lily-bisque

[lily-bisque]

er what the flip so guys i have fallen ill with some freaking cold so i am assuming the next update for way out there won’t be for a bit of time

[lily-bisque]

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f1 driver!nanami x perfumer!reader

SYNOPSIS — It’s your big break: a private commission from a high-profile client brings you and your small-town French perfumery to gorgeous Monaco in the middle of July, where you’ve just begun setting up your first standalone boutique. But between construction delays, holiday crowds, and the chaos of Grand Prix weekend, peace is hard to come by. And when a handsome stranger stumbles into your unfinished shop—seeking shelter from the paparazzi and asking for a chance to see you again—your careful plans start to unravel in ways you never expected.

CONTENT — mdni, age gap (nanami is 31, reader is 23), takes place in the 1950s, inaccurate f1 history/general history inaccuracies, i cannot stop talking about f1 im sorry, hotel lobby reference wink wink, loss of virginity, nanami has a HUGE dick, semi public sex, public making out, thigh riding, fingering, oral (f! receiving), cum eating, creampie, unprotected piv sex, floor sex, biting/licking, strangers to lovers, mentions of a character death, fast paced romance, angst, happy ending

a/n: this fic is for @lily-bisque’s summer bash collab! thank you sooo much guys for like over 800 notes on part 1, ive never gotten that much on something that isnt an smau and im soooo grateful for every tiny like or reblog ily guys!

push to pass | masterlist | divider | part 1

July, 1956

“Welcome, madame,” your boutique manager greets, her accent prominent, eyes bright as you drop your travel-worn bags into the back of the perfumery.

You exhale as the cool, familiar scent of rose oil and bergamot washes over you, soothing the ache of the early train ride from Grasse. 

“Thank you, Colette,” you murmur, undoing the buttons of your linen coat. “How’s the stock looking?”

“Ready. Nervous,” she adds with a little smile, “but ready.”

It’s been almost a year since you opened the Monaco boutique. Though you still spend most of your time in Grasse, where your creations come to life, the boutique on the Riviera has become something of a symbol.

And timing, especially this weekend, is everything.

Outside, the city is already humming with Grand Prix tension. You can feel it in the air, thick with heat and engine smoke, the streets narrowing with barricades and velvet ropes. It’s not even noon and there are already men in suits drinking champagne on balconies and women in silks parading down the promenade like it’s a runway. The kind of crowd that lives for spectacle. The kind of crowd that will wander into your boutique curious, and leave with something expensive in their purse.

If you play it right.

The little bell above the door jingles as Colette unlocks it for the day, the gold-painted letters on the window catching the light.

What once was a dream is now pressed into reality: scent cards, silk ribbons, etched bottles, and the signature line—the very one that started it all. The perfume you made that week last year. The one that still clings to a memory you never quite shook.

You run your fingers over the familiar bottle, the lavender still present, faint and steady.

“Do you think it’ll be as crowded as last year?” Colette asks.

You nod, distracted. “Probably more.”

“I know it’ll be busy,” Colette says as she lines up the scent blotters near the cash desk, glancing sideways at you, “but do you think I could have a little time off this Sunday?”

You lift your head from the inventory sheet. “Sunday? What for?”

She hesitates—just long enough to seem guilty. “I was hoping to get an autograph.”

You arch a brow. “From?”

“Kento Nanami,” she says quickly, like she’s been holding it in all morning. “He’s doing a signing. Just a short one near the paddock entrance. Can you believe it? He never talks to the press, never does fan events—but this weekend, he’s actually showing up.”

You blink, caught off guard, the name punching through you with more force than you’d like to admit.

“He is?” you manage, keeping your tone even.

She nods, warming to her excitement now. “It’s all over the radio. Apparently his team asked him to do more public appearances this season. And now that he’s top of the standings again, people are calling it his golden year. Everyone’s dying to see him. Especially if the rumors about him retiring are true.”

Your eyes drop back to the sheet in front of you, though the numbers have already blurred into nonsense.

“I don’t mind if it’s just a few hours,” Colette continues gently. “I’ve never seen him in person.”

A beat passes. You nod. “Go ahead. Just coordinate with Léon so someone’s on the floor.”

She smiles, grateful and a little giddy. “Thank you, madame.”

But you barely hear her.

You slip out the back door just after noon, the boutique humming with low conversation and the occasional jingle of the entry bell. Colette’s handling the front just fine, and the deliveries are all accounted for.

You figure you’ve earned ten minutes and a cigarette.

The alley behind the boutique is shaded and narrow, still damp from last night’s wash of summer rain. You lean against the wall, one foot crossed over the other, and strike a match with the easy rhythm of someone who’s done this a thousand times before.

The first drag hits slow and warm.

You’re halfway through when a sharp crash—glass on tile—rings out from inside.

Then a muffled scream.

Your heart skips. You toss the cigarette, crush it underfoot, and shove open the back door in one quick motion.

The scent hits you first—something floral and heady, familiar—mixed with the sharp, unmistakable note of spilled perfume.

Colette stands behind the counter, eyes wide, hand over her chest like she’s trying to calm a racing heart. A shattered bottle lies on the floor near the display tray.

She doesn’t look hurt. Just stunned.

“I—” she starts, breathless. “I guess I can work Sunday after all.”

You follow her gaze.

And then you see him.

Nanami stands just inside the boutique, tall frame slightly hunched like he’s aware of the space he’s taking up, one hand tucked into his coat pocket, the other holding a bouquet.

Roses, white this time, with sprigs of lilac tucked between the blooms.

Your breath catches, somewhere between disbelief and something you can’t name.

He looks the same. A little older, maybe. A little more tired around the eyes. But still—him.

Colette clears her throat and turns to busy herself in the back, clearly trying not to stare.

Nanami steps forward, expression unreadable.

“Sorry about the bottle,” he says softly, voice like gravel warmed in the sun. “I didn’t mean to startle her.”

You’re still staring.

“Can I help you?” Colette asks, her tone polite but far too curious, already sauntering over like she’s hosting a royal guest.

You step in quickly, intercepting her with a smile that doesn’t quite meet your eyes. “I got it,” you say lightly. “Go to the back and sort the new shipment.”

Colette blinks, just once, and then a slow grin creeps across her lips. She leans in close enough to whisper, “You know him!”

You lift an eyebrow. “You’ll still get your autograph, don’t worry.”

She exhales a dreamy little sigh, and disappears into the back room without further protest—though you know she’s going to eavesdrop shamelessly through the door.

The moment it clicks shut behind her, the boutique feels quieter. 

Nanami still hasn’t moved. His fingers are tight around the bouquet, knuckles paling just a little.

“I didn’t mean to drop in unannounced,” he says, eyes flicking over your face, as if checking to see whether he’s crossed a line.

You step closer, slow. “No appointment?” you tease. “You must be important.”

His smile is faint, but real. “I was hoping you’d still be here.”

You glance down at the flowers, then back at him. “It’s been a year, Kento.”

“I know.” A pause. “But I never stopped thinking about you.”

“Are you here to buy perfume?” you ask, folding your arms gently across your chest. It’s meant to sound teasing, detached—but your voice betrays you just a little.

“No,” he says simply.

Then, after a beat, “But if that’s what it takes for you to talk to me, I’ll get something.”

Your mouth twitches—almost a smile. The same steady, self-deprecating calm he’d had back then, folded neatly between his words.

“You don’t need to bribe me, Nanami.”

“I wasn’t sure,” he says, eyes earnest. “I didn’t know if I’d be welcome.”

You ignore him, ensuring he doesn’t feel too welcome. 

“We don’t really sell cologne,” you say, stepping around the counter, your fingertips grazing the edge as you move. “But we have some unisex fragrances in our signature collection. Toward the back.”

Nanami follows you, quiet as ever, the low sound of his footsteps syncing with the soft hum of the boutique. You stop at the display case—hand-cut glass, brass detailing still warm from the morning sun—and lift the lid.

He leans slightly forward, scanning the row of crystal bottles, each labeled with delicate script.

His hand hesitates over one, then closes around it gently.

You glance at the name etched in gold: Final Lap.

Your heart gives a small, almost imperceptible lurch.

He turns the bottle in his hand, brows slightly furrowed. “This one.”

It’s not a question.

You swallow. “That’s… our bestseller.”

He uncaps it, bringing it to his wrist, and breathes it in—slow and quiet, eyes closing just for a second.

“I didn’t know you kept it,” he says.

You try to laugh, but it comes out soft. “I renamed it. It didn’t feel finished until after you left.”

He meets your gaze. “You made it after that night.”

You nod. “You picked the last note, remember?”

A flicker of warmth passes through his expression, something just shy of wonder.

“It smells like you,” you add, gently. 

His smile is slow—small, but certain.

“Then I’ll take it,” he says.

“Then I’ll take it,” he says, setting the bottle down with a kind of finality that makes your heart stir.

You begin to ring him up, fingers moving automatically over the till, though your thoughts are elsewhere—on him, on the weight of a year spent wondering, on the ache that never quite settled.

“Why’re you here, Kento,” you ask quietly, not looking up.

He doesn’t hesitate. “You,” he says.

Your hands still.

“I tried to respect your wishes and leave,” he continues, voice low and even. “I thought maybe the space would help. That time would dull it. That you’d forget me, and I’d forget you.”

You glance up, meeting his eyes.

“But I didn’t,” he says. “Not for a second. There’s just something about you. About that week. About how I felt when I was near you, like maybe the rest of it didn’t matter.”

You swallow, the click of the register drawer the only sound between you.

“Do you really think this could work?” you ask, softly.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “But I know I want to try.”

You hand him the bottle, fingers brushing his. He holds your gaze like he’s anchoring himself to it.

“My contract expires after next season,” he says, voice quieter now, more vulnerable than you’ve ever heard it. “I’m not planning on renewing it… and I know I’ll be lonely once this is all over.”

His eyes flick away, like he can’t bear to look at you when he says the next part.

“So, please. Just give this one chance.”

You don’t answer right away. The silence stretches. The boutique feels still, suspended between past and present, between memory and something that might still be possible.

He exhales. “This is embarrassing,” he says, shaking his head faintly. “I’m sorry. You must have found someone by now. I apologize—”

“Stop,” you interrupt, your voice catching. “There’s no one else.”

He looks at you.

“There never has been,” you say, more softly now. “It’s only been you.”

The words hang in the air, bare and unguarded, like they’ve been waiting a year to be spoken.

His shoulders drop with quiet relief, the kind that feels almost like surrender.

You step around the counter slowly, like you’re not entirely sure if the moment will hold—but it does. He doesn’t move as you reach for his hand, threading your fingers through his like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You cave all at once—like something inside you finally gives way.

Your arms wrap around his neck, the movement sudden, a little desperate. The bouquet tumbles from his hands to the floor, forgotten, petals scattering across the tile as he pulls you in by the waist, his grip firm, grounding.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, your face buried against the curve of his neck. “I was so rude to you last year. You must have felt so… used.”

“No, sweetheart,” he says, low and soft against your ear. “It’s okay.”

“It’s really not,” you breathe, pulling back just enough to look at him, your hands sliding down to rest against his chest. “I was just scared. I didn’t know you that well, and I push people away because I’m scared they’ll treat me like my father did.”

His expression doesn’t change, but his arms tighten—just a fraction.

“I spent every day over the past year regretting not saying yes to you,” you whisper. “Every single day, Kento.”

He studies you for a moment—eyes steady, jaw tight with the ache of something he’s been carrying just as long.

Then, gently, like he’s afraid you might disappear again, he leans in, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Then let’s stop wasting time,” he says. “Let me try. Just let me love you the way I’ve wanted to from the beginning.”

You take a small step back, not in retreat, not in fear, but in the kind of pause that comes when something is too big, too important, to meet without breath.

Nanami doesn’t move forward. He lets you have the space. His gaze stays steady on yours, open and unflinching.

“It’ll be hard, I know,” he says. “But I don’t want to regret this—the way I regretted not being there for Yu.”

The mention of his name lands with a quiet weight. You’ve heard it before, once, whispered over dinner when he thought you weren’t really asking. Now it sits between you, a truth he no longer hides.

“I have no intentions of hurting you,” he says, voice firmer now. “Not ever.”

You blink, the lump in your throat pressing up against your silence.

“I know I can’t promise we won’t fight. Or that it won’t be messy, or lonely sometimes,” he adds. “But I can promise I’ll show up. I’ll call. I’ll write. I’ll make the effort, even when it’s hard. You deserve that.”

You wrap your arms around yourself, overwhelmed—not by doubt, but by how simple he makes it sound. Like the love you’ve always been afraid to ask for isn’t impossible after all.

“I don’t want to be scared anymore,” you say quietly.

“Then don’t be,” he answers, stepping forward now, slow, deliberate. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

And when you let him gather you into his arms again, it feels different this time.

“Okay,” you say, the word soft but certain.

His brows lift, just slightly. “Okay?”

You nod, a faint smile pulling at the corner of your mouth. “Okay, we can give this a shot.”

For a second, he just looks at you—as if he’s making sure he heard you right, that he hasn’t imagined it. Then something unspools in his shoulders, something long-held and heavy, and his hand finds yours again like it always belonged there.

He leans in and kisses you—slowly, respectfully, like he’s savoring the moment as much as he’s asking permission all over again.

You kiss him back with no hesitation.

AUGUST 12, 1956

“NANAMI SPOTTED WITH LIPSTICK SMEARS AND A SMILE — WHO’S THE MYSTERY WOMAN?”Crowd-favorite keeps quiet after being photographed post-GP in Germany. Fans speculate romance.

OCTOBER 21, 1956

“NANAMI TAKES THE TITLE — REDEEMS LAST YEAR’S LOSS IN STUNNING FINAL LAP.” Victory at the Italian Grand Prix secured his fourth world championship title.

MARCH 5, 1957

“KENTO NANAMI BREAKS SILENCE ON BEST FRIEND’S DEATH — ‘THIS CAREER WAS NEVER JUST MINE.’” In a rare interview, the four-time champion reveals the truth behind his racing origins.

JULY 14, 1957

“THE MYSTERY WOMAN RETURNS — NANAMI’S COMPANION SPOTTED AT BRITISH GP.” Identity remains unknown, but sources confirm she traveled with the team to Silverstone.

OCTOBER 6, 1957

“‘IT’S TIME.’ — KENTO NANAMI ANNOUNCES RETIREMENT FROM FORMULA ONE.” Four-time world champion says goodbye to racing, announces plans to move to southern France.

MAY 18, 1958

“FORMER MASERATI DRIVER KENTO NANAMI MARRIED IN MONACO.” Weds longtime partner in private ceremony. Sources confirm he will join her perfumery business in Grasse.

taglist: @bluukive @callme-naomi @seellove @southrasiansandas @roresgf @bxnfire @seokjinfairy @araveticazx @mylilsodapop @nanasrambelingsons @dilfkentolover @papoiyu @hannibuttered @cherryredkissez @tqrxi @angelkiyo @caffine-exe @meikstv @crustyaintdusty @thegriffinbird @blueemochii @xombied @salmonroebonitoflakes @casssiesthings @homeslices

[lily-bisque]

MISSION: IMPOSSIBLE— ex boyfriend! gojo satoru

SUM. alone in a hotel room with your ex boyfriend after he pulled a risky stunt. what could go wrong?

CONTAINS. 18+ content, MDNI. non canon compliant/au. no plot just porn. x fem reader. 3k words. gojo’s lowk an idiot. ex sex. unprotected p in v. cunnilingus and fingering. creampie. some hints of body worship. nipple play. panty sniffing + panty taking. missionary. hair pulling (m receiving). belly bulge. some aftercare. unresolved feelings. reader probs folded too fast idk.

A/N. if you recognize this smut scene, no you don’t 🫡 #reuse reduce recycle

you knew this mission was bound for failure the moment principal yaga opened his mouth to announce that you and gojo were working together. no exceptions.

why he needed help in the first place was beyond you.

he was loud, arrogant, cocky, but he knew how to handle himself well (you would rather die than admit it, though).

and he also happened to conveniently be your ex boyfriend.

your ex boyfriend who you haven’t spoken to since your breakup—despite his various attempts to reach out to you: from extravagant bouquets waiting for you on your doorstep to cashapp requests in the thousands asking for you to unblock him. (which you accepted but never unblocked).

tensions had been running high since the moment the two of you stepped foot into your hotel. arguments left unsaid, lingering looks that the two of you ignored far too well. all until today, of course. when the idiot made the mistake of getting too close and letting his guard down, just for the sake of showing off to the first years.

“do you just get off on going against instructions? you could’ve gotten hurt.” you’d been nagging in his ear for the entirety of the way back, though he wasn’t complaining. after a couple months of silence, this was practically music.

“you still care about me, sweets? i’m flattered.” gojo could practically see the smoke coming out of your ears with that response.

"well, yes. but that’s not the point. you just can't do anything by the rules, can you? i swear, it's like it goes in one ear and ou-" your complaints were quickly shut down, his lips pressing against your own before you could even muster what was happening.

every single atom in your body was screaming to push him away, not to do this. again. but instead of doing just that, your fingers dug into his shirt and pulled him all that much closer.

kissing him felt all too familiar—a practiced dance you hadn’t quite managed to forget all the moves to. “be mad at me later, just.. let me have this please,” he pleaded, pressing his forehead against your own.

and you were certain that the man had done witchcraft, gotten some spell from a witch on etsy that’d been activated with the kiss, because somehow, someway, you found yourself nodding.

satoru hooked his fingers underneath your thighs, squeezing the supple flesh once while he made his way over to the bed. “mmph, fuck, i missed you baby,” he let out a quiet moan against your lips.

“shut it,” was your response, nibbling down on his bottom lip. your nails raked through his hair, tugging at the strands when you pulled him closer.

“yes ma’am,” satoru breathed out, walking over to the california king bed in the middle of the room before gently placing you down. you practically melted into the expensive silk sheets. (courtesy of gojo having millions upon millions to blow)

every second was savored—not willing himself to stay away from you for too long. he was hovering above you in a matter of seconds, holding your chin in between your fingers, “can i?”

once again, every thought in your mind was telling you to push him away. to remember how little he made you feel. “yes,” your mouth had a mind of its own, answering him before you thought better of it.

satoru let out a sigh, tilting your head to meet his gaze. “are you sure? i want you to want me. to want this as much as i do.”

you shook your head, reaching up and pressing your palm against his cheek. he was like a pathetic puppy, rubbing against your touch. “i do want it, toru. i want you.”

his touch was careful, almost like unraveling an expensive gift he didn’t quite want to ruin the wrapping of. a strangled breath left him upon seeing your lingerie, cerulean and lace framing your body in the best damn present he’d opened.

a cerulean blue that was too similar to his eye color—too much for him to deem as a coincidence.

looking over at you in disbelief, he asked, “when’d you make the switch to agent provocateur?”

you raised a brow at how quickly he recognized the material—deciding to leave it be though, “ever since i had seven grand to blow from a veryyy generous donor last week.”

satoru let out a quiet scoff, tracing the outline of the lace on your bra with the tip of his finger. his thumb barely circled against your clothed nipple, a featherlight touch, “and just who were you planning on showing this pretty set to?”

“wouldn’t you like to know weather boy?” a scoff of your own left your lips, rolling your eyes. but he was already in his own little world by now.

satoru had been deprived of the taste of you for months now—the very feeling of your skin underneath his fingertips nearly having him break out in a moan.

every nerve in his brain seemed to go haywire when he pressed his lips against your neck, the lingering scent of your perfume intoxicating whatever brain cells remained in that big noggin.

"did you just moan?" you raised your head as you looked down at him. never mind, not almost.

“you taste and smell good, what did you expect?” he licked a stripe down your neck, reaching your collarbone. gojo gently pulled the skin in between his teeth, sucking at the flesh. determined to leave a mark—even if you’d just have him for today.

each kiss trailed lower and lower down until he got to your shoulder, unable to resist the urge of snapping your bra strap. before you had the chance to glare at him, he reached for your back—unclasping the hooks and tossing your $300 bra to the floor.

you nearly winced.

“there’s my girls.” satoru took one of your breasts in his mouth, swirling his tongue around your nipple, “my favorite girls. missed them too, missed everything about you, baby.”

one of his large hands engulfed your other breast, rolling his thumb against your areola while he mindlessly sucked on the one in his mouth. “there you go. arch your back for me, sweetheart.” a groan left his lips, slipping his knee in between your legs to keep them open.

satoru alternated between each breast, giving each equal attention. leaving your nipples hard and covered in his spit. “so pretty,” he whispered in awe, giving each a farewell kiss.

he made his way down to your navel, pressing chaste kisses to whatever skin he had access to. kissing everywhere but where you needed him most—where he was rubbing his knee against.

you almost expected him to pounce up at the first opportunity, but instead, he settled by the foot of the bed. his touch featherlight as he dragged his fingers from your ankle to your calf, eliciting goosebumps down your spine in his wake.

“i’m sorry,” satoru started off, pressing his lips against your right calf before moving on to the left. “never wanted to make you break up with me,” he continued, kissing his way up your leg.

not a single inch of your body went untouched by his lips before he moved up, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your panties. you raised your hips, letting him slide them down your legs.

he looked up at you with puppy eyes, holding the slick-covered panties in his hand. a silent request.

your eyes narrowed, “no. you’re not keeping those.”

satoru let out a whine, bringing your panties up to his nose. taking an audible whiff and closing his eyes, practically relishing in the lace. “oh come on, i’m the one who got you these, technically.”

“generous donor, since we’re getting technical,” you shrugged, “put the merchandise down on the floor.”

“i’ll get you ten more. twenty, if that’s what you want. just let me keep these,” he spoke quickly, watching the way your eyes practically turned into money signs. “and maybe if you just show them off to me.”

he’d already spent over seven grand, what was a couple more thousand?

you looked at the pair in his hand, before shrugging, “i’ll be generous and only ask for fifteen.”

satoru quickly pocketed your panties, kissing up your thigh. “the most generous,” he mused, nibbling on your inner thigh. his hands spread your legs out, presenting to him like one of the finest meals.

and he was more than ready to feast.

he leaned forward, swiping his tongue in between your folds. your fingers ran through his hair again, gripping his hair tightly. or at least.. you thought your grip was tight. it was hard to tell when satoru moaned regardless, sucking on your folds.

“so good, so good, use me, i’m all yours, always been,” just one taste of you again was enough to have him pussy drunk, babbling against your cunt. you pushed his head further into your cunt, swiveling your hips against his eager tongue, “yeah, yeah, just like that, don’t stop.”

you looked over to see satoru laying down on his stomach, completely at bliss slurping and sucking at your cunt with his feet swinging back and forth. if his mouth and hands weren’t busy, you had no doubt that he’d be twirling his hair and giggling.

“come onnn, let me know how i’m good i’m making you feel,” he pouted as he looked up at you with half-lidded eyes, his lips glossed over with your slick.

"fuck you," you bit down on your lip, gritting the words out in an attempt to keep any moans at bay.

"aht, aht, that's my job, cutie. and first, you gotta tell me what you want," satoru gave your thigh a loud smooch, his fingertips tracing your folds and barely dipping inside of your dripping cunt before he’d pull away. only to repeat it again.

in a moment of weakness, you found yourself relenting, “your fingers, toru. please,” it came out low, barely enough for his ears to register. and almost like clockwork, he took that opportunity to tease you further.

“what was that, baby? couldn’t really hear you,” he retorted, clicking his tongue. when you went to open your mouth, he pushed his fingers inside of your cunt. the loud squelch cutting you off completely.

“your. fingers,” you gritted out, your request coming out louder, “please.” only the bastard would make you beg after apologizing to you.

he pushed his fingers inside of you yet again, bringing them to his lips and swirling his tongue around them, “please what?” another tease.

“please, toru. i want your fingers,” a whine was evident in your voice.

“there we go, baby. that wasn’t so hard, hm?” his fingers thrusted inside of you once more, curling in a come hither motion.

satoru closed his lips around your puffy clit, sucking on it before swirling his tongue. he started with drawing small circles on your nub, before your brows furrowed.

he was using your damn clit as a writing board.

the tip of his tongue carefully spelled each letter,

‘I. LOVE. YOU.’

“seriously?” it came out shakier than you would’ve liked, little gasps and unsteady breaths leaving your lips.

“mhm,” he didn’t bother on elaborating further, covering your clit in his spit as he sucked. the curl of his fingers hit that spot inside of you with each thrust, his fingers thrusting deeper than even some of your toys.

“ah ah, fuck!” you let out a moan, hips bucking into his face to meet his tongue frantically. “don’t stop, don’t stop, just like that!” each swipe and thrust brought you closer and closer, your back nearly off the mattress.

satoru simply shook his head, swiping his tongue back and forth. the idea was simply absurd—that he was even capable of thinking to stop. “not gonna stop, baby. just wanna keep tasting you,” he responded, swinging his feet back and forth again in sync with his thrusts.

you weren’t sure if you hated him or you wanted to fuck him even more. maybe a little of both.

that familiar coil tightened in your lower stomach, your nails practically digging into his scalp in response. “ah fuck, yeah, dig them in there, i can take it, i can take it,” satoru was reduced to a babbling mess yet again, each whine vibrating against your clit.

“i’m close, i’m close, gonna cum,” your moans had him pushing his hips into the mattress, seeking anything to relief his aching cock. but—this wasn’t about him. it was about you first. “come for me, baby, take what you need.”

the coil inside of you snapped, your orgasm hitting you at once. your hips stilled, your release coating his fingers and spilling out onto the bedsheets underneath. he sucked his fingers, cleaning up every. single. last. dribble.

gojo wasted no time in unzipping his pants, sliding them down along with his boxers. freed from its confines, his cock sprung up against his stomach. pink tip twitching and all—dripping drop after drop of precum.

wrapping a hand around the base, he swiped the tip against your folds. much like he’d be swiping his card later. up and down, letting your slick coat the head before he slowly pushed it inside. pushing against that initial resistance.

“biggg stretch, there we go,” a hiss escaped from his lips, feeling your walls squeeze against him tightly. he had to close his eyes, refusing to look down at you. he knew that if he did, that would be all it would take for him to bust.

satoru placed your legs on his shoulders, slowly starting to move his hips forward. pushing inch by inch inside with each thrust, up until he could see his tip bulging in your lower tummy.

“toru?” your voice broke him out of the trance, hazy blues meeting your own glazed over expression.

“yes, baby?”

“you think maybe, just maybe, you could go a little faster?”

satoru broke out into a cheshire like grin, making you instantly regret your ask, “anything for you, my princess.”

*PLAP* *PLAP* *PLAP*

the sound of your skin slapping against his own, the sound of your moans and his shaky breaths filled the room, mixing in with the heavy stench of sex. satoru’s grip on your thighs tightened, his fingers digging into you while he used your cunt how he pleased.

“that fast enough for you, baby?” satoru taunted, a smirk on his face. the sight in front of him was nothing short of perfect—from the way your jaw fell taut, drool leaking out from the corner of your lips with each punishing thrust. all the way down to the way your tits bounced, each bounce nearly putting him in a hypnosis.

“yes yes, fuck!” your hands dug into the bedsheets underneath as a lifeline, something to cling onto. you could even feel the slight curve to the left, each vein grazing your walls.

“y-yeah? finally good enough for you?” you could only nod in response, his cock drilling out every thought. your walls squeezed around him, toes curling against his back. you didn’t have to give him any warning this time—he simply knew.

“so good, so good,” you babbled like a broken record, his dick hitting your g-spot with such ease it had you wondering why you’d ever broken up with him in the first place.

“suck for me,” satoru prodded his thumb against your bottom lip. you instinctively parted your lips, swirling your tongue around it and sucking on it. all while keeping your eyes on him. he could’ve sworn you were trying to kill him now.

you released with a pop, his thumb glistening with your saliva. “ah fuck! keep going, keep going!” satoru rubbed quick circles against your clit, his own thrusts starting to grow sloppier and sloppier. heavy balls smacked against your ass with each push of his hips, one of his feet propped up against the mattress for an angle that had your eyes rolling back.

“t-toru! make me cum, please, please!” you whined, nails scraping against the cotton bedsheets. your walls clenched against him tightly, milking his cock, before your orgasm washed over you like a wave.

your release coated his shaft, your cunt squelching as he fucked you towards his own orgasm. he was close, so so close, but the man needed one more push. “tell me you love me, please,” his voice came out ragged, “i need you to tell me.”

“i love you, toru,” his name had never sounded so good, so sweet before. the quiet whisper of your admission was all it took to push him from the edge. a low groan left his lips, spurt after spurt of cum dripping inside of you. painting your walls white, pooling where he and you were still connected.

satoru pulled out carefully, the mixture of fluids dripping from his softening shaft onto the silk bedsheets underneath. “stay here, i’ll be right back with something to clean you off.”

he came back into the room with a wet hand towel from the guest bathroom, gently cleaning in between your legs. wiping away at the cum dripping down your legs, staining your thighs. “there we go, how are you feeling? you need water?” satoru tossed the towel to the side, pulling his pants back up.

“i’m good. but we should probably talk about this,” you gestured in between the two of you, “we both said.. a lot. and i do love you, toru. but just because we had sex doesn’t mean everything’s fixed between us.”

“i know,” gojo replied almost instantly, like he’d been equally dreading and looking forward to this conversation. “trust me, i know. i want to work things out with you. if you’ll let me.”

but for now, in the comfort of the hotel room, you allowed him to hold and snuggle against you like a human blanket. letting yourself momentarily enjoy the moment of peace before you reminded yourself that you were still exes.

yaga didn’t bother asking why the two of you showed up later than expected or why you two were less tense the next day.

[lily-bisque]

i love fic authors who are gooners with such closely held artistic sensibilities that it nearly eclipses the goon. we shall goon, but first we shall follow 70k minimum of a meticulously-plotted and spectacularly-executed character arc replete with several devastating psychological portraits and some trenchant political commentary on what it means to be a human in this world.

[lily-bisque]

ＷＡＹ ＯＵＴ ＴＨＥＲＥ 𖠰 ⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧🪵𓇢𓆸

volume seven — forwards beckon rebound

✦ ── pairing: lumberjack!sukuna x citygirl!reader

✦ ── synopsis: taking a hike, alone, in a massive forest to escape your mundane life may not have been the greatest idea you'd conjured up—a realization you'd come to soon after you managed to lose your map miles inland. but when a lumberjack who knows the land like the back of his hand offers you a place to stay, you think maybe your life isn't so tragic after all. besides, for the sake of your safety, who knows what lingers in the shadows after nightfall?

✦ ── contents: lost in the forest au, forced proximity, bantering, angst, trauma/torture aspects, minor injuries, eventual romance, eventual smut, no use of y/n, mental health and depression struggles, suicide, blood and violence, mentions of war—pls remember that this is a fictional work inspired by a comic and i am not using this to rewrite history or treat any tragedies unseriously! tags to be added.

✦ ── a/n: listened to sooo much adrianne lenker writing this entire fic and was especially excited to write a reunion volume with this exact song. also—happy one month :’). check out the playlist for the curated mood and for a forehead kiss. mwah, enjoy!

✦ ── word count: 6.1k

archive ─ playlist

series masterlist - previous interlude - volume eight

art by outdmilk on twt

“…THE WOLVERINE.”

Your heart lodged in your throat like a pebble trying to make its way down a narrow straw opening, the sight of metal tearing through Sukuna’s knuckles enough to make your breaths shallow.

Shiu watched you carefully from his seat upon his stool, feeding into your reaction as it spurred his excitement further, just like he did every time they’d get a new addition on the team and would bring them down here.

You were just the lucky pick of the month.

Your fingers curled into the hem of your dress, digits trembling as you couldn’t even get yourself to blink, much less look away. 

“Now, don’t worry here ladies n’ gents. The claws? ‘S all for show. Sukuna here,” the announcer reassured, slapping a hand against the burly man’s shoulder that was well over his head. “Won’t use ‘em… unless he has to.”

The crowd erupted at that, holding their beer bottles in the air by the necks and clashing them against each other, a rowdy sea of revelers you felt jarringly out of place in. The ringing vibrations of glass sent shivers down your spine and goosebumps littering your cold skin.

The announcer sounded a few whoops into his microphone to rile them up even further, stagehands thrashing the cage with curled fingers to bounce the sound of metal against metal off of the walls.

Sukuna retracted his claws, the glint disappearing beneath his tan skin, huffing as he turned away and dug a hand into his jean pocket. Unlike the familiar box of Marlboro Reds’ he’d normally pull out, he dragged a cigar out and placed it between his teeth in a scowl. He flicked the cap of his lighter case open, swiping the sparkwheel with the pad of his thumb and holding the flame up against the butt.

He laid a forearm against the cage, taking a few puffs from the massive joint, his expression shielded from you.

You didn’t even notice the way you were hyperventilating, chest rising and falling rapidly.

Who the hell had you been staying with? And what the fuck was coming from his hands?

“Apparently he’s from some freak experiment gone wrong,” Shiu shouted over the audience, practically reading your mind from your expression, taking a swig of his whiskey. 

You shivered, peering back at him with wide eyes, blood roaring in your ears and your lips slightly parted as you tried to come up with words that were actively failing you.

As inebriated as the man was, Shiu couldn’t decipher your obvious distress, only assuming it was confusion. “Remember those uh… aliens or whatnot? Freakish rumors of awakened abilities or things sneaking onto Earth?”

You remember what he’s talking about, though he’s describing it poorly. They were coined ‘Mutants.’ Over two centuries ago, there had been a sudden influx of humans with some sort of additional gene mutation, something called the X-gene. People managed to get the story wrong so much that most just chalked it up to rumors as modern civilization was completely unfamiliar with it.

But, as any bored teenager, you’d gone on deep dives online.

In total, there had been around ten thousand humans with this gene, give or take, spanning all over the globe. There had been tales of some with telekinesis, abilities to manipulate the weather, shapeshifting, you name it.

Yet with the fear of humans holding such a capability, they’d been eradicated with bounties placed on their heads.

It was a silent genocide.

And of course, the governments did what they could to keep it quiet. 

But to think of the possibility that those tales were not only true… but there was still one of them to have survived?

And one with sheers from fingers? God, he was like Edward Scissorhands if the guy ditched the melancholy for abrasiveness and dyed his hair pink.

Your thoughts were pulled from you as you heard the sound of wood smashing and splintering. You spun your head back to see Sukuna still turned around, the bald man beside him holding the broken legs of a chair, which looks to have been slammed off of the former's back.

“Oh, it appears that someone is ready to go. Let the fight commence,” the announcer drawled out into his microphone, slipping from the cage door as a stagehand locked it.

Sukuna took another drag of his cigar before flicking it to the mat and crushing it with his foot. Turning around with slow deliberation, he shook his arms and head in one go, like a dog releasing water from their mane.

And on his face was a scowl so deep, so full of disdain and irritation, it made your skin crawl. He balled his fists, no sign of his metal claws bared except the scars that’d been left behind.

The dog tag against his sharp collarbones jingled, a lump settling deep in the pit of your gut as the two men stared each other down with a glare so fierce it made your blood curdle. Their anger could be set ablaze with just the spark of a lighter.

“Shouldn’t have done that, brat,” he growled, voice low and husky and practically vibrating from the recesses of his chest, enough to make the audience feel the hairs on their napes stand on end.

The bald man only stepped closer to Sukuna, seething with rage, his audacity making you taste bile on the back of your throat, sour and nauseating. And then he spat on the ground before him, a toothy grin before he released a few chuckles. “Yer’ kind shoulda’ died long ago.”

Your gaze flickered back to Sukuna, his rage practically emanating off of him in white-hot incandescent ripples and knocking you right off your stool from the impact. His knuckles were white with how hard he was clenching them, jaw twitching beneath the stress of his molars grinding against each other.

Sukuna didn’t respond this time, only lifting his right clenched fist and sending it straight towards the bald man’s jaw, the sound of flesh tearing and bone cracking beneath metal, sending the man flying towards the ground with just one hit.

You hopped from your seat, eyes wide and heart beating rapidly in your chest, on instinct shouting. “Sukuna!”

You thought your voice would be drowned out by the audience, by the boisterous cheers and hoots and hollers alone.

But Sukuna stilled for a moment, eyes scanning the audience slowly, pupils blown before landing on you.

The two of you held eye contact for a moment, your breaths simultaneously hitching and hearts soaring from your chests. His face paled and stunned, your hands trembling and eyes wide.

“City girl…” he whispered, mostly to himself, feet rooted in the ground beneath him as he shuddered.

You weren’t supposed to be here.

Sukuna wasn’t necessarily a man ashamed of what he does, riling up an audience with his abilities for money like some circus freak. He didn‘t even need the money, he was just exhausted from living a life with nothing to pump his adrenaline.

Not to mention, it was an excuse to punch his impish coworkers when they’d finally get the balls to face him.

But seeing you, wide eyes swimming with he wished wasn’t fear and disgust, had his stomach lurching, wanting to cave in on himself.

He doesn’t know how long he stood there, watching as you shivered in place, where you weren’t supposed to be. He thought he’d seen the last of you—he hoped he did.

You shouldn’t see him like this.

A balled fist dug into Sukuna’s core, powered behind a weak thrust but enough to have Sukuna doubling over.

He peered back up, his anger resurfacing again, focused on his coworker that’d only tried to make his life a living hell at each and every turn. Swearing that Sukuna hadn’t met his quota to the boss, whispering with the other lumberjacks like some fuckin’ schoolboy, pestering about why he opted to shut himself out in the outbacks.

Truthfully, the guy had it fuckin’ coming.

He brought his fist up again, this time aiming to cave his nose in, slamming his face and watching blood spray onto his wife beater.

And he just fucking cleaned it.

The bald man wasn’t quite strong or memorable, not enough for Sukuna to even remember his name. He made nicknames up for the guy in his head—beer gut being his favorite as it seemed to protrude each time he came across the asshole downing more alcohol than even Sukuna consumed, which was a lot.

He bruised both of his eyes, broke a finger so he wouldn’t be able to work anytime soon, and was aiming for one of his toes next before the ringer called it.

“Alright, alright, I think we’ve seen enough, huh?” The announcer chuckled nervously, sliding his way back onto the ring as two burly men began to pry Sukuna from the half-conscious man rolled up on the floor.

The audience wasn’t as excited as they had been before, some whispering to each other, some displaying their expressions of utter shock and disgust at watching the last two minutes unfold, some even making their way out through the archway and up the stairs after they'd paid their tab.

Sukuna grunted, brushing it off as the announcer came to his side, curling his fingers around Sukuna’s wrist and holding it up as high as he possibly could. “And we definitely have our winner! Undefeated once again, The Wolverine takes home another victory!”

This is the part that Sukuna usually drowns out—the audience erupting in roars one final time for the evening as the announcer slaps the prize money into his hand, fat wads that he’d just end up stuffing away somewhere mindlessly, and stomping out towards the locker room while everyone made sure to step out of his way.

But he shivered again, eyes locking to where you previously stood, and you were nowhere to be seen.

Sukuna inhaled sharply, forgetting the money entirely, and throwing himself out of the cage. The remaining audience was stunned at the action, stilling to watch his next move unfold as they held their breaths.

He sprinted up the steps, skipping every third and making his way up to the pawn storefront. To any regular customer, he looked downright insane. Covered in specks of blood as his chest heaved with a wild look in his eyes.

He peered down towards the store owner, the same guy he saw every time he’d come in for a fight. “You see a girl leave here? ‘Bout this high, wearing a sundress?” He pressed, eyes wide with desperation.

“Uhhhh… she just left. With some guy,” he replied, pointing to the store doors.

Sukuna brushed off how that made his world tilt, grunting and storming out of the doors.

His head spun on a swivel on the empty night streets, feeling sprinkles of rain come down and cool his heated skin. He spotted you instantly, standing on some sidewalk a few paces away and waving your arms around to some swaying raven-haired man that looked vaguely familiar.

Adrenaline clouded Sukuna’s judgement as you pushed a hand against the guy's shoulder who only chuckled in response.

Sukuna stomped over, locking eyes with the man and stopping right before him. “Who the fuck are you?” He barked, staring the guy down with a fire swirling in his eyes.

The guy, obviously drunk, simply laughed and took a few steps back. “My bad, man. She’s all yours,” he smirked in your direction, lifting a glass he seemed to have snagged and began making his way down the sidewalk while practically tripping over his own feet.

Sukuna’s frown only deepened at his retreating figure for a few moments, before turning to peer down at you.

He could feel his world come to a halt, eyes dancing across your dolled-up and stunned figure.

You watched his gaze immediately soften, the harsh lines across his blood-speckled face ease up as the fire ablaze in his irises were snuffed out. 

“You know him?” He grunted.

You shook your head.

He sighed, exasperated. “The fuck are you doing here?” He pressed, and though he wished it were sharper, his edges around you seemed to round out as it came out as a whisper. He sounded genuinely concerned.

You opened your mouth, hands tightening around the little purse you’d brought with you. “I-I wanted to see you,” you replied softly in the night air, the rain only slowly picking up as it splattered against your bare skin.

It sounded stupid now. To show up to his work and bring him lunch, as if you were life-long friends that went way back when in actuality you barely knew each other. 

But you couldn’t give it much thought as you recalled what you’d just seen downstairs before hurrying out. What you could barely wrap your head around.

You had evidence that it was real enough, those sheers protruding from his hands and Shiu making far too many jokes about Sukuna that only made you jab your finger into his chest. 

“Can’t imagine living with those marks either. A walking freakshow.”

“Hope a pretty girl like you won’t waste time with him.”

“Nobody knows squat about the guy. You really think you know him?”

You knew you didn’t know much about him. But what you did know was that he had a heart—even underneath all of his aggressive gestures and spiky thorns. 

He was someone you’d grown to know quite well in a short time, someone you were quite fond of.

But now it felt tainted. You didn’t want to see Sukuna like that. No—you felt like you shouldn’t see him like that, intruding on a part of his left he’d obviously kept secret from you.

With a secret like that, you couldn’t blame him. He had no one but a pet dog by his side since they couldn’t get past his rough edges to see the tender parts of him you’d managed to witness momentarily.

Sukuna inhaled deeply, running a hand through his pink tresses and sighing. “Listen, I can explain just—.”

“Shiu already did,” You interrupted, jutting a thumb behind you to what Sukuna assumes was the guy who’d accompanied you, swallowing the thick lump lodged in your throat. You didn’t want to make him have to explain himself.

Yet you’d only made it more awkward, making it seem like you were actively trying to get away from Sukuna.

He eyed you, the creases near his eyes deepening as he squinted. “Uh, okay. Whatever. You drive here?” He suddenly changed the subject, obviously not comfortable with talking about the elephant in the room either.

You nodded.

He hummed. “Where’s your car?”

“It’s right—.” You turned around and pointed to where it was parked, only to see that it was gone. “Oh my god.”

You paled, pacing towards where it was supposed to be with Sukuna on your heel and feeling your stomach reel. “It was right here I… I parked it right here,” you admitted, voice laced with panic.

“Uh…” Sukuna pointed a finger towards the ‘no-parking’ sign just a few feet away.

You shivered at that, feeling your waterline prickle with tears. If you thought you couldn’t be even more shocked this evening, you just had to go and be a dumbass and get your car towed.

You shook your hands in front of you, mind spinning with a solution. “I’ll just call a cab and head back… yeah, that sounds fine…” you spoke to yourself under your breath, doing your best to reassure yourself.

Sukuna cocked his head at your little meltdown. “My trucks parked ‘round the back. You live in the city, right? Can give you a lift—.”

“No!” You interrupted suddenly.

Sukuna paused at that, watching as the shoe he’d been waiting to finally drop hit the floor. You were afraid of him. It made sense, what else did he expect? You’d just seen him not only broadcasted in a ring as a freak of nature, but watched metal tear through his fists.

You two didn’t live remotely in the same world.

He swallowed the steadily rising bile. “Got it. Need anything from me?” He asked, throat gravelly, wanting the Earth to swallow him whole as he donned a nonchalant front.

You smiled weakly, running a hand through your hair. “Sorry, Sukuna. It’s not—that’s not it,” you sighed, worrying your lip between your teeth.

Oh.

Then what is it?

“I may have exponentially fucked up,” you whispered, sourly laughing to yourself as you waved your hands dramatically.

“Alright. What’s up?” He pressed on, his tongue feeling thick in his maw.

“You’re gonna think I’m insane,” you revealed, pursing your lips as you peered up at him, orbs darting between his left and right ones.

“Might be kinda hard given my circumstances,” he dryly teased, the humor unlike him but somewhat settling your worries.

You only stared up at him, your foot tapping against the ground as you mulled over something he couldn’t quite puzzle together, before you spoke.

“I sold my apartment and quit my job.”

Sukuna’s eyes widened at the admission, choking on his saliva and faltering. “You… what?” He huffed out, bewildered at your words.

You laughed insanely to yourself, enough to make Sukuna worry about your well-being. “Do you think you could drive me to my motel?” You quiered, rocking on the backs of your heels.

Sukuna doesn’t know exactly what fluttered in his stomach as he watched you plead to him, a look he’d seen multiple times on you when you’d beg for nearly anything when you stayed with him.

Putting up the clothesline, playing another one of his vinyls while he tried to make himself food, complaining about the lack of options with his cable.

Oh, you were audacious. But he gave in nearly every time to your demands. Though not without huffing and puffing.

“Uh. Yeah,” he spoke, not wanting to press about your obvious mania and turning on his heel.

 You squealed and followed suit, feet tapping against the pavement as it finally began to rain cats and dogs.

You yelped, peering up as the tempestuous storm clouds you’d seen when you first walked into the pawn store began to unleash their fury.

“Keep up if you can,” Sukuna huffed, pulling his arms to his sides and jogging around a corner as water began to pelt the concrete sidewalk.

You gasped at his audacity, feeling your sandals come down in wet puddles as Sukuna grinned to himself and hurried away from you, leaving you to effectively be drenched.

You rushed around the tight corner, quickly spotting Sukuna pulling himself into the driver's seat of a rusted red truck. You followed quickly, skin cold and littered with goosebumps, hair matting to your cheeks despite how you swatted the strands from your face.

You wrenched the door open with a creaky groan, having to practically climb into the elevated vehicle, the wet part of your skirt plastering to your seat. You pulled the door shut with a thunderous slam, catching your breath as you glanced over at Sukuna who was eyeing you, before letting out a snort.

You slapped your hand over your mouth, heat rising from your wet nape, as you began to giggle into your hand. You weren’t even quite sure what you were laughing at, simply giggling at the insane turn of the events that left your mind spinning.

Sukuna bit the inside of his cheek as you tossed your head back against the headrest, your dress sticking to your curves and giving it a see-through sheen.

He tore his gaze away with warm cheeks, reaching forward to your side to access the dashboard and pulling the spacious compartment open. You quieted, feeling Sukuna’s corded forearm graze your bare knee and stilling. He was incredibly warm, but it sent a chill shooting up your spine and making you stiffen.

He tugged a flannel out, probably one he kept as a spare, and tossed it to you. “‘S cold,” he muttered, adjusting in his seat as he peered out the windshield, watching as the rain only continued to patter against the glass continuously, not looking like it’d be letting up anytime soon.

You couldn’t help but wonder why he didn’t put it on for himself since he was only wearing a wife beater, but kept your mouth shut.

He cranked the heat, the windshield swiftly fogging up.

You bit your lip, feeling your heart clench again, before making a joke to scissor through the wired tight tension. “Borrowing your clothes again,” you chuckled weakly, pulling it around your shoulders and buttoning it up. Just like the other articles you’d worn, this one hung off of you as you couldn’t fill it in like Sukuna managed to.

He grunted in response.

You shifted in your seat, going quiet and watching a hand of his lift to the steering wheel. You made note of the scars you’d seen before, the same ones still there and wound shut despite him just tearing through them minutes ago.

He frowned deeply once he caught wind of your gawking. “Quit starin’.”

You didn’t falter, his usual grumpy antics picking up. “How are you not bleeding?” You asked in a hushed and observant tone, eyes still dialed in on his hand.

Forget the rule of thumb of not touching Sukuna—you reached out without hesitation, a finger brushing against the calloused and marked skin, but Sukuna pulled away as if you’d burned him and scowled.

Still, you weren’t deterred, peering up at him with curiosity swimming in your eyes.

He could only stare at you in confusion, hands flexing like he couldn’t control his movements. “Uh. I can heal. Skin regenerates,” he coughed out.

You sat up at that, eyes widening like an owl. “Wait… wait! So in the forest when you hurt your hand…?”

He nodded curtly, jaw tensing at the remembrance.

You gasped. “Oh my goodness…” you trailed off, melting into your seat as the realization itself sunk in. That must’ve been why he didn’t want to show you where his hand had torn as it would’ve healed itself within moments.

Sukuna bleakly laughed. “That cool to you?”

You shrugged. “I guess. Yeah. Do you not find it cool?”

He didn’t answer that, though you could tell from his expression just what he thought of it. His eyebrows drew in as he leaned against the window, turning his body towards you. “…You’re not scared of me?” He asked, feeling as if he’d been walking on eggshells around you, nervous he’d slip up and scare you away.

You tilted your head in genuine wonder. “Scared?”

Huh.

“I mean… yeah. I’ve got knives for hands,” he admitted grimly.

“I know. But why should I be scared?”

He cleared his throat, shuffling in his seat nervously at the sudden spotlight casted on him. “Ya know, the claws and all. The fightin’. Didn’t think a girl like you would stick around for the aftermath,” he admitted.

You cocked your head with a smirk. “A girl like me? What’s that ‘spose to mean?”

He puffed air through his nose, his silence making you giggle.

It was quiet for a few short moments, just the rain to keep the both of your ears company. But you were still brimming with excitement, a kettle ready to whistle and burst.

You flattened out the lower half of your skirt, damp and sticking to your thighs. “So…. ‘The Wolverine…’” You spoke, stifling a giggle at how flashy it sounded. “What? You trade your Reds for Backwoods ‘n you’re a changed man?”

He poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue, holding back a smile as best as he possibly could, casting his gaze to his lap. “You mean you ain’t recognize me no more?” He whispered softly, leaning in just a bit as his arm laid against the center console.

The close proximity made you freeze up like ice despite the heat blasting, plastering yourself to the passenger door. His eyes narrowed for a moment, taking in the sight of you in his shirt once again, before pulling back and twisting a hand against the leather steering wheel. He ignored the lightness in his chest he hadn’t felt in quite some time, recentering himself in reality. “Really, though. Why’re you back here?”

You fiddled with your fingers in your lap, nose wrinkling as you thought about the last couple of days.

If Sukuna knew what you were planning, he’d have your head on a spit.

So your best idea was to ensure he’d at least drive you to your motel before sending you back into the city.

“Don’t know what you did for work in the city, but I can’t see why you’d ditch that life behind,” he grumbled, eyebrows drawn in confusion, trying to puzzle together the small pieces of information you were giving him to see the bigger picture.

“Take me to the motel first. Then I’ll tell you.”

He tilted his head at that, pausing for a moment, unsure at your crypticness, but Sukuna was not one to question too much.

“Buckle up, city girl.”

𖠰 ⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧🪵𓇢𓆸

The ride back was nothing short of stressful.

He didn’t wait for the rain to clear, putting the gear shift into reverse and pulling out of the back lot.

There was hail now—pelting against the rusted metal of the car as he flicked on the radio and tuned into the local station. They were playing some Neil Young, the pedal steel woven into the instrumental making you sway softly.

As much as Sukuna wanted to eye you from his peripherals, he had to hone his focus as most cars’ lights on the main road were dull, narrowly avoiding multiple fallen trunks and stopped vehicles.

But the guy was adamant on getting back, ignoring the flashing lightning that filled the sky followed by sharp cracks of thunder that shook the Earth’s core. You took the time to eye him, to notice the heavier bags beneath his eyes as if he wasn’t sleeping. Maybe he hadn’t been these days. But you weren’t about to get on this grown and grumpy man’s ass about his bedtime.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he muttered under his breath, finally spotting the dim neon lights of some shady motel, flickering on and off every few moments.

He pulled into the lot, putting the car into the park and turning towards you. “Spill.”

You bit your lip. “I’ve got a question for you first.”

He sighed at that, laced with nothing short of indignation. “What?”

“How exactly are you going to get back up to your place this late, and with this weather?”

He narrowed his eyes, shuffling in his seat. “Gonna camp out right here,” he muttered.

“Huh?” You pushed, tilting your head. “Why on Earth would you do that?”

“Wouldn’t be my first time,” he shrugged, raking a hand through his damp tresses.

You didn’t even know how to bring up how he was still drenched from the rain, but now he was planning on sleeping in his car of all places?

“Oh like hell you are,” you scoffed loudly and somewhat beside your usual tone, enough to make the large man flinch.

You pushed your passenger door open, hopping out and trying not to slip as you paced towards the motel lobby, hands covering your hair as you hurried in.

There was an older woman at the front desk with tight lines on her crinkled paper-like skin, glasses perched on her nose as she scanned through some large book.

But the issue was the group that filled up the lobby, multiple families soaking wet, practically begging for a room.

“Sorry everybody,” she drawled out, peeking up from her desk. “Last room was jus’ booked!”

Everyone in the lobby sighed, worries and trepidation written into their expressions as they filed out.

You felt your shoulders droop, dragging your feet back out of the lobby but hurrying back to the stark red truck awaiting you.

You hopped back in, tugging the door shut and staring up at Sukuna with wide, sad eyes. “They’re fully booked!”

He shrugged, adjusting in his seat and tossing his head back to shut his eyes. “Not like it matters. Was plannin’ on knockin’ out right here.”

You scrunched your nose up as if you smelled something foul, poking your finger against his bicep, making him groan. “What, woman?”

“You can’t sleep out here!”

“Like hell I can’t, brat.”

You scoffed. “Fine. At least use my shower, then.”

He peeked an eye open skeptically. “Why?”

You rolled your eyes. “‘Cause you reek.”

He chuckled at that for a moment, recalling how he’d used that same line on you when he’d first met you, leaning towards you to flick your forehead. “Nah. Mutants can’t expel odor.”

You tilted your head in awe. “Wait. Really?”

Huh. Cute.

He flared his nostrils, pausing for a moment at your naivety. “You really ain’t the brightest,” he mumbled, pushing out of the car.

You straightened out, quickly scrambling out of the passenger side, sandals splashing in the murky lot water, hurrying after him as he made his way towards the sidewalk. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Where’s your room?” He grumbled, already over teasing you.

You pointed in the direction of it, the two of you pacing over as quickly as you could.

You shuffled through your clutch, tugging your room key out and shoving it into the keyhole before pushing it open. You made your way inside, Sukuna following and shutting the room behind him.

Once the lock turned, only then did you feel the air still, your breaths stalling for a moment in the newfound silence coupled with the gentle patter of rain just outside.

He had to duck quite a bit—the small room obviously not accommodating to his height, making you hold back a giggle.

You headed over to your plethora of bags on your bed, shuffling through them and grabbing out a change of clothes. Thank god you’d brought everything in—God forbid instead of leaving your suitcase and bags in your car and having them towed away too. “Mind if I shower first?” You posed, glancing over your shoulder.

Sukuna was pacing around the room, as if he didn’t know which corner to sink into, before humming in approval.

You smiled, grabbing the last of your essentials and hurrying in.

Your shower wasn’t long, just enough to scrub away the rain and makeup. You noticed how your makeup was ruined, just like the day of your hike, mascara running watery and clumpy trails down the rounds of your cheeks akin to mud.

Once you’d finished, you wrapped a towel around your hair, and dried yourself off before slathering some lotion on and getting changed.

You padded out of the restroom, seeing Sukuna hunched over the small desk that he managed to dwarf—like nearly every other furniture he’d come across. You felt the corners of your lips tug upwards, stepping towards him and whispering his name like it were some secret. “Sukuna…?”

He didn’t respond, chest rising and falling in rhythm.

Your eyes narrowed, bringing a hand down to his shoulder to poke him. Once your hand made contact with the bare skin of his shoulders, he flinched and jumped up quickly, massive hands to wrap around your biceps on instinct.

His body moved before had even fully awoken, fingers curled around you. Not tight, not painful. Just firm. Enough to cage you in his grasp.

You stilled, eyes wide at his distress.

It took him a moment to realize where he was, blinking the sleep from his eyes before he inhaled sharply, releasing you and standing immediately.

His head bumped the ceiling with an awkward thunk! that made you gasp. “Oh my god. Are you o—.”

He bristled, shoving past you with a throaty grunt and hurrying into the restroom to slam the door.

You paused, blood roaring in your ears, the places where he’d once held you practically on fire from the contact, warmth lingering in his absence.

Sukuna, on the other hand, was attempting to catch his breath in the bathroom. He shouldn’t be around you, not anymore than he has to be. You’d simply been waking him up, most likely to shower, and his hands came flying to manhandle you despite your pure intentions.

Who knows what would have happened if he’d unsheathed his metallic claws, tearing into your delicate and unmarked skin?

He tossed his head back against the wood, jaw tensing with frustration.

𖠰 ⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧🪵𓇢𓆸

Sukuna hadn’t been in the shower for too long either, just enough time for you to settle into your sheets and prop open a book before you’d lull off.

He pulled the door open, nearly tearing it off of its hinges with his brutish strength.

“Careful, there. I don’t have insurance,” you sleepily chuckled from your focus on your novel.

Sukuna’s eye twitched, irritated at your nonchalance and casual demeanor when he’d nearly just hurt you.

Why were you so kind to him?

“I’m headin’ out,” he gruffed under his breath, pacing towards the door in the same clothes he’d come in.

You nodded slowly, not even glancing up before a lightbulb went off in your head. “Wait!”

There was a stumble in his gait, fixing you with that same vexed stare.

“I didn’t tell you why I’m here,” you grinned lopsidedly, setting your book to the side.

You were all tucked into the motel sheets, feet wiggling beneath the duvet, enough to force Sukuna to keep his gaze trained on your eyes. “Alright, then. Spit it out, brat.”

You nibbled on your lip, adjusting from where you sat to sit on the backs of your heels, laying your hands on your thighs.

“I’m moving in with you!”

Sukuna continued to stare at you, nothing but absolute gall in his eyes. “…What?”

“Mhm! But just until you help me build a place of my own,” you nodded, head turned in thought. 

Slow your fucking roll. You wanted to move where?

“So where on earth was my fuckin’ input when you came to this conclusion?”

You inhaled deeply, as if you knew this was going to happen and it made Sukuna falter. “Had a feeling you’d react like this…” you woefully trailed off, nodding to yourself as you stared at your lap.

God, you were nothing without your dramatic flair.

“Which is why,” you added, pulling your bag up from the floor onto the duvet and sifting through it. “I brought this.”

You slapped down a few bundles of far too much cash, enough to shoot Sukuna’s eyes to his hairline. “Fuck am I lookin’ at?”

“I pay you. You let me move in and build a house in the sticks. A win-win situation.”

Sukuna opened his mouth, ready to spew a slew of curses at you at the fact that you’d come to some verdict with absolutely no care for Sukuna, before he backed down and took a deep breath. “I’m doing… what?”

“Plus, you said it’s lonely up there. Wouldn’t you love it if you had me as a next door neighbor?”

He cringed, slowly shaking his head. “You’re out of your mind if you think—.”

“Think about it! Before you say no,” you interrupted, leaning up to rest your shins against the duvet and shuffle your way towards him. “Please.”

He narrowed his eyes, that familiar pleading stare in your eyes, running his tongue over his teeth. “Fine. But don’t count on nothin’.”

You beamed, getting up to your feet and hopping around on your bed, cheering loudly enough to get a noise complaint. “Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou!”

“Enough of that,” he huffed, making his way to the door and tugging it open.

He shut the door behind him, leaving you in your ecstatic reverie, thankful that the rain had stopped. It smelled of damp earth and clean linen, most likely from the active laundry room he could hear in the distance, a muffled dryer at work.

He paced over to his truck, throwing himself inside with a light sway of the vehicle and placing his hands over the steering wheel with a sigh.

He’s not quite sure what to make of your sudden and wildly impulsive decisions, and the fact that his revealed identity isn’t scaring you.

But to think that someone would impulsively quit their job and sell their place in the city to live in the outback’s of all fucking places? Something ain’t adding up.

Was it your ex-husband? Had he said something to you? 

Not that it mattered to him.

From day one, he was never quite sure what to make of you, but he’s too far fucking exhausted to rattle his brain with it right now.

[lily-bisque]

mdni, wax play, submissive!Suguru

♡ domming Suguru except it consists of you cockwarming him with a candle in one hand, the other gripping the back of his head so that you could tug and expose the slender column of his throat. He's hissing at the wax droplets that decorate his skin, yet he doesn't move.

Instead, his eyes grow even more hazy. The sting makes him twitch inside of you, a chorus of shuddering breaths leaving the man as trails of hot wax cools on his flushed skin. His lashes flutter, his kiss-bitten lips part so prettily for you.

Suguru likes it far more than he can verbalise. You can feel it in the way he tries fucking his hips up into you, only to have his pleasure denied the second you lift off of him. You don't let him chase the pleasure he craves. No, you deny him release over and over, until the wax continues to create that delicious burn on his body.

Until he remembers how to beg.

[lily-bisque]

‹𝟹 .ᐟ gojo’s Infinity isn’t just a defense — it’s his ultimate tease.

‹𝟹 .ᐟ unhinged gojo x f!reader , mdni , not proofread

cw: smut , teasing , humiliation , use of supernatural ability (infinity) for: sensory play, orgasm control / denial.

you’re kneeling on the bed, chest pressed to the mattress, ass raised high like you’re on display in a fucking gallery.

your hands clutch the soft sheets beneath you, fingers digging in as you try to steady your racing heart.

gojo is hovering behind you, just barely out of reach. his cock is pressed flush against your slick entrance, teasing you with shallow, maddening thrusts — sliding in, then pulling back, never fully giving you the satisfaction you crave.

his fingers twitch near your clit, tantalizing you with phantom touches that feel like fire, but he never actually makes contact, oh why is that ? because he’s using his infinity, that damned invisible barrier.

“patience is a virtue, babe,” gojo purrs, voice dripping with smug delight as he leans close, his white hair brushing your shoulder; never pausing the torturous relentless toggle between activation and deactivation.

“the best things in life come to those who wait. like this.” he presses a teasing hip against your ass, pushing you down a little further onto his cock. “see? you’re dripping just by thinking about it.”

you whimper, hips trembling. “s-toru, please…” you gasp, voice shaky. “just… touch me... f'ckin..asshole.”

he chuckles, the sound low and amused, as if you’ve just told him the funniest joke in the world.

“oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, fingers hovering an impossible millimeter away from your clit, “i’m touching you right now. it’s just... very exclusive contact.”

you try to arch into him, reaching out to pull him closer, but your fingers hesitate — halted just shy of his wrist, as if an invisible shield shimmers between you, keeping your touch forever out of reach.

“infinity,” he smirks. “i’m untouchable, literally.”

your breath catches. the teasing rhythm is driving you insane.

“you like that? me almost touching you? that little spark? that burning frustration?” his voice is a lazy drawl, cocky as hell. “that’s the real game here.”

you bite your lip, moaning softly as his fingers twitch again. the wet heat pooling between your legs grows hotter, your hips rocking against him without control.

“nnngh, storu…” you whine, voice thick with need. “please—just one touch.”

he presses a finger closer, still not quite touching, and you shiver violently.

“mmm, you’re so needy.” he nips the shell of your ear, voice dropping to a teasing whisper. “what’s this? ‘satoru, i’m gonna—mmmph!’” he smirks against your skin as you gasp, a strangled moan slipping past your lips. “already breaking, huh?”

your hips jerk, thrusting down, desperate to catch even the slightest contact.

“pathetic,” he teases with a grin you feel in his voice.

then — finally — he lets his finger brush your clit, slow and precise.

electricity jolts through you like lightning.

you cry out, hips bucking hard. “ahhh—toru!”

he chuckles, utterly satisfied at how easily he breaks you.

“attagirl,” he breathes, sliding fully inside you at last, filling you deep and slow. “now this is where the fun really begins.”

his hand curls around your hip, holding you steady as his other fingers circle your swollen clit, sending shivers down your spine.

“you’re so wet for me,” he murmurs cockily. “dripping like you want me to ruin you.”

your moans weave through the room like a whispered hymn, beneath them the wet symphony of skin meeting skin — the slick, lingering traces of desire stretching between you both, trembling in the heated air.

“satoru—mmph—fuck—right there—oh god—please—” he grins against your neck, teeth grazing the skin.

“only the best spot for my favorite brat.”

your body trembles, legs shaking with the force of your building orgasm.

“c’mon,” he breathes, voice roughening, “say it. tell me how badly you want me to make you come.”

you pant, eyes fluttering closed. “please, toru… make me come.”

he chuckles again, hips rolling in slow, powerful thrusts, “good girl.”

you’re drowning in the mixture of his cock deep inside you and his fingers circling your clit like a merciless predator.

“ahhhh—oh god, i’m—” you moan, voice breaking with need. “i’m gonna—”

“cum for me,” he commands, voice velvet dark and dangerously smooth.

your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave, muscles clenching around him, breath hitching as you scream his name.

gojo holds you tight, chest rising and falling against your back.

“see?” he says smugly, voice softening. “sometimes the best touch… is the one you almost can’t have.”

you laugh breathlessly, sweaty and spent, your fingers curling into the sheets.

gojo’s grin presses against your skin like a promise: he’s just getting started.

divider by @/cafekitsune // art by momoya348 on twt .ᐟ

a/n ‹𝟹: should i make this a series + make a mlist containing all my unhinged gojo drabbles bc i have so many ideas u would notttt believe (freak) now WHO said that ??? also this was quick so it's not as good as the others but still ^_^

[lily-bisque]

okay so nursing school is killing me 🙏 i might not get way out there updated until possibly monday or tuesday guys pray for me

[lily-bisque]

MDNI 18+

imagine being sukuna’s first fuck after over a millennia—ten centuries spent sealed in mummified digits without pussy has made him vindictive. he takes his time toying with you, not out of mercy but rather, curiosity—you’re a novelty to him. he’s fascinated by the juxtaposition of your delicate appearance and your… durability. huh. perhaps mortal women have evolved over the millennium. the king of curses is massive, first of all. that much is expected. not just in presence but also in scale: his hands span your ribs like a cage, sharp nails grazing the undersides of your breasts as he steadies you on his lap, impaled like a sacrificial offering. when uraume briefed you on your role in welcoming master sukuna’s return, this wasn’t even within the realm of what you’d imagined.

you, slick and shaking, stretched wide around the obscene girth of him—both of him—because of course he has two. a cruel cosmic joke, or a divine punishment: twin cocks, monstrously thick and veined, both flushed a lurid, vengeful pink at the tips, slicked from grinding against the seam of your slit. the stretch alone made your head spin; vision blurring white at the edges when he pressed the first one in, blunt head forcing your cunt to accommodate inch after excruciating inch. the second one teased lower, nestling into the slick space between your asscheeks before you could even process the first. then he fucked you open in tandem—your cunt gripping down in resistance, your other hole yielding slow, trembling around him as he filled you wholly and completely. now, you feel everything: the ridged texture of his twin cocks grinding against your velveteen walls in stereo, the blunt tips stroking every nerve that’s ever existed in you.

and when he moves, it’s with the smooth confidence of a god rediscovering pleasure. both lengths move out of sync at first, jarringly uncomfortable—then he settles on a rhythm, hips snapping into yours until the lewd slap of skin echoes like war drums in the hollow darkness.

“centuries,” sukuna purrs, amused. “you have no idea how long i’ve waited to feel the warmth and softness of a woman.” his lips curl into something that might be a smirk, might be the prelude to something far more odious.

“tell me, woman. what’s your name again?”

[lily-bisque]

COLLEAGUES. 18+ | shiu kong x reader x toji fushiguro

your mouth’s full of shiu’s cock, tongue hot against the veiny underside. he’s got one hand in your hair, the other cradling your aching jaw. your throat seizes when he sinks in deeper, inch by inch as though he’s rationing it. behind you, toji’s fucking you open in deep, heavy strokes, your cunt sucking him in like a vacuum —wet and hungry, clenching every time he bottoms out.

“good girl’s working overtime,” he grunts, relishing in your warmth. “feels like heaven.” your face presses tighter to shiu’s lap every time toji drives forward. gently, he wipes the string of glistening drool from your chin with a handkerchief, not out of courtesy—he hates the mess. a muffled yelp escapes you when toji angles his hips, pushing deeper than before. shiu speaks up then, and you can hear the disapproval in his tone.

“ease up.” he chides. “we’ve got work in four hours. girl needs to be able to walk.” the other man pauses for a beat, cock still pulsing inside you. his grip on you loosens slightly. then he rears back his hips with deliberate slowness, then sinks back in—slower now, but no less full.

“yeah,” toji mutters, more to himself. “she’s still squeezin’.” you moan again, throat constricting around shiu. he cups the side of your face and bucks his hips forward, dictating the motion. calloused fingers wrap loosely around your neck, feeling the bulge of his cock. a large palm cracks against your asscheek, a quick smack to watch it ripple. shiu slides his cock deeper, ribbons of spit dribble from your lips, glistening down his shaft. your moan vibrates around him. the other man feels it too—groans, cock twitching inside you, balls tight. shiu exhales sharply through his teeth. “throat’s closing up.”

toji chuckles. “so’s her pussy.”

they’ll finish soon, your two colleagues. and you’ve still got work in the morning.

[lily-bisque]

in love with everything about ur blog ♥︎ thank u for the follow !!!

this is me going through your jjk drabbles and attempting to stay composed and not squirm… challenge failed miserably.

i love your work as well dear thankyouthankyouthankyou, so glad to be mutuals 🥹💛

[lily-bisque]

✦ your boss nanami behind closed doors ﾉ eighteen plus

stoic, poised, and indifferent nanami kento was the image of dominance. he was composed when he needed to be, or barking orders to his interns and staff—sharp features doing nothing to cut through the stifling tension that rests unburdened on the shoulders of each employee.

you, his sweet and obedient secretary, were on any task he handed you—adjusting your frames and pencil skirt, fingers curled into your ipad with his agenda, while he takes fleeting stares at the curve of your ass.

but no one knows what really goes on behind closed doors—what happens after work hours.

where the both of you lower that carefully drawn wall, peeling back the facade you show to the rest of the office, layer by layer until your souls bare.

he’s resting on his heels, gagging on his leopard print tie with drool dribbling from the seams of his lips. his frames are crooked and gelled hair now disheveled with sweat, arms tied around his back, whining like a bitch in heat.

why, you may ask?

because the sole of your black kitten heel was pressing against the hardened tent in his khakis with no remorse.

“mm-mhmp…” he panted, an octave too high, muscles bulging beneath the near-tearing fabric wrapped snug around his thighs.

you raked your digits through his blonde tresses, before applying more pressure on your foot, watching his eyes water with glistening tears and cross, struggling against the restraints.

he’d gently asked you for this just before your shift ended in a whispered side comment meant for your ears only—to be teetered on the precipe for hours with your touch.

but now, he was showing signs of desperation, impatience.

something you had no space to tolerate.

“you’re tapping out already?” you crooned in a sardonic tone, tugging his hair firmly to meet your eyeline looming over him.

he shook his head, feeling his weeping cockhead leak out pearly dribbles of seed in his briefs, staining his trousers.

you liked to see him like this—your calm and graceful boss all unraveled by your hand, each rising orgasm denied and each cry gone unheard.

then leaving him useless on the floor while you fuck yourself on his sensitive shaft—until he’s shooting blanks and can barely remember his first name.

your little relationship was incredible easy to keep under wraps. no one could possible imagine that the one and only nanami kento was a pathetic slut for his mistress.

tongue lolling, fingers twitching, stomach caving—you watched it all from above, rocking your hips with a ferocious pace, his eyes rolling into the back of his skull for the nth time that evening.

and once you were satisfied—? you’d leave him there. near passed out on his work floor. and you’d show up the next day, already prepped with his schedule organized to a T and his signature black coffee.

like you didn’t have him crying your name less than 12 hours ago.

[lily-bisque]

just watched superman and i wanna fuck david corenswet’s clark kent

[lily-bisque]

and when i redo my entire setup even tho i changed it a few days ago

[lily-bisque]

drunk running | s. geto

chapter four: an ego thing

synopsis: flashback: the conversation between yn and suguru after the prologue.

warnings/genre: modern au, smau, cursing, yn's avoidant attachment is strong here, suguru gets a little mean, nanami and shoko are the friends you want after a "breakup", tw drake

a/n: i usually take a little longer to post but all of your interactions on this has made my heart soar. so here you go :) also i’m so sure geto would’ve been in his room listening to your spotify playlists because he misses you.

“i have been texting you,” you call out — your voice swims into his ears like a caress. and he hates how he wants to lean into it. feel it on his skin and pray that it stays there. 

but, suguru knew that you were texting him. just like he knows it’s you who’s behind him. even if you didn’t call out to him, he would have known from your footsteps alone. he strongly believes his ears picked up on your steps as soon as you left your apartment. 

his back is to you as he walks with his roommates to the college’s bar. he hears your roommates walking with you. shoko and nanami’s muffled conversation merging with the sound of gojo and haibara’s much louder conversation, the other students shuffling down the strip, and your steps. 

he feels a headache already forming and he should’ve just stayed home. like he was planning to. away from all the noise, away from gojo’s badgering, and the weak watered down beer. away from you. 

and even that thought causes an even bigger pang in his head because he knows that’s a lie. all he wants is to be with you. but, that is the problem. 

suguru keeps walking. trying to match his steps with his roommates who are just a few feet ahead of him. 

he feels your stare on his back and as much as he wants to turn back to look at you, he knows he can’t. not when it was so easy for you to turn your back and walk away from him.

“suguru,” you call out, a little louder this time. a strain in your voice, like you’re hiding an emotion that you don't want anyone to know that you feel. 

it has been two weeks since he saw you last. since he said those words that sit in the pit of his stomach and the words that made you feel like you were sinking — leaving suguru behind to get yourself to safety. 

two weeks since his lips and hands were on your body. since he allowed himself to look you in the eyes. hiding behind buildings and whatever told him it was safe from your line of vision. 

“i know,” he says back. his voice is void of emotion. he stops walking. and he hears the halt of your steps behind him. 

but his hands feel clammy and he feels his stomach sinking lower and lower. if it sinks any lower he may just splat onto the concrete in front of him. and then he’ll embarrass himself for the second time in front of you, giving you another chance to turn your back on him. 

he has yet to turn and face you. 

up ahead, his roommates are speed walking to the front door of the bar. so close, yet so far to where he is. nanami and shoko shimmy by him, sending you both worrying glances as they follow the rest of the students filing into the bar.

he almost wants to tell them that you don’t deserve their worrying glances. but that’ll be harsh. even to you. 

“so… why aren't you responding?” you try to mimic his monotone tone. trying to get the upper hand in this conversation before it turns into something like that night two weeks ago. 

he knows you. he knows you well enough to know that your brows are furrowed right now. your hands are most likely rubbing against your thighs and your tongue is tucked into the inside of your cheek. 

all the signs that you’re bothered, but you’d rather be a robot than allow your emotions to be on the tip of your tongue. letting them ache into every graceful movement you make. 

never allowing anyone, not even yourself — to hear them. feel them. see them. 

“i don't know,” his back is still towards you. his foot kicking at something in front of him. someone bumps into his shoulder as they hurry towards the bar. “why do you care?”

you suck in a breath and its mixed in with the sound of couple yelling about who cheated on who. 

“why wouldn't i care?” your voice is genuine and it kills him inside little. 

and he’s almost grateful for the power behind the shoulder check. it gave him some sense that this is real. 

“you walked out of my room after i told you i was in love with you,” and on cue, the image of you scurrying out of his room, your clothes in your hand, rushes into his head. 

he shakes his head a bit, as if he’s actually trying to shake the image out his head. have it litter on the ground along with the words that live on the tip of your tongue and your forced movements. 

“thought that was all that needed to be said,” he shrugs. the lines of his back muscles still tense. like they’re the ones holding on to everything suguru wants to say. everything suguru feels.  

he hears the click of your tongue and at that moment he is grateful for his profound knowledge of your movements. he didn’t need to turn around and face you to know what you were doing. 

“well, you told me that you loved me,” a breeze pushes by, bringing the loud bass of the bar up ahead.

“big difference,” he hears the joke in your voice. he hears the tap of your left foot, impatient and commanding. 

your fake playful tone, the passiveness of your movements, as if this is okay. like you guys are two friends talking about the difference between yaga’s monday and thursday classes. 

something clicks in him and with the quickness of a cat who just heard its feeder go off, suguru turns to you.

right at that moment, the football team parades down the sidewalk that now feels too small and bumps into you, sending you a little closer. someone bumps into his shoulder too — saving him the step he was dreading to take back. 

“i dont think a conversation on the difference of the statements is productive,” he wants to cringe at the way he sounds. like he’s giving a presentation at a board meeting instead of talking to you, his friend. or whatever you may be to him at the moment. 

you take a deep breath, shutting your eyes in the process, and he wishes he thought of that. but this moment gives him time to assess you without the fear of your eyes colliding with his in the middle of this street. 

and there you stand, arms length away but it feels like you’re on the other side of campus. your hair pushed back behind your ears. your hands folded in front of you. your cheeks slightly tinged, but he’s sure that’s just from the breeze biting through the air. 

and his t-shirt on your body. like you’re mocking him. certain aspects of him having full access to you. even when he has to hide behind buildings to catch his breath when he sees you or hears a voice that is similar to yours. 

it isn’t fair. you can walk out and away from him. you could close your eyes and block him from your eyesight. you could pretend. pretend that what he feels is a solo activity.

“yeah. you're right.” your tone is final. like you’re sure suguru won’t be able to fight back if he decided to. “that is because you're not in love with me,” you shrug. 

suguru feels everything stop around him. the bodies pushing through, the smell of the cheap beer emitting from the bar and the feeling of his vibrating phone in his back pocket. 

“it was a heat of the moment thing. you said something you didn’t mean,” you finally open your eyes and throw your arms aimlessly above your head. like you’re waving off what you just said and trying to wave off the conversation that brought you guys to this point. 

your eyes on him, heavy and brimming with regret — suguru almost walks over to you. 

but the burning in his gut marks the moment useless and untouchable. he has to ball his hands into fists. just to give them something to do other than what they want to do — offer himself to you like a priest offers grain. 

and it feels like an eternity, but it was maybe only thirty seconds tops — suguru stares at you. 

like he’s trying to see you in a new light. one where he isn’t in love with you. one where he could pretend, like you. 

“just because it's hard for you to feel things, it doesn’t mean you get to dictate my feelings,” and suguru regrets it the minute it spills out his mouth. but he keeps his eyes narrowed towards you. he keeps his fists balled up. 

he ignores the flash of hurt that graces your features. you look unnerved, like someone finally told you something about yourself that you were unaware that others could notice. 

“what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” your voice is low, angry. your eyes narrowed too. that hurtful expression long gone, like it didn’t have time to even register on your pretty features. 

a mini war happening right here on main street. you automatically take the prize of the win — because no matter which way this battle waged, suguru would lose. he knew that. and for a reason unknown, he was okay with the odds. he had to be. 

“you're standing in front of me, in my shirt which i may add,” suguru starts, his voice just as low, just as angry. he ignores how much he’s coaching his voice into keeping this tone up. “and you want to as-“

you cut him off, “jesus, it was the first thing in my closet.” once again, you use your arm to brush off what’s being said.

as your arms are falling back to your side, a new wave of people walk around you both. ignoring the ball of tension you two are standing in. their loud laughs and happy conversations falling flat and cold right in front of you. 

“i’ll take it off my back right now and give it to you, if it's that important to you,” your hands are on the hem of the shirt, as if you're really about to shimmy it above your head and give it back. 

he almost wishes you would, just so that he could see your body. maybe make out if your heart is beating as much as his. 

but suguru knows you are just trying to find a way out of this. you're willing to physically strip instead of letting the emotions flow from you the way moans dance out of your mouth when you're together.

“its not about the fucking shirt, yn,” and he points index finger towards it. using it like a gun, hoping it gives him a leg up in this battle. 

you step back, as if his finger actually did damage. it made suguru feel gross.

“it's about you pretending,” he points his finger again, watching you track it with your narrowed eyes. another step back from him. “…or fighting this.” suguru uses his hands to point between the two of you. 

you stare back at him as if you're trying to read his mind and see what he's gathering.

and suguru has to take a break to gather his thoughts. gather evidence from before the night you walked away from him. before he let the ammo be heard all over the room. 

you have his favorite beer, which you hated, readily available for him in your room mini fridge. buying extra things just for him to have at your place as he did for you at his. 

the times you let him stay longer, even when it felt unfamiliar— like letting someone in wasn’t part of your playbook yet. but it was progress. the way you'd let him run his hands through your hair after sex, your cheek soft against the edge of his bed.

the times your eyes would find him in a lecture hall of three hundred students. your gaze finding him faster than gojo finds the sweet drawer in the pantry after a night of drinking.

“i know i am not the only one who caught feelings.” suguru’s voice is low and he ignores the fear creeping into your eyes and his voice.

“all those nights where you stood over and let me hold you after,” his voice cuts low. controlled. restrained.

“when you’ll leave your room just to see me for an hour,” suguru continues and he watches as you try to take a step back. like you need to lean on something. 

but suguru takes a step towards you. and as if your body knew where it belongs, you almost lean forward into his and the look on your face told him you didn't even realize it yourself. 

“i told you i loved you, and maybe i shouldn't have. but i did, and you walking away and pretending like all of this isn’t real doesn't make it less true.” suguru’s head starts to hurt so much, he thinks he needs to sit down for a minute.  

“i can't be the only person who feels like this yn. especially when we both fucking know you dont do this with any other guy you have hooked up with.”

“what the hell are you talking about? do you hear yourself?” your voice is quiet. but there's a bite to it that makes him shiver. and it's so obvious how badly you are trying to gather control. 

“loud and clear actually. did you hear me?”

you stare at him. your shoulders tense like you’re watching a horror movie and the killer is about to pop out a closet any minute now. 

“you could even pretend that you, yn ln a self proclaimed — no relationship girl just comes over to see me, no sex in involved isn't something that could maybe replicate wanting something more than just sex.” and with the way you tuck your lower lip in and your eyes fly down to your hands, suguru felt like he had your answer. 

“sorry, i got those messages mixed up. my bad,” he threw his hands up. 

“god,” you roll your eyes. but your arms creep up and wrap around yourself.

“we are friends,” you say. your voice does not have the previous bite. it’s soft. and almost questioning. confused. “that's it. that's all it was going to be and all it would ever be.” your voice falls off at the end. like you almost don't believe your own lie. 

“some fucking friend you are,” suguru scoffs, instantly regretting the words leaving. especially when he realizes how you stare up at him. like you thought your friendship would come out unscathed. 

he almost wishes the same. 

a bigger group of students are walking by. a few couples scattered into the crowd. hands being held tight and soft kisses on cheeks as they walk. suguru almost wants to plant his foot out and watch them trip so that they could physically feel what he’s feeling inside. 

“do you do these things with nanami?”

“you know i dont,” you shrug. you look away from him and he misses your eyes on him. but he likes that he could see how uncomfortable you’re getting. 

that usual bravado is gone. you look small. you look sorry. or maybe he wants you to be sorry.

but even then, he’ll rather you just be honest. at least with yourself.

“friends dont do whatever the fuck we do and you know that,” suguru says lowly and he wants to stop because the look in your eyes is scaring him. 

the emotion that you’ve tried your best to hide is finding a way to creep up. your fingers gripping on to your arms for life support. your eyes wide and your breathing shallow. 

your hair has fallen in front of your face and suguru feels his own hair waving on his back from the wind chilling between you two.

“why don’t you just let me in?” suguru's voice is small and he feels like he's trying to crawl out a hole and into your arms.

you shrug and heave out a sigh so long that it sounds like a song. and you look at him. 

your eyes finding his, like they always do. and he wants to reach for you. and hold your hand and maybe run his hands through your hair and then you could run yours through his.

he wants to ask you why is it so hard to realize that this is more than you wanted, but that could be a good thing? 

how did you know he was going to catch feelings first? 

what did you mean when you said ‘because i’m me’ when asked why you don't get into relationships? 

he knows you. and much to his dismay, you’re everything he wants. 

and why are your eyes brimming with wetness when he knows you would rather die than ever cry in front of a man? 

“i told you this wouldn't get serious,” you snap. finding some strength to finish out the battle with the dignity you think you have.

the quickness of your attitude change catches suguru off guard. “we both knew that,” you continued to stare at him. 

the students walking by are dwindling down. the street is a little more quiet, giving you both some room to breathe. to move. 

the moon is shining directly over you and suguru feels like this must have been a sick joke written just for him. 

even when you’re breaking his heart, you look gorgeous while doing it. mother nature blessing you with the most perfect backdrop. 

and that proves what suguru has been thinking since you called him out to him; anything revolving you is not fair. how everything falls in your lap and allows for you to walk out of it unharmed. safe. how the world paints pretty pictures for you while you're pulling his heart out of his chest.

suguru does not understand how you could pretend to be okay.

especially when he is hurting. and it’s not a pain he thinks will just grow out and blossom into something else. it’ll stay riddling in his bones slowly, like how your perfume stays laced in his bedsheets, even after laundry day. 

and yes he regrets it, but suguru geto did the things he thought would work out the best for him at the moment. sometimes the things that he feels work best for him. deflect and shut down. 

“i feel sorry for you,” his voice is cold. and he feels a sting in his eyes when you look up at him. your eyes wide and blown out, a slight quiver in your lip. 

he stays strong and ignores how he wants to swallow the words back up. ignores how he is concerned about what these words would do to you years later. ignores how he wants to grab you into the earth and shield you from the moonlight so that you wont looks so beautiful while he's trying to shut you out.

“have a nice night yn. try not to make more friends.” 

you turn away from him so quickly, before he could get a final look into your eyes that he is sure are brimming with tears. your legs push you forward, moving at a pace that he’s never seen them go. and he watches you go. almost wanting to follow you, but knowing he’ll be led to his ultimate heartbreak. knowing that you wouldn't let him.

taglist: @re-tired-succubus, @luvvcho, @iluvujt, @smolcooki33, @candy-s72, @starmapz, @shokosbunny, @emlient, @loveyislost, @whatismatildethinkingabout, @shibataimu, @11thlife02, @se-phi-roth, @frootloopscos, @risagichi, @sttaejoon-blog, @vampshxde, @corvid007, @marsavie, @vorfreudevortex

[lily-bisque]

i hope you have a lovely day, lovely ❤️ (the brick was COVERED in kisses)

hello my angst queen i loved that lipstick covered brick 🙏

[lily-bisque]

hoping to get out the next interlude for way out there either by tomorrow or sunday but school is saying otherwise… i wonder if any x-men fans have any clue to the direction im going in when ive only left a singular hint in one of the volume comment sections 💛