bonzaibaby

[bonzaibaby]

say you don't

today's episode of...who the fuck did I marry? (literally)

synopsis: so you woke up next to the hottest man you've ever met. except, you've never seen him before and he swears he's your husband. and the more you talk to him, the less certain you are he's even human. what'll break first? him? or your sanity?

pairing: eldritch-esque entity!gojo x f!reader

wc: 7.3k

content: mdni, DARK CONTENT, angst, light smut, gojo is an entity masquerading as a human lol, but he's down BAD for you, basically God!Gojo has no concept of any kind of societal norms and is pathetically in love with you, technically kidnapping, gaslighting, manipulation, obsession, gojo gets everything he wants and that includes you, Geto guest starring as fellow gaslighter LMFAO, some slight body horror (occasional extra eyes and limbs), wet dreams, fingering, touching, casual affection, mentions of taking meds (that aren't actually needed), reader is convinced she's going crazy, messed-up dynamics, some codependency

a/n: this was a super special commission from @specialgradefckr that was SO fun to write!! hope you guys enjoy too <3

The man sitting across the table from you was not your husband. 

It didn’t matter what the shiny gold ring on his finger said – or the glittering diamond on your own. His mouth was moving, but nothing was coming out. Pretty pink lips parting, the bright white teeth behind them opening wider, the sharp tips of his canines catching the bright sunlight streaming through the window of an apartment you’d never been in before. 

You weren’t even sure he was human. 

Or if you were still asleep. 

“Something wrong, sweetheart?” He cocked his head to the side, but he couldn’t even get that right. You guessed it was supposed to be cute (well, it kinda was) but it was angled too far, his ear nearly touching his shoulder.

The newspaper in his hands was upside down. The coffee in front of him was half sugar. He hadn’t blinked once in the past two minutes. 

You might not have picked up on that if his eyes weren’t so blue. It wasn’t the same shade as the oceans or the sky. Nothing in nature matched what was staring straight at you. They shimmered, brilliant and burning, intensely focused on each little twitch of your face. 

Spit was pooling in the back of your throat, pulse pounding in your ear as you smoothed down the hem of a thin slip you definitely didn’t own and certainly hadn’t dressed yourself in the night before. No, you just tossed on a ratty old t-shirt before crawling into your own bed, pulled the comforter over your body and crashed. When you woke up, you were here, wherever here was, with no fucking clue how you got here. Or who he was. 

With him half on top of you, sturdy arms wrapped around you and the prettiest man thing you’d ever seen purring good morning in your ear. Kissing your cheek like you and hugging you tight like you were some stuffed toy he always slept with. 

You pinched the back of your hand under the table. Hard enough for your nail to break the skin. You weren't dreaming. 

So he was, for better or worse, real. 

“I should go,” you cleared your throat, glancing down at the almost untouched plate in front of you. Pancakes, apparently, although you’d personally never had any that were so…spongy. You poked it with a fork when he first set it down, but you couldn’t bring yourself to stomach it. 

“Is my cooking not good enough for you?” He quizzed, stark white brows scrunching together like it was a problem he had to solve. Like you were. 

“It’s just, whatever this, uh, weird roleplay thing is-” 

He blinked. 

One eye at a time. 

“What do you mean?” He frowned as you stood up, dropping the newspaper he wasn’t reading to stand too. 

You stepped back, only glancing away to mentally calculate how far away the front door was. 

“I should go back home,” you slowly reiterated. Not that you had any way to get there. You didn’t have your phone, your wallet, your keys. No clue how fucking far you were from your place. 

“This is home.” 

You shook your head slowly, left hand closing into a fist, but it just reminded you of the ring on your finger. Five carats, set in white gold and glimmering while you reflexively looked down at just another detail that didn’t add up.

“No,” you muttered. “This-”

You blinked, and you were on the couch. It was softer than yours, didn’t creak when you shifted, missing all the spots and stains that came from people actually sitting on one. It scratched something in the back of your brain, bothered you for a reason you couldn't name as you sat up and looked around to confirm your suspicion. 

“I'm worried about you,” Satoru murmured, carrying a glass of-

Wait. 

How the hell did you know what his name was? 

Was it on something you’d seen without realizing it? On his phone when you were waking up? On a diploma or piece of mail somewhere your brain had subconsciously picked up on? 

He placed the drink on the clean coffee table in front of you. There was only a small vase with a few white-and-blue flowers stuffed in it as decoration on it. No coasters in sight. And somehow, no scratches or water rings staining the light wood finish either. 

“Who are you?” You asked, hearing how hoarse you sounded. Scared. 

You didn’t want to take the water – but all you could think of was how sore your throat was, reluctantly reaching over to take a sip. 

“Your husband?” He insisted, firm and a little sarcastic, like it should be obvious. 

“I’m not married,” you scoffed, even if the weight of the ring on your finger got heavier by the second. “I don't even have a boyfriend.” 

He made a soft sound, a coo, humming like this was still normal. 

And then it clicked. 

It had to be a prank. Probably pulled by one of your asshole friends who heard you complain one too many times about how sick of being single you were – or maybe even part of a shitty show that would only get aired on an absolutely unethical network. 

“Are you an actor?” You asked, and he laughed, as if you made a joke. “It's not fucking funny. Did someone pay you? Or-”

“I'm your husband,” he echoed, like it was one of the only lines they'd given him. 

“Seriously, are there cameras somewhere?” You started to stand, but your legs felt like jelly. Not quite limp, but unsteady on your feet as you took a step forward. But you bumped into the corner of the table right as he grabbed your arm to steady you, water spilling on the carpet, the cup remaining intact and rolling under the couch.

The only stain on it. 

“Cameras, baby? Really?” He dismissed, innocence you didn’t believe in shining in those big blue eyes. 

“That’s not a no,” you pointed out, looking up and around from the furniture to the corners of the room for any blinking lights or objects out-of-place. 

But nothing stood out.

Except for the fact there wasn’t a single personal item in sight. No photos or signs. No bookshelves stuffed with albums of memories or even shoes or socks left forgotten on the floor? 

“I mean, it doesn’t even look like anyone lives here,” you kept going when he didn’t deny it, gesturing to what could be a stock photo for a bachelor pad. “I mean, you didn’t bother photoshopping a single photo of us? That’s just lazy-”

He slid a photo album across the table you were pretty fucking sure had just been empty.

You stopped, stared blankly at the clean black leather, uncracked. Shiny as he flipped it open to the first page. 

And there you were, in a white wedding dress you’d rather die than wear, one of those poufy princess ones you couldn’t believe actually existed. Your mouth fell open, mid-exhale as your fingers trembled to flip through yourself. 

If it was edited, he’d done a good goddamn job at it. 

His arm was around you, fingers flexing against your waist and a beaming smile across his mouth. No glaring issues or missing fingers to point at. But the flowers in the vase were almost identical to the bouquet in your hands in the photo.

You pulled one free from the plastic, flipping it over to find a date on the back. Almost a full year ago. 

“What is this?” You asked, but the bite in your voice was gone. 

“Our wedding pictures, pretty girl,” he answered, and his bottom lip pushed out like he felt bad for you.  

You didn’t know what was worse, the pity on his face or the pride in his voice.

Each photo was more perfect than the last. The lighting, the shadows, your makeup, his suit, all the tiny details that might give the deception away in order and as expected. Not even a stray hair in sight. 

Your family was in them. Standing in the background or barely in frame, friends laughing and drinking and toasting to a marriage that just materialized. 

“You wanna call someone and ask?” He offered, a calm expression on his face, and you couldn’t help but think he’d done this before. 

“Where’s my phone?” You felt weak, your brain getting foggier as you tried to organize and collect all the information being splayed out in front of you. 

He dug it out of his pocket, and you wanted to protest – tell him that it was weird as shit that he had it. 

You held your tongue though, trying to think of who wouldn’t go along with a prank like this and would actually come clean if they knew someone who would. 

It was kind of hard when your homescreen was him though. 

A candid too, one that looked like it’d been taken in a restaurant somewhere, across the table from him with a candle burning and casting warm shadows on his unnaturally pretty face. 

Your thumb still unlocked it though, and all your contacts were still there – even if there were also now a thousand more photos of him clogging up your storage when you scrolled through. 

It took five phone calls to convince you that something was very, very wrong.

Family members, friends, even a fucking coworker, and they all thought you were the one pranking them. Chuckling at your discomfort, asking how Satoru was, inviting you both over for dinner before your panicked pleas for them to tell you the truth twisted their amusement to concern. 

When the last one hung up on you, you couldn’t even look up.

Just stared down at the smile on your screen, the first full squeeze of fear taking hold in your heart when he said nothing either, waiting for you to look up at him. You could feel his eyes on you. Oppressive and heavy, almost as if some invisible force was pressing against you. 

“I think we should schedule another appointment with your psychiatrist,” he hummed, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead, like he really just wanted what was best for you. 

Which, according to him, was an emergency session with a man you’d also never seen. 

You had a psychiatrist already – an appointment you always kept. Every three weeks, curling up on a couch and complaining about work and your friends and venting about everything that bothered you from stupid to significant. 

But he was about half a foot shorter and balding. Not another absurdly attractive guy who shouldn't know your name and still somehow did. 

You blinked at him. 

He stared back at you. 

The clock ticked – your appointment time slipping by in silence when you refused to speak at first. 

You broke first. Glanced out the window at the barren trees outside, wind blowing a brittle chill and frosting the edges of the glass. Shifting seasons. “Weird weather we’re having, huh?” 

“Is that what you’d like to talk about today?” He cooly replied, a sharp edge of sarcasm cutting through the tension.

You shrugged, not that you expected him to answer back with anything actually helpful. 

It was summer last night. The heat had choked out the ac in your apartment, your skin sticky and slick with sweat when you fell asleep, mumbling under your breath it was too fucking hot before you got under the covers

That was the first thing you’d noticed this morning. Your first clue. Eyes still closed and thinking that it was freezing – that your ac must have somehow fixed itself.  

The weather was wrong outside. The man on the other side of the door kept saying he was your fucking husband when you knew he wasn't. And the rest of the world seemed to be in agreement. 

“What brings you back so soon?” Your new psychiatrist asked, one hand firmly gripping a ballpoint pen while the other pushed a thin pair of glasses higher up his nose. How were you supposed to answer when you didn't even remember seeing him once? 

Rationality hadn't quite let you, your brain suggesting reasons you didn't fully believe. Maybe your old one quit, some family emergency or last-minute thing and this was just a replacement he'd forgotten to tell you about. 

You looked over the diplomas proudly displayed on the wall for a Suguru Geto. You made a mental note of the name, one you were sure you’d be searching and scouring the internet for later to see if any of them were real and he was actually an accredited doctor. 

God, that really did sound fucking insane. 

Genuinely suspecting the fact a (hopefully) licensed psychiatrist was just another paid asshole fucking with you? 

There was a calendar by the diploma closest to the windows, and even though the days hadn’t been marked off, it was still on the last month you remembered. You pretended not to notice, shifting your stare back to him. 

What the hell had happened in the past twelve hours? 

“I’m not crazy,” you preemptively said. It wasn't very convincing coming from someone sitting on this side of the desk though. 

“Did I say you were?” He smiled, but it was sly. He reminded you of a fox in a funny way, casual remarks coming off crafty. A hint of cruelty hiding underneath his polished, professional surface. 

“You’re staring like something’s wrong with me.” 

“What would be wrong with you?” He returned your statement with another annoying question, your scowl coming easily as you picked at your cuticles in your lap. 

“I don’t think anything is,” you argued back. Except he wasn’t arguing – he was just setting traps and waiting for you to walk into them. 

“Then why are you here today?” 

Because you fell asleep and somehow in eight hours you’d gone from your bed to living a stranger’s life? Even worse, becoming a stranger’s wife? 

“Why don’t you tell me?” You frowned, eyeing the thick folder he pulled out when you walked through the door, one he quickly closed before gesturing for you to sit. 

“Your husband started bringing you here before for, ah, memory issues for the past year,” he soberly said, like his seriousness could make up for the fact he was full of shit too. 

You almost scoffed. A year? No fucking way. 

“Memory issues?” You repeated, daring him to elaborate and dig them both in a deeper hole. 

He cleared his throat, eyes narrowing like he’d decided on a different approach since the current one wasn’t working. 

“We could start considering inpatient treatment,” he started to suggest, a flare of panic seizing your chest at the thought of a future spent in grippy socks and stuck with needles. 

“No,” you swallowed hard, shaking your head and quickly turning to where your husband was waiting on the other side. Even if you didn’t know him, couldn’t remember a fucking thing about him and didn’t have an explanation for any of it, he wouldn’t let that happen, would he? 

“How about this? I'll write you a new prescription then and schedule a follow-up in a few weeks to see how you're feeling,” Suguru smiled at you, but it was cold. 

“Sure,” you returned his fake smile. 

It wasn’t like you had another choice. How hard would it be to flush pills anyway? 

“Mind sending your husband in for a few minutes?” Your possibly-fake psychiatrist asked, and you could feel your brow twitch, threatening to betray your suspicions. You weren’t all that familiar with privacy laws, but it still felt like a breach of confidentiality. “I would like to discuss a few details of your care plan.”  

Care plan – like you were some troubled child that needed nurturing and hand holding instead of actual answers. 

Stuck sitting in an uncomfortable plastic chair out in the hall while they chatted behind a closed door, unable to hear what they were talking about. Just that the man you were supposedly married to looked thrilled walking out, leaning down to kiss your cheek and promise to pick up your favorite food on the way home. 

You figured out two answers of your own about him in the car. The first being he was a really bad driver. You weren’t sure how you hadn’t noticed on the way there, but you guessed you’d been busy staring out the window trying to discern whether or not this was just a really weird vivid dream or not. But now? Paying full attention to the way his hands were positioned on the wheel, the complete and total lack of awareness he had for anyone else on the road? 

It was ridiculous. 

He rear-ended someone five minutes into it. Completely crushed the back of her bumper, about to drive away until you hissed at him to stop and give the other driver his insurance information. He cocked his head to the side like he didn’t really understand, but he got out of the car anyway – in the middle of the busy road and blocking all traffic behind him. 

The woman he hit was pissed, short hair bobbing in the wind as she started shouting at him while you attempted to hide your face in the passenger seat. 

Until your husband just grinned at her, pointing at her probably totaled car and casually chuckled. That was all it took for her to freeze, mouth hanging open, cheeks blushing when he took another step closer. 

“I think that was your fault,” he hummed, and she nodded. 

“I must’ve stopped too fast,” she said it like she hadn’t been screaming three seconds ago, her eyes glittering like he was a goddamn celebrity who was so kind to grace her with his presence and hadn’t just hit her car. 

“Yeah, you should be more careful,” Satoru cooed, all condescending and still somehow charming, clapping a hand over her shoulder and squeezing before getting back in the driver’s seat.

You stared at him, and he just looked to you for approval. 

“Do you always get what you want?” You asked, too surprised to even frown. 

“Pretty much,” he flashed a smile. What, was it just pretty privilege? 

That the world bent around him because he thought it should? 

You weren’t sure when you started to bend too.

Just that the proof (and inconsistencies) started piling up – and started burying you beneath it.  

He knew everything about you – things you never told anyone else. Not just the easy stuff like your favorite color or food, but what hole-in-the-wall restaurants you liked to order it from and what day you liked to do your laundry on. Could recite off when you were born and what you got for your fifth birthday, collected memories of yours like coins or stamps he wanted to save. 

Any way you tried to slice it, he was either the most sentimental man you ever met or a stalker. 

Maybe both. 

When you asked for the marriage certificate, he pulled it from the shelf on a bookcase in his office. When you wanted to know what college he graduated from, suddenly there was a degree hanging on the wall. If you questioned how long you’d been dating, tried to pick apart his timeline, he pulled up the messages between you from as far back as your first date. 

“You don’t trust me,” he pouted, pushing out his bottom lip too far as he tossed his phone on the couch. 

You bit your own lip. Looked at the floor so you wouldn’t have to find something wrong with his face. 

“Why me?” You asked instead. Why couldn’t he go pick some other girl to torment? Get a divorce and unbind his life from yours? 

“Would you believe me if I said it was love-at-first-sight?” 

You didn't really believe anything he said. 

Even if he always had an answer (or an excuse) at his disposal.

But other stuff stood out, getting ready for work a few mornings post your psychiatrist appointment just for him to furrow his brows and station himself by the front door to ask where you were going. 

“My job?” You huffed, slipping on your shoes. All your clothes had come with you here, half his closest stuffed full of them, your shoes set up on a nice little rack by the door. There were a few things you knew you hadn’t bought, frilly and flimsy and all in that unnatural shade of blue, but you ignored them. 

Foolishly tried to kid yourself that pretending they weren't there would make them go away. 

“You don’t work,” he casually replied. 

“I do,” you insisted, trying to push past him before he stopped you with a firm hand wrapping around your wrist.

“Sweetheart,” he tried to sound kind, but there was no mistaking the authority in it. “You quit six months ago.” 

He guided you back to the kitchen table, sat you down softly before walking over to one of his dark cabinets. Pulled out something from the top shelf and returned to you like he was every ounce the devoted husband he was pretending to be. He handed it to you, something you were sure was supposed to be a show of trust. 

The pill bottle was clear. Thick, almost translucent, white label stretching around with pretty blue pills rattling inside when you shook it. 

Simple instructions printed neatly below your name to take two a day with food. 

“I’ll make you breakfast, baby,” he promised, waiting for you to open the cap and take two. Part of you wanted to accuse him of just not being able to open the child-proofed caps. 

You slowly did, feeling ill already, although it was hard to tell if it was from the idea of eating his cooking or taking the pills. 

He waited for you to put them in your mouth, stood there while you let them sit on your tongue.

“Don’t make me check,” he chuckled, a low warning you could tell he meant.  

You swallowed. 

And still, through the side effects and brain fog they seemed to bring on, you clung to the edges of your sanity, the logic remaining. Enough that when he was distracted typing away at his laptop, you were trying to text former coworkers, your old boss, anyone that would know anything more. 

But none of the messages were ever marked delivered. And when you looked up your former place of employment, you discovered everything about them had been scrubbed online, completely wiped. Like it never even existed. 

And when you managed to slip past him four days later down the stairs and out into the parking garage, you couldn’t find your car. 

The days dragged on - no job, no distractions. Just him and the cocktail of prescription drugs to coast on. 

His work schedule wasn’t kind to you. Allowed him to ‘work’ remotely, although he barely seemed to be in his home office, usually too busy bugging you. Half the week he never even stepped foot in there at all. But they never fired him. Never seemed to pester him to finish projects or demand for more of his time. 

You, apparently, were the most difficult part of Satoru Gojo’s life.

“One kiss?” He pouted, pointing to his cheek and leaning against the wall by the office door, an easy grin on his face.

“I haven’t brushed my teeth,” you excused, itching to walk away for the few hours of peace you got a day.

“Later then,” he shrugged, still unbothered, like he had all the time in the world. 

He liked to take you shopping after work or on weekends, doll you up in dresses and treat you to overpriced restaurants where he always seemed to score free meals or desserts every time. Although, the first time, he accused a waiter of flirting with him (and eventually you) just for asking questions about what he wanted to eat, demanding to speak to a manager. Squinting and scrunching his nose up like ‘is the food to your taste?’ was the equivalent to asking what color underwear he was wearing. No one listened when you tried to apologize for him. Paid any attention to you saying it was fine. The waiter was fired and your food was comped. 

People stared when he passed by. Men asked him about his cologne and his clothes. Women told you how lucky you were to lock him down.

As if it had ever been your choice in the matter.

Sometimes, you'd slip. Forget that you should be fighting this. Instinctively reach out for his hand in crowds in public, offer him bites of your food, roll over closer to him in bed on cold mornings. And somewhere deep inside, you knew it wasn’t right, but you seeked his comfort anyway, soothed yourself with his freezing hands and warm voice like it’d make your skin stop crawling, like it’d scrape away all the paint and varnish covering up the ugliness hiding underneath your relationship. 

You always snapped back to what was left of your reality eventually. 

It was after you pulled back that it would be there, the unsettling discomfort of his stare when you turned away from him. 

It was the worst in the mornings.

Crawling out of the sheets first, leaving him with his legs tangled in the blankets. He only ever slept in his boxers, his chest bare and rising slowly. It took too long to fall, like he was faking it. Mimicking sleep like he was imitating something from a movie.

And even when his eyes were closed, long white lashes fluttering, you could still feel them watching. 

His body, however pretty, however perfect, felt more like a shell, a casing containing something too big for it. A man who’d never been told no – and knew how to make sure it was never an option for you.

Not when every day you teetered closer to crazy, swallowing pills you didn’t need, sitting next to Satoru on the couch with a strong arm slung over your shoulder, stuck in a never-ending routine of brain-numbing domesticity. 

You couldn’t even lay in bed and sleep in late. 

The sky outside his window never seemed to get lighter until you got out. Your phone was always out-of-reach – Satoru didn’t confiscate it, but you conveniently could never find it once night time rolled around. He never had watches around either – even though he seemed like the exact sort of asshole that would own a Rolex and brag about it. 

You might’ve called him out. Confessed your suspicions, made a whole fucking list of them to shout at him, scrutinize every tiny detail and demand answers. Until you started seeing the eyes and were forced to reconsider the growing possibility that you were the problem here. 

He was talking – he almost always was. Telling you some convoluted story you were pretty sure was the plot of a bad tv movie he must’ve watched while you were sleeping, one you had overheard blaring from the bedroom, the volume also perpetually stuck too loud. He never left the remote out for you to change it either. 

Your stare had been fixed on the tv anyway, nodding along bored until you caught a glimpse of it out of the edges of your vision. Right below his cheek. An extra eye, just as bright and observant as the other two. It blinked, and you turned.

But it wasn’t there anymore, and Satoru was staring at you innocently, head tilted to the side like he was pleased to have captured your attention at all.

“Everything alright, pretty girl?” He purred, reaching out to place his hand over yours. You didn’t pull away, couldn’t convince your body to move when the surprise had left you practically paralyzed.

You tried to sleep it off. 

But they kept popping up. Behind you in the mirror. When he was making breakfast. On his hands and face and even once on his back. The second you looked, the moment you tried to look directly at it, it was gone, dissolved back into normal skin like it’d never been there at all. 

And then came the ones in places they couldn’t be. 

On the walls and in the furniture. Constantly being watched whether you were alone or with him. 

You used to think you could get used to anything. 

But the paranoia never ended – and you were starting to question if maybe he’d been right this whole time. How much of this was him? And how much was in your head? 

“How have you been doing since the last visit?” Your psychiatrist asked, fixing you in the same cold stare as last time. You hadn’t wanted to come back, but Satoru insisted – and despite all your digging, you couldn’t find any proof he wasn’t who he said he was. 

“Fine,” you lied. 

You were one string away from unravelling. On a short tether ready to snap with one more eye, one more changed memory or crooked detail that didn’t match up.

“Have you remembered anything? Any flashes? Images?” He asked, like someone who had a degree probably would. 

You shook your head, the urge to claw and scratch and fight this slowly seeping out. “Um, no.” 

“Well, we can talk about something else then,” he smiled, and it still didn’t reach his eyes. He shuffled through the folder in front of him. “How about your family then? Or maybe your friends?” 

Your mouth had started to open, to dismiss the idea of talking about the one area of your life you still considered somewhat private until a name he shouldn’t have known left his lips. Until he continued to mention more information you only ever told your old psychiatrist about. 

“I think I’m done today, actually,” you muttered. You brushed down your skirt, standing up and hurrying over to the door to twist the knob just for it to bump into something on the other side. 

Satoru had been listening in. 

But he didn’t condemn you for ending your session early. Just wrapped a strong arm around your shoulders and brushed your hair out of your face before asking if you wanted to go out to eat or pick something up. 

Suguru Geto would never be able to give you the help you needed.

You didn’t think help like that even existed. What god would be able to overwrite your husband when it seemed like he was the one who made the rulebook? Who never did wrong and always got precisely what he wanted? 

In a weird way, there was an odd comfort in being with him. He didn’t make you feel crazy – even when you threatened to throw his shit out the window and cried yourself to sleep when you did toss his stuff out just for it to reappear in the same spots. He just cooed that it was okay, promised that it would be better soon, pressed faint kisses against your shoulder blades and down your skin like his touch could make the world stop spinning. 

Something was seriously wrong with him and you.  

You were both bad at pretending to be normal. 

Maybe you didn’t remember him. Maybe you hallucinated the eyes on the walls and the secrets buried in his skin. But here he was, sitting on the couch while the sun was still out watching a girl get her back blown out with a fucking notepad in his lap. 

Squinting at the screen while she got backshots in 4k Ultra-HD, her gasps and moans the soundtrack while he made unintelligible scribbles on the page. Pants on, fully clothed, not even fucking erect or hard or anything.  

If he noticed you behind him, he didn’t say it. 

“You're not jerking off,” you dryly commented, leaning against the doorframe. 

“Do you want me to?” He glanced over his shoulder, sincerely asking. 

You stared at him, lips parting as you tried to formulate what the fuck you were supposed to say to that, your own eyes shifting down to where the notepad was suddenly gone, his hand already tugging down his zipper and about to pull out his cock. 

Maybe you would've said no, but you shut up the second you saw it. And really, it was kind of fucking absurd. 

Even more than the situation itself was.

Bigger than what the guy on screen was packing, like someone copy-and-pasted what an ideal one was supposed to look like, vein throbbing and pre-cum leaking around a pretty pink swollen tip. As if it hadn't just been soft and hidden under his jeans a handful of seconds ago. 

“I'm, um, going to bed,” you awkwardly stammered, jutting your thumb down the hall. 

Sleep washed over you here. Like a hand pushing your hand under waves until you were forced to suck water into your lungs. 

But you never drowned. 

You dreamed of being somewhere vast, where the dark stretched out endlessly in each direction. Outside, you guessed?

Except there wasn't a sky. No ceiling. Just space – cold and cruel but not empty. Eyes were everywhere. Instead of being on CCTV, you were being captured from every goddamn angle by the same unblinking blue eyes that haunted your days. You used to think two was a lot. That it was all he needed to see though you. 

Here there had to be at least two hundred. 

All watching you splayed out for their viewing pleasure. Pale hands held your wrists in place, veiny arms and thick fingers tracing and groping you. Squirming against (into?) him while another set of palms spread your thighs. His touch seared. 

Burned into your soul with each pattern he painted and pressed along your skin and inside you. It wasn’t like he had a face, or like you could hear his voice. But you knew it was him all the same. 

And you didn’t resist. 

Didn’t want to. 

When dreams had blended into your waking world already, what was so wrong about letting yourself have him like this? The rest of your life was wrong anyway. You closed your eyes, rested your head back for another hand to hold it up, fingers petting your hair while another set did the work of spreading you open and stretching you out. 

It didn't feel like fingers though, not when each touch was pure energy, electricity that raced through you and back down, pressure building and cresting just to come back twice as hot with each pump of something thick and hard thrusting inside you. It curled cruelly, reached places you never could on your own, invisible and intoxicating as it dragged you close to your climax just to rinse and repeat. 

Being rearranged and remade into something that fit him better. That felt better.

Time didn't exist. It could've been five minutes or five hours. Lost in the void of him while he lost himself inside you. 

You could've lived in it. 

But your life had taken on its own dreamy shape, one that bordered on fantasy. 

The sheets were damp. Thighs soaked and slick. 

“Sleep good, sweetheart?” He prodded when you woke up to the sun shining through the window, a lazy arm slung over your side. Deceptive. You knew if you went to slip out, if you pulled away too soon, his relaxed grip would turn into a harsh squeeze, holding you against him until you whined that it was hard to breathe. 

You were about to turn around to look at him, but his fingers groped your tits and when you started to count how many there were on you, there were too many. 

In your panic, you elbowed him, pulling away before he could fully react. 

And you saw it. 

Not just a glimpse. Not a flash. 

But a full second where there was an extra arm attached. 

It was gone again by the next blink. But you'd seen it, and it felt like everything shattered again. 

“You-” You started, pointing at where it had been. 

“I what?” Satoru dared you to say it. 

“You had another arm,” you accused, voice trembling. 

“You must have missed your dose yesterday, huh, beautiful?" He crooned, still smiling at you like it was okay you just implied he was a fucking shape shifter or alien or some fucking creature charading around as your husband. 

He'd pull documents out of thin air the same way he made an entire limb disappear. Convinced people to give him whatever he wanted for free with just a wink or a purr. 

How easy would it be for him to do the same to you? 

“I'm not crazy,” you said it again, but you weren't so confident. 

Because whether it was real or not, pieces of him, thoughts and images and daydreams, had all started to seep through into your heart. Consideration or codependency, although maybe that was just you coping. Telling yourself that it wasn't some fucked-up form of lust or love. 

There was too much you couldn’t reconcile from reality and the world he was trying to convince you of. 

Something had to snap - and it was you. 

And still, he tried to act like everything was normal, tried to hold your hand in the waiting room and took you to the conveniently-available doctor. 

Suguru Geto tapped his pen against his desk. 

And you tapped your nails against your leg. 

“I think my husband isn't human,” you admitted. Said the big bad words that had been bouncing around in your head out loud. “I don't really know what he is, but-”

“You do realize how ridiculous that sounds, right?” Suguru dismissed, but the corner of his mouth twitched. 

“I know,” you nodded. 

You'd come up with a list of theories on the car ride here while Satoru promised to prove how much he cared about you. An alien disguised as a human? Some freak stalking you? That one didn't explain the arms or the eyes. The dream you guessed could've been all you, spurred on from seeing his cock. 

“One moment,” Suguru held up his finger, and you figured this was it. He'd call the psych ward and you'd have white walls to look forward to instead of the cool blue of Satoru’s bedroom. 

He stood up, walked towards the door where Satoru was waiting outside. Offered you another professional smile before stepping out. 

Your file was left on his desk. 

It took you two seconds to snag it, flipping through it, half-expecting it to be normal. To be another piece that you'd be left wondering if it was fabricated. But no, most of them were in familiar handwriting, notes taken by your previous psychiatrist, signed and dated precisely how you remembered. 

Suguru was a fraud – and your husband, whoever (or whatever) he was, was too. 

His office was unfortunately on the third floor, too far from the ground for you to make an escape through the window. So, you did the next stupid thing you thought of, pressed your ear against the door like you'd hear anything that would fix the anxiety churning in your stomach. 

Your brain was trying to block out the information you found, to hit erase and rewind the clock on today. You felt fuzzy, thoughts slipping away before you could fully hold onto them. 

“You really fucked this up,” your pretend psychiatrist grunted, irritated as you tried to blink away the fog, to drag your mind out of the haze and back to clarity. “I told you this would happen. Just scrub her memories and then add your own.” 

“I want her to like me for me,” Satoru whined, and the next blink made the world around you sway. 

“You're an idiot,” Suguru scoffed at him. 

“Am not,” he argued back. “I'm intelligent, attractive, attentive, shouldn't that be good enough?”

“Not when she doesn't know you,” Suguru retorted. 

You felt like you were going to pass out.

“Well, you said she started to figure it out so-” 

You didn't mean to make a sound, but your knees threatened to buckle, and you had to lean against the door to stop yourself from falling. They immediately stopped talking. The doorknob jiggled, and then opened, Satoru catching you before you could collapse.

“There's my smart girl.” He poked your nose, one long finger pressing softly against the cartilage as he chuckled. Like an owner playing with its pet. 

A kid testing the limits of his toy would probably be closer. More accurate.

A vein throbbed across Suguru’s forehead, annoyed at how this was playing out. You guessed he was like him too. Something that was out of your understanding, too much for you to fully conceive, under the cover of human faces and fucking around with someone like you because they could. 

“What are you?” You bluntly asked, unable to pretend to not know. To act like you hadn't been listening. 

“Your husband.” 

You wondered what he'd do if you asked for a divorce. Although, here, in his arms, with him looking at you like he loved you, like in spite of everything else that was real, you didn't want one. 

What vows had he sworn? 

For better or worse? In sickness and health? Human or not? 

“Fix this.” Suguru didn't ask. Demanded. 

Satoru frowned, but there weren't any frown lines. Barely even a crease between his brows either. An emotion he hadn't mastered well in this body of his. 

“I could just reset her,” he grumbled, unhappy at the prospect. 

You barely had any strength left – but you scraped together enough to shake your head. You didn’t want to be fucking reset. 

“No,” you hoarsely said. “Don't.”

Satoru’s face immediately brightened, grinning and pulling you closer, squeezing too tight again, until you hit his chest twice to get him to stop. 

“Sorry, Suguru,” he shrugged. “I do what my wife wants.” 

You fiddled with your ring in the car on the way home. For the first time, it felt like yours. Or maybe, you'd just accepted it as part of you. Let go of the pieces of you that didn't fit anymore. Shed those parts of your skin like he stepped into this one. 

“What do you want?” You asked as he ran a red light. 

“You,” he easily answered. 

“You could've asked me on, like, a date,” you grumbled, resting your head against the window. 

“Do you want to go on a date now?” He quizzed, cocking his head to the side at the correct angle this time. Learning, adapting to acting his role out. 

“I want to go home,” you murmured. 

The image in your head wasn't your apartment anymore. When you thought of bed, you thought of his. 

And when he parked the car (and managed to scrape the front bumper against the concrete wall), he still hurried around to open your door for you, to hold your arm to steady you. 

Took off your coat when you got back inside, got down on his knees to take your shoes off. 

“You know you can ask me for anything, right?” He hummed, and there was something unsettling at the thought he could actually conjure up anything he wanted. 

But being scared was exhausting. 

So you didn't say anything when he followed you to the bedroom. 

You stripped off your clothes, one piece at a time, methodical, precise. He stared, reverent. The lump in his throat bobbing as he took small steps forward. 

“Do you love me?” You asked, unsure. 

“You're the only thing I care about,” he reassured, fingertips settling slowly on your hips, one-by-one too. Dipping into the flesh, feeling it for himself and breathing in your air. His eyes glowed. 

Literally. 

A bright gleam that hurt to look at, burning into you with a dangerous intensity. When he spoke, his voice reverberated into your core. “Do you love me?” 

“You're all I have left.”

[bonzaibaby]

❀ sunshine!reader suddenly quits one of her hobbies and boyfriend!sukuna finds out it was because of him.ᐟ ♡

⌗ fluff ⌗ 800

you were always picking up new hobbies, so sukuna didn’t think anything of it when you started spending all your money on yarn and all your time with knitting needles in your nimble fingers. when you completed your first project, a pair of wool socks, you were so proud of yourself.

“look, kuna!” you exclaimed, curling your toes in the pink wool socks, the man’s red eyes looking at the patterns with narrowed eyes for a short moment before turning back to the book he’d been reading, letting out a hum of feigned disinterest. “they’re fine, i guess.”

knitting actually lasted longer than a lot of your hobbies had; you’d made mittens, socks, scarves, and given them to your friends and family. you'd even told him about how you wanted to go to the weekly market at your town and try selling them.

until suddenly… you stopped.

you used to knit while sat in front of the tv, and while sukuna would grumble about the noise the thick knitting needles made, it actually started to become soothing. even if he said your creations were “just okay” he secretly loved that he was the first person you’d excitedly show the pieces you’d made.

he thought that maybe you’d just grown out of your knitting phase, that you'd find a new way to occupy your time any day now.

that was until one late afternoon.

sukuna had been taking a nap on the couch until he was woken up by the loud ringing of your phone. he rubbed his eyes, mumbling groggily, a scowl leaving his lips. sukuna had fallen asleep with you in his arms, and you’d left him lying there to wake up without your warm body in his arms? unacceptable.

the floorboards creaked under his weight as sukuna started walking to the bedroom where he’d heard the ringing come from, pausing just outside the door when he heard your voice.

“oh, i can’t tonight. i need to finish a knitting project, and it’s hard to find a time when sukuna’s distracted, but he’s asleep now. well, i don’t want him to see knitting. he’ll think it’s silly.”

your boyfriend furrowed his brows. did you… stop knitting when he was around because you thought sukuna thinks it’s silly? he clenched his jaw, unable to stop the pang of guilt from hitting him.

pssh. whatever. it’s not sukuna’s fault. it’s not like he told you that it was annoying. it’s your fault for just assuming shit like that. that’s what sukuna kept telling himself in his head as he dragged his ass back to the couch.

but as a week went by and he couldn’t stop the cycle of guilting himself when he saw you playing candy crush on your phone during times when you used to knit, telling himself it’s not his problem to going back to guilting himself… he knew he had to bring it up.

sukuna was never good at talking about emotional stuff. you knew how he felt about you, he didn’t have to shout it off rooftops every day.

“hey.” the man cleared his throat, and you looked up from your phone with a bright smile on your face, sukuna’s feet in your lap. “hm?”

“why do you keep knitting in secret like a weirdo?” your eyes widened as you registered his words, and you could feel your cheeks warming up, “you know about that?” “yeah. why don’t you do that shit in front of me anymore?”

“i… just prefer to do it privately.” “cut the shit.”

you let out an exasperated sigh, moving your boyfriend’s feet off your lap and walking off into your shared bedroom. he was about to come after you until he heard the soft patter of feet returning, and you were holding something behind your back.

“promise you won’t laugh.” “woman, stop being—” “promise me!” sukuna let out a grumble, rolling his eyes, “fine, i promise.”

from behind your back, you revealed two pieces of clothing. you threw the darker one to sukuna, while keeping the other one to yourself. as he unfolded it, it revealed a large black sweater with a bunch of patterns in a color that looked alarmingly close to his hair color. “the hell’s this?”

you unfolded yours, a smaller white one with identical patterns in the same shade of pink, “surprise! i made us matching sweaters.” you smiled brightly. “i’m not wearing this.”

as your lips turned down into a pout, your doe-eyes looking at him pleadingly, glimmering with excitement wetness, your boyfriend’s own eyes narrowing, “pleaseee, kuna…”

two minutes later, you and sukuna were standing in front of the mirror, his arm around you as you took pictures of your matching sweaters, a look of pure displeasure on his face. “you better not post these anywhere,” the man snarled, yet pulled you closer to him with the tiniest hint of a smile.

because nothing beats seeing the smile on your face at this moment, and nothing beats the warm feeling in sukuna’s chest at the knowledge that he was the cause.

it’s been a while since i’ve posted but i’m back!!

[bonzaibaby]

You have a thing for Athlete!Sukuna. He knows. And plays you like a violin.

Athlete!Sukuna who you have the biggest, fattest crush on. And everyone knows it. You’re not exactly subtle about it – trailing him through the halls like a lost puppy, eyes latching onto his form when he walks into a room. Little bubbly smile curving at the corner of your glossy lips.

Athlete!Sukuna who knows you like him. He thinks it’s silly that you get hissy over him when you think he’s not watching. You’ll poke his arm when he’s ignoring you, whine about how he hasn’t texted all day, try to catch his eyes across the cafeteria. Half of the time, he doesn’t even look at you. The other half, he smirks like he’s in on a joke you’ll never get. You’re a doll, a pretty girl with so many friends that just so happened to fall in love with this tattooed, sharp-mouthed boxer asshole! And he knows. He, of all people, knows that the most.

Athlete!Sukuna who uses you for convenience’s sake. If he’s bored, he’ll text you to come over. Sometimes it means you end up in his lap, his big hands palming your thighs while he kisses you hard enough to leave your lips swollen. Other times you run your hands through his hair and talk about your day while he lies in your lap, only half-listening.

Athlete!Sukuna who leaves when he’s done. Every time. Always with the same excuse – he’s got to train or his coach needs him. And every time, your heart sinks in that quiet, invisible way you’ve trained yourself to hide.

Athlete!Sukuna who, every so often, slips and lets something that feels real leak through. Like the time you told him about a girl giving you dirty looks in the hallway. You expected him to brush it off. Instead, he snorted and said bet she’s ugly as fuck. You snapped back instantly – that wasn’t the point, and he just stared at you for a long, slow moment, before smirking. “You’re cute when you’re mad.”

You hate how much those words stuck with you, like honey. Glossed over a compliment that was never supposed to be so sweet.

Athlete!Sukuna who notices, with a creeping irritation, that you hang out around other guys. Especially the other boxers. He’ll watch you chatting with them, lip caught between your teeth while you listen intently to something regarding the correct way to punch. He knows you’re just trying to understand him better – and he doesn’t care. All he sees is you smiling at someone else.

Athlete!Sukuna who turns cruel when the jealousy gets too loud.

Athlete!Sukuna who waits until you’re alone, staring up at him with wide eyes, to say things that sting. That skirt makes you desperate. You talk too much. Stop laughing like that, it’s annoying. And every time your lips wobble and your eyes glisten, it does something to him.

Athlete!Sukuna who can’t look away when you stare at him with those teary eyes, not saying a word – just standing there like you can’t believe he’d say something so sharp. You look pretty, and it makes his chest feel tight. He likes it. He hates that he does.

Athlete!Sukuna who, at the party you threw for his win the other day, disappears halfway through. You search for him, weaving through the crowd, and find him upstairs with some girl pressed to his neck. She’s biting lightly, hands in his hair, and his eyes meet yours. Cold.

Athlete!Sukuna who doesn’t push her away. Doesn’t stop her. Just holds your gaze and lets it happen, like it's none of your business.

Athlete!Sukuna who thinks about that look on your face for days.

Not the shock, not even the hurt.

The way you didn’t yell.

The way you ran.

Athlete!Sukuna who you drag into the nurse’s office later, the skin around his knuckles all red, bruises blooming up his arms. He doesn't explain, just mutters something about a practice match that got a little heated.

You’ll never know it’s because his sparring partner called him an asshole for making you cry.

Athlete!Sukuna who sits down on the cot and watches as you fiddle through the cabinets. You’ve been here before, patching him up, but this time, it’s different. The air is heavy. Your hands are steady because you’ve learned the best way to clean and wrap from talking to his teammates, soaking up their advice like it mattered more than your own classes.

You dab at his knuckles with a damp cloth, careful where the skin is tender, and not once do you look at him. Not when his knee brushes yours, not when he murmurs, “You’re quiet tonight.”

You hum something noncommittal, eyes fixed on the bruise, pretending it’s the only thing worth noticing. And his gaze lingers. It’s not the first time he’s looked at you, but something’s strange. The curve of your lashes as you blink, or maybe the way your glossed bottom lip catches the light, or maybe the scent of your perfume wrapping around him like the softest embrace.

You’re gorgeous. The thought hits him hard enough to make his jaw ache more than the bruises.

You tape the last bit of gauze, fingers brushing his skin, and he swears you’re doing it on purpose. Avoiding his eyes, answering only when you have to.

He tells himself it doesn’t matter.

It does.

Athlete!Sukuna who notices you pulling away. Slowly. You still answer, still come when he calls – but you stop letting him kiss you in the hallway. You take hours to reply to his texts. You tell him you’re busy more than you used to, and you start posting pictures with your friends, smiling like you never lost a thing.

It drives him insane.

Athlete!Sukuna who replays the way you used to whisper I’m yours in bed, voice all breathless and certain, when he’s slumped against his own bed in the dead of night. He doesn’t know when that stopped. But he knows he hates that it did.

Athlete!Sukuna who starts thinking about you at all hours. You curled up against him in bed, you looking up at him with watery eyes. You laughing just for him.

The idea of you giving any of that to someone else makes his blood run hot.

Athlete!Sukuna who follows you home one night. He hangs back just far enough so you don’t notice, then stops outside your window, watching.

Your room is all pink and soft, stuffies piled on your bed and old polaroids you’ve never bothered to take down taped to your walls – so many of them with him in the frame.

Athlete!Sukuna who feels something snap inside his chest.

He’s never been here before. He should’ve, from the start. He should’ve been in every inch of this place.

Athlete!Sukuna who can’t stop thinking about climbing through that window and kissing you senseless, until you remember that you’re his, that he’s yours, that he adores you. He hopes you know he does.

Athlete!Sukuna who decides, standing there in there dark, that he’s done letting you drift.

You’re going to be his girlfriend.

Not sometimes. Not when it’s convenient.

Always and only and irrevocably, his.

And if you think you can slip away, you’re wrong. Dead wrong.

[bonzaibaby]

⋆˚ ✿ ˖ ࣪ thinking about satoru teaching you how to jerk him off with his larger hand guiding yours as he gently pumps your fist over his thick, aching cock with his pre cum. he’s groaning out under his breath, praising you with a flushed face and furrowed brows, “just like that, fuck..”

“i’m doing it right?”, you whisper, looking over at him with big eyes as you bite the bottom of your lip, still fucking his cock with your fist and satoru’s moaning out at the cute expression on your face. he nods with a deep hum and a cheeky smirk on his lips, “yeah baby, you’re making me feel reaaal good.”

[bonzaibaby]

molasses

Suguru and Satoru love fucking with you. They've just never taken it quite this far. or Suguru and Satoru get you high to fuck you.

tw: dubcon, drug use (weed), slight coercion, female reader, cunnilingus

It starts as an evening not different from many others. The evening sun illuminates the dorm room into a warm orange while some playlist put on by Geto plays in the background. You're seated between the two strongest, head leaned against the back of the couch—supplied charitably by Gojo's money—with your eyes closed. They're sharing the joint and talking about things you’re only halfheartedly listening to.

The three of you have done this many times, getting high in Suguru's and Satoru's dorm while shitty movies play in the background. It always inevitably ends with Suguru and you throwing Gojo out or scampering to your room to fuck like rabbits, much to Gojo's dismay. Though, almost any activity the three of you partake in ends in Suguru fucking you stupid.

It's almost a routine at this point, except you're already higher than you usually are. Or maybe it's just a different strain, you're not familiar with the details. You've always let the two of them figure it out. Why bother with it when they can just deal with it?

Right now your focus is on Suguru’s hand on your leg, on the way his fingers softly stroke the inside of your thigh and occasionally dip under the hem of your shorts. He's intimately aware of how horny you get when you’re high and he enjoys torturing you. Quite the sadist, he only fucks you when you’re reduced to a begging mess, tears glistening in your eyes, bruised mouth pleading “Fuck me, please. I need it please please please-”

“It's your turn, lightweight” Gojo laughs and you’re pulled back into the present. Your eyes open slowly and turn your head in his direction. Slender fingers offer you the joint whilst his bright blue eyes twinkle with something you can’t quite place. As usual, neither he nor Suguru seem that affected by the weed. Contrary to Satoru's statement you’re not actually a lightweight, but whenever you smoke with them, they manage to make you look like a fucking teenager trying weed for the first time. It’s ridiculous.

So you scrunch your face before shaking your head, you don't need to be even more out of it. Your expression makes Suguru chuckle and press a soft kiss against your temple. “Come on, baby, you can handle a bit more.”

You don't have to look at your boyfriend to see his stupid grin. His tone is condescending, a tone usually reserved to tell you “I know, baby. But you can take it.”

Fingertips ghost under the hem of your shorts again and your head spins. Just a bit higher. Please please please just a bit more.

His fingers disappear again.

Bastard.

Maybe you’d been nodding—or more likely, Gojo just did not care— because he places the lit joint between your lips. Fuck it, you decide and take a deep drag, exhaling when he removes the joint. Your cherry-colored lipstick stains the white filter, and the sight of him then placing it between his own lips suddenly feels weirdly obscene.

You let out a shaky breath; your mind is cloudy—and you like that, like the disconnect from your thoughts—but the weed and Suguru’s fingers on your leg border on too much. Your head falls back against the couch, your body is somehow loose and heavy at the same time. A sigh escapes your lips and you close your eyes again.

“What’s up baby?” Suguru asks, the faux concern in his voice makes you want to slap him. It also makes you want to fuck him more. That’s the struggle of dating him. You can never quite tell if you want to scratch his eyes out or if you want him to fuck you senseless (most of the time it's the latter).

Gojo says your name and places a hand on your knee. When you don't respond, his other hand grabs your chin and pulls your head in his direction. You’re met with a barely hidden grin while Suguru’s fingers dip under your shorts again, ghosting over the hem of your panties. You feel your face heat up even more —your body is always betraying you, there’s no pretending with him— and you clench your hands into fists.

“Hmm, you’re flushed,” Gojo states and strokes your cheek, his thumb brushing over the corner of your lips. It’s no wonder he’s Suguru’s best friend. He’s just as much of an asshole as your boyfriend and the way they enable each other is annoying. You hate them both, truly.

 “’s hot,” you rasp out and Suguru laughs softly. Your head turns in his direction and your breath catches in your throat when you look at him, whatever insult you wanted to throw at him dies on your tongue. His amethyst eyes are dark and hungry. Your mouth is dry, you want him so bad, want his mouth, his teeth, his hands, anything. Why he hasn't already thrown out Satoru to tear you apart is beyond you.

“Maybe you need to take off some of your clothes,” the hand on your thigh moves upwards and his skilled fingers play with the hem of your crop top, “you’d be less warm.” 

Heat flares in your stomach and your brows furrow in confusion. The lines between the three of them have always been…blurry. Gojo’s fingers tend to linger on your body, tend to gravitate towards you even when there’s no reason for him to be touching you. When the two of you are out alone, strangers often mistake you as a couple. Cooing how sweet your boyfriend is, how affectionate. And when you try to correct them, Satoru pinches your skin and thanks them with a shit eating grin.

Then there’s been a drunken kiss during truth or dare. A kiss so intense it left your lips swollen and bleeding. You’d never quite known how to deal with his overbearing presence. The kisses on your cheek, the arm thrown over your shoulder and pulling your hair like you're in preschool. And it's not that you didn't find him attractive, you're not blind, but there was still that pesky personality off his. The one that had problems accepting any boundaries and the word "no". So when you and Suguru officially started being a thing, you thought it’d put an end to Gojo's behavior. If not for your sake, then for his best friend's.

It didn’t. And Suguru never said anything. You never questioned him about it, just chalked it up to whatever weird fucking thing is going on between the two of them.

So you open your mouth to protest—you're not wearing anything underneath your top, which Suguru knows, and being topless in front of Gojo is all kinds of wrong—but it doesn't stop your boyfriend from pulling the top over your head while you're too sluggish to stop it.

He throws it away and entangles your hair from the many necklaces around your neck, and tucks it behind your ears. It’s a loving gesture, his thumb softly stroking your jaw, meant to soothe your nerves. And while your body sings every time he touches you, it doesn't quite work this time.

Gojo takes in a sharp breath and embarrassment flushes through you—you ignore how you feel your underwear dampening even more—and you want to cross your arms in front of your chest but Suguru anticipates your movement, grabbing your wrists and leveling you with a commanding stare. You test his grip once—only once because his darkening eyes are warning enough for you to become pliant—before letting your arms drop to your sides.

You're still not looking at Gojo, the humiliation of him seeing you like this is written all over your features. It turns him on how your roles are almost reversed. Usually, he goes too far and is greeted with your annoyance or even your absence when you're pissed off enough. Always on this high fucking horse, and now you're here—tits out, thighs clenched together and Suguru on his side for once.

While your mind is still clouded, your body is tense. The discomfort of the situation has an almost sobering effect. Suguru notices—of course—because the joint is pressed against your lips again, though this time you shake your head.

Geto's expression twitches in annoyance at your disobedient antics. Usually, you're the most pliant, the most behaved when you're inebriated but this time that unnecessary blanket of shame makes you difficult. While he doesn't take it personal, considering you just don't know any better, he finds it irritating of you to misbehave in front of an audience.

So he takes a deep drag of the joint and grabs your jaw. His long fingers dig into your cheeks, hard, effectively forcing you to open your mouth. Without pause, his lips are pressed against yours—pure muscle memory and desire coaxing you to open your mouth—pushing the smoke into your mouth. You let out a gasp when his tongue touches yours, the spark of electricity going through your body prompting you to forget all about your previous unease. The kiss quickly turns into a mess of spit, teeth and tongue. Suguru knows how to play you like a fiddle, just how he has to touch and kiss you to successfully empty your brain of any silly thoughts.

Your fingers grip his shirt, desperately pulling him closer. You want to mold yourself to him, to feel him all over you and Suguru adores you like this. All desperate and willing to let him do whatever he wants to you. He fondly hums into your mouth and his fingers move from your jaw to the nape of your neck, fasting your hair into a ponytail and pulling.

The action elicits a whine out of you. When Suguru pulls away—you chase after him, but the grip on your hair stops you—there's a line of spit connecting the two of you and Satoru wants to lap it up. You look thoroughly debauched, all heavy breathing, lips swollen and wet with spit. Last remnants of your lipstick are smudged around the corners of your bruised mouth, not quite helping your frazzled expression. Like an act of sympathy—and it's just that, an act—Geto lets go of your hair and leans back against the back of the couch. You mirror him since the weed makes it difficult to keep yourself upright. You feel yourself sinking into yourself, into the couch while this warm current flows through your veins. The previous feeling of anxiety dissipates in the air like smoke and you smile.

"I think you've been mean to our friend, baby," your boyfriend tsks while tucking a loose lock of hair behind your ear. "Just look at him."

It's then that you finally grace Satoru with your attention. There's a sizable tent in his boxers and he's practically panting like a dog. His eyes are glued to your tits, to your perked up nipples and he's just itching to touch you. He wants to tug at them, to put them in his mouth and suck on them until you sob. Ever since he got to hear the little whimpers and gasps you let out when he kissed you during truth or dare, he's been desperate to hear more.

Like he can read his mind, Suguru's thumb starts to lazily circle your left nipple. The contact, despite it being feathery light, closer to an almost touch than an actual one, makes you twitch and the sound that escapes you—a pathetic little cry—makes precum leak through Satoru's boxers.

“So mean,” agrees Gojo, his voice dropping multiple octaves. His pink tongue darts out to wet his plush lips but his eyes remain fixed to your chest, on Suguru's finger circling your pretty, puffy nipple.

Your skin is flushed, your panties are drenched and all you want is for your boyfriend to finally throw out the white haired menace so you can be folded in half and fucked til your cunt is sore. Want and shame have you feeling dizzy, so you nuzzle into his shoulder mumbling a desperate "Please". You're seconds away from climbing his lap and humping his leg like a dog in heat.

"Poor baby," Suguru smirks and kisses the top of your head, "Satoru, you should take her shorts off." He looks at his roommate, a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t want my baby to overheat.”

You open your mouth to protest, but are cut off by Suguru shushing you.

"You trust me, right? You're so needy, I just want you to be taken care of."

Satoru resembles a dog, perking up and practically salivating. It’s no question he’s wanted to fuck you for a long time now. Technically, he wanted you first but it's Suguru you wanted. It's Suguru you gravitated towards. Which is no surprise, he's always had an easier time getting girls, and guys. Even in high school, people fell to his feet. And it wasn't like people weren't into Gojo, he just always ended up scaring them off. He is always a bit too much. He's too eager and his non-existent respect for personal boundaries is off-putting. So when he finally got offered the chance to kiss you as a dare, he'd leapt at it. Pulled you close and almost devoured you. He still jerks off to the memory of your whimpers, to the memory of your taste and the warmth of your mouth.

He gets on his knees in front of you and it's ridiculous how he's almost as tall as you this way. His large hands run up and down your thighs and you shiver despite the warmth of the room. Through your hooded eyes you gaze at him and you think he might have never been more beautiful than this. Cheeks flushed, the tips of his ears tinted red and pupils huge.

"Hips up, baby," he grins, still all confident despite his obvious arousal, and his fingers dip beneath the waistband of your shorts.

“Fuck,” he hisses when he sees your panties —lacy, green and completely soaked. Humiliation churns in your stomach and you want to press your thighs together, want to hide your arousal because they haven’t even done anything to you yet. But as soon as you try to, Suguru slaps your thigh, hard and a wince escapes your throat.

“You don’t need these,” Gojo decides and his fingers grab a hold of the waistband, urgently pulling down the ruined scrap of fabric. The world spins slower than usual and God, you’re so fucking wet it’s ridiculous.

Before you have any chance to observe his expression of seeing you completely bare, Suguru grabs your jaw and presses his lips onto yours. His mouth is warm and hard, his nails dig into your skin, making you whimper into his mouth. It’s so easy for him to coax open your lips, to rob you of oxygen and whatever shred of doubt might be left.

You’re panting when Suguru pulls away and he takes advantage of your dazed state by grabbing your left thigh and pulling it over his own. Like an offering, he exposes your gleaming cunt to his best friend.

You twitch for a second, your body overcome with the urge to snap your thighs together but you know better than to listen.

Gojo knows this. He doesn't even look at you, no, instead his eyes observe Suguru’s and whatever he sees in them is enough confirmation he needs. He leans forward, his face mere inches away from your core, and you hold your breath, unsure whether it's in anticipation or dread. Maybe it's neither. Maybe it's both.

He’s slow, careful, when he touches you, pulling open your lips like he’s inspecting you. And then his thumb grazes your clit oh so softly—the touch barely even there—but it’s enough to make you cry out and buck your hips. You feel like you might actually combust when you’re touched properly.

 “Is my princess sensitive?”, Suguru coos, his grip on your thigh tight while he presses wet kisses against your neck.

“Fuck you both,” you groan and close your eyes. You can't bear to look at either of them. Somehow it’s both too much and not enough at all. you miss the glance Suguru and Gojo share, you boyfriend’s nod.

Suddenly there's a harsh slap on your cunt and you let out a surprised gasp. You body startles but Suguru’s large hand, splayed over you stomach, keeps you down.

“You wanna be good now, or do we have to do this the hard way?”, Suguru asks and while his voice remains soft and pleasant, you know better. He’s not afraid to hurt you, to make you sob and shatter you into tiny little pieces.

“I’m gonna be good,” you whisper and you cunt throbs.

Your eyes nearly roll into the back of your skull when Gojo finally puts his mouth onto your dripping core and the sound that escapes your throat is loud and desperate.

Gojo’s mouth is skilled and you’re too high to care about any of the cries that escape you. He laps gently at your folds, sucking on them before his tongue wanders up to your throbbing clit. He circles the bud as many times as he pleases, occasionally flicking it back and forth before sucking on it.

While Gojo assaults your cunt with his mouth, turning it nice and puffy, Suguru starts kneading your breasts. Pinching and pulling your hard nipples, soothing them with his tongue before biting them. His mouth attacks your neck, your tits and your collarbones, leaving bite marks and hickeys all over you. If you weren’t so far gone, you’d comment on that, like you always do. You’re acting like a fucking teenager.

It's embarrassing how easy it is for Gojo to get you towards the edge. How messy and desperate he's got you. You've soaked his face in your juices and a pool of arousal gathers on the couch. With every flick of his tongue, more of your slick gushes out. stopping when your hips buck up and your cries become louder. At one point, you thread your fingers into his hair, desperately trying to keep his talented mouth on your cunt so you can finally come, but he doesn’t care. Just grabs your wrists and pulls them away like it’s no effort at all.

“Oh, is something wrong?”, he coos and blows air on your sensitive little nub. 

Your hips jut up, and you let out a breathy whine. 

“Please,” you beg with trembling lips. 

“I think you can do better than that.”

Suddenly there are two long fingers inside your tight core. You let out a high-pitched moan. The stretch hurts in the best possible way. Suguru adds to that painfully pleasant sensation by biting your neck harshly. You’re gasping, arching your back. Your core is throbbing, desperate for Gojo’s skilled fingers to start moving, but he doesn’t. 

“Please, Toru. I- I need to come. Please,” you whine. Your hips want to grind down on his skilled fingers, but Suguru presses a hand on your stomach to keep you in place.

“I’m not convinced,” Satoru sing-songs. A mean grin takes over his face while he starts pressing soft kisses against your trembling thigh. His dick presses uncomfortably against his jeans, begging to be touched, but he thinks he might be okay with it forever remaining untouched if he got to keep seeing you like this.

“Fuck, please…I- I’ll let you do whatever you want, I don’t care, just let me come. Please.”

Your breath catches in your throat when Gojos fingers start to move. They’re stretching your cunt, moving in and out in a slow rhythm to get you used to it. When you’re used to the stretch, he adds a third finger. He starts moving them, changing his aim with every hit like he's looking for something. Every cruel thrust punches out a mewl put of you and makes your thighs twitch.

When he finally hits that sweet spongy spot inside of you, you spasm and your eyes roll into the back of your head. It's like an electric shock cursing through your body. You can't help but cry out, limbs twitching while your heart speeds up.

You miss the grin on his face before he starts to attack that spot with the tips of his fingers. A high pitched keen escapes your lips and he suckles on your clit, all while pumping his fingers fast and hard into your core. The noises your sticky cunt makes are so loud, the constant schlick, schlick, schlick almost as loud as your cries.

Gojo's pace is a brutal one, one that hurts as much as it makes your insides clench in pleasure. Your poor pussy is so overwhelmed, unsure whether she wants to suck Satoru's long fingers in or push them out. Slick gushes out of you, pooling into a small puddle under your ass and covering the entirety of Satoru's hand. Pleasure pulses through you and you feel the coil in your stomach tighten and tighten and you think you feel prepared for your orgasm. But suddenly a finger presses against your untouched rim, not entering just yet, but nudging against it and god, your slick adds just enough lubrication for his finger to slip inside, just a bit, and your vision goes white.

You come with a soundless cry, your body tensing up, cunt clenching oh so tight around his digits, digits he's still moving inside out of you, while liquid gushes out of you. It's so intense, your body completely overstimulated and it's only when you start sobbing, writhing around like you're in pain, that Satoru stops and slides his fingers out of you.

It appears you actually passed out for a hot second, because when you finally return to your body, Suguru is pressing soft kisses along your jaw, cooing how well you did. You're utterly spent, eyes remaining closed while you nuzzle into his neck.

Suguru notices your slowed down breathing, how sleep is tugging at you senses but that just won't do. So he grabs your jaw, the action waking you right back up, and smiles at you. A smile that reminds you of a predator.

"We’re not done with you.”

so this is my first time writing smut and writing for jjk so i hope it's not too bad <3

[bonzaibaby]

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ "I KNOW IT'S PATHETIC BUT THAT WAS ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ THE GREATEST NIGHT OF MY LIFE"

synopsis: coworker!sukuna manages to embarrass himself not once, but twice around you.

contents: fluff, loser!kuna, very suggestive, mild smut.

a/n: i just love making sukuna look pathetic. banner art found on pinterest — artist unknown

wc: 2.8k

"I had a lot of fun tonight," you blushed, tugging a strand of hair behind your ear and glancing to your side.

He had his fists shoved into his pockets, eyeing you with a spacey look, like he was contemplating something in his head, something completely unbeknownst to you.

“Sukuna?” You whispered out with a tilt of your head, voice resonating easily in the night air, wondering where he’d gone off to in his mind.

“Mhm?” He hummed dreamily, his vision flickering to your lips for a split second before meeting your eyes.

You giggled, facing the sidewalk and shaking your head. “Nothing.” 

He paused a moment, biting his lip and unsure of how to talk to the stunning woman in front of him, who managed to dazzle him all night, without sounding like a fucking loser. “I had fun tonight too,” he shrugged, though you could hear the grin in his tone.

Your head perked up at his response, beaming up at him with glittering eyes, the moonlight illuminating your face and making his heart stutter, enthralled in your effortless beauty. “Really?!”

Sukuna opened his mouth to respond, heart short-circuiting at how excited you’d sounded, before his foot caught on the edge of the sidewalk.

He tripped forward, arms flying out as his other foot slammed down on the concrete, effectively catching his massive form before tumbling. 

The action sent a heat washing up the back of his neck, to heat his tan cheeks and even the crowns of his ears.

Your eyes widened, before darting back in front of you, teeth clenching from how hard you were trying to hold back your smile, not daring to address his clumsiness to save him from humiliation.

In all honesty, your cheeks were also aching from how much you’ve been smiling all evening.

You’d known Sukuna for quite some time as he was your colleague at work–a regular and dreary salary job.

But the day it lit up for the both of you, the fire in your eyes snuffed out by the crushing responsibilities on your shoulders thanks to capitalism set ablaze, was the day you stepped into the break room, completely unsuspecting of how you’d be leaving.

It was empty, save for the singular salmon-haired brute hunched over his lunch. He was muttering curses to his phone and you knitted your eyebrows as you meandered towards the coffee machine, your brain muddled from how long you’d been staring at your computer.

It wasn’t your fault your curiosity got the best of you, wondering what had your co-worker so miffed, so you peered over his shoulder sneakily to see him—.

“Oh my god.”

Sukuna could feel his heart stop at the sound of a voice, head flinging behind him as he hadn’t heard you come into the room, too engrossed with whatever was unfolding on his phone.

The guy was watching a porno.

You met his gaze, your cheeks warm at the sight as your pulse quickened. Then peered back at his phone, then back at him, before spinning your head around and staring at the coffee pot. Why was there suddenly barely any coffee? Who decided to drink so much and not brew anymore and force you to endure this?

You could hear his chair screech against the tile floor as he abruptly hopped from his seat, eyes practically bulging from his head in shock.

“H-hold on—“

“I was just leaving,” you starkly interrupted, gripping your hand around your cup and turning quickly.

But Sukuna’s eyes gaped, standing in front of you to halt you, but the scare made you bump into him, effectively pouring hot coffee all over his crisp, white dress shirt.

He winced, a hiss leaving his mouth as he hunched over, hands instinctively flying to his chest before pulling away, nearly singeing his fingers in the act.

You yelped, taking a step back and bumping into the counter, effectively trapping you between him and the makeshift break room kitchen.

He reached for a box of tissues over your head in a frantic manner, you following his movements and eyeing just how his muscles rippled beneath the fabric, before tearing your ogling gaze away.

He patted away at his shirt as you opened your mouth, nearly tripping over your words. “I-if you hadn’t jumped in front of me— I—,” you stopped yourself, realizing how stupid and rude you sounded, watching his face contort into a pained scowl.

Quickly, you bowed your head as deep as you could, clasping your hands around your cup as some sort of grounding exercise to tether you to your embarrassing reality. “I’m really sorry, Sukuna.”

As he wiped at his now-stained shirt, he gave you a once-over, his chest still hot but thankfully not scarred to leave any remnants of a burn except for a temporary red mark. 

He felt an odd sense of contrite at your apology, straightening and tossing his tissues into a nearby trash can with one fell swoop in an impressive breeze.

“Nah, uh. Forget it, that was embarrassing as fuck for the both of us, and I’m fine,” he huffed out, rubbing his nape and wanting to punch himself. “But would you let me just… explain what you saw before you run out of here and report me to HR?”

You bit your lip, feeling oddly cornered as his crimson irises bore down on you, searching for resignation, jitters paling you.

If he had an explanation, you had no idea what would cause him to watch pornography in the staff break room.

But he seemed genuine enough, so you wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“Okay, I’ll, uh, hear you out.”

He nodded, something akin to satisfaction dancing on his ever present indifferent expression before he grunted, pulling a chair out for you.

You sat down, and he sat beside you, pulling out his phone. 

You glanced away, nervous your eyes would register anymore of the vulgar scene of a woman being folded into a pretzel by some brute, but Sukuna sighed. “I won’t flash you again.”

You winced, shutting your eyes for a moment to regain your composure, before glancing back down at the table.

He’d set his phone down, opening up his Twitter to some news article he’d been reading about new app regulations.

He even gave you a synopsis of what he’d been reading before handing you the phone and not even peering down at the screen for a second as he relayed its contents to you.

Afterwards, he opened up the replies and, lo and behold, there were a bunch of troll porn accounts spiteful of their crude content being heavily monitored now and posting their videos to flood the comments. 

The top comment was the video you’d just seen moments ago.

You grimaced, and averted your gaze. “So why were you muttering under your breath like a madman?”

He quickly swiped out of the app, a look of disgust painting him. “I tried to leave the replies but this fucking ancient ass phone froze from the amount of content in the comments. I didn’t even realize you walked in until too late,” he explained in irritation, no longer meeting your eyes in shame.

You bit your lip, your head dropping as a chuckle left your lips. Then another. And soon enough you had your head tossed back, a boisterous laugh vibrating from your chest.

Sukuna eyed you warily, shifting uncomfortably in his wet and sticky top, an eyebrow cocked at your enjoyment, before he found it hard to conceal the upward tug of his lips.

You looked really pretty laughing.

From that point on, you poked fun at Sukuna and made him endure your teasing to which he was more than miffed at.

And then you’d join him at lunch, talking about whatever was in the news with him and sliding your yogurt over to which he’d end up finishing the entire thing.

Then one day, at the end of your shift where you two began to head out of the doors together, you waved him off goodbye, and Sukuna finally got the burst of courage he’d been waiting on.

He halted you after chasing you down to your bus, standing before you and panting, his tie crooked and gelled hair now pretty disheveled.

Before you could get a word out, eyes wide and curious, he blurted, “Do you want to get dinner sometime? With me?”

You held back the gasp you almost let out in shock, stomach doing at least twenty somersaults in the span of five seconds.

The first time you’d laid eyes on him on your first day at work, you found it easy to recognize how handsome of a man he was.

But you deduced him to the kind of ‘hallway crush’ teenagers would have.

Then, the two of you got to know each other a hell of a lot more despite the horrifying first impression. You saw him as a genuine friend, but that initial attraction only expanded into a crush that always seemed to linger.

You believed him to be far out of your league despite how close you’ve gotten.

So to see him asking you out, had your heart stuttering.

“You mean… on a date?” You queried, still skeptical.

He let out a huff of something akin to laughter, a grin unlike him on his face. “Yeah. I do.”

Goosebumps littered your body, biting your lip as you glanced behind you to see your bus now arriving. “Uhm. Yeah, I’d love that.”

“Yeah?” He grinned, proud of himself for finally securing this.

“Yeah. Text me later?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

Which is how you ended up here, a night to remember and him opting to walk twenty minutes back to your apartment instead of an uber like you’d rode there to meet up because it’s ‘eco-friendly’ (since when has Sukuna cared for anything of the sort?) but truthfully, he didn’t want the evening to end.

He was perfectly content to walk the twenty minutes back to his car parked at the restaurant.

Ryomen Sukuna, the brute of a man that seemed annoyed everywhere he went, had taken quite the liking to you and you felt as if you were seeing a drastically different side of someone.

He was thoughtful and perceptive, a plethora of opinions on nearly any topic you could conjure up. But he was also far more attentive than he let on—remembered nearly anything you said even if it was brought up in passing, complimented you under his breath when you arrived, attempting to mask his astonishment but you could see it clear as day in his eyes, asking you if you had any dietary allergies to relay it to the waiter, and ensuring to cover the bill without you even sparing a glance at you.

The entire evening, the conversation flowed easily, as if it was just another afternoon in the breakroom.

He made you laugh, barely concealing just how much of a grand time he was having but the red wine was loosening him up quite a bit.

He asked you questions about yourself and seemed to mentally catalogue them in case he needed them in the future.

Never prodded too much when you steered clear of a topic, just nodding and bringing something else up.

You’d seen the way he acted around colleagues and even his supervisor, never speaking more than a couple words and holing himself up in his cubicle, face pinched with irritation.

But with you, the indifferent man seemed to let go completely. 

As if spending time with you was as easy as breathing.

“I’m right up the block,” you commented, watching him mentally curse himself for tripping in front of you. His nerves seemed to be catching up with him.

He nodded, running a hand through his hair and focusing on his gait in case of another slip-up.

Within a matter of seconds, you turned the corner and padded up the steps to your apartment, stopping at the top one and turning around.

This nearly seven foot man stopped just a couple steps below, enough to be at eye level with you.

On any other day, you’d taunt him for his height, or he’d taunt you for yours.

But the air between the two of you was so charged as your eyes darted between each other’s.

You broke the silence. “Let’s do this again,” you whispered, your gaze flickering to his lips before returning to his eyes.

Sukuna could feel the raging boner in his pants only become more sensitive by the second. 

He’d been a gentleman with you throughout the course of your friendship, lest he make you any more uncomfortable than he did during your first encounter.

He hummed, tongue running over his lower lip.

You leaned in a fraction, just enough to show initiative, to show that you wanted this like he did, before he took a step up the stairs and cupped your cheeks, lips crashing against yours.

You stumbled backwards, craning your head upwards as your fingers curled in his leather jacket. He wasted no time wrapping a hand around your waist and pulling you against him.

He tasted like smoke and the overly expensive wine he’d ordered tonight.

It was breathless, it was heated.

Your lips parted just a bit, and he slid his tongue between, pushing down on your tongue and making you whine.

A guttural hum of satisfaction thrummed in his chest and into your mouth as fireworks sparked in your mind.

He pushed you up against the brick walk of your apartment, cradling your head in his large hand to ensure you didn’t smack it and hurt yourself.

The two of you were too fired up in your first kiss to even care about anyone walking by to see him pinning you right near the entrance.

He knew it wouldn’t go past this, a heated makeout session, that is. He didn’t want it to. He didn’t want to taint what you had right when things were beginning to bubbling with the thought of wetting his dick.

A part of him knew that what went on between the two of you was far deeper than a lustful attraction. 

But that desire still existed, still thrummed in the space between logic and need in his mind.

You were on your tiptoes as he hunched forward, feeling as if you couldn’t pull him close enough, a hand of his squeezing your waist against his front. The kiss was desperate, a close to what felt like ages of mutual yearning. 

His fingers skimmed through your hair as your noses bumped against each others, swapping saliva like two needy teenagers.

But it was far better than any kind of first kiss you’d experienced. There was no room for awkward tension like most went–the two of you had practically destroyed the blurs of worry with your overwhelming want.

Your body was sparked alight, as if you’d been asleep for ages and it was his one kiss to wake you from a dull dream. Everything melted away, fingers tugging him closer, feeling your skirt hike up as your thighs rubbed together.

And what left your lips sent the man against your lips over the precipice.

“‘Kuna,” you whined out breathily, fanning over his kiss bitten lips.

The man broke the kiss immediately, face scrunching up as he stuttered out your name headily with a hoarse “F-fuck,” his head craning forward as his lashes fluttered shut.

Your eyes widened, slowly settling back against your heels as he slammed a hand against the brick wall.

A wave of surprise had you paled, gaze drifting down to his black dress pants to see a damp spot where his crotch is.

“D-did you just-?“ You stopped yourself, mouth parting at the realization, your pulse pounding in your ears.

Sukuna couldn’t get himself out of this one, he knew it. His gaze darted between your appalled expression and the mess he’d somehow made on himself.

And it was all because of that damn nickname.

He’d never heard you use it before, and you hadn’t dared tested it out, an idea that tickled the edges of your love-sick brain. But in your horny reverie, any sense of rationality had left you succumbed to your lust.

To Sukuna, it was so fucking adorable. And so fucking hot.

But how did he explain that you whimpering his nickname had him orgasming prematurely in his pants.

“I- uh,” he stumbled backwards, nearly tripping as he moved away from you. “I’ll see you around.”

With that, the massive man hastened his pace and shuffled down the steps, practically sprinting down the sidewalk and out of your view.

You stood there, completely dumbfounded, but you couldn’t help but feel a sense of endearment.

You hadn’t known just how bewitched Sukuna was with you until now.

Sukuna didn’t know how long he sprinted down the main street to rid himself of his mortification prickling his skin like needles. 

But what was far worse, was he had no idea how he would manage to face you at work tomorrow morning. 

[bonzaibaby]

⋆˚࿔ IN LUST WE TRUST — geto suguru

you have invited suguru geto (ballswallower69@gmail.com) to join the event: ‘having sex hehe’ from 7:00 to 10:30 pm.

SUM. you’d never so much as gone out on a date before. kissing? not on your radar. but somehow you got the bright idea to go on a dating app—matching with suguru geto.

CONTAINS. 18+ content, MDNI. 6.3k words. x slightly awkward fem! reader. non canon complacent/au. cat dad geto. inexperienced reader. consent checks. dry humping. bit of boob play. oral (f + m receiving). unprotected p in v. missionary. pull out. cum eating. aftercare. stupid humor. use of pet names. scientology visit.

A/N: almost every manwhore i’ve met owns a cat so that’s where that came from LMAO. anyways this is like super self indulgent but enjoy <3

“you brought cookies.”

you held out the tupperware container filled to the brim with recently baked chocolate chips—the sweet, warm scent wafting through the plastic. "i did, yes. though i wasn't sure if you had any allergies, so don't feel any pressure to eat them or anything. i just thought it'd be rude to come over without bringing anything."

oh great. less than five minutes into this conversation and you were already rambling.

suguru took the container of baked goods from your hands with a wary look, bringing it up to his nose. "you're not a serial killer by any chance, are you?"

you blinked. "if i was, wouldn't it defeat the purpose of telling you now?" not very reassuring.

regardless, he gestured for you to come inside. you stepped inside the apartment and slid your shoes off at the door, taking in the sight of his living room.

the space was bathed in a dark red light accompanied by sonder’s one night only playing in the background and a couple candles flickering from the coffee table—the warm richness of sandalwood permeating through the air.

“you.. uh.. you really planned this out, huh?” why couldn’t you just have said it looked nice and moved on?

now it was just plain awkward.

well, awkward-er.

sure, you knew the concept of sex and how it was supposed to work, but what every hookup guide always forgot to cover was the before. even if you'd talked before this, the two of you were just strangers. what were you supposed to talk about with him?

how were you supposed to skip this part and go to where you were riding him like a pony?

suguru shrugged, padding over to the kitchen to leave the container of cookies on the counter. “did i do too much?”

“it’s just your apartment and all, but the lights seem a little.. excessive.” that was putting it as nicely as possible.

he took the criticism in stride, grabbing a remote from the counter and turning them off before flicking a lamp on, painting the room in a dim orange light. the room was immediately much more warm and welcoming than what’d you first walked into.

you stood at the door, taking a look at the little bits of decoration that you could now see more clearly. a couple figurines, expensive, if you had to guess, a couple books strewn around his coffee table, and a cat tree perched up near the window.

you remembered the small bag in your pocket. digging it out of your pocket, you held it up in between your fingers. “i saw your cat on that one thirst trap,” he didn’t bother protesting—it was a thirst trap, “so i got some treats on the way here. i hope you don’t mind.”

either you were a psychic or you just naturally had a knack for this sort of thing. “they’re her favorite, thanks. take a seat, we don’t bite.”

the previous girls that came over to his apartment usually just gave the cat a little coo or downright ignored her, but you seemed like you wanted to get to know her more than you did him.

suguru wasn't sure if he was amused or if his ego was slightly bruised. (hint: both.)

you took a seat on the black leather couch like you owned the place, patting your lap. “what’s your cat’s name?” you questioned, the cat peering up from her paw at the noise before going back to grooming herself.

“that’s sage.”

you lightly shook the bag of treats, trying to beckon the very uninterested cat with the promise of food and an unconvincing baby voice. your efforts were working. somewhat.

sage lazily trotted her way down from the top of the cat tree before making her way over to you, sitting at your feet. her eyes were calculating, analyzing if you were worth her time. you didn't dare move a muscle when she leaned in to sniff at your socked feet and legs.

just when you were convinced that you'd gotten a big fat F on her evaluation, sage seemed to decide that you were harmless enough. she hopped up on your lap and settled down like the self proclaimed royalty she was, nudging her head against your hand in demand for head pats. you complied.

your fingers ran through the soft black fur while the cat purred like a lawn mower underneath your touch.

"she normally doesn't like strangers," suguru noted, plopping down on the couch cushion next to you.

"do you use that line on everybody that steps foot in here?" well.... yes!

and it usually worked like a charm, thank you very much.

"wait, what, really?" the last girl he'd brought over to his apartment remarked, the very same girl that signed him up for lifelong scientology visits and the army two weeks later after he failed to respond within five minutes, staring at him like he'd hung up the moon and the stars.

"yeah." the cat in question, looked at him with as much disdain as her little body could muster. suguru made a mental promise to reward the cat with catnip and treats for helping him spit out the first bullshit that came to his mind. the girl seemed too happily convinced, going as far as calling herself sage’s step mom.

needless to say, the cat hadn't been all too happy about getting squeezed and cradled around like a baby by a woman she'd never seen before and never saw again after. her displeasure was obvious if the broken flower vases and scratches on his leather furniture were anything to go by.

he'd stopped using that line. or so he thought.

"...no."

you raised a brow, gaze full of suspicion as you stared at him. barely applying any pressure. and just like a rubber band, he ended up snapping within seconds, “…yes, fine, i have. but it’s the first time i’ve meant it.”

you weren't sure if he was full of shit. but the cat seemed to like you decently enough, starting her own biscuit factory on the fabric of your jeans with each ear rub. “how’d you end up getting her?”

suguru looked over to see you and his cat getting along decently well, finding himself a little lost in the scene when your question finally registered and you were staring at him.

“i found her locked up in a cage close to home. her owners called her a devil and all kinds of names, their own negligence, really,” he rolled his eyes, reaching out to pet her chin, “anyways, they were all too happy having someone to hand off the cat to.”

the two of you sat in a comfortable silence after a few questions from one another, getting to know each other a bit better apart from late night conversations. only the sounds of sage’s purring and the outside world filled the apartment.

that was until, "c'mere." suguru lazily spread his legs on the sofa, patting his lap.

“you do realize i’m not your cat right?” as if proving your point, sage got up from her spot on your lap over to his.

“fine, can you please come here?” he gave the cat one last scratch before setting her down on the floor, asking a little nicer. you got up from your spot, standing in between his legs before you lowered yourself onto his lap.

"hi," he murmured once you settled onto his lap, his hands instinctively moving down to your hips.

"hi." you braced your hands on his shoulders to keep your balance, suddenly feeling the reality of the situation crashing down on you. the pretty man underneath you wanted to have sex with you. you were going to have sex tonight.

sex and your first kiss, apparently. (you refused to count the time you'd gotten kissed as a dare in middle school.)

and as if he could read your mind, suguru took a hold of your chin and gently tilted your head up to face him, "can i kiss you?" you didn't miss the way his gaze flickered from your eyes down to your lips every .5 seconds.

you met him halfway, pressing your lips against his own. trying to go with the flow as many people said (what flow? you weren't completely sure yourself).

"close your eyes, i can feel you staring at my soul.” he pulled away, whispering the words against your lips and leaving you chasing behind his.

you let your eyes flutter shut, leaning into the kiss slowly. even going as far as tilting your head a little so you wouldn’t— “ow!” — do exactly what you just did. bump your nose straight into his.

you opened them back up to see suguru was more amused than hurt, a stupid smile on his face as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. “try closing them when you’re already leaned in, hm?”

rolling your eyes, you shifted a bit on his lap before giving it one last go. one of your hands came up to cradle his soft cheek, leaning in and shutting your eyes at the last second. he tasted like mint and something else you couldn’t decipher.

his lips molded against your own in a languid kiss, each touch an experiment to know your body better. suguru’s hands moved down your body, each one resting on your ass like he wanted, no needed, you all that much closer. the exchange grew heavier, sloppier, messier.

everything was heightened—you could feel every single little thing. from the slight hitch of his breath when you captured his lip in between your teeth to your own traitorous heart thumping underneath your rib cage.

his lips moved from your own to the corner, down to your jaw, until he finally reached your neck. then that’s where he went ham. sucking, licking, kissing on whatever inch of skin was at his disposal all while taking note which spots had you shivering and squeezing your thighs together.

latching onto the sensitive skin of your collarbone, suguru placed a kiss out of reverence before he started to suck. he was practically in bliss all without taking his clothes off. if he were a weaker man, he would’ve shot his load the minute you’d settled onto his lap and got a whiff of your sweet, sweet perfume.

his hands moved up from your ass up your back, probably going to take your shirt off before his phone got the bright idea to interrupt the moment: want a break from the ads?

suguru had never regretted not investing into spotify premium as much as he did in this moment.

is your girlfriend unsatisfied in the bedroom? your stamina not being what it once was? if these symptoms sound familiar, you might suffering from erectile dysfunction. ask your doctor about levitra—

that was enough to get him up to his feet, crossing over to the kitchen counter in three strides. suguru quickly got his phone from the counter before the ad could continue, deciding that the ambiance was ruined and shutting the music off.

"do these symptoms sound familiar to you?" you teased, resting your cheek on your palm as you watched the scene with mild amusement.

"you could come to my room and find out." not nearly as smooth as he usually was, but good job suguru!

"are you really getting me into your bed with an erectile dysfunction ad?"

suguru tilted his head, "is it working?"

and you really wished it wasn't, but it was. you were quick to get up on your feet, padding over to where he stood and reaching your hand out. "let's go find out then."

his bedroom was much like the living room—a minimalistic design with a couple pictures hung up on the walls. his friends, if you had to guess. he led you over to the bed, sitting down on the edge.

not nearly enough bed-pouncing as you were expecting.

suguru spoke up, his hands resting on his lap, "you're allowed to change your mind, don't feel pressured to do anything you don't want to do. i’m here to please you.”

“i want this,” you responded, moving up the bed to rest against the headboard. he followed, keeping a reasonable distance between you two, “i want to have sex with you, suguru. let’s just take it slow.”

closing the distance, you straddled yourself over his lap, each of your legs next to his own. you lowered yourself down and placed your hands on his shoulders under the guise you knew what you were doing. and then, you started to rock and gyrate your hips against his clothed leg.

you rubbed and grinded your hips harder, faster against his leg in an attempt to feel something other than the friction of his sweats rubbing against your shorts—unsure of what to do other than rut yourself against him like a dog. maybe he was liking this?

should you start moaning?

“o-oh fuck.” a, what you hoped was realistic, moan left your lips, your fingers digging into his shoulders to really sell the point. suguru looked at you, wondering if he really looked that stupid.

you weren't sure what you were doing—that much was obvious. you were humping his leg, your rhythm too quick to be pleasurable for either one of you at this point.

"have you ever done this before?" were you really that obvious?

the question had your hips stilling their movement, your gaze falling down to his face. when you shook your head, suguru let out a small tut, holding your chin between his fingers, "that's okay, baby. we'll take it nice and slow, just follow me."

his hands splayed on your hips, slightly moving you up his lap before he started to guide your movements. and oh, now you felt it. his cock strained against the material of his sweats, each ridge rubbing against your warm heat.

well, at least now you knew the ad wasn't meant for him.

"oh yeah, that feels better huh?" he cooed in your ear, his cock twitching in his pants just by feeling how wet you were getting already.

you were dripping, slick stringing and sticking to your panties with each roll of your hips. he wasn’t much better—cock prodding against your entrance like it was begging to be released. “uh huh, better,” a breathy whisper left you, your back arching against his fingertips.

when he kissed you again, it wasn’t soft and gentle like he’d been at first. no, he’d tested the waters already.

now he was kissing you like he needed you, like he needed air to breathe. each breath grew labored like he couldn’t bare being apart. his tongue moved in a synchronized dance with yours, tasting and absorbing everything you had to give.

your lips moved with the same desperation, fingers gripping against the material of his shirt. trying to take it off before he seemed to catch onto your unspoken hint. he reluctantly pulled away before sliding his shirt off in one fluid motion, letting it fall onto the mattress beneath. and… wow. beautiful was an understatement when it came to him.

you let your fingers trail down his abdomen, the muscles tensing underneath your featherlight touch. tracing and poking whatever little beauty marks you found on your way down. he was just so.. pretty.

“you really think so?” his voice brought you out of your reverie, and oh shit, you’d said it out loud?

“like you don’t know it already,” you retorted, trying to downplay the situation.

suguru shrugged, watching your fingers intently as you traced and gently scratched down his pecs, “i like when you call me pretty.”

you rolled your eyes but gave in anyways, “you’re very pretty, suguru geto.” you felt his cock twitch underneath at the compliment. leading his fingers towards the hem of your own shirt, you guided him into taking off the flimsy article. he seemed all too eager to revere your body the same way you had his.

mumbled compliments of you’re so beautiful and so soft left his lips until he looked up at you, his hands gliding up and down your hips, "do you want me to keep going or do you wanna stop here?"

you grabbed his hands, bringing them up to your chest. “i want this, suguru. i want to go all the way with you, i promise.” his fingers tweaked and squeezed at your perked nipples, his lips ghosting above the left before he swirled his tongue around it. latching his mouth onto the sensitive flesh and sucking, working the other with his fingers.

strings of saliva connected his lips to your tits when he finally pulled away—deeming that he’d given them enough attention for now. suguru flipped the two of you over, hovering above you before slowly kissing his way down.

peck. your collarbone.

peck. your tits.

peck. your navel.

peck. the waistband of your shorts.

“you can take it off,” you assured him before he even had the chance to ask the question. suguru didn’t hesitate once he got the thumbs up, hooking his fingers onto your belt loops before sliding your shorts down your legs and shaking them off.

you could’ve sworn you caught a hint of drool once you were all exposed for him.

suguru kissed his way up your leg, each one leaving behind a slippery trail behind him. “so pretty,” he mumbled, sucking onto your calf before moving further up to your knee, “so perfect laid out for me.” each one sounded like a quiet admission to himself.

despite how desperate he seemed, suguru took his time when it came to finally undressing you. his teeth sunk into the lace of your underwear, your hips lifted when he moved down the offending material at the pace of molasses. trying to savor as much as he could.

he let them fall onto the pile of clothes next to you before admiring his meal. your cunt clenched around nothing when a slight breeze came in the room, your slick glistening against your folds, clit practically throbbing his name out in morse code.

but suguru prided himself on having some semblance of patience. thinly veiled patience, but patience nonetheless. he wedged himself in between your legs, his lips hovering dangerously close to your entrance before moving down to your inner thigh. repeating what he'd done earlier on your leg.

he pressed featherlight kiss after another onto the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, occasionally biting hard enough to leave behind a nice lil' memory for tomorrow. your legs instinctively spread, every sensation sending your body through a livewire and yet.. you were lost in thought.

you wondered how many people he'd had in this room, how long this would take, what'd you eat for breakfast tomorrow, and—"focus on me, pretty girl."

immediately broken out of your endless string of questions, you looked down to see suguru already peering up at you. "talk to me, what's going on in that head of yours?"

you shook your head, "just got lost in thought, i guess."

"then we'll just have to make it to where you can only focus on me, angel."

and then he dove in like he was a man starving.

his big hands gripped your legs and spread you apart like a feast, tongue flicking out to taste the slick dripping down your folds and thighs. "taste so good, thank you, thank you," he babbled, swiping his tongue up and down your folds before flicking it inside of your pussy.

your cunt gushed like an open sink against his mouth and chin, the man practically nose deep as he thrusted his tongue in and out of your sopping pussy. his jaw went slack, sucking and tracing your folds with the tip of his tongue before going back to eating you out.

soon, two of his fingers took place of his mouth. two long and thick fingers. your juices ran down to his knuckles while he spread you open, his fingers curling and hitting that one spot inside of you with ease. "fuck, it feels so good," you whined, bucking your hips up to meet his fingers.

"i knoww baby, just needed suguru to take care of you." he didn't let up, much too starved himself to even think about doing so. his lips latched onto your swollen, throbbing clit and sucked lightly onto the nerves. your grip on his hair tightened, a broken moan leaving from his lips.

"just like that," he hissed out, his hips rutting into the mattress underneath. you noticed a dark patch growing in the front of his sweats. "take what you want from me, y'know how to do it." your hips swiveled and thrusted against his eager mouth, spit and slick drenching his chin and dripping down to the mattress.

it was hard to think about anything other than him, you had to admit that much.

your legs shook with each thrust of his fingers, with each swipe of his tongue. just as you were about to press your legs together, suguru pried them apart once more with ease. "don't interrupt my meal, i'm not done eating." and how could he say that when he already sounded so drunk off you?

his tongue swirled against your clit, the tip drawing circles around the sensitive nub. "f-fuck, gonna cum, keep going," you whined out, nails digging into his scalp. the sound of your pussy gushing around his fingers was all you could hear, and yet, all you were focused on was chasing your own orgasm.

it was so close, you felt a knot building up in your lower tummy. "fu-fuck fuck fuck," broken babbles left your lips, your toes curling and legs shaking the more you felt that pressure increase. with one final thrust of his fingers, you came. the knot unraveled all at once, your release washing over you (and his fingers) like a tidal wave.

he'd never been such at bliss before.

each breath felt like it was splitting your lungs open, your chest heaving as suguru slowly pulled his dripping fingers out of you. he didn't mind staring you in the eye when he put his fingers in his mouth, sucking them off as if no drop could go to waste. "mm, wanna taste you forever." his eyes practically rolled back, his tongue swirling against the two digits.

once you finally regained your bearings, you sat up and asked, "do you want me to return the favor?"

suguru let out an indignant scoff like you'd just insulted his very existence. and in a way, you had. "i did that because i wanted to, because i needed to taste you," he retorted, shaking his head like he wasn't reevaluating his degree in munchology, "not because i was expecting anything out of you."

getting up from your spot on the bed, you padded over to where he was sitting and situated yourself right in between his legs. absentmindedly running your fingers up up up the thin material of his sweats, barely grazing your fingertips against the growing tent between his legs. before you pulled away altogether.

you looked up at him like you were sin incarnate, lashes fluttering against your cheek, "what if i really really want to suck you off?"

suguru swore his soul left his body for a minute. he'd gladly let you keep it if you wanted it at this rate.

“then by all means, go for it.”

that was all you needed to slide the flimsy material of his sweatpants onto the floor, his cock slapping up against his stomach once it was released. now it was your turn to nearly drool. you couldn't have imagined that a dick could be this pretty.

a nice tan color at the base with a hint of red at the tip, a curve settling to the right and precum dripping down his shaft just from having you in his mouth. it was fairly long and thick—as thick as your forearm, you could assume.

all the fanfiction you had saved in your bookmarks couldn't have prepared you for the sight of the twitching cock in front of you.

you stared at his dick like it was something out of an anatomy textbook, trying to figure out the best approach to go about this before ultimately deciding to throw it out the window and just try it out.

"a-ah fuck." suguru practically turned into putty the moment you took him in your mouth, one of his hands coming to rest on the back of your head. not pushing, never that; he'd never risk making you uncomfortable.

thick globs of spit dribbled down to your chin and down his shaft from the corners of your lips. "just like that, yeah, please." suguru wasn't afraid to be loud—letting you know what you were doing right. one of your hands wrapped around his cock, your fingers tightening around the base before you started to jerk your hand up and down.

you could hardly take him in fully—your cheeks hollowing out to make more space and it still wasn't nearly enough. "soo good, please don't stop," suguru’s voice drawled out when you tried taking more of his cock in your mouth.

you could feel tears pricking up at the edge of your waterline, blinking them back quickly. his cock was barely a couple inches in your mouth and the tip was already starting to hit your uvula, your saliva coating around the shaft to mix with the precum spurting out. once you were able to, you started bobbing your head up and down his length.

suguru’s fingers dug into the sheets beside him, his chest starting to feel like he’d run a marathon. your tongue, your mouth, just you, everything felt too stimulating, too good. the hand you’d been jerking him off with moved down to his heavy sack, your fingers rolling around his balls.

and just like that, suguru was a goner. he swore he saw the flickering of a white light above. you felt them tighten up underneath your fingertips, growing heavier and heavier with cum. you looked up to see him completely disheveled, mouth agape to let out shaky gasps and broken moans. and right before you swore you almost felt him cum, he pulled you off.

“did i do something wrong?” your question came out innocent, like you hadn’t nearly sucked the soul out of his body.

suguru let out a disbelieving laugh, pulling you up to your feet before feverishly leaning into kiss you. not seeming to care that he could taste himself on your tongue. “just need to cum inside you, can i do that, please? you still want this?”

he sounded completely and utterly ruined. but you nodded into the kiss, your fingers pressing into his shoulders. “i need you, sugu, need you so bad. please fuck me, please.”

he moved at the speed of light, setting you down onto the comfort of his mattress before he settled himself on top of you. his cock throbbed and twitched at the mere contact with your bare pussy, his fingers wrapping around the base as he swiped the tip through your folds. “you sure you want this?”

just one more time to confirm. you nodded.

“c’mon, use your words for me, pretty,” he whispered, rubbing the tip against your swollen lil’ clit. your throat bobbed as you swallowed back an embarrassing moan.

“i want this, suguru, i’m sure.”

"okay, take a deep breath in for me." you complied, filling your lungs with air before letting it out in a deep exhale. he slowly pushed his cock in, your walls tightening and clenching involuntarily against his shaft.

"there we go, that's it baby. takin' me so well." suguru's voice came out akin to a purr he didn't mention how he'd barely pushed an inch in. once he was certain it was okay, he pushed another and another in.

a choked gasp left your lips when he finally seemed to bottom out, feeling like your body had just been split in half. and maybe, just maybe it was, you wouldn’t necessarily doubt it.

suguru wiped away a couple tears that streamed down your cheeks, standing still while you got used to the intrusion. it was hard, he had to admit, when you felt so warm and wet around him. but anything for your comfort, he wouldn’t risk that.

“you can move, suguru,” you spoke up, one of your hands reaching out to take hold of his. his fingers grasped your own, placing your hand on top of your head before he slowly pulled out and thrusted back in one swift motion. your pussy drenched his shaft each time he pushed back in, each thrust smoother and faster.

suguru leaned down to kiss you, hair falling like a waterfall and covering his face completely before he ever got the chance to get close. you bit down on your lip, trying to keep yourself from laughing in his (hair covered) face before reaching out and moving his hair out the way.

so goes the super suave geto suguru.

a small giggle left your lips at the gesture, slowly starting to feel more and more comfortable being around him. (well how much more comfortable could you really get after having him inside you?) suguru let out a small huff, rolling his eyes in faux annoyance before handing over a hair tie.

you managed to make the world’s messiest ponytail in twenty seconds. go you!

“i’m glad my embarrassment’s amusing, but you okay?” he asked quietly, treating you as if you were a delicate piece of glass. long fingers trailed up your sides like he was admiring a piece of art, not at all like the strangers that you were supposed to be.

“i’m fine,” you assured, wiggling your hips and trying to thrust back into him, “you can go faster, though, please?”

suguru didn’t hesitate to follow that command, hips snapping into you almost immediately. your cunt sucked him in with each thrust, squelching with how much you’d drenched his shaft. his heavy balls smacked against your ass TWACK TWACK TWACK!

your legs wrapped around his waist like you were physically trying to intertwine your body as close as you could to him. “ah ah fuck, sugu, faster, faster!” your moans sounded like the best kind of melody to his ears, and well, who was he really to deny?

suguru hoisted a leg up on the bed for a better angle, hitting that spot inside of you with each quick thrust. your walls clenched around him like a vice, like you wanted to keep him trapped while you gushed and soaked around him.

“pussy’s so good, i’m never letting you go,” he babbled, his other hand gripping your hip to move you up and down his shaft as he pleased.

his middle finger rubbed desperate little circles against your clit, your eyes rolling back from just how good you felt. the hair tie was long since forgotten, hair falling onto his face as he leaned forward to capture your lips in what could only be described as a tangle of tongue and teeth.

everything about him screamed desperate and unhinged—and you weren’t any different.

“make me cum, make me cum, please,” you moaned out against his lips, your chest heaving and your breaths coming out in short pants. suguru nodded like it was his only mission in life, pushing his cock in and out sloppier and messier than he was at first. practically gliding with how wet you were.

your orgasm built up more intense this time, your nails digging into the sheets below as the coil in your tummy began tightening. “please please please,” for what were you begging for? you didn’t know. a scream that would probably wake up his neighbors left your lips as you came, dripping and soaking his shaft in your wake.

“so messy, my messy girl, that’s ittt.” he was a broken pussy-drunk babbling mess. suguru continued to rut into you, chasing his own orgasm while working you through your own. his hips moved desperately, balls twacking against you with each sloppy sloppy thrust until he finally choked out,

“w-where do you hic want it?”

you didn’t give it much thought, “my face, sugu. wanna taste you, come for me, need you.” that was all it took for the last bit to snap, barely managing to pull out in time before he was spurting out drops of cum onto your face and your open mouth.

you swallowed every last drop that landed on your tongue, your features contorting into a slight grimace once the taste settled on your taste buds. and just like you'd come out of a damn porno and his wet dreams, you stuck your tongue out.

"fuck, you're gonna kill me." a breathless laugh left his lips. he made sure to push his hair back this time around before he leaned into kiss you again, his tongue prodding into your mouth.

one time fucking awkward and slightly offputting girl pussy and he was ready to get your finger measurements to buy the most expensive ring he could find at the jewelers. maybe he'd start with just a date once he came back to his senses.

suguru plopped down on the mattress next to you, rubbing a drop off cum off your cheek with the pad of his thumb before bringing it up to his own lips. "was that okay? you need anything—water, a bath, your dignity?"

you let out an amused scoff, turning your head to face him. admiring his features in the post sex glow. you had to admit—to yourself mostly—he looked good worn out and panting. "my dignity's still intact, thank you. but some water and a rag would be nice."

he cracked open the water bottle and left it on the nightstand next to you before disappearing into the bathroom. you could briefly hear the sound of water running before he emerged once more, a wet rag in hand.

each swipe of the rag in between your legs was a gentle one, treating you with the utmost care in the world. “you don’t have to leave right away, if you don’t want to. i can make some mean scrambled eggs.”

“how inviting,” you teased, taking a sip of the water as you mulled it over. how bad would it be to stay the night if he’d already been inside of you? “but sure, i’ll stay. if only for the scrambled eggs.”

you weren’t sure how long the two of you spent up talking about nothing and everything in between, from what you did for school to how you got into baking. it was.. refreshing, in a sense.

you could picture yourself doing this kind of routine with him almost too easily. the last thing you remember before succumbing to sleep was his arms wrapped around your stomach.

holding you like he never quite wanted to let go.

loud knocking woke up suguru at ass o'clock in the morning, long before the sun even started to peek its head from the horizon. a groan left his lips as he forced himself to untangle his limbs from your own and get up.

you didn't seem to notice his absence, in fact, you almost seemed to enjoy it. a little too much, if you asked him. you laid in the middle of the bed, sprawling your arms and legs out like a starfish.

the knocking on the door grew more insistent—determined to get an answer one way or another.

"hi, good morning. i'm from the church of scientology." this time they'd sent a middle aged man to stand at his door and spit out the same spiel he'd heard for the past five months in a row, greeting him with a smile that suguru deemed unnatural this early in the morning.

a smile that quickly seemed to fade once the man took notice of the blossoming hickey on his neck, the scratches that ran down his abdomen.

the man grasped his copy of dianetics like he was clutching his pearls.

suguru would have to eat you out later just for this reaction.

the man cleared his throat, eyes averting down to the book in his hands, before he cracked it open to the first page he could find. suguru wondered how long it'd take the man to figure out the book was upside down.

"i'm here because you signed up to receive visits every weekend. for just the small price of ¥73,300, you could learn all about the church and how to reach enlightenment—" the more that the man rambled, the more that suguru was more inclined to start his own cult than join this one.

but regardless, he let the man finish his spiel before he tapped his chin in faux thought. “to join a cult or not to join a cult, decisions decisions…”

the man raised a finger to protest, pushing up the thick rim of his glasses up his nose, "well actually, we're not a cult, we're a religious group focu-"

the man was left rambling to the front door about the difference between a 'religious group' and a 'cult.'

but he relented, suguru had to give him that at least. the man remained at the doorstep, bringing his fist up to the door but never making contact. probably regretting coming over in the first place.

"who was at the door?" you were barely awake yourself, rubbing at your eyes as the bright morning light peered in through the windows.

suguru pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a small groan, "would you believe me if i said scientology?"

"who'd you piss off?" you questioned, standing by the kitchen with your arms folded.

this time, another groan. though he sounded more whiny than anything, “why does everyone always assume i did something?”

"am i wrong though?" you countered.

no, not at all. and suguru knew he wasn’t getting out of this conversation that easily. "come on, i'll tell you over scrambled eggs and those cookies you baked yesterday."

[bonzaibaby]

✦ jock!sukuna fucking the girl that’s scared of him ﾉ eighteen plus, dub-con, dead dove.

On the lengthy list of every single depraved, immoral, and degenerate act that Sukuna had committed, now conjuring them up in his mind, this one took the cake. And salaciously licked the plate clean.

He’s clandestinely fingered a girl during a pep rally, received head from another the week before she was made to be a bride, and he’s even bent one over in the locker room showers after a game.

But this? He’s never been worried about the state of his consciousness until now.

Because he’s got you, caged before him, squirming with saucer wide eyes as he tells you to slip your panties down.

You, who has been actively avoiding Sukuna for months now, cowering whenever he even so much as nears you. Cheeks flushed, stumbling over your each syllable, hiding behind that fucking flimsy camera of yours that you carry around to snap stills of the team.

To put it plainly—you were scared of him. Like a fucking deer in headlights.

Sukuna was an asshole, and he brazenly knew it. Spewing insults about how miserable you looked on the sidelines during the games, adjusting that giant satchel circling your front, rubbing your palms against your thighs when Sukuna made his way towards you.

And give it to Toji to wantonly make a vile comment about you and Sukuna that made him scowl.

You and him? The two of you lived in completely different worlds, entirely different tiers, as arrogant as it sounded.

But the single thought lingered in the back of his mind when his gaze would catch on yours—noticing the way your shivering orbs would catch on his rippling muscles and how you’d worry your lower lip between your teeth once you’d been caught ogling.

Toji had unintentionally planted a seed that was only sprawling into every crevice of his frayed psyche.

He tried to ignore it, really. He’d find another girl to wet his dick, to try and push you out of his mind. But he knew he was tragically doomed when he’d accidentally uttered your name when he was snapping his hips into a classmate he’d never recall the face of.

So, he began to linger around you. Stayed after practice longer to see if he could strike up a conversation with you.

Yet, without fail, you’d scatter like a clodhopping beetle every single time, nearly tripping over yourself while you did so.

Frankly, it was really fucking weird. Sukuna was a certifiable jerk, but scary? Nah, that wasn’t him… right?

Wrong.

He’d finally found a way to corner you—forging a letter that the coach wanted to meet with you in his office where he then ambushed you and curled his fingers around your wrist in a firm grip to slip you into the janitor's closet.

He clicked the door shut behind the two of you, his massive form blocking the door, gaze training on yours.

“Fuck—Are you shaking?”

Yes. Yes you were. Shoulders rising and falling with rapidly rising trepidation, owl-eyed, trembling hands gripping the strap of your bag like it was your one preservation.

You didn’t reply, only backing up slowly until you hit the shelf and nearly toppled a spare paint can over your head to which Sukuna pushed out of the way.

He peered down at you, narrowed carmine eyes fanning the flames of your firing neurons. 

You felt like you were about to pass out any second.

His fingers skimmed over your bicep, your breath swiftly catching in your throat at the contact, eyes shutting as if you were bracing for impact.

He cocked an eyebrow at that, a low chuckle leaving his lips. “Not gonna bite you. Unless you ask nicely,” he gently whispered, leaning over to fan his breath over your ear and press a tender kiss just below the lobe, goosebumps sent in a wave over your skin.

You whimpered, head casting away from him, legs nearly about to buckle beneath the weight of his essence in its entirety. 

Yeah, you thought he was hot. Everyone did, it was a plain fact on campus that Sukuna was one of the most lusted after guys around. But did that mean you had the mind to even tread upon the fact that you’d pursue anything with him?

You, who made it known that you weren’t a talkative person, never hanging around others for long? Who found solace in your solitude and kept security behind your camera lens?

Fine, you’d thought about his hands on you, his plush lips chasing after your own, how he’d sound groaning for you. 

But never could you have imagined him towering over you like he was now, pressing kisses against your jugular and whispering heady breaths of your name.

“Wait…” You sighed out, balling your hands into tight fists by your side, knuckles whitening over with the burdening pressure.

“What?” He flatly responded, pulling away to glare at you.

If it weren’t for how your feet felt as if they were rooted in tar, you would’ve ducked out from under the arm he had planted beside your head and made a run from it.

But your brain blanked under his intimidating stare, mouth parting and lips quivering as words died on your tongue.

His eyes flickered over the minute pout of your lips, the way your eyes glossed over slightly, the huffs that left your mouth as if you just ran a marathon.

And as fucked up as it was, he felt himself growing disgustingly hard at the sight of it.

His lips crashed onto yours, gripping your nape and craning your head upward as he slipped his tongue between your lips, sliding inside the cavern and prodding around with a wanton curiosity.

You whimpered, stilling like a sheet of cardboard, fingers coming up to clutch the fabric of his cotton tee around the abdomen.

Sukuna felt like he was rediscovering lust with the way you had him keening over, swapping drool with you like a fucking mutt.

His hand that wasn’t keeping your head in place, splayed over the flesh of your ass, tugging you flush against him and kneading the fat like a stressball.

A shudder wracked your body, one that Sukuna amplified by nibbling on your lower lip. You winced, the pain making your eyes clasp shut, but you released a deep breath when he cooed and ran his tongue over where he inflicted damage.

His fingers hooked around the waistband of your sweats. “Take these off,” he grunted, kissing your cheek, then your jawline in haste.

You complied, quickly shoving them down, brain slated from any sort of rational thinking.

“Attagirl,” he smirked, leaning up to press a kiss against your forehead.

He nudged the waistband of his own shorts down, the guy somehow going commando all day, and allowed his cock to spring free.

Red, and definitely angry with the way it was twitching, the slit of his violently swollen tip dribbling pearly seed just from making out with you. And the size? Fucking daunting… and your gaze dropped to the granny cotton panties you’d unfortunately opted for. “There’s no way that’s going to fit…” you mousily trailed off, swallowing the thick lump lodged in your throat.

Sukuna flashed a grin. “Who said anything about making it fit?”

His hands gripped your waist, aligning his throbbing shaft with your heat. “Hold your panties down.”

Again, you wordlessly obeyed, holding the fabric down and feeling your head lull with lust.

He pressed his cock straight between your folds, immediately letting out a warbled groan, slamming a hand well above your head to clutch the metal shelf, eyes threatening to roll back into his skull. “You always…fuck, carry this much slick in your panties?”

Unfortunately, you could barely hear a word from his lips, the prominent veins underscoring his length dragging tantalizingly between your sopping folds, catching all of your juices as he rutted in slowly.

Your hands found themselves latching onto his chest as he pressed you against the shelf, desperately searching for some semblance of stability as everything around you seemed to rock and teeter. Sukuna had to push objects away from the edge of the rickety shelf to avoid them from crashing onto you.

“Thattttt’s it,” he groaned, head ducking and salmon tresses sticking to his perspired forehead, picking up a pace as he fucked himself between your treacly folds. He’s never fucked a girl without actually being inside of her, yet he never expected for it to feel downright heavenly. He’s still not certain if you’re a determining variable, something he’ll just have to test for next time.

Your cheek smushed against his hardened chest, thighs trembling as a familiar feeling coiled just beneath your diaphragm, hot and ready to go.

Sukuna felt it too—maw slack as he chased the both of your highs, the flesh of your thighs meeting his bulky ones.

“Mmmf I-,” you whined out, face contorting with pleasure, hiding the expression away as you dug your head into the fabric adorning his chest, cheeks flushed with embarrassment and something akin to shame and horror swirling in your mind.

“Say.. my name,” he grunted out, chest caving as his abs tightened, holding back his impending peak just to hear your pretty voice, palm digging into the metal shelf to distract himself.

You shook your head, lips with a quivering quake, wet lashes dusting the rounds of your cheeks.

His fingers raked through your hair, gently tugging your head back or else he feared he really may scare you away, before his lips found over yours again. Messier this time—gasping and teeth bumping, consuming the warm breath of each other. “Say it.”

You hiccuped, pausing before complying. “‘K-kuna,” you whispered against his lips, voice trembling with the sound.

And that was enough to push the both of you over the precipice you were so desperately teetering on—Sukuna shooting his load across the fabric of your panties, hot and sticky, and you gushing all across his cock with a strangled yip.

“Fuckkkkk,” he groaned through heaved breaths, the crowns of his ears tinging with a hot-red that mirrored the clench of his chest.

He collapsed over you, arms folded on the shelf above your head as you breathed in his scent—heady musk and the lingering scent of smoke. It wasn’t frequent, but you’d catch him inhaling a cigarette when the coach wasn’t looking.

After a few breathy, silent moments, Sukuna pulled away, slowly sliding his cock from your panties with a lewd squelch, peering down at you with narrowed eyes swirling with mirth.

“See, I don’t bite. I’m even leaving you with a little present for next time,” he huffed out, pure amusement washing over his fucked out face as he stuffed his cock back into his trousers and adjusted the shirt he was sporting that clung to his sweaty skin. “See you around, pansy.”

He pushed out of the janitor's closet clearly pleased with himself, leaving you with your sweats bunched around your ankles and his seed thick in your panties, still trembling from both the aftershocks of your orgasm and a somewhat terrifying ordeal.

What the fuck just happened?

[bonzaibaby]

faking it

refund | previous chapter | chapter index

everyone has a price - even suguru geto

synopsis: with no friends and a wallet full of cash, you concoct one last idea to make your final semester one to remember. paying everyone's favorite pretty playboy to pretend to be your boyfriend to complete your college bucket list before you start the life your family is forcing you into. but you might be buying far more than you bargained for.

pairings: broke!Geto x rich!Reader x dropout!Sukuna

content: mdni, smut and angst and fluff, college au, fake dating, pining, yearning, reader is a bit oblivious, drinking, emotional discomfort, anxious reader, dancing, making out, light nipple play, Yuki is a tease, jealousy, oral sex (f! receiving)

a/n: probs should've split this in two chaps lol way longer than the typical faking it chapter there are absolutely typos and autocorrect I missed so apologies in advance hehe

art by @aransmind !!

You were starting to think this was a date.

Sukuna's hands hadn't left your hips since you walked in the club. You weren't stupid enough to not recognize the protectiveness in it, keeping you close to him as you shuffled through the thick throng of bodies but it was teetering dangerously close to possessive. Fingers digging in like he wanted to leave prints, proof that you were with him.

Even now, tucked away in the corner booth after drink number three (or four) at the bar, he had an arm wrapped around your waist, fingers resting on your hip like the position was only natural.

You kept pulling down the hem of your dress, readjusting and anxiously glancing up at him to make sure his attention hadn't drifted away from you.

The whole conversation with Suguru in the parking lot a few hours ago had left an awful taste in your mouth. Maybe putting off having the rest of it was immature. But you didn't want to ruin your night - and he had that look on his face like a parent about to tell his kid their favorite pet passed away. A lingering anxiety curdled in your stomach, threatening to rise like bile in your throat every time Sukuna's eyes shifted to someone else, at each vibration of your phone in your purse where it was still hooked over your elbow.

"Cho," Yuki tilted her head to the side as she slurred purred. Her head was resting on his dark hair on the opposite side of the booth, long legs sprawled out underneath the table so her foot kept bumping into your legs. "Go get us more drinks."

"Shots? Cocktails?" Her boyfriend frowned, brow furrowed together while he tried to guess what she wanted. "Whiskey?"

"I dunno," She shrugged. "Something strong."

He chuckled, sliding out of the booth. But Sukuna started to slide out too.

"What do you want?" Sukuna leaned down to ask in your ear, his breath warm and his mouth soft on your skin.

"Oh, um, anything," You shrugged, swallowing hard. You barely managed to get down everything else Yuki had ordered for you so far, all of it mixing not-so-great in your gut now.

He nodded, and you watched them disappear into the crowd towards the bar.

"So," Yuki immediately started, a lopsided smile on her face as she raised a manicured brow. "You and Sukuna?"

"Yeah?" Your blush was already giving you away.

"Are you guys, like, dating?" She teased, flipping a long blond strand over her shoulder as she leaned over.

"No, I mean, I don't think so," You mumbled, forcing yourself to speak up to be heard over the music.

"Cho said he was jealous over some guys that came into the shop today," She revealed and you couldn't help but laugh at how ridiculous that sounded.

There was no way Sukuna was jealous of Satoru or Suguru. Why would he be?

Suguru didn't have to pretend to like you there. He was polite enough to not say anything about the humiliating fact you'd paid him to pretend to be your boyfriend, even paying you a compliment when you were alone. And sure, you told Sukuna they were your friends, but you weren't really sure you could call either of them that.

You'd never see Suguru after graduation. Maybe you'd catch Satoru at country clubs or fancy events years from now, probably with whatever pretty girl on his arm his parents convinced him to marry.

That was how life went.

You were never meant to be anything more than a passing face to either of them. And in a couple months, well, more like a couple weeks, you'd just be a memory.

But maybe if you clung hard enough to Sukuna, you could change whatever was supposed to happen to you too. Slip through the cracks of your parents' grip and be someone's actual girlfriend for once. Be someone.

Carve out a temporary place for yourself out of their reach and pretend it was permanent.

"He likes you," She casually said, and your brain flashed back to him saying the same thing. You wished it felt less unbelievable. Like it was happening to someone else instead of you.

You still wanted to deny it. Dismiss it.

"I'm sure he's been with lots of girls though," You swallowed hard, trying not to think of how many girls here tonight would like to fuck him.

"Yeah, but he's usually just a casual sex kind of guy, I don't know if I've ever actually seen him like someone," Yuki commented, and you got the impression it was supposed to make you feel better or even special.

But thinking about Sukuna having casual sex, all the experience he'd have compared to your lonely handful of kisses? Some of which were only pity kisses?

Would you just be a disappointment to him too? Would it make him uncomfortable if you told him you were a virgin?

You glanced back towards the bar, trying to spot him, a flash of pink hair above the crowd, his tattoos or the color of his shirt, any sign of him. Seeking out reassurance in his sturdy frame.

"How'd you and Choso start dating?" You asked in an attempt to distract yourself when you had no luck.

"I asked him on a date and fucked him afterwards," She shrugged, like it was simple for her. Love wasn't a question or a problem to solve. It was just hers the same way Choso was.

She picked up his whiskey glass and swallowed the last few drops left in it. Tilting her head to the side like she was reevaluating you.

"You and Sukuna haven't had sex yet, right?" She asked, curious.

"N-no," You stammered, well aware of how blunt she was and still somehow managing to be stunned by it.

"You want to though?" She continued, effortlessly making it sound easy. Inevitable.

And yeah, if you were being honest, you did want to have sex with Sukuna.

That was another item on your list, wasn't it? Losing your virginity before someone else locked you down for the rest of your life?

Why not him?

You opened your mouth to answer mid-nod, but your phone buzzed from inside your purse. You murmured an apology to her as you pulled it out.

There were four missed messages from Suguru. All a few minutes apart like he tried to put the phone down just to change his mind and send another.

I'm sorry for earlier. I didn't mean to upset you.

You really do look gorgeous tonight.

Have a good time. Text me if you need anything.

See you.

And then a payment. Sent to you. It was the same amount you'd given him last time. You frowned at it. Blinked like you might see something different the next time you opened your eyes.

But it was the same.

Was it just an accident?

You declined the payment.

Started to type a response just to delete it and restart right as Sukuna slid in the booth next to you. You quickly switched your phone off and dropped it back in your purse right as he pushed a pretty cocktail in front of you. He was just drinking water, even though Choso was also staying (mostly) sober so he'd be in good shape to drive him and Yuki home in a couple hours.

"Sure you don't wanna try a sip?" You offered, swirling the straw around even though you had a feeling he'd scoff.

"It's yours," He huffed, and you wrapped your lips around it. Whatever it was, you liked it. Sweet and fruity enough that you barely tasted the alcohol. The best thing you'd tasted tonight. Although, you hoped Sukuna would be the second. He scooted closer as subtly as he could, only stopping when his thigh was against yours as he threw his arm over your shoulder.

"We were talking about you," Yuki giggled, and when you glanced up, you saw she was already halfway through with the fresh drink Choso had brought her.

"Yu, baby," Choso murmured, like he had a sixth sense for when his girlfriend was about to stir the pot, but she was already giggling and continuing. Your face was flushing as she winked at you, a wingwoman you hadn't asked for and you might actually need to strange just to shut up.

You were sucking down your drink so you didn't have to look at her or him.

"When are you going to ask her to be your girlfriend?" Yuki piped up, and Sukuna made a condescending sort of grunt next to you.

"Why do you care?" Sukuna scoffed, and your stomach flipped. It wasn't an answer.

"Maybe I want to ask her to be our third," She teased him. Or you.

It took a second for the meaning to set in - to realize what she was implying. The heat that was already consuming you from your core to your chest all the way up to your cheeks only burned brighter at the thought of being there while they had sex. At the thought that they had even joked or talked about you during something so intimate.

"W-what?" You squeaked, and it only made the whole thing ten times more embarrassing.

She grinned, nudging Choso with her elbow.

"Isn't she cute, Cho?" Yuki goaded, and even Choso was blushing, his pale chinks pink as he exhaled hard and glanced between your face then back out to the crowd.

"Yeah," He shrugged. She just smiled, her cleavage showing when she leaned across the table like she was gonna grab your hand.

"If you ever wanna-"

"We're dancing," Sukuna cut her off while you were almost finished with your drink, dragging you out of the booth and away from them onto the dance floor.

"I'll watch your purse," Yuki called out, grabbing your purse from where you'd left it on the booth and sliding it up her shoulder like she was reliable.

"You dance?" You asked, your throat constricting as he held you tighter, finally finding a spot you could breathe in just for him to pull you back.

"No," He grunted.

But his hands were on your waist anyway, twisting you around so your ass was against him, guiding you in time with the music. The flashing lights were bright, casting wild shadows on everything in the dim club, the heat of the bodies around you and the scent of his cologne were dizzying, compounding on each other. You felt like you were floating, swept up in the bass and his touch, leaning back on his chest while his palm pressed down on your stomach to keep you close.

You'd never been very good at any kind of dancing, despite the many, many lessons your parents made you take growing up. You lacked some inner rhythm, but his was easy to follow.

He leaned down, his breath warm on the nape of your neck as his lips grazed over your skin.

"Having fun?" He taunted, his voice hoarse, thick with something you couldn't name.

And then you felt it. Him.

Hard against your spine, digging into you like he wanted you to know it was there.

"Mhm, yeah," You breathlessly managed, a lump lodging itself in your throat at the thought he was turned on because of you.

Your pulse was pounding, blood rushing south instead of to your brain, some invisible tension inside pulling tighter as his cock grinded against your ass.

"Don't let either of those morons try to talk you into anything," Sukuna brusquely muttered.

And you detected it then. The harsh gravel in his tone, the click of his tongue. He was, in fact, capable of jealousy. The pressure of his palms subtly increased, a quiet claim.

And you couldn't help but try to toy with him a little. Even if it didn't come naturally to you.

"What if I am interested?" You asked, glancing up over your shoulder at him.

He immediately glared, brows furrowed like he must have heard you wrong.

"Excuse me?" He pouted at you.

"I mean, I'm not your girlfriend," You reminded him. It came out too blunt, more mean than the playful mocking you intended.

"You wouldn't fuck them," Sukuna deadpanned.

Face frozen in an unreadable mask when he suddenly twisted you around to look at him. You couldn't tell how he'd taken it.

"You don't know that," You pouted this time, protesting for some pointless reason.

You wanted to seem cool. Carefree. To feel like one of them. Be the kind of girl who wouldn't blink at threesomes and didn't fail at something as simple as teasing. Where a party dress didn't feel like you were a kid in a costume and you made it through a conversation without coming off as a bitch.

"Uh-huh?" He didn't believe you.

And he was right not to.

You were just bluffing.

But you tried to stand up straighter, wobbling a little in your heels and nodding anyway.

"You probably couldn't even kiss Yuki," He chuckled, like the idea of it was funny now.

You didn't even think it was meant to be a challenge, but you were too stubborn to drop it. There were all these stupid things you cared too much about him thinking of you as, too scared to come across as a loser to him too.

The rest of the world could think that, but not him.

So you turned on your heels and started back towards the table. Sukuna was right behind you, but without holding you, it didn't take long to get separated between people.

Your real problem was Yuki and Choso weren't at the table anymore. You glanced around trying to spot either of them, only catching a faint flash of blonde in the crowd to chase.

They were moving fast, and you didn't realize where they were going until they reached it, an employee bathroom in the back, barely in view. Someone stepped back and on your foot, not budging and leaving you wincing as you tried to nudge them off.

The guy who'd done it didn't apologize, didn't even notice, only moving when a girl called him over and you were able to squeeze behind him. Your foot hurt, but you just kept your mouth shut, and silently wishing someone dropped a bowling ball on his in future before you glanced back to the bathroom.

You should've knocked.

But after the day you had and the night you were currently having, that was the last thing on your flustered mind when you started pushing the door open.

They were too busy making out to notice you.

Your purse was tossed on the bathroom counter behind them, Yuki perched beside it while Choso had her shirt half-off. His lips wrapped around one of her perky nipples and sucking hard while she tugged on his dark hair.

Yeah, Sukuna was right.

All the thoughts you'd been pushing down and praying away were right too.

They were all in a wildly different league than you.

Yuki got a glimpse of you in the corner of her vision, brown eyes glittering as she fully glanced over.

"There you are," She laughed. "Wanna join?"

"I, um, was just gonna grab my purse," You awkwardly smiled, feeling like the world's biggest idiot when you scampered over and nearly tripped trying to grab it.

"Well, you know where we are," She lightheartedly grinned, inhaling hard as you watched Choso's incisors sink into her breast, no bra in sight.

He pulled off with a pop, dark eyes slinking over to you.

"If you change your mind," He finished the sentence for her.

You practically ran out - or walked as fast as you could without being weird. Readjusting your purse and breathing hard the second you heard the thump of the door shutting.

Sukuna wasn't anywhere in sight, and suddenly, you were regretting ever walking away from him.

It took you a couple moments of scanning through the faces to spot him through the people passing by, standing close to the bar with his credit card out. Paying the tab, maybe.

It left a discomforting feeling in your stomach. Bad. Like you were wrong for letting him pay for you.

You tried to break through the crowd, only catching bits of him every few seconds. But you were close enough to hear him. Them. A pretty girl had stopped him, looking like she'd just stepped out of his shop actually, a few piercings decorating her face and intricate tattoo sleeve on her right arm. Her fingers grazed over his hand as she leaned in to ask if he was here with someone.

"Yeah," He bluntly said, pulling away before her touch could drift higher.

A small flicker of joy lit up. Pride at him shutting it down with someone who seemed like she'd be far more his type.

But she just laughed, unbothered and familiar, and you had the thought that she might actually know him judging by how close she was standing. A client you hadn't met yet?

"Are you guys exclusive?" She asked, tilting her head to the side like it didn't matter even if you were.

He rolled his eyes, huffing before he responded, "No, but I should find her."

He was right. You weren't exclusive.

So why did it hurt to hear?

He saw you then, preemptively sighing and pocketing the

"Where were you?" He half-growled, annoyed as he walked over. You shrunk back against the wall on instinct.

"I, um," You hesitated, glancing towards the bathroom door where you'd just caught Yuki and Choso.

"Are they in there?" He asked, reading all the jumbled emotions on your face.

You nodded, not even sure what to say or how to warn him before he was opening the door and scoffing at them for fucking in the filthy bathroom.

"We're leaving, idiots," He called out before slamming the door closed again and taking your free hand.

You couldn't think of anything to say while he lead you out through the exit. The night air was nice though, cool on your skin compared to the humid heat of the packed club. His car was parked in the corner of the lot, out of the way from where most of the people were walking. Your heels had started to hurt your feet, but you tried to hide it and keep up with him anyway.

Sukuna held the door open for you, and you just murmured a thanks before he shut the door behind you. You buckled up, almost taking off your shoes before thinking that'd probably be impolite. Your phone was vibrating again in your bag, but you couldn't bring yourself to check it.

You looked out the window instead when he started the car. He'd insisted on you dropping your own car back off at your apartment after he closed up earlier and driving to the club from there. You didn't miss the way he stared up at the building in the parking lot then, studying the fancy exterior of the luxury apartments.

But he hadn't said anything then.

And even when he pulled back in front of it for the second time, he still just put the car in park and looked at you instead.

"Um, do you wanna come up?" You offered, grabbing your keys from your purse.

"Yeah," He answered fast, like he'd been planning on suggesting it if you hadn't asked.

"My parents pay for this place," You murmured as you hurried through the lobby over to the stairs in the back. It had an elevator - but there were cameras over there. And you were a little paranoid that your parents would somehow get access to it and see you coming home with a man they certainly would not approve of.

"Figured," He shrugged.

His nonchalance made you feel a little better. He didn't judge you for it. Didn't hold it against you.

And by the time you actually unlocked your door with trembling fingers and nervously let him in, you had almost convinced yourself that you were being silly for having so much anxiety around him.

Especially when his hand easily slipped into yours, sturdy fingers biting into the back of your hand while you gave him a tour of your place. You'd spent half your day cleaning up just in case he'd ended up back here after all.

He leaned against the door frame of your bedroom, eyeing the frilly sheets before his eyes slowly settled on you.

Sukuna's lips parted, but a flash of panic shot through you at the sudden realization you were alone. In your room. With a hot guy.

"Are you hungry?" You interrupted him, swallowing hard.

He looked at you like he was, but maybe not for food.

"Have something in mind?" He murmured, stepping closer, ready to pull you against him.

"I could bake a cake," You suggested with a shy smile, thinking of the one you'd made for him a few weeks ago. Your palms were sweating, your skin itching at just how close he was.

But excitement had started override your nerves.

"Seriously?"

He wasn't complaining when he was tasting the batter twenty minutes later, leaning against your counter, his phone connected to the speakers and playing music a little too loudly while the oven finished preheating. He was still wearing his shoes, his black t-shirt straining against his chest, sticking to his biceps while he watched every swivel of your hips while you hurried from one corner of your kitchen to the other.

"I can bring the leftovers into work tomorrow," You hummed to yourself. Maybe you'd still save a slice for Suguru.

Even if he had something terrible to tell you.

"Sure," Sukuna nodded, but he wasn't really listening. And when you glanced over your shoulder, you caught him staring at your ass when you bent over to stick the cake pan in the oven.

Your dress had started riding up your thighs, dangerously close to showing the lacy panties hidden underneath. The back of your ankles were probably bleeding from the heels you left by the door, but he hadn't noticed.

You got up on the tip of your toes to set the timer on your microwave before turning back to him. Maybe it was the baking, or being back in a safe space, but you relaxed.

The cake wouldn't be done for at least half an hour.

"You wanna see my kitty?" You grinned at him.

He paused, blinked hard, before raising a thick brow while you grabbed a bag of cat treats out from your cabinet and gestured back through the kitchen towards the front door. You snagged a shitty pair of dollar store flip flops from the tiny closet by it, ones you purchased last summer when you tried to convince you could go to the beach by yourself just to chicken out the day you were supposed to make the trip.

"What?"

Sukuna still had the same stunned look on his face when you dragged him all the way down to the bottom floor and through the back door, grumbling about branches smacking him in the face when you guided him through the thin patch of woods behind the building.

"You're going to trip," He grumbled before abruptly picking you up just enough so you wouldn't fall on anything littering the dirt and leaves. "Do I just keep going straight?"

"Mhm," You muttered.

There was something even more intoxicating about him entertaining your stupid idea than all the drinks still fuzzy in your system. He didn't insist on going back, didn't dismiss it, just let you show him whatever it is you wanted him to see.

"Put me down," You giggled when you realized you were getting close to the little clearing you'd set up a few cat houses you'd done your best to build and food bowls you ordered online. It was technically still on the property of the apartment building, but no one else ever came to this part of the woods, never noticed the cats or the small safe haven you created for them. He begrudgingly listened, a hand still on your waist like he was ready to grab you again if he needed to.

You shook the bag of treats, making small clicking sounds with your tongue until you heard the quiet scamper of paws. The moon was bright enough tonight you could make her out through the trees before she approached you, stopping just shy of where you were standing. You guessed she was being cautious at the new human you brought. You'd always come alone before.

"Hi, cutie," You greeted, and big eyes peered up at you, her head tilting up as you squatted down to get on her level. Her tabby coat was dirty, probably from rolling around or playing. "Where's your babies?"

She made a soft, high-pitched meow, and you heard the leaves crunch before two more sets of eyes popped up.

You opened the bag of treats and glanced up at Sukuna.

"Come here," You smiled, shaking the treats again. He moved slow, reserved and reluctant. But he squatted down next to you anyway. "Hold your hand out."

He did, and you poured a few out in his hand. You did the same to your own, holding it out and waiting patiently for her to approach first. She sniffed your hand, more suspicious than she usually was, and then quickly ate the small kibbles.

Her kittens?

They'd already discovered Sukuna's treats, both of them swatting at each other trying to eat them off his palm at the same time before the other could. The kittens were almost identical - both tiny tuxedo things, the white fur standing out against the black.

Sukuna's face was funny, blanching at the ridiculously small animals fighting for food, one of their claws sinking into his wrist and jumping half on his arm in their attempt to knock their sibling off.

"Are these things clean?" He huffed, brow twitching, but he didn't move. Didn't pull his hand back in disgust.

"I got them checked out at the vet after she had them," You murmured, petting her fur and picking the pieces of dirt out of it. "They're still too small to get spayed or neutered, but I did get them treated for fleas and stuff."

He nodded, and you thought you detected the slightest hint of a tremble in his other hand when he reached out to pet one. It smacked his hand on first, but on his second try, it actually jumped up to force him to pet it.

You didn't say much. He didn't either.

But it was nice not to. Nice to just sit there and play with the closest thing you ever had to real pets with the closest person you had to a partner.

"You know, a few months ago, these guys were basically my only friends," You sighed, not sure why you were even really saying it. Why you would even embarrass yourself more by revealing something like that.

"That's ridiculous," Sukuna scoffed. One of the kittens had settled in his lap while he teased the other by holding a treat over its head just out of its reach.

"Yeah," You agreed.

You shouldn't still care. But you did.

"I guess I'm just trying to say thanks," You shrugged, blushing at your own admission. "For giving me a chance, you know."

He scoffed.

"Yeah, yeah," He dismissively waved.

You stared at him. Studied the way his shoulders tensed, the shape of him under the light of the moon. You liked his intensity. His focus. The look on his face when he was thinking about something he'd never say.

It could've been three minutes or thirty. The time melting and morphing seconds and stretching them out. You'd almost forgotten about the-

"Shit, the cake," You squeaked, abruptly standing and glancing behind you in a panic.

He chuckled at you - although it stopped when he had to half chase you back inside, twigs probably getting caught in your hair and actually snapping the strap of the flip flops on the concrete sidewalk outside the door. He grabbed your arm before you could skin your knees, picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder before grabbing your now-broken flip flop from the floor.

You both were probably a wreck by the time you made up to your apartment, stumbling through the door as you squirmed out of his hold.

"Fuck," You groaned, the word slipping out as you rushed to turn off the oven and yank the handles. Sukuna stopped you before you could burn yourself, pulling you out of the way putting the oven mitts on to get the now-burnt cake out. Just shy of charred as he set it down on the stove, and you were too upset to even giggle about how silly he looked with the pink mitts on.

"It's fine," He grunted, a brow still raised like he thought your frustration was funny or entertaining. "That's not what I'm hungry for anyway."

You were probably pouting, leaning back against your kitchen counter and glancing towards your fridge. You'd forgotten to go grocery shopping yesterday - and you were already low on ingredients.

"I don't really have anything else," You frowned, nose scrunched up while you tried to think about what else was open right now.

"Seriously?" He huffed at you, and you wanted to cry. Staring down at your feet, the alcohol only making you feel more sensitive, more fragile.

"I'm sorry-"

His lips were on yours, shutting you up before you could even finish your apology. He didn't kiss you like Suguru did. There was nothing soft about it.

It was all teeth and tongue. Sucking on your bottom lip like there wasn't anything that tasted better. His hands had been greedy all night long, always touching and lingering but now? He was grabbing you like you were all his.

Gripping your ass and holding the back of your neck, sandwiched between the hard edge of the counter and his chest. You didn't know what to do. You kissed him back, tentatively threading your fingers through his hair, a small mmph escaping when you started running out of air.

"You know you don't have to do any of this shit for me, right?" He grunted when he finally broke away, and even though you knew he was just trying to make you feel better about the burnt cake and your attempts at playing everything cool tonight, it still stung.

Because it meant that as hard as you tried, it was still obvious to everyone else you were trying.

You didn't say anything, just let him kiss you again.

Why not?

He carried you to the bedroom. Hands on your ass under your dress while you wrapped your wrists around his neck. You didn't know if you were doing any of it right. If you were good or bad at this, if he'd been with better girls before, just trying to follow his lead until he half-tossed you on your mattress. Kicking his shoes off at the base of the bed, unbuckling his belt and tossing it on the floor.

Sukuna paused just long enough to glance around the soft shades and expensive furniture closer this time, clicking his tongue like he found it all a little ridiculous before he was flipping you into your stomach so he could unzip your dress.

It was happening remarkably fast.

Experiencing something new almost every second, the breeze from the air conditioning cold on your bare skin. You wished you'd worn a bra underneath it. But your dress had been tight, revealing, and none of the bras you had fit right.

His rough palm was already running down your spine, pulling your panties down your thighs next and discarding them on the floor.

You'd never been naked in front of a guy before. Except for Gojo.

But that had been different - and he hadn't even looked.

Sukuna was taking in everything, tracing your outline like he was committing it to memory. You felt a little ill. Painfully self-conscious. Terrified to think about what he thought. You wanted to cover up, to pull the blankets over you and hide your face. The closest you could do was bury your face in the pillow, face flushing as his hand paused on the curve of your ass.

"Do you want me to keep going?" He asked, his voice low and gravelly.

You could tell him to stop. Ask him to take it slow. But you weren't sure if he'd still be interested if you told him no now. And you wanted him to keep going, despite all the fears you wore on your sleeve.

"Please," You spoke softly, a shy whisper spoken into the pillow.

Sukuna flipped you over, studied your face like he had to make sure you were sure.

You tried to look firm in your decision, summoned all the confidence you had to sit up and start pulling his shirt off. He helped, making quick work of tossing it on the floor. But he didn't go to take off his jeans yet.

Was that normal?

Were you already doing something wrong?

Before you could convince yourself you fucked up, his mouth was back on yours. He still tasted like cake batter, sweetness that didn't quite suit him on his tongue when he slipped in your mouth.

His body felt even broader when it was on top of yours, heavy as his fingers groped your chest, squeezing hard then soft, like he was trying to see what you liked. You didn't really know how to react when everything felt good, when it was all so new you were just as clueless to what you wanted from him as he was. He rolled your nipple between two of his fingers, and you gasped mid-kiss.

Sukuna chuckled, clearly pleased with that. Continuing to toy with you, his lips trailing down your throat down to your chest next.

You wondered if he'd try to suck on your nipple like Choso had done with Yuki, but he paused by your collarbone.

"Kuna," You breathed, biting your lip, watching him intently to see what he'd do next.

You weren't ready for it.

He pressed your thighs all the way up to your chest. Fingers dimpling the pliant muscle, pinning them there and holding it in place so he could get a proper look at you.

You wanted to curl up in a ball, face burning hotter the longer he looked. But before you could work up the confidence to say anything, he was pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your cunt.

His tongue tracing over your entrance first, running over your clit then back down. Spreading you open and pushing his tongue inside to taste you there too.

He ate you out like he was starving.

You'd touched yourself before, but the feeling of his tongue, warm and messy and unrelenting, was wildly foreign. Nothing could come close.

He found his rhythm fast, pumping in-and-out, chuckling into you at the way you writhed, squirming against his grip and whining freely for him.

"You're fucking tight," He grunted, and you had no idea if that was supposed to be a good thing.

A little voice in the back of your brain reminded you that this would probably be a good opportunity to tell him the truth and admit you were a virgin, but all that left your lips was another desperate moan of his name.

It might ruin the moment.

Might fuck up the first time you felt wanted.

His grip shifted, one hand pinning you even more to the bed while the other let go to drift down in time with his mouth moving to wrap around your clit.

Two fingers pushing past the first ring of resistance to feel your cunt clenching and squeezing, his teeth skimming over your sensitive bud just to send a rough shudder through you.

"Fuck," You whimpered, and he groaned.

He was half-humping the bed, rutting against it while his tongue traced messy circles back over your clit.

"Sound so fuckin' sexy like that, baby," He grunted, his breath warm against your skin. You didn't really feel sexy, you felt kinda embarrassed. Hyper-aware of every little movement you made, where your hands were placed and everywhere your body connected with his. But then he was back to painting patterns on you, and you couldn't feel anything other than warm pleasure.

Bright and burning, pressure building and coiling in your core while you squirmed underneath him. Chasing your climax while he basically made out with your sore and swollen bud, fingers still thrusting hard and fast in you.

"K-Kuna," You gasped again, fingers roughly tugging at his roots while you tried to warn him. "Think I'm close."

Your thighs were tense, the last thread holding you together ready to snap.

"You wanna cum for me?" He pulled away just for a second to tease, and you did.

Unravelling fast, crying his name and trying to turn to hide your face while he laughed. It was unfairly hot. Should've been illegal for him to sound so unbothered when you came undone, vulnerable and raw while he still had his jeans on.

He even licked you clean, until all the slick on your thighs had been transferred to his tongue. Let his teeth sink into one, leaving a love bite you'd probably have for days.

"My good girl."

You weren't sure if he was mocking you when he ruffled your hair afterwards.

Watching in a haze when he stood up and unzipped his jeans and boxers, tossing them in a heap on the floor just to get back in bed next to you.

You didn't even get a chance to properly look at his cock before he was pulling you against his chest, your cheek pressed against it as he exhaled and brushed your hair from your face.

Counting to ten in your head, waiting for him to guide your hand down to his cock. Waiting for him to do anything.

Did he not want to have sex with you? Was he waiting for you to return the favor?

"I could-"

You didn't even know what you could do.

Something, surely.

Whatever he wanted.

"Nah," He shrugged, closing his eyes like he was ready to go to sleep. "Come closer."

"Did I do something wrong?" You hesitantly asked, voice raspy from all the sounds he ripped from you earlier.

"No," He huffed, scowling at you like you offended him by just suggesting it.

"Why don't you want to have sex with me then?" You bluntly asked, propping yourself up to frown at him.

He sat up enough to hold you better, sighing before he leaned down and left a kiss on the corner of your mouth.

"We don't have to rush into anything," He explained, a little irritated.

And you remembered what you'd told him earlier.

You weren't his girlfriend.

"Okay," You mumbled, letting yourself rest back on his chest.

You didn't know when you fell asleep. Waking up a few times startled by the presence of someone else, letting his tight hold on you pull you back into your dreams until the sun streaming through your window finally startled you awake.

Except, that wasn't it.

Still groggy, you tried to rub your eyes, sitting up and rubbing your eyes while you processed your surroundings.

Then you heard it.

Keys jangling.

Shit.

You turned back to where Sukuna was still sleeping, adrenaline racing through you while your eyes swept over all of last night's clothes still scattered around the room.

"Sukuna."

He didn't budge.

"Get under the bed," You whisper-shouted, pulling uselessly at his arm while he sluggishly started to get up. Brows furrowed and frowning at you while he slowly pieced together your panic.

"What?" He whispered without even realizing why you were in the first place.

You glanced down, mentally doing the math and realizing he wouldn't fit underneath your bed before dragging him to his feet over to your closet.

"I really need you to hide," You were basically begging, wide eyed and constantly throwing worried glances over your shoulder to listen for the click of heels coming any second.

"Why?" He grumbled, obviously unhappy but nowhere near as close as you were.

"My mom is here."

patreon is here with additional original content for anyone who feels like supporting me a little extra :3

reblogs n comments are super appreciated <3 love hearing your thoughts as always !!

[bonzaibaby]

₍^. .^₎⟆ synposis: soulmate!AU. nanami begins to find things that don't belong to him in his apartment. lipgloss. a single sock. a hair dryer. and in the middle of it all, a fluffy turtle keychain he wishes to give back to his unknown but destined lover. word count: 2.5k

it starts with a plush keychain.

nothing too loud or flashy, just a fluffy yellow turtle with a metal clip on.

gojo nearly falls out of his chair when he spots it tucked between nanami's array of books and reading glasses. it's clearly out of place, cute and plush against the pristine cleanliness and monochromatic chic of nanami's apartment, and nanami doesn't harbor any secret children (that gojo knows of).

"and whoooooose is this? or more likely, which lady's is this?" gojo sing songs, dangling the keychain from his pinky finger. nanami sighs, his back turned to gojo as his coffee finishes brewing, the clipped comment dying in his mouth when he spots what the silver haired man is holding.

nanami has a near photographic memory of everything in his apartment. he's damn near curated every inch of his living space. at first he thinks it's a joke.

"where'd you even get that, gojo." he grumbles, rubbing the exhaustion from his eyes.

"it was right here on your bedside table." gojo scoffs at the accusation.

the black coffee burns nanami's throat on the way down.

"if this is some kind of a prank, i'm afraid it's not that funny."

gojo actually pouts at that, like a little child that's been told off, before crossing his arms.

"I'm being serious, nanami! It was laying right here in between your books!" he pauses, before breaking into a big smile. "So you're either hiding a girl-"

"i'm not seeing anyone."

"or this is... the sign."

nanami pretends not to know, in an effort to calm his racing heartbeat.

"what sign?"

gojo's eyes widen.

"what sign? are you hearing yourself? this is your soulmate's lost item! this is so exciting! we have to celebrate! I have to text everyone we know, arrange flowers, there's this amazing restaurant downtown that does the most incredible s-"

whilst his friend rattles on, nanami's eyes remain fixated on the little turtle now sitting on his kitchen table, warmth blooming across his chest. he'd heard the stories of course. soulmates' lost possessions ending up in each other's homes. but he hadn't gotten his hopes up. not everyone in the world would have a soulmate. nor would it be so easy to say with certainty that finding strange items in your house would be attributable to a soulmate. but this...

his hands moved on their own accord, left hand brushing up against the toy. the keychain was soft in his hands, yellow fur and black stitched smile.

"and- hello? are you even listening to me?!"

nanami hums, if only to placate gojo, whose short attention span has now been diverted by a new text from geto. when gojo rushes out the apartment door, stealing a pack of mochi from the kitchen counter whilst rushing out goodbyes, nanami doesn't even bother to look up from where he's standing.

leaning up against the marble countertops of his kitchen, twisting and examining the soft plush from all angles. his heart flutters at the realization that he's holding something that belongs to... his one and only.

patting the small head of the toy turtle, he tucks it into his coat pocket, vowing to reunite it with its owner in the future.

a week later, on a lazy Sunday morning, he finds lipgloss where his extra toothpaste should be.

but not just a tube of lipgloss.

an array of different lipglosses of all shades - dark burgundy, cherry red, barbie pink, soft pink, sparkly peach. it makes nanami's head spin, pulling down one tube of lipgloss after another that have magically appeared in his bathroom mirror cabinet.

examining each one with surgical precision, he notices that one of the shades are clearly more used up than another. barbie pink. he makes a mental note of this, carefully placing away the lipglosses in a spare toiletry bag he keeps under the sink.

over the course of a month, that bag becomes filled with little remnants of his soulmate. nearly empty perfume bottles. a single sock with a print of a golden retriever. multi colored hair ties. a small travel sized shampoo and body wash set. these items appear randomly and suddenly without warning, often when he's having a bad day.

a late 1am return from work, his head pounding from exhaustion and dehydration? he nearly steps on the perfume bottle laying on the floor near his bedroom door. it's clearly well loved, with only a third or so left, and smells distinctively of vanilla and lavender.

a 7am rush as the city wakes up behind him, the streets of tokyo buzzing with energy as he clips on his shoes? he finds a multi pack of hair ties sitting neatly in between the gaps of his shoes in the cupboard.

nanami even almost misses the single sock - navy blue with a golden retriever print on it - hanging from his closet when he's cleaning, because of how natural it looks. when he takes it off from the rack, he turns it over in his hand and smiles: imagining how nice it would be to have her cardigan draped over his couch and pairs of socks tucked into his closet.

now whenever nanami can't sleep, he imagines what his soulmate looks like. is she tall? short? shy? extroverted? a coffee person or a tea person? the type to laugh loudly with her whole chest and heart, or giggle silently to herself in an effort to hide her laugh?

his hands inevitably find the soft turtle keychain sitting by his bed, stroking its fur and imagining what it would be like to hold her hand instead, as his mind starts to drift off to sleep.

he wonders if she'd have some things of his as well. nanami isn't a forgetful or clumsy type of person, but he is human. he can't really name the last thing he's lost - maybe a bookmark or a reusable straw - but he sometimes wonders if he should purposefully forget something so it would end up at her place.

he's not even sure if that's how these things work.

autumn fades into winter, the cold nights bearable only with the surprise of what he might find in his apartment today. he's actually disappointed when he returns to an 'empty' house, everything in place and just as he remembered. he starts to think the universe is playing a cruel joke on him (or that she's gotten good at keeping track of her things) when a full month goes by with no lost items appearing in his place.

then, he spots a portable charger that's not compatible with his phone lying on his bed, and he knows he has her back.

and when he finds three missing items in the span of one week during a particularly rough December - a fraying picnic blanket with square patterns, a pair of fluffy thigh high boots, and an expensive looking hair dryer - he wonders if she's losing these things on purpose.

all in all, his apartment is no longer looking like a one bed bachelor suite belonging to a single salary man. but more of a couple's living space with his and hers items adorning every shelf and table.

it's gotten to the point that having people over - even for a few minutes - is difficult, without being subject to many eyebrow raises and accusations of dating behind his friends' backs.

as the months now stretch into spring, the frostbite of winter melting away into gentle spring breezes and early sunrises, nanami finds himself getting impatient. when will he meet her?

he knows it's foolish, to even think that it'll happen. the fact that he's even been given a soulmate is something to be grateful for. but there's an ache that nibbles on the side of his ribs, a buzzing anticipation that never leaves his mind when he stands in the middle of a crowded place.

in every train station. public crossing. jam packed bar filled with cigarette smoke. he looks for her, one hand always in his coat pocket, stroking the soft pet turtle that started it all. he imagines it'll be like the movies, he'll come across a stranger and he'll just know.

his stomach will flutter, his vision will blur, and his heart will instantly make the connection.

but it never happens, much to his disappointment.

it's now April, a few months to summer. the cherry blossoms are finally out and nanami needs a morning run to clear his mind. a quick shot of espresso and light stretches in his living room are all he needs before his shoes are hitting the pavement, dodging cyclists and pedestrians enjoying their gentle 7am walk.

a few laps in the park later, he's back in his apartment just in time to fold his running clothes for the washing machine and take a long shower.

a man of routine, he combs his hair and applies his meticulous skincare routine, counting downards from ten. whilst adjusting his tie, he inspects his suit for any faults and finishes by spraying himself with the same vanilla and lavender perfume of his soulmate's.

lastly, out of habit, he makes sure that the turtle keychain is kept safe and secured in his coat pocket.

clipping on his watch on his wrist, nanami doesn't look onto the street as he exits the elevator. he collides with a body, the stranger letting out a surprised yelp and the sound of iced coffee splashing the pavement.

"I am so very sorry." nanami immediately says, lowering his glasses to look at you right in your eyes. you thankfully don't seem mad, just a bit sheepish, as you accept his left hand to stand back up on your wobbly feet.

"no worries. i should've been walking so fast." you try and laugh it off, your brain going haywire at just how good looking this guy is. he's blonde, tall, clearly athletic - from how the tight fitting suit is hugging his body - with a jawline that could kill.

he even smells like your favorite perfume, vanilla and lavender.

"not at all, i was preocuppied with my thoughts and didn't look onto the street before stepping out." nanami quips, eyes falling onto the spilled coffee. "could i buy you a new coffee as an apology?"

"oh, i don't want to bother you-" you start, though internally you want nothing more but to keep talking to this handsome stranger.

"please, you wouldn't be." he assures you, heart fluttering at how wide and genuine your smile seems to be when you accept. when you bend over to pick up the split coffee cup, his eyes land on your socks and his throat dries up.

mismatched socks. one plain black sock. and the other, a navy blue sock with a very familiar golden retriever print.

'stay calm, nanami.' he scolds himself as you walk alongside him on the way to the cafe, quiet conversation filling the air about what you both do for work. 'this could mean anything. it could just be a popular sock brand.'

the conversation is easy. you're witty, kind, you hold his bicep to stop him from walking into traffic when he doesn't realize the light has suddenly turned red. then, you get all embarassed, apologizing for grabbing onto his arm without asking.

it makes his heart so warm.

and when you arrive at the cafe, casually slinging your bag over to the other shoulder whilst ordering, he notices the array of keychains hanging from your bag.

his heart skips another beat.

"you like my keychains?" you ask with a quiet laugh, noticing how intensely he's staring at your bag. "i'm a bit of a collector with these things. i just think they make my bags look more... unique and cute."

"do they each tell a story?" he quips, lips curling at the end. god, he finds you so cute, especially when your eyes light up whilst delving into detail about each keychain.

"..but my favorite one I lost sometime last year." you say, thanking the barista as you accept the drinks. your fingers brush against his when you pass him his black americano.

walking side by side on the pavement, nanami's heart beats irregularly at that declaration, but you're none the wiser. only innocently tilting your head sideways and asking if his coffee is good.

"it's great." he lies, as if the bitter coffee isn't burning his throat from the anticipation bubbling in his stomach.

fuck it.

"what was it?" he blurts out, unable to keep it in.

"what was?" you ask, confused.

"the keychain you lost."

"a turtle." you say with a small laugh, licking away the foam of coffee on your lips. "silly, i know but my cousin got it for me."

he stops breathing for a second.

"... was it a yellow turtle by any chance?"

nanami stops in his tracks. you two are back in front of the apartment where he bumped into you. his blood is rushing so loud in his ears that he's worried you can hear it, as your eyes widen in surprise.

"h-how'd you..."

"a fluffy yellow turtle with white fins and a black stitched smile?" he finishes, smile so fond and wide that it blinds you.

you're at a complete loss for words, the gravity of the situation beginning to settle in, when he suddenly takes out (from his coat pocket) the very keychain you had lost and sorely missed.

"i've got it. and every other thing you've misplaced for the past year."

you stare at his open palm in disbelief, eyes carefully examining the object as you take the keychain from his hands and feel its fur against your fingertips. your heart is thundering in your chest, your soulmate smiling at you so brightly.

"i'm nanami, by the way. nanami kento." he introduces himself, ever so the gentleman.

"(y/n). (y/n) (l/n)."

there's an uniterrupted beat of silence, with nanami staring at you so intensely with burning adoration and you suddenly feeling the rush of embarrassment of how much you've lost in the past year.

"oh god, did you really keep everything i've lost?" you groan, nearly whining.

he only chuckles.

"yes i did. neatly categorized and filed in my apartment." he pauses, surveying your reaction. "would you like to come up and see?"

"yes." you say too quickly, before you're shaking your head sideways in an effort to calm yourself. "i mean, yes, uh, that'd be nice."

he turns to let you in, before he turns back around abruptly, stopping you in your tracks. you stare up at him, confused.

he only smiles, soft and gentle.

"hold on." nanami says, stepping closer to you. you're overwhelmed by his scent, mix of aftershave and vanilla lavender perfume, and how gentle his hands are when he takes the turtle keychain from your left hand.

he clips it onto your bag, giving it a gentle tug to ensure it's secure.

"there. don't lose it again." he says lowly, but there's a hint of teasing to his tone.

"and if i do?" you ask quietly, teasing him back, letting him drag you through the doors of his apartment.

nanami takes your hand, but this time, he doesn't let it go.

"you can come back to me."

a/n: ahhhh my first ever fic! i'm absolutely obsessed with nanami at the moment so i wanted to write something sweet for him. i remember reading a marvel fic with this soulmate AU idea a few years ago (soulmates find each other's lost possession in their apartment) so i wanted to give it a spin.

ᯓ★ likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated! ᯓ★

[bonzaibaby]

🜼 ⋆ when you said you wanted to give him a handjob, kento never thought you’d leave him folding forward.

“you wanna please me that bad?” he muttered earlier, almost amused, a little condescending. like he was entertaining you. like it wouldn’t actually get to him.

you had asked so sweetly, too—“just my hand, nanami. let me try?”—and he’d said yes with that quiet smirk, the kind that says i’m humoring you, sweetheart.

but now? now he’s sweating. legs shaking, mouth parted around something halfway between a moan and a breathless fuck as your hand works him in ruthless, slick strokes.

“h-haah—slow down—” he manages, voice breaking over the syllables, hand flying down to grip your wrist—but not to stop you. no, not really. he’s just trying to anchor himself, steady the tremble in his arms.

but you don’t slow down. you squeeze instead.

“thought you said i could use it?” you purr, twisting your wrist just under the swollen head, watching him fold at the waist, hunched over like he’s bracing for impact. “wasn’t this your idea?”

“not—like this,” he grits out, head bowed low, blonde hair sticking to his temples. his thighs are tense, spread wide, the muscles twitching as his cock pulses in your fist. he looks wrecked, like he’s holding onto every last thread of composure and it’s snapping right between your fingers. “fuck—fuck, you’re gonna—make me come again—”

“good.” you brace yourself.

you stroke him harder, faster—using both hands now, spit-slick and mean, and he bucks into it with a noise you’ve never heard from him before. his hips stutter, twitch, then try to pull back—his whole body flinching from the oversensitivity—but you don’t let him. you grip him tighter, pump him through it like you own it.

“not so cocky now, huh?” you whisper more to yourself but his ears twitch, catching your words.

he groans—loudly, like it punches out of his chest—head tipping back as his cock jumps again, spilling more precum across your knuckles. you know he’s close. again. you can feel it: the way his abs clench, the hitch in his breath, the way he mumbles “shit, shit, shit” like he’s trying to hold it in.

but he can’t.

you make him come again anyway.

his whole body curls inward, hips jerking as you milk him through it, fist tight, relentless, squeezing every drop from him while he whimpers through gritted teeth. he’s so loud now, so desperate, gasping your name like he’s begging and doesn’t even know what for.

and when you don’t stop—when you keep going, still fisting him, still rubbing his tip raw—he starts to shake. thighs trembling, breath hitching with every stroke, body instinctively trying to twist away.

“too much,” he breathes. “it’s—it’s too much, i can’t—”

but his cock is still twitching in your palm. still rock hard. still leaking. still yours.

so you smile, lips grazing his ear, and say,

“yes you can. you gave it to me, remember?”

and you don’t stop until he’s gone.

until he’s quiet. twitching. fucked-out.

and no part of him remembers why he ever thought it’d be just a handjob.

[bonzaibaby]

🜼 ⋆ needy choso begs for you to hold him down while you bounce on him filthy.

“p–pin me,” he breathes, barely able to say it without choking on the way your cunt drags over him, slow and wet and so deep he’s not even sure if he’s breathing anymore. “baby—please, i need you to—fuck—just hold me down, please—”

he sounds so fucking desperate for it, voice raw like he’s already about to break. his wrists twitch where they’re resting beside his head, fingers curling like he’s holding onto the sheets for dear life, muscles flexing like he’s fighting every instinct in his body not to grab you and fuck up into you like an animal.

but he doesn’t. he waits. even when he’s whining under his breath, even when he’s shaking, even when his hips are already lifting off the bed trying to chase the feel of you.

you lean forward, body flushed against his, and catch his wrists in one hand, pressing them down into the mattress above his head. you barely have to apply pressure—he surrenders instantly, melting under you, a choked groan ripping out of him like the act of being restrained alone is too much for him.

“fuck—thank you.” he says it like a prayer, eyes wide, staring up at you like you’ve just given him heaven.

he’s so loud when you start to move again, so fucking needy, his moans high and breathless, little broken uh-uh-uhs every time your hips slap against his. you keep him pinned, riding him slow, deep, making him feel every single inch. he bucks up once—just once—and you stop completely, hovering there with him twitching inside you.

“stay still,” you whisper, dragging your free hand down his throat, pressing just enough to feel the way he swallows hard. “you said you wanted to be good, right?”

he nods—frantic—already panting, already falling apart. “m’sorry—i am, i am good, please keep going, please—i won’t move, just—ride me, please, i need it so bad—”

you hum, starting to move again, rolling your hips in slow, controlled circles, watching him shiver and shake like he’s being edged without mercy. he keeps whining, making a mess of the sheets under him, cock twitching inside you as he fights to stay still. he tries. he’s so good for you, trying so fucking hard not to thrust up, not to beg too much, even when his eyes roll back and his toes curl and he’s whispering your name like it’s the only word he remembers.

but then—then he breaks. it starts with a tremble, a twitch of his hips, then a full, desperate buck up into you like he just can’t help it anymore.

“can’t—can’t take it,” he gasps, biting his lip, hips jerking again and again like he’s chasing his orgasm with every last ounce of strength he has. “feels too good—fuck, please let me come—please—”

and you just keep going. slow, deliberate, grinding down on him as he whimpers under you, hands still trapped, eyes wet and glassy and begging for release like he’ll die if you don’t let him come soon.

and maybe you will.

maybe you won’t.

depends how much more of his pretty begging you want to hear.

[bonzaibaby]

ＷＡＹ ＯＵＴ ＴＨＥＲＥ 𖠰 ⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧🪵𓇢𓆸

series masterlist

✦ ── pairing: lumberjack!sukuna x citygirl!reader

✦ ── synopsis: taking a hike, alone, in a massive forest to escape your mundane life may not have been the greatest idea you'd conjured up—a realization you'd come to soon after you managed to lose your map miles inland. but when a lumberjack who knows the land like the back of his hand offers you a place to stay, you think maybe your life isn't so tragic after all. besides, for the sake of your safety, who knows what lingers in the shadows after nightfall?

✦ ── contents: lost in the forest au, forced proximity, bantering, angst, trauma/torture aspects, minor injuries, eventual romance, eventual smut, no use of y/n, mental health and depression struggles, suicide, blood and violence, mentions of war—pls remember that this is a fictional work inspired by a comic and i am not using this to rewrite history or treat any tragedies unseriously! tags to be added.

✦ ── a/n: this is going to be my 1k followers special but i've already got a solid outline and plenty written. i believe this will end up being a multi-chapter fic. can't wait to release this, so check below the threshold for a teaser ;D

✦ ── word count: 37k/?

archive ─ playlist

volume one // womb

volume two // amateur blood

volume three // you don't mess around with slim

volume four // eternal life

volume five // todo a su tiempo

volume six // sympathy for the devil

✦ interlude // a man needs a maid

volume seven // forwards beckon rebound

✦ interlude // should have known better

volume eight // ???

comment to be added to the taglist (status: open)

art by outdmilk on twt

teaser 𖠰 ✩₊˚.⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧🪵𓇢𓆸

After getting fully dressed, you shuffled your socks on before you let out a loud hiss—a sudden piercing pressure on your ankle.

Gently setting your sock down, you sat atop a nearby rock and crossed your legs to take a closer look. 

It seemed that the thorn that poked you earlier had done more than just that—the area swelling and red. The spot, previously a microscope hole, had grown and was practically glowing and exuding a heat.

You pressed a finger against it, immediately regretting it when it sent pain spiking through your veins, the skin bulbous.

“You’re not making it out of the forest any time soon in that condition.”

You yelped with a jump, full-body flinching and swinging your head behind you to see Sukuna towering over you, eyes narrowed to slits as he eyed your injury. “Jesus. Warn a woman next time?”

He ignored you, something you’ve noticed he has a habit of doing, as he folded in half, skimming a hand over your puncture wound. A tight whimper left your lips, his calloused finger pad ghosting over it before he straightened out. “Can you walk on it?”

You attempted to pull the sock back over before you winced, heart fluttering in nerves. “I-I can try,” you stammered out, trying to maneuver it carefully before he clicked his tongue.

“Fuck, alright,” he grunted, as if mulling something over before he stepped in front of you. He crouched down on one knee, jeans digging into the mud yet he didn’t seem to care. “Hop on.”

Your maw fell slack at the sight, suddenly feeling incredibly hot. This crude and ruffish man was offering to carry you all of the sudden.

“Uh, i-it’s alright. I can walk–”

“Quit your rambling and get on.” 

You shut up at his interruption, muttering a ‘rude much?’ he didn’t acknowledge under your breath before standing to a wobble, doing your best not to bump your ankle into anything as the pain began to flare to what felt like your bones.

Oddly enough, he was practically your height on his knees, his massive form slightly intimidating you.

You brought your hands over his shoulders and clasped them in front of him, hoping he couldn’t smell the musk radiating from your sweat-soaked clothing.

As you tried to wrap your legs around his midsection, he suddenly rose, wrapping his massive hands along the underside of your thighs and straightening to his full height.

You did everything to ignore the flip of your stomach as he did so, the touch burning your skin.

Something sizzled in your mind, before you realized how leggy this man actually was. “Could make a joke about the weather up here, but it’s really quite nice,” you snickered, head ducking between his hat, cheek right beside his, as your eyes raked over his bird's eye view.

“Shut it or I’m dropping you.”

[bonzaibaby]

🪽🪽🪽

[bonzaibaby]

nerd!satoru noticed you the first day you started school, watching as you made friends and he too wanted to be on the list, only, he kept putting off, and as your popularity grew he decided you were never meant to be. He just didn’t have the courage.

nerd!satoru was shamelessly obsessed with you despite that. When he wasn’t fussing over Digimon, trying wacky new sweet treats or studying for the next set of exams, he was thinking of you. Sometimes he even lost focus during his hobbies because he pictured you by him, enjoying them too.

nerd!satoru loved your laugh, your voice, the little customisations you made to your uniform, all the different styles you wore your hair, and he has to show his adoration for you in some way.

So, he began leaving presents in your locker. He nearly shit himself out of fear every single time, but he couldn’t stand you not knowing someone absolutely adored you. He left expensive jewellery, flowers, hair accessories, chocolates and even money so you could treat yourself however you liked.

nerd!satoru got painfully hard when he saw you wearing the necklace he had bought you for the first time, the one with his initials engraved on the back. He wasn’t worried about being exposed because why on earth would you know who the nobody Satoru Gojo?

nerd!satoru nearly combusted on the spot before he gets his physics test results when he finds himself next to you in the school dinner queue, standing so pretty with your hair down and curled, none of your friends in sight.

He starts shaking, his glasses falling down his nose, but his hands are far worse and when he adjusts them, he drops them.

nerd!satoru feels the need to curl up in a ball and die when you glance over and notice his idiocy. You stand no chance now, Satoru.

nerd!satoru watches as you bend down and pick up his surprisingly intact glasses and smile all bright at him. Yeah, his Digimon and manga can take the backseat for you.

“You dropped these.” With his tongue glued to the roof of his mouth, he didn’t respond. Real lame, Satoru.

Not taking his silence as rudeness, you reached up and brushed his snowy hair off his forehead, slipping his glasses back on for him. Satoru’s knees were about to give out. He needed a chair, fast.

nerd!satoru has fantasised about the ghost of your touch for longer than he cares to admit, and the real thing surpasses every expectation he had, and all he can think is that he wants more.

nerd!satoru only just manages to find his voice when you ask a question he had used in many of his fake scenarios.

“What’s your name?”

“Satoru.”

The next parts are sat in my drafts.

[bonzaibaby]

“he wanted to mess with the quiet girl” . . . S . GOJO

I like it when men are put in their places . . . smut, pégging, degradation, dumbification

Satoru always thought he was all mighty. The king of teasing, the campus heartthrob, the man who collected confessions and heartbreaks like trophies on his shelf. And you? You were just that quiet little thing in the back of class, hidden under oversized sweaters, always scribbling in your notebook, never raising your hand.

So when he slid into your DMs at 2AM with a half-assed “hey cutie wyd,” he thought it’d be easy to fluster you, make you squirm under his gaze like everyone else. He didn’t expect your reply to be so simple.

“Come over if you’re free.”

And he definitely didn’t expect this.

“F—fuck—” he cries out, fists twisting into your bedsheets so tight his knuckles burn, his snowy hair clinging to his sweaty forehead. His pale back arches so beautifully every time your strap sinks deeper into him, your hands gripping his slim hips with bruising force as you pound into him with no mercy. “S-shit…slower— slow down—”

“Why?” you whisper, voice calm and unbothered as you lean down, pressing your chest against his sweaty back, lips brushing the shell of his ear. Your hips snap forward again, the wet slap echoing off your bedroom walls. His breath hitches, a choked moan ripping from his throat as his entire body trembles beneath you.

“You wanted to play with me, didn’t you?” you murmur, kissing down his neck as he whimpers pathetically. “Mess with the quiet girl. Tease her a little. Make her fall for you.”

He shakes his head desperately, tears welling up in his pretty blue eyes as he buries his face in the pillows, trying to hide how wrecked he looks, how ruined he feels with every roll of your hips rearranging his insides. But you grab his hair, tugging his head back to force him to look at you through the mirror at the foot of the bed.

“Look at yourself,” you order, your strap hitting that sweet spot inside him again and again. He sobs at the intensity, drool leaking from the corner of his plush lips as he stares at his own reflection— cheeks flushed, lips swollen from biting down too hard, eyes hazy with tears and lust.

“Y-you’re so…good—” he gasps out between desperate moans, voice breaking as his thighs shake uncontrollably. “So fucking good, shit— I can’t— I’m gonna—”

“Already?” you taunt softly, thrusting harder as your nails dig into his hips, leaving angry red crescents behind. “Such a slut, Satoru. Didn’t even touch your cock and you’re already close.”

He lets out a broken sob at your words, the humiliation making his cock twitch helplessly under him, dripping precum onto your sheets. The way you’re fucking him open, making him feel so full, so owned, has his mind blanking with nothing but your name and the way your strap kisses his prostate with every single thrust.

And when he finally cums, untouched, screaming your name like a prayer, his entire body trembling as his vision whites out, you don’t even stop. You keep going, fucking him through his orgasm and into overstimulation, watching his eyes roll back as he babbles nonsense under his breath.

“Who’s the plaything now, Gojo?” you whisper, kissing his tears away as he sobs brokenly in your arms, hips still rutting back into yours for more despite the way he’s shaking like a leaf. “Next time you think about teasing me, remember this.”

He can’t even reply. He’s too far gone, tears dripping down his flushed cheeks as his lips tremble with silent moans. But the way his hips keep pushing back onto your strap tells you everything you need to know—

He’s yours now.

© 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭 ; don't copy translate or feed to ai

[bonzaibaby]

faking it

everyone has a price - even suguru geto

synopsis: with no friends and a wallet full of cash, you concoct one last idea to make your final semester one to remember. paying everyone's favorite pretty playboy to pretend to be your boyfriend to complete your college bucket list before you start the life your family is forcing you into. but you might be buying far more than you bargained for.

pairings: broke!Geto x rich!Reader x dropout!Sukuna

content: mdni, angst and fluff and smut, college au, fake dating, pining, yearning, falling in love, jealousy, hurt/comfort, piv sex, drunk sex, oral (m! + f! receiving), car sex, making out, drinking and parties, piercings/tattoos, complicated feelings, regret, healing, more tags in each part

art by @aransmind !!

bank statements

first transaction | loose change | iou | (rain) check | splurge

scammed | declined | debt | last check | ink | overdraft