you, Sukuna.”

“‘Kuna,” Yuji said, repeating your words with much more vigor than before.

“You brat,” you scoffed under your breath, but finally conceded in handing him over. “This isn’t fair, nor does it count toward the milestone–he didn’t call you his father.”

“I’m not his father, so it’s only right that he calls me by his name, don’t you think?” he absent-mindedly asked, holding Yuji out by his garment to watch him giggle and squirm. His eyes caught yours, then a grin curled onto his mouth. “I can feel your jealousy.”

“Do you also feel my anger?”

Sukuna hummed, slowly losing his grin as he answered, “As of late, that’s the only emotion I pick up from you.”

You weren’t fond of the guilt that settled heavily in your chest to hear his tone. For the sake of standing your ground, you tried your best not to let it get to you. “You’re not looking for an apology, are you?”

“No. You’ll come around eventually. After all, we have eternity together, so there’s plenty of time to settle our discrepancies.” With a lot less emotion than before, he handed Yuji back to you. “You should return to the shrine now.”

That night, he crawled into bed with you just a little after you did, having taken his bath separately from you, per your request. After the conversation on the training field had left you rather remorseful, the silence that ensued when you bathed on your own gave you some time to think. With your new thoughts, it left you with a few questions that you were adamant about having your husband answer for you.

You faced away from him, staring unmoving into the dark of the room. This had become your new routine; your nights were horrible now. Constantly, you feared falling asleep and being subjected to a nightmare of the same terrorizing level as the one you’d had all those weeks ago. Sukuna stopped asking if you wanted to talk about it; he stopped touching you, too. He wanted to give you space, and while you appreciated his respect for boundaries, you weren’t sure if space was what you wanted.

You didn’t know what you wanted anymore.

Thus, your nights were now filled with heavy silence.

That’s why when you finally spoke up, he was a little shocked. 

“Sukuna?”

Any bit of shifting from him came to a halt. He all but froze. “Yes?”

You swallowed back your guilty tears. “Sorry,” you mumbled, stirring under the blankets. “For being heartless toward you during these past few weeks-”

His quiet snickering cut you off, and had you pushing yourself up to rest back on your elbows so you could see him, though he was facing away from you. “Caving already?”

“What?” you asked, confused by his reaction. 

He turned over to face you then. “I thought you’d hold onto your ground for a little while longer. But here you are, apologizing for wanting something that should be granted to you.”

You frowned. “If you believe that, why aren’t you caving, too? Why aren’t you gifting me a mirror?”

“Just because your opinion opposes mine doesn’t mean I’ll just cave if it’s something I don’t agree with. Seeing your reflection would do more harm than good, but I think you should keep fighting for it if it’s something you want.”

You scoffed and turned on your side to face him, mirroring his position. “You’re a confusing man.”

“You’re the last mortal that should be calling someone else confusing when you and your emotions have been nothing but a walking contradiction for the past few weeks. I have the pleasure of insight into your inner feelings, and not even I could decipher your mood half the time, but it’s to be expected, I suppose.”

“Why’s that?”

“You lost so much during that last trip to the surface. You’re just trying to find all the pieces again.”

|| MIS M.List || >TBD>

confused by what you just read? Malevolence In Spring's Guide

a/n: sorry if this seemed as though it lacked a lot of plot. I had a really not-so-great week of work, and it's left me a little drained. But it should be slowing down soon, so I'm hoping to be better soon!

Also, in case you're interested, I posted a drabble from Sukuna's pov during his time of taking care of Yuji while Reader was dead/healing Here it is: Babbling

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[wheredidallthedreamersgo]

babbling- r. sukuna

While your healing has left you bedridden and unconscious, unfortunately, it's up to your husband to watch your child (and be the worst parental figure possible)

═══════════════════════════ tags: Hades!Sukuna x Persephone!Reader, Ancient Greece AU, Greek Mythology, dadkuna, husband!Sukuna This is a little piece that's meant to go along with my series, Malevolence in Spring. You can still read this without reading that, but for context, Yuji is Reader's adopted son, and you've died and are being brought back to life by Hecate!Kenjaku ═══════════════════════════

Sukuna didn’t want to admit it, but he found himself in a rather inconvenient predicament while you were still healing; he was lonely, and there was only so much cuddling of your corpse that he could do before it was too much for him.

He didn’t want to leave, but he couldn’t stand the sight of your half-decayed body, rancid smell, and the churning of his stomach any longer. He just wanted you back, and while you were healing, slowly but surely, it was not fast enough for him. His withdrawal from you was eating at the ends of his nerves, leaving him susceptible to mortal emotions that he was not keen on feeling. 

“Can she hear me?” he asked the witch, who was leaning over you, mumbling the same ancient healing incantation he had been for the past two weeks. Upon Sukuna’s question, Kenjaku stopped, sighed, and straightened to address the god’s question. 

“How am I to know that, Sukuna?”

“You can enter the minds of others, can’t you?”

“That isn’t how it works,” the witch grumbled, rolling his eyes and moving to collect more of the healing paste to slather over your wounds to keep the festering at bay. “Her body is making progress.”

“Then how much longer will this take?”

“Hard to say.” 

Both of the gods grew more irritated with the answer, for it had been the same one Kenjaku had fed to Sukuna over and over each time he was questioned by your husband. Sukuna was tired of hearing it, Kenjaku was tired of saying it; it had become a cycle now. 

“Are you sure this is enough?”

Kenjaku bristled, but kept his agitation at bay. “Do you doubt me?”

“It’s been almost two weeks-”

“She was a half-decayed carcass when I started, and the replacements you’ve given me weren’t in the greatest condition either,” Kenjaku huffed, “Her body has accepted the lungs and she is breathing; her brain has been saturated with the proper fluid and is working again–I am a necromancer, not a fucking healer so cut me some slack.”

He watched your husband deflate at the answer, finding it disheartening himself because he, too, wished for you to wake up already. But he was trying his best. Any little bit of magic that the god possessed was being siphoned into his craft to heal you. 

While you weren’t close with Kenjaku, he still felt morally obligated to keep you living–he had helped create you, after all. And Sukuna was his friend of a friend–an acquaintance–but one that he’d always held respect for. To see you both so… down was discouraging, and he’d tolerate it no longer.

“The infant she’s tethered herself to could use some company,” Kenjaku subtly suggested, not looking at your husband as he perked up. “Maybe you could-”

“The brat is being supervised by her handmaiden.”

The witch gritted his teeth, but swallowed back the words he really wanted to say. “I believe it would speed up the healing process.”

Was this true? No, not in the slightest, but Kenjaku couldn’t stand the pathetic sight of one of his idols clinging to a corpse so tightly. It was that thought which prompted him to make up a lie.

“The connection between them kept her anchored to the underworld, but now that she’s dead, the connection has been severed, so forcing her soul back into her body is proving rather difficult.”

The god of the dead didn’t seem too convinced. “You’re lying to me.”

“No,” he forced a wry laugh, wetting his bottom lip with a swipe of his tongue. “I’m not.”

“Why wasn’t this brought to my attention two weeks ago?”

“You wouldn’t have left her side, no matter what.” At least that part wasn’t a lie; Sukuna really couldn’t pull himself away from you. “I can see your apprehension, and it would do you some good to bond with the infant and take care of yourself, too. Eat, sleep, bathe–you’re alive, yet you’re not far off from mirroring her corpse. And spending time with the infant should… spark that connection again, and make it easier to anchor her to the underworld again.”

“Wouldn’t it make more sense for me to be here, where her soul is being forced into her body-”

“Do you want her to heal faster or not?” Kenjaku snapped, composure cracking. “You can either leave on your own, or I will force you out-”

Sukuna snorted, “You wouldn’t dare, nor would you be able to.”

Kenjaku sighed, returning to his place, leaning over you. Sukuna was right, there was very little Kenjaku could actually do to force the god out of the room. Except for one thing; that being the threat of your disappointment.

“Then you must not care for her like you say you do. She’ll be disheartened and upset to hear you only prolonged her revival-”

The sound of Sukuna’s deep, irritated groan not only brought a feeling of relief to the witch but also a tiny smirk to his mouth; he had swayed the god's mind.

“Fine. But I’ll return this evening.”

“Return clean, full, and well-rested-”

“Yes, yes, I heard you the first time. Just heal my wife.” With that, Sukuna stepped out of your chambers and shut the door behind him, and he swore he heard a deep exhale from the witch inside–one that sounded all too relieved. “Uraume,” Sukuna grumbled, calling forward the servant who waited outside the doors. 

“Yes, my king.”

“Bring me the queen’s infant. Apparently, entertaining the brat will hasten her healing.” The notion was an asinine one. Sukuna wasn’t stupid, but he also wasn’t one who wanted to take risks involving you as of late. You’d turned him soft, and he hated to admit that. “I’ll wait in the dining room. Prepare my dinner, too.”

“Should I bring something for the prince, as well, my king?”

“I suppose that would be best. Bring whatever food the handmaiden suggests for him–I feel as though the queen wouldn’t take too kindly if she woke up to her child having acquired a taste for mortal flesh.”

Sukuna heard them exhale a faint laugh. “I agree.”

Half an hour later, the infant he requested was ushered into his lap while he sat in front of the feast that had been served to him. As soon as your handmaiden, Unoko, placed Yuji in Sukuna’s arms, he began to stir, probably suffocating on Sukuna’s passive output. 

“Would you like me to accompany you to watch over the child, my king?” Unoko asked, keeping her head bowed. “Prince Yuji can be quite a handful during meal times-”

“No. You’re dismissed.” The rest of her words were swallowed by Sukuna’s interruption. She nodded and turned to take her leave, but not before Sukuna felt some innate pull to provide the woman with pleasantries–he believed this to be a resurfacing memory of a past scolding from you, ordering him to have manners with your staff. “Thank you, Unoko.”

She paused, caught off guard by the gratitude–though it was monotone and gruff, it was gratitude all the same. Bowing subtly to him, she said, “Of course, my king. Let me know if you need anything.”

With the handmaiden gone, all that remained was Sukuna and the writhing infant in his arms. Already, the god was annoyed by the movement, but with the promise of bonding with it in exchange for a quicker healing time for you, he suppressed the urge to toss the child aside. Grumbling under his breath, he latched onto the back of Yuji’s garment and hoisted him into the air, holding him in front of his face. 

“Do you ever stop squirming?” he questioned with a hint of disgust. “It’s bothersome. As you can see, I’m trying to-”

The sight of Yuji’s bottom lip trembling, paired with the wide, horrified eyes, stifled the rest of his blighted complaint. Sukuna wasn’t entirely sure what he needed to do in the moment to stop the impending waterworks that were already welling in Yuji’s eyes, but as soon as that first cry escaped his mouth, the god placed his hand over his lips. Yuji flinched, too surprised to continue crying. 

“Dining with your king is an honor, yet here you are, crying in front of me. You’re ruining my meal, so cease the tears immediately.” Only after a few seconds of silence did Sukuna remove his hand, but as soon as he did, Yuji began crying again. “Gods, mortal infants have to be the most insufferable creatures the gods have created.”

He maneuvered the child into his lap, forcing him to sit straight up on his thigh, his back pressed to Sukuna’s torso. The crying didn’t stop then, not until Sukuna reached forward to grab the small terracotta baby bottle to bring to Yuji’s mouth. He didn’t wait for the child to take it first; he just shoved the spout into his drooling mouth and waited. After a few seconds, the crying ceased.

“Helpless and pathetic,” Sukuna scoffed, looking down at Yuji, who was grabbing at the god’s wrist with his chubby fingers. “It’s a good thing your queen loves you so much. You would have been discarded long ago if she didn’t.”

Sukuna picked at the array of raw flesh in front of him, picking up the small bloody chunks to dip them in a little bowl of seasonings while holding the bottle for Yuji. Dinner continued on that way until he felt the infant’s head relax onto his forearm. Looking down, he realized Yuji had fallen asleep, which was something he was grateful for. Now he could enjoy his dinner without the threat of having to listen to the infant scream and cry. 

After dinner, Unoko returned, offering to take Yuji off his hands, but he was quick to decline, opting instead to bring him to the hot springs to bathe at the same time. He wasn’t thrilled with the idea–in fact, he would have much rather handed Yuji back off to his caretaker, but he thought about your healing process, and decided against it. The more time they spent bonding, the quicker you would wake up, which would mean he could retire his newfound parental role over the child, and give him back to you. 

He stripped them both of their clothing and stepped into the warm water, which instantly brought the child out of his sleep. Of course, as soon as he realized that it was Sukuna holding him, he broke down into tears.

When Sukuna flicked a couple of droplets of water into Yuji’s face, it startled him enough to stop crying. The god did this each time the cries would continue, and eventually, Yuji stopped crying altogether. 

Relaxing back onto the edge of the hot spring, he held Yuji at his side, holding back irritation at the way the child was playing in the water. He smacked the surface of the pool, flipping droplets everywhere while cooing and drooling. The god tried to ignore it, but the first time he was actually splashed in the face by more than a few flicks of water, he grumbled, “Watch it, brat. Your queen might tolerate your moronic tendencies, but I won’t.”

But Sukuna did tolerate it because he had to. And when he was splashed again, all he could manage was an empty threat of drowning Yuji if he did it again. However, when he was splashed yet again–for the third time–Sukuna didn’t drown him as he promised, and instead splashed him back. The sight of his shocked face was enough to draw a laugh out of the god, but that was swallowed the second Yuji let out a blaring cry.

Not even a little water flicked in his face was enough to calm him down this time, much to Sukuna’s dismay. “Miserable little bastard,” he groused, hoisting Yuji up to his chest, cradling him as you would, while also upping his body temperature to keep the child warm. Luckily, that seemed to do the trick, and it was enough to lull him to sleep. 

“If you piss on me, we will have very, very big problems. I don’t care if you are a baby–you will have crowned an enemy, and the day you’re able to walk, I will take you to war.”

The next day, after spending the night with you, Kenjaku once again kicked Sukuna out of your chambers, ordering him to bond with the child. 

So he did. 

Begrudgingly, of course.

That’s how he found himself sitting on the ground in the garden with the squirming infant laid out in front of him, grasping at imaginary shapes in the air. Yuji cooed, speaking nonsense to no one in particular. 

“It would be nice if we spoke the same language. It might make these situations less miserable.” Yuji babbled at his words, earning a disinterested scoff. “When I was your age, I already knew how to talk.”

That, of course, wasn’t true. But Sukuna, being a god, did have a god complex, and he liked being better than everyone else, babies included. 

“Hm, you know, I would appreciate a little respect from you, regardless of your age. I understand you cannot bow to me yet, but it would be nice if you worshiped me a little. You’re alive because of me; it’s only fitting that I get to hear your thanks.” 

And if what Sukuna wanted to hear was incoherent gibberish as a way of saying thanks, Yuji thanked him a million times over. 

“That was pathetic. You can do better than that.” Latching onto Yuji’s foot, he dragged him in closer, holding him in front of his face to dangle there. The child giggled, receiving the moment as some sort of playtime, and reached out toward the god. “Say Sukuna, and I might consider appeasing your request.”

Rather than hearing his name, he received squeals of laughter. 

“Idiot,” he huffed, flipping Yuji to hold him the correct way so as not to damage the weakling's brain with too much blood flowing to his head. “Sukuna. Su-ku-na. Say it.”

Still, nothing.

But the god didn’t lose hope. He was going to get this child to say his name eventually, and while he waited for you to heal, he had plenty of time to teach him.

═══════════════════════════ Malevolence in Spring ML

To anyone who is reading MIS, and you're wondering where your update is, I'm posting it very soon. I just wanted to get this out first, so I can link it when I post the next chapter :) okie ily <3!

[wheredidallthedreamersgo]

tourist trapped

one | two | three | four

dirty Myrtle is about to get flirty and filthy!

synopsis: what's currently on your summer itinerary? hot days and handsy nights on the sand and under the sheets, bikini-clad and slathered in sunscreen or soap. not getting stranded five hundred miles from your destination with the best friend of the guy you were supposed to be spending your vacation with. but when his car breaks down and you're stuck sharing the bed with Sukuna, you can't help but start to consider there might be more to him than tattoos and terrible music taste. who knows what sort of souvenirs you'll end up leaving with?

pairing: fwb's bsf!Sukuna x bratty!Reader

content: mdni, angst and fluff, beach and lunch, sexual tension, gojo mentioned (reader's fwb), unestablished relationships, messy dynamics, emotional hurt, comfort, forced proximity, in denial about feelings, one bed trope, putting sunscreen on each other, accidental public nudity, suggestive content, protective sukuna, yearning (he just doesn't know it yet)

part of this collab event with @lily-bisque hehe

"I hate the beach."

And you hated him.

But you'd rather spend your morning on the sand and by the sea pretending you picked this vacation then sprawled out on the shitty spring mattress watching reruns of shows you couldn't stand.

Last night was bad enough, elbowing Sukuna to fight for more room on the bed and restlessly turning while your brain refused to forget who you were laying next to. You didn't know how you managed to get more than an hour of sleep, or when you even dozed off, the sound of fireworks and cars passing by interrupting what little rest you did get through the thin walls.

You woke up trapped under one of his heavy limbs, a hand thrown haphazardly over your back, your attempts to wiggle free just causing his arm to twitch up, practically pressing your face into the pillow until you kicked him hard.

He grumbled something about sleeping in, just rolling away from you like you were irrelevant. Completely disregarding your complaints about him suffocating you and just going back to whatever someone like him dreamed about.

Apparently, he couldn't stand you even when he was asleep.

"Do you always have an attitude?" You grumbled, setting your bag down and laying out a towel. He had somehow refrained from bitching during the walk down to the already packed beach, his jaw locked watching the screaming kids running into the tide. He'd actually been quiet most of the morning, silently seething and communicating through cold scowls until you tossed a bag of vending machine potato chips and a pair of swim trunks you snagged from his suitcase at him and told him to get ready.

"No." Sukuna scoffed at you now, and you had a feeling underneath his dark glasses, he was probably rolling his eyes too. He didn't elaborate on his lie though, just spreading out a towel for himself a full foot away from yours. You waited for him to lay down and get comfortable before you bent over to snag the sunscreen from your bag and wave it in front of him.

"You wanna put it on my back?" You asked, amused at the clench of his jaw when he pulled his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose to stare at you.

His glare was cute.

Like a grumpy cat, with his dark eyes and furrowed brows focused on you like you'd stolen his food bowl or took his favorite toy from him. He didn't go to sit up, didn't budge an inch, just watched you. Slowly following your stare like a predator watches his prey. A future meal.

"Or I could ask someone else?" You sighed dramatically, turning away from him to dig your own sunglasses from your bag next, but by the time you were standing back up, glancing over your shoulder, he was pushing off the sand.

His eyes shifted up, but not fast enough.

Either staring at your ass - or his name above it.

"Just give it to me," he grunted, swiping it from your hand before you could go through the whole push-and-pull of teasing him about it.

He wasn't soft with it. No seduction attempts or sweet words whispered in your ear.

Just him tossing your hair to the side and squirting too much in his hand, roughly rubbing it in with broad strokes. His hands were rough. Calloused as he casually pushed his palms flat. Got all the spots you would've missed. You had a fleeting impression he'd done this before - but he didn't dignify you with an explanation.

Just pushed the sunscreen back into your hand when he was finished, frowning as he went back to laying on his towel.

"Thanks," you wryly muttered, looking back at him.

A few stray strands of hair were sticking up, one of his forearms helping shield the sun from his face, bare chest and muscles highlighted by the warm rays. His swim trunks were red too, almost the same shade as yours, slung low on his hips, the hint of a happy trail sticking out.

You wondered if people walking past thought you were a couple.

If you were a stranger, just someone on the outside looking in, you probably would.

But the facts were simple.

Sukuna didn't like you. And you knew Gojo didn't either.

You put more sunscreen on your chest, massaging it in your arms and shoulders, dabbing it on your cheeks and nose. But your brain was on a different beach.

Thinking about the white-haired man probably lounging on pale sands and getting his cock sucked by some cute stranger in an even tinier bikini. You didn't have the right to be jealous. You were friends.

Sukuna had even said it. Gojo wasn't your boyfriend. You were just someone he liked to fuck - and you liked his special treatment.

He texted you like you were his girlfriend though, blowing up your phone half the night when you were still struggling to sleep, from apologies he only half-meant to begging for photos of you, promising he was waiting to get his dick wet when you were there.

You knew better than to believe him. Even if Sukuna thought you were just a lovestruck idiot.

So you hadn't replied. Let Gojo stew and squirm if he even cared.

"One hour," Sukuna grumbled.

"Two," you argued back.

"I'll leave you here," he gruffly replied, foot twitching as a toddler waddling by kicked up some sand on his calves.

You wondered if he really would. Couldn't fight the urge to poke and prod at him until he pushed you away. Stopping to stare at him for a long second before you popped the lid of the sunscreen back open and squirted a thick glob on his chest.

"What the f-"

You dropped the bottle and jogged across the sand to where the tide was coming in, halfway hoping he'd chase you.

But Sukuna didn't.

And you watched from the waves when he begrudgingly rubbed the sunscreen into his skin.

His legs might get burnt, but you still tried to help.

Didn't that count for something?

𓆝 𓆟

You were finished five minutes in.

But that would mean walking out and over to Sukuna and admitting you were ready to go back to the motel, that you were done getting battered by waves and listening to screeching children and watching wasted people stumble around throwing footballs and frisbees they couldn't catch.

The sun was uncomfortably hot, the kind that stuck to your skin even when you were in the water, like someone had put you on slow broil.

But Sukuna was just sunbathing, unbothered by everyone else. A few girls tried to come up and talk to him, but you didn't think he'd even grunted a single word back.

You couldn't help but empathize. You'd been in their shoes before. A guy like Sukuna only hurt your self-esteem.

His apathy. His disinterest. His disgust. Carefully designed to keep people as far away from him as possible.

You thought he'd be the kind of guy to get in the water, wade out deep enough to drown out the sound of the rest of the world. Splash any kids that dared to get close.

For all you knew, he'd rather be doing that right now - but he decided you were more annoying than the rest of them.

You did giggle when you watched a stray beach ball bounced off the sand and hit him in the face, nearly knocking his glasses off.

A teenager started running over, giggling too, but Sukuna grabbed a broken sea shell and popped it. You laughed even harder at that, covering your mouth and turning away before he could see or hear.

Someone tapped your shoulder not long later. You glanced over, pulling down your sunglasses just to see some other teenaged idiot. Wide-eyed, and sopping wet, shaggy hair hanging in his face.

"Is that your boyfriend?" He asked, jutting a thumb towards your unwilling companion.

"No," you shook your head, fighting an eye roll when he tried to sneak a peek at your cleavage. "But you're kind of young for me."

A rough wave hit your back, but even with the sound of it crashing, you could guess the next line would be something like saying he was eighteen or offering some other but that didn't mean much.

Except, that wasn't what happened.

No, you just felt some faint tug behind you, and before you could even fully turn, someone had pulled your flimsy bikini top off, yanking it hard right as you gasped and your hands shot up to cover up your tits. Another fresh out of high school or first-year frat boy, chuckling as he held it up high out of your reach.

The guy who had asked about your boyfriend was laughing now, and it took a few painfully panicked seconds for you to realize it was a stupid fucking set up.

He distracted you - and one of his friends snuck up to steal your top. And for what? A glimpse of your tits? To show off how big of dicks they were to the rest of their friends?

"Fucking assholes," you scoffed, but they were already swimming away, high-fiving each other and leaving you with the waves lapping over your chest, barely helping hide your breasts while you were stuck in place, feet sinking deeper into the sand.

A red flag being waved in the air, a trophy for them and a loss for you.

"Sukuna," you tried to call out, glancing around the busy beach in a panic. Shit.

He was still laid out in the sand, dark sunglasses concealing his eyes. From here, he looked asleep. You called out his name louder, but he didn't even twitch.

Goddamn it.

You begrudgingly started back, an arm around your tits, pressing them down and keeping them covered while you walked out of the water and up the shore.

You felt the stares. The eyes and pointing. Didn't need to look to know those pricks were probably taking pictures. But you tried to keep your head held high, only pausing when you reached Sukuna, kicking his foot as hard as you could.

"What's your prob-"

"I was calling your name," you hissed at him, and it was only then that he started to sit up and pull his sunglasses down, freezing the second he opened his eyes and saw you. "Some little assholes stole my top."

"Where the fuck are they?" He grunted, on his feet before you could blink.

You glanced back over in the direction they disappeared towards, but there wasn't a sign of them, and there were too many people passing by. When half of them were already staring at you, forming almost a wall of observers, you couldn't see past the strangers to spot the two you were searching for.

"They ran off," you sighed, looking down at your bag and grimacing at the realization you hadn't brought a coverup or even a t-shirt. Sukuna was grinding his molars, mumbling something under his breath before he was suddenly picking you up.

Like in the air.

Using one arm to hoist you high, like it was just that easy, your thighs automatically wrapping around his waist so he couldn't just let you go either. Your chest pressed against his to cover you up, grabbing your sandy towel and draping it over your back. He tossed your bag over his arm next, snatching his own towel up next.

Not even complaining about the fact you were soaking wet, or about how close you were like this, using his body to block the rest of the world from seeing your breasts.

You had half a mind to remind him that he could probably just have thrown the towel around your front, but he was acting on instinct - and his body heat was nice. His skin was warm, sun-baked, firm where yours was soft.

"Shitheads," he muttered under his breath.

He squeezed you closer right as someone nearly bumped against him. He spat out a 'watch out' but he didn't stop, his feet sinking into the sand as he tried to make it back up to the creaky old wooden stairs leading to the public lot.

It was still a five-minute walk back to the motel.

You kept waiting for him to drop you. To put you back down and make you walk the rest of the way.

But he didn't.

𓆝 𓆟

"So, um, how's your food?" You tilted your head to the side, swirling your straw around your drink across the table from him in some overpriced seafood joint.

Sukuna cracked open another crab leg.

"Fine."

No snappy comeback. No sarcastic eye roll. Just your leg bouncing underneath the table and an annoying glimmer in your eyes.

You'd been pissed at him last night. Did all it take to erase it was him doing the bare minimum in making sure you didn't get a public indecency charge?

Really, he'd rather just throw a towel at you and beat the shit out of whoever stole your bikini top, but something about the way you were looking at him made him stop. The water clinging to your skin, the anger burning underneath your eyes, no tears to be blinked back.

If you were sad, you saved it somewhere deep inside where it couldn't be seen.

But despite the shields and all that anger simmering on the surface, there was expectation in your stare, like you thought he'd save you.

Sukuna still couldn't fucking believe he obliged.

Let you take him here for lunch. Followed like your fucking dog on a leash when you suggested getting something to eat, even though his legs were now a faint shade of pink and his nose would probably be peeling tonight.

You had changed into a thin dress, not even wearing a bra, nipples poking through the thin fabric, the air conditioning unfortunately blowing right on the table they seated the two of you at.

He shouldn't look - but then again, he already felt them, hadn't he?

"What you did earlier, it was nice," you muttered awkwardly.

"Whatever," he dismissed. Like it was nothing.

Because it was nothing.

You nodded. Looked down at your plate. Looked at the other tables. Anywhere but him.

Until you went to reach for the drink and spilled it - all over him.

It was impressive, really. How it somehow managed to land solely on his shirt, your hand knocking over the glass in your attempt to grab it just because you were too stubborn to look at him.

"Shit, shit, shit," you mumbled, grabbing all the napkins and tossing it at them, already standing and searching for a waitress to get even more.

"Of course," he sarcastically sighed, peeling the drenched shirt away from his skin.

Of course this would happen. Of course even a fucking meal with you would go wrong.

That was how it went. How the rest of this stupid vacation would probably go.

He wanted to hate you. He did. But you were like an itch, a rash that wouldn't go away even if he scratched it.

You walked towards the front, in a rush, but it wasn't more napkins you came back with a few minutes later.

No, you were holding a t-shirt, giving him your best set of apologetic puppy dog eyes. "Here, you can change in the bathroom."

Sukuna wasn't stupid enough to miss the smirk you were trying to hide. He just didn't realize why until he actually went into a stall and unfolded it to see the words 'I GOT the CRABS' on the front and the stupid resteraunt logo on the back.

He should've let you walk back naked.

But he couldn't come up with something snarky to say, a stupid invisible string pulling tight in his stomach when he walked over to the now cleaned-up table to see a slice of cake waiting for him and a smile lighting up your face.

"Y'know, I was kinda hoping you'd walk out shirtless so we'd be even."

𓆝 𓆟

The motel shower made his sunburn worse.

It was terrible. The tiles were slippery. The drain was dirty. The exhaust fan stopped working randomly and there was a tiny rectangular window next to it that was stuck perpetually open. The jet was harsh, permanently set on the kind on the highest strength.

It pelted his skin, washing off the leftover soda and salt. But Sukuna was having a hard time cleaning you off.

Even right now, when you were in the other room, when you weren't around to demand or draw his attention, his brain - and his body - betrayed him.

Thinking of your tits pressed against his chest. Your skin, damp and soft and slick and fuck-

"Shit."

The hot water cut out, the freezing jet pricking at his skin as he cursed under his breath. He fumbled to turn the water off, twisting the handle as his erection unfortunately refused to go back down. Cock springing up against his abs as the water droplets rolled off him to drop onto the tile and down the drain with all the other suds.

An ache he wasn't used to had taken up residence underneath his skin, dragged nails down his conscience as he tried to think of anything other than you bending over in that fucking bikini on the beach, his name teasing him right above your ass.

Stupid fucking idea.

This whole thing was. Rooming with you. Going to the beach together. Lunch. He gritted his teeth, about to move the sliding glass door to step out when something jumped at him.

It happened fast, a sudden flurry of movement in the corner of his vision and he was stumbling out, nearly knocking out the fucking glass as he hurried out of the bedroom on instinct.

Naked.

You squealed, freezing at him nearly falling over himself, cock on full display and the exhaust fan still droning on.

"I was kidding," you deadpanned, but your eyes were the size of saucers, not-so-subtly staring at his dick before he dropped another fuck and grabbed the closest article of clothing to cover up.

"There's something in there," he scoffed, scowling as he picked up the stupid crab shirt and held it over his cock.

"A spider?" You asked, interest piqued. Dropping your phone down on the bed and walking over to him.

He had to step to the side, clenching his jaw at how casually your eyes traced over his body.

Was that how you looked at Gojo?

The shorts you had changed into had rolled up your thighs, your ass hanging out as you walked right into the bathroom, and an irritating tug strained his heart strings when you fucking laughed.

"This?" You giggled, coming back out with a small frog in your palm. Little fucker must have jumped in through the window.

"Shut up," he grunted.

But you never knew when to give up.

Got up on your tiptoes to hold it, and he recoiled, stepping back just for you to step forward. You wanted to chase him. He just couldn't decide if he wanted to let you.

Frowning at your attempts at teasing, tempted to push your hand away, but you followed him all the way back to the bed, holding the frog up higher.

"Come on," you taunted. "Kiss it."

Did Gojo never bother to fuck that bratty attitude out of you?

"You're the one looking for a prince," Sukuna mocked, but you didn't let it bother you today, didn't let your facade drop as you laughed and nearly brought the disgusting little creature up to his cheek.

Sukuna scoffed right as the frog jumped twice. On the bed and off the floor, back towards the direction of the bathroom.

You started to whine, sighing as your eyes followed where he hopped out of sight. But then your stare shifted back to Sukuna, or rather, what was still throbbing underneath the thin cotton of the shirt you'd bought him.

He shouldn't be hard. Not for you, at least. The second Gojo was around, you'd chose him anyway.

Your lips parted, about to say something. Ready to tease and taunt and remind him why he couldn't stand you when your phone vibrated on the bed and you changed your mind.

Biting your lip, your nose scrunching up as you sighed and looked towards your suitcase. "I, um, have some lotion. For your sunburn."

"I don't need any," he grunted.

"Don't be an idiot," you rolled your eyes. "Well, even more of one."

"You're insufferable," Sukuna retorted.

He only half meant it, but you nodded like you believed it.

"Put some on," you still insisted, as if you cared. "And get your wallet."

[wheredidallthedreamersgo]

𝐢 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮…

yandere ! douma finds you after years... of running

f/a: @/66628nim11

i tried to scream, but lilies clouded my mind thе petals softly floating into my eyes

summary ; in which after many years of escaping the grasp of your former lover he finally finds you.. and when he does... he finds out you've been hiding a big secret..

cws ! yandere themes, stalking, captivity, coercion, dubcon undertones, emotional breakdown, manipulation, child/family obsession, breeding kink, explicit sexual content, threats of violence.

-

the evening was supposed to be ordinary.

your basket was already half-full, the weight of fresh vegetables pressing against your hip as you lingered by the stall. the villagers greeted you warmly, exchanging small talk, a laugh here, a smile there. for a moment, you allowed yourself to believe that this was real...that this peace was something permanent, not borrowed.

but the sky betrayed you.

it shifted too quickly, colors bleeding from soft dusk into a dull, bruised gray. the chatter around you blurred into background noise as your stomach tightened. you noticed the crows first. they were darting across the rooftops, too many of them at once, wings frantic as if fleeing something unseen.

your fingers tightened around the coins in your hand. you placed them gently on the stall’s counter, forcing a polite smile. “thank you,” you said, voice steady, though your gut twisted. you turned, the basket heavier now, not from the produce but from the weight of unease. the villagers kept speaking as though nothing had changed, but you could feel it—something pressing down on the air, something that didn’t belong here.

your eyes swept the street, catching shadows stretching too long in the corners, catching the way the wind seemed to hush as though waiting. you adjusted the basket against your hip and reached down, fingers finding the small, warm hand you cherished more than life itself.

“come on,” you murmured softly, tugging your son close as the crowd thinned. he looked up at you with those wide, curious eyes that always seemed to notice more than you wanted him to. “mama… why do you look scared?”

the question made your breath hitch. you forced a smile down at him, squeezing his hand a little tighter. “i’m not scared, sweetheart. just… tired, that’s all.” he didn’t seem convinced. his gaze flicked to the basket. “what did you get? is it for soup again? or the rice cakes?”

the simple questions should’ve soothed you. they should’ve grounded you back in normalcy. but your heart wouldn’t slow down, not with the air so heavy, not with the sky churning gray above you. “yes,” you answered, voice a little too thin, “for soup tonight.”

your son’s face brightened, but then his brow furrowed again. he tugged at your hand, lowering his voice the way children did when they sensed something was wrong. “mama… you don’t look well.”

his words struck harder than you expected, as if he had peeled back the mask you were trying so desperately to wear. you crouched a little, enough to look him in the eyes. “i’m fine,” you whispered, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “but listen to me, alright? you stay close. no matter what happens. you don’t let go of my hand.”

he blinked, confused, but nodded slowly. “okay…” the silence between you both stretched for a beat too long. and then, a shadow stretched across the cobblestone, creeping toward your feet like spilled ink.

the air dropped colder, as if the sun itself had recoiled.

he stepped out from between the narrow stalls, movements smooth, unhurried, like he owned the cobblestone beneath his sandals. taller than you remembered, his frame sharper, his presence heavier. his hair spilled down his back in long silver-gray strands that shimmered against the dimming sky, as if he had been carved from the storm itself.

your breath caught. “well, well…” douma’s voice rang out, light and lilting, but soaked in venomous sweetness. “look at you. i half-expected you to be bones in the dirt by now. instead—” his eyes slid over you, cold, glimmering, unblinking. “—you’ve gone and made yourself a little life. how precious.”

your throat worked as you swallowed hard, heart thundering so loud you swore he could hear it. instinctively, your grip on your son’s hand tightened until his small fingers pressed into your palm. you said nothing. couldn’t...

douma’s lips curved into that same smile you thought you’d never see again. it hadn’t changed. eternal, painted on, as cruel as it was empty. “did you miss me, little flower?” he teased, tilting his head just so, his voice sing-song, mocking. “all those nights, did you think about me? wonder if i’d come back for you? mm, you must’ve. because here you are, shaking like a leaf.”

he still hadn’t acknowledged the boy at your side. not yet. and that omission made your blood run colder than anything else. your son tugged at your hand again, whispering, “mama?” you shushed him softly, never taking your eyes off douma, every instinct screaming that the nightmare you had spent years outrunning had finally caught you.

you shifted, half-stepping in front of your son, the basket of vegetables nearly tumbling from your arm. your body curled instinctively, shielding him with every inch of yourself, as if you could block the weight of douma’s gaze with your own trembling frame.

but his eyes had already found him. douma stilled. the air itself seemed to freeze as his sharp gaze slid down, settling on the small boy at your side. your son looked up, wide-eyed, sensing the stranger’s attention.

the smile on douma’s face didn’t change, but something flickered behind it—interest, amusement, a cruel sort of delight. “oh…” his voice dropped to a near whisper, as if he’d stumbled on some divine revelation. “and who is this?” you pulled your son closer, your hand gripping his small shoulders so tightly he flinched. “he’s nothing to you.”

douma chuckled, a low, airy sound that made your skin crawl. “nothing? mm, no, little flower. children are never nothing.” his gaze sharpened, gleaming like ice under the moon, studying the boy’s features—his dark lashes, the curve of his mouth, the faint trace of something achingly familiar.

he tilted his head. “when was he born?” your heart plummeted. douma’s smile widened, the sharp edge of his teeth flashing. “he looks…” he hummed, drawing the word out, savoring it. “…a great deal like me, doesn’t he?”

your throat locked up, every lie you’d prepared dissolving under the weight of his stare. “tell me, darling,” he crooned, stepping closer, the air thick with his presence, “is he mine?”

your chest heaved as you pulled your son tight against you, his small body nearly hidden behind the folds of your robe.

“he is none of your concern,” you snapped, voice raw, trembling but loud enough to cut through the thick air. “you don’t get to ask about him. you don’t get to touch him. you have nothing to do with this, douma!”

for a heartbeat, silence. then—cracks. the smile didn’t vanish, but it warped, twitched, stretched too thin. the edges of his voice trembled with something darker than amusement.

“nothing to do with this?” he echoed, his laugh ringing out sharp, brittle, unhinged. “i’ve missed half of his life. half, little flower. do you know what that does to me? all those years i could have been watching him grow, hearing his first words, teaching him to obey.”

he stepped closer, his voice dipping into a hiss, the mask of joy bleeding into rage. “you stole that from me.” you shook your head, eyes blazing despite the terror clawing at your insides. “you don’t deserve him. you don’t deserve any of this—”

his foot hit the cobblestone hard, the sound cracking like thunder as his composure finally shattered. “shut up!” the word roared out of him, startling villagers in the distance, his voice a whip that lashed through the street. the child flinched, clinging tighter to your robes.

douma’s smile was gone now, his teeth bared, his eyes wide and gleaming with fury. “if you don’t come back with me, i’ll kill you right here.” his gaze cut to the boy, then back to you, deliberate, cruel. “and then i’ll take him. i’ll raise him myself. oh—don’t you think he deserves to know his real father?” his tone dipped low, venomous and sweet, the threat sinking into your bones.

“comply, little flower,” he whispered, grin crawling back across his face like a demon reborn, “or i’ll bury you at his feet.”

your arms wrapped around your son so tightly his small frame shook against you, his face buried into your chest as tears blurred your own vision. every step you tried to take backward felt like walking into quicksand.

“please…” your voice broke, a trembling whisper meant for him and him alone. “don’t look. just keep your eyes closed, sweetheart.” but douma was already there.

his hand—cold, unyielding—slid around your waist, fingers pressing cruelly into the fabric of your robe, anchoring you against him. the gesture looked gentle, guiding, but there was no softness in his grip. “that’s better,” he murmured, smile stretching once more as if your despair fed him. “you see? just like old times. you fit right here, don’t you?”

you stumbled as he tugged you forward, steering you as though you had no will of your own. the street faded behind you, the dimming sky swallowed whole as the shadows of his domain opened. your son clung tighter, whispering, “mama… i’m scared…”

the words shattered what was left of your strength. hot tears slipped down your cheeks, silent and unending, as you tightened your hold around him. “hush,” douma cooed mockingly, leaning close so his lips brushed your ear. “don’t cry. you’re coming home. back where you belong. back where you should’ve stayed.”

each word dripped with possession, with rage disguised as love. and though your body moved, guided by his hand at your waist, your soul felt trapped in the cage of his mansion already—the place he had always called home, the place you swore you would never return to. yet here you were.

the walk to the mansion felt endless, yet far too short. the gates loomed, black iron curling like the claws of some beast, and beyond them—the place you had sworn to never see again.

douma guided you inside with one hand still at your waist, your son clinging silently to your side. his little eyes darted everywhere, confused, frightened, but too small to grasp the true horror of where he was being led. “look at this,” douma sang softly, as though giving a tour of paradise instead of a prison. “your new home, little one. so grand, so beautiful. you’ll learn to love it here, just like your mama did.”

your son’s grip on your robes only tightened. douma’s stride never faltered as he brought you up the winding stairs, down a candlelit hall lined with tapestries and vases too delicate to touch. finally, he pushed open a carved wooden door. inside: a bed, too large for a boy so small, soft quilts folded neatly, the windows latticed to let in just enough moonlight.

“your room,” douma announced with a flourish, releasing you only to spread his arms wide. his tone was bright, cheerful, wrong. “do you like it? it’s all yours. every corner, every pillow. you’ll be so comfortable.”

you swallowed hard, running a trembling hand through your son’s hair as he pressed against you, refusing to move toward the bed. “go on,” douma coaxed gently, crouching down until his eerie smile met the boy’s frightened stare. “settle in, little one. mama will stay with you until you fall asleep. isn’t that nice?”

then he straightened, his gaze sliding to you. his smile stayed fixed, but his voice dipped lower, meant only for your ears. “and after you put him to bed…” his breath brushed the shell of your ear, icy and sweet, “…you’ll come to me. in my chambers. don’t make me wait.”

you sat on the edge of the bed, basket long forgotten, your son curled into your lap. he clung to your robes with small fists, his body trembling, his eyes glossy with fear he couldn’t put into words.

“mama… who is that man?” he whispered, voice shaking.

your heart clenched so tightly you thought it might stop. you smoothed his hair back, forcing steadiness into your tone though your tears hadn’t fully dried. “don’t worry about him, sweetheart. i’m here. i won’t leave you.”

he blinked up at you, searching your face for truth. after a long moment, exhaustion from the day’s weight pulled at him, his small body giving in to sleep as you hummed softly, the tune fractured by the tightness in your throat.

you waited until his breathing evened, until his tiny hand loosened its grip on your sleeve. gently, you laid him down and tucked the quilt over his shoulders, kissing his forehead with trembling lips. but when you straightened, the door was cracked open.

a sliver of candlelight spilled across the floor. and in that light—douma’s silhouette, waiting. you froze, breath caught in your lungs. he leaned against the frame as if he’d been there the whole time, watching. his eyes flicked to the boy once, then back to you, and his smile curved slow and deliberate.

“good girl,” he whispered, voice soft as silk, sharp as glass. “now… come to me.” he stepped back into the hall, leaving the door open, the command hanging heavy in the air like a noose.

“years,” he said, voice thin, trembling—not with weakness, but with rage tightly leashed. “years i searched for you. and you… you were raising my son in secret?” your lips parted, words caught in your throat.

he crossed the room in two long strides, hands shooting out to seize your chin, forcing your face up to his. his grip was cold, unyielding, fingers pressing into your jaw hard enough to bruise.

“you dared to run from me?” his tone sharpened, the softness stripped away, replaced by the bite of something feral. “you thought you could keep him from me? half his life, little flower, stolen.” his breath fanned hot against your skin as he leaned closer, his expression a mask of delight stretched too thin.

“i should break you for this.” yet even as his words dripped with violence, his thumb dragged along your lower lip, slow, deliberate, as though savoring the tremble there.

“but…” his smile reappeared, bright and brittle, eyes wide and glassy. “i missed you too much. i should be furious—and i am—but seeing you again…” his lips hovered at your ear, his voice breaking into a shiver of laughter. “ah, it makes me want to devour you whole.”

he pushed you back until your spine met the silken wall, his hand still locked on your waist, pinning you in place.

“you belong here,” he hissed, teeth flashing in something between a grin and a snarl. “to me. to this house. to our son. i’ll never let you leave again.” his forehead pressed against yours, too close, his laugh airy and cruel.

“after all…” his tongue traced the corner of his mouth, gaze blazing with obsession, “what kind of father would i be if i didn’t reclaim what was mine?”

your throat burned as his grip pinned you against the wall, his forehead pressed to yours, his words cutting through every ounce of resistance you had left. but something in you cracked.

“you don’t understand,” you choked out, your voice breaking, trembling against his hold. “every night in this place… i couldn’t breathe. i couldn’t even think without feeling your eyes on me. i was trapped, douma—trapped in your mansion, trapped in you. i thought if i didn’t leave, i’d lose myself completely.”

your hands pushed weakly against his chest, not to fight, but to steady yourself as your tears came harder. “i spent nights curled up, crying into my hands, wishing i was anyone else. wishing i could feel free, just once. you call this home, but to me…” your voice fractured, collapsing into a sob. “to me it was a prison.”

his eyes widened, almost childlike with fascination, as though your pain were something he could taste. “a prison?” he repeated softly, tilting his head, lips curving. “mm… how dramatic. but look at you now—crying in my arms again. just like before.”

you shook your head, the words tumbling out faster, uncontrolled. “i ran because i thought it was the only way to save myself. and when i found out about him—” your hand covered your mouth, muffling the sob, “—i couldn’t let him grow up like me. i couldn’t let him feel this… this chain around his neck.”

your knees buckled, but douma’s grip didn’t let you fall. instead, his arms closed tighter around you, caging you to him as your tears dampened his robes. “oh, little flower,” he murmured, voice honeyed, soothing, yet laced with venom. “you sound so broken. so sad. all these lonely nights, all that suffering… and for what? you still ended up back here. back with me.”

he laughed lightly, pressing his lips to your temple in a mockery of comfort. “all your pain did was prove how much you need me.” his fingers slid into your hair, tilting your head back so your tear-streaked face was bared to him. “but don’t worry. i’ll take care of you now. i’ll take care of both of you. you’ll never have to think again. isn’t that what you wanted?”

your chest shuddered with another sob, your body betraying you as you sagged into his arms—terrified, furious, yet so bone-deep exhausted that the fight slipped from you in waves. and douma, smiling wide and cruel, held you as though you had just proven his point.

his fingers dug into your waist, cold and possessive, while his other hand cradled the back of your head as though you were something fragile. his eyes shimmered with something dangerous—rage, longing, obsession—blurring together until you couldn’t tell which drove him more.

“you think i didn’t suffer too?” douma breathed, his voice no longer sing-song but ragged at the edges. “all those years without you, i thought i would unravel. every night, i imagined your face, your voice, your warmth pressed against me.” he leaned closer, lips brushing your cheek where the tears had fallen. “i was starving without you.”

you shivered, turning your face away, though your body betrayed you by trembling against him. “stop… you don’t mean that. you don’t care about me—you never did.”

he laughed, low and sharp, his breath hot against your skin. “oh, little flower, i’ve never cared for anyone the way i care for you. your pain, your anger, even your hatred—it all belongs to me. you belong to me.”

his lips pressed against the curve of your jaw, soft at first, then lingering, burning. your breath hitched, your hands rising to push at his chest, but the strength in them faltered. because part of you—traitorous, weak—still remembered.

the nights he’d held you close, whispering nonsense in that sweet tone until you fell asleep. the way he could make the world feel distant, muted, when he wrapped you in his arms.

you hated him. you hated that you still wanted the comfort, the charm, the cruel tenderness only he could give.

“no…” your whisper cracked, tears spilling as your head pressed back against the wall. “i can’t—i can’t let myself—”

“shh,” he cooed, silencing you with a kiss against the corner of your mouth, his thumb stroking your cheek as if to soothe. “don’t fight it. i can feel how much you missed me. your body’s shaking for me, not against me.”

his lips ghosted over yours, not quite kissing, just close enough to make your heart pound in betrayal of your mind.

“you ran, but here you are… melting into me again.” his grin widened, though his eyes glistened with something deeper, something raw. “and i’ll never let you leave. not now. not ever.”

his lips finally claimed yours, crushing and sweet all at once, tasting your tears as though they were nectar meant only for him. the kiss was overwhelming—demanding, merciless, the kind that stripped away every defense you had left.

you pushed at his chest weakly, but his grip on your waist only tightened, pulling you flush against him. “don’t…” you tried to whisper between gasps, but your voice broke when his mouth trailed down to your throat, teeth grazing your skin like a promise.

“don’t what?” douma breathed against your pulse, the smile in his voice maddening. “don’t take back what’s mine? don’t remind you how good it feels to be wanted?”

you shuddered, fingers curling into his robes, torn between pushing him away and clinging to him. your mind screamed no, but your body… your body betrayed you, arching into the cold press of him.

“see?” he murmured, his tongue flicking against your collarbone as though savoring you. “your heart beats for me, even after all this time. your body remembers me, even when your mind tries to lie.”

his hand slid up your side, cold fingers tracing the curve of your ribs, your shoulder, before cupping your jaw to force your eyes to meet his. his irises glittered, too wide, too bright, pupils dilated with something feral.

“look at me, little flower.” his tone sharpened, commanding. “you ran, you hid, you lied—but still, you’re trembling for me. admit it. you wanted me, even in your loneliness. even in your freedom.”

hot tears blurred your vision, but you couldn’t look away. your lips trembled as you shook your head, whispering, “i wanted… peace.”

douma laughed, low and airy, pressing his forehead to yours again. “peace is boring. peace is empty. but me?” his lips brushed yours again, a cruel tease. “i make you feel alive.”

his hands pinned you there, body caging yours against the wall as his kiss deepened, rougher now, every movement laced with the fury of years he believed you stole from him.

and though your mind screamed, your body betrayed you again, answering his hunger with your own desperate, confused need.

“that’s it…” he purred between kisses, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “cry, fight, break all you want… you’ll always return to me. because i’m the only one who can ruin you this perfectly.”

the evening air was charged with tension as douma's lips claimed yours once more, his kiss demanding and possessive. his hands roamed your body, fingers digging into your flesh as if he wanted to leave his mark on every inch of your skin. you could feel the anger and desperation radiating from him, his need to reclaim what he believed was rightfully his.

despite your mind screaming at you to resist, to fight against his touch, your body betrayed you. you found yourself arching into his cold embrace, your fingers clutching at his robes as if you were drowning and he was the only thing keeping you afloat.

douma's lips moved from your mouth to your jaw, trailing down your neck, leaving a path of searing kisses that made your skin burn. his hands slid down your back, gripping your hips and pulling you closer, until there was no space left between your bodies.

"mine," he growled against your skin, his voice low and feral. "you're mine, little flower. always and forever."

your mind rebelled against his words, but your body was already surrendering to his touch. tears pricked at your eyes as you felt yourself falling under his spell once more, your resolve crumbling with each brush of his fingers against your skin.

douma's hands moved to the ties of your robe, deftly unfastening them and pushing the fabric off your shoulders. the cool air of the room sent goosebumps across your exposed skin, but the heat of douma's gaze kept you from feeling cold.

his eyes roamed over your body, taking in every curve and plane, his hunger evident in the way his pupils dilated. he reached out, tracing the curve of your breast with a single finger, smirking as your breath hitched in response.

"you see?" he purred, his voice smooth as silk. "your body knows who it belongs to. it remembers my touch, even if your mind tries to forget."

you wanted to deny it, to push him away and run, but your body was no longer listening to your mind's commands. instead, you found yourself leaning into his touch, your skin craving more of his caresses.

douma was all too happy to oblige, his hands exploring every inch of your exposed flesh, leaving trails of fire in their wake. he worshipped your body with his touch, his lips following the path of his fingers, kissing and nipping at your sensitive skin.

as he lowered you onto the bed, his body covering yours, you knew that you were lost. douma had you under his spell once more, his obsessive love consuming you both. and as he moved within you, his eyes locked on yours, you knew that there was no escape from the chains of his love.

you were his, body and soul, and he would never let you go again.

douma's lips curved into a wicked smile as he trailed his fingers down your stomach, pausing at the edge of your undergarments. his eyes, dark with desire, locked onto yours as he slowly slid the fabric down your legs, exposing you completely to his hungry gaze.

"you're so beautiful," he murmured, his voice thick with want. "every part of you is perfect, little flower. and all of it, every inch, belongs to me."

he settled between your thighs, his breath hot against your sensitive skin. he inhaled deeply, a low growl emanating from his chest. "the scent of your arousal is intoxicating," he purred, his tongue darting out to taste you. "i could spend hours just breathing you in."

you whimpered as his tongue made contact, your hips bucking involuntarily at the sensation. douma's hands gripped your thighs, holding you in place as he began to feast on you in earnest.

his tongue delved into your folds, lapping at your essence with long, slow strokes. he circled your clit with the tip of his tongue, teasing the sensitive bud until you were writhing beneath him, your fingers tangling in his hair.

"please," you gasped, your voice breathy and desperate. "i need more."

douma chuckled against your flesh, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your body. "so impatient," he teased, his tongue never ceasing its ministrations. "don't worry, little flower. i'll give you everything you need."

he slid a finger inside you, curling it to hit that perfect spot within. you cried out, your hips bucking against his mouth as he worked you with his tongue and finger in tandem. he brought you to the edge again and again, only to back off at the last moment, leaving you a whimpering, pleading mess.

"please, douma," you begged, your voice cracking with desperation. "i need you inside me. please."

douma lifted his head, his lips glistening with your arousal. his eyes were black with lust, his expression feral and possessive. "say it again," he demanded, his voice rough with desire. "tell me who you belong to."

"i belong to you," you gasped, your hips rolling, seeking relief. "i'm yours, douma. always and forever."

he surged up your body, his robes falling away to reveal his lean, muscled form. he gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as he lined himself up with your entrance.

"never forget it," he growled, his eyes locking onto yours as he thrust deep inside you.

you cried out at the sensation, your body stretching to accommodate his thickness. he filled you completely, his pelvis grinding against your clit with each snap of his hips.

douma set a brutal pace, his hips slamming into yours with enough force to rattle the bed frame. he leaned down, his lips claiming yours in a searing kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth to taste your screams of pleasure.

"you're mine," he grunted with each thrust, his fingers tangling in your hair to hold you in place. "you'll always be mine. i'll never let you go again."

your body coiled tighter and tighter, your climax approaching with the force of a freight train. douma reached between your bodies, his fingers stroking your clit in time with his thrusts, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

"come for me, little flower," he rasped, his hips slamming into yours harder, deeper. his eyes burned with obsession as his words tangled against your lips. "i’ll make it up to myself… to us. i’ll give you another child. one i don’t miss half a life with."

he grinned, wide and wicked, his voice dropping lower, more feral. "we’ll start over. i’ll breed you again and again until we do it right this time. you’ll give me another son, another daughter… as many as it takes."

his hand gripped your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze as he drove into you mercilessly. "no more running. no more hiding. you’ll stay here and bear my children until you remember you were always mine."

his words sent you hurtling over the edge, your body spasming around his as your climax crashed over you. douma followed moments later, his hips stuttering as he spilled himself deep inside you, his seed painting your walls with his ownership.

you collapsed onto the bed, your body spent and replete. douma curled around you, his arms holding you tight against him, as if he never wanted to let you go.

-

whew.. anyways..

[wheredidallthedreamersgo]

R.SUKUNA 23/08/25

[wheredidallthedreamersgo]

chill out bro, hes ALL yours 😭🙏

-owner 2

[wheredidallthedreamersgo]

⛓️ lonely at the top ⛓️

☆ pairing: satoru gojo x afab!reader x true form!sukuna ☆ summary: you are the great ryomen sukuna's favorite healer from the heian era, reincarnated in the modern time. for centuries, you have also been his favorite lover. but when sukuna returns one day with a shockingly handsome blue-eyed sorcerer, you cannot help but feel threatened. no matter what sukuna's plans are for this newcomer, however, you're willing to do whatever it takes to stay on top. ☆ tags: slight canon divergence, smut with a lil plot ¬‿¬ ☆ warnings: MINORS DNI!!!! handjob, oral sex (m/f!receiving; yes this includes sukuna's abdomen mouth lmao); voyeurism; exhibitionism; fingering; p in v; anal; overstimulation; masturbation ☆ a/n: ok the promised (and voted upon) sukugo fic is FINALLY here my loves :3 i had to add reader in the mix too though bc girls just wanna have fun. also writing this kinda made me a sukuna truther :/ maybe i understand gege and sukuna kaisen just a little bit more now :/ ANYWAY ENJOY!!! ☆ wc: 8k

when you had heard of Lord Sukuna's imminent duel with the infamous Satoru Gojo, you knew it would be prudent to practice your Reverse Cursed Technique. you had always been Lord Sukuna's favorite healer (among other things), but that had been the Heian Era. this new time was as foreign and strange to you as the delicate new body into which you had been reincarnated.

and so, when Lord Sukuna re-enters the compound you share with his other most trusted servants and loudly calls for you, you are prepared. flexing your practiced fingers and preparing to channel positive cursed energy, you hurry to the threshold from which his voice had emanated and immediately sink to a kneeling position, your head turned to the floor. as expected, Lord Sukuna had come straight to the healing quarters.

"you summoned me, Lord Sukuna?"

Lord Sukuna approaches you; his footsteps sound heavy and slow. he is exhausted, you can tell, but he does not seem grievously injured as you had expected. so why did he call for you?

your head still inclined downwards, you stifle a gasp as you notice rivulets of blood darkening the floor beneath you and staining your pristine robes.

"you will heal him," Lord Sukuna says simply. you hear a heavy thud hitting the bed you had prepared so carefully for your lord. actually, mystifyingly, you hear two thuds. you chance a glance upwards, and your heart drops when you see that Lord Sukuna has indeed deposited severed halves of some unfortunate sorcerer's body onto the bed. from his pallor, you can tell he has already lost quite a lot of blood. this is beyond any healing you have ever performed in any era. you briefly wonder whether your beloved lord is setting you up to fail when he speaks up.

"i trust you understand that failure is not an option."

"yes, my lord."

"y/n," he says more quietly. you nearly shudder at the sound of his tongue lavishing attention on your name. "i keep you in my employ because you are the only healer worthy of serving me."

it is a statement of arrogance, but it is also one of reassurance. someone who has served as his trusted servant for as long as you have learns how to understand his sometimes esoteric cues.

you feel a firm hand grip your jaw and tilt your face upwards. you are greeted by a sight you have not seen in centuries: Lord Sukuna in his true form, in all his magnificence. his tattoos stand starkly against his glistening torso. his arms, now four in number as you recall, are corded with muscle; the grip his massive hand has on your face could easily crush your windpipe — and yet, it does not. it never would, so long as you serve your purpose. you cannot help but bask in his glowing charisma. this was the sorcerer you were so proud to serve.

"it is my honor to serve you, my lord. i will heal the sorcerer, i swear it."

noticing your desirous eyes raking over his form, his cruel mouth forms a lazy smirk, which is mirrored in the mouth of his stomach. the effect is equal parts unnerving and disarming.

"come, y/n," Lord Sukuna says, pleased with your reaction to his true form. "let us see your patient for the evening." he seizes your shoulders with his second set of arms, and indelicately pulls you to your feet before marching you towards the bed.

Lord Sukuna must still be unused to inhabiting his true body after possessing so many weak mortal vessels, you muse, for he is being far rougher with you than usual. you find that you do not mind, however. in spite of the grave situation, you feel heat embarrassingly beginning to pool at the apex of your thighs at the feel of Lord Sukuna's thick fingers and their crushing grip on your narrow shoulders.

the man in the bed is muscular, although nowhere close to Lord Sukuna's physique. that said, he looks youthful, and strong enough to have put up a good fight. perhaps he would even be strong enough to recover from his horrendous injuries under your expert healing hands.

but who was this man? why was Lord Sukuna so insistent upon healing him? and how was he injured like this in the first place?

your eyes wander to his upper half, and you pause on his face. handsome, with delicate features and a shock of messy white hair. his eyes are slightly agape, and you note that they are the uncommon blue of a summer sea.

blue?

you gasp in spite of yourself and turn to your master, momentarily forgetting that propriety dictates that you not maintain eye contact with someone so many levels above yourself.

"forgive me, Lord Sukuna, but...Satoru Gojo?"

Lord Sukuna does not seem to mind your lapse in etiquette, as he meets your gaze with a grin.

"he put up a marvelous fight. talent like that should not be extinguished, even though most sorcerers doubtlessly dream of being defeated by somebody like the great Sukuna," he says.

Lord Sukuna was always able to make such grandiose statements about himself that would sound asinine coming from any mere man. with the great Lord Sukuna, statements like these are simply the truth. he has always been so far above any human you have known, which is why his fascination with Satoru Gojo is leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. mortal humans, including you, need to know their place. that maxim should include Satoru Gojo, too.

Lord Sukuna's voice shakes you from your reverie. "oh, and y/n?" his normally commanding voice is alarmingly soft, and laced with...something. something typically reserved for his favorites, like you.

"yes, Lord Sukuna?" you ask, carefully keeping your head angled downwards towards the bed so as not to repeat your earlier eye contact gaffe.  

you watch as Lord Sukuna reaches a hand out towards Satoru Gojo's listless face to slap the young man's elegant cheek.

"do be gentle with your technique. i want this one staying pretty for me."

ah.

so that was why Lord Sukuna had taken such pains to rescue Satoru Gojo.

with that, Lord Sukuna turns on his heel and leaves you to your patient.

you anticipated healing Gojo's injuries to be your greatest challenge yet, but it is far more taxing than you ever could have known. your Reverse Cursed Technique was meant for healing injuries, but what had happened with Gojo's body was almost beyond an injury.

it had taken you hours in the first place to even figure out a way to use your RCT in this situation, until you had realized that delicate threads of cursed energy still emanated from Gojo's body. even if it was physically severed, his cursed energy still lived, if only barely. it is a testament to the sheer magnitude of Gojo's cursed energy that some still survives; no wonder he had impressed Lord Sukuna so.

you use your RCT to trace the threads of cursed energy from one half of Gojo's body to the other; in doing so, you are able to treat the severing merely as a thinning of cursed energy, and thus as an injury rather than a full separation. you breathe a sigh of relief as you observe one thread of his torso knit itself back together under your watchful eye.

now to repeat the process for the entire circumference of his body. you stretch and sigh; this would be a long night. at least you have a way forward now, though. disappointing Lord Sukuna was never an option.

as you continue reconnecting the flesh and gristle that makes up Satoru Gojo, you find yourself increasingly unable to ignore his objective beauty. as a healer, you always possessed great admiration for the physical form, and Satoru Gojo just happened to be a prime specimen. perhaps the fact that Lord Sukuna had found him to be a worthy adversary (and prize, you remind yourself) also influenced your judgment.

you feel a strange intermingling of lust, jealousy, and envy at the thought. you are well aware that Lord Sukuna has a prodigious sexual appetite that requires countless mortals to satisfy, but you have long been secure in your position as his favorite plaything. now, however, compared to Satoru Gojo, you cannot be so certain; he possesses beauty and power in spades. 

you shake your head. this is neither the time nor the place to be evaluating Lord Sukuna’s judgment; favorite or not, it is your duty to complete the task he so graciously entrusted you with. you are not sure of how long you continue to sew Satoru Gojo’s body back together, but you are aware that the sun’s citrus glow has long faded.

Lord Sukuna had always reminded you of the sun, although you have never been bold enough to tell him such a silly romanticism. but in its radiant beauty, burning power, and distance alike, you see your liege. much like the sun, Lord Sukuna had shone on you, and in his light, you had blossomed. you had been an obscure village herbalist’s apprentice until he had found you; you had hardly even been aware of your latent healing powers. it had been Lord Sukuna who had seen your immense potential, and who had honed your sorcery to the level it was today.

even the fact that he had burned down your village the day he whisked you away had done little to dim your fervent gratitude.

the moon begins to rise higher in the night sky now, its light filtering through the shuttered windows of the healing quarters as you continue working. Satoru Gojo’s natural beauty takes on an ethereal glow when bathed in moonlight. the battle between him and Lord Sukuna must have been a sight to behold; as you reconnect his body, you feel his cursed energy growing and twisting into itself with taut strength. 

Finally, when his halves become whole again, you sit back and admire your handiwork. The full moon that night meant you did not require a lantern, but the moon is setting now, and you want to give Satoru Gojo’s body a final check. 

as you rise to leave the room for a lantern, you feel a hand clasp firmly about your wrist. you gasp softly. 

“have i died? am i dead right now?” Satoru Gojo’s voice is hoarse with disuse. you had not expected him to be conscious again yet given the state of him; you suppose the fact that he is is a testament both to your healing ability and to his innate strength. 

you sit back down, noticing that he does not loosen his grip on your wrist. 

“you are still alive, Satoru Gojo, for i have healed your wounds,” you reply matter of factly. 

his blue eyes, now that they are fully open and conscious, are even more shocking than they were when you first glimpsed them earlier that day. they seem to glow from within; they look like they hold full worlds within their depths. 

“that’s weird,” Gojo continues. “i could’ve sworn i died and went to heaven seeing as i’m looking at an angel right now.” only when you see that he is grinning impishly at you do you realize he is flirting with you. 

your lip curls in distaste, and you extricate your hand from his grasp.

“i am no angel. i am a sorcerer, as you are. you were as good as dead, split clean in half, but i channeled my Reverse Cursed Technique to heal you,” you conclude with pride. 

Gojo looks down at his stomach, shiny and pink with fresh scar tissue. 

“you must be some sorcerer, then. i was positive i was a goner back there. i’m not sure even Shoko could’ve healed me like this. really nice work,” he muses. he is right, of course. you are unsure of who Shoko is, but Gojo is correct that very few sorcerers could heal such severe injuries. all the same, you loathe the warmth you feel at his admiration; Lord Sukuna’s confidence should be enough for you.

“anyway,” Gojo continues, “who are you exactly? where am i?” 

“Lord Sukuna brought you here,” you say. “I am his healer.”

surely the mention of his formidable foe would shake Gojo’s arrogance. you relish the fear that Lord Sukuna’s name seems to inspire in other mortals. 

this was unfortunately not the case with Gojo. 

“that’s sweet, the ol’ guy wanted me healed up, huh?” 

you bristle. “you will address Lord Sukuna with respect!”   

Gojo merely laughs at your response, which infuriates you further. “i, for one, fail to see why he deigned to save such an insolent whelp like you,” you snap, succumbing to your rising temper.

“really?” Gojo asks, his blue eyes full of mirth. “guess you don’t get the old guy the way i do. i’m pretty sure I understand why he wanted me alive.”

“then be so kind as to enlighten me,” you say sardonically. 

“i’ve been the strongest sorcerer around for basically my whole life,” Gojo says. in spite of the sarcasm in your voice when you asked him to explain himself, he seems sincere. “fighting Sukuna was the first time i felt even remotely challenged. he even technically beat me, i guess.” 

he watches you, waiting for you to respond. when you are still silent, he continues.

“i’m sure he feels the same way i do. i know i challenged him the way he challenged me, and for sorcerers at our level, finding a true adversary is hard.  once you do find one, letting go can be just as hard.” Gojo sounds wistful; you wonder if he speaks from experience. 

“i guess what i’m saying is that it’s lonely at the top,” he finishes; his earlier amusement is gone, and he seems somber now. 

you find that you pity Gojo. to be a sorcerer can be a lonesome existence. Lord Sukuna, while alone in his caliber, at least has you and his other servants and devotees to warm and distract him. does Satoru Gojo have anyone?

you reach a hand forward and begin tracing the planes of his pale face with your fingers. he lacks Lord Sukuna’s raw power, but his beauty is exquisite. Gojo leans into your comforting touch. 

“how can i ever thank you for bringing me back to life?” he murmurs. as your hand passes near his lips, he stills it with his own and kisses it softly. 

you gasp sharply and withdraw your hand as though burned. 

“that was wrong,” you say urgently. “you cannot touch me like that.”

Gojo sighs. “you really are devoted to that old man, aren’t you?” 

“we both belong to Lord Sukuna,” you reply, emphasizing his proper title. “you must respect his authority over us both.” 

“maybe you belong to Sukuku,” Gojo says; you cringe at his inane nickname for Lord Sukuna, but you suppose anything is better than merely calling him an old man. “i, on the other hand, only belong to me, myself, and i.” 

you exhale in irritation. no matter how great a sorcerer Satoru Gojo is, his arrogance is certainly grating. part of you wishes you had left him severed in two — at least he was quieter that way. you recall Lord Sukuna once saying that the greatest sorcerers always seemed to possess even greater mental eccentricities; Satoru Gojo certainly proves that theory.

to your annoyance, as he speaks, he takes your hand in his again. you are bemused to find, however, that you do not wish to remove it. his hands are wiry, yet so powerful. there is power within your hands as well, you muse as you intertwine your fingers almost instinctively. your irritation, admiration, and pride are all coalescing into a confusing burn of…passion. how inconvenient. 

 “you are rather presumptuous, are you not?” comes a voice from the doorway. you gasp and tear your hand from Gojo’s once more, immediately prostrating yourself before Lord Sukuna. Gojo makes no move to even bow his head, meanwhile. typical.

“rise, y/n,” Lord Sukuna continues. “you must be giving our guest a rather unsavory impression of me with your theatrics.” slowly, you raise your face from the floor and see Lord Sukuna has crouched before you. he takes your face in one of his hands. you shiver — it has been so long since you have felt the touch of his true form. “am i not a benevolent master to you?” he murmurs; his face is so close that you can feel his warm, humid breath on the shell of your ear. it is all you can do not to tremble from desire. 

with you still reeling from the close contact, Lord Sukuna rises smoothly back to his feet and saunters to Gojo’s bedside. 

“you seem in high spirits, Satoru Gojo. i feared i had gone too far with you,” Lord Sukuna says, his tone casual as though he had not cloven the younger man’s body in two just hours earlier.

“oh, i can take much more than that, old man,” Gojo says, innuendo easily discernible from his tone. you cannot stop yourself from rolling your eyes; from what you had seen thus far, Satoru Gojo seemed to flirt with everybody he meets. that said, the image of Lord Sukuna and Satoru Gojo, of what Gojo’s playful tone was implying…your mind’s eye is running amok, loathe as you are to admit it. doubtlessly Lord Sukuna’s true form and the sleepless stress of the evening are perverting your mind in unforeseen ways, you reassure yourself.

Lord Sukuna seems tickled by Gojo’s irreverence, and you try not to feel envious. “is that so?” he inquires. 

“a credit to your lovely healer, i gotta say,” Gojo continues, his shocking blue eyes twinkling as they meet yours. “she has a rare talent. you sure you need her? i have half a mind to take her with me when we’re done here.” 

you know Gojo is being insufferable right now, and moreover irreverent to Lord Sukuna. you know that. but he’s just so handsome, and so appreciative, and so talented in his own right…you feel powerless to stop the breath from catching in your throat, flustered at his attention. 

you find yourself thinking about how his smooth skin felt beneath your touch; cool, then warm as you breathed life back into him with your reverse cursed technique. taut, pulsating with the cursed power and blood in his veins. 

so lost are you in your meditations of Gojo’s flesh that you nearly miss what Lord Sukuna replies.

“y/n certainly is a first rate sorcerer,” he says, flinging a fond look over his shoulder at you; predictably, you preen at his praise. 

“what i enjoy most about y/n’s skill,” he continues, “is her fastidiousness. she leaves no stone unturned. in healing, jujutsu sorcery…and everything else. isn’t that right?” he asks you. 

“y-you are too kind, Lord Sukuna,” you bluster, trembling like a newborn fawn. you are usually so comfortable with him, but the presence of a stranger is making you look upon Lord Sukuna with new eyes again. 

“and i trust you have been equally thorough with our guest?” Lord Sukuna proceeds. 

“of course, Lord Sukuna.” 

“how disappointing to hear you lie to me, y/n,” Lord Sukuna tuts. “i know you have not been fully attentive to Satoru Gojo’s recovery.” 

your face grows hot. what did you do wrong? you take pride in your work, after all; you would never do a sloppy job no matter the patient, but especially not for one so important to Lord Sukuna.

“my lord? i am afraid i misunderstand you. i have followed only the most careful healing protocols,” you say; this is as close as you dare come to talking back. Lord Sukuna is kind and merciful and great, but much like the fire he commands, his warmth can flare uncontrollably and singe everything in its vicinity if you are not cautious. 

 “have you made absolutely sure, for example, that Satoru Gojo’s new body is completely functional?” Lord Sukuna prods. he has now turned to face you. one set of his arms is crossed over his chest, while the other is crossed behind his back. his face looks stern, but the mouth on his stomach betrays a smirk. 

“Satoru Gojo seems to be functioning as i would expect, my lord,” you reply.

“show me,” he says, stepping aside from Satoru Gojo’s bed. his body had been obscuring Gojo from your view, but you see now that the younger sorcerer has been watching the exchange with a hungry grin. there is clearly a subtext you are missing, but you dare not speculate what it is. 

you approach Gojo and perform an examination of his body, as you would any of your patients. you test his reflexes, and check his pupils’ dilation and contraction (during the latter, they look like just a pinprick lost in an ocean. nobody ever warned you of the six eyes’ beauty). when you palpate his ribs, he groans slightly; you feel the sound vibrate through your fingers.    

“he is recovering as i might expect, Lord Sukuna. of course, we must keep him under observation, but —” 

Lord Sukuna cuts you off with an impatient click of his tongue. “i will not tolerate your inattention to detail!” he growls. your heart starts beating violently, feeling like it’s throwing itself against your breast from within. 

you fight to keep your voice steady. 

“please forgive my stupidity, my lord,” you grovel, prostrating yourself once more. “i truly am unsure of what more you want me to check. please, if you could just help me, i promise this will never occur again.” 

you are mortified to feel the white-hot prickling of tears at the corners of your eyes. Lord Sukuna had never spoken to you this way, not even when you had just begun working for him. back then, you had known next to nothing compared to your knowledge now.  you rack your useless brain for something, anything, you might have missed, and come up empty. stupid, stupid girl. you just know this is the fault of Satoru Gojo, that irritating, gorgeous interloper. it is even more humiliating to be berated like this in his presence.

at Lord Sukuna’s silence, you direct your eyes as high as they can go from your position on the ground. you cannot see his face from this angle but you see his broad second mouth has gone from smirking to smiling outright with all its teeth. is he…not actually angry? 

you raise your head a little further, emboldened by the sight, and see Lord Sukuna himself smiling down at you, his two expressions identical. 

“what a pretty sight you make,” he coos, “on all fours looking up at me like that. my pliant, obedient girl.” 

he lowers one of his hands to cup himself through his loose pants, and you clench your thighs together; you are immune to neither the effect of his words, nor to the sight before you. 

he seamlessly bends down and raises you to your feet; as he holds you against him, it’s all you can do to hold yourself back from rutting against his massive body. but Lord Sukuna has always valued your restraint, and you know he has something planned for you. 

he rotates you now so your back is to him, and cages you tightly to his body with all four arms. you gasp; you have forgotten this delicious sensation, of being so thoroughly engulfed by Lord Sukuna that it is almost as if he has subsumed you entirely. he has turned you to face Gojo, who has been watching the scene unfold with great interest. you feel Lord Sukuna’s hardness growing behind you, but you resist the urge to grind into it and remain perfectly still. his pliant, obedient girl.

“now, go attend to our guest,” he says, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear with a finger. 

“yes, my lord,” you breathe, so aroused that you are nearly in pain.

 he then bends down until his lips tickle the back of your ear, making you shiver.

“show Satoru Gojo that that mouth of yours is meant for greater things than just making pretty little apologies to me,” he murmurs; you feel his voice reverberate through your whole body. the last thing you want to do is detach yourself from Lord Sukuna right now, but you know what  he desires of you, and you are always so eager to impress him. this is one of the things he loves about you, you know.

you return to Satoru Gojo’s bed as though to continue your examination; this time, however, you straddle him, desperate for just an ounce of friction to relieve your throbbing arousal. 

“i thought you had forgotten about me,” he pouts. 

“stop speaking, you stupid, beautiful man,” you reply, before tearing a kiss from his mouth. his lips are still slightly chapped from his hours of unconsciousness, and you rake your teeth across them. he groans into your mouth as you roll your hips until you feel him beginning to grow hard beneath you; the sensation sense frissons of pleasure through you, but you are single-minded in your task. you break your kiss abruptly and sit back, smirking at the pathetic whine Gojo lets out at your sudden absence. 

Gojo is only wearing a simple robe you had dressed him in after repairing him; this provides you with convenient access to conduct your examination. you withdraw a vial of oil you had kept in the pocket of your own robes (admittedly in anticipation of Lord Sukuna’s arrival), spread it across your hand, and begin stroking him. “it seems that everything is  in working order,” you remark as his erection grows under your expert ministrations. he moans and bucks into your hand. 

“p-please…” Gojo pants. the sound of his neediness goes straight to your core, which is rapidly growing wetter. this is not the time to pay attention to yourself, though; not when you’re attending to a patient. 

“‘please’ what, Satoru Gojo?” you tease; you know he has wanted to feel your mouth around him ever since Lord Sukuna alluded to it. you are enjoying watching this powerful sorcerer squirm by your hand, however. you glance over your shoulder and see Lord Sukuna is stroking himself off as well, his pants doffed entirely. you gulp; it has been so very long since Lord Sukuna has been in his own body; the sight of his girth is making you flush with desire. 

meeting your gaze, Lord Sukuna blows a kiss in your direction, and you bite your lip to keep yourself from whining in sheer need to have him inside you. the sooner you obey him and pleasure Satoru Gojo, the sooner you may have the honor of feeling him stretch your walls; and so, you turn back to your guest. 

Gojo has the most pathetic look in his stunning blue eyes, driven half mad by yet unfulfilled lust. his plush lips are twisted in a pained grimace. you see him moving his hand to give himself the pleasure you are denying him, but you hold it in place firmly. 

“you’ve been such a patient boy so far; don’t ruin it now,” you coo, nipping his lower lip. you then undo his robe and crawl backwards until your face hovers over his engorged cock. you place a light kiss at its warm tip, licking off a bead of precum, before looking back up at him through heavily lidded eyes. Gojo tilts his head back, exposing the delicate white expanse of his throat. 

“Please, y/n!” he cries. “i need you!” 

the sound of your name on his needy tongue is having quite an effect on you, and you finally take pity on him; he only just recovered, after all. in one smooth motion, you take as much of his length as you can in your mouth. Gojo groans at the feeling of the warm wetness engulfing his cock, and you begin moving your head up and down, complementing the motions with your tongue as you cup his balls with your free hand. 

“feel free to gag her,” Lord Sukuna calls from his corner of the room. “her little throat can take it.” 

Lord Sukuna instructing Gojo on how to fuck your mouth is turning you on more than you can handle, and you moan involuntarily around his length. Gojo threads his fingers through your hair and pushes your head down on him; you swallow and feel him filling your mouth, his tip battering your throat mercilessly. you can tell from his increasing pace, from the guttural growls the feeling of you is drawing from him, that he must be getting close. 

finally, finally, you feel a strong, calloused, beautifully familiar pair of hands dig into the flesh of your hips, and you could cry in relief. 

“you have been such a good girl for me,” Lord Sukuna hums sensually. “and i always reward loyalty.” you buck your hips backwards into him, raising them to provide him readier access to your dripping cunt. you feel the pads of his thumbs stroke over your ass as his tongue begins lapping at your folds. his second tongue, you can tell, from its breadth and roughness plundering you. for all its added size compared to his primary tongue, however,  Lord Sukuna is no less exacting with it, and he is soon circling your clit with painful accuracy. he does not wait long before giving you the pleasure you crave, and almost embarrassingly quickly, you come all over his massive tongue with a wanton moan. 

with the sound of your orgasm, and the feel of your moan vibrating around him, Gojo fists your hair even more tightly and releases hot ropes into your throat with a growl. 

“swallow it all,” Lord Sukuna commands, reaching forward to stroke your hair. “swallow it down for me.” you are nothing if not obedient, and you dutifully swallow Gojo’s whole load, not letting a single drop go to waste. Gojo leans back on the headboard, spent, and relaxes his vice grip on your hair. you pop your lips off him, licking them clean and smirking to yourself at your ability to have someone like Satoru Gojo at your mercy. 

“i believe our guest needs time to rest before we continue,” you hear Lord Sukuna say from behind you. you turn and see that he is leaning back casually on one of the other beds in the healing quarters. “let us leave him for the time being, y/n.” 

you are a little disappointed to be stopping already, but you comply; Lord Sukuna is probably correct that too much excitement for Gojo could hinder his healing process. you make your way towards the doorway, yawning a little, when you feel a firm hand close around your wrist. before you have a chance to react, you’re roughly tugged backwards, spinning directly into Lord Sukuna’s firm chest. 

“i don’t believe i dismissed you, did i?” he purrs into your ear, and a thrill of excitement slithers through your body. 

“did i?” he repeats, pinching the tender skin at your waist at your silence. 

“n-no,” you gasp, hardly able to focus over your excitement for what will inevitably follow. 

Lord Sukuna twists his hand, making you hiss lightly at the pleasurable pain. 

“‘no’ what, y/n? how is it you should address me?” 

“no, Lord Sukuna,” you manage to breathe out. he lets out a low chuckle that reverberates through his chest before bending you over an empty bed, holding both your wrists behind your back with one of his hands as he pushes your head down with another. you are already incredibly aroused when you feel a third hand begin to explore your slick folds. 

“already so wet for me, are you?” he teases; you can hear the smirk in his voice. you can only whimper in response. he easily inserts two fingers into you, eliciting a sharp cry when he hooks them around and lightly tickles the sensitive spot that can make you come apart. 

“now,” you manage to grind out between your teeth. “please, my lord…i need you inside me now…” 

“making demands now?” Lord Sukuna taunts. “we certainly are feeling cheeky this evening, aren’t we?” 

in spite of his words of chastisement, however, Lord Sukuna seems intent on granting your wishes, and you feel his stiff head, moist with precum, brushing once, twice, thrice against your entrance, building up friction. then, in one decisive motion, he enters you at last; Lord Sukuna was, by all definitions and especially mortal standards, extremely well-endowed; however, you have been ready for him for so long that his length faces little resistance. you sigh in relief at the feel of his massive girth stretching your walls, making you feel so full and complete. at times like this, you feel that your body was created to accommodate him, that being used like this by him was your most sacred purpose.

you push back against him, trying to seat him even more deeply within yourself. in response, he strokes your hair affectionately. he then pulls out slightly, and with one more thrust, he bottoms out in you with a groan. 

he begins to drive into you with greater speed and urgency, two of his hands holding your hips in place so tightly that you know his broad fingertips will leave bruises. he adjusts his angle, pushing your face into the mattress and bending over you until your bodies are flush, and he continues at an unrelenting pace. your pleasure continues to build as he bottoms out again and again inside you, his massive second tongue slavering lasciviously over the curves of your back, until you come for the second time that night. you cry out in ecstasy without shame, feeling your walls clench even more tightly around Lord Sukuna. he groans at the sensation and sinks his teeth into your shoulder as he empties himself into you until his come drips down your thighs. 

utterly sated, you begin to crawl out from under Lord Sukuna’s massive form, your legs trembling with exertion, pleasure, and pain alike. your shaky breath leaves  your lungs all at once when he abruptly flips you on your back. he is so imposing and beautiful, hovering over you like this, with an inscrutable look in his cruel, narrow eyes. 

“i believe i already told you, y/n,” he growls, “you are dismissed only when i dismiss you. and i am nowhere near through with you yet.” 

holding himself up with two arms, he takes your hand with a third and draws it down until it is around his cock, which is already hard again. 

“look what you do to me,” he murmurs, before using your hand to brush his tip against your still-tender vulva. 

“i’m not yet ready, my lord,” you whimper weakly, trying to wriggle out from his grasp to no avail. you gasp as he grinds himself between your thighs and against your slickened entrance, growing harder still. the friction almost surpasses pleasure to pain after your powerful recent orgasm, and you keen loudly, unable to help yourself. “i-it’s…too much…i can’t take it,” you protest, tears rolling down your cheeks from the overstimulation.

Lord Sukuna promptly silences your noisy cries by clamping a swift hand to your throat. 

“i alone dictate what you can and cannot take,” he declares, gently pressing on the sides of your neck and slipping a hand between your thighs as you squeeze them together. with uncharacteristic tenderness, he then kisses the tears from your cheeks.

 “and i know you can take this.” 

he stares into your eyes until you assent with a silent nod, and he smiles.

“good girl,” he whispers, before using his hand to pry your thighs apart and positioning himself properly.  he buries himself inside you again, this time with minimal resistance — between your and his combined juices, you are sopping wet now. encouraged, he hitches your leg over his shoulder for deeper access to your core and begins thrusting into you in earnest. from this new angle, he drives right into your most sensitive inner point, and you are sure your cries can be heard throughout the compound. you hardly care who can hear you now, though; you hardly even pay attention to Gojo, who is now looking fully alert and wide-eyed at the show he is getting. 

you dig your fingernails into Lord Sukuna’s sinuous shoulders and cry out again and again until your voice grows hoarse.    

“say my name,” Lord Sukuna commands between his own grunts of pleasure. 

“L-Lord Sukuna,” you moan, your voice shaking as his thrusts increase in pace. he wraps his hand around your throat again. 

“my true name, y/n” he growls. he drives into you faster; you know he is close, and it is your privilege to bring him over the edge.

as soon as he releases his grasp on your neck, you reach up, stroking your hand through his unruly hair before pulling his ear down to your lips. “as you wish, Ryomen,” you purr into his ear. he moans and nearly folds you in half as he drives into you at a diabolical pace. as he reaches his peak, he withdraws his length from you and unleashes his load all over your stomach, marking you as his own; the thought that you had this effect on him, this power over him, multiplies your own pleasure, and you climax once again, your legs shaking and toes curling in sheer bliss. 

Lord Sukuna rolls off of your body, both of you breathing heavily. 

“now, y/n,” he pants, “you are dismissed. i shall attend to our guest in your stead.” 

your exertions have exhausted you, but you are still obedient to him before anything else. and so, covered in both of your comes, his saliva, and a sheen of your own sweat, you bow deeply, and excuse yourself from the room. you are so utterly sated, so pleasurably sore, that all you can think of is taking a hot bath and resting.

well…almost all you can think of.

Lord Sukuna’s final statement has piqued your curiosity, however. and that is why, rather than returning right away to your own quarters, you find yourself kneeling on the floor peering around the curtain closing off the medical wing. if you are perfectly silent and still, you can remain undetected. besides, you reason, Gojo is still your patient, and so it behooves you to keep a close eye on his recovery.

(why leave everything to the imagination, after all?)

by the time you are settled in from your covert viewing spot, you see that Lord Sukuna is standing by Gojo’s bedside. the younger sorcerer is fully awake and alert now, peering up inquisitively with those blue eyes of his. 

“is it finally my turn now, then?” he asks; you note that he sounds slightly petulant and roll your eyes. was he really jealous now, of all times? 

You can only see his muscled back  from where you sit, but you know from how his shoulders shake that Lord Sukuna is laughing at Gojo’s insubordination. 

“you have seen what i demand, Satoru Gojo,” he says, crossing both sets of arms. “do you believe you can keep up, even in your state?”

you know that Lord Sukuna’s line of questioning is only pretense, of course. you recall why it was that Lord Sukuna had brought back Satoru Gojo for you to heal. and you remember his request — i want this one staying pretty for me, he had said. 

“of course i can ‘keep up,’” Gojo scoffs. “can you keep up, old man? you seemed to get pretty tired just then.” 

you grimace at Gojo’s disrespect, but Lord Sukuna is made of sterner stuff, and he just laughs even louder before clapping a pair of hands around Gojo’s beautiful face. you note that Gojo flinches, if only for a split second.

“such a mouth on you,” he hums, brushing a thumb across Gojo’s bottom lip. “just look at you. we will have to do something about that attitude.”

“like what?” Gojo asks, his eyes glimmering with anticipation that you can see even from where you sit. “what exactly is it you would do, Sukuku dear?”

“you seem to have your own ideas already. what is it you would have me do?” you can hear Lord Sukuna’s grin, even if you cannot see it.

Gojo simply winks.

“here’s an idea. why don’t you split me in half again?”

Lord Sukuna laughs heartily before leaning forward over Gojo’s bed, slightly obscuring your view. 

“what an idea, Satoru Gojo. would you enjoy that?”

for some reason, Gojo does not answer right away; you try to crane your neck around to see what is happening, but he speaks again soon.

“y…yes…” he responds, suddenly breathless. “i believe i w-would.” 

suddenly, you realize that, while you cannot see all of Gojo’s body from this angle, you can see one of Lord Sukuna’s arms moving rapidly up and down, and you can see a blush beginning to color Gojo’s delicate cheeks. your breath catches in your throat as you put together what it is you are witnessing. scrambling for a better view, you decide that both men are occupied enough that you can creep back into the corner of the room and hide behind one of the beds for a clearer angle.

“and are you certain you can truly take me? all of me?” Sukuna inquires, continuing his businesslike tone as though he is not currently stroking his rival off.

“mm-of course,” Gojo keens. 

“‘of course’ who?” Lord Sukuna prompts, repeating the routine he loves to do with you. 

“forget your own name, Sukuku? you gettin’ senile?” he pants with a grin that is equal parts lascivious and mischievous. this is bratty behavior Lord Sukuna never had to suffer from you, so you wonder with eager anticipation how he will respond. 

Lord Sukuna merely tuts in response. “what a shame. whether you can accommodate all of me or not, we will have to fix that smart mouth of yours first.” 

he fists a hand in Gojo’s fine white hair, easily palming his full skull as he pulls back until the blue-eyed sorcerer is looking straight up at him. 

“i happen to know the best cure for a smart mouth,” Gojo says with a feral grin. he darts his tongue out and swipes it swiftly across Lord Sukuna’s swollen tip. 

“get on with it, then,” Lord Sukuna growls, roughly forcing Gojo’s head onto his length. you grimace at the vigor with which Lord Sukuna rams himself down Gojo’s throat which looks so dainty to you, but he slurps eagerly on it; it seems Satoru Gojo is never one to shy away from a challenge. 

watching Lord Sukuna use Gojo’s throat so mercilessly, and Gojo meeting the task with such enthusiasm, you find yourself unable to resist snaking a hand down between your legs, where you feel heat and tension building once again. as you toy with yourself, careful to remain as quiet as possible, you see Sukuna pull Gojo’s mouth from his still-hard cock with a wet pop. 

“you have proven yourself to me,” he says, releasing his grip on Gojo’s hair to caress it tenderly back from his face. “and it is time for your reward.” you hold your breath; this should be a treat for you, as well.

with a grip on Gojo’s shoulders, he raises him from the bed; Gojo, still a little shaky on his legs, braces himself back against Lord Sukuna’s body. Gojo is by no means a small man, but his form is still engulfed when he is up against Lord Sukuna; you bite your lip at the thought and rub yourself faster. 

Lord Sukuna reaches around Gojo to the bedside table, where you had deposited your vial of oil, and lubricates his fingers with a few drops. his hands should still be slick with all of your combined secretions, you reason, but Lord Sukuna always takes extra precautions given his immensity. then, gently bending Gojo back over, he inserts one finger. Gojo throws his head back against Lord Sukuna’s chest and groans as he gets accustomed to the feeling, and he moans outright as Lord Sukuna inserts his second finger. 

the sight and sound send hot coils of pleasure through you, and you have to clap a hand to your mouth to keep yourself from mirroring the sounds Gojo is making. 

“are you prepared for me to split you in half again, as you so eloquently put it?” Lord Sukuna purrs against the shell Gojo’s reddening ear. 

“yes!” Gojo cries without hesitation.  

“would you beg for it?” Sukuna prods, not one to give his rival what he is asking for so easily. 

“please!” when Sukuna makes no moves to proceed, Gojo cries out again. “please, Lord Sukuna,” he breathes. “please make me yours.” 

“good,” Lord Sukuna says, leaves a bruising bite at the nape of Gojo’s neck. “well said.” then, preparing his length and using both sets of his arms to position himself and Gojo optimally, Lord Sukuna enters him with agonizing slowness. you are unsure of whether you even thought to hold yourself back from moaning this time, but it is drowned out in any case by Gojo’s own needy vocalizations. 

as he pumps in and out of Gojo, all three of you are overcome by your own pleasure, by the complicated dynamics you have brought into the medical wing and worked out in such a raw and wild way. your earlier feelings of confused irritation for Gojo dissipate as you watch his beautiful form twisting in paroxysms of pleasure; in him, you see yourself. as the two men climax at nearly the same time, scattering their pearly semen across the sheets and each other, you find yourself peaking soon after, tears streaming down your face in sheer joy.

As Lord Sukuna settles Gojo back down into the bed for him to continue his recovery, he gives him a fond pat on the head.

“you were magnificent, Satoru Gojo.”

the sorcerer gives a little self-satisfied smile before falling into a deep slumber nearly immediately, and you make a mental note to ensure that all the exertion did not compromise his healing in any way. before Lord Sukuna can turn back around, you gather your earlier discarded robe around yourself and quietly crawl back out of the room and behind the curtain, pleased with yourself for not being caught. 

or so you thought.

“there is no need to exit on my account, y/n,” he calls, not turning around. you gasp before re-entering sheepishly.

“i apologize, my lord. i merely wished not to disturb you both, so i did not make myself known,” you explain rather weakly. 

“i am pleased you… enjoyed yourself,” he says, finally looking over his shoulder at you with a knowing smile that makes you shiver with shame.

 “you seem to have enjoyed yourself as well, my lord,” you reply; your envy of Gojo for earning Lord Sukuna’s attention is building back up, and you are unable to keep it from your voice. 

“oh, y/n,” Lord Sukuna chuckles fondly, closing the space between you with long strides before he is clasping you to him. 

“Satoru Gojo is a novelty.” he leans down until your mouths meet, and your breath catches.

“you, however,” he murmurs against your lips, his breath hot, “are mine. do you understand?” 

“yes, my lord,” you breathe back into him, hardly daring to move.   

he steps back from you first, calling for Uraume much to your confusion. the soft spoken chef, a long-time friend of yours inside the compound, appears with their characteristic quiet swiftness. much like yourself, Lord Sukuna has implicit trust in their devotion, and so often depends on them for personal tasks even beyond their formal role in the kitchen. as such, you have both built a mutual respect for one another. you nod a cordial greeting at them, which they return.

“you called for me, Lord Sukuna?”  they ask with their careful diction. 

“please draw a bath and get y/n cleaned up for me,” he says. 

you look at him inquiringly, and he chuckles darkly, his previous tenderness all gone.

“you and your pleasure both belong to me, y/n,” he reminds you. “and i know i did not give you my permission to…enjoy the show.”  

you gulp, and he turns back to Uraume. 

“get her prettied up for me,” he continues  with a devious grin of anticipation, “and bring her back to me so i may discipline her appropriately for her disobedience.”

[wheredidallthedreamersgo]

they really take money from your bank account when you buy something this is so fucked up :/

[wheredidallthedreamersgo]

[wheredidallthedreamersgo]

[wheredidallthedreamersgo]

[wheredidallthedreamersgo]

genuinely fucked up that if i want to interact with someone online i have to say words and have a conversation instead of just mashing my face against them like a cat

[wheredidallthedreamersgo]

this episode changed me forever

[wheredidallthedreamersgo]

(Recently read a fanfic that inspired me to right this little snippet! Thought the chubby girls would want some more rep. It’s not the best, still new to writing, if it’s any good I might make more of it, but for now, here ya go! Also, be warned, there’s some fatphobic comments made.)

FratBoy! Sukana x Chubby!Reader

“She was acting like a such a bitch today! THEN! then she had the audacity to clock out early?? Like, girl, you’re the manager. We didn’t ask you to sign up for this position, you did that to yourself.”

You giggled along as your roommate went on and on about your manager. You got lucky with the random roommate assignment and ended up meeting your best friend in the process. You looked over at the setting sun, before taking down your hair from the bun it was in. Today’s work shift really did feel like a preview of hell. The walk back to your dorm was full of ranting about what a fucking awful shift that was.

When you guys got back, she turned to give you a mischievous grin. You don’t quite catch on until she pulled out a bottle of some cheap vodka from somewhere under her bed.

“Take the edge off??” She asks you, while subtly waving the bottle up.

“You’re gonna turn into an alcoholic, but after that fucking nightmare… Yeah. Besides, it’s not like I’m doing anything tomorrow.” You quickly moved to your mini fridge and pulled out some drinks to mix the vodka with.

Inviting some friends over and DoorDashing some pizza after having changed into pajamas, you and your friends were getting ready for a chill and buzzed night.

That was until your friend squealed about her plug being nearby and needing to smoke a bit while she drinks. Something about ‘the spins’ she gets from the combination. You’ve never really smoked, but her excitement was infectious. When she started taking about going out there, you got a bit worried.

Her? Buzzed? Alone? At nearly 11 pm? Walking past the frat houses?

Absolutely not.

“Wait,” You stand and grab your hoodie and shoes before your mind can make another thought, “I’m going with.”

You follow behind them to the frat her plug is committed to. The second the frat houses come into view, you tug your hoodie tighter around yourself, wanting this to be a quick transaction so you can get back to the rest your friends.

However…

Your friend seems to have different ideas.

The second we get closer to the frat house, the boys that were outside turn towards us. Her plug calls her close with a flick of his head.

“Hey, ma, took you long enough.” He said to her.

“Guess someone slowed her down…” One of the boys next to him snickered. You didn’t need to look up to know he was talking about you. And yet, you glanced up anyways.

and woah.

Among the frat boys was a pink-blonde haired man. Tall, broad, and tatted leaning against the frat’s wall. So very clearly dangerous. You couldn’t help but stare at him. He was just so charming. So intriguing. So damn handsome. You couldn’t stand the frat guys, but hey, admiring a good looking man doesn’t mean anything!

Turned out, you were staring for a bit too long. He raised his eyebrow at you, giving you a small smirk. You immediately dropped your eyes to the floor, kicking at a small pebble. You didn’t catch how his smirk got a bit wider when your chubby cheeks burned a bit brighter under the dim lighting.

When you finally looked up again, you say your friend go inside with her plug. you panicked, reaching out to try and get her attention before she disappeared behind the door.

“Fuck…” You muttered. That’s when you heard it. A deep rumbling chuckle. Damn, even his voice is as fine as he is.

“What’s wrong? Don’t tell me you’re scared of us?” He asked.

Before you could respond, his frat brothers spoke up again, voices full of disdain.

“Yeah, it’s not like we’d ever even go near you. Let alone touch you. So you’ve got nothing to be worried about, chubs.”

“All you gotta do is sit on us and we’re goners!”

They laugh loudly as you try to fight back tears, even him. Sure, you’re a bigger girl but damn… you’re human too. You huffed and tapped your foot impatiently, crossing your arms over your chest. Doing anything and everything from going in there and dragging your friend out so you can head back to your dorm and drink whatever this encounter was away.

You wanted to defend yourself. You really did. But you knew if you spoke up, the trembling in your voice would only make it worse. So instead, you focused on anything else.

“We’re gonna head inside, Sukuna. You coming or you gonna finish that cig?”

“Nahhh, I’ll see you inside.”

I stood off awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot.

“Some friend you’ve got…”

You look up at him as he says this, clearly angry. He tosses the cigarette on to the ground nearby and puts it out.

“Left ya out here to deal with 3 guys while she’s inside probably sucking the guy off for cheaper weed. Major bitch.”

“Don’t talk about her like that.” You bit back

“Feisty.” he murmured, looking you up and down. Eyes stopping at your thoughts before murmuring a quick, “Not bad.”

“Excuse you!?” You couldn’t believe his fucking audacity right now.

“What? Can’t take a compliment?”

“That wasn’t exactly a compliment anyways.”

He smirked at you, amused by how angry you seemed.

“So you got a name?”

“Sure, just not one to give you.”

“Oh come on, I’m not that bad. Sometimes, at least.” He said with a deep chuckle, that stupid voice of his making you feel all sorts of pent up.

“‘Not that bad’?? You and your little tiny dick brigade just talked about how if I sit on them-“

He put his hand up to stop you from going on before saying, “That’s because they weigh 130 pounds soaking wet. Those are boys. Twigs.”

He pauses, his eyes staying on your thighs again, “Besides… wouldn’t mind if I got you sitting on me. At least, not in the way they were thinking.”

You look up at him in utter disbelief. Your cheeks burned from his comment and your jaw dropped.

When your friend stepped back out, she glanced cautiously between you both before going up to you. She linked her arm with yours and hurriedly walked away from the frat. A few moments passed in silence before she asked: “So. Why was Sukuna making me ‘fuck me’ eyes at you?”

You glance back for a moment, catching him watching your plush figure walk off. Your friend glances too, catching the small flicker of uncertainty in your eyes. She grins, already knowing where this mess is going.

[wheredidallthedreamersgo]

[wheredidallthedreamersgo]

*spends the next 17 years trying to catch pikachu*

[wheredidallthedreamersgo]

✯ pairing — satoru gojo x fem!reader ( college!AU )

summary — your ex is supposed to stay in the past — not show up at the same house party, not start a game of jealousy, and definitely not end up with you pressed against his bathroom mirror. but satoru gojo has never followed rules. what starts as taunts and old wounds quickly turns into something reckless, messy, and impossible to ignore. when the morning comes, it’s all laughter, chaos, and maybe even a confession you weren’t expecting.

✯ w/c — [ 8, 1 k ]

✯ warnings — (+18) mdni, explicit smut, mirror sex, fingering, dirty talk, jealousy, light degradation, hand-over-mouth kink, aftercare, domestic fluff, substance abuse (marijuana), arguments about past relationships, banter, confessions, comedic ending with friends.

✯ a/n — written for @spearofheaven “league of ex’s” event 💌 congrats on hitting 1k followers daya my sweetieeeee! thank you so much for including me — i’m so excited to celebrate with this fic. i hope everyone enjoys this messy, sweet, chaotic story as much as i loved writing it.

“You're fucking unbelievable,” you snap, arms crossed tight to your chest as your heels click against the library tiles, storming onto the quad.

“She was asking for a pen,” Satoru calls after you, sounding far too casual for someone who just had a girl sitting on his lap five seconds ago. “God forbid I help a classmate.”

You whirl around, vintage Louis heel catching the sunlight, and your glare could split concrete. “She wasn't just asking Satoru. She was fucking purring.”

He pauses. Blinks. “... Did she?”

You groan — loud enough that heads turn. You don't care. Let the whole damn campus know how much of an idiot your boyfriend is.

“Forget it, Satoru.”

He jogs to catch up with you, walking backwards with that signature stupid grin — the one that used to melt you, but in this very moment it just made your blood boil.

“You're mad again?” he teases. “We're not even together.”

That line stabs a little too hard than usual. You stop walking. Of course the line he usually pulls to make sure to pester you even further at this point.

“Exactly,” you snap. “So I don't owe you a damn explanation when I'm dating someone else.”

You made sure the word dating sinks like venom between your teeth.

His grin twitches — just a flicker — but you catch it.

“Is that what this is about? ” he says, adjusting his glasses as they slide low on his nose. His bright blue eyes lock onto yours, sharp and unreadable.“You're trying to get back at me again?”

You cough, eyes rolling as you toss your hair back.

“We're not together anymore, remember?”

Hands slid into his brown chino pockets. He's still smiling like some dumb idiot, but this time it doesn't reach his eyes.

“You're serious?”

“Dead serious.”

“We're done?”

“Again.”

“Again,” he echoes sarcastically under his breath.

Then of course — Suguru shows up behind him, hounding a mango smoothie and looking like this isn't his first time witnessing your public breakups.

“Are we still pretending this isn't a weekly event?” Suguru asks, sipping casually.

You and Satoru stare at him in unison.

“Right, my bad,” he mumbles. “ Please, carry on. I love being in the middle of your sitcom.”

Satoru sighs like he's the victim in all this. “Fine. Go flirt with whoever you want. See if I care.”

“I will,” you shoot back, chin high and voice sharp enough to cut diamonds. “Maybe I’ll go cheer for Sukuna tomorrow. Heard he’s single.”

Satoru doesn't flinch, but his jaw clenches — just slightly. You see it just by a glimpse and you couldn't help but smile.

Suguru lets out a low whistle and mutters, “Oh, he's gonna spiral.”

You flip your hair and walk off like the main character — because you are.

·˚⊹₊˚｡//

Later the next day campus was already humming by the time you dragged yourself out of bed, sunlight stabbing you through the blinds like it had a personal grudge. Last night's fight with Satoru still clung to you — not the words so much but the nerve of him. The way he smiled like he hadn't done a damn thing wrong and the way Suguru looked entirely too entertained.

You told yourself you were over it. That you weren't going to waste another second thinking about the annoyingly avoidant Satoru Gojo.

But somehow deep down you knew… it bothered you.

Then your phone buzzed.

my soulmate mei 💜: Girls. My place. Now.

·˚⊹₊˚｡

Mei Mei’s apartment smelled like fresh coffee and trouble. You were curled up on her couch in an oversized hoodie and last night's mascara — didn't bother you that much — cradling a mug while Shoko sat-crossed legged on the rug lazily rolling something suspicious.

“You look like shit,” Shoko mumbled, enough for the girls to nod silently.

“Shoko I swear —” you groaned, throwing your head back against the couch cushions, “he's the most infuriating man on campus. Maybe in Japan. Oh no, maybe in the damn universe.”

“That's a big claim,” Shoko said, lighting up with all the apathy of someone who had zero romantic stakes in anything. “But considering it's Satoru Gojo we're speaking of, I believe it.”

Mei Mei smirks from the kitchen pouring herself some more coffee. “You're doing this wrong. If you're going to be petty, you have to commit. Half-assed jealousy doesn't win wars.”

“This isn't a war,” you argued, even though your voice didn't sound convinced.

“Sweetheart,” Mei Mei said, sliding into the arm chair like a Bond villain, “it's always a war with that man.”

Utahime, pitched primly on the other couch, sipped her tea and gave you a look you didn't appreciate. “Or… you could do what mature couples do and talk it out.”

You scoffed. “Like you and Nanami?”

“Yes,” she said with zero shame. “We communicate. No petty games, no jealousy, no screaming in the quad. We're happy.”

Shoko snorted smoke out of her nose. “Shit, here we go. Utahime’s ‘healthy relationship sermon’.”

Utahime rolls her eyes at Shoko’s slight comment and you couldn't help but smile at the playful sight of your friends.

Mei Mei ignored them, eyes glinting with mischief. “The big football game is today, right? Perfect stage. You and your cheer team parade around in those little skirts, he's on the sidelines pretending he doesn't want to drool. That's your battlefield.”

You arched your brow. “And how exactly am I supposed to make him spiral at a football match?”

“Oh, I can think of a few ways,” Mei Mei purred. “For starters, word is Sukuna’s the new captain of the Ironfangs — the very team we're up against tonight.”

You almost spit your coffee. “No fucking way.”

“Way,” Shoko confirmed lazily. “And I think he's single. Very single.”

Utahime rolled her eyes. “This is ridiculous.”

“This is delicious,” Mei Mei corrected. “ Satoru’s competitive enough with other guys on his team. But Sukuna? That's gonna set him on fire.”

You smirked into your mug, the beginnings of a plan forming. “Fine. I'll play.”

“Oh,” Shoko murmured, grinning with heavy eyes, “this day just got interesting.”

But as Mei Mei got up you couldn't help but ask “Mei Mei… where exactly are you getting all this information from ?”

She paused mid-step, that slow, knowing smile tugging at her lips. “Let's just say, from someone who knows the game inside and out.”

Her tone was sugar-coated mischief, but the glint in her eyes said more than her words ever could. You caught the faintest whiff of expensive cologne lingering as she walked away, leaving you to wonder just how close she's gotten to the source.

·˚⊹₊˚｡//

The rest of the morning slipped by in a gaze of coffee, last-minute pep talks, and mental rehearsals. You left Mei Mei's apartment with a spring in your step, oversized hoodie stuffed in your bag, hair perfectly done despite the lazy curls at the end, and your signature smirk ready for the battlefield.

By late afternoon, the campus stadium in Osaka was buzzing. The local team from your college, Osaka Thuderhawks, were warming up under the golden sun, their sneakers squeaking against the wet field. You could feel the energy of the crowd, the scent of popcorn, and the faint tang of sweat mixing in the air. You cheer the team had already taken the sidelines, forming neat lines, pom-pom in hand, eyes scanning for him — Satoru Gojo, looking far to calm on the Thunderhwaks bench.

And there between the drills was Sukuna — new captain of the Ironfangs. His dark hair caught the sunlight, grin slightly cocky, tossing the football between his hands as if he owned the universe.

You felt a trill. Perfect distraction, you thought. And yet every time your gaze flickered to Satoru, you caught the sharp flicker of blue in his eyes.

Your cue came and you launched into your first routine. Every spin, every jump, every sway of your hips was carefully choreographed to tease — not just the crowd but surely for him only. You tossed a playful wink his way when you hit the pyramid formation, and he immediately stiffened, jaw clenching for a brief second before settling into his usual, infuriating composed mask.

Sukuna on the other end, jogged past you — close enough that your fingers brushed his arm "accidentally" and you threw him a mischievous grin. He smirked back, raising an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the game more than he should.

"You're trying way too hard," he murmured as he returned the ball to the quarterback.

"Oh am I?" you shot back, flipping your iconic ponytail over your shoulder. "Or am I just making sure someone on that bench is loses his mind?"

Satoru’s head snapped towards you at that, blue eyes so sharp it could cut through glass. He didn't say anything only exhaled audibly, gripping the edge of the bleachers like he had to remind himself not to chase you across the field.

Your team finished the first set of stunts, and you jogged back to the sidelines, heart hammering in more than one way. Sukuna leaned in, just loud enough for you to hear. "You sure you're not enjoying this too much?"

You laughed brushing past him with a flirtatious roll of your eyes. "Maybe. But it's not about me."

Satoru, meanwhile hasn't taken his gaze off you for a second. Every cheer, every flip, every teasing glance you threw at Sukuna was a dagger aimed straight at him. You could see it in the subtle twitch in his mouth, the way his hands flexed at his sides. And yet, you couldn't bring yourself to feel guilty — oh no, not tonight.

This was your turf, your game and your ground.

"Looks like someone's losing his edge," Mei Mei whispered under her breath making sure the smirk didn't go unnoticed.

You could hear Shoko snicker beside you, swinging an arm around your shoulders. "Oh man, he's definitely trying to hold back."

— — — —

The game continued that night, with the Thunderhwaks scoring another touchdown. And to your surprise it wasn't any other player — it was the Satoru Gojo, the heart of the team, the captain.

He tore down the field like he had something to prove, eyes sharp, movements viciously precise. The crowd erupted when he broke past the line, dodging the defenders with that arrogant grin. Sukuna was left in the dust, his outstretched arms inches away from grabbing him — and then Satoru was across the end zone, spiking the ball with a cocky flourish.

The stadium exploded. His teammates swarmed him instantly, hoisting him up on their shoulders, slapping his back, chanting his name like he was some type of god. Gojo! Gojo! Gojo!

You felt it like a punch to the chest. He wasn't just playing the game. He was performing for you.

Sweat gleamed on his skin, catching under the floodlights as his black and blue jersey clung to the cut of his torso. He was all long limbs, lean muscle, the dangerous grace of someone who knew everyone was watching. His teammates finally let him down and he tugged off his helmet, hair plastered damp against his forehead, mouth curved into that maddening grin.

You told yourself not to look. You told yourself not to care — that Sukuna was just mere centimeters from you but it was clear the universe had other plans.

And then — unexpectedly he tipped his head back, grabbing a bottle from the bench. He poured the water over his face, rivulets cascading down his defined jaw, across the slope of his throat, soaking his jersey until the fabric clung like second skin.

Your breath caught.

He spit out the excess in a slow arc, water glistening as it left his lips and then — of course — he turned his head just enough to catch your eyes. A smirk and a single deliberate wink, which he knew was your weakness.

"Fuck," you muttered under your breath, thighs pressing together instinctively.

Mei Mei smirked knowingly. "Oh he's showing off for you. Don't even try to deny it."

"You guys are so childish," Utahime said judging all three of you, like she was the only holy grail in this group.

Shoko cackled beside her. " You're drooling."

"I am not —" you hissed, but your eyes betrayed you, still locked on him like a magnet.

Satoru jogged back on the field for the next drive, flexing his hands, muscles bunching beneath his pads with every stride. He didn't even have to speak — you could feel him taunting you with every move, every flash of blue eyes in your direction.

When the whistle blew again, it was like watching him burn. Fueled by something darker, sharper — fueled by you. He snatched the ball, weaving through the defenders like they were nothing, his speed blistering but on the right hand side you could see Sukuna approach him — you wanted to scream, but instead you gripped onto Shoko for dear life.

And before you knew it, Satoru didn't, even pass to his teammates — rival — he was on a different level than before. Another touchdown. The crowd lost their mind.

This time, instead of letting his team mob him, he slowed right at the edge of the end zone. He turned, searching, gaze cutting through the mass of cheerleaders, the shouting fans, the chaos — until he found you.

And then he mouthed it. 'Yours'.

Your pulse hammered at your throat, heat flooding your body so fast you thought you might combust. He was impossible. Arrogant. Cocky. The biggest on the planet.

And yet, as your squad erupted into cheers beside you, pom-poms raised high, you couldn't stop the shiver that ran down your spine.

He had you.

Again.

·˚⊹₊˚｡//

The whistle blew, and the stadium roared one last time. The Thunderhawks had taken the victory, leaving Sukuna's squad in the dirt. The rivalry game was theirs, and Satoru Gojo stood at the center of it — helmet tucked under his arm, jersey clinging to his sweat-slick body, grin sharp as ever. He scored twice for the night, fueled by something more dangerous than pride: the sight of you winking at his rival.

And he hadn't forgotten, that scene was burned into his skull.

The crowd had thinned, players heading towards the locker rooms, coaches shouting last-minute instructions, the stadium echoing with fading cheers. Your squad had already left, long enough for you to linger at the sidelines, tying your sneakers, brushing stray hairs out of your face and packing up the rest of your cheer gear. But… you knew Satoru hasn't moved, not one bit.

"You're awfully quiet over there," he called, voice carrying just enough to make your stomach tighten.

You glanced up, feigning nonchalance, only to see him walking toward you, that damn confident smirk in place. "Just… packing up." You said, trying to sound more casual that usual.

"Packing up, huh?" His steps were slow, deliberate until he was right behind you. You could feel the heat radiating off him, his presence crowding the small space off the sidelines.

Before you could even react, his hands slid around your waist, firm but teasing. You froze, a shiver running down your spine as he leaned in, lips brushing warmly against you ear.

"I know what you're doing," he murmured, voice low, edged with something much more sharper than amusement. "Flirting with Sukuna? Waving that little skirt around like you don't know better?" His warm tongue traced lightly along your neck. "… Believe me sweetheart, it's working."

You gasped eyes widening, heat rushing to your cheeks. "S-Satoru…" you stammered, but there was a trill in your voice you couldn’t hide.

He chuckled, that cocky, infuriating laugh that used to make you melt in seconds. "Don't even try to act like your innocent, Y/N." His hand tightened slightly at your waist, just enough to leave you breathless. "You wore this short skirt for me, didn't you?"

You swallowed hard, heart hammering in your chest, and you tried to step away — but his grip followed, easing you toward the locker room entrance. "Someone's gonna notice," you whispered, voice shaking but daring enough to challenge him.

He smirked, unbothered. "Let them. We're not in public anymore."

By the time you had your gym bag packed and the last pom-poms shoved into their bag, Satoru had leaned back just enough to give you a look that was equal parts smug and challenging.

"You look… ridiculous." he said, voice teasing, but his lingered low, hungry.

You arched an eyebrow, crossing your arms. "Funny. I was about to say the same thing to you."

He chuckled softly, brushing a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. “This game… you really outdid yourself. All those little winks, the touches, the way Sukuna couldn’t stop looking at you.” His jaw clenched, but the grin never faltered. “You wanted to make me jealous, and you did.”

You smirked, brushing past him to grab your jacket. “Glad you noticed. But it was never meant for you to look at.”

The grin that was plastered across his lips, didn't falter once but you could see the sudden twist within his eyes.

You took a step back, crossing your arms with deliberate defiance, smirking his way. "Don't look so hurt. We were never together, remember?"

With his body leaning against the locker doorframe, arms crossed, blue eyes glinting with amusement — and frustration. "Oh I remember, but you know you left me all… unsettled Y/N. Don't think I'll forgive you that easily tonight."

You bit your lip, heart thumping. "Oh I'm counting on it," you said, voice low and playful, and just a little flirty.

He stepped closer so close you could feel slow and steady rhythm of his heartbeat — lowering his voice. "Good. Because I've got plans to make you regret every damn move on that field."

You felt a flush creep up your neck, a mix of irritation and excitement. The teasing, the tension — it was all a game,but neither of you wanted to lose.

"Keep dreaming Satoru," you whispered, grinning up at him, zipping up your jacket.

He smirked, and as your back turned to him you couldn't help but tease "Oh and if I kiss Sukuna tonight, don't throw a fit please."

You couldn't see it but you were sure the smirk that always covered his glowing features wasn't there.

As you both left the locker room, the night air brushing against your flushed skin, you knew the real fun wasn’t over yet. The party was waiting, and with it… everything you and Satoru had been dancing around since Thursday night.

By the time you left the field, the adrenaline of the game hadn't worn off. Satoru's smirk still burned in your mind, the way he held your waist and his tongue that latched against your skin like it belonged there. You told yourself it didn't matter, but your pulse hasn't slowed since.

·˚⊹₊˚｡

Hours later, the four of you were sprawled out across Mei Mei's room — clothes, makeup, and empty bottles scattered everywhere like casualties of war.

Shoko lay on her back on the carpet, lazily blowing smoke rings at the ceiling. Utahime perched at the edge of the bed with a glass of wine, her brows furrowed in that eternal mom-friend way as she scolded, “Do you three ever take anything seriously?”

"Only men who can keep up,” Mei Mei quipped, holding up two options."Short skirt, dangerous heels, glitter or no glitter?"

"Glitter," you muttered, tugging at the strap of the cutout dress you've chosen. It was the kind of thing that would make jaws drop, something Maddy Perez herself would've worn. You checked yourself in the mirror one more time, satisfied at how it hugged your curves.

"God he's going fucking die when he sees you," Shoko drawled, passing the blunt to Mei Mei.

Your phone buzzed against the vanity. One glance and your stomach tightened.

sukuna r. 💋 : Heard you're coming tonight. Don't keep me waiting.

You tilted the screen towards Mei Mei, who snorted. "Oh, he's bold."

Shoko peeked over, smirking through the haze of smoke. "Text him back something terrifying. Scare the shit out of him."

You grinned, tossing your phone aside without replying. "Not bold enough."

Another buzz lit up the screen. This time your breath hitched.

satoru (ex-cunt) : Whatever your wearing, better be for me.

You rolled your eyes, though heat crept up your neck. Mei Mei peeked, her grin wicked. "Oh someone's a little possessive tonight."

"Mhmm, and I don't give a damn," you mumbled, as you fixed and posed in front of the mirror — knowing and feeling like the bad bitch you are.

"Boys are so damn pathetic," Utahime muttered, taking a sip. "You could wear a paper bag and he'd fold."

·˚⊹₊˚｡//

It wasn't long till Mei Mei drove you all to the party. By the time you reached the two story building of Satoru’s and his friends house, bass rattled through the walls, shaking the porch beneath your heels as you walked. Laughter and shouts spilled through the night as Mei Mei looped her arm through yours — Utahime long gone to find her beloved boyfriend and Shoko, god knows where she's gone.

"You ready to make him eat his own heart out?" she teased, eyes glinting as the porch lights of the frat house came into.

You didn't answer — just adjusted the strap of your dress, glitter catching under the lights. Maddy Perez levels of iconic : the cutouts hugged your waist, hemline daring, each step a challenge.

The second you stepped inside, the energy shifted. Conversation faltered, heads turned, whistles cut through he music. And then —

Satoru Gojo saw you.

Leaning against the kitchen counter, beer in hand, hair still damp from the shower he probably took earlier at the locker rooms. His grin froze mid-conversation when his eyes found you. For a split second, his chest visibly rose, like the sight of you had knocked out all the air in his lungs. Then of course, he recovered like the man he was.

The girl clung to his arm too close, her finger lazily tracing down his chest, lips lightly kissing just below his neck. You didn't recognize her — and you didn't need to. Satoru's hand slid down her hip deliberately, shamelessly, his smirk locked on you. The message was clear.

You pulse spiked, but you raised your chin, lips curling into a sultry smile as if he were just another boy in the crowd. Beside you, Mei Mei laughed under her breath, delighted by the silent war already in motion.

"Two minutes in and he's combusting." she whispered.

The house buzzed with chaos. Utahime was already hovering, over by Nanami with a red cup in hand, scolding him about drinking too fast while he ignored her completely. Nanami and Suguru traded glances like commentators.

"How long do you give them?" Nanami asked, nodding subtly in your direction.

Suguru smirked knowingly. "Before they explode? Half and hour tops."

"Ten yen says twenty minutes," Nanami countered.

And then Sukuna walked in. No announcement, no fanfare — just slid into a chair at the dining table where a drinking game was already heating up. His tattoos snaked from beneath his loose shirt, his smirk lazy but sharp. His gaze found you immediately, lingering, heavy, unbothered, like he already knew he'd get what he wanted if you gave it.

And just like that, the room's gravity shifted. Satoru's stare burned hot and possessive while Sukuna's gaze lingered like a dare, and you — caught between them — felt the night coil tight, waiting to snap.

The party had only just begun.

Your drink barely touched your lips before you felt it — that heat of his stare burning holes through your skin. Satoru hasn't looked away once. His arm candy was stilled pressed up against him, but the way his jaw ticked, the way his grip tightened around his cup, made it more obvious than ever : his attention wasn't on her, it was chained to you.

Mei Mei nudged you with her elbow, voice low and gleeful. "He's at his peak. Do it."

Your lips curled. Challenge accepted.

You wove through the crowd, heels clicking against the sticky floor,eyes never breaking from Satoru’s ever as you veered away from him — towards the dining table. Sukuna leaned back in his chair, tattoos gleaming under the neon lights, watching you approach like he'd been expecting it all night.

"Finally," he muttered, voice gravel deep. His gaze ranked down your body slowly, unapologetically, like he wanted you to see how much he liked what he saw. One of his hands brushed against your hip as he leaned close, his fingers heavy and claiming you as his own.

"This," you murmured, tugging at his wrist and nodding towards the dance floor as the base dropped, "is my favorite song. Let's dance."

Before he could respond, you dragged him with you, weaving into the crush of bodies pulsing through the beat. The lights stuttered across his sharp grin as his hands found your waist, sliding lower.

And that's when you moved.

Heat and rhythm, tangled together as you pressed your ass against him, hips rolling slow and deliberate. His chest was solid against you spine, his breath hot at your ear as his hands tightened, anchoring you as though he could keep you there forever. You arched, dragging your fingers into his hair when the chorus hit, grinding to the beat, climbing him like he was built to hold you.

The crowd blurred, but you made sure your eyes stayed locked across the room — on Satoru.

Satoru, who had gone completely still. Satoru, who's smirk had vanished, replaced by something darker, hungrier. Satoru, who's knuckles whitened around his cup until, finally he shoved at his side off him like she didn't even exist.

The flash of shock on her face didn't matter — although you felt terrible — but what mattered was the way his chest rose fast, the way throat worked as he swallowed hard, then tilted his head back and downed his tired drink in one long pull. His jaw clenched as he slammed the cup against the counter, blue eyes never once leaving the sight of you wrapped around Sukuna.

And you smiled.

Because this wasn't about Sukuna, oh now. This was about Satoru losing a game he knew you'd always win at.

Sukuna's laugh rumbled against you back, low and dark, like he could feel exactly what you were doing. His grip on your waist tightened, silver rings cool against your skin before sliding up your ribs — slow, teasing, deliberate, until his palm cupped the side of your throat. He didn’t squeeze just held you there, thumb brushing lazily along your jawline as his lips brushed the shell of your ear. “Mm. You like putting on a show, don’t you?” His voice was smoke and grit, the kind that curled around you like a promise.

Your answer was to roll your hips harder against him, your head tipping back onto his shoulder, one arm reaching up to clutch the back of his neck. His grin widened against your cheek, sharp and hungry.

But your eyes? Your eyes never left Satoru.

Every flick of your dress, every sway of your hips, every arch of your spine — it was all for him. And Satoru knew it.

He was unraveling, like a voodoo doll — you truly had all the control.

His jaw was tight, too tight — a muscle ticking as he watched Sukuna’s hand drag down your thigh and hook under the hem of your skirt, tugging it higher as the music pounded. When you laughed breathless, sultry your head tilting back against Sukuna’s chest — Satoru’s grip on his cup snapped, plastic cracking under the pressure.

“Holy shit,” Suguru muttered nearby, amused and fascinated like he was watching a live car crash. “She’s killing him.” Nanami’s brows raised as he took another sip, voice flat. “Five minutes, not twenty. I win.”

On the dance floor, Sukuna tugged you flush against him, one hand gripping your thigh, guiding your movements as if he was the one in control — but you knew better. Every twist of your hips, every sly brush of your fingers down his chest was angled perfectly so Satoru saw it all. And god, he did. His stare was a blade cutting through the crowd, pinning you in place even while another man’s hands roamed your body.

Your pulse thrummed. The danger of it, the cruelty of it — it was truly intoxicating.

Sukuna dipped his head, lips grazing your neck as he muttered something filthy only you could hear. Heat shot straight to your stomach, but you didn’t let yourself close your eyes. You wanted Satoru to see. You wanted him to burn.

And burn, he did.

Because Satoru Gojo — cocky, untouchable Satoru — was losing his composure, right there in front of everyone. In front of you.

He shoved his empty cup onto the counter with such force it toppled sideways liquid splattering the girl other beside him. She yelped, glaring, but he didn’t even notice. His eyes were locked on you, blazing, hungry, dangerous.

And still, he didn’t move.

Not yet.

But someone else did.

“Alright, enough of this boring-ass grinding,” Mei Mei’s voice rang out above the music, sly and commanding, the kind of tone that made people turn without thinking. She was perched on the arm of a couch, drink in hand watching the whole thing with eyes that gleamed like she orchestrated it from the start. Which knowing Mei Mei, she probably had.

“Who’s up for a game?” she purred, sliding down and strutting toward the center of the room. “Dare-ball? Spin the bottle? You know, something to spice this up because this damn party is way more boring than I thought. ”

There were laughs, whistles, cheers and a small crowd gathered so eager for chaos. Shoko exhaled smoke toward the ceiling and muttered, “Here we go, shits about to go down.” while Utahime groaned into her cup, already preparing to scold someone.

Satoru didn’t move, but Suguru clapped him on the shoulder, chuckling. “Relax, man. It’s just a game.”

“Easy for you to say,” Satoru muttered, jaw clenched.

And you — oh, you played right into it.

You tugged Sukuna by the wrist and plopped yourself into his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. He leaned back, legs spread wide hands instantly settling on your thighs as if they belonged there. His grin was sharp as his breath fanned your ear, whispering things that made your cheeks heat even as you giggled for show.

Every sound, every smile, every playful smack of his hand against your thigh — it was for Satoru. And Satoru knew it. His blue eyes tracked you like a predator, shoulders tense, every muscle coiled. His earlier smirk was gone, replaced by something dangerous, something raw.

Mei Mei clapped her hands together, grin wicked. “Rules are simple. Bottle lands on you, you take a dare. And I’m the one giving them.”

Gasps, laughter. Everyone knew that meant trouble.

Nanami sighed, already taking out his wallet. “She’s going to make them kill each other.”

“Worth the money,” Suguru replied, smirking.

The bottle spun. Around and around, the crowd holding its breath — until it clicked to a stop.

On you. And Sukuna.

What a coincidence.

The whoops and hollers that followed nearly drowned out the bass. Sukuna’s grin spread slow and wolfish as his hand slid higher up your thigh. You laughed, tilting your head toward Mei Mei, who looked positively gleeful.

“Oh, perfect,” she cooed. “Dare time. You two…” she dragged it out, sipping her drink with flair, “…are going to make out. But not just here.” She gestured toward the back door where the pool shimmered under the lights. “In there. All wet, dripping, bothered. Let’s give this crowd something to scream about.”

The room erupted. Some cheered, some whistled, some shouted their approval. Utahime covered her face with her hands, muttering, “This is a disaster.” Shoko just laughed, flicking ash into a cup.

Sukuna didn’t hesitate. His grin sharpened as he murmured against your ear, “Hope you’re ready to get ruined,” before standing, lifting you easily by the hips like you weighed nothing. The crowd parted, following as he carried you toward the sliding doors.

You cast one last look over your shoulder.

Satoru’s face.

He wasn’t smirking. He wasn’t playful. His eyes were locked on you, daring you. Daring you to go through with it. I dare you, his look said. I fucking dare you to kiss him.

And you smiled. Sweet. Cruel. Victorious.

You pulled Sukuna into the pool with you, laughter spilling from your lips as water splashed everywhere. He wasted no time, hauling you against him mouth crashing onto yours as the crowd roared. His kiss was filthy, claiming, his hands rough against your skin as the water clung to your glittering dress.

You kissed him back. Hard. Purposeful. Because you knew Satoru was watching. Because you wanted him to break.

And he did.

A sharp gasp cut through the chaos as Satoru stormed forward, shoving through bodies until he reached the edge. His hand shot out, gripping your arm, yanking you out of the pool with such force water sprayed around you. Sukuna barely had time to laugh before Satoru’s fist cracked against his jaw, the sound echoing above the music.

The crowd went wild. Shouts, gasps, screams. Someone yelled, “Holy shit!”

Satoru’s chest heaved, wet strands of your hair plastered against his arm as he dragged you away, eyes blazing , voice thunderous. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

He didn’t wait for your answer. He hauled you inside, down the hall, shoving open the bathroom door and slamming it shut so hard behind you — the lock clicked. Your chest rose and fell, breathless, dripping, dress clinging to every curve. His hair stuck to his forehead, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles were white.

“Are you insane?! ” he snapped. “You think this shit’s funny? Letting him kiss and touch you like that —”

You cut him off, your voice sharp, cruel, the way you knew would gut him. “You’re such a fucking cunt.”

You clapped your hands with every word in his face — just like Maddy Perez.

His eyes widened, a mix of rage and want, the air crackling between you like a live wire.

And just like that, the night was no longer about games.

It was war.

Satoru’s chest rose and fell, the heat radiating off him almost as fierce as the storm in his eyes. He leaned closer, so close that the space between your lips was nothing but tension and fire.

“Say that again,” he growled, voice low dangerously brushing the shell of your ear.

You smirked, dripping with defiance, letting your words tease like a dagger:

“You’re such a fucking cunt.”

The words hit him like gasoline. His hand shot up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing against your wet cheek as he closed the last fraction of space between your lips. The kiss landed rough, sharp, claiming — like he's been holding back a storm and finally let it loose. You gasped, a mix of shock and heat, lips parting as his tongue pressed insistently against yours. Your fingers found the hem of his shirt, tugging as if to anchor him, but he only leaned harder, tilting your head with one hand while the other slid to your waist, fingers pressing into your skin through the wet fabric.

“Why the hell would you let him touch you like that?” he muttered against your mouth between harsh kisses, voice dark and thick. “You —” a harsh chuckle, low and dangerous, “— like this, don’t you?”

You groaned, tilting your hips forward into him not breaking eye contact even as his lips moved against yours. “I hate you,” you gasped, heat dripping from every word.

“I hate you too,” he growled back, fingers tightening at your waist, spine arching as he pressed you flush against the wall. Every inch of him was claiming, marking, pulling you closer and you couldn’t help the shiver that ran down your spine — this wasn't because of the wet dress sticking to you skin oh no — this was all Satoru.

His hands traveled lower, firm and demanding and you could feel the tension coil tighter in your lower body. You pressed your hands against his chest feeling the hard planes under the wet shirt, the heat radiating off him, the way he smelled, the way he tasted.

“Look at me,” he demanded, voice husky, letting the kiss break only to crash again with more hunger. You obeyed, tilting your head, lips brushing against his as your long nails clawed slightly at his shoulders — one breaking falling on the floor — feeling him tremble, just enough to know he was losing himself as badly as you were.

The bathroom mirror caught it all: the dripping hair, the wet dress clinging like second skin, the fire in your eyes, the way his lips devoured yours without mercy. You could see him in it; every possessive, frustrated, desperate motion— and it made you smile against him.

“Don’t think I’m letting him —” he rasped between kisses, forehead resting against yours, “— get anywhere near you again.”

You giggled breathlessly, teasing, “Maybe he likes it too.”

He froze mid-kiss, blue eyes storming and that laugh — half frustrated, half in need — escaped him. The heat between you wasn’t just physical anymore; it was a tug-of-war for control, for dominance, for attention. And even like this, even tangled in the mess of want and irritation and fire, neither of you wanted to stop.

His laugh was cut short when your hips pressed into him again, deliberately, wickedly. He cursed under his breath, his hand slipping lower gripping your thigh and hiking it up against his hip.

“Fuck —” his voice rasped, as though you’d knocked the air out of him, “— you think this is funny?”

But then his mouth was on you again, lips dragging down your jaw, your throat until they found the swell of your chest beneath the clinging wet fabric. He didn’t hesitate, teeth scraping over the damp outline of your nipple through the dress before sucking hard enough to make you cry out.

“Shhh —” he hushed roughly, lifting his head just enough to press his palm over your mouth, eyes burning into yours through the mirror. “You want the whole damn house to know how needy you are?”

Your muffled moan vibrated against his hand, and it only made him smirk as his other slipped beneath your soaked hem. Fingers trailing up the inside of your thigh, deliberate, unhurried until they brushed over the heat between your legs.

“Already wet for me,” he muttered darkly more to himself than you, though his reflection caught your wide, desperate eyes. “Bet he didn’t even get you this far, huh?”

Two fingers pushed inside without warning, his hand clamping harder over your mouth as you bucked against him, body clenching helplessly. Your muffled moan was swallowed by his palm, the sound sending a shiver of satisfaction down his spine. His pace quickened, fingers curling just right until your knees trembled against the tile. You clawed at his wrist, at his shirt, not to stop him but to hold yourself together as the tension mounted in your stomach.

It's been more than a week since you let him touch you.

He let you go just long enough to shove you forward, chest bent over the bathroom counter, eyes forced to meet his in the mirror. His reflection behind you — shirt plastered to his body, hair dripping, eyes dark was just as intoxicating as the heat of him pressed against your back.

“Look at you,” he drawled, grinding against your ass as he yanked your dress higher. “Pretending to hate me, but dripping all over my fingers. Tell me —” his hips rolled once, deliberate, teasing, “… was his dick ever this big?”

Your lips parted, a broken moan spilling out before you caught yourself. He grinned at your silence, cruel and sweet all at once, pulling his fingers out only to slap your ass hard enough to make you jolt.

“Answer me.”

“N-no,” you breathed, face hot, chest heaving against the cold counter.

He chuckled darkly before lining himself up as one hand fisted in your hair, yanking your head just enough that your teary, lust-drunk eyes met his in the mirror again.

“Didn’t think so.”

And then he pushed into you, deep sudden, filling you until your nails scratched helplessly at the counter. Your cry tore out of you, only to be smothered again when his hand clamped back over your drooling mouth.

“That’s it,” he hissed against your ear, thrusts sharp and demanding, “take it, like the good girl you are."

Your muffled whimpers echoed against his palm as he fucked you into the counter the mirror showing every filthy, desperate second — the way your eyes fluttered, the way your body arched, the way he claimed every inch of you like he owned it.

And all the while his words kept coming, taunting, poisonous and addictive.

“Bet you didn’t let him touch you like this.”

“Bet you’ve never been this loud for anyone else.”

"I-I h-hate y-you S-S-Satoru," you moaned, stuttering at each of his thrusts

He only snickered, with his bottom lip caught between his teeth — blue eyes filled with lust “Look at you, falling apart for the man you hate.”

And still, you couldn’t stop moaning his name against his hand, over and over, muffled and needy like the hate didn’t matter. Like it never had.

His pace grew brutal, each thrust rocking you against the counter until the mirror rattled in its frame. You clawed at the marble, knuckles white, your reflection showing everything you couldn’t hide: the tears of pleasure at the corners of your eyes, the way your mouth opened under his palm, the sheer desperation in every arch of your body.

“Don’t look away,” he gritted out, hips snapping hard enough to make you sob into his hand. “You keep your eyes on me.”

You did even as heat coiled tight in your stomach, unbearable, building with every stroke of him. His fingers dug into your hip, pulling you back to meet him forcing you to take every inch of him.

When your body finally gave in, it was with a muffled cry, your nails dragging helplessly over the counter-top as you clenched around him. He cursed, the sound sharp, pressing his forehead to the back of your shoulder as he pounded through your release until his own overtook him.

"Fuck, baby —"

He buried himself deep, groaning against your skin, his grip bruising on your hips as he spilled into your warm folds. For a moment, the only sounds were your muffled cries and his ragged breaths, both of you shaking both of you refusing to let go.

Slowly, his hand slipped from your mouth. You were a panting mess, eyes glassy in the mirror. He leaned down slowly pressing a kiss to your damp shoulder. softer this time. Almost too tender for the man Satoru Gojo was.

“Mine,” he muttered, making sure your eyes never part from his through the mirror.

There was a slight silence that lingered between the two of you, the only sound that could be heard was the music played from downstairs.

Without speaking Satoru carried you —dress still damp and clinging — to his room, shutting the door behind him with a soft click. No more yelling, no more venom, no more games. Just the heavy quiet of his house.

He set you on the edge of the bed and tugged the ruined dress over your head, tossing it aside. For once, he didn’t leer. His hands were careful, brushing damp hair from your face, fingertips tracing the flushed heat still on your cheeks.

“You okay?” he asked, voice quieter than you’d ever heard it.

You nodded, throat tight. “Yeah.”

Your voice somehow seemed to untie something in him. He sighed grabbing a sweatshirt from his closet, and pulling it over your naked body. He pulled you under the warm sheets, his chest pressed to your back, one arm slung over your waist.

"Is Sukuna going to be okay?" you asked softly in the dark.

He didn't respond immediately, "I didn't punch him that hard, but he probably passed out."

His hand on your waist slowly began to trace soft patterns against the brushed skin. "You make me insane," he admitted into your hair, voice muffled, almost shy. "I'm sorry for what I said before. You were and will always my girl."

You couldn't say anything other than stay silent as he apologized . He never used those word… ever.

“And I… fuck, I-I love you. I don’t want to lose you. Not to him. Not to anyone.”

You froze, heart hammering against your chest . It wasn’t his usual cocky declarations or his teasing half-truths. This was raw, real, vulnerable.

This was the Satoru Gojo being his true self, around you.

“I hate you so much Satoru,” you whispered back, because you couldn’t help yourself. But your fingers threaded with his under the covers, squeezing tight.

He laughed softly against your skin, kissing the back of your neck. “I know. I love you too.”

And this time, you let yourself believe it.

·˚⊹₊˚｡//

The sunlight streaming through the curtains was too bright, the quiet of the house too suspicious. You stirred awake to find him still curled around you, snoring lightly, hair a messy halo against the pillow. He looked younger like this — unguarded, much more peaceful. You reached out, brushing a hand through his hair. His eyes cracked open just slightly, that lazy grin tugging at his lips.

“Go back to sleep,” he mumbled, dragging you closer. “Big game or not, you’re not moving until I say so.”

You laughed, shoving at his chest. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Mm. Maybe. But you’re mine and that's all that matters. ”

— — — —

Later through the morning voices drifted down the hall, and when you finally managed to drag him out of bed, the two of you stumbled into chaos.

Shoko was perched at the kitchen counter, cigarette in hand smirking at something across the room. You followed her gaze and —

“Oh my god,” you muttered.

The guest bedroom door creaked open, and out stumbled Mei Mei ; hair mussed as a red blanket slung loosely around her shoulders. Behind her, tugging a wrinkled dress shirt over his bare chest, was none other than the coach.

And suddenly everything clicked, on how she knew every detail on the field but still you couldn't help but widened your eyes.

Suguru nearly spit his coffee across the table. Nanami pinched the bridge of his nose like he was praying for death.

The coach cleared his throat, avoiding everyone’s eyes as he muttered, “Uh… morning, boys. Good game yesterday.”

Satoru lost it — doubled over, clutching his stomach, cackling. You had to bite your lip not to join him, though the sight of the team’s coach awkwardly hopping into one pant leg while Mei Mei smirked like the cat who caught the canary was almost too much.

“Really?” Nanami finally asked flatly, not looking up from his mug.

“He has good money,” Mei Mei answered shrugging, completely unapologetic tugging the blanket tighter as she sauntered toward the kitchen like she hadn’t just destroyed every player’s ability to look their coach in the eye again.

And as if the room needed more chaos, another girl stumbled down the hall —hair a mess, eyeliner smudged, clothes half-wrinkled, eyes dazed like she’d just remembered she was in someone else’s house. She leaned against the wall, dainty hand on her forehead as if she might faint.

Satoru’s gaze flicked, just for a second.

Your eyebrow shot up immediately. "Seriously?” you deadpanned.

His head whipped back to you, hands flying up. “What? No baby, come on I wasn’t looking!”

Shoko cackled from the counter, blowing a lazy puff of smoke. “Here we go again.” Utahime buried her face in her hands with a groan. “Not even 10 a.m…”

You shoved Satoru’s shoulder, and he caught your wrist, tugging you into him, grinning shamelessly. “What? You’re cute when you’re jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” you snapped.

“Uh-huh.” His grin widened, cocky as ever. “Sure, sweetheart.”

And just as you started to argue back, Suguru leaned lazily against the counter, eyes flicking toward Nanami.

“Well,” he drawled, “you owe me twenty. Knew they wouldn’t last a night without fighting.”

Nanami sighed, sliding a bill across the counter without even looking at you two bickering in the doorway.

The sound of Satoru’s laugh, your voice snapping at him, and Shoko’s smoke-filled chuckle carried through the kitchen — chaos, laughter, and the messy, stupid kind of happiness that felt like home.

✯ author's note — thank you for reading! i did my best to research the football elements even though i don’t know much about the sport please don't attack me i don't know anything about american football. the fic is mostly inspired by ariana grande’s “boyfriend” mv, with some touches of euphoria’s aesthetic and my own little twist. also a huge thank you to @sugurusangxl for encouraging me to post this, muchies love baby! 🤍

✯ taglist — @angelkiyo, @lazyjellyfish300, @imjustheretoreadgeto, @emochosoluvr, @bbatzvil

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ps : art does not belong to me, credit goes out to the creator.

©lafleurperdue. please do not copy, translate, repost, or claim my writing, art, or designs. dividers, words, and worlds belong to me. katherine, with soft ink & heavy heart 🤍