mikemsmm

[mikemsmm]

୨୧ — Every damn morning like clockwork, 5:45 AM. Tiny fingers pry one of Sukuna’s eyelids open, a small face hovering inches from his own. Her hair still wild from sleep, cheeks flushed with excitement, "Papa! Wake up!" Small hands nudging him while clutching her pink brush and collection of scrunchies against her pjs, "Hair time!"

Sukuna clicked his tongue, a massive hand engulfing her tiny face as he gently pushed her back, "Go back to bed, brat."

"Nooooo!" She whined, pushing his hand off her face and climbing onto his broad back, "You promised!"

With a displeased groan, he rolls over, causing her to slide off his back with a delighted squeal. Sitting up while running a hand through his own disheveled hair, he looks at the brat he helped create with a scowl, "Gimme that," he grumbles, snatching the brush from her.

She scrambles into his lap, her small back pressed against his chest, practically vibrating with excitement. Sukuna couldn’t relate, it was early… too early, like always. He looks down at the top of her head and mutters under his breath, "She was supposed to be a boy..."

Propping yourself up on one elbow, you trace your fingers over his the tattoos that decorate his warm arm, "You say that every morning," you tease him softly.

"Because it's true every morning," he fires back, but the corner of his mouth twitches upward. Awkwardly, he begins working through her tangles, his calloused hands- hands that at times come home bloody, now trying to be gentle with his daughter's delicate scalp.

"Ooww! Papa!!! You're pulling!"

"Stay still then..." he grunts, trying again with more care, "Your hair's a damn mess." As he brushes through her strands, he couldn't help but think how absurd this was- he was Sukuna Ryomen, the fucking guy who’s got everyone pissing their pants in fear… The guy who was born out of bloodshed, who's never had a single care for the lives he's taken. How the hell did he end up with a little girl, a wife, and a home? … His eyes softened as they narrowed, how the hell did he find himself fearing for this tiny things future- the day she's old enough to be married off to a man like him…?

He’s grown soft…

But it doesn't mean he won't rip out the throat of any man who dares lay a finger on her...

You watch, warmth spreading through your chest at the sight of Sukuna struggling, being utterly defeated by a five year old's bedhead, "Want me to take over-"

"No!" both father and daughter respond in unison, making you throw your hands up in surrender before they decide to kick you out of bed.

"I got this," Sukuna insists, his fingers, more accustomed to handling weapons and violence than hair accessories, fumbling with the thin strands. His brow furrowed in concentration as he attempted to separate her hair into sections. How the fuck was he supposed to make three even parts again?

Your daughter looks over at you, wholesome pride in her eyes. This was their thing- this morning struggle that somehow means everything to both of them. Even if Sukuna doesn't admit it, he loves being the protective girl dad... enjoys feeling needed and special in this way.

You lean against his bare shoulder as you watch him separate her hair into three uneven sections, trying to remember how braiding works. The girl in his lap patiently waits with the biggest smile, offering encouraging words as if she's the adult coaching the child.

"Papa! Papa! Like this! Over not under, remember? You did it yesterday!"

"Yesterday I fucked it up too." he mumbles, starting over for a third time.

When he finally manages something resembling a braid, secured with her favorite sparkly leopard scrunchie, she hops off his lap to examine his work in the bathroom mirror. You take the opportunity to press a kiss to Sukuna’s shoulder, then his neck, then the corner of his mouth, "Looks like you're getting better~."

"Don't start what you can't finish," he warns, his voice dropping lower as he turns to catch your lips properly. His hand coming up to squeeze your cheek possessively.

Your daughter returns before you could respond, beaming despite the crooked, messy braid that's already coming undone at the bottom, "Perect! Thank you, Papa!"

Sukuna breaks away from you, looking down at her, at this tiny little being who fears nothing about him... not his size, not his tattoos, not how he puts the fear of god in her preschool teacher. She sees only her papa, the man who makes her burnt pancakes and braids her hair poorly.

The man who protects you- her mother, and would do anything for her. The man who would secretly die for her…

Placing his hand on the top of her head, he gives it a little ruffle, "Yeah kid... perfect."

[mikemsmm]

dom choso makes me feral

stalker sugardaddy!choso who nearly commits a murder when he spots someone your age trying to hit on you. he was quick to rush over to the guy and make his presence known, not caring how embarrassing it was for you.

half your classmates cornered around to see what was happening, and all you could remember was thinking how the hell he even knew where your university was?

you made sure to never tell him too much about your personal life— strictly for reasons like these. feelings were never supposed to get involved, you both had established that on day one, but somewhere down the line that pact faded..

now choso was dragging you back to his place, refusing to let you out of his sight until he’d drilled some sense into you.

“the fuck?” the man spat as he tugged on your hair, turning your head to face him. your vision was blurry from the tears welling in your eyes, but you could see well enough to know he was pissed.

“y’thought i would let that shit slide? nah mama…” his question was low but piercing, and you could tell by the tone that he wanted an answer. “you must like gettin’ fucked up.”

your shaking hands pushed at his waist in attempt to slow him down. “w..wait cho! mm ‘s too much for me,” his dead eyes met yours, and he was quick to shut you up by filling your mouth with his thumb, moving it back and forth.

his free hand pinched at your pulsating clit as he gently flicked it, watching you in awe. “what’d i tell you about those boys your age? that they’re not good for you rightt?”

the more your legs inched out of his grip, he yanked you closer “im gonna show you just who the fuck you belong to, even if it means fillin’ you til you’re dumb and round with my kids.”

©rissouu 2025 (heh..)

[mikemsmm]

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ in which teen!itoshi sae interrupts someone who was confessing to you

“fuck off, you dunce face.“

your jaw drop.

teen!itoshi sae appears behind you with a soccer he's holding against his hips. it was already after school and he probably just finished practicing. sae was still wearing that bored expression of his.

“d-dunce face?!” the boy in front of you exclaimed.

sae raised one of his eyebrow. “yeah, you. do you want me to grab a mirror just so you could see your—”

“sae!“ you immediately tap his back, though you might have slapped his back instead with how sudden you act.

saw responded with his brows furrowed and his eyes glaring at you. “why did you slap me?”

you forced a smile at him then you turned your head back to the boy you were talking to... and the boy who had been picking on you lately. you don't even know why he started picking on you. and right now, everything had been explains why.

the corner of your lips dropped. “we're leaving.” you said to the boy.

you turn your head back to sae and when you saw that he's now glaring at the boy, you immediately turned him around with your hand still on his back to walk away from the scene.

“i-i'm not done talking! why are you leaving me here?!” you heard the boy shout but you didn't feel him running towards you so you and sae continued walking.

the boy must've feel so embarrassed. especially when he just—

“sae, put your hand down.” you grabbed his raised hand that was showing only his middle finger. “don't be childish.” you said.

“you should tell him that instead to me.”

“you should have not interfere. that was unnecessary.”

“what, you're gonna let him bully you again?” sae scoffed, eyes sliding down to look at your hand still holding his wrist. “you should've told me in the first place then so that i can avoid you when i see you with him.”

oh please let someone help you coax a sulking sae.

”sae.”

he didn't respond and just kept on walking.

“sae.” you called out again.

“what now?” he said under his breath. “you disappointed that i interrupted him confessing his love for you?”

you pursed your lips then sighed. “that's a dramatic way to say it but no. i'm not dissapointed.” you feel him looking at you. “i'm hella relieve for your rude mouth. i would've never know how respond to him.”

you had an idea the reason why that boy was only picking on you. but you would've never know he had the guts to confess to you after that. it's making your skin crawl just by thinking about it again.

you look at sae. his head was slightly tilted upward while he stares at you, his eyes seemingly... amused.

“he's the rude one. he's such a fucking pipsqueak. bullying you just because he likes you? what an asshole.” he scowled.

or not. he's definitely dissapointed.

“language, sae. what would the teacher say about you when they hear you cursing?”you hissed. “but... i have no idea too. i just want to avoid him for as long as i could.” you sighed tiredly.

“if he does that again, just curse at him.” sae smirked. “he'll definitely cry.”

you furrowed at him and shakes your head. “no, i'll just talk to him again tomorrow. i'll properly reject him by then.”

“oh? let's do it tomorrow after class. i have no practice tomorrow.”

“what do you mean by that?” you narrowed your eyes at him.

he smirked then starts to walk away. “i'll be coming too. i want to see how he reacts when he gets rejected by his crush.”

your eyes linger on his back for a moment while thinking of what he just said. the only thing you could do is shake your head slowly as a smile crept on your face.

“whatever you say, sae.” you shake your head.

masterlist ♡

© written by @yoonlyhan . don't plagiarise my content. u will be blocked :x

credits to @strangergraphics for the wonderful divider ♡

[mikemsmm]

. ۫ᯓᡣ𐭩 i. shoko ✧ f reader ˚₊‧꒰ა girl like me ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

“but I thought — thought you liked suguru?”

you quivered as your back met the edge of the dresser. her dresser. she's wanted you in this position for so long. her lipstick smudged on your mouth as your trembled hands fisted on her uniform.

she grasped onto your chin to keep you facing her, since your gaze barely could.

shoko arched her neatly kept brow and crooned. she tilted her head and ran her thumb over your chin a few times. she laughed. something beautiful, something haunting.

“as a friend? sure.”

she leaned in and ghosted her lips over your pulse. one hand fell to your waist, the other brought your face closer.

“love though? take a guess doll.” she leaned in for another kiss but you turned your head away shyly.

“I — I like boys,” you lied.

she smiled. your head's turned back, her thumb pressed down on your lower lip and brought it down.

she leaned closer. almost there, not quite.

“well you've never been with a girl like me before, huh?”

© 𝒆𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒓𝒐𝒔�� . no copying, translation or plagiarism authorised

[mikemsmm]

Imagine nanami’s face when he hears “shut up, mommy!” from your childs mouth. feel like he’d be passive aggressive idk. andddd maybeeee, possibly, a girl dad..

nanami was sitting by the couch, reading a book when he happened to overhear a conversation between his wife and his daughter.

“sweetheart, I know you want to play but I told you before that school work comes first.” you gently brush your fingers through your daughter’s hair, sensing her annoyance. You’ve been at it for a few minutes now, going back and forth. “no! I want to play!”

you sigh, crouching down to her level. “no, school work first."

nanami wanted to intervene, but he also wanted to see how you would handle this situation. that is, until—

“shut up, mommy!” she huffs, sniffling.

nanami's attention immediately turned to his daughter with a stern expression, clearly displeased with her words to you—his wife. you—though surprised at your daughter's outburst—held your composure.

nanami kneeled down in front of his daughter, his voice firm but not overly harsh, "you know better than to speak to your mother that way, young lady. It's not appropriate or respectful, and you need to apologize, right now.”

the little girl pouted, her bottom lip trembling slightly as she crossed her arms. nanami could see the defiance mixed with guilt in her eyes, but he remained steadfast, not budging from his position. you stood nearby, trying not to show the slight amusement on your face at your daughter's stubbornness.

nanami reached out, gently taking the little girl's hand in his own. His tone softened, slightly, as he spoke, "I understand you're upset, but there is no excuse for disrespecting your mother like that. I need you to say you're sorry, and mean it."

the little girl looked up at her father, her tough facade crumbling slightly. she squirmed in place, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. after a few seconds of silence–she finally muttered, "I'm...sorry, mommy."

nanami felt a small smile tug at the corners of his mouth, satisfied with her response. he nodded approvingly before turning to you, who gave a small, relieved smile in return.

💭;; might I say this is one of my fav works EVER??? idk i just liked this sm idk why

credits—

dividers: @cursed-carmine

[mikemsmm]

one thing about satoru, his eyes are terrifying at night.

especially when his infinity is turned on. his eyes are glowing.

one night you got into an argument with satoru, leading you facing the other way in bed and he strictly put himself in infinity so you couldn’t touch him as a punishment. you weren’t going to anyway.

while you were facing the other way in bed, the blanket pulled over the both of your bodies, you close your eyes, attempting to sleep.

…until you feel lasers poking at your back.

you turn to the side a bit, getting that instinct that something’s watching you.

it’s satoru.

his eyes blown wide, staring at you, bright blue glowing.

“satoru, stop staring at me. it’s creepy.”

“what? i can’t stare at my spouse now? jeez. can a man do anything in life anymore?” he huffs, looking to the side in pretend frustration.

“no, you can’t. not at night.”

“fine. goodnight.”

you mumble a goodnight back, turning back to face the other way.

you close your eyes again, trying to sleep.

you feel piercing through the back of your head.

you swiftly turn around again, brows furrowed at satoru.

“i said stop staring at me!” you said, angry.

“i’m not! i’m staring at a spider crawling on your pillow.”

“oh please. if there were a spider crawling on my pillow you’d be the first to scream.” you scoff, turning back around.

minutes go by.

whipping your head around, “satoru, you’re being a freak right now!”

his eyes are still, big and glowing blue, absolutely freakishly terrifying. “i’m not even doing anything!”

“at least turn off that stupid infinity so you’re not as scary!”

“wow. so you’re saying i’m scary and ugly and hideous now and that i belong under the bed because i’m a monster. what affection.” he turns around the other way, turning off his infinity.

you sigh, finally finding your peace, turning back around, closing your eyes.

you relax…

…before slowly grabbing another pillow, turning and wacking him straight in the face. because again, he was staring at you with those big blue creepy ass eyes!

“owww!!! i just wanted to look at you!” his voice mumbled under the pillow.

@wizzperrrs on tumblr don’t translate or copy yk the deal

[mikemsmm]

Sign here.

Cw | Suggestive/fluff & the reader has stretch marks.

Popstar! Satoru loves all of his fans, but you happen to be something in particular that catches his eye. You’re like a splash of color in his endless crowds. He notices how you show up to every concert, and his burner accounts on social media? He’s immediately stalking every post you have.

So when you’re at a meet n’ greet in clothing that a singular penny couldn’t probably cover up, begging him for an autograph—Satoru simply shoots a bashful grin.

Except his eyes widened slightly when you gleefully pulled up your little shorts and dropped “Do you mind signing me here?” Your manicured nails shamelessly danced on top of your skin “Pleasee, I'm your biggest fan.”

Security only looked at each other like a preacher judging someone’s unholy sin, and shook their head in disbelief.

Who was he to deny a fan though? Which was exactly why he got down on one knee like he worshiped you—or was ready to marry you, a black marker in his hand slowly signing his name in cursive like he was savoring this moment.

Oh he loved being a singer, it felt almost unfair how you teased him, jiggling your ass once he was done marking your skin, nearly tempting him to run off in a nearby bathroom and take care of his aching hard cock.

Trying his hardest to hold back, the most he did was ask to be able touch you at least one more time.

“Is it okay if I wipe the extra ink off princess?” He quizzed, biting his lip—sure it would bleed, admiring the stretch marks decorating your ass.

“More than okay.” You answered, eagerly nodding.

Without hesitation his fingers swirled like a graceful swan on top of your ass, wiping away the extra smudged marker.

Finally getting up, Satoru’s face was a pathetic light pink—hoping you didn’t notice how down bad he was, (for a fan at that).

“Allll done!” He sing-songed, screwing the cap onto the sharpie.

Thankfully you didn’t notice though, you were too starstruck, maybe even considered getting his signature tattooed—squealing to your best friend “Girl, take a picture, now! I just got signed by Satoru.”

He heartily giggled at your reaction, eyes lingering at your angelic beauty as he unfortunately had to distract himself with the next fan.

Divider/Boarders produced by | toastray

Song written by Koi’lani/@aquasoftware.

REBLOGS, COMMENTS, AND LIKES ARE HEAVILY APPRECIATED!! THANK YOU <3

[mikemsmm]

satoru doesn’t mean to smile during arguments. really, he doesn’t. it just happens. you’re standing there, glaring at him like he’s the last brain cell on earth, hands on your hips, voice sharp with all the righteous fury of someone whose husband just loaded the dishwasher wrong for the third time this week. and he knows you’re mad. you’re scolding him, passionately, domestically, like a loving wife with a bone to pick and a kitchen to keep from descending into chaos.

but god, you’re so cute when you’re mad.

like—what is he supposed to do? not smile? not melt a little when you stomp your foot and jab your finger at the detergent pod box like it personally offended you? not get completely deranged over the fact that his wife, the love of his life, the person who picked him, is standing there yelling at him over crumbs on the counter like it’s the end of the world?

so yeah. he tends to smile. a little. maybe a lot. maybe it’s a grin. maybe it’s unhinged. he’s not even sure anymore.

and then you pause mid-rant. squint. narrow your eyes. “what are you smiling for? do you even take me seriously?”

satoru immediately gets full-body emotional whiplash. instant regret. wet cat mode activated.

“no, no, i do, angel, i swear,” he says way too fast, hands up like he’s being held at gunpoint. “i just—you're so cute when you're angry, it’s a problem. a serious one. i’m suffering.”

you don’t look amused. not even a little. he considers diving out the window.

because yeah, he’s bipolar about it. on one hand: you’re mad at him and that makes his chest ache and his brain fuzz and his heart do this panicky do something!!! dance. but on the other hand: he’d literally write sonnets about how hot you look when you're in cleaning gloves and yelling about mixing whites and darks.

it's a tragic situation. he wants to make it right. but he also wants to put a ring on your finger all over again.

because this is married life. this is love. this is you, with your hands on your hips and your brows furrowed, looking at him like he’s both the bane of your existence and the only idiot you’d trust with your forever.

and satoru’s brain just goes, wow. lucky me.

even if he’s currently in trouble for putting the towel in the wrong laundry load. again.

worth it. totally worth it.

[mikemsmm]

bakugou always has your lip gloss—just in case.

𖦹 content. k.bakugou x fem!reader. fluff

You were halfway through class when you suddenly noticed—your lip gloss was missing. Probably left it on the bathroom sink again.

You sighed, annoyed, quietly digging through your bag for a backup. Nothing.

Before you could say anything, Bakugou dropped something small onto your desk.

You looked up, confused.

“It’s your lip gloss,” he said, sounding way too chill for someone holding your favorite shade. “Don’t ask why I have it.”

You stared at him.

“Since when do you carry my lip gloss?”

He shrugged, avoiding your eyes. “I dunno. Figured you might need it.”

You raised an eyebrow but smiled. It was kind of like him to think ahead, even if he acted like it was a pain.

From then on, whenever you forgot your gloss, you just knew Bakugou would have a spare waiting. No big deal.

Except it kind of was.

Because only Bakugou would carry your lip gloss… and not make a fuss about it.

©rosereveries

[mikemsmm]

I NEEED SOME ONE LIKE HIM 🙏

all the other women in your gardening club were so incredibly jealous of you.

it had started off when you were showing them a photo of some fresh strawberries that you grew. the photo was of around 16 perfect looking, freshly washed strawberries placed on top of a cloth inside a basket... and the basket was being held by your husband, satoru.

it was a simple photo, satoru had a cute face, not looking at the camera but instead, was looking down at the fresh fruit, impatiently waiting to eat them.

your fellow club members gawked and smiled widely at your photo.

"wowh! what a beauty!"

"how perfect!"

you smiled in pride as your club members complimented the photo of your stawberries, unaware that they were staring only at satoru and his annoyingly handsome face.

the next instance was when you had shown them photos of your perfect, weedless garden.

"wowh! what weed killer do you use?" one of the older women exclaimed in shock.

"ohh ahah!" you smiled "i don't use any weed killers, we have a dog in the house and i'm afraid he might sniff the toxins, so i pick out the small ones by myself, and i ask my husband to get the bigger ones for me"

"ah... you're so lucky, [name].. my husband is far too chubby to easily pick out the large weeds..."

"your husband listens to you, just like that? i wish my husband would do that.. if i ever asked, he'd complain and whine like a baby"

the last was when your car broke down and had to stay in maintenance for a few days. satoru dropped you off to your gardening club that saturday.

when you walked in, all the ladies' heads snapped over to see satoru.

".. he's even more handsome in person.."

"he's sooo dreamy.."

"look at his biceps..."

you turned around, going on your tiptoes to kiss him goodbye. satoru placed his hand on your waist, leaning in to pull you into his hungry mouth. you pulled away, much to his dismay, satoru tried to pepper more kisses on your face, but you quietly told him to stop, causing him to pout.

"... and he's so inlove with her too..."

"what a loving man.."

"... i hope [name] knows how lucky she is."

those other ladies whispered among themselves before you gave satoru another kiss farewell before turning around and greeting your club members. satoru lingered around the doorway for another minute, watching you with a gentle smile before forcing himself to turn around and leave.

that alone made the ladies expel any thoughts of seducing him to cheat on you... it was too late. He was too deeply in love, and much to their dismay, they understood clearly why he was so obsessed with you.

— likes and reblogs are appreciated!!

[mikemsmm]

omg i fucken love this gagged 🫣♥️

Nanami constantly pounding you through the mattress so good that you have to see a doctor every few weeks- and the hot, stern doctor asking you whether he should teach you how to do it real slow in front of your husband. So that you can pick which one you like - Dr. Zayne’s slow n’ steady or Nanami Kento’s rough.

[mikemsmm]

Calling your husband your boyfriend

Including: Gojo, Nanami, Choso, Sukuna, Toji, and special guests Suguru, Shiu, Higuruma, and Ino

my smau masterlists one and two

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

[mikemsmm]

sae can go on for multiple rounds ♡

you weren’t really trying to tick off sae. you were just sitting on his bed, lips pressed into a pout as you fumbled with a stupidly stubborn bottle. you were wearing his shirt that was that was so long it reached just below your knees, and your bare thighs peeked out with every shift. and when you finally managed to open the bottle, you whispered a soft, “yay,” like it was the greatest victory in the world.

you didn’t notice it, but sae’s eye twitched and his jaw locked. he stared for maybe three seconds before he was on you, shoving you down onto the mattress, as the bottle rolled away from you and off the bed. you blinked up at him, all confused. he kissed you a bit sloppily, and you could feel his frustration, like he was mad at how much he wanted you.

“you don’t know what you’re doing,” he muttered, voice low as he stared into you, to the point where it was making you a little nervous. “so pretty.”

you weren’t even trying. but one thing led to another, and then he shoved his fingers past the waistband of your panties, feeling how wet you already were as the both of you quickly discarded your clothes. and then, he had you bent over on the bed, face down, ass up as he sank into you, cock stretching you out as you drooled into the pillow.

soon enough, you didn’t even know which round this was anymore. you had cum so many times, your knees were giving out, and every part of you was slick with sweat as your legs were shaking. and behind you, sae was still fucking you like he’d just started.

he gripped your hips like a lifeline, dragging you back onto his cock over and over again, deep and merciless, your ass slapping against his hips and balls with every brutal thrust. his voice low behind you, sighing out your name, and other filth you couldn’t even understand through the haze in your mind.

“still tight,” he rasped. “still fucking warm, shit.”

“saeeeee, haahhh, sae please,” you cried, voice raw and high and helplessness. “‘s too much, i can’tttt—!”

he wrapped his arm around your waist, hand trailing down to rub circles on your clit. “stay still. be good, okay?”

“feels so good.. ‘m getting all stretched out,” you hiccupped, brain melting. “sae—pleeaaasee, you keep—haaahn—keep going, and i can’t think—”

“good.” he was still calm as he continued pushing his cock deep into you, except for the way his hands were shaking where they gripped your skin. “just take it.”

a high-pitched whimper left your lips as you nodded into the sheets, helpless.

“such a mess,” he muttered, gaze locked on where you were stretched around him, slick dripping down your thighs. “you’re cute like this. letting me use you, even when you’re crying.”

you sniffled, voice tiny. “but i like it…”

that made his rhythm stutter, just for a second. then he groaned softly under his breath, leaned over your back and pressed a kiss to your shoulder.

“i know you do,” he murmured. you whined again as he kept pounding into you, one last time before he spilled inside you again with a deep groan, his hips pressed close to yours, holding you in place.

and still, he stayed inside for a bit as he caught his breath, before he leaned down close to you.

“you’re not done yet, pretty girl,” he whispered against your ear. “so i’m not either.”

for this req

[mikemsmm]

bf kaiser who calls you silly for getting upset over small things and fucks the brat outta you!!

tysm for the ness’ sister fic, it was all i could ask for and more <3

𝜗𝜚 your welcome doll!!! sorry this took me so long :x

⸻ ミヒャエル・カイザ MICHEAL KAISER.

TW; smut, slight orgasm denial, degrading, use of 'whore', pink!baddie reader, use of 'good girl.' ─ translations; 'engel' – angel. 'kleines mädchen' – little girl. 'dumme kleine schlampe' – dumb little slut. w.c; 0.8K.

kaiser doesn't know what ticked you off today, but you've been in a 0–100 mode since you woke up this morning.

first, you wouldn't shower with him because he ‘takes up to much space’, then it was him eating the last strawberry cheesecake slice in the fridge. which, by the way–you had told him you didn't want, but he's guessing he had to telepathically know that you had changed your mind. then it was your favourite chanel perfume running out, then it was your acrylic nail charm chipping off. 

the last straw is when he let the words "silly" and "sensitive" fall from his mouth in response at your attitude, and now you're giving him the silent treatment.

"stop ignoring me, engel. come sit on my lap."

you don't even look up from your phone, still tapping away as if you hadn't heard him at all. After a few moments, you glance at him, that frequent razor sharp side–eye of yours that has his cock jumping in his briefs.

"no." you say in an impertinent tone, doubling down by flicking your hair dramatically behind your shoulder, turning your whole body away from him. 

half of the reason why you turned away was so he didn't see the slow, up–curving of your lips. you could only imagine kaiser's fake, amused expression, the twitch of his eye and the tick of his jaw when you start getting bratty with him. you hear him shuffle a bit closer behind you, before a loc of your hair is pulled, not too harsh, but enough to tell you his patience is running dry.

"you have five seconds to take it back and apologise, kleines mädchen."

his voice was low, you could almost mistake it as playful, but the real serious tone underneath his teasing exterior made your clit quiver in excitement. he doesn't give you the grace of counting out loud either, you know from when the last word left his lips he had already started. you waited until you assumed he had got down to one in his head, the tension thick but your next words were anything but an apology.

"Hmm....don’t think m'going to." you fake pondered in a sickly sweet tone, readjusting your position on the couch more comfortably as if you didn’t care for his threats or the piercing eyes burning through the back of your head.

and where does that answer get you? bend over the armrest of the couch like a toy.

he had been edging you for god knows how long, his crowned hand securely around the back of your neck, the other splayed on the dip of your back; keeping it arched like a stretching cat, allowing him to hit that deep gummy spot over and over again.

"mi–cha–" you cry, barely able to get the words out with every hard, calculated thrust knocking the air out of you. the tip of your feet barely touched the floor, your socked toes curling as you kicked out, attempting to get away from the overwhelming overstimulation–but with nowhere to go, you could only lay there and take it.

"hnnngh...can't take it anymore, wanna cum..."

"oh?" he huffed, seemingly amused at your breaking resolve. "but you were acting so bratty earlier, and bratty girls don't get to cum, do they?"

your greedy pussy clenches around him suffocatingly, pulling out until only the tip is in before slamming back in, making your eyes roll to the back of your head, loud hiccups and incoherent words falling from your lips. every time you went silent, your legs tensing and your cunt fluttering, he was aware you were close and would cruelly slow down.

"hgnhh.....m'sorry," you slurred, fresh tears ruining your makeup, "won't be a brat anymore–hic–promise."

"isn't that cute?" he coo's maliciously, before his crowned hand dipped down to the front of your neck, pulling you up flush against his back, cock still pulsating deep inside. "such a dumb whore begging to cum, sure you're really sorry? hm?" he taunts, the fingers digging into your jaw shaking your head back and forth like a doll, his face nosing your wet cheek.

"m'really sorry micha," you sobbed with a heavy breath, squirming as you feel his free hand sliding down to toy with your puffy clit. he hummed in satisfaction as he took in your fucked out expression, drool seeping onto his fingers, your eyes fighting not to flutter shut, face flushed with exertion.

he was quick to push you back down into the same position as before, ruthlessly pounding into you, loud moans erupting from your throat as you took everything he gave. "you love to piss me off don't you dumme kleine schlampe...what do i tell you when you have a problem, hm? come to me and i'll fix it, but you wanted to mope around instead..."

you could hardly pay attention to his words when he's rearranging your gut like this, and all you do is pathetically whine.

"now, be a good girl and cum before i change my mind."

Quandaledlnglepink © 2025

[mikemsmm]

confronting your school bully once and for all didn't go in the way you expected ( ｡ •` ⤙´• ｡ꐦ) you were gonna give that big, stupid meanie sukuna a piece of your mind. not bounce mindlessly on his throbbing cock until you start to drool, with your slick cunt making such an embarrassing mess on his wet shaft like you want this.

"what's wrong, pretty girl?" he sneers. his hands are behind his head while he lets you hold his waist to balance yourself, watching you bounce and ride his dick as he tucks his bottom lip beneath his teeth. "thought you hated me."

"shuuut uppp—" your voice cracks as you struggle to hold onto the last sliver of pride you have, you whimper, voice cracking as you try to hold onto the last sliver of pride you have. but it's hard. so, so hard. especially when his fat tip is bullying your cervix and making your stomach flutter with every bounce. you want to smack that stupid smirk off his face, but you can't even hold yourself upright. all you can do is cling tighter, dizzy from how good it feels, dripping and clenching like the needy little thing you swore you weren't.

he moves his hands from behind his head to slap and grip your ass, spreading the cheeks to watch his cock disappear deeper inside you. "you've got a mouth on you, girl," he snarls. "luckily, i know exactly how to shut it." he's right. god, he's so right. because right now? that mouth of yours is too busy moaning his name and babbling nonsense to talk any more shit.

your thighs are shaking, rhythm stuttering, and he knows you're close. he starts bouncing you himself now, big rough hands using you like his own personal toy. your eyes roll back as a fresh wave of heat pulses through you, loud gasps slipping out no matter how hard you try to bite them back.

"that the best you got?" he teases, voice low and smug as hell. "you were talkin' all that shit earlier, now look at you. dumb little schoolgirl brain all melted on my cock." you try to talk back-really, you do-but all that comes out is a high-pitched moan and a pathetic little twitch of your hips. you're clenching so tight around him, body trembling, tears threatening to spill as he starts rutting up into you even deeper.

"god, you're such a mess," he groans, fucking up into you so hard your body jolts. "bet next time you think about confronting me, you'll remember this-me, balls deep, wrecking this bratty little cunt." and fuck, he's right again. your head's empty, brain foggy, and all you can do is cling to him like your life depends on it while he ruins you completely.

[mikemsmm]

you always knew you had a thing for older men.

It wasn’t just the salt-and-pepper stubble or the slow, practiced way they carried themselves. it was the stillness. the grounded energy. the calm. like nothing could touch them. like they’d been through hell and came back clean, sharper for it.

nanami kento was the embodiment of that.

you weren’t supposed to end up in his bed. it started with drinks after a shared mission, a conversation that lingered longer than expected. you were tipsy. he wasn’t. and yet he watched you like you were a puzzle worth solving. carefully, patiently, without a single wasted glance.

you’d had sex before. enough to know what you liked. enough to know that most guys your age didn’t really care about what that was. they rushed. they fumbled. Some were sweet, but rarely satisfying. even the slightly older ones, 25, 26, still had the attention span of a squirrel and the emotional intelligence of a wet sock.

but nanami?

nanami touched you like he’d studied you. like he had time. like he didn’t need to prove anything because he already knew he could ruin you. and would. he took off your clothes like unwrapping a gift he’d waited patiently to open. every touch was intentional. every kiss a quiet promise.

you thought you were prepared.

you weren’t.

his mouth on your neck, your chest, between your legs. devastating. the kind of slow burn that made you forget your name, arching into him with a gasp so raw you almost felt embarrassed. until you looked up and saw the way he was watching you. focused. like he needed to see what he did to you..

you expected him to be good. he was older, refined, deliberate in everything he did. from the way he sipped his whiskey to the way he looked at you, like he could read every need you hadn’t voiced. But this?

this was beyond anything your imagination had dared to stretch toward.

you're on your back, legs spread and trembling over Nanami’s shoulders, body pinned to the mattress like you were meant to be there. like he built this exact moment out of patience and control and years of knowing exactly what he was doing.

his cock stretches you open with a slow, thick thrust that makes your spine arch off the bed. he’s not fast. not frantic. he moves like a man who knows he doesn’t have to rush, because you’re already falling apart under him.

“good girl,” he murmurs, voice low and steady, as if he’s rewarding you for every helpless sound you make. “you can take it. i’ve got you.”

and you do. you take him. inch by devastating inch. because you can’t not. he fills you in a way no one else ever has. deep. heavy. the kind of depth that forces a raw, gasping whine from your throat with every stroke.

your nails claw weakly at his forearms, the only parts of him you can reach in this position. he’s got you folded open, helpless, a mess of sweat and slick and trembling limbs beneath him. his hips grind slow, controlled, like he’s studying how each angle wrecks you.

“too much?” he asks, and it’s maddening how composed he sounds while you’re unraveling like silk in his hands.

you try to answer, but nothing comes out but a high-pitched, wrecked little moan. your head tilts back. eyes flutter shut. brain static.

he leans in closer, the weight of him pressing into you deliciously, lips grazing your jaw. “words, sweetheart.”

you manage a shaky, whined: “don’t stop. please. don’t stop.”

his lips curve into the faintest smirk against your cheek, and suddenly his thrusts get deeper. not harder. not faster. just…more intentional. perfectly timed to make you feel every ridge, every drag of him against that sensitive spot inside you that makes your thighs shake.

your vision goes blurry. your mouth drops open in a silent gasp. And then it happens: Your brain short-circuits.

everything goes white-hot, your body locking around him with a desperate cry you barely hear. your climax rips through you with a sharp, clenching heat that leaves you breathless and boneless, twitching beneath him as he fucks you through it with devastating care.

“beautiful,” he breathes, watching you crumble.

you’re too far gone to even feel embarrassed at how wrecked you sound. you’re crying a little overstimulated, completely taken, the term “fucked dumb” no longer a meme, but a diagnosis.

he slows down. pulls out just enough to let you breathe, but not leave. his hands slide down your thighs, soothing, grounding.

and then, without warning, he’s back inside you. slower this time. softer. but it still hurts, in the way pleasure hurts when you’ve already come once and your nerves are still singing. you whimper, and he kisses your shoulder.

“i know, i know,” he whispers. “just one more. you can do one more.”

you don't know if you're nodding or crying, but it doesn’t matter. he keeps praising you, guiding you back to that high again with practiced care and relentless control. and when you finally collapse beneath him, thighs shaking, tears wet on your cheeks, he kisses you like you’re something fragile he’s honored to break.

he doesn’t leave right after.

he wraps you in a warm, damp towel and carries you to the bath. cleans you gently. makes you tea. sits beside you as your body catches up with your soul.

and when he says, “you’re safe,” you believe him.

and you realized then: you’d never be able to go back.

how could you? to twenty-something-year-old men who needed validation, who didn’t know what to do with a woman who needed to be held, not just touched? who didn’t understand the ache that came from deeper wounds. wounds that wanted comfort, not conquest?

nanami wasn’t just good in bed.

he understood. he moved with restraint, with precision. the kind of man who didn’t need to be loud to leave a mark.

you looked up at him. his calm, unreadable expression softened only by the way his thumb brushed over your hip. and it hit you:

you weren’t just ruined for boys.

you were recalibrated.

no one else would ever compare.

[mikemsmm]

SPEAK NOW !꒰ঌ ໒꒱

mission brief he’s a boy with a phone, you’re a girl with a phone — can i make any more obvious? when he discovers the voice message feature, everything shifts. what started as a simple feature becomes your favorite way to stay close. w.c 3.2k

risk assessment female reader, lots of fluff, voice message transcripts, established relationships, mentions of injuries in toji's part, inspired by this post by @kageyuji ft! gojo, naoya, geto, sukuna, nanami, choso, toji

a/n is this a taylor swift reference?

☆ GOJO SATORU

The only time Gojo sends you voice messages is — well… every time.

Texts? Too quiet. Too flat. Too impersonal.

He says they don’t capture the weight of his words, don’t carry the excitement he feels when he talks to you. So he never really texts. He sends voice notes. Long, breathy, rambling ones. They’re chaotic in the most Gojo way — filled with tangents, background noise, the occasional crunch of a snack mid-sentence, and the way his voice softens slightly when he says your name. You’ve got a whole archive of them by now.

Topics range from the mundane to the deeply unhinged. The cat he swore looked like his reincarnation. The time he saw mochi back in stock at his favorite corner store and almost cried. The leaf that somehow ended up in his hair without explanation. 

And yet, no matter how long, how off-track, or how often he pauses to remember what he was even trying to say in the first place — you listen to every single one. Because it’s him. And that’s just how it is.

▶︎·|၊|။||||။၊|။|||။|||။ 2:47

“Hey—

Wait, okay, first of all, good morning, my love, sunshine of my life, reason I still tolerate people — mmmm, except Nanami, he’s alright. But you. You’re special.

Anyway.

Whatcha makin’ for lunch today? I had a dream you made those onigiri with the spicy tuna inside — y’know, the ones that make me cry a little but I keep eating them? Yeeaaahh. Dreamt of those and woke up starving.

OH — speaking of food, the family mart by the station restocked the strawberry mochi!! Y’know, the squishy kind with the powdered sugar on top. I bought six. I ate five. I saved one for you maybe. If I don't eat it first. Which I miiight. So…maybe we just go together and get more?

Oh oh OH, also, you’ll never guess what I saw on the way home. A cat. A majestic little fluff ball. White fur, blue eyes, looked just like me. He even walked like he owned the street. I was like, hey, are you me? He didn’t answer. Ruuuude. But we locked eyes and I think we had a moment.

Also.

Leaf. In my hair. Don’t ask me how. I wasn't even near a tree?? I was walking past that alley with the vending machine — you know the one where we took that silly selfie where I had one eye closed 'cause the flash betrayed me. Yeah, that place. Suddenly boom. Leaf. I looked like a decorative cupcake.

...Wait, what was I saying? Right, lunch.

No wait — restaurant. Yes, that was it.

So I found this place at 2am. Not found found, like, I didn’t physically stumble across it, but I was googling places to take you because I couldn’t sleep 'cause I was thinking of your stupid cute face — and my car ran outta gas so I was stuck in a parking lot, and I just kept scrolling and boom, fancy little fusion place. Ramen but like, fancy. They drizzle truffle oil. Wild. We haaaave to go. Wear somethin’ hot. Like…a sweater. You in sweaters? Elite.

…Okay okay, I'm gonna stop talking now. But answer me back. I miss your voice. And tell me what’s for lunch. Or just send me a pic of your face. Or both. Okay love you bye. Wait—

mwah

Okay, now bye for real.”

☆ GETO SUGURU

Geto’s voice messages don’t come often — but when they do, they’re slices of domesticity folded into casual errands. 

He doesn’t text when he’s at the store, doesn’t like scrolling through chats or waiting for you to reply with half-typed words. Instead, you’ll get voice notes — low, a little amused, sometimes with ambient grocery store noise behind him. The clink of bottles, the hum of fluorescent lights, muffled announcements. They come when he’s standing in front of shelves making tiny life decisions that somehow always involve you.

He’ll send one when he’s stuck between two ramen flavors, or if he’s wondering whether you’re in the mood for soba or udon instead. Sometimes he’ll send another from the toiletries aisle, holding up your shampoo like he’s weighing its soul. And then, just when the message sounds like it’s ending, he’ll throw in something ridiculous. Like condoms in bulk, with the mock-serious tone of a man claiming it’s purely for convenience.

and to anyone watching from afar, it’s obvious. The way he holds the phone close to his mouth, tone soft, thoughtful, fingers resting on his temple like he’s consulting someone far more important than whatever brand of body wash is in his hand.

He’s taken. Completely.

▶︎·|၊|။||||။၊|။|||။|||။ 1:18

“Hey.

‘M in front of the ramen shelf. You want miso again, or are we switching it up to tonkotsu today? There's this new one with chili oil that might make you cry, but I'll let you pretend it’s just the spice. Or we skip ramen and go with noodles — soba? Udon?

...You’re probably gonna say, ‘whatever you want,’ but if you say that I’m gettin’ the spiciest one and making you eat it first.

Also.

I'm grabbing your shampoo — the…rosemary mint one, right? Or was it lavender? You keep changing it on me. There’s a sale, so I might just get both and let you be indecisive later. Soap too. You want the oat one or the lemony one that makes me smell like summer in july?

…Oh, condoms too. And yes, ‘m picking some up because apparently we go through them like candy. Don’t act shy. Convenience, remember?

Mmm, alright. Text if I missed anything. Otherwise, expect me home in twenty. Love you.”

☆ NANAMI KENTO

Nanami doesn’t send voice messages often. He's meticulous, thoughtful — he prefers the precision of text.

He’ll take the time to type out long responses, punctuated perfectly, each sentence neat like he’s laying bricks. When he’s tired or on the move, he’ll use speech-to-text, not because he’s lazy, but because he values clarity and ease. But when he’s away — when work takes him out of the city, or when you’re the one gone — something shifts. 

His voice notes arrive like clockwork. Soft, timed, anchored in habit.

They’re not filled with anecdotes or clutter. Just him. His presence, stretched across the day, across distance. A rhythm that makes it feel like he’s never truly far.

7:18 AM ▶︎·|၊|။||||။၊|။|||။|||။ 0:36

“Good morning. I just woke up.

…I dreamed of you. I don't remember the details, but I remember the feeling — it lingered when I opened my eyes.

You should be waking up soon too.

Don’t skip breakfast. I mean it. I know when you do.”

9:54 AM ▶︎·|၊|။||||။၊|။|||။|||။ 0:29

“Had coffee and toast. It's quiet at the office today — too quiet. 

I keep looking at your chair like you're about to sit in it. You’d complain about how bitter the coffee is, and then finish it anyway.

…I miss that.”

12:32 PM ▶︎·|၊|။||||။၊|။|||။|||။ 0:21

“Taking a short break right now. The bento’s alright today, nothing special.

I saw a couple eating across from me — he gave her the last bite.

It reminded me of you.”

5:47 PM ▶︎·|၊|။||||။၊|။|||။|||။ 0:33

“I'm heading home right now. Quite tired, had a long meeting today.

I kept thinking about what you’d say if you were here. Probably something sarcastic. Or something that would make me laugh. I'd take either.

I'll contact you again when I'm in.”

9:04 PM ▶︎·|၊|။||||။၊|။|||။|||။ 0:47

“I just finished dinner.

Kept it simple tonight — grilled fish, rice, miso soup. I know you’d say it’s boring, but it was warm. comforting. A bit like you.

…The apartment’s quiet.

I kept looking at the clock today. Not for meetings. just… felt like I kept waiting for a moment that involved you.

I hope you ate well. And I hope wherever you are, you feel warm too.”

11:11 PM ▶︎·|၊|။||||။၊|။|||။|||။ 0:15

“The bed’s too big without you. I turned over earlier and reached out by mistake…Funny how the body remembers what’s missing, even when the mind’s used to the silence. I'll sleep soon.

You’re probably still up. Don’t overwork yourself.

Sleep next to me when you’re back. I'll leave the right side untouched.”

☆ CHOSO KAMO

Choso doesn’t just send voice messages. He cherishes them.

When he discovers the voice note feature, there’s a pure, almost childlike excitement in how quickly he adopts it. His texts had always been endearing — filled with typos and trailing punctuation — but the moment he realizes he can talk to you and you’ll hear him? It’s over.

And when he finds out he gets a full two minutes? You start getting little verbal time capsules — rushed, emotional, overstuffed with thoughts.

He tries to fit everything: how his day went, what he ate, a funny thing someone said, how he misses you, a random fact he just remembered, a new artist he found — everything.

The last ten seconds are always hurried, breathless goodbyes, little stumbles over "love yous" and promises to message again soon, like he’s scribbling on the back of a postcard before the mailman takes it.

Each message is messy, genuine, overflowing. Just like him.

▶︎·|၊|။||||။၊|။|||။|||။ 1:59

“—Oh!! It’s recording — okay, wait, wait, wait—

Hey! Hi. Can you hear me? Well, you’re not hearing me live, but — you know what I mean. This is so cool, I can just talk?? Like I can just say things?? And you’ll hear it later?? Okay okay okay wait I gotta start properly—

Uhhhm. Today was… actually really good! I woke up early and didn’t snooze the alarm — miracle, right? And then I made that egg toast thing you showed me, and I think I finally got the yolk right this time?? Like it was still a little runny but not too runny. I sent you a pic, did you see it? I even put, like, a little green thing on top. Aesthetic, right??

Oh! And there was this cat. Like, this huge fluffy cat just sitting in front of the convenience store. I swear it looked like it owned the place. I wanted to pet it but it gave me that “don’t” look so I just bowed to it instead—

Wait wait okay this is getting off-track—

I wanted to tell you that I found this new band you might like. Kind of dreamy, kind of loud? I’ll send you the playlist after this. Oh! And I wore the shirt you like. The-the black one. The one you said makes me look ‘boyfriend-coded.’

...I didn’t correct you.

And I bought those snacks you like. The ones with the weird texture that I still don’t understand but you love? Yeaaahhh. Got them.

Okay wait I think time’s running out — shitshitshit okay — uhhh

I love you. I miss you. I hope you’re having a good day. I hope you’re smiling right now. If you are, that’s good. If you’re not, I’ll send another one soon, okay? I’ll talk more later. I have more things to say — uhh bye! Bye baby! Talk soon! Mwah!”

He probably sends a second one three minutes later. Just to tell you what the cat reminded him of. Or that he forgot to say he loved you again, just in case.

☆ NAOYA ZENIN

Naoya Zenin doesn't do voice messages. Or at least, he claims he doesn't.

Too troublesome, he says. Too much effort. If he really wanted to say something, he'd just say it in person. But — if you insist on them (you don’t), then sure, he'll grace your ears with his voice.

So there he is, one afternoon, thumb pressed on the record button, leaning back with the kind of arrogance only a man born into the Zenin family could manage. He starts off with a muttered complaint—

“Tch, sending voice messages to my own wife, like I’m a simp or something”

—but just as he gets into it, someone walks past. Another man. One who overhears. One who makes a comment.

And that’s when it happens. You, doing whatever you are miles away, get to hear the first time your husband defended you without hesitation. Not to you. Not in front of others. Not for show. But because.

And the best part? He didn’t know he was still recording.

▶︎·|၊|။||||။၊|။|||။|||။ 1:28

“So… I’m apparently sending voice messages now. To my wife. Yeah, you. Not sure what I’m supposed to say. What, you wanna hear my voice every time you miss me? Sounds clingy. Sounds like you, actually. You better be grateful, ‘cause I don’t do this—

…The fuck do you want, huh?”

Pause. Shuffling. Voice off-screen.

“What, you recordin’ a message for your wife or somethin’?”

“Yeah. Got a problem with that?”

“Nah, man, just didn’t think you’d be the type to let a woman tell you what to do—”

“Shut the fuck up. Who the fuck said she tells me what to do? She doesn’t ‘tell’ me anything — I let her think she does.”

Laughter — then the man again.

“Must be somethin’ if she’s got you sendin’ her stuff like this.”

“You don't get to talk about her.”

“C'mon, I’m joking—”

“No, you’re not. And even if you were, you don’t joke about my wife. You think you can laugh at her ‘cause we got married through arrangement? I could break you without lifting a fucking finger. So shut your damn mouth before I make you.”

Another pause. A beat. Slight exhale. Then, quiet—

“…Only I get to mock her, you asshole.”

Shuffle. Realization. A faint “Tch — oh shit,” and then — click.

Message sent.

You listen to it once. And then again. And when you send him nothing in return except: “So I am clingy?” 

He replies: “You’re lucky I didn’t delete that. Don’t expect another one.”

You get another one the next day. Just silence for 30 seconds.

Then, “Fucking hell. You better be smiling right now.”

☆ TOJI FUSHIGURO

When Toji Fushiguro sends you a voice message, it comes with background noise no one else would dare record — a groan here, a sharp hiss there, the occasional growl of “Watch it, dumbass” thrown at Shiu like punctuation.

And yet, without fail, his first instinct — before painkillers, before actual rest — is to record a message for you. He never even holds the phone himself. Shiu sets it on the side table with a bored grunt, rolling his eyes when Toji tells him, “Yeah, yeah — just hit record, she’s gonna nag if I don’t.”

You never told him to, neither asked him to. But you always listen. Even when your stomach turns at the sound of torn gauze and his low groans of pain. Even when your jaw clenches hearing how he swears through the ache, but still asks, like clockwork: How was your day, baby?

▶︎·|၊|။||||။၊|။|||။|||။ 1:43

Tch—

“Start it already, c’mon — yeah, like that. Is it recording? Whatever. Don’t care.”

Heavy inhale, a sharp hiss as fabric brushes skin—

“Fuckin’ — God, Shiu, you wanna keep that hand or what? I swear on your whole damn bloodline — I will sell your ancestors for scraps—”

Muttering, far off — Shiu grumbling something like “Stop moving then, asshole.”

“…Anyway.”

Exhale. Breath shuddering a little, voice lower now—

“Hey. It’s me. Obviously. Don’t freak out — ’m still breathing. Barely, but still counts, right?”

Quiet grunt. Tape being torn. The wet sound of disinfectant. “Went a little sideways. Job was clean, till it wasn’t. Guy had backup. Wasn’t supposed to. You know the drill.”

Groan. Then a pause. 

“…Should’ve brought you. You’d have killed ’em cleaner.”

A chuckle, rough and winded. Then, surprisingly soft— 

“How was your day, though? You eat anything yet? Don’t tell me you skipped lunch again or ’m walkin’ home with a dislocated shoulder and no regrets.”

Shifting fabric. A hiss through clenched teeth. 

“Ahh, f—fuck. Shiu, if I bleed out ’cause you’re bein’ gentle I’ll haunt you so hard—”

Muffled laughter in the background. Toji ignores it.

“…Look, ’m fine. Don’t start worrying, I’ll be home by morning. Maybe late. Don’t wait up — unless you’re planning to yell at me. Then yeah, I wanna see that face.”

Another groan. Softer this time. Tired. Honest. 

“Miss you. More than I should.”

Suddenly a louder wince—

“MotherFUCK — okay, that’s it — fuck this—”

Click. Message sent.

You don’t throw your phone. You just stare at it for a moment, press play again, and then send back: “You’re lucky I love you.” 

And later, another: “If you bleed on the couch again, you’re dead.”

He sends a photo a few hours later. A blurry, crooked shot of your favorite dish from your favorite stall. Caption: “Still breathing. Bring ice.”

And you already are.

☆ RYOMEN SUKUNA

When Sukuna sends you voice messages, it’s nothing short of a production. 

The phone fights him. The red record circle taunts him. His first six or seven attempts are usually useless — just breath, a growl, maybe a clipped “The hell—?” and then silence. But when it finally records?

You get an earful.

It’s always worth listening to, even if it starts abruptly, with him snapping at the phone or hissing because the ‘damned contraption’ cut off the start again. He doesn’t text — claims it makes his words look “moronic.” He talks instead. Rants, actually. Beautifully brutal insults, ancient idioms laced with modern irritation, and all of it for you.

The King of Curses speaks with weight, but also with the strangest sense of... vulnerability. Because under all that fury and eloquence, he’s just missing you.

▶︎·|၊|။||||။၊|။|||။|||။ 2:00

 —Click

 “—Fuck. Is it working now? Tch. I swear this cursed thing was built solely to mock me.”

Sounds of fumbling, a long sigh like he's composing himself, followed by the distinct clink of jewelry as his hand hits the table.

“…Listen.”

Pause. Breath steadying.

“I was in the middle of reading something when it reminded me of that idiotic poem you insisted was beautiful — yes, the one with the — what was it? ‘Silver-threaded dawn’ or some other flowery horseshit. I remember thinking it was useless drivel.”

Pause. His voice softens, then gets louder again like he’s scolding himself.

“But now? Now I can’t get the damned thing out of my head. You’ve infected me.”

A short exhale, something between fondness and frustration.

“I passed by that wretched bakery you like. The one that smells like cinnamon and regret. There was a couple outside. They were arguing. It was ugly.”

Pause.

“Made me think of you. 

…Us.”

Another pause. Quieter.

“Not the fighting, just… the way she looked at him like she hated him, but still wanted to be the one to yell. Strange.”

Suddenly louder again — his temper snapping in like a whip.

“Why the fuck do you take so long to come home?! What, am I not entertaining enough now? Did someone else whisper you poems about morning light?!”

A sharp inhale, as if to calm himself, followed by a growl.

“…Tch. That was pathetic.”

A brief moment of silence.

“…Come home soon. You’re late. And I despise every other mortal.” 

Another pause, this one longer, the faint creak of a chair behind him.

“…Also, you left your ridiculous sweater here. The one with the ears. I may have worn it. Say a word about it, and I’ll feed you to wolves.

Affectionately.”

Beat.

“…You better listen to all the other messages before this. I know you do. Don’t lie.”

Click. Message sent.

And yes — you did listen to the first seven one-second clips. One of them was just him going: “Is this cursed — recording — ugh—”

You saved them all anyway.

a/n if you haven't already, check out the summer-themed jjk event i'm hosting :) open till the 31st of may!