#ִ •°. *࿐. *. ⋆ ▻ 𝙙𝙚𝙡𝙪𝙡𝙪

[prncssie]

miffy’s note you might have thought i wouldn’t have done it, but i DID! this is not my comeback. don’t count on consistency MDNI — another suburbia kuna moment

when the itadori’s invited you on their annual beach trip, this is not what you had in mind. in your romanticized head, you imagined yourself sipping margaritas out of salt-rimmed glasses, decorated with limes and lemons and little paper umbrellas. you saw yourself sunbathing in a tiny-topped bikini, baby pink beach towel protecting your smooth skin from the fine sand grains. you envisioned walking the bustling streets during the late hours of the night and half dressed and waving dainty fingertips at the pretty boys that stare you down as you walk by.

what you didn’t expect, however, is to be pressed against baby blue paneling in the pantry, hands grasped so tightly around a certain pink-haired man. you tell yourself you didn’t expect it, at least. truly, you brought this onto yourself, parading around in tiny baby-tees and cutoff shorts. you even wore your hair the way he liked, curls framing your face and lips highlighted with the shimmery pink lip gloss. perhaps you didn’t expect it but you certainly were hoping for it.

“kuna, please,’” your words are practically stolen from you with the way he licks the inside of your mouth. your top hangs off of you at this point, the string loosened and dangling around your neck. it’s on the brink of unraveling completely and doesn’t do you any good with sukuna toying with it with an arm snaked around your waist and reaching up behind you.

“please,” he mocks you cruelly in between a laugh and a gasp for necessary air. you’re such easy prey to him, whether you know it or not. even when you think you have the upper hand, sukuna will always be there, watching with a smug smile across his face. that’s really all he’s been the past couple days, just waiting to get you alone.

waiting to get you in a corner like this, quiet and meek and pliant, just as you always are when he gets his hands on you. his particularly rough hands gliding across your skin, gripping and grabbing where he finds it especially soft. your hips, your ass, your breasts, the part of your waist just below your ribcage. every now and then he’ll go as far as sliding his hand in between your sternum and securing his fingers around your neck.

“you’re going to get us in trouble. yuji will never forgive me.” you try to appeal to his conscience through a mewling plead, tilting your head as his lips move to your neck. the mix of adrenaline and lust buzzing just beneath the surface of your skin is driving you crazy. it's ridiculous how just a few kisses can get your knees to buckle and your heart to race.

the warmth of him, the weight of his body, even the way he smells — a mix of soap from a recent shower and salt from the wind permeating his clothes — fills your brain with a particular neediness, one reserved only for him. your entirety is reserved only for him, from the hairs atop your head to the jeweled sandals on your feet. it’s an unspoken understanding between the two of you, no matter who you pretend to flaunt around in the eyes of your peers.

it’s because of that, that sukuna doesn’t care. if anything, it only encourages him more, pulling back just to show off his arrogant smirk. “yeah? yuji is going to be so mad, huh. he’s going to be so upset you let his mean, rude older brother touch you and fuck you and – oh? you’re not wearing anything under the shorts. slut.” he pulls the waist bands at your gingham shorts before you can realize and his hand finds its way inside within a matter of seconds. it’s no surprise when he’s met with your slippery folds. he could already tell from the way you were desperately humping his thigh. you’re such an eager, darling thing, even when you pretend you’re not.

“it wasn’t for you.” you grip the fabric of his opened button up shirt. you mean it too, it really wasn’t for him. you had no intention of getting in the water today. truly, all you planned to do is lay against the sand and enjoy the beaming sunlight. you didn’t know he’d be palming you beneath your clothes but if you did now, you doubt you’d change a thing.

you practically writhe every time he catches your clit when he runs his fingers up and down your slit so agonizingly slow. you have half a mind to beg him to do something else, something to appease the searing lust in the base of your tummy. instead, all you do is roll your lips into themselves and angle your hips in his direction, hoping that’ll be enough.

“mm, wasn’t for me, was for me. it doesn’t really matter, does it?” sukuna ghosts his pink sugared lips along your skin — across your collar, up the side of your neck, from your cheek to your lips, warm breath forcing goosebumps to prickle your skin. for a moment, he looks pleased when he finally dips inside you. the feeling of your walls constricting against sukuna provokes a low whistle hum, followed by a singular pump of his fingers. it all comes to a screeching halt the moment you grasp his wrist.

you’re not even sure what possessed you to do such a thing, anyway. such a small movement could not have sent you that far over the edge and yet, here you are, squealing under your breath.

“move your hand.” sukuna is merely a few inches away from you, hovering and speaking his words into you. his eyes settle low, judging and burning into your soul. he squints, flickering his gaze down to where you were connected and right back to you. “move your fucking hand and don’t be a little bitch about it.”

your toes curl against the sole of your sandals. you can’t help but look at the cracked sliding door of the pantry. it’s risky enough to be kissing behind semi-closed doors but touching? and like this on a family vacation? “kuna, please. another time. i . . . we shouldn’t.” still, your hand is lax against his wrist. you’re barely holding him, simply resting your hand on his in what’s supposed to be protest

“if you don’t want it then stop me.” his words are almost animalistic against the shell of the ear. despite your persisting grip, he continues with his assault against your gummy walls. the pads of his fingers slip inside your silkened pussy, grinning at each sharp inhale of your breath.

you don’t stop him. if anything, you relax in his hands, softening against the wall behind you. you loop your arm around his neck, giving in to your desire. pushing sukuna away is the last thing on your mind. to be honest, there isn’t much on your mind to begin with. your thoughts are all screaming the same mantra, how badly you never want this to end. the weight of his body against yours, the heat of his lips on your skin, the fullness of his fingers inside you. you could live forever like this, die like this just as satisfied as ever.

you’d be the happiest, you’d think, living your last moments sandwiched between sukuna and whatever immovable object behind you, completely to his mercy. an interrupted moment in time, past, present, and future, where such an off-limits opportunity is fully within hands reach, in your grasp right now.

your breath hitches when the pads of his fingers press against a particular spot deep inside your hot cunt. it sends a wave of milky slick gushing from out your walls and coating his fingers. you can’t help but lift a leg and wrap it around his waist. you don’t even realize until you’re pulling him closer, running your fingers through the soft tresses of his dark colored undercut.

which is why you feel particularly disappointed when said minstrastions cease to exist, following the telltale sound of the front door hinges creaking open and yuji’s boyish voice breaking all existing tension. “we’re back. you guys ready to go?”

sukuna’s retreat from your personal space gives you whiplash. one moment, he’s all up on you and the next, he’s standing on the other side of the tiny room, grinning and gleaming from the exhilaration of his best kept secret. “later, then? keep her wet for me, pretty.”

[prncssie]

mdni kyojuro rengoku is cruel, but never really intentionally. his intentions are sweet and you know it in the way his eyes gleam in the lowlights. the grin on his face shines brighter than any light in the room, dimmed until your forms are very visible and hidden in undistinguished lumps under the sheets.

he swallows each of your pants with a kiss, clouding his head in the same way sativa would. in fact, the smell continues to linger on your skin but somehow it mixes just perfectly with your pheromones. he’s addicted and relentless.

his fingers continue to pump in and out of your battered cunt in smooth strokes despite your baseless protests that you can’t handle anymore. kyojuro doesn’t believe you, not for a second. your hand is wrapped around his bicep too hard. he doubts he could get too far away if he tried.

so instead, kyojuro only smiles, kisses you again, and continues his conquest. you didn’t mean it, he thinks. you can handle one more or even two more. you like it. you love it. why you insist your dripping wet pussy can’t take it, he doesn’t know.

kyojuro rengoku is the meanest of mean. it’s hidden behind a kind smile and otherwise chivalrous acts. no one would believe you if you told them just how often he brings you to the brink of insanity, simply relishing in the indirect praise that falls from your lips. sure, servicing you is all just who kyojuro is, but even more than that, it boots his ego.

you get to cum over and over and he gets to relish in your sweet symphony . . . until he decides otherwise.

[prncssie]

in order to do my part in aiding for the liberation of palestinians, i will be participating in fics for gaza movement created by @ficsforgaza. all of the proceeds go straight to charity and its all on your behalf so i recommend you participate as well, either as a writer or as a reader.

what is fics for gaza? it is a system that allows the writer and reader to work as one. for each $1 sent to a vetted fundraiser i will write 100 words towards any wip of your choose or towards a request. proof must be provided in my dms with personal information scratched out. in return, i will write the allocated word count. i do recommend checking out their page for more information to better understand how this works.

i currently write for astv, demon slayer, and jjk — specifically sukuna. please refer to my dni and my rules before sending in a request. to any requests sent in before this, those will still be honored. you are free to still sponsor it if you feel you should but they will be completed in due time.

wips — no limit $1 per 100 words

candy cane — the sequel to peppermint patty | atsv

after months of avoiding hobie since crossing that boundary of their friendship, y/n is forced to confront the root of their issues (nsfw, no use of y/n, warnings to be updated) 9063/11,000 words

untitled — sukuna x reader

after moving into your new apartment, you notice you have a secret admirer, one who particularly enjoys hiding in the shadows. luckily, sukuna is there to protect you (dark content, stalking, manipulation, dependency, nsfw, warnings to be updated) 0/13000 words

requests — 2,000 word limit $1 per 100 words

[prncssie]

miffy’s note i’m going to make a whole suburbia kuna page thing bc i write for him when i feel like i can’t write anything else. he’s just so easy. this will be after i fix my masterlist. literally never changing my user every again mdni

“you’re a terrible fucking person, sukuna.”

this is ridiculous. this is wrong on so many levels. this is unforgivable. you know this. you know that would happen if you got caught here, leaned against the arm of the couch, seating comfortably against the cushions. you should push him away. you need to push him away but you can’t. your body simply won’t allow it. if anything, your muscles crave him closer, wanting to pull and retract until his body is against yours, until the clothes you wear are no longer a barrier and your body heat merges as one.

your friends will kill you.

“i love it when you’re a raging bitch.” he speaks against your lips, moving them all too gracefully with a searing hand beneath the him of your shirt and squeezing at the soft skin at your waist. his incisor pokes your pillowly lips. he’s like a canine and he kisses you like one too, sloppy and wet, tongue snaking through the cavern of your mouth, wrapping around your pink muscle and sucking.

he’s so lewd, smirking when he can feel you relax, craning towards him and chasing his touch before he’s even pulled away. this game of cat and mouse you play, it’s so addicting. it’s adrenaline, it’s oxytocin. he needs it a thousand percent of the time, it’s all he can think of. even in this very moment, with your lips against his and your body beneath him, he’s thinking about you. he’s thinking about your silhouette, naked with dips and curves that call out to him. he’s thinking about your whimpers, the instability in your voice when you speak his name. sukuna, sukuna, sukuna. it whispers in the deepest parts of his brain, the space where he couldn’t care less about how wrong this is. how off limits you are, about the crystal clear boundary yuji set just two months prior.

don’t fuck my best friend, sukuna. i see how you look at her.

as if he’s the one making the first move. you taunted him first, walking through the door in that baby pink tracksuit. the audacity you had to sneer at him upon first sight, as if this wasn’t his house. you started it, too, when you dropped your phone and bent to pick it up.

don’t get sukuna wrong. he isn’t some pervy high schooler. the sight of your ass wouldn’t do it for him alone, at least not today. however, it was the way the fabric stretched, too thin to conceal the bright red thong underneath. he’s just a man, after all. besides, he wasn’t the only one who was affected by such a pretty sight. sukuna didn’t overlook the tips of megumi’s ears and the rounds of yuji’s cheeks turning such a deep shade of pink, it rivaled the blush dusted across your cheeks.

was he just supposed to ignore it? was it not simply expected for him to ease his way towards you? was he just supposed to keep his hands off you?

“seriously, sukuna. get the fuck off me.” you say it and yet, you’re pawing at him, gripping the fabric of his shirt between the knuckles of your fist. you do everything but push him away. you lean into him, you rake your fingers through his hair, you allow him to leave your lips blushed and swollen with his incessant closeness. “we should not be doing this.”

you don’t mean to gasp so loudly but when his hands slip farther up your shirt and grope at your tits, you can’t help it. you can’t help that your head tilts back slightly or the repetitive blinking as you convince yourself to get a grip.

“but it’s so fun . . . don’t tell me you don’t like it, pretty.” sukuna crawls a little closer, tilting his head with faux sympathy. it’s pity, really, especially when the corners of his lips lift in an annoying smirk. “you know who would really like it. yuji. that’s why he doesn’t want me to fuck you. it’s because he wants to fuck you. can you imagine? your best friend. he wants to eat your pussy and do you real good. you think he could do it better than me?”

his hands, large and calloused, slide along your body. they touch whatever exposed skin they can. your tits, your waist. they dig into your pants and grab handfuls of your ass. they squeeze and grip and grope until you’re squirming, wishing they touch more sensitive areas.

you can hear yuji in the kitchen, popping bags of popcorn in preparation for the thoroughly planned movie night. you can hear nobara standing in the hall, seeking privacy for a conversation on the phone with her parents. hell, if you strained your ears hard enough, you’re sure you could hear megumi in the bathroom, taking a piss just a few steps away. this is wrong, this is dangerous. one wrong move and you’d lose everything.

all for a big dicked asshole with shit for brains and a good stroke.

“you don’t know what you’re talking about. don’t make up lies just because your life is boring. maybe you’d have more friends if you weren’t a bitch-twat.” you glare at him, yet angle your chin upwards to make room for the sudden light grip he has around your neck.

it’s not threatening, not at all. if anything, it’s mocking when accompanied by a furrowed brow and a small frown. “yeah? i’m telling lies? i’m making it all up? let’s ask yuji, then, why don’t we? should i wait ‘til he comes in here?” he doesn’t wait for a response before decorating the expanse of your neck in wet kisses. his tongue licks and he sucks, pulling away just before the skin could be blotched shades of wine red and plum purple.

it’s only expected when you whine your rebuttal, wriggling about in an effort to ditch him. sukuna knows how you feel about that. he knows how much you despise his love for trapping you in place and playing the risky game, will he or won’t he?

you can wriggle and squirm all you want, but when your body wants him, when it needs him, when it speaks to him in such an enticing manner — soft sighs you don’t realize you’re making, little breaths leaving your lips, hips bucking up into his subtly — why would he pull away? instead, he locks your wrists down within his hands and explores where he can, inhaling the sweet smelling scent of your gourmand perfume. marshmallows or some sort of bakery. it’s all the same once he gets his lips on you, on yours again, stealing the moans from your throat and directly into his head, into his cock.

it’s a mystery how by the time feet begin pattering in your direction, sukuna is back on his side of the couch and you’re curled up on yours, scrolling through your phone as if you couldn’t taste his saliva in your mouth and you aren’t brimming with the need to finish what you’ve started. “hey yuj, ready when you are.”

[prncssie]

caution mdni 9k words religious subtext, oral, fem reader, college setting, pet names

miffy note this is the sequel to peppermint patty! there will be a third and possibly a .5 part following at a later time c: pls do not spam like my blog! reblogging is always appreciated. pls also consider sending in requests or sponsoring some of my other works via fics for gaza

you could just about die right now; you’re ready to, hoping the dull, faux hardwood tiles would peel apart from the years old glue and open to reveal an endless dark abyss to swallow you up. why? because standing right across from you is hobart brown.

the moment reminds you of a movie. you stand in the library, warm air blasting through the central heating and bringing about a thin layer of sweat across your skin. you should have known better but you only intended to stay for a moment before escaping back to the coolness of outside. the winter months have begun to roll in and your semester has progressed from lounging around with your friends to spending multiple nights up in the late hours, typing away incessantly at your keyboard.

you’ve already gotten one book tucked into your chest and browse the shelves for another. french tipped acrylics grasp around the spine of yet another book and you pull it out to flip through the aged, yellow-stained pages. now that the temperatures have dipped into the thirties, you depend on the layers to maintain your warmth — an oversized cable knit sweater layered over a white shirt, gray leggings on top of tights, pink leg warmers over white socks, and platform uggs. you’ve even got a scarf tied loosely around your neck. walking around campus, you feel just a little chill but it’s bearable. the moment you stepped into the threshold of the library, however, you were quick to remove your trench coat and hang it over your arm.

you’re deep into it too, still flipping the pages and mulling over adding the book to the ever-growing list of resources for your project, when a shadow begins to edge its way into your peripheral. it’s not necessarily a big deal, but you find yourself lifting your eyes anyway. it’s more out of habit than anything else. still, you both freeze in your tracks and stare at each other akin to two little fawns, surprised to see another just like them.

hobie freaking brown.

you haven’t seen him since . . . when? september? october? well now it’s nearing the end of your first semester and you have yet to cross paths which, by the way, is entirely intentional. you bolt every time you see him and hobie knows it. he’s witnessed the display of anxiety with his own two eyes.

“ . . ., hey ☆.” hobie speaks first, maintaining a cautious distance. he clearly intends to walk down your aisle with the way his feet are positioned but he has yet to move, looping his hand around the strap of his bag. he feels just as awkward as you do, although confused because he’s been left in the dark. sure, hobie figured that the dynamic would change but if he knew you’d flat out ignore his existence, he would have denied you the experience entirely.

you suck in a breath and glance down the opposite direction. you’re already formulating a possible escape route but every possible plan your little brain comes up with is more embarrassing than the last. he’s already acknowledged you. you have to speak to him; that’s just proper manners. “h - um . . . wow, hi hobie. we haven’t talked in a minute. how are you?”

the corners of his mouth twitch and pull at the silver lip rings. he sniffs and shifts his weight. this is bullshit and he’d tell you but you’d probably disintegrate on the spot. there’s no point in beating around the bush if you’ve both ran into each other. this must be a sign, divine intervention. “fine,” is what he settles on, short and curt to prevent himself from pushing the sweet, small town girl too far and into a panic.

“that’s good. the semester’s about to end. how are your classes?” gosh, now you’re making small talk. it’s out of your control now. you’ve fallen into your default and there’s not a single thing you can do about it but smile with some form of anguish across your face. you’ve long forgotten about the book in your hands. there’s no chance you can slide it back onto the team wood shelves. it has to come back to your apartment style dorm with you.

hobie’s lip twitch again. this is painful. he assumes it’s the same on both sides but he knows enough about you to know that you’re not going to take the first step, even if you haven’t seen each other in weeks — those three seconds when you’re dashing around the corner in a blur don’t count. “fine. look, i should probably go unless you have something to say to me . . .?”

his question is met with a small shake of your head. you clutch your books tighter to your chest and will your attention not to wander too far, not to drink in his appearance and dwell on the feelings of grief for your friendship. your very first friend, the one who accepted you with open arms. maybe with too open arms. “yeah. i should go to. it was nice seeing you.”

hobie merely hums and turns in his heel. he leaves through the opposite direction, abandoning whatever task he came to fulfill. it remains unchecked in his mental todo list and he disappears from your vision, leaving you standing in the aisle alone. a chill makes its way down your spine. your entire body shudders with something vigorous and yet, you’re not cold.

spotting vivienne in the common space of your dorm is kind of a rare occurrence. it’s not like she’s never in home or refuses to speak to you. she just spends a lot of time behind the privacy of the heavy wooden door of her room with her boyfriend. other times, she’s on the other side of campus, strewn across his bed and empty mindedly staring at his tv screen in an attempt to seem interested in whatever show he’s trying to get her into.

however, this week the two are arguing and your red-headed friend makes it obvious with her questions. vivienne is laid across one end of the couch, twirling a strand between her fingertips, turned pale compared to the previous summer tan in the hotter months. “who’s that guy i saw you with the other day? he’s kinda cute and i think i’m getting annoyed with matthew.”

you don’t bother to look in her direction. it’s a risky thing to do when the named banned from your inner monologue makes a not-so-subtle frown appear on your face. if anything, you take it an as opportunity to lift the book in your hand closer to your face. you’re beginning to regret not reading in your room and shaming the impulsiveness that made you crave a change of environment. “i don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“yes you do!” vivienne is more interested in your bold face lie now that you’ve said it, scooting closer to your body curled up into the arm of the touch. “i know you do because i’ve seen you with him before, a long time ago. if he’s yours, just say that.”

“he’s not mine, viv. i don’t really know him like that, not anymore. we used to be friends and now we aren’t.” you say with a sigh. you attempt to deter her curiosity by lifting the book higher and making a big show out of flipping the page. you should have known, though, that it would be futile. all you’ve done is open up a can of worms as to why you aren’t friends anymore.

“oh my god, girl. you have to tell me what happened.” from the surface of your gorgeous and fresh white pages, four fingers go to bend along the edge and force it downwards until your face is visible. by now, vivienne is all up close and staring at you expectantly. her hair, dyed a very deep shade of red — one that reminds you of red velvet cake — is swaying so close every time she shifts her weight, you swear you can get whiffs of the coconut scented shampoo. fortunately, and possibly unfortunately, for vivienne’s genes, her hair lays bone straight so there’s no stray ends flying up your nose, no matter how thick the density is.

you sigh again, wracking your brain for a possible out. within the past few months of living with her, you’ve gotten to know and occasionally love all her quirks. at times, her stubbornness can be seen through a positive light but now . . . now she’s just bringing up old memories you couldn’t possibly tell her. as if you’d let such lewd descriptions fall from your lips. just the though of the sinful actions make your face hot with embarrassment and instilled guilt, especially when you factored in all the nights you spent with your hand down your cotton panties, rehashing those same thoughts. you think vivienne would laugh if she knew all this. after all, she is free spirited. “we just fell off one day. things got awkward because we have different backgrounds so we don’t really talk anymore. that’s all.”

vivienne’s eyes narrow, brown and larger than usual — probably because of the contacts she sometimes puts in. you can tell she doesn’t believe you when her head nods slowly and she drawls a slow “mhm . . .” it’s questionable why she doesn’t push you further until you’re forced to messily tell her the truth. “well, then it can’t be helped.” she frees you from her curiosity, scooting away to resume lazing about without a care in the world. “you never know though. maybe you’ll reconnect before the semester ends. winter is like the prime time for romance. it’s so cold and everyone always want to cuddle.”

at this, your nose scrunched and you almost snort your disagreement. as if, you think to yourself, as if there’d ever be a single moment in the near or distant future where hobie is romancing you, no matter the season. besides, winter break approaching only meant your return home and return to the church, volunteering to aid in the annual christmas play. “what about you and matt? you’ll probably be back together before you go home.”

“fuck matt. he’s a piece of shit and when he realizes he’s wrong, i’m not taking him back.” her response is followed by a huff of breath out of her nose. whether she’s waiting for you to ask her more, to send her an open invitation to continue your rant, or not, you don’t know.

all you know is her language is distasteful and you make no move to do so, filling the silence with a page flip of your book. what a silly thing to think, especially when you know she’s lying and will always take him back. if this is what relationships are, you sure don’t want one.

there is a problem, a big one. the moment you stir with consciousness, there’s something awfully uncomfortable in the air around you. even under your thick winter comforter, you can feel the sudden . . . cold, the chill that should be unnatural indoors. a shiver runs down your spine before you’re throwing the blanket off your body. “oh my gosh,” you mumble, wrapping your arms around your exposed shoulders.

you feet find solace in the furry slippers resting on the floor and you rise to support your weight on your own. your nose starts running rather quickly and you sniff, all while shuffling across your room to the singular window occupying the wall decorated in little print outs, polaroids, and other various wall decorations. your fingers wrap around the thin cord to draw the blinds upwards.

tick. tick. tick. there’s snow hitting your windowpane.

“oh my gosh!”

it’s almost simultaneous, the knocks against your door. you can only assume it’s your roommate but you get your answer anyway because she walks in, phone in hand and eyes widened in surprise.

“☆, you won’t believe the email they just sent out. the power went out and it’s going to be out until at least tomorrow. we’re gonna have no heat until they fix that shit. it’s the fucking storm. they’re saying we should try and go home early and they’re going to try and make accommodations.”

you don’t have it in you to internally reprimand her vernacular because all your brain capacity has gone into processing her sudden and rapid-fire news. it’s no surprise that there was a winter storm budding a few states over. news has been buzzing with predictions on how much snow will fall, how white the streets will turn when covered in such a thick, cold blanket. “what? when are they going to make accommodations? it’s freezing cold and i’m not staying here all . . .,” your attention falls onto your phone resting on your desk. 

you originally assumed it was early morning and the sun is soon to rise over the horizon in all its bright glory but the lack of birds chirping and hidden in the branches draws another reason for concern. you reach over and tap your screen until it illuminates the room and you’re astonished, all over again. it seems today, or rather tonight, is handing you all sorts of misfortunes. “it’s only two in the morning? i’m not sleeping here all night. it’s freezing.”

when your eyes find vivienne again, she’s leaning against your doorway and shaking her head. her thoughts have already whirred through the same shock you’ve experienced. believe it or mot, that temporary bump in the road with her man had already passed and she spent the last few minutes texting him back and forth. it was sheer luck that she was awake enough to catch the email as it was sent and rushed to inform you, likewise worried about the safety of remaining here for a few hours. “i’m mot either. i’m planning on going across camp, probably gonna sleep in matthew’s room tonight.”

this is awfully unfair. not the fact your roommate has already acquired an alternative shelter for the night, but because not only have you ran into someone you hadn’t intended to ever, you have no one to run to in times like these. your extrovert friend, the one who invites you places and out of your comfort zone has herself to think about. you feel too guilty asking for her assistance in pestering her other friends and your acquaintances. “i don’t know what i’m going to do. i don’t really feel comfortable asking anyone i know to spend the night. i mean, the only person i really hung out with like that . . .”

“call him.” vivienne says rather quickly. she almost cuts you off with her urgency, even going as far as walking across your room and pushing your phone into your hand. “just call him, girl. you need somewhere safe to stay tonight and i’m not letting you stay here. worst case scenario, he says no and i take you with me.”

her gesture, while nice and admittedly pushing you in the right direction, makes you shift uncomfortably. call hobie and ask to spend the night after everything that’s happened? or rather, everything that hasn’t happened. “i — i don’t know. i don’t think he’s pick up, much less let me stay over. maybe i’ll just use an extra blanket. it could be manageable.”

“absolutely not. why wouldn’t he answer?” vivienne is forcing your phone closer to you, as if having it in proximity with your chest will somehow magically unlock it and dial that number you’ve been avoiding for an unnamed time. you’ve even considered deleting it, believing you’d never use it ever again. 

“because we haven’t spoken in forever. he’s not going to answer. knowing him, he’s going to watch it ring and then text me. or not. i don’t know, he’s unpredictable.” your arm, with the hand boy currently forced to wrap around the thick phone case decorated in vivid swirls of color, wraps around your stomach to bring about a sense of security. a part of you is focused on the chill that settings in your bones and you regret slipping into a pair of shorts to sleep in. 

vivienne barely misses a beat. if anything, she only takes half a second to mull over your words and suck in a breath. you can almost hear the thoughts jumbling in her head. “okay . . . okay. then, we’ll stop by and try to convince him in person. if that doesn’t work, then we’ll just have to do plan b.”

it sounds reasonable. it would have been an effective plan had it been under different circumstances. for one, every building requires a keycard to get one, one that’s programmed for that specific building. neither of your key fobs would cause the electronic lock to slide away and allow you access inside. secondly, who’s to say hobie will even be awake? that he’ll come to the door and open it? that he’ll push aside whatever internal turmoil and allow you to stay the night, especially after the heat of your last real interaction. 

you purse your lips, preparing to share all your points with her but vivienne doesn’t want to hear it, and rightfully so. both of your health is at risk here and it’s better to try than throw all consideration out the window. there’s already a ton of reasonable explanations that oppose her position but you don’t really have a chance to communicate that. vivi has already made her way to her closet and pulled out a bag, large enough to hold your necessities had you sleep elsewhere. you’re too non confrontational to say otherwise and sigh.

this night is full of surprises, it seems. it’s like the universe curated this entire situation and left no space for any mishaps against her original design. not only was there someone who just happened to be walking out of the building you were headed into — where he’s going in this weather, you have no idea — but hobie was indeed awake and did in fact open the door.

it’s probable he’s already eyed you through the peephole because the wooden door is pulled at its hinges and he wordlessly leans against the doorway. hobie is dressed for bed, despite posing lively, arms crossed on his chest and an eyebrow raised in peaked interest. he’s waiting on you to say something, you know this, but it doesn’t make it any easier.

he looks so comfortable, standing there in plush jack skellington pajamas pants and a loose fitted shirt. there’s a logo blown up across the front. you can only assume it’s a band you don’t recognize. he’s not dressed up, but by a long shot. there’s even a few piercings missing and the usual jeweled accessories you see him with have been removed and put back in their rightful spot. still, you’re speechless and clutching the straps of your tote bag, securely looped around your shoulder.

it’s not the way he looks but him as a concept, an essence. it’s what he stands and the fear that you’ve been fighting to continually ignore. it’s the religious guilt for such a heavy sin you’ve never imagined you’d commit. he is tempting, a hologram of lucifer himself, a craving a lust that you cannot afford to get involved with. it will ruin your purity. or rather, your sanity.

you shouldn’t be here.

“what do we have here?” hobie’s voice acts like a harsh wind in the fog of your brain, pushing it all to the back of your mind and forcing you to refocus to the situation, at hand. “couple of strays, huh?” he’s smiling at the both of you but you know he’s talking to you. he’s looking at you, staring right into your soul to draw out the reason for your sudden appearance. “hi vivienne. ‘s nice to see you again.”

“we’ve met before?” she speaks with such ease to him, you’re jealous. she’s unaffected, obviously. it’s a wonder if she can even feel the growing tension the longer you stand here and stare at him.

“mm, once or twice,” his lips upturn in a soft smile, accompanied by the crown of his head dipping towards his shoulder, left and right. “i don't expect you to remember me. it was only in passing.”

it gets quiet all over again and you know it’s because everyone is waiting. you’re the one who needs to ask because you’re the one who needs to stay. it’s so easy to ask and yet, so hard at the same time. so difficult to look hobie in the eyes and say can i sleep here tonight?

and yet, you do rather hesitantly. “um, i know that we are friends right now but i . . . our building has no heat and it’s really cold and it’s going to start snowing. i didn’t want to ask you but vivi said — anyway that’s not important. i just can’t stay there because it’s freezing and i’m not going home for a few more days. plus, they sent out an email saying that we shouldn’t sleep there so . . . i mean, you can totally say no. i’ll just follow vivi to her —”

“jesus fucking christ,” hobie cuts off your rant with. click of his tongue. it’s unclear whether his tone is annoyed because he speaks so slowly, shifting his weight until he’s standing and supporting himself fully. “you could have texted me all’at.”

you think, just for a moment, he’s going to step inside and slam the door in your face when he retreats behind the invisible boundary of his door. but no, he’s simply making room for you, motioning for you to walk through the door and entire his space.

“i got her. have a good night, vivienne.”

you think it’s more shocking being behind the door and in hobie’s threshold than it was trying to ask him to welcome you in. you only take a few steps until you’re standing awkwardly in the middle of the room. it’s exactly as you remembered, posters decorating the wall until only slivers of plaster are visible between the margins. there’s a tapestry hung up over the top of his bed. that’s new, along with the large mirror leaning against his closet door.

it’s cluttered, full of antique records and hobie’s personal artwork. he hangs his belts up on hooked command strips, studded and catching the purple lights from the led. it smells like bergamot, mist scented with essential oils spewing out the humidifiers on hobie’s desk. his large monitored pc is on and playing chainsaw man at such a soft volume, you almost miss it. 

“you can have the bed. i’ll make something work.” he takes a seat at his desk without sparing you a glance. much like the other night, your view of him is obscured. all you can really see is his fingers working together on what you perceive to be him crocheting, something that could have been surprising if you didn’t know he’s a jack of all trades.

you look over at his bed, blankets messily wrinkled and tossed aside. unlike your own, it lacks an excess of decoration pillows and stuffed animals. that’s not the part that seems daunting, though. it’s his bed in his room. “thank you, hobie. i really appreciate it.”

you’ve already hung your bed over the blocky stalk forming the makeshift headboard when he hums a response. hobie’s bed is lifted much higher than yours, obviously because he towers over you. it makes sense that his bed needs to offset the the affects of his height but for you, it’s an inconvenience. you don’t remember it being this tall before your fallout. you tilt your head and assess your possible solutions. a chair could be helpful but he’s sitting on it. there doesn’t seem to be a ladder in the room, probably because he doesn’t need it. “do you mind helping me . . . one more time? i won’t speak to you anymore, after that.”

hobie rolls back his shoulders, pulling at the muscles in his neck until they pop under the stretch. there’s a sigh that falls from his lips before he turns around and stands. “yeah, sure. can’t get on the bed?” he isn’t expecting an answer though because the moment you’re in his eyesight, staring at the navy blue duvet and clutching the light fabric between your fingers, it’s pretty clear what the problem is.

the distance is closed between both your bodies in a short span of a few seconds. it’s after that time where his hands circle around your waist with a firm grip. any other girl wouldn’t feel such a warm heat creeping up the back of their neck. you’re the only one on the planet probably, with all your inexperience, that oddly feels shy when he lifts you into the air and onto the bed with so much as a grunt.

you settle and shift until you’ve almost scurried into the back corner to evade any possible tension that could arise from the proximity. when you’re glancing back over your shoulder with your lips pulled into a strained line, hobie has his head cocked to the side and a gaze that lingers on yours.

he could question you now, he’s sure. he could nip this avoidance thing in the bud and get it over with. this could all be over today but . . . there’s just something in the way. it’s not like he isn’t confrontational or would rather protect your feelings but he can only imagine how this must feel for you. knowing that your friendship cannot go back to the way it was before after blurring the lines. a large part of him regrets ignoring his mental clarity and decided to go through with it anyway. he knew it would end up like this, sort of. you would lose all grasp you have on reality as you know it and send yourself spiraling into uncertainty. “ . . . y’know i’m not gonna bite you or something, right? you just need somewhere to sleep so you’re here. that’s it.”

as usual, hobie is the far more rational one in this situation. his demeanor reminds you of something lackluster, brushing off the situation at hand as if it’s nothing, as if what happened didn’t and he hadn’t had his fingers deep in your cunt a few months prior. “no i know. it’s just . . . with our history . . .”

his shoulders rise and drop in a shrug. the muscles on his shoulders, broad and somewhat stocky, tense and pull around his neck. the skin wrinkles before it settles back in its originally position. “clearly you don’t want to talk about it so we aren’t going to talk about it.”

similarly to your last visit, hobie takes a seat in his desk chair. he replaced the sturdy wooden one with his own and turns the seat until it’s facing your direction. hobie’s legs spread wide and comfortably; he slouches, rounding his back and slouching further down in the chair. he’s only eyeing you for just a moment before proceeding to turn his attention back to his show.

you mull his words over in his head, tossing them around your brain and deciding how they taste in your mouth as it all gets processed. the simple way to end things would be to nod and lay down but there’s an upset in your heart, a disturbance that makes you stomach turn with nausea. “well, what is there to talk about? we . . . did what we did. that’s all there is to it, right?”

his interest is suddenly peaked away, curiosity reaching an all time high while he swivels his chair around in your direction again. it’s astonishing that you, so shy and so quiet, had stepped up to plate and given him the opening he needed. hobie, in all honesty, has been waiting for this. he’s been stewing on his emotions and thinking over what he really wanted out of this for weeks. he missed you, the girl he rescued from having such a horrid experience at a party. “yeah, that would be it if you didn’t scatter like a fuckin’ bug under an overturned rock every time you see me.”

“hobie,” you can’t help but chastise him, falling back into your old habits. you’re even curled up in his bed and have nestled beneath the sheets, now warming from your trapped body heat. 

“i’d apologize but i’m not really sorry. you avoided me for weeks. you’re deadass lucky that i let you stay here tonight because technically, we aren’t cool anymore.” he’s gotten his arms crossed over his chest now, a brow raised to challenge you to press his concept of your less-than-friendship. “i’m always gonna look out for you, bug, but i’m feeling kind of betrayed right now.”

you tuck your bottom lip in between the space of your teeth and knaw on the brown skin, pulling at the dead and dry spots that lift with any contact of your tongue. an apology flows out of you quickly but you mean it, despite the predispositioned guilt you get at the drop of a hat. “i’m sorry, hobie. it wasn’t my intention. i just didn’t know what to do. i still don’t know what to do. i’ve never done — that — before and you were such a good friend. it scared me.” you can’t help but lock in your attention on a little red string, dangling off the side of hobie’s pillowcase. 

you don’t see the way he tilts his head and prolongs his gaze. it’s hard to tell what you’re thinking, at times. you’re not everyone else, and certainly not in a quirky way. to hobie, you’re far more delicate, far more likely to apologize for any and everything. you’re not well adapted, he thinks. the world could swallow you up hole at any given point and he can’t help but feel pity. or is it empathy? “i know. it is partially my fault. i should have stuck to what i said. it’s normal for a dynamic to change when you fuck someone. i can’t expect you to know that so yeah, i forgive you. we’re fine.”

still, there’s some deep settled guilt inside you, locked away and unable to be opened. weeks worth of unresolved questions and answers left up tn your interpretation. it makes you frown so hard, the lines could be etched into your otherwise smooth skin. “no, it’s not you. i’m just, i dunno? different, i guess. i’m not normal but i wish i was because then this wouldn’t be such a big thing. no one else cares like i do.”

“but that’s okay. you shouldn’t feel guilty because you feel differently than anyone else. it’s fine, ☆. it’s okay. it was a mutual decision. it just won’t be a decision we make again.” his shoulders rise and fall in a shrug. it could seem dismissive is if was anyone but hobie, the one person who would do all he could to ease your worries. “i know you. i know who you are and how you think and what you’re like. it’s okay, really. we’re cool, yeah? just go to sleep and relax. ‘m not mad, really.”

you sniff and curl up into the corner of the bed. you tug the soft sheets up to your chin and tuck it under. the fabric brushes across your nerves in a way that’s soothing, comforting like a warm hug. you look at hobie, really look at him. you look at him like he’s altering your world view, pulling away layers and layers of complex ideas, thoughts, and opinions. his brain isn’t like yours. it’s filled with never ending patience and coolness, sewn together with the raw emotions of life’s worst moments. he’s forgiven you, without a second thought, for running away and ignoring him for weeks. are you friends again?

“okay,” you mumble and wiggle around until the mattress contorts to the shape of your form. you lick your lips and continue to stare at him like he’s altered your entire philosophy. it’s strange that the guilt is still present, although oddly enough its strange how it’s not as potent. it doesn’t feel as debilitating; you don’t feel like you’re suffocating under the harsh scrutiny of your lord and savior. instead, and only for a second, you consider the possibility that you’re staring at the most gracious in the flesh. the thought makes you scoff and shake your head at yourself, briefly alarmed that you’d even consider such a thing. “goodnight then, hobes.”

you don’t know what time it is when your eyes flutter open and peer into the darkness. you don’t remember falling asleep. in fact, the last thing you do remember is rolling over and staring at the wall, pacing your breathing until it followed a slow regime to lull you into unconscious. you don’t remember feeling tired and drifting off into sleep. the one thing you do remember, however, is hobie waking you up to ask if he could sleep next to you.

as usual, he was entirely respectful about it and left a pillow in between your bodies, working as the barrier to protect everyone’s personal space. you don’t fault him too much, anyway. the floors are too hard to willingly spend the rest of the night on comfortably, especially in your own room.

you head lulls to the side until you’re face to face with what you think is hobie. your eyes are slow to adjust to the lack of lighting but his breath is audible, soft and fanning over the pillow barrier between you. with the more time the passes, the clearer his distance facial

features become, although still muddied by darkness. your brain is able to connect the dots and visualize his peaceful expression in the gaps the darkness provides. 

he looks so . . . sweet. so pretty and even if no one can hear your thoughts, you’re still embarrassed to think it. he’s the prince of darkness, inviting you to brush gentle fingertips across his cheek. it’s not something you get a chance to think about, almost in a trance with hazy eyes. it makes him stir, eyeballs swirling beneath closed lids. your touch breaks him from his sleep, placidly. one moment, his chest rise and falls with each inhale and exhale. the next, he’s peering back at you with half closed lids and registering the surroundings he’s found himself in. “hm?”

it’s as if his voice, a soft hum, brings you out of your trance as if he’s snapped his fingers in front of your face. you yank your hand back with intent regret and humiliation. he caught you. “oh, i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to wake you.”

“mm,” his voice comes out gravely and still obviously under the influence of sleep. the back of his hand brushes against his eyes, knuckles digging into the corner. “did you poke me or somethin’?”

you don’t respond to his question. instead, you curl your lips into themselves as if leaving it hanging in the air would stall enough for him to forget. lucky enough, his ebbing exhaustion did half of the work for you. hobie doesn’t ask again, nor does he press for me. he’s too busy trying to understand the situation as a yawn escapes his lips.

his attention eventually settles on you once more. he doesn’t think you realize how close you are, leaning over the boundary to get a clear view of his face and a clear feel, too. there’s something in hobie that wants him to tease and poke and prod at you. he refrains though, only because it’s far too late in the night to become that active. it’s too quiet to start pestering you; the moment is too personal.

you both spend a minute with silent eye contact, prolonged and oddly intimate. it’s as if you have a conversation without even speaking a word, looking into the soul of the other. it renders you speechless. not a single word comes to mind when you’re laying close enough to see what seems to be an outline of an eyelash clinging onto his cheek. 

“this isn’t — we can’t do this.” hobie sighs under his breath with a shake of his head. he rolls onto his back. his palm comes to weigh heavy on his head, tugging downward. 

even you know what the problem is, unable to feign innocents and ask what he means. there’s tension; it’s palpable. of course it is when you’re so close to each other in such a small space. this setup would have been better had hobie slept on the floor but his aching bones would plead victim in the following morning.

you don’t know what to do, though. a piece of you wants you to throw whatever inhibitions you hold out the window. it’s become a pattern now. once the moon rises and you become in close proximity with your personal ultimate sin, everything you know becomes useless. your beliefs are casted into the back of your mind and you become ready to do whatever he asks. it’s not like the last time had no effect on you whatsoever. if anything, it opened your eyes to a world previously unknown.

you didn’t know fingers could feel that good before, much less it still worked if you did it yourself. nonetheless, it didn’t compare to hobie’s masterful experience. it’s been something you’ve often reminisced on often, so much so that you’ve considered praying for it again. you know better but you can’t help yourself, losing what will you had. 

“why not? we talked about it so it’s okay, now.” you know you’re lying through your teeth when you say it, yet you’re persistent. you’re already laser focused on the possibility of just a little excitement in your otherwise dull, rule following life. another night of hobie’s fingers down your pants and holding you on the tip of your toes. 

he shakes his head again, just as insistent not to do this as you are to do this. “y’know that’s not how this works. we can’t. you can’t. we know how this will end. you’ll get shy and ignore me again. i don’t think we should head down that path.”

your expression is concealed by the veil of darkness but the bed still dips when you sit up and redistribute your weight. you sit mermaid style, knees bent and supporting your new position with a hand pressed against the rather soft surface. this is a new side of you that not even you could have prepared yourself for. it’s a desperate side, a needy side that clicked into place so suddenly once put in such an ideal situation. “i won’t. we’ve already done it once and now i know what it’s like so it’s fine. technically, i’m way more experienced.”

it’s not that hobie doesn’t want to. he’d be happy to, excited to even. however, just like the last time, it’s him who has to be the one with restraint. it’s him with the power and charm to bend you as he pleases but hobie’s had enough experience to know that in the end, it’s possible that neither of you will be speaking shortly after this. does he really want to ruin a potential friendship right after reconnecting? “this is ridiculous. you said the same thing before. you said it would be fine and it wasn’t fine. i don’t want to do all that again.”

“i won’t. i promise i won’t. we don’t even have to do . . . the real thing. think of it as a teaching opportunity. would you rather i do it with someone i know has my best interests at heart or literally anyone else.” the words are leaving your lips before you can even think about it. they even taste absurd on your tongue, dripping in a viscous nectar, sweet and honey-like; it’s a precious rarity bestowed upon earth from the heavens.

“you’re going to drive me crazy.” hobie drawls lowly. there’s a moment where the possibility hangs high in the air — will he or will he not? his hand finds your arm and brushes the tips of his fingers along your skin. he can feel the goosebumps that prickle in his wake and it’s just not, if not more enticing. the right decision is to deny you; it’s obvious. yet, he just can’t. he can’t do it.

you, in all your needy innocence and purity, seated at the tips of his fingers and hanging on to every last word. you put too much trust in him. he knows you have this image of him you’ve conjured up. sure, you can trust him to protect you with his life and keep you somewhat sheltered to the bad things in life but in the end, hobie is hobie. he’s a man with a deep dark fantasy of ruining the perfect girl, turning her away from her views and forcing her to become drunk in him. when you’re sitting here tempting him with that sweet voice of yours, it all seems easier for his moral compass to become more and more misaligned. 

“fuck it, whatever. come here.” regardless of his debilitating ethics, his guiding hand that comes to cup your cheek and draw you nearer is just as gentle as you remember. it’s a touch that you’ve worked hard to bring back to the surface during those particularly lonely nights; you don’t even realize just how quickly you’re leaning into it and becoming passive in his presence. 

half your body is over his, a hand pressed into his chest. it’s a little awkward, the way you’re dangling off his side but all your focus is on the rhythmic dance your lips do together. it doesn’t last long anyway because hobie does all the adjusting for you, rolling onto his side and forcing you on yours. his thumb caressing your cheek, drawing small circles and gliding down the expanse of your face until he reaches his goal destination, holding your chin in his grasp.

he’s still setting the pace when his other hand hooks beneath the bend of your knee and pulls it over his waist. the fuzz of his pants pills the fabric of your leggings but it acts like a magnetic force that inclines you to get even closer. “what am i to do with you?” his words feel hot against your skin, melting his question into your nerves and leaving a permanent sensitivity to his touch.

your novicity is glaringly obvious when you’re already withering at the feeling of his lips against your neck, grazing down and across, covering as much of the open space as he could. his kisses are oddly sweet; they’re wet, leaving behind a thin gleaming layer of spit, but lacking any graze of his teeth. he’s still lapping at your skin when his hands have discarded their precious place and found a new solace, burning hot against your bare skin under your shirt. “you want me to this, you want me to do that. can’t even handle the consequences of your actions.”

your lips begins to tremble with such fervor, you’re forced to tuck it between your teeth. you don’t remember being this humiliated last time, or maybe you were. it’s hard to tell because your thoughts are quick to become hazy when his fingers find the fabric of your bra.

hobie, for one, wasn’t expecting it. the flash of confusion across his face goes unnoticed when he’s settled in the crook of your neck and he doesn’t spend too much time dwelling on it, either, in fear it’ll break the moment. knowing you, you were probably too “good” to take it off, as if keeping it on was a sign of respect. or perhaps, it just seemed like the right thing to do in the presence of a man.

“that’s not true,” you say with only the slightest trevor in your voice. you can feel the clasp to your bra snapping apart. it hangs loose at your arms now and allows enough space for hobie to resume his conquest, slipping his hands underneath.

he chuckles when you gasp, so airy, right next to his ear. he pulls himself out the corner of your neck to look at you, to memorize each tweak of your lips and your eyes open wide and needy. he’s merely grabbed at your breasts, catching your hardened nipples between the webs of his fingers. “no? but you’re lyin’, bug. and you know what, lying is bad.” his chuckle turns into a grin, one that seems especially wicked when he’s rolling them between his fingers.

your open mouthed sigh gets lost behind your shirt tugged over your head with hobie’s assistance. “i’m not lying,” you insist but the guilt of your fib eats you away, nonetheless. you’re still pouting when you’ve pulled your arms out of your bra straps and leaving it to be discarded somewhere in the bed.

“mhm,” he hums, now eyeing your tits on display for him and begging to be sucked. it’s the only natural that he does as his urges want him to, cupping the bottom and flattening his tongue over your areola. by now, he’s rolled you onto your back and flicking his thumb over the other that’s been left otherwise untouched.

you cradle his hand between your hands, dragging your fingers along the coarse locs and into his scalp. you’re barely aware of what you’re doing, caught up in your nerves tingling beneath your skin. the sense is heightened when his teeth clamp down on the hardened bud and pulls. the pain is immediate and your back arches in response. however, the pleasure that follows is unexpected and sits just below the surface, piquing your curiosity and wanting him to do it again.

“poor thing. i really don’t know what to do with you,” hobie kisses your cleavage. he eyes you from his position below your head while his hands continue to explore your body, finding the soft flesh of your hips and massaging them. “everything’s too much for you. you’re not ready for the real thing. you can’t handle a cock yet, even if you’re begging for it.”

his demeanor is slow to change. you could have sworn hobie spent the last few minutes doting on you. there wasn’t a moment you considered his words had a harsher inclination. perhaps it had but you were too past relishing in the feeling of his attention. it was like watching someone transform into someone else, metamorphosis into a darker version of himself

you can’t help but acknowledge the shame that begins to flood over you at his words. they make you feel small, as if you’re not in control of your own body. you were bound to respond like this; it’s just your destiny. you will always gravitate towards hobie like a moth to a flame.

“stop it. don’t say things like that.” it’s not much to say but it’s all you can manage, cheeks rapidly heating up with an intense heat. your hands ever-so-sweet fall from the entanglement in his scalp and take their designated space on his shoulders.

“don’t say things like that?” hobie speaks with a lift in his voice, replicating the pitch of voice you decided to use with hands on your hips to roll you onto your back. you miss the way his eyebrow raises in the dark and the tug of his lips turn upwards. “what do you mean don’t say things like that? am i not supposed to say the word ‘cock’ when i suck on your sweet pussy?”

you crane your neck higher and higher the lower hobie slides his way down your body. you unintentionally tighten, drawing your muscles together. your breath catches in your throat when your eyes meet each other. there’s almost a split second where the words are just ready to spill out of your lips. it would be yet another chastise, another moment where you mention your disdain for such vocabulary. you never get to it because hobie beats you to it. he interrupts you with a sly grin and a tongue sliding across the fabric of your pants. the material deepens into a darker shade of the light blue when his saliva sinks within and catches your clit.

it’s over your clothes and yet it feels so good, unlike anything before. not like before, when hobie had you strewn across your desk. although, this new adaptation is a bit more dull. his hands maintain his strong hold, although there isn’t much current need. there’s no attempt to pull away from you. you’re not at all wiggling about but instead, opening your legs wider to entice him a little more.

you gain a small squeeze from your actions and a chuckle that follows shortly after. hobie’s wordless response is enough, at least for him. he attaches his lips even more, circling around your clothed clit and sucking it through your clothes. his tastebuds are full of boring cotton but his sense of smell is delighted, inhaling you in your purest form with the intention of imprinting this memory in his head.

you whine and mewl and keen, voicing your somewhat opposition to your current position. it felt good, really, having his nose brush against your jeweled pearl biden behind the hilt of a hood. the most drunken part of you, intoxicated off the high of lust, nearly convinces you to lift a shaking hand in hobie’s direction with the intention of pulling your damp panties away from your skin.

it doesn’t get really far. if anything, the moment the elastic waistband brushes against the pads of your fingertips, the fabric is just out of reach again. your hand becomes trapped within hobie’s grip and rests against the sides of your thigh. he fixed you with a glare, or rather the gleam in his light-catching eyes do.

“don’t be a terror,” he mumbles while turning his head towards the soft flesh of your inner thigh. his mouth meet the skin is a soft kiss, teeth just barely grazing behind pillowed lips. “tell me what you want, hm? can’t be ruining the poor angel’s purity.”

before he’s able to finish his sentence, you’re already pouting at the ramifications of your impromptu decision. how dare he suggest you’re better off filling your mouth such dirty words when he could so easily go in what direction you’re clearly steering him towards. “you’re being mean,” you can’t help but fuss and have already begun to tug towards freedom.

your attempt gets you nowhere but in a tighter grip and less than subtle smirk. he doesn’t attempt to hide what malicious intent he may hold. “what do you mean, duck? i’m spoiling you. just tell me what you want.” the way he says it is so condescending, as if it’s absolutely not a big deal and you’re working yourself up. his large brown eyes feign an innocent expression when he hooks a finger on your panties to pull then to the side. “just ask me for it. isn’t that what you want?”

you watch through the darkness as hobie cranes himself just a little further. your pussy is already yearning for him, glittering with cream and revealed to him as a tempting dessert with tart icing. he opens his mouth, letting his tongue dripping in saliva just dangle over your wet cunt. “just ask me. ask me to eat this pussy ‘til you cum. say it.”

a thin line of spit drips from his tongue and gets lost in the whipped mess that is your arousal. it disappears in the milky slick that clings to your folds and you can whimper as though you can feel it searing your nerves.

how did you end up here? you’re trapped in a dance with the devil, fighting between your innate desires and the knowledge ingrained in you. your mouth has already gone dry from hanging open with no words to leave them. your heart pounds within your chest, thrumming behind your ribcage and making the situation all too real.

“ask me, dove. ‘pretty please eat my pussy’. that’s all you gotta do f’me.” his words are are vulgar as his grin, a perfect imitation of an archangel. his eyes fall towards your pearled clit, pulling the hood upwards with his thumb. it’s a soft touch but just as effective in revealing such sensitive skin to him. he can’t help but burble at the sight and lets his tongue dangle over your clit again. another droplet falls in place and you keen, just was before. 

“you want it so bad. i know you do. just look at the mess you made. say it. tell me you want it and i’ll give it to you. i’ll give you whatever you want. just have to ask me for it first.” he’s nearly begging for it, begging for you to lose your inhibitions and use him. or let him use you, whichever comes first. “tell me you want it. tell hobie you want it.”

it’s dizzying, almost. you can’t catch up, much less catch your breath. you’re not even sure why you’re winded. it’s not as though you’ve done anything and yet, every breath you take seems to dissipate before it reaches your lungs. this is cruel. it has to be a form of punishment. illegal even, to force such words into your mouth. still, there’s some sort of morbid thrill that comes from it, like this opportunity is a flame in the dark, flickering and taunting you with its warmth. “i – i want you to eat my . . . pussy.”

it’s much slower than you anticipate, the onslaught feeling of his lips circling around your clit and suckling on your watery essence. regardless, the feeling is all the same and results in your legs attempting to clamp shut around his head. it’s a knee jerk reaction that earns you a muffled grumble and two large hands placed firmly on the backs of your thigh. the hold is advantageous in pushing them away from his ears and towards yours. 

it’s a simple impulse and yet, it sends fresh adrenaline pumping through your veins. your newly freed hand buries itself in the coarse mix of hair atop hobie’s head. he’s just as receptive to your touch as you are to his, murmuring vibrations against your skin in a deepened hum. it does a number on your sensitive cunt, sending you back to be pressed into the less than comforting mattress. you’ve gathered fist-fulls of hobie’s hair. the feeling grounds you, just enough to keep your sanity from floating away into the pillowy clouds of your imagination.

you can hear his lips wrapped up in your wet walls just as much as you can feel his tongue prodding your insides. he somehow manages to find every cavernous corner within an inch of reach, swallowing each drop of arousal you have to offer. you cry and whine a shaky mixture of “hobie” and “please” over and over again. the words drip from your mouth like a mantra, a lewd prayer that only he can fulfill.

it doesn’t compare to the first time he’s done this, not at all. gentle hands have turned into harsh clutches, fingers digging into your skin. there is less reassurance this time, no soft words exchanged between the two of you past your muted murmurs and his occasional drag of air when his lips leave you. the strangest part of it all is that you’re gushing, far more than you were when he took his sweet time with you.

perhaps this is what you needed all along. this is what you really wanted. a twisted side of you really wanted this. behind the good girl facade, what you really want is a silver-tongued devil to bring you to the precipice of your existence. it just happens to be a mere coincidence that the brink is a blinding orgasm that steals your breath and sends your lurching. 

you could say your body began to fight against it, warning you with a tingling sensation that began in the pit of your tummy. it radiates throughout your limbs from there, causing your toes to curl and your hands to circle into tighter fists. you release your hold on hobie’s hair and trade it for the sheets instead. the fabric becomes wrapped and disheveled between your fingertips. you could have warned him, putting a little more effort into getting some lucid words out, but the moment you open your mouth, it’s all incoherent jumble.

hobie doesn’t seem to mind your wordless state. in fact, he gains a sort of ego boost from it by pulling away, ruining your orgasm into a vapid release, all while watching your needy hole wink at him in dissatisfaction. “greedy, greedy girl. what did i say? tell me what you want, hm?” it’s as if you’re not there, merely an extension of your pretty cunt all on display for him. he lays eye-level with it, fascinated by the infinite watery slurry seeping out.

hobie likes to think you were begging for it when he languidly slaps a hot palm on your pussy. he even has a smile across his face and remedies the slight pain by rubbing his hand across your folds. your previous cum provides a glow he’s never seen before. a sweet dewiness handpicked from handspun gold and liquefied into a nectar just for you. “i’ll give you anything, treacle. anything. just ask me for it, would you?”

in hobie’s head, in his depraved mind, this is for him as it is for you. maybe the real reason he was so hesitant to go down this road is because he knew what it would have meant. this very moment signifies the beginning of the end, the moment where every dark and carnivorous desire takes hold and he follows through with what he really wants . . . what hobie really wants.

to let darkness consume and devour you whole, snuffling out your halo until you’re standing in the abyss, illuminated by a single flame. him.

[prncssie]

miffy’s note this is something i wrote for kuna a while back and discovered i actually struggle to write him rn so this never got finished but im posting it as is bc this concept will probably never get finished pfft. enjoy her as is c: nothing really happens but mdni as always

nighttime in the summer is a little sweeter than the rest of the year. the stars glimmer brighter, the air feels more crisp, even the moon is illuminated with such a shine you kept help but admire her from miles below.

nighttime in the summer is meant times like these, providing you a sense of safety while you enjoy your youthfulness while you can.

you lean against the silver porsche cayman, sitting idle in the mall parking lot. the owner, pink-haired and bubbly, stands in eyesight, sparking up a conversation excitedly with his friend — a brooding dark haired man you’ve come to learn is megumi.

you can only hear bits and pieces of their conversation over the engines revving around you but nevertheless, their friendship is the same, with yuji excitedly waving his hands to display his thrill and megumi casting him sideways glances. despite the annoyed disposition he gives off, everyone knows he doesn’t really mind. if anything, megumi just considers most people a general inconvenience.

“has anyone ever told you you talk too much?” megumi asks with an unconvincing roll of his eyes. the slight lift of the corners of his mouth give him away as he begins to walk towards you, hands tucked in the pockets of his black shorts, soft and cottony.

it does nothing to deter yuji who just grins, trailing behind him. glint brown eyes glimmer with joy, no matter that he’s being chastised by his own friend. “just you, all the time. you’re such a good friend, megumi. i value our friendship so much.”

megumi pauses midstep to turn and face the other. his eyes are narrowed into slits and he just stands there as the seconds pass, glaring silently. he considered slapping his hand against yuji’s chest but he doesn’t. he simply clicks his tongue and makes his way towards you, grumbling under his breath.

“i’m getting bored,” you say with a huff. your arms are crossed tightly across your chest as a symbol of your protests. “you guys told me it would be fun and i believed you because you never agree on anything.”

“it will be fun. it’s fun right now but you’re standing here guarding my car instead of doing anything else.” yuji positions himself beside you. he gets a view of the parking lot, full of modded cars blowing hazy exhaust smoke into the night sky.

it was his idea to attend a local car meet and him who first sent the invitation your way. you were only enticed to attend when the rest of your friends agreed to join, as well. frankly, it’s not really your thing to leave the comfort of your home and watch cars do donuts, screeching and leaving skid marks all over the road.

it may be entertaining but it’s not your thing.

“what if your car gets stolen? you’re gonna wish i was here guarding it.”

“no one wants his shitbox. i can promise you that,” the black-haired man snickers. he eyes the cayman with faux disdain.

“don’t be upset my car is better than yours, megs. not everyone can be as good as me.” yuji clamps his hand down on megumi’s shoulder, patting the lean muscles sympathetically.

you think their friendship is strange, often flip-flopping between enemies to acquaintances to besties. if you didn’t know any better, the thought of them being related could have crossed your mind. you know better, though, having already met his brother before. “where’s sukuna?”

yuji shrugs, glancing around the strangers that mill between cars. “i dunno. he’s somewhere. he rode his bike here so he’s probably riding around somewhere.”

“and nobara?”

this time, you both turn to megumi — the one who was in charge of bringing her here as yuji has done for you.

“i’m not her babysitter. i don’t fuckin’ know. maybe she found some guy to french kiss or something. that’s not my business.” megumi gives a small shake of his head. he’s not open to having this conversation; there’s no point. what she does in her free time has nothing to do with him.

this time, you find yourself giggle lightly. it’s drowned out by the growing vibrato of an engine rolling up to approach the three of you. it brings a breeze with it, sparking goosebumps to rise across your skin.

with the season heightening the nighttime temperature, it’s warm enough that you’re able to wear a sleek, athletic skirt. it’s dark gray material is smooth against the tops of your thighs and is accompanied with a tiny pair of shorts attached to the inside, necessary when you consider the short length. you paired it with a thick-strapped camisole, scented with a flowery perfume the wafts through the air when you walk by. you have yet to get hit with a sudden chill since you’ve stepped out of yuji’s car. after all, he enjoys blasting the ac in tandem with the volume of the radio, blasting j. cole through the speakers connected to his phone through airplay.

“i drove around for ten minutes looking for you brats.” a motorcycle comes to a smooth stop a few feet away, humming its gas away. the driver, decked out in gear, wraps a gloved hand around the helmet and tugs it off. his voice is muffled behind the layers of plastic and kevlar.

still, its familiar and your suspicions are confirmed when you spot the same pink hair of the younger itadori, the one who’s standing by your side now. you still remember the day sukuna and yuji dyed their hair after a drunken promise they were forced to uphold at the threat of being called a pussy for months to come. it was recent, merely a few weeks ago.

sukuna has his own genetic differences, though. while the two could be a splitting image, there’s little things that set them apart. yuji, having only recently turned twenty, looks more boyish with rounder eyes and a perma-smile. on the otherhand, sukuna has a much sharper jawline.

the angles of his face are more prominent, giving him a stronger bone structure. his eyes are slimmer and sometimes glint with a color so brown, they almost appear red. when he smiles, it appears like a smirk, with white incisors poking over the bottom of his pillow soft, pink lips.

your stomach twists and turns under the surface.

“have you seen nobara?” yuji tilts his head with his question. his hair, grown out from his last haircut, flops over the tops of his scalp until its waving on the opposite side. “we were just talking about how we don’t know where she is.”

sukuna furrows a brow. he breaks his eye contact temporarily to push the kickstand down and turn his bike off. “no . . .? i’m not looking for that girl.” he swings his leg over the seat of his bike. a thick, black boot makes contact with the asphalt with a weighty thump.

“her lo’ says she’s here.” megumi jumps into the conversation, flashing the bright screen of his phone to display the “find my” app. surely enough, nobara’s silly sleeping face — eyes closed and mouth hanging wide open — is hovering over the same lot you three stand in now.

“then she’s here.” sukuna barks out, that smile-smirk gracing his lips. “fuck are we waiting for?” his eyes find their way to yours and you’re convinced they taunt you, a breath hitching in your throat. every time sukuna comes around, it always gets harder for you breathe.

you’ve known sukuna for a few years now — yuji, megumi, and nobara too. you’ve even come to meet the itadori siblings half brother, choso, who really only

comes around on big holidays due to strain between their parents, to which of neither of their faults.

five years ago, when you first moved to the rolling hills of the suburbs, nobara was the friend you made but not the first person you met. megumi was the first person you met in your accelerated history class but he didn’t come off that welcoming. it wasn’t until nobara introduced you into the long-standing friend group that he even became open to the idea of accepting you into his general circle.

somewhere along the line, after months of establishing a friendship with yuji and spending time after school at his house, you met sukuna, the slightly older brother who could be described as a bit rude and blunt, slightly abrasive. sukuna never had a filter and he speaks as he sees it, through his world view. you suppose it’s that harsh demeanor that draws you to him out of curiosity.

“ ☆ said she’s bored so we were going to race. cops are about to be called anyway; we’re making so much noise.” yuji pulls his car keys out of his pocket and click the little unlock button. behind you, the cylindrical latch jumps up with a shick!

“we are?” megumi reels his head back in confusion but his question falls on deaf ears because you’re asking a question too, with more purpose, whipping your head to stare at yuji.

you look suddenly frightened, eyes widens dan mouth hanging open, gobsmacked. there’s a small twinge of fear that sparks in the base of your warm tummy. “who is about to be called?” you stand on your feet, solid in the fresh white new balances.

you can’t afford that, the three of them know that. your future holds too much to risk, with another year wt your prestigious college approaching at the summer months dwindle away. you’ve never had so much of a blemish on your file in school. you’d never be open to committing a crime in public and sending an infraction to be documented in a report.

you’re convinced your internship would be flushed down the drain if you get even a minor infraction, not to mention the pushback from your parents. though you, yourself, are twenty years old and only return home for the summer, you can only imagine what they’d have to say.

sukuna clicks his tongue with a roll of his eyes. he’s always been a little sassy like that, angling his head in the direction of his yamaha. “relax, princess. if you’re so worried ‘bout your daddy finding out, ride with me. no chance they’re catching me and i don’t have any tags.”

you’re unconvinced, squinting your eyes at the two seater. your attention bounces between the bike and sukuna, wrapped safely in the safety of stiff fabrics to protect him from any possible accidents, breathable enough for him to move comfortably. “i don’t have a helmet, sukuna.”

“i do,” yuji shifts his car keys in his hand until his thumb skims across the smooth depiction of the trunk of his car. the keys jingle around the ring, once silver and tarnished after months of use.

he pops his trunk open and round the back until he’s standing at the tail of the silver caymen, peering into the squared space. yuji plants his hands on his hips and scans the mess, glancing over discarded papers, shoes he’s been meaning to take out for months, and other junk that’s been collected from friends throughout the weeks. “there should be one in here. i keep a spare on me.”

“it might be too big, though. your head is like . . . huge. i don’t know how you’re still so stupid with a bobble head on your shoulders.” megumi chortles. a tanned nike makes contact with a pebble and it goes skittering along a thick white line and disappears beneath yuji’s two-seater.

“it’s sukuna’s, you goof.” yuji’s voice maintains that lightness he always has, reaching into the upper layer of his trunk to dig around. he pulls down a few jackets, nobara’s blanket, and a purple hair tie.

underneath the layers and layers of multicolored fabric lays another helmet, white in color and just as shiny as the one sukuna sports now. it’s a bit more dinged up, covered in scratches and scuffs from being tossed around.

“oh, you got nothing to say because it’s mine now, right?” sukuna raises an amused brow. these days, he’s taken a bit of a liking to megumi, having grown some version of twisted brotherly love that makes him push and push at his buttons, knowing megumi wouldn’t fight back. he couldn’t, it wouldn’t be fair. anyone fighting sukuna is predestined to a losing battle.

megumi knows this, lifting and dropping his shoulders in a careless shrug. “whatever. i’m going to go look for nobara since obviously, no one else cares.”

you can’t help but snort. “don’t pussy out, megu. you were the one who said you’re not her babysitter and now you wanna look for her.”

he casts you a glare on his way out, prolonging his gaze over his shoulder as he turns, digging the heel of his shoe into the black asphalt. “piss off,” he spits out before wandering away with purpose.

small giggles escape the plump gates of your lips as the man’s shadow disappears into the crowd, hazy and cheering as cars race by, occasionally accompanied by a motorcycle or two. it all reminds you of your original conquest, turning your attention to yuji, and just in time too, because he’s tossing the white helmet in your direction without warning.

“yuji, what the fuck?” you’re lucky that you acted fast, even if your fingers fumble clumsily to maintain a firm grip. “you could have said something. were you just going to let it hit me?”

yuji raises his hands apologetically. under the streetlights, his cheeks brighten with a subtle rosy glow. his wordless apology isn’t enough, though, and you’re prepared to scold him some more but sukuna beats you to it, sighing obnoxiously.

“quit your fussing, put the damn thing on, and let’s go. i don’t have all night and i haven’t done shit since i got here.” he takes the initiative to walk up to you and pull it over your head himself. he doesn’t have time to hear you wail and cry about how you don’t know how to do it, how you don’t appreciate how he’s talking to you, or whatever else your princess brain could come up with.

he supposes that’s the side effect that comes with growing up upper middle class, being so accustomed to living the plush and comfortable life that you feel every little thing is an injustice to you. after all, your mom works as a dentist and your dad a physical therapist.

for as long as you can remember, every wish and whim of yours has been granted. your parents went as far as enrolling you in the expensive, competitive dance classes. you spent many weekends at friend’s houses, sleeping over and riding with them to and from competitions when your parents weren’t able to take you themselves. on top of that, you’ve always attended the best private schools your parents could afford, leading you to a gateway of open doors and opportunities you would have otherwise missed out on. you’re a spoiled little thing; sukuna supposes that’s what draws him into you, a sort of fascination, a morbid curiosity.

your grumbles become muffled behind the thick layer of polycarbonate and sukuna smiles. finally, peace. “hey brat,” he turns to his brother — who’s playfully shaking his head, slamming the hood of his trunk shut — “stick with fushiguro. he ain’t smart, either. last thing we need is the both of ‘em locked up overnight. i don’t have the funds to get ‘em out.”

the younger itadori, much better at complying with directions, shakes the mop of hair on his head and tucks his hands in his pockets. “okay fine, i guess. i’ll text you later if something happens and meet you somewhere, i guess.” nevertheless and despite his slight complaint, yuji gets settled into his car and rolls away, headlights illuminating thin clouds of smoke.

all that’s left is you and sukuna, standing in front of each other. for a moment, you consider this could be a sweet sentiment. that is until he knocks the palm of his hand against your helmet, sending your head off balance and derailing what coordination you did have.

“sukuna.” you grit your teeth and deliver a similar blow to his helmet. it lacks the similar strength and yet, his eyes flash with annoyance.

“hit me again and i’ll kill you. do you want a lose helmet or do you want to keep your head.”

you scowl, invisible behind the dark tint. you say nothing in return, partly because your voice is exhausted from having to yell just to be heard. the other part is because arguing with him is pointless. so you just huff, brush past him, and stand by his bike until he’s ready, signifying you’re going to drop the conversation and move on to more important things. what a dick, he is.

you aren’t entirely sure how it happened. one moment you’re sitting on the back of sukuna’s bike, arms wrapped around his waist and pressing your chest against his back. he drives around at much slower speeds than he usually would, for your sake. he takes a few laps around the crowd and occasionally kicks you off to showcase his skills, throwing his weight to the edge of his seat and lifting the front wheel of his bike. this particular part trick gets cheers from the crowd that only encourages his behavior and sends pleasant adrenaline coursing through his vein.

ten minutes later, you’re still off sukuna’s bike but hidden within the empty courtyard of the mall. you’re still under the moonlight, yet no one has bothered to come this far, not interested in the empty marble fountain or the metal seating, all placed strategically on the pavement. your butt is firmly planted on the metal table. the black paint still stands strong against the forces of nature.

your legs are pulled apart to make room for the figure in between you and then some, with calloused hands gently circling around your joints. it’s surprising when you think about the contrast in the way he kisses you, hard and with a fervent hunger. he doesn’t even have to hold your head against his because you’re doing the work for him, looping your arms around sukuna’s neck.

it was inevitable that you’d both end up thisp way, after all the tension was palpable between you. once everyone else left you in the company of each other, your fates were set in stone. plus, there is always something so intoxicating about being with each other this way, bantering or barely talking in front of the group but sneaking off to have secret escapades, much like this one.

you couldn’t count on both hands the amount of times you’ve locked lips with sukuna when no one else was around and if you were lucky, it would venture into something more. now though, you’re outside so the only thing you really can do is kiss each other, connected by strings of saliva.

it started off plain and simple but that didn’t last very long. it only takes a few seconds for the need to take over and sukuna ends up sucking your bottom lip into his mouth. he nibbles on the skin, pulling it back and releasing it. it bounces back into place with a soft juggle, interrupted by the onslaught press sukuna’s lips against yours again.

you’re a whining mess, the heated region between your thighs craving more, wanting his touch. yet, you can’t have it and you know it. there’s too much that could go wrong and if sukuna was going to touch you, then he was going to fuck. it would have an ending, an orgasm from at least one of you that isn’t promised in such an unstable and risqué situation.

“ ‘kuna,” you keen against the soft pads of his pink lips. your eyes flutter in tandem with you cunt, gaping for any friction available.

it’s so funny to him how that switch flips somewhere in your brain that makes you so pliant and only with him. you look at him to make all your decisions, handing over your autonomy and placing it in his hands. when you want something, he can tell. you look at him with a certain glint in your blown out, brown eyes. your mouthiness suddenly halts and you plead in that tone.

“don’t start,” he shushes you by sticking his tongue down your throat, swirling the wet muscle around the cavern of your mouth. your spit combines in a sloppy mess that just barely gathers in the corners of your mouth. “i don’t wanna hear it. don’t ask me shit.”

you frown but it doesn’t last very long, not when sukuna takes your chin between his fingers and lifts your head. his lips make contact with your neck, sinking his teeth into the skin there, too. it makes you gasp with a twitch and sukuna offers his apologies by lapping at the faint marks left in his wake. “and fix your face, spoiled. got you dickmatized so bad you just don’t know what to do, huh?”

you turn your fingers towards the nape of sukuna’s neck, brushing the silky brown undercut. “s - shut up,” you mumble. a small flame of humiliation sparks to life inside you. your senses are slow the wake with sukuna’s light degradation. maybe you only feel that way because it’s true and almost out of character for you.

however, you’re thrown right back into that state of submission when sukuna lifts his head. “and just who are you talking to? you want to try that again?” his eyes have hardened over with a firmness yet he seems entertained by your weak bite back.

you feel a bit stuck as different variants of responses flash through your head at rapid speed. you could apologize, you could double down, you could even dismiss it. no matter what decision you make, there still isn’t much that he could do. you’re in public and that is you’re one solace.

you’re interrupted before you can get a single word you. sukuna’s phone buzzes on the table beside you, lighting up due to the quick text yuji sent from wherever he was. the man standing comfortably between your limbs leans in the direction of his phone, staring at the screen until the text is readable and unlocked.

yuji : bibs here. leave rn

“lucky girl,” he says, red eyes skimming the four words before patting your leg and taking a step back. “yu saved your ass. guess you owe him somethin’.” sukuna reaches for his helmet and pulls it over his head once more. he waits for you to get the clue to do the same but in the meantime, he’s already gone to start his bike and roll it up beside you. “gotta get you outta here. i’ll take you home. get on.”

[prncssie]

miffy's note this is just the prequel; this following series centers heavily around themes of stalking. mdni fics for gaza

you’d think when you’re finally seated inside the black honda civic that the thrumming in your chest would begin to dull into a consistent rhythm. it’s supposed to be a safe space. the plush interior is supposed to be a comfort, the tinted windows are supposed to act as a bandaid. that soothed feeling, the security you’re seeking so desperately never comes. instead, each drag of air is harsher and harsher. you’re nearly wheezing by the time sukuna is seated in the driver’s seat, hand gripping the fabric of your t-shirt.

“relax. breath, girl, breath.” he’s meticulous in the way he closes his door, preventing the metal from slamming shut while devoting his attention to your unwell state. his larger hand covers yours, planted so firmly over your chest. he can feel the ragged breaths even through your fingertips. “i’m right here, okay? you’re fine now so breath f’me.”

his words are easier said than done. they don’t have a chance to fully register in your head. they become part of the murky mixture ringing between your ears. the footsteps paces behind yours ring over and over again. the crunch of the pavement under your feet, your name falling from horrid lips, it all plays in a cycle in between gasps for air. your heartbeat pounds beneath the thin layer of skin and bone. you don’t have to tell sukuna you’ve lost control because he can see it under the watery rims of your tear-filled eyes.

“jesus christ.” sukuna pulls his hand away from yours, although reluctantly, to find anything of use. as far as he knows, you don’t have an inhaler on you, nor does he believe there has ever been a moment in time where a doctor has every prescribed one for the particular situation. he considers himself lucky when his fingers clasp around plastic, thrown and discarded into the backseat of his car and even more so when the bottle is filled halfway with water. “i know it’s shady but drink it. for your breathing.”

he’s thoughtful enough to untwist the cap for you and guides the bottle to your lips. the stream of water is hot down your throat. unpleasant as it is, it does it’s job in forcing you to hold in a breath longer than you want to, letting the carbon dioxide run through your system and quell your beating heart. “if i ever see that piece of shit, i’ll kill him.” it’s more of a statement sukuna says for himself, guiding one of your trembling hands to hold the bottle for yourself. “you hold onto this and don’t worry your pretty head about a thing. you can sleep at my place.”

behind the perimeter of the store-brand water bottle, you smile as much as you can manage, albeit it’s weak. still, you attempt to show your appreciation for his kindness with the ever growing guilt that you’ll never be able to repay him for this. you actually feel quite selfish for having to rope sukuna into this. he shouldn’t have to put himself at risk because you can’t manage to keep your own problems at bay, granted having someone who is a bit too obsessed with you following you around isn’t something you have to deal with on your own. you know better than to voice your opinion on the matter. it would just earn you reprimands and challenging glares at such an asinine ideology. so instead, you take another small swig of water. “thank you ‘kuna.”

sukuna resides in a little townhouse just outside the city. the neighborhood is nowhere near as protected as you’d like but it’s somewhat comforting to have another person beside you. he’s been darling all night, opening the car door for you and letting you walk ahead of him as you trek to the front door. sukuna even punches in the numbers to his keypad at his position stationed behind you, protectively looming over your shoulder until you’re ushered through the door. “you can stay as long as you need, yeah?”

he tosses his keys onto the the console table and casts a quick glance out the window. the blinds fall back into place when he pulls away. it’s odd to him to be this kind to you. sure, there has been plenty of moments where sukuna has displayed his softer side to you but this is unprecedented. there really is no protocol for how friends like him should act when receiving such a distressing call. he’s wracked his brain enough times with the same questions, questions only you could solve. “so what the fuck happened?”

it’s such a simple question. the wording could use some critique but you’re not thinking about it when you’re kicking off your crocs onto the doormat. if anything, you’re too frenzied running through your own thoughts and experiences. every moment leading up to this flashes behind your eyes in a blur. “i don’t — i told the police. i told them and they said if i didn’t have enough proof, a threat. texts aren’t enough. i told them, sukuna. i told —”

“okay. you told them; i get that. that wasn’t my question, though. what happened, tonight?” he does his best to mind his tone, narrowed eyes tracking your movement the farther you venture into his abode. he believes you, he really does. there isn’t any room for doubt when your voice, wavering in fear, replays in his head from your phone call. sukuna is just trying to wrap his head around the situation. 

you called him during what was supposed to be a completely ordinary thursday night. it’s a distress call at that, full of your pleas to come pick you up. in a single instance, you’ve managed to upgrade your previous very casual relationship into something unlabeled where you crash at his house to evade your . . . stalker?

you’re still reeling when you plop yourself onto his sectional. it’s a hysteria you haven’t felt before. one that builds in the base of your tummy and crawls it’s way up your throat with a taste resembling bile. you curl up in your spot, feet tucked under yourself and hugging your knees to your chest. your phone slides out of your pocket, serving a reminder to let your roommate know you won’t be returning home that night. “there’s this guy. he came to my bar once and ordered a gin and tonic.” you take an interest in your fingernails and how varied the different shapes are.

this is not the first time you’ve told this story before. you’ve told it to your friends, your coworkers, your managers. you’ve told the police. sure, some people feel doubt or even shame but you? there isn’t a moment where you don’t feel rage at the loss of normalcy. your sense of ease has been stolen from you and it’s never been anyones to take. still, every time you begin the tale again, the nausea returns. the incessant queasiness finds its way back into your system.

“he’s been back every day since. he gets gin and tonic and a water. then, he got my number; don’t know how that happened, by the way. in comes the texts and calls and flowers and gifts. i told him i don’t want to talk to him, ‘kuna. i swear i did,” you turn your attention towards him. the salty tears fill your eyes once again. it’s already embarrassing enough to be here under such circumstances. there’s no help in crying. you wipe them as quickly as they fall in an attempt to build a facade that everything is fine. “he keeps texting me anyway. i’ve blocked every number, i went to the police, i did it all. this is the first time he’s ever followed me. i was just walking home from the parking lot but i didn’t want him to know where i lived so i . . . i called you.”

sukuna sighs. it’s long and drawn out, accompanied by a hand that runs through his pink hair and down his face. he pulls at the skin on is face while strolling down the hallway in your direction. it’s a lot to handle in one night with no obvious path to decide on. he supposes as long as you feel safe, things will be okay. it’s just a matter of sorting this out with the police. until then, “no yeah, that’s fine. that’s fine, ☆. call me for things like this. like i said, stay here as long as you need and we’ll sort this out in the morning.”

it’s a sentence weighted with uncertainty. there is no defined explanation behind deal with it in the morning. there is no record behind tonight other than sukuna as a verbal witness. you didn’t even get a peak at the guy’s face. if the police didn’t take you seriously then, they won’t take you seriously now. you’re damn sure of that. it’s out of your hands though, because the effects of your panic have induced a sleepiness like no other now that you’re no longer on edge. you have no reason to argue and no leg to stand on so you nod and allow sukuna to lead you upstairs in hopes of unwinding from tonight.

[prncssie]

ELBOWS OFF THE TABLE !

01 gonna start off with this is an 18+ account! no minors allowed to follow or interact with any of my works. i will block each and every one that does so. ofc i cannot monitor and catch every single one but i go through my followers lists regularly and occasionally check who likes my posts. do NOT interact with my written fics if you are not over the age of 18. if your age isn’t visible somewhere or i cannot find it, blocked.

i will also block blank accounts. if i cannot tell there is a real person behind the account, i will block it. ideally, your account will have a different background or header or icon than the one tumblr spawns you in with.

02 dni if you do not like dark content. i do not write it myself, however i do repost works from blogs that either write it or interact w people who do. follow at your own risk because it may or may not appear on my blog. i would like to emphasize that i do nawt write it. i will not and never will.

03 my requests are open! that being said, i’m only taking requests for little things so don’t expect a whole fic to be made from it. 2000 words or less c: feel free to tell me your ideas or wtv else comes to your pretty little head

04 do not repost my work. don’t translate it or claim it as your own. leave them on my account. you can still reblog! reblogging is the best way to interact with posts on tumblr and i loveeee seeing the comments that sometimes comes w it

05 every single one of my fics are written with black girls in mind. i only write for fem black readers. most of it is written per what i enjoy, which can be summed up as hyperfem and soft. i sometimes include outfit links because i like to visualize when i write. feel free to ignore and reimagine.

i do not write for nonblack reader, dom reader, masc reader, scat, piss, vomit, blood, knife play, gun play, step/incest, noncon, dubcon, minors, and irl people. although i imagine characters around my age, im not gonna write for a character under 18 and pretend they are.

06 i’m a slow writer. very very very slow. i used to pump out fics back to back but im no longer doing that. it takes me a monthhh to write a fic. don’t expect me to write n write n write. just b patience and i’ll post when im ready.

07 i love every single one of you. you’re all great and your support is amazing. that being said! treat me w respect and i’ll do the same to you. my inbox is open but it’s not free real estate. pls do not enter my dms unless we’re mutuals or i follow you OR you’re inquiring abt commissions. be nice to me. i’ll literally cry and disintegrate if you don’t.

08 i have a secondary blog where i post whateva i feel like it. just letting you know i am very opinionated and consider that account to be where i talk as bluntly as i’d like to. take that how you want — miffwiff.

my tags!

❝ 𝙗𝙡𝙖𝙝 𝙗𝙡𝙖𝙝 𝙗𝙡𝙖𝙝 ❞ ✧ ೃ༄ – just talking

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.♯ 𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜 - reblogs

ִ •°. *࿐. *. ⋆ ▻ 𝙙𝙚𝙡𝙪𝙡𝙪 – posted work

⋆ ·˚ ༘₊· ̗̀ 💌 ••• ⁀➷ 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙢 . . . — responding to asks

my anons!

☄️ . . .

☆ that’s all! love you ☆

[prncssie]

i’ve added a new wip to the list, featuring sukuna. please consider donating to a fundraiser that contributes to efforts in palestine to advance the writing

in order to do my part in aiding for the liberation of palestinians, i will be participating in fics for gaza movement created by @ficsforgaza. all of the proceeds go straight to charity and its all on your behalf so i recommend you participate as well, either as a writer or as a reader.

what is fics for gaza? it is a system that allows the writer and reader to work as one. for each $1 sent to a vetted fundraiser i will write 100 words towards any wip of your choose or towards a request. proof must be provided in my dms with personal information scratched out. in return, i will write the allocated word count. i do recommend checking out their page for more information to better understand how this works.

i currently write for astv, demon slayer, and jjk — specifically sukuna. please refer to my dni and my rules before sending in a request. to any requests sent in before this, those will still be honored. you are free to still sponsor it if you feel you should but they will be completed in due time.

wips — no limit $1 per 100 words

candy cane — the sequel to peppermint patty | atsv

after months of avoiding hobie since crossing that boundary of their friendship, y/n is forced to confront the root of their issues (nsfw, no use of y/n, warnings to be updated) 7696/9000 words

untitled — sukuna x reader

after moving into your new apartment, you notice you have a secret admirer, one who particularly enjoys hiding in the shadows. luckily, sukuna is there to protect you (dark content, stalking, manipulation, dependency, nsfw, warnings to be updated) 0/13000 words

requests — 2,000 word limit $1 per 100 words