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BOOYA BOOYA BOYYA SOOOOO WORTH THE WAIT MY DARLINGFGF I LOVED THAT 🩵

ARE YOU BORED YET? - part three

18+ — MINORS DNI

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: you're steve's "bitchy" step-sister and are spending the summer in hawkins; eddie is steve's annoying best friend who you can't seem to shake, but things take a sharp turn when you find yourself sneaking around and ultimately falling for him

contains: slightly enemies to lovers trope, food/eating, drug use and mentions of alcohol, smoking, secret relationship vibes, lots of tension, tons of kissing, flirting, oral (f receiving), mentions of virginity, a hint of blasphemy, a sprinkle of angst, and eddie being an obsessed loverboy <3

word count: 16.3k (i sincerely apologize)

chapter song: hold me x fleetwood mac

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I series masterlist | their mixtape | -main masterlist- I

Cigarettes, artificial sugar, smoky cinnamon, light on your tongue and heavy on your knees— Eddie Munson tastes like a cool summer night on melted ice.

His lips are soft, pillowy, warm, and addictive. You get lost in them quickly, falling down an endless spiral of Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

Truthfully, you had been the one to jump.

And now you’re falling, quicker and longer than you had thought you would.

And nothing below you looks soft. Nothing is there to break your fall.

But Eddie feels good.

He feels good against your tongue, wet and hot and greedy— beneath your fingertips, warm, soft, and firm.

Kissing Eddie feels like walking through a vortex tunnel.

There are colors exploding around you, shaky grounds beneath your feet, the promising end glimmering ahead of you— and you know your dizziness will end once you step out of it, but you don’t want it to end. The uncertainty of steady knees forces you to hold onto what’s there, hope, and pray you don’t fall on your ass. Blink and watch the world spin around you— Eddie takes every breath you give, hungry and needy.

He presses you against his van, cool metal against the slivers of bare skin, watery whimpers splashing onto his tongue.

God, you can’t breathe.

Your heart is thrumming in your chest, hot and heavy, fingers swelling up with blood as they curl into Eddie’s shirt. His fingers press against your waist, firm, grounding and steady, but you’re anything but steady.

What are you doing?

Your breath catches. The warmth, the weight, the sheer intensity of what’s happening slams into you all at once.

Eddie licks into you, tilts his head and kisses you deeper. You let him. You feed him back, kiss him harder, pull him closer. The thrumming noise of a summer night is drowned by the rushing of blood in your ears. You can feel his breath on your lip and hear your bated breathing.

His fingers trail over your sides, shivers splintering up your back as he cups your face. You lean into it, just a little, and let yourself melt into him for a moment before reality grasps you tight and mercilessly.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

What are you doing?

It settles in your gut like hot stones, thick coats of wool wrapping around your tongue as you make a pathetic noise.

How did you end up here? Alone? With him?

Your grip on him loosens. The blood turns murky in your veins. The storm of uncertainty and confusion crashes over you like a tidal wave.

Eddie feels it before you can even pull back, you know he can. Your body stiffens, a sharp inhale between kisses, and you’re gone.

Nothing to break your fall.

You pull away from him, wet mouth already tainted with him, tongue already familiar with his taste— too late to go back.

There’s barely a whisper of space between you, but it feels like miles. Your world pans out, and you’re staring at Eddie, watching him witness your descent.

Your hands fall from his body, trembling and clenching once, twice.

Eddie doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Watches you like he’s studying you, trying to pick you apart.

Horror.

It drags through you like a snake.

What did you do? What door has just opened, and how do you close it before it’s too late?

His eyes shift, something dark behind the curtain of golden earth you’ve started to dream about.

It’s brief, a flicker, a small flash across your face, but he sees it. That wide-eyed, gut-punched, what have I done? look. His face settles with a look that makes your insides churn.

The air shifts. The warmth drains. And the moment is over.

Eddie swallows, your breaths still uneven, his lips wet as he drags his tongue over them, tasting you.

Fuck, you can taste him too. So clearly. Like you’ve split an orange over your mouth, drained it of its juice, let the acid burn you from the inside out.

You take a breath, shifting, memorizing the feeling of his hands on your waist when you speak, “Can you—” you clear your throat, “—I need to get home…”

Silence. Heavy. Overwhelming— It settles over you, the sound of cicadas in the trees plays like a symphony to the wind of thoughts in your mind.

Eddie stares for a long beat, like he’s waiting for you to take it back. Like he can see right through you. Like he’s hoping. But you don’t.

He nods. Sniffs, wipes a thumb across your nose to distract himself from the storm, eyes glancing away as he kicks at the dirt.

“Yeah… yeah, okay,” his jaw flexes, and he steps back, rings clinking against the metal door when he holds it open for you again.

This time, you don’t look at him, and you don’t dare to touch him.

The van is deadly silent.

A sharp contrast to the vibrant atmosphere you had carefully curated throughout the night. Most times you have been around Eddie, he’s a fountain of nonstop noise. He’s constantly saying or doing something— and the times that he’s not, it’s usually because he’s just being an ass.

But Eddie’s silence tonight isn’t a part of some joke he has. No, Eddie’s silence is just that. Silence. And it’s unnerving.

You don’t know what to say.

And this time, it’s not because you’re scared or have nothing to say to Eddie. This time, it’s because nothing you say or do can erase what you didn’t say or do.

You did the complete opposite of what you know, truly, deep down in your chest, you wanted to do. Instead of pulling Eddie closer, pressing your lips to his again and telling him he tasted like shitty cotton candy and smoke, you pulled away and acted like he’d spit poison in your mouth.

You curled away from him, retreated into whatever stupid little hole you’d dug for yourself, and resumed your facade of ‘don’t speak, never happened’.

But this happened.

You kissed Eddie.

And no amount of silence can deafen the buzzing ghost of his lips on yours.

Your hands rest in your lap, fingers picking at the skin around your nails as you avoid looking over at Eddie, scared he’ll be looking. But of course he isn’t. Because he’s driving, eyes locked on the road ahead, one hand gripping the wheel, the other clenched against his thigh.

His rings catch an occasional flash beneath passing streetlights. Just minutes ago, they had cooled your hot skin and played like an anchor to your dizzying mind. You’d thought they were cool, so incredibly and undeniably him. Now, they just look like armor.

The weight of the night fogs the air like smoke that won’t clear.

You wish there were noise. A cracked window to hear the wheels or Eddie’s usual loud music— but there’s nothing but the silent hum of the van beneath you.

You debate asking for a song— anything to kill the silence. But you think it’d do more damage than good. Like cheating. Like throwing a rug over the bloodstain.

You glance at Eddie again, dragging in a breath, words dancing on your tongue before you exhale, silent, letting it go unsaid.

You wish he’d say something. Anything. You wish he would just… be Eddie.

Call you some stupid pet name, say you’re dumb, make fun of you for running from a kiss. You nearly want to beg for it.

But he’s done being Eddie tonight.

He gave you Eddie, and you took it, chewed it to bits, and spat it right back in his face.

Now, he’s just a boy, driving you back home, holding pieces of something you almost gave him. And you feel it in the way he won’t look at you.

He’s close to your neighborhood, worn-out tires pulling you closer and closer to the end of what could’ve been a perfect night.

You hate to break the silence, hate that you have even to say the words bubbling in you, but you know it’s for your own good— both you and Eddie’s.

“Could you maybe�� drop me off a block away?…”

You glance at him, notice the clench in his jaw, the way he rolls a shoulder, seemingly decompressing himself. “Sure.”

It’s short. Clipped. Not the usual teasing lilt Eddie carries when he addresses you.

You take it anyway— grovel with it.

You don’t try again. You’re not one to beg, and you have no reason to plead for his forgiveness— your hesitation about whatever this is was not ill-natured. He knows that. You know that.

You think he knew it before you did.

He turns into your neighborhood, takes a few turns, and gets you as close as possible before he rolls to a stop, just below a streetlight.

He doesn’t turn the car off, the soft hum of the van filling in the silence. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t make a sound or do anything to indicate the end of the night. But you know it is either way.

You don’t unbuckle right away. Your fingers fidget with the strap, teeth chewing at the fleshy part of your lip. Your heart is loud in your chest, begging you just to open your mouth and say something, but all the words taste like cotton.

You look at him.

He still won’t look at you.

And when you think he won’t speak, he swipes a thumb across his nose and clears his throat, voice low and hoarse, “Uh… get home safe.”

Not what you wanted to hear, but better than nothing.

You nod. A ghost of a movement, a thank you caught in your throat.

And then the belt clicks when you unbuckle, your fingers curling around the handle to gently open the door as if anything more will shatter you into something worse.

You step into the cool breeze, the silent summer wrapping around you again, this time not as comforting as before.

You hesitate for a moment. Hope he’ll say something, your name, anything. But he doesn’t.

So, you take his silence, close the door, and turn around. Back to your home, back to your room where you’ll toss around in bed and think about tonight until it eats you alive.

You walk, silent sounds of nature enveloping you with each step you take. You can still feel him everywhere around you. Your lips still tingle, your hips still burn.

God, what did you do?

You don’t dare to glance back because you can hear Eddie’s van still running. Sitting there, watching as you walk down the street, his protection being the loudest thing he’s said since that kiss.

Finally, when you reach the end of the block, the van rumbles back into motion and disappears down the street, taking with it a version of the night that could’ve ended differently.

The house is quiet when you eventually slip inside.

The lights are off, a soft glow of the moon peeking through the windows as you sneak your way up to your room. You pass by Steve’s room, wonder if he’s awake, wonder if he could sense his friend’s presence practically drenched over you. Your stomach twists at the thought.

He’d chew you to bits if he ever found out. Tell you that you’re being selfish. That you know summer will come to an end.

You walk past his door, straight to your room, not bothering to turn the lights on.

Your clothes feel like an echo of the night, a reminder of what you’d tasted. What you’d felt. Who you tasted. Who you felt.

You peel them off slowly, tired from your day, but hoping that, maybe, if you move gently enough, the regret won’t sting as much.

You drop onto your bed, the spin of the ceiling fan painting a vivid image of what your stomach feels like.

You kissed him.

And then you left him.

Your fingers dance across your stomach and ribs, clasping around the small necklace on your chest. You twirl the small pendant between your fingers, replaying the night over and over in your mind, trying to figure out how it could’ve gone differently.

But it never changes.

It ends the same, with him driving away and you walking in the dark.

Eddie makes it halfway home before he pulls over.

The road is empty, the van ticks and cools as it idles under a broken billboard, and Eddie’s mind is a whirlwind.

His body is still buzzing, still high from the good parts of the night, but the way it’s clashing with his mind as it plummets to that dark space he’s uncomfortably familiar with— it makes him feel like an exposed nerve.

You kissed him.

And then you ran.

And Eddie doesn’t know what the hell to make of that. Doesn’t know if that means something, or if it meant too much, and that’s why you shut down. Maybe he pushed too hard, too quickly— it wouldn’t be the first time he’s done that. Because it’s not like he hasn’t been here before— people pulling back once they realize he’s not worth the mess.

Still, it felt different. You felt different.

Until you didn’t.

No. She still does. She is different.

He wrestles with his thoughts for a moment. Hates that he’s always quick to want a final word, a solution, something. He’s not patient. Never has been. And his mind spins like a fucking metal sphere in a pinball machine— Eddie’s not cut out for this. He gives and gives and gives, and when he’s inevitably left wondering why no one will take it, he spins out.

“Get home safe.”

The most pathetic thing he could come up with. He should’ve said more. Should’ve said, Hey, I liked that. I wanted more of that. I wanted you.

But he didn’t.

Because you didn’t.

And because he’s a coward.

He leans back against his seat and sparks up a cigarette before peeling back onto the road.

It doesn’t matter. You made your choice, and Eddie will respect it, even though he thinks it is stupid.

No matter how badly he wants to turn around and go back to you. No matter how badly he wants to shake you and yell out, This is okay. This is good— we’re good.

Kiss me again and stop fighting this.

Be good with me.

A week passes with a long stretch of silence between you and Eddie.

Not the comfortable kind. Not the lazy, late-summer kind that curls around you like a cozy blanket. Not the kind that’s mutual in a sense where you both know once you’re face-to-face again, it’ll be like zero time has passed. No, this one crackles. Burns. It hums, like static, loud and noisy in your ears, itchy beneath your skin— because all you can do is relive that kiss— over and over— like it’s stuck on a loop. Trapped behind your ribs like a lingering cold, refusing to let go.

And it’s not the good part that clings. Not the taste of cotton candy and cigarettes, or the warm, roughened fingertips on your skin. No, what clings is what you did after— you ran.

No explanation, no call, nothing. And every day that passes just makes you feel worse.

That plummeting look in Eddie’s eyes when you caved into yourself— it follows you in every dream. It’s worse than guilt. It’s a tether— a burn.

The silence sticks to you in every room— on your skin, behind your eyes, between every thought— and in the quiet moments you find, it grows deafeningly loud.

You do things to distract yourself. Rearrange your room. Color-code your closet. Plan for the next school semester, even though your schedule is already solidified. Run useless errands with your stepmother, feign interest in countertop samples and paint swatches, just to keep your mind busy.

But none of it works.

Because Eddie’s there.

In every passing car with loud music, in every corner of a room that feels too hot, too still.

He’s folded into the silence and the noise, in the little breath you take between words and the way your stomach clenches when you let your mind drift.

Eddie’s thoroughly infiltrated your system whether you like it or not— and fuck, you’re a fool to say he didn’t.

He’s bright. Searing like the summer sun at its zenith, the kind of heat that saps your strength and leaves you dizzy, thirsty for more.

But he’s cold, too— ice in the root of your chest when you remember how his face shifted the second you shifted. How quickly his warmth cooled when you didn’t stay.

Eddie is everything you’ve ever run from— loud, frayed, rough, unpredictable in a way that makes your skin buzz.

Guys like him were never an option. Too much, too raw, too real. You don’t touch things that burn like that. You weren’t supposed to.

But now you’ve touched him. And it’s already too late.

You’re singed. Marked in ways you can’t see but you feel.

You should be thinking about how to let it go— how to shake it loose, bury it, re-stitch the part of yourself that unraveled in his hands.

But instead, you keep remembering. His hands. The way he looked at you, like he couldn’t believe you were real. The way he tasted— cigarettes, artificial sugar, smokey cinnamon— a summer storm, and the brightest crack of light— Eddie Munson is out to ruin you.

His eyes wanted more. His hands wanted more.

And the worst part was, you do too. You don’t know what exactly you want from him.

But it’s him.

It’s his crooked grin, his smoke-rough laugh, the way he touches you like he knows you better than you know yourself.

It’s the pull— that stupid, reckless pull— and the part of you that craves chaos a little more than you ever admitted.

You don’t know why, you just know you want it. And maybe, deep down, you’re terrified of what that says about you. What it says about the lack of control you thought you had, so carefully crafted all your life.

One kiss from a leather-bound boy and it shattered.

It feels like a beginning. One you slammed the door on way too fast.

And now? You have no idea if it’s too late to open it again.

You want to think he’s fine, that this wasn’t some huge thing for him. That he’s used to girls coming and going. That maybe you’re making a bigger deal of it than it was.

But then you remember the way he looked at you afterward. Like you’d given him the goddamn moon and snatched it back before he could get a grip on it.

It feels rotten in your gut. A spinning wheel of regret, slow like molasses, scraping at your insides with each turn. You don’t know if you crushed something good before it had a chance, and you really don’t know how to clarify that.

You could just ask him. Call. Show up at the bar on one of the nights he performs. What would you say? Would he even want to talk to you? Or is your cowardly rejection still simmering in his chest the way it is in yours?

Fortunately, and maybe unluckily, you’re not left wondering for long.

The answer comes in the form of your father's car. Eddie spent the week fixing it, and now you’ve been tasked with picking it up from Eddie’s place.

You let it sit for two days. You can’t even bring yourself to slip on a pair of shoes to head over to Eddie’s place, because once you’re there, you can’t hide anymore.

Because what happens when you step into Eddie’s home and you’re slapped with the truth of what your week-long spiral was really all about? What happens if it destroys what was left in your satchel of perseverance? What happens when Eddie looks at you and there’s no longer that stupid glint dancing in his eyes?

You’d live on. Obviously. But not without a bruised ego. And maybe a little bit of a growing distaste for cinnamon and sugar.

And you think you hate that.

Steve forces you to go on the third day. If he notices your reluctance, he doesn’t mention it— just impatiently waits in the driveway and curls his nose when you slip into his passenger seat— “…Are you wearing perfume?”

“Shut up, Steve, just drive.”

And you try to focus on the drive or the music, anything but Eddie, but your mind lands on him every time you try to flip it. So you give up. Two minutes left anyway. And then you’ll be forced to face the man who’s been haunting your mouth for the past week.

It’s the peak of the day when you find yourself in front of Eddie’s door— the time when the sun turns the distance into rippling waves of heat. Steve didn’t waste a second to drive off, leaving you behind in a cloud of dust and nerves.

The trailer park is a different kind of solace. Not soft, not serene— just stretched. There’s a hum beneath your skin, something slow and buzzing, itchy like you’d just walked through a field of tall grass. Everything feels slowed down here, strung out, like the air itself is holding its breath. Or maybe that’s just you.

The gravel crunches beneath your shoes like it’s daring you to keep going. The road twists and curves around sun-bleached trailers; a box fan lowly hums in the window of one, a dog barking before settling down in the shade of another.

You should’ve worn something else. Sweat beads at the back of your neck, slipping down your spine, and your heart’s beating faster than it should be for a simple car pickup. You tell yourself it’s just the heat, but you know better. You’re two steps away from the door that makes you want to bolt back to California.

You climb the creaky but sturdy steps, like they’ve been there for years of time and weather. There are scuffs along the door, worn and loved, a sense of a thoroughly used home that oddly stirs your insides. You hesitate for only a second, bite the bullet before you raise a fist and knock twice on the door, sharp and quick.

Cicadas hum in the distance, the dog barks, the fan hums. You debate stealing the bike off to the side and high-tailing it home.

You stare at it long enough to imagine it before the door swings open.

Eddie. Barefoot. Wet hair with sweats hung low on his hips like he wasn’t expecting anybody for the rest of the day. His skin is still dewy from a shower, ink dark and slithering across the expanse of his skin. You swear you don’t watch the bead of water that drips from his hair and rolls down the side of his neck but you can damn near feel it.

Eddie’s eyes slightly widen when he sees you, shifting and opening the door more so he can fully see you.

“Hey.” He plainly says.

You draw in a breath and hold his eyes, “Hey.”

A silence simmers, not loud, but there. For a moment, neither of you moves. And now that you’re looking at Eddie again, face-to-face, if you think hard enough, you can remember how his lips feel.

Eddie blinks like he remembers why you’re here, “Car’s out back. Keys are here somewhere.”

He lets you in, holds the door, and lets it swing shut behind you as you enter his home. The air is cool inside, tinged with whatever soap he used and the sharp note of twine from the fan spinning on the ceiling.

Eddie walks a few steps ahead, taking a hand through his damp curls as he heads for the kitchen counter. “You know, uh…” he says without looking back, digging into a catch-all bowl full of keys, change, and mismatched guitar picks, “it’s nice to see you’re, like, alive. Didn’t die on the walk home, or something.”

You glance around his trailer—guitar leaning in the corner, a record sleeve half-tucked under the couch, light bleeding golden through the dusty blinds, a shit ton of mugs lined on the shelves with baseball caps lined above them.

“You watched me.” You remind him.

As you watch him, he pauses for a beat before he shrugs, “I did. And then I drove home thinking, ‘should I have popped a mint before I kissed her?’”

When he turns around, keys in hand, he’s grinning—eyes soft, a little nervous under all that casual. And there he is. Eddie peeking out from behind the boy you left beneath the streetlamp.

The tiny voice in your head sings as if he’s risen from the dead.

You take the keys from him, slowly. “You tasted like cotton candy,” you say, fingers brushing his, “and cigarettes.”

And cinnamon. Sugar-coated wet dreams and the end of summer— you won’t tell him, you’ll let it toss around in your brain like a mantra until you’re sick of it.

Eddie quirks an eyebrow, eyes slightly narrowing in question, “Bad combo?”

You hum, clutching the keys as you pull your hand back, “For some, maybe…” You tip your head, holding his gaze.

Something grows in Eddie’s eyes. Something small yet true.

It’s quiet, then, where nothing really needs to be said, but you’re both aching to say something anyway.

You take a silent breath, a calm settling over you that hadn’t been there all week— something that clarifies you know what you should say.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur. “I didn’t… I didn't handle it well.”

Eddie straightens with a deep breath and makes a face, playful and easy. “No worries, princess. Had plenty of hit-and-runs before. I’m a connoisseur.”

You roll your eyes, even as something in your chest tugs, “I’m trying to be sincere, Eddie.” You deadpan.

The grin on Eddie’s face makes your hands hot. “I know,” he leans in, voice a little lower, like the moment has shifted. “It’s cute.”

He steps back, nods towards the back door with a gaze dancing in his eyes, making your chest thrum, “C’mon, I’ll walk you out. Gotta show off my mechanical skills.”

You follow him out. Try not to eye the expanse of his back through the shirt he’s wearing, try not to remember the way his arms felt beneath your fingers, even though you’d been remembering it since then. His scent wafts behind him like a taunting train of ‘remember this? Remember how close you were to that?’.

It puts you in a daze.

The screen door snaps shut behind you when you step out, the light’s softened, everything golden, and long shadows.

Eddie runs a hand along the hood of your father's car and taps it, “Changed the oil. Transmission put you out on the road, so I fixed that, too. And I tightened your brake line— it was loose enough to make me nervous, and I’m already high-strung as it is.”

“You’re so modest.” You hum as you walk up to the car.

He smirks and shrugs, watching as you approach the driver’s side, “I try.”

You open the door, gazing at him as he props it open for you. A callback to memory, vivid and true.

“Thanks…” You softly say.

Eddie nods, “Don’t mention it.” He glances away, squints at the setting sun, and shifts in his spot, “You uh…” he pauses and scratches the back of his neck, you tilt your head, “You ever been to the drive-in? The one out past the fairgrounds?”

You crack a smile, gazing at him as he turns back to you. You tilt your head, the sun gleaming over him. Somewhere in his eyes, there’s a fairy, swirling the pools of brown and making magic under the sun.

It’s working. Annoyingly so.

“The one that shut down like four years ago?” You huff out a laugh.

Eddie smiles, “Did it?”

“Definitely. Yeah.”

Eddie quirks a brow like he’s questioning your knowledge. You could’ve sworn you saw them breaking the screen down last time you passed it all those years ago. You shift in your spot, leaning against the door, “This your way of asking me out?”

Eddie grins then, sun peeking out in his cheeks, deep enough to make the beast in your chest purr like she’s been asleep for years. Whether she hates the sun or craves it, you’re not sure.

Eddie shrugs, “Just asking if you wanna sit in a car with me for three hours and make fun of bad dialogue.” he gazes at you for a moment before leaning in, voice low and convincing, “Once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

You look at him, rolling the idea in your mind, tasting it behind your teeth. You hum, fingers twitching against the car door before you speak, “No. And you said that at the fair.”

Eddie’s smug demeanor falters, disbelief in his voice when he responds, “No?”

“No.”

“You wound me,” he groans, dragging a hand over his face, “I’m a wounded soldier here, honeybee. Bleeding out. Throw me a bone at least.” He dramatically pleads.

You roll your eyes, already turning to get in the car. “I’m romantic as hell, by the way. I’ll bring you flowers and kiss you at the door, the whole nine.”

It’s cute— his marketing skills— and maybe if you stayed a little longer, you’ll cave. You glance at him, strapping the belt across your torso and holding back the smile in your cheeks as he gazes down at you. You reach for the door and shake your head, “Goodbye, Eddie.”

Eddie looks at you like he always does, with stars in his eyes and his heart on his sleeve, “Bye, Malibu.”

You don’t ask why he’s still smiling at you like that, and you don’t let yourself wonder what it means. You just shut the door and let the warmth in your cheeks settle on the drive home.

He doesn’t let up for nearly two weeks.

Eddie’s on a running campaign to get you to agree to this magical drive-in movie date he’s proposed, and he’s relentless about it, too. He keeps his appearances up at the house, wasting away in Steve’s room until he finds a moment to slip away and find you.

The first time he finds you in the kitchen, cutting a bowl of fruit for yourself when he rounds the corner. He’s got a lovesick grin on his face and a mouth full of smug, flirtatious words waiting to come out at a moment's notice.

“Movie’s still on the table.” He hums, walking around you like an animal taunting its prey.

You don’t bother looking at him, slicing through thick blocks of pineapple as you hum, “No.”

“Free drinks.” He offers.

“Still no.”

The second time he asks comes a day later while you’re lying by the pool, sunglasses perched on your face, a book in your lap. Eddie leans over you, wet hair dripping chlorine and sun, dampening your pages, “Name the candy, I’ll get it.”

“Eddie—” You grimace, pressing a hand to his chest and shaking your book off with the other. You ignore the warmth beneath your fingertips, glaring up at him through the dark shades as he continues to ramble.

“Popcorn? Gummy worms? Licorice? Gross, but I’ll look the other way. I’ll even let you hold the remote.”

You look at him, deadpanned as he wiggles his eyebrows at you.

“There is no remote.”

Eddie rolls his eyes and waves a hand, “You’re missing the point.”

You lift your glasses just enough to give him a look, “Goodnight, Eddie.”

Eddie’s face twists in mild confusion. “It’s three in the afternoon.”

“Exactly.”

You lose count of how many times he asks. He gets creative with it, though. Will pass by your room and slip an index card under your door with a single Dum-Dum taped to it and the words— MOVIE’S THIS WEEKEND?— scribbled in shitty handwriting with two check boxes beneath it. Both of the boxes say yes.

You draw a third box, write ‘no’ beside it, and check the box before sliding it back under the door.

The Dum-Dum was strawberry flavored and painted your tongue red.

You now have a stash of Dum-Dums piling up on your dresser.

Nothing is holding you back from saying yes to Eddie. Aside from the fact that he’s Eddie, and every time you’re left alone with him for a prolonged amount of time, your brain starts glitching out like a jumbled tape until you start thinking stupid things. Stupid things that land you pressed against his van with his tongue down your throat— not like you’re still thinking about it or anything.

By the start of the second week, Eddie’s purely asking for the bit. He likes the chase, says it all in his grin and the twinkle in his eye every time you shut him down, and he throws a hand over his chest like a lovesick dog.

So by the time he leans against the doorframe of your room and asks again on a random Wednesday night, he’s moving off muscle memory.

“Drive-in’s still on the table. So are the snacks. And the cuddles. Just say the word, I’ll heat up the van and cue up the mood lighting.”

You’re perched in front of your vanity, smoothing cool moisturizer beneath your eyes, not bothering to look back when you respond, “You got mood lighting in your van now?”

“Princess, please,” Eddie scoffs, waltzing in like he knows his way around the place. “I’ve had mood lighting. That lava lamp has been through everything with me.”

You snort, and he plops on your bed, splaying out like a cat that’s getting comfortable, his feet still planted on the ground as he talks to your ceiling, “Anyway, no pressure. Just sayin’ I can get ready in five. Six if you want me to shave.”

You glance at him through the mirror, blink once, and consider that he’s still there, draped over your sheets like a lovelorn teenage boy.

“Okay.”

Eddie doesn’t move. And honestly, if you looked close enough, you might think he might have stopped breathing.

“Uh…” He clears his throat, sitting up with a fist over his mouth as he coughs a few times. “Was that— sorry— that was a yes?”

You suppress the grin that threatens to split across your lips. You close the containers on your vanity and stand, pushing the chair in, “Yes. Now get out. Before I change my mind.”

“Oh shit, you’re serious? Like— like this Saturday?” He asks with wide eyes.

“Friday. And I need to be home by midnight, no later.” You demand.

Eddie nods, like a child getting scolded and trying to regain trust. “Midnight, no later, got it.”

You nod, standing before him, arms crossed over your chest. A silence falls over the room for a moment. You blink once, eyeing Eddie as he sits on your bed, a slow grin spreading across his lips.

“I totally cracked you—”

“Get out.”

“Got it. See you Saturday, Malibu.”

You don’t care to wipe off the smile on your face when the door shuts behind him.

You don’t tell anyone.

Not Mia, not Steve— not even the bathroom mirror you’ve been avoiding all day.

You spun a lie at dinner, something short and simple about having a movie night, and when your dad asked who with, you shrugged and said “Mia,” like it wasn’t a sin. Technically true. Mia exists. You could be with Mia. You’re just… not.

Instead, you’re going to be with Eddie. Steve’s friend.

Eight o’clock. That’s when you’re meeting him. A block away, under the streetlamp, just like you’d agreed.

The house simmers to a quiet state as you get ready. You pace a little, change your outfit twice before going back to the original skirt and top you’d picked out. You apply your lip gloss once, hate the shade, and wipe it off before applying a clear one. You smell an array of perfumes until they all smell the same, and you’re forced to just spray something random, biting your tongue as you repeat to yourself, it’s just a movie. Not a date. Stop acting like this is something because it’s not.

It’s getting dark when you slip out the back gate, your purse in one hand with your pride in the other, perfume clinging to your skin like a secret. And maybe that’s what this is. A secret mission. Something stolen and sweet. Something reckless.

Or maybe it’s a mistake.

Somewhere along the way, between the gate and the driveway, your pride slips and falls to the pavement.

Just a movie. Not a date. This is nothing.

You tell yourself that once more as you walk down the block, holding onto your purse like a lifeline. The air is cooling with leftover heat from the day, a slight breeze that instantly cools it, and reminds you of the season. The sky has dimmed to a navy, the kind of dusk that makes the street lights flicker like they’re nervous too. You should be nervous.

You are.

But you don’t let it show. Because you don’t get nervous over boys. Not even boys that kiss you like you’re not breakable. Not even boys that hold your gaze like they’re daring you to run.

But the closer you get to the street corner, the more your stomach knots. The more you start to second-guess whether this is a good idea, which it’s definitely not. But you keep walking anyway. Like your common sense has just magically disappeared, and you’re moving on a whim.

Because this isn’t just a drive-in movie. It’s another step into a story you didn’t plan to write. And planning is how you survive. Lipstick, posture, perfectly-timed smiles, perfectly aligned future— armor. That's always been enough.

And then Eddie came. And you don’t typically feel sorry for turning away from a boy; you never had to feel sorry. Because none of them has been him. And now you can’t stop thinking about the way he looked at you when you said sorry. Like he didn’t want to hear it, but needed it anyway. Like he’d been waiting for you to say something real, and now that you had, he didn’t know what to do with it.

And it didn’t feel like a game.

That’s the part that’s unraveling you. It didn’t feel like a win. It felt like a surrender.

You pause before you turn the corner, allow yourself one more moment of quiet nerves as you breathe, smooth your sweaty hands over your skirt, and crack a smirk that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

And then you walk.

You can already hear Eddie’s music booming from the radio of his van, and it does little to ease your nerves. Because, of course. Of course, Eddie Munson announces his arrival to the entire neighborhood.

As you get closer, you spot him near the van, leaning against the passenger door like he’s posed for some photo he doesn’t know about. His jeans are cuffed, scuffed boots toeing the gravel with a cigarette smoldering between his fingers. The faintest smirk tugs at his lips when he sees you. Something in you settles.

“Hey, runaway,” he calls out, flicking the cigarette to the curb and grinding it beneath his heel, “Nice of you to show.”

“I had to slip out past Steve and a dad who breathes like a dragon,” you say, lifting a brow as you approach, arms crossed. “You, meanwhile, are trying to alert the entire neighborhood with this volume. Jesus, Munson.”

Eddie grins, wide and unapologetic, as he swings the passenger door open with a dramatic flourish. “Apologies, princess. Good habit. Makes for a great entrance.”

You hum as you climb into the passenger seat, the scent of smoke and old leather filling your nose, “I’ll give it a five out of ten.”

Eddie makes a wounded expression, “Harsh— and rude— rough way to start the night, honeybee.”

You halfheartedly shrug as he closes the door and jogs to the driver's seat. Another moment of quiet nerves. And then he slips in, “I’ll change it for you. Just say the word. I don’t change it for many people, so take that shit seriously.”

You smirk, watching as he turns the key in the ignition, “A sacred honor?”

“An elite one,” he solemnly nods, “Most people? They get Motörhead or nothing. But for you, honeybee?” He looks at you and cracks a stupid, heartfelt look, “I’d play Madonna for you.”

You glare at him, fighting the smile on your lips as you roll your eyes, “Alright, loverboy,” you nod towards the road, “start driving. You’re burning up your cool points every time you talk.”

Eddie scoffs and waves you off, peeling the van onto the road with a shake of his head, “Rude. Again. Shouldn’t have fixed your car.”

You can’t help the laugh that rolls off your lips.

You drive in silence for a moment. The city is asleep, everyone home with their families, tucking their kids in for a night’s sleep. Every light is green, the sun still dropping, flickering through the line of trees along the winding backroads. Fields roll out beside them like a running scene to match the radio as it swiftly shifts into the next song. This one is slower. Something you doubt Eddie listens to in his free time.

You glance at him, the way the light hits his jaw, his fingers tapping to the rhythm. You crack, “Fine. You get, like… maybe a point for the mixtape.”

Eddie smirks without looking, like he knew it was coming, “A point? Out of?”

“Five.”

Eddie scoffs out a laugh, “Tough grader.”

You shrug, shifting in your seat, eyes drifting back to the road, “Earn the rest.”

Eddie glances at you, tilts his head back and forth like he’s thinking before he speaks, “What if I bought you gummy worms?”

You turn back to him, “Do you have gummy worms?” You ask in a faux uninterested tone.

Eddie’s teeth dig into his bottom lip as he reaches blindly toward the backseat. He shuffles around momentarily, eyes never leaving the road, one hand on the wheel. You watch in amusement as he pulls out a crinkled gas station bag, holding it up like a trophy. “I come prepared.”

You pause, eyes narrowing in suspicion, “How long have those been back there?”

“Like a day.” He shrugs. You raise a brow, and he rolls his eyes. “Maybe three. They’re still good. Little stiff. Builds jaw strength— y’know artificial sugar never rots, inspector.”

“Rots your teeth.”

Eddie smiles, “So do you. Sweet as honey. I’m still diggin’ in.”

You shake your head, glancing away as a smile cracks across your lips, so wide you nearly feel embarrassed. You sigh, leaning back into the seat, “I’m not chewing stale gummy worms just to impress you.”

“Fine,” he rips the bag open with his teeth, “More for me.” He pops one into his mouth and chews dramatically, loudly, and obnoxiously. He hums as if it’s the best candy he’s ever tasted, “Best ones in the state, baby. Sure, you don’t want me to momma bird you?” He asks, popping another one in as he glances at you.

You grimace, looking at him, tone drenched in all seriousness and play, “You better not spit that at me,” you warn.

Eddie turns to you slowly, lips full of threat, chewed-up sugar bullets ready to fire. “I could. I’ve got perfect aim.”

You gape in disgust, blinking in disbelief, “You’re disgusting.” You exclaim. His lips purse, and your hand clamps over his mouth, startled but still smiling. “Chew, Munson. And swallow. I’ll sit here all night.”

His eyes sparkle, darting between the road and you, lips pressed into a smile against your palm. One brow lifts, smug, like he’s silently saying that’s not as much of a threat as you think it is.

You tap your finger against his cheek, unrelenting in your demand. He laughs, swallows, then nips at your palm, smiling when you squeal and pull away with a curse of his name. You roll your eyes, dragging your hand against the material of your skirt as you glare at him, though your glare does nothing to extinguish the pure joy on his face.

“You’re a pain in the ass.”

“It’s my best quality.”

The tension in your shoulders has unraveled, just a little. Enough to let you enjoy the rest of the ride and not freeze when Eddie reaches out and flicks his fingers softly against your knee when he says something else—something dumb and playful.

It makes you feel warm and fuzzy around the edges, like the last time you’ve smiled this much for this long was in a dream.

The drive-in is past the fairgrounds, just like Eddie had said, but it’s not the one you remember. This one is a lot more… handmade. It’s behind an old, rusted warehouse surrounded by a field and a gravel parking lot where cars are lined up— some parked like they’ve been here all day, and others parked without a care in the world, crooked and taking up space.

It looks like something out of a dream, if the dream were hazardous and a little bit illegal. There are fraying extension cords snaking on the gravel, and dented trucks are parked parallel to hold up a white sheet that sways in the wind. The projector flickers every so often on the sheet, casting a light against it like it’s fighting to stay alive. Warm lights are lit across the lot, lawn chairs are scattered around cracked open coolers, and a faint hum of music from a van that looks just as run-down as Eddie’s. It’s the kind of scene that looks warm and feels exactly so.

Eddie parks the van with the back facing the movie. He greets a guy when he steps out, someone named Mickey with rowdy hair, stoned eyes, and a blunt. Mickey supposedly makes the best gas station nachos, and for some reason, you absolutely believe that.

You both climb in, Eddie first because he swears he’s a gentleman that’s not grabbing for a chance to look at your ass even though you caught him doing so just moments before. Inside, Eddie has tossed in a nest of mismatched pillows and blankets, thrown around in a cozy manner yet somehow chaotically organized. Snacks and drinks are stashed in a bag, snuggled into the blankets like it’ll keep them cool.

You fail to suppress a smirk as you settle with your back resting against the seats, raising a brow as you glance at him, “So, this is your thing? Lure unsuspecting girls into your van with snacks, blankets, and a movie?”

Eddie scoffs, feigning a wounded expression as he crashes in next to you, already grabbing a drink and passing one to you, “You think I do this for just anyone?”

You take the canned drink, cracking it open with a hiss and sipping with a hum, “Absolutely.”

Eddie gasps dramatically, clutching the drink to his chest. “I’m wounded, princess. Truly. I fought hard for this, by the way. And I thought we had something special.”

You shoot him a dry look over the rim of your can. “You said that after I let you steal one of my fries.”

“Because we do,” he says, matter-of-factly. “You just don’t recognize the depth of our cosmic bond yet. I mean, remember that kiss? Knocked the wind outta me. Could’ve sworn I saw your eyes roll.”

Your face warms. It’s faint, but unmistakable, like a match sparking beneath your skin. You try to hide it with a scoff, nudging his shin with your foot as he giggles.

“My eyes didn’t roll. How would you even know? Your eyes were supposed to be closed.”

Eddie hums, unbothered, ripping a bag of sour candies open. “I’ve got a third eye. The bangs aren’t just an accessory.” He digs a piece of candy out, popping it in his mouth before offering the bag to you. You pick one, toss it in, and immediately regret it. The taste is sharp and mean, catching in your throat and pulling a wince from your chest.

You cough through it, taking a sip of your drink to ease the stress, “Jesus. Is that candy or chemical warfare?” You cringe.

Eddie grins around his chew, popping another in like it’s nothing, “Little from column A, little from column B.”

You swallow the candy, shaking your head as you lean back on your hands, stretching your legs out, “Your taste in candy is criminal.”

“Funny. That’s what they said about my music, too.” He drums his fingers against his drink like it’s a snare, mock-riffing. “I’m a menace across multiple industries.”

You roll your eyes, but your lips tug upward despite yourself. The movie flickers on the sheet in front of you, voices murmuring from the speaker someone set up between the trucks. The air smells like weed and sunscreen, someone’s smoking close enough to catch the faint buzz of it.

Eddie shifts beside you, closer without fully touching, like he’s testing the air between you. You don’t move away; somehow, the closeness relaxes you more than you’d imagined. Your laughs become loose around the edges, Eddie’s limbs soften, and your eyes meet more.

The van warms in a summery haze with quiet laughter, hushed jokes behind mouthfuls of candy, and the occasional moment when either of you pretends to care about the movie. And somewhere between that, your ankle passes Eddie’s, like a ghost, a memory of the diner, and a nudge into something more.

Eddie is warm beside you, and his thigh presses against yours each time he shifts, which, unfairly, seems to happen more often than not. Your bodies are pressed close, your arms touching, a film of sugar forming over your tongues.

“So,” He speaks softly, warm breath dusting over your temple, a smile trickling around the edges, a nervous undertone so quiet you almost miss it. “Give me the verdict. What’s my rating now?”

You glance at him. His eyes are on you, not the movie. Your eyes dart back to the movie, a small smirk easing across your lips.

“Four stars.”

Eddie scoffs, dramatically offended, “Four?! Out of five?”

“Mhm.” You nod your head, still pretending to watch the movie.

“Why? What did I do?” He stresses.

You shrug, “You forgot my flowers.”

Eddie pauses, only the hum of the movie filtering through the van. He sits up a little, “Who said I forgot ‘em?”

You glance at him, just in time to see him turn around and reach over the middle console, rummaging through bags and the empty soda cans he keeps tossing back. You watch, listen to him mutter to himself, toss aside a hoodie before— “Aha!”

He plops back beside you, triumphantly smiling as he extends a hand to you, clutching something, “I’m a man of my word.”

A single rose.

Well— it was a rose. At one point. Now it’s a little mangled, missing a few leaves, petals slightly crushed, stem bent in the middle like it gave up halfway through standing tall.

Your hand flies to your mouth.

“You let it die before it got to me?”

“I was freaking the fuck out!” Eddie exclaims, absolutley not ashamed, “I got it two hours before I picked you up. And then I forgot it. But then I remembered during the drive and panicked and tried to hide it in the snack bag—”

You burst out with laughter. The sad, wilted rose hangs between you as a testament to Eddie’s story. It makes your ribs ache with lack of air, and your cheeks warm as Eddie tries to explain why his gift is now fit for a compost pile. And then— to your horror— your breath hitches and you snort. A real, startled, uncontrolled snort, right from your lips. And you immediately clap a hand over your mouth like you can shove it back in.

Eddie goes stock still, eyes wide as he looks at you.

“...Oh my god,” he whispers, “Did you just—”

“Shut up,” you groan, face burning as you shove the rose against his chest,

Eddie places a hand over yours, grasping it like a lifeline as he laughs in awestruck disbelief. “No, no— jesus christ. What was that? Do that again.”

“Eddie—”

“Please,” he begs around a laugh, clutching the rose like a microphone, “Do it again. I think I hear angels.”

You groan again, laughing harder now as you collapse sideways, not even thinking when you bury your face in Eddie’s shoulder to hide your embarrassment. His body shakes with laughter, both you warm and full of it. His free arm wraps around you instinctively, pulling you close, and when he glances down at you—your nose tucked against his shirt, his rose wilting between you—he softens.

Warmth radiates from him like a furnace, and for a second, you just stay there, trying to catch your breath, your cheeks aching from smiling. And in the quiet stretch of time, you feel it shift.

The buzzing, the teasing, the fizzy high laughter— it all slows, softens. His thumb rubs an absent-minded circle over your side. You tilt your head, nose brushing over his collarbone, and when you glance up, he’s already looking at you.

There’s a crease between his brows, like he’s trying to memorize something. Like he’s caught off guard by how much he likes you in this moment. And you can’t exactly laugh about it because, well, you feel it too. You feel how good this is, how real it feels, tangible and soft and bright.

He shifts, eyes flickering over your face. “Hey,” He softly says, voice low, reverent.

You blink up at him. “Hey.”

His fingers, rough and calloused, dust across your jaw.

And then, quieter: “You gonna let me kiss you again?”

You don’t answer. You don’t have to.

He kisses exactly how you’d been dreaming of since the first kiss. This time, he tastes like the night's warmth, laughter sprinkled over his tongue, and sugar behind his teeth. You fall into it like muscle memory. Like your body had been prepping for it all this time.

You pull away first. Barely. Just enough to breathe. Though you can’t breathe much when your bodies are still pressed so close like this— Eddie’s arm holding you, you practically draped over him.

Your eyes flicker to the side, a nearly unbearable heat creeping up your chest, lips tingling like they’re still pressed to his. You feel him watching you, still, drafting the aftermath— quietly smug, fond in that boyish way that makes you want to kiss him all over again just to shut him up.

He lifts the rose—pathetic, crushed thing—and sniffs it theatrically before murmuring, “Still smells like a rose.”

You laugh— can’t help it— and the softest little snort escapes. You don’t care to hide it this time. And Eddie lights up like a kid on Christmas.

“Again!” He whispers, scandalized and delighted. You roll your eyes as he tugs you closer, “I’m two for two!”

“You’re annoying.” You weakly push at him as he grins.

“How many people have gotten you to laugh like that, hm? Come on.” He leans in, nuzzles your cheek like it’s muscle memory, smiling when you squirm away from him. “Tell me I’m the one and only. Say it. Say, ‘Eddie Munson is my laughter lord and chaos prince.’”

You bat away at him, trying and failing to suppress your smile. “You’re so stupid.”

“And you snort when you laugh. Which means I win.”

You roll your eyes, settled against his shoulder, snuggled like you belong there. “I’m regretting kissing you.” You halfheartedly murmur.

“No, you’re not,” he grins. He twists the rose between his fingers, eyes gently flickering over your face. Then, gently, he runs the soft rose petals over the bridge of your nose. The brittle petals whisper across your skin, light and teasing, until they dust the tip of your nose. Your nose crinkles on instinct.

Eddie freezes, dragging in a breath. “Don’t move.” He whispers like he’s trying not to spook a deer. “That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen in my entire fucking life.”

You laugh, batting the rose away as you giggle, “You’re a sap.”

“And you’re a shitfaced liar,” he mumbles lowly, leaning forward, eyes dancing across your face. His eyes flicker to your lips like magnets pulled to steel. Your breath stutters, eyes stuck on his. “You totally wanna kiss me again.”

You fight the smile on your lips as you shake your head, “No.”

Eddie’s already leaning closer, eyes flickering to your smile as one approaches his lips, “Yeah, you do.”

Your false protest dies on his lips. It’s softer this time. Slower. Deeper. More curious, like he’s trying to memorize you from the inside out.

The rose falls to the ground somewhere, wilted and pathetic. Eddie pulls you close, lips twitching against yours like he’s quietly reminding you that he won. His fingers splay wide across your back, knuckles curling into your top as you press against him, his other hand coming up to cup your face.

Your fingers curl against his chest, holding on like you need it to anchor yourself. Your legs shift between his, and you’re nearly draped over him when you tilt your head, lips parting in an invitation that he takes like it’s sacred.

His tongue slides against yours— slow, careful, sweet— and your body reacts before your mind catches up.

Heat licks up your spine, curling in your belly, and you melt into him. Everything else fades— the movie, the night air, the mess of candy wrappers and pillows around you. It all collapses beneath his lips, the sinful flick of his tongue against yours, his fingers curling around your waist, the tremble in your thighs.

You make a sound you don’t mean to. A soft, involuntary moan caught between a hitch in your breath, featherlight and aching.

Eddie pulls away. Quick and abrupt. Like he’s just touched something electric.

His breathing’s uneven, lips pink and bruised, pupils blown wide in disbelief. “Yeah,” he shakily breathes, eyes darting like he can’t afford to look at you. He peels his body from yours, “Yeah. Okay. That’s enough. No more.”

You blink, wide-eyed and dazed, “What—?”

“I’m gonna jizz my pants.” He says, completely deadpan. He presses a palm to his crotch as he sits up, eyes blown as they dart around the floor of the van, like somewhere in the rubble, he’ll find his dignity. “Like. Seriously. I’m gonna blow a load in my pants— you can’t just… you can’t make sounds like that.”

You laugh, sharp and bright, your face flushing all over again. Eddie looks at you like you’re insane and groans, “Unbelievable. You’re laughing? At a time like this?”

“I didn’t mean to,” you say, halfheartedly and amused.

“You moaned, babe. Into my mouth. Like we’re in some kind of fucked up romance novel.”

“I barely did.” You argue.

“I felt it vibrate in my soul.”

You drop your face into your hands, hiding your warm cheeks, ignoring your mind as it replays the scene over and over again, but Eddie’s already tugging your wrists down, grinning like a menace, one thumb brushing over your pulse as the other brushes your cheek.

“Don’t hide,” he says, a little gentler this time, “It was hot. You’re hot. That’s the whole problem.”

You groan, rolling your eyes as Eddie grins. “I’m never kissing you again.”

Eddie flops beside you with a contented sigh, stretching out like a happy cat, folding one arm behind his head. “In your dreams, honeybee.” He grins, crossing one ankle over the other.

“You’ve kissed me— thrice now. Nearly killed me with that last one, too, so,” he shrugs, “I know your secrets. I own your laugh. It’s mine.”

You narrow your eyes, glaring at him, fighting to keep your gaze from wandering back to his lips. “You don’t own anything.”

“Wrong,” Eddie loudly claims. He cracks a can of soda open, taking a sip before speaking, “I own your laugh. That snort? That’s legally binding.”

And for some reason, you decide not to fight him on that.

Eddie starts the van back up exactly fifteen minutes before midnight.

You both climb out, dusting off crumbs and straightening your clothes to at least try and look like you didn’t spend the last twenty minutes of the movie chasing each other's lips. You can barely pay any mind to the commotion of other cars around you as you waltz to the passenger side because you’re still buzzing with the feeling of Eddie’s body pressed to yours.

The drive is quiet, but much different than the last time you’d spent in the silence of his van. This time, there’s a content lull in the air. Your head leans against the window, your skin warm and flushed in the places his hands had been. Your lips still tingle. Eddie hums to an old cassette, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel like he’s trying to burn off the leftover energy.

Familiar trees pass in a blur, softer this time, like the night has smudged a yellow glow over your eyes. You feel it in your chest. In the way your fingers twist in your lap, thrumming with a need to touch something. You don’t look at Eddie, too afraid of what you’ll do if you catch a glimpse of him.

The streetlight buzzes overhead when he stops below it, the same one he picked you up from. Somewhere in your purse, the crushed-up rose sits, folded up and full of the night. Later, you’ll pull it out and stare at it like it might summon the curly-headed boy into your room. You think you might already miss this night, as if you’re not still sitting in it. And that shakes something loose behind your ribs. Fear, hope, dread. It all mixes together and pumps through you like a drug.

Eddie drags in a dramatic breath, tapping the wheel a few times, “Five minutes to midnight, Cinderella.”

You glance at him, fingers curling around the strap of your purse. “So,” he hums, glancing away for a moment, “You gonna kiss me goodbye?”

You lift a brow, watching as pearly white canines peek out from Eddie’s smile. “Do you know how dramatic you are?”

Eddie scoffs, “Of course I do.”

“And you watch way too many romance films.”

Eddie presses a hand over his heart, “I’m a hopeless romantic. Sue me for having a hobby— you know what I’m not hearing though?”

You press your lips together, fighting a smile as you hum.

“I’m not hearing a no.”

You roll your eyes, reaching for the door handle, your smile finally cracking when Eddie leans across the console and tugs at your arm. “C’mon, baby,” he purrs, “One for the road.”

You turn to him, looking at him draped over the console like some stupid, dramatic Renaissance painting. He looks up at you, a glimmer in his eyes, and something soft and warm. His thumb drags over your elbow, gentle and kind.

You turn more to him, lean down, and kiss him. It’s light. Slow and sure, like something you’d tuck in your pocket and keep.

You pull away, your nose dusting over his, not quite fully pulling away just yet, when your eyes dance for a moment. Eddie’s lips twitch into a smirk, his voice gentle when he speaks, “Maybe you watch too many romance films.”

You roll your eyes, pulling back and turning to open the door.

“Same time tomorrow?” Eddie pathetically calls as you step down from his van.

“Goodnight, Eddie.” You shut the door before he can say anything else, but not quickly enough to hide the smile that lingers on your lips.

And you don’t look back, but you know Eddie doesn’t start the van back up until you disappear behind the next block.

Eddie weasels his way in like a professional con artist.

It’s not much different from before— Eddie was always somewhere lounging around your house from the beginning, but now, it’s different. Now, it’s loud. Big. Because now you know what his hands feel like on your skin. You know how he sounds when he’s breathless. You know his laugh, his smile, and the way he downs a can of soda like he’s just crawled out of the desert.

You know his favorite color is blood red. He likes sour candies even though they make his entire body shiver “like he’s dying”. He names inanimate objects and talks about them like they’re real people. He hates window shopping, but he doesn’t mind that you enjoy it.

You don’t know all of him, but the parts that you do? It feels like everything. And it suffocates your days like wet heat.

And it makes your insides churn whenever you see him, relaxed on your couch, bickering with Steve about something you don’t even care to listen to because you’re stuck thinking about how you were under him. Just two days ago.

You busy yourself, like before, only this time, it doesn’t work at all. The last time you tried to occupy yourself to forget about whatever is unfolding between you and Eddie, it at least worked until the silence crept in. But now, Eddie runs through your mind as if he were made to be there. And again, it doesn’t help that he’s constantly in front of you, cracking sly grins like he knows exactly what you’re thinking. Like he can tell you’ve been pacing holes into the carpet of your room and clenching your thighs every time you get a whiff of him.

It’s mental and physical torture.

And now, you’re fidgeting in your room, listening to the low rumble of his voice through the walls like some yearning lunatic.

You shift against the cool comforter of your bed, tapping your fingers against your stomach as the fan whirs above you. You swallow and shift your gaze to the wall, attempting to fool yourself into believing you’re not phased by any of this. That you’re not listening to the music humming from Steve’s stereo, and remembering the way Eddie had played that same song and sang off-key to it, stealing kisses between each purposely cracked high note. You shouldn’t remember the way his tongue moved. You shouldn’t still feel it.

You rise from your bed with a huff, padding your way out and down the stairs, on a mission to grab a drink you don’t need. You open the fridge and stare at it for some time, letting the cool breeze drip over you like a breath of fresh air.

You don’t hear his steps until he’s beside you, arm brushing against yours when he speaks, “You’re gonna get cold standing there like that.”

You don’t bother looking away from the fridge's contents when you respond, “I’m hot.”

“Yeah,” he says slowly, “You are.”

You grab a bottle of water and shut the fridge with a roll of your eyes, “Do you usually haunt every house in Hawkins, or is this just the lucky one?”

Eddie snorts, leaning against the counter as he grabs an orange from the bowl of fruits on the island. He shrugs, “I make my rounds. Got a thing for the houses with cute girls that walk around in tiny shorts.” His eyes glance down at your bare thighs.

You ignore the warmth that spreads up your neck and don’t bother tugging down your shorts. You shift in your spot, tilting your head, “You sound like a creep, you realize that, right?”

Eddie grins, leaning into your space, orange forgotten on the counter, “Kiss me again. Before I forget what it feels like.”

You don’t bother moving away from his proximity. Or maybe you just don’t want to. Either way, you stay put, breathing in his air like it’s not fogging up the senses in your brain. “It’s not healthy to be this clingy.”

“God, tell me about it. I cry myself to sleep. Kiss me— give me somethin’ new to sob about tonight.”

You look at him, deadpanned, trying—and failing— to suppress that fond look spreading across your face.

Upstairs, Steve calls out for Eddie and tells him to hurry the fuck up.

Eddie lifts a brow, tilting his head, “Time’s a tickin’, honeybee.”

So you kiss him. There, in the kitchen, with Steve just upstairs, not knowing that his best friend has his tongue shoved down your throat. And… you don’t care. At least not at the moment.

You let him kiss you breathless, one hand on your face, the other squeezing your hip, spilling a whispered moan on your lips like a prayer.

He groans low in his throat, hand sliding down until his fingers dance across the hem of your shirt, fingers slipping beneath the thin cotton to brush at the bare skin of your hip. The counter digs into your spine, but you barely notice it. You’re too busy chasing the heat of his mouth, too dazed by the way he kisses you like he’s starving.

Your fingers thread into his hair, his tongue licking across the ridges of your teeth. One of your legs lifts, hooking around his hip like it’s instinct, and you swear he gasps into your mouth, like he wasn’t expecting that.

“Jesus,” he mumbles against your lips, kissing you between each word like he can’t afford to spend a second without tasting you, “You keep doing that, and I’m gonna—”

“EDDIE!” Steve yells again, angrier this time, “We’re fucking losing, man, hurry up!”

Eddie breaks the kiss with a groan, one last squeeze to your waist, “Shit,” he grumbles. One last kiss, and then he pulls away. He looks pained. A little guilty. Hair roused, cheeks flushed. “Gotta jet, sweetfang. Duty calls.”

“Sweetfa—?”

“Good stuff, by the way. Almost tops when you moaned my name.” He winks. You blink, dazed and confused, watching as he grabs the orange and backs away towards the stairs.

“I never moaned your name.” You argue.

“Really?” He tilts his head, eyes gleaming with that usual glint that says he’s definitely being annoying on purpose, “Could’ve sworn you did.”

He disappears up the stairs with a grin and a bounce in his step, leaving you flushed and spinning in the middle of the kitchen.

You stay there a moment longer than necessary, still clutching the unopened bottle of water, still trying to catch your breath. The fridge hums behind you. The fan in the living room clicks softly. And Eddie’s voice echoes somewhere in your skull — really? Could’ve sworn you did.

He’s infuriating. He’s relentless. He’s everywhere.

And god help you, he’s starting to taste like a habit.

It festers slowly and thick at first.

One morning, you’re telling yourself that this is careless and you should stop whatever thing is going on between you and Eddie. Then, by the afternoon, you’re sitting on top of Steve’s car in the garage, eyeing Eddie as he lights a cigarette and says— “You ever think about how your left eye sparkles more than your right?”

And it’s so stupid. He’s stupid. And it makes you smile as you shove him away like you don’t want him to be closer, like he’s not already crawling under your skin and carving out a space between the grooves of your brain.

And then it’s like a flicker in your periphery. Like a dream where you had been in one place and then you blinked and you’re suddenly in a completely different setting with entirely different people.

Eddie finds his way to you like he’s a dog with a keen nose for your scent. He slips into your room like a man on a mission, spreads a palm over your mouth, and smiles when he feels your mistaken giggle against his skin, pressing you into your bed with hot, slow kisses that make your insides twist. He’s reckless and aware, always pulling away when the clock ticks, and he remembers where you are and whose house you’re in.

He takes you to the lake one night and drags you in despite your protests— and that little Eddie-shaped hole in your brain quivers to life when he grins at you, wet hair plastered across his cheeks, droplets of water melting beneath your lips when you kiss them away.

He pulls you into his favorite record store— two towns over, an elderly man at the counter, and a thin fog of dust hanging between each shelf— and Eddie’s waltzing through like it’s his home. He shows you his favorite albums, which records he’s yet to put on his shelf, which ones he thinks you’d like, and he loops a finger through the belt loop of your shorts like touching you is second nature— and by then your body is fully tethered to the drug that goes by the name of Eddie Munson.

And when you think about it— when you really sit down and think about it— between Eddie’s loud way of attracting and your quiet way of obsessing, you never stood a chance.

“You nervous?”

Eddie’s fingertips are warm against the skin of your temple, gentle as they poke like he can pluck the thoughts straight from your mind and see them for himself.

His home is warm and humming with that summer afternoon daze that seeps through when you part the blinds to let the sun drip in like a hazy memory. You’re perched on his couch, legs tucked beneath your body, a cozy sweater loose around your arms.

Eddie’s beside you, dressed in sweats and a wrinkled shirt, curls pulled into an abomination of a bun. He’s got a record spinning— Black Sabbath: Master of Reality— which he claimed to be the best way to feel the high and be high. You didn’t know what he meant by that, but you don’t exactly know what he means a lot of the time because Eddie just kind of spits out the first things that come to his mind until they make a complete sentence.

He pokes at you again, his other hand hovering over the coffee table, a blunt curled between his fingers, waiting to be sealed. You bat at him, pulling a face when he jabs a gentle finger at your lips.

“No.”

“You totally are.” He grins, turning back to his task. You watch as he twists and turns the paper around crushed nuggets of weed, expertly moving around like it’s a mindless craft. He licks the edge, smoothing it beneath his thumb before grabbing the lighter and settling back into the couch.

He lifts the blunt, glancing at you with a lazy smirk tugging at his lips, “This right here,” he broadly gestures to the room, the music, the muted TV flickering forgotten images, the glow of the setting sun, and you perched next to him, watching him like gospel, “This is God’s gift, baby.”

You raise a brow, and his grin widens, thumb flicking the lighter to life once.

“This,” he continues, lowering his voice to something just above a whisper, reverent and teasing, “is how we get closer to God.”

You snort, rolling your eyes when you respond, “You’re making it sound like a ritual.”

He sighs, satisfied in his dramatics as he wriggles against the couch and sticks the blunt between his lips, “It is,” he pauses, flickering the lighter once again, burning the end of the thick paper. He sucks it in like second nature, the burnt smell already dancing up your nose when he exhales, slow and dreamy, speaking through a cloud of smoke, “Holy communion, but with way better music.”

He offers it to you, holding it delicately between his fingers, the end burns soft and orange. You hesitate, just for a beat, eyeing it like it might bite you. His eyes are already on you, half-lidded and slow and warm.

“You don’t have to,” he softly reminds you. “I can snuff it out. We can get high on sugar, and you can kiss me until my head blows… Both heads.”

You grimace, taking the blunt, knuckles brushing against his, and he doesn’t look away. Neither do you.

“You’re gross.” You mumble, ignoring Eddie’s snickers as you bring the blunt to your lips. You take your time to inhale, let it drip down the sides of your body, and lick the sticky spots of your brain. You cough, once, then twice, and Eddie’s chuckling before you say anything.

“Oh yeah,” he grins, watching as you cough a few more times, “That’s the good shit. Your soul’s already half-floatin' outta your body.”

You glare, but it’s weak. Your lungs sting a bit, and your chest feels a tinge warmer than before. “Again,” he encourages, “Let it sit, get your brain fuzzy.”

So you do. You trust him with it.

You take another hit, eyes dancing with his as you drag it slowly, holding it in longer. It burns sweet and low and slips down your throat like a secret. Somewhere beneath the layers of your skin, the pink hollows out to a nice, warm buzz.

Eddie watches as the cloud of smoke drifts from your mouth, slipping his knuckles next to yours when you hand him the blunt, “Shit, that’s fuckin’ hot. You’re a goddamn pro. Lay it on me, baby.”

You don’t think twice, leaning forward and meeting him halfway into a kiss. It’s short and sweet, like it’s muscle memory now, and you both just want it like a deep breath.

Eddie kisses you again, deeper this time, slow and sultry, until he’s forced to pull away from the burn in his lungs. He blinks, low and lazy, a loose grin on his lips when he looks at you.

“How’s your brain?”

You smile, leaning back into the couch, closer to him, goosebumps rising over your knee when he touches it. “Fuzzy. Like I’m… dreaming but awake.”

He smiles something devious, twisting the blunt between his knuckles as he lifts it back to his mouth, “That’s good weed. That’s Master of Reality weed. Straight from the stars.”

You snort, leaning back further as the music hums around you, thick and dark, like the room itself is humming in tune. You pass the blunt a few more times, careful not to inhale too deeply. You’re already floating. You feel it in your spine, in the heavy, molten drag of your limbs.

You wave your hand in surrender on the fifth offer, melting down into his couch as you groan, “No more. I’ll become smoke myself if I take any more.”

Eddie smokes it down to an inch, rambling on about this and that and getting distracted when his favorite verse from “Lord of This World” plays from the stereo.

“Oh— oh, shh. This part is—this part is holy.”

He closes his eyes, socked feet planted in the carpet, knees spread as he drops his head back, throat bared and soft like he’s in the middle of a sermon, and air-guitars the bassline with a reverence that borders on offensive. You cover your mouth to stifle a laugh, and he throws his head around, curls bouncing with every exaggerated nod.

He opens one eye and peeks at you, throwing one thumb your way when he speaks, “That’s gonna be me in hell, by the way.”

You huff a laugh, and he grins, “Like, you think it’s gonna be flames and pitchforks, but no— I’m just down there rockin’ out with Satan, doing solos while he adjusts the EQ.”

You finally lose it. You wheeze out a laugh so hard your body curls and your head hits the pillow in your lap, uncontrollable giggles slipping from your lips. The weed makes the room feel light, more vivid, more real, and less timed.

“You think I’d look good in little red horns?” Eddie asks. He gazes off in front of him, squinting to find the picture. “I feel like I could make it work. Add some flair. Punk rock prince of darkness.”

You lift your head, gasping around a fit of laughter, “You sound ridiculous.”

Eddie scoffs, “Get real, babe,” he starts, “You meet me in a club and I’ve got tiny horns and glitter eyeliner? I’m like a haunted cupid— don’t act like you wouldn’t make a mistake.”

You’re nearly crying at the image, Eddie joining in on the laughter until you’re left breathless and aching, your legs draped over his, leaning into his shoulder like it’s natural for you.

Eddie’s tracing lazy patterns on your knee by the time the record shifts into the next song, slower and thick with a steady bass, layered with occasional drops of naked strings and a haunting flute.

You’re reminded then, with Eddie’s warmth sticking to you and his scent filling your lungs, that this—whatever this is—is getting harder and harder to dance around. You’re reminded that it’s getting difficult to keep pretending this doesn’t mean something.

Eddie’s hand drifts toward yours, his fingers brushing over your knuckles. “Tell me something real.”

You blink. Then hum, soft and sticky, “Like what?”

Eddie shrugs, his chest rumbles beneath your cheek when he speaks, “I dunno,” he lifts your pointer finger and drops it, playful, accepting when you curl it around his thumb, cool silver kissing your skin. “First thing that comes to mind.”

You hum again, watching as your fingers dance. Your heart races. You shove away the voice of reason in your head, hesitating momentarily before you reply, “I wanted to hold your hand at that stupid bonfire.”

Eddie huffs a sharp laugh, “I fuckin’ knew it.”

You groan with a roll of your eyes, shifting to move away, only to be caught by his hold. He kisses you. Cups your face and hums like you’re a sweet drink.

“I did too,” he says, as if you didn’t already know. “But I thought I’d get punched.”

You snort, not bothering to deny yourself another kiss before you mumble, “You would’ve.”

He smiles, his mouth still pressed against yours, his fingers spreading and wandering over your thighs, waist, dipping beneath your sweater. You get tangled, shifting over him until your knees are pressed into the couch on either side of him, and he’s letting out a low groan in the back of his throat, fingers squeezing at your lower back like he needs to remind himself where he is in the space of reality.

You don’t know how you stray down the path; things move slowly and fast simultaneously, and his touch is warm and greedy. Rough hands anywhere he can freely reach, lips losing composure against yours before they drag over your jaw and down your neck.

You gasp a wet breath, every pass of his mouth over your skin sends shivers ricocheting down your spine. You tilt your head, hungry for more, chasing the sensation.

Eddie groans, nuzzles against you, and drags in a breath like you can cure him from the inside out. He mumbles something— your name or maybe a curse— and lets his hands drag up against your bare sides and back down to the base of your spine. He pulls you close, moaning when you shift over him, nipping at the skin of your neck when your breath hitches.

“Fuck, baby,” he whispers, “You keep doing that, and I’m gonna explode.”

You smile, sinking a hand into his hair, gently directing his mouth back to yours. You shift against him again, tasting his moan just as you’d planned, drinking it down like wine. He kisses you breathless, open-mouthed and slow, dragging his tongue through your mouth until you’re gasping. It’s easy to drown in him. Easy not to think.

He shifts, holds you against him, and places you beneath him on the couch, holding himself up with a hand beside your head. You follow each of his kisses, chasing him when he threatens to wander, fingers curled against his shirt.

His kisses are sloppy and greedy, trailing down your jaw and neck, hands pushing up your sweater to mouth at your tummy as he slinks his way down your body. His hair is messy, barely held with a hair tie, spilling around his face in soft, dark waves. It’s soft beneath your fingertips as you glance down at him, goosebumps rising over your skin when he kisses just below your navel.

You want to look away, the heat crawling up your neck wants you to look away— laugh it off, pretend it’s not serious. But you can’t. You’re caught in it. In him.

Your mind is floaty and warm, neurons misfiring when his rough hands drag over your bare hips, knuckles leaving sparks behind when they curl over the waistband of your shorts to pull them down your thighs.

They’re dropped somewhere off to the side, useless and out of mind, when he smears his lips over the inside of your knee.

He spreads you out, gazing over your clothed core like it holds the answers to life, death, and everything in between.

You’ve never been looked at like this.

Not like you’re just pretty—not like you’re some girl a guy wants to mess around with and forget about. No, Eddie looks at you like you’re his first and last sin, like he’s been wandering through the world with a hunger and only just now figured out what it was for.

And it’s you. You, spread out on his couch, still flushed and buzzing from the slow burn of weed, and his fingers tracing over your thighs like a prelude. You, half naked in panties and a sweater, and nervous beneath the low lamp glow of his bedroom, heart thrumming so hard it makes your breath catch.

His gaze flickers up to yours, brown eyes gleaming with something soft and lustful. He kisses somewhere on your inner thigh, fingers giving you a gentle squeeze.

“You okay?” He asks, voice lower now. Gravely, quieter. Like it’d be a sin to break the hush of the room.

You nod too fast, then slow yourself. “Yeah…” You breathe. Your fingers curl against the couch, elbows digging into the velvet material. “Just… you're looking at me like that.”

His lips twitch into a grin, eyes dropping to your stomach where his hand splays out, anchoring you to the moment. “Can’t help it,” he says, “You’re looking at me like no one’s ever touched you before.”

“Because no one has.”

You don’t realize what you’ve said until the words are already out, barely louder than the low hum of Sabbath still playing in the background.

It’s not like you weren’t planning to tell him. Honestly, you were sure it'd never even get this far. And you’re not ashamed about it. Especially not when all Eddie does is pause, eyes flickering between yours, like he’s tasting the truth of your words.

And then he softens.

His lips curl against your knee, a hand dragging over your other thigh as he murmurs, “Thanks for telling me, honeybee.”

It’s the name— the way it drips from his mouth with a different thickness than all those other times he calls you that— it tugs something loose in your chest.

He drags a finger over your cotton-covered center, just one, barely even applying pressure over the softest part of you. You clench around nothing, throbbing like a heartbeat. And Eddie feels it beneath his thumb.

“Already?” He murmurs, amused, voice a little wicked, a little worshipful. You let out something like a strangled whine hidden in a shaky breath. “That’s cute.”

You shift, lips parted like you want to say something but can’t quite find the words. Eddie leans down and noses at the seam of your thigh, letting his curls tickle your skin.

“Open up for me, baby.”

And you do. Just like that. Without hesitation. Like your brains completely gone and all that’s left thinking for you is your pussy.

He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of your panties and drags them down slowly, like unwrapping a gift. They join your shorts in a forgotten land somewhere.

Eddie settles between your thighs with a look of wonder. “Oh, fuck,” he breathes. “Look at you.”

You’re squirming now. Cheeks burning, legs wanting to close like you can hide your arousal as if it’s not dripping onto his couch, but he holds your thighs open with steady hands.

“Nuh-uh,” he gently says, “C’mon, let me look at you. You’re so fuckin’ pretty.”

Eddie doesn’t look the least bit ashamed of how he’s ogling you. In fact, he seems quite pleased with himself when he dusts a thumb over your clit just to make you clench again, like he wanted to see it for himself this time.

He slides a finger down your pussy, all the way down to the stream of wet, sticky arousal leaking from you. He drags it back up to your clit and introduces a second finger to part your folds, exposing you for all your worth. You squirm, heart racing, something devious and hot settling in your gut.

He hums, hooking a hand around your thigh and pressing a kiss to the inside of it. His lips trail wet kisses along the inside of your thigh, open-mouthed and unhurried. Your breath snags when he lingers, a thumb caressing your hip, eyes flicking up to meet yours again. He looks like he’s waiting for something— permission maybe. Your tongue is heavy in your mouth.

You tilt your hips in invitation.

Eddie moves like a man on a mission.

His mouth brushes over you so gently at first, more thought than touch. His breath is warm against you, cooling the heat of your cunt like ice on hot skin. You gasp, your hips twitching, and he pulls back slightly, murmuring something you can’t quite catch— something that sounds like so sensitive, laced with laughter and awe. He kisses you, lips pursed over your clit like something holy.

Then his tongue moves— slow, deliberate. Laving through your folds, dipping lower to catch the wetness dripping from your hole, tasting it—tasting you. You can feel him learning you. Not fumbling or nervous, but curious— measured. Every flick, every kiss, every drag of his mouth is purposeful, like he’s sorting the puzzle pieces out before placing them down, twisting them this way and that to figure out what makes your legs shake.

And it’s new. So new. You’ve touched yourself before, obviously. But this— Eddie— his tongue, his mouth, his hands? It’s something else entirely. It’s like being rewritten.

“God, you’re sweet,” he groans, voice low and rough against your skin. One hand is firm on your thigh, holding you open, his thumb tracing over the quiver in your muscle. The other drags slowly up your belly, fingers spreading wide, feeling your breath stutter under your palm. A needy breath slips from your lips. You can no longer hold yourself up, the back of your head hitting the couch with a soft thud when your eyes flutter shut, a shaky hand finding his on your tummy, fingers lacing together.

His lips close around your clit, suckling soft and pointed with intention. You moan— unfiltered and raw— and that’s all he needs.

Eddie doubles down, patience out the window, full throttle greed and lust— firm, hungry, focused. The kind of pressure that makes your hips lift, your fingers tight around his, a litany of oh fuck ohfuckohfuck spinning through your mind so fast it barely registers.

You feel full of sensation. The heat curls in you tighter and tighter, unbearable, blinding— and he won’t stop humming and moaning like every drop of you fills him with pleasure too— it makes your toes curl and the coil in your belly tenses.

“C’mon, let go for me,” he mumbles, lips dragging against your center. He licks your clit, suckles, hums. “Don’t hold back on me, baby, just— fuck, give it to me.”

Your eyes fly open. You don’t even remember them squeezing shut. He looks up at you from between your thighs like he’s found religion. Like you’re god and he’s your loyal disciple. And the way you’re unraveling, crying out, legs trembling, stomach contracting under his hand, you think maybe you have to.

Another pass of his tongue, another suck at your clit, and you’re done. You come with a sharp, choked sound, thighs closing around his head as the pleasure bursts white-hot behind your eyes.

And he doesn’t stop. He keeps drinking you in, licking and nuzzling into your wet heat like a man starved. He doesn’t even seem like he has intentions to ever stop— not until your hips twitch away from overstimulation, not until you’re whining out his name in a voice you’ve never heard yourself use before.

He parts from you with a gasp, wet sticky strings of arousal bowing and snapping against his lips. He drags his mouth over the inside of your thigh, sticky pleasure smearing over your skin. His lips are pink and shiny, his grin wicked and proud. He looks wrecked. Happy.

He kisses the fold between your core and your thigh. Mouths his way up over your hip, breathes you in like a drug. “Shit, honeybee,” he pants, nips at your rising tummy before he crawls up your body. “Best meal to date.”

You blink at him, dazed.

He taps your hip when you squirm. You mirror the lazy smile on his face. “Twenty out of ten,” he adds, smug. “Can’t wait for the next visit.”

You laugh, breathless, shy, and boneless. You can’t even be embarrassed.

Eddie kisses you with raw need, humming as he presses his body over you. “I saw heaven. She had your mouth. And your thighs.”

You huff out a laugh, lazy and spent, “You’re gross.”

Eddie doesn’t disagree.

Somewhere between the start of the night and 4 AM, you realize you have to go home.

It’s with a dramatic groan from Eddie and the shameful event of grabbing your panties off his floor that you finally find enough life in your limbs to shove your feet into your shoes and make him grab his keys.

Eddie’s got a shit eating grin on his face the entire drive to your place. He’s humming to the radio like a drunk idiot, drumming made-up rhythms against the skin of your thigh and acting like he can’t tell how often you’re shifting in your seat like you’re sitting on hot rocks. The hot rocks being the constant flicker of mental images of Eddie between your thighs.

You don’t want to leave.

You decided to admit that when he turns the corner onto your street. You wanted to stay there, in the Munson trailer, curled against Eddie and feeling weightless.

But you know you have to. It’s late, and the world is waking up soon, and you’re supposed to be in your room by the time your father passes by your room to say goodbye for the day.

Eddie pulls up just far enough down the street to avoid the headlights hitting your windows. He puts the van in park but doesn’t let go of your hand. When did you even start holding hands?

“Same time tomorrow?”

You glare at him, fingers twisting between his. “That gonna be your signature line all summer?”

Eddie grins, “You love it. Gets you giddy and smiley inside.”

You roll your eyes, failing to suppress the smile on your lips. You lean over to kiss him, just once, quick, before he can make another dumb joke, and you can think too hard about what it means now that you’ve started to kiss him goodbye.

He kisses you back like he means it. Like he always does.

“Go,” he whispers against your lips, one thumb nudging your chin, “Before I change my mind and lock the doors.”

One last kiss through a smile, and you hop out.

You walk the short distance, same as always, cringing at the soft creak of the front door when you open it. The house is still asleep. The faint hum of the fridge, the ticking of a clock. You move up the stairs like a ghost, slow and careful.

You pass Steve’s room, but the echoes of hesitation are nearly gone this time. You’re too happy to stress over the implications. And not at this hour. Not after the night you’ve had.

But then— “…Where the fuck have you been?”

Steve is standing in the bathroom doorway, looking like he’s just stumbled out of a bar fight. His shirt is all twisted, his hair is mussed, and you think you see a bit of dried drool on the corner of his mouth.

Your heart skips a beat, but you’re quick— too quick, maybe, “I was with Mia.”

He stares, eyes squinted in that sleepy glare people get when they barely notice they exist. His jaw ticks once, he blinks, and he nods like he’s decided he’s not awake enough to interrogate that.

You nod, let the tension slide just a little before you move on.

You make it two steps past him— “Since when do you smoke weed?”

You stop. A ghost of Eddie’s fingers pressed against your sides ripples across your skin. “Huh?”

“…You reek.”

You blink and debate whether or not to respond. You glance at Steve, consider the fact that he’s barely standing straight, and then you realize— he probably won’t know if this was real or a dream by the time he wakes up again.

“Goodnight, Steve.”

Your heart is pounding in your ears by the time you shut your bedroom door. You press your back against it, hold your breath, listen for footsteps. Nothing.

Just the hum of your fan, the buzz of leftover weed, the phantom feeling of Eddie all around you, and the one thought left spinning in your head—

You can’t wait to see him again.

There's nobody in the future

So baby let me hand you my love

Oh, there's no step for you to dance to

So slip your hand inside of my glove

- hold me x fleetwood mac

part four.

cutie lil taglist: @kellsck @your-nightmaredoll @hereforshmut @emxxblog @mdurdenpitt @glassbxttless @peculiarwren @aactuaaltraash @daveythorntonslocker @bl1ssfulbaby @strangereads @wdsara48 @cowboylikemunson @mrsjellymunson

————

a/n: WOWOWOW GUYS IM SO SORRY FOR SUCH A LONG CHAPPY OMG!!! i also formerly apologize for how LONG this took me to put out, but i hope i did it justice and you'll forgive me hehe

anyway, as always, thank you for riding along, i hope ur enjoying their gross lovesick era, ily and appreciate any and all forms of feedback <3

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siennamagee · 1 month ago

Text

toji know's how to hit you where it hurts. hurt/mild comfort

A heavy, black mood settled in your living room, with you standing on one side of the couch, and Toji on the other. A wicked snarl painted his face as he leaned forward, making him nearly unrecognizable from the man you knew, the man you loved, mouth contorting as he spat venom in your direction.

He’d been coming home wasted after his shifts recently. Kicking his shoes off in the foyer, stumbling and shedding his clothing right in the kitchen, and collapsing in your shared bed without even a word to you.

Worried as you were, you’d asked him about it after the first couple of nights, but you’d only been met with mutters and huffs, asking you to lay off him.

So you did. Allowed him to process whatever it was he needed to. When it came to his occupation, he never let you in much. Never gave you the details of his missions or showed if it affected him. He liked to keep his work and personal life separate.

But now that carefully drawn border was blurring, Toji teetering on the precipice of the straining overload that was beginning to consume his every waking thought.

Even with you, he couldn’t seem to escape it.

Instead, he stopped at the bar for a drink, which turned into a couple, which turned into a concerning amount where the waitstaff kicked him out routinely from how intoxicated he was and causing a scene.

You didn’t have to know about the brutal nature of his job, he preferred it like that.

In spite of that, you began to nag and itch at him for every fucking thing. Asking too many questions for your own good, and lingering with that pitiful expression that made his skin crawl.

He could barely look at you.

And now you were cowering, fingers twitching at your side as tears cascaded down your cheeks. Saying how you couldn’t recognize him anymore.

It made him sick.

But, in truth, deep down, in the grotesque depths of his gut, twisting in shame and contrite, he couldn’t recognize himself either.

He’d wash his hands of sticky, still warm blood in some cheap motel, wringing his compression shirt of any evidence before staring at himself in the mirror for hours. He wasn’t quite sure who was staring back at him.

At some point in his wrath, he’d lost himself.

And he was beginning to lose you, too.

So why delay the inevitable?

“You stick ‘round me ‘cause I’m your new charity case,” he slurred out with malice, eyes red-rimmed as he gripped the headrest of the couch until his knuckles paled. “You pity me. I fuckin’ see it every morning when I wake up, and every night.”

You scowled, a fresh set of tears flowing down your heated cheeks. “So you’re saying all the time I’ve spent loving you was because… because–” You threw your hands into the air, chest heaving as you swallowed a thick lump akin to a rock in your throat, body rigid and shoulders tensed. “That this was all because I felt bad for you?”

Your pinched face and frigid features unlike your soft demeanor made his body run cold despite the rising heat in the room. But Toji was conscientious. He left no ends untied. He always finished what he started, even if it killed him to do so in the act.

“Or to feed that savior complex of yours. You see anything broken, you’d crawl to the depths of hell to mend it,” he asserted, eyes narrowing like slits as he gave you a once-over short of nothing offended, repulsed.

But he wasn’t done, not yet. He took a sharp inhale, hoping his knees would buckle and the world would swallow him whole before his misplaced anger spoke for him.

“Easy for your consciousness to make you forget just how screwed your life’s always been.”

The nail in the coffin.

Your body went stiff as cardboard, breath hitching as your blurry eyes went wide.

Fushiguro Toji, the sole person in your life you knew you could rely on after all of these years, used the one thing he knew to hurt you. To slide the knife deeper.

You’d always been fragile when it came to your shaky upbringing, and you’d only opened up to him when you felt vulnerable with him and knew for a fact he wouldn’t judge you for your past.

And he hadn’t. He’d held you in his arms, whispering and muttering endearments and praises of just how strong you’d been despite it all. Initially, he even felt empathy as he could relate. You were one of the few people he could relate to in that sense.

Yet somewhere along the way, his mind had become such a muddled mess of his emotions. He was no longer rational. He couldn’t see straight.

But Toji emanated no regret, no remorse, not a sliver of empathy. He just stood there, his body stock, still save for his heaving chest, a prominent, smug grin on his mouth, like he was fucking proud of himself.

Your breaths quickened, the edges of your vision darkening as a horrible sense of dread washed over you.

You needed to get out of here.

Looking back, you couldn’t remember much, how you scrambled to shove your things into a small duffel bag and the loud sobs that left your lips as you did so.

You didn’t remember to grab your toothbrush or any underwear.

Didn’t grab a single photo to keep with you.

All you could make out of that night was the way Toji didn’t move from where he stood. He was like a statue, feet planted in stone behind the couch, imbued in the very ground below him. Not sparing even a glance in your direction.

He became a ghost in his own home.

You didn’t care that it was freezing outside. Nothing could rival the icy chill in your bones.

Didn’t care that the motel that you checked into probably scammed you in your frantic state.

Didn’t bother changing out of your clothing littered with your tears and snot.

Didn’t bother sliding beneath the blanket, the itchy linen would do nothing of comfort for you now.

You just curled up, a pillow in your arms as your eyes became dry wells, empty and staring blankly ahead.

There were some things with Toji you could forgive, like his spending habits or snarky attitude, but this was too simply too much.

You knew his words had now torn the already frayed edges of your psyche. You were inconsolable, and left to mend the shattered pieces of yourself all on your own.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

You weren’t sure how many days you’d now spent at the motel. In truth, you didn’t care if it drained your savings.

There was nowhere else for you to stay, no second home you could go to to get back on your feet. You’d managed to leave your personal documents back at your place with Toji, but you’d be damned if you took a step inside of there right now, a home haunted by memories with the person you thought you’d be buried beside.

So you went to work. A bleary job at the convenience store around the corner. Selling cheap cigarettes, gum, beer and gas for hours on end. Mind mushed and eyes puffy and blank as you punched something into the screen you weren’t quite registering.

Small talk was stifling, like a vice to your throat.

You felt like you’d been submerged in ice water–your head just beneath the surface as everything dulled to a murmur, your body settled in a consistent, stabbing chill. You were slowly suffocating, the one thing that made it easy to breathe now wrapped around your ankle and tugging you deeper.

You took on extra shifts, terrified to go back to the motel alone and stare at the wall, nothing to distract you from the ache in your chest.

Your manager asked if you were alright after eyeing your withered state. You gave them feigned reassurance and a smile that hurt your cheeks.

Your appetite was practically nonexistent. You’d pick at the reheated pasta you attempted to shove down your throat the previous night before tossing it out.

Sleep was of no evasion–restless nights spent tossing and turning, sweat like a second skin, as you replayed moments and were unsure if you’d made them up or if they were true.

You began to shuffle through life, enduring one day after another as they blended depressingly into each other, a montage of gloomy moments strung together.

Until something out of the ordinary fizzled into your reality–your detached mind wasn’t quite sure if you were dreaming or not. An issue you’d become familiar with as of late.

You ignored it, walking past it without a second glance and shut the motel door behind you before dragging your heavy limbs towards the shower.

But then there it was again. Same place, but it looked different, new clothing.

You squinted your eyes, clearing your hoarse throat, then stared blankly ahead at your door before stepping in your room and locking the door.

Then, on the third day, they walked towards you and wrapped a firm, familiar hand around your wrist and pulled you towards them. You couldn’t make it out, their voice muffled as you were still in the depths of that lake, before your vision cleared and you deciphered their face.

Your heart rate quickened as your eyes went owly, pulling away from his grip. But he held fast, still speaking but you weren’t hearing a word of it. Like a Chinese finger trap, each wringing movement only made him tighten his grasp.

“Let go,” you coughed out, mouth desert dry as you hadn’t had a lick of water in days. You were too weak to free yourself from his unrelenting grip from days of not taking care of yourself.

His forearms that looked to be cut from marble, flexed when he saw how you trembled in his grasp, bile tasting on his tongue as he made it known to himself exactly whose fault it was that made you like this.

You were unrecognizable, that gleam in your eyes he’d seen when he first met you, the fire in your eyes snuffed out.

You fought against him, strangled shouts of demanding he release you, face coiled in anger with something fractured just simmering beneath the surface, your cries broken and shrill.

He couldn’t meet your eyes, nor could you meet his.

He averted his gaze, his composure faltering by each passing second, his tongue a thick wad of muscle resting in his mouth. He was far too ashamed to utter anything to you.

The sky was now tempestuous, a deep and dark grey that held heavy above your heads, mocking the turmoil coiling between the two of you.

Toji was too ashamed of an admission that if he could take it all back, he would. That he desperately needed you, not the other way around. That he’d been pulverised to something he couldn’t recognize in your absence.

That the one thing that remained true was that you didn’t pity him, but he pitied himself to accept such unconditional love. He was so deeply insecure that he pushed away anything when it got too hard, when it began to puncture the bubble of safety he’d wrapped so carefully around himself over the years.

Your fists pounded into his chest, and he wanted to claw at the ache in his chest that seemed to grow with each passing second.

In your flailing state, a man of such formidable strength could easily have subdued you.

But Toji was weak when it came to you–you’d stripped him bare to his smallest, most repulsive layers and still loved him when you held them in your palm.

His teeth gritted against each other each moment he recalled just how spineless he’d been when you were simply reaching out. Toji couldn’t even reach you halfway, no. He sliced any tether that held the two of you together.

But he’d rather meet an early demise than not have you in his life. He was going to work at it, every single day, until he could hold you in his arms as his again. Until he could pepper kisses against the column of your neck in a way that made you squirm, until he could trace the dips and curves along your form, until he could watch the expressions you made as you unraveled beneath him, whining and exposed to your rawest nature as he pushed into you.

Your body began to tremble as you exhausted your efforts, out of breath and muttering cries to yourself under your breath mixed with curses condemning Toji to hell.

Until your tears worked their way up again, your body weakening as you convulsed in his tight hold of your arms. Until you collapsed against his chest.

Your fingers curled in the fabric of his jacket, face digging into his chest like you’d done thousands of times before, pleading to Toji something neither of you could understand.

Did you want him to free you from this hellish torment? Spare you from any more of his hurt? Or for him to hold you like his again?

For the first time Toji could count, his hands trembled. They wavered above your back with reluctance. Your tears stained his shirt, wetting the skin beneath and burning him. Reminders that these were tears he caused.

He felt like he couldn’t breath, his lungs stuffed with cotton. His legs were rendered useless as he could barely take a step forward, or backward.

He needed to move. He knew it, he repeated it over and over in his blank-slated mind until he was able to will himself to do so.

The two of you had yet to notice the drops of water that sprinkled onto the pavement, slicking the ground.

With apprehension, his hand brushed against your back, a warmth suddenly heating his palm, calloused from years of strain. He began to question if he even deserved such an act, rendering him foolish as he started to skim his fingers through your hair.

He had been so catty and abrasive with you, pouring anything good he had with you down the drain with a couple sentences of words to hit you where it hurt.

He tugged his bruised bottom lip between his teeth, gnawing at the same spot he’d been doing for days. The difference was he tasted copper on his tongue now.

You don’t know how long the two of you stood there, bodies drenched from the rain, hair matted with water, clothing that clung uncomfortably to you.

A hiccup left your lip well after your sobs died down.

Toji slipped a hand into your pocket, pulling your motel keys from them before lifting you into his arms.

You didn’t fight him this time, resigned to your exhaustion and something else you didn’t want to address.

He kicked the door shut after stepping in, expression sober as he walked straight for the bathroom, not even caring about all of the mud and rainwater he’d tracked in.

He sat you on the counter, then turned the shower faucet on.

You sat limp, nose stuffed and sniffling, skin paled.

He began to undress you carefully, tugging your top over your head and slipping your jeans off along with your panties. He unclasped your soaked bra and tossed it on the pile on the ground, then began to undress himself.

You weren’t entirely focused on all of his movements, something akin to familiarity wrenching in your chest.

He pulled you off of the counter and carried you into the shower before letting you settle on your own two feet.

He grabbed the measly bottle of motel shampoo and began to work it through your hair, the hot temperature he’d always shower with scalding your skin.

You stood there, letting him work the suds off before he began to scrub away at your body.

Toji had always been a rough-handed man, but the way he tended to you so delicately, like you were a prized piece of China he held in his palm, afraid to crack it with his brute, made you nauseous.

You stood there as he cleaned himself off.

The air was steamy and suffocating, a humid temperature billowing before he shut the water off.

The two of you smelled of the same soap.

He wrapped you in an abundance of towels, making sure to wipe away any lingering tears. His feather-light touch made you shiver as he dried you off.

He propped a window open, before making the bed.

Sifting through the cabinets, he found a hairdryer and did his best to figure out how exactly they worked before ruffling it through your hair.

You shut your eyes, for a moment pretending like everything in the world wasn’t wrong when it was starting to feel right.

His meaty fingers attempted to braid your hair back, but it looked disheveled and disarrayed.

You didn’t care.

He lifted you up once again, the both of your bare skins grazing against each other in a matter so intimate you could feel your heart sinking to the depths of your gut.

He lifted the sheets, before laying you down.

Then he laid beside you.

Without a moment of hesitation, like it was second nature, he pulled you against his chest, his bulky arms engulfing you in his large form.

Your breath stilled as his breaths began to pick up, his heartbeat quickening beside your ear.

You felt something wet touch your scalp.

He cradled you like a dove.

And then he began to whisper your name out, heady and abject. His voice was swimming with repentance as it started to crack.

He apologized profusely, in a hushed tone for only you to hear. Swore on you like you were his salvation. In his misery, he beseeched you to curse him, a promise that he’d never forget, whispered in the night.

Nothing was fixed, not right now. You weren’t sure if it ever would be.

You weren’t sure how to describe the gnawing feeling in your gut.

Toji could barely rest without your forgiveness, but for now, this would have to do. Your breaths synced, chests rising and falling in tandem, as slumber took the both of you.

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siennamagee · 1 month ago

Text

I loved this oml

Babysitting emergency ~ R.S.

Pairing: Ryomen Sukuna x Reader

Summary: Sukuna is in charge of babysitting his little nephew for an evening, should be easy enough right? Turns out it isn’t so he finds himself knocking at his annoying neighbour’s door.

CW (content warning): cuteness overload, modern AU (no curses), ooc Sukuna (he’s kinda nice), Sukuna is an architect for literally mo reason, some light cursing.

AN: This is way too long because I got too into it hahahah but I think really like how this turned out 🤍 English isn’t my first language so I’m sorry if there’re any mistakes. Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think! :)

Requests are open so feel free to send yours! (you can check the list of character I write for on my pinned post)

Masterlist

There were very few things that could rattle Sukuna Ryomen. Earthquakes, client meltdowns, the occasional burst pipe on-site, those were all things he could handle effortlessly. But standing in his living room in a faded black hoodie, sweatpants, and socks that hadn’t matched since 9 a.m., he was definitely rattled.

The source of his current crisis was none other than a pink-haired five-year-old named Yuji, his nephew.

The kid was adorable. When he was asleep. Awake? He was a human pinball, a juice-powered chaos gremlin with endless questions and zero fear.

“Uncle Suku, can I feed the fish again?” Yuji called, already climbing onto the kitchen counter.

“We don’t have a fish!” Sukuna snapped, catching a juice box midair. “That’s my garlic press!”

Yuji grinned, completely unbothered, as he jumped down and ran in circles around the coffee table, dragging what used to be a potted plant behind him like a leash.

It was only noon.

Sukuna pinched the bridge of his nose. His sister had begged him, really begged him, to babysit while she and her husband attended a last-minute emergency at her office. He’d said yes because he was a responsible adult with a flexible work-from-home schedule and because, well, he wasn’t heartless.

But this? This was slowly turning into a war of attrition.

He tried distracting Yuji with cartoons. Didn’t work. Tried coloring. Yuji drew on the wall. Tried snacks. The living room now smelled like stale applesauce and childhood regrets.

Sukuna’s eye twitched as a toy firetruck zipped past him and hit the front door.

He needed backup. But not just any backup. His neighbor. He stared at the wall separating his apartment from hers.

You’d lived next door for about six months. Too cheerful. Too nosy. Always humming in the hallways and leaving little potted plants outside your door like this was some rom-com set instead of a downtown apartment building.

And you loved to get on his nerves.

Whenever he bumped into you in the hallway, it was like sparring with a cartoon character. You smiled too much. Talked too much. You once called his very expensive minimalist furniture “cold serial killer chic” and he still hadn’t forgiven you.

But Yuji liked you. A lot. And right now? Sukuna was desperate.

With a long-suffering sigh, he knocked on your door. It opened a few seconds later, revealing you in leggings, a hoodie, and fuzzy socks. You were holding a mug that said BITE ME in cheerful bubble letters.

Your eyes widened. “Well, well. If it isn’t Mr. Brooding himself. Need to borrow a cup of angst?”

“Help me.” Sukuna said flatly.

You blinked. “Sorry, come again?”

He cleared his throat. “I said… Help. Me.” He said it like the mere act of those words leaving his lips physically hurt him. It probably did in fact.

You leaned in slightly, eyes twinkling. “Did you swallow a thumbtack, or did you actually just ask me for help?”

“Yuji.” He said simply, gesturing behind him. A loud crash followed.

Your smile widened. “Say no more.”

——————————————————————————

Fifteen minutes later, you were in his apartment, crouched on the carpet, helping Yuji build a pillow fort. The kid had immediately latched onto you like a magnet, and you? You looked completely at ease.

Sukuna watched, leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed.

“Okay, Yuji, your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to guard this pillow castle from the evil broccoli overlords.”

“Broccoli is gross!” Yuji shouted.

“Exactly!” You said solemnly. “They must be stopped.”

Yuji saluted you. “Yes, General!”

Sukuna felt like he’d stepped into an alternate universe. One were his heart did weird things when he saw you laughing at something his little nephew did. He wasn’t handling it well.

“How do you do that?” He asked finally.

You didn’t even look up. “Do what?”

“That. Handle him like you’re some sort of… tiny human whisperer.”

You shrugged. “It’s not that hard. He just wants to play. And not be barked at like he’s a military recruit.”

Sukuna scowled. “I wasn’t… Okay, maybe a little. But in my defense, he colored on my tax documents.”

You laughed. “Honestly? That’s kind of iconic.”

He groaned. “Of course you’d say that.”

Yuji popped up from behind the couch. “Uncle Suku, can she stay forever?”

He sputtered. “No.”

“Yes.” you said at the same time.

Yuji laughed, then returned to his fort.

Sukuna rubbed the back of his neck. “Thanks for stepping in.”

You waved him off. “I love this stuff. Chaos is my natural habitat.”

“I can tell.” He muttered, eyeing the glitter stuck to your sleeve.

You grinned. “Admit it. You’re relieved I came over.”

He looked away. “I… You’re not entirely useless, I guess.”

“A glowing review.” You said. “Should I write that on my resume?”

You ended up staying all afternoon. Sukuna tried to pretend he was annoyed by it, but the truth was… the apartment felt lighter with you in it. Your laughter made Yuji light up. Your presence calmed the room. You even helped him clean up after Yuji crashed for a nap on the couch, completely worn out from fort-building and broccoli slaying.

“You want tea?” He asked, half-grumbling.

You raised an eyebrow. “Are you offering because you’re being polite, or because you’ve realized I’m delightful?”

He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “I’m offering because you stopped him from destroying my apartment and my will to live. Tea is the least I can do.”

“Romantic.” You said dryly. “But sure.”

He handed you a mug and sat across from you at the table, eyes half-lidded, arms folded.

The silence was surprisingly… comfortable.

“I still don’t get why you hate me.” You said after a moment.

“I don’t hate you.”

“You kind of do.” You smirked.

He exhaled. “You’re loud.”

“And?”

“Too cheerful.”

“And?”

“You rearranged the mailboxes that one time.”

You laughed. “Because they were in the wrong order. You’re such a Virgo.”

“I’m a Scorpio.”

“That tracks too.”

He gave you a look, but the edge in his eyes was softened by something else. Amusement?

“Okay.” You said, sipping your tea. “Let’s lay it out. You’re grumpy and tense. I’m sunshine and rainbows. Opposites attract.”

“Are you flirting with me?”

“Maybe,” You said with a shrug. “Is it working?”

Sukuna opened his mouth, then shut it. For the first time in years Ryomen Sukuna had been rendered speechless. The silence stretched for a bit.

Then he stood and walked to the sink, muttering, “You’re insufferable.”

You smiled behind your mug. Because you knew that in Sukuna language that wasn’t a no.

——————————————————————————

You came over again the next weekend.

This time, Sukuna asked. Not begged. Not pleaded. Just a text that read:

You busy? Yuji’s back. Bring sugar.

You arrived ten minutes later with cupcakes and a grin.

Over the next few weeks, it became a pattern. Sukuna watched Yuji during the day. You popped over to help when you could. The three of you became an oddly functional little trio.

You learned that Sukuna was surprisingly good at drawing. That he secretly loved cooking shows. That he kept extra fuzzy blankets but pretended they were for guests.

He learned that you used sarcasm as a shield. That your last relationship ended because someone told you to “stop being so much.” That you secretly worried you were too loud for quiet people like him.

He told you, one night while Yuji was snoring in the other room “You’re not too much. People just suck.”

You smiled so hard it hurt.

He noticed. He was utterly screwed.

——————————————————————————

The day it all changed, Yuji had just left with his mom, and the apartment was quiet again. You were helping Sukuna pack away the last of the kid’s toys.

You held up a plastic lightsaber. “I’m keeping this.”

“You literally didn’t buy it.”

“I earned it with emotional labor.”

Sukuna smirked. “You’re ridiculous.”

You put the lightsaber down and looked at him.

He was closer than you thought. Still in his black hoodie, hair a little messy, he had red finger paint smudged on his left cheek and his eyes were dark and unreadable.

“I like you, you know?” You said softly.

He didn’t respond right away. Then he stepped forward. His hand found your waist.

And just like that he kissed you.

It was warm and slow and soft in a way that made your heart ache. No snark. No banter. Just the press of his lips on yours and the quiet hum of understanding between two people who had somehow, impossibly, become each other’s favorite chaos. When he pulled back, you blinked in shock, your heart almost beating out of your chest.

“Wow.” You whispered. “That was…”

“I should’ve done that weeks ago.” He said.

You smiled. “You absolutely should’ve.”

He hesitated, only for a moment, just enough to make you squirm a bit. “Wanna go out sometime? Like, a real date. No Legos involved.”

You looped your arms around his neck. “Only if you promise to let me win at Mario Kart.”

“Not a chance.”

“Then I’m in.” You beamed at him.

——————————————————————————

The first date was his idea. Which, honestly? Surprised both of you.

It started with a knock on your door, three days after the kiss. You opened it expecting mail or a neighbor with a Wi-Fi emergency. Instead, there was Sukuna, in a navy-blue jacket, holding a small paper bag and looking like he’d spent twenty minutes pacing before mustering the courage to ring your bell.

He cleared his throat. “Put on shoes. I’m taking you somewhere.”

You blinked. “Wow. So romantic. You didn’t even offer me a rose or tell me to pack a bag for a mysterious getaway.”

“I brought food.” He held up the bag like it was a peace treaty.

“What is it?”

“Gyoza from that place you like. The one with the sarcastic waiter.”

You smiled, grabbing your coat. “You’re lucky I’m easy.”

He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “That’s debatable”, but his ears were pink.

——————————————————————————

The date started at a park. Sukuna led you to a quiet, tree-lined path, where you sat on a bench under the soft glow of streetlamps. The weather was cool, the sky cloudy, and for some reason, it felt oddly cinematic.

“You brought me to a park?” You teased. “What are we, eighty?”

“I considered a rooftop, but someone’s afraid of pigeons.”

“I was attacked once.” You said firmly. “They’re sky rats.”

Sukuna rolled his eyes and handed you the gyoza bag. “Eat before you get even more dramatic.”

You bit into a dumpling, humming contentedly. “You know, I never expected you to be the ‘pack a picnic and stroll through the park’ kind of guy.”

“I’m not. But you like this kind of stuff.”

You paused mid-chew. He kept looking straight ahead, refusing to meet your eyes.

“You remembered I like this?”

He shrugged. “You talk a lot. Stuff sticks.”

Your chest tightened with that stupid, fluttery ache that happened every time he did something unexpectedly sweet.

And of course, being you, you couldn’t help but push a little. “So… is this your idea of boyfriend material?”

He gave you a dry look. “Don’t push it.”

“I dunno…” You teased, bumping his shoulder with yours playfully. “I might have to make you a Pinterest board.”

“If you do, I’ll set your phone on fire.”

You giggled, and for the first time that evening, he smiled. A real one. Small, lopsided, and rare as hell.

You didn't kiss that night. You both kind of wanted to, but something about it felt too… gentle. Like rushing would break it.

So instead, you walked home with him in silence, hands brushing occasionally. When you reached your door, he said, “Same time next week?”

You grinned. “Only if you bring dessert.”

——————————————————————————

By the third date, he was holding your hand.

By the fourth, he’d let you see his apartment’s second bedroom, the one filled with sketchbooks and drafting tables and old, half-finished models of buildings.

He told you, without looking at you. “I used to want to design theaters.”

You sat beside him on the floor, tracing your fingers over the paper. “Why didn’t you?”

He shrugged. “Money. Clients want modern. Steel and glass. Emotionless. Easy to clean.”

You whispered, “But you wanted magic.”

He looked at you then, really looked at you, and said quietly. “Still do.”

That was the night he kissed you again. Not a maybe-kiss, not a I’ve-wanted-to-do-this-for-weeks kiss.

It was a you matter to me kiss.

And that’s when it started.

——————————————————————————

The relationship, if you could even call it that at first, was chaotic.

You were still neighbors. Still bickered like you were trying to win a verbal UFC match. But now he’d kiss you when you were mid-rant. Now you’d steal his hoodies like it was your God-given right. Now you sat on his kitchen counter and kicked your feet while he cooked, and he let you eat the last dumpling without pretending to fight you for it.

Yuji figured it out before either of you said anything.

One Saturday morning, while you were helping him build a pillow fort version 3.0, he looked up and said, “Are you Uncle Suku’s girlfriend now?”

You blinked. “Uh…”

Sukuna, from the other side of the room, said “Yuji.” In almost a warning tone.

“What?” The kid said, frowning. “She’s here all the time. And you kiss. That’s what girlfriends do.”

You covered your face with a pillow.

Sukuna walked over, ruffled Yuji’s hair, and said, “You’re too observant for your own good.”

Yuji beamed. “Does that mean I can call her Auntie?”

“No- ” You and Sukuna said at the same time.

Yuji pouted. “Lame.”

——————————————————————————

It was bumpy, of course. Sukuna didn’t exactly slide into domesticity. The first time you left your hairbrush in his bathroom, he stared at it like it was a live grenade.

“You’re moving in?”

You blinked. “It’s a brush, not a lease agreement.”

“I’m just saying, that’s how it starts. First the brush. Then you’re here every night. Then I wake up and there’s throw pillows on my bed.”

“God forbid you experience lumbar support.”

Eventually, though, he got used to it. You being there. Your humming in the morning. Your socks in his drawer. The way you curled up on his couch and tucked your feet under his thigh like you belonged there.

One night, after too much wine and too many old horror movies, you looked at him,flushed and sleepy, and said, “I think I’m in love with you.”

He froze.

You panicked. “I mean, not like in love in love. Not in a weird way. Just, like, casual love. Like a chill-”

He kissed you. Long. Firm. No hesitation.

When he pulled back, he said “I love you too. Ever since you knocked on my door with a batch of welcome cupcakes.”

You blinked. “You don’t say anything for ten minutes and then just- ?!”

“I was trying not to freak out, okay?” He snapped. “You caught me off guard.”

You snorted. “You? Mr. Stoic? Freaked out?”

He grumbled. “Shut up.”

But you didn’t.

You laughed, leaned into his chest, and said once again “I love you.”

And this time, he whispered it back immediately.

——————————————————————————

Dating Sukuna was like learning a new language.

He didn’t always say the right things. Sometimes he snapped when he meant to ask. Sometimes he shut down when he should’ve opened up. But he showed love in small, quiet gestures.

A thermos of your favorite tea on his counter when you were sick. An extra key on your keyring that you definitely hadn’t put there. A grumble of “Don’t be late” when you had a big meeting.

And you? You loved out loud. Sticky notes on his mirror. Spontaneous takeout at midnight. Kisses on the back of his neck while he worked on new sketches.

You argued, of course. Loudly. Often. Once about the right way to fold towels. Another time about whether Die Hard was a Christmas movie, which, by the way, you won. Once about the color of a shower curtain.

But the make-ups were always worth it.

Sometimes that meant soft apologies whispered under the covers. Sometimes it meant passionate, desperate kisses against the kitchen counter.

Sometimes it meant cuddling on the couch with Yuji between you, asleep, while the TV played forgotten cartoons in the background.

——————————————————————————

One night, months into the chaos, you were curled up on Sukuna’s bed, flipping through one of his sketchbooks. He was brushing his teeth, hair damp from the shower, wearing the gray sweatpants that absolutely should’ve been illegal.

You held up a sketch of a tiny theater with stained glass windows and velvet curtains.

“I love this one.”

He spat into the sink. “Old. From college.”

“Why didn’t you build it?”

He shrugged. “Too sentimental. No one wants that crap.”

You hesitated. “I do.”

He glanced at you in the mirror.

You closed the book. “I want all your sentimental crap. All of it. The weird sketches. The hoodie you never wear but won’t throw away. The grumpy texts. The yelling. The quiet. I want all of it.”

He turned. You waited.

Then, softly, he said, “You already have it.”

You smiled. “Even the hoodie?”

“Especially the hoodie.”

You laughed, and he climbed into bed beside you, pulling you into his chest.

——————————————————————————

Six months after the first kiss, you officially moved in. Not all at once, it started with your toiletries, then your sweaters, then somehow your cat, who terrorised Sukuna for the first week.

The building super made a joke about it one day in the hallway.“You two finally caved, huh?”

Sukuna just smirked, one hand on your lower back.

“Better than her breaking into my apartment every other night.”

You elbowed him. “I never broke in.”

“You climbed through the fire escape.”

“Once!”

“You brought tacos.” He conceded. “So I let it slide.”

——————————————————————————

One morning, while brushing your teeth beside him, you looked at him in the mirror and said, “You know I love you, right?”

He met your eyes. “I know.”

“And you… love me too?”

He leaned down, kissed your toothpaste-foamed cheek, and said “Unfortunately.”

You grinned.

It wasn’t perfect. But it was yours.

A slow-burn romance with yelling and laughter and pizza stains. A relationship built on bickering and babysitting and the most unhinged five-year-old matchmaker alive.

And somehow, against all odds? It worked.

——————————————————————————

You two had decided to keep your relationship to yourselves for a while, not that you were ashamed of it because you weren’t in the slightest. You just wanted to enjoy the peace and quiet of living in your own little bubble, but given that there was a five-years-old that was the embodiment of ADHD that knew… the secret was meant to come out rather sooner than later.

It happened at a family barbecue. A simple, innocent Sunday afternoon.

Sukuna’s sister had invited him, meaning, both of you to her house just outside the city because she wanted to thank you for “Not allowing her brother to throw Yuki out of the window”. It was a yearly tradition: kids running around, way too much food, and at least one uncle getting into an argument about lawn maintenance.

You didn’t expect much. Just decent grilled corn, a slightly-overcooked burger, and maybe a chance to mess with Sukuna’s head by being overly charming to his extended family.

You didn’t expect Yuji to completely detonate your secret relationship like a tiny pink-haired grenade.

——————————————————————————

“I told you.” Sukuna muttered as you got out of the car. “My family is nosy.”

You slipped on your sunglasses. “And I told you: I’m adorable. They’ll love me.”

He gave you a deadpan look. “You stole my last piece of cheesecake last night.”

“And yet you still let me wear your hoodie this morning. That’s love, baby.”

He made a noise that could’ve been a scoff or a suppressed laugh. You counted it as a win either way.

You walked into the backyard hand-in-hand, a detail you both completely forgot until it was too late. Music was playing, kids were screaming, and the smell of charcoal filled the air.

Sukuna’s sister came over first, grinning. “There he is! The brooding menace himself.” She said as she hugged the brooding tattooed man next to you. “And his emotional support ray of sunshine.” She beamed at you, as she embraced you.

She laughed as hugged you both. “It’s about time you brought her around again. Yuji hasn’t shut up about her.”

“Of course not.” You said. “I’m his favorite adult.”

“Excuse me?” Sukuna said.

“I don’t make him eat vegetables.”

“You bribed him with marshmallows to get him to brush his teeth.”

“And it worked, didn’t it?”

Sukuna muttered something about bad influences and childhood cavities, but his hand didn’t leave your lower back the whole time.

You tried to play it cool. Smile. Be casual. Only… it was hard to stay subtle when Yuji was running toward you at full speed, arms wide.

“AUNTIEEEE!”

Sukuna flinched like he’d been hit.

You bent down to scoop Yuji into a hug. “There’s my favorite little chaos goblin!”

“I missed you!” He said. “Uncle Suku was so boring last week. He wouldn’t let me use the hose indoors.”

“Because I’m not a psychopath.”

You whispered to Yuji “We’ll stage a mutiny later.”

He giggled and kissed your cheek loudly.

That was strike one.

——————————————————————————

Strike two came later when one of Sukuna’s cousins, a tall guy with a man bun and too many opinions about kombucha asked. “So, what’s your deal with the grump here? Just friends?”

You opened your mouth, ready to deflect with your usual “I’m his handler” joke, but Yuji beat you to it.

“They kiss a lot!” Exclaimed proudly, licking a popsicle. “Like, a lot a lot. I saw them one time on the couch and Uncle Suku said I had to pretend I didn’t.”

Dead silence. You blinked. Sukuna blinked.

The cousin blinked and grinned. “Ohhhh.”

You covered your face.

——————————————————————————

Strike three came barely a minute later when Yuji, still unaware of the social nuke he’d dropped, said to Sukuna’s mom, loudly. “Uncle Suku said he’s gonna marry her one day but he’s being a big chicken about it.”

Sukuna choked on his beer. You very, very calmly set down your lemonade before you dropped it.

Yuji looked up at his grandmother innocently. “Right, Ba-chan? He said he was gonna do it soon. With a ring and everything. Like on TV.”

The silence was now legendary. Sukuna’s mother turned slowly to her eldest son.

He coughed, red-faced, and muttered “Kids say weird things.”

“Oh no.” You said, barely holding back laughter. “Let’s hear more about this ring, chicken man.”

“I’m going to exile him.” Sukuna growled. “I swear to God.”

——————————————————————————

You didn’t bring it up again that night.

He was flustered enough. You could tell by how much he was cleaning. Sukuna never cleaned while angry, only while thinking. While trying to process. And judging by how many times he rearranged his spice rack, he was practically having an existential crisis.

So you let it go, for about a week at least. Until you noticed him acting… weirder than usual.

You’d wake up and find him staring at you like he was trying to memorize every freckle on your face. He kept checking his coat pockets, muttering under his breath. He googled “best restaurants with rooftop views near me” and pretended he didn’t. He even said “I love you” first one night and then acted like he hadn’t.

You were no genius, but you could put two and two together. Still, you didn’t say anything.

Because this? Watching him unravel like a tightly wound spool of sarcasm and anxiety? This was fun.

——————————————————————————

The night it finally happened, he invited you to dinner. Which wasn’t weird. Except he was nervous. Weirdly nervous.

“You okay?” You asked, brushing lint off his shirt as he fiddled with his keys.

“Fine.”

“You look like you’re about to testify in court.”

He scowled. “Just get in the car.”

He took you to a rooftop restaurant overlooking the city. Very fancy. Very romantic. Very not Sukuna.

You raised an eyebrow. “Wow. Trying to get laid or trying to hide a body?”

“Shut up.”

The dinner was good. The wine was better. And you were just starting to feel that warm, fizzy buzz when Sukuna reached into his coat pocket.

Paused. Frowned. Checked the other pocket. Then the inside. Then his wallet.

“Everything okay?” You asked, eyeing him as if he had just grown a second head.

“I… I forgot something.”

You tilted your head. “What’d you forget?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he stood up so abruptly he knocked his chair into a waiter. Then he mumbled “Be right back” and practically sprinted down the stairs.

You stared after him.

Okay you thought to yourself, So either he’s proposing or he just remembered he left the oven on.

——————————————————————————

Ten minutes later, he came back, flushed and out of breath, holding…

A tiny, slightly crumpled black velvet box.

You blinked. He sat down, still panting.

“Had to run to the car.” He muttered. “Was in the glovebox. Under your fuzzy socks.”

You stared at him. Then at the box. Then back at him.

“You kept a ring next to my socks?”

“I panicked!”

You covered your mouth, trying not to laugh.

He exhaled and pushed the box toward you, not opening it, not kneeling, just sliding it across the table like it was a cursed artifact.

“I was gonna do this right.” He said. “Fireworks. String lights. Maybe a cat in a tux.”

“A cat in a- ”

“But then Yuji opened his gob, and you started looking at me like you knew, and I started panicking every time you reached for a coffee mug like you might find it by accident- ”

You opened the box. Simple. Silver band. A small, round-cut diamond in a vintage setting. Elegant. Understated. So you.

You looked up, eyes glossy. “You picked this?”

He shrugged. “You said you liked rings that look like heirlooms. You were half-asleep. Probably don’t even remember saying it.”

Your chest ached. You stood, walked around the table, and sat on his lap, not caring that half the restaurant was now watching.

“You’re a mess.” You whispered, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“And you’re a menace.” He said. “I think I’m about to have a heart attack, so can you please just put me out of my misery?”

“You didn’t actually ask, you know.”

He rolled his eyes. “Will you marry me, even though I’m emotionally stunted and allergic to sentiment?”

You grinned. “Absolutely.”

He kissed you. Not gentle, not shy, but completely, hopelessly yours.

Applause broke out from a nearby table.

You flipped them off without breaking the kiss.

——————————————————————————

You didn’t tell Yuji until a week later.

He was on your shared couch, watching cartoons, shoveling goldfish crackers into his mouth. You sat beside him. Sukuna stood behind the couch, arms crossed, trying not to smile.

“Hey, champ.” You said. “Guess what?”

Yuji looked at you.

“We’re getting married.”

Yuji gasped. Loudly.

Then jumped up and screamed. “I WIN! I WIN! I TOLD YOU!”

You blinked. “Told who what?”

He pointed at Sukuna. “He said he wasn’t gonna do it until next year. But I said he was a big chicken and he was gonna do it this month! I win!”

Sukuna stared at his nephew like he was an ancient demon haunting his bloodline.

“Did you bet on my proposal timeline?” You asked.

Yuji looked smug. “I also bet with Ba-chan. She owes me ice cream.”

You howled with laughter.

Sukuna groaned. “Why do I feel like I’m being outsmarted by a five-year-old?”

You leaned into him, kissing his cheek. “Because you are.”

Neither of you would change a thing.

Tags: @noooo-onee @suna-yoshihara @hawkwithsocks @pickledsoda

Taglist is open so let me know if you want to be added for future works! :)

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siennamagee · 2 months ago

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Mamma, I'm in love with a criminal :(

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siennamagee · 2 months ago

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Katsuki does his own Calvin Klein ad and the comments you see all over TikTok make you jealous!

Pairing: Bakugo x fem!reader

Tags // Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, smut, top! reader, oral (m receiving), cumflation(?), jealousy, a little fighting, LOADS of comfort, Jungkook mentioned ig? All characters are 20+

You're mad.

Extremely mad.

Ac/dc’s TNT plays on repeat from the speaker of your phone, your laptop, your TV, the Main Street screen from the building across your apartment a few stories below. And truly, every single time a replay goes on and on, each screen unsynced, your anger grows even worse inside your already too tight chest.

The reason?

Your boyfriend’s Calvin Klein ad has actually broke the internet.

It’s fucking ridiculous—The whole thing is worse than what happened with Bad Bunny a few months ago.

The comments are all over the place. Messy. Too messy. Too thirsty. Too delirious. Too fucking disrespectful.

You've scrolled through way too many edits. No scratch that. You've only scrolled through edits. With millions of likes, hundreds thousands of comments—that you've spent hours reading to their entirety. The actual video from the official Calvin Klein account has thirty, no forty million likes. Almost as many saves and shares too.

You’re naturally jealous. You knew you were bound to be even if you were the one who practically begged him to say yes to the offer and you definitely knew your boyfriend was the cause of thirst for many people worldwide.

It’s never been a problem until now. You've usually encountered the occasional ‘congratulations to whoever is bouncing on it’ edit, hell you’ve even smiled like an idiot at it, but now? After digging through comments that explicitly say ‘his girlfriend aint even deserve all that’ and ‘damn Dynamight’s gf i said LET GO’ you want to scream. Yell. Get back at him.

You can’t even bear to witness the video anymore. Only because when looking at it out of context, you feel like you can forgive him because of how hot he just looks!

It’s all over your screen; Katsuki flexing his muscles, biceps, forearms, back, thighs, torso. Letting off explosions, pulling the waistband of his boxers down just enough to tease, stomping his hero boots before he kneels completely. All while being extremely sweaty.

Seriously, fuck him and that hero work durability underwear line.

You’ve now unliked the original post out of pure spite. Then re-liked it. Then unliked it again because it felt like you were feeding the beast that's unleashing negativity and pumps jealousy throughout your whole body

You’ve closed the app, deleted it, redownloaded it, and then ended up stalking your own boyfriend like you were a crazed fan girl and not the person who literally shares a bathroom with him, only to be met with the same ten posts on TikTok—yes the one where he does push ups with you on his back and the other edit he has posted of you, even the one and only repost he has that’s of your ‘somebody point me to the best ass eater’ TikTok, where he acted like a feral beast and actually tried to bend you over.

And then his instagram, where there are only a few yearly hero chart posts that have him as a co creator and like, three actual posts that he made himself. One from his agency, one from a school reunion and one with you smiling next to him, both bloody and bruised after a villain attack with the caption ‘you should see the other guy’.

Back to TikTok now, you take one last look at the ad before you ultimately close it, yes, for real this time, fists clenched like you’re about to march straight to Calvin Klein Japan HQ and file a formal complaint about emotional damages.

Instead, you exhale sharp through your nose and storm into the kitchen like a woman on a mission.

Fine.

If the internet wants to thirst over your man like they’ve never seen shoulders before, then so be it. You’re not threatened.

Not really. Not even a little.

You’re the one he comes home to. You’re the one who knows the exact way he likes his coffee in the morning, the brand of muscle balm he’ll pretend he doesn’t need, the scar on his side he never talks about.

They don’t know him.

But you do.

And tonight, you’re going to prove it. Prove that you’re the most perfect girlfriend for him, that you won’t let go because someone on the internet begs you to.

You slam the fridge door shut with the kind of force that makes the condiments rattle. Chicken breast. Garlic. Thyme. That expensive parmesan he rolls his eyes at but always eats the fastest. You’ve got all the ingredients for the dumb TikTok “marry me chicken” and honestly, yeah—maybe it’s manipulative. Maybe it’s desperate.

You don’t care. You've made it before and he adores it.

If the competition is public thirst, then your counterattack is a home-cooked seduction plan followed by a bath with that weird overpriced salt soak that smells like cedarwood, cocoa and sex. Let them drool behind screens—you’re setting the mood with candles and your favorite playlist and maybe even the nice satin robe with nothing underneath if it’s clean.

And it almost works.

It almost makes you feel better. Like maybe you’ve got the upper hand again. Like maybe you’re not going insane over a stupid fucking ad where he literally flexes his thighs and kneels and sweats on purpose. And flexes again.

Until you start chopping the garlic and realize your hands are shaking.

You stop abruptly.

You stare down at the cutting board, knife hovering mid-air, and realize your throat’s a little tight. Your chest’s a little too hollow.

Because the truth is—deep down, like deep deep deep down, where all the ugliest thoughts live—you’re not mad.

You’re scared that you’re not enough. Insecure. Like youve got any right to when you've literally grown up with him. When he’s never even bat an eye to anyone but you.

But you feel like a high school girl again. Standing in the hallway outside your class, so mad and sick of jealousy that fangirls from year one are swamping your boyfriend that you drag him by the ear into the classroom and shove your tongue down his throat.

And damn, was that punishment from Aizawa worth it when he caught you.

No, now, it’s even worse. It’s not just the girls at school. Not just Japan. It’s the whole world.

And you're so scared that the world seeing him like that is going to remind him of what he could have. Of what else is out there. Of how easily people fall to their knees for him—not in ad campaigns, but in real life.

And what are you?

Somebody who gets overwhelmed easily. Somebody who overthinks. Somebody who can’t even watch a thirty-second ad without spiraling into a meltdown that tastes like garlic seeped deeply into fingernails and salt and the distinct flavor of not enough.

What if ‘animemencracker22’ could cook better for him or what if ‘Dynamightsleftbicep’ could massage his head better when they run him a bath? If ‘gymratgirl4life’ wanted to go out with him more and if ‘corrrrruptedlvr’ wasn’t throwing jealousy fits?

You’re not the girl in the comments. You’re not the fantasy.

You’re just you.

And even when you’re holding the knife and planning the perfect welcome-home meal and pretending like the bath you’re running later isn’t strategic—you still wonder if that’s going to be enough to keep a man like Katsuki Bakugou.

Worse, you wonder if he knows you’re trying this hard, because of your overwhelming need to feel like you deserve someone like him.

You let the knife drop and suddenly, you’re not hungry anymore. You were never even hungry to begin with. Your fucking eyes are welling up with stupid tears that you dont want to shed.

You’re not even a jealous person. Save for two or three times, you don’t feel like this over him. And it’s not because you’ve taken him for granted, but it’s been years that you two are together that have worked you into not thinking Katsuki could want anyone else other than you. You don’t want anyone else other than him.

But what if he’s tired. What if he feels youre the same old song stuck on repeat when he could have anyone. 30 million people in the world and you included.

The silence in the kitchen hums louder than any song on loop, only broken by the sound of your choking as you’re trying not to violently sob. The garlic’s sharp sting still clings to your fingers. The oven’s preheat light blinks like a mocking little eye. Your playlist, the one reserved for special nights, is halfway into some sultry R&B Aaliyah track that now feels like a joke.

Your arms go slack at your sides.

This was supposed to feel empowering. Sexy. A big middle finger to the comment section and the edited thirst traps and the “she doesn’t even deserve him” discourse that’s been hijacking your feed all damn day.

Instead, you feel small. Stupid. Still so embarrassingly in love.

You rub your eyes with the backs of your hands like that’ll somehow push the thoughts back in. Like that’ll make you forget the way your chest aches with that special kind of loneliness that only shows up when you’re still physically close to someone but emotionally spiraling into the trenches of your own insecurity.

You glance at the clock. Patrol should end in twenty minutes. Thirty, tops. And you push your lips together, scrunching the corners of your mouth in, pursing your lips and squint your eyes.

You’ll push through, because even if you’re so extremely jealous, Katsuki still deserves a nice home cooked meal and a hot bath, even more often than every other day, when you stay home to handle the agency paperwork, because of your latest injury after a villain attack.

He really hasn’t done anything wrong, you tell yourself, other than being extremely hot.

So you end up cooking, with tears in your eyes and the most pouty expression and by the time you finish, setting the pan on a part of the stove that isn't hot and curl down in front of the fridge, dropping to your knees to cry your heart out—The door clicks open.

Oh. Shit.

Weighty boots make contact with the floor first. The heavy stomp of post-patrol exhaustion. Then the groan of his back hitting the door frame. You hear the soft rustle of his gloves coming off, his keys clinking in the ceramic dish by the entry.

You freeze—You can’t let him see you like this. You can’t let him be the one who finds you curled on the tile like some lovesick idiot who lost a battle to TikTok.

“Heyy I’m home” you hear and you grunt to yourself, trying not to let it be known you sniffle right after.

“…Smells fuckin’ good,” his voice calls out—gruff, like he’s trying not to yawn. “You cookin’ somethin’?”

You grunt again.

He doesn’t see you right away. But his voice gets closer. Each step across the hardwood is loud and certain and distinctly him. The kind of sound that always used to make you feel safe.

Now it just makes your stomach twist.

You force yourself to stand, too fast, too suddenly, brushing your hands on your thighs then your apron and you try to act normal when your chest is about to cave in again.

Katsuki rounds the corner, still in uniform, gauntlets off, sweat clinging to his hairline, a little dirt smudged near his jaw, where some blond scruff is starting to grow. His eyes find you instantly—and narrow.

“Babe? You okay? Say hi back”

You hate how quick he notices. How easy it is for him to read you. You’ve never been good at hiding from him, especially not when it comes to shit like this.

“Oh—uh, hey. I was,” you say, eyes glued to the counter. “Got distracted.” Still, you force a smile “im fine”

“You don’t look fine.”

You flinch. “Can we—can we not do this right now?”

The silence stretches.

Katsuki exhales through his nose, tilting his head like a puppy, eyes big with inquiry boring in yours as if he’s debating whether to let it go or push. You know which one he’ll pick. He’s never, ever been the let it go type.

“You saw the ad.”

It’s not a question. It’s not even said with guilt or amusement or defensiveness. Just certainty.

You look away. Embarrassed. “Everyone and their mama saw the ad Katsuki.”

A pause. Then a sigh. Then he rubs a tired hand over his jaw.

He walks over, slow and careful like you’re a spooked animal, and you hate it. You hate that he’s being gentle when all you want is to yell at him and fall into his arms and scream into his chest all at once.

His hand lands on your waist. Warm. Familiar. Real.

“You mad at me?” he murmurs, lips pouty in the way you just love.

You shake your head up and down. A silent yes.

“I’m mad at me too tho.”

His brows furrow. “The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

“I shouldn’t care this much,” you mumble. “I shouldn’t be jealous of a bunch of people who don’t even know you. I shouldn’t be chopping garlic like it’s a last-ditch attempt to prove I deserve you, but I—I just—”

Your voice cracks.

Katsuki’s eyes soften, his lips too.

“You think I’d wanna be with anybody else?” he asks, so blunt it hits like a punch.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

He lifts your chin with two fingers, thumb softly brushing lines across your bottom lip— he makes you look him in the eye.

“I did that ad ‘cause you told me to. ‘Cause you said I should. And I ain’t think it’d piss you off—but even if it did, I’d still be comin’ home to you.”

You swallow hard.

“They can watch,” he adds. “They can comment. They can make all the stupid fuckin’ edits they want. But you think I give a shit about any of ‘em when I’ve got you runnin’ me a bath?”

You blink. “…You knew I was running you a bath?”

“You only play that playlist when you’re tryna seduce me.” He snorts.

Your face burns, but your chest still burns hotter, tighter. Tight-est. You’re not ready to let go of this just yet. A hug and no kiss yet are already making your head spin back to that awful insecure state. You hate overthinking every little thing, but you can’t help getting caught up in it.

“Chicken smells good,” he adds casually. “Wanna feed it to me naked?”

You shove his chest gently. Though when you look up at him, you realise you're still greatly mad at him. “Shut up. No”

“C’mere,” he mutters, dragging you into his arms again. You go willingly, burying your face in his neck, nuzzling your nose too deep into his skin. “I love you,” he says into your hair. “All of them can choke.”

“They’re your fans, Katsuki”

“Yeah yeah. They can choke on my dick”

Oh that—that makes you snap.

“Im sure they’d love to” you hiss, lurching back away from him, too mad at how willingly his arms let you go.

You want to jab, hurt him just a little. Make him jealous just a tad. Make yourself look like you've got better options than plain old ‘_narutoswife’ in his IG comment section.

He doesn’t deserve it. No, not at all. He just came back home from work and you want to catch a toxic attitude instead of communicating. You just want to make him a little mad over you too.

“Fyi, if you remember, Jungkook did say in an interview that im his type! He called me a strong female hero! Choi San also follows me on instagram” you say, crossing your arms, your eyes shut closed and lips pursed.

Unfortunately, you end up making him mad at you. That was so foul. Especially when he was about to sue Jeon freaking Jungkook for what he said in that interview. When the fuck did you become his type even? And why would he say that on national TV about some other man’s girlfriend?

His eye twitches. Just barely. But it definitely twitches. Great!

“…The fuck did you just say? You wanna start somethin’ now?” Katsuki says, voice low, sharp, practically growling, mouth pushed to the side of his face, one brow raised in desbelief,

Your arms are crossed like a petty little shield but it’s not enough to protect you from the instant shift in the air—his energy changing the moment those names leave your mouth. You can see it, feel it, in the sudden tension between his brows and the twitch of his jaw, in the way he takes one step back just so he can plant his hands on his hips and fully absorb the ridiculous thing you just said.

“Well I am his type,” you mutter, fake-casual, even adding a dramatic upward move of your chin for flair. “He literally said so. On record.”

You double down when you shouldn’t. Because now you’ve committed, and if you take it back, it’ll only make you look desperate. You tilt your head, faux-casual, all sugar and venom.

Katsuki blinks once—slow. Like he’s buffering. Like you’ve just spoken a dialect of petty he never expected to hear from your mouth.

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice quiet in that scary way, “are we talkin’ about Jeon fucking Jungkook right now?”

“I mean, he’s not the worst,” you say, airily. “He’s cute. Built. Has manners and a Calvin Klein ad too! Like you”

“You are not fuckin’ doin this with me—” His voice spikes as he takes a step forward, fingers flexing at his sides like he’s physically restraining himself from hurling the rice cooker across the room. “You’re mad at me for a promo gig and now you’re bringin’ up some K-pop bastard—?!”

You bite your lip to stop the smirk. It’s immature. Childish. And so, so satisfying—ah the sweet feeling of getting your lick back.

His hands fly up and immediately start doing that panicked, half-feral gesture thing he does when he’s so mad he doesn’t even know where to put his anger. “You think that’s cute? You think throwin’ other guys in my face is what’s gonna make this better? You want me to start listin’ all the bitches in my DMs right now? ‘Cause I will. I fuckin’ will—”

“Oh so now it’s bitches plural—”

“They don’t matter!” he barks. But you don’t seem like you believe him. “You’re just mad and you’re not telling me the actual reason”

Your face goes hot, tears rising again. “I’m mad because you don’t get it!”

“Then tell me! Tell me what I’m not gettin’!”

“I want you to care!” you explode. “I want you to see that this hurts! That I don’t feel good enough half the damn time, and now I’ve got people with 800k followers stitching your photos sayin’ how they’d treat you right while I’m in our kitchen trying to figure out if I’m even the one you’d want anymore if you realise there’s someone better out th—”

“Don’t you fuckin’ finish that sentence.”

His voice goes deadly low.

You glare at him, eyes blazing. “Why not? Afraid I’m gonna be right?”

“No. Because you’re not.”

His chest is rising now, jaw clenched tight. You’ve both crossed the line, bleeding all over the tile floor with your words.

“None of them matter. Just like Jungkook doesn’t matter. I don’t care about anyone else on TikTok and I definitely don’t give a shit if he writes you a song and a marriage proposal and names his next album ‘Strong Female Hero I Wanna Wife’—you’re mine. You hear me?”

You’re stunned into silence. Half because of the outburst. Half because of the fact he just said you’re his with the kind of conviction that makes your skin burn and tingles run up your back.

“…You gonna tattoo that somewhere?” you murmur, trying to deflect your way out of being completely swept off your feet.

He steps closer, wraps a hand around your waist, nose nearly brushing yours, eyes blazing. “Gonna put a ring on it. Don’t tempt me.”

You blink at him, wide-eyed. His palm feels hot, too quirk charged against your clothed skin “What if I’m not joking?”

He narrows his eyes. “You are.”

You shrug, then whisper just slightly. “…Maybe.”

Next thing you know, Katsuki’s scooping you up like a caveman—no warning, no prep, just two strong arms under your ass, your back colliding with his chest, and your feet dangling uselessly as he stalks toward the bathroom.

“Put me down! I haven’t even plated the chicken!”

“We’ll eat it later.”

“I— but—”

“You’re so mine, and I’m about to prove it.”

He kicks the door open like a man on a mission. Your bathwater is already perfectly hot and steamy, the playlist still humming from the speaker in the corner. You barely notice it because you’re too busy clinging to his shoulders like you’re about to be ravished.

“I can’t believe you got mad at me over a Calvin Klein ad,” he mutters against your neck, lips hot and dragging lower as he sets you down only to start untying your apron, aggressive and purposeful.

“It was a very public ad, and you were nearly naked” you argue, squirming, trying to twist out of his grasp—but he’s already unlooping the neck strap, already tossing the apron somewhere over his shoulder, not even watching where it lands on the bathroom floor “Katsuki, no—”

“Sex isn’t gonna fix everything, you know,” you say, breath hitching when his mouth finds that spot just below your jaw, the one he knows makes your knees buckle. He’s too fast to start pressing hot open mouthed kisses on your neck.

“Then let’s talk about it” he says, calm as hell. He sinks onto the edge of the bathtub like a menace, eyes smoldering, hands still locked around your waist like you might run. “You said you don’t feel enough, why’s that? What part of us did I neglect that made you feel like this?”

You blink, thinking. Well he didn’t really do anything wrong, he just. Exists. And he’s gorgeous and amazing at everything he does.

Oh god? Do you resent him for being good at everything?

“You’re deranged.” You finally respond, pouting but refusing to look at him while you say it.

“I’m in love with you.”

Katsuki’s palms rub soothingly up and down your thighs, head tilted back to look up at you ever so slightly. He's trying to pull you in closer, get you loose, comfortable. He wants you to drop this ‘being difficult’ act you've got on right now.

You follow his lead, come in closer, until your knees scrape the edge of the bathtub and your thighs the inside of his.

“Yeah but,” you pause for a second, debating on whether this is the right thing to say. “why me”

Finally, you kneel between his legs. Your eyes are locked into his, trying to study him, his expression, trying to find a glimpse of hesitation behind his gaze, even if there’s none.

Katsuki catches the insecurity in your head, with a simple bore of his eyes into yours. And it’s bad. How he can read you so well, like he isn't confused and insecure at times too.

“Is it cause we grew up together?”

“Well that’s why your dear to me, but no”

“Then why?”

“Cause you’re you. Simply. You’re kind and fair. Too smart and you’re too pretty. You stand your ground and stand up for what’s right. I knew damn well who I hunched on my back and tried to set off with explosions at five years old”

He catches your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tips your face toward him until you’re locked in his orbit again.

You want to cry again. Be it the memory, or the fact that you've pushed him to say this much about why he’s in love with you. You've got no reason to get jealous over people on the internet. They don’t know Katsuki like you do. They never could. Fate chose you to be the one to grow up a few blocks away from him. All your shared memories together, no one on TikTok could live them out.

No matter any Vogue cover, any Calvin Klein ad, or late night show interview, you and Katsuki are two human beings who grew up together, beat the odds of death together. Fell in love with each other to top it. So many humans in history have had this storyline, they’ve shared their first time with each other the night before setting off to war, kissed for the first time behind the bleachers in middle school.

“I was so scared back then” you sob. Just one violent sob after another “‘m sorry babe. I'm so sorry for how I acted right now. You're just so hot that I can’t handle it. Can you like, be that bratty little five year old again?”

Katsuki huffs a breath, mouth twitching like he wants to smirk but knows better. His hands stay firm around your waist, grounding you while leaning towards you.

“Well I can’t be five again,” he says, voice rough but fond, lips already pursing as his forehead sticks to yours “but I can give you a small brand new Bakugo”

You let out a choked, watery laugh, but he’s already shifting closer, his thighs spreading so you fit better between them. One of his hands, followed by his eyes, slides up to your chest, and with exaggerated slowness, he taps a finger just above your sternum.

Tap. Then a little higher. Tap.

Then again—until two fingers are softly “walking” their way up, up, up your chest like little boots. You blink at him.

“Katsukiiii”

Tap.

The pads of his fingers rest at the hollow of your throat for a beat before lifting to your chin, tipping your face toward him like you’re fragile glass he’s been carrying his whole life.

He’s pouting. You can see it clearly now—the petulant pull of his mouth, the faint crease between his brows, like he’s upset you made him feel things and doesn’t know how to ask for reassurance without being difficult.

“You sayin’ shit like that,” he mutters, eyes flickering down to your mouth, then back up, “makes me feel like I’m not doin’ enough. Like I ain’t sayin’ it right. And I already suck at this.”

You open your mouth to protest, say you didn’t really mean it when you said that you don’t feel enough, that it was a moment of weakness, just like when you tried to tell him you’ve got options, but he presses his thumb gently against your bottom lip, quieting you, you’ve already apologised. He hasn’t.

“Lemme show you instead,” he says.

His voice isn’t cocky. Not quite. It’s soft—almost shy. Like how it was when you asked him to walk you home a week into UA, like he knows now, sex won’t fix anything, for sure, but the humanity of it, the lack of personal space between you as you groan in each other's open mouths, will help, just a little to ease the pain of your words.

“You’re my soft spot,” he adds under his breath, kissing the corner of your mouth like he’s afraid you’ll vanish off to some hot idol that does fanservice for a living, before he finishes the sentence. “Always been. N’ I don’t want you forgettin’ it. I ain’t leaving you for no one”

His fingers trace the line of your jaw now, slow and reverent. The pout still hasn’t left. You’re not sure it ever will. But now it’s paired with heat, and a pull between your legs that starts low and deep as he finally—finally—brushes his mouth against yours.

Just a whisper of a kiss. All pout. All need. All Katsuki.

You wouldn’t really trade him for anyone, either.

You can feel how badly he wants to be touched back. He always wants to be physical and touchy after an argument. You know how grounded and real it makes him feel, how reassuring it is to him to know he is still loved enough to be touched, despite words that are meant to sting.

You make a move to peck him, only right as this was your fault, and he slowly moves his lips against your own, soft, smooth. Slipping between every hollow space until you can't pull away. Seems like the chapstick you got for him last week has done wonders to make his lips so soft and plump, when they’re usually so chapped; his mouth glides against yours with practiced ease.

“M sorry” he whispers, so faint against your lips, but you still catch it.

His voice stays in your skin long after it’s said, like steam caught between your ribs, not ready to evaporate just yet.

You don’t say anything at first—just lift your hand to cradle the back of his neck, drawing tiny circles at his nape with your thumb. His eyes flutter a little at the touch, and it’s so Katsuki the way he tries not to lean into it. Still pouting, still pretending he’s not craving softness like it’s the only thing that could save him, but you know him better.

You let your other hand wander, trailing along the hem of his work top, your fingertips skating just beneath the fabric—slow, just the way he likes it. And when your hands drift to the button of his pants, you catch that tiny hitch in his breath. Barely audible. But it’s there. His lashes drop, golden. Sun-kissed. His grip on your waist tightens, not to stop you, just to hold on.

“You said you’d show me,” you murmur, your voice dipping low, warm against the shell of his ear. “But maybe I show you first.”

He doesn’t answer. Just swallows hard. And you skip the rest of the sentence ‘how much better I am than those TikTok bitches who want you’.

The button of his work cargos clicks open beneath your fingers.

It’s intimate, the quiet that settles between you. Not awkward. Not even heated yet. Just close. Bathwater is still steaming behind him. The scent of your shared home in the air—sandalwood, white musk soap, the thick smell of chicken being cooked—him.

His cologne, faded but still clinging to the collar of his shirt. The playlist hums something slow and familiar in the background—Hot like fire, because maybe Aaliyah wasn’t mocking you a while ago—like this moment has its own soundtrack and the world outside doesn’t exist.

Your fingers fiddle with his zipper, slow and smooth. He looks down at you—heavy-lidded, and all vermillion, lips slightly parted, like he’s already halfway gone from just being touched with intention for pleasure.

“You looked so confident in the ad” you whisper as your fingers brush just below his waistband, teasing. “But this is better. This right here. When you’re a little shy for me.”

He exhales shakily, like you cracked something open inside him. And you feel it—something primal and possessive bloom in your chest.

“No one gets to see you like this but me”

“You’re tryin’ to kill me” he mutters.

You smile up at him, biting your lower lip. “No, Katsuki. I’m just trying to blow you away with my insane head skills”

He laughs, a breathy little sound, as his hands move to take off his shirt, softly ungluing his eyes from yours for only a second. You lick your lips at the way his muscles flex, so thick and bulky and by all means yours.

Suddenly, the ad pops back into your head, every shot, every zoom in. You’re overtaken by lust driven jealousy again.

No one on fucking TikTok gets to see the way his abs flex when he cums. You do.

So you work to lower his pants in fast movements, pushing the heavy fabric down until it hits the floor in shuffling sounds.

Your hands slide lower, palms flattening against his calves, then his hips as you stick your cheek to his thigh. He watches you like you’re a sunrise—warm and tender, grazing where his skin ends with where your skin begins, or running tender, teasing circles all over his tip through his boxers.

His fingers twitch against his thighs, unsure of where to go—if he should cup your cheek, fist your hair, or just hold on to the edge of the tub before he slides down into something desperate.

And when you look up at him from where you’re knelt, his breath catches. His hand finds the top of your head, like he needs the grounding contact, thumb brushing a gentle path through your hair, and his eyes are wide with something soft and so, so red and open.

“Yesssss” he says hoarsely, half-laughing, half-moan “im about to get the best head of my life”

You quirk your brow and pucker your lips as if it’s your turn to pout now, then, you jab “Was it bad before?”

He shakes his head, cheeks already pink. “It’s always damn perfect”

His breathing catches in his chest but by now, your lips catch onto the skin of his thigh, placing a kiss there while still looking at him. It makes him go completely red now, face ears and chest flustered.

You kiss higher on his inner thigh, barely missing where he’s straining against the fabric of his boxers. Katsuki’s knuckles press into the edge of the tub now, trying to keep himself grounded, but his hips twitch when your lips ghost just beneath the band of his boxers.

He looks like he might fall apart already. Lower lip caught between his teeth, lashes fluttering low, cheeks warm and pink in the bathroom light.

Your fingers tug at the elastic slowly—like a question. And he nods, fast, almost frantic.

You hum, and finally pull the waistband down, freeing him.

He’s already hard, tip flushed and leaking, twitching a little in the cool air. And the way he watches you—mouth parted, chest rising and falling quick—is nothing short of irrelevant. He looks at you with hunger, full blown everywhere on his face, like it burns just to feel it. His hand hovers near your cheek, and you guide it up into your hair with your own.

“Keep it here,” you murmur. “I want you to touch.”

Katsuki’s thumb brushes your scalp, tender, trembling.

His thumb twitches as it strokes your scalp.

You press your lips softly to the base of his cock. Not rushing. Just placing open mouthed kisses over his length. Letting the heat of your mouth register on every kiss before you move to the next one. Then again, higher this time. Then again—closer to the tip, where he shudders and grips your hair a little tighter. Your lips wrap tenderly around half of his tip, your tongue storming out for a circular lick before you give him a little suck.

His hips shift like he’s trying to stay still and failing. Then you kiss just beneath the tip, so close your breath makes him hiss.

“F-fuck,” he hisses, hips twitching once more. “You’re—baby, you’re—”

You wrap your hand around the base of him and drag your tongue along the underside, slow, teasing, drawing a whimper from him so small and raw that your thighs clench just hearing it.

“You gonna beg?” you ask softly, glancing up.

His head falls back against the tiled wall for a second, mouth parted, so red in the face. “Don’t make me—fuck—‘m already losin’ it.”

You take him into your mouth inch by inch, slow and careful, tongue flat underneath, eyes still locked on him. You feel his thighs shake.

He moans—a rough, broken sound—and his hand fists harder your hair. You pull back with a wet pop and stroke him slowly, thumb brushing over his leaking tip. “You’re so easy to ruin, Katsuki. One suck and you’re falling apart.”

“You—you're evil,” he pants, biting his knuckle. “You can’t say shit like that when your fuckin’ mouth is on me.”

You grin, licking your lips. “It’s on you again now.”

You take him deeper this time, hollowing your cheeks, letting your tongue drag in deliberate patterns. He groans, head tipping down again to watch, jaw slack. His voice is wrecked. Raw. Low in his throat.

“Katsuki–” you pause, you murmur, pulling off again, cupping him with both hands now. ogling your eyes into his “Tell me i'm the only one who’s ever gonna make you feel this good’

Every movement you make is intentional—little flicks of your tongue, your hand twisting at the base, your lips tight around him. You don’t let him cum yet. Every time you feel him start to twitch harder, you ease back, sucking gently on just the tip.

“Babe,’s all you—” he chokes out, voice ragged. “Never gonna be anyone else but you”

“Yeah?” you breathe. “No thirsty fangirl, no fantasy, no fuckin’ ad? Just me?”

His eyes lock on yours—glassy, wild. He nods hard. “Just you.”

You glance up again. His eyes are glassy, pupils blown. He looks desperate. Like he’s holding onto the last threads of sanity. But this moment is bathed in vulnerability, raw love that makes you want to claim again and again. Katsuki’s had his moments like this, way more than you. He lets you go through with it, he even likes how jealous you are right now, but this doesn’t mean he’s not utterly and completely ruined and under your spell right now.

You kiss his head again, so sweet, and finally wrap your mouth around him once more—this time faster, deeper, your hand working in tandem. He lets out a strangled cry, almost panicked with how hard he’s trying to hold on.

“You’re mine, Katsuki. You know that, right? Doesn’t matter how many people thirst over you online.” You press your lips around him again, drag your mouth up slow, just to the tip. “They don’t get this. They don’t get you like I do.”

He looks down at you again, eyes still glassy. So red. So wrecked.

You take him deeper, your cheeks hollowed, your tongue gliding in slow circles, teasing him at every sensitive spot. The veins on the underside of his cock, the base, as he hits the back of your throat. Katsuki moans, raw and shaky and his hips stutter forward before he forces himself still. The inside of your mouth is so slippery, so warm, he’s literally going crazy with each movement.

“Don’t even fuckin’ want anyone else.” He sounds destroyed now, ruined into a slurring mess as your hand is sliding along his thigh.

“Let me—let me cum, shit—please, let me—”

His tip kisses the back of your throat, and you gag around him, just a little—just enough for him to choke on a moan that sounds like he’s dying.

You don’t let up. You feel the way he twitches, the way his thighs tense, the way his grip in your hair tightens. He’s close. So close. You hum against him, nodding just a little, eyes locked into his in such an intimate, tender way. You take him all the way in one last time, his tip hitting the back of your throat, eliciting just a small choking sound from you, letting him fall apart in your mouth, with every soft roll of his hips into you.

He grunts. Head lolling back again, so hard that is adam’s apple protrudes enough even for you to see. His hips stutter, and he tries to hold back—but his thighs are trembling, breath breaking. He snaps his head again, desperate to look at you and he swallows now, bites his lower lip in concentration before he clenches his legs, to buck his hips into your mouth.

His hands come to cradle your head, your cheeks, like he’s afraid to let go, like you’re the one keeping him from falling through the floor. And the way you keep eye contact with him while swallowing him down your pretty little throat–It’s a killer.

You back up, worrying his tip between your soft, plump lips and that's it–He shatters. Violently and way faster than he thought he would. Clawing at your face to make you take him in once again; he bottoms out, and you… you take him in easily, like a champ.

Katsuki falls apart in your mouth with a raw, choked moan, hips bucking just once as you hold him steady, taking every twitch, every pulse, every broken sound he makes as his cum spills in ropes down your throat. You try to swallow as much as you can, eyes tearing up at the amount of cum that’s making you choke– Katsuki’s favorite sounds when you’re giving him a blowjob. He’s only urged to spill more, but this time you back up a little, letting him fill your mouth until it spills down the sides of your lips.

“F-fuck. Baby. Fuck.” He gasps like you’ve already stolen the air from his lungs, and he spasms. His hips jerk forward once, like instinct takes over.

Your eyes well up again, tears beading on your lashes from the stretch, from the pressure, from the sheer force of him.

He groans again at the sight—his cock buried in your mouth, cum spilling out the corners of your lips, glistening. His hands cradle your cheeks like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your mouth, the feel of your skin under his thumbs.

You swallow again, letting him ride it out with one last soft suck, and he moans like he’s unraveling from the inside out. His knees almost buckle.

And still, you don’t stop touching him. Your hand strokes slow at his base as you pull back with the loudest pop, letting some of the mess trail down lower at your chin, your lips swollen and glistening as you tilt your head up.

“You came so much,” you murmur, licking a drop from your bottom lip. “Were you that needy for me, baby?”

He groans as he’s still recovering, hips twitching slightly as your breath ghosts over him. His hands finally leave your cheeks, fumbling around, still shaky, down to where his pants are.

“Where the fuck’s my phone?” he rasps, breath catching on the tail end.

You blink up at him, mock-innocent. “Why do you want it, hmm?”

His gaze drops back to you, pupils blown wide, chest heaving as he glares like you’ve just personally offended him by being too hot to handle yourself.

“First, I’m taking a fuckin’ photo of you like this,” he grits out, voice still rough and low, “with your mouth all messy, lookin’ proud of yourself like that.”

You smirk, tilting your head as cum still drips slowly down your chin, your fingers catching it just to suck them clean. “So you can jerk off to it later?”

“So I can frame it,” he mutters darkly, eyes dragging over every inch of your face. “And then you’re watchin’ the ad again. Every second of it.”

You blink slowly. “But it makes me mad”

He nods. “Yeah exactly. Youre watching it.‘Til you get so fuckin’ riled up you suck me off meaner than this.”

Your lips curl. “Meaner? Baby… I was being sweet to you.”

“Exactly,” he pants, reaching for your wrist to drag you up into his lap. “I wanna see you do it when you're pissed.”

You climb into his space, knees bracketing his thighs, grinning into his mouth as you kiss him—messy, deep, still tasting like him. “Careful what you wish for, Katsuki. I might make your dick fall off”

His voice is just a whisper now and wrecked against your lips.

“Fuck yes”

Yeah… maybe the Calvin Klein ad was a good idea.

______

The water’s somehow still warm, barely steaming, and smells like cocoa and the shea butter soap he always pretends he doesn’t use until you catch him stealing it.

You’re settled between his legs, your back against his chest, and he’s folded around you—arms over your middle, face buried in the crook of your neck, breath soft and steady against your skin. You sink into him, muscles loosening all at once.

The bathwater laps at your collarbones. His thumbs trace slow circles into your stomach. And for a while, the only sound is your breathing, synced. The occasional soft swish of water when one of you shifts. The playlist outside still hums faintly, muffled through the bathroom door. Just gentle vocals and low drums. Like the score to this quiet little world you’ve made.

“Sorry I was a dick,” he mutters. His voice remains unsure of what to say in a situation like this, yet muffled against your neck. “I just—y’know…”

“Yeah. Me too. I should not have mentioned Jungkook because people online are asking how I handle all of that” you chuckle, tenderly placing a kiss at the back of Katsuki’s hands when you lift it from the water.

He frowns, letting off a sound of annoyance “asshole, he can shove that seven song up his ass”

“Oop— you listening to him now?”

“No, it’s all over the radio though” Katsuki kisses your shoulder in response. Then again, higher this time. “But I don’t care about nobody. Just you. Always you.”

You tilt your head and press a kiss into his damp hair from the side, catching just a little bit of his ear in the process. “I know, baby. I know.”

And you do. Deep in your bones. The same way you know how his eyes soften and he whines when he’s sleepy, how his jaw ticks to the right when he’s embarrassed, how his voice drops an octave when he wants to be taken seriously. You know him. Not the whored out Calvin Klein version the world sees.

You curl your hands around his forearm and let yourself melt back into him completely, the bathwater swaying at the peak of your chest now. Safe. Soothed. Held.

He squeezes you a little tighter and rests his chin on your shoulder, finally quiet. And if you listen close, you can feel it: the rise and fall of him. The warmth of his skin. The steady thrum of his heartbeat under your back.

“So” you murmur “wanna talk about that little mini Bakugo you mentioned earlier?”

Katsuki mumbles something under his breath, eyes closed against your skin. He’s mellowed out in the split of a second, but you’re riled up at the thought when your mind returns to it.

“‘S no use.” He whines, finally, like he’s annoyed “Our kid’s gonna look like you”

“So you'll get a mini me all over again and I won’t get the same? Un-faiiiir! Booooooo” you groan, leaning your head back against his shoulder dramatically. The water sloshes with the motion, and he huffs a tired laugh into your neck, chest vibrating behind you.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, lips brushing your skin. “Like I wouldn’t be fuckin’ obsessed with either version.”

You smile. Small. Soft. Let your thumb glide along the scar on his wrist and then you swallow. Blink a few times. Then nod once, slowly, before you speak.

“Wouldn’t be so bad, would it? A little baby with your temper and my sweet tooth?”

He lets out a real laugh now, low and gruff and warm against your back. “Fuckin’ menace. Our apartment wouldn’t survive.”

“Your PR team wouldn’t survive.”

“Shit, you’re right.”

You both laugh, muffled and close, and when it quiets again, you let your fingers lace through his under the water. His grip tightens like a reflex.

And then, just above a whisper:

“You really think about it sometimes?”

“…Yeah.”

“Me too.”

He kisses your shoulder again. No jokes this time. Just silence and warm water and cocoa steam. The both of you holding that dream quietly, like something sacred.

In his arms, now, today, midst June, after feeling threatened that strangers online will ever do better than you when it comes to him, you think of you and him, back in his childhood room, watching Spirited Away as Mitsuki would fetch you cookies and milk before Katsuki would try to shove her away and she’d pretend to be knocked over.

“Hey…We’re still naming the baby Chihiro like we promised back then, right?”

He goes still behind you. Like, dead quiet. Like you’d short-circuited something in his brain.

You almost think he didn’t hear you until you feel the deep inhale against your spine, his arms tightening just a little more around you like he’s trying to fuse your body to his.

“…You remember that?” His voice is hoarse now, barely more than a breath.

You smile, eyes still half-lidded, watching the water ripple at the edges of the tub. “Of course I do. You made me pinky swear on it, when Mitsuki said we’d get married and have kids too!”

“Shut up,” he mutters, but it’s soft, affectionate—almost embarrassed. His nose nudges your jaw like he’s trying to hide the warmth in his face. “Was a fuckin’ loser.”

“No,” you say gently. “You were just sweet. Always were.”

There’s a beat. He swallows. You feel it in his throat against your shoulder.

“…Chihiro, huh?” he murmurs, finally. “Still want that? Even now?”

You nod, and his hand floats up from beneath the water, trailing along your stomach, resting just under your ribs. Protective. Hopeful. Like something unspoken is blooming there.

“I always loved that promise,” you whisper, throat a little tight. He doesn’t answer. At least not with words.

Katsuki grins against your neck, and the sound of it, the way he breathes in like he’s grounding himself in the smell of your skin—it’s everything. It’s homely. Warm water. Summer steam. A shared name from a shared childhood.

Take that ‘tojissecondworm222’, not only do you handle all that, but everything the world’s fantasy driven Dynamight has to offer, is yours.

Always has been.

Always will be.

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siennamagee · 2 months ago

Text

All characters are aged up 18+.MDNI.

This was inevitable, the constant banter, the touch, the jealousy, neither of you wanted to admit it, but your friends were right. There was some attraction between you both, one that you profusely disregarded, because you can't be attracted to that asshole.

He grunts, lips pressed against yours, messily exchanging spit as he grinds against your belly, the button of his jeans digging into your skin.

You pull back slightly, letting his spit slicked lips wander off to the column of your throat, "Thought you had plenty of experience." You breath out, vaguely repeating his words, watching as he brows furrow.

"That I do, love." It's condescending, but it makes your belly warmer, panties sticking to your wet folds. Cheeky fucker.

You scoff, the urge to get under his skin increase, "Then, why are you humping my stomach, like a dog?" You grunt, watching as he leans back, sharp eyes squinting, as he glares down at your face.

His face shifts, smile spreading on his pretty lips, he isn't angry, like you expected, "I am taking too long aren't I, love." There goes the nickname, "Neglected her for too long didn't I?"

Suddenly your feets aren't planted anymore, legs wrapped tightly around his waist, hands finding purchase on his shoulders.

One of his arms hold your entire weight, the other coming to caress your cheek, cradle of a lover, "Be good." He whispered, lips ghosting over yours as he walked over to the table.

You let out a hiss, the cold nipping at your barely covered ass, he let goes for a moment, leaving you dumbfounded, feets dingling. "Where are you-"

"Nowhere." His answer is instant, as if he knew you'd seek him out, he returns with a pillow stolen from the couch outside, "Getting greedy for me, aren't ya, can't even step away for a second?" He snorts, tossing the pillow behind you, "That's for your head."

You don't respond, couldn't respond, words stuck in your throat as you watch him strip to his underwear, eyes focused on precum stained bulge.

He returns back, in between your legs, fingers teasing your hardened nipples, prominent through your thin shirt. "Always this sensitive or am I special?"

He doesn't wait for you to answer, pulling off your shorts in one swift motion, you jerk back unintentionally, head cushioned by the damned pillow, how considerate.

"You must hate me for real." You sighed, arching your back slightly, breast jiggling slightly, putting on a show, putting on an act.

"Why do you think so?"

"You are mean, bullying me when I didn't even do anything." You pout, cheeks puffing as you wrap your hand around his wrist, watching as his squeezes the fat of your breast.

"Didn't do anything?" He mocks, genuine disbelief painted on his features, "Always trying to get under my skin, aren't ya, love."

"As if you're any better, honey~" You chimed, voice a little whiny as you get desperate for a little friction on your throbbing bud. The nickname making his cock throb, precum leaking from his slit.

His hand slides down, thumb rubbing circles on your clit, "Fuckin' minx," He huffs, smirk spreading on his pretty little face, he squeezes his bulge before pulling his cock out, elastic nudged under his ballsac.

He drags his cock against your folds, lathering himself in your slick, his precum pearling at the tip of his cock.

"I don't have a condom," He huffs, restraining himself from going further, "If you want, I can go down and get some?" Hand already reaching for his pants discarded haphazardly on the ground.

"I have one." You breathe out, chest rising and falling and you continue to look at him, "It's in the pocket of my shorts."

He snortles, "Did you prepare for tonight? Assuming you would get lucky." His ego just as big as his dick, he grabs your shorts, pulling out the condom.

"I am always prepared honey, you are the one getting lucky tonight." You lied, voice sickening sweet, considering you weren't going to give away that you indeed bought it tonight, estimating his size from the endless hours of subtle observation of his crotch.

His eyes darken as he turns his head towards you, expertly putting on the condom without looking down, fingers of his right hand pinching the tip, left hand rolling it on, a routine you hope to familiarise yourself with eventually.

"I am?" He mocks, fingers wrapping around your ankles, cock heavy as it bobs between his legs, "With the way she is drooling, I doubt that I am the lucky one."

He taps the tip of his cock against your clit, before pushing in, watching as your lips spread around his girth, "think you need to be punished for being a brat." He groans, pulling back out, only to thrust in again.

Your eyes close, lips parting in a silent moan, breath hitching at a particular thrust. Your hand slides down, fingers bumping into his length, you gather the slick before rubbing your clit, harsh little circles, as you tighten around him.

"Gonna come, already? Can feel you squeezing me." He huffs, biting his lips to prevent the noises, "Tell me now, should I let you come, hmm?"

"Pleas- so, so close," You moaned, nails digging into his wrist as you tried to pull him closer, fingers messily dragging across your clit.

"So, so close, hm," He mocked, parroting your words, "what if I pull out? What if I leave her gaping and empty?" He watches as you shake your head, eyes already starting to water at the thought of your orgasm being denied.

"Fuck, can't do that, can't be mean to her." He continues to thrust into your pussy, he reaches over, taking your hand off your clit lacing his fingers with yours, "I'll take care of the bud too, brat." He huffs at your whines, thumb coming to torture your clit.

"I-I'll cum, Suki, ahh." You moans, hips rutting against him as he stills, letting you come around his length, before picking up his pace, chasing his own high, he hunched forward, groaning against your boobs as he comes, filling the condom to the brim, it leaks at the base of his cock.

He breathed out, pressing a rather affectionate kiss against your sternum, before slowly pulling out, tying the used condom and tossing it into the trash, grabbing the box of tissues on the table, he gently cleaned you.

"Wow, I didn't expect you to be aftercare kind of guy." You spoke, after moments of comfortable silence, his brow quirked at your words, "I fully expected you to backflip out of the room once you came."

He snorts at your words, taping your thighs, signalling you to wrap them around him, he carried you effortlessly for the second time tonight, "Where are you taking me, honey?"

"The toilet, you need to piss." He spoke softly, walking into the attached bathroom and setting you onto your feets, before he leans against the wall, watching as you shuffle awkwardly under his gaze.

"Am I supposed to pee in front of you?"

He turns to leave at your words, "I'll be outside, if you need anything."

"I'll be fine, for now," You joked, plopping down on the toilet, before cleaning up and walking back out, he is dressed by the time you come out.

"I have spear clothes for you, considering your shorts aren't really wearable anymore." He scratched the back of his head sheepishly, handing you his hoodie while he proceeds to kneel in front of you.

"Head?"

"Later. Now lift up your leg," He smirked, hands holding your underwear as he slide it up your legs, teasingly pulling it higher than necessary. "Want to come over, I'll make your favourite?"

"Absolutely."

Dividers by: @cafekitsune 💖✨

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siennamagee · 2 months ago

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Sukuna vs Gojo but one is a customer and the other one is a worker at The Waffle House

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siennamagee · 2 months ago

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!!!!!!!

I LIKE TO THINK OF YOU AS MINE: COMING SOON

a steve harrington fic where you get to choose the outcome each week. were you here for bad for business? this is her sister.

But you and Steve? A couple? No.

Roommates, yes. Best friends? Yes. Drinking buddies? Absolutely. Platonic movie night partner? Of course.

And have you kissed him before? Sure, maybe, like… five years ago. But you were both drunk and someone dared you - Robin, no, Jonathan? It didn’t matter. You did it and Steve kissed you back and he tasted like lemonade and cheap beer and a little like the weed your landlord had given you and it was only for a second, really.

Definitely less than a minute. No more than three.

And then you never spoke about it again. Ever. And that was fine.

It was really, really fine.

You had more parties, threw more ragers. Collected more Polaroids and Steve lost more sunglasses and you found them again for him weeks later. You both tried to keep the plants that your mom gifted you alive and it was a good week if there was more than a carton of milk in the fridge.

It was an even better week if you made it through without thinking about the time you kissed your best friend over four years ago.

Especially since your boyfriend really didn’t like him.

That wasn’t ideal.

And honestly, you weren’t really sure you liked your boyfriend all that much anymore.

That wasn’t all that ideal either.

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siennamagee · 2 months ago

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one day i will be free from chains of satosugu sadly that day is not today but one day....

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siennamagee · 2 months ago

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To love me better

Tags: Yakuza Lord!Sukuna x fem!Reader, american!Reader, forced/arranged marriage, dark romance trope, dead dove, age gap romance (reader is around 21-22, Sukuna is 37), cursing, suggestive language, use of nicknames like “doll” and “kitten”, use of y/n, NSFW, MDNI, Sukuna is his own warning, description of violence including murder.

Synopsis: Yakuza Lord!Sukuna owns all of entertainment district. You’re trying to work to put yourself through law school. He has a proposition for you, and you have one for him. Chaos ensues.

An: I am so not ready to go back to school..

Part one. | Part two. | Part three. | Part four.

*art creds for sukuna image goes to @.maru6 here on tumblr

His tattooed hand felt heavy on your thigh.

It was a respectable distance from your upper thigh. Really, he was more so holding your knee than your thigh. Throughout the drive, he’d spontaneously grip your leg, reminding you that this was exactly where you belonged.

Your words were jumbled in your brain, unable to form a sentence or a coherent question. You were stuck between thanking him and asking him how he got into the staff parking lot…

You also wanted to chastise him for speeding. It was reckless and unnecessary…

The silence was deafening, but the car’s engine made up plenty for the lack of talking. You looked out the window as it seemed you two were heading to Ginza, one of the most prominent high-end shopping districts in Japan.

“You made me a spectacle in front of my professor…” You finally found the courage in you to speak up. However, your eyes could not meet his out of fear. Was this how it was going to be for the rest of your life? Walking on eggshells around Sukuna?

“Is that how you thank someone from getting you out of a clearly uncomfortable situation, doll?” His hand squeezes your thigh again, and his thumb brushes against the fabric of your pants.

You mentally curse yourself. This is the first time Sukuna has seen you outside of Malevolent Mass, and you’re wearing yoga pants and a school-spirit hoodie.

Your eyes finally look up to meet his as he’s focused on the road. “Who said it was uncomfortable? My professor was just…”

“He was only trying to take my future bride out on a date… unbeknownst to her, clearly.” He finished your sentence for you, shooting you a small amused look on his face. “And you didn’t have to say it was uncomfortable. You wear all of your emotions on that pretty little face. I can read you like a book.”

You huff, looking away from him once again. Lawyers are meant to be good a bluffing. You’re suppose to have a poker face of steel, and yet… he’s able to tell.

“How did you even get into the staff parking lot?” you ask, switching gears to a different line of interrogation.

“I know people, doll. Are you going to continue to make a fuss, or are you going to enjoy our date tonight?”

“Date?” you ask as you immediately look over at him. A crease forms between your eyebrows. You’re not in anyway ready for a date!

A deep throaty chuckle leaves Sukuna as he gives your leg one last squeeze. “You know, the outings that people in a relationship usually go on?”

“I know what a date is!” you snapped, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Get all that attitude out now while you can, kitten. Once we sign this contract tonight, I have a good way to correct that behavior.”

Correct that behavior..?

Your face burns hot from the realization, and you feel your heartbeat speed up. The most confusing reaction was the small thrum between your thighs. You shift in your seat, hoping he doesn’t notice.

Sukuna puts his car in park in the middle of the street in front of an elegant looking building. Mannequins were posed in the windows, wearing stunning clothes and jewelry.

You feel yourself swallow thickly. You’re so out of place here that it hurts. You’re glued to your seat, not wanting anyone to see you like this… in fucking yoga pants.

Your future husband doesn’t seem to notice as he gets out of the car. He hands his key over to the valet driver, and from the window, it looks like they have a brief intense conversation.

Sinking back into your seat, you pull your hoodie up over your head and pull the strings taut so you’re swallowed whole by your hood.

You hear the door open up to your side, and another amused chuckle escapes from Sukuna’s mouth. “Do you really think hiding yourself means no one else can see you?”

“I’m not going in there. You didn’t warn me that you were taking me out.”

“I don’t have to tell my future bride when I crave her presence. I’m only going to embarrass you more if you don’t move.”

You stay still. You can’t walk in there. You’re not meant for this lifestyle. The people inside are going to look at you and immediately know you’re an outsider. American. Your choice of attire will only heighten their dislike for you.

Your body flinches as you feel two strong arms wrap around your figure. One of his arms cradles your back, and the other hooks underneath your legs, carrying you bridal style out of the car.

“Put me down!” You thrash in his arms.

Sukuna’s voice responds in a low growl against your ear. “Keep making a scene, and I’m not going to wait for a contract to take you over my knee, do you understand?”

Your body goes still, and you slowly pull your hood off of your head, looking at him with wide eyes as he carries you to the door. The valet driver has already gotten into Sukuna’s car, driving it off to be parked somewhere safe.

“Speak when spoken to, girl. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” you murmur back to him, conceding in the argument.

“Good girl. I didn’t take you to be such a brat.”

It was going to be a long life for you in this marriage… if Sukuna didn’t kill you first.

*** *** ***

You stood almost completely bare on a small pedestal in a fitting room while three women worked to get your exact measurements. Measuring tape was wrapped around your arms, hips, and bust.

Turns out, this wasn’t the destination of your date. This was a mere pitstop. Sukuna wanted custom made clothes for you, and he of course was going to buy something for you to wear on the date.

You were still mortified from everyone seeing you in yoga pants and a hoodie, but no one made any sort of offhand comment.

You didn’t get any “foreigner” comments. You didn’t get side eyes or flat out ignored. Sukuna’s presence was already affecting the way people treated you, even while he wasn’t in the room.

“You have such pretty skin color, miss — very healthy. Mr. Sukuna wants to see you in something red tonight. It will complement your features well.”

It didn’t take long for the ladies to drape your body in a gorgeous rich burgundy satin slip dress. Unease settled into your stomach as you noted the amount of skin peeking out from the dress.

What kind of respectable lawyer dresses like this..?

It doesn’t stop with the dress. Soon, you’re standing in black glossy YSL heels that you’ll be lucky not to break your neck in too. The sheer thought of the price tag on this outfit sends shivers down your spine.

With the amount of disposable income Sukuna has frivolously shown you, you and your dad could’ve easily lived a peaceful life nearing his death. He wouldn’t have had to have sat awake, calling all kinds of law firms and insurance agencies.

You push the thought to the back of your mind, staring down at the floor as you try to find the courage to be grateful for what you have now… for what you will have.

“Red looks good on you, angel.” That deep gravely voice breaks you from your trance. “Breathtaking.”

“Hardly something a future lawyer would wear,” you murmur, unable to figure out if you like what you see in the mirror or if you hate it. Have you lost sight in what truly matters?

“Oh?” Sukuna prompts, stepping into the dressing area further. He takes a seat in one of the chairs. This was truly like a private viewing area, where no one could bother you two.

Wordlessly, Sukuna curls his finger, beckoning you to him. He then pats his knee. Memories of sitting on his lap in the club fill your mind. It was one of the first times you felt alive — like you were truly living and not just trying to survive.

“I’m scared to sit in this dress,” you awkwardly laugh, looking at yourself in the mirror with an unsure look in your eye.

“Better get use to it, doll. We’re going out to dinner after this,” he says, continuing to pat his lap.

Letting out a sigh, you decide it’s best not to argue right now. You don’t have the mental energy to. Slowly, you take a seat on his lap, looking over in the mirror to see how his body completely dwarfs yours.

His hand rests on your hip as he too is mesmerized by your reflection in the mirror. “Looks like a future lawyer to me.”

You feel the tips of your ears and back of your neck prickle with heat. He sounds so sure of himself. No one has showed you that amount of faith before.

“I— I just meant.. not a respectable lawyer.”

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. Lawyers aren’t allowed to feel sexy in their free time? I hate to disappoint you, doll, but we’re not going to some stuffy courtroom to eat dinner.”

Your eyebrows furrow together as you look at him. His eyes are dancing across your body with a satisfied smirk on his lips.

“I know that,” you huff. “I just don’t think this is me.”

“Oh? Was that not you who was a bottle girl in my club? Sitting on my lap? Choking on my fingers? You weren’t the angel masquerading as some lithe imp amongst devils?”

You make a move to get up from his lap. “I needed money—“

His hand snakes up your body before carefully wrapping around your throat. He doesn’t apply any pressure, merely holding you in place.

“Pretty girls like you go work at ski resorts or country clubs to make money. They don’t end up in a club called Malevolent Mass, and they certainly don’t offer themselves to men like me. Face it, angel. You’re drawn to depravity, but you can’t admit yourself. You want some excuse to enjoy all of the sick little fucked up acts your brain conjures up. You want to be known as some noble robin hood lawyer who steals from greedy corporations and gives back to the poor, but you’re not the saint you want to be.”

The sniffle that shakes your body surprises you. You didn’t even realize you were crying until one of your tears dripped off of your cheek and onto Sukuna’s hand.

His eyes slowly trail from yours down to your wet cheeks. “Such a pitiful sight,” he mutters before leaning into you.

His tongue darts out, flicking upward against your cheek as he licks the tears off your face. You hold your breath as you can feel his hardened length press against your thigh.

His warm breath tickles your face with every small tentative lick. The act is much more intimate than you expected.

Once satisfied, he presses a gentle chaste kiss right beneath your eye. “Better stop crying, angel. It only makes me want to tear into that virgin cunt so much more.”

He chuckles at the way your body tenses. You hide your flushed expression in the crook of his neck while his hand sensually strokes the small of your back.

“Also, lawyers are hired based off how good they are in the courtroom and how thorough they are in their pursuit of justice. No one hires a lawyer based on what they’re wearing, so get that thought out of your head.”

You meekly nod, unable to use your words after he just gave you such whiplash. Sukuna was truly an enigma.

*** *** ***

Domain Devour was a modern style restaurant with dark and moody decor. The lighting was low, and the walls were painted a rich satin black. Priceless art pieces hung from the walls.

There was a mostly empty back room which contained half-circle booths that were clearly built to entertain.

You could imagine Sukuna bringing his men here and them enjoying some of the… entertainment.

The staff were overly accommodating if not weary of you and Sukuna. It dawned on you that this was another one of Sukuna’s establishments after one of the waiters called him boss.

How many businesses did he own exactly? You were starting to wonder if Sukuna had monopolized the entire Entertainment District.

“The usual. Cook whatever the lady desires,” Sukuna grunted nodding towards you.

Your eyes widened a little bit as an awkward laugh bubbled in your throat. “Oh— I uh, don’t have a menu. I’m sorry-“

Sukuna can’t help but grin from your polite nature. “You don’t need one. Just order whatever you fancy, and the kitchen will make it happen.”

Decision paralysis struck hard. You could have whatever you asked for? Your fingers fumbled together as you tried to even remember what your favorite food was.

“You know, I’ll just have whatever he’s having,” you finally reason, nodding back towards Sukuna. You didn’t want to cause the kitchen any sort of bother by putting in an order for something they didn’t have.

The waiter’s eyes widened slightly. “Are you sure about that, miss?”

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed at the staff member. “Did she fucking stutter?”

“No! No— Of course not. I’ll have that right out.” He scrambled his way back to the kitchen to get away from Sukuna’s scrutinizing glare.

You were planted rigidly in your seat, staring at the table not wanting to be the reason that some poor waiter lost his job.

“I don’t tolerate insolence. He wouldn’t have questioned me or any other patron about their choice in meal, so he shouldn’t question you either.”

You don’t even know what to say, so you sheepishly shrug your shoulders. “The customer isn’t always right.”

The corner of Sukuna’s lips twitch up into a smirk. “Such a clever girl, but you’re not a mere customer to him.”

That sentiment makes you squirm a bit in your seat. You always wanted to be respected by people, but you didn’t want to be feared like Sukuna is.

“So.. the contract,” you mention, sipping on your water to cure your dry throat.

“Straight into it, huh? No room for typical date conversation?”

You immediately open your mouth to say that this isn’t a typical date, but you think better of it. Why are you in such a rush to sign your life away to him in some form of contract?

“I’ve never been on a date before, so I guess I wouldn’t know what to talk about on one.”

That makes Sukuna’s eyes light up with a twisted sense of amusement. He leans forward, placing his elbows on the table to get closer to you. “Is that so? This is my bride’s first date ever?”

You hate the way a simple nickname makes you face flush with embarrassment. You silently nod in affirmation.

“How adorable,” he taunts while his eyes roam your figure for a moment. “What do you think you and the professor would’ve talked about if he had taken you out?”

“That wasn’t a date,” you scoff in protest, turning your head away from him as you remembered just how he presented to your school.

“Oh, but it was in his mind.” He takes a drink of the champagne he ordered earlier. “You’re just unaware to how men think.”

“Enlighten me then.”

Your defiant gaze and sharp words only seem to make Sukuna more amused. “In his mind, he was going to take you out to lunch. He would probably answer all your questions about law and whatever else your nerdy heart desires. Then, he’d offer to keep the date going by heading back to his place. Perhaps he would say it’s to look over one of your recent papers or he could show you something like his dissertation. However, once you were in his space, he’d see it as a sign that it was safe enough to take things further. It starts with small touches and gradually becomes more bold. Judging by the way he had his hand so carelessly on your back, I would say that he would’ve quickly escalated.”

Your mouth is slightly agape. No way was your professor going to do any of that. It was a harmless invitation to lunch, right?

“You don’t know him. He’s not like that,” you mutter, a crease forming between your eyebrows.

“Oh angel, you’re so naive. I may not know him, but I know how men like him think and where their intentions lie.”

“If we weren’t here to sign a contract, what would your intentions lie?” you ask, frowning at your future husband.

Sukuna actually looks off kilter for a moment. You managed to catch him off guard, but his face quickly smooths out to his default amused look. “I do not shy away from my intentions, doll. If I wanted nothing more from you, I’d already have you in my bed. No. Perhaps I wouldn’t even bring you to my bed, I’d have you in the basement of Malevolent Mass. As soon as I was finished using that cute cunt, I’d leave, and you’d probably never see me again.”

A strange tight feeling settles in your chest. How many women has he had in that way? He said it like it was second nature to him. Was he at Malevolent Mass that day to do that exact thing with some other girl downstairs? Had he just finished up downstairs and decided to stop by your booth for a drink?

Then, it hits you. Sukuna originally proposed a free use deal to you — not marriage. He had not always intended for you to be his wife.

“Jealousy looks cute on you, angel.” He grins, soaking in ever small line of your clearly frustrated face.

“I’m not jealous,” you grumble, taking another sip of your water.

A rich chuckle leaves Sukuna’s lips. “I didn’t know my wife was such a liar. You’re sitting there thinking about just how I was able to rattle that answer off without much thought.”

You tighten your jaw, hating how he was taunting you right now and hating how right he was. “We’re here to talk about specifications of the contract, right? I don’t want you sharing a bed or whatever surface you use with some other woman while you’re sharing a bed with me.”

A meek voice sounds next to you. “I uh.. have two lamb dinners..?” the waiter says as his face is burning red. He definitely just heard you say that, and now you’re face is also burning up.

Sukuna barks out a laugh. He loves seeing people squirm from embarrassment. First, you get jealous over him which makes his cock ache with the need to reassure you. Then, you go on to angrily lay out a rule against sleeping with other women right in front of the waiter. It’s truly the cherry on top for this night.

You’re sulking as the plates are put down in front of you and Sukuna. Then, you’re unable to stifle your surprise. No wonder the waiter second guessed you for ordering this. The plate itself was bigger than your head.

The plate was piled with mashed potatoes slathered in gravy. On top, several lamb chops sit that have been delicately cooked just right. Fresh stalks of green beans also sit to the side, and as if that wasn’t enough, a basket of rolls were also brought to the table.

Your eyebrows slightly furrow as you realize this isn’t any sort of Japanese cuisine that you would’ve expected. You take note of the fork, knife, and spoon carefully rolled up in a napkin next to your plate.

While you’ve been raised around Japanese customs and food options, your dad also cooked dinners that were reminiscent of comfort foods from the west. Seeing silverware sent a dull ache in your chest.

“So? My angel doesn’t like the thought of me sleeping with other women?” Sukuna’s grating voice ruins your nostalgic trip. You glare up at him, remembering how you just made a fool of yourself.

“It’s disrespectful and unhygienic,” you reason with a bit more bite to your voice than you intended.

Sukuna can’t wipe the shit eating grin off his face. “Careful doll, your jealousy is showing again.”

“Shut up,” you snap, stabbing into your food and taking a bite. Your anger is quickly soothed from the myriad of savory flavors in your mouth. You’re barely able to dampen the moan that expels from your body.

Your future husband bites back the amused laugh from your blatantly pleased sounds. He knows that if he teases you, then you may stop eating, and he doesn’t want that.

“There is no other woman who I’ll want to accompany my bed, doll.” He cuts into his lamb chop, taking a bite for himself.

The sincerity in his voice makes you pause for a moment. Flickering an uneasy gaze up to him, you quickly shake away any feelings threatening to bubble up. This is merely an exchange.

“I assume you have stipulations you’d like to add?”

“Always so perceptive.” He puts down his utensils, and his gaze weighs heavy on you, demanding you to give him your full attention. He only continues once your gaze meets his. “I enjoy your defiant nature and independence, but there are things I get the final say on such as your safety and our future heir’s safety.”

You swallow thickly, wondering how far he’d take that rule. Would he start telling you what you can and can’t do? What you can eat? Who you can see and speak to?

“Beyond that, you’re blindly stepping into a world you know nothing about, angel. Thus, if I say the word ‘enchain’, you are to immediately obey me without question or thought. Do you understand?”

Sukuna expected your immediate refusal. He knew that was a big thing to expect of you, and it went against your very nature.

“No, I— I don’t understand. What situations would you need me to do that? I thought you said you’d keep me out of your livelihood..”

“I will keep you as far removed from my livelihood as possible, but my livelihood may find you whether I want that or not. Surely you understand the risk you’re agreeing to.”

You close your eyes, trying to sort through your thoughts. It was giving him so much power in the relationship — too much for your own peace of mind.

“You could misuse it…”

“I very well could, but where’s the fun in that? I already said I enjoy your mouthy attitude and the way you cry and squirm in my lap. Why would I take such joys away from myself?” He gives you a sharp grin.

“You won’t use it to make me hurt anyone or…?” you ask, still running possibilities through your mind of why he’d need to control you for an undisclosed amount of time.

“No angel. I won’t have you do anything that goes against your morals.”

You take a deep breath. You’re really committing to a trust fall here with this entire agreement. Though, he is also taking a gamble. You could cross him and turn him into the police if you wanted.

“Okay,” you breathe with a small nod. “We’re exclusive. I’ll remain a virgin until our wedding then I’ll… be of free use. You’ll support me and our future children after law school. I’ll get to use your last name to my benefit, and you’ll protect me at all costs from your livelihood.”

“And you’ll obey me about your safety and surrender yourself to me if I use our word,” Sukuna adds, his voice taking on a more serious tone.

You nod, signaling you understand.

“That’s not enough, doll. Say it. Say you’ll obey and surrender yourself to me.”

“I’ll… I’ll obey you when it comes to my safety, and I’ll surrender myself to you if you use that word with the clause that you can’t make me do anything against my morals.”

“Good girl,” your future husband purrs before he snaps his fingers once. The waiter from earlier comes barreling towards the table.

“Yes boss?” he pants, looking frightened out of his mind.

“Bring me the contract.”

You’re not even sure if you feel surprised when the waiter somehow brings you the contract that Sukuna intends for you to sign to set your agreement in stone. The devil works hard, but Sukuna’s a different beast entirely.

Your eyes carefully read each and every word. You know damn well not to sign your name to something you haven’t read.

You expected to find some sort of fine print or something that Sukuna had “failed” to mention, but everything in the contract was already verbally agreed upon by both of you.

“You’re going to take ownership over my debt as well?” you ask, looking up to meet Sukuna’s gaze.

“You’ll be my wife, will you not? Combining finances is typical of normal marriage,” he reasons with an unbothered shrug. “I promise you, angel. Your debt is the least of my concerns. It’ll be taken care of within the first week after our wedding.”

You sigh, continuing to read on. Everything seemed to be in order until you read the last clause.

“I’m to stay in the guest room until we’re officially wed?”

“That’s for your comfort. You’re more than welcome to share my bed before our wedding, angel. Just don’t cry when my body responds to you.”

You face flushes as you picture sleeping next to Sukuna. You can’t imagine someone as tough and hardened as Sukuna sleeping peacefully.

“I’ll stay in the guest room, thanks..”

He gives you an unbothered shrug. “You may change your mind. Who knows?”

You roll your eyes as you pick up the pen the waiter left behind. There was no way in hell you’d seek out Sukuna’s bed before you had to. You’d sooner start doing drugs.

Both of you are silent as you sign your name and date on the line. You pass the contract to Sukuna, and he signs right below your name.

With another snap of his fingers, the waiter was right beside your table once again. Sukuna gives him an expectant gaze.

The waiter nods nervously and fishes in his coat pocket for a moment. Your breath hitches as you wonder if Sukuna is going to make a scene out of some sort of proposal.

When you see the box that’s passed to Sukuna’s hand, you feel a bit of relief, noting that it’s too big to be a ring.

“Calm down, kitten. You and I are alike in our disdain for gaudy public gestures,” Sukuna chuckles as he stands up next to the table. “Allow me to put it on you?”

You nervously nod, wondering just what kind of gift he was giving you.

You turn your back towards him, pulling your hair to the side as he places the necklace around your neck. It was a short petite golden chain. Even while the chain wasn’t heavy, you could tell it wasn’t some fake metal from the grocery store. He was putting real gold around your neck.

You reach up, touching the chain as Sukuna is busy putting it on you. Your fingers find a small golden S charm, undoubtedly to mark you in his initial.

Noticing it’s taking him too long to work a simple clasp, you laugh softly. “Need any help back there?”

That’s when you feel the cool metal of pliers against the back of your neck. Your body goes rigid for a moment, wondering what the hell Sukuna was doing.

Your body is tugged backwards as Sukuna loops his fingers through your fully clasped necklace, pulling you towards him. He leans over your back, his breath ghosting against your neck.

“Let this necklace serve as a reminder that you are mine now, angel. Day in and day out. You can’t take this off like you can’t get away from me.” His lips gently brush against the delicate skin between your shoulder and neck, causing you to shiver before he steps away.

Your heart is beating wildly in your chest. Your hands automatically go up to where your airflow was slightly restricted by the necklace, and you tug on it forwards this time. The gold remains strong, biting into your skin instead of snapping. You then search for the clasp with your fingers, finding that there is no such thing.

This bastard just collared and marked you with a permanent piece of jewelry.

“Now, be a good little wife and close your eyes and cover your ears.”

“Why would I—“

“Don’t make me tell you again.”

Your eyes widen as your breath stutters in your chest. Everything was moving so quickly. What had you just signed?

You close your eyes tightly, already feeling tears of fear dampen your waterline. Your hands come up and cup your ears.

“Good. Slide over to your left, angel. Towards the wall.”

Doing as you’re told, you slide over in the booth towards the wall. Your arm presses against the cool wall before your entire body flinches.

BOOM!

A gunshot fires off right next to you. You try to silence a scream as you double over out of fear. Your eyes fly open just in time to see Sukuna aiming a handgun but not towards you.

You cringe as soon as you hear a thud. Your future husband just shot a man dining right behind you.

So much for not being brought into his world.

Taglist: @theuniversesnepobaby @airandyeah @lizatonix @starmapz @everywonuu @totallygyomeiswife @sukubusss @depressiondiaries @t4naiis @hishearttohave @soraya-daydreams @lulunx @s-1-xx @el-lise @prettyngeto @marifujioka @iheartlinds @gina239 @actuallynarii @shxyxyxxxx @krispycreamepie @emoedgylord @nina-from-317 @pandabiene5115 @paintedperidot @dissociativewriter @lmaoshush @ninani-nanina @sadrna @boisenberry77 @tojifush @erwinawesomeness @meanwhilesomewhereelse @safasz @kassfunk19 @moncher-ire @gradmacoco @riahlynn-102 @diduzzula @juiceeypeach @kunasthiast @jinxiewritings @mordacioust @rinofcike @therealjustpeachesback

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siennamagee · 2 months ago

Text

I enjoyed this sooso much

This blindness I'm condemned to - ryomen sukuna

summary: you've spent your life as a priestess dedicated to the two-faced god known as sukuna. As war descends upon your treasured city you call upon your god for aid only to find that he's taken a particularly special interest in you.

this is greek mythology au, inspired by the story of apollo and cassandra.

word count: 11k

warning: there is some dubious consent in this one, if you’re not comfortable please don’t read.

content: 18+ mdni, smut, dubcon, fem!reader, greek myth, angst, character death, power imbalance, age gap (kinda - he’s a god and she’s mortal), spitting, loss of virginity, dacryphilia, piv, cunnilingus, blow job, depictions of war/sacking of a city, unhappy ending (sorry!)

authors note: was listening to cassandra by florence + the machine on repeat for this one.

Your whole life has been devoted to one thing, the worship of him.

There’s no moment in your memory that exists without him, his being was intertwined with your very existence. As a child you would spend hours at the temple under the strict orders of your parents, engaging in prayer and offerings. As you grew and matured you underwent training to become a priestess, to dedicate your whole life to him, to Ryomen Sukuna.

He was great, but terrible. An all-powerful being worthy of reverence. He could make or break nations with the flick of his wrist, cause great plagues or cure impossible ailments, bestow blessings or inflict terrible curses. Such was his nature of being a two-faced god, his mood ever-changing.

Sukuna was a constant part of your life, and yet he always felt so distant to you. Like some far-off character from a fairy tale that your parents used to tell you. You had faith in his existence of course, the evidence was everywhere. But your modest little life was confined primarily to the four walls of the temple that you had grown up in, so far removed from those brilliant and terrible acts that Sukuna committed across the world.

Until they weren’t.

The sleepy city that you had lived in your whole life was drawn abruptly into centre stage, with the crown prince kidnapping a princess from a neighbouring country.

He had claimed that it was for love, that the woman he had taken wanted to be with him, to be rid of her brute of a husband. But as with all matters of marriage, the woman’s say matters little. So, the offended party called upon his legions of allies and marched upon the city. Your beautiful city, which had only ever lived in peace, turned into a warzone - under constant siege from the enemy at the door, all over a single girl.

For just one single girl, the eyes of all the gods were keenly watching. Waiting to see what would happen next, who would prevail. The gods all have their favourites of course, leading to them intervening with mortal squabbles in esoteric ways - not wanting to appear as though they’re actively aiding their chosen mortals to avoid open war amongst each other.

You can’t understand the bloodshed, but you know better than to start questioning the gods and their love for war. That doesn’t stop you from despising the way that the city walls are painted red, the constant clashing of swords, the sound of soldiers taking their last breaths on the battlefield. You hate that no matter how hard you pray for safety, for yourself and your people, that your prayers go completely unanswered.

But without your piety you have nothing. You’d be stripped of your entire being. So you lock yourself into the temple, spending day after day knelt at the altar, providing offerings for your god and hoping that for once you will be heard.

Until one day your wishes are answered.

Things had been perfectly mundane on that warm evening, with you being the only priestess left in the temple, humming to yourself as you went about your usual duties.

You hadn’t noticed him at first, hadn’t bothered to turn towards the door when you heard it creak open. People were always coming and going, worshippers and priestesses alike. Especially in these troubled times, more and more of the devout would find themselves seeking out answers in the temple, in the hope that their piety would bring a swift end to this war.

But as the minutes dragged on, it felt as though the air in the temple had grown heavy - oppressive even. Taking a moment to catch your breath, assuming that you must have overexerted yourself whilst sweeping the floors, you braced your hand against the wall. Out of the corner of your eye you saw movement, and you instinctively dragged your gaze up towards the door.

The first thought that crossed your mind as you looked upon the hulking figure in the doorway was that he was beautiful. It was beauty in a devastating sort of way, like watching a volcano erupt - gorgeous, but only if you’re far enough away from the destruction that it will leave in its wake.

As your eyes trailed over him slowly, taking in the four arms, four striking red eyes, tanned skin littered with tattoos and stained with blood; your second thought was that you were terrified. You found that in your heart was a deep-set sense of fear, screaming at you to look away, to run, to get as far away from him as you possibly could.

But your body wasn’t capable of doing anything in that moment, feet rooted to the floor and your eyes glued to his form.

“Shouldn’t you be on your knees, priestess?” His voice was deep and gravelly, the sound felt like it was reverberating through your bones.

It was as if your body responded instinctively to his order, with you dropping to your knees at his command, head bowed respectfully. You wanted to mumble out an apology, but you found yourself unable to draw upon any sound.

“That’s better.” He purred.

There was silence for a moment, before the temple filled with the sound of his heavy footfalls echoing as he approached your kneeling form. He towered over you, heat rolling off his battle-hardened body in waves. You didn’t dare to chance a peek upwards, keeping your eyes firmly on the marble beneath you.

You flinched a little as he chuckled. There was a sound of fabric shuffling as he crouched down, and all of a sudden a warm feeling of his fingers brushing against your chin, as he firmly raised you into a kneeling position. Tilting your face up, forcing you to meet his gaze.

Heart fluttering a little at his touch, your eyes darted around his face, taking in the striking black lines that ran down his cheeks, the twisted mask that sat on the right side of his face - responsible for his reputation as the two-faced god. Your eyes finally settle on his, which seem to be carefully studying you, a deep intensity burning behind those red irises.

“You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you?” He spoke, his tone almost soft as he dropped his hand from your face. “Tell me your name.”

You tell him, your words coming out shaky and unsure. A smile spreads across his face at the sound of your voice - perhaps his response should’ve put you at ease, but there’s no warmth in his expression, an involuntary shiver running through you at the sight.

“Ah, so you are the one I’ve heard of. Good.”

“You’ve heard of me?” You hate how small your voice sounds.

He gives you a hum of acknowledgement. “Plenty of the men on this side of the fight mention you, you perform your role diligently. Most of the offerings in my name are coming from this side of the wall, I suppose to some extent I have you to thank.”

“I just do my duty.”

“Indeed.” There’s that smile again, all teeth, never quite spreading up to his eyes. “I wonder though, if those men visit my temple so regularly because they are devout, or because they lust after the one who provides the services.”

Your face went red with the implication. You paid little attention to the desires of men who entered the temple, it’s likely that any attempt at an advance would’ve gone unnoticed by you. You had sworn an oath of chastity when you became a priestess, the wants of men mattered little to you - your only concern was maintaining the sanctity of Sukuna’s sacred halls, anything else was inconsequential.

“I can’t imagine that anyone would enter here other than for worship.” You responded.

He stared at you for a moment before bursting into laughter, a loud booming sound that echoed around the room.

“Oh sweetheart, you should hear some of the things that those men out there say about you. The things that they would do to you, if they weren’t so afraid of me.”

He paused for a second to take in the look of disgust that flickered across your face.

“I had assumed that those men were exaggerating in their tales of your beauty, that they simply hadn’t had a woman in a long time - but if anything, I’d say they were underselling you. You are something truly divine. It's strange, all these humans squabbling over that fool of a girl, but she’s nowhere near as exquisite as you.”

Your heart was hammering desperately in your chest, wondering for a moment if you might be dreaming, to have him bestow such high praise upon you.

“Thank you…” You whispered.

“I wish to bestow a blessing on you.” He said, matter-of-factly.

“A blessing?” You asked, your curiosity piqued. You’d heard of this sort of thing, gods providing all sorts of boons to their favored mortals. For the most part it was men, great heroes among mortals who would receive such gifts, very rarely women. You wondered what he would even expect you to with his blessing - you were no fighter, he couldn’t possibly expect you to wield one of his gifts out on the battlefield.

“Yes, something to help you perform your role as my priestess more effectively.”

“How would it work?”

He seemed to ponder on that for a moment. “I can provide you with the gift of foresight. You’ll be able to see the future, like an oracle of sorts but with much greater clarity. You’d be able to see the outcome of this war.”

You thought about that for a moment. It was an excellent gift, one that would keep you and everyone else safe. It was an ability that most men would kill for.

“What’s the catch?” You asked.

Amusement flickered through his red eyes, his lips quirked upwards into a sly smile. “The catch?”

“Yes. You forget that I’m a priestess, I’m well versed in the actions of the gods, and I know that very rarely does a gift come without a price.” You watched his reaction carefully, scanning for any hint of deception in his face, only for him to bark out a short laugh.

“You’re a sharp one, aren’t you?” He leaned forward, his fingers once again coming to rest on the underside of your chin, skin tingling beneath his touch. “You’re right. Nothing is granted without something being given in return. But, all I ask for now is that you stay true to the vows that you made to become my priestess. That you’ll live to those vows by the letter.”

That was simple enough, you’d lived by those vows your whole life. A little voice in the back of your head nagged at you though, questioning whether that was truly it, turning over the wording of his statement in your head, trying to comprehend what loophole might exist for him to exploit. But who were you to question your god? You had devoted your life to him already, why would anything change now?

“Okay.” You said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I agree to those terms.”

“It’s a deal then.” He responded with a smirk. “Stand up for me.”

You did as ordered, shakily rising to your feet. You had already felt small on your knees before him, but now that you were standing you somehow felt even smaller, realising how tiny your full height was compared to his - he must’ve stood at around 8ft tall, a true monster of a being.

“Good.” He purred. “Now open your mouth.”

Once again you followed his command, a light red blush dusting your cheeks as you parted your lips as requested.

You felt Sukuna’s hands brush through your hair, lightly tugging your head back as he leaned down, his lips just above yours. Your heart was pounding at the proximity, your eyes wide as they gazed uncertainly into his red ones.

He smiled down at you for a moment, before parting his own lips and spitting into your mouth. The sensation was odd and for a moment you considered spitting it out, but he was quick to bring one of his spare hands to your chin and push your mouth closed.

“Swallow it.” He ordered. And just like an obedient little devotee should, you gulped down the glob of spit before parting your lips once more and sticking out your tongue to prove you had done as asked.

“There’s a good girl.” He praised you, one hand tenderly stroking your hair, with another gently cupping your face. “The gift will come in time. Don’t be alarmed if you get a little overwhelmed at first, you’ll improve.”

You leant into his touch as spoke, enjoying the feeling of his hands on you. Even though his skin was tough and calloused, he radiated warmth. It was pleasant to be at his side, to bathe in that divine light that he seemed to give off. It was as though something safe and familiar was wrapping around you, keeping you protected.

“I need to take my leave.” He said, a hint of disappointment seeping into his tone. “Things amongst the gods are tense right now, I cannot be away from my station for too long. But I will be back, my little priestess, to make sure that you’re still holding up your side of our deal.”

And with that, before you could say anything more, he was gone. The only evidence of his presence being the sweet aftertaste that his saliva left on your tongue.

—

For days after the encounter you wondered if you’d dreamt it all up. Life continued as normal, the war raging on outside the city walls, with you tending to your duties in the temple as you always had. Perhaps the extra pressure that had been on your shoulders since the war began had been getting to you, so desperate for a sliver of attention from your god that you had built yourself a pleasant little fantasy.

But then the visions started.

At first they were only present while you slept, distant and confusing dreams with meanings just out of reach. But slowly and surely they started to seep into your waking life. An embrace with your mother, brushing hands with a fellow priestess, your shoulder bumping against a stranger’s - each interaction led to vivid imagery filling your mind. You could see their lives, the near and the distant. You could see all the branching possibilities of choices that they could take, and the impact that those options seemed to have on their outcomes. The visions always ultimately ended the same way though, with the person’s demise - one way or another.

Sukuna’s suggestion that his blessing would be overwhelming was something of an understatement. In reality, his gift constituted complete agony. So many images that it was impossible to really make sense of any of them, far too much input making your brain feel like it was overloading at any given moment. It was hard to even understand which vision belonged to who, whether what you were seeing was a memory of your own life or a future of another’s.

A small mercy was in your inability to see your own future. You were able to see yourself in a handful of the visions that appeared for your mother, as if watching through her eyes - but the full extent of your own future remained a mystery. That was probably best for the sake of your sanity.

Sukuna had said that you’d improve at using his gift, so perhaps all you needed was time, a greater amount of experience with those jarring images before they’d finally start to make sense. But that didn’t stop you from wishing that he’d given you just a little more guidance, a handful of tips to lessen the gift’s burden on you would’ve gone a long way.

Several weeks passed by before Sukuna finally returned to your temple.

It was late at night when he finally manifested in the doorway, and once again you were the only priestess present. You’d taken to sleeping in the temple since the visions had started. Sleeping at your home would conjure an endless stream of images surrounding your family’s fate, keeping you awake through the night. In the temple your brain was eerily quiet, as though residing in Sukuna’s holy place was shielding you from seeing too much too quickly.

You were curled up on the cool marble at the foot of the altar, already half-asleep when his heavy footfalls reached you. He knelt down beside you as you stirred, your tired eyes taking in his form.

“How do you feel, my little priestess?” He asked. “Struggling with your gift?”

You willed your body to sit up, wiping sleep from your eyes as you did so.

“I see so many things.” Your voice came out in a hoarse whisper, you hadn’t done much speaking in the last few weeks, doing everything that you could to avoid contact with other people, in the hopes that you could keep your mind as clear as possible.

“Hmm, I bet.”

“I can’t be around my family. I can’t touch anyone or my mind becomes overwhelmed with how much I’m shown.” You continued. “I feel that it may be more of a curse than a blessing.”

You didn’t realise your mistake until you noticed a frown settle across his features.

“Are you not grateful for my gift?” He asked.

“Oh, no I-”

“Because I don’t grant boons to just anyone.” He said, as he stood up to his full height. “You’re special, I’ve granted you my attention, you should be weeping at my feet with thanks and instead you’re complaining like some ungrateful little brat.”

“I’m sorry.” You whispered. “I didn't mean it that way, it's just I can’t control it - it's painful for me.”

You looked up at him with desperation in your eyes, hopeful that he’d be forgiving enough to accept your explanation. After a moment his face softened slightly.

“Let me help you. I’ll show you just how much of a gift this skill truly is.”

He reached down to you, gripping your hand and tugging you to your feet. The second that your skin made contact you were faced with the familiar onslaught of imagery. This particular tidal wave was more intense than anything you had encountered so far, for a god’s life was infinite - no death to signpost the end of what you could witness.

You pulled your hand away from his quickly, as though you’d been shocked. “Please don’t touch me! It's too much...”

He looked back at you incredulously.

“How do you think you’re going to learn if you keep running?” He asked. “You have to open yourself up to foresight or you’ll never get any better. Seeing my future is the most overwhelming thing you’ll ever encounter, if you can even slightly come to grips with that, you’ll have no problem sorting through the futures of boring little mortals.”

He sat down on one of the marble benches situated around the perimeter of the temple, gesturing for you to join him. He was spread out across the seat, his hulking form taking up most of the space. You were just about to perch yourself right at the end when his deep voice echoed out across the temple.

“Not there.”

You looked at him, tilting your head a little in confusion. Your eyes followed his hand as it reached down to his thigh, tapping the surface invitingly.

“I- uh–, no it's okay.” You could feel heat blossoming across your face at the idea of being in such close contact with him.

“I’m not asking. I thought your job was to comply with my wishes? You’ll do as you’re told.” His tone was stern and it sent your heart racing in your chest. You hadn’t intended your words to come across as defiance, your response instead formed from years of politely declining any advance from men.

“Sorry.” You apologise for your second fumble with him that evening, shuffling towards him and delicately perching upon his thigh. Perhaps leaning was a more appropriate term for it, with you keeping the tips of your toes on the cool floor, trying not to place all of your weight on him.

He said nothing, but it was evident that this displeased him from the flicker of annoyance that passed through his eyes. He wrapped one of his four muscular arms tight around your waist and pulled you closer, your feet raising off the ground as he sat you properly on his lap, your upper body pressed up against his broad, bare chest.

Once again, the flood of images that filled your mind was unbearable. So many visions that the temple around you completely disappeared, all of your senses completely overrun by Sukuna and the future that awaited him. It felt like the very fabric of your mind was being torn apart at the seams and rewritten with only that which you could currently see.

The number of images was so vast that it was impossible to make heads or tails of any of it. It was as though you’d been pulled under the surface by a wave, stuck tumbling beneath the water, desperately needing to breathe but unable to comprehend which way was up.

For a moment it felt like you had lost yourself completely, that you were stuck in this infinite loop of Sukuna’s future. Until the sound of his gravelly voice pulled you back, anchoring you to something real.

You could hear him speaking, from some distant place, soothing you - praising you. All of sudden you could feel the sensation of his large hand on your waist, rubbing gentle circles into your side. You could hear his thunderous heartbeat where your head was resting against his chest. Reality no longer felt like something far off in the distance, but something that you could reach out and touch if you just willed yourself to.

As you focused intently on that rhythmic thud of his heart, you slowly felt your grip on the world return once more. The visions in your head were still there, playing along in the background, but they were passing by more slowly now, much more of a stream than a flood. Something that you could push into the very back of your mind if you needed to.

You let out a relieved little laugh, a sense of pride swelling up in your chest as you looked up to him, seeking out his validation. He was regarding you with amusement, a slight smirk on his lips.

“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“I- No, I suppose not.” You responded breathlessly.

“You just have to tether yourself, never let it sweep you away, lest you lose your mind entirely.”

The two of you sat there in silence for a moment, his hand still pressed firmly against your waist. It was a comforting feeling, to be so completely enveloped in his warmth.

As you sat, you started to take notice of the visions that were reeling through the back of your mind. You hadn’t thought much of them at first, witnessing grand events that seemed to take place so far from your lifetime, in foreign lands that were unrecognisable to you. But as you watched for longer, the images became more familiar. Places that you knew, people that you knew, all encountering great despair and ruin. All viewed through Sukuna’s eyes.

You encounter a scene that has you as the centrepiece. You, on your knees outside the temple, sobbing over the bodies of your family which were strewn out across the blood-soaked cobblestones. The city was burning around you, and all you could hear was Sukuna’s booming laughter.

You were quick to jump to your feet, distancing yourself from him and by extension the images that his touch provided. He looked towards you, red eyes questioning.

“Something wrong?” He asked.

You frowned, barely registering his question. That scene was playing on a loop in your mind. You had to be looking at it the wrong way, right? You were misinterpreting things. Sukuna had provided you with this great gift, had taken time to teach you how to use it - he wouldn’t bring about ruin to you. You were far from an expert on foresight, it was foolish to jump to conclusions.

And yet, as you looked at him, his expression quizzical, you couldn’t shake the feeling of discomfort that sat in your gut.

“No - I’m fine.” You lied. “Just a little disoriented.”

You knew that he didn’t believe you, your hesitance to answer was far too telling, and he made no effort to disguise the skepticism that was written all over his face. But instead of questioning it further he just shot you a cunning smile.

“Make sure to practice more on mortals now you’ve got the hang of it - you should find it easy now.”

He rose from his seat, giving you a once over, waiting to see if you had anything to add. Perhaps he was hoping you’d share whatever you were hiding, as after a few beats of silence he let out a heavy sigh.

“I’ll return in a few weeks to check on you, little priestess.”

And just like the last time, a moment later he was gone.

—

The next few weeks were far less painful than the last. It seemed that following Sukuna’s lesson you had finally gotten to grips with your newfound ability.

You wasted no time in putting the new skill to use, greeting disciples at the temple each day and offering to peer into their future. You would take their hand briefly and inform them of their fate - occasionally you would bring up different pathways they could take, which choices they should steer clear of to avoid tragedy.

However, it was rare that you would share absolutely everything with a person whose future you were seeing, it didn’t feel right to explain to them how they were going to die, especially when this was generally a fixture in every one of their potential futures. Death was the only certainty for mortals after all.

It felt good though, to be able to help with the smaller things. Offering the people of your city advice on what actions to take day to day to improve their lives. More and more of the soldiers had been coming in recently, asking about the outcomes of their upcoming battles, and what they could do to outmaneuver the attacking forces. Wherever you could see an answer to give them, you would provide it willingly - eager to help put an end to this war.

Your prophetic abilities had become well known across the city, with even some of the invading force slowly becoming aware of your feats. But this fame was something of a double edged sword - it was hard to find a moment alone anymore, with crowds of citizens flooding to the temple to get their fortunes told.

Not to mention, your renown brought in plenty of sceptics who either claimed that your skills were a hoax, or branded you as a witch who needed to be disposed of. But as a priestess of Sukuna you were used to drawing the ire of certain groups, so you simply brushed off all the criticism and continued on with your duties - that’s what Sukuna had demanded of you after all.

Yet, as you read more and more fates, you couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that had been sitting in your stomach since your last meeting with the god. The most common death that you encountered in all of your visions, was the individual perishing violently in this very city, fire burning all around them.

You had informed several of the soldiers of this, concerned that it may be a plot of the invading force, something that they could perhaps avoid if they were made aware of it in the first place. But unlike most other scenes that you encountered when learning a person’s fate, the image of the burning city was never preceded by anything useful - nothing that could tell you how the situation manifested, as though a connecting scene was being intentionally obscured from your view.

And as you watched more and more futures, all with the same fate, you began to dwell on what you had seen in Sukuna’s own future, on the image of you on your knees amongst all of that fiery chaos.

You didn’t like to doubt him, it wasn’t your place to do so. As a priestess your entire role was unmoving obedience to him, but there was a tiny voice in your head telling you that something was amiss, that he wasn’t quite what he seemed.

But what were you to do? As long as your visions were obscured there was no evidence of foul play beyond your own uncertainties. It was better to trust him. After all, it’s well documented that no mortal who turns against a god ever ends up happy.

—

The next time he came to visit you were in the midst of prayer. Knelt down before the altar at the back of the temple. You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t hear him approach, only registering his presence when a large hand came to rest on the back of your neck.

“I’m not really listening, you know.”

You flinched in surprise, quickly sitting up and twisting to look at him. For once he looked quite pristine, no blood marring his tanned skin in the way it had been on his previous visits. His expression amused as he gazed down at you.

“You…aren’t?”

“No. I’m a busy man, if I had to listen to every prayer and pay attention to every offering I’d never get anything done.” He said, matter of factly.

“Oh…”

“I always know when someone’s doing it though, I get this warm sensation deep in my bones - it's pleasant.”

“I see.” You paused for a moment, deep in thought. “I suppose that’s why you never responded to me then?”

“Hmm?” His brow was raised questioningly.

“When this war first started, I spent day after day making offerings and praying, begging you to do something to bring an end to this. But nothing ever happened. I suppose you just never heard any of that.”

He shrugged. “I suppose not. The list of people begging for my help at all hours is endless, I can’t give everyone attention.” He shifted forward, reaching out a hand to tenderly brush your cheek. “But you have my attention now, my little priestess. I answered your wish for aid didn’t I? Granted you your foresight, is that not the miracle that you had been praying for?”

You hummed softly. You had been bracing yourself for another tidal wave of imagery to overcome at his touch, but none appeared this time. Your confusion must have been evident on your face because he let out a low chuckle.

“Even with your control, it's not good for a mortal to see too much of a god’s fate, I’d prefer for your sanity to remain intact, so I’m keeping you out of my head for now, sweetheart.”

You frowned, irritated by this development. You were desperate to see those visions again, to seek out answers on the fate of your city. His sharp gaze was carefully fixated on you, his expression unreadable.

“Something wrong?” He asked.

“I– I saw something in your future, something that I couldn’t explain. It’s been weighing on my mind.” You spoke.

His expression remained neutral, almost bored as he waited for you to continue.

“In the vision, this city was burning. Everyone other than me seemed to have perished, and you were there, laughing.” Your voice came out a little shaky as you spoke, not wanting to draw his ire in any way. You directed your gaze down to the floor, almost fearful to witness his reaction. “I mean- it was probably just a misunderstanding right? It's not like I had mastered the gift back then, but I see fire and death in many people’s fates so I have to bring it up.”

He studied you for a moment before speaking.

“It's likely not a misunderstanding.” You raised your head up to stare at him in shock. “It sounds like something I’m capable of.” He continued, his voice lacking in any real emotion. “But what you were witnessing was simply one of many outcomes of how things can play out, you should understand how it works by now.”

You flinched a little as one of his hands slid around your neck, his thumb rubbing gently over your pulse point, not applying any pressure but just resting there as a silent threat.

“That vision is likely your fate should you do something to displease me, should you break our sacred vow.” He explained. “Perhaps, you’re already on the path to betrayal, my little priestess.”

His grip on your neck tightened slightly and you let out a tiny little gasp.

“After all, if I didn’t know better I’d say that you were doubting me. Doubting that I’d take care of you after I’ve been nothing but generous.”

“No- I’m sorry I didn’t mean anything by it!” Your hands reached up to his, trying to pry his fingers from your neck, but he was immovable.

“Hmmm. I’ve been so good to you, have offered you nothing but kindness and guidance, and now you repay me with suspicion? It hurts, you know?”

“Sorry-” You rasped. It was becoming harder to breathe with his firm grip on your neck.

“I’m going to need more than that, little priestess. How about you show me a little gratitude for once?” One of his hands moved into your hair, playing gently with the strands while a third hand moved to your shoulder, toying with the strap of your dress. His fourth hand finally came to settle on your waist, pulling you in closer to him.

“Gratitude?” You squeaked out, your gaze dropping down to his hands resting on your body.

“Mmm.” He moved his hand slowly from your waist to your ass, squeezing gently. “You’re going to give yourself to me. Show me how grateful you really are for everything I’ve provided to you.”

Your blood ran cold at the realisation of what he was asking of you, your hands moving up to his chest to try and push yourself away from his grip.

“I’m s-sorry, I can’t...I can’t break my oath of chastity, to be a priestess I must remain pure.” Your heart was thumping in your chest as you denied him, suddenly aware of what a precarious situation you were in. All alone in a temple, with a god who could nullify your existence with a flick of his wrist.

Fear spiked through you as you looked up at his stormy facial expression. He didn’t budge at your attempts to move away from him, gripping you firmly.

“But your body belongs to me, doesn’t it? Isn’t that what you promised when you became my priestess, that your body, mind and soul are all completely devoted to me?”

“Yes, but-”

“But what?” He scoffed as he leaned closer, breath fanning your face. “Do you honestly think that you, my little inconsequential priestess, are in a position to deny me?”

The fingers tangled in your hair were tugging a little on the strands now, pulling you close so that his lips could brush against the shell of your ear.

“Besides, be honest with yourself, you know you want me - I‘m your god.”

And with that he released you, dropping you unceremoniously back to the floor. Both sets of his arms were crossed as he examined you.

“Stand up and remove your clothes.” He ordered.

You remained frozen for a moment, before slowly pulling yourself up to standing. Your cheeks started to burn and you diverted your gaze to the ground as you slowly removed your dress, leaving you standing in your undergarments. A shiver ran through you as the cool air in the temple kissed your skin, the hair on your arms standing up.

“Take off everything.” He said, “I want to see all of what’s mine.”

You could barely hear him, a battle warring in your head. This was wrong - you had made a promise to live your life in purity, to remain untouched by any man. And yet, you couldn’t help but wonder if he was right. He was no man after all - he was the god that you had taken your vows for in the first place, surely that changed the rules? Besides, there was no denying the tingling feeling in your stomach at the thought of his closeness, the way your skin heated up whenever he touched you.

To deny him and lose everything: your gift, your position as a priestess, even your city. Or, to fall into sin for him, to give yourself over fully in exchange for his favor. What choice did you really have?

So, as requested, you shimmied yourself free from your undergarments, heart racing as you stood completely bare before him. Nervously you looked up, meeting his enthused expression, his mouth drawn back into a wide grin.

“There’s a good girl.” He praised as he admired your form, taking in every inch of your body. You felt a little shy beneath the intensity of his gaze, for no man had ever seen you in this state of undress before.

He approached slowly, savoring that sweet, unsure expression that sat on your face. It suited you.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He asked softly, his breath warm against your skin as he brought a hand to your waist, pulling your smaller body against him. “Just let me take what I want…”

Keeping you flush against him, he crashed his lips into yours. It was rough for a first kiss, not tender and romantic as you had imagined it to be when you were young, but dominating and all-encompassing.

One of his hands snaked around the back of your neck, pulling you deeper into the kiss, as his tongue pushed against your lips, demanding entrance. You were quick to comply, opening your mouth a little. It was an odd sensation, feeling his tongue brush against yours. It felt a little humiliating, that you were so clumsy with your movement, clearly lacking in experience compared to him.

He pulled back for a moment, grinning down at you. “First kiss, sweetheart?”

Your face turned a deep shade of red, embarrassed that he’d draw attention to your obvious innocence, making you feel small and foolish beneath him.

“I’ll teach you everything you need to know.” He dove back in without waiting for a response, leaning down over you to make up for your height difference. It was a little uncomfortable to crane your neck up to meet him, a discomfort that he must’ve shared, for he reached two arms behind your thighs and picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist so that you were closer to his level.

Slowly the kisses become easier, more familiar, his tongue flicking against yours as you sink in against him. You were so focussed on the kiss that you were caught off guard when one of his hands made its way down to your breast, giving it a firm squeeze. You jumped a little, pulling back in surprise.

He smirked at you. “Problem, little priestess?”

Maintaining eye contact with you, his fingers moved to your nipple, deftly pinching it. You let out something between a yelp and whimper, the action sending heat pulsing through your legs, and in that moment you became acutely aware of your position - completely naked and wrapped around him.

“Oh? Does that feel good? Can feel that pretty pussy of yours leaking against my stomach.”

He brought another hand up to your other breast, his remaining hands clutching at your thighs and holding you up. He ran his fingers over the other nipple, watching as it peaked under his touch, before bringing his lips to your neck, sucking marks into your soft skin.

Whimpering, you arched your back, your legs squeezing against his waist as you tried to bring yourself closer to him. It was hard to think straight with his hands on you like this, your body acting on its own, desperate for more of him.

You were just starting to get used to all of these new sensations when you suddenly felt a foreign wetness between your legs. You yelped out in shock as you looked down, met with the sight of a large mouth that had opened on his stomach, a monstrous tongue sticking out from it, lapping at your pussy.

There was a part of you that felt as though you should be horrified, but that reasonable section of your brain was quickly overruled by the pleasure that this new appendage was granting you. He was lapping at your pussy without restraint, the tip of the tongue running up and down your folds, occasionally flicking at your clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure shooting through you.

Sweet cries of his name left your lips, echoing across the chamber as your fingers dug into his biceps. He chuckled as he continued to bite at your neck, still paying great attention to your nipples. You could feel an odd sensation building up in your abdomen, like a dam about to burst.

“S-Sukuna!” You whined. “Something’s wrong-”

He ignored you, continuing with his ministrations. He was no fool, he knew exactly what you were referring to and was certainly not going to stop now. The multiple sources of pleasure were becoming too overwhelming, and that knot in your stomach tightened further.

“Please-” You begged. One of his hands moved down to your clit, applying a little pressure which finally sent you over the edge. That knot in your abdomen snapped and you came, letting out a cry of his name as you had your first orgasm on his tongue.

“Good girl.” He cooed, petting gently at your hair as he carried you over to one of the marble benches, taking a seat and carefully positioning your naked body in his lap. “That felt good huh?”

You nodded, your mind still a little hazy from what had just happened, your body felt limp, as though you’d just swam a great distance. Before you could have much of a chance to recover, one of his hands was between your legs, fingers running through your folds, getting you used to his touch.

“Need to get you ready for me.” He spoke as he slowly started to press a finger into your opening. He held you still as you started to struggle in his grip. “It’ll hurt more if you move about too much.”

Placing your trust in him you stayed as still as possible, letting him slowly ease his finger into you. It was painful, the burning sensation of having something inside you for the first time, but all it took was a few moments for the discomfort to subside. He curled his finger inwards a little, letting it rub against a pleasant spot inside you and causing you to clench around him.

“Mmm, there we go.” He hummed as he slowly pushed in a second finger, repeating the process over again until you seemed comfortable with the stretch. He rubbed at your clit with the palm of his hand as he started to move his fingers more quickly.

You braced your hands against him, burying your face into his chest to try and hide your embarrassment at the obscene sounds that were echoing with each movement of his fingers inside your wet pussy. He was revelling in it, loving how tight you felt around his fingers, wondering just how good you’d feel wrapped around his cock instead.

“Feel good?” He asked.

You nodded, unable to find any words in that moment. You could already feel that pressure building up once again, each careful flick of his fingers driving you wild as he struck that spongy spot inside you over and over again.

Leaning forward, he captured your lips with his, and the affection of that action was the final push that you needed to reach your second release, gushing around his thick fingers as you let out a sweet little whine against his mouth.

He pulled his fingers out of you before bringing them up to your mouth.

“Clean them.” He ordered.

You complied without any complaint, parting your lips and taking his fingers into your mouth and sucking on them obediently until he deemed them to be clean enough.

“You’re so eager to please.” He praised, lifting you off his lap and placing you back down on the marble floor at his feet, propped up on your knees.

He kept his eyes on you as he removed his own clothing, dropping his robes to the ground. You’d never seen a real man bare before, and you weren’t sure what you were expecting - but it certainly wasn’t this. The statues that you’d seen of naked men couldn’t hold a candle to the immense magnitude of the cock that hung between Sukuna’s legs. The sheer size of it had your mind riddled with fear at the thought that he was going to try and fit it inside of you.

His expression was smug as he watched the horror play out across your face. He was fully aware of how big he was and revelled in watching your reaction, already thinking about how lovely you were going to look all stretched out around him.

“Let's see what that pretty mouth of yours can do.” He suggested, gesturing down to his cock. “You do want to please me, don’t you? After how much pleasure I’ve given you.”

Reluctantly you shuffled forwards, crouching before him as you gripped his cock with your much smaller hands. Experimentally you brought your lips to the tip, giving it a few tentative licks. He left you to your own devices for a few moments, waiting to see what you would do.

“You need to do more than that, sweetheart. No need to be scared.” He soothed as his hand came to rest on the back of your head, pushing you towards his cock.

You opened your mouth and wrapped your lips around him. It was a tight fit, with you struggling to open up wide enough to take him in. He let you adjust for a moment, watching as you became more comfortable with the feeling of him in your mouth, before he started to push his cock further down your throat.

You felt yourself starting to gag at the sensation as he slid deeper into your mouth, struggling to breathe. Closing your eyes for a moment, you took a deep breath through your nose and tried to centre yourself before slowly starting to bob your head, taking him slightly deeper each time, finding your rhythm as you did your best to appease him.

He let out a groan of pleasure, loving how your warm mouth felt nestled around his cock. He could feel his own release building as he stared down at you. You looked so pretty on your knees before him. Drool was dropping down your chin, and your eyes were glassy as you looked up at him - a few stray tears dripping down your cheeks, a sight that made his cock jump.

The grip that he had on your hair tightened and he took control of the pace, moving you up and down on his cock as he chased his orgasm. A few thrusts later and he was cumming in your mouth, your nose pressed up against his abdomen as he released deep in your throat.

“Swallow it.” He muttered out through gritted teeth, his ego satisfied as he watched your throat bob around him.

He pulled himself out, and in an instant he had you down on the marble floor, all spread out in front of him, your legs parted allowing him easy access. He admired you openly, his gaze trailing down to your pussy, liquid dripping to the floor below from the two previous orgasms that he’d granted you.

“So pretty…” He mused as he positioned himself over you, pushing your legs further apart to allow space for his body between them.

Fear was clouding your eyes as you stared up at him, your heart beating desperately within your ribcage. To him, it was a beautiful sight, to have you completely at his mercy like this. He rubbed his cock teasingly up and down your slit, occasionally catching your clit with the very tip and eliciting a moan from you, leaving you shaking a little each time - still overstimulated from your previous release.

“You want this, pretty girl?” He teased, staring down at your tear-stricken face.

“Yes, please–” you rasped.

“Mmm, I don’t know…I think you could want it more.” He said, intent on dragging this out, to make it more humiliating for you as your cheeks began to burn.

“Please Sukuna, I want it, I want you-”

That was more than enough convincing for him as he slowly started to push the fat tip of his cock into you. More tears sprung to your eyes at the immense stretch that he was causing, your body struggling to cope with his massive size. You let out a cry of pain, your fingernails digging into his arms desperately as the pain grew in intensity.

“No, please- it's too much!” You begged.

“Shhhhh.” He cooed affectionately, one of hands moving to stroke your hair gently. “You’re doing such a good job, being such a good girl for me, just relax and take it.”

You took a deep breath, trying your best to adjust to the stretch as Sukuna edged his way further into you, letting out a satisfied little sigh as he bottomed out inside you. You were so warm and tight, he felt like he was in paradise with you wrapped so snugly around him.

It was less pleasant for you, your legs quivering as you tried to grit your teeth and withstand the pain. You’d heard plenty of tales from women about how it felt to have your innocence taken, that it would be painful at first but eventually it would give way to pleasure. So, with Sukuna completely filling you up and overwhelming your senses, you found comfort in those tales - you just needed to push through the pain.

Whilst you were battling your inner turmoil, you felt Sukuna snake a hand down between the two of you, his fingers brushing against your clit, sending a jolt of pleasure through you which momentarily overwrote the burn of having him inside you.

“Just relax.” His fingers rubbed circles against your clit, slowly leading the pain to give way to pleasure. “Feels good doesn’t it?” His eyes were locked on yours, watching you closely as he felt your pussy tighten around him.

You let out a little whimper of agreement, and that was all he needed to hear before he started moving, filling you up with deep and hard thrusts, his fingers still pressing against your clit. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, your hands finding purchase on his back, nails digging into him with each brutal thrust.

He leant down, bringing his face into the crook of your neck, nipping and sucking at your skin and leaving a trail of red marks in his wake. He continued a path down your body, kissing softly at your breasts before taking a nipple into his mouth, tongue flicking at it meanly for a few moments before sucking on it, leading you to arch your body into him with pleasure.

As he continued to thrust into you, you felt that familiar warmth building up in your stomach, sent spiralling over the edge once more as he hit a particularly sensitive spot inside you which had you seeing stars. You let out a cry of ecstasy, your vision going white for a moment as you clenched around him.

His laughter was echoing around the chamber. “There’s my good girl, huh? You look so pretty cumming around my cock like that, squeezing me so fucking tight.” You could barely register his words, your ears ringing as you slowly came down from your high.

A few thrusts later and Sukuna was pulling out of you, leaving you a little confused and disoriented as he pulled you up onto your feet, manhandling you over to the altar at the back of the temple. He stood you before it for a moment before placing a large hand between your shoulder blades, bending you forward over it.

Your body felt exhausted and you complied without a concern. In the back of your mind you could hear a faint voice telling you how sacrilegious it was to dirty an altar with lust like this, in a place that was meant to be a sanctuary - it was unforgivable. But in that moment you couldn’t bring yourself to care, giving yourself to him fully.

His hands ran tenderly down your back, tracing along the curve of your spine until they rested on your ass. He paused there for a moment, admiring your form in the moonlight, before positioning his cock back against your pussy and slowly easing himself in.

You let out a little gasp, but the stretch wasn’t nearly as painful this time, not after he’d already had you cumming around his cock once. It was as if he’d moulded you to his shape now, which was far from a problem considering that he was the only man who would ever lay hands on you.

He watched with amusement as you scrambled to grab at the marble of the altar, knuckles turning white as you struggled to hold on under the weight of his thrusts. Two of his hands were gripping your hips tightly, holding you still as he fucked into you at a merciless pace, balls slapping rhythmically against your clit and adding to the pleasure. One of his hands curled into your hair, pulling your head back so that he could more clearly hear the cute little sounds leaving your mouth - the moans and whimpers of his name.

This position felt even better than the last, his cock reaching so deep in your pussy, hitting that one spongy spot inside you over and over again, your orgasm building up even faster this time as you teetered right on the edge.

“O-Oh, I’m going to–”

“Are you going to cum for me again, pretty girl?” He asked, his pace increasing as he leaned forward over you, the tip of his cock reaching an even deeper spot inside you. “F-Fuck sweetheart, you’re so tight, feels so good.” The stutter in his voice had your heart leaping with pride, the idea that your god would be so proud of you, so contented with what you had to offer to him meant everything to you.

And just like that, he had you cumming again. You probably would’ve collapsed to the floor after that one if not for his hands on your hips keeping you up. The speed of his thrusts didn’t relent, the sound of his hips slapping against your ass echoing across the temple.

“T-that’s it pretty girl, just stay still.” He was groaning against your ear, so much of his weight resting on top of your much smaller body. “I’m so close. Need to fill you up.” You let out a small strangled whine, feeling utterly helpless beneath his body.

A few thrusts later and he was cumming, sheathed to the hilt inside you as he did so. He let out a low groan and held you still beneath him, wanting to make sure that you took all of his seed into you, not wanting to see any go to waste. You let out a whimper at the foreign sensation of him finishing inside you, feeling entirely too full as that hot, thick substance was released into you.

You lay still beneath him against the altar, unable to move until he finally pulled away, removing his cock from your sore pussy. As you pushed yourself up from the altar you felt some of his cum dripping down your leg and for a moment, in some far off part of your brain, you registered how much of a sin you had just committed, how much of yourself you had just given away. But before you could dwell on it, Sukuna was holding out his hand, pulling you over to one of the benches where he placed you carefully in his lap, holding you close against his body.

Contrary to popular belief, he took good care of what belonged to him.

—

You weren’t sure how long you stayed there in Sukuna’s arms, not long enough for the sun to have risen, for silver moonlight was still floating through the window when you awakened. The god was still there below you, breathing softly as though he were at total peace with the world.

For a moment you felt happy - glad that you had been provided with such undivided attention from him. You were just a mortal, completely insignificant to most, but not to him. What more could you ask for?

And yet, as soon as that thought crossed your mind the visions returned in full force. It was as though Sukuna had let his guard down in his slumber. They weren’t overwhelming this time - you’d gotten far too good with your foresight for that. But part of you wished that they were still incomprehensible to you, for that would’ve been a greater mercy than coming to terms with the fate that you were witnessing.

Because this time, you saw everything.

The city aflame, the invading forces spilling out of a great wooden horse that they had presented as a gift, a sign of peace. A cunning betrayal that led to them ransacking the streets, slaughtering and pillaging as they went. You watched in horror as citizens were ripped from their homes, the men killed and the women taken as prizes for the victors.

Sukuna was there in these visions, standing by and watching the massacre, making no move to provide any sort of aid, a cruel grin stretched across his face at the sight of such glorious bloodshed. He’d always been such a fan of war.

In an instant you were brought back to reality, scrambling desperately out of his lap, desperate for some distance from him and the horrors that you had just witnessed.

He awoke with your movement, red eyes fixing on you with interest as he noticed your defensive figure, eyes wide and your body trembling.

“Bad dream?” He asked calmly. He was no fool, and the look on his face made it clear that he was well aware that there was more to it than that.

“You– you’re going to let this city fall to ruin.” You accused, your voice shaking.

He tilted his head at you. “So?”

It felt like your heart stopped at his blatant dismissal of your accusation. You couldn’t comprehend how he could respond in such an uninterested manner. This place was your whole world, the citizens of your city were everything to you. You’d just become aware that he was going to stand by and allow tragedy to take place, that he was going to let everyone you’d ever loved die, and all he could care to say was ‘so’?

“You promised–”

“I didn’t promise you anything.” He cut you off, raising to his full height. “I said I’d give you a blessing, and I did. Don’t you think it's greedy to demand more from me? You should know your place.”

You were shaking with anger now. “But, you said it was likely only the outcome if I were to betray you! I gave you everything - I laid with you to show you my loyalty and gratitude, surrendered my very innocence and you’re still going to let this city burn.” Tears sprung to your eyes, running down your cheeks.

“Yes, I am.” He said simply. “But I won’t let that be your fate. I want to keep you for myself, little priestess.” He reached out for you, hands caressing your hair for a moment before you stepped away.

“Don’t touch me.” You spat. It made you feel sick, the way that he spoke about you. It was as though you were nothing more than a pet to him, something pretty and easily appeased with no existence or desires outside of your relation to him. He didn’t consider you to be a citizen of this city, didn’t consider that you were a daughter, a sister, a friend. He couldn’t comprehend your care for anyone other than him.

“You didn’t seem to have a problem with it mere hours ago.” Your face twisted in disgust at his words. “Perhaps I just need to fuck you again, you seemed plenty compliant when I had you bent over that altar.”

You took another step back, fearful of what he might do should you get too close. “Don’t come anywhere near me. I saw the whole plan, I’m going to tell my people not to accept that gift, I’m going to make sure that this city stays standing.”

He sighed. “So be it.”

His body was on you before you could move, taking you down to the marble floor. One of his hands grabbed both of your wrists, pinning them above your head, the weight of his body keeping you still beneath him.

Another hand caressed your face tenderly as he gazed down at you. But as you met his eyes, you found that there was no warmth behind them, just the cold and calculating stare of an immortal being who couldn’t care less about the life or fate of any mortal.

“Last chance, sweetheart.” He spoke. “You can survive this. You can belong to me completely, stay at my side, be mine to enjoy whenever I choose. Wasn’t that what you always wanted anyway? To have my attention? I’ll grant it to you.”

“In exchange for a whole city?” You asked incredulously.

“What do they matter, really? What can silly little mortals provide you that I can’t? Don’t be foolish, my pretty little priestess.” He could see your expression waving, a feeling of total helplessness washing over you as you lay beneath him. “Besides, you enjoyed getting fucked by me, didn’t you? I could see how good I made you feel - I can give you that all the time.”

His tone was almost convincing, but as you studied his face you found that his facade was entirely transparent. He didn’t care for you, he wasn’t capable of care. Even if he saved you from your fate today, one day he would tire of you and dispose of you in the same way that he’s disposed of thousands of other mortals. You’d just be his pet, a temporary source of entertainment.

“I’m telling everyone what I saw.” You said evenly. “I’m done being your priestess.”

He gave you a sympathetic smile which reeked of mockery.

“What a shame.” He whispered, one of his hands made their way up to your mouth, forcing your lips apart as he lent in close to you. “No one will ever believe you.” And with that he spat into your open mouth before quickly forcing it shut with his hand.

Your eyes widened in horror as you felt the globule of spit sit in your mouth. He was staring down at you expectantly, and you did your best to hold it there in your mouth, hoping that by some divine intervention you may be able to escape your fate.

You struggled against him, trying to push him off you, to remove his hand from your face. If you could just spit it out and tell one person what you had seen, you could save everyone. But Sukuna was far stronger than you, and he had nothing but time - keeping you locked in position until your mouth grew so dry that you involuntarily found yourself swallowing what he had given you.

Your blessing had become a curse.

“There we go.” he purred, before standing up. He looked down at your body with disdain. “I’m disappointed. I would’ve liked to play with you longer - but I’ll settle for witnessing your despair instead.” He turned to leave.

“Why?” Your voice came out ragged and broken, and he glanced over his shoulder at you, waiting for further elaboration.

“Why does this city have to burn?” You asked.

He shrugged. “We gods always use these silly little mortal wars to settle disputes amongst each other. In this case I stand with the gods who favor the men laying siege, so I’ll allow this city to burn for them.”

“But, they’re my people–”

“And what does that matter to me? All of you mortals are always so petty - they’d all be dead in 80 years anyway, what difference does a few years make?”

You opened your mouth to respond but he was already gone, nothing but empty space where he had previously stood.

Gathering yourself together as best you could, you ran out into the street. The sun was rising over the city now and the battlefield was quiet. Perhaps if you were quick you’d be able to pass the message on before Sukuna’s curse set in.

You banged on doors and cried out in the street, approaching every person that you saw to warn them. But it all fell upon deaf ears. Your tale of the great horse and the men hiding inside it was brushed aside with ridicule and laughter.

Even your family, when you finally made your way back home at midday, were unreceptive to your message. They suggested that maybe you needed a lie down, that you’d been spending far too much time at the temple and were losing your grip on reality.

It was just as Sukuna had said: no one will ever believe you.

It was regret that filled you as the men wheeled that great wooden horse into the city - as the enemy jumped out of it in the middle of the night and slaughtered your city, setting it ablaze. You were hollow as you knelt over the corpses of your family, babbling out prophecies that no one would hear.

Sukuna was there then, watching you in your despair, allowing you to be taken away as a war prize for the invading force. After all, who were you to deny him? You deserved this. And as you were pulled into your new life far from the only home you’d ever known, you wondered if you should pray, if his prior fondness for you would bring him back to your side.

But you knew it was foolish.

He wasn’t listening anyway.

a/n: thank you for reading, had a bit of a cry writing the end of this one honestly.

I adore mythology so if anyone has any fic recs please send them my way! I'm considering doing an orpheus and eurydice retelling as a choso fic but we'll see how I'm feeling!

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