joyaphoria

[joyaphoria]

free therapy is confiding in strangers on the internet

[joyaphoria]

buckle up bitches im abt to play russian roulette with my drafts

[joyaphoria]

jjk manga spoilers bewards

literally nothing on my mind but:

'the heavens reject gojo satoru's death.'

my husband is literally him because how u gonna die and the heavens simply send u back cus they won't accept that?

[joyaphoria]

oh my god.

beg for WHO?

[joyaphoria]

you’re back

YOU'RE BACK

[joyaphoria]

you know im reblogging because her fics drive me insane

IMPULSE.

Minors and ED blogs DNI. Ageless blogs will be blocked. Do not repost or recommend my work anywhere.

Synopsis. As a single mother, you have fought tooth and nail to provide your son the stability you never had, and one of your motherly sacrifices included a self-imposed dating hiatus. But your perspective soon changes when your reclusive neighbour enters the picture.

WC. 15.3k

Genre. NSFW, alternative universe.

Warnings. Alcohol consumption, kitchen sex, oral (female and male receiving), ass play (female receiving), side wind-her position, reverse cowgirl, sixty-nine, a sprinkle of toe sucking, overstimulation, biting (hickeys), spitting, praising, heavy dirty talk, spanking, ironic usage of mommy, fluff if you squint, piercer! Sukuna (with eyebrow, tongue and nip piercings) cause I’m a wh*re.

MASTERLIST | PART TWO

You’ve received plenty of gifts in your life, ones that held a deep sentimental value to you; a bouquet of roses from your first partner, a watch as a high school graduation gift, and even something as trivial as a colouring book on your tenth birthday. You were a person of sentiments after all, and although it’s been years since you’ve received that Digimon sketchbook, the memory remains cherished in the deepest pits of your heart.

But the best gift you have received, was eight years ago on the nineteenth of April. It might not have been wrapped up with a pretty red ribbon and a heartfelt, written gift card attached, but you’d like to believe he was the greatest blessing you could ever ask for.

You named him Zion.

Of course, like any other woman who gets impregnated during the peak of her youth, you went absolutely ballistic seeing the two red lines on the pregnancy stick that confirmed your long term suspicions. With the father out of the picture long before you had the chance to tell him, the discovery was a new added weight to your shoulders, one that you struggled to carry on your own at first.

It was safe to say that there was a lack of familial stability growing up for you, and you’ve made sure to not allow history to repeat itself by providing a nurturing environment. As the years went by, you found yourself developing a set of skills you never thought you could possibly obtain. You were not just a mother when you gave birth to the most beautiful light in your life. You grew to become a protector, a doctor, a cook, a teacher, an advisor. You were a force to be reckoned with and didn’t lack a single ounce of independency. Some might assume being a single mum is a long, lonely road consisting of nothing but sleepless nights and overbearing responsibilities (which isn’t exactly a lie, to be quiet frank), but it was a road that ended up building your strength and resilience. In the end, you have transformed from a fragile dandelion, to an impassable mountain that emerged from the earth’s crust, one that cannot be shook by the strongest storms or winds. And you have Zion to thank for that.

As expected, having a child came with many sacrifices. Eight hours of sleep, sexy lingeries, and night outs with your friends were long deserted once you signed your life-time oath of motherhood. You even abandoned your bikinis at some point, because your trips to the beach went from sipping cocktails and peaceful hours of suntanning to chasing around an eight year old that would insist on trying to eat sand for reasons unknown to you. You were sure you were going to grow two more arms and legs from raising a single child. But seeing your son live a comfortable life, a life that you unfortunately did not have the privilege to live when you were his age, it was infinitely rewarding.

The scorching heat of the oven fanned your already hot face as you pulled out another tray of freshly baked cupcakes. Placing it on the island next to the other two trays that have cooled down long ago, the sweet aroma of butter dominating your nostrils as you inhaled a large breath. You began to pipe overlapping rows of petals with purple icing, giving it the illusion of a carnation as you towered it with a sweet glaze of Swiss Meringue buttercream—you were trying to welcome spring where you can, which can only mean creating floral designs during this time of the year. Wiping your cheek tiredly with the back of your hand, you were quick to finish with the frosting and decorations, your eyes studying the small pieces of art with a proud smirk, only for realisation to crash hard into you once you’ve registered that you made too much for anyone's likening.

Whilst you were too absorbed scolding yourself in the head for repeating the same flimsy mistake that you never seem to learn from your weekly baking sessions, your ears perked up to the familiar sound of small footsteps rushing towards you. You kept your hands at your hips and your eyes fixed at the dozens of cupcakes with a hard glare as if they would decrease in number under your gaze. Your train of thoughts were interrupted once you felt a tug at your blouse. Your eyes soften at the sight of a giddy Zion, who stares up at you with a toothy grin and eyes as bright as the universe.

“Is this the Swedish one?” He perks up, catching a whiff at the delightful dessert assembled in front of him, eyes scanning the triumph of egg and flour. "You mean Swiss meringue?” You snort, before seeing a small hand from your periphery reach for one. “Hey!" You playfully swatted him away, “Dinner first, then dessert.” You remind him, ignoring the small pout he gives you and resuming to the task at hand as you began to place pieces into their respective plastic containers.

“Did anything fun today?” You mutter, eyebrows furrowed as you shut the food containers with a lid, careful enough to not smudge the frosting you’ve perfected. “Kizuki’s mum took us to the park to ride our bicycles.” Zion says absentmindedly, still entranced with the floral frosting in front of him. He attempts to sneakily reach out for one, only for you to swat his hand away again without even so much as sparing a glance. “I thought your bicycle had a slipped chain?” You ask confusingly once you met his gaze, before turning on the faucet to wash up your hands. You were planning on taking it to the store at some point, but the thought slipped from your mind before you had the chance to stick a post-it note on the fridge as a reminder.

Zion’s lips stretch into a tight smile. “Suku fixed it for me!” He blurts, reaching for a cupcake once more. You don’t stop him this time, too dumbfounded to give him a third scold as your mind attempts to absorb what he just said. “Suku?” Your feet remain rooted in place. “The man living across the hall?” The eight year old nodded vigorously, sinking his teeth into the cupcake in his relatively small hands. With his mouth full, he explains, “He’s really nice, even though he keeps calling me kid, which is weird because I told him I have a name but—“

“When did that happen?” You don’t mean to interrupt him, but to hear someone whose had grouch as a synonym to his name suddenly possess the urge in helping others, when he made sure to go far and wide to close off any form of interaction had rendered you speechless. Zion gives you a half-shrug, “A few days ago.”

To say you were shocked would be an understatement, because Ryomen Sukuna, inhabitant of apartment 23B, and quite bluntly, the most hated tenant in the apartment complex, was not a man to do favours, let alone hold a conversation with anyone. You assume that he must’ve left the womb with a scowl because it remains etched on his inked face with every encounter, and you never hear anything come out of his mouth except for a grumble of annoyance, followed by his apartment door slamming shut whenever you greet him a good morning. With a wicked temper and sour attitude, he was like the grey cloud that would suddenly rain on a summer afternoon, the storm after the calm. The grinch per say, except his heart never grows three sizes for him to have a change in demeanour.

“Peanut I told you not to bother him. He’s not a..people person, remember?” You attempt to put it nicely, but Zion only blinks at you. He swallows down another bite, his legs swinging from the kitchen stool, “But I didn’t. He saw me with the bike downstairs and told me to wait before he came back with his tools.”

“He did?” You ask bug-eyed. At this point you can only assume that your son must be confused with someone else, because the series of events currently being retold to you sounds completely paradoxical to the man living across the hall. But as far as you know, there’s only one person with a pink undercut and tattoos littering his face in this prefecture. “Yup, told you he was nice.” Zion replies proudly, licking off the frosting from his fingers. You shake the thought out of your head, wiping your hands down your apron before picking up the two containers of cupcakes. “Okay, wanna take these to Mrs. Oshiro before dinner?” You offer politely. To your dismay, your carbon copy shakes his head immediately at your proposal. Your eyebrows pinch in, “Why not?”

“She scares me.” Zion confesses, sinking into the stool. Ironically enough, a harmless elderly woman seemed to pose a threat to him unlike the six foot tall, tattooed man. “And she’s weird.”

He licked his lips, leaving a streak of frosting right on the tip of his nose. You grab a nearby tissue paper in response, bending down to wipe his face before disposing it in the bin. “Don’t be mean. She’s nice! And she looks out for you when I’m at work.” You attempt to convince him. With time you grew relieved that Zion came out to be an exact duplicate of you, in terms of both looks and persona, not inheriting a single scrape from his father. Admittedly, the outcome wasn’t always in your favour when your son would act as hard headed as you can be.

“But she made us hide in the closet last time cause she kept saying some men in suits are coming to take us.” Zion whines before his bottom lip juts out into a pout. You couldn’t find a fragment within you to blame him for his attitude towards her. Mrs. Oshiro was nice when she wanted to be, but after the loss of her husband, her health had declined drastically, in a sense—growing paranoid at the slightest inconvenience and occasionally stirring up rumours about fellow occupants. Her memory wasn’t the best after all, but she was nice enough to both you and your son. And in your book, that was sufficient enough to maintain a civil relationship with her.

“Fine, I’ll take it.” You sigh out defeatedly. Zion straightens up at that, a triumphant giggle erupted from his lips as you amble out of the kitchen and towards the front door. “And no more cupcakes!” You call out knowingly, slipping into your sandals before unlocking the door to step outside.

It only took three consecutive knocks before the door belonging to apartment 26B began to creek open ever so slowly, revealing a tuff of platinum hair. A wide brown eye peeks through the gap. “Mrs. Oshiro? It’s me, [Name].” You call out softly, tilting your head with a smile. The older woman gasps, slamming the door shut in your face before you heard a set of chains unlock.

“[Name]!” She beams once the door wings open. The decades worth of wrinkles and folds of skin were now more pronounced as the corner of her lips stretch into a wide smile. You’re careful to not let your eyes wander to the inside of her apartment, given that would only trigger one of her various phobias (unfortunately for you, you’ve learned that the hard way, and the incident from a few years back only led to Mrs. Oshiro locking herself up for two continuous weeks without opening the door to anyone).

“I hope I’m not bothering you, but I made some sugar free cupcakes, so I thought I’d drop over some.“ You gesture towards the two containers you’re holding, one placed on top of the other. There isn’t an ounce of hesitation detected on Mrs. Oshiro’s face when she steps forward to take one right out of your hands. ���Aren’t you the sweetest!” She exclaims, holding it up to the light as she examines its contents from below for reasons unknown to you.

“I was hoping I’d catch you. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about little Zion.” She mutters absentmindedly, cracking open the lid and swiping the frosting with her finger. Your lips purse like you’ve just chewed on a lemon rind at the sight of your violet carnation turning into a stomped flower. Mrs. Oshiro licks her finger clean with a hum of satisfaction. “I saw him the other day with that..yakuza boy.” She discloses with a hush, her eyes flickering to apartment 23B warily before meeting your gaze. “Yakuza boy?” You repeat for affirmation, eyebrows drawn inwards confusingly before your face softens in realisation. “Oh, you mean Sukuna?”

“Sukuuunaaa,” Mrs. Oshiro drags out the name in utter disgust, tongue sticking out and eyes rolled in annoyance at the mentioned. “—Is nothing but trouble. You need to tell your boy steer clear from him.” She continues warningly. You weren’t sure where all this newfound hatred towards your neighbour suddenly emerged from, but you can only assume how the combination of tattoos, piercings and a vulgar mouth was a natural repellent towards the elderly. You shift your weight from one foot to the other awkwardly, trying to wrack up the right words to say. “I don’t..think he is though. He fixed Zion’s bike. I was gonna go give him some cupca—“

“Are you mad, young girl?!” Mrs. Oshiro shrieks in horror, eyes wide in disapproval as she suddenly grabs your forearm. “I saw him with his group, [Name]. He’s a yakuza.” She firmly states with conviction. You weren’t one to feed into rumours or blindly believe in such irrational accusations—it’s not exactly wise to pass judgment on someone based on preconceptions, let alone by their appearance. But given the look on Mrs. Oshiro’s face, you knew attempting to convince her otherwise would only lead to a dead-end. You politely remove her hand, giving her a reluctant smile. “Thank you for warning me. I’ll be sure to follow your advice.”

You thanked the Gods above the conversation was cut short. Your answer seemed to satisfy Mrs. Oshiro, because she only pats your cheek with a “thank you for the cupcakes”. Wishing you a goodnight, she closes the door and locks it shut. With your lips pursed, you choose to completely contradict your previous words by turning on your heel, and allowing your feet to carry you towards apartment 23B.

Hesitantly, your hand balls into a fist as you knock twice on the mahogany door. You shuffle with your feet as you wait for the next minute or so. You knew for a fact that he was at home given the light peeking through the peephole, and it only dawns on you at that moment that he could be ignoring you. Stubbornly, your hand moves to knock once more before the door suddenly swings open. You flinch in response, clutching the cupcake container instinctively. Your eyes widen at your rosy-haired neighbour, whose body spray odour invades your nostrils instantly.

He only looks at you with distaste filling his expression; eyebrows drawn in as he shoots daggers at you. You felt yourself shrink under the intensity of his gaze, and at that moment you were willing to pay whatever amount of money to be able to undo your actions, because the growing feeling of regret began to slowly germinate within you once you met his gaze again.

You gulp unconsciously before stammering, "Uh..hi." He doesn’t greet back, his scowl unchanged. His gimlet chestnut eyes travel to the container in your hands momentarily before returning to your face, almost impatiently. And you knew in that moment he wasn’t too fond of the idea of you being a few steps away from his door. The palpable tension grows thicker, "I'll just cut straight to the chase then.." you mutter quietly, eyes shifting to your feet before meeting his stone hard glare. You clear your throat, speaking up loud and clear, "Zion told me about what you did with uh..his bike, and I wanted to thank you for that."

He pauses for a second, only to nod curtly at your words. His silence only proved more difficult for you to string together a proper sentence as a response. "Anyways, I made some cupcakes—" You attempt to sound enthusiastic as you held the container up for him to see, but he only blinks at you in disinterest, his stare unrelenting. Unconsciously, your mouth began to babble profusely, "I mean some would be an understatement because I made way too much without even realising so I thought mayb—“

"I don't like sweets."

His voice catches you off guard; gruff and thunderous, enough to dry out your throat as it rang in your ears. Your eyebrows shoot up at his bluntness. "They’re sugar free.” You defend with a squeak, but your attempts to win him over are futile. Sukuna seems unfazed, his hand remains clutching the doorknob tightly. “Let me rephrase, I don’t want your sweets.” He elaborates lowly.

You wanted the ground beneath you to split into two and swallow you whole as the air grew stuffy around you. Your tongue pokes out to lick your lips, "Oh." You mumble embarrassingly, your voice as quiet as a mouse. "Guess I'll just..take these back then," You gestured towards your apartment door, “And be out of your way.” Nearly scramming away, you plodded back to your apartment in dismay, expecting to hear his door close shut from behind you, but you freeze in place once you surprisingly hear him call out for you.

"Hey."

Hesitantly, you slowly turn your head to face him with a hopeful glint in your eyes, because you expected to hear an apology, or perhaps him changing his mind and suddenly taking the container from your hands. Instead, he lifts his hand to point at his own hair, his pierced eyebrow arched slyly. And you could’ve sworn you saw a devilish smirk dangled on the corner of his lips. "You've got an egg shell in your hair." He remarks flatly, not giving you a chance to formulate a response before he takes a single step backwards and slams the door shut with a click.

You blink owlishly, reaching for your own head. You pat your scalp in several different places before feeling the rough texture belonging to a fragment of an egg shell. Letting out a huff of annoyance, you stomp back into your apartment and shut the door with a loud bang. Glancing at the container in hand, you couldn’t help but scoff at your previous encounter. Muttering “I don’t like sweets” mockingly in a poor attempt to imitate his hoarse voice, you carelessly open the lid to shove a cupcake into your mouth in frustration. You lean your head against the door, cheeks puffed out as you flutter your eyes shut. Savouring the taste, your moment of bliss was soon to be interrupted when you suddenly hear a familiar voice speak.

“I thought you said no dessert before dinner?”Cracking one eye open, you see Zion staring up at you with pure curiosity. Swallowing, you answer tiredly, “Can I break the rule just this once?”

“Will you let me do it with you?” Of course he wouldn’t let you off so easily without throwing in the bargaining chip. Groaning in defeat, you close the container shut and walk past him towards the kitchen to start dinner, ignoring his pleads as he scrambles to chase you.

“W-Wait! Maybe we can work out a better deal!”

The skin around your fingertips and across your palm nearly peeled as you typed away onto your computer. With another work report due soon at your corporate job, you remind yourself once more to purchase more coffee grains on your next shopping trip given you were already on your third cup. Luckily, you were flexible with your job, ensuring to not leave poor Zion alone at the hands of a paranoid Mrs. Oshiro as you began to work from home at least twice a week.

Having your eight year old away to one of his monthly sleepovers at the Fushiguro’s allowed you to use the opportunity to your advantage, typing on your keyboard until your fingers fell numb. Eyes strained and consecutive yawns fighting their way out of your mouth. Tonight, you were persistent with finishing as much reports as possible to make more leisure time for you and your son. With your objective clear in your head, you send off another excel file via email before moving on to the next one. But you’re cut short once you hear your doorbell suddenly ring. Sighing, you type out a quick starter before pushing your chair behind to stand up, fixing up your shirt as you drag your feet towards the front door.

The situation seemed fitting, you think, once you’ve looked through the peephole to see a tuff of shell-pink hair. Your eyes, however, widen in surprise either way at the unexpected visit. "No fucking way.." Unintentionally, your voice came out louder than expected, quickly slapping your hand over your mouth once Sukuna snapped his head up with furrowed eyebrows. You took a small step back, before cautiously unlocking the door and prying it open.

His usual, unperturbed mannerism didn’t come across as shocking to you—breath slow and tranquil. With navy sweats on, his hair was damp from a recent shower, the usual bright hues of his watermelon locks reduced into a deeper shade of magenta. The silver chain of his necklace visible as the pendant disappeared underneath his black tank top. "Do you have any sugar?" He questioned grouchily—voice monotone and flat as he awaited for the girl that struggled to sputter out a single, comprehensible word. Too gobsmacked at his presence to even formulate a proper greeting. "I thought you didn't like sweets?" You squeaked out without a thought, almost fighting the urge to palm yourself in the face when you received nothing but a quirked eyebrow in response. You quickly recompose, “I’ll go get you some. Please wait here.”

He only nods, looking away when you close the door shut and place the chain back on. You were quick to strut into your kitchen, swinging open the cupboards and nearly dropping the bag of sugar to the floor once you reached for it. Your eyes flicker to the last few cupcakes left out from your previous baking session, nearly scoffing at the idea of offering him some again. Saving yourself the embarrassment, you opt to return with the coffee mug filled with its requested contents only. Unlocking the chain to swing your door open, you stand composedly as you press your lips, the small amount of chapstick you’ve applied hours ago causes them to slide and spread the moisture. “Here—“

"I’m not one to meddle with something that’s clearly not my business, but you should really keep an eye out for your kid.” He suddenly interjects, making you stop in your tracks. The hand holding the mug of sugar is stretched back to your chest, your eyes narrow into slits at the sudden remark. “Excuse me?”

He clicks his tongue in disinterest, “Some neighbourhood kids are bothering him. You might wanna do something about that.” Sukuna vaguely explains. Judging from the slack expression and stiffened posture, his suspicions are confirmed once he notes how stunned you look from the sudden news. “He hasn’t told you, has he?”

You blink, shaking your head slowly in dismay. Your hand squeezes the mug hard enough it could crumble into dust under your fist. “No..he didn’t.” You admit sullenly. Zion has never hid anything from you before. If anything, your son has been an open book to you his entire life. Perhaps he didn’t want you to worry, or wanted to handle things himself knowing how boys can be. But no eight year should be shouldering such experiences on his own, not when you have signed a life-time oath to be his protector amongst the long list of several other nouns.

“I only intervened once. But don’t expect me to do it every time.” Sukuna states firmly, not hesitating to establish boundaries between you two. His chocolate orbs pierce yours as you nod in understanding. “Thank you..for stepping in.” You trail off quietly, eyes flickering to the mug in your hand before meeting his potent gaze. “And for telling me. I-I never thought Zion would hide something like that from me.” You stammer anxiously. “He’s a boy. It’d be weird if he didn’t hide anything from you.” Sukuna retorts bluntly, his expression unreadable. You can only nod again—mouth dry and chest constricted. Gulping, your cheeks puff out like a pine squirrel as you exhale large and exaggerated breaths. Sukuna furrows his eyebrows, watching you tug at the collar of your shirt nervously. “Is it getting hot in here?” You exasperate, shamelessly blowing air inside of your shirt through the hole of your collar right in front of him.

“Are you okay—”

“Yeah, yeah it’s just—“ You breathe out in a panic-stricken manner. “This is the phase, right?” You don’t await for Sukuna to respond, as he only continues to stare at you warily. Blabbering incoherently, you continue, “The phase where they start hiding stuff and then it’s the blatant lying before they grow up to be teenagers and start sneaking around and talking back—Do you want some cupcakes?” Your thumb jerks behind you and over your shoulder. Sukuna blinks, taking a minute or so to process your rant. Nevertheless, his face remains neutral, “No thanks.”

Sighing in defeat, your shoulders slump before resting the back of your hand against your forehead, eyes screwed shut in embarrassment before you meet his gaze. “I’m sorry it’s just..that’s never happened before.” You explained quietly, “Thank you again..for letting me know. Zion did say you were nice.” The corner of your lips began to quirk up into a lacklustre smile, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

Sukuna doesn’t mirror your expression. He nods slowly at your words. “You have a good night.” He mutters, before turning on his heel to walk back into his apartment. The door quietly shuts behind him. With a defeated sigh, you look down at your hand, relaxing your grip at your mug. And that's when you realised something.

He never wanted his sugar.

At some point, you knew you had to navigate and pinpoint the last splinter of courage you have left within you to knock on the door. Nevertheless, you continue pacing back and forth in the hallway anxiously, quietly chanting to yourself the same line you’ve been rehearsing in your head like a mantra. It’s comical now that you think about it; how confronting an eight year old has your palms twitching and the nape of your neck sweating profusely. From a stranger’s point of view, you could come across as paranoid, perhaps unreasonably dramatic even. But you are a mother first above everything else, and it is your duty to ensure your son steers clear from harm’s way.

Somehow, and strange enough for you, you think you managed to successfully locate the shard of said courage, because your hand forms into a fist before knocking twice, the other nervously gripping the door handle and nearly slipping from your own sweat. “Zion? Can I come in?” You hear shuffling through the door before he calls back cheerfully, “Yes mama!”

With the way your heart’s beating erratically in your ribcage, you think you’re not too far off the mark from a soldier on the frontline who’s about to embark on a prodigious battle. In spite of that, you twist the door knob and sallied forth into his room with a struggling smile, “Hey—“

You don’t know what hits you first; the sudden feeling of disorientation, or the way your muscles fell rigid at the sight ahead of you. Zion only gives you a toothy grin, completely oblivious to the way your jaw falls slack as you frantically rush towards him. “Oh my god!” Your wide eyes flicker to the black sharpie clutched in his small hand in horror, your hands cradling his face as he giggles innocently at you. “W-What I—“ You were at a complete lose of words to say the least, your fingers trailing the messy black strokes drawn on his chin, across his nose and down the sides of his cheeks. “Peanut, what did you?” You stressed, careful to not raise your voice. Completely unaware of your tantrum, Zion only beams at you, his blatant enthusiasm unfaltering, “Now no one gets to make fun of me!”

It was the exuberant smile depicted on his visage, plus the recollection of your encounter with a certain rosey haired man that caused a striking realisation to wash all over you. Still in a daze, your hand drops from Zion’s cheek, falling immobile at your sides as you blink at him. He seemed to pick up on your sudden change in demeanour, because the corner of his lips curve downwards into a concerned frown, his eyes wide as he looks up to you once you stand tall. He tilts his head, “Mommy?”

“Grab my hand, please.” You request with a sigh, stretching your arm for him to hold. He does so without a drop of reluctance, eyes not leaving your crestfallen face as you guide him out of his room and right outside of your apartment. The trek to the apartment across you is short. Your eyes are fixed on the bolded two digits nailed to the door with a hard glare, unable to keep your blatant anger from erupting as you knock in urgency. Clearly, you weren’t the only one undergoing a fit of pique, because he swings the door open with eyebrows knitted in visible irritation. He snaps at you with a scowl, “What?”

“Look!” You point at Zion furiously, who only waves at Sukuna energetically. You catch the look of shock that momentarily flashes in his cocoa eyes, unable to veil the surprise in his visage when he sees the scribbles littered on Zion’s face. “Suku, I look just like you now! Now those boys won’t pick on me anymore!” Your son chirps.

“That is not something to be proud of, Zion.” You warn, before hearing a quiet chuckle erupt in front of you. Your head snaps towards Sukuna, seeing a loop sided smirk on his face. “You think this is funny?” You hiss, your forehead puckered. He only shrugs with disinterest, crossing his arms over his broad chest before leaning on the doorframe lazily, “It kinda is.”

Unable to bite back your tongue any longer, you decide to display your clear agitation when your son’s completely out of sight. Looking down at the giddy eight year old, you pat his scalp gently, your voice much softer compared to earlier. “Zion, can you go back inside, please? And don’t wash up until I’m back.” He cranes his neck to look at you, nodding obediently before slipping his hand from yours. “Bye Suku!” He waves happily before skipping back inside. You wait until the door clicks shut before your eyes meet Sukuna’s once more, “I don’t know what you told him—“

“I didn’t tell him anything.” He quickly refutes your accusation with an arched eyebrow. He notes the scowl on your face as you ball your hand into fists. Nevertheless, he continues, “What? It’s my fault that an impressionable ten year old happened to gain some inspiration?”

“Partially, yes!” You argue back, too absorbed in your own anger to bother correcting him. Sukuna, however, clenches his jaw at the way you suddenly raised your voice at him. Placing a hand on the doorframe for support, he bends down to your level predatorily with a harsh glare, and you find yourself shrinking under his gaze as regret began to seep through your veins.

“Is it really? Or did you just want an excuse to knock on my door?” He cocks his head to the side. You only stare at him bug-eyed, mouth parted but not uttering a single word. He doesn’t pay any mind to your lack of speech, but rather sighs as he stands up straight, “I did that to myself once.” He begins. His voice is low, his words are for you alone. “When I was his age, I drew on my face with a sharpie.” Sukuna elaborates, running his hand through his locks. You scoff, folding your arms over your chest, “Is that supposed to be comforting? Knowing there’s a possibility my son’s gonna tattoo his face ten years from now?”

Leaning on the doorframe again, he arches a sly eyebrow at you. The silver barbell pierced through his skin glistens under the hallway light for a split second. “Do you not like my tattoos?” He asks amusingly. “Well, yeah when it’s on your face not my kid’s.” You mutter absentmindedly with a playful roll of your eyes, before your facial expression falters in realisation. Your widened eyes meet his dark chocolate ones, and you find it hard to look away when his lips curve upwards into a smirk. “I mean..”

Before you had the opportunity to make a fool out of yourself even more, you hear the faucet running in the background behind you. Letting out a small curse word under your breath, you leave the inked man to his devices once you hear your son call out for you pleadingly.

“Mommy! It’s in my eye!”

The universe must have an odd sense of humour, because unfortunately for you, you’ve crossed paths with Sukuna too many times for your likening after your encounter. And conveniently enough, it was always when you three shared an elevator; meaning you had absolutely no escape route given you were still embarrassed from your previous slip up. Piping the icing on the cake, Zion always seemed to be the catalyst for a conversation starter too. For reasons unknown to you, he seemed to have a sudden spike of interest in Sukuna; bombarding him with a fusillade of questions at every given opportunity. In one of the many occasions you’ve shared an elevator with the mentioned; Zion, this time, asks about his occupation.

“Suku? Are you a painter?” He asks, curiosity lingering with his words as he munches on a baby carrot. His eyes study the black bands around the taller man’s wrists, to the ones peeking through his jumper. Disinterestedly, Sukuna keeps looking ahead as the elevator began to move up. “I’m a piercer. And stop calling me that.”

“Piercer?” Zion scrunches up his face. Choosing not to stick your nose into their conversation, you can only wait impatiently for the elevator to reach your floor, ignoring the way your shoulder continuously brushes against the man next to you. “Yes piercer,” Sukuna affirms, before looking down at the eight year old with a blank expression on his face. “I shove needles into people for money.” He elaborates bluntly. You’d think at this point, Zion would let the conversation die out, but unsurprisingly, he presses even more. “What’s that like?” He inquires quizzically, taking another baby carrot out of the small zip bag in his hands before sinking his teeth into it with a loud crunch. “Busy.” Sukuna states flatly, but he doesn’t stop there. With a cunning smirk, he deliberately attempts to frighten the child, “And then you have the blood. And the snot, and the—“

You snapped your head towards Sukuna with a scowl, but your son’s reaction stops you from intervening. “Wow..” Zion’s eyes widen in astonishment. Too bewildered with the newly shared information, his jaw falls slack, allowing a full view of the mushed carrots in his mouth. You almost politely remind him to not speak with his mouth full before he quickly swallowed down his bite. Craning his neck, he meets your soft gaze with twinkled moon eyes. “Mama, can I be a piercer?”

That’s..not what Sukuna expected.

What he did expect, however, was a cold, harsh no from you; given most parents would want their children to venture out into career paths that held promising futures; medicine, law, engineering. Amongst the sea of occupations, a piercer was not a negotiable card on the table. And a small fraction within him was actually hoping you wouldn’t snipe off the small root of creativity germinating in your son’s head.

Sukuna’s eyes shift to you with a raised eyebrow in discrete anticipation for your answer. “You can be...” You trail off, before placing your hands on Zion’s shoulders. You give him a small squeeze, your lips stretched into a comforting smile. “Whatever you want to be.” You finish, eliciting a toothy grin from your son. The man blinks, taken back from your response. Zion, on the other hand, toddles his way into another topic when he addresses Sukuna once more. “We’re having Lebanese for dinner. Have you ever tried Lebanese, Suku?” He beams.

“Yeah, I have.” Sukuna replies, his mind shamelessly casting itself back to the long onyx hair, olive skin and smooth curves belonging to one of his many flings. He holds back a snicker when he continues, “In bed.” Catching on to the double meaning, you’re quick to reach for the elevator buttons, pressing on your floor number frantically in order to cut the conversation short. “But mommy said to never eat food in bed.” Zion points out innocently.

“Maybe mommy needs to try out different places to eat.”

You thank the heavens above when the elevator stops with a loud ding. Impetuously bidding a quick goodbye as you pulled Zion out in a hurry, ignoring the sly chuckle erupting from behind you. And you nearly curse yourself in your head for allowing his words to leave an impact on you, because your face doesn’t fail to heat up swelteringly at his remark.

Considering the fact you haven’t been in the dating scene for as long as you could remember, it was safe to say you found it challenging when communicating appropriately with the opposite sex. After all, your time was preoccupied with either caring for your eight year old or finishing up a work report; so if the conversation didn’t include recipes to sugar free cupcakes or managing excel sheets, you were a lost cause. Perhaps that’s why you could only squeak out a quick goodbye rather than addressing Sukuna’s sly comment. You weren’t sure where it came from either, considering he wouldn’t so much as spare a glance at you in the past five years you’ve been neighbours.

The next time you share an elevator where the experience renders you speechless once again, was during the time Christmas was around the corner. With you and Zion just returning from a small shopping spree in preparation for the holidays, a tattooed hand suddenly stops the elevator doors from closing, and you found yourself gulping involuntarily when the doors slide open to reveal no other than the devil incarnate himself.

“Suku!” Zion exclaims, watching the older man walk into the elevator with his shoulders slumped tiredly, a vermilion winter jacket hugging his broad frame tightly. “Sukuna.” He corrects with a sigh, giving you a small nod of acknowledgment. He stands next to you as always, leaning against the wall with his red-rimmed eyes fluttered shut. You can only assume he had just recently returned from work as you discretely note his fatigued posture. “What are you doing for Christmas?” Zion asks once the elevator door close shut. You give your son a gentle squeeze on his shoulder, hoping he would get the hint to not press your neighbour like every other occasion given his current state. However, Sukuna pays no mind to it. With his head leaned back and eyes remained shut, he mutters, “Stuff a kid like you wouldn’t know.”

“Like what?” Sukuna cracks one eye open to see the eight year old looking up to him with sheer curiosity. Defeatedly, he straightens his spine and shoves his hands into his pocket before answering more clearly, “Well..I drink lots of adult juice.”

You can only agree with him in your head, considering glasses of cheap red wine seemed to be your new best friend once Zion hits the sack on Christmas Eve. “Adult juice?” Your son repeats quizzically, before his face lightens up in realisation. “I know what that is!” He exclaims proudly, “Mommy drinks it too. Does it hurt when you do it by the way? Because she always cries when she does.”

“Zion!” You shriek in embarrassment, your mind casting itself back to the one time you actually chose to have a drink in front of your son—an occasion where you ended up pathetically crying in front of an eight year old over an old movie from the 80s. Fortunately for you, the elevator doors slide open at the most convenient time, because you’re quick to usher your son out before he spews more of your secretive penchants to your attractive neighbour. “Wait!” Zion calls out as you unlock the door to your apartment. He turns to look at Sukuna, whose also on the verge of entering his own apartment. “Won’t you spend Christmas with your mama?” Zion cocks his head to the side, luminescent eyes glinting with wonder. Sukuna stiffens, lips pursed. His heavy-lidded eyes flicker to you momentarily, before shifting back to your son. “No.” He simply says.

“Why?” Zion questioned. You give his hand a small squeeze nervously before you interject, “Peanut—“

“I don’t have one.”

Your eyes snap towards Sukuna, who only has a tight lipped frown on his face. The silence that fell after his response was almost tangible, and you couldn’t help but sympathise with him. Regardless of how he built too many walls around himself but not enough bridges, no one should be spending the holidays on their own. You place both hands on Zion’s shoulders, who stands in front of you with another carrot in his mouth, his small back pressed against the lower half of your legs. Bravely, you ask, “Would you..like to spend Christmas with us?”

He didn’t seem to appreciate your proposal, because his cocoa eyes narrow into slits when his head snaps towards you, “If this is you taking pity on me—“

“I’m not!” You quickly interject, “I was just..wondering if you wanted to join us, it’s Christmas after all.” You shrug. His visage is indecipherable when he blinks at you, eyebrows still furrowed. When his eyes dart to Zion, the little boy gives him an eager nod with a contagious grin, inaudibly urging him to say yes.

He doesn’t give you an answer that day, and he surely didn’t plan on spending the holidays on your couch with your son wedged in between both of you as you all munch on some pretzels with the TV switched on for background noise. But when he catches the ivory invitation card that slipped through the small gap underneath his door, followed by the sound of small footsteps rushing back into the apartment across from his, he couldn’t help the small chuckle that reverberates in his chest when he reads through card. The messy strokes belonged to the handwriting of an eight year old surely, but the vocabulary usage was a clear indication that you helped him write it out.

Special invite card! Only invitees. No plus ones please! Only for the special (nice) ones.

To: Suku

From: Zion (And mommy)

Come spend Christmas at the [Last name]’s! Where you can enjoy Christmas movies, skrabl scrabble and Swedish cupcakes Gingerbread houses!

Time: 7PM

Place: Apartment 22B

P.S: Adult juices are a no no until Zion’s bedtime :D

He’d like to think something as minuscule as an invite card wouldn’t cause him to have a sudden change of heart, so he has absolutely no explanation as to why he knocked on your door from the first place. The look of surprise was clear as day on your face when you swung the door open to see him stood there with his usual scowl at 7PM precisely, and you didn’t have the chance to formulate a greeting before Zion suddenly wedged himself past you with a cheerful, “Suku, you came!”

Sukuna would also like to think he didn’t enjoy the time he spent with you two that day. How he helped you two bake a sugar-free gingerbread house (seriously, he didn’t understand why you always made your sweets sugar free, but when he watched you give Zion his regular insulin shots before dinner, he clamps his mouth shut before asking). How he intentionally kept losing to Zion while playing word games since your son seemed to be at the peak of the mountains with every win. How he reluctantly agreed when Zion begged him to stay back for a Christmas movie marathon (You suggested to watch The Grinch instead of Home Alone, claiming Sukuna might resonate with the lime-green, pear shaped creature more. He doesn’t laugh, although he bites back a smile for the sake of maintaining his facade).

Yup, definitely didn’t enjoy it.

“I love Santa. He promised me he’ll make my wish come true last year, but I think he was really busy because it didn’t happen yet. I—“

“You met Santa?” Sukuna interrupts Zion, reaching for another pretzel and popping it in his mouth. Your mini duplicate shifts in his seat, his head moves in a firm nod, “Uh-huh. He and the elfs stopped by at the mall last year.” Zion replies confidently. You pat his small head with a smile, heart warming up to the way his doe eyes shimmer with ardour at the mentioned. Sukuna, on the other hand, snorts mockingly. “In case you haven’t noticed, it’s just some old, fat guy dressed in a—“

Instinctively, your hand reaches over behind Zion to smack him on the arm with the back of your hand in warning, right before he had the chance to permanently change the trajectory of your son’s childhood. He gives you a harsh glare, “What?”

“Are you the grinch? Why would you say something like that?” You hiss angrily. Unlike you, Sukuna seemed nonchalant and unaware of the weight his words carried. He only rolls his hickory brown eyes dismissively, leaning back onto the couch with his arms folded behind his head. “Kids grow out of that shit anyway. Consider it a favour.” You open your mouth to argue back, fighting the urge to spew vitriol at him. But a shaky voice stops you beforehand. “Mama,” Zion cranes his neck to look at you. His eyes growing glossy and bottom lip wobbling. “Santa’s..not real?”

The dejected look on his face pulled at your heartstrings. A shard punctures through your gut when his eyes began to water. “No, no, no peanut. Sukuna was just joking.” You quickly reassure tenderly, pulling him to your lap as you run your thumb underneath his lower lashline to wipe away the tears that threatened to spill at any given minute. Your face hardens when your eyes dart to Sukuna, “Right?”

He kisses his teeth in disinterest. “Yeah, right. Santa’s real. Very real.” He replies sardonically. Zion turns to face him, still situated on your lap. To your concern, his bottom lip doesn’t stop quivering. “B-But you sai—“

“It was a lie. Adults lie.”

“So you’re lying now!” Zion cries out, sadness coursing down his cheeks in a flood of uncontrollable tears. His chin trembles and his hiccups are choked up. You refrain from telling him to stop crying, given it’s not ideal to dismiss a child’s feelings. You don’t want to deliver the message of suppressing his own emotions given how unhealthy that could be for him in the long run. Normally, you would intervene to deescalate the situation, but you think Sukuna deserves it anyway for spewing such comments to an eight year old without thought. Instead, you opt to rubbing Zion’s back comfortably as he unleashes his emotions on him, rightfully so. You mutter in his ear to not forget to breathe as you wipe his tears away with your thumb. It worked like every other time he threw a temper tantrum because his breathing rate seemed to stabilise with every rub you give him. Sukuna sits up, “Kid—“

“Liar liar pants on fire!” Zion accuses. The situation seemed inconsolable, and you momentarily consider asking Sukuna to leave before he speaks up more firmly. “He’s real because I know him.” You only look at him questionably, unsure where he was going with this. “I’ll even get him to come tomorrow, alright? Now quit whining.” Sukuna huffs, leaning back on the couch. Curiously, you look down to see Zion, who fell silent at the older man’s words. His face is still hot, but the tears have stopped long ago. To your surprise, he jumps off your lap and drags his feet towards Sukuna. He lifts his hand, which is formed into a fist with only his pinky pointed outwards. There’s a small glint in his doe eyes. His long eyelashes clamped together from previous tears. “Promise?”

Sukun’s pride told him not to interlock his pinky finger with him. But he’s succumbed into the look Zion gives him, and betrays himself by doing it anyway. In silent acquiescence, he sighs, “Promise.”

His promise seemed trivial to you, and you can’t help but grow worrisome that he might not even keep his word. You’ve considered taking Zion to the mall to meet ‘Santa’ in case Sukuna fails to show up with one. You weren’t sure why you had so much faith in him either given the short amount of time you spent together. Nevertheless, you receive a text from him the very next day, telling you to stay put until he’s done with his shift at work. Admittedly, you felt the nape of your neck heat up scorchingly when Sukuna asked to exchange numbers last night before retiring to his apartment. You didn’t question it at the time, although you couldn’t understand the need for it given you were right across the hall from each other.

When your living room bellowed with the sound of three consecutive knocks on your front door, your palm involuntarily grew clammy. Your eyes flicker to Zion momentarily, whose preoccupied with ensuring his blanket fort is assembled to perfection for his ‘special guest’. You don’t know what you expected when you peered through the peephole. Perhaps it was a figment of your imagination, or your mind playing tricks on you, because you simply couldn’t comprehend the sight in front of you when you swung the door open to see Sukuna dressed in a crimson red, white fur trimmed jacket with matching pants. His shell-pink hair’s hidden underneath a stocking hat of a similar shade, a snow-white beard concealing half of his sculpted face. Although you can still see the tattoos etched on his forehead and across the bridge of his nose.

“Ho, ho, ho.” Sukuna greets unenthusiastically. Too dumbfounded at his appearance, you stumble upon your own words, “Wh–What are you—“

“Talk later.” He mutters, before walking past you and into your apartment. Your eyes catch the small gift bag in his hands. And with your mind too clouded with shock, you barely notice Zion emerging from the living room to see both of you stood near the door. The little one only blinks, head tilted in curiosity as he examines ‘Santa Clause’ from head to toe. Involuntarily, you bit your knuckle to ease your nerves, and you could see Sukuna gulping from your periphery. There’s no possible way he couldn’t tell it who it was under the custom, there’s just no way he—

“Santa!” Zion exclaims, sprinting on his little feet towards the man in red. You give Sukuna a small push from behind, and he grunts at your actions before picking Zion up from under his armpits. “You really came!” He beams, completely astonished with his presence. Sukuna’s eyes dart to you momentarily, before securing his hold on your Zion. He clears his throat, “Of course I did, you’re on my nice list. I always give those who behave a surprise visit.”

“Then why didn’t you come through the chimney?” Zion cocks his head quizzically. You stifle a laugh, deciding to spare Sukuna the misery and actually intervene. “Peanut, don’t you wanna show Santa your fort?” You offer, patting his scalp. Your son nods enthusiastically, before urging Sukuna to put him down. Without a drop of hesitation, he’s quick to latch his hand with the older man before dragging him to the living room to show off his blanket fort, before urging him to join him inside the heap of white sheets decorated with fairy lights. You left the two males to their devices, biting back a smile every time you hear Zion’s giggle in the distance from where you stood in the kitchen. Never in a million years would you think someone as choleric as Sukuna to put in such effort to compensate for his comments last night, and the thought only proves more difficult for you to stifle a laugh when you remember the glum look on his face, paired with his choice of attire when he first stepped inside your apartment.

When you return to the living room moments later with a tray of food, you can hear sudden hushes erupting from the fort. Their conversation suddenly dies out at the sound of your approaching footsteps. “Knock knock.” You call out mischievously, your voice causes Zion to poke his head through the blankets with a gleaming grin. “Cookies and milk for you and Santa.” You present the tray. Your words seemed to summon Sukuna, because comically enough, he follows short, and pokes his head out too right next to Zion. “Can I get a beer?”

Your face playfully hardens at his sudden request, yet your mouth dries when his right eye suddenly drops into a wink. Flustered, you clear your throat as you avoid his gaze timorously, averting your attention to Zion who pries the blankets open to reveal the cloud of pillows scattered underneath them. “Mommy, join us!” He pats the empty space to his left eagerly. You open your mouth to decline politely, but Sukuna beats you to the punch before you have the chance to do so.

“Yeah mommy, join us,” The term is heavy on his tongue. He smirks, leaning back with his arms folded behind his head, brown cinnamon eyes swirling with a gleam of deviltry. “We have plenty of space.” He urges. You’re unsure where the mystifying root of listlessness emerged from within Sukuna, but you find yourself hesitantly crawling inside the fort to join them anyway. “What were you guys talking about?” You question, giving Zion a playful nudge with your shoulder. “That’s a secret!” He exclaims, before giving you a sympathetic look. “Sorry mama, but Santa told me if I say my wish out loud to someone it won’t come true.”

“You made a wish?” Your eyebrows crease, averting your gaze to Sukuna for a split second. He gives you a curt nod—a silent indication that he would further explain at a different time.

Surrounded by the decorations of pine trees, tinsel and reindeers—the three of you indulge in long lasting conversations and never ending laughs. As the hours pass, you witness Sukuna’s facade strip away progressively. The usual scowl is long gone, replaced by a loop sided smirk every time he mischievously bites into the cookie in Zion’s hands whenever the boy looks away, eliciting a small giggle from you when your little one looks back to the much smaller biscuit with a dazed look of bewilderment. Sukuna was no longer the same man that slammed the door in your face after rejecting your sugar-free Swiss meringues, but was actually growing amiable with the time he spends in your company.

The night’s cut short when your son falls asleep, but he doesn’t fully succumb into his slumber until he presses a spontaneous kiss to the tip of Sukuna’s nose. He sleepily mutters with his eyes fluttered shut, “Thank you, Suku.”

Although his face was concealed with the false Santa beard, you don’t fail to pick up the rosey tinge that germinates across Sukuna’s face at Zion’s sudden display of affection. He looks at you bug-eyed, almost asking you for guidance on what to do next with the eight year old cushioned to his side. You only cradle your son into your arms, whispering to Sukuna that you’ll be gone momentarily to tuck him into bed. To your astonishment, you return to see Sukuna cleaning up the heap of blankets and pillows as he dissembles the fort. His hat and milky white beard long disregarded, red jacket draped over the couch to reveal the black tank top hugging his muscular chest.

“You don’t have to.” You rush to his side, taking the sheets out of his grasp. Your face heats up when you meet his gaze. His Tom Ford cologne dominates your nasal canal. “You’ve done enough just by showing up, really.” You trail off softly, folding the sheets before placing them on the couch near his jacket. He straightens his back, “It was nothing—“

“It was something.” You correct, gaze unyielding. A small smile touched upon the corners of your mouth, “You did more than you should’ve. I can’t thank you enough.”

Sukuna gulps, his eyes glazed with unfathomable emotion when they flicker to your lips for a fraction of a second. It doesn’t fly over your head. You only look down sheepishly, before picking up the tray and moving to the kitchen. Your ears perk up to the sound of his footsteps trailing behind you, but your back continues to face him as you put away the empty plates and cups inside the dishwasher. “What did he wish for? I’m going to the mall tomorrow so I can start buying his gifts.” You enquire, shutting the dishwasher closed and grabbing a nearby towel to begin wiping away at the kitchen counter.

“It’s not something you can buy.”

His response catches you off guard. Surely the pay checks deposited into your bank account thanks to your your corporate job didn’t provide the utmost luxury, but it was enough for the basic necessities you and your son need to live a comfortable life. Warily, you slowly look over your shoulder to see Sukuna leaned against the kitchen island with his arms crossed over his chest. “What..are you insinuating?”

He sighs, unfolding his arms before his hands grip the edge of the island. “I’m saying it’s not an item you can just wrap up and put it under a tree, it’s..” Something seemed to be holding him back from telling you what it is, but he allows his conscious to win when he sees the look of concern flashing in your eyes. “He asked for you to stop crying in your room before you sleep.” You heart drops to your stomach. Your fingers freeze when you stammer, “He..he can hear that?”

“Probably if that’s what he wished for.” Sukuna replies. He takes note of the way you immediately downcast your eyes to the towel in your hands. Lips pursed as you fiddle with the fabric in shame. You involuntarily gulp when you hear his voice once more. “Look, it’s none of my business but..” He begins, “You should start looking out for yourself. Not just for his sake, but yours too.” Sukuna advices. His cocoa eyes are varnished with sympathy, although he remains composed, and manages to maintain a neutral expression.

A dry chuckle reverberates in your chest, eyes still entranced with the small threads of fabric poking out of the kitchen towel. Your tongue pokes through your cheek as you blink away threatening tears. “It’s just..it gets hard sometimes, y’know? Zion’s smart, he doesn’t even ask about his dad and—“ You pause to let out a shaky breath before looking up to meet Sukuna’s gaze. “I can’t even tell if I’m doing a good job or not.”

The road to motherhood was no easy journey; receiving inconvenient stares from strangers for nursing a crying newborn, to collecting food stamps and breastfeeding Zion in public restrooms because society has ruthlessly shamed women like you for simply feeding their child in public. You’ve come a long way building yourself up from scratch to provide a promising future for your son. Although it was inevitable that you’d come across a few speed bumps that would ultimately lead to you confining yourself in your room after Zion’s bedtime, your own pillow soaked with dolorous tears.

“You’re a good mum, [Name].” Sukuna replies immediately. His tone flat and strict. “Any kid would be lucky to have you.” His words struck a cord in your heart. You shake your head in denial when you answer quietly, “You don’t mean that.”

“Yeah I do, you’re like superwoman.” You couldn’t help the small laugh erupting from your mouth, yet your breath hitches in your throat when he suddenly takes a few steps towards you to decrease the distance. A surprised yelp escapes your lips when he grabs the hood part of your jumper over your head. He chuckles, “Wear your cape proudly.”

When you look up to meet his gaze, he can’t help but scan your face studiously given the close proximity. The eye lines that resembled the veins of deep ivy leaves stretched to join the dark bags underneath, ones you attempted to shield away with a layer of concealer. It only signified the restless hours you spend carrying your child on your back through quicksand on his voyage to growth. Sukuna undoubtedly found it absurd that you would even second guess your parenting skills from the first place. “Y’know..if you need help with anything, I don’t mind lending a hand.” He found himself offering as he scratches the back of his neck. You tilt your head quizzically, your eyes glint with a look of amusement. “Help?” You repeat.

“Yeah,” He clears his throat. You don’t fail to notice the way he attempts to discretely puff out his chest in a dominant manner. “Like changing your lightbulb. That kind of thing.” Sukuna elaborates lowly. Your teeth sinks into your bottom lip to prevent a smile from growing. His eyes flicker to your mouth once more. “Did I happen to give the impression that I can’t change my own lightbulb?” You retort teasingly.

“Never,” Sukuna chuckles, “you’re superwoman, remember?” He gives you a playful flick on your forehead. The corner of his lip curves upwards just a little bit, but enough for a familiar warmth to travel through your veins. But to your dismay, your interaction’s cut short when he says: “I should go, it’s getting late.”

You only nod in understanding, concealing the sheer of disappointment on your face with a small smile. “Good night, [Name].” He whispers, as if afraid the walls might hear and pick up on his sudden change of persona compared to when you first knocked on his door with a container of cupcakes in hand. “Good night.” You found yourself whispering back, watching him pivot on his heel to step outside your kitchen. You place your hand over your chest to attempt to control your speeding heart rate, but your attempts are futile. You suddenly chuck the kitchen towel in your hand onto the counter to catch up to him.

“Sukuna?” You call out softly once you step out of the kitchen. You see his hand already reaching for the door, his red jacket slung over his shoulder. He turns to look at you tiredly, his rosey hair slack against his forehead from the long hours of wearing his Santa hat. “Thank you.” You say. He’s unsure whether if you’re thanking him for his actions tonight, or for his words of encouragement from earlier. Nevertheless, his mouth stretches, only this time it’s not his signature, cunning smirk.

For the first time, he wholeheartedly smiles at you.

You’d like to believe you’re an attractive woman—perhaps not someone that would win Miss Universe by default, but you were confident enough to know that you can easily score someone if you jump back into the dating scene with the correct set of tools in your arsenal.

With Zion away to his monthly sleepover at the Fushiguro’s again, your co-worker jumped at the first opportunity to set you up on a blind date with an acquaintance of hers. Although you were reluctant to agree at first, you trusted her judgement when she claimed you two would click off instantly. You’ve planned your night to the T; he would pick you up at 10PM for drinks at a hotel bar and he would return you home two hours later for a quick fuck—the perfect way to release the sexual frustration bottled up within you. Surely, you did not expect to meet prince charming himself tonight, but if sitting through two hours of tequila sunrise and a one sided-conversation meant you’d finally get to relieve yourself sexually, then so be it.

That was until the clock struck twelve, and it is then you realised you’ve been ditched.

The oyster white mini-dress you were lucky to get your hands on before it ran out of stock seemed to have gone to waste, right along with the diamond earrings hung from your ears like icicles and the nude makeup you’ve spent the last two hours perfecting.

An absolute waste, and you were seethed beyond words.

Your heeled foot was tapping in a staccato rhythm on the floor as your eyes kept impatiently darting to the ticking clock hung on the wall. Your manicured nail grazes the rim of the wine glass in your hand. With a sudden huff, you stand up from your seat on the couch before stomping to your bedroom. You were clearly taking your frustrations out on the inanimate object as you yanked your underwear drawer open, digging through the heaps of bras and panties for a certain purple object.

If your date wasn’t showing up, then you’d just have to take matters into your own hands.

Clearly, the universe was not on your side tonight. Because conveniently enough, once you plugged the charger into the socket for your vibrator, the usual green LED light that would indicate it’s been switched on didn’t appear according to your expectations. “No, no, no.” You mutter frustratingly, letting out a groan of annoyance as you pulled it out and blew air into the charger plug before sticking it into the socket once more. Nevertheless, the vibrator remains dead. Out of pure exasperation, you couldn’t help but gulp down on your Pinot Noir until not a single drop of red is left.

The familiar reality of spending another night alone under the sheets was a bitter one to swallow. Tasting like a foul medicine that soaked through your tastebuds as you let out a childish whine. You’ve been waiting for this day for months, been waiting to get dicked down for months. You think you deserve that much after involuntarily being celibate for so long given you had a child to care for. Perhaps you were naïve for entrusting your coworker and sacrificing the one night you have for yourself, or maybe you were just simply unlucky. Because the odds were never in your favour whenever you choose to flip the two sided coin.

“Y’know..if you need help with anything, I don’t mind lending a hand.”

At first, you couldn’t help but belt out a laugh at the obscure thought that suddenly occurred to you. You tell yourself that maybe you should lay off the alcohol even though you’re only on your first drink, but when your eyes flickered to the charger cable that refused to work, along with the combined effect of the ache between your thighs that desperately required attention; a spurt of boldness from an unknown source suddenly surged through your body. It didn’t even take a minute for you to ponder over your thoughts before the alcohol getting soaked up in your bloodstream has you suddenly charging out of your apartment.

You really shouldn’t be doing this; disturbing your neighbour because you were simply too horny to tend to your own needs. You’ve only just recently managed to get him to warm up to you, and there’s a very slim chance he’ll indulge into your wishes. If anything, he’ll probably scoff at your request before slamming the door shut on your face. But before you know it, you find yourself stood in front of Sukuna’s apartment. It only took a minute or so before you hear the lock clicking when you leave two knocks on his door. Dressed in a white t-shirt and grey sweets, your eyes drink in his disheveled salmon pink hair when he opens the door. A pang of guilt sinks into you when he rubs his eye with the palm of his hand, face scrunched up confusingly at your presence. He opens his mouth to speak groggily, his voice hoarse. “[Name]? What’s wron—“

“Do you want to have sex with me?” You blurt without a thought. Your words seemed to have washed away all traces of sleep because his chestnut eyes widen, his pupils narrowing to the point it seemed to flee from the expanding whites of his eyes. You don’t fail to notice how the hand gripping the doorknob tightens so suddenly, his knuckles flushed a daisy white.

Static. That’s all you can hear. Howbeit, his eyes narrow into slits once he processed what you’ve just said, “What?”

Not a jot of pride was left within you when you began to blether, “I just had a glass of wine and even though I’m not a lightweight I still ramble a lot when I drink, y’know? Which is why I’m here making a fool out of myself but—“ The usual stoicity growing on his face causes the tone of your voice to cease insecurely. With a sigh of defeat, your shoulders slump. “I’m horny and I’m lonely..and I’m desperate.”

Sukuna blinks at you, brows knitted in a frown. Your rant only confirmed his suspicions as to where your son got his tendency to ramble from. Although the silence that fell between you two was deafening no doubt, your heart began to involuntarily do somersaults as he only continues to glare at you with visible irritation. You found it difficult to comprehend as to why he would be angry at your request. Stunned? As expected. But vexed? It was a mystery to you. Surely, no man would turn down an offer to sex with no strings attached?

“You’re drunk,” Sukuna bluntly adds to your list of adjectives. You don’t miss the way his eyes shamelessly rake your bare legs, momentarily stopping at the flesh of your thighs where the hem of your mini-dress ends. “I’ll do us both a favour and pretend this never happened. Go home.” He states tiredly, refusing to meet your eyes as he attempts to cut the conversation short by closing the door. Stupefied, you suddenly slap your palm against the wooden door to keep it from closing. His head snaps up towards you when you simultaneously stick your foot in the doorway. “I’m not that drunk, plus you did say if I need any help I can come to you, right?” You breathe out unrelentingly, desperation laced with your words.

“Yeah, something like changing your lightbulb not canoodling.” He retorts stiff-backed. You furrow your eyebrows at his choice of words. Had it not been the true nature as to why you’re stood at his apartment door, you would’ve childishly laughed at how Zion’s vocabulary was clearly rubbing off on Sukuna. Too engrossed in your own needs, you don’t notice the close proximity between you two. He restrains himself with every fibre of his being to not let his greedy eyes wander to the swell of your breasts that is further accentuated thanks to your skin tight dress.

Sukuna pinches the bridge of his nose frustratingly, eyes screwed shut to collect his thoughts before he defeatedly meets your gaze. “Where’s your kid anyway shouldn’t you be taking care of him?” He attempts to steer the subject elsewhere. “He’s at a sleepover.” You deadpanned, “I got set up on a blind date and they ditched so..” Sukuna could sense the brief disappointment from your countenance, but you quickly recompose when you straighten your back confidently. “Look, I’m not asking you to play house or father my kid here.” You begin, before boldly taking another step towards him. Gulping, you don’t hesitate to maintain the intensity of your gaze. “I’m asking you..to be my distraction for the night, can you do that?”

And God did he want to. His heart wanted to say yes but his head told him no. Ever since the day you moved in across the hall with a crying three year old in your arms and there was an instant attraction. All the women he’d blindly lead to his bed paled compared to you, his mind congested with only images of your face as he pounded into them from behind. Albeit, he didn’t want to jump into the first opportunity to have you in every single way he shamelessly fantasised about. He doesn’t want to act on an impulse when it comes to you. And to be quite frank, Sukuna himself isn’t sure if it would be ideal to take things a further step with you. Although your son has considerably warmed up to his presence, there’s also the possibility he might not appreciate a complete stranger suddenly meddling with their daily routine. Sukuna’s answer completely relied on the fact that he didn’t want to disturb the already established harmony of your home.

He sighs, “I don’t like repeating myself. Trust me, I have a better use for my mouth.” Your lips slightly part at the image that involuntarily makes its way to your mind, but he seems unaffected with the gravity of his words. “Go home, [Name].” He asserts.

You didn’t know what was more humiliating; that you’re rejected when you finally choose to indulge into the hubristic folly of attempting to sleep with someone, or that he didn’t want you. Unforeseeably, you were hurt more from the latter than the fact you’ve been ditched by your date tonight. “I..I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so pushy it’s just—God what was I even thinking?” You self criticise shakily, before meeting Sukuna’s gaze with a blank stare. “Of course you wouldn’t sleep with me, I’m a mum.” You plainly point out. His rejection was clearly the hair breadth away from you completely dissolving your composure as you lost all sense of your words. “[Name]—“

“That’s all I do! Because when you look at me that’s all you see, right? Right?” Your eyes were in a frenzy as you press, ignoring the clear look of concern that painted your neighbour’s face. “You see the diaper changing, the boogers, the snot. The stupid sugar free fucking cupcakes!”

“Lower your voice.” He hisses, his hand immediately gripping your wrist in warning as he pulled you to his chest. His head turns left and right alarmingly to ensure there’s no one to eavesdrop on your conversation. You don’t pay any mind to his sudden change in demeanour. Rather, you snatch your wrist out of his grasp with a huff, before impulsively pulling down on the neckline of your dress to reveal the black lace bra that cuffed your breasts. “Look! I even wore my sexy lingerie for tonight, do you know how long it’s been since I’ve wore those?” You don’t give him a chance to reply, and you surely don’t comment on the way he shamelessly ogles at your chest with visible shock, his Adam’s apple bopping in his throat.

“Five years. And I haven’t had sex in over two years and God forbid a single mother uses a vibrator to appease her sexual urges because the fucking charger stopped working!” You whisper angrily, letting go of your neckline. Sukuna’s eyes travel back to your face. His lips were pursed in icy contempt, although his eyes were impenetrable. With a sigh, your spine hunched defeatedly. “I know I’m not as pretty as the girls you bring home—“

“Don’t you ever say that.” He snaps, jaw clenched. “You think if I didn’t have such strong restraints I wouldn’t have gave into my urges and fucked you long ago?” Your mouth dries, and your boldness is suddenly washed away at his confession. “W-What?” You squeak out.

“What.” He mocks, cocking his head to the side with his eyes slanted. “You wouldn’t have knocked on my door if you knew about the thoughts I’ve had of you. But you just keep coming back.” His hands unexpectedly came to wrap around your waist, pulling you to his chest securely. The action causes your breath to hitch in your throat, however, the sudden close in proximity allows you to study his inscrutable expression. It seemed that he was fighting an internal battle from succumbing in any second now. “When you came with those stupid cupcakes..” He lists, eyes entranced with your painted lips, before meeting your eyes in an unrelenting stare. “Or when you took the bin out in your granny underwear.”

“You saw that?!” You shriek in horror. But Sukuna continues either way, “Ever since you moved in and I couldn’t help but think of how you’d look underneath me, begging me for more even when it gets too much for you.” His grip on you tightens at the erotic thoughts. “Anyone would fail to keep their hands off you.” His words confounded you in its entirety. He grips your chin softly, tilting your head slightly as you look up to him wide eyed. “You are pretty, incredibly sexy too.” Sukuna assures. Somehow, you manage to find it within you to utter a word out. Bashfully, you softly ask, “Even in my granny underwear?”

His lips suddenly stretch into a wide smile, erupting a soft chuckle. His hand moves from your chin to cup your cheek in his palm. “Even in your granny underwear.” He repeats quietly with affirmation.

When you mirror his dumbstruck smile, he doesn’t hesitate to slant his lips over yours. You savour the softness of his lips as he cups your face with both hands. With your eyes fluttered shut, your knees turned into jello when his tongue slithered into your mouth, the texture of his metal piercing swiping over your wet muscle caused your heart to skip a beat. He claimed your mouth with such intensity and hunger it elicited a throaty sound from you. The smell of your perfume grew hypnotic beyond reason as he drank you in, before pulling away to suck on your bottom lip.

“Fuck, get in here.” He breathes into your mouth, eagerly pulling you inside his apartment and kicking the door shut. You don’t get the opportunity to observe his living room because he’s quick to press his lips against yours hastily, his hands finding their way to cradle your face once more. Parting your lips, you’re greeted with another intrusion by his tongue as he walks you backwards. You nearly stumble in your heels, your mouths separating with a quiet pop as you smile against his lips.

Too lost into the kiss, you moan into his mouth once your lower back suddenly met a cold, hard edge. Unable to control the yelp that erupts from you when he suddenly hoists you up onto the surface, your eyes snap open to see he had placed you on the island of his open space kitchen. His lips move to the juncture of your neck as he nuzzled himself between your legs. Sighing in content, you throw your head back to grant him more access. His yanks your heels off impatiently with your lips locked, yet you can’t help the shudder that runs up your spine when you feel his calloused hands sneaking up your thighs, gripping the waistband of your thong underneath your dress. He fights the urge from ripping it off completely. “Y’know..” He chuckles against your skin. “I didn’t think you’d be so straightforward.”

“Well I’m—hmph. I-I’m not exactly one for subtleties.” You mutter absentmindedly, your words running in together when he suctions on your neck and right above your pulse point. The mild stinging sensation causes you to involuntarily grip the roots of his pink locks. “That makes the two of us.” Sukuna retorts, pressing a kiss over the love bite before retracting from your neck. He simultaneously pulls your thong down your legs. The action only causes you to instinctively clamp your legs shut as realisation of what’s about to occur dawned on you.

Sukuna only yanks you closer to the edge of the island, arms wrapped around your waist. His lips meet yours again, and you found yourself melting into his kisses all over again. “You want me to stop?” He mumbles against your mouth, hands snaking up your thighs tortuously slow. “Hm?” His actions were so minuscule yet so rousing. It’s unfathomable how your mind’s already hazy and he barely started giving you the attention you ached for. You clench your thighs together even harder when his lips brush against yours. “No.” You breathe out, “Don’t stop.”

All of your senses unfurled when he crouches down slowly to level with your sex. He maintains imperative eye contact when he pries your legs open to reveal the wetness pooling between your thighs. “Pretty pussy..” He coos in admiration, your lips glistening underneath the kitchen light. His mouth finds its home on your skin once more, constructing a roadmap of feathered kisses from right above your knee and up to your inner thighs. You involuntarily flinch when his mouth neared your sex, your nerves suddenly overcoming you. With a shaky breath, you screw your eyes shut and tilt your head backwards when you feel his two digits separating your lips. His hot breath gives rise to the tiny elevations belonging to goosebumps all over your body. “Hey.” He lowly calls out. “Watch me.”

Reluctantly, you flutter your eyes open to see the kitchen ceiling light, before averting your gaze downwards to see your dress hunched up and his head between your legs. Sukuna’s hungry cocoa eyes are transfixed on your face only. Unblinkingly, he sticks his tongue out; flat across chin and revealing the silver barbell pierced through his muscle before he gives you a long lick upwards.

Your body reacted to him instinctively. Your jaw falling slack before you threw your head back. A hand squeezes your hip in warning, and you shamefully obey his unspoken command when you look down to see him looking up to you through his black eyelashes, his mouth anchored to your cunt as he slithered his pierced tongue around your pulsating clit. Your mouth falls ajar into a shaky moan. You don’t dare break eye contact, the sight of him on his knees and savouring you whole gives you a surge of adrenaline rush that has your heart thumping in your chest like a ticking time bomb. Your hand unconsciously fisted his shell-pink hair at the crown, hips bucking involuntarily into his mouth. He moans shamelessly into your cunt, devouring you incessantly as he buried his face further into the crux of your thighs. “Oh my..god.”

His tongue must have a mind of its own, because the way it snakes past the muscles surrounding your hole and begins to flick the insides of your clenching walls has your legs quivering beyond measure. The tip of his nose is pressed on your clit. You guide his head further into your cunt, your lips forming an ‘O’ and eyebrows drawn in when he alternates between languid licks and swirls of his tongue. “Right th-there—ah!” The wet suctioning sounds ring in your ears right along with your erratic heartbeat. Your eyes zeroed in on his until he fluttered them shut to drink in the tangy taste of your vulva. A muffled groan suppressed in his throat as he began to bob his head vertically, lapping up your never-ending arousal.

You’re not exactly sure if it was because you haven’t had someone give you oral in a long time, or whether if it’s due to Sukuna’s skilful tongue that’s sending the increased blood flow to your genitals, but you suddenly experience the familiar coil in your lower abdomen when it’s barely been five minutes since he put his mouth on you. “W-Wait, Sukuna I—“ You stammer, scrambling to pull him off. But he stubbornly grips your hips tighter and nuzzles further into your sex with a low grunt in gluttony. The constant suctioning and flicking of his tongue on your beating clit caused your impending orgasm to take over all of your senses, your thighs quivering around his head as you cried out in pleasure. “Oh...oh!”

With lips parted to let out quiet pants, you watch Sukuna slowly pull away from your cunt. A string of your own slick attached between his bottom lip and your sex. Gulping, you stare at him bewilderedly as he stands up. His cheeks flushed with a rosey tinge and eyes as wide as yours. “Did you just..?” Your skin grew clammy, mouth dry. You blink at him, before averting your gaze in complete embarrassment, refusing to meet his eyes as you clamped your legs shut and pulled your dress down to cover what’s left of your modesty.

He didn’t even get the chance to stick his fingers in before you came into his mouth.

Before you could utter a word, your voice catches in your throat when he suddenly grabs your legs to pin point them around his waist. You understood his intentions when he lifts you off the kitchen island, all four limbs wrapping around him securely. Sukuna’s lip curves upwards into a mischievous smirk, “That was hot.” he confesses. “Don’t be embarrassed, pretty.”

“I’m not.” You quickly deny, the arms around his neck tighten when he begins to walk you both to where you assume to be his bedroom. Your heart rate accelerates. “I’m just—“

“Nervous?” He finishes, arching a pierced brow. Sukuna takes your silence as an indication to continue. He pats your bum, “Don’t worry, mommy. I’ll take real good care of you”

Whatever amount of regret that seeped through your bloodstream when you knocked on his door fifteen minutes ago seemed to wash away at his words. He struts into his bedroom with you in his arms, laying you down on his navy sheets before sitting up on his knees to take his shirt off.

The virgules of obsidian pigmented on his caramel skin are uncloaked for only your eyes to drink in. The twin bold strokes running vertically down his muscle-bound stomach join the dark happy trail right below his belly button. Involuntarily gulping at the barbells pierced through both of his pink nipples, you instinctively mimic his stance; sitting up on your knees to grab his chiselled face in your hands for a breathless kiss. He responds immediately, hands sneaking up your back to pull down the zipper of your dress. Too spellbound with his mouth, you don’t flinch when he pulls your dress down to reveal you clad in just your bra. With your lips pressing kisses from his mouth to his throat and chest, it was inevitable for your mouth to wrap itself around his pierced bud, eliciting a sigh of content from him when the tip of your tongue gives the accessory a single flick. His hand moves to cradle the back of your skull. You freeze in place when he suddenly grabs your wrists once you attempt to reach for his crotch.

“Let me.” You insist, hands reaching for the waistband of his grey joggers. He shakes his head, pulling you up to meet his gaze before pecking your painted lips. “I get to take care of you tonight.” His hands reach for the bra cuffing your breasts, effortlessly unhooking it to reveal your bosom. With his gaze dipped to your décolletage, he doesn’t hesitate to pull you to his naked chest, your legs wrap around his waist as you seat yourself on his lap. Hands going up to weave through his hair when he greedily suckles on your perked nipple. Your body grew responsive, arching your back into his face as you shamelessly grind your went cunt onto his clothed crotch, his growing bulge poking you through the material. “Sukuna,” You whine, “please..”

“Tell me what you want.” He demands, laying you down on the sheets, your head rests right above his pillow when he hovers over you dominantly. “Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you right now.” Sukuna breathed out, arms caging you. His knuckles flushed white as they grip the navy sheets into his fists. “I want—“ Your breath hitches when he reaches for the waistband of his joggers, pulling it down to reveal his throbbing cock. “you.” You finish, your hands clutching at his forearms desperately. “Wanna feel you everywhere. Please.”

“Want me to fuck you?” Sukuna presses. His lecherous, chestnut eyes bore into yours with raw intensity. His hand grips the base of his cock before gliding it through your wet folds torturously. The action causes a small whimper to tumble from your lips. “Want me to stretch you out with my cock you feel it for days? Is that what you want?” He grits out. In a daze, you nod fervently with your eyes half-lidded, lips parted when the crown of his dick nudges your pulsating clit.

His curses under his breath, arms reaching for your hips in a tight grip before turning you on your side, his hand suddenly coming down to smack your bum. A quiet gasp escapes your mouth as he repositions you; raising your top leg to rest your calf over his shoulder whilst straddling your bottom thigh. Both of your swollen lips part into low moans once the head of his cock pushes past the ring of muscles surrounding your hole. Your walls stretch to accommodate his veiny girth as you swallow him entirely. “Goddamn,” He groans in disbelief, hugging your leg to his chest. Your cunt cushions him with warmth and softness as he pushes in all of his inches. “Oh, feel that..”

Your eyebrows hunch together when he huffs out a heavy breath. “Jesus baby,” Your heart jumps at the endearing pet name. “When was the last time you got fucked properly?” Sukuna quirks a pierced brow, his hand leaving your leg momentarily to slick his hair back. “I don’t know..” You answer shakily, attempting to shift your position but his hands hold you in place. “Been too long to remember.” You mutter embarrassingly.

“That’s a shame..” Sukuna whispered apathetically. You gulp when he feathers kisses on your calf, his cock stills inside you. “Gonna take care of you, gonna give you what you need.” He swears before beginning to plunge into your soaping cavern. You moan with laboured breaths. Your heartbeat reverberating in your head when he withdraws his hips before slamming back into you continuously. Relentless, desperate. His thrusts send you into a frenzy, your hand frantically reaching for something to grab on when you shamelessly moan out his name with your eyes screwed shut. “Opening up so well for me. You’re gonna ruin my sheets.” You hear him hiss, the ridges along his length licks at every fingerbreadth inside your canal.

“S’full..so good I—“ You cry out before sinking your teeth into your bottom lip to quell the loudness of your whines. But your attempts are proven futile when he plows into you harder, your jaw falling slack from the rigor of his thrusts. “Good girl.” Sukuna grunts. “My good girl.” His praises only enhances then tension of your libido, the wet sloshing of his dick delving in and out of your cunt ringing in your head. His ears perk up to your high pitched moans, the calloused hand around your leg repositions it to place your toe in his mouth, his pierced tongue swirls around the digit and eliciting a surprised gasp from you. Your own sweat glues you to him. The slaps of sticky skin restrains your breathing, right along with the sweet pleasure inflicted on you. “You like that?” Sukuna rasps with a lazy smirk. “You like being my good girl?”

“Y-Yes—!” You wail, hands gripping the sheets underneath you. “God, yes.” You could feel the leg over his shoulder growing flimsy. Your breasts bounce with every thrust when you look at him through your wet lashes. Tattoos glistening, pecs flexing. Rosey locks flat across his forehead from down pouring sweat. The mere sight of him pushed you over the edge and into a state of euphoric haze.

“How are you this wet?” He groans with furrowed eyebrows, arm muscles contracting due to the hold he has on you. “You love my dick that much?” He pants. You nodded weakly, your head aimlessly lolling side to side. Sukuna seemed unsatisfied with your lack of vocalness, because his eyebrows pinch in together in evident displeasure. “Tell me.” He lowly growls, slowing down his tempo to roll his hips agonisingly slow, teasing you with shallow thrusts. The vice-like grip on your leg tightens, his short fingernails digging into your skin to form small crescent shapes. “Tell me how much you love it.”

With a desperate whimper, you attempt to undulate your hips for more friction, but you concede defeat when he refuses to give you what you ached for. “L-Love it s’much, Sukuna. I love it.” You say shakily. He curses under his breath, a flare of brute evident in his strong thrusts when he resumes to his unrelenting rhythm. Firm gonads slapping against your wet slit as he fucked you into oblivion. His movements are carefully orchestrated to kiss all of your sweet spots. His cock buried deep to a hilt, pelvic bone slamming against your sore lips with every thrust.

“There it is.” Sukuna throws his head back with a breathy laugh, before meeting your half lidded eyes. “That’s my spot, isn’t it?” You can’t formulate a response. Only individual, soprano moans as your bottom lip wobbles at the familiar coil forming in your lower abdomen. Eyebrows creased, fingers shaking. Chest heaving. To your dismay, the look of erotica you give him causes him to slow down his movements again, taking a minute or so to absorb the desperation laced in your visage.

“Suku?” Your quiet voice snaps him out his reverie, and he catches the worried expression you have on when you sit up an one elbow. Your hand reaches to cup his cheek, but he grabs your wrist before you have the chance to do so. “Don’t look at me like that.” He breathes, irises turning into a deep shade of umber. “If you keep looking at me like that then so help me God..“ He swears to himself with his eyes screwed shut, refusing to meet your gaze. “Wha—“

He loses all forms of self restraints. Unexpectedly pushing you down, back flat against the mattress and hovering over you with your leg still anchored over his shoulder. Your other leg follows suit, your feet in the air and both knees now pressed against your chest from the close proximity between you and him. Hands squeezing your hips, fingers digging into the flesh; licentious behaviour defined in his strokes as he begins to plummet into your soaking cavern with voracity. “Nngh, Sukuna!” You moan piercingly. “S-Stop—Oh, fuck. Suku—!”

“Yeah,” He growls. “Just like that. Sing for me.” The man on top of you urges with short, jagged breaths. Your walls spasm and contract around him, reaching the top of your crescendo but you don’t want it to end here. You found yourself greedily aching for more of him, more so when he presses an open mouthed kiss to your lips in an attempt to silence your noises. “M-More.” You beg with a whimper, struggling to kiss him back. “Suku, please. Want it deep-deeper—!”

He’s quick to plunge into you without a second thought, the delicious curve of his cock pursuing an unreachable terminus deep into your cunt. His ministrations grew faster, the murkiness of desire dominating the room along with the sound of skin slapping and exchanged heavy pants. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Sukuna chants under his breath. Wet, sloppy kisses painted on your neck and shoulder as he nuzzles his head into the juncture of your neck. “So close, gonna make me cum so hard.” He confesses. Inevitable scratches painted his back when you wrap your arms around his broad frame to hug him closer to your sweaty form. You gasp when your abdomen tightens, clitoris growing sensitive. You urge him to meet your gaze, lifting your head from the pillow to lean your forehead against his. Noses pressed against one another. Your neck strains, but you don’t care when he begins to constantly pecks your lips. “I’m gonna..M’gonna—“

“You’re gonna cum.” He confirms for you, your breaths mingling. He brings two digits into his mouth, holding you captive in a determined stare as he coats his fingers with his own spit before reaching for the sensitive nubbin of flesh hidden between your sticky folds. He rubs your engorging clitoris with merciless circles. The muscles in your vagina contract in a rhythmical way. “Do it. Cum all over me—That’s my girl, gimme all of it. Such a good girl f’me.”

You throw your head back with a loud moan, eyes screwed shut when you convulse around him, walls pulsating as your own arousal escapes down your inner thighs. You feel the wet muscle of his tongue running up from your throat to your jawline, licking up the delectable beads of sweat that rained down your hot skin before gripping your chin to meet his mouth in a sloppy kiss that has your mixed salivas smudged around your mouths. He keeps your lips locked together as he slows down his thrusts, his nostrils flared and eyes closed as he savours the taste of your tongue. “I’m not done with you yet.” He mutters into your mouth.

Your body quivers underneath him like a maple leaf on an autumn evening. The soreness of your legs bloom when he carefully flips you both with you on top, his back flat against the mattress. His cock remains etched inside of you. Rough hands reach to massage your breasts and roll your nipples between his fingers. You whine with trembling lips, your own hands clasping on top of his. His wicked tongue pokes out to wet his lips, cheeks embellished with rubescent dust. “You think you can ride me?”

It was a rhetorical question, one that you cannot find it within yourself to say no to. You nod with a small gulp, not trusting your shaky voice to speak. “Yeah? Turn around for me, baby.” He instructs softly, gripping your hips and shifting you around. His cock leaves your cunt for a split second once you lift yourself on your heels to give him your back, but he’s quick to insert himself inside of you. He bends one of his knees, and you use his limb as an anchor to hold onto. You adjust yourself on his dick before beginning to circle your hips and slowly rocking back and forth.

Your mouth fall ajar into a wordless moan, eyes fluttered shut as you attempt to stabilise your breathing rate. The rhythm you’ve established with your movements causes a sense of euphoria to spread like wildfire through your veins, coaxing you into calmness compared to the rush of adrenaline from moments earlier. “Mhm, that’s it.” Sukuna encourages lowly, a small moan escaping his mouth. His hands move from your hips to grab your ass, short nails digging into your hot skin. “Fuck yourself on my cock.”

His dick strokes every inch of your soaking walls. You take your time orchestrating the circles you’re drawing with your hips, before finding the courage to shift you weight evenly between both heels to begin bouncing on his cock. He hisses from behind you, his toes curl. Cocoa eyes entranced with how the fat of your ass ripples every time you drop yourself back onto his lap. Your swollen lips glistening with your own arousal. Your body is lucent with sweat. Wet squelching sounds of your own cunt pulsating around his throbbing cock dominates the room, right along with your entangled moans that are absorbed by the surrounding walls of his bedroom.

“Good girl. Good fucking girl.” Sukuna pants, his hand unexpectedly slaps your rear before squeezing the flesh into the palm of his hand. You shamelessly mewl in response. His encouragement urges you to do more, but you struggle to maintain manoeuvrability. You opt to alternating between slow swirls with your hips to vigorous bouncing. Your ass smacks down his upper thighs into a particularly harder thrust, his cock plunges into a deeper angle and elicits a strained cry from you. Large hands move to grip your hips once more, he keeps you anchored to his lap, guiding your movements as he coordinates a rocking rhythm that sends you both into a frenzy. Your pelvic muscles contract as you squeeze around him. “Shit—goddamn. Keep goin’ baby. Ugh, fuck yes.” Sukuna sighs, head thrown back into the pillow in ecstasy.

Your hips buck, vibrating back and forth as your nails dig into his knee. Your own fingers snake to in between your thighs to stimulate your clit, and you can feel your third orgasm of the night close to washing over you body in rivulets, but a sudden gasp of surprise jolts you out of your lustful trance. Your eyes snap open when Sukuna suddenly pulls you off his cock, before dragging your ass towards his face. Your hands instinctively grab his thighs for momentum, your body laid flat on top and aligned opposite to his with his genitals facing you. With your knees planted on either side of his shoulders; his mouth latches itself onto your cunt, large hands spreading your asscheeks apart as he buries his face into your sex. Your eyes screw shut, a broken moan erupts from your trembling lips at the intrusion of his tongue as it conquered the depths of your soaking canal—hungry, consuming.

His hand smacks down your already sore ass again. “Don’t be selfish, put my cock in your mouth.” He mutters lowly, hot breath fanning against your skin before he resumes to eating you out. You whimper in response. Your shaking hand grips the base of his cock, guiding it to your mouth once you curl your lips over your teeth and attempt to take in as much as you can. Your knees are wobbly around him, his tongue probed into your entrance as it laves up every drop of your luscious fluids. His mouth slurps onto your juices when he moves to your clit, giving you a hard suck that evokes a muffled whine around his cock from you.

His sweet torture doesn’t relent for a second. His eyes catch the way your anus clench around seemingly nothing, and he drags his tongue into a broad stroke from your clit and up to the fluttering hole, flicking it with the tip of his tongue before suctioning into a sloppy kiss. Your eyes snap open with a quelled moan, your saliva drenching his dick and the sheets below. His unexpected actions causes you to push your ass back further into his face. Sukuna groans at how responsive you grew to his touches, his grip on your bum tightens. He pulls his sinful mouth away for a millisecond to rasp out through gritted teeth, “Just like that. Ride my tongue baby, ride my fuckin’ tongue.”

The vibrations of his hoarse voice causes you to clench your thighs around him, his breath hitches when you hollow your cheeks around him—tongue flat against the underside of his dick before you began to bob your head up and down. You can feel every ridge of his erect cock in your mouth as you fondle with his firm gonads—heavy with semen that threatened to spill into your mouth if you continue your actions.

Your aroma invades his nasal canal, his swollen mouth is back to sucking and licking vigorously onto your sensitive clitoris, his thumb rubbing torturous circles on your wet anus. Your entire behind is glistened with a mixture of saliva and cum, balls of spit rolling down from your asshole and coating your swollen lips. The myriad sounds of you gargling around his manhood, right along with the slurping of your sex as he licks you up causes your perfervid bodies to tremble uncontrollably due to the inundate of pleasure. Your stomach is in turmoil, lower abdomen muscles tightening. The prurience of his tongue sends your body into fits as he drinks you up into overstimulation.

Your high pitched moans increase in intensity when you reach your vertex, your hands gripping his thigh as you gush into his mouth. Your wetness drips down his chin as you continue to grind back onto his flushed face, struggling to keep his cock in your mouth. Uncontrollable tears rain down your cheeks at your own eroticism, your muscle growing tense before you nearly fall docile on top of him. Your thighs quiver as he continues to press filthy kisses all over your dripping orchids. Your legs have fallen numb, but the lewd actions inflicted by your mouth burgeons once you quickly recompose. Your mouth continues bobbing up and down his wet shaft—slick, pornographic sounds resuming to play. The bulbous head of his cock hits the back of your throat when he suddenly jerks into your mouth with a low moan, his girthy cock nearly pushing past your uvula and earning a strangled gag from you. Your tastebuds welcome his thick precum, hands massaging his swollen gonads.

“Fuck, I-I’m gonna cum...” Sukuna croaks out, almost in warning. He throws his head back once more. A blue, singular vein strains against his tan neck, jaw locked into a tight clench. His firm balls tighten in your hands. His throbbing cock jerks in your mouth before spilling his load down your throat—quick jets of white semen swallowed down instantly as you shamelessly moan around him.

You pull your mouth away with pop, a large exhale escaping your smudged lips before you roll off him and onto your back against the drenched mattress. You’re still laid opposite to him, your head near his feet and vice versa. You can see his glistening chest heave with shallow breaths from your periphery. In the firmament, you both stare at the white ceiling with small pants. A hand resting over your naked chest as you attempt to control your heart rate. It was a fruitless attempt, because it continues to thump violently in your chest anyway. Your eyes suddenly widen in realisation once you registered what just happened. Once you realised what you’ve just done.

How you acted on an impulse, and fucked your reclusive neighbour.

╰┈┈➤ PART TWO

© 2021 cxmplexity – all rights reserved. Do not repost, modify, plagiarise, translate or recommend my work anywhere – that includes TikTok and any other social media platform, I do not wish to have audiences below the age of 18 to come across my work.

TAGLIST [CLOSED]: @mentallydating-hotguyss @dukina @tycrackculture @mikiminaccch @amxaya-452 @baji-san @avocad0toasted @debevv @btsmeal @mincrtyo @gojocumslut @angelalje @hotboyissei @sinatraass @sakurasimppp @cinnamon-n-roses // bolded users cannot be tagged.

[joyaphoria]

dude the reality of being twenty one on tumblr is thinking it peaked when you were eighteen/nineteen, but in reality life just took over and you aged out of the inside, now there's a whole new wave of eighteen year olds taking over the game omg.

[joyaphoria]

Part 2 to 10:15pm sakusa ??? Pls I’m begging I’ve reread it like 10 times lolll I live it 💗

i love it too but i CANTT

[joyaphoria]

Pls pls pls part 2 of 10:15 pm 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺begging on my knees babes 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

IM SORRY

[joyaphoria]

Will there be a part 2 to 10:15 kiyomi 👀

no TnT

[joyaphoria]

guys a writer beige flag i have is that i literally can't commit, i didn't think my commitement issues literally reflected in my writing habits its so bad, i'll come up with the best series ideas and quit midway!? to her monster was so clever and then i dropped it, then the one with bokuto and reader growing up and then i dropped it, then it took me THREE years to post the last episode of to her flowers, i dropped m for manipulative (which wasn't that good anyways)....

at least we know why i slay all the drabbles though, short sweet and ignore everyone that screams part two in my inbox TnT

oh, and WHY CAN I ONLY WRITE ANGSTT

i have not had one happy idea since that drabble with omi and the valentines day card, after that it's all been smut or angst i cant generate happy thoughts guys this is so bad

[joyaphoria]

the greatest minds do think alike

im thinking new theme.

[joyaphoria]

OMG JOY IT IS ME EMP

EMP? OH MY GOD?

[joyaphoria]

heya joy! your ‘to her monster’ fic is TOO FKN GOOD 😭💯 like it hooked me so bad, it got me scrolling thru ur account like a madman.

AND WHEN I TELL YOU I ALMOST CRIED CUZ IM DYING TO DIGEST TO READ TO KNOW MORE OF THE STORY BUT THE NEXT 2 PARTS R GONE

AHHHHH okay i might republic the parts, i didnt want yo leave tbem hanging if i wasnt sure i was gonna finish it but

[joyaphoria]

get your ass back on here

AHHHHHH I GOT YOUR TEXT AND THEN I FORGOT

[joyaphoria]

missed the arctic monkeys concert!! gonna kill myself!!!

[joyaphoria]

omggg HEY!

HIHI EMP!! you caught meee hehehe