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mosskissed · 1 day ago

Note

MIRAAAA i'm putting all this under a cut bec i was typing while i read and. i think i got too carried away for the tags LDJFFJ but AAAA i am holding this fic close to my chest

THIS WAS SOSOSOSO GOOD. i trust your characterization with my life i think !! sae is so annoying and funny and sweet and just. i'm shaking him in my hands gently like a snowglobe and i wanna eat him. i looooved his flimsy excuses to keep seeing her and the snarkiness he throws at her all the while as if he isn't obsessed

and your READER i loved her so much !!!!! sososo funny and silly (+ i lost it every time she called him short and ugly like the body is cold on the ground leave him be !!!!) and she was so well-fleshed out too ^^; her relationship with her family was so nice to read with the bits we see (and you capture having a younger brother so perfectly too like "uglier sibling: LIAR. FRAUD. HACK" -> that's literally my brother KLSJDF)

your dialogue is so consistently funny and engaging but also so You it was so fun to read sobs i love the dynamic between the two of them DJDFG i feel like an idiot i just keep saying i love but like. i love !!!!!!

okay. so like i said i jotted down little incoherent notes as i read so here are some specifics that made me feel crazy yesyes ( ◡̀ . ◡́)ᕤ

"ask your brother about sae itoshi" starting off strong by almost immediately giving me the urge to hit him with bricks

“I’m an athlete,” he said seriously. “I need a lot of protein in all of my meals. Especially because I’m so short. It’s important for me to build muscle, don’t you agree? How else will I manage to compete with the taller, better-looking players?” okay he kinda gagged her with that one... as an empath i sense he won't be letting this go

him ordering the sandwich for her... oh man it's happening THINGS ARE HAPPENING !!!!!! SOIJFDFJ AND HE PAID FOR IT TO SEE HER AGAIN SAE ITOSHI WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON YOU

You were already panting for breath when Sae picked up the pace, though he had not so much as broken a sweat yet. He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, taking in your obvious struggles, and then he made the decision to not slow down at all. WHAT IS HIS PROBLEM "This is embarrassing for you.” HE SUUUUUUCJS

"Now you have to see me tomorrow,” he said. “Bye. I’ll pick you up for dinner, so make sure to wear something nice, and bring your credit card. It’s your treat.” KICKING MY FEET MIRA SKDRIHJKSH THE WAY HE'S STILL REFUSING TO EXPLICITLY ASK HER OUT... sae your loverboy is showing (OSRIJFSORGJ I GOT TOO WRAPPED UP IN THE CAR/DINNER SCENE TO ADD ANYTHING BUT IT WAS AMAZING)

how together, you and him had eaten lunch and dinner and breakfast and several meals that you were convinced he had just made up to have an excuse to buy food for the two of you — brunch, linner, midnight snacks and third desserts. -> SLJDLFJ CLUTCHING MY CHEST i feel winded. i'm standing on the sidelines holding pompoms with her entire family it seems

"I like lonely things,” he said. “That’s why the end of the summer is my favorite season.” “Hm,” you said. “Then, if I tell you that I’ll be lonely once I leave here, will you like me, too?” WEREWOLF TEARING SHIRT MEME FJWKFKDN THE ENTIRE CONFESSION IS INSANE IT'S SO THEM

"I can’t be with a man who’s afraid of rejection. It was nice knowing you, Sae,” you said. “See you around. Hope you lose the Champions League.” -> the ugly snort that escaped me reading this KLSJFLJF

i'm sorry i wish i had a better way of phrasing everything i hope that all made sense but !!!!! tldr this was so enjoyable and lovely and engaging and and and i already wanna reread it i'll be so for real

hi mira can i pls req a sae x reader and it’s like falling in love with someone. like you know that feeling when you’re really getting to know someone and it sounds like a soft song

i love uu take care x

Synopsis: Thanks to a chance encounter on the beach, you spend your vacation trying to apologize to the famous soccer player you inadvertently offended. Unfortunately, Sae Itoshi has other plans.

Event Masterlist

Pairing: Sae x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 11.6k

Content Warnings: love at first sight, fluff, humor, teasing as a love language, sae does not understand emotions or relationships but he’s rich asf, reader has a little brother and loves eating, meet-cutes, summer romance, SEAGULLS

A/N: although sae is a difficult character for me to get a hold of, i ended up having fun with this LMAO as i’m sure you can tell by the massive word count 😭 i hope he’s not horribly ooc or anything and that this is kind of what you were looking for anon!! tysm for requesting and ily too <3

Additional: part of my 500 follower event! see the event description and rules to make a request of your own.

You tried to evaluate the series of choices you had made which had led to you lying atop a boy with green eyes and sand smeared across his cheeks, a blank expression on his face despite the way you were literally sprawled over him.

First: your family had decided to spend your summer vacation in Spain. This was innocuous and broad enough, considering how large the country was, so you concluded that your brother’s desire to practice his rudimentary Spanish in a more realistic setting than his high school classroom could not be blamed for your plight.

Second: your father had gotten a great deal on rooms in a luxury beachfront hotel. He was like a bloodhound when it came to haggling and discounts, so it wasn’t a surprise that you were staying in such a nice place for a relatively cheap price — and with a complimentary breakfast every morning, too! Anyways, the hotel had its own private pool that you could’ve been lounging around beside, so that probably wasn’t the cause, either.

Third: your mother had told you that the beach within walking distance of the hotel was famous for its smooth waters and pale sand. You had to visit at least once, according to her and every other travel guide written about the region, but since no one had wanted to go with you, you had decided to go alone, bringing a book, a bottle of sunscreen, and a blanket with you, throwing a dress on over your swimsuit and preparing yourself to spend the entire day soaking in the sun’s rays. This was definitely a contributor to your current predicament, although considering the miles of beach that stretched out in both directions as far as the eye could see where you could’ve been instead of right there, it wasn’t the sole factor.

Fourth: you had thought you would get hungry at some point and had had the foresight to bring a sandwich with you. That was definitely the reason. If only you hadn’t been so concerned with your stomach! If only you had just sucked it up and made the trek back to the hotel upon feeling peckish instead of being so lazy and planning ahead, you wouldn’t be in this situation.

“Can you get off of me?” the boy groaned.

“I am so sorry!” you said, scrambling to your feet and offering him your hand. He did not take it, standing on his own and doing his best to wipe the sand from his face. Then he shook his head like a dog, shaking out the grittiness from his soft hair. “I’m really sorry. I was just running so fast, and I was so worried about my sandwich that I didn’t notice you were there until it was too late!”

“Sandwich?” he said. A few paces away, a seagull landed, the remnants of your lunch held in its beak. You and the boy watched as it tilted its head back, swallowing the last few bites before cawing at you in satisfaction.

“You pig!” you shouted, pointing at it, the boy beside you temporarily forgotten as you fumed over the loss. It cocked its head at you. “That was mine!”

“Ah,” the boy said. “Your sandwich.”

The seagull hopped towards you, like it was teasing you or something, and you screeched before diving at it. Satisfied with the mischief it had caused and the food it had stolen, as well as with making a fool out of you, the seagull took wing, flying well out of reach and leaving you facedown on the ground, your stomach grumbling sadly and emptily.

A foot nudged against your rib cage. “Hey. Sandwich girl. You’re not concussed, are you?”

Being referred to as sandwich girl was so humiliating that you were instantly pushing yourself into a sitting position, folding your arms across your chest as you gazed up at the boy, who still wore that same unimpressed expression from when you had barreled into him.

“No,” you said.

“That’s great,” he said, though he did not sound particularly concerned nor relieved. “Mind elaborating a bit more on why you ran me over? You could’ve seriously injured me, and then you would’ve been in a bunch of trouble.”

“You would’ve been in a bunch of trouble,” you mocked, making your voice high and smarmy. “Jeez, what are you, some kind of celebrity or something? I ran you over because I was taking a break from reading my book, and I realized that I was hungry. Well, luckily, I had brought a sandwich along with me, so it wasn’t a huge deal. I was just about ready to dig in, when that fat pig of a bird swooped down and stole it right out of my hands! The gall! The shamelessness! It was definitely laughing at me, and I can’t stand anyone who laughs at me, so naturally I took off in pursuit, and, uh, that’s how I ended up crashing into you. Though you really should’ve been paying more attention, too. What’s so fascinating about the horizon that you just blocked out the rest of the world for it?”

“I like looking at the ocean,” he said. “But, wait. What do you mean, some kind of celebrity? Don’t you know who I am?”

You gave him a once-over. He was tall, though not impressively so, and definitely well-muscled. His hair was a warm shade, and his green eyes were framed with long eyelashes that fluttered every time he blinked. A pair of sunglasses was perched atop the crown of his head, and the top few buttons of his white shirt were undone, lending him a breezy appearance.

“You’re not handsome enough to be an actor, so that can’t be it,” you said, chewing on your lower lip in thought. “Plus, I’ve seen a bunch of movies, and I’m pretty sure you haven’t been in any of them, so if you were in the film industry, you’d be a D-lister at best, and there’s no way you’d want to flex that kind of status.”

He furrowed his brow, the first hint of a different expression than the one he had kept for the entirety of your very brief acquaintance. “What?”

“What else are people famous for?” you said. “Oh! Are you a singer or something? Were you in that one boy band from a few years ago? I’m sorry, I was too busy having a ‘not-like-other-girls’ phase when they were popular, so I never got into them. I’m over the phase now, if you were wondering, but that would be why I didn’t recognize you.”

“You are amazingly off the mark,” he said.

“I am? I’m kind of out of ideas at this point, though. Can I have a hint or something?” you said.

“Do you watch soccer?” he said. You made a face.

“Hell no,” you said. His eye twitched, so you hurried to elaborate. “My little brother is obsessed with it, so by law, I’m required to hate everything related to the sport. Do you have any siblings? You’d get it if you did.”

“Ask your brother about Sae Itoshi,” he said.

“Okay,” you said, drafting a text to your brother and sending it when you had deemed it to be a perfect blend of uninterested and cool while also underscoring the urgency of the request. “So, your name’s Sae Itoshi? I’m Y/N L/N! I’m not a celebrity, though. If you text anyone and ask them about me, they’ll probably be pretty confused.”

“Yeah, I got that impression,” he said. Your phone vibrated in your hand, and when you looked at the notification, you saw that it was from your brother.

uglier sibling: no shit i know about sae itoshi. he’s that one super talented midfielder on re al. he’s dad and i’s fav player atm.

You gulped, glancing up at Sae before returning to your phone.

me: lol wtf is re al.

uglier sibling: it’s madrid’s team lmfaooo dumbass how do you not know that

uglier sibling: actually wait why are u even asking lol

uglier sibling: did u meet him or something

me: funny story actually!

uglier sibling: WHAT

uglier sibling: y/n are u with sae itoshi rn.

uglier sibling: y/n answer pls

uglier sibling: can you at least get his autograph for me or smth???

Pretending like you were still texting your brother, you typed the name Sae Itoshi into your phone’s search engine. The photos that came up matched the boy in front of you, and the news articles made your heart pound. He actually was a celebrity, and furthermore, his earlier arrogance was deserved. If you had somehow injured such a famous player and put him out of commission for the season, then you really would’ve been done for. It hadn’t been an exaggerated sense of self-importance but an honest evaluation of himself.

“Ahem,” you said, feigning a cough to appear dignified and mature. “It seems like you are a pretty well-known soccer player, Mr. Itoshi.”

“It seems like I am,” he said.

“My brother and dad are big fans, apparently,” you said.

“Good thing you didn’t take me out permanently, then, or I’m sure they would’ve been pretty disappointed,” he said.

You cringed. “I’m sorry again.”

“Whatever. I won’t hold it against you; all’s well that ends well, after all,” he said.

“I feel really bad, though,” you said, rubbing the back of your neck sheepishly. “Is there any way I can make it up to you?”

“You didn’t do anything, so there’s nothing to make up for,” he said.

“Not true! I knocked you over and said you’re not handsome!” you said. “I’d say that warrants some kind of recompense.”

“It’ll warrant more recompense if you keep saying it,” he said.

“You agree that you deserve payment, then? Great! Um…how about I…buy you lunch?” you said, the insistent pangs of your stomach reminding you that you still hadn’t eaten.

“Is food the only thing you can think about?” he said.

“For your information, it is not, but I haven’t eaten since the morning, so I’m hungry,” you said.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” he said. “It’s okay. I’m not interested, and just so you know, I’ve been asked out by plenty of girls, but by far, this has been the lamest attempt.”

You supposed, looking back, that it did seem like that was your end goal. But, of course, it had been nothing of the sort; you were just planning on going to eat yourself and thought that you might as well kill two birds with one stone. It was just your luck that he had twisted your words into such a request, though! How were you supposed to maneuver yourself out of this position? If you denied it furiously, then it would seem like you were just ashamed at getting caught, but if you didn’t say anything, then it would be akin to agreeing with his accusation.

There was only one way out of it, and even though you were usually opposed to lying, and even more opposed to bullying others, it was the only thing you could think of. So, bowing your head, you clasped your hands together in front of your heart.

“I’m sorry, but you’re not my type, Mr. Itoshi,” you said. “Like I said, you’re really not that handsome. Also, I’m into tall guys.”

That was how you found yourself sitting across from Sae Itoshi in a private booth at a fancy restaurant, your hands trembling as you read over the menu items and their associated prices.

“I’m in the mood for steak,” Sae said, stroking his chin and setting down his menu, interlacing his fingers and raising his eyebrows at you. “What about you?”

“Steak is a dinner item, don’t you think?” you said, your head spinning at the fact that he had picked the most expensive thing that was served at the entire establishment. “It’s lunchtime.”

“Steak it is,” you said with a faux smile. “As for me, I’ll just get crackers.”

“Crackers? What kind of lunch is that?” he said.

“An affordable one,” you muttered under your breath.

“What?” he said.

“Nothing!” you said. “It’s nothing. I just really like crackers.”

He gave you an odd look. “Alright.”

You waved the waiter over. He had been hovering around your table for the past few minutes, and as soon as he saw you beckoning him, he sprinted to your side, fumbling with his pen and notepad before reaching you and bowing.

“Sae Itoshi, sir! I’m sorry to interrupt your date, but I just wanted to say that I’m a huge fan of yours. If — if it’s not too much trouble, could I have your autograph?” he said.

Sae sighed, a long-suffering and irritable sigh. “Just take our order first. I’ll give it to you after we’ve eaten.”

“Oh, my apologies,” the waiter said. “What would you like?”

“I’ll have the steak, and I also want this sandwich, but omit the tomatoes, please,” he said, pointing at the menu items he wanted.

“Got it,” the waiter said. “What about you, miss?”

“Just the crackers,” you said. The waiter paused, but when you did not say anything more, he giggled nervously.

“Would you, uh, like some cheese with those?” he said.

“Nope,” you said. “I’m really the biggest fan of plain crackers. That’s all I want.”

“Sure, miss, if that’s what you’d like,” he said. “So, one steak, one sandwich, and a plate of crackers?”

“That’s right,” Sae said, hardly looking up from his phone when he did so. It was only once the waiter had run off to place your orders that he put the device away, resting his elbows against the table, setting his chin in his hands and giving you a bored look. “Why are you glaring at me?”

“Steak and a sandwich, really?” you said.

“A conversation with you was more than enough to increase my appetite,” he said. “Forget about that. This is the part where you ask me questions about myself and I pretend like I am interested enough to answer them.”

“Why would I do that?” you said, rolling your eyes at him. “Actually, I’m pretty sure your answer to that question will be something that makes me even more annoyed than I already am, so don’t bother. What’s your favorite movie?”

“You’re not going to ask me about soccer?” he said. “It’s Taxi Driver, by the way.”

“I don’t know that much about soccer, so what would I even ask? Based on what I’ve seen from the matches my brother and dad watch, it’s just a bunch of sweaty guys kicking around a ball and pretending like they’re dying whenever another player happens to look at them the wrong way,” you said. “Oh, actually, I am curious about that. How many of those injuries are real? Have you ever faked getting hurt?”

“Almost none of them,” he said. “Generally, players will overreact for the sake of entertainment and the possibility of the opposition receiving yellow cards. I’ve never needed to do anything like that, and I never want to, because it looks stupid. Also, soccer is more than that mediocre description you just gave me.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say,” you said. “Man kick ball. Ball go in net. Man happy. That’s the extent of it.”

“Women play soccer, too,” he said.

“It’s the same concept there, but with women instead of men. Not the argument you thought it was,” you said.

“I can’t believe you actually dislike soccer,” he said.

There was definitely some irony in the fact that you couldn’t care less about his chosen sport, and yet you were the one who had somehow finagled your way into eating with him — even if you were the one who was paying. There were so many people who’d do anything to be in your place, but to you, it was a begrudging chore that you were only performing because you felt obligated to. Mentally, you had already marked the entire encounter down as something that you’d laugh about to your friends later; a fun story you’d tell at parties, but little else.

“Like I told you earlier, I’m the older sister. If I didn’t rag on my brother’s interests, then I couldn’t claim that title in any way that mattered,” you said. Sae’s eyes flicked down to the ground.

“You should be nice to your brother when you can,” he said.

“Are you some kind of an only child or saint, then? There’s no way you’re saying that if you have a normal relationship with any possible siblings,” you said.

“I have a little brother,” he said. “Our relationship is okay. I haven’t seen him in a while, though.”

“Long distance?” you said, reaching over to pat him on the hand sympathetically. “That’s the worst. I miss my friends and my pets already, and I’m only here for vacation.”

He snatched his hand away. “You make it sound like we’re dating or something. It’s alright. I’m sure it’ll be the same as it was whenever I go back.”

“True, it’s not like he can dump you and find a new brother who’s both better and more conveniently located than you are. He’s kind of stuck with you forever,” you said.

“Enough about my brother,” he said. “Let’s talk about something else.”

“Okay,” you said. “What TV shows do you watch when you’re bored?”

The two of you continued on in that mindless manner until your food arrived. Your mood, which had steadily been rising as Sae proved himself to be, if nothing else, a willing conversationalist, rapidly plummeted as the waiter set the steak and sandwich in front of Sae and the crackers in front of you.

“Enjoy your meal,” the waiter said.

“I’m sure one of us will,” you said, picking up a cracker and biting into it rebelliously. Sae began to cut his steak into small pieces, using his fork to demurely place the meat on his tongue, doing nothing to disguise the indulgence of eating such a wonderfully prepared meal while you were stuck with crackers.

“What a shame,” Sae said when he was about halfway through his steak. You hadn’t spoken since the food had come, mostly because you were too busy fervently hoping that he would choke and you would somehow be awarded a free meal as an apology on the restaurant’s part, so you jumped at the sound of his voice cutting through the silence. “My eyes were bigger than my stomach. I don’t think I’ll be able to eat that sandwich after all.”

“We should send it back, then,” you said.

“What sort of place do you think this is?” he said. “It’s already been ordered, so it’s ours now.”

“Are you serious?” you said. “What now? I’ll have to pay for something that you didn’t even eat!”

“You’ll just have to have it,” he said.

“Me?” you said, already salivating at the delectable sandwich, the bread which was taunting you. Come, it seemed to be calling out to you. Eat me. You know you want to. “I guess that’s a sensible prospect. Someone’s going to have to take it.”

“Someone will,” he agreed, sliding the plate across the table and stealing a cracker for his troubles. “It might as well be you. My coach will be pretty upset if I get stomach cramps next season because I overate too much on my off time. I’d have to tell him that it was your fault, and then you’d have all of Re Al after you, and you don’t want that. They’re relentless.”

Your fingers inched towards the sandwich. “I definitely don’t. That sounds scary.”

“It would be amusing,” he said. “A waste of resources, though. They might cut my salary to make up for it. ”

“Then the only solution is for me to eat this sandwich,” you said.

“Essentially,” he said. You gave in, taking an enormous bite of the tantalizing sandwich and exhaling in delight. It really was as good as the exorbitant price tag claimed it would be, and although you would never buy such a thing for yourself, you found that you were a little more grateful for the series of events that had led you to be in this position now that your stomach was finally being greeted with something substantial.

“It’s good,” you said, your words muffled by the napkin you held in front of your mouth as you finished chewing. “I can kind of get why they charge so much now. It’s still way more than any sandwich should ever cost, ever, but…I kinda get it. Is your food good, too?”

“It is,” he said.

“Alright!” you said, giving him a double thumbs up. “Then you can consider this a worthy apology! Let’s finish eating and be done with the entire mess.”

“Hm? But how can it be a worthy apology when I’m the one who paid for everything? To me, that doesn’t sound like an apology at all,” he said. You froze, your mouth wide open, the sandwich still halfway to your mouth and drooping in your hands. Sae looked at you, still expressionless, though if you really focused, you would’ve noticed something like mirth dancing in his irises.

“What do you mean?” you said. He unlocked his phone and showed you his screen.

“You can pay by app here,” he said. “I did it as soon as we were done ordering. I was going to tell you after you ordered what you wanted for yourself, but I wasn’t expecting you to be so frugal that you’d really only order crackers!”

“But — but I was supposed to pay! To apologize for—”

“You don’t have to say it,” Sae said sourly, cutting you off. “Believe me, I remember exactly what you have to apologize for, and I’m not going to forget. I just paid this time because I was feeling generous, but you still owe me.”

It was a little suspicious, but you didn’t have any reason to accuse him of anything, so you only narrowed your eyes at him. Taking another bite of your sandwich, you mulled over the latest reveal. He was paying for the entire lunch? You still owed him? You could manipulate that in your favor, then.

“Tomorrow morning, I’ll pay for your breakfast,” you said. “The hotel I’m staying at has complimentary breakfast for guests, but outsiders can eat for a certain fee. I’ll pay for your entrance, and then we can be even.”

“Sure,” he said. “I eat breakfast early, though.”

“How early?” you said.

“I have a snack at 7:00 a.m., before I go for my morning run, and then I eat a proper meal afterwards,” he said.

“Oh!” you said. “Any chance you could not do that?”

“It’s part of my training regimen,” he said. “How about you pay for my food and come on my run with me?”

“I hate running,” you said.

“You’re apologizing. It’s supposed to be an agonizing process,” he said. “You’ve called me short and ugly at least three separate times already, not to mention the entire slamming into me ordeal. It’s really the least you can do.”

“7:00 it is,” you said, though you were fighting back tears at the mere thought of getting up so early while on vacation. “Give me your phone.”

“No way,” he said, holding the phone away from you while you tried to swipe at it. “What are you going to do, post something embarrassing on my social media accounts?”

“Why would I do that?” you said. “I was going to text myself so I had your number and could send you my location for tomorrow.”

“Or you could tell me which hotel you’re staying at now, and then my phone is entirely removed from the equation,” he suggested.

“Do you think I remember the name?” you said. “That’s a rhetorical question, by the way. I don’t.”

He handed you his phone with an aggravated huff. “Fine. Don’t abuse the privilege. I only give important people my contact information.”

“Woah, you really are stingy,” you said, scrolling through his contacts list. All of them either had the designation of work attached to their profiles, or they were clearly members of Sae’s family.

Clicking on the plus sign in the corner, you created a new contact for yourself, typing in your number and giving yourself the name Y/N L/N — sandwich. It fit the naming conventions he had going on, and if it weren’t for the reminder that you were the so-called ‘sandwich girl’, you doubted he would remember who you were in the first place.

“Of course I am. Imagine I gave every crazy fan I met my number. I’d have a million stalkers before you could say Re Al,”he said.

“I’m not a crazy fan. To clarify, I’m not a fan in the first place,” you said, texting yourself from his number before taking out your own phone and responding to the message with a thumbs up.

“Correct, which is why you get my number,” he said.

“I feel so honored,” you said dryly. “Actually, you know what? I would feel honored, if it weren’t for the fact that you’re only giving it to me because you want to wake me up at an unholy hour and make me run with you before paying for your breakfast.”

“Would you rather pay for this meal?” he said, showing you the receipt he had been emailed. Your eyes widened, and then you shook your head rapidly.

“Nope! See you tomorrow!”

The next morning, you tiptoed around the hotel room as you got ready, trying your best not to wake your mother up. She, and the rest of your family, had been up late last night, going out for dinner and dessert well past your bedtime. Far too embarrassed to tell them the realreason you were going to sleep early, you had said you were sick and went to bed as soon as the sun set.

Angrily gnawing on a granola bar from your mother’s emergency stash, you stomped down the spiraling hotel staircase, your eyes still bleary as you texted your family group chat that you were going out for a morning walk but would be back for breakfast.

Sae Itoshi was waiting for you in the lobby, doing some weird stretching routine that involved pressing his foot against the wall and leaning over it. You watched him, bemused, wondering which muscles he was trying to stretch before giving up and deciding it was probably one of those pro moves that you were too uninterested and unathletic for.

“Oh, you’re here,” he said. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” you said, giving him another one of the granola bars you had taken from your mother’s backpack. “Sorry, it’s sort of smushed. It’s been in a backpack for the last few days.”

He pinched the wrapper between his forefinger and thumb, looking at the granola bar with a disgusted expression. You didn’t think it was thategregious, but according to Sae, it must have been all but an offense against humanity, as he tossed it into the trash can within seconds of having it within his grasp.

“I already ate my snack,” he said.

“Why did you throw that away? I could’ve eaten it!” you said.

“That thing had probably melted and reformed at least twice. It was most definitely radioactive. I did you a favor, so you should say thank you,” he said.

“Thank you, Mr. Itoshi, for protecting me from the horrors of a slightly misshapen granola bar. I’m sure that, by throwing away that still edible brick of deliciousness, you have done me a great service. Possibly, you have even saved my life. I am eternally grateful,” you said.

He snorted. “You’re terrible at groveling. No wonder you have to do all of this ridiculous stuff to apologize to me instead of just saying sorry and moving on like a normal person.”

“Look, it’s a product of my upbringing,” you said. He finished stretching and headed out of the door; you followed after him with a smile at the hotel concierge, who seemed surprised to watch you go — whether it was the hour or your company, you weren’t sure. “Whenever my parents did something to upset me, they never apologized. They just came to my room with a bowl of fruit they had cut for me.”

“At least you got fruit,” he said. “My parents just told me to go practice soccer until I had cooled off.”

“Wow, really? That’s hardcore,” you said. Sae began to jog, and you did the same, though it was closer to a run for you than anything. “Did you just kick around the ball until you were less mad?”

“Pretty much,” he said.

“How horrible,” you said.

“Eh, it’s fine. It was a good way to get my anger out, and it had the added benefit of making me better at the sport, so it was pretty constructive overall,” he said.

“I still can’t imagine it,” you said, shaking your head. “What’s it like, being a professional athlete? Your entire life revolves around a game. What about when you can’t play anymore? When you’re too old, or if you get injured?”

His upper lip curled. “Do you want that to happen or something? Why are you speaking it into existence?”

“Not the injury part, but everyone grows old. You can’t stop that,” you said.

“I’ll play for as long as I can, and then I’ll coach for longer,” he said. “After that, I’ll retire and make sure my kids follow in my footsteps. Athletes make a lot of money, so I luckily won’t ever have to worry much about my finances.”

“What if your kids don’t want to play soccer?” you said. He actually sneered this time, the expression at home on his cold face.

“What else would they do with themselves? If they don’t want to play soccer, or if they have no talent at it, then they’re definitely not my children in the first place,” he said.

“Hm, maybe cooking? What if they want to be a chef?” you said.

“Then I’d wonder how your kids snuck into my house,” he said. You gasped, though it was as much for breath as it was out of offense.

“Stop it! You just happened to catch me at a hungry time!” you said.

“Sure,” he said.

“Just entertain the hypothetical that you really did somehow father children that were into cooking instead of soccer. How would you react?” you said.

“I would put them up for adoption,” he said.

“Seriously?” you said.

“No, obviously not,” he said. “What kind of person do you think I am? Why did you actually find that to be within the realm of possibility?”

“I think you’re some kind of soccer fiend. Who knows how dedicated you are to the cause?” you said.

“Not that dedicated,” he said. “I’d be disappointed if my kids can’t play soccer, and our relationship would probably be a bit distant, as I don’t know much about anything else, but I wouldn’t disown them.”

“You don’t know much about anything besides soccer? That’s a little sad,” you said.

“Kind of,” he said.

“Do you wish you knew about other things?” you said.

“Everyone has something they specialize in. It’s not uncommon for someone to know a lot about one thing and only a little about others,” he said. “My ‘thing’ is soccer. If it wasn’t that, then it’d be something else, so if I was in the business of wishing, I’d always be unsatisfied.”

“I get it,” you said. “You’ll face no judgment from me.”

“Like I would care if you did judge me,” he said. “You’re already dying, and we haven’t even started running yet.”

“This isn’t running?” you said. “What the hell? How much faster can you even go?”

“If you think that this is anywhere near the pace of an average soccer match, then I don’t even know where to begin with you,” he said.

“You look slower on TV!”

“What, so you think I’m slow, too?”

You and Sae returned to the hotel in markedly different conditions. He wasn’t even warm, still appearing to be perfectly put together and entirely perspiration-free, smelling faintly like body soap and cologne. On the other hand, you were still trying to regain your wits about you, leaning on his shoulder so that you did not fall over from exhaustion.

“This is embarrassing for you,” he informed you as you walked towards the breakfast area.

“You’re a professional athlete and I’m a normal girl! It would be embarrassing for you if I could keep up!” you argued weakly.

“That would be true, if I wasn’t going easy on you,” he said, pulling out a chair for you and helping you into it, brushing his arm off when he was sure you were seated. “I’m going to go to the bathroom. Be right back.”

“Have fun,” you said, resting your head in your hands, already knowing what you wanted to get. “We can walk through the buffet together. I’ll take the time to recover.”

“You do that,” he said.

While he was gone, you opened your phone, catching up on all of the texts in the family group chat that you hadn’t been able to read while you were attempting to run with Sae.

me: going for a morning walk but i’ll be back for breakfast

me: just wanted to let you all know so you weren’t worried!

uglier sibling: yeah nobody was worried LMFAO

mom: Hope you’re feeling better, honey!

dad: Make sure you’re back before 10. That’s when the complimentary breakfast ends, and we’re not paying for overpriced toast with jam.

uglier sibling: i still can’t believe u went for a morning walk

uglier sibling: like

uglier sibling: since when do u voluntarily wake up in the mornings at all let alone leave ur bed LET ALONE TAKE A WALK

uglier sibling: bitches will meet sae itoshi one time and suddenly they’re fitness influencers or wtvr

uglier sibling: btw i’m still mad that u didn’t get his autograph or a photo with him or anything

uglier sibling: i bet u made it up

uglier sibling: LIAR. FRAUD. HACK.

mom: Honey, leave your sister alone. Why would she make something like that up?

dad: Your mother is right. Y/N doesn’t even know who Sae Itoshi is.

So it was a typical conversation, then. You hadn’t missed much; just your brother being salty and your parents showing some care for your well-being, as well as your father worrying for his wallet like he was prone to do. You didn’t even bother responding, just liking your father’s two messages and then putting your phone away.

“Y/N, you’re back already? What good timing!” your father called out to you from the entrance to the hotel restaurant. The world slowed as you turned to see the rest of your family walking into the restaurant, dressed in their typical touristy outfits. Your mother waved at you, and your brother faked gagging.

“Wow, you look like shit,” he said. “The fuck kinda morning walk were you on?”

“Gross, it’s you,” you said. “Go away! I’m busy.”

“You don’t even have any food with you,” he pointed out. “Can I sit with you? The parents are way too chipper in the mornings.”

“No!” you said.

“But there’s an empty seat at your table. Are you saving it for someone?” he said.

“Yes,” you said, wishing that for once they would’ve all slept in instead of getting here at the exact time that you and Sae had.

“No, you’re not,” he said.

“Come on, you two, let’s sit together and have a family breakfast!” your father said, motioning you and your brother over from where he and your mother had settled at a four-person table. Your brother gave you a pleading look.

“I’ll owe you forever,” he said. “I’ll grind on all of your video games for you the entire plane ride home!”

“I’m not lying, dude, I actually am sitting with someone. Now fuck off and leave me alone!” you hissed.

“Who?” he said, crossing his arms. “Your imaginary friend? Or your imaginary boyfriend!”

“Excuse me? Sorry, I was sitting there. Do you mind—?”

The most comical expression you had ever seen flashed over your brother’s face just then. It was horror mixed with incredulity mixed with extreme confusion. He turned slowly, his jaw dropping as he made eye contact with Sae Itoshi, whose dry countenance and perfect posture were as off-putting as ever.

“What?” your brother said. “What is going on?”

Sae sat opposite you. “This hotel has the most confusing first floor layout I’ve ever encountered. It took me ages just to find the bathroom.”

“There’s signs. Can you not read?” you said. He stared at you dully.

“I can read. I just happened not to look up at them,” he said.

“If I didn’t want to pay for even more food, I’d make another short joke, but I shall refrain,” you said.

“That was cutting it close,” he said.

“Y/N. My beautiful, amazing, wonderful older sister,” your brother said.

“Yes?” you said, preparing yourself for the incoming explosion. “Also, that’s not what you were calling me in the group chat earlier, was it?”

“Is that Sae Itoshi?” he said.

“Liar, fraud, hack, was that what it was?” you said. “Run along, loser. Maybe if you were nicer to me, I’d let you sit with us.”

Your brother opened his mouth to argue, but then, like he had remembered he was standing in front of his idol, he hung his head and trudged off, scuffing his toes against the floor as he did and giving you a betrayed look over his shoulder.

“That’s your little brother?” Sae said.

“Yup,” you said. “Your self-proclaimed biggest fan.”

“And you made him go sit with your parents instead of talking to me? You’re super mean, big sister,” Sae said.

“He wouldn’t shut up if I let him stay here, and considering the goal of this is for you to eat and then leave me alone for the rest of my vacation, that would not be conducive,” you said.

“I see,” he said. “I didn’t realize that was the goal.”

“Isn’t it yours, as well? I’m sure you’d like to enjoy yourself on your time off from soccer,” you said.

“Who says I’m not enjoying myself?” he said. You furrowed your brow at him.

“You’ve had the same expression on your face every time we’ve spoken,” you pointed out, lowering your eyelids and pursing your lips in an imitation of his resting mien. “Like this. It’s totally amphibious.”

“Amphibious?” he repeated. “What does that even mean?”

“You don’t know what amphibious means? Man, when you said you only focused on soccer, I didn’t think it was this bad!” you said.

“I know what amphibious means! I just don’t see how the word applies,” he said.

“Oh, right. Well, you kind of look like the frog emoji,” you said. “Sorry, I could’ve been clearer. That’s my bad.”

“Were you dropped on the head as a baby? I’m asking this from a place of concern, not anger,” Sae said. “It’s because you say so many nonsensical things. After all, I look nothing like the frog emoji.”

“Sure, and people tell me I look like a famous actress,” you said.

“Really?” he said.

“No, I thought we were both saying things that aren’t true,” you said.

“I think you look like a famous actress,” he said. “There. Now we’re both saying things that are true.”

“Well done, Mr. Itoshi! That was clever,” you said, knowing when to concede.

“Thank you,” he said. “Let’s go get our food now. If you die of starvation on my watch, it’ll be a major scandal for Re Al.”

“Your manager must love you,” you said. “So conscientious of your public image.”

“Nope, he’s usually pretty pissed at me,” he said as the two of you got in the buffet line.

“What for?” you said.

“Contrary to what you think, I’m pretty unconcerned with my public image. I’m a soccer player, not some kind of philanthropist or actor or whatever,” he said. “What does it matter if I offend people? My value is in playing well, not being friendly or kind.”

“No one ever accused you of being either of those two,” you said, spreading butter and jam over your toast. “You’re not that bad, though.”

“You’re not that bad, either,” he said. “At least, you’re better company than my manager.”

“I’ll take it as a compliment,” you said. He scoffed.

“You have low standards,” he said.

“Yours are lower,” you said.

“Very mature response.”

“Thanks!”

Sae was a pretty agreeable breakfast partner. He wasn’t as impossibly cheerful as your parents, who generally drove you crazy with their talkativeness so early in the day, but he also wasn’t as silent and closed off as your brother, who was prone to snapping at others until he had finished at least half of his meal. As with lunch yesterday, it was almost an enjoyable experience, right up until you remembered whose card he was eating on.

“Where are you going?” he said when your plates had been cleared and you had pushed yourself to your feet. He followed after you as you made your way to the hostess’s station, ignoring the whispers that echoed behind the two of you.

“To pay for you to be here, duh,” you said, fishing around in your purse for your wallet. “I know you’re famous and all, but that doesn’t mean you get to eat for free. In fact, that was kind of the point of the meal.”

“I already paid for myself, so you can go and sit back down with your family if you’d like,” he said.

“What? When?” you said.

“I wouldn’t spend that long in a bathroom,” he said. “Not a public one.”

“You little—! Now what?” you said.

“Now you have to see me tomorrow,” he said. “Bye. I’ll pick you up for dinner, so make sure to wear something nice, and bring your credit card. It’s your treat.”

He walked off with a jaunty wave, leaving you standing there, confounded by the development. He had paid for himself again? What was the point of making you take him places if he was just going to cough up the cash himself anyways?

“Psst. Y/N,” your brother said. You weren’t sure when or where he had appeared, but it remained that he was suddenly tapping you on the shoulder and whispering in your ear. “Does Sae Itoshi have a crush on you? If so, please ask if he can get tickets for dad and I to attend his next game.”

“What?” you said, a shockwave running through your entire body at the mere thought of Sae having a crush on you. It was so juvenile and cliched as to be out of Sae’s character entirely. “No! I just owe him.”

“For what?” your brother said.

“I ran into him, called him ugly, and said that he was short,” you said. “Indirectly, of course, but it still happened. I was supposed to buy him lunch yesterday as an apology, but then he ended up paying for us both, and then today, I went on a run with him, and I was going to pay for him to have breakfast here, but guess what?”

“He paid for himself?” your brother said.

“He paid for — yeah, how did you know?” you said.

“There weren’t that many ways the story could’ve gone. Also, I overheard you guys talking,” he said.

“Creep,” you said.

“Weirdo,” he said.

“Freak,” you said.

“Stupid,” he said. “I bet he has a crush on you.”

“Why would he? We have zero common interests, and I’ve mostly only insulted him in our very short time knowing one another,” you said.

“Maybe he’s into that. Some guys are. My one friend is — actually, I’m not exposing him like that,” he said.

“Thank you, because I really didn’t want to know,” you said.

“Anyways, where I was going with that is some guys like girls who humble them a bit. Especially someone like Sae Itoshi; he’s probably so used to people falling all over themselves to get his attention that it’s nice for him to hang out with someone who’s too oblivious to care about that kind of stuff,” he said.

“People like you?” you said. “I told him you were his biggest fan, just so you know.”

“Why would you do that?” your brother said, his eyes bugging out and his mouth forming a pained grimace. “He probably thinks I’m a nerd now!”

“You do it to yourself, buddy,” you said. “Let’s go. It looks like the parents want us to go sit with them. Think you can handle it?”

“After learning that my hero has a crush on my sister and, furthermore, probably thinks of me as some kind of dweeb, I can handle anything,” he said.

The entire day, you pondered your brother’s words. Did Sae have a crush on you? Running through his actions and every conversation you both had ever had led you to think that he did not. It didn’t seem like he liked you very much in even a platonic sense, so how could anyone begin to think he liked you romantically? It was just tolerance for the sake of his pride, that was all.

And you definitely didn’t like him. He was emotionless and conceited and teased you far too often. What did it matter that he was somewhat attractive? He had a terrible personality, and you bet that if more of his fans knew what he was like, he wouldn’t have any to begin with.

No wonder Sae’s manager hated him. He was probably a jerk to his poor employees, too.

“We’re thinking of going here for dinner tonight,” your father said the next day. “Look, their reviews are pretty high, and their prices aren’t crazy. What does everyone think?”

“I’m fine with anything,” your mother said.

“Same here,” your brother said.

“Y/N?” your father said. You were about to respond when your own phone buzzed. You knew exactly who it was texting you, and you sighed as you opened it.

sae itoshi (dumb haircut): I will be there in one hour.

sae itoshi (dumb haircut): You better not have forgotten about our plans for tonight.

sae itoshi (dumb haircut): I made a reservation, so I’ll really be mad if you stand me up.

sae itoshi (dumb haircut): Especially because you’re paying.

me: I WILL BE THERE OMFG STOP TEXTING ME

sae itoshi (dumb haircut): Okay.

“I can’t,” you said.

“Why not? Are you on some new diet or something? They should have vegetarian options, so that won’t be a problem,” your father said. “We can look at their menu beforehand if you prefer, and if you really don’t like anything, then we can find somewhere else.”

“I already have plans,” you said, your lower lip jutting out childishly. “Not that I want to! But I made a promise.”

“You already have plans? What’s that supposed to mean?” your mother said.

“I’m having dinner with someone,” you said.

“Ooh, how exciting! With who?” she said.

“I bet I can guess!” your brother sang.

“Enough out of you!” you said, kicking him in the back of the leg. He doubled over, though that did not stop him from smirking at you.

“Y/N and Sae, sitting in a tree! K-I-S-S-I-N-G!” he said.

“You’re going out with Sae Itoshi?” your father said. “You should’ve just said so! That’s perfectly alright, honey. Actually, he’s the one man I’m not upset about you dating!”

“We are not dating!” you said. “It’s a more transactional relationship than that. No feelings involved. It’s just me apologizing to him.”

“Are you close enough to him to get an autograph for your brother and I?” your dad said.

“Um.” You thought about it. Would Sae give you an autograph for them? You weren’t sure. There was a chance he would, but there was also a high chance he would not. “I dunno. I can ask.”

“You’ll ask for dad, but not for me? Wow, I see how it is,” your brother said.

“Yeah, because you’re annoying!” you said. “Ugh. I have to get ready now. He’ll be here to get me in an hour. Have fun at dinner, all of you. Keep me in your thoughts and prayers.”

“You have fun as well,” your mother said. “Make sure not to bring any money with you. Gentlemen should always pay on the first date.”

“I’ll be sure to tell him that,” you said, giving up on explaining things to your family for the sake of your sanity.

Sae was aggressively punctual. Exactly an hour after he had texted you, a shiny black car was pulling up in the valet lane, and a tall, bald man in a suit was opening the door for you. You climbed in awkwardly, finding Sae to be sitting on the other side, gazing out of the window pensively.

“Hello,” you said, smoothing your dress and buckling your seatbelt. “You have a driver?”

“Of course I do,” he said. “I usually walk places when I’m on vacation, but this restaurant is kind of far, so I thought it’d be more prudent to have the driver take us.”

“I see,” you said. “Thank you, driver, sir.”

The driver hummed in acknowledgement but did not say anything else. You supposed he probably wasn’t used to talking with his passengers; you doubted Sae ever spoke to him much.

“It’s been so hot out recently,” Sae said stiffly.

“That’s what happens during the summer, yes,” you said.

“That’s true,” he said.

“You’re right, though,” you said. “It has been hot.”

“Super hot,” he said.

“Yes,” you said. “Super hot.”

That must’ve been why there was a slight redness to his cheeks. There was definitely no other reason. And there wasn’t any other reason for why you felt uncomfortably warm, shifting in your seat to dissipate the feeling in your stomach. It was the temperature. That was all.

Given the trend, you really should have anticipated it when Sae paid for your dinner while you were freshening up in the bathroom, but you really had not seen it coming in the slightest. He scrunched up his face when you argued, simply telling you that he would see you tomorrow before dropping you back off at your hotel, the receipt in your hand, his flourishing signature scrawled across the back.

“For your brother,” he had said, handing it to you before you could even ask him for his autograph. “You said he was a fan, right? I’ll get him a better one later, but for now, this should do.”

You spent every day of the rest of that vacation with Sae Itoshi. Some days, you would accompany him on a morning walk — he had softened to slowing his pace, so that he was only barely jogging instead of the full on run that he had forced you into that first time — and on others, the two of you would have some meal or another together. The common theme was that, if there was money involved, he would take care of it. Without question, without hesitation, he always slapped your hand back and pulled out his own credit card, telling you that now you both had to meet again, and the next time you really would be the one paying, or else he’d never be able to forgive you for your terrible behavior.

Your parents and brother complained about it at first, as your new friendship with Sae — could it be considered a friendship, or was it something else? — meant you did not see them much on what was supposed to be a family vacation.

You brought it up with Sae, and he responded with something about how it wouldn’t have been a problem at all if you weren’t such a freeloader and actually paid for him, like you were supposed to. This resulted in a lighthearted squabble between you both, which in turn made you forget your family’s whining, and as well you should have. You could take a million more vacations with them, but you’d likely never get a chance to hang out with Sae Itoshi again, so why wouldn’t you take advantage of it when you could?

Sae didn’t forget, though. He sent you back from dinner the next evening with a soccer ball he had won in one of his games, his signature and a note of gratitude scribbled on it in black marker.

Thank you for letting me borrow your daughter and sister from you while you’re on your trip. I really appreciate it, even if she doesn’t know anything about soccer. — Sae Itoshi

They stopped complaining after that. The ball became your brother’s most prized possession, and every day, your father would tell you how happy he was that you had made such a considerate friend.

“And you know, if you ever want to date him,” he’d say, elbowing you in the side with an obnoxious wink. “We wouldn’t be opposed!”

Your mother was in the same boat. “He really cares about you, I think. Enough that he gave your family something so precious just because he thought we didn’t like him. You could do a lot worse than that.”

“Plus, he’s rich and famous!” your brother would chime in without fail. “Double win!”

“You guys are all nuts,” you’d tell them, shaking your head to disguise how pleased the thought of dating Sae made you.

It could never happen. Like your brother was so happy to remind you, he was rich and famous, an athlete that was adored worldwide and played for the best soccer club in history. He could have any girl he wanted, so why would he ever choose you? You and he were from two different planes of existence. Maybe you could pretend for a little bit that you weren’t, but the date for your eventual departure from Spain was drawing closer and closer, and that day meant the certain end of the fever dream that was your closeness with Sae.

You had been prepared from the start for it to finish in this way. You would go home and tell all of your friends about your trip, how you had spent almost every day with the famous soccer player Sae Itoshi, how he had given you his phone number and made you go on runs with him, how together, you and him had eaten lunch and dinner and breakfast and several meals that you were convinced he had just made up to have an excuse to buy food for the two of you — brunch, linner, midnight snacks and third desserts.

There were other things that you wouldn’t tell them, too, things that Sae had not necessarily said to you in confidence but which you sensed were held close to his heart and which you would therefore hold close to yours. His little brother was named Rin, and they had the same eyes, though Rin’s were quicker to water and perpetually had hair falling into them. He still watched the same shows he used to when he was very small, because they reminded him of his parents’ home. He thought that a person’s athletic potential could be determined by the shape of their butt, but he tended to avoid looking as a form of respect for others.

“That’s a pretty cool skill, Sae! What do you think my athletic potential is?” you had asked when he had revealed that last fact.

“If it’s possible for a person to have negative potential, then that’s about what yours is. If it’s not, then you’re definitely at a zero,” he had responded.

“You didn’t even look,” you had said, shoving a French fry into his mouth as punishment. He hated French fries for how unhealthy they were, and you had half-expected him to lecture you about fats and oils and salts, but instead, he had dutifully chewed and swallowed without any theatrics.

“Don’t need to, and don’t plan to,” he had said, and that was that. “I’ve already seen you run, and that told me all I needed to know about your athletic skills. Or, in this case, your lack thereof.”

If you took his words at face value, then you would’ve thought he truly hated you. He never missed a chance to make fun of you, and you were the same way — certainly, anyone who overheard your conversations would’ve been convinced that you and he were bitter enemies. But that was because they didn’t see the way he always positioned himself on the sidewalk so that he was between you and the oncoming traffic. They didn’t see the way he’d pull out your chair and only pretend to frown when you’d thank him for it. They didn’t see the way his ears would turn pink if you dared to smile in his direction or, heaven forbid, agreed with what he was saying instead of arguing, as was your go-to.

No, you were pretty confident that Sae Itoshi did not hate you. It was just that soccer was his thing and all other areas were beyond him, areas which included such fields as emotional awareness and sensitivity.

Maybe you might tell the friends you were particularly close to about that. Sae Itoshi treated me pretty well, you’d say, with grand, sweeping hand motions to emphasize the point. As well as he knew how to, which was well enough for me. If I ever get a boyfriend, they’ll have a lot to live up to. Seems kind of unfair to whatever poor schmuck gets stuck with the task, don’t you think? Considering the two of us never even dated…

“I'm going home tomorrow morning,” you said. The sun was setting, and the two of you were walking along the same stretch of beach that you had first met at. “I finished packing all of my things before dinner. It’s surreal, almost. I feel like an entirely different person now, compared to when I came here.”

“Is that so?” he said, the corners of his lips twitching slightly. “I wonder why.”

“Did you just smile?” you said. Immediately, he scowled.

“No way,” he said. “I’d never smile because of something you said.”

“Uh-huh, uh-huh, you definitely smiled. I made you smile! I made you smile! I made you smile!” you said, poking him in the cheek repeatedly. Sae’s expressions were so subtle that it was easy to overlook them before they had vanished, but there was no overlooking what you had just seen. He had definitely smiled at you, or at least he had been about to.

“Stop poking me,” he grumbled.

“No,” you said, poking him again. “Only if you smile again.”

“Hell no,” he said. You poked his cheek again. “Y/N. Stop it.”

“Will you miss me?” you said.

“Not if you don’t quit that!” he said, grabbing your wrist when you prepared to poke him again. Heat rose to your cheeks at the way his thumb rested against your pulse, and when he realized he was holding your hand so familiarly, his own cheeks flushed. “No. I won’t.”

“I’ll miss you,” you said, digging your feet into the sand, turning out to the sea because you couldn’t stand to look at him when you were being so vulnerable. “I��ll tell everyone I know about you, of course, but it won’t be the same. Something funny will happen, and I’ll think to myself, oh, Sae would’ve snorted at that — but not laughed, because you don’t laugh. Or I’ll order shitty French fries, and it’ll remind me of how much you’d scold me for eating them. You’d say something like, those are basically heart attacks in a box, and then you’d pour a bottle of salted kombucha down my throat to cleanse my system.”

Somewhere in the distance, a seagull squawked, reminding you of the fateful encounter from so long ago. You wished you could go back and get to know Sae all over again. You wished you could ask him the same questions and not know the answers, so that you were surprised when he told them to you. You wished you could argue with him for a little bit longer. You wished that, one more time, you could imply he was short and ugly and slow and a thousand other rude adjectives, even if he was really none of those things, none of them at all.

“I’m going to ask you one last question, okay?” you said. “Please think over your answer carefully. It’s important.”

“Okay,” he said, uncharacteristically gently. “I’ll really consider it well.”

“What’s your favorite animal?” you said.

“Seagulls,” he said immediately, directly contradicting his solemn oath. You laughed at this, burying your face in your hands to hide the hitch in your throat.

“You traitor,” you said. “You know all about the feud between seagulls and I, and yet you’re still claiming they’re your favorites?”

“They always have been,” he said. “I like migratory birds, how they don’t stay in one place but are always moving around. It must be such a blissful life.”

“But it’s probably pretty lonely, too,” you said. “They don’t have anywhere to call home.”

“I like lonely things,” he said. “That’s why the end of the summer is my favorite season.”

“Hm,” you said. “Then, if I tell you that I’ll be lonely once I leave here, will you like me, too?”

He looked at you, but you stared resolutely ahead, your gaze trained on the horizon, the way his had been on the day you had run into him. It was such a kiddish question, and internally, you were beating yourself up for asking it, but deep down, you wanted to know, so you did not move to retract it.

“Well, I like seagulls for a different reason now,” he said.

So that was your answer, then. The waves crashed against the shore, and a balmy wind blew through your hair and clothes, carrying the light scent of Sae’s cologne to your nose, the same one he had worn for as long as you could remember.

“I understand,” you said.

“These days, it’s a specific seagull I’m fond of, actually,” he said.

“Huh? Like a breed or something?” you said.

“No, just one bird in particular,” he said. “It did me a really huge favor recently.”

“What are you talking about? You always say that you suspect I was dropped on the head as a baby, but between the two of us, I think the one that was dropped was you,” you said, the fraying ends of your rejected feelings driving you to irascibility.

“A while ago, I was standing on the beach, feeling pretty annoyed with the world — as usual,” he said. “I had had to run from the paparazzi in order to go on this vacation without being bothered, you know, and I honestly was starting to question if I’d ever be seen as a normal person. I get that the only thing I’m good at is soccer, but it’s pretty tiring to be thought of as a guy who kicks balls around and nothing more.”

Unbidden, you inhaled sharply, because the story was starting to sound familiar. Spinning on your heel, you were met with the sight of Sae smiling shyly, peering down at you through his unfairly long eyelashes.

“That seagull must’ve known how I was feeling. There’s no other explanation for it all. It must’ve known how I was feeling, and somehow, it managed to find the one person in the entire world that saw me as something other than that. Do you know what it did next? It stole that person’s sandwich, and it led her right to me,” he said.

“Are you talking about me?” you said.

“How many people do you think have called me a short, ugly, D-list celebrity instead of asking for my autograph upon meeting me?” he said.

“Probably not very many,” you said. He chuckled.

“Probably not any,” he said. You rested your forehead against his shoulder.

“Probably not,” you said. He stroked your hair, though his motions were like a marionette’s — he was not very used to this type of relationship, after all. But he was trying his best, and you found that to be far more endearing than any suave gestures might’ve been.

“I know you have to go soon, so I was planning on not saying anything,” he said. “What would be the point? I figured this was just a summer fling for you. But then you had to go and be all sentimental, and I had to say something.”

“I’m glad you did,” you said. “It would’ve been worse if I had returned home without knowing at all. Where do we go from here, though?”

“Where do we go from here? Let me think. Well, I’ll ask you to be my girlfriend,” he said. “And you’ll say yes, because who would ever reject me? Then we’ll talk on the phone every day, and you can send me photos of things you find funny, and I’ll have a sixth sense for when you’re eating French fries and I’ll send you strongly worded texts in reprimand. You’ll fly over to watch my matches whenever possible, and when I’m on my next break, I’ll come visit you and meet your family and friends properly.”

“Getting a little presumptuous, aren’t we? What if I say no?” you said.

“Will you?” he said.

“Not sure. How about you ask and find out?” you said.

“If you’re going to say no, then I don’t want to,” he said. You stuck your tongue out at him.

“I can’t be with a man who’s afraid of rejection. It was nice knowing you, Sae,” you said. “See you around. Hope you lose the Champions League.”

“Wait! I’m not afraid of rejection,” he said. “Y/N, will you be my girlfriend? Officially, I mean.”

“Yes, of course,” you said. “But you’re going to have to buy my plane tickets if you want me to watch you. Even with frequent flier miles, I doubt I can afford coming to see you that often.”

“Consider it done,” he said. You grinned at him.

“You know, if you’re my boyfriend, then you’re going to have to keep paying for our dates, as well. My mother said that’s the gentlemanly thing for you to do,” you said.

“Right, I was expecting that,” he said. “Don’t you think there’s a reason why I haven’t let you buy anything yet?”

“Then how am I ever supposed to apologize to you for the circumstances of our first meeting? I mean, I was pretty harsh,” you said.

“That’s true,” he said. “Let me think.”

“Mhm,” you said. “I know that that’s out of your comfort zone, so I’ll give you a minute.”

“I have an idea,” he said, though it was accompanied by a slight glare at your jab.

“What is it?” you said.

“Close your eyes,” he said. You obliged, squeezing them shut, though not without widening your feet into the defensive stance he had demonstrated to you on the day he had attempted to teach you basic soccer skills.

“What are you going to do, tackle me or something? I’m using the position you taught me, but please be gentle, you’re way more muscular than—!”

You were cut off by him pressing his lips to yours. It was a soft kiss, gentle and light, like feathers in the air or water against the sand, and he pulled away before you could really react or reciprocate. He had left you wanting, and you knew he knew that, because there was a smugness to his voice when he spoke next.

“Apology accepted,” he said as you blinked at him in shock, your mind still lagging well behind your body. “Now we’re even.”

“Hold on,” you said. “I’m suddenly feeling very repentant and remorseful. Are you quite sure you forgive me with just that?”

He laughed. It was such a lovely sound, his laugh, and you would’ve told him so if you weren’t afraid that he’d stop when you pointed it out.

“Maybe not,” he said. “You might have to apologize a bit more.”

“That sounds doable,” you said. “Yeah, I might be able to work that in. It’ll be agonizing, but a wise man once told me that that’s just the nature of apologizing, so it’s the least I can do, right?”

“Oh, shut up,” he said, holding your face in his hands and leaning in. You did the same, your eyes closing all on their own as you sought out the connection he had deprived you of earlier.

As the sun set over the horizon and the seagulls settled in for the night, he kissed you again.

#AAAAA i was soso excited to get my mitts on this when i first saw it #next is your mydei fic ( ◡̀ . ◡́)ᕤ #☆ recs #sae #bllk

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bobur-the-berry-guy · 2 days ago

Text

Random horny thoughts abt my fav blue lock men!

ᯓ★୭˚

•written in the trenches of the end of my period the power of sleep deprivation stress and my clit, enjoy

•made the banner myself too hihi (⁠◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕⁠✿⁠)

••requests are open btw

ft. Isagi, Hiori, Nanase, Bachira, Rin, Karasu, Yukimiya

Cw : 18+ obvi, afab!reader, biting, hickeys, oral (f/m receiving), fingering, jerking off, lowk sadism, rough, hand restriction, edging, overstimulation, sub/dom/switch dynamics kinda???, size difference kink, degradation and praise, being fucked in someone else's clothes, they're all kinda freaky in some way shape or form, generally just a horny post

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧⋆.˚✮•𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂•✮˚.⋆✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

ᯓ★୭˚ To preface this, i must say i want Isagi BAD. Anyway, everyone and their mama knows he has a thing for thighs. Yours especially. It's just the way they jiggle a bit when you walk, the way they shift when you move your hips and how they practically melt when you sit. In his eyes they're the most delicious thing he can lay his eyes upon. And the perfect earmuffs. He can spend hours between them, licking up your juices and playing you with his tongue. He keep you mostly clean, but that doesn't stop him from eating messy. By the time he's done pretty much his whole lower half of the face is soaked and dripping, sometimes he gets a but of it on his fringe too somehow. He gets off on just getting you off - the visual of you shaking and your teary face paired with your cute moans is more than enough for him.

more under the cut!

He likes it best when you're on your back or sitting on his face - he lives for the moments you squish his head with your thighs, drowing out any other sound and lowkey choking him like that. He doesn't care if he can't breathe or if it feels like he's gonna have his jaw relocated - do it! Squeeze his face, tug on his hair, put him in a headlock, squirm and trash around. To him that's only a sign he's doing his job well. And don't get me started on what a sucker he is for eye contact. When you look down at him with these wet eyes and you're doing your damnest not to roll them back in your head he might just cum in his pants.

"No, no— not yet. Let me keep going. Please."

Next morning you wake up and your legs still feel funny and you've got hickeys and little bites all over the insides of your thighs, and he's clinging onto you like a koala. Isagi really liked his meal.

He doesn't expect you to return the favour, but he won't stop you if you want to. He gets all shy and red, and he whimpers!! He's all twitchy and he can't keep his voice down, and his doing his hardest to look you in the eyes but it's so hard - he's too embarrassed about just how easily you have him like that yet he's too captivated by the sight in front of him to look away. He will hold your hair out of your face if he thinks it could be making it harder for you even in the slightest. Though he has to psychically stop himself from gripping your hair too hard or squishing your face with his thighs. Lowkey, I'd like him to squish my face with his thighs. #needthat

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧☄. *. ⋆✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

ᯓ★୭˚ I know lately everyone's been talking about the Hiori ultra-sadist thing, and you're here to listen to me talk about it too. Now, just let me speak. He's so cute and he's so gentle and careful with you outside of.. activities, but the second he's gotten you in bed it's like a switch flips. I don't think the fact that he's 6 fucking ft tall really registers until you're under him and he's caging you between him and the mattress. You've got nowhere to go and the look on his face tells you that you'll be staying there for a while.

Whatever you let him do, he will. His deal isn't pushing your bounderies but trying to see how far he can push you. And let me tell you he is skilled with his hands. He's making you almost cum over and over again until you're basically sobbing and begging him to just do it. Other thing he does every time is holding your wrists. He won't tie them, no - he wants to hold them together himself, making sure you can't touch neither him nor yourself. Might pinch your nipples if you let him. When he finally decides to let you finish he's not giving you more than a minute to catch a breath before he's sliding his dick in you. And he's not gonna go soft now either. The hand that he was getting you off with will be gripping your hips with enough force that you'll see faint bruises the next day, and when he's close to cumming himself he's gonna move it back down to play with your clit. He switches biting and sucking on your neck and kissing you until both of you need to break the kiss so you can breathe. Won't stop you if you bite him back though. With the way he's fucking you, you'd think he's on a mission to break the bed again. Your neighbours hate you.

"Ya like it that much, huh? Don't even try to keep quiet, or I'm gonna keep going till ya beg me to stop."

HIS ACCENT UGH. He won't shut up. He keeps talking and cooing even when he's pretty sure you can't even process a word anymore. It's like his goal is to fuck you senseless. It is actually

After it's over he's taking real good care of you. He's wiping you clean, bringing food n water, running a bath - the works. Whatever you say you want it's yours. What kind of a man is he if he pounds your brain out and doesn't treat you like a princess after? Though, he may press on the bruises and bites a bit to see you squirm before he gently kisses you again.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧☄. *. ⋆✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

ᯓ★୭˚ Nanase is a simple man that knows what he wants - someone who can lead him. That counts in the bedroom too. Tell him what you want and you have it - he lives to make you happy. If it's your first time or you don't have an exact idea of what you want he's going gentle and sensual on you - he takes his time with everything. He's undressing you slowly, peeling each layer, kissing and caressing you all over. He holds your hand while he fingers you with the other, murmuring softly into your ear. And even when he finally slips his dick in you he still holds your hand, groaning and moaning into your mouth as he kisses you. All in all, he treats you like delicate china porcelain.

If you want him to rock your world he's more than ready. He's holding you by the hips and he's pouding into you like he hasn't touched you in a decade, leaving little crescent nail marks and biting your shoulder. He's going fast and hard, but if you want him too keep going for too long he's gonna get overstimulated himself and he's gonna be all jittery. He's real sensetive. The only thing he won't do is hitting you or degrading you - he can't bring himself to do that. Now, if you want to rock his world, he's more than happy and willing to sit back and let you do whatever you want with him. Bite him, scratch him, have fun - he likes it when you take the lead. And I'm gonna remind you he gets overstimulated easily. You could be denying his orgasm once or twice in a row an he's gonna be almost in tears, but it hurts so good. All he's gonna do is squeeze the bedsheets, or preferably, your hand and give you more room to work with. Likes it best when you're riding him and hes sitting with his back leaned to the pillows and headboard - he can feel your body pressed into his while you're boucing on him into oblivion, holding his hand and scratching him with the other while he's holding yours and squeezing your hips, foreheads pressed into each other as you try to kiss but you're both too out of it for it to be anything more that sloppy and uncoherent try that will end with a string of salive between the two of you.

"Ah— keep going— mh- ngh— just like that!"

He keeps babbling on, his accent making him sound even cuter. AGAIN THE ACCENT UGH. He begs you for something, and he's not even sure what exactly he's begging and sobbing over. He's whimpering and twitching and whining, and he's having the time of his life.

By the time you guys are done you're practically melting onto the matress, huffing and puffing and you're coming down from your high. Aftercare comes after a small window for you both to come back to your senses. You'd really need it.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧☄. *. ⋆✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

ᯓ★୭˚ Bachira is a fucking pervert, and he's proud of himself for that too. He can't keep his grabby hands to himself - he's constantly holding and pinching your waist, feeling up your tits and ass, playing with the waistband of your pants. He's shameless. And that's while you're out in public too. Sometimes you'd have to drag him back home to do him so he can stop acting like that.. for today and maybe tomorrow.

You know the saying "great minds think alike"? Because, just like Isagi, this man could die suffocated between your legs and he'd die the happiest man on earth. And he's not quiet about it either. He's slurping and gasping and talking trough your juices as if he isnt tongue deep in you, bumping his nose into your clit and pinching it every now and than. He treats how many times he can many you cum like a game - the more, the higher the score. He's keeping track too. At some point he'd have to hold your legs apart so he can keep going at it, before you basically become like jelly anyway. If he decided he doesn't wanna eat you out anymore and finally wants to actually fuck you instead, he's having you in any position he can think of. And he's trying each at least twice too, just to be sure if you both really like it or if you did it correctly the first time.

"Ah— yeah, you like that! No, no, i wanna keep going—! You look so cute like that-, ngh—!

As i said, this man is NOT keeping it quiet. He doesn't see the point in it - if you're making him feel good why wouldn't he show it? Keeps the same mentality about you too. If you even try to quiet yourself down he's gonna go harder just to make you question if it's really worth trying to keep the volume down.

Next morning you wake up and see him as snug as a bug, staring at you all soft and innocent as if he didn't rearrange your guts in at least three different ways a few hours ago.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧☄. *. ⋆✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

ᯓ★୭˚ For someone as intense as Rin, you'd think he'd be rough, but in reality he's probably the most sensual and caring lover you could have. He'd be really unsure in the beginning, but it's not like he would show it anyway. He's never really been that close with anyone, definitely not nearly close or trusting enough to be so open and vulnerable. So if you've got him in bed, expect the intensity to be to the max. He's not gonna be nasty, but he's not holding himself back either.

He'd like it best when he can see your face well. None of that stuff where he can't see how glossy your eyes are or how good he's making you feel. He's already drooling from just that. He's holding your hand too. If you're under him, you're basically caged between him and the matress. One arm thrown over his neck and your legs over his waist, his face switching between being all up in ypur neck and inhaling your scent to kissing you sloppily, too pussy-drunk to really even kiss you well. You're clawing at his back from how deep he's going, and he's trying not to bust right then and there from just how good you sound moaning and whimpering in his ear. If you're on top of him, he'd have to be still at least to some extend sitting up so he can feel your torso brushing against his as you're bouncing on him. He's all about that skin to skin contact, as he is for the eye contact. He'd have to try real hard not to let his eyes roll into the back of his skull so he can still look at how good you look like that. If he notices you getting tired, he's taking the job in his own hand and will have you hold onto him and grab your hips to bounce you on his dick himself.

"Nhg— ah— yeah, just like that, keep your eyes on me— mmh!"

I don't think he'd really be loud, but he's noisy, you know? He can't keep himself silent. He's constantly letting out little sighs and groaning, along with the jolting and and the occasional trembling. And if you're treating him real good, he'd whimper too. I mean, imagine you're pretty much laying on top of him, kissing all over his face and neck, whispering softly as you're jerking him off with one hand and he's just.. whimpering. Whimperig and jolting. Join my whimpery Rin agenda.

And when you're finally done with it there's nothing on the planet that would make Rin move in the next few minutes. He's just holding you, trying to catch his breath. After that he'd have you both shower quickly, maybe grab some water and snack and back to bed you go. He's gonna be real cuddly after. He won't say much, but he'll hold you close and caress you lovingly every now and then until he falls asleep.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧☄. *. ⋆✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

ᯓ★୭˚ International backbender Karasu awakens something in me. Him and his bigass attitude n that bigass nose💕

He's gonna talk up a big game and that confidence is definitely rooted in something. I mean, this man is ginormous even if we're not talking about what's going on in his pants. Just seeing you looking up at him gets him going. Seeing how big he looks compared to you does something to him. All that is to say he's taking his sweet time with prepping you. You both know that if that doesn't happen and you guys just try to force his dick in with no prep, it would not be a good experience. That, and he just really likes teasing you. He'd start out with eating you out first, making sure you're nice and wet before slipping his fingers in. He's scissoring and circling against your cervix with his fingers while he switches between licking your clit and pressing his nose against it. To be honest, he doesn't even really need to use his fingers for all that long. When his hand gets tired he just eats you out until you cum against his mouth and nose.

Now, when he's finally sure he can fuck you without hurting you, he'll go slow at first. He's having you sandwiched between his body and the bed and he's slowly pumping in and out of you, making sure he's not going too fast too soon. And despite how gentle he wants to be, it's flaking off the more you moan and the more he looks at you going stupid over barely anything. And honestly, seeing how much he fills you you doesn't help him at all either. He's steadily pumping up the speed into a quick rhythm that makes your eyes roll, and along with that he keeps that same rhythm with his fingers on your clit. Only when he's just so close to cumming does the rhythm go unsteady and jerky.. but he's so cute like that it only makes it better.

"Tryin' to force it in yourself, huh? That's kinda hot. Don't ya think you'd need a little help first?"

He won't shut up. There isn't a power on this earth to make him shut up. He's gonna be talking and groaning and moaning the entire time, and honestly he wants you to be vocal too. He's got a thing for voices, so hearing you sass him back or try to babble something back through whimpers gets him going even more.

With all that energy he's got he could go a few rounds, but when it's all done he's so damn clingy. You're not going anywhere without him doting and leaning on you lovingly. After you're fresh and showered and back to bed he's acting like a koala. Head in your chest, arms around you, practically purring. And even then he's still talking. He's gonna talk, talk and talk.. talk into sleeping like a log. But just so you know, he snores a bit.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧☄. *. ⋆✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

ᯓ★୭˚ Your resident dreamboat Yukimiya is here. He's always so gentle and so sweet you can feel your teeth ache at just the sight of him. He's doting on you and always looking for a way to make you happy.. sigh, the things I'd do to that man. Anyway, regardless of just how charming he is, that doesn't mean he doesn't have his own crazy side. I mean, he is in the blue lock program after all. Have you seen anyone normal in there?

Said crazy side is his unmatched possessiveness. He won't act like some crazy jealous boyfriend but he's gonna make sure you and everyone else knows that you're with him, and he's gonna satisfy that possessive side too. He's proud to have you, so is it really so shameful to want everyone else to know that? Even with all that, he's gonna be sensual. He'll make sure you're all good and comfortable while he's balls deep in you, holding you close and breathing you in and whispering into the shell of your ear. Doesn't matter if you're under him or on top, you're chest to chest with him, clawing at his back and moaning into his ear while he's meticulously rearranging your guts. He makes sure to leave you breathless with kisses throughout the whole thing, only letting you get a few breaths in so he can leave a hickey or two somewhere.. he also has a thing for fucking you while you're wearing his clothes. If you're wearing his shirt he's tearing everything expect it right off and he's lifting it up just enough to see himself entering in and out of you. He he likes it a bit too much, but he can't help himself. He might cum a bit earlier than he'd like, but thankfully he has enough stamina for more than one round.

Also! If we're talking about the egoist bible and the canon fetishes, i wanna talk about my take on the ephemeral things. Honestly, my mind goes to a specific time of day, or specific ambience. I can see him liking to fuck you in certain light - he likes how play of light and shadow look on you. He likes it when the sun sets and the golden hour shines on you just right while he's bringing you to tears with just his fingers. He likes it when the dusk makes your bluish afterglow look even softer while you're recharging for the next round. He likes it when it's the dead of night and only the moon let's him see your gorgeous face changing expressions because of him, he likes the calm gentleness of it. He likes it right before the sun enters the horizon and it's just cool enough to keep you even closer so you can be warm while taking another orgasm out of you. I also think he's particular about the sound atmosphere - it's either a calm quiet, a playlist he's made or the sounds of the sea.

"You like that, love? Yeah, feels good— mmmh—!"

Oh he's not keeping his mouth shut. He's got a good voice and he knows it. He's murmuring right in your ear, either talking you trough it and what to do now or whimpering about how good you make him feel and how gorgeous you look fucked out like that. If he's not talking he's moaning and whimpering softly, but he's still loud enough to make you soaked with just noises.

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧⋆.˚✮•𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂•✮˚.⋆✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

When you're all done and finished he's holding you like you're the dearest thing to walk on this earth. He's talking in your ear all soft and gooey about how gorgeous you are and good you made him feel, and after a while of holding and sweetness he's bringing you to the bathroom to freshen up before returning to the bedroom again.

ฅ⁠^⁠•⁠ﻌ⁠•⁠^⁠ฅ★｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+° as always, requests are open!

•made yukimiyas part just a but longer bc it was his bday recently so have a treat :P

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plaidos · 2 days ago

Note

The...homestuck racism workshop?

ok, hold onto your butts.

so this one time people were accusing me of skirting over & never mentioning how racist some of the stuff in Homestuck is/other stuff Andrew Hussie has made is.

in response to this i was like, "no, actually, i post & talk about this pretty regularly. in fact, i regularly host a bookclub that reads Homestuck & today we were discussing one of the more racist sections". and so, tumblr being tumblr, of course immediately people span it around the other way and were like "lmfao this white girl is hosting HOMESTUCK RACISM WORKSHOPS????" because i guess it's also bad to talk about the racism in homestuck, not just ignore it (???).

i also got flak for daring to talk about the racism in homestuck (or host a bookclub discussing it) as a white person because apparently..... white people shouldn't talk about racism? and of course everybody totally ignored the two other Black women & the Indigenous Latina woman also hosting the workshop (which isn't even about racism?? we were just talking about it that day because we were covering Openbound 😭😭😭😭😭) because it isn't as funny to say "you as a white person PARTICIPATED in a CONVERSATION ABOUT RACISM IN A WEBCOMIC!?"

to top it all of, most of the people spreading this rumour were just mad that Homestuck had beaten Dykes To Watch Out For -- which was written by a rather racist white terf -- in a "best queer comic" poll. i wish i could make this shit up.

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neunnnnnnn · 21 hours ago

Text

I was in the astral realm and I had a talk with my great grandma and she pretty much re assured how real shifting is. She told me how much more we are capable of and blames society for dimming that little light that once made us literally invincible.

She took me through different timelines, and I actually got to see myself in different versions from a librarian to even a politician. And she told me that it isn't really hard to attain it because it's within me, its literally me but just scattered in different dimensions and that becoming it can be as easy as snapping your fingers, if you only look within.

She has reincarnated as a white woman ( this made me laugh my ass off tbh) mostly because she had other dreams she wanted to achieve that she couldn't in this timeline.

She also found it funny that people are shifting to go to books and tv shows instead of shifting to realities where they are like millionaires or something😂 but what I adore about her is how open and lovely she is. Even when she was alive, you could tell her anything and she would always give you an ear to listen.

Reality is within you, look within.. that's where all your answers are

~Granma

#shiftblr #shifting community #shifting blog #shifting antis dni #reality shifting #astral realms #astral projection

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ccazimi · 19 hours ago

Text

Currit in Sanguine Nostra

pt. 1

cw: vampire hunter!sukuna x vampire!reader, dubcon, enemies to...???, blood (blood drinking, mild gore), violence/torture (electrocution), sadism, usage of a shock collar, petplay, male masturbation, facial, humiliation/degradation, forced submission, piv sex, very mild anal play (more like teasing), hatefucking, creampie, major character death including murder-suicide, angst wc: 12k a/n: i listened to ma meilleure ennemie while writing the ending and lowkey cried ummm also i didn't edit this i'll clean it up tmr sorry if it's a bit rough

songs i listened to while writing this part

me again - 12 rounds

stitch in time - genitorturers

ma meilleure ennemie - stromae, pomme, arcane

You drift in and out of a restless mockery of sleep the next day, dreams pulling you under in ragged fragments. In some, you’re a child again—perhaps the closest you’ve ever come to feeling human.

Sometimes, you used to pretend you were one of them. But the hunger always ruined it in the end.

Hunger.

Your oldest companion…your only companion.

It’s the thing that defines you, that sets you apart. The reminder that no matter how well you mimic them, you don’t belong. Not to the world of the living, nor the dead. You exist somewhere in between—drifting, untethered.

But there are two absolutes in your reality, two anchors in the dark.

Hunger.

And Sukuna.

The man who was your enemy before you even knew his name. The man whose purpose was to end you—but instead, became bound to you, inexplicably and irrevocably. The man who, despite everything, has become just as much a part of you as the hunger itself.

Hunger and Sukuna.

The two things you can never escape.

And now, they’ve become one and the same.

You should have run, should have fed elsewhere, done anything.

But instead, you lay tangled in fever-damp sheets that still smell like him, every nerve fraying, every breath dry with wanting.

You wake with a jolt—head heavy, limbs trembling. His blood still burns through your veins like venom, sweet and spoiled.

You're not just hungry—you're sick.

The room is quiet in the evening that has settled like a bruise.

He hasn’t killed you. Maybe he’s waiting—for you to crawl, beg, break.

You move slowly, swallowing your weakness and forcing your steps to be deliberate.

His scent draws you to the living room… and there he is. Sprawled out on the couch like a predator at rest. Shirt open, glass of liquor dangling between his fingers, looking completely at ease.

Like he’s not the reason you’ve been wrecked for the last twenty-four hours.

The wound on his neck is closed now, but the bruising’s deepened—an angry, violent purple. Evidence of your teeth.

Your throat still burns, your stomach’s a churning knot, but it's deeper than hunger.

It’s worse.

You feel like you're rotting without more of him—yet at the same time, your body is rejecting it.

“What the hell did you put in your blood?”

Your voice comes out hoarse, but steady.

Sukuna doesn't blink. Just tilts his glass, gaze lazily dragging down your body—your flushed skin, the faint tremble in your fingers.

“I didn’t take anything,” he says evenly.

You stare at him, trying to read the lie. But there isn’t one, and unfortunately you believe him. You tasted it last night. There was nothing foreign, just him.

How perfect, then. That the blood that’s rivaled yours for generations would be the one that makes you sick.

And the one you crave more than anything else you've ever tasted.

The irony would be almost funny if it didn’t feel like it was killing you.

But then, another thought pierces through the haze.

“…Not even antivenom?”

You fed from him enough that his mind should be bowing to your will. The average man would become obsessed with you from a single bite, and while Sukuna isn't the average man it's odd that there was no reaction at all.

He snorts. “Don’t need it for a sucker as weak as you. Wouldn’t do shit to me anyway.”

You grind your teeth but force yourself to stay neutral, prowling toward him with slow steps.

“I’m hungry.”

Sukuna exhales sharply through his nose, more amused than anything, and lifts his glass for another slow sip.

“That so?”

You swallow your irritation, keeping your voice level.

“Yes.”

Finally, he looks at you fully—his eyes glinting with something sharp, yet cruelly playful.

“And what, exactly, do you think I’m going to do about that?”

Your jaw tightens.

He knows. Of course he does. He always does.

Sees right through you—down to the marrow, to the way your body hums with sickness and longing, wound tight with want.

“I need more.”

You don’t beg, don’t bother to soften it, just lay it bare.

His lips curl.

“Need?”

He leans forward slightly, the lazy shift of weight somehow predatory. “Didn’t take long for you to turn into a little addict, huh?”

Heat flashes under your skin as your fingers twitch.

You hate the way he says it, like this was always going to happen, like it was his plan all along.

“And?” You step closer. “Are you going to give it to me, or just sit there running your mouth?”

His brows rise, mock-surprised. “Oh? You want me to?”

You bite your tongue as hunger claws at you, tight and wild beneath your ribs. Your throat is dry, pulsing, the remnants of his blood still lingering on your tongue—something divine turned rotten by denial.

Sukuna leans back, head tilting as he studies you.

“Tell me, little leech,” he murmurs, voice smooth and dark. “Which ache are you really asking me to fix?”

Your stomach drops, a shiver crawling up your spine, slow as poison.

Because you don’t know. Not really. Lust, desire, hunger—they’ve twisted into something indistinguishable.

It’s all the same in the end. All a craving for him.

But you won’t flinch, won’t give him that.

Instead you sneer at him. “Why don’t you give me what I want and find out?”

His smirk deepens.

“Oh, I already know.” His voice dips, twisting with something cold.

“Bet you couldn’t even sleep, could you? All squirming, all wound up—” He leans in, voice low and cutting, “—fingers weren’t enough, were they?”

Your body moves before your mind catches up.

One moment, he’s lounging there, glass dangling from his fingers like a dare, smirking like he owns you.

The next, you lunge.

Hunger rips through you, primal and brutal as instinct blots out reason. You’re on him in a blink—fangs bared, claws digging for his jaw, desperate to rip it sideways, to expose the throb of his artery.

But Sukuna is faster.

He pivots—just enough to throw you off balance. Then his palm slams squarely into your sternum and he throws you.

Your spine hits the floor with a crack that leaves the walls shuddering, as pain detonates up your back.

You snarl, writhing, legs lashing out to knock him off and he just laughs.

“Poor little thing,” he sneers, voice honey-thick with mockery. “Left to take care of yourself like some neglected pet. And still—”

His knee drives up between your thighs, cruel and deliberate in the way it grinds into that one aching spot. You gasp—body reacting against your will as heat throbs through your core.

“—you came crawling back.”

You twist, head spinning, teeth snapping toward his throat. They clack as they close around nothing when he jerks back just enough to stay out of range.

“Tch.”

His hand clamps your jaw, forcing your mouth open, fingers digging into your cheeks until your breath shudders.

“What now?” he murmurs, low and cruel. “Acting like some wild animal? No pride left?”

You growl, chest heaving.

You despise how your body responds to his weight, how his scent drowns your thoughts, how his pulse sings in your ears like a curse.

You spit his own words back at him, poison-laced. “And you love it.”

His grin splits wider, something dark flickering behind his eye.

“Maybe I do.”

His lips brush your ear—just breath and heat.

“Did you cry for me last night?” he whispers. “Touch yourself to the thought of me?”

One moment of hesitation—just long enough for him to see it.

His grin sharpens, wicked.

“Ohhh… You did, didn’t you?”

Rage detonates.

You snap again, harder, fangs out, strength flaring wild as you thrust your torso upwards.

Impact.

Your back slams into the floor again with a crack loud enough to splinter the wood.

In your stomach, something lurches, your brain pounding with that toxic blood coursing through it.

Still, even in your feverish, sickened state, you can't stop.

You twist like a rabid thing, clawing and bucking, fingers slashing until he catches your arm mid-swing and twists.

The crack of your bone is sharp and awful, pain lancing up your arm like lightning.

You scream—but not from fear.

From fury.

He slams your wrist down, pinning it to the floor. His other hand wraps around your throat and squeezes, cutting off your air.

“Pathetic,” he breathes.

You manage a snarl through clenched teeth. “Fuck you.”

He laughs. Horribly delighted.

“You can’t even touch me,” he mocks. “What, all that hunger, and this is the best you’ve got?”

You lash out again, thrashing as much as you can with any free part of your body.

His hand tightens on your throat.

His voice drops lower, like he's talking in pity to some fucking stray. “You’re so hungry, aren’t you?”

You snap, flailing around again, this time with mild success when your long nails catch his cheek deep enough to draw blood.

There's just a flicker of satisfaction in you before his laughter deepens.

He licks the blood from his lip, eyes glowing with some kind of thrill. “Good,” he growls. “That’s more like it.”

Suddenly he lets go, and that's when you feel it—the pain in your arm, the bone he cracked—it's knitting itself back together.

You feel the muscle realigning, sinew fusing. The sound is low, wet, wrong, and then it’s done. You don't have to look to know bruises are already fading from other parts of your skin, scrapes sealing themselves over.

His eyes flick to your arm, watching the contorted limb revert back to its original state, and something in his expression changes.

Not surprise or fear. More like...intrigue.

Dark, vicious intrigue

You try to spring up again, feral instinct overriding thought, and that's exactly what he wanted.

He catches you mid-motion, spins you, and slams you down, face-first this time. The breath is knocked clean from your lungs.

Before you can recover, he’s on you again, weight crushing your back, knee digging into your spine. One hand knots in your hair, yanking your head back, the other twists your arm behind you—just shy of breaking it again.

You thrash, scream, curse.

He just chuckles.

“I should break you. You’re too stupid to quit.”

Your vision swims red. Maybe because he's partially right.

His knee presses harder into your back, then something cold brushes your neck.

Metal.

Click.

A collar.

You freeze; not from fear, but recognition.

The pressure on your arm eases slightly, just enough for your fingers to reach your throat as you claw at the cool metal. It won't budge.

Beep.

Your pulse spikes.

Sukuna leans close as he clicks his tongue in disapproval. "Try to take it off,” he whispers, “and I might just test it on you.”

You go still, but your eyes blaze.

He trails a slow finger along the edge of the collar. “There,” he murmurs. “That’s better.”

His hand tightens just enough to make you swallow, to make you feel it.

Something inside you snaps in panic, like a wild animal realizing it's been caged in and exploding. Against your better judgement, you try to go for him again.

Another mistake.

The moment your arm swings up, there's pain.

White-hot, searing, blinding pain.

The collar pulses with raw electric current, slamming through your body. You scream as your muscles seize, legs collapsing till your knees hit the floor with a sickening crack.

Your back arches and every nerve burns.

And through the agony, you hear his laughter.

Finally the waves stop and he crouches beside you, watching the way your body twitches from the aftershocks.

“You’re not very bright, are you?” he purrs.

You shake, but you don’t cry. There's a cloyingly sweet smell, and you realize with disgust it's the smell of your flesh cooking.

Your teeth bare as you glare up at him, every breath a battle though your body is already regenerating.

“Oh?” he taunts. “Still got fight left?”

You snarl, body trembling, fangs glinting.

Click.

The second shock hits harder, the healing process interrupted as your whole body jerks, bones slamming against the floor. Your scream rips free, raw and ragged.

Light blooms behind your eyes, fracturing your vision.

“Look at you,” he murmurs. “Shaking already?”

He watches your fingers spasm, watches the flicker of humiliation in your eyes.

Then, he caresses your cheek.

“Did you really think you could take from me?” he whispers.

You twitch under his touch—still burning, still raging.

But bound and helpless.

Suddenly, beneath the sharp, acrid sting of singed skin, you smell it. That same scent from last night — alkaline and musky.

Your stomach twists as your gaze drops slowly, unwillingly, and there it is — a bulge, obvious and undeniable.

Your breath catches, not from fear, but revulsion as you shudder.

He’s hard.

Your stomach roils. You want to claw his other eye out, rip his throat open, scream.

God, you hate him.

“You get what I decide to give you." His smirk turns into something heinous. "And tonight? You get nothing."

Then, just to drive it home, he pats your cheek and stands, leaving you there—collared, quivering, burning with humiliation, hunger, hatred.

You wake up seething.

Your body aches, your pride is in shreds, and worst of all, the collar is still there. A cruel weight around your throat, snug against delicate skin, mocking you with its presence.

You fumble with it for a few minute, to absolutely no avail as the lock holds, unmoving. No matter how hard you tug, no matter how raw your skin burns, it doesn’t budge.

Fucking bastard.

The door creaks. Footsteps.

You don’t need to look up; Sukuna’s presence is suffocating.

“Morning, pet.”

Your hands ball into fists, nails digging into your palms.

His voice is too amused, too self-satisfied, and it takes everything in you not to lunge at him on sight.

He crouches, tilting his head as if examining you.

“Oh? No snarling today? No pathetic little threats?” He grins, eyes dancing with delight. “You’re not pouting, are you?”

You whip your head up, glaring daggers.

He laughs. Loud, open, unbothered.

“Ahhh. There it is.” His fingers flick under your chin, forcing your head up higher. “That pissed-off little glare. Always so mad.”

Your lip curls. “I’m going to rip your fucking throat out.”

Sukuna just clicks his tongue.

“Tch. More empty threats? Haven’t we been through this?”

Click.

Pain explodes through your body.

A sharp current crackles through your nerves, muscles locking, lungs seizing as you choke on a strangled gasp. Your vision whites out for a second, fingers digging into the floor you haven't even realized you've collapsed onto.

“You never learn, do you?”

The moment the current stops, your body collapses, gasping, shaking from the aftershocks. Every nerve is burning, but the rage—the rage is blinding.

“Fuck—you,” you snarl, voice ragged, barely above a growl.

Sukuna’s smirk deepens.

"See?" he breathes, trailing lazy fingers along the collar. "That’s why you need training."

Your body tenses.

“You—”

His hand clamps onto your jaw, cutting you off instantly.

"Shhhh." His grip tightens until your teeth grind together, his mocking amusement never faltering. "Did I ask you to speak?"

Fury churns in your chest, a wild, blistering rage—you lash out, but Sukuna’s already waiting for it. The moment you move, his other hand presses the remote.

Click.

Electricity rips through you once again. Your whole body convulses—a ragged scream ripped from your throat as the pain tears through your nerves.

It lasts longer this time. When it finally stops, you double over, chest heaving, limbs trembling uncontrollably.

You snarl, teeth bared, but your body still shakes from the shocks.

"You want me?" he purrs. "Then earn it."

His fingers toy with the collar again, voice dripping with amusement as you pant, catching your breath, feeling your cells renew.

“You do as I say. You behave. And maybe...maybe I’ll reward you.”

Sukuna pulls back, grinning.

“But if you don’t?” His thumb hovers over the remote.

His eyes are bright, thrilled, drinking in your rage, your helplessness.

“Then we keep doing this.” He chuckles. “Again. And again. And again.”

The next day is humiliating.

The collar is tight, an ever-present reminder against your throat. The remote is always in his grip, always a threat, and Sukuna?

Sukuna is having the time of his life.

“Go on.” He gestures toward the floor with a flick of his fingers, voice mocking. “Crawl.”

Your teeth grind.

You stay frozen, muscles coiled, every nerve in your body screaming at you to refuse. To tear him apart, to fight, to kill him.

His smirk widens.

“Oh?” he purrs. “You think you still have a choice?"

Click.

It lasts just long enough to remind you. Sukuna tilts his head, watching you pant through clenched teeth.

“Don’t make me say it twice,” he breathes.

Your breath shudders, hands clenching into fists. Your pride screams at you not to, but the threat lingers, hot and buzzing under your skin.

Slowly, your fingers uncurl and your arms lower as you sink down to your hands and knees.

Sukuna grins, victorious.

“Awww,” he croons, eyes gleaming with delight. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

Vitriol burns deep, scalding inside you like a toxin. Your hands shake against the floor, your body tense, humiliated, but you can’t react, not if you want to avoid the next shock.

Sukuna leans back against his chair, watching you like something he managed to capture.

“You know,” he muses, “I think I like you like this.”

Your head snaps up, glaring up at him.

His eye flashes, anticipating your outburst, enough to make you bite your tongue as your body tenses, practically able to feel phantom shocks running through it.

“Ohhh,” he breathes, thrilled. “You almost did it, didn’t you? Almost told me to go fuck myself.”

Your teeth grind harder, muscles locking.

Sukuna snickers. “You’re learning.”

Then, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a black cloth, dangling it from two fingers.

“Put this on.”

You blink. “What—?”

“The blindfold,” he says, voice syrupy and cruel. “Now.”

You hesitate.

He doesn’t even speak this time—just taps the remote with one nail, the silent threat making your gut churn.

With shaking hands, you take the cloth and tie it over your eyes.

Darkness swallows everything, amplifying every other sense. The sound of his breath. The hum of the lights. The subtle movement of air as he shifts nearby. The faint smell of his bodywash.

You're blind now. Vulnerable and open.

You flinch as you hear him move—closer, closer, until the heat of him is almost brushing your skin.

“Good girl,” he whispers beside your ear.

A hand slides along your cheek, then down—and then you hear footsteps, the noise of him sitting back on the couch.

Silence stretches.

You sit there, blindfolded, the floor cold beneath your knees, every inch of your skin crawling with unease.

A soft rustle, like he’s shifting.

“I should invite someone over,” he says idly, like he’s thinking aloud. “Let them see how obedient you are. How pretty you look when you’re quiet.”

He laughs softly at the way you stiffen.

“Relax,” he drawls. “Not today. But maybe someday.”

You hear the clink of glass and ice. A drink being poured.

“Spread your knees.”

Your breath catches, but you don’t move.

Click.

A jolt of pain zips across your spine—sharp, fast, enough to make you flinch and gasp.

“Don’t make me ask again,” he murmurs.

You force your muscles to obey, sliding your knees apart against the floor.

There’s a long, deliberate pause.

You hear him take a sip of his drink, the clink of ice again.

“Hands behind your back.”

Another pause, but you obey.

Your breathing is loud now, uneven, as you sit there, nerves wracked in anxious anticipation.

Sukuna hums in approval as you sit, rage rolling off you in waves as you’re forced to kneel before him like some kind of god.

“Good. Just stay like that, alright?” he purrs, followed by the sound of a zipper being undone.

Your eyes widen beneath the mask of black, like they’re straining to see through the fabric.

“What the fuck—” You pause, reluctantly correcting yourself. “What are you doing?”

Another rustling and then the scent of his pre-spend hits your nostrils, stirring something in you, between your thighs.

“Mm. Wouldn’t you like to know?”

The soft sound of skin being stroked.

You swallow, heart in your throat as you pick up gentle shucking sounds, followed by the sharp hiss of a breath sucked in between teeth.

When he speaks again, his voice is lower, a little rougher.

“But pets don’t get to ask questions. They just need to sit there and look pretty.”

You keep silent, unsure how to feel right now.

You’re still entirely clothed — he could’ve made you undress, touch yourself, do anything at all to get off to. And instead he’s jerking off just at the sight of you helpless and compliant.

Bowed in submission.

“Tell me how much you hate me.”

You blink, straining to pick up any deception in his voice. Some kind of trap, surely.

“I don’t know what you mean…” you mutter unsurely.

A throaty breath escapes him as you hear his pace picking up slightly.

“Exactly what I said. I know you’ve got some nasty little things you’re just dying to spit out.”

You hesitate.

“Or—” The sharp click of his nails tapping on the remote.

Your breath stutters.

“I hate you,” you blurt, chest rising and falling too fast. “I hate everything about you.”

He hums, pleased, the slick sound of him pumping his cock becoming louder, more intense. “Keep going.”

Your throat tightens. “You’re cruel. Sadistic. You don’t care about anyone but yourself.”

He says nothing.

You push forward, heart pounding, the smell of his pre cum flooding your keen senses, making you salivate even as you spit the venom you hold for him.

“You enjoy watching people suffer. You enjoy watching me suffer.”

A deep groan cuts through the air—low, filthy, pleased. It makes your stomach twist and your skin burn in humiliation.

You know he’s getting off on this, but you can’t help yourself, not when he’s finally given the chance for you to speak your mind.

Your jaw locks. “Ironic they call me a monster,” you snarl, “when a sick fuck like you gets to walk around free.”

“More,” he rasps. The sound of it is hungry, breathless. “Say it like you mean it.”

Your nails dig into your palms.

“I wish you were dead,” you whisper, each word trembling with rage. “I wish you’d choke on your own blood, feel every bone in your body snap, scream until your voice gives out.”

His breathing deepens.

“I want to be the one who ends you,” you hiss. “I want to watch you die slow. I want to see the panic crawl across your face when you realize no one’s coming to save you. I want to be the last thing you see before everything goes dark, before you go burn in whatever hell you’re going to.”

There’s a pause. A long one. Filled only with the sound of him jerking his dick, slower right now.

You hear the couch shift as he leans forward, breath brushing the shell of your ear.

“There she is,” he purrs. “My little monster.”

You flinch.

His hand slides along your jaw—gentle, almost affectionate.

“You hate me,” he murmurs, “but you’re still here. Still kneeling. Still obeying.”

His fingers trace the edge of your blindfold.

“Tell me why.”

You stay silent, jaw clenched, blood roaring in your ears.

He tilts your chin up—his grip firmer now. “Tell me.”

“Because you’ll hurt me if I don’t.”

“Exactly.”

The word comes out as a growl, and there a second of stroking and low pants before you feel something splatter against your cheek, taking you by surprise.

Warm. Salty. Bitter.

His cum spills all over your face, some catching across your nose and lips, dripping down. It feels like bugs crawling on your skin, and you have to fight the urge to wipe off the virile fluid now painting you.

It smells like his precum, but stronger. Hotter. Alive.

Finally you feel no fresh spurts landing on you as the sound of his movement slows, replaced only by his breathing, heavy and satisfied.

You don’t realize your lips are slightly parted until some of the cum trickling down your face tickles the curve of your upper lip.

“I should really take a picture of you like this. What do you think, leech?”

You bite your cheek, jaw clenched so hard it hurts. “I think there’s something really fucking wrong with you.”

Sukuna snickers—no shame, no guilt, just cruel amusement. You hear the rustle of fabric, the zip of his fly. The sound makes your gut twist with something shameful. Your thighs press together instinctively, helpless against the dull, throbbing ache between your legs.

It’s sick. You feel sick.

He’s doing this on purpose.

You know he is.

“…Can I take this off?” you ask quietly, voice frayed at the edges. The blindfold itches, clings.

You want to be alone, want to fall into your sheets and do something—anything—to bleed the heat out of you.

He lets out a breath, bored now. You hear him lean back, the lazy clink of ice against glass.

“Mm. Sure. Whatever.”

A sip.

You fumble at the knot behind your head, fingers shaky. The fabric peels away with a damp, dragging sound, and the sudden light—however dim—makes you squint. Your eyes take a second to adjust.

And then you see him.

Sitting in that chair like a king—loose shirt, legs sprawled, drink in one hand. Still watching you with that unreadable, heavy-lidded gaze. Nothing about him says danger, and yet every part of you feels wired to flee.

Instead, you sit there, skin prickling, shame still thick on your tongue.

You expect him to say something cruel. Another jab, another reminder of who holds the leash.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, his gaze lowers to your mouth.

“You’ve been good,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “Didn’t beg. Didn’t bite.”

His eyes flash with something darker, something considering.

“You want a reward?”

“What?”

He doesn’t repeat himself, just sets his drink down, rolls up his sleeve and turns his wrist over, exposing the unscarred skin of his other forearm.

The knife appears like magic, you didn’t even see him grab it.

There's a clean slice, and a ribbon of red swells instantly.

He holds it out to you.

You freeze, contemplating, mind reeling.

“Don’t make me change my mind,” Sukuna says, voice low but sharp now.

You hate him.

You hate him for knowing exactly what this will do to you. For how fast your fangs descend, for the way your pulse howls at the scent.

But most of all, you hate yourself—because your body’s already moving.

You crawl to him.

Every step feels like it costs something, like pride scraped off your ribs, dignity leaking out your eyes. Your knees burn on the floor as you inch forward, closer and closer to where he sits, arm outstretched like an offering from a throne.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink.

You pause at his feet, breath shallow. The scent is dizzying—copper and warmth and him. Your fingers tremble as they curl around his wrist, guiding it down. His blood drips slow, thick, a thread of red down his arm. Your mouth opens.

And when your lips finally touch his skin, something breaks.

The taste floods you instantly—hot and heady and so much more than it should be. Not just nourishment. Not just survival. It’s him, and it’s power, and it’s control, and you hate it. You hate that you moan softly, that your tongue presses hungrily into the wound, that your hands slide up his arm like you’re holding onto something holy.

And worst of all, he lets you.

You feel his fingers in your hair, slow and steady, as he watches.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Good girl.”

Your body shudders at the praise. You want to spit it out. You want to tear your mouth away. But your hunger is deeper than your shame, and right now you're starving.

You drink like he’s the only thing keeping your body from unraveling into ash and dust, knowing full well how ill you'll feel later.

The blood is hot, thicker than it should be, each swallow burning its way down your throat, and your limbs tremble as strength seeps back in—strength that comes from him.

But that’s not what breaks you; it's the sound he makes.

A soft exhale almost a sigh—and his grip in your hair tightens, not to stop you, but to keep you there. Like he’s savoring this just as much, the sight of you on your knees, mouth to his skin.

And something inside you twists.

Not with rage, not with grief, but something worse. Something wet and hungry and needy.

You’re not just feeding anymore.

You’re worshipping. The act changes without you realizing it. It’s not frantic or desperate anymore, the way it was before. The hunger is still there, but it’s become more—soothing, almost tender in its own dark way. Your lips are gentle against his skin, your tongue tracing the wound with a kind of reverence. The movement is soft, almost hypnotic, and it feels like a surrender, a quiet admission that you’ve already given in to him more than you care to acknowledge.

Because you’re already there—somewhere past the threshold of shame, in that liminal space where pain and power collapse into pleasure. Where your body has stopped belonging to your will, and now belongs to.

And finally you pull away, almost against your own will, as the blood continues to course in your veins, heightening every nerve, every sensation. But something about the intensity, the closeness, makes it too much.

The hunger in you, the desperation—it’s suffocating.

You let his wrist go, slowly, and your hands fall to your sides, trembling from the pull of everything you’ve just given away.

Sukuna’s presence hovers over you, almost tangible, his eyes never leaving you. It’s as though he’s waiting for something more—waiting for you to crack open completely. But you can’t. Not like this. Not yet.

You don’t look at him.

Instead, you focus on your breath, on the way your body seems to react to the smallest movements. Heat simmers under your skin, traveling elsewhere, somewhere it shouldn't.

Something urgent, that will need to be taken care of soon.

The room feels too small now, stifling, the air thick with tension and unspoken words. His smirk hasn’t faded, but there’s something cold in his eyes now, something that wasn’t there before.

“You’re weak,” he says quietly, but the words lack their usual bite... they sound almost measured, as though he’s seeing something new in you.

Or perhaps, you’ve shown him too much.

You don’t answer. You can’t bear to hear him anymore.

It’s not even two more days, yet time passes slower when every second feels like torture.

Every waking minute with that fucking collar around your neck, with him making you do whatever humiliating trick that he fancies at the moment.

There’s something uniquely horrifying about being a supernatural being with healing capabilities, yet the capacity to feel pain like any other living creature.

And there’s something unique about the pain of being electrified.

It isn’t like stabbing or burning, no, it’s an invasive type of pain that hijacks the entire neurological system, fires every pain receptor at once, inside and outside.

Put the two together and you get a body that can never adapt—because each time the nerve damage from the shocks is repaired perfectly.

Calluses, scars, numbness— these are adaptive responses. Things you don’t get.

So every click of that remote, every electrocution feels like the first.

No dulling, no immunity. The pain never gets easier—of having every muscle in your body seize, of feeling like your nerves are on fire, smelling your skin sizzle.

And though your body may reset, your brain doesn’t.

The end result is feeling powerless in a uniquely feral way, because the one thing you can’t regenerate is control.

So you bow your head, do what he wants. Endure the humiliation rituals. The demeaning words. You hate them, but you learn that to ignore them is self-preservation.

But then he pushes too far. Sukuna's always been good at finding what really makes you tick.

“God, you’re so weak it’s pathetic.”

And as usual, you don’t reply, keeping your gaze lowered. But it’s his next words, that spark something bitter in you.

“Probably runs in the blood. Mm, what happened to your parents again?” He scoffs as you stiffen. “Killed off by some amateur fucking hunters. Now that’s humiliating.”

There's a shift in you, but you push it down and just stare blankly, at the floor, the wall—anywhere but him.

Anywhere safe.

And yet it festers—that sound in his voice, that smirk you can feel even without seeing it. It grows like pressure behind your eyeballs, a dizzying sensation in your brain.

Because you’ve taken everything—every insult, every jolt, every order barked with that false, velvet calm.

But this is different. He doesn’t just want you obedient; he wants you small.

And for the first time in days, you feel it—a flicker of something wild, a heat that doesn’t come from the shocks.

At first it’s a twitching in your jaw, but then your fingers curl just slightly as it builds like a pressure throbbing in your skull.

You wish you could control it—keep pushing it down, stay smart, stay quiet—but it’s done. The dam breaks.

There's no warning when you abruptly pounce towards him.

He doesn’t expect it, but instinctively the button on the remote is pressed, and that now familiar pain overtakes your system.

This time however, by some streak of luck, you continue to swipe at him with your flailing limbs, aiming loosely for the remote held midair.

It falls to the ground, and in an instant the shocks stop, your body already putting itself back together.

There’s a single second, one of those few moments where genuine surprise flashes across his face.

A hint of worry even, maybe.

Too late.

Your heel stomps onto it, the material giving way with a brittle crack, and something inside you unhinges with it.

Silence. A flicker of eye contact, and a wicked grin unfurling across your lips.

Then you move, but Sukuna’s already calibrated then, adapted to the new circumstances.

The fight explodes—fast, brutal, feral.

No strategy, no restraint, just raw nerve and muscle and memory. The blur of bodies crashing against walls, teeth flashing, claws slashing. Your claws rake across his side, catching skin along with the cloth and peeling it back with a wet sound that makes your stomach knot, but you don’t stop. He blocks, counters, but you’re not the same thing you were moments ago, not when your blood sings with rage, your limbs moving faster than thought, all sharp instincts and hunger.

He underestimates how long you've been waiting for this, how long you've needed this, how much of your rage you've been collecting.

Your shoulder takes the brunt of a punch that sends you sprawling against the wall. Plaster explodes in a white puff around you, and a rib gives with a sickening crack. Pain lances through your spine like lightning—but you're already up again, fangs bared. Blood clings to your lip, not all yours. Some of it you can taste—copper and heat, familiar now.

Addictive.

No more snarky comments, no more clicks or shocks erupting from the metal around your neck, only the sound of fists hitting flesh, of bone cracking under pressure.

You drive him back, but he’s laughing. He’s grinning—if the borderline maniacal expression on his face can even be called that, something so exhilarated that it makes your own skin buzz, fueling you more.

You feel your body burning, every nerve awake, every injury healing almost as fast as it happens, but not fast enough to avoid pain. No, you feel everything.

But this time, the pain feels almost like catharsis.

You spit blood, swipe your hand across your mouth, and launch again.

You don't know how long you fight, but it must have been long, with the way your strikes start to lose precision. His too. Sloppier now, desperate.

Everything that could’ve been a weapon has been—shattered chairs, broken lamps, jagged pieces of the coffee table now scattered like shrapnel across the floor.

Half the room’s destroyed, maybe more.

Sukuna is a ruin—his body a map of fresh wounds and older ones split open. Bruises bloom along his ribs, one arm hangs slightly looser in its socket, his lip is split, nose flattened, and even the scarred hollow where his eye used to be is bleeding.

You don’t wear your wounds the same way. You heal, yes, but even that comes with a price. Your body screams with fatigue, not just from the blows but from the endless, greedy churn of regeneration.

It’s slower now. Faltering. Some of your skin still glistens with that pale, translucent sheen of half-healed flesh—sticky, pink, leaking the thin serum that comes before blood. Other gashes are raw and red, torn back open mid-repair by the next hit, or the one after.

You're dripping, and trembling, but not from fear.

Every time you think you've hit your limit, your body finds one more burst of energy. And so does he. You’re both running on fumes and fury now, nothing left but nerve and instinct and the memory of pain.

You don’t see it coming.

One second you’re lunging, the next—he catches your momentum, turns it against you. Your back slams into the edge of a wooden table with a sickening crack. Pain explodes through your body, but you barely register it; you're already twisting, half instinct, half calculation—until he’s there again.

His chest crashes into yours, and the next moment, you're pinned. His body drives forward, shoving you hard against the table, the shock collar biting into your throat.

Your breath stutters.

The position feels wrong, and yet, it feels like everything you want, have been wanting—his weight on top of you, something dangerous in his eyes, something hungry.

“Still fighting?” he growls, rolling his hips into yours, slow and heavy, a taunt made of friction. You hate the gasp it forces from your lips.

You bare your teeth. “Fuck you.”

He smirks, all teeth. “Not yet.”

You thrash, but his grip just tightens—like he’s daring you to break.

“You hate this,” he whispers against your ear, his breath electric. “But you’re shaking. Not just from anger, either.”

Your nails carve red into his chest. He doesn’t even flinch. Just grins wider.

“I should kill you,” you hiss.

“You’ve tried.” His hand drags down neck, till your chest, giving one of your heaving breasts a testing squeeze.

“Fuck—Get off me,” you growl, breathless.

“Make me.” The challenge hangs there, hot and sharp, as he deliberately presses the hardness in his pants against you.

You snarl and buck, fury boiling up—but his voice drops lower, more dangerous.

“Mm, keep fighting. It just gets me harder."

A jolt of white-hot shame and arousal flashes through you. The shock collar burns your throat with every movement, but it’s nothing compared to the heat pooling between your legs, desire flaring despite every instinct telling you to resist.

“You’re pathetic,” you whisper, tears burning at the corners of your eyes as he leans in close, split lips ghosting over the corner of yours.

“Makes two of us then, I guess,” he murmurs with a dark laugh.

His lips capture yours in a hard, almost bruising kiss, and you try to resist, but the taste of him is overwhelming, the tip of your tongue automatically darting out to lick the blood seeping from the cut. It's sweeter here.

Your body reacts before you can stop it, your legs wrapping around his waist in spite of yourself, pulling him closer.

And Sukuna relishes it.

Every struggle, every breathless gasp, every moment of broken resistance only makes him more satisfied, more hungry for the fight, for the chaos, for the way you’re teetering on the edge of everything.

“Such a good little pet,” he whispers, his voice low and mocking as he grinds against you one last time.

“Su—kuna, please—” you choke out, unbearable heat burning you all over, more and more slick pooling into your panties as his bulge rubs into you. You hear him exhale when you tightens your legs around his waist further to match his movements with your own undulating hips, grinding your clothed cunt onto his erection.

“Please what?” He breathes, though you can tell he’s barely holding on himself, holding onto every last bit of his self control.

“Please fuck me.”

With those three words his hands are on the waist of your pants, ripping them off, sliding them down along with your panties in a borderline feral urgency. There’s almost a kind of relief when you finally get them off, falling to the ground, feeling your dripping cunt finally freed from the confines of clothing.

His gaze is ravenous—almost mirroring your own hunger—as he pushes you further onto the table, yanking your legs apart to forcefully spread them so he can see the sticky mess between your thighs.

You pant softly as he looks your pussy up and down, eye darkening as it roves over your puffy folds, your leaking hole clenching over nothing, his lip curling into a smirk.

“Aww all this for me?” he coos, before abruptly spanking your swollen clit with one hand. The impact makes you jolt, involuntarily letting out a small whine. “Does my pet need her needy little hole filled?”

You just sob in desperation — that burning, horrible ache only worsening with how close you are. “Y-Yes…”

“Finally honest for once, are we?” he hums, before pushing your legs up all the way to your chest and taking one of your hands to hook it behind your knee. “Here. Keep yourself held open like a good slut. Think you can do that?”

Anger pricks at you again, but you bite your lip and nod quietly, following his instructions to hold both your legs folded into you, exposing your holes to him completely.

Perhaps, if your head wasn’t spinning and so utterly lost in the need right now, you’d have some shame.

You watch with eagerly as he frees his cock, eyes widening and then dropping further in lust at the sight of it.

A trail of dark pink hair leads down to the tattooed base of his girthy length, though what really catches your eye is the glint of metal on the underside of his shaft.

Your mouth falls open a bit in surprise and he drinks in your reaction, smirking at you from over the bridge of his nose as he continues to pump his leaking cock at a relaxed pace. “Drooling just at the sight of my cock like a pathetic mutt, huh?”

Your lip curls back slightly as he provokes you again, clearly intent on not letting you live any of this down. But once again, you resist the urge to say anything back, knowing that if you open your mouth nothing good will come out.

The slightly alkaline smell of his precum hits your nostrils again, flaring up your hunger and the ache in your cunt all at once as you wet your lips, watching him with dark eyes.

Sukuna slaps his hard cock on your cunt once, then twice, humming in satisfaction at the soft gasps leaving your lips with each lewd wet smack.

With all your senses on edge, you become even more aware of the uncomfortable metal still wrapped around your neck.

It annoys you.

“Can you remove this thing?” You shift to show him the collar, slightly out of breath already.

He glances at it, unconcerned as he drags his cock through your slick folds, torturing you with the way his piercing catches on your clit. “Mmm, I don’t know. Seeing it on you turns me on.”

Sukuna flashes you a sleazy grin as the tip of his cock, oozing with pearlescent pre, smacks again on your clit. “So quit complaining…you wouldn’t want me to get that remote again, would you?”

Your mouth goes a bit dry, the threat snapping you back to reality just a bit as you obediently shake your head.

“Please.” You swallow. “I just need you in me, Sukuna…” You hold your legs apart a bit wider as you look up at him with pleading eyes, showing him that you’re willing to behave.

“Hm. Guess all that training did pay off,” he muses, flashing you a wicked grin as you feel something prod against the tight rim of your asshole.

Your jaw clenches as you flinch, trying to shrink away. “Fuck, n-not that hole—”

He leans over you, one hand planted firmly by your head as the other holds the tip of his cock, teasingly pushing a bit into your entrance.

“Oh? But didn’t you know?” he coos, breaching the rim just enough to make you squeak in pain. “Dirty sluts like you take it in the ass.”

Sukuna, who was probably expecting you to put up a fight or something, is evidently amused when all you do is pout in the most miserable, helpless way.

“I’ve beaten you up, cut you, drugged you, poisoned you, electrocuted you, and this is what you’re scared of? Anal?” he snickers.

“I can’t… I’ve never done it before, you’ll tear me apart…”

“Huh.” He grins deviously, rubbing his sticky tip into your rim, smearing it with precum. “I've seen how well you can heal yourself, though...”

Your eyes shoot open as you once again flinch, recoiling from the touch. “Sukuna!”

“Mm, fine,” he sighs, and you breathe out in relief when you feel the pressure lift away as he pulls his cock up to your other hole. “But misbehave and that’s where you’ll be taking it next…”

You frown at his dark promise but it’s soon forgotten when he begins to push into your weeping cunt.

Both of you inhale sharply as he breaches your entrance, pushing into the warmth of your plush walls, inch by inch. Even as aroused and wet as you are, you can still feel the stretch of your cunt around his thickness, a dizzying fullness that leaves you breathless when he finally bottoms out.

You’re given approximately one second to adjust to him inside you.

And then, the last of the restraints are ripped apart.

With a growl, Sukuna’s hips begin thrusting violently, making you squeal at the brutal pace he’s abruptly set, cock hitting you deep inside where you’ve been needing him, craving him.

Pleasure blanks your mind completely, eyes rolling back and pulling the most filthy moans from you as his cock rams against the sensitive wall of your cervix, over and over again, heavy balls slapping against your cunt.

“Oh shit, your cunt was made to be my cocksleeve,” he grunts as he ruts into you like a feral animal. “Good little pet, keep squeezing like that. Show me all that you’re—hah—good for—”

“Sh-Shut up!” you hiss between your own whines and the obscene noises of skin slapping against skin, his cock plowing into you like he’s trying to kill you with it. “I’m going to fucking murder y—”

Smack.

Sukuna slaps you for your insolent words, scoffing when you accidentally moan, and your cunt clamps down on him even harder. “Pathetic thing -fuck- you fucking love when I’m mean to you—”

He grips the back of your knees on top of your own hands in the crooks from where droplets of sweat trickle down, pushing down on your thighs to fold you further till your ankles are practically by your ears and it almost hurts. “—When I hurt you—”

“Y-yes, harder Sukuna!” you cry out, tears streaming down your cheeks, not even trying to deny his words.

What’s the point? Sukuna knows you better than anyone else on this planet.

“Filthy mutt!” he snarls, leaning down till his hot breath trails across your lips, cock hitting a tender spot in your silken flesh that makes you buck in ecstasy. “I hope that whole wretched bloodline of yours is watching me defile you!”

You bare your fangs, combined hatred, need, and every other twisted emotion culminating into just this, him buried inside you, dragging along your inflamed walls. And then the chain tucked into his shirt escapes. At the end of it, your broken fang, the one he kept, swinging against your face, suddenly feeling less like a taunt and something much more intimate.

You need him carnally.

With him fucking into you, your tits bouncing with each thrust, you lift your head, bared teeth attempting to latch onto his skin.

Sukuna notices what you’re trying to do and his hips halt suddenly, making you freeze mid bite too.

“I-I’m sorry…I can’t help myself…” you whisper.

The most puzzling part is you genuinely feel bad — which makes no sense. He’s hatefucking you, spitting vile words even when he’s balls deep inside you, and what should really seal in his sadistic nature — that damn necklace — it didn’t. Instead, for a split second you got a different glimpse of him, you, the complex nature of your entanglement with each other.

Maybe you mean as much to him as he does to you.

You wait, looking up at his unreadable expression, waiting for him to shatter the delusion, tell you how goddamn pathetic you are.

Sukuna stares at you, something flickering in his eyes—something unreadable, something dark yet intrigued. His hips are still buried inside you, his body taut with tension, but for once, there’s no mocking words, no sneer on his lips. Just silence.

Then, slowly, his grip on your chin tightens—not cruel, just firm enough to make you look at him, to hold you there beneath his gaze.

"Didn’t mean to?" he echoes, cock still buried inside you. His eyes burn into yours, unreadable. "Since when do you apologize for wanting something?"

You shake your head slightly, breathless, your chest rising and falling against his.

"I—" you swallow thickly, ashamed, confused. "I don’t know. I just—"

Your eyes dart to his neck, his pulse thrumming beneath his skin, calling to you like a drug you can’t resist. Your body betrays you, a soft whimper slipping past your lips as you force yourself to tear your gaze away.

For a long moment, he just watches you. Studies you.

Then, to your shock, his lips curve. Not into his usual cruel smirk, but something slower, something almost… amused.

"You’re pathetic," he murmurs, but it lacks the usual venom. Instead, there’s something almost indulgent in his tone, like he’s pleased.

He shifts suddenly, pressing his chest against yours, his voice a low, taunting whisper against your ear.

"You really do need me, don’t you?"

Heat rushes through you, shame and hunger tangling together into something unbearable. You squeeze your eyes shut, shaking your head no, but he only chuckles.

"Liar."

Then, to your shock, he tilts his head back, just enough to bare his throat.

Your breath catches.

Your fingers curl into his skin, your entire body aching, trembling with restraint.

"Go on," he murmurs, almost mockingly. "Take what you want."

He’s toying with you, you know that. But for a moment, just a split second, it feels like something else.

Like he’s giving you permission.

Your lips part—your fangs ache—

Then, just before you break, his hand yanks back on your hair, forcing you to meet his gaze again.

His expression is unreadable.

"But if you do," he murmurs, eyes gleaming darkly, "then you admit it. That you belong to me."

You give him a long look, fangs aching, mouth dry, cunt leaking as the pulse under his skin taunts you, the promise of his taste underneath.

You want to believe you don’t belong to anyone. That you existed always as your own.

And still with an exhale you let go of your legs to hold his neck gently as you wrap them around his waist, pulling him deeper to where his cock is still in you.

Your fangs pierce his skin, and the moment his blood touches your tongue, your whole body shudders. It’s too much—rich, intoxicating, him. You whimper before you can stop yourself, burying your face against his neck, drinking deep, desperate.

He gasps ever so slightly, even stiffens a bit, but you swear you can feel his dick twitch in excitement. A low, broken laugh escapes him as his hips begin moving again, working in shorter but harder thrusts. "Fuck—look at you.”

Your hands tremble against his back, nails caressing the surface of his skin, letting out a moan of pleasure, drinking deeper, dizzy with need. And then you feel it, the slight hitch in his breath, the way his hand clenches at your waist, fingers digging in too hard, as if to ground himself through the sharp bloom of pain.

This isn’t the first time you’ve fed from him.

But perhaps all the fighting, all the blood he’s already lost, even the physical toll of fucking you is finally getting to him.

Still, you sink deeper, trying to ignore it, his blood coursing down your throat, and his body shifts against yours, a ragged thrust that pushes deeper, rougher.

But even as you feed, you notice the tightness in his jaw, his breath quickening, a barely perceptible shudder running through his body. His control is slipping, but his pride won’t let him break.

You can’t ignore it.

So you pause.

You draw back just enough to meet his gaze, eyes flicking over his clenched features, the tension in his body a stark contrast to the hunger thrumming between you.

“You’re in pain,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, but the accusation is clear.

You wonder how much if for the first time, the cracks in his armor are showing, if ever so slightly.

His lips curl into a smirk, but there’s something softer, something reluctant beneath the bravado.

“Does it make you feel powerful?” he asks, but his voice cracks, betraying the effort it takes to remain in control.

You want to say yes, more than anything, but it would feel like a lie.

So, instead, you tell yourself that this hesitation, this sudden pull back, is simply the guilt of taking advantage of his weakness. This isn't about dominance. There’s nothing satisfying about an unfair fight. Or… well, whatever this twisted dance is.

But even as the thought crosses your mind, his fingers slide up the back of your neck, possessive, pulling you back into the crook of his neck.

“Take it,” he murmurs, voice roughened now. “If it means you’re mine, I’ll bleed for you.”

He must be delirious from blood loss. You can feel it—the faint tremor in his hands, the exhaustion creeping into his voice. But what’s your excuse? Why does your chest flutter in response, why does your heart race even as your body aches with hunger?

The sharp edge of his words has dulled, the venom slipping away as the heat between you grows. There's a rawness now, something unfamiliar even to you. Something that makes you want to take from him, just as much as you want to bury your face in his neck and stay there forever.

You hesitate, but only for a breath.

And then, with a flick of your fangs, you’re sinking back in, deeper this time, drinking greedily from the source, tasting his blood like a poison you can’t resist.

His body goes still, and for a split second, you think you’ve gone too far. But then his grip tightens, his body jerking against yours, his hips snapping forward in a desperate push.

A muffles sound escapes you as you suck harder, the potent taste of him going straight down to your swollen cunt like an aphrodisiac, your combined juices dripping lewdly from where his cock fucks into you, down the curve of your ass and collecting on the table.

“You don’t stop, do you?” he breathes it out like a curse, but it’s coated with something darker than frustration—something deeper. Something that feels like acceptance. “Just takes it like its yours.”

You suck in a shaky breath as he pinches your hard nipple, sending another jolt through you down to your cunt, lips slick against the wound on his skin.

“It—It is…” you gasp as he keeps moving inside you, each thrust tighter, more deliberate, like he's forcing himself through the ache. Blood drips from his throat, warm on your tongue, and still he keeps his head tilted back like an offering. “It’s always been, hasn’t it?”

Your whole body burns, his blood already beginning to rot inside your veins and you can only cling to him harder, shaking, gasping. Sweat slicked bodies stick to each other as your tongue slithers out as you drink, laving over the swelling skin, and all that exists here and now is him, him inside you, on your tongue, in your nostrils—

He growls softly, almost tender, almost cruel. His fingers tighten in your hair and he yanks your head back, tearing your mouth from his throat.

“Look at you,” he hisses.

You glance up at him, barely. Lips slick with blood, eyes hazy with lust and shame and something unbearably tender underneath. He stares at you like he’s about to devour you whole.

“You’re mine,” he says, voice ragged with possession. “No matter how hard you fight it or how much you hate it. You are mine.”

His hips speed up again, sloppily battering against your cunt, your garbled cries swallowed when he crushes his mouth to yours, tongue prying your lips open to taste his own blood on your tongue. It’s brutal, a bloody mess, sticky crimson fluid staining his lips as well, the scent of metal combining with the musk of sex permeating the air.

Him. His.

All his.

With a garbled cry and tears on your cheeks you cum as you tangle tongues, saliva mixing as warm liquid rushes from your hole. His own movements lose their rhythm, becoming erratic before with a final twitch of his dick he cums deep inside your cunt, the sticky white fluid almost as warm as his blood. It floods you till it starts seeping out as you pant into each others’ mouths, he keeps going, making sure to fuck his cum back into your spasming pussy.

Then, silence.

You lie there, tangled in the aftermath, sweat-slicked bodies cooling against each other, your breath still brushing against his punctured throat. His hand is knotted in your hair like he’s not ready to let go—no words, just the soft, steady rhythm of his breathing.

Neither of you speaks.

The room is heavy with the scent of sweat, blood, and the feral musk of sex. A healed wound on your ribs still seeps, and his lip is split, but the damage feels irrelevant compared to what’s left unsaid.

But then he untangles himself slowly, deliberately, stepping back. His brows scrunch slightly in pain, his shoulders stiff, his gaze avoiding yours.

You frown, confused. “What—”

“Get dressed,” he says, flatly, his voice an unreadable monotone.

“What?”

He stands, fastening his pants with a lack of care, not sparing you a single glance. “I��m letting you go.”

The words land like a slap.

You sit up, the sudden shock of his statement rattling you, the words caught in your throat. “You said—”

“I changed my mind.” And just like that, he turns back toward you, leans in close. You instinctively recoil, heart thudding as his hand moves toward your throat.

“Relax,” he mutters, his gaze never leaving the exposed skin of your neck. His fingers tilt your chin upward with a quiet precision, the other hand brushing over the metal collar locked around your throat.

Your pulse quickens. “The remote—”

“There’s a trick to it,” he says, his voice almost bored, like he’s speaking to a child. “You just never bothered to learn.”

His thumb presses beneath your jaw with firm pressure—a click, and a small hiss as the lock releases. The collar falls from your neck with a metallic weight, the finality of it making the air feel impossibly thick.

The gesture is disconcertingly tender almost, but a part of you stays still for some reason, still half-naked and leaking, blood drying in flakes around your lips.

“You have until dawn.”

Something twists in your chest. “Why?”

No answer.

You study his back, the rigid line of his spine, the bruises blooming under his skin, the flicker in his jaw. There’s no fear, only confusion—and something too terrifyingly close to hurt.

He doesn’t say it but you can see it now, in the way his hands shake slightly as he buttons his shirt. In the way he won’t meet your eyes.

He wants you gone because killing you would be too easy.

Because this chase is all he has left.

So you dress slowly, defiantly, watching him the whole time, waiting for him to change his mind again.

But he doesn't.

And when you finally reach the door, you pause. “This doesn’t change anything.”

“Good,” he says, finally meeting your gaze.

You nod once.

Then you’re gone, into the dark, not looking back.

The forest is damp from earlier rain, the small unpaved road muddy and glistening with small puddles under the dappled moonlight, the sound of an owl hooting somewhere nearby. Blood stains your skin, hair clinging to your damp temples, yet you don’t stop to fix it.

The empty peacefulness of the forest at night feels too big.

You tell yourself it doesn’t matter—that you’re free. That he let you go and that’s all that matters.

But something gnaws at you, a restlessness curling in your stomach like hunger.

You vaguely note you’ll be feeling unwell soon with his blood in you.

You could disappear. Vanish into the cities, into the forests, into the dark corners where even he wouldn’t follow.

But you won’t.

Instead you continue on, the only thought in your mind is a silent promise to take his other eye.

Time passes.

Not in peace—no, never that.

But in violence and whispers and blood-slick headlines and cold case files that gather dust.

You move through the world like smoke—harder, leaner, hungrier. A myth haunting cities that chew people up and forget their names. Everytime, you leave your mark with surgical precision—corpses with their right eyes missing.

Not just a signature, but an invitation. And he answers—sometimes in shadows, sometimes in person.

You’ve fought him more times than you can count.

Each time, it ends the same—broken glass, broken bones, someone limping away before the killing blow can land. Sometimes it's you, sometimes it’s him.

Sometimes the line blurs.

The one constant, however, is that it never feels quite finished.

Once, you kissed him just to buy time to stab him. Another time he held your bleeding body and whispered something you refused to hear.

Neither of you ever stays down.

Among vampires, your name becomes cursed—not because you’re feared but because wherever you go, Ryomen Sukuna follows and no one survives him.

Among hunters, it’s quieter. They understand something the others don’t, that no one chases what he’s claimed.

Still, you chase him and he chases you, like wolves in circles, like hunger gnawing at itself.

Until, one day, the pattern breaks.

The next body you find isn’t a vampire, but a young hunter. Sloppy. Killed quick. And this time, it’s not the right eye that’s gone—it’s the left.

It’s the first time he’s answered with something of his own.

And somehow, that's how you know that it’s time.

You straddle his torso, blade pressing into his cheek, panting. Even his own chest rises and falls in an uneven rhythm.

Both of you are smeared with grime, sweat, blood—your hair tangled, his disheveled.

It’s the dead of night, but the old train station feels like its own world, frozen in time. This place, like the two of you, feels forgotten by the rest of history.

You’ve been waiting for this day for years.

Sukuna’s face is torn up, more than a few of his ribs are broken, one of his legs is bent at an odd angle.

And yet, as broken as he is, he still watches you with that one remaining eye—unsettlingly lucid, like a window into the abyss of whatever terrible, beautiful thing lives at the core of him.

The eye you promised to take years ago. A promise handed down by blood. By centuries of hate and duty.

Your hand shakes as you raise the crimson-stained blade, your pulse pounding in your throat.

And he smiles. That maddening, blood-slick smile.

“Go on then,” he rasps. “Even score. You’ve always wanted it.”

You stare, intense with something unnamable as the blade hovers, ready to plunge in and leave him in a world of pure darkness.

This moment has been imagined, fantasized over. All the ways you’d carve it out, what you’d do with it. Once you even thought about pickling it.

But life never goes as planned, does it?

Revenge tastes sweet in theory, perhaps. Not in practice. Not now.

His eye, the last one, is fixed on you, unwavering. Like he wants to see everything—all of you—even as you hover at the edge of his death.

And in this moment, you realize you don’t want to destroy it.

Not out of mercy. Not out of weakness.

But because it’s the only part of him, maybe the only thing in the entire world, that ever really saw you.

And it’s hauntingly beautiful.

Feral. Fever-bright crimson, even as he stares down his death. Achingly human in a way neither of you were allowed to be.

“I—” your voice cracks. “I don’t want to. I want you to see me,” you whisper.

He exhales a shaky, rattling laugh, surprised. Then nods.

“Fine,” he says softly. “You’ll be the last thing I ever see.”

This day would have always come. Because however bright they may burn, humans only exist fleetingly. And one way or another, he would die long before you—the only difference would be that it wouldn’t be at your hands.

Something mundane, even. A miscalculated move, the slightest mistake.

You can’t bear to even think about him going out like that.

So it has to be you, and it has to be now. The only ending he deserves.

With trembling hands and stinging eyes you drag the blade down, touching it to his neck. Not deep, just enough for him to feel it.

And then he says your name.

The first time he’s ever said your name.

You pause.

“I’m glad it was you,” he whispers.

Something in you shatters unrepairably. Something that can never be put together no matter how many centuries you live.

Your throat tightens, silent tears streaming down your cheeks, and before you can think twice, you push the blade in. Slow and clean, but still he jerks slightly, though not with the strength he once had.

Blood spurts, spraying across your face before it begins to pour, running down his flesh like rivers of red. It smells as rich and alive as ever.

Instinctively his hands come up—you don’t know whether to stop or hold you. Either way, they falter halfway, dropping back down.

It’s too late now.

You can tell from the way he tries to breathe, but all that comes out is a wet, choking sound that might be your name as a gurgle rises in his throat, blood bubbling at his lips.

Sukuna was, perhaps, the strongest man you’ve ever known. But death humbles all things. And in the end, he’s no different—just another body reaching blindly for breath, caught in that last, trembling moment of naked, undeniable fear

The realization that this is it. That you don’t know what comes after this.

What hurts most is that moment—his lungs struggling, clawing for air that isn't there.

Then his gaze snaps to yours.

And in it, a glimpse of the impossible—a life that might’ve been yours together, if the world had given you a different story.

Like he promised, he watches you till the very end. One single bright eye that stays locked on you, even when the light fades out like a dying star. Till it goes dull and glassy, still staring at you till it isn’t.

He goes still.

And suddenly it hits you—sharp and certain, like a stake through the heart, why your venom never worked on him.

Because he was always in love with you. Or something close enough to it that the body couldn’t tell the difference.

You feel hollow. Like when he died, a part of you went out with him.

Hunger and—

Just hunger.

That’s all the rest of your existence will be now. Wandering, empty, purposeless.

Time slows and thickens, like air turned to water. Your ears are ringing, but there’s no sound. No wind, no breath, no heartbeat.

You’re not sure who you are without Sukuna.

And now you know what you have to do, something implicit in your bones that knows, that’s already pulling the blade out of his neck.

You stare at the blade in your hand, wet with his blood. Still warm.

It glints in the dim light like it wants you to follow.

You don’t cry; there’s nothing left for that.

Just silence.

Just the ache of his absence pressing down on your ribs like a weight too heavy to breathe through.

Slowly, you lower yourself beside him, curling into the warmth that’s already leaving his body. Your forehead brushes his jaw, lips pressing against the blood-slick edge of his throat like a kiss goodbye.

“Don’t wait for me,” you whisper, though you don’t know if you mean it. You hope you do.

Then you take the blade and guide it up, not hesitating now. There’s no drama or fanfare, just inevitability.

The metal bites in just beneath your sternum, and it’s almost a relief. The pain blooms sharp, then dull, then distant.

Your body slumps forward into his, cheek resting against his chest as you wonder what will happen next.

And in those final seconds, heart slowing, vision blurring, you swear you hear it—a heartbeat.

Not yours.

His.

Or maybe… just the echo of it. A phantom memory to carry you into the dark.

Days later, only Sukuna’s body is found. Next to him, a mysterious pile of ash.

Together at last.

a/n: something something something abt ending generational cycles idk lol

taglist: @mistalli @latrotoxiins @maomimii @indiewritesxoxo

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