exodiam

[exodiam]

You've been the (un)willing host of a time-traveling knight who somehow ended up in your modern times. Since the fateful encounter he's become rather possessive of your company, yet today seems to be especially bad.

You eye the straw doll with increasing suspicion. As you make your way to the bedroom, you notice the discarded, crumpled scrolls littering the floor. You can't decipher the old writing.

"What's the meaning of this," you demand, stomping towards the massive, armored man.

"I have drafted a will," he confesses theatrically. "My time here is scarce."

"You don't even own anything here. Have you found a way to return?" your voice has a tint of hope to it; could it be that you'll soon have your peace back?

Oh, sweet, innocent (Y/N)! His door only leads to the cruel afterlife. He's been feverish all night, and his throat tightens with each whisper. He's all too familiar with the signs: a deadly disease. Worry not, he'll be departing with a clean conscience. He glances at the clumsily improvised doll - a curse he's learned from an old hag many years ago - and smiles faintly. No other man or woman will ever dare to yearn for you.

He jolts at the unexpected touch of your hand, resting against his hot forehead.

"Ah, you probably have a cold. I'll get you some decongestant from the pharmacy."

Huh?

"Wait, did you...did you think you're dying?"

[exodiam]

tori’s notes ᝰ.ᐟ just some emotional damage via praise and love because i’m pretty sure nanami is not protected from that

nanami is brushing his teeth when you sidle up beside him in the mirror, stretch your arms overhead, and sigh like a sleepy cat.

“you’re very handsome, you know,” you murmur, voice low and scratchy with sleep.

he blinks at you through the mirror.

you blink back. grin.

“what was that?” he asks, mouth full of toothpaste foam.

“i said you’re handsome.”

he stares for one more second—and then leans over the sink and spits, lingering a second longer than necessary to keep his expression in check.

“why?”

“…why are you handsome?”

“no, why would you say that?”

you raise an eyebrow. “because it’s true?”

he rinses out his mouth like he’s trying to scrub the embarrassment off his tongue. “you can’t just—say things like that. in the morning. while i’m brushing my teeth.”

“i literally woke up and felt overcome with love for your stupid face.”

he covers his face with one hand.

“you don’t like being complimented while you’re… minty?”

he sighs. “i’m not prepared for this level of sincerity at 7am.”

“what is your preferred time for me to express how stupidly in love with you i am?”

“never,” he mutters. “or at least after coffee.”

you lean in, cheek against his bicep, watching him in the mirror as he rinses his toothbrush. “i like your laugh lines.”

“they’re wrinkles.”

“they’re hot.”

he drops the toothbrush. “stop.”

“you have excellent forearms, by the way.”

“what does that mean?”

“and your shoulders? criminal. you should be fined.” your hands fall off of them as he steps away to go get dressed.

“i’m leaving.”

“i’ll miss you desperately, lover:”

he stares at you from the doorway like he’s rethinking his entire identity. then, very slowly, he walks back over and takes your face in his hands.

“listen,” he says seriously. “you can’t just… emotionally ravage me before I’ve had a chance to emotionally armor myself.”

“that sounds like a you problem.”

“it is a me problem.”

you grin. “does it help if i say i’m proud of you and think you’re amazing and love the way you always fold the laundry just how i like?”

his expression crumples.

he buries his face in your neck.

“stop,” he says, muffled. “this is damaging.”

“do you need me to—”

“no. no more compliments. not until at least lunch.”

you giggle, wrapping your arms around his waist. “deal. but at noon, i’m telling you you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

he sighs against your skin. “i’ll prepare accordingly.”

[exodiam]

synopsis ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ you talk about your husband like he is a dream and, frankly, your coworkers think that you are making him up. that is until your husband shows up.

you talked about your husband all the time.

nanami this nanami that

“oh, my husband makes the best lunchboxes”

“he stayed up to help me with my report”

“he walks me to the station when i stay late”

you weren’t annoying about it. not really. just a little too consistent. always saying things like “he’ll pick me up after work today, we’re going to get pastries!” and showing off texts that made your coworkers tilt their heads and squint.

kento nanami sounded fake.

a little too nice. a little too attentive.

and when you tacked on the fact that he was hot — “blond, tall, glasses, kinda quiet but really handsome, you know?” — people at work started to think that maybe you were pulling everyone’s leg.

just a little.

not out of malice — no, never that — but maybe you were lonely. maybe you just needed a sweet little fantasy to get you through the day. who could blame you?

because no way someone like nanami existed. not the way you described him. it just didn’t sound real. not in this world. not in this economy.

but you never let up.

you beamed like a lovesick fool when your phone lit up with his name. you refused to make afterwork plans on fridays because that was “friday pasta night with kento.” you sighed wistfully every time someone so much as mentioned a bakery and then whispered, “kento always remembers my favorite,” like you were in some fairytale.

you weren’t smug about it either. it was just… relentless. like you were trying to manifest it into reality.

and maybe it would’ve stayed harmless water cooler gossip — “hey, what do you think her husband actually looks like?” or “maybe it’s just her roommate who makes all the food?” — if you hadn’t mentioned that he’d be picking you up from work one day soon.

“he’s on leave,” you’d said, head bent over a spreadsheet, smiling to yourself. “wants to take me out for dinner. he’ll be here early. maybe you’ll see him.”

you said it innocently. with that dreamy lilt you always got when his name was on your tongue.

but that set off everyone.

bets were placed. theories floated. some said he’d never show. others swore they’d catch you whispering to your reflection in the hallway like a crazy person. one guy from accounting said he saw you with a facetime open to a picture of a k-pop idol and he swore it was nanami. it was all harmless. mostly.

people just didn’t believe it.

until the elevator doors slid open.

and nanami stepped out.

he wore a tan wool coat, fitted slacks, button-up half undone at the throat — all that fine-tuned, elegant masculinity that seemed sculpted into place. hair slicked back, wristwatch glinting, and an expression that was all quiet restraint, the kind that turned heads on instinct.

and his eyes — sharp, deep, familiar — scanned the room once, then softened the moment he saw you.

“you ready, sweetheart?” he asked.

your coworkers went silent.

someone dropped their pen.

you lit up instantly. grinned, grabbed your bag, waved at everyone with a cheery, “see you tomorrow!” like this wasn’t the most monumental moment of vindication in the history of your office.

nanami took your coat from you before you even shrugged it off fully. guided you with a hand on the small of your back. leaned in and brushed a kiss to your temple so naturally that your coworker audibly gasped.

he glanced up then. noticed the sea of frozen faces.

“good evening,” he said politely, like he didn’t just obliterate the collective doubt of your entire floor with one gentle peck.

you left with him. smiling, chatting, looping your arm through his as he opened the door and held it for you.

and behind you — a stunned, stunned silence.

“…so,” someone whispered, finally. “that was nanami?”

“the nanami?” another croaked.

“that man’s real?”

“she wasn’t even exaggerating,” came the hollow, awe-struck reply. “she was under-selling him.”

and in the elevator, nanami turned to you and smiled, faint but amused. “you were right,” he murmured, “they really didn’t believe i existed.”

you snorted and leaned into his side. “i told you. now they’ll think i made you in a lab.”

“i wouldn’t be bothered by that,” he said, tugging you closer, kissing your knuckles as the doors closed. “you did a perfect job, if so.”

[exodiam]

Kento Nanami x Reader

OlderBoyfriend! Kento Nanami, posted on his instagram??..

you’d recently taught your older boyfriend, Kento, how to use Instagram so you could tag him in posts and stories of the two of you. But you never expected him to eventually engage in posting online, so it was a surprise when you refreshed your feed, only to find a short video of your boyfriend lifting weights at his gym, with an ancient heavy metal song overlapping the background noise he didn’t mute.

And lord behold, he has over fifty thousand likes on all his posts, equaling up to four. Four singular posts. And he's already on top-charts of instagram, without hashtags, and only one previous follower, you.

You currently were sitting in the living room of the shared apartment you'd bought with him a while back, sliding off the couch and walking to the bathroom where he was showering, since he'd just got home from the just mentioned gym.

You knock on the bathroom door, before walking into the steam filled room, shower running and fan on. “Baby.” you say, pulling the curtain aside, staring at him.

Kento wipes his face of water and turns to you, a small concerned frown on his face as he sees your odd expression, “sweetheart, are you alright?” he says quickly, turning the knobs of the shower to stop the water.

You held up your phone that was displaying his page, “you didn't tell me you started posting videos?” you say, legs shifting slightly as you spoke, and of course, he noticed.

He grabs his towel and wraps it around his waist, stepping out and taking the phone out of your hand and putting it down on the countertop softly, pulling you into a small embrace, looking down at you, “is that the matter, darling?” he mumbles, kissing the top of your head, “I’ll delete them if you'd like, i just thought other men would like to see the process-”

You stop him, placing your fingers to squish his lips together, “I’m just surprised you didn't tell me, that's all, I’m not mad.” you say quietly, “but I do want you to put my username in your bio.” you finish, kissing his cheek and letting him go.

He blanked for a moment, a brow lifting.

“Sweetheart, What's a ‘bio’?”

© all works belong to chikithree. do not copy, repost, or translate my works.

[exodiam]

𓂃 kento x pregnant!reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[exodiam]

jjk fic writers if you can hear me... please...

[exodiam]

 ✰ the copy of your apartment key you had handed your best friend!Satoru months ago was definitely the best decision you could have taken, it avoided you the hassle of having to stand up from the cozy spot on the couch to open the door, which happened quite a few times a day, it was like the blue eyed lived there at this point. with a pair of his shoes next to yours at the entrance, one of his blindfolds tucked into your underwear drawer, and that one jacked you once told him it was really cute hanging on the back of a chair, he did not wear it anymore, he said looks better on you either way.

so when the usual sound of your doorknob turns, you know it’s him, loud and whining your name, almost like a blur since he is on top of you in a second, face buried on the crook of your neck, “she cheated” is what he mutters.

the girl Satoru was dating for what? a week, it did not matter, he was hurt and pouty, extra cute in your opinion, so your hands find his scalp and scratch, “aw, baby, I’m sorry, she doesn’t deserve you”

“I found her making out with another dude” he cries in another whine, lips warm and soft on your skin, just like his hands sliding under the shirt —his— you wore, to press on your tummy and gently slide the waistband of your shorts and panties down, “he was not even handsome”

you can’t help but chuckle a little “no one is as handsome as you, baby” you coo, raising your hips just enough for him to bare you from the waist below, “it’s her loss” “her loss” you try to keep yourself coherent as Satoru fucks into your tight, warm pussy with deep but languid strokes, still keeping his face on the crook of your neck but his hips smack with a mind of their own, messily splattering the wetness seeping from your cunt onto thighs and pelvis, grinding a little with breathy whines from his part.

you could not understand how someone could even dare cheat on Satoru with how loving he was, so sweet, and with such a fat cock, “y-you’re the best boyfriend, baby, the ah! the... the best” moans and whines leave your throat, having first hand experience in your best friend’s gestures, it was strange why his relationships didn’t last.

“y-yeah, you promise?” he sounds so cute with that breathy and pleasured voice, knowing it’s your pussy making him that drunk, seeking for a compliment you are more than willing to give, “I- ah, fuck... love... your pussy” the white haired groans on your neck, hands squeezing on your hips tighter to keep you steady as he fills and stretches your tight hole, “the best I have ever had... nghm...” that sentence being enough to push you closer to the edge, hips bucking to have his cock hit the delicious spot inside your walls.

“mngh! the best... the best...” you repeat, lover, friend, fuck, who cares, fucked too good to even make up your own emotions.

[exodiam]

“happy father’s day,” you murmur, slipping your arms around gojo’s waist from behind.

he’s halfway through shoveling a spoonful of strawberry ice cream into his mouth and pauses mid-bite.

“huh?” he mumbles, turning slightly in your arms with a mouthful and furrowed brow. “baby, you know we don’t have kids, right? unless you’ve been hiding a baby somewhere i don’t know about?”

you roll your eyes. “i know, dumbass.”

he pouts. “so why’re you saying—”

you just point with your chin across the courtyard.

he follows your gaze.

there, lounging like a band of chaotic little gremlins, are yuuji, megumi, and nobara, bickering over popsicle flavors. maki’s sitting on the bench beside them, trying not to smile as panda pokes fun at toge for something, who just responds with a flat “salmon.”

satoru looks, then looks again.

then his eyes widen behind his sunglasses, lips parting just slightly. “oh.”

you nod. “yeah.”

he turns fully in your arms, ice cream long forgotten, the softest smile blooming across his face—bright and fond and achingly proud.

“they’re kids,” he says quietly, “they’re my little kids.”

“exactly,” you say, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “you taught them how to fight, how to survive. how to live. they’re still here because of you.”

he blinks a few times. doesn’t say anything.

just watches as yuuji leans back and laughs so hard he nearly tips over, megumi catching him by the collar without looking. nobara shoves them both and gets dragged into the pile.

maki shakes her head. panda sighs. toge just laughs.

a tiny, watery chuckle escapes satoru’s chest.

you nudge him gently. “you’re not just their sensei. you’re their… you know. their person.”

he leans into your forehead and breathes in slow. “you’re gonna make me cry,” he says, voice cracking a little.

“good,” you smile, wiping under his glasses.

he kisses you, sweet and slow, and then pulls back to yell at the kids, voice suddenly obnoxiously loud—

“hey! none of you got me a card?! what kind of disrespect—megumi, stop pretending you don’t care, you’re my grumpy little son—”

megumi groans. nobara throws a napkin at him. yuuji waves enthusiastically and screams, “HAPPY DAD’S DAY, SENSEI!”

and gojo beams so hard it looks like the sun broke loose from the sky and settled in his chest.

tori’s notes ᝰ.ᐟ i guess i’m a little late but happy father’s day gojo!! ily pls come back home

[exodiam]

★ asking roommate!sukuna if you can sleep with him because you’re scared

“no.”

the door slams in your face, grazing your nose ever so slightly. you don’t know what you were expecting when you knocked at 2am — maybe you weren’t thinking at all. the booming thunder outside was dizzying and your feet raced you out of your room and down the hall in record speed before you could even process the rattling of your bones. 

you knock again. the door swings open. he is not happy. 

sukuna’s sporting a scowl, piercings glinting from the hallway light, as he glares down at you. he’s shirtless and wearing boxers that hang low on his hips, revealing sharp angles and thick lines of ink. on any other occasion, you would have swooned to yourself but now’s not the time. 

“please, s’kuna. i can’t sleep on my own like this.”

his brow quirks up. “and that’s my problem because?”

fuck. 

he’s not listening. you can’t even blame him — it’s late and he’s already warned you he’s not the sweet type, that you shouldn’t treat him like a boyfriend, and he doesn’t cuddle so unless you’re up for spreading your legs, you should keep your distance. but you thought since you guys have been having dinner together, going out for errands, and even building inside jokes that he might feel inclined to do you a little favour. 

“y-yeah, you’re right. sorry.” you jolt when the next rumble sends the apartment swaying. “oh! fuck. just…sorry. night.”

scrambling back, you clutch yourself tight, resenting the shudders running through you, like the storm has wormed its way in and is eating you from the inside. 

“ah!”

two huge arms wrap around you, lifting you up, back, and tossing you onto a bed. you bounce once. twice. sukuna makes an exasperated noise and runs his hand through his hair. “you’re an annoying little shit. you better not snore or i’m kicking you out.”

then, he’s climbing in behind you, lying on his stomach, faced buried in his pillow and paying you no mind. you’re in his bed like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like you’ve been here before and will be again. it did occur to you that things might get awkward, but the way he’s not even the slightest bit tense and letting you hike up the covers over both of you even though he runs hot tells a different story. 

minutes pass by, you still can’t sleep. the storm is suffocating. just as your eyes flutter shut, a flash of lightning breaches the blanket of his curtains and a fierce roaring follows shortly after, shaking the bed frame. shit.

“quit shivering. can’t fucking sleep when you’re on vibration mode.”

“sorry.”

he opens one eye to judge you. “you scared of a little thunder? embarrassing.”

“yeah.”

grunting, he mutters something, as if scolding himself and throws an arm around you. sukuna rolls you two over so he’s on his back and you’re on his chest. he’s warm and hardened with muscles, yet you melt into him as if he’s a teddy bear. he smells nice too. 

you’re rendered confused, unable to reconcile his actions with the relevance to anything that had transpired in the last ten minutes. but…you hear it. or rather, you don’t. his body is shielding you from the sounds outside, distracting your senses with the feel of him, bare, against you. the thunders are washed away by the beating of something inside his chest.

quietly, you quip, feeling the need to cover up the heat rising to your cheeks, “i didn’t know you had a heart.”

sukuna scoffs. “yeah, neither. now shut up, don’t want to deal with your grumpy ass in the morning.”

maybe you are closer than you thought. though you won’t bring that up to him, knowing how defensive he gets. unspoken and subtle, you’re content with the way he shows his loyalty. it’s sincere and consistent and that’s all that matters.

so, you find yourself falling asleep dreaming of a fire engulfing you, drowning all else away, and laying a gentle kiss on your head. 

[exodiam]

nerd!gojo ‘accidentally’ sending you nudes ♡ྀི .

it’s become a bit of a habit for nerd!gojo when he finds himself late at night with you on his mind, gently pumping his cock at your instagram posts where you’re showing a little too much skin. he gets an idea into his head, one influenced by his horniness as he snaps a photo of his hardened cock, his fist gripping it’s base and his mushroom tip pretty and pink with leaking pre cum. he’ll always follow it with a message that usually reads ‘oopsie, didn’t mean to send that’ and he can’t help but smirk at the grey typing bubble from you that keeps appearing and disappearing. what he especially loves is when you do decide to entertain these shenanigans of his, sending back an explicit picture of your own that has gojo’s cock throbbing with excitement as he bites the bottom of his lip, a cheeky smirk making way onto his face as he pumps his eager cock at your naked form. but your reply after is what has him the most, his cheeks flushing a cherry at the message that reads: ‘you definitely meant to send that, you liar.’

[exodiam]

content warnings: incest + intoxication (and therefore dubcon). female reader.

satoru doesn't shy away from the fact that he's your brother in the slightest. in fact, you'd bet on the notion that he's turned on by the intimacy that only a brother-sister relationship could bring to the bedroom.

it's one thing for him to throw a party while your parents are away for the weekend and fuck any of the many drunk girls that'll be throwing themselves at him. but it's another thing to intentionally keep you at home so that he can dose you up on drinks and have his way with you in the bedroom you used to kick him out of as a moody teenager.

you had wanted to go out with some friends and avoid the noise of toru's house party. you'd even gone as far as to make plans, dress up real nice and bid your brother goodbye with a kiss on the cheek. but of course he came up with an excuse to keep you in.

"you're my responsibility," he says, despite your being an adult. "i can't take care of you if you're whoring yourself out in some dank bar now, can i, sis?"

that earns him a slap across the cheek, which he likes all too much. the feeling of your skin against his, even when hitting him, has his cock stirring needy in his pants already. he can't wait to see how handsy you get once he's gotten a few drinks in you.

you've explored eachother before. stupid late movie nights when a sex scene has come on and you've grown a little too curious about the growing boner satoru was sporting has lead to a few handjobs in your relationship, but you've never gone further than hands.

and making out, though satoru insists that a kiss is a kiss regardless of it being on the lips or cheek, and an older brother has every right to kiss his little sister. it's a healthy display of affection, after all.

though of course never in front of others. which makes it very difficult for satoru to keep you away from prying eyes once the party kicks into full swing and he's managed maybe one-too-many drinks in your system. you're practically grinding on him, and in the dim light satoru can't see much of you, but he can feel your ass against his dick and that is more than enough incentive to make a poor judgement call and drag you up to your bedroom.

your brother fucks you for the first time that night. he locks the door behind the two of you and lays you down on your bed and eats you out until his jaw is clicking. you're so wet for him in a way that you could never be for anyone else. he knows you'd never spread your legs like this for any of the men that were eyeing you downstairs, because they're not him.

and once you've cum twice against his eager tongue he flips you over and presses your face into the pillows so he can fuck you deep. he loves you in more ways than one: in the brotherly way that has him scolding you for wearing a dress so short, were you trying to get someone's attention? but also in the way of a lover, which makes him so fucking excited to finally be sinking into your slick pussy that not even five strokes in, your brother is emptying his balls inside of you.

it's embarrassing as fuck! still high on the experience though, he keeps fucking his softening cock into you... feeding you inch by inch of his dick until you're such a drunk babbling mess that his body has no other viable natural reaction than to get hard all over again.

and as satoru hopes you're drunk enough to forget just how quick he came... you're hoping he doesn't find out that you didn't drink a drop! so what if you just wanted an excuse to act out of line, satoru's baby sister gets what she wants. :)

[exodiam]

BLOODLINE

───✦ DILF! GOJO X READER

♡ summary: sure, the food looked good, but you were eyeing a completely different meal. good thing satoru is always happy to serve! p1

♡ wc: 6.2k

♡ content warnings: fem! babysitter! reader, dilf! older! gojo, age gap, groping, best friends brother (bfb), divorced, babysitting, mention of kids, breéding kink, big díck gojo, mating press, reader is down bad, meeting family, overstim, unprotected, water guns, hot tub, multiple rounds implied, established relationship, p in v, creampíes, praise. this is p2; however, this can be read separately.

♡ a/n: happy 1k!!! ヾ( ˃ᴗ˂ )◞ -`♡´-

The summer heat pressed down like a thick blanket, the kind that made the air hum and your skin prickle the second you stepped outside. But the smell of sizzling ribs and chlorine from the pool brought it all back— sticky-sweet childhood summers when you were younger. When Satoru was just your best friend’s annoyingly hot older brother.  

Now?  

Now, he was leaning over the grill, his white hair pushed back with a careless hand, his broad shoulders emphasized by the floral patterns of his Hawaiian shirt. Fatherhood had softened him in some places, the curve of his waist where your hands fit just right. He turned, catching you staring, and flashed you that famous million-dollar smile. “Took you long enough.”  

You adjusted your hoop earrings—the ones he’d picked out a few months ago. You walked over, the grass warm under your sandals. “Had to make sure I looked good for your little fan club.” You nodded toward his aunties and cousins sipping wine coolers under the umbrella.  

He huffed a laugh, swiping a thumb over the condensation of his pop before pressing it to the back of your neck. You gasped at the cold, but his hand lingered, rough and warm.  

“They ain’t the ones I’m tryna impress,” he murmured. You scoffed, wiping the water from off of the can off of your neck. His arms found their way around your waist, pulling you into a kiss. He smelled like meat and charcoal. You stepped back, smoothing your skirt as the heat from his touch lingered longer than you’d admit. Satoru’s eyes flicked down, shameless and smug, before he reached out and pulled you into him, just enough for a hug. Not one of those awkward side things, either. Full arms. Real warm. Real secure. His palm flattened between your shoulders, the other sliding briefly down your back before letting go. He kissed your cheek, right near the edge of your jaw. A blink-and-you-miss-it thing. Quick. Careful. Nevertheless, it still had your stomach flipping.

“That’s all I get?” you murmured, pretending to pout.

His grin was slow. “Tryna behave, baby. Kids around.”

You glanced at the little cousins running around with water guns and sticky red fingers, then back at him. “For once.”

He held his hands up like he deserved a medal. “Personal.”

You snorted and stepped away, catching your reflection in the glass door for a second as you adjusted your hoops. 

“Gonna go say hey,” you said, nodding toward the circle of lawn chairs where the aunties and older cousins were parked with drinks and gossip.

Satoru smirked, flipping the patty with one hand. “Good luck.”

“I don’t need luck. I already know half of them.”

“Exactly. That’s why I said good luck.”

You shook your head and walked off, your sandals making soft thuds against the patio stone. The sun was beating down, catching on your skin in a way that made you feel a little glossy, like you’d been kissed by heat instead of just surviving it. Your shoulders rolled back naturally, not on purpose, but you knew how to move when people were watching. Especially his people.

“There she is!” someone called out, loud and sweet.

You smiled before you even saw who it was. Mari, Satoru’s cousin on his dad’s side. She stood up and pulled you into a quick hug, plastic cup in one hand, acrylics catching the light like little prisms. “Girl, you look cute. That outfit? Adorable. Make sure to send me where you got that top,” she whistled, getting easily distracted as one of the kids hit their uncle with a water gun. 

“Ohhh, is that who I think it is?” one of the aunties said, voice lilting with curiosity.

You smiled respectfully. “Hi, long time.”

“Mhm, very long,” another said, tilting her sunglasses to get a better look at you. “You’ve grown up, haven’t you?”

“Trying to,” you said, the corner of your mouth pulling up. “It’s really good to see everyone.”

Mari gave you a once-over—not shady, just thorough, like cousins do. “Last time we saw you, Sae was hopping between you and Veronica,” she laughed, reminiscing at his birthday party. 

A few of them laughed, and you smiled with a small shake of your head. “That was some time ago,”

“C’mon, take a seat, it's too hot to be standing around.” Mari patted down on the seat next to him, facing the pool. It was far enough away not to be in the range of water. You smiled, taking a seat, knowing what this trap entailed. 

You barely sat down before Mari smirked over her wine cooler. “So. You and Satoru, huh?"

You took the drink she offered. “Yeah."

Auntie Lynn—who was really just Utahime’s 34-year-old cousin—nearly choked on her wine cooler. "Oh, we definitely need to hear this."

You shrugged, playing it cool. “Ain’t much to tell. He needed a babysitter. I needed a job. Then one day it just clicked.” You summarized not giving too much to run with. 

“And the rest is biblical." Mari finished, cackling.  

You tipped your can at her. “Exactly."

Mari fake-gagged. “Ugh. Y’all are disgusting now."

You lifted your drink in salute. “Gotta give the people what they want.”

Auntie Lynn leaned over from her lawn chair, her sunglasses pushed halfway down her nose. “And now he's a family man with matching slides.” 

“Mmm,” Mari hummed like a warning, sipping her wine cooler. “They don’t need encouragement.”

You just smiled, easily. “Ask him, not me. I was minding my business.”

“Sure,” Utahime said behind you, her voice bone-dry. “That’s what you call it.”

You turned just in time for her to slide into the open seat next to you, elbow knocking against yours like muscle memory. Her hair was piled high and pinned with a claw clip that was definitely more for aesthetics than hold. She glanced at your half-finished drink and took a sip like it was hers.

“This is gross,” she said.

You shrugged. “That’s why I gave it to you.”

She huffed and stretched her legs out, resting her ankles on the edge of Mari’s chair without asking. “You look good. That skirt is doing numbers.”

“You helped me pick it.”

“And I take full credit,” she said. “You’re lucky I like you, walking around here in that little cardigan like you’re not corrupting the family function.”

“Corrupting?” Mari raised a brow. “You see how he looked at her?”

Utahime grinned, devil in her molars. “Like he’s tryna figure out if the grill’s hot enough to sear his sins away.”

You groaned. “Can y’all let me live?”

“No,” they said in unison, and honestly, you walked into that one.

The sun had started to dip just slightly, the heat easing from sharp to slow-baked. Someone’s uncle had taken over the grill now, moving with the solemn concentration of a man who believed turning ribs too early was a moral failing. The smell of it drifted over everything—sweet smoke, char, the kind of heat-kissed glaze that clung to your throat even before the first bite.

You stood eventually, pulled by instinct more than anything, and wandered toward the long table by the house. A makeshift buffet had taken shape—foil-covered pans, heavy with good intentions. You peeled one back, letting the steam hit your face. The mac and cheese had that kind of top you had to break through—baked golden, speckled with edges just this side of burnt. A scoop of potato salad waited in the corner, yellow and thick like someone’s auntie refused to measure a single thing. You grabbed a plate and filled it like you’d been here before, because you had. Long enough to know which dishes were made by people who used their elbow to stir and which ones came from store-bought containers, and shame.

Sae padded up beside you on unsteady legs, one hand gripping the hem of your skirt.

“Hungry?” you asked, already bending to scoop him into your hip. His curls were soft with leftover sunscreen, and he smelled like chlorine and apple juice.

He nodded solemnly, sticking two fingers in his mouth. “’Keese?”

You blinked. “Cheese?”

He smacked his lips. “Mmm.”

You fixed him a little plate, half mac, half string beans, soft enough to mush with a plastic fork. He leaned into you while you fed him, opening his mouth like a baby bird and humming after every bite.

“That’s my boy,” Satoru called, sauntering over, all proud grins and sun-tanned forearms. He had barbecue sauce on his knuckles and a smudge on his cheek that made him look too good for your own peace of mind.

“Your boy just betrayed you,” you said. “He asked me for mac and cheese.”

“Traitor,” he said, leaning down to kiss Sae’s forehead anyway. “A soft little backstabber.”

Sae giggled, crumbs around his mouth.

“Don’t worry,” Utahime said, appearing at your other side with a water balloon in hand. “I’m gonna make sure he earns his redemption arc.”

You glanced at her. “You’re not.”

“Oh, I am,” she said, crouching to meet Sae at eye level. “Listen here, tiny menace. You see your daddy?”

Sae looked over.

“Throw this at him.”

She held out the balloon like it was a sacred relic.

Sae’s fingers closed around it, and he gasped like it was treasure.

You sighed. “I’m not going to be the one explaining this to Satoru when he gets soaked.”

“I am,” Utahime said cheerfully. “With evidence. And probably more balloons.”

Before you could stop him, Sae charged forward on his little legs and—miraculously—threw it almost directly at Satoru’s shins. The splash was glorious.

Satoru jumped. “What the-!”

Utahime was already keeled over laughing. “Get his other leg, baby! He’s limping!”

“You’re evil,” you told her.

“Excuse me,” she said between cackles, “I’m building the next generation.”

But you were too busy laughing, shoulders shaking, one hand on your hip as you wiped Sae’s hands clean.

It wasn’t long before the music picked up again. Something familiar, something loud enough to make people rise without thinking.

‘The Wobble’ came on like a spell, and suddenly the lawn was a dance floor.

You saw the signs before it hit—someone shouting “Ayeeee!”, a chair tipping over, a beer can abandoned mid-sip. And in the middle of it all, Satoru stretched like he’d just clocked into work.

You watched him ease into the groove, shoulders swaying, his hips keeping perfect time. It wasn’t even cocky, not at first—just smooth. Like his body remembered the beat before his mind caught up. A little shoulder roll. A perfectly timed pivot. He knew the steps, sure. But he made them look good.

Your cheeks hurt from smiling.

Utahime elbowed you. “Go. He’s showing off.”

You laughed, already stepping into the grass. “He’s about to be real mad when I outdance him.”

He caught your hand just as you joined him, spinning you in like you were a part of the beat. People whistled. His palm skimmed the small of your back. You rolled your hips, shoulders snapping to the left, then the right. He kept pace easily, one hand warm at your waist, the other pointing at you dramatically like the two of you were the only ones there.

Your breath was quick when the song ended, and so was his.

“Still think you can lead?” you asked.

He gave you that grin—the slow, corner-of-the-mouth one. “Only if you let me follow sometimes.”

You rolled your eyes before getting distracted by a group of kids screaming and ducking behind pool floaties like it was warfare. You barely had time to lean back before—

SMACK.

Cold.

Soaking wet.

You looked down. A balloon had exploded right at your hip, drenching your skirt and the edge of your cardigan. You blinked, and across the yard, one of Satoru’s cousins—maybe eight, maybe demon—froze mid-laugh, realizing they’d missed their target.

“My bad!” the kid yelled. “I was aiming for Uncle Satoru!”

You stood slowly, peeling wet fabric from your thigh. “Oh, I know.”

Satoru was already grinning, leaning over to snag a towel off the patio railing. “Looks like you gotta change, sweetheart.”

You narrowed your eyes. “I’m starting to think you planned this.”

He handed you the towel and lowered his voice. “If I had planned it, you wouldn’t be coming back down.”

You sucked your teeth and turned away before your smile gave you away, making your way into the house. 

The house was mostly quiet—cooler inside, humming with the low buzz of central air and the faint echo of music filtering in from the yard. You kicked off your shoes near the mat. Your tube top had lost the fight too, clinging heavy with cold water and humiliation. Upstairs, the bedroom was dim and cool, the curtains drawn just enough to let the sun slant through in ribbons. Cool to the touch. You peeled off the ruined outfit, tossing the soaked clothes into the clothing bin. 

You could still hear Utahime laughing through the window. Opening the drawer for something else to wear, muttering, “This is why I don’t play with children.” You dug around until your fingers closed around what you were looking for. 

The dress was still folded like a secret between your numerous tank tops and shirts. After drying off, you pulled it over your body, slow, careful. It hugged like it knew you. You adjusted the neckline, turned in the mirror, and pulled your thankfully dry cardigan over your arms. You gave yourself one last look. Head high. Lip gloss still intact. 

The air was thicker now, lazy with smoke and sun. You heard the music first—Return of the Mack this time, someone’s uncle shouting “Ayyye!” like it was his wedding day again. Then came the sharp whistle.

“Y’all. Look who just had a whole transformation!”

You glanced over.

Mari had turned around fully in her lawn chair, oversized sunglasses halfway down her nose, drink sloshing in one hand.

“Okay, body,” she said, real loud, real shameless. “Tell the truth, you went inside and steamed that dress first.”

You laughed, but your face burned. “I got ambushed with a water balloon!”

“That’s what they’re calling it now?” said one of the older cousins—Maya, you thought, sipping on a melted pina colada slushie. “Auntie Lynn said Satoru’s aim’s been off since you got here.”

You gave a tight smile and made your way back toward the chairs, past where a few little kids were crouched behind lawn chairs plotting revenge, and Mari was waving you over like she couldn’t stand being right.

“Listen, we knew you were cute,” Mari said, patting the seat next to her, “but I didn’t realize you were stepping out here looking like that.”

“It was supposed to be backup clothes,” you said, smoothing your cardigan over your arms. “Not a runway.”

“Please. This is exactly why Satoru grilled the ribs like his life depended on it. He’s trying to husband you.”

Mari, still sipping her pink drink, chimed in. “And it’s working.”

“Mmmhmm,” said another auntie—one you hadn’t met properly yet, but she looked like she had known Satoru before he started wearing Digimon pajamas. “He ain’t grilled like that since Sae’s birthday. That was the last time she came over, too, huh?”

“Don’t start conspiracies,” you said, trying to hide your smile. “Y’all worse than the blogs.”

“Baby, the blogs wish they had our sources,” Maya said. “We've been watching Gojo men fall in love since ’87.”

“Every single one,” Mari nodded solemnly. “Started with the ribs. Ended with matching pajamas by Christmas.”

“Oh, look who finally came down dressed like she’s about to steal someone’s man,” Utahime said, coming to take a peek at what you changed into. 

You laughed. “Girl, please. I already did.”

Sae immediately dropped the water gun and waddled over to you, arms lifted. “Up!”

You picked him up again, letting his forehead rest against your shoulder as he patted your chest like he was proud of you. You smoothed his curls back gently, bouncing him on your hip.

“Utahime,” you said, “you cannot weaponize this child just to bully his father.”

“He deserves it. He told everyone at work that I ate Lunchables for dinner.”

“You do eat Lunchables for dinner.”

“Not the point.”

She took a sip of her drink, leaned over to tickle Sae’s foot, and then raised an eyebrow at your outfit. “This dress is trouble. Let me guess—Skims?”

You smirked. “Black maxi. Soft lounge.”

“God help us all,” she muttered. “Satoru’s about to forget his son’s name.”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks heating. No need getting shy now, it's not like he hasn't seen the dress before. 

Utahime leaned in. “You’re lucky I love you. If I didn’t, I’d fight you and that dress.”

You laughed, looking away—but then your eyes caught him. You turned with Sae still in your arms and scanned the yard. Sure enough, Satoru was posted up by the speaker now, squatting to mess with the Bluetooth. He noticed you immediately—eyes dragging from the top of your cardigan to the curve of your waist, lips twitching like he couldn’t stop the thought if he tried.

The bass buzzed through the ground as he hit a button, and the music shifted again—something slower, smoother. You recognized it on the first few beats: Can’t Get Enough by Tamia.

He turned around, caught you watching. Didn’t say anything, just smirked, “That man has been inching closer all day,” Auntie Lynn whispered beside you.

“Not y’all doing commentary,” you muttered.

Maya grinned. “You gonna get up and dance or what?”

Before you could even answer, Satoru strolled up and held his hand out—no words, just the grin and that cocky head tilt like he knew you wouldn’t say no.

“Please don’t trip,” Mari whispered like it was church.

You took his hand, handing Sae over to the impatient Utahime, heart ticking louder than the bass, and let him guide you toward the makeshift lawn dance floor. Satoru’s hand found your hand, “You always know how to make an entrance,” he said low, near your ear.

“They need to practice with Hime.”

He smiled. “Looked good wet.”

You rolled your eyes, biting your cheek. “We’re dancing. Not flirting.”

“Why not both?”

You didn’t answer. Just let him pull you in closer, following the steps with the line in front of you. The song curled around you, familiar, warm. His fingers traced circles low on your back, thumb grazing skin where your cardigan had slid a little, messing up your rhythm just a little. You were breathless. Not from the dancing. Just from him.

Just then—

Splat. 

A stream of water shot out on the lawn next to Satoru’s foot. He didn’t flinch. You jumped back with a curse.

You both looked over at the bushes where Sae and Utahime were hiding, barely. Satoru shook his head slowly, deadpan. “Betrayed. By my own blood.”

Utahime stood up, dusting off her knees. “I didn’t teach him that,” she said, grinning. “I taught him to aim. Different.”

Sae squealed and shot a second one, this one weaker, arcing and landing with soft droplets at Satoru’s feet.

“Your days are numbered,” Satoru called out, pointing at his son like he was delivering a curse.

You covered your mouth to hold in your laugh, but it escaped anyway. Sae started giggling wildly and ran straight for you, latching onto your leg like a safe zone. Utahime followed behind him with a shrug and a mischievous smirk.

By the time the sun dipped low enough to kiss the treetops, the party had started peeling off in layers—coolers closed, paper plates stacked high, lawn chairs folded with lazy thuds. Little kids, sticky and exhausted, were passed off to parents. Someone passed around the last slice of pie like it was gold.

“You sure you don’t need help cleaning up?” Mari asked, already slinging her purse over her shoulder.

“Nah,” Satoru waved her off, Sae still perched on his hip. “I got it.”

Mari gave you a look. The lingering look. The “I know what’s about to happen here” look.

You raised a brow. “What?”

She smirked. “Nothing. Just… don’t fall in the pool. That dress looks like it’d melt.”

You opened your mouth to fire back, but she was already walking away, waving dramatically over her shoulder. “Love y’all!”

You shook your head, watching as her car backed down the driveway. One by one, tail lights blinked out into the dusk.

Utahime was last. She stayed behind to help toss out juice boxes and herd kids into the right shoes, her ponytail now messy and damp with sweat.

She hugged you tightly before she left. “Text me if he gets on your nerves.”

“I’ll have you on speed dial.”

She grinned. “I got water balloons in the trunk, just say the word.”

Then she bent low, pressing a quick kiss to Sae’s chubby cheek. “Bye, little traitor. Auntie loves you.”

Sae waved a sleepy hand, half-awake against Satoru’s chest.

And then it was just the three of you. The house, quiet now except for the faint buzz of cicadas and the soft clink of bottles being gathered.

You looked around at the backyard, the scattered plastic cups and deflated balloons, the abandoned towels and water guns. It was like the air had exhaled. Satoru shifted Sae in his arms. The toddler’s eyes were barely open.

“Gonna put him down,” Satoru said softly, voice lowered like instinct. “You okay out here?”

You nodded, brushing hair out of your face. “Yeah. I’ll finish up the cups.”

He started toward the sliding door but paused, glanced back. “Hey.”

You looked up.

“You were really beautiful today.”

You blinked, a smile tugging at your mouth. “Thanks.”

“No, I mean—like, stupid beautiful,” he said, stepping backward through the doorway, still watching you. “You looked like… if I wasn’t careful, I’d mess around and fall.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “Go put your kid to bed.”

He grinned and disappeared into the house.

You finished collecting the last of the cups and wine cooler bottles, stacking them into the recycling bin by the deck. The sky was deepening into that thick purple-gray, and the first stars blinked out above the rooftops. The smell of charcoal still lingered, warm and faint and familiar.

Ten minutes later, you heard the door slide open again.

“Alright,” Satoru called, voice lower now, stripped of the daytime teasing. “Baby’s out. Long gone. Dreamin’ about mangoes or whatever.”

You turned toward the sound of his voice. He was barefoot, shirt open and hanging loose now, a towel draped over his shoulder. His chain caught the porch light. The way he was looking at you—like he still hadn’t gotten enough—made your pulse jump.

“You coming with or are you gonna leave me in there alone like some abandoned housewife?”

You snorted. “Housewife is crazy.”

“Hot tub’s on. Clean. Eucalyptus soak thing Utahime gave me. Don’t look at me like that—she said it’d help me stop smelling like daycare and tired.”

“Eucalyptus?” 

Satoru grinned. “Don’t act like you don’t like it when I’m in my spa era.”

“Gimme a sec.” You shook your head, laughing as you walked away from him. 

You slipped inside the house without waiting for a reply. Upstairs, you opened the familiar bottom drawer in his dresser—your drawer—and pulled out the bikini you kept there for pool days and last-minute sleepovers. Black, simple, but nothing modest about it. You changed quickly, tied your hair up to avoid getting wet. 

By the time you stepped outside, the sky had fully darkened. That golden-pink haze had cooled into navy blue, stars just beginning to press through the summer night. The backyard looked different in the dark, lit now by the soft uplights built into the stone, casting glows across the hedges and bouncing faintly off the water’s surface.

The hot tub steamed in the corner. Satoru was already in, arms spread over the edge. You dropped your towel on the chaise. He didn’t try to hide the way his eyes dragged over you, head tipping back for a second like he was trying to be respectful but failing anyway.

You sank into the water with a quiet sigh. Heat curled around your legs, your waist, settling under your chest as you leaned in beside him. 

“You trying to impress me?”

Satoru slipped into the hot tub with a quiet hiss. “I’ve been trying. All day.”

You stepped down after him, the warm water wrapping around your legs as you sank in. It was deeper than you expected, clean, quiet. The sound of the pool filter hummed faintly in the background. He stretched out, arms resting behind you along the edge. Your knee brushed his. Neither of you moved away.

“Bet you think this is real smooth, huh?” you asked.

“It is smooth,” he said, voice low now. “What’s not smooth is me trying to kiss you in front of Auntie Lynn while she’s holding a White Claw.”

You laughed under your breath. “She’d never let you live it down.”

“I know. That’s why I didn’t.”

He shifted closer. Your leg touched his again. This time, he kept it there.

“She kept giving me looks all day,” you said.

“Half of ‘em were for me. You should’ve seen how she grilled me before you even got there.”

You glanced over. “About what?”

He shrugged. “Whether I’m serious. Whether I’m messing with you. Whether I understand what I got.”

“And?” you asked.

Satoru looked at you for a long moment, eyes steady. “I told her I do.”

You went quiet. Not awkward—just thoughtful.

A bubble popped at the surface between you. The backyard was still, the house dark behind you, except for one lamp in the living room. The porch light glowed, soft and low.

“Told me not to mess up what I have.” He looked down at you, his cerulean eyes reflecting the crystal blue water. 

You let him hold it. Not tight. Just enough.

“Then don’t.”

He nodded. “I’m trying.”

“I see that.”

He leaned in a little, close enough to speak right near your cheek. “And you? You trying too?”

You turned your head just enough for your eyes to meet his. “I showed up, didn’t I?”

His breath caught. Not in a dramatic way, just in that shift. He reached out, thumb brushing the outside of your thigh just above the water. “You did more than show up.”

You held his gaze. Everything slowed. The candlelight flickered behind him. Somewhere inside the house, the fridge hummed, and the air conditioning clicked on. It all felt far away.

You leaned in first. Just a little mesmerized by the way his hair appeared slightly blue.

Your lips touched. Quiet. Real. Not hurried or practiced. The kind that didn’t need to be chased, because it was already there. The hot water lapped at your skin as you settled deeper into the tub, the steam curling between you and Satoru in lazy tendrils. He leaned back against the edge, arms spread wide along the rim, watching you with that slow, knowing smirk. The porch light caught the droplets clinging to his collarbones, the water making his skin glisten.

You shifted closer, your knee brushing his under the surface. His lips were warm, a little sweet from the drink he'd been nursing earlier. You sighed into it, letting yourself melt just a fraction. His fingers tightened slightly in your hair, angling your head just how he wanted it. His tongue brushed against yours, and your breath hitched. He hummed, low and pleased, like he'd been waiting for that exact reaction.

His other hand found your waist, dragging you forward until you were straddling his lap, the water sloshing around you. Your thighs bracketed his hips, the heat of him pressing against you in a way that made your head spin. You rocked forward instinctively, and his grip on your neck tightened.

"Fuck," he muttered against your lips. "Do that again." You did, slower this time, grinding down just to feel him groan. His hands slid down your back, pulling you even closer, until there was no space left between you.

His mouth moved to your jaw, then your throat, teeth grazing just enough to make you whimper. "Satoru-" His name came out breathless, half a plea, half a warning- but he only hummed against your skin, the vibration sending a shiver down your spine. His hands slid lower, fingers tracing the dip of your waist before gripping your hips, guiding your movements in slow, deliberate motions.

"That's it," he murmured, lips brushing your ear. "Just like that."

The water made everything slick, effortless-your bodies moving together in a rhythm that felt as natural as breathing. His fingers dug in just enough to leave marks, possessive in a way that made your stomach tighten. You could feel him, hard and wanting, pressed against your bikini bottoms with every roll of your hips. 

The night air was warm, but his touch was hotter. His mouth trailed lower, teeth scraping the curve of your shoulder before he sucked lightly, leaving a mark that would bloom purple by morning. You arched into him, nails scraping down his chest, and he groaned, low and rough.

"You gonna let me take care of you?" he asked, voice thick. You didn't answer- just rocked against him harder, your breath coming in short, uneven gasps. He chuckled, but it was strained, his own control fraying. The steam curled between you, thick and lazy, as Satoru's hands slid up your sides, his thumbs brushing the underside of your bikini top. His touch was deliberate, unhurried-like he was savoring the way your breath hitched when he traced the edge of the fabric.

"You always wear this damn thing just to torture me," he murmured, lips grazing the shell of your ear. His voice was rough, but his fingers were slow, teasing the tie at the back of your neck.

You arched into him, water sloshing as your hips pressed against his. "Maybe I just like watching you try to behave."

He huffed a laugh, warm against your throat.

"Yeah? How am I doing?"

"Horrible."

His teeth caught your earlobe, sharp enough to make you gasp. "Guess we’ll have to change that."

The knot gave way under his fingers, and the fabric loosened, slipping down just enough to bare your skin to the night air. He didn't pull it off- just let it hang there, his knuckles brushing the swell of your breasts as he palmed you through the damp material. His touch was firm, possessive, but not rushed. Like he knew exactly how much you could take before either of you broke. 

You rocked against him again, and this time, his grip tightened, holding you still. "Patience," he chided, voice low. His other hand slid into your hair, fisting just enough to tilt your head back.

"You're always in such a hurry."

The water made everything slick, his skin hot where it pressed against yours. You could feel the way his breath stuttered when you rolled your hips, the way his fingers flexed against your waist. 

His mouth found yours again, hungry this time. You moaned into it, and he swallowed the sound, his hand sliding from your hair to your throat, thumb pressing just under your jaw. Not hard. Just enough to make you feel it.

"You're so fucking pretty like this," he muttered against your mouth. His other hand finally tugged the bikini top free, letting it float away in the water. His palm skimmed up your ribs, calloused and warm, before cupping your breast, his thumb circling your nipple in slow, maddening strokes. You whimpered, arching into his touch, but he held you firm, his grip just shy of rough.

His lips trailed down your throat, sucking a mark into the tender skin above your collarbone. "Just let me take my time."

The water lapped at your waist, the heat of it nothing compared to the way his hands burned against you. His mouth moved lower, teeth scraping over your nipple before he took it into his mouth, hot and wet and perfect. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging, and he groaned, the vibration sending a shock of pleasure straight to your core.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark, his lips swollen from kissing. "Am I good enough for you now?” 

__

The sheets were soaked beneath you, twisted and damp with sweat, your thighs trembling as Satoru pulled back, deliberate-only to slam back into you with enough force to knock the breath from your lungs. His pelvis ground against your ass, the impact sending a shockwave of pleasure up your spine, your fingers clawing at the mattress for purchase.

"You're so perfect—" your voice was wrecked, raw with need, his hand pressing into the small of your back, forcing your spine into a sharper arch. The angle made him impossibly deeper, his cock stretching you so full you could feel every thick inch, the swollen head of him dragging against that sweet, spongy spot inside you with every thrust.

Your cunt clenched around him, greedy, needy, as if your body was desperate to keep him buried inside you forever. A broken moan tore from your throat as he groaned your name, the sound rough and filthy, vibrating through your skin like a live wire.

"That's it," he growled, his free hand sliding around to your clit, fingers rubbing rough, relentless circles just the way you liked. His touch was electric, sending sparks skittering up your nerves, your hips jerking against his hand as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your gut. "We were made for each other, baby."

He was right, so right.

Your body knew it, your cunt pulsing around him in frantic little flutters, your thighs shaking as he fucked into you with deep, punishing strokes. The slap of skin on skin was obscenely loud in the dim room, the wet, slick sounds of him driving into you only making you hotter, your cheeks burning with the knowledge of just how messy you were for him.

"Gonna come?" His voice was rough, his fingers working your clit faster, his thrusts turning sharper, more erratic. "Do it. I'm all here for you." 

You shattered.

Your orgasm ripped through you like a lightning strike, your back bowing off the bed as you screamed his name, your walls clamping down around him in desperate, rhythmic pulses. He didn't stop-just kept pounding into you, chasing his own release, his grip on your hip bruising as he fucked you through it, his breath hot against your ear.

"One more," he demanded, his thrusts turning sloppy, his cock twitching inside you. "Give me one more—"

You sobbed, oversensitive, your body trembling from the sheer overload of sensation-but you obeyed. Another wave crashed over you, weaker but no less intense, your cunt fluttering around him as he groaned, his hips stuttering before he finally pulled out-just enough to spill hot and thick over your ass, his cum painting your skin in sticky, glistening stripes.

For a second, the only sounds were your ragged breathing and the wet drip of his release sliding down your thighs. A small, shameful part of you ached with the loss of him, wishing he hadn't pulled out, wishing he'd taken the risk, fucked a baby into you, marked you in a way that lasted. 

He didn't give you time to breathe. One second, you were gasping beneath him, his cum cooling on your skin-the next, he was hauling your legs over his shoulders, his cock sliding back inside with a filthy, wet slurp, your spent cunt still fluttering around him.

"Fuck," you whimpered, your back arching off the bed as he bottomed out, his pelvis grinding against your oversensitive clit. The pleasure was almost too much, your nerves alight, your body still thrumming from your last orgasm.

"Look at you," he murmured, his blue eyes dark with hunger as he loomed over you, his white hair sticking to his forehead with sweat. His biceps flexed as he braced himself above you, his chest heaving, his abs taut with the effort of holding back. "Taking me so good."

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue sliding against yours as he started moving again, slow, deep, each thrust dragging against your walls in a way that had your toes curling.

"Love you," he breathed, his forehead pressed to yours, his hips never stopping. "Fuck-love you so much."

The words wrecked you.

Not just because of the way he said them-fervent, desperate, like they'd been clawed out of him-but because of the way his hands cradled your face, the way his thrusts turned almost reverent, like he was trying to brand himself into you.

You came again, sobbing, your nails raking down his back as pleasure tore through you, your cunt milking him in helpless little pulses.

You were ruined. By the 3rd time your thighs were sticky, your cunt aching, your lips swollen from kissing. But Satoru wasn't done. He rolled you onto your side, pulling you back against his chest, his cock already hard again as he slid inside from behind.

"Last one," he promised-for the fifth time-his teeth scraping your shoulder as his hand slid between your thighs, his fingers finding your sensitive clit. "Stay with me."

You did.

You always would.

♡ gojopied ©2025 do not copy, edit, plagiarize, put into AI, repost, or translate any of my work.

[exodiam]

I love emooos!!

[exodiam]

Type Dangerous - R.S.

Synopsis. Five times Ryomen Sukuna’s “wingmanning” family is the biggest cóckbIock in existence, and the one time he finally gets what he wants - you, his nephew’s hot preschool teacher.

Pairing. Ryomen Sukuna x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem!teacher!reader, 5 + 1 things, Itadori family shenanigans, unckuna, he has the BIGGEST crush on you, making him blush, face-ríding, síxty-nine, Sukuna with tattoos, PÚSSYDRÚNK Sukuna, he goes feraI, p sIapping, p talking, he’s BIG, chokíng, tummy buIges, manhandIing, dúmbifícation, creampíes, through pantíes, cúmplay, slight bréeding, getting together, nosy families, lowkey crackfic, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 12.6k

A/N. HEHE TOLD Y’ALL I’D WRITE IT…

“This is my uncle, he just got out of jail.”

“Hell yeah.” Not the most courteous introduction to Yuji’s wide-eyed lil’ friends - but if Jin had bugged n’ blackmailed him into picking the brat up from preschool today then he was going to make sure it never happens again.

And as Yuji starts swinging from Sukuna’s broad, beefy biceps, he grins at his miniature crowd. “He also has tattoos and likes to drink.”

“Hell yeah- don’t forget about the cars, twerp.” Sukuna’s nodding, breezing past the horrified faces of parents that tugged their children at least seven feet away. Seriously, how long was this teacher going to take? He could see your back hunched by another corner of the classroom, hugging a sniffly student goodbye.

“Oh yeah- and he likes driving fast and slashing tires.”

You straighten, probably hearing every word - not that he cared, Sukuna couldn’t imagine who’d want to be around this all day. “Hell ye- oh.”

Until you turned his way.

And Ryomen Sukuna feels his heart drop- right along with the muscular right arm that was stuck out for Yuji to climb all over like a handlebar. And with it, his nephew. 

Who seems quite disgruntled at his sudden meeting with the soft, padded floor of the preschool classroom, standing on his own two feet for the first time since Sukuna had arrived here. He furrows his light brows, “Hey- wha’s the big- oh! Teacher!”

Seems like it runs in the family, Sukuna muses - because all it takes is one glimpse of you starting to head their way before Yuji lights up as brightly as the Sun itself. And to Sukuna, whose nephew was a perpetual Christmas tree, it almost made him wish he wore his usual shades.

At least that would’ve hid the way his crimson eyes sweep up n’ down your figure, languidly. Breath stuttered, mouth partly agape. 

Sukuna’s utterly forgetting himself before he’s called out by one of Yuji’s friends- a squeaky, orange-haired girl no older than five. “Ewwww- why are you red?”

“Shut it, bob-cut.”

“So—” Perfect timing, you sidle up to the bustling little group right as Sukuna spits out the tail end of his sentence. A brow of yours raised, bob-cut? 

And oh- you’re even more perfect up close. Is it really too late for him to enroll in preschool? He didn’t see any age restrictions around, and he could count till ten, surely. Genuinely considering, he’s gulping at the way your pretty eyes narrow. “Jin’s not here today? Yuji, do you know this man?”

The boy in question bounces with excitement, “Of course! This is Sukuna, my uncle who just got out of jail and drives fast cars.”

“Ah- ahah.” Said Sukuna chuckles gingerly, eyes flitting between his beaming nephew and your blank expression. Finally settling on the kid, “Yuji! What have I told you about uh- the benefits of um- safe driving and caring for our fellow civilians on the road?”

And there was Sukuna’s first mistake - asking a question, because surely that was a sign for Yuji to nod solemnly. “That it’s for lame pussies who- mmpf!”

“Ah…” You blink.

The damage was already done- but Sukuna’s clapping a meaty palm over Yuji’s mouth already. Oh, he was smashing this kid’s iPad when they’re home. A thin line of nervous sweat beads down his temple as he stares up at you, “K-kids these days, right, ma’am?”

Yuji frowns, “But you do call them lame pussies who-”

“Yuji!”

“Right right, miss.” The lively girl from before - Kugisaki, he thinks her name was - latches onto your swaying skirts. “And he also likes to drink.”

“And slash tires.”

“Tuna mayo.” 

The crowd mercifully quietens down for a split-second. “…”

Until a grumpy black-haired boy peeks through his bangs at that last line, as if translating. “He says he also sets fires.”

Sukuna never said that - but he doesn’t get a single chance to say so. Too busy staring at the constant knit of your brows, the way your gaze was darting from the children to Sukuna like a tennis match, trying to bite back a smile. “I-is that so?”

“And he has a lotta tattoos.” Yuji pries off his uncle’s muffling palm, back to climbing him like his very own jungle gym. As if to prove his point, he pokes the bulging band of black ink that encircles Sukuna’s bicep. “See?”

And if he was any less devastated about making himself look like an absolute fool in front of his nephew’s pretty preschool teacher, then maybe he’d have noticed that look in your eyes. 

Maybe.

Maybe he’d have seen the slight glint in them as you followed Yuji’s pudgy, directing finger - from the wide tattoos at his biceps, to his wrist, to the circles peeking through Sukuna’s off-white undershirt. So tight that it was like the pale color was nearly painted onto him- if Itadori Jin was the sweet, soft single dad that was always early for pick-up, then Sukuna was just rugged. 

From the dishevelled state of his twinning rosy hair, to the studded piercing on his left earlobe, to the naturally-honed muscles that made him look hulking.

And it almost seemed like you were…checking him out? But surely that was a figment of Sukuna’s imagination, right? Right?

You’re nodding as Yuji looks to you impatiently for approval, “Why, you’re quite right, Yuji.” The corners of your glossed lips curl upwards as you turn to Sukuna - and he feels electricity pang down his body. “Uncles these days, huh?”

Ah, he was gone for. 

It was almost a comical sight, you’re thinking - such a large, towering man well over six feet, speechlessly gawking at you. Leaned forwards, ears red; barely even registering the way his nephew grabs onto the tufts of his coral pink hair like a horse- whispering for the rest of his friends to join in.

Kugisaki makes two treks grabbing onto his sides before she’s looking up and crinkling her nose, “Ew. You’re red again, Mr. Felon.”

“He’s not Mr. Felon, he’s Mr. Tire-slasher.”

Yuji shakes his head, “No, he’s Mr. Mugshot.” Seated upon Sukuna’s broad shoulders, the boy adjusts his body to stick a hand inside his backpack and search. “Would you like to see the mugshot, miss-”

“Okay, time for us to get home.” 

Firmly, Sukuna tries to shoo away the army of toddlers trying to climb him as gently as possible - only four glares, now that’s a record. Nephew still on his back, bag now wrestled into his hand and well away from where Yuji could procure any printouts of his (admittedly flattering) mugshot. 

He’s feeling his heartbeat pick up just a lil’ as he darts his eyes back to you, “I-it was just probation, by the way. Happened to slash some uh- tires…” 

“And also drive fast!” Yuji pipes up happily.

“…That too.” Grouchy face wincing at the amused smile on your face- goddammit he’s never going to be able to show his face here ever again. Sukuna simpers out a wave, making sure to flex his chiseled biceps at you ever-so-slightly - if he couldn’t keep reputation, at least he could make you stare. “See you ‘round, teach.”

“See you around, Mr. Mugshot.”

Fuck. 

.

.

.

“I thought I said I’m not doing shit for the brat’s school again.” 

Jin patiently gestures for him to hush with the swearing in front of the gaggle of children, humming as he keeps handing out sugar cookies - half-off for dealing with Sukuna’s shoddy customer service. “Well, technically, we’re not in the preschool. We’re in the park.”

His younger brother seethes, flicking the ribbons of his pretty pink apron (Jin’s doing, of course.) “Having a damn bake sale-”

“Shush, Ryo. There are children around.”

“Exactly my point!” Was Sukuna the crazy one? He must be the crazy one. And he’s running a grumpy hand through his unruly pink locks- before remembering that one of those damn kids running around this bake sale had called him cotton-candy head and now he’s both irritated and unable to self-soothe.

It’d been Jin’s idea to drag him to the preschool bake sale, held at the nearby children’s park- something about raising money for a talent show.

Honestly, fuck talent shows. It didn’t even take two minutes surrounded by all the fanfare for him to have half the mind to eat those sweet treats himself and just leave-

“Oh hey, you’re Mr. Mugshot.” A little boy wearing a panda mask, one he’s never even seen before, points up at him and giggles as Sukuna glares. Did that nickname really spread?

He’s bending over their frilly pink stall with a damn good word or two about-

“Oh! Jin, thank you for coming.” Before he’s hearing the sound of the pearly gates of heaven, and an angel to accompany right along with it. You. Who’d silently meandered up to their cookie stand with an expression of both delight and concern. Your gorgeous mouth pursing as you stop to think, “And…Sukuna, right? Thank you, too, the children really appreciate the work you’re putting in.”

You remembered his name. He has to hold back a squeal. 

“A-ah, yeah- yeah! Of course, of course.” He’s swiftly leaning over the stall, arms crossed so that you can fully take in the way they streeetch his tight sleeveless turtleneck. 

In the faint distance - honestly, it feels like miles away - he’s hearing the panda-mask boy unsubtly whisper something to his father about how ‘Mr. Mugshot has turned red.’ 

Not! Obviously not- smooth. Ryomen Sukuna is supposed to be smooth, and he’s desperately attacking his features into something that resembles suave nonchalance. “I’m a…real philanthropic type of guy, y’know?” Cocking his head with a smug grin, “So, you come ‘round here often?”

You’re smirking, your giggle sounding like his favorite song. “Well, it is my preschool class.”

Ah, shit. His eyes widen just a fraction, right. 

Scoffing, “Tch, uh, yeah. I knew that.”

So many days spent mentally praying that yet another one of Jin’s work meetings went over time again - just so that Sukuna would have an excuse to see your pretty face. And that’s the first thing he says?

Suddenly, he’s too aware of the ogling toddlers, of the snug pink apron that he was currently donning - and the way your eyes seem to stray down to the gaudy bow settled between his pecs.

At this point, it seems even his brother takes pity on him. Adjusting his glasses with a soft chuckle, “It seems Ryo here had the greatest time at pick-up last week, he only had good things to say about you, ma’am.”

You blink in slight surprise, eyes taking in Sukuna’s large, fidgeting figure. “I’m quite flattered.”

Yes! Sukuna’s pleading eyes snap to the interested twinkle in your eyes, and then to the other man- yes, keep going!

“Of course, Yuji did tell me he was upset he didn’t get to show you his printed mugshot of him. It was all that he could-”

Fuck no! 

Catching the other’s urgent eyes, Jin sputters- “B-but- but, it was just a little vandalism, of course. Just a little ah…a little driving and- eek!” Cutting himself off promptly as soon as Sukuna steps down on Jin’s foot, syllables stumbling, looking ‘round anywhere for any distraction. “Why don’t you- ah! Why don’t you give our lovely teacher here a cookie, Sukuna. Free of charge.” 

You’re waving your hands, oh-so-sweetly, “I could never, please let me pay-”

“Nah, a pretty girl like you? I should give you more, ma.” He could give you a totally different type of cookie but this might just not be the place to say those words out loud- ah, he’s still got it. 

Sukuna’s thumbing out the biggest baked treat between a fluffy tissue and handing it over to you- ready to feel the sweet, sweet graze of your fingertips, if he was lucky.

But oh- it seems like the gates of heaven really have just opened up to him, because instead of taking it from his hands, you’re leaning down and taking a bite. Straight from where he held it. Humming as the candied taste floods your mouth, the soft pushness of your lips taps against the edge of his thumb.

And he wonders how they’d feel on his lips, instead. 

“Ah, sorry.” You’re taking a peek at him through your lashes and maybe he doesn’t still have it because Sukuna feels his breath hitch. “It just looked so good, and my hands are a little…”

And it’s only then that he’s noticing just how many boxes upon bags of things you’d bought from nearly every stall here. Happy to support your students - oh, you really were an angel. 

“Oh, let me.” Ever the gentleman, Jin hastens to move around a few bags so that you’re more comfortable. All while Sukuna can only hold out the cookie and freeze. Slack-jawed. 

Completely ridiculous. 

He doesn’t move a single millimeter, not even when you’re now able to easily grasp the baked good from him. Expectantly waiting, palm raised - while he only ogles you. 

“I uh- let me just-” And it takes Itadori Jin both hands to pry the crumbling cookie from Sukuna’s hands, sighing before wrapping up about two more in apology and handing them over to you. “We do hope you like them, ma’am.”

“Mhm—” Rubbing over the crumbs at the edge of your lower lip with one hand, you look dead-set on Sukuna as you murmur. “It was delicious. My compliments to the chef.”

Sukuna might not have been the chef - baker, whatever you said goes - it was Jin, but he can’t help but feel on top of the world as if he was. Waiting just until you’re out of sight, walking through the sunny Spring park up to the next parent-manned stand, to pump his fist with a low ‘hell yeah!’

“Ryo, you haven’t been this smitten since- well, ever.”

“Daddy, Mr. Mugshot is really weird.”

Sukuna whirls at a few staring parents- “The fuck are you lookin’ at?”

.

.

.

“Remind me why you’re here again?”

“Remind me why you’re here again?”

Arguing with a thirteen-year-old wasn’t very high on Sukuna’s bucket list, and yet, it seemed to happen on a nearly daily basis. He would blame middle school for being the root of Choso’s attitude, but he suspects the new emo look has something to do with it, too.

And maybe the fact that the older man was accompanying one of his weekly visits to Yuji’s preschool playground. Cutting off just the last of Friday’s classes just so that he could walk down the street to see his little brother. Despite seeing him at home every day, but still. 

That’s also what Sukuna himself was here for- of course. Why else would he-

“Ah ah- Kugisaki, what have I told you about using the toy construction hammer for things other than construction? We don’t hit, m’kay?”

Sighing, the way that Sukuna’s towering frame leans against the playground’s cherry blossom tree for support draws such disgust from Choso. Dark eyes flickering between his blushing uncle, and you - in the middle of the sand pit, trying to wrangle a class of toddlers. “You’re pathetic.”

“Shut it, scrawny.”

“Why don’t you just talk to her?”

Sukuna’s life flashes before his very eyes, and strangely it’s mainly made up of every moment where he’s embarrassed himself in front of you. Looking away with a huff, “It’s…complicated.”

The other snickers, “Well, it’s about to get a whole lot more complicated because she’s coming up to us right now.”

Oh, fuck.

Now, he might have had the sense to ‘accidentally’ bump into his oldest nephew just as he was on his route to meet Yuji (Sukuna had memorized his schedule, sauntering by this very block for an hour until he’d run into Choso) - but he didn’t have enough wit for this.

Conversations? With both parties and a classroom of preschoolers participating? 

He was just about ready to race right out of here and leave Choso to the wolves-

“Cho! You’re here as always.” You’re smiling as you waltz up to them, a neat line of toddlers following you as they would a mother duck. Hitting him with your scent of flowers n’ the sunniest of days, “And I see you’ve brought along a guest with you- how are you, Sukuna?”

“F-fine.” F-fine? With a stutter? Sukuna simply bristles at the smirk his nephew shoots his way, already feeling the tips of his pierced ears start to scald bright hot. 

“Bubba!”

Saved by the bell-like shriek of Yuji, enough to make Choso take a few steps over and hug his toddling brother so tight that the former squeals. Checking him over for scratches, dust, stickers- you name it. 

You’re catching the raise of Sukuna’s brows and chuckle, “He is always quite the attentive older brother. You should join us more often, I’m sure Yuji would enjoy having his favorite uncle around.”

Mouth dry, “I’m- I’m his only uncle.”

Yet, your grin still stands - a slight knowing curve in them that makes his brain fuzzy, and his lips just a bit too loose. Did he say he liked drinking again? What a fucking lie, you got him more buzzed than a shot of straight vodka pumping through his nerves. 

And he’s finding himself reaching over to brush a stray petal of cherry-pink from your crown. Blurting out before he can stop himself, “Hey…so what’s your ty- I mean, are you seeing any-”

“She’s mine!” Cuts off an annoying, grating voice - one that understood what you evidently didn’t, with the few syllables that Sukuna had been able to croak out.

And he’s looking over your shoulder to find himself being stared down (stared up at?) by a boisterous, buzz-cut boy slightly older than Yuji. Protectively standing behind you as he glared daggers, “When I’m old like you, she shall be my bride, Mr. Mugshot.”

Huh.

You’re droning out in your nicest tone, wagging your finger. “Now now, Todo Aoi, what have I told you about not proposing to your teachers?”

“To not.”

“And what are you doing?”

“Proposing.” Stifling a sigh, you realise that it would be yet another chat with Todo’s guardian about the boy’s harmless little puppy crush. 

But before you can direct the conversation back towards anything else, he’s stabbing an accusing index up at Sukuna’s looming frame. “Miss teacher here-” Not quite your name, but close enough. “-and my sweet idol Takada-chan are the only ones I shall marry. You can’t have either!”

“Who the hell…” Sukuna furrows his brows- what was this boy talking about? “Listen, kid, I-”

“Pffft–!” He could recognize that burst of muffled laughter anywhere, and at least Choso was having a grand ol’ time- whispering to Yuji, “Don’t you think this is like those late-night dramas dad pretends not to watch?”

No! Sukuna’s internally groaning. 

“Oh- oh yeah!” An over-hearing Kugisaki bounces at the mention of dramas, “My mommy watches those. Times like this the two guys will fight over the pretty girl.”

Todo puffs up his chest, “Then fight me, old man- I demand a duel!”

“I’m not even thirty?”

“That’s old.” Choso nods.

“You’re thirteen.”

“I’m five!” Yuji jumps up, and immediately his older brother’s pulling his phone out to snap a few hundred photographs at the cuteness. 

Todo stomps, “Fight me, fossil–”

And his young nephew - that traitor - is the next one to shrill with glee at the altercation, clapping his hands once Todo charges forward with a damn war cry to pummel Sukuna’s abs with hits about as fierce as cotton. “Fight! Fight! Fight!”

At the slight raise of your brows at the chaos, Sukuna rushes to explain, “Please excuse my nephew’s behaviour, ma’am, I don’t know where he got it from-”

Choso deadpans, “But you’re the one that taught us that the best talk is to talk with your fists because-” The two brothers turn to each other in unison, as if preaching the truth and nothing but the truth. “-we’re no weakass bi-”

“Their father.” Sukuna grits out- okay, maybe that kid’s punches were getting a little more painful. Or maybe it was just the way you were cocking your head at him that made his stomach churn, “Surely.” 

“Defend the honor of your woman, geriatric–!”

Seemingly snapping out of the little reverie of taking in whatever the fuck this was, you clap your hands in that teacherly way to demand silence. “Alright alright, break it up. You wouldn’t want me to take down any of your star points, would you, Aoi?” Tugging away the boy from Sukuna, you grimace up at him. “I’m so sorry about all of- well- this.”

Waving off- remember, Sukuna, nonchalance. Nonchalance. “Don’t worry about it, mama.”

“Y’know how they apologize to each other in the dramas?” Kugisaki speaks up, and honestly, this girl really did speak up at the most inopportune times. She glows at all the attention on her, “They kiss.”

And she was a genius.

An absolute genius, bob-cut!

Yuji - ever his lil’ ally - starts pumping his fist with whoots- “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

Starting up a slight chant within your group, you turn to him in question.

“I uh…” Sukuna starts, tilting his body down ever-so-slightly, until you could could nearly every thread on his dark hoodie. The way his slashing tattoos framing his jaw ripple as he gulps, “You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to, ma- that’s assuming you wanted to do something, and what I meant was-”

It was one second. A singular, heavenly second that your lips graze the right side of Sukuna’s cheek as he rambled - fluttering away right before his skin started to scorch with a blush.

Quite frankly, fuck nonchalance. 

“Ewww, he’s red again. What’s wrong with him?”

“Were you this red when you were setting fires, Mr. Mugshot?”

“He looked nothing like this in his mugshot- wanna see?”

“Salmon.”

Ears tinting a shade that matches his hair, voicebox void of any coherent words, Sukuna barely even functions until he’s hearing the sharp ka-chick! of a camera shutter. Whirling his head ‘round to find Choso with his phone pointed at him, catching him in all his flustered glory. “I’ll send it to the family groupchat.” He turns to you. “And to you on the preschool groupchat.”

Imagine Sukuna’s surprise when he finds you nodding, “Mhm, oh, and I should really be getting the kids back now, it’s almost time for the bell.” Making the kids waddle into a neat line once more, you wave. “Thank you for the visit- do come again, it was quite…interesting.”

And they stare - Choso at Yuji, Sukuna at you - as you and your classroom disappear back within the preschool walls. “No phone for you for two weeks.”

“No hot teacher’s number for you forever.”

Only after a second- “Hey- hey kid. Show me that number again? I’ll make it one week.”

.

.

.

Sukuna had almost, mercifully, forgotten about that damn talent show. 

The bake sale? Gaping at you for nearly five full minutes straight? Never happened. 

And he’d almost convinced himself of that- until the time came for him to be seated right on the very front row of the cozy preschool auditorium. Taking up nearly three chairs as he squeezes himself into the humble seat, arms crossed and scowling. 

“You know…” Jin claps as Yuji and Kugisaki fight to clamber onto stage first, with a reluctant Fushiguro in tow. About to showcase whatever it is that they’d been practising with doves and sticks all week. From the corner of his mouth, “When we had the kiddos over, Megs told me something very interesting the other day.”

“Hm.” Sukuna’s grunts noncommittally when Yuji pulls out a comically large fairy wand - ah, a magic show.

“Something about you duelling with a kid for the hand of a certain someone.”

Letting out a strangled groan, his eyes immediately find you - as they always seemed to do. Stuck on the way you were kneeled by the front of the stage, motivating each little performer tonight. “Y-ya don’t say…”

Jin beams, “You know, you should really ask her out, Ryo- oh! Do you need our help? I can tell you this, the Itadori family makes great wingmen.”

“Ya don’t say.”

Tattletale, Sukuna’s grousing. And just as Fushiguro Megumi finds himself being stuffed into a box - to be sawed in half as all good magicians did, apparently - the older man slowly, menacingly pulls out his prized camcorder. 

Just in time for Fushiguro to glance over and have his face pale at the blinking, recording lens. 

“After all, Megumi did say you were blushing like a- what was it- ‘maiden in love’ that day. How cute.” 

“Ya don’t say.” Sukuna zooms in, right on the black-haired boy’s ashen face once the saw raises high in the air to magically cut him in half. And to make things even worse, he starts pointing at his camera, mouthing through a grin, ‘Oh yes.’ At Fushiguro’s slight shake of his head. ‘You are dead.’

But, alas, it was too good to be true.

And instead of having the little snitch be the casualty in one of Yuji’s magic tricks, the talent show goes shockingly smoothly. Hell, Wasuke slept through only about half of it, which was as much of a compliment as one could get. 

All because of your efforts, surely - and when the entire thing ends with (surprise, surprise) every little brat getting awarded a winning prize, Sukuna finds himself not half-annoyed that he’d actually sat through all of it.

Well, right up until about when it was time for the exhausted preschoolers to be taken home by their families. 

And Yuji comes bounding up to the four with a squealing—“Dadda–! Bubba–! Gramps–! Mr. Mug-”

“Another word out of you and I’m throwing your iPad out the window.” Sukuna grumbles, heart leaping to his throat when he’s spotting your chuckling figure follow up behind his nephew, as if Jin’s elbowing wasn’t a sign enough.

Yuji frowns, “Aw, but I already told everyone here.”

Damn gremlin- but before he can get another word in, you’re already greeting his brother and father with a smile. “It’s so great to see you again, Mr. Itadori- I hope that blood pressure you were telling me about is better now.”

“Ah, ya know- I won’t be dying any time soon.” Wasuke barks out a hoarse noise of laughter, before beadily eyeing Sukuna. “This one, however…”

Your gorgeous face drops in worry, and he doesn’t know whether to whine at his father for letting you make that expression, or giggle because you cared about him. Fuck. “Oh no- everything alright, Sukuna?”

But Wasuke answers for him, “No. Not at all, quite the incurable disease, my dear.”

He watches on in matching confusion with Yuji as Jin lights up beside him, “Ah- ah! Right right, that-” Soothing his face into something pitiful as he turns to you, “That ah- thing that only heh- one person can solve.”

About as subtle as a sledgehammer. 

And just as efficient in bagging the woman of one’s dreams.

Because you only furrow your brows in confusion, “I’m…sorry? What?”

Sukuna’s older brother’s smile tightens in desperation, nervously laughing. “You- you know…that thing?” And you tilt your head, eyes darting between the four as if trying to work out the punchline. “The thing like- the heart condition? No- not something serious but like…the butterflies?” Now looking to Sukuna for help - as if the other man wouldn’t just let him rot in the very grave he’d dug for himself. 

Then at Choso, who’d been quietly attempting to disappear into the wall plaster. Trying not to laugh as he dotes on Yuji, “The doki-doki.”

Jin snaps his fingers, “Yes! Like the doki-doki? The-”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake- he wants to fu-”

“That’s enough for tonight, pa.” It really does run in the family - because in a split-second, Sukuna has his palm clapped over Itadori Wasuke’s mouth. Smile painfully plastic, “Did you take your meds today, dear father? I don’t believe you took your meds today.”

He plunges his sprightly father into Jin’s arms, “Say, Jin, why don’t you get dad his meds.” Making note of the way that you - still thoroughly confused, and now thoroughly off your shift helping each student get to their guardian - were toyin’ with the cute decorations of your car keys. 

Letting his mouth work before his brain could regret anything- “And why don’t I walk you to your car, ma?”

“I- what.” You’re somewhat shocked at being addressed so directly, and at the kindly incline of Sukuna’s head. “Don’t you have a heart condition? I wouldn’t want to exert you, Sukuna.”

Wasuke grunts, “Exert him in another- mmpf-” Hastily shushed by Choso’s palm, more for his sanity’s sake than his uncle’s.

These damn- he narrows a glare down at an unabashedly-eavesdropping Jin and Wasuke. “No. No, don’t worry about it, they were just joking. Ha. Ha.” 

Well…it was quite dark outside the building, even with the surrounding streetlights. And your vehicle might just be a little ways away but it never hurt to be extra safe, did it? Especially when his stature was so intimidating anyways?

And so, you nod. 

And he walks with you.

More like floats beside you on cloud nine, actually. Sukuna’s sure you two made quite a sight in the corridor, if the way passing parents whispered to each other signalled anything - him, with his ears flared red, unable to even look at you directly as you two were alone. You, as perfect as ever.

“Ah- so-”

“What did you-”

You’re both speaking at the same time once you’re out of the school building, laughing into the nearly-empty night air that forms clouds out of your puffs of laughter. The few minutes of a walk to the parking lot seemed like eternity - and Sukuna would have gladly let it be. 

“You speak.” You’re urging.

“No you.”

“You-”

“I refuse.”

“Fine.” Rolling your eyes, you never noticed the way he always seemed to nudge his head ever-so-closely to you whenever you spoke. As if he was hanging onto your every word. “What did you think about the talent show?”

“Brilliant. All because of you, of course- got so much blackmail to use in ten years.” He cackles.

Though, that’s stopped short very soon the nanosecond you’re nudging him playfully. Heat touching heat. And he shivers, “Hit me if this is strange.” Letting the tense air clog his throat, at least, that’s his excuse for it. “But do you remember that thing I meant to ask you that one time at the playground…”

“Yes—?”

“Are you-” Sukuna’s husky baritone cracks and he twists his face into a wince, “D-do you happen to be seeing anyone?”

You blink, and there’s something about the way you look at him that makes him feel like you’re holding back such a smile. How he wished to see it right now. Musing into the silent night air, only thrumming with your footsteps towards the car, “Nope.”

“O-oh.” And if this was any other time, then he’d be embarrassed about how obviously relieved he sounds. How you surely must have picked up on it.

Faking nonchalance, he’s stuffing his hand into the baggy cloth of his ripped jeans, “Cool.” And it was a damn good thing you didn’t have x-ray vision like all the heroes in all those weekend cartoons Yuji watched - because then you’d have seen the way his painted nails dig in so deeply into his palms in pure excitement. Nearly hard enough to draw blood. “Very cool.”

“Very cool.” You’re echoing, now stood by the driver’s seat of your car - just waiting for him to say something. Anything. 

Waiting as he opens his mouth- “What’s your ty-”

“Yuji- Yuji noooo- don’t interrupt your uncle’s k-drama moment- oh, dammit.” Itadori Jin, who’d been chasing after an adventure-hungry Yuji, balks at the way you were both so close. Snatching up his struggling toddler, “Forget about me! We- we never here- go back to doing whatever you were doing!”

And somehow, you lurch apart as if you’d just been shocked. Only now realizing just how warm the temperature of his proximity was, fighting to keep your professional façade in front of your spying audience. 

“I bid you goodnight, Jin- Yuji.” Gesturing out a wave, you’re getting into your ride so quickly that Sukuna thinks he must’ve been dreaming you up. “And you, Sukuna.”

Nevermind- not a dream. 

Definitely not a dream. Because even in his sweetest hallucinations he wouldn’t have been able to make you say his name like that. Almost a purr. Almost batting your lashes.

Almost ripping out his heart from his very chest as you then speed down the road.

“That’s the best ya could’ve done, sonny? Even after I taught you everything to know about wooing a woman?” How very much like Wasuke to manifest from nearly thin air, from somewhere out of the shadows of the building. 

“Not that.” 

“Especially that.”

The older man only waves off Jin’s bemoaning concern about ‘ruining the moment- they had a doki-doki moment!’ “Choso’s in the car, can’t believe I lost a bet to a middle-schooler. Dammit.”

Sukuna’s eyes widen, “You…bet on me?”

“Whaddaya think, sonny?” 

Jin smiles, “Guilty.”

“Gwuilty!” 

“No- no, Yuji, not guilty.”

Wasuke paces away, shaking his head. “Thought I raised you better- keh! Thought I’d get grandchildren from you, too. Tch, now I owe a middle-schooler fifty yen, oh, woe is me.”

It takes a second for Sukuna to register the words, “Wait- only fifty yen?”

“Yeah, that’s just about my belief in you, kid.”

.

.

.

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! 

“Oi- oi, Jin. Go get the door.”

“I’m cooking dinner–! Cho, could you get the door?”

“I’m in the middle of homework- ask uncle.”

Sukuna grumbles, why the hell was he the one to always answer that damn door? Honestly, Yuji could buck up and get some experience yelling at sleazy salesmen sometimes. Sprawled out across the TV room couch, he stares at his nephew playing with a toy bow and arrows set on the floor, “Yuji, could you get the-”

“I can hear you, Ryo.”

Dammit- there was a reason why Itadori Jin was the older brother. 

And there was also a reason why Ryomen Sukuna had a reputation in this quaint neighborhood for being a boor - not that that was much of a brag. But at least it explained why he was stomping up to the oak front door, damn near ripping it off its hinges with a growl- “We’re not buying any- oh.”

‘Oh’ was right.

Because standing right there on his porch was a damn sight for sore eyes - you. 

You, with your mouth parted and your brows slightly raised as you looked from the messy bangs of his locks to the oversized sweater he was wearing. You, who doesn’t even flinch about the fact that he’d just answered the door yelling. You, donned in a pretty lil’ skirt that makes him gulp- 

“You okay, Sukuna?”

“No. So how are you doin’ on this fine day, ma? ”

“Oh!” A happy call of your name makes you turn - even though Sukuna just stares, shell-shocked. Jin shoves him bodily out of the way, opening the door wider, “Please- come in, we’ve been expecting you.”

Looking down at the slight stain of something at the hem of his sweatpants, the other man frowns. It’s not like that was news he’d ever forget - so why the hell was he looking like that? “We have?”

“Yes?” Jin’s showing you the way in- only for you to be dragged in by an overeager Yuji anyways. And as the two of you disappear down the halls, he’s turning to his taller brother in genuine confusion. “Did Cho not tell you that we were having Yuji’s teacher over for dinner tonight?”

At Sukuna’s sputtering, Jin wastes no time grasping a nearby broomstick and thumping the wooden end up against the ceiling. “Kamo Choso–!”

And out comes a muffled reply, “I told grandpa to tell him!”

“Haaah? I told Yuji to.”

It sinks in. The fact that you were here, all prettily dolled-up and at their family home - and you’d happened to see him in nothing but a stained, ratty sweatshirt and pants torn down the side of his thigh to show off one tattoo. 

Jin grimaces, “Um…we can still wingman our way through this?”

“I’m gonna kill you.”

Murder does not, in fact, come before dinner; as all good manners dictate. And Sukuna decides that revenge can wait after he’s totally, completely, utterly made you swoon.

“S-so-” Only after a quick change into his best tightly-fitted turtleneck and his silver chains did he dare to show his face ‘round you again. Spritzing enough cologne to almost overpower Jin’s omurice, he tries to smize from where he was sitting right opposite you on the kotatsu. “Nice place, huh?” 

The shot of extra, extra strong sake that Wasuke slides over is a consolation as much as a ‘you’re not in a restaurant, you fool!’ He finishes the cup in one go.

“You do have a very beautiful home.” You’re nodding over at a proud Jin. 

“And the- food- how is the food?” Another cup- what moral support, father. 

“Mmm- amazing, I usually never have the time to cook much for myself with the kids n’ all.”

Which Jin takes as the cue for him to butt in on the conversation, helping it flow as smoothly as an enclosing dam would to a river. “You like kids, huh?” Kicking Sukuna underneath the kotatsu, he rattles the plates. “Our Ryo here also…tolerates children.”

“Really?” You’re teasing, “I couldn’t tell.”

“Why I love kids, yeah.” Sukuna tuts as he lifts his hand to pat the crown of Choso’s head- who only swerves out of the way, food finished n’ leaving the room to join his brother playing. Hiccuping, you were so pretty sat in front of him like this- too pretty, that the vision of you was starting to get blurry. 

And another cup.

He’s jostled by the tap of Jin’s hand on his arms- “And he’s actually quite sweet in his own way once you get to know him. I’m sure dad agrees-” Ignoring Wasuke’s ‘I don’t’. “-that he’d make such a responsible-”

“U-unless you don’t like kids.” Still stuck on that - still. Sukuna downs it and then shakily pours himself another. “In that case, I don’t like kids either. Yeah, can’t stand them.”

And another. 

Jin and Wasuke share a glance between themselves when the hulking man leans over the kotatsu towards you with what sounded suspiciously like a whine. “Would you want kids with me?”

And- 

“Sukuna-”

“W-well—time for Ryo to be put to bed, I think.” Jin hastily stands up, struggling to hoist his oversized younger brother from his seat. Failing, evidently, as in that time he’s managing to gulp down another two or three sake cups. “Dad- a little- help?”

Wasuke only shakes his head gravely at you, “You should know he was switched at birth.”

“We’re nearly identical twins–”

“Twins? What-” Sukuna babbles, “Does she want twins?”

Glassy eyes blinking n’ squinting furiously down at you as if trying to figure out whether you were real. Before ultimately giving up, it seems.

Because he’s stumbling a few unsteady steps forwards, pulled by Jin, before dropping to his knees and toppling his head over your lap, just by the gap of the kotatsu edge and your stomach. He’s nuzzling his face right against your tummy, “Mmm— maybe triplets. Would be the cutest fuckin’ things if they looked anything like hck! her.”

You giggle and he gasps- as if the epiphany had just struck him. “Quadruplets?”

Starin’ down at him, at the rosy blush painting his ears, you’re muttering. “You wish.”

“Dammit- even this hck! illusion of her is fine as fuck. Shit. I wonder if her type is…” 

Trailing off, he looks to his older brother for assistance- who helpfully supplies, “Sad and drunk?”

Wasuke’s contribution- “Zero game- as the kids say?”

“Dangerous?” You pretend to think, assessing over the mountainous heap of a man. “Actually- only pretends to be but is really a softie inside?”

“Yes! That- wonder if he type is dangerous…pretend dangerous. I’d give her all the kids she’d ever want- all big…n’ glowing…” It was almost like the setting of the sun, and just as quietly that Sukuna’s dipping past the edge of consciousness. “And…mine…if she wants. Oh, only if she wants- I’ve gotta- hck!” He turns up slightly to you, “-gotta woo her first, you see? Gotta date her…marry…but- but most of all…” Words slowing, heartbeat still racing whenever he looked at you. “I…just want to love you, pretty girl.”

And with that, he was out like a flickered light. 

With only Wasuke, Jin, and Choso with his camera snooping through the doorway as witnesses for when you’re snaking a hand down to the phone bulging in Sukuna’s pocket. Quickly entering a few coordinates and a date. 

And a heart emoji.

.

.

.

“Oh- oh, shit, mama.” Sukuna’s tongue lays over the sheeny insides of your thighs, throat muddled with groans and the cloying taste of your slick gluing to his rovering mouth.

Honestly, fuck whatever tips his family had made him memorize before coming over for his lil’ ‘talk’ at your cozy apartment, as promised. Because the two of you had barely made out two or three words before Sukuna found himself sprawled on his back on your bed. 

Your knees framing his face, your clothed cunt right near his mouth.

Right near where he’s dotting your skin with hot, open-mouthed kisses that make your entire body tremble. Whimpering over your shoulder, “D-didn’t think you’d be such a tease, Kuna.”

“Because this isn’t real.” He’s breathing out, as if he’s just so sure of that fact. As if he can glide his ringed index down the dampened slit of your folds and drool- because this feels like a dream n’ he was going to savor every moment. “Fuck, there’s no way this is-”

And just at that very moment, he’s craning his head up further between your pretty, pretty legs. Greedy tastebuds darted out just so he can catch the treacly splat! of your leaking slit.

Dampening his tongue n’ drooling all down the edge of his tattooed chin, “Do you even know how many times I’ve imagined this exact moment?”

“Mmm- no-” You’re wrenching out a heady puff of air- spread on your front in the meanest sixty-nine. You gulp down your parched throat as you’re taking in the wet, bulging outline of Sukuna’s erection through his boxers. “But I can guess.”

He was just so big, aching- 

Ryomen Sukuna wasn’t just rock-hard. He was hard enough that he’s sure his round, bawling tip was damn near ready to fall off, twitching oh-so-painfully in his pants as he’s snapping back your soaked panties with a wet thwack!

Just a glimpse of the wet haven you were hiding and he’s groaning throatily, “Guess-” He hisses, close enough that the straight end of his nose slides down your puffy pussylips. Nudging your panties to the side and sniiiiiffing you, “You’ll never be able to guess how badly I want you, pretty girl.”

Never.

Never would you have even been able to register that within mere split-seconds, he’d have one beefy arm looping around your hips to make you sit on top of his mouth.

Slamming the edge of your cunt against his chin, plopping your full weight down until he’s nose-deep between your quivering legs. “Fuck-” Letting the first gush of your saccharine juices flood his throat, lips against lips. “Fuck fuck fuck- what was I even…saying?”

“W-wait–” Your breath hitches, spine arching into such a perfect curvature. You claw onto his meaty thighs in an attempt to regain balance, “You won’t be able to breathe like this, Sukuna-”

“You think I fucking care?”

It’s spat - spat - out right against the swollen nub of your clit. Hazed crimson irises rolling to the veeeery deep, dark depths of his skull at the first long gliiiide of Sukuna’s tongue from top to bottom of your pussy. 

Cheeks hollowed the very moment he’s pushin’ himself even closer, “You think I ngh- can care about anything else?” The very moment he’s tugging you back down - with the full force of his upper strength, hard enough that your heated aches with raw, primal bruises. “Be a good girl n’ put that hah- pussy on my face. Fucking- sit-”

“I don’t- fuuuuck—” Fingers twitching, it’s all you can do to fumble with the drawstrings of his wettened boxers. 

Thighs shaking at every flicker of his slimy tongue swirlin’ and stirrin’ every inch of your outer pussy. Your head muddles with the realization that Sukuna’s tongue was just so long that he could lap at your glisten hole n’ still have enough length left over to snag on your clit. “You’re not going to be the only hah- one-”

Whimpering, you find your eyes blurring up each time the ridged texture of his tastebuds glissade between your folds. Curlin’ in just past the elastic circle of your entrance-

And you’re gasping - but you don’t know whether it’s because of the lecherous intrusion or because of the way you’re pushing down Sukuna’s snug underwear to free his massive cock.

Reddened, swollen.

He’s bulging all solid and girthy that it makes your hole clench ‘round his flexible tongue. The cutest ruby-red at the top of his shaft, forming a gradient all the way down to his tight, heavy balls. Mentally, you’re counting about nine- fuck, maybe even ten damn inches that hit the end of your chin as he springs up. 

And from where you’re straddling him, you can make out what looked like a matching thick, black band of ink around his bulky hilt. 

Letting the polished pink crown of his cockhead smear out a generous dollop of pre, you’re teasing your tongue out just enough to taste the salted caramel taste. 

“You’re so…” Sinking him past your spit-slicked lips, his swabbing mushroom tip is just so big that your jaw aches just by looking at him. Just by fitting him inside, right until his drivelling slit- “-s-sho big, Sukuna.”

“Fuck- fuck-” He’s spitting into your cunt and you find yourself flinching, hard enough that his pearly white canines nip at your thighs and you cry out.

And he’s only holding you back - not letting you shift your restless hips even a single centimeter as he’s eating you out like a man dying of thirst. Dry tastebuds lavishing himself with wads of slick, Sukuna’s stuffing your tight hole with the entirety of his tongue. “You’re m-making me drool.”

You swear you’re feeling the thin line of his wet spittle stain the front of your cunt, whimpering around his bulbous cockhead. “Made ya stutter, too, Sukuna.”

“Ohhhh- talkin’ smart, are we?” Snickering, he lets off a loud spank against the front of your pussy - one that makes your bones reverberate, and your mind numb. Pushin’ back to ride the circling girth of his tongue, to ride him. “Why don’tcha put that mouth into use elsewhere?”

Elsewhere - his cock was so hot and throbbing between your swollen lips. Just the slightest slip n’ slide makes it feel like he’s pulsing all the way at the back of your throat. 

Creamin’ out a spray of syrupy precum that slides down your tongue, “So big- too big.” And yet- it was just so cute how you’re suckling him like your favorite lolly, eyes criss-crossing when you’re trying to take more. He couldn’t even bottom out. “Mmm– dunno if it’ll even all fit.”

“Well…” 

The way he’s drawling out in a smoky tone makes you ponder that this won’t be ending well for you. And Sukuna’s dark chuckle hits your cunt in a murky gust, “You’re takin’ it in from here—” Just at that sultry second, he’s crowning the snug circle of your hole with two fingers. 

Making you break out with a shrill waiiil as he sinks in the thick, calloused curves of his fingerpads. Letting such thick digits stretch you out fully, make your head spin. “So shut it n’ take this looong fucking cock, ma.”

All that it takes for him to plunge a few more throbbing inches past your maw, oh-so-big that you’re drooling down the sides of your mouth already.

Striking the edge of your throat and making you choke on his sheer size, your nose wrinkles as you’re tickled by the curly tendrils of his pinkish hair. “This enough or you want three, pretty girl-”

“I-”

Letting out such a cloying squelch that spurts from your pussy once he’s teasin’ your entrance, “Not you, mama. She wants three.”

Moaning away wildly after each pump of his fingers- Sukuna doesn’t even have to try to dip into each nook n’ orifice. Slamming to fingers down to each knobbly knuckle with a resounding slam- “See? See?” 

So cockdrunk on the feeling of his velvety tongue that you’re only partly registering the way his vocals are higher. Unsteady. 

The way you’re clamping your dewy walls in a cute, squelching smooch ‘round his digits makes his voice fucking crack. “J-just take it a bit- fuck- deeper.” Mindless little half-thrusts up into your heated mouth like he can’t even control it- “You can swallow it up like a reeeeal good girl, can’t you?”

“Mmm—” Purposefully letting off your pretty sounds all over his fleshy girth, “Yes- yes yes yes- more.”

“More?”

“More.”

As if he wouldn’t fucking ruin you if he could. 

“You want more?”

“Y-yes- oh.”

Only to be gifted with such a rude slap of his doughy palm, “Not you.” And he’s waiting for the soppy squelches leaking out from your cunt, the way you’re talking to him from your swollen lips just to continue. 

Squelch after squelch.

Your pleas only spur him to tug at the sweet, softened ring of your cunt, latching his lips over the flexing muscle. “If you say so—” Crooning, you can feel the cold hiss of his metallic rings upon the insides of your thighs. Sukuna’s biceps shifting as he starts to tug them off–

“A-actually-” You’re popping off of the strawberry-pink curve of his cocktip with a plop! a few glittery strings of pre and spit still connecting you lewdly to it. “…Keep them on?”

“Oh. Ohoho- you naughty lil’ thing.” He’s swatting over the slope of your dripping wet pussy n’ giving your clit a good pinch with his ringed fingers. “You like it like this- like- this-?”

He’s spitting out each word into your cunt, thrusting the barrelling tips of his fingerpads to graze just below your pulsating g-spot. “All those mouthy lectures?” In vulgar tandem strokes with the thwack! of his heavy, curvaceous balls slapping your chin. “And you wanna take it like- this- mama? Ohhh, it just makes me wanna…”

Trailing off, Sukuna’s body is just bulky - oh-so-tall that he can bend and reach down to cup your throat with his one free hand. 

Digging five of his fingertips into the side of your throat as he’s holding your neck and squeezing- feeling the cylindrical outline of his cock bulging your poor mouth. Up n’ down, up n’ down- he’s feeling for the precise moments his plump cockhead lodges at the back of your throat. 

“Who’d have known the cute lil’ teacher would be such a slut f’me. Cat got yer tongue, girl, orrrr—s’it just my dick?” Humming over your clit, he’s adding a fourth finger that swabs at the texture of your gummy walls. 

“F-fuck off- ngh-”

“Wha’s that? Try- try and say my name?” Squeezing. Only feeling your ripped, pathetic vibrations. “Can f-feel myself over here.”

With four neatly pushing fingers. 

Pulling back with a sluuurp–! Slowly, just so that you whimper that the knobs of his joints, just so that he can thump right on the target of your g-spot and make you cry out in cute bliss. “So s’only fair that I’m over here, pretty girl.”

“Yes- yes yes yes—” Words bubble out and slur out of your maw, in unison with such sloshing spurts of saliva. 

You’re drooling everywhere - from both pairs of lips. Your mouth over Sukuna’s hard, vein-covered erection, glazing his puffy lines of veins with sap. And your pussy slide-slide-sliiiiding down the gaping area of his mouth, wide open and eagerly lapping up each sloppy drag of your hips.

Faster.  

And now that Sukuna had actually found your most favorite spot, he couldn’t fucking stop.

Not when each whack at that same exact spot makes you splash your sweetened slick all down his throat, not when you were clenching your walls and cryin’ out at the frigid brush of his thick rings.

Again and again, he’s probin’ his crowned fingertips to push against the insides of your pussy, “Don’t think m’gonna last ngh-”

 “Yeah-” And that’s not to say his tongue was letting you off easy, either- simply aching with the feverish state of his movements. But it hurt Sukuna more any moment he wasn’t snogging your glossy cunt, n’ so he’s slapping your clit with a wet one-two. Spank after spank to make your hips jerk back and forth, “Whaddaya want? To cum? S’that it?”

Blubbering over the taste of his slick, sensitive slit, “Yes- yes, please- m’so fucking close.”

“Not. You.” Each word ended with two swats on your simmering pussy, you’re webbing his chin all down with syrupy sap. 

Moving off from your throat with a final squeeze, a bicep tightening ‘round your hips to squeeze you in place. “Not you- but you, pretty girl.” Slickly gliding back and forth all over your pried-open cunt, all over the quivering rim of your hole. Everywhere and anywhere. “Why don’tcha talk louder?”

And it’s not just you riding his tongue dry - it’s Sukuna bucking animalistically upwards, too. Pressing the ridges of his washboard abs up against your front, you’re just fountaining out so much sappy slick that it’s running down to the large mouth that he had tattooed across his stomach. As if both his ravenous mouths were gulping up each of your slick puddles. 

Crooning at the oversaturated squelch that spills out of you- he’s nodding like he’s never heard a sweeter sentence. Nudging his knuckles to bump against your g-spot, “If you say so—”

You don’t get to find out what he’s hearing - but you’re registering the gist soon enough.

Because by then Sukuna has his ringed index swiping your g-spot, coldly massaging that bundle of nerves. Hard. Sloppy. At the very same second he’s settling the fringes of his canines on your perky clit and streeeetching-

“O-oh my god I’m—” Keening out a whimper, your high runs you over like a rollercoaster. And you’re rocking your boneless body to and fro just as much, thumping your thighs into Sukuna’s sharp jawline. 

“Yes-” Clenching around his motions so hard that he has to fight to unstick his digits from the sides of your bubblegum walls, still fucking you through your lecherous high. “Oh, hell yeah, been so good for you, mama- why don’tcha reward me? Use me- hck- use me.”

As if you weren’t thrusting your cunt back into his face in a frenzy already, he’s using the arm holding onto your waist to keep you repeatedly moving. 

Tired-out. Fingers tugging into each crevice of your velvety walls. Cheeks aching and hollow where he’s putting such force on your throbbing clit to suck- “Ride my- mmmf-” Talking with his mouth full, “Ride my fuckin’ face raw- wanted to taste y’cumming on my tongue for so long.”

With your spine arched, you’re pulling off of the bulged tip of his cock just as he’s spewing out a slimy ribbon of ivory white. Just a single drivel of cum- just from the way you’re cumming. 

“God- god fucking dammit.” Sukuna spits, right into your cunt. And he barely even takes his eyes off of your slobbering pussy to snake a free hand down and plug his geysering orifice with his thumb.

Stopping himself promptly from cumming if it isn’t anywhere near your pussy.

But that didn’t mean he was letting you get away.

Oh, no- he’s still pulling you back with inclines of his head like a man addicted. Thoroughly drunk on the heady globs of slick that travelled between your legs, pushing and pushing himself upwards to glue his glossed lips all over your cunt.

You can feel yourself squealing with each lap of his scratchy tongue- the primal overstimulation too much that great droplets of tears take over your eyes. 

“O-oh– fuck- m’so sensitive, Sukuna.” You’re arching your back away- “I don’t know if I- oh!” Only to get pulled back down. Toes curling when this only spurs him to dive himself even deeper, flopping out the flexible end of his tongue to try n’ flit past your squeezing hole. 

Drawling, “Remember those fuckin’ sugar cookies? You taste- hah- even fucking better.”

Sniffling, your spine zings with a few more zaps of electricity as he’s starting to caress your sweetened g-spot once more. 

And the only thing you can do is try and pathetically pry his firmly-planted palm from his lengthy shaft, trying for the life of you to just get another taste-

“Oh. Oh.” Sukuna gasps from behind, pink brows raising. “I see what you’re doing, pretty girl. H-heh…hungry for more, are you?”

He didn’t need any further answer - because the way you’re cutely clenching to glaze his scouring digits tells him more than enough.

And before you know it, you’re finding yourself pulled off of his long, aching cock like some glorified ragdoll. Sukuna was just so large - in every sense of the word - that he could manhandle you with only one arm. 

Clinging onto the side of your waist as he’s sitting up, he makes you straddle the twitchy length of his cock. And now that you were seated upon his lap- oh, could you admire him.

Ryomen Sukuna was a fucking masterpiece. 

From the bands of tattoos circling his biceps, his wrists, straight down to the plush of his sculptured thighs. “Like what you see?” He tilts his head cockily down at you, slouching sexily back on your wooden headboard to let you take in all of his tensed core. 

Glistening pecs all temptingly large, abs ripped. 

“M’gonna get those pretty haaah- fucking initials of yours tatted.” He’s tapping the prominent side of his left v-line with a polished finger, “Right here.”

Climbing further upon his lap, you rest your ass cheeks back against his swaying cock, bobbing so hard n’ proud between your sheeny thighs. Pouting, “Only if you fuck me, Kuna— ngh-”

“Kuna? Tch- you see that lil’ tattoo here, mama?” He sounded as if he was shattering, and he’s leaning back so that you can take a goood, long look at the circular tattoo on his base. Nuzzled by the tufts of his pinkish happy trail, and his tender underside - but it was still there.

Like a target. And Sukuna’s thinking the exact same thing, “You’re gonna take it riiiight- till- here-” Lodging the swollen end of his shaft to plug your hole, it’s such a tiiight fit as he starts bullying inside. “Until- hah-” Feeling a hand down your tummy, your womb. “-here.”

He was going to fit himself until your pretty pussy won’t be able to forget him.

And it takes only seconds for you to be clawing onto his tattooed deltoids for dear life, feeling the inner parts of your thighs slip n’ slide down his own with perspiration. You scramble with the stringy, slightly-torn fabric of your panties still on- “Kuna- Su–Kuna, this-”

“Nah, let it stay.” Snickering, he claws onto the top of your scalp. “You have much…heh- bigger ngh- problems ta worry about, pretty girl.”

Bigger - his prolonged shaft was simply ravaging your walls. Plumply ballooned-up enough that his veiny layer rubs your sweetest spots without even meaning to, and you’re just seeing stars with every inch deeper his mazing cock spears through. “Fuck- fuck, it really is big-”

“Mhm– and you’re going- to take- it all.” Times like this he’s wishing he had just about four fucking hands. Because one’s pushing down, down, down on the lolling top of your head, the other’s pushin’ your trembling thighs apart just so you could straddle his meaty hips. “All hah- say my name. Say my name while you take it-”

And he always did love the way you said his name.

The way you’re letting free a few bubbly spurts of saliva as you’re babbling away–”Sukuna- Su-” Throat clogging up with so many sobs of utter bliss, “Kuna—”

“Again with the ‘Kuna’- s’not my name, silly girl.” Even though each sound of that slurring nickname makes him twitch against your deepest insides. 

But you can’t even hear him properly, eardrums distantly popped until the only thing you can feel is the thump! of your heartbeat between your legs. And the way that his reddened, slick-glazed tip was thrashing your tight insides, “Kuna- ngh, please, Kuna. Wan’ it a-all hck! Inside.”

The swabbing girth of his cock was so fat that he has you stupid with just his size, biceps bulging as he’s pressurizing down on your head. “God-” And you can only blink pathetically once he’s bringing up his free hand to your blurry line of sight. Hissing, “Bite down-” Lips smirking as you plant a kittenish bite, he fucks up into you once to make your force increase. “Bite down harder and take it.”

He wasn’t wasting any time - he didn’t have the fucking patience.

He barely even had the sanity to tease you and edge you for hours on end like he’d always wanted to. Instead fucking up into you like a damn animal- he’s swatting your cunt with the edge of his throbbing cock. Spitting through clenched teeth, “O-oh, if yer gonna ask for all of it then m’not playin’ around, ma.”

You sink your teeth in and nearly scream into the flesh of his forearm, gnawing down right at his tattoo. “Mmmpf- big- nghh–” Unable to fucking take it, the only thing you can do is arch your hips deeper and let his pummeling rams spike your poor insides.

Hitting the very back of your cervix with a wet thwack! that makes your eyes damn near bulge out of your head.

He…bottomed-out. 

“Lemme check now…” Taking a single peek at the way his hilt was all covered up by your bloated folds until he couldn’t see that tattoo anymore. “S’all in.”

And the towering man wasn’t celebrating once he did - he was pumping all his fleshy inches into you like he’d gone feral. 

Eyes dazed and hooded, mouth frothing with a line of silver drool - Sukuna grunts after each singular gliiiide of his watery orifice drawing down the bottom of your pussy. Sloppy. “F-fucking hell, never felt like this- what the…”

“Are you okay- oh god nghh–”

“M’fuckin’ more than okay.” Spitting out crassly, Sukuna swerves his hips off of the rickety bedsprings to drag his cock harder down your cunt. And it just felt so delicious to have his swollen veins stir up your walls, “S’just— who let you feel this good?”

Your honeyed cunt has made him way too pussydrunk that now he’s tattling out everything from his melty mind. And you can only whine– “Heh-” One hand grazing his scorched ear, “You’re blushing, Kuna- better not be ngh- tapping out on me.”

“Tapping out?” Punctuated by a hard spank against the door to your womb - exactly where he said he would be - and then a harder one against your mapped-out g-spot. “Me? Me tappin’ out?”

Blinking through the splotchy whites sparking in your vision, “Y-yeah- fuck!”

SPANK!

Oh-so-hard, he’s swatting your pussy with enough stinging force that it makes glittering drops of slick splash across his slamming palm. “You n’ this smartass pussy are gonna see.” He’s gritting through dangerously grinning teeth, “There’s a fuckin’ reason I’m Ryomen fucking Sukuna.”

Because he’s rude - and he fucks even ruder.

Pounding away upwards into you like he doesn’t care if he’s bruising great purple bruises at the bottom of your cervix. The mattress creaks in fervent protest after each gyration of his hips, “P-please-” The only thing you’re mewling out like a broken record, “I-it just feels so…”

Trailing off, your movements are sluggish as your hand starts to slither down between your rutting legs. Yearning to just touch your neglected clit-

SPANK!

“Oi- and who’d ya think you are to touch- hngh- my pretty girl?” He’s grinning, manhandling you in an instant. Before your candied brain can catch up, Sukuna has both your arms pinned behind your back, chin hitting his cushy pecs. “I’ll touch her when I feel like it-”

Such a fucking tease, at the constant timing of his slimy mushroom tip spearing your cunt like a headlight- Sukuna lifts off one of his hands downwards.

Replacing your own with his roughened fingers, he pinches your poor clit—“Sh-shit m’so sensitive there- keep going, Kuna–”

And at this point you weren’t just drooling you were sheening the entirety of his smooth pectorals with a shiny polish. Letting it smear down the side of your cheek as you drunkenly lean on them like pillows, “Chehhh-” He’s spitting out, staring down at the glistening glaze dripping down to his bumpy abs. “Tha’s supposed to stay inside, pretty girl.” 

“I-inside?” Dazedly, the only thing you can think of were your rummaging insides, the way that Sukuna was fucking you like he hated you.

But it was the complete opposite. And he’s draggin’ on your clit, giggling to himself like he’s in love as he watches you huff n’ puff. “God you love it like this- c’mon, ngh- teach, milk this fucking cock- why don’t ya?”

“I-I am-”

SPANK! 

“Harder, mama, make me feel it.”

With a right spank to emphasize his sentence, he’s jostling his hips upwards so you’re left throwing your head back at the full, stretching impact. Unable to even handle the slightly spring recoil that comes with striking your cervix, he’s bouncing you on his pelvis. 

“S’this what you thought about every- hah- time you saw me?” Taking hold of your neck for a brief moment, he’s spitting doooown your throat. “Wantin’ me to fuck this- ngh- pussy raw?”

And the locked restraint on your neck helps bend you into the perfect geometrical curvature to stare up at him as he collapses forwards. Hot breath wafting your features, you whimper- “Y-yes.”

“Not you.”

“Kuna.”

“I’ve been dreamin’ of this for aaages now-” His clammy forehead crinkles as he’s scratching down your clit with the rough texture of his happy trail. Leaving it all stinging n’ raw to make sure the impact is extra sensual as Sukuna rubs over a slooow ‘K’ right on top. 

Rutting into your poor cunt so hard that the skin surrounding his v-line was all reddened- and he can’t help but take one look and moan. “M’getting that tattooed.” Watching as his mean, curvaceous cock molded your walls constantly to him. “Oh- trust when I say-”

And then a ‘U’

“Fuh-fuuuuck, please-” It almost feels like you’re begging for your damn life by now, lungs ripping with moans every time he’s thumping up. You ride your hips in a sexy figure-eight and feel the way Sukuna’s thumb trembles on your clit. 

A wobbly ‘N’

And you already knew what was headed next- oh, you were already prepared. 

But what you weren’t ready for was the completely vicious way that he’s accelerating his papping hips, so fast that the dark tattoo nuzzling your entrance was almost a blur. Thump after thump- 

You’re falling over until that symbolic inking of a widely-opened maw on his stomach licks up your core. Body twitching with white hot flashes of something electric running through your veins, “F-fuck- fuck, s’not gonna last-”

“S’that soooo—?” Sukuna asks down at your pussy to confirm, and only after a few ‘uh-huh’’s does he bore into your stupidly heart-shaped eyes. Tongue lolling straight out for him to lap up into his own mouth, “She says you’re close-”

A firm ‘A’

Another SPANK!

“-and I say you’re cumming already.”

“Wh-what…”

He’s ending off with a perfect heart shape rolled over your clit. What’s that spell- he’s asking mentally. 

Only for you to mewl wantonly as if you’d just heard. “Kuna- Sukuna- Yes- yes m’cumming m’cumming—” 

It’s like you’re enveloped in a tidal wave - you didn’t know where your orgasm started and where it ended. Just that Sukuna’s moans break into something octaves higher as he fucks you through your bliss.

You claw down the expanse of his flexing back with each burst of pre splattering your gooey insides. Toes curled, eyes all teary. “I-it’s so- hck! Feels too good…”

Turning you into absolute mush every time he pumps his thorough inches into you- and the mean fingers on your nub just tug n’ tug.

And it’s only after a few more of your shrilling whines that you’re still feeling the hot entrance of his shaft plummeting through, your walls squeezing ‘round his flared tip. “I want you to cum, too, Sukuna.”

“F-fuck.” He lets out, softly.

Cupping his attractive face, if you thought you were gone then you weren’t ready for the way that Sukuna looked. Cheeks burning hot and red, mouth parted with overspilling drool, brows furrowed into such an expression that it almost makes you feel shy.

Repeating those very same words, you start sloppily swervin’ your hips straight to his. “Cum inside m- ngh, please?”

All this time and his cute lil’ teacher was still minding her p’s and q’s. 

So, of course, when you’re asking him that nicely- it’s the least he could do to listen. To let out a final, vulgar stroke that has him spilling over the edge.

In great, piling heaps of ivory cum that puddles at the bottom of your pussy. There’s so much of it that your ears ring with the lecherous sluuurp–! as your cunt walls suck up every last steaming drop. 

You can feel it trailing down the insides of your thighs like a waterfall and keen, “Just like that, f-fuck…” Almost like you’re hypnotized, you drag one of his much-larger hands to palm the outside of your tummy. “Can feel it all the way here.”

“O-oh my god…” He’s groaning, eyes drifting off to the back of his head as soon as you’re meeting his tempo. Slamming down to rob his aching balls, milking him all dry - you were overspilling and it still wasn’t enough. “Y’really are a dream.” 

And there’s something about the way he’s sluggishly brushing away a stray bead of perspiration from your temple. Something about that lazy, half-lidded look in his eyes, the complete n’ utter reverence in his tone as he asks- “So…s’your type ‘dangerous��, mama?”

Almost…shy.

Oh, it hits you. He’s pussydrunk.

You’d made big, bad Ryomen Sukuna completely and utterly pussydrunk.

To the point where his studded ears flare a deep crimson once you giggle, “Mmm- pretend dangerous, Kuna.” His eyes shine. You think back to that night at the Itadori household, “And I also remember something about quadruplets?” 

It’s then that Sukuna whimpers. 

Not even pulling out. Not even considering such an impossible feat for even a split-second before he rolls your weakened body over.

Hovering over you now, it’s so easy for his beefy arms to tug your legs over his shoulders. Still shaking. Still suffering from the aftermath of your orgasm as he’s holding them tight and bending down, down, dooooown.

Straight into a mating press. 

Oh, your breath catches.

“Before I pound you until you can’t haaah- walk, mama-” Uncharacteristically, Sukuna gulps as he shifts his crimson eyes away from you. “-m’I giving you quadruplets that’ll have my last name?”

Now that was a round-about way to ask someone out- and he knows it, too. 

But it only makes you shuffle up onto your elbows on the now-ruined sheets, sticking to you like glue. You place a lingering peck on Sukuna’s wobbly, overstimulated lips, “Mm- I love you, too, Kuna.”

Oh, how he loves you. He almost cums right then and there. 

Fuck.

He does. 

.

.

.

“You.”

“You.” Yuji narrows his eyes down at the sight of Ryomen Sukuna towering over the busy preschool pick-up. Trying to look over his broad shoulders for any sign of his father, “Huh? But dadda said he was coming to pick me up today?”

Sukuna gingerly scratches the back of his head, “Yeah, well…listen, twerp- I mean, kid. There’s something I need to-”

Only to be cut off by a dramatic gasp—“Oh no- Did dadda go to jail just like you-”

“No,”

“Did he drive fast-”

“No.”

“Did he drink-”

“No-”

“Did he slash tires-”

“Maybe once?”

And fuck- he really didn’t understand tiny children, because explain to him why the pink-haired boy starts bawling in his arms. Pitiful enough to draw the glares of parents wrenching their own children away from the perpetrator, loud enough to draw the sweet concern of you.

Walking from your station saying goodbye to one other student, “Yuji what- oh!” You’re pressing your lips together to contain your smile as you happen to see who was throwing Yuji on his shoulders to soothe him. Bouncing him lightly until he smiled- and you did, too. “I didn’t expect you so early today, Kuna.”

“Yeah, well.” He’s using Yuji’s palms to cover the pinkish ends of his blushing ears, “Decided I wanted to see ya off from work today.”

Now past grief and straight into utter nosiness- “Wait- what do you mean ‘see off’.” He gasps, “Is she going to ja-”

“Brat-”

“What your uncle means to say, Yuji-” Playfully pinching his chubby cheeks, you try to ignore the gawking stares of every other one of your remaining students as you promptly turn to face Sukuna. Giving him a sweet, sweet peck on his. “-is that you’ll be seeing a lot more of me around.”

Another gasp - well, multiple.

One from Itadori Yuji, who gapes, open-mouthed between you and his uncle - as if wondering how he ever managed to bag you, and wait does that mean you’re his auntie now?

About twenty from your crowd of students, right along with a few whispers. 

“Hey, isn’t that weird Mr. Mugshot?”

“So that’s why Mr. Mugshot was always red- eugh! In my momma’s dramas they don’t get together, they just die.”

Fushiguro frowns, “I would rather die than watch him like this. Gross.”

“Caviar.”

Walking up from the group, Fushiguro tugs on your skirt. Innocently - but Sukuna could feel the evil intent. He just knew that boy was a villain. “Inumaki asks whether you mind that he sets fires, miss.”

What the fuck is with the fires-

And then finally - three distinct, unfortunately familiar gasps that make Sukuna dread turning around. Struggling against it, even as his nephew tugs on his locks of pink hair with a delighted squeal- “Dadda–! Bubba–! Gramps-”

You smile, watching Choso take flustered pictures of his uncle. “How the hell did you even win her over? All of these are going in the blackmail folder. Maybe your wedding presentation too.”

Sukuna bites back a shy blush- turning it into a scowl, “Maybe…”

“Well, I’ll be.” Wasuke nods his head in approval, “All thanks to the ah- ‘wingmanning’ as the kids say. I’ll be expecting at least three grandchildren in the future, sonny. And when I say ‘future’ I mean in nine months-”

“Dad! It’s too early for that.” Jin, ever-the-voice-of-reason, gives you a breezy handshake. “Congratulations- by the way.” And it’s all soft. It’s all sweet- that is, until you’re trying to pull your hand back and he only tightens his grip. Smile still tightly in place, “I will be the kids’ godfather, by the way.”

Settling an arm around you now, You and Sukuna don’t know whether to laugh or stand in shocked silence as Jin finally sets you free - but you don’t have to make the choice.

Because the annoying, grating voice of Todo Aoi breaks through—“Noooooo– my bride!” 

A/N. Hope you have a lovely week <3

Plagiarism not authorized.

[exodiam]

[exodiam]

chapter three.

pairing: snow leopard hybrid!gojo x bunny hybrid!femreader

keep up here

the days leading up to your heat have been nothing short of torture. you’re hot—constantly. even with the apartment’s a/c blasting like it’s mid-winter, you keep swiping sweat from your hairline and upper lip, burning from the inside out. your fur-lined ears twitch in irritation, and your fluffy tail keeps flicking like it’s trying to shake off the tension simmering under your skin.

the worst part? satoru offered to stay over at nanami’s earlier than planned.

“y’know, i don’t mind crashing with nanamin if you want some time… alone.”

alone.

you both knew "alone" meant you, probably failing miserably, trying not to hump everything in sight.

neither of you has brought up what happened after the grocery trip. not the quiet tension. not the way you’d shuffled off to bed and turned on your vibrator like you weren’t absolutely feral. but he knew. his ears were massive—fluffy snow-leopard things that twitched at the slightest sound. and with the way he kept sneaking glances at you the next morning? yeah. he definitely knew.

at least he didn’t know that he was the one on your mind during it. and you intended to keep it that way.

“it’s okay,” you huffed, waving off his offer. “i’ll be fine.”

satoru just nodded and dove back into his rare ribeye steak like it was the most natural thing in the world.

and that was that.

to say it’s been tense between you two would be a criminal understatement. you're constantly tiptoeing around each other—him, surprisingly, not wanting to cross any lines, and you desperately trying not to pounce. your instincts are going haywire. bunny brain going brrrrr. you’re practically vibrating.

not that you’re attracted to him. no. definitely not.

…it’s just that your brain goes rogue when heat’s coming. all you can see is a tall—very tall—muscular predator hybrid who oozes sex appeal even when he’s sweaty and half-asleep. especially when he’s sweaty and half-asleep.

and the way he refuses to wear real clothes at home isn’t helping.

you were getting ready for work one morning when he wandered out of his room, freshly woken, arms stretching high over his head. your gaze trailed along the fuzzy white happy trail that peeked out above his pajama pants—and you nearly buckled from the sheer wave of arousal that hit.

your ears shot straight up. tail twitched. whole body stiff.

satoru noticed. of course he did. his own snowy ears gave the slightest flick—like a radar catching prey movement.

he didn’t say anything, but you know he was dying to make a teasing comment.

you didn’t let him.

“you look like shit,” you blurted, and bolted for the door.

work? that was its own hell. you were practically shoving scent blockers down your throat and drowning yourself in perfume. the idea of some sleazy customer catching even a whiff of your pre-heat state? immediate homicide. you were already sensitive to touch, jumpy at loud noises, constantly fidgeting with your ears. and your tail? it refused to cooperate. kept twitching and fluffing up in defense like a pissed-off little pompom.

your manager, utahime—a black cat hybrid—shot you a sympathetic look once as you popped in yet another blocker.

you’d only asked for one week off, even though she said you could take more. but you didn’t want to lose any more pay. you were already living off rice and frozen dumplings.

⊹ ࣪ ˖

when you get home, the apartment’s quiet. satoru’s gone—doing god knows what. you’ve never even asked what he does for work. something late at night that pays him enough to splurge on imported wagyu and fancy sake. whatever.

not really hungry, you decide to knock out some laundry instead.

you gather your basket and head for the door, only to curse under your breath when you remember—satoru still hasn’t made you a copy of the building laundry room key. you huff, drop the basket by the door, and head into his room to look for it.

the second you open the door, your ears flatten.

his scent hits you like a freight train—heavy, rich, and pure. the whole apartment always smells like him a little, but this? this is different. there’s nothing mixed in. just him. raw and undiluted. a snow-leopard hybrid’s natural musk, tinged with power and danger, makes your instincts go haywire.

you take shallow breaths and tiptoe to his desk, trying not to drown in it. eyes scanning for keys. focus, dammit.

but then—your gaze catches on the pile of laundry near his dresser.

it’s stronger there. heavier. muskier.

your ears twitch. your nose flares. your thighs press together.

you whimper, barely.

you stand there, locked in place, chewing your lip—and before your brain can yell bad idea, your hand darts out and snatches up a plain white tee.

you bury your face in it. inhale deeply. moan, just barely.

his cologne. his sweat. his natural scent. it floods you. fills your lungs. swirls in your brain like smoke. your tail curls in tight, and your ears tremble from the stimulation.

you don’t know how long you stand there, just breathing him in—until a sudden, humiliating warmth drips down your inner thigh, seeping through your shorts.

you gasp. ears shoot upright. eyes go wide.

fuck.

you yank yourself away from the shirt like it burned you, grab the keys from his desk, and bolt—nearly faceplanting as you stumble out of the room, body aching and slick and mortified.

he comes home around 1 a.m., kicking the door shut quietly behind him. he blinks at your laundry basket still by the door, confused. you’re usually a laundry-and-bed-by-midnight type.

then he walks into his room.

stops.

sniffs.

and freezes.

you were in here. he knows that scent. knows how it smells when it’s just barely starting to shift toward heat. knows it’s you. his tail swishes once—slow and deliberate.

you’re still awake. you’ve been staying up until nearly 3 a.m. lately. he knocks on your door twice.

“you alright?”

no answer.

he cracks it open and peeks in.

you’re sitting on your bed, dazed, holding something white. he moves closer to sit next to you.

“…that’s my shirt,” he says softly.

you don’t respond at first. then your lips move on their own.

“i took it.”

satoru raises a brow, waiting for more. you don’t give it. so he asks gently,

“uh huh. can i know why? i mean—i don’t mind, but… why?”

you finally look at him. and he nearly chokes.

you look wrecked. flushed. pupils blown wide. ears drooping low and twitching. mouth parted like you forgot how to speak.

“i don’t know…” you whisper.

satoru’s throat works hard. his snow-leopard tail flicks once. fuck.

“y/n… did your heat start already?”

you shake your head no.

“no. but… i’m close. really close.”

silence.

he can hear your heartbeat hammering through the room. your scent is getting sweeter. thicker.

he stands abruptly, nervous laugh spilling out as he runs a hand through his hair. his ears keep twitching like he’s trying to shake off a very dangerous idea.

“okay. i’m gonna go to nanami’s. like, now. doubt he’ll be thrilled about me showing up in the middle of the night, but—oh well.”

as he turns to flee, your hand shoots out and grabs his.

he jolts. like you’ve burned him.

you try to speak. but your voice doesn’t come. only a whisper of breath.

“i—…”

he stares at you, jaw tight, terrified of what he might do if he lets his guard drop. his tail lashes once behind him—his whole body tense and alert.

then, after a beat, he gently brushes his thumb over your hand.

“you can keep that,” he murmurs. “and… you can go to my room.”

your head snaps up.

“if you need,” he adds, voice strained, refusing to meet your eyes.

and then he’s gone.

you’re left in your room, sweaty and dizzy and clutching his shirt. your ears droop as your body shudders.

⊹ ࣪ ˖

you don’t sleep.

you can’t.

you try. curling up under your own covers, burying your face into the shirt you stole—his shirt. it still smells like him. not quite as strong now, but enough to soothe your instincts just a little. your tail stops twitching. your breathing slows.

but then… it starts again.

the throbbing low in your belly. the ache crawling under your skin. your inner thighs are sticky again, your body pulsing like it’s warming up for something devastating.

you flip your pillow over, trying to find a cool spot. tug the blankets off. press your palms to your burning cheeks.

nothing helps.

you’re not in heat yet—but you can feel it coming, like a wave swelling just offshore. building. creeping up.

it’s too much. you’re too aware of your body. your scent. the way your ears droop and flick. the way your tail can’t stay still. the way your thighs keep clenching.

you’ve done this before. you should be used to it by now. should be able to handle it like a normal person.

but this time is different.

this time, there’s a scent curled up in your lungs. him. satoru.

snow leopard hybrid. apex predator. the very last person your poor bunny brain should be obsessed with right now.

and yet…

your eyes flick toward your bedroom door.

“just five minutes,” you whisper, already lying to yourself.

you tiptoe down the hall. quiet. hesitant. every nerve buzzing.

his door creaks open, and the scent hits you all over again—warm and deep and dizzying. your knees go weak. you step inside anyway.

his bed is massive. big enough for two people and then some. the blankets are a mess. pillows everywhere. the soft hum of his scent makes your mouth water. you don't even try to fight it anymore.

you climb in.

carefully.

slowly.

just to lay down. just for a moment. that’s all.

the sheets are warm. heavy. safe.

you curl up on his side of the bed, bury your face into his pillow, and breathe. a soft sound escapes your throat—half-sigh, half-whimper. your body starts to relax.

and for a few minutes… it works.

the ache dulls. your nerves settle.

you finally close your eyes.

⊹ ࣪ ˖

you don’t know how long you’re out.

but you know exactly what wakes you.

it hits like a truck.

a white-hot bolt of pain-pleasure straight through your spine, knocking the wind from your lungs. you jerk upright with a gasp, clutching the sheets, heart hammering.

your ears snap up. your tiny tail—short, soft, and fluffy —twitches hard against the sheets, like your body’s trying to work out the overwhelming pressure building inside you..

your body is on fire.

there’s no gentle lead-up this time. no warning. your heat crashes into you full-force, primal and unrelenting. you feel soaked—panties clinging to you like wet fabric, your thighs trembling. everything hurts. you’re throbbing. aching.

your nipples are stiff, sensitive against your tank top. your skin feels too tight. you’re panting like you just ran a marathon.

“no no no—fuck—”

you press your legs together, trying to soothe it, trying to breathe, but that just makes it worse. the pressure between your legs flares white-hot. your hips twitch. your cunt pulses helplessly, slick drooling onto satoru’s bedsheets.

his bed. his scent.

your body wants him. no—it needs him. desperately. mindlessly.

you bury your face in his pillow and sob.

tears bead in your lashes as your hips roll against the mattress—your body chasing friction all on its own. you’re too far gone. there’s no turning this off. you can’t wait this out anymore. you’re a mess of slick and sweat and want.

“satoru,” you whimper, voice cracking. “need—fuck, i need…”

you clench the sheets in your fists, nose still buried in his scent, body wracked with wave after wave of need.

you know you should get up. call someone. do something responsible.

but all you can think about is how warm this bed is.

how big it is.

how easy it would be for him to pin you here and take you apart.

your plush little tail twitches again. your ears press flat against your head. you're mewling now, gasping into his pillow like it’s the only thing keeping you sane.

“please…”

the word slips out before you can stop it.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹

a/n: *rubs hands together very very evily*

[exodiam]

your tutor of marital propriety!satoru teaches you how to kiss.

a/n: perchance i ever expand this into a full oneshot… who do you all think should be the poor, oblivious betrothed of our princess? they will, of course, be embarrassingly, spectacularly cucked. please choose wisely 🫶🏻

you are stubborn. painfully, deliciously stubborn. that is the first thing satoru realizes the moment you stand before him in the empty antechamber, the silken weight of your skirts set stiff with pride, chin tilted in regal defiance. as though you might ward him off with your sharpened glower, as though you could command him to yield with the simple arch of your brow.

it thrills him. it always has. it coils in his chest, sweet and intoxicating, the memory of you haunting him since that spring banquet so long ago. the stubborn line of your jaw. the proud tilt of your head. the way you walked amongst nobles as if you were already their sovereign, despite the heavy chains of tradition looped around your wrists.

“why must i learn these things from you?”

your voice is taut, every syllable wrapped in distaste, your lips pressed together in a line he has longed to unravel since that day. you were but a young thing then, trailing dutifully behind your father, cloaked in silks and privilege, precious and untouchable—but impossible to ignore. you had not spared him more than a glance, and yet he had seared you into memory: the bold set of your shoulders, the fire in your gaze, the quiet defiance you wore like a crown among a den of wolves.

he had wanted you even then. had wondered how your lips might tremble beneath his teeth. had dreamed of the sounds you would make if cornered just right. had yearned to break past the polished veneer of your courtly manners and drag forth the unguarded version of you. the one who would tremble beneath his hands.

“because, princess,” he answers, letting the honorific drip like sweetened wine, “i am the only one who is qualified.”

he allows his words to linger, stepping closer with the measured gait of a man who knows he will not be refused. your shoulders tense beneath the weight of his stare, and he savors the knowledge that you cannot help but react to him. it curls warm and heady in his chest, a delicious pressure that presses against his ribs, urging him to take more.

“you have lived your life tucked safely within these gilded halls. your intended hails from a distant empire, where the expectations placed upon a wife are foreign to you. i was schooled there. i know their customs. i know the ways of their court.”

his tone is soft, the cadence easy, as if he does not mean to ensnare you. but he does. he has been weaving this web from the moment the king appointed him your instructor, the moment he realized he would have you within his reach, day after day, lesson upon lesson. he smiles, slow and deliberate, as a pale lock of hair slips to graze his cheek, his glacial eyes sinking into yours with practiced precision, carefully adjusted over years of quiet longing.

“unless, of course,” his voice drops, a velvet thread tightening around your ribs, “you would prefer to learn these things from another man?”

his question strikes you cleanly, his satisfaction blooming as he watches the slightest movement of your throat, the smallest quiver in your composure. you loathe him. but beneath that loathing, there is the shimmer of curiosity, the reluctant awareness that what he offers you is necessary. you are no fool. you know what awaits you. and satoru—the silver-haired heir to the northern dukedom, all silk and poison—holds the key.

“fine,” you snap, as though the concession scalds your tongue. “but you will not kiss me as though you mean it.”

his lips curl, slow and amused, as though your stipulation is a game he is eager to play, a rule he has no intention of following.

“of course, your highness. i would never presume.”

it is a lie.

he approaches with deliberate steps, each echoing click of his polished boots measured and slow, the faint trace of his cologne arriving before his touch. you flinch as he raises his hand, but he merely tucks a loose strand behind your ear, the brush of his gloved fingers grazing your temple, lingering far too long, savoring the softness of you beneath his leather.

“relax,” he murmurs, savoring the tremble that dances through you. “it would not do for you to be so tense when your husband-to-be touches you.”

“i would prefer he never touch me at all,” you bite, though your voice falters when his hand settles beneath your chin, his thumb pressing delicately against the stubborn line of your jaw. you try to sound strong, but the frantic pulse beneath your skin betrays you. your pride burns bright, but your body does not yet know how to resist him.

“ah, but he will.”

his gaze dips to your lips, his breath faltering—just once. it is the only fracture in his composure he permits himself. he has envisioned this too many times: the softness of your mouth, the fire in your eyes as you surrender piece by reluctant piece.

“part your lips,” he whispers, his thumb coaxing, circling lazily across the seam of your mouth. “good girl.”

your eyes flash, your pride bristling at the endearment, but you obey. you do not pull away. you tremble, uncertain, your hands fluttering at your sides, unsure of where to land. his chest swells with triumph at your hesitation, the subtle fracture in your resolve.

“this is merely a lesson,” he reminds you, his voice low and reverent, his thumb never leaving your lips. “nothing more.”

it is the sweetest, most exquisite lie he has ever told.

he lowers his head slowly, relishing the soft tremble of your lashes, the way your breath catches when his lips brush yours—a fleeting touch at first, no more than a whisper. his hand slides to the nape of your neck, drawing you firmly into him as he deepens the kiss—greedy, voracious, as though he might consume you whole.

his tongue prods at the seam of your lips, insistent, until you—hesitant, trembling—allow him entry, still clumsy, still learning, but so unbearably eager despite yourself. you taste of sweet spring wine, stubborn pride, and something wholly forbidden. satoru groans into your mouth, a low, guttural sound that spills from him unchecked, ragged and desperate.

he had meant to teach you restraint. to guide you carefully. but instead he devours you—his lips slanting over yours again and again, his tongue tangling with yours in wet, breathless strokes, his hunger plain and shameless. each sound, slick and obscene, echoes in the chamber, every beat of his heart a thunderous ache beneath his ribs.

his other hand drifts to your waist, his fingers curling into the rich fabric of your gown, anchoring you as though he might leave his mark upon your skin. his teeth catch at your lower lip, drawing a startled gasp that he drinks greedily, desperate for more, desperate to swallow every breath that escapes you.

his hands explore the curve of your waist, the subtle dip of your spine, the quickened pulse that flutters beneath his touch. he grips you harder, more desperately, as though terrified that you might slip through his fingers and vanish. his palms burn against the thin barrier of your gown, his thumb pressing firmer, as though imprinting his touch upon your flesh.

he is drowning in you. intoxicated by the soft, shaky moan that tumbles from your throat when his fingers trail the delicate column of your neck, tangling briefly in your hair before settling possessively at your nape. his breathing is ragged, his lips returning to yours with renewed frenzy, unwilling to part, unwilling to yield, until the burning in his lungs forces him to relent—and even then, he hovers, his mouth brushing yours, his breath mingling with yours as if the mere inches between you are too cruel to bear.

his kiss drags on—a feverish, hungry thing—until the heat beneath your skin leaves you swaying against him, your balance teetering, your hands fisted weakly in the fabric of his coat. he presses forward, guiding you with slow, suffocating steps until your back meets the cool stone wall of the chamber, caging you with his body as though you belong there, as though you were made to fit within the curve of his arms.

his lips leave yours only to trail down the curve of your jaw, pressing firm, open-mouthed kisses to the delicate skin there, his teeth grazing, biting, soothing with the sweep of his tongue as though tasting every inch of you he dares to touch. his breath is hot against your skin, his hands skimming the sides of your bodice, sliding up to your ribs with a bruising grip that makes you shudder and arch involuntarily against him.

he kisses the hollow beneath your ear, his tongue darting out to taste the faint sheen of sweat gathered there, his teeth scraping, dragging a whimper from you that shatters whatever pitiful defense you might have clung to.

“you are learning so quickly,” he breathes, his voice a ragged whisper, a dangerous spark alight in his gaze, the fragile leash on his composure long since abandoned. “perhaps we should practice more often. again. and again.”

“satoru—”

your protest is weak, your breath shattered, your lips swollen and glistening with the evidence of his touch. your hands cling feebly to the front of his coat, suspended between resistance and reluctant longing, the last embers of your defiance flickering beneath the haze he has woven around you. your legs are trembling, your heart stumbling in your chest, uncertain whether to fight him or to follow him.

“shh,” he soothes, pressing another kiss to your trembling mouth, softer now, but still steeped in possession, as though he might claim you with the gentle weight of it. “you need not thank me, princess. your education is my duty, after all.”

when he finally pulls away, a string of saliva clings between your lips and his, glimmering and obscene, refusing to part until he brushes his thumb across your lower lip, smearing the dampness he left behind with slow, reverent strokes, as if to etch the taste of you into his skin.

he drinks in the sight of you—disheveled, flushed, the rapid rise and fall of your chest betraying the storm beneath your proud facade. his hunger sharpens, solidifies, anchoring itself deep within him, feeding a yearning he has long since ceased trying to temper.

his thumb drags once more across your lip, slow, lingering, as if he cannot bear to let even this fleeting touch go. he leans in, pressing a final kiss to your chin, to the corner of your mouth, as though marking you in all the places he has yet to claim.

“we shall continue tomorrow,” he whispers, a promise, a decree, as though you already belong to him. he speaks it like a vow. like a threat.

for he will not let you go. not now. not ever.