angel-of-despairs

[angel-of-despairs]

This is too fucking cute

Doctor’s Orders

She’s sharp, cold, and in control — until you break through her walls. Enemies to lovers, rough heat, and a love that refuses to let go. Blood stains the moments between you, and every touch is laced with fire and fear. But beneath the bruises and barbs, something softer blooms — a trust that aches, a surrender that burns. Neither of you expected to fall, yet some wounds demand to be healed together.

✦ Part 1 < Part 2

M!Reader x Shoko Ieiri | 18+ MDNI

cw: nsfw, explicit smut, rough sex, bathroom sex, emotional vulnerability, enemies to lovers, blood and injury, hurt/comfort, jealousy, angst, surgical healing, medical scenes, trust issues, love confession, soft ending, dominant Shoko Ieiri, Gojo and Geto involvement, emotional tension

⸻

It was half past midnight when you limped into the infirmary.

Your shirt was bloodied, your side still stinging from the curse you’d barely managed to take down. The halls of Jujutsu High were dead quiet — except for the hum of Shoko’s desk lamp behind the frosted glass.

You knocked, leaning against the doorframe. “Got a minute, Doc?”

Her head lifted lazily from her paperwork.

Eyes sharp. Voice flat. “Didn’t I tell you to be more careful?”

You gave her your best shit-eating grin. “Thought you missed me.”

She sighed, stood, and flicked her cigarette into the tray by the window. “Shirt off. Table. Now.”

You smirked. “So bossy.”

“I’m tired. I’m not in the mood to flirt. Sit your cocky ass down.”

You bit your tongue. Because something about the way she said it — smooth and clipped, like she meant it — made your blood stir.

You sat on the table, muscles tense, watching her cross the room in that slow, deliberate way. Her lab coat shifted around her calves. Her fingers snapped gloves on without ceremony.

When she peeled your shirt off, her knuckles grazed your ribs.

You caught the smallest pause in her breath.

“You know,” you said low, “you could pretend to be a little gentler.”

She raised an eyebrow, eyes flicking down your chest. “You look like you like pain.”

Your lips curled. “You have no idea.”

Shoko hummed. “Mm. I could.”

And then her hand pressed into the wound — not cruel, not too hard. But enough.

You hissed. “Fuck—!”

“Still want me gentle?” she asked, voice smooth as whiskey.

You stared at her. Then — with more breath than sound — said, “No.”

The air shifted.

She stitched you up in silence — her fingers precise, steady. But every time she touched you, it felt… intentional. Her thumb brushing just a little too close to your hip. Her breath warm against your neck as she leaned in.

And then —

“You’re staring,” she murmured, not looking up.

You swallowed. “Yeah. You’re hot.”

“Mm.” She tied off the final stitch. “I know.”

You blinked. “That’s it?”

She finally met your eyes. And then — slowly — slid her gloves off with a snap.

“You came in here all cocky,” she said, voice dropping, “but you’ve been hard since I told you to sit down.”

Your jaw tensed.

She stepped between your legs, unbothered, tilting her head slightly. “You want me?”

You nodded, slow.

“I don’t have time for slow,” she said.

Then she kissed you. Hard.

Open-mouthed. Her hand cupped your throat as she pushed you back onto the table, climbing up onto your lap like she owned you.

You moaned into her mouth as she ground against you, slow and rough, her fingers tugging your waistband down.

“Condom?” she murmured.

“Pocket—left—”

She grabbed it without looking, ripped it open with her teeth, and rolled it on in one slick motion that made you nearly lose it.

And then — she sank down onto you.

Your head dropped back.

“Fuck— Shoko—”

She didn’t moan. Just let out a soft exhale, steady and deep, like you were exactly what she needed after a long night.

She moved with rhythm — slow, controlled, powerful. Like she had all the time in the world. Your hands clutched her hips, trying to keep up, but she set the pace. You were hers now.

“Look at you,” she said, brushing your hair back. “Mouth open. Blushing like a student.”

“You’re not—mmn—supposed to talk like that—”

“Why?” she smirked. “You gonna whine?”

She rode you harder then, and your breath shattered. The wet sound of skin on skin, your strangled moans, and her low hums filled the quiet infirmary.

When she leaned down to kiss your jaw, your hands gripped her tighter.

“You close?” she whispered against your ear.

You nodded.

“Good.”

She clenched around you once, twice — and you came with a groan so deep it made her smirk again, riding you through it, milking every last shudder.

Later, you lay back, sweaty, dazed, blinking up at the ceiling.

Shoko peeled off the condom, tied it neatly, and dropped it in the bin like it was just another shift.

Then she looked at you.

“I’m clocking out. Walk me home?”

You blinked. “Still bossy.”

She smirked. “Still hard?”

You glanced down. You were.

She lit a cigarette, grabbed her coat, and said without turning around

“Then keep up.”

Shoko didn’t expect you to follow her up to her apartment that night.

And she definitely didn’t expect you to stay.

But you did.

And when she stripped off her coat, and you kissed her again — slower this time, reverent — something inside her cracked.

You didn’t fuck her again that night. You held her.

One of her legs thrown over yours. Her head against your chest. Her fingers idly tracing your stomach while she pretended not to notice how steady your heartbeat and how hard your cock was.

She fell asleep in your shirt.

She didn’t text you the next day. Neither did you.

You were calm. Composed. She was the one replaying your breath against her neck.

By day three, you hadn’t come by her office. No teasing. No smug smile.

Just silence. It drove her insane.

It all broke on day five.

You were in the back records room, sleeves rolled up, sorting half-destroyed mission paperwork like some glorified intern. Your jaw tight. Muscles tense.

You didn’t hear her walk in.

Didn’t feel her behind you until her small hand slid around your waist — and straight into your pants.

Your breath caught. “Wha—”

Her hand was firm, fingers curling around your cock like she owned it.

“You think you’re clever,” she said softly behind you. “Ignoring me. Making me miss you.”

You didn’t move. You couldn’t.

“You wanted me to chase you?” she asked, stroking you slowly, teasing the base with her thumb. “Is that what gets you off?”

You choked on your breath. “Didn’t think you cared.”

She leaned in. “I don’t.”

Her hand tightened just slightly — enough to make you moan.

“But I missed the way you moan when I touch you,” she whispered.

You turned your head, panting. “So what, this is your version of a love letter?”

She smirked. “This is a warning.”

Then her other hand came around — and unbuckled your belt with one sharp pull.

Your body jolted. Her strokes turned deliberate now. Slow. Cruel.

“You ghost me again,” she said, voice like smoke, “I’m gonna drag you into my office during morning check-in. And fuck you in my chair.”

You groaned.

“Think you’d like that?” she asked, pressing her lips behind your jaw. “Filing cabinets rattling while I ride you in front of the window?”

Your hands gripped the file drawer like it could save you.

Then she stopped. Just like that. Pulled her hand out. Stepped back.

You turned, breathless. “What—?”

She popped her gum, smirk smug. “You look better desperate.”

And she walked out.

Leaving you rock hard. Dazed. And finally, finally losing your damn mind over her.

You left her on read for two days.

You acted like nothing happened. You trained. Ate lunch with Nanami. Ignored the way your phone buzzed exactly once at 2:14 a.m.

The control was sweet. Tight. Temporary.

Because by the end of the week, you were going insane.

Her words, her grip, her voice in your head every damn night.

So when Friday came, and most of the faculty were long gone, you walked the halls of Jujutsu High like you owned them — eyes locked on one door.

Her door. You didn’t knock.

You pushed it open, stepped inside.

She was behind her desk, reading over a chart, cigarette between her lips.

Didn’t even flinch when she looked up.

“Oh,” she said, smoke curling around her mouth. “Didn’t know you remembered where my office was.”

You shut the door behind you. Clicked the lock.

She raised an eyebrow. “Tense.”

You stepped forward, slow. Controlled. “You like waiting, don’t you?”

“Hmm.” She sat back in her chair, legs crossed, lips quirking. “You made me wait five days. I got bored.”

“Thought I’d let you miss me,” you said, coming to her desk.

She tilted her head. “I didn’t.”

Liar.

You grabbed the edge of the desk and leaned in. Close.

“You want me.”

“I want a nap.”

“I’m gonna ruin you.”

She smiled. “You’ve been saying that for a week.”

So you grabbed her chair and pulled it away from the desk with one rough jerk. Her eyes widened slightly. But she didn’t stop you — not even when you grabbed her wrist and pulled her to her feet.

“I’m done waiting,” you said.

She smirked, inches from your mouth. “Good. I hate foreplay.”

You turned her and shoved her gently against the desk, pressing into her from behind. Your hand slid around her front, between her legs, and—

She was already wet.

You growled into her ear. “This what teasing me gets you?”

She didn’t answer — just arched into your touch.

“Tell me,” you whispered, sliding your fingers against her slowly, “how long have you been thinking about this?”

“Since I let you walk out of my apartment,” she said, voice a little breathless now.

You paused. That… cracked something.

But then she added, “Thought maybe you’d crawl back sooner.”

And that lit a fire in your chest.

You spun her around, pinned her to the desk, and kissed her hard — all teeth and tongue and something like desperation.

She moaned into your mouth, arms wrapping around your shoulders, still smug. You could feel it in the way she kissed you back — lazy, like she was letting you.

Even now, even breathless, she was in control.

Until you grabbed her thighs and lifted her onto the desk, pulling her panties down with one practiced slide, and said:

“Let’s see how long you can stay cocky when I’m inside you.”

She grinned. “Try me, big guy.”

You were rough. But precise.

You reached down to stroke yourself, teeth clenched from how painfully hard you were. Her slickness was still fresh, and it took everything in you not to lose it already.

Then — calmly, like it was just another medical tool —

Shoko reached into the inside pocket of her coat still draped over the chair, and pulled out a condom.

She held it between two fingers, eyes dragging down your body.

“You gonna keep standing there looking like a sin,” she said, voice low, ''or let me put this on for you?”

You didn’t move.

Just hovered over her — tall, chest rising, cock hard and throbbing in your fist.

She looked tiny beneath you. Her small hands opened the foil without breaking eye contact.

When she slid it on — slowly, deliberately — her fingers brushed the underside of your tip with a smirk.

“Fuck,” you whispered. “You’re dangerous.”

She smiled like smoke.

“Then stop looking scared, and fuck me.”

You slid into her deep, slow — her legs wrapped around your waist, her nails dragging down your back. She took every inch with a soft gasp, but she never begged.

“You like pretending you don’t feel things,” you growled into her neck. “But you’re shaking for me.”

“I’m cold,” she lied.

You thrust deeper. She choked.

“Still cold?”

She clawed at your hair. “Still smug?”

You laughed — breathless, dizzy with her. Your lips found her jaw, her collarbone, the hollow of her throat.

“I hate how much I want you,” you whispered.

She cupped your jaw, kissed you again — soft this time. Honest.

Then whispered against your mouth:

“Then fuck me until you don’t.”

And you did.

Until the files fell off her desk.

Until her heels scraped the wood.

Until you both forgot who started the game in the first place.

໒꒰ྀི ˶• ༝ •˶ ꒱ྀི১ hope you like it!!

be sure to check out my other stuff too <3

I dunno if this reaches much people but i like the story, its going to be a lil dramatic and spicy so stay tuned.

[angel-of-despairs]

I NEED THE SECOND PART OR ELSE IM GONNA FREAK😫😫

prince charming

one wears a crown and the other seems destined for chains and dungeons. but whose to say which one you'll end up in - or with?

synopsis: from his playmate to his personal servant, you've spent your life pining after the pretty prince. until you're reminded just how misplaced your affections are for a man whose meant to marry another. so you do what any other sane person would do, sell off his possessions and slip out of his palace in the dead of the night! how far will he go to get you - and his stuff - back to his bedroom? and to keep you there, as princess or prisoner?

pairing: prince!Gojo x maid!Reader x bandit!Sukuna

content: mdni, angst and smut, medieval fantasy au, VERY DUBCON, YANDERE GOJO, collaring, jealousy, unprotected piv sex, EXTREMELY unbalanced power dynamics (master/pet), very messy relationships and emotional entanglements, heavy yearning/pining, oral (m! + f!receiving), murder, torture, manipulation, threats, drugging (we put sleeping pills in his tea lol), literally chained to his bed guys ok he's INSANE and EVIL, codependency, kidnapping, branding, manhandling

Satoru Gojo liked you best on your knees.

Scrubbing some stain his drink left behind, brows knitted together on the task at hand. Your work dress sprawled on the floor, your ass sticking out while you strained to wash the wood grain clean. Your breasts would bounce with the force of it, cleavage threatening to spill from the thin cotton barely holding them in.

Sure, his office aide protested the costs of getting a custom uniformed tailored and made specifically for you - but you were the prince's personal maid. You should stand out.

"You missed a spot."

And oh, how pretty you looked pouting over your shoulder at him, biting on that bottom lip before replying softly. "Sorry, Your Royal Majesty."

"How many times do I have to tell you to call me by my name?" He murmured, leaning down, but not to get on your level. No, it was meant to remind you of it. You were beneath him. His property to do with as he pleased.

It wasn't that you'd done something to deserve it.

He was just born better than you. Better than everyone.

You didn't speak, just nodding, that familiar spark in your eyes like you were desperately seeking his approval before you let your head hang low.

"My apologies again," You murmured, hesitating to let the next word fall from your lips. "Satoru."

Honestly, he'd prefer master, but you might do something foolish if he insisted on it too soon.

He wasn't exactly patient.

But he was trying to be for you.

To break you in slowly, mold you into the perfect shape he wanted before he made you snap.

Was it his fault your adoration was so addictive? Those big eyes you'd give him? The shy glances you'd steal? Obediently following his every request and anticipating the ones he hadn't even ordered yet? Cutting his food into cute shapes and adding extra salts to his bath after particularly grueling training sessions?

He used to think you were like a lost puppy. Your parents worked in the kitchen, and you ended up exploring the palace most days when you were both younger, following him around starving for whatever scraps of attention he'd throw at you.

It was annoying when you were six and he was seven. But no matter how spoiled he was, he knew better than to kick a hungry dog. They could bite. So he allowed your company, your devout compliments and bright smiles while you clung to his side. Growing up with you as his shadow.

He wasn't sure what changed - or even when.

Just that somewhere along the way, you both grew up - and he was the one chasing your tail.

From your first confession that you'd be starting work in the scullery despite barely finishing your schooling, he scoffed and snatched you up to work in his chambers instead. It was awkward at first. He was barely a man, and you were meek in your little maid outfit, but your clumsy fingers still worked to fasten the buttons on his outfits and fix his bathwater every morning, just as attentive as his servant as you were as his friend.

It'd turned into something more once you were adults. Unable to hide the attraction, and why should he? You'd been his since the first day you tugged on his sleeve and called him Toru. It only made sense you'd end up sharing his bed and crying his name out now.

He'd been keeping your leash tighter lately, insisting you wait on him during his meetings, despite your protests that you needed to clean his chambers and prepare his things during the day.

Nonsense.

He was your duty. Your god, really.

To be worshipped and waited on.

His word was the law. What was the point of being a prince if what his words weren't worth their weight, if his orders weren't absolute?

"I want strawberries," He hummed, watching your shoulders briefly stiffen, before you nodded again.

"I can go pick some from the garden," You immediately offered, before swallowing hard and correcting yourself, standing up slowly and readjusting your dress so you looked a little less like a hired whore, pulling up the front to cover your breasts more. "I'll go now."

That was power, wasn't it? Three words and you were rearranging your entire day simply to satisfy his whim.

"Come here," He murmured, and you obeyed.

Scampering over with those fluttering lashes, a permanent glimmer of hope glittering in your eyes when you tilted your pretty head up to look at him.

"Yes, Your-" You blushed, cutting yourself off and fumbling with your hands. "Satoru?"

His ego could sustain itself just on the way you pronounced his name alone, the hesitant way it pitched up at the end, the intimacy in each syllable, soft and sweet.

Satoru wanted to swallow you whole - refuse to spit you out even if meant you'd suffocate.

His hand traced down your side, settling on your waist before squeezing you there. You melted into his touch the way you always did, never stopping for a second before molding yourself around him.

"Don't take too long," He murmured, not particularly caring if you did so he'd have a reason to scold you later. To watch you whimper while you tried to make up for it. Preferably underneath his body between the sheets. Stain it enough that you'd have to spend tomorrow cleaning it with the reminder of what you were washing away.

"I'll be back soon," You promised, your stare lingering on his lips like you wished he'd kiss you goodbye.

He leaned down, grazing his mouth ever-so-slightly against the edge of yours, gracing you with the closest he could come to being gentle. A ghost of a peck to satisfy you.

Couldn't you see how kind he was?

Your prince could be a cruel man.

He didn't mean to be.

Maybe it was in his nature.

Cold to the rest of the world, an icy exterior masked by grand hand gestures and bright smiles, neither ever reaching his sharp blue eyes. Commanding a room like the world was just at the reach of his fingertips, there for the taking, all too aware that your world revolved around his every word.

He was magnetic, had been since the first second you saw him, pulling you in with one look, one touch. Plucked you out, preserved you like you were a perfect flower to admire instead of a poor thing to pity in comparison to him.

You weren't oblivious to his favoritism.

You reveled in it.

Happy to be his fool if it meant his eyes wouldn't stray, happy to pine for being put in your place if he was the one on top of you, unhealthily attached to attempting to be the center of his life too, pathetic or not.

That was love, right? Or the closest you could afford to come to it?

He assigned you a role - you played it to the best of your ability. He gave you a task - you did it without a question.

Satoru had been born to rule. You were born to serve him.

So you slung the woven bag over your shoulder, shielded your eyes from the sun and started out towards the overgrown garden path to the strawberry patch behind the palace.

The heat was oppressive, sweat already pricking at your forehead within minutes, your dress clinging to your chest and the hem collecting dirt and grass stains as the stepping stones turned to gravel and weeds.

No one else was there, the kitchen probably too busy preparing lunch for anyone to be collecting ingredients under the sun.

You'd barely made it through filling half your basket before you heard the crunch of leaves, your head snapping over in the direction of the woods nearby, squinting through the thick patch of trees.

But then a hand grabbed your shoulder, turning you around to see an angered Satoru. He was wearing his crown, standing out on top of his shaggy white hair, the gold metal glinting and all the little jewels nestled inside it glittering in the light.

You blinked, unable to breathe until he huffed and held out his arm. It took you a second to see what had irritated him so much.

The coat you picked out for him this morning had a small rip in the sleeve, something only a trained eye would notice. Or a particularly vain man obsessed with the tiniest details devoted to his appearance.

"How am I supposed to show up to a meeting with this?" He frowned, but you knew better than to actually answer.

Let him groan and give you his list of grievances, listened to him moan about the merchants he had such important business to discuss with despite the fact he'd called them imbeciles when you were in bed together the night before.

"Are you mad at me?" You spoke quietly, swallowing hard as you stood there awkward and stiff.

He scoffed at you, rolling his eyes as he held up the frayed stitch.

"I want this fixed tonight," He curtly said, taking off the jacket and tossing it at your chest. "I'll just have to go without it."

The snarky part of you that you usually had to shut down whispered that it was too hot for him to wear a coat anyway. That he was searching for something to complain about.

"I'll fix it," You echoed him, carefully draping it over your arm so you didn't have to meet his scrutinizing stare.

"Get the chefs to prepare a fresh pastry with those for when I finish talking to those morons," He demanded, looking down at your basket with disdain.

"Okay," You murmured, embarrassment coiling in your stomach, slippery snakes of it slithering around and sinking deeper in your gut at the feeling of failing him.

Satoru bent down, hardly an inch away, nose grazing against your ear as he brushed your hair back.

"I'll expect you on your knees when I return," He dryly instructed.

It wasn't a whisper.

If anyone was around, they'd have heard. But Satoru had never given a shit about your reputation, or the murmurs of his other staff.

He'd probably tell the entire palace you were sleeping together if someone showed the tiniest sliver of interest in you.

Satoru didn't wait for you to say anything.

Turned on his heel and walked away, not paying attention to the vines, flattening a stray strawberry under the sole of his shoe, a mess of red mush left behind.

You turned your attention back to the bushes, bending back over to pick a few more strawberries, to give yourself something else to think about.

Another twig snapped, and you glanced back up, expecting Satoru to be returning with something new to say, but it wasn't him.

Instead, it was someone you were sure you'd never seen before.

You certainly would remember a man who was somehow even taller than Satoru, broad and bulky, shoulders and arms that were strong enough to probably crush a grown man in a headlock. Pink hair sticking up, a few leaves stuck to it from being in the forest, a deep set scowl etched into his face, but it was the amusement in his eyes that pissed you off.

He was tattooed too, thick black lines and strange symbols you were unfamiliar with on his skin.

Some sort of magic, maybe? A mage from the wizard's tower also here in business?

No, Satoru would've told you about something like that.

"Who are you?" You defensively asked, holding your basket close to your chest as if you'd actually be able to protect yourself if he chose to do something.

"Just a nobody," He casually shrugged.

"I meant your name," You insisted, more than a little flustered at the focus behind his stare. It wasn't that it was purely physical, but rather measuring, weighing some quality you couldn't discern.

"Do you know anyone's name other than his?" He hummed, a hint of genuine curiosity there.

Irritated by his not entirely inaccurate assumption, you started to turn, to pretend he didn't exist, but he wasn't about to let you.

"Still, it must be nice," The stranger whistled, long and low, greedy eyes searching you up-and-down.

"Excuse me?" You huffed at him, throwing the last couple ripe strawberries in your basket and glancing around the empty garden.

"To have someone as pretty as you to toy with," He shrugged, one corner of his mouth curling up as he jutted his thumb in the direction your prince stomped off into.

"I'm not a toy," You mumbled, looking down at the plants growing by your feet, the smashed strawberry he'd stepped on without a second thought.

"Does he know that?"

Some people might think sweeping floors and stitching his clothes might mean you didn't have much dignity, but you did those things for your prince.

He picked you.

"You're rather rude," You commented. He didn't seem to care, stepping closer much faster than you'd think someone as big as him could, cornering you before you had the chance to scamper away.

Up close, with him hovering over you, you could admit (to yourself alone) that he was rather attractive, strong and sharp, albeit in a wildly different way than Satoru was.

You held your breath, waiting for what would come next, but he just snatched the gold pin off of his Satoru's coat, something that had to cost an absurd amount of coins.

He dropped it in his pocket with a clever smirk.

"You're a thief," You accused, heart beating too fast in your chest, pulse pounding in your ears. Men like him made a living off of stealing from the rich, royal or not, filling their own pockets instead rather than give back to the poor.

"You're a pet," He remarked with the same sort of contempt.

"If you're trying to call me a bitch, I'd prefer you just say so," You snarled back.

"You wanna go rat me out to your master?" He murmured, making fun of you straight to your face. "I'll wait."

You should. Start running while he was giving you a head start. But some piece of you refused to move. And you weren't sure what was making you so reluctant? Resentment?

That couldn't be it.

You loved Satoru.

"Just leave," You muttered under your breath.

He laughed at you for letting him go.

"If you ever get tired of your cage, come to the guild at the edge of the village down there," He leaned in the same way Satoru had, but this was a mockery of it. Still, you weren't sure which one of them was threatening you and who was flirting with you. You didn't think you wanted to know.

His breath was cool against your warm skin, taunting.

And then he pulled away, the moment slipping past so quickly it felt almost as if you imagined it.

You watched him disappear between the trees, but the encounter refused to leave your mind the rest of your day, stuck on the still image of him with that stupid pin for the fleeting second it was between his fingers before he pocketed it.

Stitching up the sleeve until the tear was unnoticeable two hours later while the palace chef finished making Satoru's favorite treat, well, second to you. Would he notice the pin was gone? He had to.

What were you supposed to say?

Oh, it must have fallen off?

Satoru was too smart to buy that.

You were still anxiously mulling over it when you were balancing the silver tray and his coat on your arms, slowly making your way down to curving halls and confusing inner labyrinth of rooms to Satoru's chambers.

Was it good luck he wasn't back yet? Or did it mean his meeting was running long and he'd be in a foul mood by the time he returned to you?

You had barely sat the platter down on his polished nightstand and hung his coat back up in his closet when you heard the creak of the door handle.

And a good dog waited with its tongue out.

You spread your skirt out around you, hands in your lap on the ground and mouth open to form an apology before he even fully opened the door.

But he was already talking, saying he was starving just to shut up once he saw you sitting as he requested.

"Sweetheart," He purred, obviously pleased, but more with himself than you. He looked down at you as he approached, cocking his head to the side with a smug grin. "Such a good girl for me, huh?"

"I fixed your coat," You confirmed, sheepishly avoiding his stare like that would cover up your blush. "And the chef has prepared your snack."

"What if I changed my mind?" He teased, grabbing ahold of your chin and tilting your face up to look at him.

Automatically, you opened your mouth like a puppy waiting for a treat.

He clicked his tongue, chiding you with a soft chuckle. "Patience, princess."

You hated yourself for how much you liked him calling you that.

For pretending for even a second that you were more than just his maid. Or at most, a poorly paid concubine.

He dropped your chin, walking a few steps over to check his jacket. Running his fingers over seams to double check your work. You held your breath, waiting for him to notice the absent pin, but he didn't.

Just hummed his approval and walked over to the tray, lifting the lid to snag his dessert before dropping it with a clang. He draped himself across the closest armchair, long legs spread out and taking a bite of his treat, groaning at the taste. He indulged in every little luxury available to him in life with the same enthusiasm, his crown now askew and crooked on his hair.

You watched him from across the room. Studied the strawberry sticking to his lips, painting them a dark shade of red that reminded you a bit of blood.

He caught you staring, a charming grin spreading across his face before he licked the strawberry off.

And with his free hand, he tugged his cock free from the confines of his pants, already hard, thick veins running along the outside as he stroked the base, readjusting to get more comfortable.

"Well?"

You supposed that was your treat.

Palms pressing against the floor, you were about to push off to stand but then he made a soft scolding sound that stopped you in your tracks.

"Crawl."

You had done worse for him. Would do worse. But for the first time in your relationship, unease had slipped through the cracks. Disgust. With yourself, mostly. That you'd put yourself so far underneath him that you were already crawling to him.

Even though it hurt your knees. However humiliating it was to hear him chuckle at you slowly making your way to him.

And once you were close enough, you were wrapping your mouth around his cock, sucking slow and soft at first, lapping up every drop he had to offer you. Taking what he gave without gagging.

Letting him bully himself deep in your throat, his tip practically bruising the back of it with how hard he was shoving it in. Groaning and grabbing a fistful of your hair to guide you how he wanted.

He kept bumping up into the roof of your mouth, your breathing getting cut off every few seconds, barely able to keep your hands in your lap to stop from steadying yourself on his thighs.

It made your jaw ache, whining a little when your tongue pressed against his vein and it throbbed, desperate for him to cum already.

By the time he did, you were close to tapping out, your mouth about to lock up when you felt his abs tense and he moaned your name, warm cum hitting the back of your throat. You swallowed what he gave you without a question, the slightly salty taste lingering on your tongue even after he pulled out, dragging his leaking tip over your lips with another soft laugh.

You still waited for him to tell you to move, knees surely bruised from the hard floor, one of the few spots in the room without plush carpet.

He took his time putting his cock back up, wiping the last drop of his tip with his thumb and popping it in your mouth, waiting for you to suck that clean too.

Once you did, he fixed the band of his pants as if none of it had even happened, pulling a small box out of his pocket and smiling at you so sweet you could almost forget about what happened in the strawberry patch earlier.

"Close your eyes," He instructed.

You swallowed hard, but did what he said anyway, all your senses on high alert when you couldn't see anything.

"Here," He murmured, something cold slipping around your neck, light on your skin. You reached down to grab it, eyes immediately fluttering open to find a pretty gemstone glittering in a fine silver setting. It wasn't large, but it was obviously worth more than a year's worth of your salary - maybe even two. It caught the light in a strange way, reflecting it back oddly as you examined it between your fingers. "A token of my appreciation."

The stranger was long gone, but part of you couldn't help but wish he was here so you could rub it in his face. See?

Your prince appreciated you.

No one else you knew received gifts of any kind from him.

Much less a nice necklace like this.

He reached down to pick you up by your waist, pulling you up onto his lap, grinning at your giddiness.

"I suppose you like it?" He hummed.

"I love it," You murmured, impulsively craning your neck up to kiss his cheek.

He pushed your hair off your shoulder, pulling down the sleeve of your dress to return the kiss, his lips tender on the bare expanse of your skin.

There was a pause, a silence the two of you rarely had, where you felt more like a couple than a master and his servant. Where you could be in his lap and enjoy his lips without thinking about how badly you needed him to need you.

"I wish it was always like this," You breathed, touching the gemstone, admiring the glittering blue as his lips made their way up your throat.

"Me too."

A new rhythm had been established. You tried to reason with yourself that your relationship with Satoru was sustainable. Waited on him hand and foot and went to every length imaginable to keep him content. And he had sex with you every night like he wasn't. Like he wanted more.

Fucking you in front of the mirror just to watch the necklace he'd given you bounce, laughing when you blushed or tried to hide your face.

But there were moments where you wondered about the man you'd only met for a few moments. Sukuna.

You knew why he lingered on your mind.

He just said the quiet part of your relationship out loud. The fact you forced yourself to forget every morning before you got out of Satoru's bed. That you were more like his pet than a person.

Convincing yourself that somehow you'd chosen that path.

What were your other options?

Go work for pennies doing hard labor? Your only real skill was taking care of Satoru.

There was no guarantee you'd get treated better anywhere else.

So yeah, you weren't trying to snoop. Just struggling to focus when you stumbled across a letter sticking out of Satoru's drawer.

And come on, the jarring words marriage proposal right next to coronation were pretty eye-catching no matter how nice the cursive they were written in was. You dropped your rag. Fingers trembling as they traced over the neat lettering.

Your prince was no longer yours.

He was to be engaged to a princess in a neighboring territory in a matter of months. And rather than a dowry, he'd get their kingdom.

How long had you known it was coming for it to still be a shock?

There was nothing you could do.

You had no power. Hardly any money.

Once their princess knew about you, how long would it be till you were disposed of too? Discarded so he could have heirs?

Maybe moved back to the scullery where you were always meant to be, probably to be ostracized and made an outcast once he'd officially thrown you away.

It wasn't like you had proof any of that would happen.

But even the possibility that it could was too much for you.

Anxiously, you reached up to fiddle with your necklace, only to stop the second your fingers closed around it.

It didn't have a damn thing to do with appreciation.

This was appeasement.

He'd known about the letter.

And still had kept his mouth shut. Didn't say a word about the fact he was supposed to marry someone else.

You shoved his letter back in his drawer, jealousy and disgust simmering inside your stomach like it might burn straight through you.

It held you in place, every muscle too tense and taut to move while you tried to stop yourself from hyperventilating, from crying or screaming or punching something.

"What are you doing?" Satoru's voice startled you, and you snapped out of it.

"I dropped this," You answered, bending over to pick up the rag you'd nearly forgotten about.

Before you could, something hard was pressed against your ass, a firm palm sliding over your side to cup your breast with a chuckle.

What you wanted was only a means to what he wanted.

Would you be thirty-something some day with nothing to show for your life but calloused hands and cold baths? Or would he kick you out the day you were no longer some pliable pretty thing to bend and twist?

You didn't want that.

And maybe, you didn't want him.

Not if this was what it meant.

Sukuna was an asshole.

Maybe the one man who could rival Satoru's cockiness.

But when you showed up knocking on a shady building under only the light of the moon with an potato bag filled with expensive pieces of jewelry and coins Satoru had left lying around, his closet and drawers pilfered for valuables he'd forgotten about, Sukuna just smirked and told you where to put it.

It was a heat of the moment mistake.

Something you normally never would've done. But treason wasn't exactly a simple thing you could walk back.

And Satoru would certainly see it as that instead of just thievery.

"Can you get me across the border?" You murmured, anxiously looking back at the door as he sorted through the treasures you brought him. The gift you'd been given was in the stack, the blue stone glittering at you more like a taunt.

"What? Are you scared or something?" Sukuna scoffed, barely sparing you a glance.

"I just don't wanna be around when he wakes up and realizes I'm gone," You quietly answered, picking at the nails you bit down all afternoon. "And that I took all of this with me."

"I doubt he'll notice," He grunted. "He'll forget about you once there's some new maid in a tight dress taking care of him. People like us are replaceable."

He was right and wrong. You might be replaceable - but Satoru would remember. Especially if he felt scorned.

Which, you were fairly positive he would, considering you impulsively slipped sleeping aids (plus an extra dose or two) you usually took in his nightly tea instead, making sure he stayed asleep so you could steal his shit.

You swallowed your pride to meet Sukuna's harsh expression, the hardened frown and rocky exterior.

"Please."

He stared at you, squinting at little before sighing.

"Fine," He grumbled, giving in before you even had to beg too much. Throwing the necklace that had been around your neck two days ago into a pile of stuff to be sold. "A merchant boat is leaving for the south tomorrow morning. Hope you're fine being a stowaway."

It couldn't be worse than being a servant.

He knew something was wrong when the sun woke him up.

No gentle fingers brushing through his hair or soft voice calling out to him through his dreams. No feet scampering around his room to start his bath, no food waiting for him beside his bed. No you.

He gritted his teeth, ripping out the tracking scroll he'd never suspected he'd actually need to use from his bedside drawer, a magic map of the palace and nearby village roughly sketched on the parchment. The latter was marred by a single glowing dot, hovering over where the market usually was held in the mornings. Your necklace must be there - so you had to be too.

Perhaps it was self-absorbed, but the only conclusion he could come to was you wishing to surprise him with as gift on your meager salary. Maybe his gesture had moved you more than he expected.

He'd still have to scold you for leaving without his permission.

But he'd be lenient this time.

He was about to place it back in his nightstand, but the letter about his proposed marriage caught his attention, immediately scowling at the sight of it.

As if he'd actually let himself be married off in some political sham of a union.

He'd rather take their kingdom with blood. None of it was his own anyway. It was a numbers game. Who was willing to sacrifice how many bodies before they ran the risk of losing their head.

The letter might as well be a white flag. Offering up their only daughter because they were terrified of him?

He didn't need her or them to take his father's throne.

It was already his.

So why have a wife when he had you?

He sighed, swinging his legs off the bed, grimacing at how heavy they felt, leaden and body still thick with sleep, every movement a drag.

His head hurt, a dull migraine blooming behind his eyes and hitting him hard the second he stood, forced to sit back down on the edge.

If you were here, he'd be demanding you fetch the apothecary to concoct him something to fix this awful headache.

The faint irritation burned brighter as he laid back down, glaring at the door as if it'd make you walk through it faster. The only thing that made him feel any better was the thought of waiting on him, pressing a cool compress to his forehead bathing him with your hands when you got back, imagining pulling the sick card so you'd be forced to pamper him and feel bad you'd left him like this.

But maybe he'd take a nap first.

You'd surely be back by the time he woke up again.

You didn't know what happened first. Falling out of love with Satoru or falling in love with Sukuna.

The feelings were tangled up in each other, twisted so you couldn't exactly separate them.

Three months without Satoru felt more like a millenia. Each day was your own to dictate.

The first few weeks were weird.

Strange to wake up without a million tasks ahead of you, to crawl out of a stiff and unfamiliar bed or sleeping bag, to survive off stolen foods and dressed in different clothes you pilfered from suitcases and from staff.

You were supposed to part ways with Sukuna at port the ship you'd stowed away with him on docked at.

But after the time you'd spent together, awkwardly picking together the pieces of his life and offering slices of yours, he'd begrudgingly taken you with him to meet the other members of his guild. They operated under the cover a different one - disguised to orchestrate an entire underground market of stolen goods.

You never expected any of them to welcome you in.

Yet they did anyway.

Instead of being tossed back onto the street, they offered you a room to stay in. Helped you create a fake identity and set you up waiting tables for extra coins in the tavern that they met in the backroom of. And when Sukuna showed up at your door grumbling that he was supposed to go on another trip, you surprised yourself by asking to go with him.

He surprised you more by taking you with him.

It was strange in itself.

He'd been, well, clingy lately. Still standoffish and stoic, brusque every time he talked to you, but he never strayed too far from your side, no matter how strained his expression was.

So you tried to play it cool the first time you felt his hand settle on your shoulder, the weight of his arm heavy on your frame. Pretended to be normal about it when you leaned into his sturdiness.

You thought you'd be protected by Satoru.

But you never knew what safe felt like until you were with Sukuna.

He didn't have a name to back him up. Or the type of money to bail you out. But people steered clear when he was around, shrinking back before he stepped anywhere close to them and listening to everything he said the first time he snarled it out.

You liked to study his face when he was sleeping, all his features still stiff, frowning at whatever his dreams brought, only relaxing when you curled up against him, an arm wrapping around your waist to pull you in tight enough you couldn't escape.

The sun was starting to poke out from above the canopy of the trees, shadows casting across his face when you tried to squirm out of his grip.

"Don't be a brat," He muttered, squeezing you tighter.

"We should get going," You whispered.

"Fuck," He grunted, groaning as he started to sit up, still not letting you go.

The day continued the same. A hand on your waist. His mouth brushing against your ear when he spoke to you. His hip pressed into your body.

The village you stopped at was small, wary glances thrown your way when you walked into the only place that served any food in town for travelers passing through.

Sukuna managed to convince someone to lend you a room for the night with a few coins, grabbing bowls of some stew that would at least be warm, dragging you back in and double checking the door was locked before putting the food down on the rickety wooden table.

You ate slower than usual, too busy scrutinizing every flicker of his face.

"Stop starin'," He grunted, shoving a spoonful in his mouth before you rolled your eyes and glanced out the window instead.

It was pretty here, all sorts of plants and greenery you'd never seen before, white flowering shrubs and small pink weeds among the mossy grass. It looked like something out of a storybook you used to steal from the palace library, hiding away in the corner just to stare at the pictures of, pretending Satoru was the prince in the fairytale.

You felt your lips twitch down into a frown, the way they always did when you thought of him.

Was he busy wedding planning? It had to be happening soon.

Or had he forgotten about you already? Moved on?

A part of you that you were ashamed of hoped he hadn't. Hoped he wished he'd loved you more when you were around, or that he'd yearn for you long after you left. It was selfish and incredibly stingy, but you couldn't help it.

You'd been avoiding any news about the kingdom you left behind, cringing and walking away whenever you overheard someone speaking of it, turning a blind eye.

But you saw him sometimes, in your memories disguised as dreams, where he'd hold you and make more promises that meant nothing.

But he was your past.

And a much larger piece of you had started to think of Sukuna as your future.

"Are you thinking about him?" Sukuna broke the silence.

"What?" You looked back at him, blinking back shock.

"Your prince," He spat the word out like it left a disgusting taste on his tongue that wasn't just from the stew.

"Only that I'm glad I left," You shrugged it off, looking back out the window.

In just a few short months, you'd seen more of the world than you had your whole life. And it was a lot fucking bigger than what was inside the castle walls.

Sukuna had handed you a map a couple days ago, asking you to pick a place for the two of you to travel to next after you mentioned how exciting you found all of it. Being with him included.

"Yeah?"

It seemed he was just full of surprises lately. Because in a few short seconds, he was pushing his chair back with a creak, crossing the short distance between you and bending down to kiss you.

You were once again reminded how little he was like Satoru.

This was starving, filled with a hunger, a fever that Satoru's lazy kisses lacked. He had kissed you like he had all the time in the world. Sukuna kissed you like there wasn't nearly enough.

Sucking on your bottom lip and cradling your cheek, tugging your hair while murmuring your name. Hard and soft and everything in-between.

You weren't fully aware how you ended up on the bed, too distracted by the heat of his palms on your skin hiking up your dress to notice until your back was on the mattress, the frame whining under your combined weight.

"Sukuna," You breathed, about to ask him to roll over so you could do what you'd done so many times for Satoru, but then he was on his knees, peeling your little lace underwear down your legs. "W-what are you doing?"

You could feel his smirk against your skin when he tailed kisses up the inside of your thighs.

"Taking care of you."

He was two days from losing his damn mind. Or maybe it'd been gone from the moment he realized you were.

Months. It'd been months and he still hadn't found you.

Satoru had searched every inch of the palace personally. Commanded a task force to look for you, scouring through homes and ransacking businesses.

The tracker in the necklace only lead them to a goddamn trash can.

You'd throw away his love for you just like that.

Too bad, really. Because he couldn't do the same to his affection for you.

You just needed to remember how much he'd done for you. How much he loved you. Because once he had you again, he wasn't letting go.

Surely, something had driven you away. Or someone has convinced you to leave him.

There was no way you'd do it on your own.

Stealing his fucking stuff and drugging his tea?

His pet wouldn't dare.

So who the fuck had gotten to you when he wasn't paying attention? Who dared to sneak in and slip free your leash right under his nose? He'd be sure to return the favor.

He was chasing another lead, following the trail of a criminal who allegedly was known for distributing stolen goods in black markets. Satoru had to personally torture a pompous prick of a merchant to even get that much information.

As if there was someone actually scarier than him.

He honestly thought it'd be another dud until Ijichi stopped the carriage to give the horses a break and he stepped out to see his scrawny driver chatting with some disgustingly dirty locals.

They didn't know who he was, although he guessed they would soon enough when he inevitably took over their pitiful excuse of a land they still had the audacity to call a kingdom.

"Have you guys seen a man? Around my height? Pink hair? A beautiful young woman with him?" Satoru called out, refusing to step down into the dirt and gravel and mess up his shoes.

"Oh, um, sure, a day or two ago," One of them quickly replied.

"You're sure?" He frowned, squinting at them like he could discern whether or not they were lying.

"I mean, he was a bit taller than you-"

The first one elbowed the other to shut up before interrupting, "They were going that way."

He thanked them, plastering on a polite smile before slamming the carriage door shut behind him.

Perhaps you hadn't left him to rot and care for himself. You hadn't just deserted him.

You were probably kidnapped.

Waiting for him to come to your rescue.

His princess wasn't in a tower though, no, you were in bed.

Another man's head - between your thighs.

Squirming around while his hands clawed at your hips, your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him and chasing your climax. What sounds were you making? Moaning and whimpering for someone else like a whore?

He watched through the window, unable to move. Stuck on the way the man's tongue slipped over your cunt, how you cried out when his mouth wrapped around your swollen bud.

Anyone could see you if they passed by. Not that you seemed to care. Too busy getting serviced to be aware that you were putting on a show.

Those pretty lips of yours were gasping for air, open and sucking it in when you should be sucking him off. Not in this rundown village letting some street scum taste your precious pussy. He didn't give a shit what rusted heirloom those morons ransacked and ruined. Except for stealing you.

His prized possession was priceless. Although, he was sure he'd find a way to make them pay.

And your punishment?

Well, it'd be more personal.

It wasn't Sukuna's arms you woke up in.

Body sluggish and sore, but when you tried to open your eyes, it was only black. After a few panicked seconds you realized someone blindfolded you. You guessed by the lingering exhaustion in your body, you'd been drugged too.

You called out to Sukuna, but the only answer you got was the creaking of carriage wheels and the crunching of gravel beneath them.

It took you longer than it should've to figure out what happened through your broken and hazy thoughts.

Satoru had come back for you.

Probably used the same trick with the tea you used on him, maybe paid someone to slip it into your food or drink at the place you'd been staying at.

He wasn't there. But you recognized the voice of his typical driver when the carriage stopped to feed the horses.

The trip to return you to the palace was unpleasant.

Confined to small spaces for most of it, always locked up in handcuffs or blindfolded even during the voyage back. Barely being fed enough to go on, offered scraps that were never rotten enough to make you sick, but foul tasting.

It was particularly humiliating to be paraded back through the village handcuffed, lead back through the main street as some new cruel punishment, sketches of you still stuck to building with the word missing scribbled at the top of each one.

You guessed they'd have to rip those down now.

For two days, you were bound and gagged in some rat-infested dungeon in the depths of the palace. They tried to nip at your feet, only dissuaded by your week attempts to kick with your ankles still tied in rough ropes.

Listening to someone being tortured down the hall, unable to make out much in the dim candlelight, only pray that it wasn't him.

You supposed it was probably time to start praying for yourself too.

"My poor pet," A familiar voice cooed, a shadow crossing in front of the bars while you shivered. "Look at you."

Pathetic. Definitely dirty and disgusting. Dirt sticking to your skin and twigs probably still tangled in your hair. The only baths you got lately had been getting doused in freezing salt water.

And then in the low flickers of the candle, you saw him, your stomach churning at just how clean he was. As perfect as the day you left him.

It wasn't pity in his eyes though, it was excitement. Amused to have his plaything back, even if it'd almost been broken.

"They want me to cut your hands off," Satoru sighed, pausing for dramatic effect, watching you flinch and shrink back, not that you could move much.

You tried to make a sound, muffled and weak. You'd beg him if you had to.

He knew it too.

"But even though you betrayed me," He murmured, making sure the word felt like a stab, guilt piercing through you as he mulled over an offer. "I'm still willing to pardon you."

You waited for the catch you knew was coming.

He unlocked the door to the cell, pushing it open with ease, striding over to where you were curled on the ground. Satoru clicked his tongue in disappointment at your sorry state, bending down and grabbing your chin to tilt your head side to side, shaking his head at the way your spit had soaked through the gag, the tears pricking at your eyes.

And even though somewhere in the back of your mind that he put you here, he still was framing himself as the hero plucking you free from it.

"There's one condition," He murmured, slowly pinching the thick fabric to loosen it before pulling it down from your mouth to hang around your neck.

For a second, you had the grim thought of a noose, a fleeting moment where you could do nothing but hope Sukuna was spared from whatever they had previously planned for you.

You didn't even mind if he sold you out if it meant that he made it out of this safe.

"What?" You croaked, voice raw and raspy.

"You won't ever leave the palace again."

It wasn't as bad as you anticipated. You expected him to be angrier, more upset with you for abandoning him.

"Okay," You mumbled, accepting his terms.

You probably should've thought harder about that.

But then he was pulling a knife out from a sheath on his thigh, cutting your restraints and freeing you before you could take it back.

You stilled, not entirely convinced he wouldn't cut you you too, but suddenly you were being lifted from the floor, cradled against his chest like you were his bride instead of a burden.

This time, you were spared the indignity of an audience when he brought you back to his chambers.

Your roles reversed as he prepared a bath for you, insisting that you have a sip of tea and nibble on a snack already waiting on a table for you. The water was warm when he ushered you in, scrubbing your skin clean and washing away all the grime, feeling raw by the time he finished. Smelling like his soap and shampoo as he worked his fingers through the knots in your hair. He poked at the scrapes and bruises left on you, sighing like a parent admonishing a child before he finally picked you up out of it and used a towel to dry you off.

The new knowledge that he'd always been capable of taking care of someone stung. You supposed he never had any interest until you were no longer there.

"I'm sorry for lea-" You awkwardly started in a low whisper.

He shushed you.

You didn't know how to act around this new him. How to be the new you when your body was begging you to give back into his hands as he dressed you up. It wasn't your old uniform.

It was barely even clothes.

A thin and sheer dress that left little to the imagination, clinging to your cleavage and short enough he barely went past your ass. The fabric was more expensive than anything else you ever wore, reflective when the sun shone on it through his oversized windows.

"I don't think I'm going to be able to fetch much for you in this," You tried to joke, hesitantly looking up at him. There was a wild look in his eyes there hadn't been before, something you only noticed now that you were so close to him. The unsettling thought occured that maybe it had always been there, but you were too lovestruck to pay it any mind.

"You won't be fetching anything," Satoru casually said, fixing the strap of your dress and guiding you over to his bed without even elaborating.

"What?" You blinked.

"You said you wouldn't leave," He shrugged, like it shouldn't be a surprise to you.

It was only then you noticed what was new in his room.

A thick iron chain now clasped to his bed and at the end, and sitting on the pillow you used to rest your head on, a fucking collar.

You froze.

"What do you think?" He innocently asked, moving your hair way from your throat with a soft hum. "Made this one just for you. Bet it'll be a bit harder to throw this one away."

You were wrong.

Satoru was pissed. Just hiding it behind his pretty face, his practiced friendliness.

His fingers traced a line down your arm, goosebumps raising with his touch.

"What will it be? You wanna stay with me? Or go back downstairs?" He murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the edge of your shoulder. As if downstairs didn't actually mean dungeon.

What scared you wasn't your answer. But how easily you made it, how much of you was still attached to him, how of a hold he had on you that a few stray touches and the purr of his voice had your thighs squeezing together.

"You."

He just laughed.

You let him lock the collar around your neck.

Thick fingers skimming over your much thinner skin, feeling the tendons go taut as you swallowed hard. There was the loud clink of the chain, the heavy metal immediately weighing your head down the second he stopped holding it on, settling uncomfortably on your collarbones. Reflexively, you reached up to touch it, panic setting in at being confined. Feeling around for some weak spot, touching the lock just for your stomach to drop at the realization there wasn't any escaping this.

Willingly, you walked into your own cage.

You were trapped.

Condemned to the same room you'd spent years of your life coddling him in. Where you supposed you'd be serving your time in, despite your lack of a trial.

You'd been sentenced to a life of a different type of servitude.

Maybe it hadn't set in, but you still couldn't stop yourself from looking up at him like he saved you. That you'd loved Satoru before. You could convince yourself to love him again. After all, hadn't he done this just to have you?

"This was what you wanted. Right, sweetheart?" He hummed, caressing your cheek softly.

A growing numbness had started to harden over your heart, nodding slowly as your hand dropped down to the bed, glancing around to see how long the chain was. It looked like you could probably make it through to his attached bathroom, but the door to the hall was too far away. What did it matter when stepping foot outside would mean getting arrested again?

He tugged on the chain, making you jolt forward with a gasp.

"Just gonna be us now," He promised. "Always."

"I thought you were getting married," You heard yourself mutter, still not entirely present, a little detached from the reality it felt like you'd been dropped into the second the collar was locked around your throat.

"Where'd you hear that?" He cocked his head to the side, amused by the hint of jealousy in your words.

You clamped your lips shut, unwilling to admit you looked through his stuff.

He chuckled at you anyway, stroking your hair like you were just some stray he'd taken in.

"Don't worry, princess," He mocked. "You don't need to think about anything anymore. There was a proposal, but I rejected it."

"Why?" You whispered.

"Unlike you, I wouldn't throw what we have away for a stranger," He wryly replied, another pointed jab that succeeded in making you feel like shit.

Should you feel guilty?

What really was there to throw away?

"I'm sorry," You murmured anyway, barely managing to meet his accusatory stare.

He waited for more, for you to beg or cry about it.

But the only tears you had in you weren't for him.

"Was your family upset with you?" You asked instead. "Or did any of the lords give you trouble?"

"Sure, but I killed them," He shrugged, as if he said something so simple - "I mean, some of the useful ones are imprisoned, but still-"

He saw the way your mouth fell open, panic-stricken but painfully aware there was no place in this palace or outside of it to run to. Not that you were sure you would even if you could.

"Don't be scared," He dryly chuckled, dragging a thumb over your cheek. Soft. Unscarred.

"Your parents," You started to sputter.

"They were problems," He condescendingly corrected you.

You reluctantly dragged your stare up past his eyes, only now realizing the crown atop his head was no longer the same one as before.

No, it was bigger, crafted for a king.

Your prince had overthrown his father for the throne.

There was no one above him now.

And it didn't take long for you to get used to being underneath him again.

Time slipped away from you, the days dragging by when you were confined to the bed most of the time, the collar making moving too much inconvenient and uncomfortable. All you had to look forward to was him.

Growing accustomed to him holding you at night, following whatever schedule he saw fit and falling back into old habits. Picking out his clothes and drying his hair for him, cleaning his room just for something to do on the days where he'd leave you there for hours. You still had yet to have sex, but you figured it was just a matter of time.

What he was waiting for, you were clueless.

It hurt your feelings more than it should've, guilt chewing on your self-esteem, eating away at it. Did he think you were dirty now? Tainted?

You were just now realizing how much more there was to him you were completely unaware of.

He hadn't exactly forgiven you, but he was pretending to. Kissing you like he used to, holding you in the same places, just stopping short of heavy petting.

The idea he'd killed his one family was taunting you, how easily he spoke of it, like it hadn't affected him at all. That he'd done it all in your name.

As if it all was some act of devotion.

What haunted you more was how flattered a sick sliver of you found it.

Listening to him describe in detail while he brushed and styled your hair one morning, as if he was discussing lunch plans.

"They did have a point," He hummed, carefully sliding a pin into place.

"What?" You swallowed hard, the collar shifting and irritating your skin while you studied the makeup products he'd bought for you scattered across the counter.

"I do need an heir," He sighed.

The implication was obvious.

He couldn't be serious.

You were chained to his fucking bed. A prisoner in a pretty dress. A peasant compared to him. There was no way he meant-

"You'd be safe in here," He murmured. "No one would be able to touch you or the baby."

"Satoru," You quietly spoke back, trying not to sound too against it without letting him know you didn't want a fucking baby to destroy the already fragile relationship you'd been attempting to rebuild with him.

"Master," He corrected you, and you felt ill.

It was too much.

"What?" You breathed, waiting for him to say it was a joke. That all of this was. That his parents would walk in with a cake and he'd take the chains off and you could all laugh at you for falling for it.

He pulled something out of his pocket, a small ring you recognized as his mom's. You didn't say a word when he slipped it on your fourth finger.

For some reason, it felt heavier than the collar around your neck.

There was no proposal. Just mutual understanding of what it meant.

"I got you something else," He changed the subject, leaning down to murmur in your ear. "Get on the bed."

You were just glad he didn't ask you to crawl, but you weren't sure what to do once you climbed back on, ending up sitting on the edge. He was quick to readjust you, pushing your stomach down on the mattress and ass in the air, unmoving while he tied your hands behind your back.

Part of you questioned if this was it, if he was finally going to fuck you or if this was just another punishment disguised as foreplay.

Satoru walked to the door - and left.

It felt like he was gone forever, but it was more like fifteen minutes when you heard the hinges creak, turning your head to look at him.

He wasn't alone.

Sukuna was behind him.

Your heart shattered. All the thoughts you'd been burying, all the hopes you'd been holding onto crushed by the cuffs around his wrists and ankles, barely able to even take steps forward, Satoru happily holding the chain to tug him in.

He dragged an armchair over, pushing him down in it.

"Did you miss him?" He asked you, waiting for your reply with those feral eyes that you'd begun to fear.

"Sa-" You stopped yourself, voice shaking as you tried to find the shred of courage you had left to protect Sukuna, pushing aside whatever sick and twisted feelings you still had for Satoru. "Please don't hurt him, okay? He didn't do anything. Everything was my fault."

"He touched something that belongs to me," Satoru spoke so calmly, but you couldn't miss the hatred in his voice. He walked to the side of the bed, bunching the slip you were wearing up past your ass to where your hands were bound. Nudging your thighs further apart just to slip his hand between them, rubbing his palm over your panties. "Tasted it."

And then he pulled his hand away, walking back over to Sukuna, grabbing his strong jaw between his fingers and forcing it open.

You really almost threw up.

He cut out Sukuna's tongue.

What was there looked excruciating, a still-healing wound that must've happened days ago. But Sukuna didn't react, didn't offer him the satisfaction of it, his face set in a familiar disdainful state.

You couldn't speak. Weren't sure what you'd even say if you could.

There was no sorry that would give him his tongue back.

"What do you think, pet?" He mocked.

Something damp was on your face, but you couldn't even wipe the tears away. Hands straining against their restraints, wishing you could break free for even a moment to touch him one last time.

"You said I shouldn't think," You reminded him, a poor attempt at not giving him the reaction he wanted either.

Satoru wasn't fazed, glancing back at Sukuna with a smirk.

"I'd take her tongue too, but I can think of a better use for it," He smugly winked, and Sukuna took the bait, struggling against his restraints, enraged by the obvious implication. "You wanna see my favorite trick of hers?"

"Let him go," You murmured. "Please, Toru."

You hadn't used the nickname since you were kids, and it was more effective than you expected.

He stood up straight, his attention snapping back to you.

"Why should I?" He expected a real reason. Well, he expected one specific one.

Most likely the whole reason he even bothered dragging him out from whatever cell he'd been keeping Sukuna in.

You hesitated over the words that'd really condemn you, briefly glancing to Sukuna for even just a snippet of the safety he used to give you. His eyes told you to suck it up and stop feeling sorry for yourself. To survive.

"I'll give you whatever you want," You muttered.

You didn't want to even whisper the word.

But it wasn't hard to imagine what you meant when you only had one thing to give.

"Say it then," Satoru dared you.

"I'll give you a heir," You swallowed hard. You didn't even know if you'd hate him for it, if it was something else you'd teach yourself to accept.

Really, he could take what he wanted from you at any point, but he wanted you to choose it. To pick him.

If Sukuna could talk, you knew he'd be shouting.

But you weren't the only one here Satoru was determined to embarrass.

"Isn't she gonna be cute? All stuffed full and swollen?" He leaned down to mutter in Sukuna's ear. "Shame you won't be around to see it."

You weren't sure you could even be grateful when he dragged him away, unable to stop yourself from crying the second the door closed behind them.

The prince you'd once thought would slay dragons for you putting away a man who acted more like a king than he ever could.

Satoru's mouth latched onto your neck the second he returned, murmuring beautiful words, like he could talk enough to make you overlook the humiliation burning in your gut even after he cut the ropes restraining you free.

Telling you he loved you (he loved the power he held over you), that he was yours (you were his), that he'd give you anything (but only if you gave him everything).

And when you had sex, you still kissed him back, let his tongue slip between your teeth with the disturbing reminder Sukuna didn't have his anymore, despising yourself for letting go of him to live through this. Hating the shadows inside you that wanted Satoru. That whispered to you that no one could love you like he did. No one else would burn the rest of the world just to have you to hold.

You were just as disgustingly devoted to him. Maybe better at hiding it.

Able to shove it down and suffocate it when he wasn't around.

But the second his mouth was on you, the second his fingers plucked off your underwear or slotted themselves inside you, you were putty in his hand. Happy to wear his collar and call him whatever he wanted.

You were both ashamed of it and unable to shut it off completely.

All the confidence Sukuna granted you left with him.

There was nothing you could do but hope Satoru kept his word and let him go.

"Did you set him free?" You barely managed to work up the strength to murmur the question a few days later, fiddling with the chain attached to your collar as Satoru readjusted, his head resting in the crook of your neck and his cock buried inside you, cum leaking out into your thighs.

"I will once you're pregnant," He murmured, leaving a kiss on your collarbone. "You can even watch."

You had a feeling that really meant something else entirely.

But even when your hands weren't tied, it felt like they were.

There wasn't a single part of you he didn't own. He had his seal stamped just above your ass, branding you as his so he could see the permanent reminder of who you belonged to every time he fucked you from the back. His kisses littering your body, the expensive silks and slips he dressed you up in hardly ever covering any of it.

But hadn't you signed up for it?

This was the deal he gave you - the one you took.

"I might be late today," He murmured as you fixed his crown. Had it been a couple days? Or a couple weeks? What difference did it make?

"Okay," You yawned, exhaustion lingering in your bones. It'd been getting harder to get out of the bed in the mornings, body sore from being bent over and broken in.

"I'll bring food," He kissed your cheek, squeezing your ass one last time before heading out the door.

The lock clicked behind him.

You dragged yourself back to bed, curling up and lulled back to sleep by the scent of sex and him. You weren't sure how long you'd been out for when you were being shaken awake.

A hand grabbed your waist, tugging at your limp form. You didn't bother moving, let yourself be tugged around, eyes still shut from your attempt to sleep when he suddenly shook you hard enough they shot open.

Squinting up at Satoru only to realize it wasn't him.

You made a pathetic little sound - half a squeak, half a strangled gasp.

Sukuna flipped you over, thick brows furrowed together as he frowned at the heavy iron collar around your throat. No chains attached to him this time, no handcuffs or restraints to weigh him down, although you could see how they had scarred his skin, raw red marks left where they'd been. You were terrified to know what your neck must look like. You hadn't made it a habit to look in mirrors lately, not wanting to see what your reflection had to say about you.

He didn't say anything.

Couldn't.

You opened your mouth to speak, to ask him how he managed to get free before you remembered he probably couldn't answer anything outside of shaking his head.

Blood was smeared across his cheek.

He yanked a hair pin out of your hair, bending it out and tilting your head so he could jam it in a key hole you couldn't see.

Every second that passed by where was was working the lock and you stared at him, trying to swallow your hope was torture.

He was struggling with it, a deep crease forming between his brows with frustration.

"You should save yourself," You whispered, reaching out to touch him. Skimming your finger over his jaw and nose, brushing your thumb over his lip. One last time was all you wanted. Maybe the universe had answered your request.

Sukuna rolled his eyes at you.

"I'm being serious," You huffed in a heated whisper. "I'll make sure he won't chase you and-"

He covered your mouth with one of his huge palms, flashing you a glare to shut up so he could focus.

You pouted, but kept your lips sealed, struggling not to say anything when you heard it.

The faint click.

He actually did it.

Yanking the collar off and throwing it on the bed like it was diseased, helping you off and grimacing at how unsteady you were on your feet.

He rummaged through the drawers and threw one of your old dresses Satoru thankfully still had at you, turning away so you could throw it on.

You hesitated by the threshold, glancing back over your shoulder at the room. The expensive rugs and the canopy over the bed, the details you'd discarded before.

But Sukuna held out his hand.

It was just up to you to take it.

alright guys it's up to YOU actually

^its supposed to say GOOD ending lmfao but I can't change it lol sorry guys brain is fried haha my apologies for any other typos/autocorrect stuff I missed <3

[angel-of-despairs]

So this is just a silent universal fuck you huh 😭

This is so fucking cute and sweet and I was just cryin cause of another sweet fic jeez can’t I catch a break😭😭💜💜💜

(in which your loving husband nanami kento will do anything you tell him to)

(fluff, there might be some spelling mistakes sozz, pls enjoy)

“buy me this lol” was the message attached with a video which you sent to your husband, kento. the video you sent him was a large juicy seedless watermelon, of course you weren’t expecting him to actually buy it, you were only joking around after all..

moments later you hear keys jingling against the door lock, you get up from your seat on the sofa getting ready to greet kento when he comes in. you quickly make your way to the door, “ hey, baby-” but your words immediately get cut off when you see kento holding a huge watermelon, it looked similar to the one in the video, surely he didn’t actually…

“hey sweetheart, how are you doing? i bought the watermelon you asked for.” kento says slipping off his shoes and properly stepping into the house, he kisses you on the cheek and makes his way to the kitchen counter.

“kento.. why did you actually buy the watermelon?” you say perplexed as you follow him to the kitchen. “what do you mean, love? you’re the one who asked for it, no?” kento says placing the watermelon on the counter.

“i was just kidding kento! obviously you didn’t actually have to get it..” you say.

“oh…” he says looking at the watermelon. “so you don’t want it?” he says returning his gaze to you.

“well- no i didn’t say i didn’t want it either..” you say laughing softly, not actually expecting the juicy watermelon to be in your very presence. “this one looks exactly like the video.. where did you even get it?�� you say, with your hand resting on the watermelon.

“I stopped at that market by the river.” kento answers.

“you mean the one that’s 2 hours away!?” you say shocked, not expecting him to go such great lengths just for a watermelon. “babyyy, why would you go that far for a watermelonnn?” you say in disbelief.

“it wasn’t for the watermelon, it was for you.” kento says, his eyes still on you. “I will always do anything you tell me to, love.” he says wrapping his arm around your waist, kissing you on your temple.

“aagh- I know that but…” you say in a loss at words, “fuck, you’re just so good to me.” you say hugging him.

“I will do anything for you, sweetheart. you know that.” kento says embracing you back.

(p.s, guys i’m gonna start working on the requests soon, so don’t think I forgot about it or anything like that, tyty)

[angel-of-despairs]

This is so evil and cute what the fuck😂😭

You let ghost take the lead one night after he got a bit too cocky during a night out with the guys, and the entire time hes whining down at u like "am I doing it right? Can you tell me?" His hands tremble where they clench at ur hips, desperate for reassurance "can you please tell me its good? Am I good? Please- please-"

[angel-of-despairs]

Well damn got me all giggly an shit

Imagine firefighterSukuna…..sigh….😵‍💫

I am losing my mind, Émilie 😵 Thank you for sending me this!

FIREFIGHTER!SUKUNA X READER (FEMALE) 2.5k words. 18+, fluff + smut, mentions of cigarettes. Sukuna is a bit of an asshole at first lol, but we change his ways, and now he will be a good boy only for us ;) Divider by lacedolliee + benkeibear. Minors don't interact.

Sukuna isn't the typical firefighter. He isn't like those heroic guys you see on TV or read about in sappy newspaper articles. Sukuna doesn't do this out of the goodness of his heart. He doesn't need to save random strangers out of a burning house to sleep better at night. If he's honest, he doesn't give a fuck!

But Sukuna is good at his job. He is strong, fearless, and insane enough to walk into the worst situations. He is here for the thrill of it. He loves the adrenaline rushing through his veins when he gets called to a fire. And the more dangerous it is, the more fun it brings Sukuna!

He doesn't hesitate before walking into your burning apartment complex a second time, even when everyone around him says it's too dangerous. Sukuna just gets a mad glint in his eyes, and a feral smirk lifts his lips when he says, "You think I'm scared of a little fire? One day, I'll burn in hell anyway, so fuck it!"

The Itadori twins are the only ones who enter the building a second time. Sukuna knows his brother does it because he has a little savior complex, always willing to sacrifice his own life to save someone else. Sukuna, on the other hand, does it for the challenge, for the thrill. He always wants to win, no matter who the opponent is, a guy he fistfights in a bar or a fucking fire. Nothing will defeat Sukuna!

Sukuna kicks down the door of your apartment when you thought all hope was lost. He carries you out of the burning house, smirking victoriously under his helmet when he feels your hands cling to his muscular biceps desperately.

He brings you to one of the ambulance cars, setting you down on a stretcher before he pulls off his helmet and his heavy jacket, revealing the white tanktop beneath it and a good portion of his broad chest and muscular, tattooed arms, sweaty and smeared with grime and ashes, and yes he finds the way you stare at him very amusing.

Your wide-eyed gaze slowly trails over his body until you finally look up at Sukuna's tattooed face with tearstains on your cheeks, your lips trembling, and your voice raspy from all the smoke when you ask him dazedly for his name.

And Sukuna flashes you a playful smirk while running a large hand through his pink hair as he fixes you with a smoldering gaze out of his eyes, which glow red right now from the flames of your burning apartment complex reflected in them.

He tells you his name in a low, seductive drawl and watches your face twist with emotions. A shaky sob escapes your lips, and fresh tears slip out of your eyes,

"Thank you so much, Sukuna! You saved my life! You are my hero!"

Sukuna laughs gruffly, shaking his head and smirking at you,

"Trust me, sweetheart, I am not a hero."

He really isn't. He isn't doing this because he is a good guy who wants to save people. He is only here because his brother dragged him along to his work after Sukuna got fired from another job, unable to stay employed because he simply doesn't do well with authority.

And then he went into a burning building for the first time and realized that fighting against the flames and the smoke and tearing down walls and kicking in doors, somehow was where he felt at home. So Sukuna stayed.

Well, and the nice side effect of this job is all the girls he gets to fuck because of it.

Sukuna watches you with a lazy, amused expression on his face, already knowing what will happen. You gulp hard, reaching out to touch his arm tentatively, eyes wide, full of admiration and a desperate plea swimming in them,

"Please, I want to thank you. I want to pay you back for saving my life. What can I do?"

Oh, Sukuna knows exactly how you can pay him back, but he just grins and shrugs his broad shoulders,

"It's no big deal. But you can check into my cousin's motel if you need a place to stay until you find a new apartment."

It's extremely convenient to have a cousin who owns a motel, and of course, you agree, thinking that way, you can at least do Sukuna a favor by giving money to his family.

"Come on, I can drive you, princess."

Sukuna wraps a strong arm around your shoulders, steadying you, taking care of you, making you all kinds of crazy for him. The big, strong, sexy firefighter who saved your life. You lean gratefully against his strong body, letting him lead you to his car, help you inside, and even buckle your seatbelt for you.

Sukuna can already see the little hearts dancing in your eyes. It makes him grin to himself as he starts the car.

It's a rather long drive from here, and you get stuck in traffic for a long time. And Sukuna learns that, as shy as you are, you seem to be uncomfortable with silence, and so you start to fill it with babbling about all kinds of things. Your apartment, your job, your family, how you like your coffee.

It's amusing how awkward you are, but somehow Sukuna's smirk softens into a smile one hour in, and he catches himself replying with a playful tone, asking more questions about you and your rather boring life, which, to his surprise, is kind of cute to him.

When he finally pulls up in front of the motel, Sukuna already knows what will happen. He accompanies you to your door, standing before you, tall and strong and with a sexy smirk, and you get on your tiptoes to kiss his tattooed cheek, letting your soft lips linger almost longingly on his skin as you whisper,

"Thank you again, Sukuna. I will never forget what you did for me."

And before you can pull away, Sukuna places a large hand on the small of your back, keeping you right there in front of him, so close that your body brushes lightly against his, and his other hand cups your chin and turns your face so he can claim your mouth in a playful kiss, his tongue licking teasingly over your lips, pushing inside to flick slowly against yours, making you gasp softly and twist your hands in the front of Sukuna's tanktop, pulling him closer.

Yeah, that's it, princess, Sukuna thinks to himself. If you want to thank him, this is exactly how he wants it. Thank him with your tongue in his mouth and your hands on his body.

Sukuna knows he is an asshole, but he doesn't care. All his coworkers are far too decent guys. They say it's wrong to sleep with the ones they saved. They say it would feel like taking advantage of them.

Sukuna can only laugh about that. The way he sees it, there is nothing wrong with getting rewarded with sex. And after all, it's not like you don't get something out of this, too. Sukuna will show you the night of your life. He will dick you down so good you will thank him again afterward.

He scoops you up into his strong arms for the second time today and carries you into the motel.

It's you who touches him first and yanks on his tank top. So needy for him and his dick, so desperate to get your hands on his naked skin. So why should Sukuna feel guilty?

He mounts you from behind, fucking you hard and fast in doggy with a hand around your throat before he pushes your face into the pillow and continues to take you in prone bone, pressing you down onto the bed, covering you completely with his heavy body, making you sob his name anytime he pushes his fat cock into you.

He was right, you really thank him as he feels your pussy becoming tighter and tighter around him right before he fucks you over the edge.

For the second round, you turn around and look up at Sukuna, and maybe that was a mistake because your eyes are so full of those damn little hearts, and your face is alight with total bliss and adoration and, yeah, love. Your arms are wrapped so tightly around Sukuna's body, your fingers tangled in his pink hair, caressing him, pulling him down, begging him with breathless whimpers,

"Closer... please come closer... please, I need you, Sukuna."

He kisses you just to shut you up and make you stop looking at him like that as if he is your world. But he still hears the way you moan his name, not Sukuna, but Kuna, when you squeeze around him, and it makes him cum harder than he has in years.

Sukuna slumps down on top of you, not thinking for a moment in his post-orgasm high, basking in the way you feel under him, so soft and warm, and your silky heat still pulsing so deliciously around his cock. He turns his head to lightly bite your neck as if he needs to leave his mark on you, when usually he never leaves anything behind.

Sukuna frowns, rolling off you and lying on his back next to you, staring up at the ceiling with a slightly uneasy feeling. Why is he acting like this? Maybe he inhaled too much smoke tonight. Maybe the heat was too much.

No matter what it is, Sukuna finds himself staying in your bed much longer than he usually does. Every other time he finds his way into someone's bed, he acts as if his alarm went off and he has to leave for another fire, finding the perfect excuse to leave while his dick is still wet.

But tonight, he doesn't bolt right after cumming. Maybe he really just needs some rest. And it's just very comfortable how your smaller body seems to fit perfectly into his side as you roll over and snuggle against him, like some housecat looking for cuddles.

Sukuna knows he should get up, but he is too comfy. He will just rest for a moment longer, just close his eyes for a few seconds, and enjoy the way it feels to get cuddled like this.

When he opens his eyes again, the lights are off, and only the soft glow of the streetlamps drifting in through the window casts some dim light into the small motel room.

"Oh fuck..."

Sukuna curses under his breath, the instinct to run kicking in, but he gets stopped by a pair of arms wrapped around him, and everything comes flooding back. The drive here, the sex, the way you looked at him, how nice it felt to let you cuddle him.

Sukuna freezes up. He knows he should leave. Knows he should untangle himself from you and sneak out while you are still fast asleep. Run away like he always does, never to see you again.

But somehow, the way you cling to him makes him hesitate. He must have turned onto his side in his sleep, and now you are behind him, playing the big spoon, which is ridiculous considering your size difference, but here you are, hugging Sukuna tightly from behind. Clinging to him, pressing your warm, naked body against him.

Your face is buried in Sukuna's broad back, breathing softly against his tattooed skin. And somehow, Sukuna doesn't know how to breathe anymore because the realization washes over him that he likes to get held like that.

But there is still a little fight in him left, and Sukuna growls softly, gritting his teeth and carefully plucking your small hands off his abs. He doesn't get far, though. He has barely moved when your arms wrap around him again. Of course, Sukuna could easily slip out of your grasp, but what really makes him stop is your soft whisper,

"Stay. Please... don't leave me alone. Not tonight."

You sound so small and scared, and Sukuna has no idea why his heart clenches at the sound of that. But what he knows is that he stops moving and mumbles something about just stretching his legs a bit because he is about to get a leg cramp.

And his large hand cups yours to give it a reassuring squeeze, something he only ever used to do when his brother and he were still kids, and Yuuji cried because of something. It makes him feel awkward and weird and so fucking weak.

But you let out a relieved sigh and snuggle against Sukuna's broad back again, hugging him and whispering, "Thank you."

Sukuna's mind is whirling because why the hell does it feel so fucking nice to be held by you like this? It's concerning.

But he doesn't try to run, just huffs softly and interlaces his fingers with yours where your hand is resting against his naked chest.

"Get back to sleep, princess. I won't leave."

And he means it. For the first time in his life, Sukuna stays.

He wakes up in the morning to the warmth of your body wrapped around his and the feeling of your lips trailing sweet little kisses over his broad shoulders, and your soft fingers caressing his tattooed biceps tenderly. You say his name all sleepy and sweet-sounding, and Sukuna asks himself if the fire last night fried his brain because everything about you makes him feel such weird things right now.

Maybe it's your sweet and slightly shy smile. Maybe it's the way you babble so cutely when you are nervous. Maybe it's how innocent you seem to be, how genuine with the affection you give him.

Sukuna fucks you again, but slower this time, with the sunlight pouring in through the window, and somehow he can't look away from your face. Somehow, he gets lost in your eyes when you whisper his name and dig your nails into his broad back. You cum so sweetly on his cock, so wet and hot, sucking him in even deeper, crying out his name and calling him your hero, and Sukuna's vision goes black for a moment when he cums with such a loud and feral moan, that he never heard coming out of his mouth ever before.

He stays an incredibly long time in your bed. Cuddling with you, kissing you, almost purring like a cat when you run your fingers through his pink hair while he rests his head on your tits.

When a real alarm tells Sukuna it's time to leave and do his job, he groans and only reluctantly gets up. His eyes never leave you while he gets dressed, watching as you wrap the blanket around you and smile dreamily at him.

And Sukuna catches himself stepping closer to the bed again, leaning down to grab your neck and capture your lips in another kiss, which is too long, too tender.

You ask him for his phone number, and Sukuna gives it to you, which is also something he usually never does.

He walks out of the motel with a casual wave of his hand, but the strange feeling in his chest isn't casual at all. He tries to ignore it, gets in his car, lights a cigarette, and takes a deep drag as he turns up the music and drives off. But even as he's driving away from you, he can't suppress the feeling that a part of him stays with you right there in the bed of that shabby motel.

Sukuna goes through his work day routinely while the ghost of your touch still stays on his skin, reminding him of last night and this morning, and not even the adrenaline of running into a burning building can chase the memories of those lingering touches away.

He rescues another girl from a burning house, and she smiles at him and thanks him profusely, lifting a hand to touch him, but Sukuna takes a step back and out of her reach. When she asks him how she can pay him back, he just shakes his head and says

"No need to pay me back, ma'am. That's my job."

Sukuna feels strange when he drives back home to his apartment. All alone, just his music and the cigarette smoke filling his senses. But he finds that he doesn't regret turning this girl down. Because there is something else he craves. Someone else.

At the next red light, Sukuna pulls out his phone and presses dial, and then your sweet voice fills his car.

"Sukuna? Heyyy, how are you? I am so happy you called!"

A grin lifts Sukuna's lips when he answers,

"Hey princess, I'm coming over. What kind of food do you want for dinner?"

Sukuna has no clue how or why this happened, but it feels right. It feels right to call you and to drive to your motel. It feels right to spend the whole night in your arms and the next one, too, and maybe all of his nights from now on.

Maybe it's because no matter how much Sukuna still denies being a hero, he really likes being your hero.

OH BABYYY. I really want him to be my hero, too 😵😵 I hope you enjoyed this short story about sexy firefighter Sukuna! Thank you so much to Émilie for putting him in my mind. I can't wait to see your drawing of him!! 💗😋

Thank you so much for reading! Comments and reblogs would be very sweet 💗

[angel-of-despairs]

This is so fucking good I don’t even know what else to say on this oml

southpaw

masterlist

boxer!Ghost x fem!Reader cw: dubcon. very violent. very smutty. 18+ mdni

In which you meet a hulking man with a temper and learn he is a boxer. you've got a prize he wants. you make him fight for it.

- part 1 - part 2

or [read on ao3]

so far this is a 2-parter but depending on how depraved i am next time i ovulate i might get johnny involved lol

[angel-of-despairs]

Well I’ll be damned who decided to throw onions at me bitch ass made me tear up 🫩

𓂃 kento x pregnant!reader

the first time your husband got serious mad at you was him cathing you carrying heavy things

kento’s at the grocery store, picking up ingredients for dinner—he’s been insistent on cooking lately, fussing over your nutrition like it’s his mission, you’re supposed to be resting, per his strict orders, but the nursery’s half finished, and the clutter’s driving you nuts.

a box of baby clothes sits by the door heavy with donations from friends, and you figure you can handle it, just one box, up the stairs, no big deal, you’re pregnant, not helpless.

you’re halfway up arms straining, the box wobbling, when the front door opens. “i’m back.” nanami calls but it cuts off sharp when he sees you, the grocery bags hit the floor with a thud and he’s at the stairs in two strides, his face a mask of disbelief.

“what the hell are you doing?” he snaps, his voice low, edged with something you’ve never heard.

you freeze, the box slipping, and he’s there, taking it from you, his hands firm but careful, setting it down with a heavy thump. “kento—” you start but he cuts you off, his voice rising, still controlled but trembling with restraint. “are you trying to hurt yourself?” he says, his words sharp, each one a blade.

“or the baby? because that’s what you’re doing, carrying this—this—up the damn stairs when i told you to rest.” he gestures at the box, his jaw clenched, his hands flexing like he’s holding back from shaking you or the world.

“im fine.” you say, defensive, stepping back, your hand on the railing. “It’s just a box, kento, im not fragile.” your voice is steady, but your heart’s racing, startled by his intensity, the way he’s looking at you like you’ve betrayed him.

“not fragile?” he repeats, his voice dropping. “you’re six months pregnant, and you’re hauling heavy shit like it’s nothing. do you have any idea what could happen? a fall? strain? you think im out here buying groceries for fun while you risk—” he stops, exhaling hard, running a hand through his hair, his composure cracking.

“you’re not fine. you’re reckless.” the word stings, and you bristle, your own anger flaring. “reckless?” you say, your voice rising. “im trying to help, kento. i can’t just sit around doing nothing while you treat me like im made of glass. im pregnant, not useless.”

his eyes narrow, and he steps closer, his presence towering, not threatening but overwhelming. “im not treating you like glass.” he says, his voice low, tight. “im trying to keep you safe, you and our kid. you think i want to come home and find you hurt? or worse?” his voice cracks on the last word, and you see it—the fear behind the anger, the way his hands tremble, the way he’s holding himself together.

you soften, your anger faltering, but you’re still stubborn, crossing your arms. “i didn’t think it was a big deal..” you say, quieter, looking away, your hand resting on your belly.

“i just… i wanted to do something.” nanami exhales, long and shaky, his shoulders sagging, and he steps closer, his voice dropping to a murmur. “its a big deal to me.” he says, his hand hovering near your arm, hesitant, like he’s not sure you’ll let him touch you.

“don’t do that to me again. please.” his forehead presses to yours, his breath warm, unsteady, and you feel the weight of his fear, his love, in that simple touch.

[angel-of-despairs]

BITCH OML I AINT MEAN THAT IN A MEAN WAY HOPE YOU KNOW THAT BUT GODDAMN THE WAY THIS MADE ME GIGGLE AND LAUGH IS FUCKING CRAZY THIS IS SO FUCKING ADORABLE I LOVE IT SO MUCH😭💜

stepping into the comfort of your home, nanami is met with a shrill cry from his four year old.

following her cry, he rushes to your room, mind cascading with the absolute worst scenarios he could walk into.

and upon opening the door, he’s met with a rather unusual atmosphere.

you sit leaning against the headboard, a smile on display whereas your daughter is crouched by the foot of the bed, a photo in hand while sobbing uncontrollably.

confusion etches a puzzled look onto his face and he steps into the room ‘hey..? what’s going on’ he asks, loosening his tie just in time for him to catch his daughter as she runs up to him.

leaning down, he picks her up and plants a small kiss onto her hairline, her small body shaking with each sob.

he hates seeing his girl cry like this.

his hands stroke her back in hopes to calm her down ‘hi angel girl, why’re you crying hmm?’ he asks.

he feels her nod a “no” into his neck.

the cries still continue and he looks to you for help. a sigh leaves your lips ‘i was showing her our wedding photos and she started crying because she wasn’t invited’ you try to hide your grimace, because in all honesty, this situation was hilarious.

‘oh’ kento says, a small smile on his face as he turns your daughter’s face towards him ‘sweet girl can you look at me? please?’ he murmurs.

his little girl lifts her head from his neck, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand ‘why was i not invited?’ she asks, her doe eyes starting to fill with tears once again.

chuckling at this, kento pats down her hair and smiles at her ‘you weren’t born yet angel, otherwise you know for sure you would’ve been there’

this seems to have consoled her a tad bit ‘really?’ she asks.

‘really’ he confirms, placing a kiss onto her cheek as he places her back on the bed, her sobs coming to an abrupt stop.

your girl has this thing where she’ll listen to anything and everything kento says. if her dad says it, it must be true.

she goes back to looking through the albums, cheeks still a bit damp and red from all that crying.

you scoff at this ‘i told her the same thing at least a 50 times, but no, she only takes your word’ you get up from the bed, walking over to him.

he pulls you in by the waist, pressing his forehead against yours ‘well, then this concludes our last week’s discussion on who her favourite is’ he smirks.

‘hmph, yeah okay’ you roll your eyes, as you feel him plant a kiss to your temple.

and suddenly-

‘you went to school together!? without me!?’ your daughter shrieks and her lips wobble, now looking at your and kento’s high school album.

oh shucks.

(rblogs are appreciated but this is not proofread so do w that info what you will🤟🏼)

[angel-of-despairs]

Oml I thought you were gonna rip my heart out with Nanami 🫩😭

JJK SMAU: JJK men saying they want to marry you then said just kidding (part 1)

Angst.

Mention of being a fling on Sukuna's (I'm sad so here it is. May or may not be relatable to author's life at some point whoops)

Part 2 here

[angel-of-despairs]

Well call me a bitch and fuck me sideways I ain’t need to cry like I did to this sweet ass fuckin post but I did goddamnit

Muai thai fighter Sukuna who only cares about winning, even if he has to be the biggest asshole in the world, ignoring anything other than the next fight.

Muai thai fighter Sukuna who runs away from interviews like the plague, flinching in his chair as he hears the usual inane questions. His manager, a man blessed by heaven to be able to put up with the fighter's persistently optimistic mood, tries to keep his composure, but every dry, monosyllabic answer from Sukuna makes the sweat drip down his temple.

“Sukuna, how are you preparing for the fight against the Thai champion?”

“Training”

“Any new strategies?”

“Fighting”

Muai thai fighter Sukuna, who was forced to be there against his will, stands up abruptly. The photographers are startled by the movement. The businessman tries to reach him, desperate.

"Sukuna! No! Only ten minutes to go!"

But it's no use. The champion is already leaving, with heavy, irritated steps, while the security guards try to clear the way. He ignores shouts, cameras, microphones and questions. And off he goes, towards the underground parking lot

Muai thai fighter Sukuna who is itching to get in and disappear in his matte black sports car.

He gets into the vehicle, starts the engine with a furious roar and begins to maneuver without paying much attention.

That's when you appear.

You, completely distracted, holding your cell phone and a shopping bag that almost falls to the ground.

The roar of the engine makes you look back, but it's too late.

Muai thai fighter Sukuna, driving like an impatient ogre, almost runs you over.

“ARE YOU CRAZY, YOU SON OF A BITCH?!” you shout, slamming your palm down hard on the car window. “WHAT KIND OF IDIOT RUNS OUT OF THE PARKING LOT LIKE THAT?!”

You're furious. Your blood is boiling. Without even thinking about it, you're already hitting the bodywork harder.

"GET OUT OF THAT FUCKING CAR NOW! YOU IGNORANT"

The window starts to roll down. You're still huffing and puffing, indignant and ready to curse, until you see... him.

Muai thai fighter Sukuna, who is enchanted by your courage and audacity, appears like a huge shadow inside the car. His red eyes stare into yours as if studying you. The crooked smile at the corner of his mouth reveals that he is not in the least annoyed. On the contrary... he seems to be enjoying himself.

“Are you always like this?” he asks, getting out of the car with an annoying calmness and a body that makes the ground seem smaller.

Muai thai fighter Sukuna who exudes imposing bearing, stretches himself to the maximum as he gets out of the car. His muscles bulge out from under his tight T-shirt, the tattoos decorating his arms like a dangerous map. You take two steps back, still holding the shopping bag as if it were a weapon.

"I-I... look, I'm sorry, okay? I... I thought you were some rich slacker"

“Technically, I am,” he replies, running his tongue over his teeth, approaching as if he were in a ring. “But your reaction... It was interesting”

Now that the initial shock has worn off, you realize who this is. Your eyes widen, the name slips out of your mouth like a secret:

"Ryomen Sukuna? The muai thai world champion?"

He shrugs.

"It depends. If I tell you no, will you keep shouting at me?"

You let out a nervous laugh, putting your hand to your forehead.

“Oh my God... I almost insulted you”

“Almost? You did” He smiles wider.

You try to apologize in every way, stumbling over your words, mixing up “I'm sorry”, “I really am sorry”, and “I didn't mean to”. But he raises a hand, cutting your apology in half.

Muai thai fighter Sukuna, who doesn't care about flattery or apologies, looks at you with a sharp look and says:

"Do you really want to apologize? Then give me your number."

You freeze.

“What?”

"That's it. Give me your number. I won't insist, but it would be a shame to let this story end in the parking lot."

You stare at him for a moment. He's not joking. And honestly? Maybe you're not either.

You take out your cell phone, type in your number and hand it over. He types something into his cell phone, and soon after, you receive a message:

Unknown number: "If I win the next fight, you owe me a coffee. If I lose... too. ;) - Sukuna."

Muai thai fighter Sukuna who gives you one last look before heading back to his car. Leaving you standing there, staring at your cell phone screen and trying to understand what the hell just happened.

Muai thai fighter Sukuna who never gets distracted by anything outside the ring, didn't expect to fall in love with a woman he almost ran over in the parking lot. In front of the strong-tempered woman, drinking a coffee that he certainly won't let her pay for.

Muai thai fighter Sukuna who, a few months later, is standing in the room he himself prepared with red petals scattered everywhere, lit candles emitting his favorite scent, the one you once mentioned casually one afternoon and he memorized as if it were the next technique that would save his life in the ring.

You open the front door thinking you're just going to find Sukuna grumpy and sweaty after training. But when you step inside, everything changes. The light is low, the sweet, familiar smell envelops you, and there, in the center of it all, is him, that man no one dares to contradict, holding a discreet ring in his calloused hand, as if it were made of glass.

"I almost ran you over," he begins, with that crooked, insolent smile, "and ever since then, I've never wanted you to get out of my way. Would you like to be my girlfriend?"

Muai thai fighter Sukuna, who used to be cold, rough and averse to any sentimentality, now wants to hide you from the press because you're his little, and not at all defenseless, girlfriend. The woman who shouted at him without fear and who now sleeps on his chest every night. And he keeps it as a precious secret. For months, no one knows he's with someone. You live behind the scenes, away from the spotlight, safe and loved.

When you ask, he replies with the same expression as always:

"Next question."

Muai thai fighter Sukuna who marries you a year later. It was a simple, private ceremony, with no paparazzi or magazine covers. The only flashes were from close friends and family. But there was too much sincerity in that exchange of vows. He wore a suit, his hair neatly combed, and a look that seemed ready to cry, even if he would never admit it.

"I'm yours. Forever. Even when I'm far away. Even when my fists are closed. Even when life wants to beat me down... you'll be the only thing that keeps me standing."

You cried. He held your hand tightly. And when you were pronounced husband and wife, the world stopped for a few seconds.

Muai thai fighter Sukuna who has a dry, impersonal Instagram, with only training videos, photos with medals and short phrases like “ready” or “focus”. But one day, he surprised all of his almost six million followers with something no one expected.

One photo. No caption. Three hands.

His, scarred, rough, with knuckles hardened from so many punches.

Yours, soft, smooth, resting on top of his.

And between them, a chubby, innocent little hand, grasping Sukuna's finger as if it already knew it was safe there.

The comments explode.

“Is he a FATHER?” “Is this photo real???” “STOP THE WORLD I NEED INFORMATION” “Someone warn me that Sukuna has become a dilf”

Muai thai fighter Sukuna, who doesn't give interviews about his personal life, remains silent. He deactivates the comments hours later. He leaves the image there, alone, saying everything he will never put into words.

Muai thai fighter Sukuna, who could never have imagined that his life would change completely in four years, now wakes up at dawn to hold a baby on his lap. He sings, walks down the dark corridor with slow, careful steps, and holds the child like he holds his own heart in his hands.

He finds himself looking at you, sleeping exhausted after another difficult night, and feels his chest tighten with love.

"Thank you," he whispers softly, so no one can hear.

Muai thai fighter Sukuna, who used to think only of winning, now measures victories in quiet cries, small laughs and kisses on the top of your head.

He is still the champion. He is still feared. He still fights like a demon when he's in the octagon.

But at home, he's just the man who can't stop thanking you.

For you. For the baby. For the life he never planned to have, but which has turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to him.

[angel-of-despairs]

Bitch the audacity to make me cry 😒😭

Don’t you let me a see a sad post from you when you in the mood for it then😭

cw: heavy angst

Prince!Gojo who spent his entire childhood sneaking down into the dungeon of his castle to hang out with you, a prisoner unfairly sentenced to life simply for being the child of someone who attempted to assassinate the king.

As the years passed, you and Gojo grew up, side by side, separated by the bars of your cell. He'd often sneak you food, beautiful white flowers, and read you a few chapters of a novel so you would have a bit of entertainment. He'd often tell you stories about the outside world as well with the promise of showing it to you one day.

Gojo also promised that — the very second he officially became king — he'd undo the unjust sentence his father had given you, and set you free.

He could hardly sleep the night before his big day, so excited over the mere idea of finally getting a chance to hold you.

It was rather unfortunate that, just before midnight, his father performed his very last act as king before passing on the mantle: having you executed.

Gojo awakened that morning to a crown on his head and a decapitated corpse by his side. Your lifeless hands were clenching the dead, white flowers he had given you.

[angel-of-despairs]

Heard this one too many times stg

[angel-of-despairs]

THIS IS THE LAST ONE I NEEDED FOR IT TO BE A SIGN TO FOLLOW JEEZ I AM IN LOVE WITH THIS

planting evidence in street racer! sukuna's car

Sukuna’s car has always been untouchable—immaculate, brutal, fast. The kind of machine that mirrors him: sharp edges, no softness, no room for anyone else.

Until you.

Now there’s lip gloss in the cupholder and a scrunchie looped around his gear shift like some kind of silk flag staked in his territory. You started leaving little things behind, quietly, like you were planting evidence. Gum wrappers, a clip from your hair, even your iced coffee straw one day—left right in the side door pocket.

You expected him to toss it all back at you. Maybe with a grunt. Maybe with an eye roll and a muttered “keep your shit out of my car.”

But he didn’t.

He kept them there. Because you and Sukuna… you weren’t dating. No one had asked. There was no talk, no label. Just a long night that turned into a few more, then a pattern.

You, on the other hand, are more strategic. Conniving, even.

You don’t ask to be his girl. You don’t cling. You just leave marks. Subtle things. Things a hookup wouldn’t ever have time to leave behind. So that maybe—just maybe—if someone else ever got in the passenger seat, they’d know instantly: they’re not the first, and they’re definitely not the only one who rides here.

But no one else has. Sukuna hasn’t touched another girl since the first night he had you spread out across his sheets—back arched, lips parted, absolutely wrecked from round four. You were limp and glowing in the aftermath, falling asleep on his chest like you belonged there. And maybe you did.

He hadn’t cared to look at anyone else since.

That car used to be built for speed, for control, for the kind of thrill that made his blood rush. It was never about comfort.

But now? It’s starting to literally feel like a second bedroom. Like an extension of you—your perfume clinging to the seatbelt, a receipt from your favorite café crumpled in the passenger door, your earrings slipped into the little tray under the dash.

The backseat holds the imprint of your body, the curve of your hips pressed into the leather, a reminder of all the times he’s fucked you in his car—your legs spread wide as he drove you to the edge with each brutal, deep thrust.

Even the front, where your hand wraps around his arm as his fingers make you come undone, hitting a spot that drives you wild in ways only he knows, still carries the unmistakable mark that this seat—this car—belongs to someone else.

So when Sukuna rolls into the garage late one night—hair still damp from a shower, muscles loose from hours tangled up inside you, still half hard just remembering how you moaned his name—his fellow mechanics clock it instantly.

“Yo,” Mahito says, glancing up from under the hood of a stripped RX-7. “You have a girlfriend or somethin’? Your car smells like vanilla.”

Sukuna just grunts, shoving his keys in his pocket.

He leans against the hood, chewing on the inside of his cheek like he’s not thinking about you sleeping in his bed right now, curled up under his sheets in that oversized tee you always steal from him.

They take his silence as confirmation.

“You hear that, Suguru?” Mahito continues to instigate, smirking. “Sukuna’s got gloss on the gearshift.”

Suguru raises a brow from where he’s cataloging parts. “Damn. Didn’t think anyone could turn Sukuna into a personal Uber.”

That earns a laugh from the group. Sukuna doesn’t say anything, just lazily flicks his middle finger their way. But he doesn't deny it either.

“No wonder you leave work early so often,” another mechanic mutters, elbowing Uraume. “He used to hang around, talk engines, grab beers.”

They shrug. “Guess he’s got better company these days.”

Sukuna barely hears his coworkers gossip over the echo of your moans still ringing in his head. Because they’re not wrong—he has been slipping out early, ditching post-race drinks just to pick you up from work. Just to get you back in his car, where your legs fold up sweet and tight in the passenger seat and your hand always finds his without a word.

It’s routine now—his hand on your thigh the second the engine starts. He doesn’t even think about it. Just needs it. Needs the feel of you under his fingers, to squeeze the thighs he’s bruised a dozen times with his mouth.

And when you finally fall asleep, innocent and warm, lips parted just slightly?

He drives slower than he ever has in his life. Because the longer he keeps you next to him like this, the longer he gets to pretend you’re already his girl.

And he knows—he knows—you’re testing him with the things you leave behind. Waiting to see if he’ll clean them out. Waiting to see if he’ll hand you your lip gloss and tell you to stop marking your territory.

But he won’t.

Not when the vanilla scent lingers in the air. Not when the other mechanics glance at the cupholder and trade knowing looks because even they can see it—

The car’s not just his anymore.

[angel-of-despairs]

LMFAOOO I LOVE THIS

The ending of this is perfect cause that’s something fair to say and when she wraps her legs around him it’s like silent acceptance

Part 3 of Simon Leaving During Sex Like a Coward

It started with flowers. It’s not the kind you grab at the corner store in a panic, but ones clearly ordered days in advance — expensive, moody ones, all dark reds and deep purples. You didn’t open the door when they arrived immediately. You just stood behind it, your arms crossed, and watched them through the peephole before deciding to get them.

On day two, he texted.

I know I don’t deserve a reply. I just want you to know I’m not giving up.

You left it on read on purpose. And it felt good.

On day three, he was parked outside your building when you came back from work. Just standing there with his hands in his pockets, looking up when you approached, but not moving toward you.

“You stalking me now?” You said, not slowing your pace.

He didn’t smile. “No. I’m just here in case you feel like yelling at me in person today.”

You didn’t. You went upstairs and slammed the door a little harder than necessary, and when you looked out the window twenty minutes later, he was still standing there, doing absolutely nothing. Just waiting. Like a dog. A huge, sad, apologetic dog.

You caved on day five.

“Fine,” you’d said, opening the door just enough to stare at him through the gap. “You want a chance? Take me out. And I swear to God if you bring me to some ‘cozy little place’ where the waitress flirts with you, I will throw your wallet in a river.”

He didn’t even blink. “Got it.”

The first date was at a sushi place where the staff barely looked up. You sat across from him in silence until he cleared his throat.

“You look good,” he said, nervous in a way you’d never seen before.

“I know.”

He cracked a smile. You didn’t.

For a second date, he chose a little cafe by the river. You sipped your drink while he talked about stupid things, about his neighbor's cat and how he chipped a tooth once in a pub fight because he tripped over a pool cue — anything to fill the space. You just listened.

“You don’t say much anymore,” he said quietly after a while.

“I said you could take me out. Didn’t say I’d make it easy.”

He nodded, like he agreed with the punishment.

On the third date, he let you choose. You picked laser tag. You didn’t go easy. You shot him in the back six times and made fun of how slow he was, called him grandpa, and asked if he needed a sit-down break. He called you a menace and grinned through all of it. When the round ended, and you were both panting in the hallway, he looked at you with something like relief.

“You smiled,” he said, like it physically pained him to notice.

“It was at your expense,” you said, wiping sweat from your neck.

“Still counts.”

By the fifth date, you were letting him walk beside you without an awkward amount of space. Still no kissing. He reached for your hand once, and you pulled away with a look so sharp he apologized out loud.

“You don’t get to touch me yet,” you said.

“Right.”

“But you can carry my leftovers.”

“Yes ma’am.”

He got the tattoo on a Tuesday.

Didn’t tell you about it. He just showed up at your door again, holding your favorite overpriced dessert like it was a peace offering. You opened the door and immediately raised an eyebrow.

“No flowers today?”

“Didn’t think they’d survive the guilt trip you were gonna hit me with.”

“Smart.”

He stepped inside when you let him. “I got something,” he said, scratching the back of his neck.

“If it’s another apology letter I’m gonna start framing them like art.” You said with a smirk on your face.

He didn’t say anything. Just tugged off his glove and held up his left hand. On the inside of his ring finger, you could see fresh ink. Your name in cursive letters.

“…Are you serious?”

“Dead.”

You stared. “You tattooed my name on your ring finger.”

“Mhm.”

“Like. Where a ring would go.”

“Exactly.”

You blinked at him, still shocked.

“If this doesn’t prove how sure I am about you,” he said slowly, “then I dunno what will… but just to be safe—” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small, sleek black bag from that stupid luxury brand you once mentioned in passing. “Bribery.”

You snorted despite yourself. “You really think a designer bag’s gonna make me forgive you?”

He looked sheepish. “No. But I thought it’d make you laugh.”

You took it from his hand. “I’ll laugh when I sell it and buy ten pairs of shoes.”

“That’s fair.”

You opened the bag. Inside was your favorite candy, a folded napkin from the cafe, and a tiny note that said “I remember everything.”

You didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then...

“You’re really not gonna give up, huh?”

“Never.”

You sighed. “Fine. You can kiss my forehead.”

He chuckled as he leaned in gently, pressed his lips just there, warm and steady, and didn’t ask for more.

It wasn’t until weeks later, after more petty jokes and slow conversations and him learning exactly how many hoops you’d make him jump through, that you finally let him spend the night again. You were already in bed when he came back from brushing his teeth, and you didn’t say anything as he slipped under the covers. Just pulled him in, hands on his chest, legs sliding over his, the way they used to.

He kissed you carefully. Like he didn’t want to push it. But you tugged him in with both hands, and he pressed you down into the mattress like it hadn’t been months, like he was starving for every second of you.

When he was finally inside you again, moving slowly, sweat running down his spine, and arms shaking from trying to hold back, he looked at you like he could cry.

“I love you,” he said, voice breaking open on the words.

You rolled your eyes, breathless. “Is it my turn now to leave orr…?”

He groaned and dropped his forehead to your shoulder, muttering something about you being a nightmare, and you just laughed and wrapped your legs around him tighter, because you knew damn well he liked it that way.

---------------------------------------------

idkkk....i kinda lost inspiration halfway...sorry if this sucks..

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbaybay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6 @tessakate @xocandyy @nightfwn @robinfeldt98 @xiisblogs @mad-die45 @readingthingy @actualpoppy @amongthe141 @whore4romance @thatghostlykid

[angel-of-despairs]

Had me messed up in the first bit but I think I’m gonna forgive you for that😭

Part 2 of Simon Leaving During Sex Like a Coward

It doesn’t hit him right away.

He’s used to walking away from things, from people, too. It’s not easy, and that night, when he left you sitting there, all soft and broken and still wanting him, he thought he was doing the right thing.

He told himself he was protecting you. He told himself he didn’t deserve to hear you say I love you, and told himself it would hurt less if he left before things got worse.

But the thing about lies—even the ones you tell yourself—is they don’t stick for long.

It starts with a dream. One of those dreams that feels too real. So real it stays with him long after he wakes up.

You’re smiling in it. Not at him—at someone else.

Some faceless man with his hand on your lower back and a ring on your finger. There’s a baby, too. Swaddled up in your arms, pressed to your chest like something precious, and Simon’s just standing there, watching.

He wakes up gasping, his heart fucking pounding.

It keeps happening. Every night. You in a new house, you in a sundress, barefoot in some sunny kitchen, you laughing, you holding a baby that’s got your eyes. Never his. And the man—he’s always just a blur, a shadow, but Simon knows he’s better. Kinder. Softer. The kind of man who wouldn’t flinch when you said I love you.

It fucks him up.

He starts thinking about you all the time. What you’re doing. Who you’re with. If you hate him. If you cried after he left. If you ever said it again—to someone else.

And it’s not just guilt anymore. It’s this awful emptiness, like something’s missing and no amount of sleep or work or noise can fill it.

He tries to move on. Tries to pretend he doesn’t miss you like a fucking limb. But nothing works.

Not when he catches himself checking his phone, hoping maybe you reached out, even though you shouldn’t. Not when he sees your shampoo still in the corner of his shower. Not when he wakes up hard and aching and alone, whispering your name into the dark like some pathetic ghost of the man he was when he had you.

So he gives in.

He shows up at your door one night, three months later, soaked from the rain, with his heart in his hands and his pride already long gone.

You open the door wearing that same old hoodie of his you used to steal all the time, the one you said smelled like safety. Your eyes go wide when you see him, and he swears his knees almost buckle.

He doesn’t even say hello.

“I fucked up.”

You blink, your arms crossed. You don’t invite him in.

“Yeah,” you say flatly. “You did.”

“I was scared,” he tells you, voice hoarse. “Not of you. Of—of what I felt for you. It was too much. You made me feel like I was worth something, and I didn’t know what to do with that.”

You just stare at him, jaw tight, mouth set in that way that used to mean you were trying not to cry.

“I thought I could walk away,” he says, louder now, desperate. “Thought I could forget you. But I can’t. I see you in every fucking dream. I hear you when I’m lying in bed. I miss your voice, your laugh, and the way you looked at me like I was good, even when I wasn’t.”

“You weren’t,” you say quietly. “You hurt me.”

“I know. I know I did, and I’ll never forgive myself for it. But I had to try. I had to come back. Even if it’s too late. Even if you’ve moved on and you’re happy. I had to see you again. Had to tell you I love you too.”

You flinch. He notices.

“You don’t get to say that now,” you whisper. “Not after the way you left.”

Simon nods, swallowing hard. Rain dripping from his hair, his lashes. He looks soaked and miserable and completely undone.

“I don’t deserve you,” he says. “But I’m still here. And I’ll keep showing up, every day, every hour, if that’s what it takes. I’ll beg. I’ll wait. I’ll prove it. Just tell me I haven’t lost you for good.”

Silence.

Just the sound of rain and your shallow breath and his heart beating too loud in his ears.

You narrow your eyes at him. Fold your arms tighter across your chest.

“If you’re serious about this,” you say slowly, “then you can start by showing me. And I don’t mean some pretty speech in the rain like we’re in a fucking movie.”

Simon just stares, barely breathing.

“I want a cinnamon roll. Warm. With extra icing. From that bakery that always spells my name wrong on the bag.”

His brow lifts just a little. That place’s queue was always ridiculous, and you used to complain every time, but never enough to stop going.

“They close in fifteen,” you add. “So if you’re serious, you better go now.”

He opens his mouth, probably to say something dumb, but you don’t wait to find out.

You slam the door in his face. Hard.

Simon stands there, rain dripping from his lashes, staring at the door like it just hit him with a brick. Then, after a second, a low chuckle slips out—rough and breathy, like he can’t quite believe you’re giving him hoops to jump through.

“Cinnamon roll,” he mutters, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he turns away. “With bloody extra icing.”

And yeah, he’s soaked and slightly out of breath already, but he’s going.

He’s getting that fucking cinnamon roll.

PART 3

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starting with a cinnamon roll but don’t worry, we’re working our way up to a birkin 😌

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6 @tessakate @xocandyy @nightfwn @robinfeldt98 @xiisblogs

[angel-of-despairs]

Oh my god🫩😭

You're both already wrecked, sweat slicking your skin, your hands clawing at his back like you're trying to pull him deeper, even though he’s already buried to the hilt.

You’ve been at it for a while now—lazy, slow thrusts that feel more like worship than fucking, his mouth hot on your neck, murmuring filth and little nothings in that rough voice that always makes your stomach flip.

He’s so deep it’s making your head spin. Every drag of his cock feels like he’s carving himself into you, like he wants you to feel him long after he’s gone.

And maybe that’s why it slips out. Maybe that’s why you say it.

You don’t plan to. You just feel so full, so warm, so ruined, that it tumbles out between moans without warning.

“I love you,” you whisper.

Everything goes still.

Simon stops mid-thrust. Doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe.

You blink, panting, your hands still on his shoulders, confused by the sudden tension in his body.

“…Simon?”

He pulls back.

Not just his hips—his whole body. Just enough to look at you. His face is blank, eyes wide and dark and unreadable.

You feel cold all of a sudden.

“I—what?” he says. But he heard you. You know he did, because he’s already pulling away.

You try to keep your voice steady. “I said I love you.”

He’s quiet for too long...too fucking long.

Then he exhales, low and shaky, and steps back like you just slapped him.

“Don’t,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Don’t say that.”

You stare at him, still half-naked, still aching, still open. “Why not?”

“You know why.”

You feel it start to break—something inside your chest, something you’d been holding together for weeks with sex and silence.

He grabs his shirt off the floor without looking at you. “This was never supposed to be that.”

“And what is it supposed to be, then?” Your voice is rising now. “Just convenient? Just something to do when we’re lonely and bored and pretending it doesn’t mean anything?”

He doesn’t answer.

He just pulls his shirt over his head and avoids your eyes like a fucking coward.

“So that’s it?” you breathe. “I tell you I love you and you just… leave?”

Simon finally looks at you.

His mouth opens like he’s going to say something—maybe explain, maybe apologize—but then he just swallows, jaw clenched, and turns away.

“I’m sorry,” is all he says.

And then he walks out the door.

You don’t call after him, you don’t chase. You just sit there, still aching from where he was, still wet, still shaking, with the taste of I love you still on your tongue like it’s poison.

PART 2

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@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6 @tessakate @xocandyy @nightfwn @robinfeldt98 @xiisblogs

[angel-of-despairs]

A bit too much actually 😭😭