nana1344

[nana1344]

Kento Nanami x Reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He blanked for a moment, a brow lifting.

“Sweetheart, What's a ‘bio’?”

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

[nana1344]

Type Dangerous - R.S.

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

Pairing. Ryomen Sukuna x Reader

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

Word count. 12.6k

A/N. HEHE TOLD Y’ALL I’D WRITE IT…

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until you turned his way.

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut it, bob-cut.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah…” You blink.

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

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

“Yuji!”

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

“And slash tires.”

“Tuna mayo.” 

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe.

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

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

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

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

Ah, he was gone for. 

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

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

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

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

“Okay, time for us to get home.” 

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

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

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

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

“See you around, Mr. Mugshot.”

Fuck. 

.

.

.

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

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

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

“Shush, Ryo. There are children around.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck no! 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Completely ridiculous. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Daddy, Mr. Mugshot is really weird.”

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

.

.

.

“Remind me why you’re here again?”

“Remind me why you’re here again?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut it, scrawny.”

“Why don’t you just talk to her?”

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

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

Oh, fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

“Bubba!”

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

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

Mouth dry, “I’m- I’m his only uncle.”

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

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

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

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

Huh.

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

“To not.”

“And what are you doing?”

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

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

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

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

No! Sukuna’s internally groaning. 

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

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

“I’m not even thirty?”

“That’s old.” Choso nods.

“You’re thirteen.”

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

Todo stomps, “Fight me, fossil–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And she was a genius.

An absolute genius, bob-cut!

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

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

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

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

Quite frankly, fuck nonchalance. 

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

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

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

“Salmon.”

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

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

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

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

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

.

.

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ya don’t say.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

About as subtle as a sledgehammer. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And so, you nod. 

And he walks with you.

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

“Ah- so-”

“What did you-”

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

“You speak.” You’re urging.

“No you.”

“You-”

“I refuse.”

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

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

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

“Yes—?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nevermind- not a dream. 

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

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

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

“Not that.” 

“Especially that.”

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

Sukuna’s eyes widen, “You…bet on me?”

“Whaddaya think, sonny?” 

Jin smiles, “Guilty.”

“Gwuilty!” 

“No- no, Yuji, not guilty.”

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

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

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

.

.

.

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! 

“Oi- oi, Jin. Go get the door.”

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

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

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

“I can hear you, Ryo.”

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

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

‘Oh’ was right.

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

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

“You okay, Sukuna?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Haaah? I told Yuji to.”

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

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

“I’m gonna kill you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And another cup.

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

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

And another. 

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

And- 

“Sukuna-”

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

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

“We’re nearly identical twins–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And a heart emoji.

.

.

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was just so big, aching- 

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

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

Never.

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

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

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

“You think I fucking care?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Reddened, swollen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well…” 

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

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

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

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

“I-”

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

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

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

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

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

“More?”

“More.”

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

“You want more?”

“Y-yes- oh.”

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

Squelch after squelch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“F-fuck off- ngh-”

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

With four neatly pushing fingers. 

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

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

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

Faster.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ryomen Sukuna was a fucking masterpiece. 

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

Glistening pecs all temptingly large, abs ripped. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He…bottomed-out. 

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

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

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

“Are you okay- oh god nghh–”

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

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

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

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

SPANK!

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

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

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

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

SPANK!

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I-I am-”

SPANK! 

“Harder, mama, make me feel it.”

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

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

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

“Not you.”

“Kuna.”

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

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

And then a ‘U’

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

A wobbly ‘N’

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

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

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

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

A firm ‘A’

Another SPANK!

“-and I say you’re cumming already.”

“Wh-what…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“F-fuck.” He lets out, softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Almost…shy.

Oh, it hits you. He’s pussydrunk.

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

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

It’s then that Sukuna whimpers. 

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

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

Straight into a mating press. 

Oh, your breath catches.

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

He does. 

.

.

.

“You.”

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

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

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

“No,”

“Did he drive fast-”

“No.”

“Did he drink-”

“No-”

“Did he slash tires-”

“Maybe once?”

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

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

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

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

“Brat-”

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

Another gasp - well, multiple.

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

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

“Hey, isn’t that weird Mr. Mugshot?”

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

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

“Caviar.”

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

What the fuck is with the fires-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Plagiarism not authorized.

[nana1344]

not denying the “girlfriend” assumption (pre-relationship)

ʚ incl: gojo, geto, nanami, toji, choso, sukuna, higuruma, shiu, ino, shoko, uraume

ʚ cont: fluff, crack

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

[nana1344]

Quick! Go Hide

in which you prank the sleeping jjk men by telling them, 'You need to hide; my boyfriend's home!'...saw it on tiktok heh

Satoru croaks, “Oh, shit. He is?” 

Groggily, he clambers out of bed and hides in the bathroom, bare feet padding. In the dark, he waits. Seconds pass and he shows no sign of realising what games you’re playing. When you go to collect him, you find him asleep, standing with his forehead pressed to the cold tile, drooling. 

“Is he gone?” He asks, voice raspy, shaken awake once again. You nod, biting your lip to keep from laughing. “Good ‘cause I’m too tired to fight anyone…I’d win though.” 

Soon after, in bed, he continues sleeping. And it’s only in the morning that you find him grinning and prodding your puffy cheek. “That was really funny, babe. Ten out of ten. No notes.”

Suguru's brows furrow. Without opening his eyes, he mutters, “Nice try.”

“No, really. You gotta go; he’ll kill you.” A curse emerges, large and foreboding, just watching in the corner of the room. Shivers wrack your body. It doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, nor utter a single sound. Still, the message is clear. You roll your eyes and cuddle into your boyfriend’s side. “You’re no fun.”

He tucks you in close. “Try again in the morning, pretty girl. I’m sure I’ll be more fun when I’m not half asleep.”

Choso startles awake, bloodshot eyes widening. “Oh no. What should we do?”

He lets you shove him into the closet, shirtless and hair a mess. There he stands patiently, shuffling on his feet and holding his breath. Then, when a minute passes, he has a moment of realisation. Creaking open, the closet door widens to reveal him – he looks unimpressed…and pouty. 

“I’m your only boyfriend; why do I need to hide?”

You giggle. “Sorry, Cho. It was just a joke.’

“I don’t really see what’s funny,” he grouches as he gets back into bed with you, wrapping his arms tight around your body and tucking his head in the crook of your neck, quickly forgetting your prank once his senses are overwhelmed with you. 

Toji peeks one eye at your faux panicked face. He shoves it away, grumbling under his breath about how much of a brat you are and shifts into a different position; he’s got his back turned to you now. Undeterred, you shake him one more time. “I’m being serious. You gotta hide, Toji.”

“Leave me alone, woman. I don’t wanna deal with your shit right now.”

You drape your entire body over his. His beefy arm comes around to keep you steady, in case you fall off the bed with your clumsy ass. “Okay, but if he beats you up and takes me away, your loss.”

He grunts. “I’d like to see anyone try.”

Then, to keep your mouth from disturbing his sleep any longer, he suffocates your face in between his pecs, a hand on your ass, groping it for compensation.

Kento jolts, hands grabbing you to push your body behind his. He scans the room, then the door, waits for the intruder, ready to defend. Only when he hears your stifled laughter does he truly process what you told him. He sighs, hand rubbing down his face. “Can’t sleep again, darling?”

“No. The baby keeps kicking me.” You smile when his warm palm caresses your stomach. 

Leaving a kiss on your forehead, he mutters, “I’ll give them a stern talking to; no child of mine hurts my wife. Now, would you like a midnight snack or should we stay up and watch the stars again?”

Lifted out of bed, he carries you in his arms, intent on keeping your bare feet from touching the cold floor. Even as sleep still courses through his veins, he’s determined to meet your every need – Kento couldn’t fall asleep again knowing you’re wide awake anyway. 

Sukuna doesn’t awaken. He’s as still as a corpse. You try again. And again. Nothing. When you pout and smack his chest, one of his four arms snatches your waist and slides you onto his huge body. Your ass is being patted, as is your head, and with another arm, he rubs your back. 

Calmly, his chest rumbles with his words. “All your previous partners are dead. No one will disturb us. Sleep.”

“Okay, Kuna…wait…no, they aren’t.”

He doesn’t reply, leaving you to wonder when he had the time to hunt them down one by one since he spends so much time never leaving your side in the first place. No answer comes to mind; his body can be so persuasive in pulling you to the land of slumber with him. Though, you are certain he whispers, ‘They will be,’ once he thinks you won’t hear. Try and follow up the next day however and he’ll shrug off your concerns with a, ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

[nana1344]

JESUS, WHATS A GIRL TO DO?

THIS BOY DOESN'T EVEN KNOW THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN "THEIR", "THERE", AND "THEY ARE"

contents: smut, fluff, cursing, suggestive, college/modern AU (I will add to this as the series continues)

TAGLIST: CLOSED

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦　⁺ 　 . ✦

Track Runner!Ryomen Sukuna

pt 1 pt 2 pt 3 pt 4 pt 5

Jujutsu Tech High's #1 track star falls in love with...his coaches daughter? Let's see if sukuna's "forbidden" romance can get him kicked from the team faster than getting that full ride scholarship.

Skaterboy!Ino Takuma

pt 1 pt 2 pt 3 pt 4 pt 5

Ino sees a cute girl at the skate park and decides to shoot his shot. Asking for your number turned to setting up weekly skate board practices with him because, god, you suck.

Tennis Player!Kento Nanami

pt 1 pt 2 pt 3 pt 4 pt 5

Nanami, the quiet and reserved college kid who had a terrible haircut and a small group of friends (who he didn't necessarily like), seemed to be crushing on some girl he always sees at his local coffee shop, you. Turns out you go to his school, and you also have an interest in tennis, in which Nanami offers to teach you.

Hockey Player!Choso Kamo

pt 1 pt 2 pt 3 pt 4 pt 5

Choso never saw it coming...literally. one second, the rink was clear and the next? Hockey gear scattered, ice burning against his cheek, and you—the pretty figure skater, right there, tangled up in the aftermath. He doesnt know how this happened, still half stunned when he blinks up at you. Gosh, you were so beautiful, was he dreaming?

Soccer Player!Satoru Gojo

pt 1 pt 2 pt 3 pt 4 pt 5

After Satoru's soccer team manager retired, he got replaced with you. And Satoru thinks your really, really pretty. Through his unfailing charm and good looks, Satoru plans to make you fall for him harder than he already fell for you.

Swimmer!Suguru Geto

pt 1 pt 2 pt 3 pt 4 pt 5

You met Suguru when you almost drowned on the 5ft end of the pool. Embarrassing, I know. You swore back and forth to him that you could swim, to which he only halfway believed. But, you were cute and he enjoyed teasing you—much to your dismay—so suguru decided he wanted to keep you around. Though he never planned on falling in love with you.

Boxer!Toji Fushiguro

pt 1 pt 2 pt 3 pt 4 pt 5

Toji Fushiguro, the most feared and respected boxer in the nation, absolutely, positively, did not do love. Or relationships. or anything for that matter. Until he met you, that is. The cute little ball of attitude (from his perspective) who had no clue who the, Toji Fushiguro was. How dare you. I mean, it's not your fault you don't watch boxing, but how dare you not worship at his feet. Turns out Toji was the one who ended up worshiping you...

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦　⁺ 　 . ✦

Comment if you would like to be added to the taglist!

[nana1344]

“WHO are you?”

sypnosis: you're too drunk to recognize your boyfriend.

warnings: alcohol (reader is drunk), swearing.

featuring: gojo satoru, geto suguru, nanami kento, fushiguro toji, sukuna ryomen.

Gojo

You are absolutely, unapologetically, undeniably wasted.

You don’t even remember how many drinks you’ve had. All you know is that the room is spinning, your heels are in your hand, and you’re sitting outside the club on the curb with a pout that could kill a man.

“Satoru,” you mumble, squinting at your phone. “Why hasn’t he called me back? That bastard.”

You’re just about to text him for the eighth time (your phone is upside down, for the record) when a familiar voice cuts through the haze.

“There you are,” the voice says, amused. “You’re lucky I’m sexy and patient.”

You blink up, shielding your eyes from the moonlight—or maybe it’s the streetlight, or maybe it's the glowing aura of the man standing in front of you.

He’s tall. White-haired. Wearing a black coat and sunglasses, at night, like a menace.

You frown.

“Who,” you say seriously, “the fuck are you?”

He freezes.

You narrow your eyes further, wobbling to your feet and poking his chest.

“Back off, handsome stranger,” you declare. “I already have a boyfriend.”

He sputters. “Handsome? Wait—”

“He’s the love of my life,” you say proudly. “Six feet of nonsense. White hair. Smug face. He’s so annoying. But like, in a hot way.”

“…That’s literally just me,” he deadpans.

“Nooo,” you slur. “Satoru’s prettier.”

His jaw drops. “Excuse me?! I AM SATORU!”

You gasp. Loudly.

“Oh my god. You’re one of those crazy fans.”

“What???”

You stumble back, dramatically offended. “You wanna be him, don’t you? Is that why you dyed your hair? Is this cosplay?!”

Gojo stares at you, dumbfounded.

You wave your heel in the air like a sword. “Back off! I’m loyal!”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing deeply. “Sweetheart—”

You cut him off, whispering, “Don’t call me that. Only Satoru calls me sweetheart.”

“…I am Satoru!”

A pause. Then, suddenly, you gasp again—like your brain has rebooted.

“Wait… You sound like him,” you say slowly, brows furrowing. “Say something only Satoru would say.”

He leans in, lips grazing your ear.

“I know how you like it when I kiss that one spot on your thigh.”

You shriek, smacking his chest. “Okay you’re him!!”

He laughs—loud, stupid, proud.

“I hate you,” you mumble into his coat as he wraps his arms around you, lifting you off the ground like you weigh nothing.

“You said I was hot,” he hums smugly. “I’m never letting that go.”

“You’re annoying,” you grumble, snuggling into him anyway. “Still prettier in my head.”

He kisses your forehead. “Good thing I’m also prettier in real life.”

---

By the time he gets you home, you’ve fallen asleep in his arms.

You wake up the next morning with a hangover, a glass of water on your nightstand, and a sticky note on your forehead.

"Handsome Stranger says hi. —Your boyfriend 💙"

You groan, burying your face in the pillow.

God, he’s never gonna let this go.

But honestly?

You wouldn’t have it any other way.

━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━

Geto

You’re drunk.

Like, embarrassingly drunk.

Like, sitting outside the izakaya barefoot with your shoes in your lap and a half-eaten skewer in your hand, slurring into your phone like it’s your long-lost best friend.

“Where the hell is Suguru?” you mumble. “I’m cold. And also beautiful. I deserve a ride.”

A shadow falls over you.

You look up—slowly, dramatically—and see a tall, broad figure standing above you, dark hair in a low bun, wearing all black like he’s auditioning to be a villain in a slow-burn romance anime.

“Get up,” he says. Calm. Deep. Familiar.

You squint. “Oh my god.”

He raises a brow. “Yes?”

“You’re hot,” you whisper.

He sighs. “Baby, it’s me.”

“No,” you say, pointing a threatening skewer at him. “My boyfriend is nicer. He’s sweet. And warm. And smells like sandalwood and chaos. You look like a mafia boss. You probably steal hearts and credit cards.”

Suguru stares at you like he’s questioning all his life choices.

You stand up—well, try to—and nearly fall into him. His arms catch you effortlessly, like it’s muscle memory.

You shove a finger in his chest. “I’m taken. My boyfriend will kill you.”

“Will he?” he asks, humoring you. “Violent type?”

“The worst,” you say proudly. “He once glared at a guy so hard his hairline receded.”

“Sounds terrifying.”

“He is,” you nod seriously. “And he calls me ‘sweetheart’ when he wants something.”

Suguru exhales a laugh, something low and fond. “Okay. What if I prove I’m him?”

You blink at him, considering. “…Fine. Do it.”

He steps close, close enough that his chest brushes yours.

“Two weeks ago, you said if I didn’t let you adopt a cat, you’d put glitter in my shampoo.”

Your jaw drops. “How did you—?!”

“Three days ago, you cried because a dog in a TikTok wore boots.”

“And last night,” he leans in, brushing his lips by your ear, “you told me I’m your favorite ‘tall dark and dangerous’ man, but you’d leave me instantly for Keanu Reeves.”

You gasp. “Suguru?!”

“Yes.”

“OH MY GOD.” You slap his arm. “Why didn’t you say so earlier!?”

“I did.”

You cling to him, dramatic as ever. “I missed you. You smell good. Don’t ever leave me again.”

He lifts you effortlessly, carrying you bridal style toward the car, shaking his head with the softest smile.

“You’re gonna regret all of this in the morning,” he murmurs, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“I regret nothing,” you slur. Then squint up at him. “Wait. Did you really glare a guy’s hairline off?”

“…That one might’ve been a little exaggerated.”

“Still hot.”

---

The next morning, you wake up in Suguru’s hoodie, with water, painkillers, and a sticky note on your phone:

“Mafia Boss says thank you for your compliments. You’re under permanent protection now. —Your real boyfriend 💌”

You bury your face in the pillow.

He’s never letting this go.

And honestly? You’re kind of glad.

━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━

Nanami

You’re sitting on a curb, absolutely wasted.

There’s glitter on your eyelids, chicken nuggets in your purse, and a girl from the bar sobbing beside you because her ex posted a gym selfie.

You offer her a nugget.

“You deserve better,” you tell her. “You’re gorgeous. Your eyebrows are, like, symmetrical. I’d marry you.”

She sniffles, then stares behind you. “Uhh… is that your boyfriend?”

You turn.

And see a tall, broad man walking up, sleeves rolled, tie loose, face unreadable—like God sent a male model from a finance firm to collect wayward souls off the street.

You frown.

“You look expensive,” you say slowly. “Are you one of those… high-end butlers?”

He stops in front of you. “You’re drunk.”

You blink. “How do you know?”

“Because I’m your boyfriend.”

Your jaw drops. “No you’re not. My boyfriend is… emotionally repressed. Wears beige. Has a sexy office job and a judgmental stare.”

Nanami sighs. “That’s me.”

You squint suspiciously. “Okay, if you’re really my boyfriend… what’s my weirdest habit?”

He looks down at you, voice flat. “You talk to plants. You name them. One is called Baby Groot. You cried when he lost a leaf.”

Your lips part. “Only he would know that…”

You wobble to your feet and nearly fall, catching yourself on his very firm chest. You clutch his shirt.

“Oh my god,” you whisper. “You are my sexy office man.”

“Let’s go home,” he mutters, guiding you gently toward his car.

You dig your heels into the ground. “Wait! Waitwaitwait—don’t kidnap me! I have a boyfriend!”

“You just admitted I am your boyfriend.”

“…Oh. Right.” You giggle. “Lucky me.”

He helps you into the passenger seat like you’re fragile cargo. Once seated, you stare at him as he buckles you in.

“You’re so handsome,” you murmur.

“I know.”

“And patient.”

“I have no choice.”

“You’re gonna marry me one day.”

His hands still for half a second.

Then: “I already plan to.”

You pass out smiling.

---

The next morning, you wake up in bed, dressed in your comfiest pajamas, with a glass of water, aspirin, and a note:

"In case you forget: yes, I am your boyfriend. No, I am not a butler. Please hydrate. —Kento"

You giggle into the pillow.

You’re definitely going to marry that man.

━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━

Toji

You are sitting on a barstool, double fisting two very illegally strong cocktails, laughing at absolutely nothing.

You're also very certain that a hot man is trying to kidnap you.

“Ma’am,” the man says, standing in front of you like an irritated wall of muscle. “It’s me.”

You look him up and down.

Black hair. Green eyes. Tall. Scary aura. Tight shirt. Very very hot.

But no. You're loyal.

You squint. “You’re not my boyfriend.”

The man pinches the bridge of his nose. “I picked you up from karaoke an hour ago.”

“Impossible,” you say dramatically. “My boyfriend would never show up to karaoke. He thinks fun is ‘a scam made by broke people.’”

“That’s exactly what I said,” he grunts.

You gasp. “You are hot though. Like, really hot. But listen—my boyfriend? He’s kinda mean, super strong, and terrifying. He could totally kill you.”

He stares.

You continue: “He’s also soooo good in bed. Real monster. Demon behavior. But he’s mine, so—”

Toji grabs your wrist. “Get your ass up.”

You gasp again. “You’re aggressive. Just like him. But he’d never touch me like that in public unless I pissed him off.”

“Oh?” he says, voice flat. “You mean like getting blackout drunk, threatening the DJ, and petting strangers' dogs without asking?”

You tilt your head. “So you do know me...”

“I live with you.”

You lean forward, squinting hard, then grab his face between your hands. “Say something only my boyfriend would say.”

He deadpans, “If you puke in my car again, I’m charging you five grand.”

Your mouth drops open. “Toji?!”

“Finally.”

You throw your arms around his neck. “Where have you been all night?!”

“Chasing your drunk ass down. Again.”

He tosses you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and starts walking to his car.

“Wait,” you slur. “You’re not gonna murder me, right?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“But I’m your babygirl…”

He opens the car door. “You’re my goddamn headache.”

“Love you too!”

---

The next morning, you wake up with a hangover and a bruise on your hip that looks suspiciously like the edge of Toji’s shoulder.

You check your phone.

1 New Message from Toji

📸 [photo of you passed out face-first in his passenger seat, drooling]

Toji: Don’t drink again unless I’m there. Dumbass.

You smile.

Your murderous, scary, mean boyfriend is the best.

━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━

Sukuna

You’re absolutely, irreparably hammered.

How do you know?

Because there is a gorgeous man standing in front of you with piercings, tattoos, and arms you’d like to sit on — and instead of flirting with him, you’re loudly sobbing to your friend.

“He’s gonna kill him. He’s gonna kill the hot guy,” you sniff.

“Who?”

“That guy,” you point at the very man you’re talking about. “He’s hot but he’s not my boyfriend. But he’s gonna die. My boyfriend is crazy.”

The man in question — the hot one — drags a hand down his face. “You’re drunk off your ass.”

You nod solemnly. “Yes. And you should leave before he finds you.”

“I am your boyfriend.”

You blink. “Noooo, my boyfriend has tattoos—”

He lifts his shirt.

“—oh my god you have tattoos,” you whisper.

“And piercings.”

You stare at the twin bars through his eyebrow and the silver glint on his tongue as he smirks.

“My boyfriend has those too!” you giggle. “But also, he’s terrifying. He’d murder you in an alley for touching me.”

He steps closer. “You mean like this?”

He wraps an arm around your waist, pulls you flush against him.

You freeze. “Bold of you, hot stranger.”

He leans in, voice low and dark in your ear. “You bit me last time I tried to wake you up from a drunk nap.”

You gasp. “Sukuna?!”

“Yeah, baby. It’s me.” He presses a kiss to your jaw, sharp canines grazing your skin. “Now let’s get you in the damn car before I dump you in a gutter.”

You wrap your arms around him, eyes wide. “You’re so mean. I love you.”

“I know you do, dumbass.”

---

The next morning, you wake up to an ice pack on your head and a water bottle on your nightstand. Sukuna is sitting at the edge of the bed, scrolling his phone.

“…Did I threaten you again last night?” you mumble.

“You told me you’d report me to the FBI if I didn’t prove I was your boyfriend.”

“Oh god.”

“You also called me ‘Mr. Jail Tattoos’ and asked if I knew I was hot.”

“I hate myself.”

He glances at you with that lazy smirk. “You said, and I quote, ‘I wanna kiss you but my boyfriend’s gonna beat your ass.’”

You pull a pillow over your face. “Did you beat your own ass?”

“Nah.” He shrugs. “But I did let you tackle me onto the bed. You drooled on my neck.”

“…Love you?”

He flicks your forehead. “Be less dumb next time.”

You grin. “That’s rich coming from you, Mr. Jail Tattoos.”

And he does, in fact, tackle you right back.

[nana1344]

GIRLS JUST WANNA HAVE FUN ZAZA ! ꒰ঌ ໒꒱

mission brief your college banned weed, your grades are hanging by a thread, and you definitely did not plan on making your plug your most consistent situationship. w.c 9.8k

risk assessment lots of weed usage and references (this is not based off of #experience for the most part, please be safe & check your sources xx), crack & fluff, female reader, university au, meet-ugly, somewhat ooc characters, misogyny, poor queer assumptions, breaking the 4th wall, city-girl reader, opposites attract, depictions of social anxiety, legally blonde and 2010's anime references, uraume cameo ft! naoya, geto, nanami, choso, toji, sukuna, gojo

a/n the whole concept of a plug romance was ib by my baby @lacyblades's plug gojo series, make sure to check it outt ヾ( ˃ᴗ˂ )◞ • *✰

☆ NAOYA ZENIN

You weren’t expecting much when you decided to message a guy called Naoya Zenin for a dime bag — just some weed, maybe a weird vibe, and a quick escape. But you should’ve known something was off when everyone who smoked weed gave you that same look.

That solemn, pitying, godspeed-soldier look.

One girl even muttered “I'll pray for you” under her breath, which was a bit dramatic. You were getting dope, not going to war. But then again, they all said the same thing: Naoya’s shit is gas, but he’s the worst fucking person you’ll ever meet. You figured they were exaggerating. You’ve dealt with weirdos before. How bad could he be?

Well.

You found out the moment he opened the door with his stupid bleached-blonde hair, gold chain, and a shirt that had “NO SIMPING ZONE” printed on it like a threat. The hallway already reeked of superiority complex and a mango vape pod. “Who's it for?” he asked, not even a hello. 

You blinked. “What?”

“The weed,” he said, waving the baggie like it was a cursed object. “Your boyfriend? Roomie?”

“Uh. Me?” you said slowly. “It’s… for me?”

And it was like you had kicked his ego right in the crotch.

“You smoke?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you smoke weed?”

“…yes.”

“Like, by yourself?”

“What the fuck is this, a survey?”

He squinted at you like you just told him women had human rights. His face pinched, his lip curled, and you could practically hear the internal misogyny revving like a chainsaw. “Look,” he said, setting the baggie down like it was contaminated, “I'm just saying, it’s kinda unattractive. Like, girls who do drugs? Yikes.” 

You stared. “You sell drugs.”

“Yeah, to guys,” he said, like that was the natural order of things. “Or like, chill chicks. Not…” he gestured vaguely at you.

“Not what?”

“Not, you know. Girls.”

It took everything in you to not put him through a wall. You had come into this with the utmost neutrality. A plug is a person, you told yourself. We don’t judge. But here he was, looking like if insecurity were personified by an anime villain with frat boy vibes, actually trying to cancel the deal because you dared to have a uterus and smoke up. “I don't think I'm comfortable selling to you,” he said, arms crossed like he was laying down some moral high ground. “It's just not feminine.”

“Oh no,” you deadpanned. “What if I stop being feminine and grow chest hair. Will my boobs fall off too?” 

Naoya did not laugh. He looked offended on behalf of the concept of gender. 

You stood there for a moment, blinking slowly at this man who would probably cry if a woman outsmoked him, wondering if it was too late to just start growing your own goddamn weed. Or if the hallway cameras would catch you if you kicked him in the shin and ran. 

“I'm not selling to you,” he said again, arms folded. 

“Cool,” you said, turning around. “Then I'm telling every girl on campus to never buy from you again.” 

His eyes bugged. “Wait, what—”

You didn’t wait. Naoya Zenin could keep his opinions and his za. You’d rather go sober than fund his self-inflicted sexism. Besides, rumor had it a guy took gacha bribes, and he didn’t mind if your pronouns were she/her/hitting-that-shit.

—

The house party was loud in that way only bad parties are — bass thumping through your knees, a fog machine making the entire room smell like burnt plastic, and some poor girl crying in the bathroom over a man who probably owned Yeezys. You weren’t even sure why you came. Boredom, maybe. You hadn’t seen anyone you liked in the first ten minutes, and you were seconds from leaving when the crowd split like the red sea and in walked… him.

Naoya Zenin. But not the "no simping zone" shirt Naoya. This was party Naoya. His hair was slicked back, jaw sharp under dim strobe lights, silver chain glinting under a jacket that suspiciously looked like real leather. He smelled like something expensive and infuriating — like pepper and pine and generational wealth. If you didn’t know better, you might’ve said he looked good. If you really didn’t know better, you might’ve said he looked hot. 

But you did know better, so you stood very still and hoped he didn’t see you. Spoiler: he did. He made a beeline straight to you, sauntering like he owned the party, the house, and every sad soul on the aux. “Hey,” he said, voice practically smirking. 

You raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me I'm suddenly woman enough to sell weed to.” He chuckled like you were being so dramatic. “Nah, not for sale.” He pulled a sleek, perfectly rolled doobie from behind his ear.

“This batch is just for testing.”

Testing.

You glanced down at it. It was beautiful. Thick, crisp, neat. Probably rolled with tweezers in a windless room while a choir sang in the background. The DJ switched tracks to something that sounded like a washing machine being sacrificed. You felt your brain scream a little. “Testing?” you echoed.

“Yeah,” he said, stepping closer. You could smell his cologne now — rich boy cinnamon and something spicy enough to hurt your feelings. “Gotta know if it’s worth selling to, you know, guys. Not girls.” He smirked like he was being cute. You wanted to set him on fire.

And yet.

The blunt in his fingers was practically glistening. You were two shots of pineapple vodka in, and the DJ just played the third remix of “Mr. Brightside.” 

Fuck it. You took it from him, muttering a bored “light it.” 

Two hits in and you knew you were screwed. It was good. Like, ruin your night and make you vulnerable to a Zenin good.

And he was watching you far too closely. Like a cat watching a mouse. Or a man who knew he had something you wanted, and was way too smug about it. “So?” he asked, leaning in. His voice was smug, sweetened with that particular brand of you should be lucky i’m even offering you this. “Good enough for the boys?”

You exhaled slowly. You could lie and say it sucked, but your lungs were singing and your brain was on vacation. You knew it. He knew it.

You didn’t answer.

He leaned back, arms crossed, pleased like a cat who caught a bird with one paw. “I knew it,” he said, low. “I saved this batch for you, y’know.” 

You blinked. “You what?”

“Yeah. Thought you’d show up.” he shrugged, too casual, too cocky. “Guess it’s your lucky night.”

You blinked again. Once. Twice. The music in the background dropped and the beat switched again. Someone screamed “this is my song!” when it absolutely wasn’t. You were high, annoyed, and mildly impressed. 

“You’re insufferable,” you muttered, passing the blunt back. He grinned. “But I'm hot.”

…Unfortunately, he was. Even more unfortunate — he knew it. And worst of all? You were definitely getting high off his stash again.

What happened over the next few months could only be described as a slow descent into the most bizarre relationship dynamic you’ve ever had with a dealer. And not relationship like that — God no. Naoya Zenin was still the same infuriating, misogyny-scented man you had ever met. He still made comments like “Women shouldn’t be smoking blunts this fat” and “You’ll ruin your lungs, babe, you should stick to edibles like the other girls.” But you? You were different. Or at least that’s what he decided in whatever part of his ego that functioned as a moral compass.

You were his little test subject. His “control group.” 

“I just need someone dumb enough to be honest,” he’d say, handing you a fresh joint before anyone else got their hands on the batch. 

And somehow, that translated to: you always got the first roll. You always got the stronger shit. You always got the nice papers, the flavored ones, the ones with little sparkles or kittens on them.

Hello Kitty rolling papers. You held up the pack once, squinting at it. “You bought this ironically?” He didn’t even look at you, just shrugged from his desk, hoodie pulled over his hair like he wasn’t in his own damn dorm room. “Females like you go feral over that stuff,” he muttered. Then, quieter: 

“I saw it in your story once. The pink ones. Said they were cute.”

You blinked. “You saw my story?”

“No.”

You nodded, lips twitching. “Right.” 

He kept pretending to scroll on his phone, even though you saw the screen was just his locked home page. Meanwhile, you were curled up in the middle of his very expensive mattress — firm, clean, annoyingly good quality — exhaling smoke toward the ceiling while some painfully curated “chill” playlist stumbled through a loop of Kendrick, Yeat, and occasional anime lofi covers that you knew weren’t there when you first met him. “Did you just shuffle a Youtube lo-fi mix into this?” you asked once, high and curious.

“No. It's just…Japanese trap.”

“It's literally the Yarichin Bitch Club—”

“Shut up.”

He never sat on the bed. Always lurked in the corner, leaned on his stupid ergonomic chair like he didn’t wanna be caught enjoying your company. And every time you asked him why he was standing like an NPC, he grumbled some shit about “Not getting comfortable around girls.” But you never caught the subtext.

Naoya Zenin, feminist icon? Absolutely not. Naoya Zenin, a man whose internalized sexism was now actively fighting his deeply repressed crush on you? Every single day.

“I'm not doing this because I like you,” he reminded you once, voice clipped, as he passed you a custom pre-roll sealed in a Hello Kitty ziplock. 

You didn’t even look up from your phone. “Who said you did?”

He opened his mouth. Shut it. 

"You females are so confusing,” he muttered.

You snorted. “Good thing I’m just your lab rat then.”

His jaw clicked. You didn’t notice — because, as always, you had no idea. But Naoya? Naoya was drowning in the best strain of delusion you’d ever smoked.

☆ GETO SUGURU

The first thing you noticed when you met Geto was his hair.

Thick, dark, and pulled into a glossy, mid-back bun that would put half your Pinterest saves to shame. It shimmered under the light, almost too good to be real — like someone had digitally rendered it for an ad campaign about hair-care. 

You’d walked into his place half-prepared to meet a woman. 

Blame the name. Suguru sounded soft to your tired brain, and when your friend said “bro’s got that gas, you’ll know by the hair,” you assumed a goddess of a plug — tall, mysterious, beautiful — would be waiting to bless you with carefully grown hydro and no small amount of mommy energy.

So when you entered, saw the figure from behind — tall, yes. Beautiful, obviously. Long hair, swinging as he reached for something on the table — you went, “Oh my god, your hair is gorgeous, girl.”

And then he turned around.

Oh.

Purple eyes. A sharp jawline that made your heart do unspeakable things. Black tunnel plugs in his ears — big ones, glossy, catching the light just right. He blinked, paused, and then smiled slowly. Warmly. 

“Thank you,” he said, voice low and silken and not at all belonging to the she/her you’d crafted in your head. “But I'm not a girl.”

You wanted to die, like right there. Crawl under the nearest coffee table and remain a fossil. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” you blurted, heat rushing to your ears. “I didn’t — I mean — your hair — I wasn’t trying to be weird, I just thought —” He laughed, full and rich, head tipping back as he tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. “Nah, you’re good,” he said. “That's a new one, though.”

You were not good. You were actively malfunctioning, trying to recalibrate from cool girl buying weed to accidental misgenderer who couldn’t shut up.

“I mean, like, plugs — you’ve got plugs and you’re the plug? Kinda poetic,” you tried, grasping for levity, for a joke, anything to move past your humiliation. 

That got another laugh. You could’ve sworn the floor dipped under you. 

“Yeah?” he mused. “Maybe I'm just really committed to the brand.” You nodded too fast, clearing your throat as you pulled out your phone like it would protect you. 

He handed you the bag — neatly sealed, vacuum-tight, labeled with a tiny sticker that said “pink runtz” in his neat handwriting. Everything about it was extremely polite. Even the way he held it out to you, like you were at a boutique counter and he was passing over perfume samples. “Here you go,” he said. “Enjoy.” 

You took it with both hands. (Why both hands? What were you, receiving a family heirloom??) “Thank you,” you mumbled. “And again, uh… sorry for the whole…” you gestured vaguely to his entire existence.

“No problem,” he said easily. “See you later, girl.”

You blinked. Did a little double-take.

…Girl? 

Wait. Was he gay?

He had to be, right? The energy was just too smooth, too non-threatening, too effortless. Plus, the hair, the plugs, the smile, the way he said girl — it all fit. Yeah. Definitely gay. Sweet, gorgeous, gay plug.

…Right?

Meanwhile, Geto watched you leave, eyes still soft at the corners, thumb brushing idly across his palm where your fingers had almost grazed his. “Cute,” he murmured to himself. Then added, under his breath, “Wish she’d called me babe instead.”

But there’s always next time.

But the next time you dropped by Geto’s, you didn’t come alone. You brought Uraume.

They were tall, pale in that “Victorian ghost but hot” way, and wore a structured, monochrome fit that made you feel underdressed even though you were just here for a refill. Uraume moved like they were born inside an art gallery — all grace and precision and a deep-rooted meh to the chaos of the world. You’d known them since undergrad and always thought they and Geto would hit it off. Same aura, same cool, collected, possibly-haunt-their-own-loft-in-Berlin energy. 

“You’ll love him,” you said on the walk over. “Gorgeous, chill, and he called me girl unironically.��� 

Uraume gave you a side-eye that could shear bone. “You’re trying to set me up with your plug?”

“Not set up — just, like, meet. He's gay. I think. You’ll see.”

Uraume didn’t respond, but their silence was pointed.

Geto was expecting you. Well — you and “someone else,” though the someone was vague enough that he’d let himself entertain the delusion that it might be a cousin. a roommate. A dog. 

But then the door opened, and there you were. Smiling wide, eyes bright, excitement making your voice bubble up like soda. “Hey!” you chirped. “Brought a friend!” Behind you, Uraume stepped in, immediately scanning the apartment with an expression that could only be described as polite suspicion. 

Geto stood, blinking once. He recognized beauty when he saw it — Uraume was undeniably attractive, angular in a sharp, clean way that made his chest instinctively straighten. But that was about it. No spark, no interest, no gravity. His attention flicked back to you, as it always did. You were laughing at something stupid. You always laughed at something stupid. God, it was going to kill him. 

Small talk ensued. You made introductions, Uraume kept their hands folded like they were here for a health inspection. Finally, they turned to you with a very pointed question.

“…Where’s the gay?”

Geto froze mid-baggie. You looked confused.

“What?”

“The plug,” Uraume clarified, gesturing vaguely to Geto. “You said he was gay.”

You blinked. Turned to Geto. He blinked. Then said, very calmly, very apologetically:

“I'm not.”

Silence. 

Like full, sitcom-record-scratch silence. 

Uraume’s brow twitched. Geto cleared his throat. 

You… looked like someone had just pulled the rug out from under your brain.

“But — the ‘see you later, girl’ — the hair — the —”

Geto held up a hand, trying not to laugh. “Okay, first of all, I say that to people. Second of all…”

He paused, looking at you. And for one millisecond, the air changed.

“…I don’t really talk like that to anyone else.”

You stared. Uraume stared. Geto stared right at you.

Oh.

You wanted to rewind the whole interaction. Crawl backward out the door. Instead, you made a high-pitched noise that sounded like a mouse being stepped on. Uraume, bless their elegant heart, sighed deeply. “So you weren’t trying to set me up?”

“I mean… i was,” you said weakly. “But—”

“With a man who’s been undressing you with his eyes since we walked in.”

You almost choked. Geto made a sound that could’ve been a cough, a laugh, or help.

“I — I haven’t —”

“You have,” Uraume replied, adjusting their collar with zero chill. “It's fine. I get it. I'm attractive, but unfortunately I have no tits. Tragic, really.” Geto finally let out a small, helpless laugh. “You’re very attractive,” he said. “Just not really my type.”

“Yeah,” Uraume said, smirking a little now. “Your type’s clearly flustered and wearing mismatched socks.” 

You looked down. Kill me. 

Uraume turned toward the door. “I'll wait outside before I see something traumatic. Thanks for the entertainment.” And just like that, they ghosted out, as elegantly as they’d entered. Leaving you and Geto alone. You opened your mouth to apologize. Or clarify. Or die. But Geto just smiled. Soft. A little amused, a little not.

“…For the record,” he said, walking over to hand you the refill — perfectly packed, like always — “I liked the idea of a refill. Not the setup.” 

Your fingers brushed. 

“But,” he added, leaning just a little closer, “If you ever wanna set yourself up instead…”

You blinked. He winked. You may never recover.

☆ NANAMI KENTO

You’d been waiting under the ugly stone archway behind the Humanities building for nearly twenty minutes, pacing and checking your phone like a teenager abandoned after a school dance. Your guy — well, your friend’s guy who swore the plug was “chill, reliable, and hot if you’re into geeks” — was supposed to meet you here. Codeword: blue eyes hypnotize.

Very subtle. Very anonymous. Very fucking annoying.

So when a man in a tailored suit walked up the steps with a suitcase, you automatically moved out of his way. He didn’t look like someone who was here to facilitate illicit extracurriculars. He looked like a tax auditor. A hitman. The guy who gently but firmly fires you with a severance packet. “Excuse me,” he said, voice precise and polite. “Are you here for the… meetup?” 

You blinked. “The what?” 

He glanced at your shoes, then at your phone, then back at you like he was mentally cross-referencing a checklist. 

“…Blue eyes hypnotize?” he said, like it physically pained him. 

“Oh my god.” you took an instinctive step back. “You’re the plug?”

He sighed, like he’d been asked to commit a crime against his will. “No. I’m not the —” he paused, clearly wrestling with something deep and moral. “I'm… covering for someone.” You stared. He didn’t elaborate. He was wearing an ID card around his neck that read Nanami Kento, Head Delegate – UN Model Council. 

So he’d just come back from MUN. You felt like you’d stumbled into a BBC drama where the intern accidentally does espionage. 

“Are you sure you’re in the right place?” you asked. “Because I was told blue eyes —”

“Couldn’t make it today,” Nanami cut in. “He said — and allow me to quote — ‘Lol can u pass it to the hot girl, she’ll know, just say the code thing xoxo.’”

You winced. “That tracks.” 

He nodded, grim. “I debated ignoring both of you.”

Then, without further preamble, he knelt down, set his suitcase on the grimy pavement, popped it open like he was about to give a TED talk — and began removing documents. Notebooks. Binders. Printed policy drafts. A laminated flowchart titled Conflict Resolution and Drug Decriminalization in East Asia. You stared in silence as he pulled out a sealed envelope marked “last will & testament” and tucked it under his arm like it was a receipt.

Finally, from somewhere beneath the bureaucratic detritus, he extracted a moderately crumpled ziplock bag. It looked wildly out of place in the otherwise pristine, corporate-ass briefcase. He carefully dusted it off with a cloth (a cloth) before handing it to you like he was passing off a court summons. A homemade QR code was slapped on the back, printed on sticker paper. “You can scan here,” he said. “Please include the transaction ID in the note.” 

You took it slowly. Reverently. 

“…Thanks?”

“Don’t thank me,” he said flatly. “I had a debate round scheduled for now. Instead I'm standing here, holding someone else’s will, handing you illicit substances in front of a garbage bin.”

“You… seem very responsible for someone who knows a guy like blue eyes.”

He scoffed. “I wouldn't say I know him. We’re roommates, unfortunately. He once tried to convince our landlord that the leak in our ceiling was a portal to the astral plane. She gave us a three-day notice.”

“And you’re covering for him?”

He looked like he wanted to die. 

“He told me you looked ‘docile and non-threatening.’ I assumed that meant you wouldn’t stab me.”

“Docile?” you echoed. “What, did he send a photo?” 

He didn’t answer, which was, in itself, an answer. 

A long pause. Both of you just kind of standing there. Neither one of you exactly thrilled about the situation. Finally, you shifted. 

“Well. I guess this is… it.”

“Mm.”

“You gonna do this again?”

“Absolutely not.”

You nodded. Respectable. As you turned to leave, Nanami called out:

“He'll be back next time. I sincerely hope.” 

You raised a hand. “Thanks again… delegate Nanami.”

He exhaled like it physically hurt to hear that out loud. Behind you, his voice trailed faintly into the air:

“…I really need new roommates.”

—

But really, you weren’t expecting him again. Not the man in the wrinkled button-down and loosened tie, sleeves shoved up like he’d been mid-negotiation or a breakdown — same difference — and somehow still smelling like freshly baked cookies and weed. It took you a second to register. The flour-dusted briefcase. The weary expression. The gold name badge peeking out of his chest pocket like it had been forgotten there weeks ago. “Delegate Nanami?” you said, bewildered.

He flinched like you’d thrown a dart into his spine. “Not… officially,” he muttered, voice hoarse, eyes scanning the small courtyard like he was checking for witnesses. “This is strictly a freelance appearance.”

You blinked, then looked down. In his hands: a small, clear plastic box tied with a ridiculous pink ribbon. Inside it, two types of cookies — one set perfectly shaped and golden, the other darker, denser, with a suspiciously herbal aroma even through the box. Your brows lifted. “You baked these?”

“Unfortunately,” he said. “A last-minute request.”

You took them gently, inspecting the sticker on the side — a wonky heart with love n’ nip, xoxo scrawled in a handwriting you’d never seen before. You turned the box over and saw the same homemade QR sticker from last time, this one stuck crookedly, like it had been applied mid-crisis. 

“These from… ‘blue eyes hypnotize’?” you asked, voice skeptical. 

Nanami closed his eyes like you’d recited a slur. “Yes. He thought it would be a good ‘seasonal campaign.’ He said it was ‘low effort, high whimsy.’ Then he went to get his hair frosted and asked me to ‘deliver the goods with love and mystery.’” 

You blinked again. “I thought you were just filling in last time?” 

Nanami opened his eyes. They were bloodshot in the way that suggested not smoking but being around too much smoke.

“…I got roped into baking. He said people were more likely to buy it if it was homemade and ethically sourced.”

You stifled a laugh, then paused. Then looked at the box again. “…Wait, these are two different batches?” He tensed. Subtly, barely perceptible. But you caught it. 

“Yes,” he said slowly. “One is… catnip. The other’s regular.”

You tilted your head. “Why?”

“In case…” he cleared his throat. “You didn’t want the first kind. Or wanted both. Variety is important.” 

You stared. “Did you bake two types for everyone?”

He didn’t answer, which was an answer. 

Your lips parted just slightly, breath caught between amusement and something warmer. You noticed the way he wouldn’t quite meet your eyes, how he kept smoothing his hand over the lid of the briefcase, the tension in his shoulders rigid like he was balancing a full tray on his back. He hadn’t shaved. There was flour in his hair, and one of his shirt buttons was mismatched. 

“You look like you’ve been through hell,” you said softly. He gave a one-shouldered shrug, the corner of his mouth twitching. “I've had worse Thursdays.”

You held the box up between you. “These are really cute. And they smell amazing.” 

Nanami looked like he was torn between relief and abject embarrassment. “Thank you,” he said stiffly. “It was mostly Gojo’s idea.”

“Who?”

He blinked. “Blue eyes.”

Oh. You stared a second longer. 

“So… he has a name?”

Nanami didn’t even flinch this time. “Unfortunately.”

You smiled, crooked and fond. “Well,” you said, “You’re a much better cupid.”

He looked at you like you’d cursed him. Then immediately broke eye contact to pretend to re-check the payment QR code, even though nothing had changed. You watched the way his fingers fiddled with the sticker again, then stopped, pressing the corner down like it mattered. “…If you ever want non-catnip cookies,” he said, carefully, like testing the edge of a knife, “I have a standing recipe. No obligation. No… ribbons.” 

Your eyes widened slightly. Was that an invitation? Or a bakery recommendation? But he wouldn’t look up. Instead, he gave you a brisk nod, already turning away like he hadn’t just panic-confessed a crush via cookie code. You stood there, cookies in hand, heart full of sugar and smoke, watching him retreat like a man fleeing the scene of a very gentle crime.

It took you a full minute before you laughed to yourself. 

Then you texted your friend.

you [2:39pm]: blue eyes is not the hot one. it’s his roommate. holy shit.

☆ CHOSO KAMO

You were all for supporting local businesses — especially if they bloomed out of someone’s dorm bathroom and gave you a ten-minute high from a single puff.

You’d heard of him before. The plant guy. New transfer. Lowkey, didn’t talk much, wore hoodies with the sleeves chewed through, never made eye contact during attendance. Kamo, someone said. Or maybe that was just the name listed on the label of the ziplock bags he apparently sold. A friend of a friend vouched for him — said he grew it himself, only used filtered water, and played classical music near the pots “because it helps the terpenes flourish.” You didn’t know what that meant, you just knew that when this mutual passed you a single gram with the warning “this shit might make you see your own birth,” you paid attention.

So when the same friend texted you a barely readable address, you expected to meet some scrawny countryside kid with glasses and dirt under his nails. You even rehearsed your polite city-slicker voice. “Thank you, this is so fresh,” and all that. What you didn’t expect was for the door to swing open and reveal a man who looked like he’d just stepped off the cover of some indie underground zine titled ‘men who could ruin your life and forget your name.’

Tall, built like he’d been carved by someone clinically horny, shirt hanging off one shoulder like it had given up, collarbone pierced — pierced, — with a silver barbell that glinted when he moved. He had a black tattoo running sideways down his nose, and those lips. Full, slightly chapped, plush enough to be distracting. Soft brown eyes that barely blinked, droopy and disinterested under a smudge of lavender eyeshadow, like he’d done his makeup in the dark and didn’t care to fix it. He blinked once. 

“Hey.” His voice was low, like a gravel path after rain. 

You opened your mouth and forgot the words. 

He stepped aside to let you in, and you caught a whiff of something — clean laundry, basil, and just the faintest trace of lemon body wash. No way, you thought. No fucking way this is Kamo. 

“You want water or somethin’?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck, head tilting a little. “I made banana bread this morning. There’s still a slice left, I think.”  You stared. Banana bread? He blinked again, slightly slower this time. “You okay?”

You walked in like you were sleepwalking.

His dorm was not what you imagined a weed grower’s to be, not even close. No Bob Marley posters, no messy ashtrays, no vape clouds. Instead, the place was warm, cozy, with sunlight filtered through gauzy curtains that made everything look soft. His desk was cluttered with seed packets, plant cuttings in glasses of water, a very worn-out book called “Cannabis for dummies” and another called “The botany of desire.” And from the bathroom, you could faintly see green. Actual green, like a jungle was growing in his bathtub. 

“The temp in there’s perfect,” he said casually, catching your line of sight. “Humidity’s the trickiest part. But once I got the cycle right, everything started thriving.” 

And then — as if he hadn’t just committed several crimes with that body and this voice — he leaned over the mini fridge and pulled out a ziplock, weighed it with one hand, and passed it to you. 

“This one’s blueberry kush, real sweet. Might make your ears ring a little.” 

You didn’t know whether to thank him or to cry. He looked at you again, head slightly cocked. “You good?”

You nodded slowly. Because here he was — this beautiful, pierced, sleepy-eyed plant nerd who baked banana bread, listened to ABBA (You swear ‘Gimme Gimme Gimme’ was playing faintly from his bluetooth speaker), and handed you weed like it was homemade granola. None of the rumors did him justice.

He didn’t flirt, didn’t brag, didn’t even seem to know what he looked like. And that made it all ten times worse. Because what were you supposed to do with a plug who looked like temptation and acted like a librarian? You clutched the baggie like it was fragile glass and said the only thing your brain could conjure.

“…This smells amazing.”

He smiled — smiled, like the sun peeking through a lazy sky. “Thanks. I can text you when I got more.” You nodded, then tripped over the doorway on your way out. ABBA played on —

And Choso squeaked.

An actual, involuntary, horrifically real squeak the second you closed his door and your footsteps padded down the hall, fading like the last four minutes of an ABBA song that’d just ruined his life. And he stood there, in his socks — the ones with holes in them — baggie still dangling from one hand, half-eaten banana bread slice in the other, mind replaying everything he’d just said like it was being beamed through his skull with a megaphone labeled you fucking blew it.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. He wasn’t supposed to just freeze and panic and act like the most boring man to ever walk the earth. He was supposed to be cool. Show you his homemade record shelf and his boots — his boots, god, the fifteen different pairs of heavy, clunky, beautiful black boots all the way from his hometown. He even dusted them this morning. He wanted to explain how each one had its own story: market day boots, rainy day boots, festival boots. One pair still had a faint smudge of dried mud from a music fair he went to at fifteen. He wanted to offer you tea, tell you about the dried hibiscus he had steeping in a jar in the corner, and how his mum used to say it’d make your cheeks glow. But what had he said instead?

“Do you want banana bread?”

Fucking banana bread, like the most basic thing in the world. In his hometown, every lad could make banana bread blindfolded and drunk. It was the first thing boys learned to make when they had their first real crush. 

And now you probably thought he was just like every other wide-eyed, weed-growing loser in the city, trying to butter up his buyers with carbs and eye contact. 

Choso sank onto his bed, face in his hands. His sheets still smelled like lemongrass detergent, and the faintest whiff of you clung to the air — perfume, shampoo, city.

Because you. You, with your soft voice and effortless smile. You who had saved him from a capitalism-induced crisis four months ago when he was standing in a café, overwhelmed by a chalkboard menu that listed a drink called "dirty chai" that cost more than his weekly groceries. Back home, tea was just tea. Simple, warm, honest. But he had been cold. He had been lost. 

And then — then you’d appeared behind him like some ethereal campus fairy, leaned in and said, “If you like green tea, maybe try the matcha? It’s less confusing than it sounds.”

And then you were gone.

You didn’t even stay to see how red he turned, or how he repeated that order in a near-whisper and clutched the paper cup like a relic. He'd gone home and told his brother that someone helped him, a girl, a kind one. He never caught your name, but your smile — your voice — that stuck. 

Matcha. That was what you gave him. That was what he ordered every time he came to that café, even though he could steep better tea with his eyes closed at home. Just in case he ran into you again. But you never showed up.

Until today.

You — you, the girl who made him believe the city might have good people after all — had walked into his room asking for zaza. His zaza. And you smiled at him like you remembered none of that and everything all at once. So casually. Like you hadn’t tilted his entire axis four months ago and then reappeared, smelling like laundry and looking like a dream. And now you were gone again, and he didn’t even tell you about the purple rice he was growing in his windowsill or the wild strawberries in a shoebox under the sink. 

He flopped backwards on the bed, groaning into the sheets.

“Stupid. Stupid.”

Well. Maybe next time, he’d get it right. He’d make you real tea, show you the boots, maybe play you something on his clunky little record player. He didn’t know much about city girls. But he knew he liked this one. And he’d do better. Just wait.

☆ TOJI FUSHIGURO

You were sent as bait.

Not in so many words, but you knew. You knew from the way they all nudged each other and giggled like hyenas when you agreed to “do the pickup this time.” You knew from the way someone said, “Toji only deals with girls, haha,” and you really knew when another added, “Just act pretty and you’ll be fine.”

Gross, objectively. And also a very bold assumption about your gender identity, frankly, but you were too bored and too curious to turn it down. 

Which is why you were now sitting on a faded public park bench with peeling red paint and disturbing Mickey Mouse graffiti — eyes darting toward every approaching silhouette like prey — waiting for what your friend described as “the guy who looks like he could eat a helicopter.” You later realize that he does not look like he could eat a helicopter. He looks like he already did, and is now looking for dessert.

Toji Fushiguro approaches like a goddamn myth in motion. Tall, built like someone who’s been bench pressing prison inmates, dressed in head-to-toe black like he’d gotten lost on the way to a mob funeral, with scars you didn’t want to imagine the origin of. He had the sort of face that could terrify a priest and seduce a nun. And you? You just sat there, fully convinced you were about to die. But then—

“Are those… purple?” he asked, pointing at your nails. 

His voice was quiet. Too quiet. Not gravelly, not sultry — awkward. Almost bashful. 

You blinked. He blinked back. He sat down, and the bench groaned like it was filing a complaint with god. You watched him fumble with something in his massive hands, and you noticed the way he didn’t look at you — not really. More like next to you. His eyes darted everywhere else. The grass, the paint peeling on the bench, the weird drawing of Mickey Mouse’s warped little face near your thigh. He cleared his throat. 

“Uh, suits you,” he said, nodding vaguely in your direction. “The purple. It's nice.”

Okay. What.

This was the guy who was supposedly a womanizer? This was the plug people were too scared to deal with unless they were certified bombshells? This man who looked like a live-action anime villain and moved like he could break your ribs with a hug was out here complimenting your nails like he was mustering every ounce of courage he had not to combust? He finally handed you the goods — in iridescent, pearlescent, holographic wrapping. Something that looked like it was bought from a dollar store for birthday party favors. 

You blinked again. 

“Uh, sorry about the, uh—” he gestured at the bag vaguely. “Didn’t have tape. So I just, you know. Wrapped it.” 

You held it like it was a gift, because it was. Because Toji had just handed you a space cake wrapped like a birthday present and was now standing up, brushing nonexistent dust from his pants like he’d just had a tea party and wasn’t quite sure what came next. 

“Okay, uh. Thanks for coming. Sorry if that was — um. I mean, enjoy,” he stammered, and then—

He bowed. 

Full, chest-folded, bowed. And then walked away like he’d just embarrassed himself in front of royalty. 

You just sat there, high on confusion. Maybe he really had never seen a woman before. Or maybe — more likely — the stares and the glares and the resting murder face was just a cover. Because the truth was… Toji couldn’t smile without looking like he was trying to stop one from happening. And if he did, it’d probably scare someone anyway. So he’d rather not. But he tried. He tried. He asked about your nails, and you couldn’t help but smile. Maybe you’d volunteer to do the pickups more often. You had a nail appointment next week, after all.

But before all of this, Toji was in a jungle gym. Let’s just get that part out of the way.

He was crouched awkwardly between two plastic slides, head ducked under a bar that was clearly not meant for full-grown adult men, let alone him, all six-foot-something of pure ex-hitman-turned-therapy-fundraiser bulk. His knees were digging into damp, sand-caked rubber flooring, and he was trying — trying — not to hyperventilate while giving himself a pep talk. 

Okay. Okay, okay, okay. Just… be normal. Be casual. Ask how she is. Don’t stare. Don’t say anything about her eyes. Or her hands. Or her voice. Or anything.

Toji squeezed his eyes shut. Fuck. it was happening again. His mind flung itself back into the past — high school, senior year, school corridors lit with the aggressive hum of fluorescent lighting and the nervous tap-tap-tap of his big-ass converse against linoleum floors. He'd had a plan, dammit. A plan. Talk to girls, practice conversations, get better at the social thing, and finally approach Sydney, the sunny blonde in his homeroom with that annoying little sparkle in her eyes that made him feel like a dumbass every time she said hi.

Except.

Except, hormones are a bitch.

What started as “just practice” spiraled very quickly into a bizarre PR nightmare where Toji found himself talking to literally every girl but Sydney. Out of anxiety. Out of panic. Out of a weird, rabid need to rehearse and re-rehearse and never get to the main act.

By graduation, Sydney was dating someone named Nate, and Toji was The Guy Who Hits On Everyone But Doesn’t Know How To Finish A Sentence. 

A womanizer, a creep, someone no guy would leave their sister alone with — not because he did anything wrong, but because he was too awkward to do anything right. 

The social anxiety diagnosis came a year later and the therapy bills came after. Then came the dealing, and then came the reputation. The funny thing? 

He never liked dealing. 

He hated being seen, hated having to look people in the eye, hated the goddamn small talk. He tried to automate it, for god’s sake — had a spreadsheet, QR codes, fucking inventory notes on his phone — anything to avoid actual human connection. And now here he was, hiding in a goddamn jungle gym because you’re too fucking pretty. His pulse thudded in his ears. He was clutching the baggie like it was a ring box, knees shaking. 

You hadn’t even done anything. Hadn’t flirted, hadn’t asked, hadn’t even looked at him too long. Just sat on that bench like you were built from sun and honey and a little bit of whatever God put into women he wanted men to lose their entire minds over.

He tried to regulate his breathing.

Breathe in for four. Hold. Out for eight. Do not throw up. Do not ask her about her zodiac sign. Do not speak unless spoken to.

Toji crouch-shuffled out of the jungle gym like a grown man doing the walk of shame, palms sweaty, jaw clenched. You were still there, reading something on your phone, bag slung lazily over your shoulder, legs crossed just enough to be intimidating without meaning to. Your nails were painted. Purple.

He short-circuited a little. 

“Uh, nice nails,” he blurted, voice gravelled and quiet and too fast. You looked up, startled. He froze. 

Smooth.

His fingers twitched. Maybe he should just hand you the ziploc and run like usual. Say nothing, keep it clean, keep it simple. That's what everyone else got. The runners. The girlfriends. The random brave strangers who’d come up all smiles and try to flirt — not because they liked him, but because they thought it’d get them an extra gram. But you… you asked him how he was. Just once. 

How are you, Toji? 

Like it mattered. Like he mattered.

He cleared his throat and sat beside you like the world might split open and swallow him whole. The bench creaked like it was offended by his weight. 

He hated this. Hated being in his own skin, hated how his resting face looked like he was glaring, when really, he was just trying to think of something polite to say that didn’t involve complimenting your entire genetic lineage.

“Uh, I wrapped it,” he muttered, handing you the baggie with the iridescent paper. “Didn’t have… tape. So. Yeah.” 

You took it like it was a birthday present. Smiled at him. And for a second, the social noise inside his head dimmed.

Toji stood up. His palms were sweaty again.

He bowed. Bowed, like you were royalty. Like that was the only socially acceptable thing he could think of to do. And when he turned and walked away — stiffly, hurriedly, like he was being chased by a ghost — he swore he’d never let anyone send someone else in his place again.

Not when you were the one showing up.

☆ RYOMEN SUKUNA

The sun was a bitch today. You knew that because your thighs were sticking to the plastic bus stop bench, your pits were questioning their loyalty to your deodorant, and your brother had sent you to do his dirty work like this was the goddamn hunger games. 

“Just go, it’s been paid for. Don’t make eye contact. Don’t say thank you.”

Oh sure. Easy. Send your sister out into the world of mysterious substance exchange like you’re not the one who watched her cry over the scrapped ending of Legally Blonde less than two hours ago. 

So here you were. Sweaty, confused, a little delirious from secondhand heatstroke. And then you saw him. Which is to say, him.

Tattoos snaking up both arms and his face — his fucking face — like he had crawled out of a graphic novel and got bored halfway through. Piercings glinting in the sunlight, bleached hair pulled back in a way that was supposed to look effortless but very much screamed intentional. Shirt unbuttoned halfway like it was doing him a favor. That’s not a dealer, you thought. That's a Greek god in cargo pants. But no, that’s exactly who he was. “Yo,” he said, already digging into the backpack slung across one shoulder. 

“Your brother told me indica, but like — he said nighttime indica, not couchlock, which’s basically the same thing, but it depends if he meant something like the pink runtz or more like a platinum OG — wait, do you know if he likes purple terps? ‘Cause I have this one that tastes like fucking grape medicine but in a good way. Or, like, there’s one that hits you with dry mouth fast but it’s good for sleep—”

He kept going. And going, listing things like you were supposed to understand the periodic table of weed strains. You nodded, lips parted slightly in what you thought was a neutral expression but was probably closer to early-onset panic. You could feel your heart pulsing in your neck. Your mouth was dry. Or wet? Both? You couldn’t tell. Everything was damp and hot and stressful. Finally, after what felt like three hours but was probably three minutes, you swallowed and said—

“I don't know.” 

Barely a whisper. Shaky, a little croaky, possibly traumatized. “I don't… I don't know what kind. I wasn't told.”

Sukuna — you didn’t know that was his name yet, but it was giving Sukuna — stopped. His eyes twitched. As a matter of fact, his whole body twitched. He stared at you like he’d just been hit by a midsummer tax audit. 

And then he let out the loudest, most visceral groan of human exhaustion ever recorded. Head tilted back, hands shoved through his hair, a full-body sigh that made birds scatter and God turn the sun up just to be petty.

“Bro, what the fuck.” he muttered, pacing. “I’ve got six more stops, two of them in the fucking dorms — do you know how long it takes to get past security there? Do you even know what a hybrid is? Do you know why we don’t say thank you?”

You blinked. Sukuna blinked. 

Silence.

And Sukuna knew today was going to be bullshit the second he saw your face instead of your brother’s. Your brother, who was usually all business. No stalling, no “wait I forgot the cash” antics. Just a head nod and a quick exit. Dependable, dry, vaguely annoying. 

You, however, were neither dry nor dependable. 

You were currently hyperventilating under a Jacaranda tree and babbling something about Harvard law school. He watched you for a moment, expression somewhere between a squint and a grimace, hands on his hips like he was preparing to build a shed or bury a body.

“…Are you quoting Legally Blonde right now?”

You paused mid-rant, sniffling. “I was watching it, like, two hours ago, and now I'm here. And I don’t even smoke, my brother just said go get the thing, and then you started talking about…couch-something? And I’m not even wearing proper shoes for this—”

Sukuna rolled his eyes, not because he didn’t care, but because that was his only way to delay a full-blown fuck me moment. He had heard of you before — vague mentions during other deals. Always framed around inconvenience:

“Can’t leave her alone too long,”

“Nah, she’s at home today, can’t risk the smell,”

“My sister's around, so not now.”

He expected a brat. A teen. Someone with a 100k Snapscore, a rhinestone phone case and a visible need for supervision. He did not expect someone basically his age, sitting in a puddle of heat and anxiety, with the kind of eyes that made you look twice and a mouth that couldn’t stop moving even if it wanted to. 

And for reasons he did not care to investigate, Sukuna found himself…listening. Not fake listening, actually listening.

Like when you started monologuing about how Elle Woods was judged just for wearing pink, and how your brother was now pulling the same kind of injustice by sending you into the unknown like a sacrifice to the zaza gods. “He said don’t say thank you, like that’s normal,” you sniffed, pacing now. “Am I supposed to just grab the bag and go? What if it’s the wrong one? Is this a test?”

“It's not a test,” Sukuna muttered, arms crossed, watching you with a half-lidded stare.

“I can't fail.”

“I'm not grading you.”

“But you could.”

He sighed, dragging a hand over his face, eyes twitching when you hiccuped in the middle of your next word. This was a nightmare. He checked his phone. Four missed deliveries. Fuck. “Call him again,” he barked, jutting his chin toward your phone.

“He’s not picking uppp,” you wailed, already dialing anyway. “And when he does, I'm gonna commit fratricide. That’s legal, right?” 

Then — like divine intervention — your brother answered. And immediately, your hand flew to your chest, your lip trembled, and your voice cracked like a war orphan on the verge of a ballad. “I don't know what to ask for, I didn't ask to be born into this family—!”

Sukuna winced as your voice pitched three octaves higher.

The call was short. Some loud cursing, some laughter, a few insults, and a loud “Stop fucking crying, Jesus, just get the platinum—” and that was that. You hung up and slumped like your skeleton gave out. “Here.” Sukuna shoved the baggie toward you. “Platinum OG. Sleep strain, nice body high. Pairs well with girl tears and whatever the hell you got going on in there.”

You didn’t even look up, just took it. And used the corner of his shirt — his shirt — to dab your damp lashes. He stared at you, down at your hand, then back at you.

“…Are you crying into my clothes right now?”

You nodded. “They’re cotton.” 

His jaw clicked. He wanted to groan. He wanted to throw his phone in a lake. Instead, he let out a long, nasal exhale. You looked up at him finally, cheeks flushed, eyelashes stuck together, still holding the damn bag in one hand like it might bite you. “Thank you,” you whispered, despite your brother’s explicit instructions. 

“You’re not supposed to say that,” he grunted. You smiled, faint and ruined and puffy. “I'll say sorry, too, if you stick around.”

And something in him — something warped and inconvenient — twitched. Because he could see it now. That part of him that usually wanted to sprint the fuck out of social interactions? Quiet. His eyes lingered on your face, your lashes, the smudge of stress-sweat and heat that made you glow. 

He sighed again. He could speedrun those other deliveries. Maybe swing by later. 

For fraternal check-ins, obviously. Not for you. Not because he liked you or anything.

☆ GOJO SATORU

You didn’t know what was more devastating — the fact that you spent nearly two hundred grand clawing away at an arcade machine for a limited edition Albedo figurine, or that the guy who actually wanted her didn’t even leave his house. No, he just bribed you into doing it for him. “Blue eyes hypnotise,” he called himself. Like a joke. Like a threat. Like a man who didn’t have any shame.

You only got his real name — Gojo Satoru — when he turned around and you caught a flash of his university ID tag, half-tucked behind a plushie keychain shaped like a pudding. He was apparently from the Engineering department, which was either a lie or an actual war crime, because nothing about the way he looked or acted said science. But there he was, in a dorm room that smelled like strawberry soda and fabric softener, crouched on the floor like a grown man summoning a demon from a display box. 

“Look at her,” he cooed, setting the Albedo figurine gently — tenderly — into her glass shrine. “She’s so misunderstood. Nobody gets her like I do.” You blinked at him from the edge of his futon, arms still sore from wrangling that claw machine like it owed you rent. 

“So…can I get the stuff now?”

He barely looked up, just pointed vaguely at the corner of his room — where Hatsune Miku was standing on a glass shelf in all her twin-tailed glory. But instead of a mic, she held a tiny bag of very clearly illegal herb in one plastic hand. You stared back at him, then back at Miku.

“Is this — is this some kind of themed display?” you asked. Gojo just beamed, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“Yeah! I’ve got Rin holding a grinder, Nezuko’s the designated lighter girl, and Saber — oh wait, lemme show you—”

He moved across the room, the wooden floors creaking under the weight of his sins and merch, to open another glass cabinet filled with boxed Nendoroids, switch cartridges, and an entire row of perfume bottles that you knew were only bought because they were collaboration exclusives. And the worst part? He was hot.

Glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose, oversized shirt that said “science is sexy” in pixel font, hair pulled back in a loose bun with a Hello Kitty clip. And those stupid, stupid blue eyes twinkling at you like a paywall.

“So. Ya like claw machines?”

“No,” you deadpan. “I like weed.”

He laughed — giggled, actually — like that was the most charming thing he’d heard all week. 

“We should hang out more,” he said, reaching for a heart-shaped tin box that he cracked open to reveal little wrapped edibles shaped like stars. “I trade limiteds for labor. Win me figures, get high for free. It’s a perfect ecosystem.”

You took the bag from Miku, still watching him with a healthy mix of horror and fascination. His room looked less like a place someone lived in and more like a walking otaku’s dreamscape. Frames on the wall — real glass, not Ikea — with signed prints. A projector setup. A heated kotatsu. Not even a fake one, actual imported goods. You spotted a collectors-only Hatsune Miku ita-bag on his chair and realized with chilling clarity—

This man was loaded. And somehow, dealing was just a hobby. “So you're rich,” you muttered, half to yourself. 

“No, I'm emotionally compensating,” he chirped, handing you a cola-flavored edible. “And high-key, Miku funds half my lifestyle. God bless licensing.” 

You didn’t even know what to say anymore. The za was yours, technically. but your soul? Your soul had been mortgaged. As you left, he waved from the door with his fingers wiggling, still barefoot, still smiling. 

“Bring me that Rem-Ram plush next time and I'll give you a freebie!”

You didn’t answer, just turned away clutching the Miku za, feeling thoroughly hypnotized.

Fucking nerd.

And as you left, Gojo Satoru is starting to spiral. 

Not in the tragic, tortured anime boy way (although he could do that too, he has the bone structure for it), but in the what if I am God’s strongest soldier but also emotionally constipated kind of way. Which, to be fair, is on brand. He's from the Engineering department, not Psychology — he doesn’t need therapy, he needs more shelf space for his waifus. Except now he’s wondering if he should detour to the Psych wing after all, because he’s not normal about you. Like, at all.

You showed up at his dorm with the Albedo figurine — the grail, the myth, the she who watches over the za with her plastic rack — and Gojo knew. He knew this was destiny. He didn’t talk to you directly, oh no, that would be too sane. 

He talked to Albedo instead. 

“Thank you for returning to me, my queen,” he whispered to her lovingly while unboxing, carefully peeling the protective plastic like he was unwrapping life itself. You were just… sitting on his futon, watching this happen. Watching this man ignore you in favor of a busty demon lady. And the worst part? You looked annoyed, which meant he was winning. 

“She's perfect,” he sighed dramatically, lifting the figure to the light like she was about to be baptized in his otaku holiness. “Better than any real girl.” 

You scoffed, and he heard it. Oh, he heard it all right. Success, he thought, the cogs in his brain wheezing like a dial-up modem. She's jealous. She’s spiraling. She wants to be my real girl now.

He had charisma. Not rizz — that word made his gums itch — but presence. Aura. The kind of deeply concerning magnetism that made people lose brain cells around him. He had a theme. Nezuko with the lighter, Rin with the grinder… even his plushies had roles. He wasn't like other dealers — he was aesthetic. 

You didn’t stand a chance.

Maybe you were his Zero Two. No, wait. Too pink. His Hori? No, that pairing was mid. Maybe you were his Faye Valentine, all mystery and menace and weird snack orders. Or maybe — maybe MAPPA would make an anime about the two of you. A rom-com, but the kind where the guy’s so stupid it becomes a tragedy. 

He could see the promo now: “The strongest dealer meets the one girl who got him to shut up.”  Bonus points if they animated his sparkly glasses glint just right. 

Maybe he could pull a few strings, call in a favor. Not that he was from an anime or anything, haha. Definitely not from that one. No, no. He's real. He's totally real.

You asked him if he had more edibles and he accidentally said, “Only if you say you love me,” before immediately covering it with a fake cough that sounded like a dying sim.  

“What?” you frowned. 

“Nothing,” he said, nearly choking. “I said… they’re gummy. Fruity. Ha-ha.”

Smooth. Like butter.

You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t leave. You stayed, kicked your shoes off, asked if he had wi-fi. And Gojo, who had a literal shrine of waifus across from his bed, thought to himself: Damn. Maybe I need to start making room on that shelf for a new figure called: the girl who brought me Albedo and accidentally stole my heart. Definitely not for dramatic reasons. Definitely not because he was projecting. 

Definitely not because, if he was from an anime, he’d want you in every single ending theme.

a/n sukuna's part is based off of a true story except my experience did not end in romance. i hope you enjoyed reading tho :P if you have any silly weed experiences please drop a confession in da ask-box 🫣 and yes, blue eyes hypnotize is a yo yo honey singh reference...

[nana1344]

Emerald Witch Arc Ep 5 || Snake

[nana1344]

Part 1 Part 2

Thinking about how obsessed King of Curses Sukuna is with you, you, who was originally just a gift from a village.

Lord Sukuna, who is oblivious to the reason why he treats you differently, who thinks you are just the most intriguing person he had seen in years. He didn't know it was over for him the moment he saw your standing there, anger obvious behind your loosely mask. You looked at him with these challenging eyes and raised your head, making that snappy comment. Normally he would have killed you right then and there.

But he didn't. In fact he doesn't even know why he had burned down that village for you.

And now you were sitting in his estate, always with that scowl on your face.

Why did he allow you to eat with him? Why did he order you to eat with him? He doesn't know. But he didn't want you to eat without him, which he just can't explain to himself.

He couldn't explain why he made sure Uraume was watching over you. Didn't know why he gave you your own chamber, so many new clothes and why he gave you permission to go inside his library. Something inside him was just telling him that was right.

And that something inside of him was so angry to see you falling into yourself. To see you neglecting your health over weeks.

It was evening.

Like always, there was a big dinner prepared for the king and he had ordered you to eat with him. But you didn't touch your food, no you just sat there, looking at your plate to avoid his gaze. Oh, he didn't like that.

He stopped eating, narrowing his eyes on your cowering figure. "Why are you not eating."

"Not hungry." your voice was hoarse but still snappy like always.

"You need to eat."

He glanced at Uraume, who shook their head. A silent note you didn't have any sickness.

You picked at the food, but still no sign of actual eating. And god, did it drive him crazy. You were driving him crazy. Your never leaving scowl and your constant denying of everything he had laid out. He just didn't get you.

He didn't know why he even bothered. But he still spoke up.

"What is on your mind?"

You looked up at him. There was no scowl, like he thought, no there was just a shimmer of exhaustion and maybe frustration.

"What am I even doing here, my Lord?" your voice didn't have any sharp in it. "I'm no servant for you, no concubine, not even a jester or anything like that. Why am I here?"

Silence flooded the room. Because you had just asked the question Sukuna asked himself every day. Why did he even bring you here?

He was clueless. Or that was what his brain was telling him.

He inspected you, your almost pleading eyes and he didn't like how you looked at him. He didn't like the almost hopeless look in your eyes.

"Did you want to stay with these people, is it that?" he took a sip of wine.

"No, we both know it's not that." you muttered, taking a deep breath. "Why do I not work for you? Why are you so -"

He raised an eyebrow at you as you struggled to find the right word. Then you finally shook your head.

"Why are you so nice to me?"

He couldn't help but chuckle, a grin following. "You mean, why has the King of Curses not killed me yet?"

You scoffed. "Yes."

"Well you see," he stopped for a moment, before speaking again. "I find you fascinating. And I like to know what I find fascinating."

You rolled your eyes, another thing he only liked when you did it. "So I'm here to be watched like an animal because the King finds me exotic, how kind."

He started to grow impatient, he didn't know why. "You think I would let a meekly animal into my library and give them their own chambers? You think lowly of me."

You started to blink at him, confusion visible on your face. It was his turn to scoff now.

"You're fascinating because I don't get you. And I want to know you. That's why I brought you here." At least that's what he thought.

You turned completely silent, your eyes now looking down onto your plate again.

"That's why you don't 'work' for me, I don't want you to. I don't need you to." he took another sip. "You just shouldn't get your hands dirty."

He looked at you, waiting for a response. Watching how you avoided his gaze, how you gulped. For a second your eyes flicked up to look at him, but went down immediately as your eyes meet his.

"Stop." you were muttering again.

"What?"

"Staring at me like that."

"Why?" He grinned, lowering his voice. "You know I like to stare."

He saw a faint tint of blush on the part of your face he could see. You were silent for a while until you cleared your throat. "I can't eat with you staring at me like that."

. . .

"Alright, I can leave you alone to eat." he stood up. "But you have to now. Eat."

A small chuckle escaped you. "Is that an order?"

"No, it's a request." With that he turned around, leaving to go to his chambers.

You waited til he left the room to breathe. Your body finally relaxing. You looked at Uraume.

"He sounds like he is in... Does he know how he sounds?"

Uraume shook their head. "No, he has no clue. But he wants you to eat, so please do."

@thequeenofcurses

[nana1344]

୨୧ kento loves when you only wear panties to sleep.

somno. penetration. mlist

nanami would never admit it, not even to himself, but the sight of you in nothing but a skimpy panty and a tight tank top as you slept drove him wild.

the way the fabric hugged your curves, barely covering your skin, made his cock throb every night.

he prided himself on control, years of discipline, but you tested him in ways he couldn’t ignore

he tried to hold back, to be the gentleman he swore he was, but the urge was relentless.

“fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his hand hovering over your thigh.

he shouldn’t.

you were asleep, peaceful, unaware.

but his fingers grazed your skin, sliding up to your inner thigh, his touch lingered at your core, brushing the edge of your panties.

his cock twitched, aching as he pressed himself against your ass, the heat of your body making his restraint crumble.

with a shaky exhale, he tugged his sweatpants down just enough to free his hardened length, the tip already leaking.

he slid your panties aside, careful not to wake you, and positioned himself at your entrance. slowly, he pushed in, your tight warmth enveloping him.

you squirmed in your sleep, a soft whimper escaping your lips, but you didn’t wake.

nanami’s breath hitched, his hips moving in shallow thrusts, each one drawing a low groan from his throat .“goddamn it,” he whispered, his hand gripping your hip as he pressed deeper, your body responding instinctively, hips shifting slightly.

he was close already, the forbidden thrill of taking you like this while you slept, with a final, deep thrust, he came, spilling inside you with a muffled grunt, his body trembling as he held you close.

you stirred, a faint moan slipping out, but stayed asleep, your breathing steady.

nanami pulled out carefully, fixing your panties and pulling up his pants, his heart pounding with a mix of guilt and satisfaction.

he’d never admit how much he loved this, your teasing sleepwear, the way you unraveled his control, but as he watched you sleep, he knew he’d do it again.

© written by kaizer | do not copy plagiarize or translate any.

[nana1344]

“he’s never made you cum? well, that just won’t do, bestie.”

that’s what satoru said when you told him your ex had been terrible in bed. 

being in his room, in just shorts and a shirt (his shirt), is normal for you two; you’ve been friends since you were in diapers, after all. you just got out of a bad breakup with a guy you didn’t really care all that much about and satoru was more than keen to hear the juicy gossip. he heard all about the gaslighting, the controlling behaviour, and the bad hygiene. but apparently, being a selfish lover was the worst thing the loser had ever done.

seemingly thinking that living an orgasmless life is the worst possible fate to face, he grabbed your ankle, pulled you under him, your back falling with a thump! on his bed, and grinned at you. “i have an idea. do you trust me?”

his bright idea?

making up for all orgasms you missed out. 

“s-satoru! no -ngh!- more. i can’t!”

flashing a mischievous smile through the wild cloud of pleasure glazing his eyes, he coos, “aw, tapping out already? didn’t realise i was friends with a quitter. come on, you got at least three more in you, don’t you? please, baby?”

you want to scream that you’ve already had five but all that comes out of you are lewd moans as you squirm on his sheets, sweat soaked, and shirt baring your tits to his groping hands. without waiting for a reply, he dives back in between your legs. 

“you taste so good – you been eating pineapples, or something?” wet lips wrap around your swollen clit and he makes a loud sluuuuuurrp! sound that echoes around the room. it’s too much, too fast. you can’t tell how long it’s been or even how much longer he plans on smothering himself between your thighs; you should have known satoru meant it literally when he said he's going to make up for lost time. “wanna taste yourself? you need to know how insane this pussy is.”

long, slender fingers smear your own wetness against your lips and he watches you suck on them. the bed begins to shake, banging against the wall ever so slightly. god, is he humping the bed?

“oh, yeah…such a good girl.” you earn a slap against your clit before he quite literally motorboats your poor cunt, blowing raspberries on the cream gushing out. “knew you’d taste good. i mean, you smell good. heh, did you know, i have a habit of sniffing your seat after you leave? it’s why i want you sitting on a pillow.”

delirious, you ask, “but i -ah fuck!- thought that was the j-japanese way?”

your back arches when his fingers curl up against your g-spot. “no, dum-my. that’s just the gojo way.”

“you’re a pervert!”

“i’m a pervert? baby,” he says, pouting against your puffy pussy, “you’re tightening up on my fingers. you're just as much of a pervert as i am. can’t we just agree that we’re both perverts? you like knowing that i’m filthy, don’t you? you like knowing that i jerk off to all the fit checks you send me. that i make copies of the nudes you have saved on your phone.”

“fuck!”

you cum all over his face for the sixth time that night.

through bleary eyes, you see his shiny, swollen lips curving up into a shit-eating grin. in his hand, he holds his pretty cock, which he teases to your quivering hole. then, right before he thrusts inside, he jerks his head to the phone on the bed. 

the fucker’s dialled your ex and you can’t even focus on the fact that he hasn’t hung up, because then your best friend is filling you up so deliciously, your legs tighten around his hips, locking at the ankles and keeping him lodged inside. 

he kisses your lips. the shutters go off. so does the flash.

“mmhm...satoru!”

“you really shouldn’t -ha- share your password with anyone, bestie. not even me.”

[nana1344]

୨୧ its your first time sucking his dick, and fuck. its a struggle. mlist

not your fault. his cock is big, thick and wide, stretching your lips as you try to take him deeper, your tongue swirling tentative around the tip.

“sweetheart,” he murmurs. “you’re doing good, take your time.” he’s trying to be gentle, to be a generous husband you love.

but you can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers twitch at his sides, he’s fighting not to grab you, not to slam the back of your head deeper.

you hum around him, trying again, lips sliding down a bit further, tongue flattening against the vein, you glance up, catching his gaze, and fuck, he looks wrecked, his adam’s parted, breaths short. “fuck,” he breathes, low and gritty, his hand hovering near your hair but pulling back.

“you’re— you’re trying so hard, aren’t you?” his voice has that cheeky lilt, teasing but warm, and it makes you want to do better, even as your jaw aches.

you pull off, panting, a string of spit connecting your lips to his tip. “it’s… a lot.” you admit, voice soft, cheeks flushed.

“you’re too big, kento.” he chuckles. “can’t help that, sweetheart.” he cups your cheek, thumb brushing your lip.

“don’t push yourself. im good.” but he’s not. you can see it, the way his cock twitches, the tight flex of his abs, the way his hand clenches like he’s holding back a beast.

he wants to fuck your throat, to grab your hair and force you deeper, but he won’t, not yet, not with you looking so earnest and new to this.

“c'mon,” you say, voice a little bolder, leaning back in. “i wanna make you feel good.” you take him again, sucking harder, trying to bob deeper, but you gag, eyes watering as you pull back.

“goddamn,” he groans, his control slipping, hand finally landing in your hair, not pulling, just resting there. “keep goin’ like that, and im gonna—fuck, im tryin’ not to…”

you look up, meeting his eyes, and push further, lips stretching, throat burning, he moans, his fingers twitching in your hair, the urge to slam you down so clear it’s practically screaming.

“sweetheart,” he warns, voice tight, “you gotta ease up, or I’m gonna lose it.” you hum, the vibration making him hiss, and keep going, sloppy and eager, tears streaking your cheeks.

“i don’t wanna hurt you, but—shit.” he pulls you off gently, panting, his cock glistening from your efforts. “c’mere.” you climb into his lap, breathless, and he kisses you, deep and slow, tasting himself on your lips.

© 𝐬𝐨𝐝𝐪𝐩𝐮𝐟𝐟 | do not copy, plagiarize or translate any of my works.

[nana1344]

summer’s out, fics out — so are your favs.

swing by the tiki bar for a buzz of messy feelings, missed chances, and maybe one more shot at something sweet. connect, reconnect, or ruin your life a little.

𝓼erved 𝓬hilled: one trope, one prompt, one character, and a sunset location of your choice. 

no rules, no dress code — just drinks and drabbles. place your order at the window, and let the summer heat do the rest.

alternatively: a summer-themed, jujutsu kaisen fanfic event hosted by yours truly!

how to order

send in an ask (anonymously or not), including the following:

trope → for e.g. enemies to lovers, fake dating, arranged marriage etc.

prompt → choose from either menu one ✦ menu two

character → choose one from the following only: gojo, geto, toji, sukuna, nanami, choso, naoya,

summer-themed location (optional) → e.g beach, bar, shack, hotel room etc. 

optional → fluff, angst, suggestive, or completely nsfw (marked with ★)

event ends by 31st may 2025. all posts are tagged with #tiki bar 2025 🌴. divider by @sweetmelodygraphics

[nana1344]

need me some more judd pretty pls

୧ *·˚ — JUDD BIRCH

୨୧ includes — fem!reader, afab!reader, mature content, p in v, oral (f! receiving), jealousy, fingering, ooc!judd, terrible writing, MDNI

a continuation of my other 2 Judd posts with innocent!shy!reader. not in the same order as the og scene in the show just for the purpose of the fic.

please have some grace. I stayed awake all night writing this whilst trying to fix my sleep schedule for my lecture monday x

— Judd loves his younger siblings, as hard as that may be to believe. He’s always been protective over Leah and Nick; only he got to make fun of them. However, a lot of the time, they do things that really piss him off. Whether it be Nick hitting on you, or Leah throwing a slumber party with her overly loud and clingy friends, as she was doing now, his brother and sister really knew how to annoy him.

Currently, he was laid on his bed, a pillow shoved over his face as he did his best to drown out the excessive giggling coming from Leah’s room. If there was one thing that really got to him, it was overly loud people. Why couldn’t they just speak at a normal volume? They wouldn’t speak at all if it were up to Judd, but he’d accept anything lower than the volume they were at right now. He despised his sister’s peppy attitude and overly-optimistic way of thinking, which, unluckily for him considering the situation, she shared with a lot of her friends.

You were supposed to be coming over tonight, so at least that gave him one thing to look forward to. The two of you had been ‘seeing each other’ for a three or four months by now, and in all honesty, Judd was loving it. He couldn’t get enough of you, and he wasn’t afraid to show it. He was all over you, every second he could be. Whether it was at his house, at school, when you were getting lunch at your favourite cafe, he didn’t care. If he wanted you, he was gonna have you. In all honesty, Judd considered you his girlfriend by now, even though he’d never actually used the word.

He’d never been in a real relationship before, only ever having a few girls he’d sleep with when he needed the relief. But it was different with you, he wanted to be around you, enjoyed your company. He’d never experienced that with anybody before. He was used to the comfortable routine of sleeping with someone and completely blanking them the next day. He could never do that to you, he wouldn't even dream of it. Maybe it was laughable, the fact he was known throughout school for his rebellious attitude, yet he'd wound up falling for one of the best behaved girls in town. He didn't care enough to think about it that much, though. All he knew was that he liked you, and he was going to do whatever it took to keep you around.

It wasn't long before he heard a familiar ring tone from his phone, a small grin gracing his lips as he grabbed it and saw your name on the screen, along with a photo he'd taken of you asleep in his bed. He'd been tempted to change it, especially when Leah and Nick had first seen it and relentlessly teased him for 'being a sap', but the sight of that sleepy smile on your face stopped him every time. He'd answer the call without second thought, already knowing you were outside.

"How many times do I need to tell you to just use the doorbell like a normal person?" He'd growl down the phone, doing his best to act annoyed, though you knew he was anything but. In fact, he was actually extremely excited at the prospect of getting to spend time with you.

"I don't wanna disturb your family." You'd argue back, sweet, gentle voice coming through somewhat robotic on his phones speaker. He could only scoff, shaking his head as he all but ran down the stairs and opened the door. The moment his eyes met yours, he was pulling you inside, wrapping an arm over your shoulders and beginning to guide you towards the stairs that led to his bedroom. Though, he'd never been the luckiest person in the world, and the two of you were spotted before he could whisk you away.

"(y/n)!" Elliot would exclaim, throwing his arms up into the air as he made his way over, Diane close behind. The older couple would give you the same welcoming smiles that they always did, pulling you into a warm hug and asking how you'd been. Judd was unsure how he felt about the fact you got along so well with his family. On one hand, it was frustrating. He'd do anything to just be able to rush you upstairs and have his way with you without any interruption. But on the other, he couldn't deny the way his heart ached at the sight of you laughing with his sister and mother, or helping his dad out in the kitchen. You seemed to slot yourself into their dynamic with such ease, as if you belonged. The idea was sweet. Not that he'd dare voice that thought aloud. At least, not this early in the relationship.

"Judd didn't tell us you were coming over." Diane would hum, eyeing her eldest child with a look of annoyance. His mother wasn't a fan of how he tried to hide you away. It wasn't like he was ashamed of being with you, the mere idea of that was laughable. He simply wasn't a fan of his entire family knowing what he was getting up to in his spare time. Especially when it came to his activities in the bedroom. Besides, he wanted to save you at least some of your dignity.

"Oh, it was kind of a last minute decision." You'd explain, though that wasn't true at all. Every time you left Judd's company, he'd make sure to create plans for when you'd next hang out. He didn't like last minute decisions, and he wanted to ensure there would always be a definite time for him to see you. He craved your company in a way he'd never experienced, and so, he didn't like the idea of going without it for too long.

"That's no problem. We'll set a place for you at dinner right next to Judd-y." Elliot would nod, smiling down at you. Though, Judd was quick to intervene.

"No need. We'll eat in my room. I don't need Leah and her friends sending (y/n) deaf." He'd roll his eyes, tightening his grip around your shoulder, hand running along your arm affectionately. He'd never imagined himself to be a physically affectionate person until he met you, but he just couldn't seem to get enough.

"Don't be rude, Judd." Diane would chastise, despite the small smirk that rested on her lips. Even she had to admit that her daughters friends spoke in a tone too high pitched to be natural. "You know how important family dinner is to your father." Elliot would simply shake his head, patting his wife's back.

"Don't worry about it. I'm sure these two just want as much time together as they can get. I remember when we were like that. I couldn't keep my hands off of you when we first got together." The older man would sigh lovingly as he stared at his wife, bringing her closer by the waist. Diane would chuckle under her breathe, grinning.

"You're still like that now." She'd note, causing Judd to hold himself back from gagging. He was used to his parents open-nature when it came to anything surrounding the subject of sex and physical intimacy, but he'd rather they didn't freak you out with it.

"Right, well, we'll be going." He'd grumble, successfully guiding you up the stairs this time. He was quick to shove you into his room, shutting the door once he was inside with you.

"I think it's sweet how your parents are still so in love, I mean-" You were cut off by Judd slamming your back against the bedroom door and practically shoving his tongue down your throat. He didn't want to talk about his parents right now. He'd been thinking about you all day, ever since he'd first woken up to a painful hard on with nothing but the thought of you on his mind.

"Stop talking about them." He'd grumble against your lips, his knee moving to slot between your legs and rub against your crotch. Instantly, a breathless moan escaped you, causing him to grin. He'd never get used to just how reactive you were to his touch. Just the pretty noises you made were enough to have him straining against his pants.

One of his hands would move to rest against the back of your head, fingers weaving into your hair and guiding your head ever so slightly back. Slowly pulling back from the kiss, a thin strand of saliva would form between your lips, a smug grin pulling at his mouth. Those wide doe eyes of yours would never fail to make his heart thump in his chest.

"You miss me?" He'd ask, nosing at your cheek before beginning to trail kisses along your jaw. Maybe the question made him sound needy, pathetic even, but he couldn't help it. "I missed you." He'd admit, kisses moving down to your neck now, quickly finding that one spot that had your head leaning back and hips gliding over his leg. His tongue would run over the skin, before he bit down gently, humming at your salty taste. "Know how many times I fucked my fist thinking 'bout you this morning?" He'd all but growl.

"Judd..." You'd sigh, tilting your head to the side as if to offer up more skin for his mouth to attach to. Though, you quickly froze up when you heard the loud laughter coming from the direction of Leah's room. Judd could only groan, continuing to bury his face into your neck and assault your soft skin with his mouth. "They're g'nna hear us." You'd whimper, his hips rolling against your lower belly.

"Don't give a shit." He'd huff out, shaking his head as his hands began to slide under your shirt, thumbs running under the wire of your bra. Instinctively, you'd press your chest further into his touch, arching your back in the process. He'd grin to himself. "Let them hear." He really couldn't care less if Leah and her little friends heard him fucking you. They were allowed to be as loud as they wanted and disturb his peace, so now he'd disturb theirs.

"But-" You'd choke out the singular word, cut off by how his hands slid beneath your bra and cupped your breasts. He'd quickly get to work, pinching at your nipples and rolling them between his fingers and thumbs. God, he could play with your pretty tits all day if you let him. He'd worship every part of your body for as long as possible.

"Just shut up." He'd bite out, pulling back to glare down at you. It wasn't a mean glare, but one of lust and need. He craved you, needed you in every possible way he could have you. "Don't you wanna make me feel good, huh? Just ignore them and focus on me. Gonna make us both feel so good, baby." He'd mumble into the curve of your jaw, hands sliding down to your waist and beginning to undo the button of your jeans. You seemed to finally give in, nodding and helping him pull down the offending clothing.

As he yanked them down your legs, he'd sink onto his knees, staring up at you as he did so. His lips would travel over your thighs, pressing gentle kisses to the soft skin every now and then. He'd help you step out of the jeans, leaving you in a pair of pretty navy panties. His fingers would trail affectionately over the lacy material, groaning under his breath as he toyed with the edges.

"So pretty like this, baby." He'd murmur into your skin, pressing another kiss to your inner thigh, hearing you whimper in response. His hands would move back to cup your ass, groping at the flesh as his kisses moved up to your heat. He'd press a gentle kiss to the front of your panties, grinning when your hips jolted forward, chasing him as he pulled away. You were so damn desperate, no matter how many times he had his way with you. Every time was like the first.

"Judd." You'd groan out, one of your hands moving through his hair this time, yanking on it so that his gaze met yours once again. You were frustrated, that much was obvious. "Just want you. Now." You'd whisper.

He wasted no time in rising to his feet again, pulling down his own pyjama pants as he did so. He never wore underwear underneath; that was something you'd learnt pretty early on. You'd almost moan at the sight of his length, a bead of pre already leaking from the pink tip. You couldn't stop yourself from running your thumb over it and bringing it up to your lips, causing Judd to groan in response. You were so damn hot without even trying to be.

With that, his hands would grab at the back of your thighs, arms working to lift you up into his hold and wrap your legs around his waist. Your back remained pressed into the door, and his fingers would waste no time in pushing your panties to the side. A low hum rumbled at the back of his throat as he ran his shaft through your folds a couple of times, lubing himself up with your arousal. Then, as if the two of you were running out of time, he'd press himself into you to the hilt, groaning as he rested there. You'd cry and claw at him, arms wrapped tightly around his neck, one hand lost in his hair.

You'd breathe in slow unison, both doing your best to catch your breath and relax. It wasn't often you went straight into it like this, Judd always preferred to play about with you a bit first. But, who was he to deny you when you sounded all whiny and looked at him with those big, pleading eyes of yours? He was weak for you, and he made no attempt to hide it. He'd give you a few moments to get used to the size of him, feeling your velvety walls clench around him and holding himself back from just pounding into you.

Soft hands would play with his hair, and your lips would press to his cheek. He took that as a sign to move, and so, he did. His hips would roll up into yours, making sure to go slowly at first, allowing you to feel just how deep he could reach at this angle. You'd whine and mewl in his ear, his face burying itself into the crook of your neck, breathless pants escaping him. You were so tight, so warm, so perfect. His hands remained resting on your ass, fingers flexing as he groaned into your skin.

"That's it... That's all you wanted, huh? All you ever want, hm? Such a slut for me." He'd murmur, feeling you nod in response, eyes squeezed shut. Slowly, his hips were beginning to pick up the pace, his own need to feel you overwhelming him. "You like that? Like feeling how deep I can go?" He'd continue to ramble, slowly moving to push one of your legs up to your chest until it hooked over his shoulder. You'd whine out, throwing your head back. He was even deeper now.

"God, Judd, feels good... So full." You'd moan weakly, head tilting to the side, jaw hanging open. All kinds of small sounds continued to pour from your lips, and he'd do his best to memorise every single one. His forehead would press against yours, gaze never daring to glance away from your own. He loved watching you fall apart for him, loved seeing just how much he affected you.

"Yeah? You like that?" He'd hum, grinning sadistically as he once again picked up the pace. He was practically slamming into you now, his own body keeping you pressed to the door as his hips pounded into your own. The door would creak with each movement, and he was sure just about anybody in the house would be able to hear your loud moans now, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. The only thing on his mind was feeling you cum around him, and so, that was what he continued to work towards.

"Judd..." You'd stutter out between sob-like moans, tears appearing in the corners of your eyes, hands travelling up to cup either side of his face. He'd turn to press a quick kiss to the palm of your hand before going back to focusing on his ruthless pace. That familiar coil was forming in your belly, and you knew you wouldn't be able to hold on much longer. Your head was spinning, and you could feel hot tears of pleasure cascading down your cheeks. He was pounding into you so deeply, hitting all the right spots that made your toes curl and back arch. "Fuck, Judd." You'd babble, glancing down at where your bodies connected, seeing how he moved in and out of you with such ease.

Though, he was quick to steal your attention, nudging his forehead against your own and huffing out. "Eyes on me." He'd murmur. "Wanna see your eyes when I make you cum." You could only whimper in response, brows furrowing as he chased your orgasm. With just a few more harsh strokes, your legs would begin to shake, and that familiar feeling of white, hot, pleasure would come down upon you. You'd let out a loud cry, and he'd gasp, picking up his pace yet again. It wasn't long until he was reaching his own breaking point, feeling himself spill inside of you, eyes still holding your gaze. There was something so intimate and loving about the way he stared at you, the way he handled you with such gentleness.

The two of you would stay in place for a while, continuing to stare at one another, breath mingling together as one. He'd lean into your touch on his face, momentarily allowing his eyes to close now as he regained his strength. His hands would slowly massage your trembling thighs, helping you to calm down, relax. A low sigh would escape him before he began to pull himself out of you, moaning as he did. With that, he'd carry you over to the bed, placing you into it with gentle care.

"You okay?" He'd hum, leaning down to brush some hair from your face. His eyes held nothing but care and affection in them, his touch tender. You'd nod, panting and chasing his touch, causing him to grin. "Let me get a cloth for you." He'd grumble, reluctantly pulling away to begin cleaning you up.

The process wasn't long, and he was in bed with you in no time, arms wrapped around you, holding you to his chest. He loved being able to just hold you and relax with you like this, the two of you simply existing with one another, appreciating each others company. These were his favourite moments, the ones where all he could hear was the sound of your light breathing, and all he could feel was your body against his. Of course, the moment couldn't last, and before long it was interrupted by his brother opening his bedroom door.

"Judd, mum says you need to come down for dinner-" Nick was cut off by the sight of the you laid across Judd's chest. His face would grow a deep shade of red, eyes wide. Soon enough, his pervy little friend was stood behind him, also taking in the view. The two boys would simply freeze, eyeing up the sleeping girl in his bed.

He was quick to act, grabbing hold of a pillow and throwing it in their direction, pulling up the blankets so that no part of you was on view to them. He'd die before he let Nick and his freaky friend get a look at any part of you belonging to him. Those kinds of views were for his eyes only.

"Get the fuck out!" He'd yell, pushing you gently off of his chest and sitting up to cover you with his own body. The boys would yelp and run away when they saw Judd sit up, slamming the door shut as they left. Though he was glad they were gone, he could feel you beginning to stir beside him. He'd kill them later for waking you up.

"What is it?" You'd huff out, rubbing at your eyes and leaning up. Judd would run a hand over your arm, smiling at the sight of you so groggy from your power nap.

"Dinner." He'd huff out. "I'll go down and get you a plate, yeah? You stay here." He'd insist, though you seemed to have other plans, shaking your head and slowly moving to sit up.

"No, we should eat with your family, don't wanna be rude." You'd mumble, fixing your hair and slowly crawling out of his bed on shaky legs. He'd groan, not only at the idea of having to sit through dinner with his family, but also at the thought of not being able to just lay in bed with you for a little while longer.

He'd helped you get dressed into a pair of his jogging bottoms and an oversized shirt, before beginning to guide you downstairs. He'd grin proudly to himself when he noticed the shake in your legs as you came down the stairs, but you were quick to slap at his chest, causing him to huff.

His parents would give him knowing looks as the two of you entered the dining room and he pulled out a chair for you, but he'd choose to ignore them, focusing on you instead. You gave him that sweet smile that never failed to make his heart flutter, before taking a seat and allowing him to push you in. As he moved to his seat beside you, he'd finally notice Leah's friends who were sat at the table, greeting him and completely disregarding your presence.

"Hey Judd.."

"Hi..."

"Wanna watch me eat a sausage?"

Judd could feel bile raise in his throat, but he did well to just roll his eyes and ignore them, biting back an insult that he knew both you and his mum would tell him off for. Leah would glare at her friends and give them a look of warning, which they seemed to completely ignore.

You, on the other hand, didn't find it so easy to ignore their flirtatious tones. It was uncomfortable to hear other girls openly flirt with the guy you were sleeping with, of course it was. And, to make matters worse, it wasn't exactly a secret that you were sleeping with him; you were in his house, wearing his clothes and eating a meal his parents had made (not to mention the fact they'd most definitely heard him having his way with you less than an hour ago). Yet, despite all of that, they continued to flirt with him like you weren't even in the room.

Neither you or Judd had brought up the topic of a relationship in the last few months. Things were good as they were, and the two of you were comfortable in the little routine you'd created. You had no idea what his thoughts were, but you'd most definitely begun to fall for him. Your heart slammed against your ribcage every-time you caught him so much as look in your direction at school, cheeks growing hot whenever his shoulder grazed yours in the halls. The sex was great, no doubt, but you wanted more than just that. You enjoyed his company, craved it. You wanted to be able to spend time with him without using the excuse of wanting a good fuck. Not that you'd ever bring it up to him. As far as you knew, you were nothing but a way to get off for him. Sure, he spoke to you sweetly and gave you better treatment than you ever thought he was capable of, but what if that was just how he was with every girl he slept with? He could be a gentleman and still keep his reputation of an asshole.

Whilst you zoned out, Judd would take it upon himself to grab hold of your plate and begin to place food onto it. As he did so, he could feel Leah's stare on him, causing his natural frown to grow deeper. He already knew she had something to ask.

"Um, hey, Judd..." She'd say as sweetly as possible, staring at her older brother with a look of hope. He was already bored of whatever this was.

"Whatever it is, fuck off." He didn't even glance in her direction, making sure to give you an extra scoop of the potatoes he knew you loved. Then, he was sliding the plate in front of you, grabbing his own plate and scooping on just about the same thing he'd given you.

"Oh, come on! I just want you to text your hook-up in the city and, like, buy us some mushrooms tomorrow." She'd plead, holding her hands to her chest as if to look somewhat innocent. It was ironic, considering she'd just asked for drugs.

"Yeah, we wanna get high and figure out if we're actually friends." One of her friends would chime in, writhing in her seat in an attempt to look cute. Judd didn't even bother glancing in their direction.

"Please? We'll pay you double." Leah would add on, which seemed to finally convince him.

"Fine. I'm saving up for a pressure cooker." He'd grumble, placing his own plate in front of himself and shoving some chicken into his mouth.

The group of girls seemed to light up upon hearing his agreement, cheering amongst themselves and smiling brightly at him like he was God's greatest gift. Just the way they ogled him was enough to have you shuffling in your seat, feeling a strange possessiveness build up inside of you. You weren't used to this; you'd never been jealous over a person. Were you being pathetic? Would he laugh at you if he knew you were feeling this way? Probably.

"You're our hero, Judd." A brunette girl would sigh.

"I love you, like, for real." Another would chime in, sending Judd a look of pure adoration.

"Gabrielle!" Leah would exclaim, sending her friend a look of disapproval.

"What? Your brother's hot!" The girl would defend herself, causing your face to scrunch up as you did your best to focus on the food in front of you rather than their conversation. Judd seemed to ignore them with such ease, why couldn't you?

"Seriously, he's such a badass." Another would murmur, eyeing him up like a piece of meat. It just didn't sit right with you. Everyone at school was always too scared of Judd to approach him, you'd never expected girls to fawn over him like this.

As if noticing your distress, Judd would glance at you out of the corner of his eyes, taking in the way you stabbed at the meat on your plate. His hand would move to run along your leg, before he affectionately squeezed your thigh, brows ever so slightly raised, silently asking if you were alright.

You couldn't tell him that the way they spoke about him upset you. He'd probably panic about the fact you were clearly growing feelings for him and kick you out. So, you just smiled and continued to eat, leaving him to watch you in confusion.

"Exciting, the Birch house, isn't it?" Nick's barely moustached friend, Andrew, would sigh, eyes trained on you. Judd's gaze would sharpen when he saw how the two boys were looking at you, knuckles turning white from how tightly he clutched at his knife and fork.

"Don't talk to her, you little shit." He'd grunt out, giving Andrew a deadly stare that had the smaller boy shrinking back in his seat. You'd turn to Judd, shaking your head as if to tell him to stop scaring the kid. He'd huff, subtly moving his chair closer to yours, knee brushing your own. He had no doubt the creepy teen would be having wet dreams about you later, and that made his stomach turn.

"You wanna come with me tomorrow?" Judd would hum as he ate, tone low, eyes glancing at you every now and then, trying to gauge your reaction. You'd freeze for a moment, turning to him. He'd never really asked you to hang out like that. At least, not anywhere that wasn't at school or his house. Going out with him like that would be new. "To get the 'shrooms for Leah and her pack of crows." He'd nod his head over to the lively girls, as if you'd been confused by what he meant.

"Yeah, 'course." You'd smile in return, nodding. Though, you still felt a slight discomfort in your stomach. The flirty glances Leah's friends continued to send Judd didn't go unnoticed by you, and you weren't sure how much longer you could put up with it.

Dinner didn't last too long after that, and by the end of it, you'd only managed to finish about half of what Judd had put on your plate. Clearly, the continuous comments and looks from Leah's friends had ruined your appetite.

Now, you found yourself back in Judd's room, sat in his bed scrolling through your phone as he sat on the side lifting some weights and watching you. He'd noticed how off you'd been at dinner, and the urge to find out what was bothering you gnawed at him. You always finished whatever his parents had made you for dinner, not only because you thought they'd hate you if you didn't, but because you genuinely enjoyed his father's cooking. After a while, it was clear you weren't going to say anything, so he took it upon himself, placing the weight to the side and moving to rest a hand at your ankle.

"What's up with you?" He'd grunt, brows narrowed in question. You looked sad, uncomfortable, and he hated it. He was so used to you being giggly and playful around him, so to see you like this was unsettling. It didn't feel right.

"Nothing." You'd glance up, meeting his gaze and shrugging your shoulders. Then, you went back to your phone like nothing was wrong. No, he wasn't having that. You weren't going to just shrug this off like you weren't pouting and feeling sorry for yourself. He could read you like a book by now, and that frown on your lips was telling him you were anything but fine. So, his hand wrapped around your ankle, pulling you further down the bed so that he could climb on top of you.

"Talk to me." He'd huff, snatching your phone from your hands and placing it to the side, ignoring how you whined in protest. He was practically straddling you by now, hands either side of your head. It took all of his willpower to ignore the rise and fall of your chest.

"'S nothing, I already told you." You'd huff out, resting beneath him with a defiant look in your eyes.

"Stop being such a fucking brat and tell me." He'd demand, hand travelling down to slide beneath the sweatpants he'd given you and glide over your folds. Your entire body would jolt, eyes growing hooded as you bit your bottom lip. "I'm not stupid, can tell something's bothering you."

"Never said you were stupid." You'd whine, hips rolling up to chase his fingers, which he quickly pulled away. A noise of upset left you, which made him grin.

"Tell me what you're thinking about." He'd encourage, thumb moving to draw slow circles over your clit, eliciting a breathless moan from you. You looked conflicted, as if debating whether or not to really tell him what was on your mind. A part of you wanted to, wanted to just confess your jealousy and hope he'd comfort and reassure you. But, another part of you was screaming not to, telling you that it would be stupid to even mention the thought to him, that he'd just shrug it off and call you an idiot. Finally, after a few more strokes of his thumb, you'd break, gaze tracing over anything but him as you let out a shaky breath of air.

"I don't like how Leah's friends look at you." You'd whisper, head turning to the side to look at the wall. Judd's movements would pause as he hovered over you, a look of confusion overcoming his features.

"How they look at me?" He'd repeat. You'd nod.

"How they look at you. How they speak about you." You'd add on, moving to brush away some hair that had fallen into your face, nervously fiddling with the strands. Judd would take a few moments to think about your words, before a small grin settled on his features. "Like you're a piece of meat."

"Yeah?" He'd hum. "You sure you're not just jealous?" He'd grumble, leaning down to press a kiss to the love bite he'd left on your neck earlier. A shiver would run down your spine, back arching off of the bed as you chased his lips.

"No." You're respond quickly, lips pulling into a pout. You knew this would happen, knew he'd just make fun of you. You shouldn't have said anything. His hand would move back to your cunt, fingers gliding ever so gently through your folds, causing you to whine and gasp.

"You're not?" He'd hum. "Not jealous of how they were trying to flirt with me? Of how they look at me?" He'd ask, collecting your arousal on his fingers before bringing them up to his lips and taking them into his mouth, allowing himself a taste of you. A low hum escaped him, and he was quick to move his fingers from his mouth to yours, allowing you a taste as well. "'S not a bad thing, baby. It's kind of cute." He'd shrug, making you whine around his fingers as they stuffed your mouth full. A low chuckle left him.

"You worried I enjoy it? Worried I like 'em?" He'd ask, gaze never breaking from your own. You seemed to hesitate for a moment, but when his fingers moved from your mouth and back down to your crotch, you'd quickly find yourself nodding. Judd would coo mockingly, tutting under his breath. "Poor thing." He'd mumble, hand moving again.

Slowly, he'd begin to sink down on the bed, until he was face to face with your heat, lips ghosting over the material of the sweats you wore. His gaze was heavy on your face, hands smoothing over your clothed thighs as he continued to rile you up.

"Did you see me look at them? Even once?" He'd ask, moving forward to press a soft kiss to the material. "When did I ever even glance in their direction, huh?" He'd practically growl. "Didn't, did I?" You shook your head in response.

"No." You'd mewl, staring down at him, using your forearms to hold you up so you could watch him.

"So what makes you think I like 'em? In what world would I give them even a moment of my time, huh? Acting like I wasn't up here fucking you an hour before dinner." He'd hum, slowly pulling the sweatpants down, grinning as you lifted your hips to help him. You were always so damn eager and willing. Such a good girl for him. He'd take your panties along with them, wanting to just get to your skin. "Such a greedy little thing, huh? Don't even want other girls looking at me?"

"Yeah." You'd admit breathlessly, nodding like an idiot. You didn't care how pathetic you looked right about now, all you could think about was having his mouth on your cunt. He'd chuckle when he heard your agreement, shaking his head and pressing a soft kiss to your clit.

"Those annoying shits don't stand a chance with me, sweet thing." He'd murmur, pressing more kisses over your inner thighs. "Not when I've got you." He'd grin.

With that, he was leaning down, pressing a gentle, open-mouthed kiss to your heat, causing you to gasp and lift your hips from the bed. He was quick to react, wrapping his arms around your thighs and taking hold of your hips, holding you down so that you couldn't move. His tongue would flick out to move in tight circles over your clit, lips pulling into a smug smirk when you cried out a moan.

"Such a pretty girl. All mine, right?" He'd murmur into your pussy, licking a long stripe through your folds and humming as your arousal collected on his tongue. You were so sweet.

"Yeah." You'd squeak out, making him chuckle.

"Mhm, and I'm all yours, yeah?" He'd continue to ask, knowing you weren't really in the right mind to be answering questions right now. His mouth was attacking your heat, and he expected you to respond to every word he asked.

"Uh-huh." You'd sigh, nodding deliriously.

"Smart girl. My smart girl." He'd praise, moving his thumb up to rub circles over your bundle of nerves, tongue moving down to kitten-lick over your hole, leaving your walls to clench around nothing. Breathless gasps and whimpers would continue to pour from you, going straight to his head.

"Judd." You'd sigh out, head thrashing from one side to the other as you did your best to contain the sheer need you felt for the man between your legs. He'd just continue to chuckle to himself as he heard your whines, applying more pressure to your clit with his thumb.

"Mm? My jealous girl need something? What d'you need, baby?" He'd coo almost sadistically, evil eyes staring up at you as he leaned away from your heat. You'd sob at the loss of contact, attempting to roll your hips but failing due to his grip on them.

"Wanna cum." You'd huff, one hand moving to rest on his head, attempting to guide his mouth back down. He'd refuse, remaining where he was and grinning.

"You g'nna be good? G'nna tell me when you're upset next time instead of being a little brat and ignoring me?" He'd ask, causing you to immediately nod along. You'd agree to anything if it meant he'd finish what he'd started. "Need your words, baby. C'mon." He'd encourage, causing you to sob.

"Yes, Judd, do what ever you want." You'd whine.

"Don't cry, baby." He'd hum, leaning back down and moving his hand away from your clit, fingers circling around your entrance now. His tongue would move to take over the job his thumb had been doing, kitten-licking at your bundle of nerves. "Been so good for me." He'd mumble.

With that, two fingers slowly slid into you, immediately beginning to pump in and out. He was practically making out with your cunt by now, fingers curling and hurling you towards your orgasm. Your own fingers would yank on his hair desperately, anchoring his face to you as you continued to try rolling your hips, still failing.

He was relentless in his movements now, giving you exactly what you'd asked for, though it was somewhat overwhelming. The pleasure was building quickly, not allowing your mind to keep up with your body. Before you could even register it, you were coming undone, chest heaving and moans vibrating in your throat as you felt yourself release. Judd would groan, lapping up whatever he could get, nose bumping with your clit every now and then, causing you to whine.

His lips continued to kiss at your cunt until you finally began to calm down, pussy growing sensitive and hips attempting to escape his touch as it grew too much. He'd hum, moving back up to lean over you until his lips met yours in a sweet kiss. It was slow and gentle, as if he was deliberately being soft with you.

"Meant what I said." He'd whisper against your lips, clean hand moving up to run over the side of your face, stroking your cheek tenderly with his thumb. "'M all yours, don't want anybody else like I want you, especially not Leah's bitchy friends." He'd grumble with a huff from his nose.

"Haven't wanted anybody else since we started... Only ever crave you, crave havin' you near me, crave your company." He'd explain, tongue momentarily sliding into your mouth, causing you to hum when you tasted yourself on it. Then, he'd pause, as if silently debating over something.

"I don't normally do the whole relationship thing, never thought I'd be any good at it." He'd admit quietly, leaning back to look at you beneath him. "But I want that with you. Want to know that you're mine, want everyone to know that you're mine and I'm yours." He'd confess almost shyly. You'd go silent for a while, causing him to frown and huff. "You don't have to say anything-"

You'd cut him off by pulling him down into another kiss, this one faster, more excited and passionate. "Yeah." You'd sigh. "I'd like that." You could feel him smile, genuinely smile, against your lips, causing your heart to flutter.

"Good." He'd growl. "Was gonna have to kill you if you said no."

[nana1344]

Meddle About

Choso art is from @aransmind omg all their art is so delicious 😩😩😭 go follow themm

pairings- Tattoo Artist Choso x F! Reader

summary- After a bad breakup, on a whim you decide to go get a tattoo!! You remember Choso from college, he was so hot and mysterious but the two of you never talked. Now, he just happens to be the artist of the shop you randomly walk into. And you quickly learn- tattoos make you horny. Whoopsie!!

warnings- this chap- the LORE hehe, fluffy and cute, reader is drunk in the flashback and there is a kiss between Choso and reader in the past, sexual tension, Choso being hot asf and reader being adorable, basically they're cute asff

part one - part two

part three

Choso smiles a bit, remembering the night you had kissed him so enthusiastically, he sees the color dance on your cheeks. "It was bad huh?"

"You were... cute." You cover your face and giggle then. "Sure you wanna know?"

"Yes."

****

You were so pretty dancing in the middle of that party, Choso was only there because a few of his friends dragged him, just chilling in a corner and smoking a blunt. But he couldn't take his eyes off you, the way you roll your hips and toss your hair, how you just don't care about anything but the song.

Your eyes caught his, he thinks maybe the two of you had just exchanged hellos and waves, maybe a couple times passing you on campus he inhaled that sweet scent you wear. But he was truly a little shy and introverted, where you seemed the life of the party. When you stumble over to get jungle juice then in your red solo cup, you walk over to him, giggling as you do, Choso feels his breath catch at how pretty you are up close.

"It's Choso, right?" You're all flushed as you sit next to him, far too close, hiccuping just a bit as you take a sip.

"It is, are you... good?" He murmurs, inhaling his blunt and watching you as you giggle softly, nodding.

"So good! I never see you at these! Want a drink?" He shakes his head quickly, flustered as you're handing him your cup, he sees the line of your lipstick on it. "Sorry, germs huh?"

No, it would be an indirect kiss! And your lips look so glossy and pretty as he watches them pout just a bit. "I just don't drink."

"That's cool, seriously, I usually don't but whoo!" You're throwing an arm up, giggling then, you look so pretty, the lights glittering off your bare skin, being this close to you gets him just a little nervous, inhaling the blunt deep and holding it out. "I don't smoke because I get too goofy." You're giggling again, infectious, Choso chuckles softly.

"That's cool." You both sit there quietly, when your hand brushes against his thigh, he looks at eyes he notices are just a little too glassy, as you giggle again.

"You're super hot- and I said it out loud." Choso falters then, coughing as the smoke and your words fuck him up, amethyst eyes staring at you. "You are, fuck it."

He rubs the back of his neck, clearing his throat as you lean closer. "Am I now?"

"Mmhmm, all mysterious. Emo, alt, goth."

"Emo huh." He glares a bit and you giggle more, downing your drink in one gulp.

"Emo dudes are hot, don't worry. Mmm, more!" You stand now, wobbling and almost falling, Choso’s big hands catch you by your hips, his face right against your breasts, the breath tickles against your skin, your vision is just a little blurry. There are two of him for a moment. "Mmm, threesome."

"Wha-!?" He's so thrown off then, as you lean close, his hands are so warm and feel so good.

"Threesome, you two, mmm." He's shaking his head at you then, swaying as you grasp his broad shoulders over the soft, long sleeved black shirt he wore. He sets down his blunt quickly, the party all fades when you're this close, standing between his thighs in your little dress.

"There's just one of me, honey," he murmurs then, you blink him into focus, leaning closer. "You're wasted huh?"

"There is just one of you." You lean forward, and he stops you, standing so tall then, you almost lose balance again as he pulls you against his chest, carefully, looking around for your friends. He finds one and waves as you giggle, snuggling against him.

"Hey! Oh God, you know you can't hold your drinks with no food!" Your friend says to you then, you just giggle, inhaling Choso rather obviously.

"I ate a chicken nugget. Girl dinner." Your friend crosses her arms, eyeing him then.

"She needs some food and water maybe. I'll take her," you whine and pout, snuggling to him more. "Baby..."

"He smells so good." Choso chuckles a bit, you're adorable just curling up around him, snuggling his chest, his hand at the small of your back.

"You're a good dude, I already know you." He smiles a bit at your caring friend, it was known Choso and his brothers were good men on campus. "Could you take her to her dorm? It's 6B. I'll totally be in your debt."

"I don't mind at all. Come on," he gently walks you out, past the sea of bodies writhing and dancing under flashing lights, when you both are outside you take a deep breath, stumbling a bit in your heels. "Hop on my back."

"Piggyback ride yay!" He smiles again, you're just too cute, he has to hoist you up a bit as your balance is shit, clinging to him and laughing. "Is this how it is to be crazy tall?"

"It's pretty nice, huh?" You're pressing kisses on his neck when he heads toward your building, as his hands grip your bare thighs, and it takes a lot to calm down as you do. If you were in your right mind, he'd be kissing every inch of you tonight, but as it stands, your attention is likely due to your jungle juice and one chicken nugget.

"You're sweet, Choso. Sweet." You whisper against his earlobe, he shivers just a bit, willing his cock to go down, not sure anyone has had such an affect on him. "Yummy."

"Dear God." He grumbles, you had no right being so cute and sexy, he finally gets to your room and leads you in, sitting you down on your bed, you're instantly yanking off your top and he curses, shutting the door and looking away. "Don't do that!"

"Don't wanna see my titties? They're cute!" You're a mess, clearly, Choso avoids you as he hears your rustling of clothing, going to the little fridge you have and pulling out water. "Whoopsie, skirt is gone."

"Do you have like... some pajamas?" He looks at you for a second, just in your bra and panties, cock leaking precum as he looks away again, cursing it for reacting. Last thing he needed to do was be creepy when you're already so inebriated, but it was literally hard to look at your sexy body like this.

You lean back on your hands, biting your lip and humming. "I do, top drawer."

Choso opens it, seeing a vibrator, blushing as you laugh again. "You're kind of a brat."

"Sexy, tell me I am daddy."

"My god." He can't help but chuckle a bit at you now, walking over and throwing a big baggy shirt on you, you slip it down, mostly covered aside from sexy bare thighs. "Here, drink."

"You're really, really hot." He rolls his eyes, and watches as you sip down the water, sighing a bit as you shut your eyes, he sees the glitter you've swiped on your lid. "Do you think I am?"

"Hot?" You nod, looking at him with those eyes now, dilated and fucked up, making him thing the worse things. "You're beautiful."

You blink a bit, setting the water down now, leaning close to him, your hand slipping up his chest, feeling the hard muscles as you eye his glossy lips. "Beautiful?"

"Yeah, of course you are," he brushes a lock of your hair back, when you slam your lips on his, he tenses, he can't kiss you like this, but of course for a moment he feels your sweet lips, tastes you on his tongue as you delve your little one in his mouth. He pushes gently, but not before kissing you back, moaning softly as your soft breasts press on his chest. "Honey..."

"Wanna sleep with me?" You ask softly, kissing him again, your arms wrapping his neck, but he gently shakes his head. "I suck dick so good."

"I am sure you do." He's unlatching your mouth from his neck as you suck, making him throb, but he's firm as he pushes you away. "Drink that water, you're drunk."

"Mmm, I want to do that sober though." You're giggling again, drinking down the water, he tastes your glittery lips glossy on his mouth, shaking his head now.

"I'm afraid I'm more of a giver," you look at him again, under those lashes, sighing and looking far too good.

"Giver?" You ask, leaning forward again, for a moment he pauses, hand on your bare thigh, taking it over with how long his fingers are, and you tremble, before pulling back and standing.

"I need to go, you're... too pretty and too drunk." You pout again, standing and almost falling. "Lay down."

"One more." You lean up on tip toes, bringing him back down for a last kiss, smiling against his lips. "Better."

"Yeah?" You nod, climbing in bed, Choso covers you up carefully, you zonk out quick, snoring in moments.

He wonders if you'll remember any of it, brushing your hair back and kissing your forehead, before locking your door behind him, resting his back against it and trying to gather himself.

****

"Choso oh my God, I'm sorry, I sound like a mess." You mumble, so embarrassed, but he smiles again, shaking his head and finishing a line against your outer thigh.

"You were... really cute actually. I guess I liked the kiss too much, so I... avoided you." You sigh, looking down at him, brushing a lock of his hair that's fallen.

"Wish you wouldn't have." The silence is there now, the humming of the gun, the soft music mixing with the pulse racing in your ears.

"For being so drunk, the kiss? Amazing." You grin at that, so pretty like that night, and his heart melts a bit. He was more confident now, but it didn't mean you didn't make his heart race.

"I really said I'd suck you huh?" He nods, a blush on his cheeks. "But you said you're a giver."

"I prefer to pleasure, not to say I don't enjoy that. But..." he trails a finger across your thigh and up slowly, sighing a bit, the gun paused in it's vibrations. "Having you writhing in pleasure, my mouth on you? You begging for me? That's what I love."

"Fuck..." You're feeling that heat, that need again, when he kisses your inner thigh, and your hips arch, only for the door to ring.

"Shit." He sighs, taking a breath, looking over at it with a glare. "Probably a walk in, give me a sec."

"Y-yeah, of course." You watch as he opens the door, scheduling an appointment for later, wracking your brain for this damn memory. When he comes back, he tilts your chin up, tall and hovering over you as your eyes meet his. "Choso?"

"Hmm?"

"I wish I didn't forget." He exhales in relief, cupping your face, a mix of strength and gentleness, confidence but just a hint of that shy boy you remember, the mix so heady, while you shift a bit, sitting up now. "Maybe I need another kiss, to jog my memory."

tagss under the cut hehe - I'll have the next soon <3

@vampyhvnt @yamadramallamaqueen @sukubusss @mimi-sanisanidiot @nerdsgumyclusters @realwhorehours @all-with-angel @flowerymenendez @emochosoluvr @ohmygodj0j0 @chocalycake @ehlaaa @thatwgal @gina239 @nevvynev @muli-wam @luvmichu @cafem3wcuryy @sttaejoon-blog @ghostskilledmyaddiction21 @rrosieroo @dr3amingc0rpse @s0phi3-heartzzz @deethe80senthusiast @theroyalcrouton @biskywhisk @aldebrana @jazmynemh1 @jeankirschteinsimp @babychickenscareme @dairyfaerie @joylvetie @koolayee @coralbae @saitamaswifey @fictionalmen4eva1 @1tsleesee @luvumiah @deathrye @makingtimemine @mimiluvzu2 @angie420 @mai-505 @just-lilita @gradmacoco @soft-souled @aseqan @fairygardenprincesss @tomurafrlover23

[nana1344]

Having an older brother like Suguru with such a big age gap, meant getting the inside scoop on all his hot college friends!

Why worry about stupid highschool seniors when college athletes were lounging around your house 24/7? You were a big girl now, freshly 18 and practically dying to get some piece of “adult life”!

So of course the second your older brother throws a halloween party at your house, you use the opportunity to shoot your shot!

“Hush baby, don’t want your brother catching us yeah?” Beautifully deep words ring in your ears as a pale hand comes to slap over that loud mouth of yours!

Thank god you had swapped your bed frame a few months ago, because with the way Satoru was drilling into you…well let’s just say the old box spring wouldn’t have been so quiet. He had your eyes rolling so far back into the depths of their sockets you were discovering new solar systems!

Moans came out in forced spurts with every connection of your ass and Satoru’s pelvis. “‘m s-sorry-uh!!” The whiny sound of your apology is muffled through the older man’s thick fingers. Sadly the brand new silk sheets you had bought a week or two ago were already creaking under how tight they were balled in your fists.

Aww, how cute! Satoru can’t help but leave a trail of kisses down your flushed shoulder. “Can’t really blame you can I? Squeezing me so tight, she ain’t never been fucked this good.”

Thank God for frat parties and older brothers.

[nana1344]

the king's cock crown

it's easy to fall in love - and perhaps even easier to fall out of it when you discover the penpal who captured your heart might not be the man whose signature is on his letters

synopsis: a poor princess. a playboy emperor. and a devoted duke at his aide. heavy is the head that wears the crown - and heavier is the hand that wears the ring binding them together. what happens when you're up for the role of a bride? or the future empress?

pairing: emperor!gojo x princess!reader, duke!Geto x princess!reader

content: mdni, angst and smut and fluff, royal fantasy sort of au (any sort of historical accuracy is thrown out the window here lol), she falls first, he falls harder, gojo is a spoiled brat at first lol, gojo getting brutally humbled, Geto trying to steal reader from him, falling in love, heavy pining/yearning, hurt/comfort, accidental voyeurism, oral (f! receiving), kidnapping, mentions of murder/injury/torture, handcuffs, character growth, possessive geto, political schemes, unprotected piv sex, light breeding kink, fingering, loss of virginity, multiple povs and positions, creampie, backshots, marriage, making out, extremely protective gojo, proposals, confessions

Satoru Gojo was born lucky.

Beautiful and blessed. The sole heir to an empire that spawned over centuries, more wishes and wealth than any man could dream afforded to him before he could even walk.

Anything he wanted was his.

And if he didn't want it?

"I don't like her," Gojo complained, glaring through the stained glass at his afternoon play date, a potential bride - although at age twelve, he was still at least a decade away from dealing with something as dreadful as marriage.

"Please be nice," His attendant reminded him, fixing the collars on his shirt and huffing as she hurried to fix a stray strand of hair. "She's a princess too, you know."

"She's strange," He muttered under his breath, watching you sit politely at the table, hands folded in your lap, only occasionally smoothing out the skirt of your dress.

It was too big on you, probably passed down from a sister or some other family member. Frayed at the helm, like it'd been worn quite a few times before.

Some princess you were.

You'd been clinging to the shadows his whole life, attending bi-annual balls with your family just to cling to the background like a piece of art no one bothered to look at. He wouldn't have noticed, really, but your attention was annoyingly always on him.

He promised to be on his best behavior before they shooed him out to greet you, rolling his bright blue eyes the second they turned around and sticking a bug in your tea ten minutes into your so-called date just to see you squeak.

You pushed off the table trying to stand up, but it just made your cup spill in your lap instead - bug included.

It was almost cute to watch you panic, brows pushed together in a frustrated pout as you desperately tried to clean yourself, maids and attendants rushing out to see the commotion and their young master responsible for it.

But somehow, you were the only one who got scolded for it. Watching you get the blame made him feel bad, a harsh stab of guilt pricking at him, but he was quick to push it down.

Just the perks of being a prince, he supposed.

You were the unlucky one here.

Gojo always got his way - so why should he marry you?

He didn't even have to complain this time - whatever distant family member that brought you to the palace caught some grave illness, and you returned with them to whatever impoverished kingdom you came from.

Occasionally, he'd receive letters from you over the next handful (or two) of years, time passing while they went unopened, shoved off on his aide while he busied himself with politics and parties. Going from a prince to an emperor while you were gone after his father passed. Geto halfheartedly scolded him for not replying to you, insisted he should maintain a positive relationship even if he wasn't going to marry you, but what was the point of listening when he was supposed to be the man everyone listened to?

You didn't attend the balls anymore, but your letters grew more frequent, at least two a month left in the stack on his desk before Geto snatched the pile to reply for him.

"Why is she sending so many?" Gojo groaned, picking up one and squinting at the neat script on the front of the envelope, the ornate wax seal carefully stamped on. He reclined back in his office chair, legs sprawled out as he traced over the ink splotches on the ivory.

"Hm?" Geto murmured, too distracted with whatever form he was filling out to look up. Despite being his aide, he was a Duke too, technically in the line for the throne and with people of his own to manage and business to attend to.

"Our favorite princess," He dryly replied. You'd become something of a joke, more with himself than to Geto. A constant that was never even there, a shadow that followed him despite the years and distance that separated you. A running gag of a girl who couldn't take a hint.

He caught a whiff of a surprisingly intoxicating perfume, blinking a few times before realizing it must be from your letter. Geto noticed what he was holding a second too late, but Gojo was already cutting the envelope open and pulling the papers out.

"Wait-"

"It's addressed to me, isn't it?" Gojo teased, standing up and walking over to the sun-lit window to read it.

And the first line in its pretty cursive and swirling letters had him laughing already.

"My dearest Satoru?" He repeated incredulously, glancing back over his shoulder at his very much guilty friend.

"Look," Geto started, dark eyes narrowed as he let out a sigh.

"Is she under the impression I'm the one writing to her?" Honestly, before this moment? He'd never considered what Geto did with any of yours letters after he received them. Perhaps just polite replies?

Nothing that would make you comfortable enough to call him that.

"Yes," Geto curtly answered, his face still stoic, unreadable as Gojo gaped at him.

"Suguru, seriously-" He scoffed, returning to reading the letter once more as he shook his head.

He wasn't sure really what he thought he'd find in it.

Something to laugh at? A few short paragraphs somehow still stammering about something random.

Not your sincere words, asking him questions and inquiring about his health and the last set of reforms he rolled out, as if you were genuinely interested in all of it. Casually writing about something that happened back near your own capitol, dropping names he didn't know and discussing the possibility of adapting similar laws there too.

"She's rather sweet," Geto murmured, standing up and brushing off his uniform as he walked over to snatch the letter back.

Gojo wasn't done reading though.

He scampered away, holding up the letter and squinting at the last paragraph, skimming over it just to freeze. "She's coming here?"

"She is an Empress candidate," Geto bluntly reminded him, his lips pushed together in a tight frown before he tugged the letter free from Gojo's hand.

A handful of women would be showing up this week for him to officially meet, despite knowing half of them for most of his life anyway. People were starting to get impatient with the way he was dragging his feet to the alter, rumors swirling and complaints piling that he hadn't picked a bride. Even internally, the staff was starting to get annoyed picking up the slack from the duties an Empress would typically take care of.

It made sense you'd be included. A princess from an ally kingdom, no matter how impoverished, was still a princess. Trained and molded for the role of a ruler from birth.

How could he pick a bride when no one held his attention? Was it just meant to be a boring business decision for everyone else's benefit but his?

"What? Am I supposed to pretend I'm the one who's been writing to her this whole time?" Gojo groaned, trying to imagine how that would even go.

Perhaps it would be like when you were kids, back when the last time he'd seen you was a fucking decade ago, and you were too shy to stutter out more than a few syllables.

Or maybe you'd changed so much that he wouldn't even recognize you.

"I will inform her myself that it was me," Geto grunted, smoothing out the letter and returning to his desk.

"No, just," Gojo paused, sighing as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Just let me read over her letters and I'll take care of it."

"I would prefer-"

"It's fine, I can handle it," Gojo insisted.

If he was going to let you down gently, wasn't the least he could do was learn a little about you first?

✧

He still hadn't meant to stay up all night reading the letters Geto had saved.

Sweet couldn't cover it.

You were a mystery book he thought he'd solved just to get proven wrong page after page.

The shy wisp of a worm that would so rarely return has stare had morphed into a bright butterfly, speaking so comfortably in perfume-soaked letters, flower petals you dried added between the pages.

Your prose would go from soft to snarky, telling stories of your home, shaping tales of holidays and the hard months in-between of managing your family's estate and fulfilling the duties expected of you on a tight budget. Barely speaking of yourself, but painting him a picture of the world that surrounded you in pretty stokes, always devoting a page to asking about him, bringing up the details Geto must've given you.

It wasn't polite. It was intimate.

Real and raw in an odd sort of way, more than casual concern or anything close, carrying a weight he was unaccustomed to when you finished a letter off with the wish he'd be in your dreams that night.

And strangest of all?

Gojo found he didn't dislike it. Not one bit.

Rather, a faint flame of regret had been born, small and quiet in the pit of his stomach as he poured over your pretty cursive and wondered if perhaps he should've been the one responding all this time.

It might've been his face your first fallen for, these words were for Geto.

Would you still have replied so often it had been him?

Shared your adoration so ardently? Or would you have gotten sick of his humor? His bluntness and overbearing tendency to kill the joke before he'd finished telling it?

He spent the rest of the week reading them again and again once he retired back to his room, like some strange bedtime story.

He'd fallen asleep with the last one still in hand, the corner crumpled under his grip when he woke the next morning to the harsh sun.

Yawning as he rolled out, the palace in somewhat of a frenzy for today's guests, a commotion he could hear even from upstairs. And honestly?

His heart had worked itself in a frenzy too.

Would you be arriving today too?

What would you say when you saw him? Would you throw your arms around his neck or kiss his cheek?

So what if Geto happened to be the one who wrote you back?

Gojo felt like he knew you too. Knew the names of your family members and what the weather was like back home. Had memorized enough lines, etched the swirls and sweeps of your penmanship into his brain, the way you signed his name and how you dotted and crossed your letters. Studied up on your kingdom in his spare time, shame creeping in that he'd never bothered to before.

He padded across the room barefoot, stretching his long limbs and snagging a silk robe from off his armchair, tying it loosely around his waist before walking out to the balcony.

Carriages were pulled up in front of the open gates, luggage being unloaded onto the maintained path.

And as luck would have it, you were there.

He wasn't sure how he knew, or what even caught his eye, a familiar flash of your hair color, a glimpse of your face, but he knew. And fuck, you were gorgeous.

Pretty in a way he never paid attention to before.

An idiotic idea took shape in the back of his brain.

Who wouldn't be honored to have the Emperor personally come out to greet them?

ᡴꪫ

The palace was precisely how you remembered it.

Sprawling and sun-bathed, all the colors warmer, brighter than the rest of the world. Deep green grass and blossoming flowers lining the paths, vines climbing up the sides of the walls.

"Can you please send my bags ahead to my room? I'd like to look around the garden first," You smiled at the attendant, trying hard not to pick at the nails you'd spent so long painting last night at the inn you'd spent the night at. Bathing and exfoliating, waking up far too early to prepare for today. The first time you'd see your Satoru again.

The attendant curtly nodded, carrying your bags and hurrying up the path, and you wondered what else you might find here.

You weren't delusional enough to think Satoru would actually choose you when there were other more capable options. Women with more wealth and finer families, prettier too.

But he was your friend at least, wasn't he?

And sometimes, some people fell in love with their friends, right?

You walked down the weaving side paths, heading for a fountain you used to toss coins in as a child, wishing for the man you might marry now.

The stone sculpture sitting atop it was weathered, cracked and worn by rain and age, but the water was still a crystalline blue, coins littering the bottom and the sun bounced off the surface. You sat by the edge, fingers skimming over it and sending ripples across.

You didn't have any coins on you today.

What would you have wished for this time?

"Oh? It's bad luck to steal those, you know," A playful voice called out, starting you as your head snapped to the sound of it.

Satoru Gojo in the flesh. And uh, a robe.

Nothing else.

You blinked, blushing at the sight of his broad chest on display, his robe tied low enough you could fucking count his muscles, his hair mused and messed up like he just rolled out of bed, blue eyes still hazy with sleep.

"I wasn't planning on it," You wryly muttered, averting your gaze back to the fountain to stop yourself from staring, suddenly embarrassed. Still, there was a slight sense of familiarity, the way he smiled so easily at you, his knee brushing against your leg when he strolled closer.

"You're not excited to see me, princess?" He teased, plopping down next to you on the edge.

"It has been a while, hasn't it?" You tilted your head to the side, studying his face, the barely-there dimple by his smirk, the thick lashes framing his eyes. They looked ever more beautiful than you remembered, the sky and the reflection from the water reflecting back in them.

"I should apologize for my truly terrible behavior back then," He chuckled, not entirely sorry at all, but confident enough you'd forgive him for it anyway.

He'd never been hated in his life.

Even at his worst, you couldn't crush the feelings that'd sprouted in your heart when you were younger and only bloomed with each letter he'd sent.

"Apologize then," You dared, something about his presence bringing out a boldness in you.

He leaned in a little closer, and you couldn't help the way your eyes flickered down to the soft pink of his lips as they formed the words. "I'm very sorry."

"Okay," You shrugged, feigning far more nonchalance than you felt.

"Do you forgive me?" He pouted, sticking a flower he must've plucked on the way here in your face.

"Did I say that?" You rolled your eyes, grabbing the flower and carefully examining the petals of the bright orange lily. "I suppose you must not know much about flowers."

"They're pretty," He hummed. "Like you."

"This one symbolizes passion," You murmured, picking a petal off and setting it afloat on the water. "Or hatred."

It was bad luck back home.

He laughed, leaning in closer while you picked off another petal, playing a crude game of he-loves-me-not in your own head while he watched.

You were on not when you heard someone approaching.

"Your Imperial Majesty," A cold voice called out, and you both turned to see a shrewd blond man pushing a thin pair of glasses up his nose.

"Nanamin, have you met-" Satoru grinned, slinging a muscled arm over your shoulder.

"You were supposed to meet Mei Mei half an hour ago," The blond man interrupted with a scoff, glaring pointedly at your host.

A flicker of jealousy shot through you, pierced your heart at the reminder you were just one of several women he was meant to entertain in the coming weeks.

"She'll live," Satoru dismissed with his hand, yawning as he shifted, spreading out his long legs like he was content to stay all day.

"Please don't make preferential treatment a problem on the first day," Nanami muttered, exasperated. "Even if the princess was was penpals with your friend."

"Satoru?" You glanced over at him, confusion probably scrawled over your face. But he was just wincing, well-aware of whatever he meant.

"It's not," He hesitated, jaw pulled tight. "I mean-"

The horrifying realization set in, all the hope draining from your body.

"Were you not the one writing to me?" You bluntly asked.

"Well, no, but-" Gojo admitted, and you suddenly felt ill. The breakfast you'd barely been able to get down threatening to make a reappearance, but a hot lump formed in your throat, and you couldn't swallow it. Choking on the idiotic dreams you'd had of him actually coming to like you at all. "I, I read your letters and-"

"I apologize if my letters were an inconvenience on your time," You politely said, switching on your manners before you shouted obscenities at him.

"I read them," He insisted again, as if that made it much better.

"You have a meeting to go to. Don't let me keep you," You coldly replied, holding your head high and tossing the rest of the flower in the fountain. You should find your room anyway, collapse into a real bed to cry in.

"Can we talk for a few moments? I don't want to end-"

"Your Imperial Majesty," You curtly cut him off, brushing off your skirt to stand. "I have no interest in your pity."

"Could you give me a chance?" He stood up after you, but you refused to give him so much as a second glance.

Your letters didn't deserve a reply. Why should he get any answers now?

✧

"What am I supposed to do?" Gojo groaned, head in his hands.

"Leave her alone?" Geto casually suggested, flipping through a newspaper and reclining back in an oversized armchair.

"She refuses to even speak to me at meals, ignores all the gifts I send her, I mean, what girl doesn't like flowers?"

"What do you want me to do?" Geto grunted.

"I dunno," Gojo shrugged, rubbing his eyes. He'd barely been sleeping, rereading your letters and struggling to understand why he was so stuck on whether or not you liked him.

It shouldn't matter.

It shouldn't bother him that you wanted nothing to do with him. It should make his life easier, really, one less person for him to pick from, one less person to disappoint.

Although he didn't really want to pick at all, desperate for another excuse to postpone the whole marriage charade.

"You'll be expected to dance with her at the banquet tomorrow night," Geto dryly muttered, probably just annoyed he'd also have to be in attendance too.

Gojo had been dragging him around everywhere he went, using him as a shield to keep the more forward women somewhat at bay. Most of them could be sorted in two groups. The ones that wanted what was under his clothes. And the ones that wanted what was on his head.

Mei Mei was the worst offender, making crude and cruel jokes disgusting by a glittering smile, always trying to threaten her way into the seat next to him, aiming for his throne next.

Money hungry and greedy in a way that gold still didn't fully suffice. She wanted everything.

Gojo would rather die than slip a ring on her finger, despite her influence on the other court ladies, despite her already substantial wealth and ties to some of the more powerful lords and merchants.

What power was theirs compared to his?

You stayed clear of the rest of the candidates, but Gojo kept dragging you back in to every event planned, your clipped voice and cold exterior only making him try harder to squeeze himself between the cracks in your armor.

Making a fool of himself by convincing the chefs to prepare cuisine from your kingdom just for you to politely decline and shut your bedroom door in his face. Consulting the gardener to get fresh cuttings for a bouquet of all the flowers you'd ever sent him, even rare strains from the conservatory, but you'd only grabbed the bundle before shutting the door on him again. Asking if you'd care to accompany him to tea when you bumped into each other in the hall just for you to decline.

He could probably count the number of real conversations you had on both hands, when you were stuck sitting next to him and he asked question after question, desperate for something he couldn't even name. Forgiveness? Your favor?

You were the most frustrating woman he'd ever met and he couldn't shake the feeling he wanted you to frustrate him for the rest of his life.

Every sharp sentence and pointed glare just dragged him deeper under your spell, pushing his head underwater just by rolling your eyes and scoffing his way, drowning in his own despair and desire.

"You think she'll let me?" Gojo murmured, sitting back down at his desk and pulling a clean sheet of paper from a drawer, snagging a pen.

"Probably not," Geto dismissed, grabbing a book from the shelf and heading for the door, only glancing back once before he pulled it open. "I wouldn't get your hopes up."

Gojo would just have to try anyway.

ᡴꪫ

You hated Satoru Gojo almost as much as you used to love him.

He was nothing like the letters. Not suave or smooth, no words layered with hidden meanings for you to unravel and savor. He didn't say all the right words or know what would soothe your hurt. In fact, everything he said was wrong.

Abrasive, blunt, cheeky, you could probably assign an adjective for every letter of the alphabet to him and still not run out of words. Even worse?

He was cute - in the most annoying way.

His persistence in persuing pestering you had started to grow on you, more like a mold than a flower. But still, you'd found yourself searching for him in the corner of every room, waiting for him to show up and slide into the seat next to you.

Asking an absurd amount of questions, always pinning his focus precisely on you like there'd be a quiz on your answers.

Every time you'd get close to having fun, you'd remember what you'd forgotten.

He could've asked you any of it in a letter.

So yeah, you loathed those pretty blue eyes that haunted your dreams, glittering and gleaming with freedom you'd never have. You could feel them on you even now, skimming over you with silent appraisal. Judging if you were up to his standards.

You hadn't been before, had you?

He had never bothered to put a pen to paper to personally write you back until now, a single sheet slipped under your door while you were getting ready for this insufferable banquet.

Save me a dance? - S

Was that the most he could muster?

You were such a fucking idiot for thinking someone like him would ever fall for someone like you.

"Mind if I join you?" A honeyed voice snapped your attention away from this evening's third glass of wine.

"Why not?" You shrugged your shoulders, glancing over to find the dark-haired man Gojo was usually with.

Was there something in the water here?

He was nearly as handsome as Gojo, just in a different way, his features sharper, more sweeping, his intense stare warm to disguise how calculating it really was, pretty lips curled up in a deceptively kind smile.

Still, your recognized him from the long hair alone. He was a Duke, a knight too if you recalled correctly, but really, it was his association with Gojo that had you so wary.

"I'm Suguru Geto," He introduced himself anyway, his eyes flickering down to your hand as he waited for you to offer it to him.

"I'm aware," You forced a tight-lipped smile, glancing around the room for some other empty corner to slink off too. Gojo was watching both of you, probably displeased that his friend was infringing on his favorite joke? Pastime?

You weren't positive what box Gojo had put you in.

But then Geto grabbed your hand anyway, gracefully bending down to kiss the back of it. Sturdy fingers pressing into your palm and soft lips on your skin as your cheeks flushed with heat.

"Is it alright if I confess I know you too?" You froze, still staring down at the gorgeous man holding your hand and grazing his lips over your skin, the rest of the room forgotten.

"You do?" You breathed, too unsure to even move.

"I was the one replying to your letters," He admitted, and the flicker in his eyes held a fire you'd never seen directed at you.

"Oh?" Your voice pitched a little too high, sounding more like a squeak than seductive.

He chuckled, standing up straight but not letting go of your hand. He stepped closer, and you noticed how tall he was, probably the same height as Gojo, hovering over you all broad and strong, his frame well-built from years of training.

His stare was too intense to meet, your eyes flickering away just to notice a white-hot glare directed your way. Or, well, his way.

Gojo's stare was glued to the two of you, obviously jealous and jaded in a way you hadn't conceived he might be capable of. A thrill ran up your spine, sucking in a shallow inhale as Geto's other hand found your waist.

"Would you care for a dance?"

✧

Gojo was seething in silence.

He knew he was staring, he knew other people were probably staring at him. But he couldn't manage to tear his eyes away from you.

You looked almost ethereal, makeup and hair carefully styled by the maids he'd sent over, subtle and soft and glowing. You were wearing a gown he'd custom ordered last minute, a pretty shade of silver that was supposed to match the medals and pins adorning his own outfit. Meant to be a pair.

And yet, there you were, being swept off your feet by Geto, his hands on your waist and yours crossed around his neck. Grinning at something he was saying, having fun.

Jealousy tasted worse than he ever imagined.

Acidic and sour, unable to focus on the conversation surrounding him, too absorbed in the way your face lit up when you laughed.

He was approaching before the song even ended, pawning his drink off to a passing waiter, the crowd naturally parting for him until he approached you and your dance partner.

"I trust you're having fun?" Gojo greeted, putting on his best smile to hide the fact he was fuming inside. Geto's hand lingered on your back, just a little too low to be proper and polite.

"If I say yes, will you return to your harem?" Your smile was barbed with thorns, hurt and humiliation still burning under its surface.

"I'm a one-woman man," He protested with a pout. And sure, he had a bit of an, um, unsavory reputation for being a flirt, but he was technically still a virgin.

Having sex when just a single slip-up could carry repercussions for the rest of his reign was a bit of a turn-off.

"Oh, I'm sure you're much too busy to entertain women when you have someone else handling your matters for you," You coolly replied.

"Would you allow me to apologize to you properly then? Over a dance?" He asked, trying to ignore the way Geto stiffened, his fingers digging a little harder into your side. "Just one and I'll leave you alone for the rest of the night."

"Fine," You relented, glancing up at Geto with a look he wished you'd give him instead. "Perhaps we can finish this conversation afterwards?"

"Of course, Your Highness," Geto murmured, clearly teasing judging by the way your lips curled up in a smile at the cheek tone he used your title.

Taking his place by your side, Gojo pulled you close, a hand on the your back as you reluctantly slipped your much smaller hander in his, wishing you weren't wearing gloves so he could feel the warmth of your palm.

You matched his steps, your focus always just past him, refusing to meet his eyes as he lead you through the dance.

"Sincerely, I am sorry, I should've just replied to your letters myself," He murmured, hoping you could hear it in his voice that he meant it. "I don't have an excuse."

"I shouldn't have expected you to write me back, I suppose," You sighed, swallowing hard.

"No, it's my fault," Gojo admitted. Sure, Geto usually read through his letters and decided what to pass on to him anyway, but still, he'd seen your name, had made the decision himself to let Geto take care of it.

"Am I supposed to beg to be your bride now that you've graced me with an apology?" You wryly said, and the way your lips curled up in the faintest smirk when you mocked him made his heart stall in his chest.

How was he supposed to say he was starting to consider begging you to be his bride?

"I wouldn't be entirely opposed," He tried to joke back just for you to stomp on his foot. It was worth the pain to see you smile.

"Oops," You shrugged, and he just squeezed your hand, pulling you in closer by your back before dipping you down low.

And fuck, he wished he could capture the enthralling expression on your face forever.

The way your lips parted in a surprised gasp, your eyes going wide and lashes fluttering while he held you. It felt like someone had knocked all the air out of his chest, unable to catch his breath when you looked at him like that.

"Mind if I cut in?" Mei Mei purred, grabbing his arm before Gojo had even brought you back up to your feet.

"Be my guest," You murmured, a little dazed as your gaze flickered from him to her. Resigned.

"Wait a moment," Gojo started, spit looking in the back of his mouth.

"Have a good night, Your Imperial Majesty."

"The song's not over yet," He pleaded, a hint of panic seeping in at the last few seconds he'd get to spend in your company this evening. Geto was watching with a drink in hand, an annoying smirk curled up on his lips. A snake waiting to strike.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

✧

Would it be so bad for him to behead a bitch?

She just wouldn't stop talking, and that was coming from him.

"I really must return," Gojo interrupted her story, glancing around the deserted part of the garden Mei Mei had dragged him to. The moon was hanging high overhead, stars dusting the sky, thin clouds threatening to cover them up.

It was dull, really.

You were prettier.

Was this what falling in love felt like?

Finding you in the stars and in the flowers, a song that never left his head and made his heart ache, your laugh a melody stuck on loop in his mind.

"Is that so?" Mei Mei hummed, unamused.

He blinked, dismissing her with a wave of his hand. But she didn't leave.

"Has your mind already been made then? On our next Empress?" She slyly asked. Not on his bride, or his wife. Just who would get the title.

"Excuse me?" Gojo still feigned innocence.

"It's obvious who has your favor," Mei Mei simply said, a razored edge to her voice.

"I haven't made my decision," He shrugged, like it wasn't just because he was pretty sure you'd say no if he asked. His time was running out though, only a few days left until he was expected to make an announcement or extend everyone's stay.

"Well, I suggest you reconsider," Mei Mei chided, barely even bothering to disguise her threat. She disappeared down a path, not stomping, but clearly displeased.

Gojo ignored her, folding his arms and watching a cloud drift by lazily above, wispy but just enough to conceal the moon anyway.

Would you still be inside? Or had you slipped back to your room at the first opportunity?

He was planning on keeping his promise to you, but he'd prefer it if you stayed even if he could only stare from afar.

And would it be completely delusional to believe tonight was progress?

He glanced back up at the stars, thanking them silently for sending that headache of a woman away when he heard it.

Your laugh.

His head whipped around, searching before he spotted you. With Geto.

You were leaning back against the railing of a nearby balcony overhead, giggling at something he was saying to you, head tilted to the side as you nodded along.

Gojo wasn't really thinking, brain unfortunately utterly blank as he stepped closer.

"Does your silver tongue typically work on women?" You were teasing Geto.

"I've never tried," Geto purred back. Liar.

"Oh?" You didn't believe him either.

"Is it working on you?" He inquired, and Gojo wanted to shout or scream to stop the seconds from slipping by and your heart slipping away with them when he saw the smile on your face, the subtle way your stare drifted over his friend before you shrugged.

He wasn't sure how it happened, only catching Geto's mouth moving before your own parted, surprised and unsure before you hesitantly nodded. Then Geto was leaning in for a kiss, a calloused hand cupping your face and adjusting it just slightly so he could kiss you how he liked.

You kissed him back.

Gojo knew he should leave.

Pretend he hadn't seen a second of your private exchange.

But just as quickly as his lips were pressed to yours, they were ghosting down your throat, leaving a trail of delicate pecks as Geto's other hand hiked up your dress.

Getting down on his knees and holding your hips steady while he left love bites across your thighs, sharp teeth sinking into your soft flesh.

But Gojo's gaze had already shifted back to your face, the way you leaned your head back as your fingers sifted though his silky strands of black hair, tugging Geto closer when two of his own fingers hooked over the thin band of your pretty lace panties.

He almost wondered if Geto had anticipated an audience, set the stage with you as an unwitting performer, your eyes fluttering closed and a gorgeous gasp escaping when he did, in fact, prove just how effective his tongue could be.

Gojo dismissed the thought, dissolving back into the shadows as he forced himself to follow the nearest cobbled path as far away from this evening's show as possible.

It felt like a declaration of a cold war.

Who was Gojo to turn down a challenge?

✧

Conceiving a new strategy was harder than he thought.

He's stayed up half the night creating plans just to crumple up the paper and toss it in the trash.

You were cold and considerate and could probably break his heart in a million different ways, but he was tempted to just glue it back together for you to break again.

Eventually, he'd requested for Geto to come to his room the next morning, halfway debating dropping hints that he'd seen his risque rendezvous before deciding to just pretend he was oblivious to whatever was brewing between the two of you.

"You called?" Geto murmured.

Gojo fixed his own shirt collar and noted his friend's reflection in the mirror, the long, dark hair tied off his neck in a low ponytail, bangs sticking to his forehead and uniform wrinkled from wear.

"Would you mind arranging breakfast with her?" He heard himself ask, knowing he didn't need to specify who and studying Geto's expression in the mirror, the drop of hostility that disappeared just as quickly as it flashed over his face. "In the conservatory?"

"I'll go by her room and request she join you," He nodded, a sharp jerk of his head. Sweat was still sticking his bangs to his forehead, worn from an early-morning training session Gojo had missed.

Geto left before Gojo could ask for anything else.

Was it jealousy?

Did he just not want Geto to take something he thought was his?

He almost wished it was, almost wished he could pin the blame and point a finger at some shitty side of himself for the growing feelings stirring in his chest.

It was need.

The pathetic kind that festered on his denial, that grew more the harder he fought it.

He'd been handed everything his whole life, and you were the first he was painfully aware he'd never deserve.

He had a chance and fucked it up.

You weren't exactly the most forgiving type.

Wouldn't bend to his will or beg him for affection. And for some bizarre reason, it just made him crave yours all the more.

He had a feeling even if you did show him an ounce of it, if he was actually lucky enough to be showered in your adoration, he'd be still chasing you for more until he was bones, buried somewhere and probably bound to follow you even into the next life.

Gojo found himself double and triple checking the plates and utensils in the conservatory, rearranging the placemats and adjusting muffins on trays to stop himself from anxiously glancing over to the entrance every five seconds.

Did you decline?

Feign an illness or fake an accident just to avoid him more?

When the doors finally opened, it wasn't you. It wasn't even Geto.

A panicked cluster of his staff and a few guards, hurrying over to him with nervous expressions. He spotted Nanami amidst all the chaos, a deep crease between his brows as he bypassed the rest of his companions.

"Your Imperial Majesty," Nanami coldly greeted with a small bow. "There seems to be an issue."

"What kind?" Gojo was grinding his teeth, icy dread seeping into his blood, veins freezing over while he examined the panic in everyone's eyes.

"It seems the princess is not in her room this morning," Nanami bluntly said.

"Or in the palace," One of the guards nervously added.

"I don't understand," He simply said. "Where is she?"

"W-we're not sure, Your Imperial Majesty, we've searched and-"

"Search again," Gojo commanded.

You couldn't be missing. You promised him. Okay, perhaps not promise. But you said you'd see him tomorrow. And it was tomorrow. You were probably curled up in a hidden nook of the library, or perhaps taking an early morning nap in some unused corner of the garden. Fuck, he'd even rather you be sleeping in under Geto's sheets than just gone.

They just weren't searching hard enough, right?

ᡴꪫ

The rest of the world was dark.

You tried to move, but your hands were tied behind your back, ankles ensnared together and after a few panicked seconds, you realized that there must be some kind of blindfold covering your eyes too.

The harder you tried to wiggle out, the tighter the bindings felt, and a fresh wave of terror immobilized you. If you screamed, would someone here and come to save you? Or would it bring whoever kidnapped you back?

Fear for the latter forced you to freeze, only subtly feeling around for anything nearby once you realized you were laying on your side on something soft. You tried to roll over, but you only dropped down to land on the cold wooden floor of what you guessed was a cabin, hitting your cheek hard on the solid ground.

Your memory was hazy. There was the banquet, dancing with Gojo before Geto walked you back to your room and dragged you out to the balcony. His hands on your body and his warm mouth dancing over your skin. But he'd kissed your forehead good night after it was over, suggesting you sleep well before and leaving while the moon was still high. Afterwards, you vaguely recalled getting ready for bed, changing and drinking a cup of tea before last night? Two nights ago?

It wasn't like you had any way to know how much time had passed.

You were a unfortunately starving though, throat parched and lips cracked.

Would anyone bother looking for you?

Satoru was probably busy picking his future bride, a position you'd been a fool to think you could ever fill. You barely knew Suguru, despite the letters and the longing you'd felt in his stare. Not nearly enough to come to your rescue and risk himself.

If it was about a ransom, your family wouldn't pay it.

Winter would be there soon, and feeding the mouths of many were more important than the life of one. You weren't an exception.

You didn't know how long you laid there, listening out for the slightest sounds and trying to make judgments of where you could be and why they'd even bother taking you.

"Should we feed her?" A guy grumbled, his voice muffled and hardly audible, separated by at least a wall.

"No," A woman's huff, haughty and irritated.

"But what if-"

"He's going to make the announcement tonight. He can't delay it any longer," She condescendingly scolded, and the voice clicked. One of the other candidates. Mei Mei. Just another misfortune in your life with Gojo to blame at the helm. "We'll let her go afterwards."

"A-alright," The guy probably responsible for guarding you grunted.

"Just dump her somewhere she'll be found after midnight," Mei Mei instructed, and then there was the sound of heels clicking, a neigh of a horse in the distance, a carriage probably waiting to return her to the palace.

They wouldn't bother investigating if you were recovered safely after all. No point wasting resources on a poor princess who'd be leaving without a ring soon.

Just so Mei Mei could claim her new crown.

A burning stake of indignation stabbed through you. She'd gone through the trouble of kidnapping you for what? As if Gojo would've ever actually chosen you.

All you'd shared was a handful of awkward conversations and a slow dance.

You couldn't decide what you thought of this current hin. His easy smiles and burning eyes. The way he wore everything he felt on his face when he was around you, like he was just as conflicted as you.

Who was he really? A spoiled man who thought a sorry could did everything? Or was there sincerely in those pink lips?

You supposed it didn't matter.

He wouldn't come for you.

✧

"I'm not announcing shit," Gojo growled, ripping up the fourth letter slid under the crack in his door in the past thirty minutes from impatient advisors and worried maids about whether or not they needed to set up the ceremony hall.

"It's unfortunate, but-"

"Unfortunate?" He scoffed, interrupting Geto mid-sentence. "She's clearly been kidnapped."

"And she'll be returned," Geto calmly explained. "It has to be someone associated with one of the other candidates. Mei Mei would be my guess."

"So let's arrest her," Gojo whined, boots squeaking as he paced the floor.

It'd been three days.

Three long days of looking everywhere, organizing searches and setting up shifts to find you. Rumors had started to spread that perhaps you'd run away, hiding somewhere and pretending to be a peasant just so you didn't have to marry him.

Gojo refused to believe that. Not when there was the slightest sliver of a possibility you needed his help somewhere.

"What if she decides to get rid of the evidence then?" Geto argued, attempting to be the voice of reason while Gojo's panic ran free.

Would Mei Mei get rid of you?

She was clearly fucking crazy enough to kidnap you.

"What do you suggest then?" Gojo grunted, struggling to reign himself in, to keep himself collected enough to have the same objectivity.

"Proceed with the announcement as planned," Geto murmured. "They'll probably leave her for us to find at some village or town close to wherever they're hiding her at. Just pretend you don't know anything and we can arrest Mei Mei for her part in it once we have proof."

Gojo guessed it made sense if Geto's suspicions about their motives were correct. It would give him a reason to re-do this whole fucked up charade of choosing a wife. Give him a second chance to prove he was going to pick you. To convince you he cared.

He still felt absolutely useless now though.

What good was power if he couldn't use it to keep even just one person safe?

"What if they don't?" His strong shell was cracking, broken bits and jagged edges revealed with every frustrated word.

"I'll keep looking for her anyway," Geto reassured.

It didn't make him feel better.

It was stupid and selfish, but Gojo wanted to be your hero for once, play the knight who swept in at the last minute to save you from someone evil. Show that he could love you too - if you just let him.

"Go look," Gojo muttered, running his fingers through his hair and swallowing hard, the regret growing roots in his guts already.

He might not be the man of your dreams today.

But he was a better one than yesterday. Learning to be the kind of guy who'd let someone else take the spotlight if it meant you'd be safe.

To know you're okay.

And maybe?

He still had a chance to be yours someday.

ᡴꪫ

You never actually expected to be rescued.

Or, at least, you hoped that's what the commotion was outside. Swords clanging and the gross sound of squelching through the door before it swung open with a creak, banging into the wall as the floorboards groaned.

You flinched and something sharp grazed against your skin. But then you felt warmth, a large hand grabbing your arm before you heard him.

"Stay still for me," Geto murmured, holding you in place while he cut off all your bindings. You tried not to move, relief flooding through you once all your limbs were once again free, and he tugged the blindfold off.

It took a few seconds for your eyes to adjust to the light, blinking as he helped you to your feet just for them to collapse from underneath you. He hurried to remove his cloak, covering up your torn and tattered nightdress with it with a quiet chuckle, picking you up and cradling you against his warm body once he sheathed his blood-stained sword.

"Sorry it took so long," He hm-ed, his voice honey in your eyes, soothing over your injuries and soaking into your skin.

You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing would come out, your throat too sore to form words. He pulled out a leather waterskin with his free hand, unscrewing the top and bringing it to your lips.

You only managed a few short sips, just enough to dull the ache before he brought it back down to his belt.

There were other voices, men you couldn't see, talking amongst themselves, fellow knights you guessed. Your heart felt a little strange at the thought Gojo had actually sent more than one person to search for you - that he hadn't just given up.

Or was it all Geto's doing?

"We have to head back now," He murmured, brushing your hair away from your face with a soft sigh. "We're running a little late."

Late for what, exactly?

"No," You managed, shaking your head and clinging to his shirt harder. What would await you there next? Being dragged to the altar? Or forced to watch Gojo announce he belonged to someone else?

"No?" Geto echoed, amusement reflecting in his dark eyes.

"Can't we go somewhere else?" You croaked, voice cracking every couple words. "Your estate?"

Would that be considered a scandal? One of the Empress candidates ditching Gojo for a Duke instead?

You wanted to believe that maybe that wouldn't be so bad. You'd be safe. Secure.

He wouldn't make your stomach flip or your heart ache. Wouldn't weigh on your soul the way Gojo did, wouldn't claw his way into each waking thought no matter how many times you scratched him out.

A quiet love that grew over time. One you could live with.

"Don't worry, sweetheart," Geto slyly said, leaning down to kiss your forehead. "I'll take care of you."

✧

"I'm glad you came to your senses."

Gojo was just glad he'd be able to throw Mei Mei in a cell and toss the key down a drain in two hours.

But first?

He just had to make it through this fake announcement, plastering on a polite smile and put on a show in front of his people to promise he'd found their next Empress.

Even if standing next to someone who made him sick.

Mei Mei kept edging closer, leaning down to probably murmur another mocking assessment of the situation before the wide double doors swung open to the ceremony hall, whispering and gasps erupting from the crowd as everyone turned around.

Seeing you in Geto's arms with another woman clinging to his was a kind of cruelty Gojo had never known.

The way your cheek was pressed against Geto's chest, fingers holding onto his shirt like he was your savior made Gojo's breath hitch in his throat. He was halfway down the first steps when his fake bride-to-be grabbed his sleeve to stop him.

Your wrists were raw, you lips parched, a bruise on your cheek making it apparent to anyone with eyes you hadn't just run away. A cloak draped over you like you were in something indecent under it, hopefully just a nightgown instead of something worse.

"Are you ok-"

"Don't come closer," Geto called out, and there was the soft clink of someone reading for their sword. It wasn't him, but the guards by his side.

"What?" Gojo almost laughed, blinking hard like he was waiting to get the joke.

He was flanked before Geto even got to the punchline.

"You're under arrest for treason," He coldly answered, and Gojo was too stunned to put up a fight when they put him in heavy iron cuffs.

How the fuck could he commit treason?

He was the emperor, the sun and the stars and the sky. He supposed he'd failed to consider it meant little if he didn't have support, if the pillars upholding him crumbled and cracked.

The sky had fallen. His luck has run dry.

"For the murder of your father, the previous Emperor, as well as-" Geto listed names like a death sentence, family members he'd never spared a second thought for when they passed, all accidents or early illnesses he hadn't even considered suspicious.

His most trusted advisor, his closest friend, was fucking framing him.

Had he been set up from to start?

Chained up like some animal while Geto delivered the charges stony-faced with you clutching his clothes and watching the scene unfold. Mei Mei was being cuffed too behind him, read off her own offenses for orchestrating your kidnapping. Or had that been apart of Geto's plan too?

This wasn't a mistake or misunderstanding.

This was a coup.

Judging by the hurt in your eyes, the pretty part of your lips as you stared at him in disbelief, you were just as confused and clueless as him.

He'd forgotten happy endings were typically reserved for children reading fairytales.

He wasn't prince charming. Wasn't the guy who got the girl.

Was it even destiny or was Gojo was just damned to be the villain in your story.

ᡴꪫ

Something was wrong.

A certain heaviness in the air, the strained looks cast your way every time Suguru took you somewhere new, a bakery to buy you fresh pastries or the seamstress designing your wedding gown. Somber and grim, like they knew a secret you didn't.

Gojo had ruled with strength, sincerity.

People were just scared of Suguru.

You supposed your rushed marriage was a sign in itself, the diamond on your finger a collar of a different size. Getting married in a month was fast even by royal standards.

But Suguru insisted. It was important to seal the union between your family's kingdom and the already oversized empire he'd stolen from under Gojo's nose.

Stolen wasn't the correct word, you guessed.

But that's what it felt like, didn't it?

Blindsided and burned by his most trusted ally and dragged to the dungeon to wait for a trial that kept getting delayed.

The accusations were hard to accept.

The idea that the same guy who showed up to your door with big bouquets and offered to share his dessert with you during meals, asking approximately a hundred times if everything was to your taste, desperate for the smallest bit of approval could also be a stone-cold murderer? Serial killer if what Suguru was saying was true?

You couldn't picture him poisoning his own father.

Setting up hunting accidents or pushing someone off a high ledge.

But what else were you supposed to believe when Suguru had suggested marriage just two days after they locked Gojo up? Swearing it was for the stability and safety of both of your people. Promising that he'd loved you long before he met you. That somewhere in between all those letters he'd been longing for you all this time.

But the weeks had only brought growing unease about the entire situation, walking into hushed conversations and asking questions just to get shut up with firm kisses and a hand up your dress.

So you kept your suspicions to yourself.

Let him show you off and concealed your thoughts in your letters back home to a family whose only replies concerned how your future would benefit theirs.

"You're distracted," Suguru commented, peppering kisses across your collarbone while you stared at the window of what you supposed was previously Gojo's office.

"Just a little strange, I guess, everything moving so quickly," You absentmindedly replied, gasping when his canines scraped suddenly against the thin skin over your tendons.

"It'll settle down soon," He reassured, the hand on your back pulling you closer, readjusting your position on his lap.

You just weren't sure if you'd like what you'd find after the dust settled.

Someone knocked.

Quick and quiet, waiting for Suguru to call back out before coming in. You recognized the man, Nanami, the same one from the first day you arrived, but the most you'd seen him since was nose-deep in paperwork, always someplace to be and something to do.

"My apologies for interrupting," He stoically delivered the words, deliberately avoiding addressing Suguru since his title had yet to be changed.

The coronation wasn't scheduled until after your marriage.

"It's fine," Suguru murmured, dismissively waving his other hand while the other discreetly slipped lower down to your thigh.

"Do you have the documentation and ledgers for the trial?" Nanami asked, removing his glasses and cleaning the lenses off on his clean and tidy shirt, pushing them back up his nose with a bored expression.

"Sure," Suguru muttered, pulling out a drawer to grab a short stack of papers, all bearing the same name.

Satoru Gojo.

"Evidence of him purchasing the herbs he used on his father," Suguru tsk-ed, sliding them across the desk to Nanami.

Your stomach churned. There was just one small problem.

The signature was one you recognized well. You spent years memorizing it after all.

So you could say for certain it didn't match the only note the real Satoru Gojo had ever left you.

ᡴꪫ

The dungeon was cold, the stone floor freezing as you hurried to pad over as silently as you could to the cell at the end. You guessed you only had about five minutes before the guards would return from the change in rotation.

Iron-wrought bars stretched from the floor to the ceiling, only a small window allowing a sliver of moonlight in, a cruel reminder of the outside he couldn't reach.

This was an awful idea.

One you might even be risking your life for.

But wasn't Gojo's on the line already?

"Am I lucky enough to get a good night kiss, angel? Or is it goodbye?" Gojo wryly teased once he saw you through the dark, his sense of humor unfortunately still in tact. It was bitter, the sound of a man that'd been betrayed.

"Quiet," You hissed, glancing over your shoulder down the corridor. "I'm not supposed to be here."

Suguru might be looking for you already.

You'd excused yourself from dinner early, feigning a headache and pretending to sleep through the three different maids periodically peeking in to check on you before you guessed he believed you really did feel ill. But who knows if he'd still send another? Suguru was the only person more paranoid than you.

It was getting increasingly more difficult to act normal around him. What if you were apart of some plan or next on his list?

He clearly had no problems deceiving you.

Honestly, the longer you thought about it, the more you found wrong with him. How he'd taken over Gojo's life so seamlessly. How convenient it was for him to find you right on time to make his grand entrance. How rumors had started spreading that he'd taken Mei Mei's tongue just so she couldn't even confirm if he had any part in the scheme.

"Yeah?" Gojo chuckled, softer now, pushing off the grimy ground to stand, his hands still cuffed and a heavy collar around his throat chained to the wall. Not even afforded the smallest freedom here. They knew he wasn't going to escape. It was about humiliating him. Shrinking him down to some humble size. He managed to take a few steps closer, stopping just short of the bars between you. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company then?"

"Are they feeding you?" You whispered.

"Occasionally."

You tugged out the loaf hidden inside your cloak, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you hesitantly stuck your hand through the slats, stretching your arm so the tip was grazing against his lips. You had to sneak into the kitchen to steal it, a few candies you'd been saving also tucked into your pocket.

"You must be hungry then," You mumbled, refusing to meet his eye as he took the first few nibbles.

"Why'd you come?" He grunted through hungry bites, and you could feel the way those brilliant eyes sized you up, refusing to dull even after who knows how long without food.

They were treating him like a feral mutt, something that'd snap his jaws around your throat if released. But he looked more like a puppy like this, tilting his head the side and eating out of your hand. If only his collar was lined with gems instead of made from heavy metal.

"You didn't do any of it, did you?" You asked, even if just forming the words felt like a betrayal to Suguru.

"My only crime was trusting my, ah, your friend," He corrected himself with a huff, like his attitude could hide how much he was hurting. Bruises littered his face, his fancy outfit filthy. "Or is he your fiancé now?"

You didn't answer, but his eyes flickered down the the engagement ring perched on your finger.

He made a noise, half a grunt and half a laugh.

"Of course."

"I don't think I have much choice in the matter," You excused. You hadn't wanted to believe that at first, but the past couple days had you considering how much of your control was just a carefully crafted illusion.

What would Suguru have done if you said no to him? If you insisted on going back home?

You swallowed hard, meeting Gojo's sharp stare, squinting at you with more sadness than suspicion.

"You should leave," He finally said, as if he was telling you to take the last life jacket on a sinking ship. Trying to convince you to save yourself.

"I have a duty," You murmured, unsure of what it even meant anymore. Raised to rule correctly, to be just and fair in all matters. To put everyone else before yourself.

It wasn't a risk of Suguru retaliating if he discovered your deception - it would be a reality. For all you knew, you could be locked up right next to Gojo just for being here.

But for some stupid reason, you just couldn't let this go.

Couldn't stay silent while Suguru condemned him to death or a miserable life locked in a cage.

"You don't. Not to me," Gojo frowned, ignoring the rest of the bread. Freeing you from the burden of his fate. "So go. Get as far away from him as possible."

You wished you could.

"I'm going to get you out of here," You promised, hating yourself for giving him hope you were hardly confident in. You tucked the bread back under your arm, snagging one of the sweet candies from your pocket and unwrapping the shiny gold paper.

"I won't hold you to that," He chuckled, his voice raspy.

The man you thought he was didn't exist anymore. Maybe never had.

Even here, he was hellbent on making you second guess and get stuck on every word that left his lips.

So you pressed the candy to them instead and they partied for you naturally, letting you place the drop on his tongue. His lips were probably soft before, now cracked as they grazed over your fingertips.

Funny how it felt like a kiss.

Funnier how you were thinking about it still sneaking back into bed an hour later, carefully hanging your coat back up and hiding the last of the bread to discard later.

You had to come up with an excuse to scribble on a note to Suguru the next morning, claiming to need a few final addresses for wedding invitations to approach the one man you suspected could assist you.

He certainly hadn't expected you, the only evidence you had hidden in your dress when you stepped into his office.

"I need your help."

✧

Your promise lingered in his brain like the taste of candy on his tongue.

Really, you owed him nothing. No kindness. No assistance.

You were risking everything. Your kingdom, your chance at being Empress, even your own life just to help him.

The fact you didn't expect anything from him made it worse.

No debt you wanted him to owe or reward to be received.

Was that what the duty you spoke of was? To do the right thing at the cost of yourself? Why were you so willing to pay it?

Waiting in the dark and the grime with no distractions. His only company the guard dropping by once in the morning to release his cuffs and offer his lone meal for the day and the second one in the evenings coming back to bind his hands again.

They never removed the collar.

All the old wounds of people passing ripped open again. The harsh truth of being left and only that had scarred over his heart split open and needing new stitches.

He understood why Geto did it. For the power. The control. Having the world at his whim and word.

Gojo just didn't understand how he could do it to him.

Geto had helped him plan the funerals, easing the burden and bringing him food when he forgot to eat, promising to handle the paperwork and take some of the pressure off of him. Knowing damn well what really happened.

Now he was mourning all the lives lost - including his own.

The pale light from the window cut into the stone to mark the passage of time, but it only reminded him of his miserable conditions more.

The barren cot and blank walls, the toilet in the corner for him to use. Nothing to compare to his lavish bedroom just a few floors away.

Was Geto using the suite now? Taking you to his bed, your plush thighs pushed to your chest and your dress discarded on the thick rug or wooden floor somewhere? Hair splayed out across the silk sheets as your head tilted back on his pillows, letting out some lewd moan?

God, he'd rather just get executed now if that was the case.

Days passed without your return, occupied only by the thought of your face, the way you smiled at him, just that once, the crinkle by your eyes when you laughed after you stepped on his toes.

Another morning had come.

Today's guard was particularly smug, a crude grin on his scarred face when he barked orders at him to turn around so he could remove his cuffs.

Except, the second the heavy weight fell away, his left ring finger was grabbed, and in two short seconds crushed, a sick snap echoing in the small chamber. A gutteral sound escaped Gojo, strangled and pained.

"Big day," The guard mocked, letting go and walking away without another word.

For a second, he wondered if this was it. If they had bypassed a trial entirely and he'd been sentenced to his death without a second thought. But then he looked down at his hand, clutching his broken finger as he bitterly realized what the brute was hinting at.

He didn't want to believe it.

But the movement over his head, the busy bodies and voices filtering through the ceiling from the floor only reinforced the idea.

A royal wedding.

Geto was going to marry you.

Take his place in every way possible.

Tighten your leash too, pin your fate to his to prevent you from coming to Gojo's rescue.

The hope he'd been holding onto had faded, only left with the heartache of knowing he was stuck. Nothing to do. Nowhere to go.

Trapped in a stone tomb.

He wasn't sure how long he stood. Lead limbed and broken in more places he could count. But the ache in his heart was all you.

Trying to imagine what how you felt. If you were wearing a white dress. How a tiara would look sitting pretty nestled on top of your hair. Or maybe a custom crown made to match the one he used to wear.

If he was granted a final wish, he hoped it'd be your forgiveness, or maybe that goodbye kiss.

Footsteps approached, and he wondered if the guard had come back to break another finger. And honestly, he was thinking about just letting him if it meant his mind would be torn away from thinking about you.

But the man in front of him removed his polished silver helmet to reveal the last person he expected.

Who would've guessed Nanami would be his knight in shining armor?

"Shut up," The blond preemptively scoffed before Gojo could get a joke out, key in hand as he hurried to unlock the heavy door, careful to push it open slowly so it wouldn't creak.

"Where is she?" Gojo hoarsely asked, throat sore and aching from the limited water he'd been living on lately.

"Getting married," Nanami muttered, brows drawn together in a deep scowl as he flipped through his keys for the right one to unlock the collar around Gojo's throat, the skin rough and raw when he finally yanked it off.

"Over my dead body," Gojo gritted his teeth, as Nanami removed his armor as quickly as possible, passing him pieces for him to quickly get dressed in. A clever disguise to get out of here unnoticed.

"Geto would certainly prefer that," Nanami sarcastically sighed as Gojo tugged on the silver helmet at the end.

"What's the plan?" Gojo asked, out-of-breath already, his body not used to the exertion.

"Remind the people who their real emperor is," His former secretary tsk-ed, as if it should be obvious to him. "I'll handle the proof."

Sneaking out was easier than he expected, the guard that was supposed to on-duty passed out drunk when they walked by. Gojo guessed Nanami had somehow slipped sleeping pills in his bottle.

Gojo stole his sword and sheath as he stepped over him.

His finger ached, swelling up under his glove. But he gripped the handle tighter, refusing to switch it to the other hand if not for his own proof of the pain Geto so casually inflicted.

He only sheathed it after Nanami brought up it might blow their cover.

Nanami led him through corridors he hadn't even been in before, back hallways that connected and bypassed the heavily-traveled ones, but the chatter kept growing closer as they approached the ceremony hall.

Were you already in there? Had you walked down the aisle? Was Geto's hand in yours just waiting for you to say your vows? To bind your soul to his?

"Can you walk faster?" Gojo impatiently huffed, jaw clenched.

What if they didn't make it in time?

What if-?

They made it to the an open door, Nanami giving the guard by the side entrance a curt nod as they found a gap just big enough in the knight's scattered formation for them not to stand out.

The priest was going on a long drone about commitment, consideration, the connection between hearts in love. Gojo wasn't sure if Geto even had a heart anymore.

His sharp blue eyes focused on you, drowning in your wedding dress, the corset cinched too tight on purpose to push your chest up, the skirt a ridiculous pouf of fabric below the waist, covered in a shimmery fabric that glittered every time you moved.

Something to distract the crowd from noticing your face, your forced smile painted pink and the eyeliner and mascara smudged around your tear line like you'd been crying.

You were still the most beautiful bride he'd ever seen, his chest straining and heart jumping into his throat to choke up his breathing.

"If anyone objects to this union, speak-"

"I object," Gojo stepped forward without a second thought, his focus solely on you, watching your eyes widen the second they met his.

"Satoru," You breathed his name, shaky and sincere and hopeful.

"How the fuck is he here?" Geto hissed to the closet knight, stepping in front of you to block your body from his sight.

You pulled away from him, trying to rush past him but his arm caught you by your waist, pulling you back into his chest. Gojo was moving forward on instinct, panic surging through him at the sight of Geto putting his hands on you, only hesitating to draw the sword in case he might hurt you. But you hurt Geto first, elbowing him just hard enough to catch him by surprise and slipping away before he could catch you again.

Your heels were giving you trouble, nearly stumbling as you tried to slip between the confused crowd, already whispering between themselves as the slow realization started to set in at who was under the helmet.

Gojo met you halfway, a hand protectively pulling you up, but you were clinging to his armor the second you were close enough.

Whatever happened, you were in this together.

Gojo took off his helmet, tossing it to the ground, a collective gasp breaking out at the disgraced former emperor wedding crashing.

"You murdered my family, framed me, and now what? Trying to marry my lady?" You would probably slap him for that last line later, but it made the impression he wanted in the audience, redirecting all the suspicious stares back to the man left at the alter.

"You're pathetic," Geto cooly dismissed, glancing back to the knights guarding the doors he'd just came in through. "Seize him. Careful with the princess, it looks like the former emperor has used some kind of witchcraft to convince her of his lies."

Feeding into the hysteria of magic and conspiracy with a slimy lie, coming up with whatever excuse he needed to get Gojo back in jail and you back under his thumb.

But Nanami stepped out of the shadows, pulling out a stack of papers and a slip of a note.

The knights approaching hesitated, unsure if they should really follow Geto's command. Nanami was intimidating in a different sort of way - commandeering a certain respect an authority without trying.

"Arrest the Duke. More evidence has surfaced to suggest he's the suspect behind the crimes we're currently investigating," He somberly instructed, gesturing to Geto. "The signatures on the documents he provided were forgeries."

"You know me," Geto called out to you, not really a plea, but like he wanted you to understand. Like he wanted you to think this was for you.

"I don't think so," You swallowed hard, and you were physically shaking next to him.

"He's not what you need," Geto's voice was harder this time, shrugging off the few knights that had dared to approach him.

It happened in just a few seconds.

His former best friend stealing a sword from the closest knight, the silver catching the sunlight streaming in from the grand stained windows, and then coming down swiftly.

Gojo was just faster.

Stepping in front to shield you, drawing the sword and meeting Geto's with a loud clash. The crowd was scattering back, a few surprised shouts and screams echoing in the large hall.

His muscles screamed at the extension, underworked and starved for weeks. But the idea of losing was inconceivable.

Geto had already embarrassed him enough in front of you.

The second swipe of Geto's sword nearly landed, narrowly avoiding getting skewered at the last second, pushing you back enough to land in an annoyed Nanami's arms.

Gojo sucked in a sharp breath, steadying himself and getting ready to strike just for something to smack Geto in the face, a heel clattering to the floor by his feet.

You had thrown your fucking shoe at him.

Gojo seized the opportunity, the single second Geto was still stunned to knock his sword hard enough to send it skittering to the floor out of reach.

The knights hurried to grab him, no handcuffs prepared this time, one taking each arm as they took Nanami's word for it.

Geto didn't say anything.

No big proclamation or sudden profession. Just held his stare, not sorry in the slightest as they lead him down the same path Gojo walked a month before. Down to the recesses of the dungeon.

His only regret was probably not covering his tracks properly.

Thinking you were the type of girl who cared about wearing the crown in the first place.

Gojo wasn't sure which domino fell next.

Tossing his sword. The people surrounding him. The cheers. Crying that they'd never believed the lies as if he hadn't been there when they stayed silent.

But it was still his people. The ones he'd been born to protect and serve until his last breath.

He tried to smile, wave his hand that every swivel of his wrist didn't send sharp pains up to his broken finger, laughed and grinned like he was happy to be back.

But when he turned, he only caught a glimpse of your dress, the glitter of it and your hobble as you hurried into the hall.

It seemed chasing after you had become second nature.

"Wait," He called out, forcing his way between people, rushing to get to you before you could disappear out of sight.

He could've grabbed your hand again, but simply?

Gojo was too excited.

Once you were withing reach, he was grabbing you and pulling you into an almost crushing hug, squeezing your waist and burying his face into your hair.

"Thank you," He murmured, sharp nose nuzzling against your neck without meaning to, mostly just trying to stop himself from sniffling.

He half expected you to shove him off, to scoff and dismiss it as your duty again.

Bur you hugged him back, arms tentatively wrapping around him.

"You smell awful."

ᡴꪫ

His bath, however, smelled like sugar and roses.

You shouldn't know that. Yet, you stayed anyway.

Let Gojo lead you back to his chambers, insisting he needed the company and didn't want anyone else. You just didn't want to admit you didn't want to leave him either.

A maid delivered fresh clothes at his request, laying them out neatly on the bed after promising to be discreet when all three of you knew the rest of the palace would know by the end of the day.

He unlaced your wedding dress for you, a nervous flutter in your stomach at how nimbly he freed you from the too-tight corset. You still shoved him in the bathroom so you could finish stripping, a heap of shimmering fabric left on the floor as you traded it in for an almost as embarrassing gown that looked more like lingerie.

Anxious, you knocked on the door to the bathroom, leaning in to listen to the sound of running water.

"I'm finished, um, Gojo?" You weren't sure what to call him now. He would have to be coronated after getting stripped from his role. Did that make him a prince again?

"I like it when you call me Satoru," He hummed inside.

"Well, Satoru, should I fetch food, or perhaps a doctor for you?" You chewed on the inside of your lap, looking around for something to cover yourself up if you were going to leave the room.

Everything was rich and warm in here, funny little glass animals on shelves and expensive tapestries on the wall. His huge four poster bed carved with intricate woodwork, silk sheets and luxurious blankets spread over it. Well-worn and well-loved.

What would your life be like, you wondered, if it'd always been him from the start?

"Could you come in first? I can't reach the soap," He called out.

You pushed the door open, peeking inside shyly to find him already submerged in the tub, water up to his chest and bubbles concealing everything underneath. He shut off the faucet, another reminder of just how wealthy he was to have one of the few rooms with heated water in the whole estate.

His head was reclined back on the porcelain rim of the tub, white hair freshly washed. His face still had a few flecks of dirt on it, his cheeks and jaw far sharper than they'd been a few weeks ago, and still, he was so handsome it hurt. But it was the raw skin where the collar had rested that caught your attention, the once smooth complexion pink and irritated.

He turned to look over, cracking open a single eye just to freeze and immediately open both when he saw what you were wearing. Another day you probably would've laughed at how hard the lump in his throat bobbed before he tried to pull his charming mask back on.

"Are you just going to stare?" He teased, throwing a frustratingly cute lopsided smirk over at you. "I don't mind, I mean, I'm flattered-"

"Does it hurt?" You blurted out, your hand returning to your own neck as if you could feel it. But that just reminded you of the engagement ring still on your finger, and you hurried to take it off, embarrassment pricking at it as you glanced at the diamonds glittering in your palm.

"I'm fine," Gojo said, soft now, blue eyes narrowed as he watched you with concern. "Are you?"

"Yeah."

Perhaps you were both just liars.

You left the engagement ring on the sink, half hoping it'd fall down the drain before grabbing the soap and the basket of washcloths from the wall. Getting down on your knees next to the bath and looking to him for permission he gave you with a surprised nod.

Damping a washcloth before scrubbing his smooth skin, weeks of grime washing off with a little work. He closed his eyes, letting you gently get him clean again, humming a song you'd never heard before.

He'd lifted his hand up, about to comb through his hair with his fingers when you noticed one crooked and swollen. A choked-up gasp escaped you, surprised at his injury.

"Hey, don't worry," He soothed, wiggling it even though it made him wince. "I'll get the doctor to set it when I get out, okay?"

You let him comfort you. Let him tell you stupid stories so you could remember what it felt like to laugh. Let him hold your hand and squeeze softly to remind you where you were.

It was nice.

This small comfort, this idea of intimacy where you didn't need to speak or ramble to know you were appreciated. The closeness in knowing he'd protect you - and you'd do the same for him.

Maybe he'd write you back when you left this time.

ᡴꪫ

Satoru insisted you stay another month.

You obliged him. You weren't even sure why. What would you have to go back to now anyway?

A family who never bothered to write now that you wouldn't be Empress? Wouldn't have a husband with the kind of power or connections they want?

Maybe you could find a quiet cottage somewhere warm - somewhere you'd just have a piece of land and a serene place to sleep. It sounded a little unfulfilling, a far cry from the dreams you once again deemed out-of-reach.

But you guessed it was better than being unwanted.

The world's most gracious host has given you a frankly absurd amount of gifts anyway, more dresses and jewelry than you could pack or even conceivably wear. If you sold enough, you could certainly scrounge up the funds you'd need for it.

He was too busy to notice, buried under a mountain of paperwork and planning to reinstate himself as emperor, juggling duties he'd previously neglected on top of settling the trail with Suguru. You hadn't seen the sentencing. Hadn't asked.

Only written out your testimony against him, claiming it'd be too much for you to be in the same room as him.

Satoru was quick to put his seal on that document, apparently as anxious as you were about you seeing Suguru again.

His finger was still crooked. Might be forever. You'd accompanied him to his last doctor's appointment where they'd suggested breaking it again to try setting it again. Gojo declined.

His throat had mostly healed, faint scars left that he'd been hiding under high collars or cloaks unless he was with you.

Gojo always stopped his paperwork to search for you at least once or twice a day, hunting you down in the library or gardens or convincing you to have to take a break and have tea with him.

No bugs this time.

He'd sneak into bed with you at night sometimes, too late for any nosy attendants to pay attention, rubbing his tired eyes and murmuring about nightmares before he clambered under the blankets next to you.

It was stupid to allow him in. When he made your heart stutter and stop every time he pulled you into his body in his sleep, stroking your hair softly and making promises under his breath.

You needed to move on.

The bond you had was rooted in something you weren't even sure was romantic. He hadn't tried to kiss you, although there had been a few times you thought he would. Nights where you'd be so close your noses would almost touch, mornings where you'd wake up in his arms.

Sometimes you considered just kissing him to know what it felt like. Just a single second to see what you'd spent so long dreaming about before you shelved it entirely.

But Gojo was preoccupied with his own dreams.

You woke up to an empty bed the morning of his second coronation ceremony, the scent of his soap and shampoo still on your pillow when you rolled over, tracing your fingers over the faint indent his body had left.

A note has been left on your nightstand, accompanied by a pretty white flower cutting of heliotrope, probably just picked because it was the same shade as his hair and swelled sweet. You still smiled, rubbing the corner of your eyes before reading the note.

See you later, S

You saved it. Changed clothes and slipped it into the pocket of your dress, something you were sure you'd have every inkblot memorized of by the time you were four hours away this afternoon.

And who knows?

Maybe you would see him again some day.

✧

His crown was once again perched on its proper place, gold and gems glittering on top of his moon-white hair.

The crowd cheered louder for his second coronation than they had for his first.

But the only face he hoped to find wasn't there. Showered with praises and poems, returned to his rightful status while he mourned the future he was meant to have before.

One where maybe he had the decency to open your first letter and replied his damn self. One where he'd married you and his best friend was the best man instead of stuck in the same cell he'd just spent a month in. Might've spent the rest of his life in if it wasn't for you.

Too busy missing the signs and making mistakes he would be paying for until he was buried.

He was terrified he'd made another one without realizing it.

You hadn't left yet, had you?

He slipped away from the party, not offering explanations or excuses to anyone who attempted to stop him, scratching his neck around the collar of the stupid fur cloak they'd insisted on dressing him in and hurrying through the hall until he found your room.

Gojo paused, holding his breath before twisting the knob, his stomach curling at the realization it was unlocked before he pushed it open.

The bed was neatly made, the balcony curtains drawn to let in the sun, light bathing the room that refused to warm his skin without you there. The note he'd left, the flower he handpicked for you, had both disappeared, taken too.

You were gone. He walked in, touching every surface like he was searching for some sign of you. There wasn't even a note.

He paused, glancing through one of the pretty stained glass windows overlooking the front garden, the cobbled path to the street packed with carriages outside.

And you.

Handing over a suitcase to the driver, glancing past your shoulder and shielding your eyes to look over the palace one last time.

His legs were moving for him, ripping open the balcony door and calling your name.

You didn't hear him.

He didn't bother judging the distance, or even looking down at the drop. It was only the second floor after all.

And then he was jumping over the railing, landing in a bush and losing his cloak in the process, branches and leaves getting stuck to his outfit as he scrambled to get free, his ankle aching as he broke into a jog to catch up to you. It was a miracle his crown hadn't fallen off. Sprinting down the street and shouting to you like he was fucking crazy, and he supposed he really might've lost it when he watched you climbing in to the carriage and the door shut behind you.

The driver saw him first, freezing and squinting at him before gawking the second he realized who this stranger was.

Already starting to bow his head before Gojo was begging him to wait, fumbling through an explanation that he needed to speak to you.

You must have heard something, the door opening back up and your cute face scrunching in confusion when you peeked out.

"Satoru?"

He couldn't let this be the last time you called him that.

Gojo wasn't sure what he was doing, didn't have a single fucking clue, really, but he was down on both knees before you could get another syllable out.

"Don't go," He murmured, a desperate plea shining in his eyes. "I just, I know I'm a mess and I've put you through enough, but fuck, I can't lose you, okay? I love you, and I-I need you, and you're just-"

"I'm what?" You asked, soft and surprisingly sincere when he half-expected you to shut the door on him while he rambled.

"You're too good for me," He confessed, blunt and broken in a way he didn't know if he'd be able to put back together on his own. "If I was a better man, I'd let you leave and never look back, but I'm selfish and stupid and-"

You grabbed him by his collar and tugged him inside the carriage, shutting the door behind him with a slam.

"I'm sor-" He started to apologize again just for you to huff and shut him up with a kiss.

There was nothing soft about it.

It was hard and hungry and heated, your hands on his face and your lips between his, the taste of mint lingering on them as he desperately kissed you back.

He was grabbing your waist, awkwardly maneuvering until you were straddling his lap, soft thighs spread over his sturdy ones, squeezing you every few seconds to make sure you were real and this wasn't some incredibly long dream he'd been having inside his cell still.

"Is this-" He stammered, barely breaking away just to breathe in your skin, the perfume on it and the smell of his soap on your body. "Are you sure?"

"Kiss me again and find out," You murmured, fingers tracing up over his collar one and getting tangled in his hair, careful not to mess up the crowd he'd forgotten he was still wearing.

His mouth found yours again, hungrily sucking on your bottom lip when your hips suddenly rolled down on the growing bulge barely concealed by his pants.

Gojo's fingers felt clumsy when he fumbled for his crown, taking it off just to delicately place it on your head between kisses, grinning at the way you pulled back just to giggle and smile at him.

"Oh?"

"It's yours," He promised. It wasn't much for a proposal, but he needed you to know he meant it. He'd give you the palace on a platter if you wanted it.

"I'll think about it," You teased.

And hey, that wasn't a no.

You tilted your head to the side, and he took that as permission to leave more proof of his affection down your throat, littering the skin with bites and sucks. You moaned, just barely audible at his teeth nipped at you, and his cock practically jumped, throbbing to be touched.

He felt his jaw stiffen, trying to hold himself back, kissing you softer to keep himself together.

"Satoru," You said his name, and it was only when your smile subtly curled up in time with his cock twitched again that he realized you knew what you were doing, knew what effect you had on him.

"Princess," He breathed, struggling not to stutter when you readjusted on his lap, your hips moving just right, the pressure and friction making his already hazy head more lost in you.

"Do you really want me?" You asked, blinking a few times, lashes fluttering and eyes begging him to say yes. Offering him a vulnerable sliver of yourself.

"More than I've ever wanted anything," He answered truthfully.

"Then take me," You shrugged, maybe to make the moment feel smaller, like it was something you could contain.

He kissed you again, starving every second his lips weren't on you.

"Not here," He murmured.

You huffed at him, letting your canines graze a little too harsh against his bottom lip, but he couldn't help but hope you'd bite, leave his lip bruised and swollen so everyone could see your claim on him.

"Where then?"

He had you splayed out in his bed twenty minutes later, carrying you over his shoulder like a piece of game or grand trophy he'd won, ignoring the cheers and congratulations of staff members he passed by and the flustered few who tried to shout at him to return to the after-party. You were giggling the whole way there, keeping the crown on your head with one hand.

Gojo took his time peeling off every layer you were reveling in the softness of your skin and the shape of your body, tracing over the dimples and curves, holding his breath when he finally pulled your panties down your thighs.

"Are you just going to stare?" You mimicked him, but he could see the uncertainty in your own face, nervousness betraying you.

"I've never, um, y'know," He awkwardly began to admit, but he was sure his touch made it obvious, the tender way he skimmed over your breasts instead of immediately groping them.

"Had sex?" You scrunched your face up, like you really never guessed.

"Yeah," He muttered, still fumbling for the buttons on his shirt, pulling it off and discarding it on the floor by your dress. "Have you?"

"No," You shook your head, biting down on the inside of your cheek, a little embarrassed yourself. "I've done, other stuff but um, never this."

"Just tell me if it's too much," He murmured, getting out of bed to stand and properly take his own pants off. The way you watched him made him self-conscious, aware of the scars and his body still too lean for his liking. He'd resumed morning workouts and eating as much as he could to makeup for the days and weeks stuck in a cell, but he'd been in a better shape before.

"You're so attractive it's annoying," You confessed with a soft sigh, your eyes trailing down to the v of his hips, lingering on this pink and aching cock beneath the thick patch of his happy trail.

"You think so?" He hm-ed, not realizing his badly he needed the reassurance.

"Yes, Your Imperial Majesty. Now come here," You impatiently teased, just as needy as him.

He climbed back in bed, but he laid down next to you, pulling you up on his chest so your back as reclining on him, one hand slipping between your thighs while the other found your breast, toying with the nipple while he dipped two fingers inside your entrance.

Slick and soaked just for him.

"W-what are you-" Your voice broke, shattered like glass as you suddenly gasped when he pushed past that first tight ring of resistance, your walls clenching around his fingers.

"That feel good?" He hummed in your ear, lips grazing against the shell of it when you shivered under his touch, twitching when he rolled his thumb over your nipple.

"Mm, mhm," You nodded, craning your neck up to make eye contact with him, your stare glossy, full of something he hoped was love rather than just lust or longing.

Pumping his fingers faster, crooking them in deeper just to watch the way your lips parted with pleas of his name, studying the shape of your mouth when it formed the syllables.

His cock was painfully hard, throbbing with every moan, desperate for some release stuck between your back and his abs, barely able to keep his hips from bucking up.

He wasn't even sure if he'd be able to last more than two seconds when he was actually inside you.

So he tried to focus on your pleasure, stretching you open with a third finger, barely able to slot it in, watching the tears prick at your lashes.

"P-please, S'toru, need you," You whined, shuddering and moaning when his thumb ghosted over your clit.

He had you flat on the mattress in two seconds.

Back arching off the bed, his hands on your hip to hold you up while he pressed the tip of his leaking cock to your entrance. You gasped, silently nodding at him to put it in.

"Fuck, my pretty lady needs me?" He gritted his teeth, jaw clenched as he used every last drop of self-control in his body to ease his way in, watching inch by inch of his thick cock disappear into your warmth, veins pulsing as you sucked him in.

He felt like he might pass out.

Seeing the way your body connected with his, feeling your hips under his hand, the way you melted into a puddle in his palm, peering up at him the same way he'd pictured in his head so many times.

You made a sound, trying to speak and stuffed too full to get the words out.

And fuck, he was right there with you when he bottomed out, tip pressing into what he guessed was your womb, pleasure burning through him in hot flashes.

"I love you," He groaned, leaning down to kiss you, his cock throbbing when he refused to move, refused to budge, showering your face in kisses while you wrapped your wrists behind his neck and crossed your legs behind his back.

The closeness of all of it was too much.

You felt like his.

"Promise me," You murmured, inhaling hard between heated kisses.

"I promise," He easily repeated, pulling out his cock and pushing back in for the first unsure trust your chest rising and falling like he'd knocked the breath out of you. "Forever."

"Even if the next life?" You lightened up, your teasing once again turning into a whine when he buried himself down to the hilt inside you.

"Every life."

He made sure to fuck you like it.

Demanding thrusts, claiming you inside and out, his cock pumping in-and-out, his grip bruising on your hips and his lips leaving hickies all over your neck. Drawing moan after moan from your mouth, flipping you onto your stomach to keep going, pushing your back into that pretty arch for him and splitting you open on his cock with borderline mean pumps.

"Mine," He muttered, trailing kisses back up your spine to the nape of your neck, brushing the hair away and groaning at how hard you squeezed him, trying to milk him for all he had. "Tryin' to make me cum, princess?"

"M-maybe," You huffed. Your voice was a broken whisper, strained from the strangled noises he kept ripping from you.

The heat in his chest was building, skin damp with and loose strands of hair stuck to his forehead as his muscles burned and tensed.

He slipped a hand underneath your body, finding your clit and rolling it between two fingers, your body shuddering, pressure building in your own stomach at the friction.

"Breathe, baby," He teased, and you tried, your cries muffled into the mattress when you unraveled beneath him, cumming hard right as his own tension snapped, abs briefly pulling taut as he painted your insides white.

Cum leaking down your thighs by the time he pulled out, mesmerized by the way it slowly dripped down onto his silk sheets. His tip was still swollen, resting on your ass and dripping more as he sucked in a sharp breath, tracing over your skin with adoration before pushing his cum back inside you just to hear the filthy squelch.

"Did so good f'me, princess," He praised, not quite able to steady his breathing still as you rolled over to face him, your own chest heaving.

"Just princess?" You hummed, limbs weak and exhausted as you grabbed his hand and tugged him on top of you.

"Would you say yes if I asked you to be my Empress?" He asked, running his thumb over your lip before leaning down to get another taste of you.

"Perhaps," You smiled, soft and sweet and everything he'd been dreaming about for months.

And the idea of it being his, of you smiling at him like that every day, was irresistible and intoxicating and absolutely addicting. Imagining you with him all the time, in his office and on his throne, waddling around with his baby in your belly or cradling an infant in your arms, he wanted all of it.

The good days and the bad, every broken and bent piece of you and all the best ones too.

Truly the luckiest man on earth just to exist in your warmth for however many moments you allowed.

"Hey, baby?" He yawned, leaning down to rest his head against your collarbone while your soft palms slid up his back.

"Mhm?"

"I think I sprained my ankle."