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lily-bisque · 5 hours ago

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ＷＡＹＯＵＴＴＨＥＲＥ 𖠰 ⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧🪵𓇢𓆸

series masterlist

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

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

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

✦ ── a/n: this is going to be my 1k followers special but i've already got a solid outline and plenty written. i believe this will end up being a multi-chapter fic. can't wait to release this, so check below the threshold for a teaser ;D

✦ ── word count: 41k/?

archive ─ playlist

volume one // womb

volume two // amateur blood

volume three // you don't mess around with slim

volume four // eternal life

volume five // todo a su tiempo

volume six // sympathy for the devil

✦ interlude // a man needs a maid

volume seven // forwards beckon rebound

✦ interlude // should have known better

volume eight // interstate love story

volume nine // ???

comment to be added to the taglist (status: open)

art by outdmilk on twt

teaser 𖠰 ✩₊˚.⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧🪵𓇢𓆸

After getting fully dressed, you shuffled your socks on before you let out a loud hiss—a sudden piercing pressure on your ankle.

Gently setting your sock down, you sat atop a nearby rock and crossed your legs to take a closer look.

It seemed that the thorn that poked you earlier had done more than just that—the area swelling and red. The spot, previously a microscope hole, had grown and was practically glowing and exuding a heat.

You pressed a finger against it, immediately regretting it when it sent pain spiking through your veins, the skin bulbous.

“You’re not making it out of the forest any time soon in that condition.”

You yelped with a jump, full-body flinching and swinging your head behind you to see Sukuna towering over you, eyes narrowed to slits as he eyed your injury. “Jesus. Warn a woman next time?”

He ignored you, something you’ve noticed he has a habit of doing, as he folded in half, skimming a hand over your puncture wound. A tight whimper left your lips, his calloused finger pad ghosting over it before he straightened out. “Can you walk on it?”

You attempted to pull the sock back over before you winced, heart fluttering in nerves. “I-I can try,” you stammered out, trying to maneuver it carefully before he clicked his tongue.

“Fuck, alright,” he grunted, as if mulling something over before he stepped in front of you. He crouched down on one knee, jeans digging into the mud yet he didn’t seem to care. “Hop on.”

Your maw fell slack at the sight, suddenly feeling incredibly hot. This crude and ruffish man was offering to carry you all of the sudden.

“Uh, i-it’s alright. I can walk–”

“Quit your rambling and get on.”

You shut up at his interruption, muttering a ‘rude much?’ he didn’t acknowledge under your breath before standing to a wobble, doing your best not to bump your ankle into anything as the pain began to flare to what felt like your bones.

Oddly enough, he was practically your height on his knees, his massive form slightly intimidating you.

You brought your hands over his shoulders and clasped them in front of him, hoping he couldn’t smell the musk radiating from your sweat-soaked clothing.

As you tried to wrap your legs around his midsection, he suddenly rose, wrapping his massive hands along the underside of your thighs and straightening to his full height.

You did everything to ignore the flip of your stomach as he did so, the touch burning your skin.

Something sizzled in your mind, before you realized how leggy this man actually was. “Could make a joke about the weather up here, but it’s really quite nice,” you snickered, head ducking between his hat, cheek right beside his, as your eyes raked over his bird's eye view.

“Shut it or I’m dropping you.”

#✦ — srb

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lily-bisque · 14 hours ago

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get you a man that is SCARED of you 😍😍😍 @ryudni you’ve started something

#✦ chatter bisque #lads brainrot has officially started today #let’s see how long this lasts

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lily-bisque · 16 hours ago

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just know I spent the evening sobbing

#chatter bisque

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lily-bisque · 20 hours ago

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w ur fic “sharpest tool” r u gonna do a part two? I’d rlly love it but tbf i get it if u didn’t

I wish I could take credit for such a marvelous fic but I must give credit to my wife @riveredmoon and redirect you over there

#✦ bisque asks

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lily-bisque · 1 day ago

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Your slightly sweaty hands cling to his arms. Sukuna glances down at your grip. Even in pain, you find someway to stick to him. Like bees to honey, but in this instance your hopefullness to his coldness.

HE HATES HER SO BAD OMFG😭😭😭😭😭

sharpest tool

pairing: (ex)situationship!sukuna x fem!reader

synopsis: sukuna has moved on, and you’re left clinging to the ghost of something that never truly existed.

warnings: nsfw (mdni), angst/no comfort, situationship, staggered timeline - flashback (second scene is the flashback)/current timeline, cheating, cursing, disorganized attachment style, smut, fingering, mean mean mean sukuna.

note: for my sweet wife’s (@spearofheaven) 1k event! i love you! and to whoever has been in the reader’s position — you deserve better. you are better. thank you for reading!

His phone pings on his night stand. The slight vibration rattling the surrounding contents — some of his girlfriend’s rings, a glass of water he keeps just in case she wakes up thirsty, a book that you gifted him — he’s never read it.

He already knows who it is. He can probably recite the message word from word. He probably has a screenshot of them, buried deep in the lost files of a ‘relationship’ that never was.

And weirdly enough, it seems to never be rid of him.

The clock above in the corner of his room reads 2:36 am.

Phone turned over, the screen pressed into the mahogany. The unwanted messages seeping into hardness, maybe it’ll have a more emotional charge to you than he ever would.

Legs curl against his own. Soft and supple skin smelling of fringed apple cider or whatever body wash his girlfriend uses. Your own body wash a distant smell among his things. He’s sure that if he had to do smell test, he wouldn’t be able to pick yours out.

His hand reaches for his phone, eyes squinting once the harsh light shows him his background — a candid photo of himself and the sleeping body next to him. A genuine smile etched against her lips, a grin stretched onto his. His hands on her hips, her eyes gleaming with not even an ounce of as much gleam as yours did.

And for some reason, that annoys him. Even more so than the notifications that disturbed his sleep.

Five New Messages From: You

You: are you up?

You: I saw Toji tonight

You: made me think of you

You: not sure what i did wrong ?

You: assuming this silence is your strategy

It's always five, sometimes six. Sometimes a call. Like a constant motor running — the hum annoying and slightly too loud to ignore. The activity acting as clutch to check if he remembers you.

He does. Just not in the way you hope.

His left eye twitches. A sigh tumbles straight from his chest, the thin sheet above his body shivering from the movement. His grip on his phone becomes just a little tighter.

The chat bubble pops up and he almost curses.

It’s pathetic.

No response is registering in his brain, at least not one that would stop you from contacting again. It’ll cause more questions to ghost over you phone keyboard — the letters jumbling together to give you some 'earned' reprive of knowing you’re talking to him, and to give him another fucking headache.

So yeah, silence is and would always be his strategy. You got him there. Maybe you do know him as much as you claim too.

He isn’t sure what else you want him to say when he has established so much.

His leaves the thread, quickly silencing your messages. The moon symbol next to your thread laughing at the restraint, because nothing would stop you from being heard. From trying to find answers like a fucking seventies sitcom detective.

The soft snores that have been drifting through the room quiet down. The sheets rustling as her body shifts closer to his. His warmth welcoming her in as she involuntarily scoots closer. The messages watching this display like how a driver watches a car crash on the freeway.

“Who is texting you so late?” Her voice is light, not demanding. Genuinely curious. It has this level of comfortability with herself, with where she stands with him. It’s solid. Something you could never quite acquire. Your voice always wavering, comfort masked in dolefulnesss.

You were always a little too shrill in your tone when asking him questions he deemed to be “too much”. Your curiosity sounding more like pleas than wonder. Your wide eyes always betraying you when you’d try to hold back your feelings, your hurt.

It was aggravating. It wasn’t needed. He never knew how to deal with it. He never wanted to deal with it.

His finger presses the lock, the click swooshing into the room a little too loudly for his liking. Phone finding its place on the nightstand again, face up this time.

His arm finds her waist, pulling her closer, a fall day wrapped into his sheets and he inhales. “No one,” he gruffly says. Because that is what you are to him. He made sure to tell you that. You never had the chance to become anything else but .. no one.

Your thread keeps growing — an archive of desperation, and what you believe is love. He knows it’s misplaced, not real. So, Sukuna continues to ignore them.

He sits on the edge of your bed, eyes scanning the floor looking for his clothing. He feels your legs slowly gliding along the sheets, looking to feel his skin burn into yours.

He scoots a little closer to the edge.

"Are you doing anything tomorrow?" Your voice breaks through the quiet of his escape. That waver that seems to just always weave into your worlds like an ocean wave hitting the sand is so loud.

He doesn't even look back at you. His jaw ticks instead, barely noticeable but he knows you notice.

He could feel your eyes tracing his bare back as if you're brushing strokes for a painting that will be yours and yours alone.

He spots his underwear, arm reaching out to grab the material. "Yeah, getting drinks with Toji," he says indifferently. His legs sprouting up as he slips his briefs on. Back still towards your wide eyes and tucked bottom lip.

He faces the windows instead, looking over the little pieces of you. Your clothes strewn around, pictures of you with friends where the waver is still noticeable without him hearing you. Eyes still wide with a hope, as if they know he's looking at them now.

He spots his jeans, right next to a stack of books.

"Is that all?"

He lets out a sigh so loud, annoyane wrapped around the syllables like a vice. "What the fuck else would I be doing?"

And like the 'strong-willed' person you think you are, you ignore his tone. Ignore the implication. Your voice is almost joyful, and it gnaws along his spine. "Maybe see me?" You toss out the question like a lifeline — seeing how far he'd go.

"I'm seeing you right now -" your name almost slips from his lips, in a huff. He swallows it down instead. One more thing that ties him to you will probably have you try a little harder. Your hope growing stronger.

His feet sweep across your rug, in an uncomfortable hurry out the door. The is plush not as soft as it should be. His eyes dodging you with every turn of his head, as he keeps looking through your things for pieces of himself.

His socks on the chair of books. His tshirt over your headboard, hanging over your head like a cloud. His knuckles brush against the wood, running past as he takes it.

"Well… you're leaving now?" It's a plea mixed with a question. He doesn't bother to answer or give it attention.

There's a beat of silence, cold and heavy. He can feel what you're thinking, as if the thoughts are being pushed into the room to help him find his things.

He rolls his eyes. "You're doing it again," he turns to look at you. You're wrapped in a thin sheet, the lights coming in from the window spotlighting your desperation. His fingers tap impatiently against his thighs. "And I'm not fucking with it.”

"Doing what? Wanting to see you?"

He points his finger between you two. His finger dangling towards you like an arrow. Your mind will mask it as Cupid's arrow. "Making this more than it is," he shrugs, finger dropping. Eyes moving away from you.

You don't respond. But he could hear the gears churning in your brain.

He heads to your bedroom door. "I do not want a relationship with you," his hand grips the doorknob, forcing the message into something you'd have to touch after him. "This is purely physical," he looks over his shoulder.

You blink at him. Lips tucked down at the corners. You swallow, and he knows you're trying to pretend you're okay. The cool girl act coming on to show that you're comfortable with his boundaries, if he'd even really call them that.

He just doesn't want to be in a relationship with you.

"Right," you nod, the movement stiff and quick. Your eyes jumping from his to your fingers in your lap.

"Do you understand?"

"Heard you loud and clear Ryo'," he cringes at the nickname. Cringing at the differences between comfort levels.

You give him nicknames and reach for his touch outside of sex. He doesn't say your name and slips away right after his dick softens in you.

He doesn't understand what you're missing. And honestly, he doesn't really care if you see something more — as long as you keep it your problem.

He scoffs. Your door slamming behind him as he rushes out of your hope.

His crimson eyes waft over your body. His own tshirt swallowing over your hunched shoulders and shivering arms. It almost looks like a cloak, one that is supposed to be protecting you from his cold, but it is just adding more to the miserableness radiating out for your doorway.

A little nagging part of his brain thinks he should be empathic, maybe hold your hand and offer you help. He could play as Doctor Phil while fantasies of the version you want from him makes way into the room.

The version that you have some how managed to believe you deserve.

So, how can he help you see something that's always been … there?

"Ryo'" your voice is twinged with so much sadness, he can't help but study you. The original quest of coming over to be firm (even more so than he has already) quietly slipping into disgust.

His eyes wandering around your face as you look up at him. Eyes wide with this sort of reverence that he imagines church patrons have when they think they've seen the second coming of Christ.

Your eyes taking him in as if he is the savior you'd keep waiting on hand and knees for — like he can actually save you. And he'll stand at the makeshift pew (your doorway), send you bible scriptures (text messages, whenever he does respond back) to remind you that he isn't. Just to remind you that he'd be the one to drag you fucking down whenever you think you found some shining light within him.

Tears well at the bottom of your lashes, and he almost snarls at it.

The ghost of his shirt almost looks disgusted as well. The shirt swaying the opposite way whenever you move an inch.

He tilts his head, your eyes following the movement with the precision of a hawk. Your bottom lip jutting out as you blink back tears. "Don't call me that," he bites.

You ignore his hardness. You typically do. He thinks there must be some game he enjoys playing with you, as he does not understand why he tries.

He says one thing, a perfect picture of what he is giving. You don't listen, or ignore it completely — creating an entire new storyline that works with the pretty dreams and hopes you have of him.

"I've been texting yo-" you step to the side, offering him space to enter your home. Enter your bubble that you both know he's going to pop.

"And calling," he steps in, his steps hard. He rolls his eyes as you shut the door behind him, the click is soft, almost timid. "Cut this shit out." He looks over as you shuffle around to stand in front of him again.

"What shit?" You ask innocently. Tears still threatening to drop and he almost think they're from happiness. Your body inching closer to his, as if it has a home next to him.

He narrows his eyes, his nose picking up on the sweetness of your body wash. "You're pathetic," he does not step away. "Not fucking stupid."

You don't flinch at his tone or the words stabbing into your, his, shirt. As if you agree. Another thing added to the growing list of things that irritate him about you.

You're close enough to where your chest almost brushes against him. Your jittery fingers dance in a clasp in front of you. Your eyes dropping to the shoes he still has on. Your no shoe rule disregarded as he takes up space in your entryway. "Seems like over night, I became a bitch you hate now," you sigh through your nose. He rolls his eyes.

He watches in real time, your body pressing into his, practically melting into him. He feels you shiver as you wrap your arms around his waist, your head leaning on his chest. "Unbelievable ," he huffs out, his eyes on the key ring holding your umbrella. His arms staying near his sides, his legs not moving.

He hates that he knows this is something you're going to revel in. Your fist jutting into the air as if you won at life. As if you won him, an unmoving object who would much rather not be here.

"Just explain it to me," your arms tighten around him. Your chin digging into his chest cavity as you look up at him, his eyes finally meeting yours.

The tears are gone, just wet lashes lay in their wake.

The weight of your body feels heavier than it should be. Like you're pushing not only your physical core but whatever the fuck else you're carrying onto him. "Explain what?" Sukuna shrugs his shoulders, your body shifts with the movement. "How I have told you countless times that this was just sex?" His voice is hard, he hopes you feel it in his chest. "You created something… more. I am not in charge of helping you fix that."

Your throat clicks as you swallow. "But you have a girlfriend now?"

Silence enters the entryway like an unwelcomed guest the refuses to leave.

Kind of like you.

His shirt on your body clings to him, asking to leave and go back home with him.

Sukuna stares at you, you stare back.

"What the fuck does that have to do with this?"

You take too long to answer. That comfortability that flows off his girlfriend so easily seems to be jammed in you, always out of reach. Your fingers press into his lower back.

He takes a step back. Your arms still reach for him, fingers barely grazing the fabric of his shirt. Like you're trying to catch a ghost to hold on too. He wants to laugh.

"That is why I'm confused," You whisper. The tears have returned, ready to spill.

His hands finally reach for you, coming up to grip your jaw, fingers digging in with enough pressure that you wince. He cranes his neck until you're almost eye level. "It was just sex," he says through gritted teeth. Your fingers creep down his forearms, curling around his wrists.

You blink at him.

"It is none of your fucking business what I tell or feel for someone else. I did not want a relationship with you.”

"I just —" you gulp. You shut your eyes. He hopes you're swallowing back those fucking tears. “Miss you."

"You miss something that never existed."

It isn't the widening of your eyes, or the shy gasp that slipped from your lips… it's not desire at all that pulls him forward. It's quiet, important almost.

It's something that lives between you two, and probably would until you finally give the fuck up.

But right now, he knows this will shut you up for while. It always does.

His doesn't loosen his grip on your jaw as he pushes you towards the wall with so much force, the umbrella on your key ring rattles just a bit. His nose brushing yours, breath fanning across your cheeks as you try to crash your lips to his — Sukuna dodging every one of your attempts like it's a game only he knows the rules for.

Your legs wrap around his waist, caging him in. The shirt on your body bunching near your ribs as his palm slides under to grip your soft thigh. His other hand pushes between your quivering legs, roughly shoving your panties to the side. He doesn't say a word. He barely even catches your eye.

He sinks two fingers into your already soaked cunt, deep and unrelenting. His thumb immediately pressing down on your clit in rushed, deliberate circles. You arch your back, a low gasp running out of your mouth as you grind your hips. You're already chasing, desperately wanting him to give you more — to give you him.

And as if this is a chore — in a way it is, giving him a chance to shut you up — his eyes skim the wall behind you. Like this is task he had to get through to receive some peace. Your slick running down his fingers and your honeyed moans just background accessories. His thumb pressing against your clit with every jerk of your hips.

You're clenching around his fingers, his nickname rolling off your tongue like venom. Your lean your head forward, once again trying to catch his lips in yours and he tips his head to side. Your lips catching his jaw.

He knows you're close — hips jerking, your back thumping against the coolness of the wall. Your pussy clenching around his fingers like a vice — like if you could keep them rooted in there, you would. He rolls his eyes, his palm under your thigh tightening in annoyance.

And then you're slacked jaw and gripping on to his shoulders with enough strength that he staggers just a bit. He keeps fucking his fingers into your clenched cunt, until he knows your orgasm has wrecked through you.

Then, he pulls his fingers out, your slick shining among them as he wipes them on his tshirt like it's nothing and lets your feet touch the ground. He still doesn't talk, doesn't meet your stare. His breath steady and solid — as if you aren't shaking and falling apart in front of him.

You stare at him. He keeps looking at your wall.

"What's your girlfriend going to think about this?" There isn't distaste in your tone. You're not looking for an argument. You're genuinely wondering.

And that causes Sukuna's breath to still. The acceptance that runs so clear in your voice puts him on edge. He can't even fully grasp why.

He doesn't know if he's upset at you for settling or for being so comfortable that you think you know him.

That you know him outside of quick pity fucks in your entryway and nights where he made it clear that this was nothing more.

His hand slams against the wall where you're still pressed into. Your body slightly jerking at the contact, your wide eyes taking him in. Still bight, still hopeful. He wonders if you think he's going to stay and tell you about his girlfriend. That you're going to hear that he wants you.

"We don't talk about you," he leans down, eyes once again meeting yours. You shudder beneath his stare. "I'd never talk about you because you're nothing to me."

"I don't think that's tru-"

"Fuckin' stop already," his voice is louder than he intended it to be. He wants to be firm, not show you that this may be affecting him more than it should. But the patheticness is making him want to push you into the fucking wall. "It's a fucking fact."

And finally, you let the tears fall. They're big and hot, and fucking hopeful. Making a stream that you will hope will connect him to you.

"And this," he grips at the hem of his shirt on your body. The grip almost yanking it off. "It is past sad at this point."

"Then why do you come?"

He stops and thinks for minute, thinking back on this game he believes you're orchestrating. No one really wins, no one loses. It's just.. exhausting.

Your heavy sniffles pull at his arm, leading him to your door — where he can escape this, escape you. Even though he knows the calls are going to start again, the stilled night text messages are going to be met with a click of the silence button. And your mind is going to come up with a ploy that you need answers, and for some wicked reason he's going to come and this would happen again.

But for right now, he is going to be with his girlfriend.

And you're going to be here, wondering what you did wrong. What you could've changed? What you could possibly bring to dangle in front of him, to have him be the man you want him to be.

When the truth is, he just did not want you.

"Would you have left me the fuck alone if I didn't?"

The door slams behind him.

There's a slight chill in the air as he walks out of your building. The feeling of your heat already fading from his skin, replaced by the weight of his phone.

Contentment settles in his shoulders. You'll leave him alone for awhile and he can continue to ignore you — ignore what you think you want.

His phone rings in his pocket, vibrating against his palm. The candid photo watching him still under a streetlight.

Incoming Call from: Babe

"Hey," he speaks into the phone. His back leaning against the streetlight. The one that he knows stands in front of your window. He prickles under your stare.

"Hi, 'Kuna," her voice is soft, welcoming in a way you'll never sound to him. "What are you doing?"

He looks up, finally catching your stare. Your palm under your chin as you watch him dreamily, as if you're living in a romcom. His mouth twists into a snarl. He narrows his eyes. Fluttering blinks that match the same frequency as yours.

"Nothing important," he scoffs lowly.

As if you heard him, you flinch. Wipe at your eyes. He turns his back. Walks away. Ignores you. Forgets you.

🏷️ @fayerie, @binmeister, @strawberrychita, @letteremi, @satorupi, @lily-bisque, @bistrocatxx, @caffine-exe, @lav4mpira

art found on pinterest/artist su2kuna

#this was even more miserable than what you showed me bro #this is also so in character for a guy like him #THIS IS LIKE THE SMITHS TOO #IM GONNA THROW UP #😭😭😭#✦ bisque recs

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lily-bisque · 1 day ago

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I hope you’re taking care of yourself Lily! Deactivate if you need to, do what’s best for you. We’ll miss you but just know there’s no obligation to write or stay 🫶🏼

ANONNIEEEE this was so so sweet 😭💛i’m pretty sure I burned myself out pretty bad like I haven’t written in DAYS but i have been taking it easy :’) I probably won’t deactivate just bc idk what happens to my account if i do LMAO but thank you sm for checking in and for this sweet message ml <333

#✦ bisque asks

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lily-bisque · 1 day ago

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You cannot leave Staring Role as a oneshot 😭😭😭 I neeeeeeeed a part 2 I need comfort 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

LMFAOAOA the comments had me rolling bc starring role was previously called “G-L-A-M-O-R-O-U-S” and there’s been two parts up on this account since May but I had such a hard time continuing it for some reason 😭 but now I’m considering taking a different direction possibly? I fear I broke too many hearts calling it a oneshot LOL so there may be a part two up sometime soon if I can get to staring at my document

#✦ bisque asks

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lily-bisque · 1 day ago

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You have a thing for Athlete!Sukuna. He knows. And plays you like a violin.

Athlete!Sukuna who you have the biggest, fattest crush on. And everyone knows it. You’re not exactly subtle about it – trailing him through the halls like a lost puppy, eyes latching onto his form when he walks into a room. Little bubbly smile curving at the corner of your glossy lips.

Athlete!Sukuna who knows you like him. He thinks it’s silly that you get hissy over him when you think he’s not watching. You’ll poke his arm when he’s ignoring you, whine about how he hasn’t texted all day, try to catch his eyes across the cafeteria. Half of the time, he doesn’t even look at you. The other half, he smirks like he’s in on a joke you’ll never get. You’re a doll, a pretty girl with so many friends that just so happened to fall in love with this tattooed, sharp-mouthed boxer asshole! And he knows. He, of all people, knows that the most.

Athlete!Sukuna who uses you for convenience’s sake. If he’s bored, he’ll text you to come over. Sometimes it means you end up in his lap, his big hands palming your thighs while he kisses you hard enough to leave your lips swollen. Other times you run your hands through his hair and talk about your day while he lies in your lap, only half-listening.

Athlete!Sukuna who leaves when he’s done. Every time. Always with the same excuse – he’s got to train or his coach needs him. And every time, your heart sinks in that quiet, invisible way you’ve trained yourself to hide.

Athlete!Sukuna who, every so often, slips and lets something that feels real leak through. Like the time you told him about a girl giving you dirty looks in the hallway. You expected him to brush it off. Instead, he snorted and said bet she’s ugly as fuck. You snapped back instantly – that wasn’t the point, and he just stared at you for a long, slow moment, before smirking. “You’re cute when you’re mad.”

You hate how much those words stuck with you, like honey. Glossed over a compliment that was never supposed to be so sweet.

Athlete!Sukuna who notices, with a creeping irritation, that you hang out around other guys. Especially the other boxers. He’ll watch you chatting with them, lip caught between your teeth while you listen intently to something regarding the correct way to punch. He knows you’re just trying to understand him better – and he doesn’t care. All he sees is you smiling at someone else.

Athlete!Sukuna who turns cruel when the jealousy gets too loud.

Athlete!Sukuna who waits until you’re alone, staring up at him with wide eyes, to say things that sting. That skirt makes you desperate. You talk too much. Stop laughing like that, it’s annoying. And every time your lips wobble and your eyes glisten, it does something to him.

Athlete!Sukuna who can’t look away when you stare at him with those teary eyes, not saying a word – just standing there like you can’t believe he’d say something so sharp. You look pretty, and it makes his chest feel tight. He likes it. He hates that he does.

Athlete!Sukuna who, at the party you threw for his win the other day, disappears halfway through. You search for him, weaving through the crowd, and find him upstairs with some girl pressed to his neck. She’s biting lightly, hands in his hair, and his eyes meet yours. Cold.

Athlete!Sukuna who doesn’t push her away. Doesn’t stop her. Just holds your gaze and lets it happen, like it's none of your business.

Athlete!Sukuna who thinks about that look on your face for days.

Not the shock, not even the hurt.

The way you didn’t yell.

The way you ran.

Athlete!Sukuna who you drag into the nurse’s office later, the skin around his knuckles all red, bruises blooming up his arms. He doesn't explain, just mutters something about a practice match that got a little heated.

You’ll never know it’s because his sparring partner called him an asshole for making you cry.

Athlete!Sukuna who sits down on the cot and watches as you fiddle through the cabinets. You’ve been here before, patching him up, but this time, it’s different. The air is heavy. Your hands are steady because you’ve learned the best way to clean and wrap from talking to his teammates, soaking up their advice like it mattered more than your own classes.

You dab at his knuckles with a damp cloth, careful where the skin is tender, and not once do you look at him. Not when his knee brushes yours, not when he murmurs, “You’re quiet tonight.”

You hum something noncommittal, eyes fixed on the bruise, pretending it’s the only thing worth noticing. And his gaze lingers. It’s not the first time he’s looked at you, but something’s strange. The curve of your lashes as you blink, or maybe the way your glossed bottom lip catches the light, or maybe the scent of your perfume wrapping around him like the softest embrace.

You’re gorgeous. The thought hits him hard enough to make his jaw ache more than the bruises.

You tape the last bit of gauze, fingers brushing his skin, and he swears you’re doing it on purpose. Avoiding his eyes, answering only when you have to.

He tells himself it doesn’t matter.

It does.

Athlete!Sukuna who notices you pulling away. Slowly. You still answer, still come when he calls – but you stop letting him kiss you in the hallway. You take hours to reply to his texts. You tell him you’re busy more than you used to, and you start posting pictures with your friends, smiling like you never lost a thing.

It drives him insane.

Athlete!Sukuna who replays the way you used to whisper I’m yours in bed, voice all breathless and certain, when he’s slumped against his own bed in the dead of night. He doesn’t know when that stopped. But he knows he hates that it did.

Athlete!Sukuna who starts thinking about you at all hours. You curled up against him in bed, you looking up at him with watery eyes. You laughing just for him.

The idea of you giving any of that to someone else makes his blood run hot.

Athlete!Sukuna who follows you home one night. He hangs back just far enough so you don’t notice, then stops outside your window, watching.

Your room is all pink and soft, stuffies piled on your bed and old polaroids you’ve never bothered to take down taped to your walls – so many of them with him in the frame.

Athlete!Sukuna who feels something snap inside his chest.

He’s never been here before. He should’ve, from the start. He should’ve been in every inch of this place.

Athlete!Sukuna who can’t stop thinking about climbing through that window and kissing you senseless, until you remember that you’re his, that he’s yours, that he adores you. He hopes you know he does.

Athlete!Sukuna who decides, standing there in there dark, that he’s done letting you drift.

You’re going to be his girlfriend.

Not sometimes. Not when it’s convenient.

Always and only and irrevocably, his.

And if you think you can slip away, you’re wrong. Dead wrong.

#CUPID YOURE GETTING HEAD FOR THIS #he’s so possessive oh ma gash😩#I’m such a loser for athlete kuna #✦ bisque recs

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lily-bisque · 1 day ago

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˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✉︎ ꒱ ˎˊ˗ my second kinktober and i once again am so excited, i decided to start earlier as last year i couldn't finish it in time ! i will probably change the themes or characters throughout time so i will reblog whenever i do ! ... want to join my taglist? ⋆₊ ♱

⌗ ﹒1 OCTOBER - 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐔𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 | kento nanami.

Kento loves leaving you for hours, on the edge and overwhelmed. wet leaking down your legs as your eyes stick to the top of your head, permanently. He loves seeing you squirm with slight pain as the vibrator picks up the volume and he tweaks the clamps to tug just right.

⌗ ﹒7 OCTOBER - 𝐊𝐈𝐃𝐍𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆 | toji fushiguro.

After toji gets offered money to kill this prissy girl who is the daughter of a drug dealer, he swiftly takes the job. What he didn't expect is the most gorgeous girl he has ever met, maybe he wont kill you but fuck - you would wish you were dead.

⌗ ﹒10 OCTOBER - 𝐏𝐄𝐓 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘 | suguru geto.

Suguru bought you a collar and a leash ! wont you be a good pup for him? Hump on his shoe like the depraved mutt you are, so needy for his attention arent you? Whos a good girl?

⌗ ﹒13 OCTOBER - 𝐂𝐍𝐂 | sukuna ryomen.

You've always had a dark set of kinks, one of your favourites is cnc, rape play - however you want to call it. Sukuna easily agrees to chasing you down in a forest and fucking you harshly!

⌗ ﹒16 OCTOBER - 𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐗 | satoru gojo.

Tumblr is a weird and mysterious place, and unluckily for you that's where you met satoru! Bonding quickly leads up to a steamy phone call where he whines into the mic to your gorgeous distant body!

⌗ ﹒19 OCTOBER - 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐃 𝐒𝐄𝐗 | choso kamo.

You've joked that your boyfriend was a vampire for a while, the pale skin, the dark aesthetic and certain traits of his. What you didn't expect is for him to be into blood, specifically period blood. Why not indulge your vampire boyfriend?

⌗ ﹒22 OCTOBER - 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊 | kento nanami.

Not even for a second would kento ever hurt you but how can he deny you when you look up at him, fluttering your eyelashes and telling him how much it would turn you on. If he hit you, choked you and made you cry during sex.

⌗ ﹒25 OCTOBER - 𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐀𝐋 | sukuna ryomen.

Your firm hard dom husband would do anything for you despite how brooding and mean he is. This leads to him tied up and teased for an hour, leaking and red - not so much of a dom now is he?

⌗ ﹒28 OCTOBER - 𝐆𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐄 | toji fushiguro.

Stressed and frustrated toji stumbles across a bathroom in a small bar, with the urge to stroke himself - he finds a hole and an eager mouth on the other side.

⌗ ﹒31 OCTOBER - 𝐃𝐎𝐔𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 | satoru gojo + kento nanami.

Satoru lets one of his closest friends fuck his sensitive girlfriend as a reward, it ends with two big cocks deep in your stretched cunt and a haze that covers your mind while your pounded between them.

#OH HELL FUCKING YEAH VI #I can’t wait to read these baby #✦ bisque recs

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lily-bisque · 1 day ago

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shaving bf!sukuna's bush ✄ . . . . 𖡎

another crackfic - thinking about bushkuna too much ;-; so enjoy this ig

you'd woken up from a nap, still sleepy and delirious, with sukuna sitting on the couch next to you, watching tv. he wouldn't look at you. each time you spoke to him he kept his eyes glued to the screen, and you were too confused by his odd behavior to notice the tension in his jaw or the twitching of his lips as he tried to hold in his laughter.

and then the doorbell rang. some delivery man dropping off a package. you'd opened the door to sign for it and he just stared at you, jaw slack, an expression of both amusement and concern. and when you shut the door after, muttering under your breath about how everyone was being really fucking weird that day, sukuna finally broke. he was doubled over in the hall, practically howling, he was cackling so hard.

"you've gotta see your fucking face."

scrambling for a mirror, you finally saw what was so funny. dicks. not a dick, dicks. as in multiple, drawn all over your face by the man boy who claimed he loved you very much, while you slept very peacefully.

several days have gone by since then, and you're not over it. sitting on the edge of the bed, lips pursed and brows furrowed, your eyes narrow as you stare down at the sleeping giant that is your boyfriend. he looks too content, serene even. he doesn't deserve that.

you grip the razor tighter, hoping the firm hold will also strengthen your resolve as you pull back the covers to reveal the rest of his naked body. he always slept naked, and he always slept deeply. you remember the time he slept through an earthquake the year prior. he's ridiculous, honestly.

but enough thinking — it's time for action. carefully, precisely, you start sculpting. manscaping, if you will. with each little shwip, shwip, shwip of the razor, more hair falls away, and the imagined shape starts to become a reality. a few minutes later, you're satisfied, and now you just have to wait.

you're in the kitchen when he wakes up, nursing your first cup of coffee as his booming voice echoes through the apartment.

"what the hell is thiiiis?"

heavy footsteps follow after, as he hunts you down, shortly appearing in the doorway. he's still naked, chest heaving, a cross look on his face.

"you shaved my fucking bush."

you're giggling behind your mug. "and?"

"AND? it's a heart!"

there's tears in your eyes from how hard you're wheezing now. any embarrassment he'd put you though was worth it, because this was priceless.

"you're gonna pay for this, woman."

a/n: such a pretty boyyyy with his lil heart awwwwww

#honestly more punishment to him bc the drawn dicks were kinda sick #like that is so evil #BUT THE HEART SHAPE LMFAO #reader lowkey talented for that cuz I feel like his bush would be insane #✦ bisque recs

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lily-bisque · 1 day ago

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mirror sex with husband!nanami on your honeymoon content: mirror sex, praise kink, riding him, pet names, fluff, 18+, wc: 1k

The hotel suite is hushed, wrapped in the soft stillness of midnight when you step finally inside. Below, the sound of the city is muffled by floor to ceiling windows and thick velvet curtains. It’s warm, intimate – a night for just the two of you to share. That, and a lifetime ahead.

You’re still glowing – from champagne, from dancing, from the thrill of being his. Of finally calling Nanami your husband. You’ve loved each other for years now, but tonight it feels like you’re falling in love with him all over again. When you’re with him, it seems like love does more than just endure; it deepens, softens, blooms anew, like your heart keeps finding new ways to hold him.

The night went perfectly, a romantic candlelit dinner on the rooftop terrace, the city lights flickering below like stars just for the both of you, his hand warm over yours the whole time. Nanami had barely taken his eyes off you the whole night; not since the moment you stepped out in that silk dress, wearing the same perfume you used to put on when you had first started dating.

The moment the door clicks shut, he’s already slowly backing you against the wall, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. You gasp softly as his hands find your waist, sliding down the soft curve of your hips. It’s slow and deliberate, like he’s professing his love to you with every touch, every breath, even though he already knows your body like the back of his hand.

“My pretty wife,” he murmurs, lips brushing against your neck. “My gorgeous girl. Did you have fun tonight?”

“I did,” you whisper back, turning your head just enough to catch his mouth in a kiss. And then a tad wistfully, you add, “I don’t want tonight to end.”

“We have our whole lives together,” Nanami promises. “And besides, the night isn’t over...” His hands are already trailing up to find the zipper of your dress. He leans closer now, breath hot against your jaw. “Can I take this off you?”

You nod, breath stuttering. In all the excitement of tonight, you’d almost forgotten what you were wearing underneath – a delicate lace set picked out just for him. Soft ivory, trimmed with satin and bows, lies sheer against your skin.

The zipper comes down in one smooth motion, dress slipping down your body with a whisper of silk. Nanami sucks in a breath when he sees what you’re wearing, eyes widening as he steps back to take you in.

“I see,” he says quietly, voice thick as his eyes run hungrily over your body. “You planned to kill me tonight.”

You laugh, warm and flushed. “Only a little.”

Beyond the lust, you recognise something more tender – the soft, aching adoration that pools in his eyes as he kisses you again. He looks at you like you’re something precious, holds you like you’re delicate, and kisses you like he’s still in awe that you’re his. Then, he takes you by the hand, pressing another kiss to your knuckles as he gently guides you towards the full-length mirror across the room.

“Turn around,” he murmurs, hands moving to hold your waist. “Want you to see how pretty you look when you ride me, sweetheart.”

Swallowing, you do as you’re told, pressing your back against his chest as you slowly turn to face your reflection in the mirror. Nanami lifts you easily, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling you down into his lap. He’s panting slightly as he pulls your panties aside to rub the head of his cock against your slick entrance.

Then, slowly, achingly, you sink down on him, inch by inch, until you’re stretched, throbbing, and entirely full of him. The reflection in the mirror hides nothing: your lashes fluttering, the way your mouth parts in a shaky gasp, the way his grip tightens on your hips as your walls clench around him.

“K-kento–,” you stutter, eyes squeezing shut. It’s a lot.

“Just like that, baby,” Nanami rasps, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “My pretty wife, you’re taking me so well.”

You’re trying to start a rhythm, but your legs are already trembling from how deep he is. He’s so big, and the way he’s pressing against your sensitive spots makes your head fuzzy and your thoughts escape you.

“Too much?” he asks, a hand reaching out to pull down the cups of your bra so your breasts spill out. “Want me to help?” You nod, and a hand slides up your back, steadying you as his hips roll up to meet yours. Whimpering helplessly, you tighten your arms around him as he thrusts up inside you.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” Nanami soothes. “Look how good you’re doing, fuck—” Both of you are fixated on the reflection in the mirror, at the way you’re panting and unravelling in his lap as the thick head of his cock slides in and out of you. He whispers endless praises in your ear even as his hips keep rolling up, dragging against your walls and making you lose yourself in pleasure.

“Iloveyou–,” he groans against your neck. “Fuck, I love you. Look at you, riding me like you were made for it–”

“Love y-you too, Kento,” you whimper, your voice catching on a moan as he thrusts up deeper inside of you. His hands roam your body, sliding up your back, splaying across your hips as he guides your body with a steady, possessive rhythm.

"Close, baby?" he rasps, lips brushing against your cheek as he feels your walls flutter around him.

You nod shakily, movements growing desperate, almost frantic with every thrust pushing you closer to the edge. Your fingers tangle in his hair and your eyes squeeze shut as your release overtakes you, leaving you trembling in his arms. It unravels slowly, deep, full-bodied, as pleasure washes over you in waves.

He follows soon after with a low, desperate groan of your name, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his arms tightening around you. His hips stutter as he spills inside, breath ragged.

“Can’t believe you’re mine now,” he breathes against your skin, chest heaving, voice rough.

“I’ve always been yours,” you say softly, pulling back just enough to see him.

He’s already looking at you with that gentle expression – eyes warm and honeyed, brimming with tenderness, crinkling at the corners with fondness for you.

It’s the kind of look that whispers thank you for loving me. Thank you for finding your way back to me. Thank you for staying. And you whisper it right back, slow and reverent as you kiss him – a promise sealed with your lips:

Always.

a/n: hehe. they're so cute. if you've read my ex-boyfriend!nanami one shot, you can consider this to be an epilogue of sorts, or an extension of that fic :) in my head, this happens in the same universe, and i wanted to give them the happy ending they deserve ~ ^_^

#THIS WAS SO SO TENDER AND SWEET😭#oh i loved this sm and i love how you write nanami #✦ bisque recs

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lily-bisque · 1 day ago

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ex-husband!toji, like a dog, always finds his way back home. it’s late, just past two, and the kitchen light’s still on. you’re on the couch bare-legged, eating cereal out of a chipped mug with your feet tucked under a blanket that smells of his old deodorant.

you left the chain dangling on the door. he comes in all muscle memory. two knocks, shoulder to the frame. he uses the key under the mat to open it, even shuts it soft when he steps inside.

boots are toed off on entry. wallet tossed on the shelf. toji scans the apartment the way he used to when it was his, too. a confused rattling of papers paired with an evidently unsatisfied grunt, tells you he sees that you finally pawned the ring.

he walks behind you. doesn’t touch. but the heat from him rolls under the hem of your shirt and kisses at all the places he’s been before. you know what he wants. you know he’s not good at asking.

“really?” his voice drags, thick with sleep or liquor or a night too long to name. “still with this thing?”

he seems to forget, considerably often these days, that he was the first one to call it quits.

“you forget your key?” you ask, wiping at the milk stain developing on the pillow under your mug.

the spot on the table where the finish is still worn from his ashtray, wears the same shape.

he shrugs, steps to the fridge, grabs a beer. from your stash, the cheap kind he used to complain about but never stopped drinking because you didn’t want to do it alone. the door whines as he closes it with his hip.

he leans against the counter, elbows digging into it like it’s still his apartment as much as it is yours. as if you’re not the only name on the lease now.

“i was nearby,” his voice sits on the tile.

you dry your hands on the hem of your sleep shirt and turn just enough to see him. he’s wearing a dark blue hoodie—new, you think. hands in his pockets. eyes on your legs. hair damp from wherever he came from tonight. he blinks slow, wipes under one eye with the back of his hand like he’s been driving for hours.

“saw you went to that new ramen place on 6th.”

you frown, feet already moving to the bathroom for the eye drops you keep in the cabinet, exactly for this purpose. “and how do you know that?”

his mouth twitches into a grin. “i got eyes.”

“plus, you posted about it.” he follows you in, watches the dripping faucet instead of your face.

(you haven’t posted anything in two weeks.)

“was that the guy?”

you grab the box, open it and blow at the dust on the bottle while you read the expiration date.

“that lawyer-looking one,” he clarifies, slurring the letters together. “greek nose. boring mouth.”

you grab his face in your hand, chin in palm and cheeks between thumb and pointer. “are you drunk?”

“only a little.” his eyes travel over your face because he feels like he hasn’t seen it in ages, and seeing it now is being hooked up to oxygen after days of not being able to breathe. “i wouldn’t bring him home.”

you tilt his head up, watching the droplets fall and his blinks get faster. he looks thankful. you miss him.

you can’t tell him that, because it hurts you just as much to say it, him as much to hear it. so instead you pull him to the couch, sleepy figure looming over yours as you tuck yourself in while he stares.

you jab the side of his thigh with your heel, thinking he’s being a creep, but he catches your ankle under the blanket and holds it right there. thumb brushing over your shin and pupils wet.

“why are you really here, toji?” you tug at the hem of his hoodie, gaze not leaving his.

the scar on his lip twitches whenever he lies, you remember. “was cold out. found the key.”

“that key was supposed to be for emergencies.”

you pat the spot next to you, scooting over when he lets go of your ankle to lift the blanket and slide under. he fits against you just like he used to, but somehow, your heart aches just like it’s empty.

“i don’t know what else to call it.”

he buries his face into your hair, curls in so you’re snug back to chest. “can i sleep here tonight?”

you roll your eyes, even though he can’t see. “why would i let you?”

“because i’m asking.” a soft kiss to your cheek.

he tugs you close, hand snug on your leg.

“and because i think you’re still mad,” he murmurs, the liquid courage turning sour. “but you made double portions of everything for dinner. i saw.”

without asking, he lies down right there, head in your lap, shirt riding up over the tattoo on his hip. your middle name in kanji and a few lotus flowers.

he’s pushing back into the arms of the couch. pulling the blanket higher. fitting himself into the part of your life that never fully shut the door on him.

you sigh.

“spare pillow’s in the closet.”

“i know where it is.”

#situationship toji 😍😍😍#soso bittersweet #heart aching #✦ bisque recs

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