#‘what the hell are you doing at a pta meeting?’

[linotte-miller]

I had a dream that I was married to Sukuna and every five minutes it was like “come get your man, we are experiencing an unanticipated amount of carnage at today’s PTA meeting”

[fushitoru]

all i want for christmas is you! a gojo satoru fic

pairing ⸺ bf!gojo x reader

summary ⸺ after a well needed rest from the kids, you and your boyfriend focus on baking christmas cookies for your pta responsibilities. however, it ends up taking a naughty twist when satoru finds out the surprise you've planned out for him.

warnings ⸺ FLUFF, smut in the form of fingering and p i v sex, reader has a vagina, fem reader implied, some jealousy, but mostly crack, pta cookie baking for megumi, very domestic, not edited, “good girl,” teasing, use of pet names like “baby,” gojo is a warning in himself

a/n hbd to my husband and loml 😚😚 i hope you guys enjoy this it kind of made me realize only long fics heal my soul but this is anticipation of holidays :33

general masterlist

You sometimes did not know what to do with Satoru.

When he told you to come over to make Christmas cookies that are part of his PTA commitments for Megumi, you really didn’t expect him to come out of his room with that sweater on. It’s an ugly sweater—so he’s got the holiday spirit nailed down—that has printed “BIG PACKAGE JUST FOR YOU.” Below it, a cartoon Santa stood pantsless, strategically holding a neatly wrapped gift box over his crotch.

You give him a look as he comes out to join you in the kitchen. “Please don’t tell me you wore that in front of Tsumiki and Megumi.”

He has the gall to look offended as he puts on his even stupider “Your opinion wasn’t on the recipe” apron. “Of course, what kind of father do you think I am?”

You sigh, moving to put in the last of the dry ingredients. “I saw Megumi watching Breaking Bad on his iPad last week.”

“What?” he gasps dramatically as he pauses while moving for the fridge. “I swear I downloaded Youtube Kids!”

Look, Satoru is a good dad. Foster-dad. Whatever. He’s been taking care of Megumi and Tsumiki for ages now, ever since that incident happened, and he’s been doing his best. But, unfortunately, his adult life and burdens and responsibilities cause him sometimes to be a absent father. He makes up for it—goes shopping with Tsumiki for her clothes, spends quality time with Megumi.

One thing he’d never miss, however, are those PTA meetings.

He is the PTA mom final boss. No matter what event is being held, he’s going to go all out. You don’t miss the smirk he gives to Karen everytime he brings an even bigger cookie platter for Megumi’s homeroom than she did for her son Sam’s, nor the sassy pursed lips as he donates artist-grade markers from Michael’s instead of Mia’s cheap ones from Walmart.

Yea, he is just petty like that, but it’s always the moms whose sons have gotten into fights with Megumi that he outdoes everytime. You know better than to question his peculiar form of revenge.

“I think that means he found a way to break through the parental controls. He’s definitely your kid,” you reply with a bit of mirth in your voice. Then, you quickly move to intercept Satoru’s journey to get the eggs as soon as you notice a miniscule movement of his. You were not about to let Satoru force another trip to Whole Foods with the clumsiness you’re all too familiar with in your five years of dating.

Grabbing the eggs before he can, you turn around to find him staring at you, a dazzled look on his face.

“What?” you ask, already smirking. The view of the outfit you’d worn today had been obscured by the apron when he first came in, but when you moved to get the eggs in front of him, he definitely got a view of your ass in your tiny red skirt and fuzzy, festive top.

“Why the hell are you wearing a sexy Mrs. Claus outfit?”

“I was thinking we’d watch Christmas movies and chill today after the cookies!” you exclaim, just as Satoru interrupts with, “We’re baking cookies for children, you freak.”

The room went dead silent.

Your cheerful smile dropped instantly. Meanwhile, Satoru’s face lit up like he’s just won the lottery, full of pure glee.

Both of you shout at the same time, “What?”

You slam the eggs down onto the counter with just enough force to make him flinch, narrowing your eyes at him. “Excuse me? Did you just call me a freak?”

“I didn’t mean it like that!” he yelped, backpedaling so fast you were surprised he didn’t trip over his own feet. “It’s just—” He gestured wildly at you. “—that outfit is… is…”

“Is what?” you demand, crossing your arms and daring him to dig himself deeper.

“Babe,” he starts to whine, apologetic like a wet dog and padding his way back over to you while pulling you in for a back hug. “It’s hot, okay? Don’t get me wrong, it’s driving me crazy. I’m trying to focus on cookies, and you’re over here looking like every Christmas fantasy I didn’t know I had.”

“Get off me,” you grumble, shooting him a glare as you try to shake him off. “You are not touching these cookies. Sit on the couch.”

He yelps as you slap his hand. “Babe, but I’ll just be reinforcing the patriarchy if I let you stay and do all the work in the kitchen.” Then, he moves closer to your ear like the chronically online loser he is and whispers, “6’ 3’’ btw.”

“Go away!” you shriek, waving him off. This process would indeed be two times faster if Satoru was on his couch. There wasn’t any rush, but you’d really appreciate getting to the dicking-down part of tonight after much appreciated privacy from the kids for the first time in forever. You take a mental note to thank Yuji’s grandpa and Nobara’s grandmother with extra cookies for the sleepover as you shoo your boyfriend to the couch.

You get back to work on the wet ingredients by cracking the eggs, but not before you hear a “I’ll be reflecting on the systematic oppression women face in the workforce.”

Pulling off the oven mitts on your hands, you wash your hand but not without sneaking a peek over the kitchen counter. You were locked in on the cookies, paying no mind to Satoru’s existential bemoaning, and now that you’re done, you can’t wait for the fun part of tonight.

After waiting a few minutes and checking and rechecking the cookies to make sure they’re done, you set them aside to cool and make sure to turn off the oven. Tonight, you were determined to get that big fucking package Santa owed you, and your boyfriend was going to be the one to deliver it.

As you walk out, you know the strat you’re going to use: innocently suggest a Christmas movie to watch, snuggle close to him, and he’ll fall into the trap you set for him like a bear towards honey. You know your boyfriend all too well, and today, you were feeling coy.

He’s stretched out on the couch, scrolling on his phone, his posture as awful as ever. But the second he hears your footsteps, his head snaps up. His eyes immediately dart to the movement of your bare legs, lingering on the tiny red skirt you’re still wearing, before slowly traveling back up to your chest. Wow. He really wasn’t making this difficult.

You plop down next to him while grabbing the remote, pulling up Netflix. “What movie should we watch today?”

He blinks, clearly distracted. “We’re watching a movie?”

The Princess Switch catches in the side of your eye as you scroll through the options. Without looking at him, you answer, “Yes? What else were we going to do?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he drawls, his voice already dipping into that teasing tone you know so well. “Maybe something that doesn’t involve Vanessa Hudgens playing herself two times.”

You roll your eyes, nudging his shoulder with your own. “Don’t knock it till you try it, Mr. Holiday Spirit.”

His gaze doesn’t leave you, though, and when you finally glance at him, his expression has shifted. He’s not teasing anymore. His eyes are a little darker, his lips twitching like he’s holding back a grin. “What?” you ask, already smirking.

“Nothing,” he says, his voice lower now. “Just... you look really good in that outfit.”

Your cheeks heat, but you play it off with a laugh. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Satoru.”

“Won’t it?” he murmurs, leaning a little closer, his hand brushing against your knee. The heat of his palm lingers even after he pulls it away, and you feel your heart skip a beat.

You’re about to respond—something witty, something to keep the banter going—but then his hand moves again, this time resting firmly on your thigh. “You’re really going to make me sit through a Christmas movie when you look like that?” he asks, his voice a low rumble.

Your breath hitches, and you can’t help the way your body reacts, leaning just a fraction closer to him. “What would you rather do?” you challenge, your voice softer now.

His gaze dips to your lips, and that’s all the invitation he needs. In a second, he’s closing the distance, his mouth pressing against yours in a kiss that’s anything but sweet. It’s hungry and demanding, like he’s been waiting for this all day, and when his hand slides higher up your thigh, you realize you’ve completely forgotten about the movie and the preview playing. Satoru, clearly a little annoyed judging by the pout on his face, moves to close the preview featuring Vanessa Hudgens’ obnoxious British accent and then the room is silent except for the wet sounds of your sloppy kissing.

When you’ve both made out for a while—now with you on his lap—you both pull back with fastened breaths, looking at each other’s glistening lips. Finally, from Satoru comes out a, “That. I wanted to do that.”

Maybe it’s the attention whore in you always looking to rile up Satoru and get his affection, but you couldn’t refrain from blurting out a “Are you sure you wanted to do this with me, or would Linda have sufficed?”

At the scrunch of Satoru’s nose, his face practically spells out a Who the fuck is Linda? “You know, the one that gets really friendly with you when I’m going to the bathroom at those PTA meetings.”

Satoru sometimes did not know what to do with you.

Here he is, trying to make out with you when you’re looking like that, makeup done perfectly and looking beautiful as always. He hasn’t gotten laid with you in a hot minute, and here you are, picking at him. He has no fucking clue who Linda is, but what he does know is that you’re really cute when you get jealous. “Yeah?” he teases, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his fingers lingering against your cheek. His grin is maddeningly smug, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement. “Linda sounds nice. Should I call her up?”

Your jaw drops, but the sharp retort forming in your head is lost when his hand slides from your cheek to your neck, his thumb brushing lightly along your jawline. He leans closer, his breath warm against your skin. “You know,” he continues, his voice a low murmur, “if you’re jealous, you could just say so.”

“I’m not jealous,” you shoot back, your voice unconvincing even to yourself. You shift under his gaze, trying to keep up the façade, but it’s hard when his lips hover so close to yours.

Satoru’s grin widens. “No? Then why are you bringing up some imaginary PTA Linda when I’m clearly only interested in you?” His lips press against the corner of your mouth, a slow, deliberate kiss that makes your breath catch.

“You’re clearly only interested in being annoying,” you quip, but the words lack their usual bite as his hand slips lower, trailing down your side until it rests on your bare thigh. His touch is firm, possessive, and it sends a shiver through you.

“Annoying?” he echoes, his tone mock-offended. “That’s a big word for someone who just ruined a perfectly good makeout session to talk about Linda.”

You glare at him, but the effect is ruined when his thumb begins tracing lazy circles on your thigh. “I didn’t ruin anything,” you argue weakly.

“Didn’t you?” He dips his head, his lips brushing against the sensitive spot just below your ear. “Because now, instead of kissing you like I want to, I’m stuck reassuring you that Linda doesn’t stand a chance against my very sexy, very jealous girlfriend.”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you, but it turns into a soft gasp as his teeth graze your skin, his tongue soothing the faint sting. “You’re insufferable,” you mutter, but your hands betray you, tangling in his hair and tugging him closer.

“Mm, but you like it,” he murmurs, his lips trailing down your neck. His free hand slides higher, skimming under the hem of your skirt, his fingers teasing against the soft skin of your hip. “Admit it.”

“Shut up,” you manage, though your voice is breathless now. He’s too close, his scent overwhelming, his touch setting your nerves on fire. When his hand tightens on your thigh and he pulls you closer, you give in, letting him capture your lips in a kiss that’s all desperation.

Linda, whoever she may be, is long forgotten as Satoru kisses you like he’s trying to make up for every second you’ve spent apart. His hands roam, his touch firm and confident, and when he pulls back just enough to murmur against your lips, “You’re all I want,” you believe him completely.

A breathless “Satoru” leaves your lips as he gently–but hurriedly–lowers you down to lay on the couch while he bends over you, inching down the hem of your top to bury his head in your tits. “Oh my god,” he groaned. “I missed my girls.” He starts to leaves rough kisses, an occasional bite and suck, and then stops. Takes in a deep breath. “Wow, you smell good babe.”

You look at him, flustered. “Stop smelling my tits, oh my god.” For good measure, you grab his hair to bury his face against your breasts once more.

“No,” smooch, “it’s,” smooch, “smelling good. Like the new holiday scents from Bath and Body Works.” He then abandons your chest to kiss his way down your body, sliding your skirt down as he kisses around the edge of your panties. “I’ve missed her, too.”

Despite yourself, you moan, spreading your legs to give him full access. He takes it enthusiastically, giving you a little kiss in your middle. Then, his eyes don’t leave yours as he uses his teeth to pull your panties down, slowly and sultry. Your pussy leaks even more, and the motherfucker notices, because there’s a faint smirk on his face as he hones back in your wetness, running his fingers to spread your slick. “Wow, my girl must have been sooo pent up,” he croons, eyes not leaving your hole and the way it clenched every time he spoke. “My good girl is soo desperate.”

Without missing a beat, you sneakily reply, “Don’t call me that, that’s so corny oh my god—-“ You’re interrupted with your own gasp as he enters a finger in. When he finally curls it, hitting your g-spot dead on, you suck in your breath. You really missed this.

“Oh, really?” He giggles, clearly amused by you trying to rile him up. “If my baby doesn’t like being called a good girl then why is she clenching so hard on my—“ thrust— “fingers?”

And suddenly the feminist in you leaves as his big, thick fingers ram into you faster than ever, and you start squealing like the slut you are for your incredibly hot boyfriend who’s equally as much of a slut for you, judging based on the rock hard erection against your thigh. Take that, Linda.

You’re in a daze of pleasure, too fucked out to notice Gojo wrenching down his sweats to pull out his throbbing cock, to pump it to full mast. It’s only when he rips his finger away from your cavern that you start to whimper, clawing at his arms to continue fingering you.

And he starts cooing, giving you a small kiss on your cheek as he aligns his dick with your pussy. “I know baby, I know,” and he groans as the soft, wet heat of your pussy grips on him hard as he pushes in. It’s not long before he starts thrusting, wiping your tears while driving in even faster. “Wow, good fucking pussy.”

“Satoru,” you whine, but you don’t even know for what. You were close enough when he was fingering you, but now you’re steadily approaching your climax. But Satoru, who’s attuned to what your body needs, readjusts himself to go even deeper.

It’s when you gasp loudly that a glint lights up in his eyes. “That’s the spot, isn’t it?” He drives into that spot like a jackhammer, savoring in your little squeals and moans of his name, until finally, he feels you climax.

“Oh my god,” you says breathlessly as your orgasm takes over you, convulsing while Satoru doesn’t let up, continuing his pace until his hips become more sloppy. After a few off rhythm thrusts, he comes in you, collapsing on top of you.

He’s breathing heavily from exertion, and you run your nails on his back and hair gently. You both bask in the glow of your orgasm. Of course, that is until Satoru perks his head up. “Do you think I can eat that kid Martin’s cookie? Megumi told me he doesn’t like him and that he’s annoying—-OWWW, what was that for?”

[kunasthiast]

champagne problems (part 1)

summary: Golf clubs, generational wealth (and trauma), and a childhood friendship that aged like milk. Everything is hell with Sukuna... especially if you had relapses of the memories that made you emotionally constipated for the last 12 fucking years. pairings: sukuna x reader (female) cw: crack fic! (pls don't take this srsly), one-sided enemies to lovers, slow-burn, delusional denial, aggressively coded sexual tension, french toast, suggestive content words: 17.1k (had to cut in parts since i've got too much words)

It’s either the universe has a twisted sense of humor or you were abandoned by it. Really. Of all the people in this planet, in this country, and in this obscenely, soul-sucking, beige-coded, stepford-smiling gated community, you had to be stuck with him. 

Sukuna.

That pink-haired bastard with more money than god and an ego large enough to have its own gravitational pull. For the love of strawberries and all things sacred, he’s a narcissistic, cocky asshole that you refuse to be associated with. For years now, actually. And he, by the way, just happened to be your self-proclaimed mortal enemy.

You’ve known him forever—since diapers, actually, thanks to your parents being disgustingly close. (Money and golf, as they say, deepen relationships and ruin offspring). Back then, it was you, Sukuna, and Gojo: inseparable, chaotic, and constantly banned from formal events for “behavioral disruption.”

Then came college. And oh, college. A series of very questionable decisions – booze, bad judgment, and that one summer you both agreed to never mention again. The one where tequila blurred every line you swore you’d never cross. Let’s just say, some boundaries were… explored. Poorly.

And of course, to top it all off: a stupid, petty fight that led to a rift in your friendship. Now, you’re both single parents, stumbling through young adulthood with a baby on each hip. You, with your son. Him, with his daughter.

Minimal contact is the unspoken rule. Occasional passive-aggressive exchanges at neighborhood meetings (gods, this is a cookie-cutter suburban hell – why is every lawn looked like the golf course green?). Where the air was thick with the scent of freshly cut grass and thinly veiled judgment, and every conversation was a subtle competition for the best-manicured lawn and the most successful offspring. 

Forced civility at school (because, of course, your kids go to the same overpriced academy that call tests “challenges” and uniforms “identity expressions”), and you’re both contractually obligated to show up at family business functions, aka golf disguised as networking disguised as family bonding disguised as a pissing contest.

And, speaking of contests – you’ve been lock in one with Sukuna for years. Specifically, your annual power play at the PTA sponsorship table. One-upping each other in increasingly ridiculous ways because nothing fuels you more than spite.

But what’s life without being a little bitchy, right?

Unfortunately, karma – being the absolute bitch of life – decided that your kids would become best friends. Not casual playground pals. No. Soulmate-level best friends. The kind that build pillow forts with emotional depth. With the insistent sleepovers, shared inside jokes in their own weird language you’re 90% they invented, and referred to each other as siblings.

How did it happen? You have no fucking idea. 

Or maybe you do, you’re just in deep denial. Maybe it’s genetic. Maybe it’s some goddamn cosmic joke. Maybe the universe has you by the throat and won’t let go until it watches you suffer in 4K.

Not that you don’t love his daughter – she’s an absolute angel, the kind of sweet that makes dentists nervous. But her being your son’s BFF? That’s… inevitable. 

Especially in your tight, old-money-adjacent social circle. They’ve known each other since they were just wearing diapers, since they were teething on the same overpriced Montessori rattles. 

Just like you and Sukuna. 

Except this time, it’s different. Because their friendship demands one thing: coexistence. You and that tattoed-to-the-gods asshole had been forced to coexist. Again, coexist.

And Sukuna? Oh no, he doesn’t do coexisting. Nah. Nope. Never. He breaks balance. He thrives on chaos. He gets off on making your life just inconvenient enough to ruin your peace, but not enough to justify a felony charge.

And this morning? This godforsaken Saturday morning? He outdid himself.

Twelve years of passive-aggressive parenting – scratch that, thirty-three years of slow-burn emotional warfare – have led to this moment. This may just be his masterpiece.

Because this was when the relapse started—and Sukuna made damn sure you felt every inch of it.

The first thing you register at seven-fucking-A.M. is the sound of something dying. Violently. It’s mechanical. Obnoxious. It sounds like a robot lawnmower from hell just met its end outside your bedroom window.

The second thing you register? Pure, unfiltered rage.

Your eyes snap open like you’ve just been slapped by God himself. That noise—it’s outside. Your house. Your lawn.

You lurch out of bed like a woman possessed – dazed, furious, still marinating in last night’s sleep deprivation, because of course you were up ’til 3 AM binge-watching that dumb dating show where someone literally said “Montoya, por favor,”. You then grabbed your pillow and screamed into it for ten minutes. Regret? Never heard of her.

You barely register the cool cling of your La Perla silk sleepwear against your skin as you stomp toward the window. One violent yank later—

And there it is. Not a noise. But, a nuisance. Him. Sukuna.

Shirtless. (Is that not a violation of at least three HOA rules?) Smirking. Holding a hedge trimmer like he’s auditioning for a cologne commercial that probably ends with “Dior Sauvage: For Men Who Deserve Jail.”

You’ve seen him shirtless before. Too many times. College. His apartment. Your apartment. That goddamn couch in the frat house that probably caused seven diseases just by looking at it. Heat. A lot of teeth. Chaos. And him tracing lazy circles on your back like he was trying to memorize you. The worst part? You let him.

The morning sun, which used to mean peace and lattes, now glints off the sheen of sweat on his stupid, tattooed chest—each muscle cut like it was carved by demons with a thirst for drama. His pink hair is tousled just so—purposefully chaotic, like the universe made him hot just to personally ruin your life.

And then you see it. What used to be your hedge. You blink once. Then again. No change.

Your lush, lovingly imperfect, expensive-as-shit privet hedge is gone. Vaporized. Replaced by a row of cold, surgically shaved shrubs that look like a serial killer’s idea of curb appeal. Your eye twitches.

As if summoned by your fury, Sukuna glances up. His crimson eyes gleaming with the kind of chaotic joy that only thrives on your rage – or maybe something else. That look – the one he gave you at 2AM on your billion-dollar couch the night you swore it was a one-time thing. The one that said, “I’d ruin you if you let me.” And you let him. Back then. Right before shit got complicated. Right before you woke up next to him and pretended that everything’s normal as fuck. Again. 

He knows what this is doing to you. And that annoyingly smug bastard does this all with a smirk. A slow, wolfish, go-ahead-lose-your-mind kind of smirk.

“Morning, sweetheart,” he mouths. Oh, of course. You can lip-read him. Of course you can. Curse your stupid subconscious for prioritizing Sukuna Fluency over Spanish.

You inhale deeply. Try to center yourself. Failing that, you simply open the door like you’re kicking off Act One of a Greek tragedy. No robe. No shoes. No dignity. Just you, rage, and a whole lot of leg.

“Sukuna,” you bark, voice rasping like vengeance incarnate.

He doesn’t flinch. Of course he doesn’t. Instead, he turns, casually leaning on the hedge trimmer like he’s posing for The Bachelor: War Criminal Edition.

“Oh. You’re up early,” he drawls. His eyes flick downward—just for a second, but long enough to set your entire nervous system on fire.

“You—” You gesture wildly toward the massacre formerly known as your hedge. “What the actual fuck did you do?”

Sukuna squints at the row of plant corpses like a man admiring the Louvre, “Landscaping,” he says.

“That was my hedge.”

“It was an ugly hedge.”

You nearly combust. “Are you clinically insane?!”

He finally turns fully to face you, crimson eyes gleaming with the kind of chaotic joy that only thrives on female rage. “Don’t be dramatic. It looks better now.”

“Better?!” you screech. “It looks like it was done by Hannibal Lecter with a pair of OCD scissors!”

Sukuna hums. “You’re welcome.”

You take one murderous step forward. “You owe me a new hedge.”

“I gave you a new hedge.”

“I will burn this entire street down.”

His grin widens, predatory. “Might wanna change out of that nightie first, sweetheart. Fire hazard.”

You freeze. That’s when it hits you. The air. The breeze. The sudden realization that you are—very much—standing in front of Satan in La Perla silk.

Short. Bare. Clingy. Absolutely illegal in three states. Straps like dental floss. Chest support? None. Coverage? Legally negligible. Your arms fly up like someone just yelled “freeze!”

And Sukuna? Oh, he notices. He notices everything. His gaze drags over you slowly, hungrily, with the smug satisfaction of a man who knows exactly the effect he has.

“Nice outfit,” he murmurs. “All for me, babe?”

Your soul? Gone. Astral projected. Witnessed its own murder. And a tiny, traitorous part of your brain, the part you usually kept locked in a soundproof room, whispered, ‘Yep.' You crushed that traitorous voice with the force of a thousand suns.

“Shut up,” you hiss, spinning on your heel like a scandalized Disney princess on the verge of committing a felony.

“Don’t be shy now,” he calls after you, laughter rumbling from his chest like a goddamn villain. 

“Come back! Let’s negotiate... hedge replacements. Or anything else you’re aching to trim.”

You slam the door so hard you hear a bird scream outside.

And you? You launch yourself face-first into the couch like a woman wronged by fate, God, and the HOA.

Because of that man. Because of Ryomen. Fucking. Sukuna. Because your life is a telenovela and that devil is hot and ruining your lawn.

Your theatrical death scene is cut short by the sound of a small, sleepy voice.

“Mom?” You freeze.

Riku, your 12-year old son, stands in the hallway, looking like he’s fought a pillow and lost. Pajama shirt backward.  One sock. A feather in his hair?

He squints. Then pauses. “Why are you yelling? It’s Saturday.”

You try to pull yourself together, smoothing down your very not-child-appropriate sleepwear and flattening your hair like that’ll help.

“Nothing,” you say. Too fast. Too high-pitched. Too guilty.

Riku eyes you. Then the door. Then back to you. “Mom, why are you dressed like that?”

Your soul flatlines. “I—no reason. Go to bed.”

“It’s seven in the morning.”

“AND?!”

He sighs like he pays taxes and you’re the child here. “Did you fight with Papa again?”

Your brain short-circuited. “Papa?”

He yawns. “Unckuna said I should call him that. Since we’re like family.”

Something in your chest twists. He said that? The same man who claims relationships are just complicated sleepovers with taxes? The one who ghosted you emotionally mid-snuggle and then had the audacity to joke about building IKEA furniture “as a team”? The one who doesn’t even believe in relationships (more like… you both don’t) that last longer than a lease. 

And now he’s out here playing pretend dad to your son? Like he didn’t once whisper the word “ours” into your neck and pretend it was a joke.

You see white. You see God. You see the void. You also see a very expensive therapy bill forming in your future.

“That man is NOT your father,” you snarl.

“He also said your hedge looked like a haunted broccoli. With trust issues.”

“HE MURDERED MY HEDGE.”

Riku shrugs. “It was kinda ugly.”

You gasp. “It was tastefully whimsical!”

Then your phone buzzes.

[Do Not Answer]: good morning, sweetheart. hope you’re still wearing that cute little nightie. you always looked best in silk. see u later 😘

You stare at the screen like it personally offended you. Then briefly consider throwing your phone out the window. Or yourself. Unfortunately, your insurance doesn’t cover “Sukuna-related injuries” or emotional trauma due to unsolicited thirst traps and flirty, horny, late-stage situationship texts. 

Because he’s done this before—flirting like it’s harmless, like it doesn’t drag old memories up from the basement where you thought you buried them under shame, sarcasm, and 12 years of pretending you don’t miss him. The way his hand used to fit in yours, the ghost of his lips on your neck, the memory of his laugh echoing in your apartment, a laugh you hadn't heard in person for years. All of it was buried, but the soil was thin.

You scream into the couch cushion like you’re dying on a battlefield. And worse than shame, deeper than anger, in the dark corners of your soul, is the memory of liking it.

“Ew,” Riku mutters. “Do I have to hear about your weird grown-up drama?”

“IT’S NOT WEIRD DRAMA.”

Riku gives you a long, tired look. “Mom.”

“What?!”

He points to the phone. “I know you like him.”

Your entire soul dissolves into steam.

Despite the fact that he just ruined your precious Saturday morning with this hedge incident and a completely inappropriate message to send to your ‘co-parent’, Sukuna was moving on with his day. Specifically, he was cooking breakfast like some domestic menace in his obnoxiously sleek, state-of-the-art kitchen that looked like it belonged in the magazine spread of Architectural Digest.

Because unlike most rich assholes, Sukuna didn’t trust personal chefs. People spit in food. People sneezed in food. People existed near food, which was already bad enough. So, every morning, he cooked his own. For him and his daughter. Without fail. And since it was Saturday, that meant one thing: big breakfast.

Which also meant, thanks to the unfortunate circumstances of your life, you and Riku would be there too. Because in a twist of cosmic cruelty, his daughter Keiko had long ago declared that Saturday breakfast at her dad’s house was sacred tradition. 

And Riku, the traitor, had readily agreed. Of course he did. The two of them had been best friends since they were in kindergarten, and you? You were just along for the ride. Fuck it, right?

Keiko, same age as Riku, stomped into the kitchen like she owned the place (she does, it’s her dad’s) – hair a tangled mess, eyes half shut, wearing an oversized My Melody pajama set like a gremlin princess.

“Daddy, what’s for breakfast?” She flopped onto a barstool, chin resting on her palm, already judging the pile of ingredients on the counter: eggs, bacon, fresh fruit, rice, miso soup, and a whole loaf of milk bread that was about to get French-toastified.

“Morning, princess. You’ve got drool,” Sukuna said, wiping her face with casual affection before returning to the stove, flipping eggs like a culinary showoff. She snorted. He hummed. 

Everything about this household was too chill. And that was his bragging right.

And now here you were, an hour later (mind you, it might already be 8:02AM). Not in your silk sleepwear now, but in your Loro Piana lounge set – a color-matching oversized hoodie and baggy sweatpants. In enemy territory. Sitting at his obnoxiously pristine kitchen island while the bane of your existence plated up French toast like he hadn’t just murdered your hedge in cold blood an hour ago and sent you a text message that would make Satan blush. Maybe you were Satan. Life was suffering.

You sat stiffly, stewing in silent rage, eating his stupidly delicious food in his stupidly perfect kitchen like the fool you were. Betrayed not just by your son, but by your taste buds.

Riku, of course, had zero shame. He was already seated next to Keiko, looking entirely far too comfortable as he reached over and swiped a piece of bacon from her plate.

“Hey!” She snapped. “That’s mine.”

Riku shrugged mid-bite with zero remorse. “Now it’s mine.”

Keiko kicked him under the table.

Sukuna – ever the type to let kids settle their own beef like unsupervised wolf cubs – didn’t even flinch. Like everything's perfectly normal. But his eyes, for a flicker, held a strange intensity as he watched you, a glint that wasn't just amusement. He simply set a plate in front of you, stacked high with French toast, bacon, and disgustingly perfect scrambled eggs. Then, because he couldn’t help himself, he leaned in close – voice infuriatingly close to your ear and a sin against sanity.

“Eat up, sweetheart,” he murmured, smug as ever. “Wouldn’t want you getting lightheaded from all that screaming this morning.”

Your fork nearly snapped in half. 

Keiko, sensing the chaos brewing, quickly changed the subject.

“Daddy,” she said, perking up, “Riku and I are gonna work on our science project later, ‘kay?”

Sukuna sat down, completely unbothered. “What is it?”

“A volcano model,” Keiko said proudly.

Sukuna arched a brow. “Lame.”

Keiko glared. “It’s for school!”

He snorted. “What happened to building a flamethrower?”

You nearly choked. Nope, you choked on your French toast.

Riku’s eyes lit up. “Wait, we can do that?”

“No,” You snapped, pointing your fork at Sukuna. “Absolutely not. Do NOT encourage them.”

Sukuna smirked, utterly unrepentant, and shrugged. “Relax, sweetheart. I wouldn’t let them  build an unsafe flamethrower.”

Your stared at him in disbelief. “There is no such thing as a safe flamethrower.”

The kids immediately started whispered like they were plotting something completely unhinged.

You took a long, deep breath. One problem at a time.

Right now, your biggest issue was pretending this breakfast wasn’t delicious. Which, unfortunately, it very much was. It was fucking amazing. Yeah, you’re easily pleased when it comes to food. But giving Sukuna even an ounce of satisfaction? Absolutely not. So, you settled for silent suffering, stabbing your fork into your French toast with unnecessary force.

Sukuna, because he was the devil incarnate, noticed. Obviously. Because the pink-haired menace always noticed.

“Good?” He asked, smirking.

You chewed aggressively. “No.”

Riku, your traitor of a child, spoke with his mouth full. “It’s really good.”

Keiko nodded, licking syrup off her fork. “Yeah, Daddy’s food is always the best.”

Sukuna looked insufferably pleased with himself. You swallowed your pride with the same intensity you swallowed that stupidly fluffy French toast. It was almost worth selling your soul for. Mind it, almost. This man could burn in hell. Preferably after breakfast.

Some time the next week, you were sprawled on the couch, half-dead after surviving what felt like a thousand back-to-back meetings. Thank God you work from home, and thank heavens it’s the family’s generational business. You could’ve been stuck in some sterile office with fluorescent lights, but nope, you're chilling at home, in your luxurious chaos. Oh, and did you mention it’s old money and generational wealth? Yeah, that kind of wealth. It’s a blessing… or a curse. Honestly, it depends on the day.

It was a Tuesday evening, and you were half-heartedly flipping through Netflix, trying to figure out which rom-com would match your mood. Naturally, you were leaning toward something unhinged and wildly unrealistic – you know, peak escapism… because why not? Maybe something classic with Matthew McConaughey, who was inescapably charming, or Hugh Grant with that disarming, floppy hair of his. Adam Sandler was also on the table, because who doesn’t love his chaotic, awkward brand of comedy? Basically something that might almost restore your faith in the idea that true love could be both absurd and beautiful. Almost.

Then, the door opened, and in walked your son, back from school.

And no – you don’t fetch him. Not when your smug, self-appointed savior of a neighbor has been picking him up for years now. Five, to be exact. Something about “Tch. We’re neighbors and they’re best friends – I should just do it instead of a fucking driver,” as if that was the most obvious and safest solution (no kidnaps, right?) in the world. Well, it is.

You didn’t even argue. Why would you? Free childcare and no afternoon traffic? That’s a win. You don’t argue with that kind of magic.

“How’s school?” you asked, still scrolling through the abyss of movie options.

Riku kicked off his shoes and dropped his bag by the door with the grace of a well-raised (you raised him) gremlin. “Fine,” he called, heading straight for the fridge. “We had a math quiz. I killed it.”

“Good job, baby genius,” you said, eyes still glued to your television as you scrolled through rom-coms. You finally hovered over How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, thumb on the remote paused mid-air. “So, steak or sushi for dinner?”

“Nah, Papa said we might do burgers tonight.”

You blinked.

“Wait – what?”

“Yup,” Riku said, nonchalantly tearing into a kunafa pistachio chocolate bar and zero shame. “He said if I finished my homework early, he’d take us to that place with the crazy milkshakes and the gold leaf fries.”

Your jaw dropped. Turned slowly at your child. Offended.

“You’re making dinner plans with him? Without me?”

Riku, blissfully unaware of the storm he was causing, crunched into the chocolate bar. “I mean… yeah? It’s Papa. He plans everything better than you do anyway.”

You gasped, obviously scandalized by your son’s betrayal. Clutching your chest in exaggeration with an, “Excuse me?!”

Before you could fully process your son’s betrayal, your phone buzzed with a FaceTime call. A FaceTime call. From your mother. Red flag. Big red flag.

She always call through FaceTime if it was a serious business to discuss. Like weddings. Or funerals. Or your personal life, which she had no business being involved in.

You almost didn’t answer, but curiosity—and the very real possibility of her forcing a conversation about your non-existent love life—compelled you to pick up.

The screen flashed, and suddenly, your mother’s entire face filled your phone, her expression beaming with suspicious delight.

“Hi, sweetheart!” she chirped, like didn’t just interrupt your most sacred of moments — talking with your son who clearly forgot that you have to eat dinner too.

“What’s wrong?” You narrowed your eyes, instantly suspicious.

Her smile widened. Uh-oh. You knew that smile. It’s an all-too-familiar sign that something – something – was very, very wrong. It’s a trap. Oh my god, why the fuck did you answer it? You could practically hear your sanity slowly crumbling.

Your father’s voice rumbled from somewhere off-screen. “Is that her?”

Your mother turned the camera. And there he was – your father – glowing with smug satisfaction, reading the newspaper like a man preparing to ruin your peace. 

“Hey, kiddo,” he greeted, not even bothering to look up. “How’s Sukuna?”

You blacked out, “WHAT?”

“Oh, your father and I just had the loveliest brunch with him yesterday,” your mother practically sang the words, her voice dripping with way too much enthusiasm.

Your brain short-circuited, processing. “You—what?”

“Brunch,” she repeated slowly, as if you were some kind of idiot who didn’t know what brunch was. “At that little place by the golf course! You know, the one with the fresh strawberry tarts? We were so surprised when Sukuna walked in! And oh, sweetheart—he insisted on paying.”

“Even the wine,” your father added, flipping a page, and still not looking up from his paper.

You stared, horrified. Yep, your entire existence is crumbling in real time.

“No. No, no, no. What the hell were you two doing having brunch with Sukuna?!”

“Oh, don’t be dramatic.” She waved a hand dismissively. “It wasn’t planned! We were there. He was there – fate, darling. Fate.”

Your father set down his paper and finally looked at you like the sage old man he was. “He’s a good man.”

Oh my god. You fought the urge to throw your phone across the room.

Your mother sighed a long, dreamy exhale that belonged to a teenage girl meeting her favorite boyband, not a grown woman discussing your literal neighbor. Your self-proclaimed enemy.

“Oh, sweetheart, he’s just so charming and thoughtful! He even asked how we were, how you were, how Riku was—” She paused, giving you that look. "He even asked about your garden. Said he was sorry about the hedge. And then he asked what kind of flowers you liked.”

Sukuna… apologized? And asked about your favorite flowers? A memory flickered – Sukuna, years ago, nursing you back to health after a particularly bad tequila night, carefully placing a bouquet of spider lilies (your favorite, but you never told him) on your bedside table. And now, a pang of something that felt suspiciously like longing hit you. But no. Deny, deny, deny. Lock it down the deepest vault.

“Mom.”

“— and honestly, it’s just so rare these days. A man with such good manners…”

“Mom. We’re neighbors.”

“And handsome, too! I mean, obviously, we always knew that, but now—”

“MOM.”

Your father nodded, the sagely figure of a man who had clearly seen things.  “Still a shame he’s not yet married.”

You swore you were about to die or throw yourself off a cliff. You weren’t picky at this point.

Your mother giggled. That dangerous giggle. The one that said she was absolutely about to dive into matchmaking hell. Everything is hell when it comes to everything with Sukuna involved.

“Mom, I swear to God, if you’re about to —”

“Oh, I just think it’s such a shame you two never worked out!”

You screamed in frustration.

Right at that moment, Riku poked his head in the camera. Of course. “Oh. Grandma’s talking about Papa again, huh?”

Your mother, ever the opportunist, perked up. “Oh, hi, sweetheart! Have you eaten? Did Uncle Sukuna pick you up from school?”

Riku flopped onto the couch, still munching on his chocolate bar and nonchalantly stealing one of your throw pillows that your leg was clearly hugging. “Yeah. We’re also gonna have burgers tonight! And gold-leaf fries.”

Your mother gasped. “Gold-plated?! Oh, see? Isn’t he wonderful?”

Riku shrugged. “I mean, yeah, he’s cool.”

Your soul left your body.

“Mom,” you said, voice shaking. “Please. I beg you. Stop.”

She only laughed. “Oh, darling, don’t be shy! You know, when I was your age, if a man looked at me the way Sukuna looks at you—”

“HANGING UP.”

“Wait—!”

Click.

You threw your phone onto the couch like it physically burned you. Riku, completely unfazed, finished his chocolate bar. How he finished it that fast was beyond you. Was he part vacuum cleaner?

“…So, mom,” he said, casually. “can I sleep over at Kei’s tonight?”

You grabbed the throw pillow and playfully smacked him with it.

Wednesdays. Hump days. The weird, middle child of the week. The day that usually smelled like stress and overpriced cold brews.

Normally, Wednesdays were crammed with back-to-back meetings: clients, your personal assistant, your shopping assistant (because, priorities), and the occasional emergency call from your hair stylist because your toner was apparently too warm. But, not today. 

Today was sacred.

Today was shopping day. A full, uninterrupted day of retail therapy. Chanel, Cartier, a suspiciously overpriced iced matcha with edible gold flakes—you earned this. 

You even texted your driver, Hiro, at 9 a.m. sharp to be on standby – like the responsible adult you occasionally pretend to be. Your credit cards warmed up like a Formula 1 engine, and all your favorite stores knew to roll out the metaphorical red carpet.

This Wednesday was going so well until Sukuna betrayed you.

You were still in your robe, smearing serum across your face like a rich house cat bathing in luxury, when your phone pinged. You glanced at the notification and felt your soul leave your body.

[Do Not Answer]: babe, I’m slammed with meetings [Do Not Answer]: mind picking up the kids today?

You stared. 

Blinked. 

And blinked again.

… Babe?

Babe.

Babe?!

The sheer audacity of that word nearly made you drop your gua sha.

He doesn’t call you babe. He never calls you babe. Well, that was years ago. But, he says “princess” with that smirk when he wants to piss you off, or “gorgeous” when he’s being annoyingly charming, and most of the times, lately, he calls you “sweetheart,” and you’re so ready to combust anytime. But babe?

Babe is sacred. Babe is relationship territory. Babe is dangerous. Babe is cruel. 

You could feel twelve years’ worth of buried feelings rattle like a demon in the basement of your emotional trauma house. You shoved them back down with professional precision.

This was a trap. A distraction. You needed to focus. And also... what meetings?!

You jabbed your fingers at the screen, rage typing like a woman possessed.

[You]: since when do you have afternoon meetings? especially on a wednesday?! [You]: this feels illegal [You]: actually, I feel scammed

He replied instantly. The man had the nerve to send:

[Do Not Answer]: lol

LOL?! Oh, he thinks this is funny? Your eye twitched.

[You]: what if I was busy? [Do Not Answer]: you’re not [You]: YOU DON’T KNOW THAT [Do Not Answer]: you literally told me you had nothing scheduled this week

Okay, he wasn’t wrong, but that wasn’t the point. The point is: he’s a treacherous man-child who clearly weaponizes your schedule against him. He couldn’t just pull the “I’m busy” card on you like that anytime. Not on a Wednesday, when your shopping trip had been meticulously planned to indulge in luxury and self-care.

Your thumb hovered over the screen, itching to send him something even more venomous. But instead, you stared at the blinking cursor, sighed like a Victorian widow, and texted:

[You]: k

You groaned dramatically into your hands. Yeah, to hell with your skin care. You went back to your bedroom and flopped onto your bed and groaned into your 600-thread count pillow. Somewhere in the distance, a dramatic violin played for your suffering. You were going to have to endure the other moms. The PTA vultures. 

And possibly your own mother, who loved nothing more than materializing at school pickups like a judgmental ghost, armed with gossip and Sukuna-related questions.

Your phone buzzed again.

[Do Not Answer]: thanks, sweetheart. appreciate it ;) [You]: shut up

Hiro, your long-suffering driver and part-time therapist, was clearly thrilled by the unfolding drama.

“Madam,” he greeted, glancing at you through the mirror. “You look… thrilled.”

You scowled, sliding dramatically into the leather seat like a woman betrayed. “This is Sukuna's job. I’ve been scammed. I should sue him for emotional damages.”

“Is it really a scam,” Hiro asked diplomatically, “if he asked nicely?”

"He didn't ask nicely! He said lol. That’s verbal assault.”

Hiro hummed like he agreed, but he didn’t. Traitor.

When the car pulled into the school gates, it was like arriving at the frontline of a suburban battlefield. Mothers. Nannies. Personal bodyguards. Chauffeurs in black luxury cars. PTA moms who always dressed like they were going to brunch with the royal family.

And you?

You wore sweats, your old uni hoodie, and exactly zero makeup. You looked like the before picture in a glow-up video. But your diamond rings sparkled like hellfire – your only giveaway that you were rich as fuck. You weren’t broke, you were just done with these kinds of scene.

The judgment came fast. Some of the moms did that thing where they glanced at you, then whispered behind their hands. A few nannies gave you nods of respect, probably because you weren’t the usual “too-rich-to-function” type.

But the worst? 

Mrs. Yoshida.

PTA Queen Bee. Two-time “Mother of the Year” because she nominated herself. Three-time brunch committee president. The woman probably tried to trademark: “yummy mummy.” The woman who would call the manager at a fucking charity event. Her heels clicked on the pavement like judgment incarnate as she stalked toward you. 

"Oh,” she said, smiling that fake ‘I pity you’ smile. “It’s so nice to see you doing the school run for once!”

You blinked. Then smiled sweetly.

“Oh, and it’s so nice to see you still dressing like an overworked air hostess.”

Her smile dropped like the stock market is full of reds.

Hiro choked on his laughter.

But before the woman could recover from the verbal slap, you spotted the kids. Riku and Keiko. Standing side by side. Waiting. Hopeful. Clearly hopefully waiting for Sukuna to get them sundae on the way home.

Except when they saw you, that hope died.

Riku blinked, confused. To your horror, his face fell. Your son, your flesh and blood, is disappointed that you’re the one picking them up. This left you gaping in disbelief.

Then, Keiko turned. She titled her head with the slow horror of someone discovering they’d been served sparkling water instead of Sprite.

Basically, her entire soul left her body.

“…Where’s daddy?” she asked, peering into the Rolls like Sukuna was hiding in the glovebox.

“Busy,” you said.

Keiko looked physically ill with that word.

“So… you're picking us up?"

"Yes, Keiko."

"You?"

"YES, KEI. ME. GET IN THE CAR.” You’re controlling yourself with pure rage wrapped in customer and parenting service. Trying to remain calm as possible in front of all these judgmental PTA moms.

As they begrudgingly climbed in, you caught sight of Mrs. Yoshida again, watching the entire ordeal with the satisfied smirk of someone whose life is just a little bit less messy than yours. Yeah, you’ve had enough of this soul-sucking vibe. You just wanted to throw a juice box at her.

Once the doors shut, Riku sighed, dramatic as ever. “Well. This is awkward."

"Awkward?" you scoffed. “You’re disappointed in your own mother picking you up. That’s awkward.”

Keiko crossed her arms like a betrayed heiress. “Daddy always buys us ice cream after school.”

Riku leaned forward. "Yeah, Mom. You buying us ice cream?"

You looked between the two gremlins and then to Hiro, who was silently laughing in the front seat. You exhaled sharply, “…Fine.”

They cheered and you glared at these two gremlins.

You pinched the bridge of your nose. "I swear to God, if you two start rating me as a school-run parent—"

Keiko already had her little pink notebook out.

"You're at a 2 right now," she said, flipping open a page. "But ice cream might boost you to a 5.”

“Out of 5, right?” You said with a smile on your face, overly excited with the high-rating.

“No, out of 10.” Keiko nonchalantly said as she write on her pink notebook.

Your face fell with a what an actual fuck is happening reaction to everything around you.

Riku nodded. “Papa's still at a 9.8."

A 9.8?!

“What did he lose 0.2 for? Murder?” Clearly, you shouldn’t be near kids. But one of these kids is your son. So, yeah.

Riku shrugged. "He called my math homework stupid."

Keiko giggled. "Oh yeah! But then he bought you Jordans, so it’s okay."

You turned to Hiro, scandalized, “Are you hearing this? This is corruption. He’s bribing them.”

Hiro, looking at the road ahead, and with a perfectly straight face, just said, “It's a delicate ecosystem, madam. He plays the long game.”

You groaned.

And that was how you ended up at a drive-thru, buying two sundaes and one sad coffee. You, in the front seat, emotionally wrecked while your son and Sukuna's spawn ranked your parenting.

You finished at 2. Sukuna is still winning.

The moment you pulled into the driveway, your phone pinged.

[Do Not Answer]: how’d it go? [You]: ur child is a menace [You]: she ranked me like i was on the next top parent. a 2, sukuna. A DAMN TWO [Do Not Answer]: lmao [You]: this isn’t funny. ur evil tactics are spreading [Do Not Answer]: u just mad i’m winning parenthood [You]: i’m blocking u [Do Not Answer]: nahh u’re not

He was right. You scowled at your phone anyway. Before you could chuck your phone out the window, Riku turned to you.

“Can Kei sleep over?”

You blinked. “Didn’t she just rate me a TWO?!”

Keiko smiled sweetly. “It was just feedback, mama.” (You are not her mama. You’ve explained this. Repeatedly.)

Riku nodded sagely. "Yeah, Mom. Feedback’s important."

You squinted at your own son. And then stared at them both for this unbelievable situation of you being manipulated by these two gremlins.

Hiro (again, your driver) was full-on laughing now, no longer bothering to hide it.

"You know what?" you muttered, rubbing your temples. "No. No sleepovers. I’m officially clocking out as a parent today."

"Mama, no!” Keiko gasped.

“You gave me a two.”

Riku groaned. “Mom, you’re being dramatic.”

“You know what’s dramatic? Giving me a two, then immediately asking for a sleepover.”

Keiko huffed. "Fine. I’ll bump you to a five."

Riku crossed his arms. “You did buy us ice cream.”

"Are you guys seriously negotiating my score?"

Keiko beamed. "So that’s a yes?"

You sighed.

This was Sukuna’s fault. All of it.

"...Fine."

They cheered. Hiro, the traitor, just continued laughing in the front seat.

You ignored them all and pulled out your phone.

[You]: ur little gremlin just emotionally manipulated me into a sleepover [Do Not Answer]: that’s my girl [You]: come get her. i’m done parenting [Do Not Answer]: lmao no [You]: i hate u [Do Not Answer]: no you don’t ;)

You glared at the screen. This was Sukuna’s fault. All of it.

You were going to scream.

Or text him again.

Or maybe both.

But for now?

You needed wine. And maybe a therapist.

Golf was supposed to be a sport. A peaceful, relaxing Friday activity. Supposedly.

But no. Of course not. Why would anything in your life be peaceful? 

In your life, everything was a battlefield – including, but not limited to, your tragic excuse for golf skills, the stiletto-thin patience you’re currently wearing, and the fact that you’re stuck listening to old-money business jargon that sounds like it came out of a rejected Succession script. Or maybe Dynasty, you never know anymore.

At the stupidly pristine golf course, your dad stood with Wasuke (aka Sukuna’s dad, aka walking intimidation in pastel polos) and Jin (Sukuna’s twin, aka the lesser evil?). Their conversation smelled like money. Like old, generational, smells-like-the-inside-of-an-oak-safe-and-a-Ferrari-merged-wealth. The air around them crackled with hostile mergers and billion-dollar foreplay. 

Your sister was occasionally chimed in like she was born in a boardroom, and Gojo—another menace of the century with Sukuna — was playing both sides with the enthusiasm of a court jester who inherited a hedge fund.

Let’s be real: only three of you gave a single solitary shit about actual golf – you, Sukuna, and your mom. And your mom only cared because she once beat a CEO with a 7-iron and hasn’t emotionally recovered since.

The sun was bright. The grass was green. The vibe was hostile. And, you were already regretting your entire bloodline. Then, the worst voice known to mankind – smooth, smug, and utterly punchable – cut in from behind.

"You’re holding it wrong.” 

You turned your head so fast your neck cracked. “Can you shut up?"

Sukuna stood there, leaning on his golf club like he was auditioning for Rogue Billionaires Weekly, smirk carved across his face like he owned the damn country club. Spoiler: he might be. 

"Your stance is off. And your grip is fucking weak.” he said, voice mocking.

"My grip is fine, thank you.” Also, what the fuck even is a stance? You’re holding the club?!

He just grinned at you. That infuriating, teeth-flashing, smug little shit grin.

You sighed and turned back to the sound of corporate greed happening ten feet away, like a live-action PowerPoint presentation from hell. Yep, this is your slow, corporate-sponsored death.

"—the Dubai expansion is moving along," your dad said, adjusting his golf glove like a Bond villain. "Full return on investment by Q3 next year.”

Wasuke nodded. "And you’re securing exclusivity on that?"

Your sister jumped in. “The terms are favorable, but the board wants to explore secondary partnerships.”

May gods help you. Not the secondary partnerships.

"Secondary partnerships dilute brand value," Jin said, matter-of-factly and a voice flat as a Wall Street banker’s soul. "If you’re going in, go in alone."

Gojo, never missing an opportunity to self-promote, smirked. "Which is why I love working solo. No boards, no shareholders—just me, my money, and my incredible business instincts."

Sukuna snorted. "You mean your incredible luck?"

Gojo gasped, placing a dramatic hand over his heart. Really, an Oscar-worthy performance. “'Kuna, I am deeply, deeply wounded."

"Don’t call me that," Sukuna muttered as he causally swung his golf club with perfect precision and sent the ball flying.

Meanwhile, Jin just dropped some casual xenophobia into the convo with, "I don’t trust the French.”

Heavens, they’re really brothers.

Wasuke didn’t even look up from his phone. “Their money’s good, but their loyalty is nonexistent.”

You leaned toward Sukuna out of curiosity. "Do you actually know what they’re talking about?"

Sukuna gave you a look that said: I have watched blood diamonds being auctioned off with less drama.

"Do you think I sit in boardrooms for fun?"

"Honestly? I try not to think about what you do."

"Because you’d get too distracted?" he said, mockingly sweet.

You rolled your eyes. "Because it’s probably illegal."

His smirk said no comment. Then Wasuke shifted the convo to Formula 1 – Sukuna’s domain of god complex and expensive toys.

"Motorsport contracts for the Euro manufacturers are wrapping up," Wasuke said, eyeing the scoreboard. "I want F1 projections next week."

“Already sent them,” Sukuna replied, because of course he did. “Wind tunnel drama, but the numbers are solid.”

"F1’s a money pit," your dad noted.

Jin smirked. “Yet they still beg us to be in their garages."

Your sister gave a knowing nod. "That’s because you control the entire supply chain. Power units, manufacturing motors, aerospace-grade materials—"

"You don’t win a championship without our parts," Sukuna added with terrifying ease.

Gojo whistled. "Damn. Y’all are playing god."

Wasuke smirked. "We don’t play god. We just make sure everyone needs us."

Sukuna’s crimson eyes flicked to yours. "Sound familiar?"

Ugh. That was a direct hit. You knew exactly what he was hinting at.

"Don’t be mad our family has the luxury industry in a chokehold," you shot back.

Jin laughed. "Our industries are co-dependent, though.”

You rolled your eyes. “Strategically entangled with deep-rooted dysfunction. There. Fixed it.”

“That’s rich, ”Sukuna chuckled under his breath. “Coming from the woman who emotionally negotiated a 5/10 rating out of a twelve-year-old.”

You whipped around to glare at him, your golf club pointed like a weapon. “Your daughter emotionally blackmailed me with dessert, okay? I’m the victim here.”

He took a slow step toward you, eyes gleaming like he was about to say something incredibly inappropriate. Especially in this place where you’re surrounded by family.

And you know that look. You hated that look he’s giving you right now. You just froze there, mentally preparing for the impact, fully aware that if this man so much as winked, your ovaries would detonate.

You sighed. "I hate it here."

"Sure," Sukuna drawled, “but you love getting the family-and-friends discount on Richard Mille."

You opened your mouth to argue — then shut it.

“…That’s what I thought," he said.

Meanwhile, the boardroom larping continued, with Jin casually lining up his golf shot. "By the way, what’s your play for the next expansion?"

Your dad smirked. "Exclusive deal on a rare pearl farm."

"How rare?" Sukuna asked.

Your sister crossed her arms. "One-of-one. Completely untapped market. If you want the pearls, you go through us."

Wasuke let out an approving chuckle. "That’s how you do business."

Sukuna turned to you. Smirking. "And you call me a capitalist pig."

You rolled your eyes. "I never said I wasn’t one too."

"Exactly."

Gojo clapped his hands together. "Okay, enough. Some of us are here to actually have fun.”

"Some of us are here to play golf," Jin added, eyes pointed at your disaster pose.

“Do you have broken legs or something, dumbass?” Sukuna asked. “Your stance has been criminal for the last 30 minutes.”

“Fuck you,” you whispered through a deep, meditative breath.

Gojo hummed, sipping his iced coffee. "No, he's right."

Your sister nodded sagely. "I’ve seen better posture from Riku playing Wii Sports."

Your mother sighed. "Honey, at least pretend you inherited some athletic ability."

You took a slow, deep breath. Breathe in. Breathe out. Don’t bury everyone here with a 9-iron. That’s a lot of jail time. And, murder is fucking illegal.

Across from you, Sukuna's shit-eating grin widened. “Want help?"

You gave him a deadpan look. "I would rather set this golf club on fire and dance around it like a pagan ritual."

"Aww," he cooed. "You’re so cute when you’re in denial."

Before you could golf club his skull, your dad clapped. “Alright, enough flirting. Take your shot.”

Flirting???

You turned slowly to look at him, completely horrified. Because why does every family function have to end up with everyone talking about your and Sukuna’s relationship.

“Dad.”

"Yes, dear?"

"That was not flirting."

Gojo grinned. "It kinda was."

Sukuna just snickered.

You ignored all of them and took your shot—which was terrible. The ball barely made it by three meters before pathetically rolling to a sad, pathetic stop like it just gave up on life. Not that golf balls have life but – everything’s just so stupid.

"Yikes," Sukuna whispered.

Gojo coughed to hide a laugh.

Your sister patted your shoulder. "It’s okay. Not all of us can be naturally gifted."

Sukuna slung an arm over your shoulder—bold move like a smug snake. "Don’t worry, sweetheart. You’ve got other talents."

You shoved him off. "Like resisting the urge to commit first-degree homicide?"

He laughed and stepped up to take his own shot. He positioned himself with stupid, effortless confidence, gave a casual swing and then nailed it perfectly like it was nothing. The ball sailed through the air perfectly, landing exactly where it was supposed to.

Your father beamed. "Now that is how you play golf!"

Sukuna smirked at you. "See? That’s what maturity looks like."

You glared. "Maturity? You have a gold statue of yourself in your front yard, Sukuna."

"Confidence," he corrected.

Your mother sighed dreamily. "Oh, Sukuna, you should teach her more things. Maybe then she’d finally listen."

You choked. "Mom."

"She has a point," Gojo piped up. "I mean, you don’t even peel your own oranges—"

"That’s different," you snapped.

Sukuna grinned. "How?"

"Because peeling fruit is a waste of time. It’s too much work.”

"Uh-huh," he said, completely unconvinced. "And yet, you eat the ones I peel for you."

You paused.

Sukuna smirked with a wink, “Exactly.”

Gojo laughed. "Ohhh. He got you there."

Your sister gasped. "You’ve been peeling her fruit for years?"

"Yeah. Since high school.” Sukuna shrugged like it was nothing.

Your mother looked at you. "Sweetheart," she said, voice thick with judgment and amusement. "This is why we love him more than you."

You wanted to die. Right there. On the spot. Strike you down, Zeus, you’re ready.

Before your soul could ascend, Sukuna glanced at his watch. "We should wrap up soon. We have to pick up the kids."

Oh. Right. Riku and Keiko.

You groaned. "God, I hope they haven’t schemed anything.”

Sukuna just smiled. "Hope all you want. We both know they’re worse than us."

Your sigh was basically a prayer. Because he was right.

Then he looked at you – really looked – and for a second, you saw it. A familiar, almost nostalgic glint in his crimson eyes. That something in his eyes. The history. The bullshit. The college days.

Before the weird, co-parenting situationship.

Before the kids.

Before all this strategic dysfunction.

Of course it started with betrayal. Because why wouldn’t it?

REWIND TO 15 YEARS AGO

Ah, the golden age. The era of questionable fashion choices, stolen Netflix passwords, and zero concept of consequences. You were younger, dumber, and apparently, very susceptible to being peer-pressured by your stupidly attractive childhood best friends and tequila with a price tag that could fund a small startup.

And the betrayal? Classic Gojo.

Not yours. 

Not Sukuna’s. 

But Gojo freaking Satoru’s.

The plan was simple. A chill, lowkey, totally-not-going-to-spiral-into-chaos evening. The threey of you. One rare, bougie-ass bottle of unreleased tequila – procured through one of Sukuna’s many mysterious family connections, which probably meant some shady auction involving something you don’t even know if legal or illegal at this point, but like… whatever. Details.

And the holy trinity of chaos – you, Sukuna, Gojo – were supposed to break in your overpriced couch (emotionally) and consume alcohol worth more than your rent. In your apartment. With music, chaos, and maybe light emotional trauma.

But Gojo?

That flaky, unreliable, sunglasses-wearing disaster of a human being? He didn’t show up. He straight up ghosted.

No text. No call. Just vibes – and not even the good ones. You and Sukuna were left staring at your phones like you’d both been stood up by the world’s most unserious Tinder date. Sitting in the dim glow of your apartment, side by side on your ridiculously expensive couch. The tequila, untouched, sat like a third wheel on your pristine glass coffee table, judging you.

And of course Sukuna, ever the picture of carelessness, was lounging on your couch like he owned the place (well, he and Gojo has your spare keys thanks to your very insistent mother who said that this was for safety purposes). He’s made himself too comfortable. His expensive leather jacket? Tossed like trash. His shirt? Pushed up just enough to flash his abs like a Calvin Klein ad. His legs? Sprawled. Man was taking up 80% of your couch like it came with a deed in his name.

You’d almost asked him to move his knee off your thigh, but that required energy and dignity – both of which were too low.

“He’s a piece of shit,” you mumbled, flipping your phone screen-down like it had personally betrayed you too.

Sukuna just huffed, stretching like a lazy cat. “We knew that.”

A beat of silence.

Then you turned your head. Sukuna was already looking at you.

And that was the beginning of the end.

You didn’t even need to say it, but you did anyway – because you’re you and you’re brain was one shot away from being completely unhinged.

"Fuck him," you said, curling your fingers around the bottle’s neck. "You thinking what I’m thinking?"

Sukuna’s smirk was criminal. ”Gladly.”

Tequila hit like a kiss and a slap. Warm and mean. Sweet with aftershocks. It tasted like rebellion and a future apology text. It burned, sweet and smooth, slipping down your throat like bad decisions.

And by the fifth shot, everything had softened. You, the air, the line between sense and chaos. You weren’t drunk-drunk. Just in that dreamy, blurry zone where every thought seemed brilliant and you suddenly had strong opinions on things like fruit ethics and the social implications of banana neglect.

"Okay, hear me out," you began, swirling your glass like you actually understood tequila tasting. "If a banana has brown spots and you throw it away, isn’t that, like… fruitism?” You argued, dead serious.

Sukuna blinked at you, slow and unimpressed. “You’re equating overripe produce with discrimination?”

"Okay, but isn’t it?"

Sukuna, drunk but still insufferably rational, huffed. "Fruits were literally made to decay. The spots don’t even mean they’re bad. They’re just riper. Sweeter.”

“I’m just saying,” You squinted at him and gestured with passion. “And people toss them like yesterday’s garbage. That’s bias.”

He groaned, rubbing his face like your IQ physically pained him. “You’re drunk.”

You grinned, tilting your head. “You’re hot.”

He didn’t even blink. “Still doesn’t make what you said smart.”

“Can’t have it all.”

Shot seven was the real villain. That was the one that made you bold. That was the shot that made the conversation shift to a heated, increasingly idiotic debate about billionaires and time-travel tech like you were on a TED talk stage.

“Listen,” you said, pointing an accusing finger at him and serious as a heart attack, “if someone invented a machine that lets you relive the best moment of your life –”

“Oh, here we fucking go,” Sukuna muttered, who is slumped against the couch with a drink in hand and zero patience. And he’s already rubbing his temple like he has a migraine.

“—billionaires shouldn’t be allowed to use it.”

Sukuna gave you a flat look.the kind that screamed you’re an idiot and I am suffering. “That is the dumbest thing I’ve heard, and I talk to Gojo on a regular basis.”

“That’s justice,” you replied.

“You sound like one of those fake-deep Twitter threads with the ‘let that sink in’ at the end.”

You gasped loudly and dramatically, hand to chest. “That’s the meanest things you’ve ever said to me.”

Sukuna smirked and leaned back on the couch, swirling his drink, all lazy and smug. “Not even top five. Cry about it.”

And honestly? Fair.

You narrowed your eyes at him, then shoved at his shoulder. “Smug bastard.”

He didn’t even flinch. Just raised an eyebrow, all smug and irritating. “That the best you got?”

“You wanna go?” you said, drunk enough to mean it, sober enough to know it was a terrible idea.

“Brat, I’ve been waiting for you to throw hands.”

And just like that, it was on. The argument devolved into some half-playful, half-serious wrestling match that your tequila-soaked logic somehow decided was a good idea. You lunged yourself at him—awkwardly, gracelessly, like a cat trying to fight its reflection. And he caught you. Of course.

Sukuna met your weak-ass attack with a wicked grin and zero effort, catching your wrists mid-swat and easily flipping you onto your back like this was WWE: College Edition.

He was straddling your waist like this was some twisted rom-com where the lead-up was fruit bias and class warfare. He was pinning your hands above your head with one of his stupidly strong hands, face inches from yours. Neither of you moved. His smirk stretched slow and deliberate.

“Aw,” he murmured, looking down at you. “Pinned you already.”

Your pulse thundered in your ears. Your brain screamed.

“We better not fuck,” you said, breathless, mock-serious, heart pounding like you weren’t already halfway there. “That would be crazy.”

Sukuna laughed, sharp and dark. “You’re right. That would be so stupid.”

You stared up at him, drunk on more than just tequila. “So, don’t.”

He leaned in, lips brushing yours, the world going mute, “Make me.”

The tension was a slow, burning thing. Suddenly too heavy, too obvious.

And it happened.

He kissed you like he’d been waiting for it. And fuck, maybe he had.

It was desperate, messy, hot—his hands were greedy, large, possessive, fingers digging into your waist as you pulled him onto you. His weight settled over yours, pinning you to the couch, every hard line of muscle pressing into your body.

“Fuck,” he murmured, voice thick, breath warm against your lips. “This is a bad idea.”

You nipped at his bottom lip, smirking. “Then stop.”

Sukuna growled.

So obviously, you didn’t

Your soul has left your body.

You were spent. Utterly wrecked. A pleasantly, post-orgasmic disaster of a human being, melted into your couch like cheese. The kind of boneless, mind-melting exhaustion that came after a particularly intense workout—except the only exercise involved had been riding Sukuna like your life depended on it.

Sukuna yanked you back down with a lazy smirk, his fingers tight around your waist. He was against your neck, smug as sin, like he hadn’t just destroyed your entire pelvic floor and sanity in under an hour.

Your brain was short-circuiting. Not even crashing—melting. Like: what were you doing?

What were you doing letting Sukuna Ryomen, heir to a criminally rich, morally grey empire, raw you on a couch your mother had helped you pick out a week ago? That same couch that she said would “last through years of wear and tear”? Oh honey, if only she knew.

You could still feel him inside you (because, he is still inside you), which, frankly, was just rude. Your vagina had zero chill. Not when Sukuna had been whispering things like good girl and so fucking tight into your ear for the last forty-five minutes like he was narrating an erotic audiobook that only your nervous system had access to.

Your breathing was ragged, your skin damp with sweat, your limbs completely useless. The couch cushions were destroyed, one of the pillows had somehow ended up on the floor, and your legs… well. You weren’t sure if you’d be able to use them properly for the next hour. Maybe the next week.

Then there was a moment – still, quiet, charged – and Sukuna, ever the menace, had to go and say,  “Loving daddy’s cock inside you, baby?” 

Oh fuck, his post-sex voice is too sexy to hear. Your vagina responded before your brain did. Your moan was involuntary. Your dignity packed a bag and left.

The air was thick, too warm, and filled with the scent of tequila, sex, and very bad decisions.

You should’ve been freaking out. Should’ve been reconsidering every life choice that led up to this moment. Should’ve been thinking about things like consequences or friendship dynamics or even just the fact that you had quite literally defiled your own couch.

And then, because the universe has a terrible sense of timing –

BANG.

The door slammed open.

You and Sukuna froze mid-regret, your heart doing backflips and your brain buffering like a corrupted YouTube video. Basically, this is the time your soul left your body.

And then…

“Oh, hell yeah.”

Gojo.

Of course it was Gojo.

Standing in your doorway like he was meant to be the comedic third act twist in your sexual coming-of-age story. Sunglasses on at 2AM (maybe it’s already 3AM), stupid grin in full force, and holding a bag of snacks the size of a small child.

Your brain, still swimming in post-orgasmic haze and the last remnants of drunkenness, short-circuited.

Because—oh. That’s why he was late.

He’d gone shopping.

Gojo had spent—what, two hours? Three?—debating the intricate nuances of potato chips, probably standing in the aisle like a philosopher pondering the meaning of life. And in the end? He’d just bought one of everything. Every brand. Every flavor. As if he were assembling a tasting menu for a fucking wine and cheese night—except it was just snacks.

You blinked at him like he was a mirage.

He blinked back, grinning harder, “Did you—” He gestured vaguely at your naked, sweaty, entangled bodies. 

“You guys seriously just fucked?”

Sukuna groaned, voice muffled against your skin. “Get the fuck out.”

Your eyes nearly rolled into the back of your head. You wanted to cry. Or vanish. Or time-travel to an hour ago and slap the bottle out of your own hand.

Gojo continued, blissfully ignorant with his shit-eating grin dialed up to maximum wattage. “You could’ve at least waited for me.”

“GOJO.”

“Not to join!” he added, then paused. “Unless—?”

Sukuna finally lifted his head, naked, disheveled, and radiating murder. His voice dropped into something lethal. "You step one foot further, and I will personally make sure you never reproduce.” 

And then he threw the nearest couch pillow at Gojo’s face.

Gojo dodged with the agility of a mad who had absolutely walked in on worse. “Y’know, I knew something was up with you two since high school –” 

He sighed. Sighed, like he was talking about a missed prom date and not your current naked humiliation.

“SATORU.”

“— the sexual tension was like a constant third presence. Like god, but hornier.”

Yeah, you’re most likely dying of humiliation tonight.

“But I never thought you’d actually go and rawdog each other without me even getting a sip of that tequila.”

Your eye twitched. Your entire nervous system sent out one last emergency broadcast before collapsing like a dying star. There was no saving you now. You were gonna have to move cities. Change names. Fake your death and live in the woods.

In a blind, desperate attempt to salvage literally anything – your pride, your humanity, your grandmother’s ghost watching from the afterlife – you grabbed the nearest object and hurled it at him. 

Maybe it was a pillow. Maybe it was your shame. Maybe it was your will to live.

No. No, of course it couldn’t be anything soft or metaphorical.

It was your bra.

The bra that cost more than your phone. The bra hand-stitched by artisans in France who probably didn’t intend for it to be yeeted across the room like a missile of humiliation.

Gojo caught it midair. And fucking whistled. Whistled. 

Sukuna let out a lethal growl above you, like he was two seconds from choosing violence over pulling out. “Drop. It.”

Gojo, being Gojo, did not drop it. No. That would’ve been rational. Instead, he held it up to the light like some deranged pervert on an antique TV show. 

“Huh. Didn’t peg you as a lace kinda girl. Delicate, but slutty. Iconic.”

You lunged at him like a rabid raccoon.

Sukuna yanked you back down before you could inflict justified murder, his grip locking tight around your waist like he knew exactly how many war crimes you were about to commit. “Save your energy, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.

Oh, now he wants to be cute? Now? After he rawdogged your soul out of your body and left it there, on the floor, vulnerable and exposed like a neglected Sims character?

Gojo cackled, like this was the highlight of this week. “Oh, this is gonna be fun. So! Are we finally admitting that you guys have been feral for each other this whole time?”

"SHUT THE FUCK UP, GOJO."

He wheezed. Laughed like this was the best episode of a reality TV he’d ever seen. You, however, were having a full-blown metaphysical crisis.

And then it hit you. Like your brain finally sobered up enough to whisper, ‘hey dumbass… something’s off…’

You. 

And Sukuna.

Were. 

Still. 

Naked.

Not cute-and-covered-by-the-blanket naked. 

Not tastefully-draped-like-a-renaissance-painting naked.

No.

This was “there’s an entire Gojo eyeball on your titty” naked.

That’s why Sukuna fucking yanked you down so fast. Not to protect your dignity – lol, what dignity – but because your boobs were just out. Just there. Making their unwanted debut to the worst audience in human history. 

Your entire existence condensed into one singular thought: you’re gonna astral project out of this flesh prison and never return.

You buried your face in your hands.

“I’m never drinking again,” you mumbled, voice muffled and soul-dead. The words of a liar. A liar with regrets.

Sukuna, the bastard, didn’t even flinch. This man had seen war (business rejections, most likely). Tax evasion. Eternal damnation. Your naked ass wasn’t gonna rattle him. “I’m never letting you drink again.”

Gojo, now seated in the doorway like he was watching a 2000s rom-com movie, clapped his hands together. “Well! Now that everyone's tits are covered, I vote we unpack all this juicy sexual tension over midnight snacks.”

You made a noise. It might have been a sob. Or a scream.

Then, you locked eyes with Sukuna. Dead serious.

“Kill him first,” you said. “Then me.”

Gojo opened his mouth—

“No, you cannot take a picture,” you snapped.

Gojo shut his mouth. But only for a second.

“I was gonna ask if you guys needed snacks,” he said, fake-offended, “but sure, go ahead and assume the worst.”

Sukuna's eye twitched. Like, visibly. Dangerously. “You have five seconds before I personally rearrange your jaw.”

Gojo held up his hands in surrender—still holding your bra, like it was a white flag for surrender.

You just wanted to die. Or better—rewind time. All the way back to when you said, “just one tequila shot.”

“So, when’s the wedding?” Gojo smirked.

That was it. That was Sukuna’s final nerve snapping. Man went from 0 to murder real quick, pulling out (rude) in a heartbeat and bolting after Gojo around the apartment with the kind of fury that would make Greek gods go ‘damn bro, chill.’

You, meanwhile, scrambled to find a blanket. Any blanket. Any napkin. A curtain. You would’ve accepted being wrapped in your own regret at that point. Still dizzy. Still mildly post-orgasmic. Still spiritually decimated.

You never lived that moment down. 

Ever.

Gojo made sure of it.

And yet – despite the absolute catastrophic level of social humiliation – you really thought that was it. A stupid, drunken slip-up. A one-time tequila-fueled tragedy.

But it wasn’t. Because, of course, it wasn’t.

Because this was you and Sukuna.

Disasters. Walking, breathing, kissing disasters.

And this?

This was the biggest, dumbest, horniest fucking disaster of them all.

It wasn’t just a one-time thing.

It wasn’t just a casual phase.

It lasted three fucking years.

God forbid.

Three years of sneaking glances across rooms like the two of you weren’t regularly naked in each other’s beds. Three years of pretending there wasn’t stupidly cosmic about the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t watching. Three years of pretending it was just fucking.

You were in your last year of college. Graduation loomed in like a loaded gun. Sukuna was finishing his postgrad, looking dangerously adult while you were still using dry shampoo as a personality. And instead of prepping for the real world, you were spending every night tangled in sheets, sweat, and denial.

You weren’t even being subtle about it.

Sukuna’s hoodies lived in your wardrobe rent-free. Your hair ties were all over his bathroom like forgotten corpses. You ate half his fries every time.

It wasn’t just the sex (though, let’s be real, the sex could summon the dead and cancel student debt). It was everything. The way his hoodies, shirts, pants (heck, all his clothes) lived in your wardrobe rent-free. The way your hair ties were all over his bathroom like forgotten corpses. The way you shamelessly ate half his fries every time. The way he memorized your coffee order. The way you always saved him the last dumpling even though you hated sharing. The fact that he punched a guy once for saying your laugh was annoying. You were basically in a relationship.

Just… you know. Without the commitment. Or the honesty. Or the emotional maturity.

But not everything lasts perfectly, right?

Because saying it would make it real.

And if it was real then, it could end. And neither of you were brave enough for that.

You don’t remember exactly when it started to shift.

Maybe when he stayed over just to sleep.

Maybe when you waited for him after class.

Maybe when he threatened his frat brothers for flirting with you.

Maybe when you were too in your feelings, and he was in denial, and the entire relationship had the emotional maturity of a wet paper towel trying to hold a gallon of wine.

It was three fucking years of closeness so intimate it could’ve been called codependency if it weren’t so mutual.

But neither of you said it.

Neither of you dared to.

Not until the night it all went to hell.

Over the stupidest, pettiest, most aggressively idiotic fight in the history of human race. And romance.

Over a fucking LED light.

You blinked out of the memory like you’d just been possessed by a much younger, hotter, dumber version of yourself. Truly, your early twenties needed a warning label.

Only dragged back to the present by the sound of Gojo’s obnoxious laugh and the distant thwack of another golf ball being ruthlessly yeeted into the horizon.

But your mind was still a few tequila shots behind. Still sticky with the memory of hot skin, tangled limbs, and the unforgivable knowledge that Sukuna had once bitten your neck like he was trying to ruin you on purpose. (He did.) That he’d once kissed you so hard you forgot your own name, let alone the fact that you were definitely, definitely supposed to keep things platonic.

You hadn’t thought about that night in years. You’d buried it so deep beneath co-parenting schedules and passive-aggressive text threads that it had fossilized. You’d compartmentalized it like a pro. Filed it under Regrettable But Also Kinda Amazing Decisions That We Pretend Never Happened Because Denial Is a Lifestyle.

But all it took was one look. 

One stupid look from Sukuna and your whole nervous system went, “Hey, remember that time you climbed him like a tree?”

You nearly choked on your own saliva.

Sukuna looked at you, raising a brow. “You good?”

You stared at him. The same eyes. Same smirk. Same stupid, punchable face that you’d once maybe considered kissing in a tequila haze.

You muttered, “I hate you.”

He grinned. “You looked like you were remembering something tragic. Was it my abs?”

You hit him with your golf club. Lightly. (For legal reasons.)

Gojo, watching from the side, completely unaware of your inner spiral, wandered over with the self-satisfied strut of a man who just made par and will never let anyone forget it. “So, what’s the verdict? Are we still pretending you two don’t have wildly unresolved sexual tension or…?”

You glared. “Do you want to die today?”

Gojo just waggled his brows. “I’m just saying, the air’s thick with tension. Like, if I blink, someone’s getting pinned to the nearest flat surface.”

Sukuna, infuriatingly calm, walked past you to grab his water bottle. “Grow up, Gojo.”

That was rich coming from a man who once texted you “wanna come over and fight?” at 2 a.m. and then had the audacity to kiss you like you were air and he was suffocating years ago.

You rubbed your temple. Get it together.

But the memory clung. It had claws. And it wouldn’t let go.

Only the three of you knew. Only the three of you would ever know. You’d made a silent, mutually-assured-destruction type pact after the fact. No one brings it up. No one mentions the couch. No one so much as breathes in the direction of “remember that night?”

And you’d all been doing so well.

Until now.

Until Sukuna looked at you like that.

Until you remembered exactly how he tasted.

Until your body remembered what your brain had worked overtime to erase.

You looked at Sukuna now – older, annoyingly hotter, a single father of a cute, angel-looking gremlin – and your stomach dropped.

Because the worst part wasn’t the memory.

It was the terrifying realization that some part of you... hadn’t actually moved on.

And that? That was the most dangerous thing of all.

It wasn’t normal. None of it was normal. You weren’t normal.

And maybe, just maybe, you didn’t want to be.

Sukuna knew. He knew the moment you glitched like a broken Sims out of nowhere, the subtle shift in your posture, the way your lips pressed into a tight line. He’d seen it before, in the way you tried to bury things under layers of sarcasm and nonchalance. 

And that? That was exact thing that made his chest tighten, just a little bit.

You’d always been good at pretending. Hell, you were great at pretending. But Sukuna wasn’t an idiot. He’d seen the cracks in the armor. He’d felt them in the way you’d tense up when he was too close. In the way you still looked at him when you thought no one was paying attention.

Even thought it’s been 12 years, the memory of your lips on his, the desperate heat of it, was all burned into his mind just as much as it was in yours. That last night had fucked him up in ways he couldn’t even begin to untangle. That fucking fight over LED lights. But he wasn’t going to admit that. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

But now? Now, standing next to you on this golf course, with Gojo prattling on about tension so thick you could cut it with a knife, Sukuna could feel something else — something he wasn’t sure he was ready to confront. 

He’d tried. He’d tried to move on. To tell himself that you were just a chapter in a stupid, messy college romance he could chalk up to a lesson learned. But the way you still looked at him — like you wanted to kill him one minute and kiss him the next — made him wonder if he was really the one who’d moved on. 

You hadn’t said it. You hadn’t admitted it to him, and you definitely hadn’t admitted it to yourself. But Sukuna could feel the pull between you two, like gravity trying to yank him back into orbit. And he fucking hated it.

You weren’t ready to move on, and maybe… maybe neither was he.

Gojo’s voice cut through his thoughts again, loud and obnoxious, but it didn’t help. If anything, it just made the tension worse. And there you were, glaring at him like you wanted to murder him with your golf club. That just made his smirk wider.

He didn’t care what Gojo said. He didn’t care how thick the air felt between them.

He cared that every time you looked at him, he felt something that wasn’t quite hatred. He cared that, despite everything, the memory of that night — the way you fit so perfectly against him — still haunted him.

The worst part?

You were still the one thing that got under his skin.

And that terrified him.

You’re sitting there, waiting outside the school, in his damn car, sunglasses on like you’re trying to hide from the world and also from the fact that your brain’s still stuck in the relapsing and post-golfing haze. The one where you remember way too much of that face – that stupid, stupid face – and the laugh that somehow made you feel things you don’t ever wanna feel again. And don’t even get started on his damn arms. Like, who needs arms to be that distracting in the middle of everything? Seriously, when did he roll up his sleeves? Was there some kind of cosmic mistake? The universe did not need that information. 

And yet, here you are, replaying it in slow motion in your head. Yep, even that night 15 years ago. Even worse, you almost drooled thinking about it. Almost.

It also didn’t need the fact that you almost drooled while thinking about it.

And, God, it’s too quiet. Way too quiet. Normally, you and Sukuna are bantering like two toddlers fighting over the last cookie. You’re both competitive assholes, arguing about dumb shit like whose playlist will play for the ride-back. But today? Nah. You’re both too out of it. Too tame.

You glance sideways at Sukuna, who’s leaning back in his seat too lax. Does he always look like that? But you’ve been staring at him for far too long today, and it’s messing with your internal wiring. You actually almost forgot to argue. Almost.

So, you break the silence first. “I’d rather not get out of the car,” you say, because... why not?

Sukuna looks over at you like you’ve grown an extra head, “What? Did Mrs. Yoshida go up to you the other day?”

The mere mention of her name is enough to spark an internal cringe. You snort but it comes out half-hearted. Like, yeah, you’ve got a serious vendetta against that woman, but even you can’t muster the energy to fully engage. “Yeah. Guess she wanted to show off yet again.”

Sukuna huffed a laugh, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, “Show off what? Her death grip on passive aggression?”

That earned him a real laugh from you, one that surprised both of you a little. But it fades just as quickly as it came. You leaned your head back against the seat, eyes closed, letting out a long, exaggerated sigh. Like you’ve been holding it since that goddamn golf course.

“She said something about me finally doing the school run for once,” you muttered, your voice low with disbelief. “Like I was doing a cosplay of a present parent.”

Sukuna’s face doesn’t change, but his voice drops into that deep, sarcastic tone. “She would say that. Probably thinks your ovaries are overdue for reactivation or some shit.”

You turned to him slowly. “What does that even mean?”

He smirked. That damn smirk that you swear could put every other man on the planet to shame. “Don’t know. Ask her. I bet she’s got a PowerPoint ready.” Oh, honey, maybe, you’re too down bad after that relapse.

Another snort escaped you, this time more genuine, because honestly? She would. God, the thought of it made your skin crawl, but it’s too funny not to appreciate, “God, I hate her heels. They click like a countdown to emotional damage.”

Sukuna laughs, and it’s the kind of laugh that makes you forget the day’s weirdness for a second. “She probably practices walking in her driveway.”

“Oh absolutely. Full parade route. With flags and a marching band made of guilt.”

That’s it. That’s the sweet spot. You both start laughing, but it’s like a weird patchwork of relief and awkwardness, too. Like you can’t quite shake off the tension from earlier today, but at least now there’s something more normal—something fun—in the air.

And that’s how you found outside the car, now standing in front of the school gates, with Sukuna this time. But standing so goddamn close to you. It made your heart rate do that little skip thing you can’t ever explain. But, no time to be a freak about it.

The bell rings. And of course, who’s the first person you see? Mrs. Goddamn Yoshida. She appeared out of thin air like a mid-tier Bond villain with hair lacquered into a helmet of superiority and lip gloss as weaponized as ever.

“Oh,” she drawls, her voice as sugary sweet as cyanide. “Two school pickups in a week? Someone’s going for Mother of the Month.”

You don’t even blink. Your sunglasses are firmly in place, and you’re already prepping your comeback. “You would know. You still printing the certificates at home?”

Sukuna laughed beside you, a deep, guttural sound that only made Mrs. Yoshida more uncomfortable. He eyes practically twitched. She’s not even hiding the fact that she’s shook that you’re here with Sukuna. The most-coveted bachelor (well, he may be a single dad but technically he’s not yet married) in the country. She opened her mouth to retaliate, but just as she’s about to speak –

“Mom?” 

Riku’s voice rang out like a melody through the tension, and just like that, everything resets. Your brain stutters for half a second as you snap your head around to see Riku, your baby boy (c’mon, he’s 12), running towards you like you’ve just saved his world.

And then, there’s Keiko. Running right behind Riku… but instead of launching themselves into your arms like the sensible kids they are, they both straight up betrayed you. These gremlins ran straight for Sukuna. What you can’t believe was the fact that your son ignored you. He may have called you but no he didn’t even ran towards you. What the fuck was that?

You blink, standing there, totally dumbfounded. Your mouth might even be hanging open a bit. Seriously? They just—what? Your son, the kid you’ve been raising, the one who’s spent years gluing your heart to his every move, just totally... skipped you? And now he’s practically throwing himself at Sukuna?

Your brain scrambles for words, but they’re stuck in some weird loop. "Riku," you manage, but it's more like you're calling him out of instinct than actually knowing what the hell to do with this new development.

But Keiko, of course, isn’t wasting any time either. She’s clinging to Sukuna’s leg like she’s on some sort of mission, because you might probably be jealous of his parenting dynamic with his daughter. You want to tell them both off, but the weirdest thing happens: a tiny part of you feels... left out? Like, what the hell?

Sukuna looks down at the two of them, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips, clearly trying not to laugh too hard at your expense. "Guess your son likes me more," he teases, all calm and collected as usual, though you can tell he’s getting a kick out of it.

Riku finally looks up at you, a little sheepish now, like he knows he’s been caught. "Uh, sorry, Mom. Papa told me he’ll bring us to that sushi place today." He scratches his head awkwardly.

OH. So, that’s what we’re doing now.

Bribery. Betrayal. And sushi.

You narrow your eyes, your expression stuck somewhere between disbelief and parental betrayal. “Oh. Papa told you that, huh?” you repeat slowly, the word "Papa" practically dripping with italics and judgment. The way Riku suddenly fidgets? Yeah, he knows he’s in trouble. Good.

Sukuna just shrugs, the cocky bastard, still smirking like this is all part of his grand villain arc. “Can’t help it if I have good taste and your kid has excellent priorities,” he says, which is exactly the kind of smug crap he always pulls when he knows he’s winning.

You cross your arms, sunglasses still on, even though the sun is hiding behind a cloud like it’s also trying to avoid the tension. “Yeah? Next time, how about you bribe your own daughter and leave mine out of it?”

Keiko, ever the daddy’s girl, finally detaches herself from Sukuna’s leg and gives you an innocent look, but it’s not lost on you that she’s got a mischievous glint in her eyes. “No need, mama! I already love daddy a lot.”

You stare at both of them for a second, blinking as you process this betrayal. "You two are unbelievable. Is this why Riku comes home later than he should’ve been for the past month? Your briberies?”

Sukuna doesn’t even flinch. If anything, his grin widens like he’s thriving under the betrayal-fueled glare you’re shooting at him.

“Oh, come on,” he says, deadpan, “you make it sound like we’re running some underground snack ring. It was one burger trip. Maybe three. And a boba run.”

You squint at him. “And the churros that Riku brought home last week?”

“That was... spontaneous.”

Keiko, bless her tiny traitorous heart, pipes up like she’s on the witness stand. “And the arcade tokens, Daddy?”

Sukuna blinks. Then shrugs. “Okay, five bribery trips. But who’s counting?”

You’re counting. You are absolutely counting. You’re already adding it to the list in your Notes app. You inhale, deeply. Breathe in patience. Exhale vengeance.

“You do realize,” you say slowly, “that he told his math teacher you’re his second emergency contact now?”

Sukuna raises an eyebrow, clearly pleased. “That’s cute. And honestly? Fair. I bring snacks, pick them up, and importantly? Emotional availability.”

You gasp like you’ve just been hit with a flying sandal. “I birthed him.” 

He tilts his head, hand over his heart in mock sympathy. “Yeah, but I took him to watch that new superhero movie twice, and I didn’t complain once. Not even during the post-credit scene.”

Riku nods solemnly. “He even explained the multiverse to me without getting mad.”

You turn to your son like you’re looking at a stranger in your home. “You never let me explain anything without groaning.” 

Riku shrugs with zero guilt. “Your explanations come with a lot of side stories.”

“That’s called context!” you sputter.

Oh, but now this pink-haired bastard is actually laughing. Not a chuckle. Not a smug little puff of air. No. This is a full-on, head-tilted-back, shoulders-shaking, evil-boyfriend-in-a-Kdrama laugh. And the worst part? It's lowkey making you relapse to that 3-year long situationship. Which is exactly what the problem is. You’ve been relapsing since this week fucking started. This shouldn’t have happened. And this all started because he murdered your hedge.

And now, you’re standing there—offended, outnumbered, and tragically out-bribed—and all you can think is: you hate it here.

“I’m surrounded by traitors,” you mutter under your breath, adjusting your sunglasses like they’ll shield your soul from this level of disrespect.

Sukuna wipes an imaginary tear from his eye. “C’mon, don’t be jealous. You’re still the top mom in this cult we’ve built.”

You stare at him. “You literally poached my child with raw fish, sneakers, burgers, gold leaf fries, and Marvel trivia. That’s not parenting. That’s warfare.” 

“And I’m winning,” he says without missing a beat. 

Keiko pats your arm in consolation. “It’s okay, Mama. You still have snacks sometimes at your house.”

“Sometimes,” you echo, wounded. 

Riku’s still awkwardly standing there, clearly feeling the weight of his betrayal. “Uh, Mom, do you still wanna go to that sushi place later?” he asks, his voice full of nervous hope, like he’s waiting for a miracle to save him from your wrath.

You narrow your eyes, looking between your son and Sukuna. “You really think I’m gonna let you off the hook that easily?” You cross your arms again, but this time it’s not as fierce. “I mean, if you wanna bribe me with sushi... I guess I can consider it.”

Sukuna snorts beside you, clearly enjoying the inner battle you’re having with yourself. "See? Told you, bribery always works.”

"Shut up," you mutter, but you can’t help the hint of a smile. Dammit, this is exactly how he got you last time.

Sukuna’s trying to herd the kids toward the car now, like some unholy cross between a playground kingpin and the world’s most chaotic dad. And for one fleeting moment, you catch yourself smiling. Genuinely. The kind that sneaks up on you before you can armor it with sarcasm.

And then—

“I call shotgun!” Riku yells.

“No, I call shotgun!” Keiko yells back.

You’re about to intervene like a responsible adult (because who lets 12-year-olds ride shotgun?!) when Sukuna just shrugs and tosses you the keys. “Guess you’re driving. They’ll keep fighting otherwise.”

You catch them automatically, then freeze. “Wait, I’m driving? In your car?”

He’s already walking to the passenger side. “You’ll be fine. I trust you.”

And there it is again. That weird little glitch in your heart. The one that started on the golf course, peaked somewhere around churros, and now, apparently, comes with keys and unsolicited trust.

You mutter under your breath as you slide into the driver’s seat, “Next time I’m bringing veggie chips and trauma bonding. See how he likes that.”

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you’re genuinely grinning as you walk toward the school gates. Because no matter how many times you roll your eyes at him, you know that, deep down, you’ll always be this close to falling right back into that stupid pattern of chaos and longing.

And secretly? Secretly you don’t mind the shotgun betrayal. Or the sushi bribes. Or even Sukuna’s dumb laugh that now lives rent-free in your brain.

What you do mind is how easy it is to imagine this being…normal.

And that? That’s the scariest part.

Because the last time things felt normal with Sukuna—it ended with heartbreak, a bruised ego, and a pink LED light flickering like the world’s most ironic heartbreak anthem.

REWIND TO 12 YEARS AGO

It had all started innocently enough—just a stupid school project, both of you in your own little worlds, completely unaware of the mess you'd end up in. You’d been frantically pulling an all-nighter for your thesis on marketing strategies, running on a diet of coffee and panic. The room smelled like burnt ambition and three-day-old coffee.

Sukuna had walked in, uninvited (as usual), plopping himself down on the edge of your bed and looking like he owned the place. You didn’t even glance up from your notes.

"Got any snacks, or is your thesis a full meal by itself?” he'd asked casually, stretching his legs across the floor.

“it’s a five-course meal of existential dread. You should’ve brought dessert,” you muttered, eyes flicking over your outline that still had more question marks than actual points.

He made a dramatic tsk noise. ”Really? That bad? Damn, should’ve brought ice cream. Or a priest.”

You finally looked up, dead-eyed. “Unless the priest knows APA format and has a spare conclusion section in his pocket, I don’t want it.”

“Wow, brat. So ungrateful.” He leaned over to snatch your mug without asking, took a sip, and immediately gagged. “What is this? Battery acid? Motor oil? Regret?”

“It’s coffee,” you said, dryly. “And if you touch my highlighters, I will end you.”

He blinked at you. “Gotchu, babe. No touching the holy trinity: coffee, highlighters, and your rapidly deteriorating sanity.”

You grunted. “What are you even doing here, ‘Kuna? Don’t you have people to terrorize somewhere else?”

He shrugged, picking up a sticky note from your desk and squinting at the words like they personally offended him. “Thought I’d check in on my favorite stress case.”

You gave him a look that screamed I am five seconds away from a breakdown and you’re monologuing in my safe space.But Sukuna? He was already distracted, fiddling with your desk lamp like it held the secrets of the universe.

Before you could ask what the hell he was doing, he suddenly grinned, standing up, and twisting the lamp in a way that made the light flicker dramatically.

“What are you doing with my lamp?” you snapped, but he was already flipping the switch.

“Nah, I’m just making sure you’re not too depressed so we gotta change the mood lighting. You need it. Trust me. This is what creative enlightenment looks like.” He flashed a grin that had you wondering if he’d lost his mind.

“If that’s enlightenment, pretty sure the light’s about to start flickering and lead me to a breakdown.” You were so tired, but you couldn’t help the irritation bubbling up.

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.” He reached for your lamp again, twisting it in the other direction like he was adjusting some fancy futuristic remote control.

“I didn’t sign up for this!” you said, grabbing his wrist before he could do more damage to your perfectly ordinary, functional lamp. “This is my space, my chaos. You can’t just—”

Suddenly, you found yourself flat on your back on the bed, and Sukuna’s weight was pressing down on you, making it hard to breathe.

“Not a bad way to distract you, huh?” he said, his voice low and teasing. Before you could react, his lips were on yours, and that was it. The floodgates opened, your frustrations morphing into something entirely different.

Heat. Hands. Teeth.

And that stupid lamp still casting romantic lighting like you were in some low-budget romcom with a dangerously high body count.

You didn’t even remember who pulled who first. One second you were yelling about thesis formatting and desk territory, and the next, Sukuna was pulling your shirt over your head like it had personally offended him. You should’ve been worried about citations. APA format. Deadline. But somehow his mouth on your neck took priority.

Again.

You made it to the edge of the bed this time before knocking over a pile of highlighters and flashcards. Sukuna didn't even blink.

“Watch the thesis,” you gasped as your laptop nearly flew off the side.

“Babe, the only thing I’m watching is you falling apart under me,” he said, grinning like the devil, hands already sliding down your waist.

You hated that it worked. Hated how your body betrayed you so quickly—how easily you leaned into him, craved him, even when your life was falling apart in bullet points and overdue drafts.

It was frantic. A little sloppy. Neither of you had the brain cells for finesse. Just something rough and grounding to yank you out of the spiral and straight into Sukuna’s orbit—where logic went to die and pleasure took the wheel.

By the time it was over, both of you were breathless and half-covered in dissertation pages and regret.

And that’s when he did it.

He reached over.

And changed the mood lighting again.

Soft pink this time.

You stared at him, chest still heaving, sweat sticking your hair to your forehead. “What the actual hell is wrong with you?”

“What?” he said innocently, blinking like a man who wasn’t still inside you thirty seconds ago. 

“It’s a vibe. I’m curating.”

“You’re curating? This isn’t a Pinterest board, Sukuna. This is my room.”

“And yet,” he said, gesturing dramatically to the lamp, “I made it better.”

You sat up, immediately regretting it when your thigh cramped. “I swear to God, if you touch that lamp one more time—”

“You’ll what? Write a strongly worded thesis about it?”

“Oh my God, I hate you.”

“You say that,” he said, flopping back onto the bed with a grin, “but you let me raw you like a stress-relief squishmallow, so.”

You picked up a pillow and hurled it at his face.

Hard.

Sukuna caught it with one hand, smirking.

“I’m changing it to red next.”

“Touch that switch and I’m putting glitter glue in your shampoo.”

“…Kinky.”

You screamed into another pillow.

And for a second, it was funny. Ridiculous. The kind of scene you'd laugh about in five years over drinks.

But something in the air shifted—too subtle to notice at first. Like a hairline crack in a dam.

Then he said it. The thing that would claw its way into both of your memories and rot there, festering for years.

“You know, if you put half the effort into your actual thesis that you put into pretending to be in love with me when you're bored, you'd be graduating top of our class.”

Silence.

It came so fast, so sharp, it cleaved the air clean in half.

You sat up slowly. Carefully. Like you were disarming a bomb, but oh—too late. It already went off.

“What did you just say?”

Sukuna’s smirk faltered, but only for a second. He leaned back like nothing had happened, like he didn’t just shatter the air between you.

“You heard me.”

“No, no. I heard you, I just… I’m trying to figure out which part of your brain decided that was okay to say to me. After everything. After this.” You gestured wildly at the bed, the thesis pages crumpled under you, your tangled clothes on the floor, his smug, stupid face.

His jaw flexed. “I’m just saying, maybe I’m not the only one who treats this thing like it’s a joke.”

“Oh, you’re unbelievable.” You were up now, gathering your papers with trembling fingers. “You barge in here like you own the place, like I’m some goddamn stop on your rich-boy itinerary when you get bored of your mansion and your endless supply of zero-consequence bullshit—”

“Oh, please,” he scoffed, standing up now too. “You think I want to be here every time you have a meltdown? You think this is fun for me? Watching you burn out for a piece of paper you’ll hate in six months? You make me your emotional support punching bag and then call it intimacy.”

“I never asked you to stay.”

“Well maybe I should’ve taken the hint three years ago, huh?” His voice was sharp now. No teasing. No heat. Just glass. “When we started sleeping together and you couldn’t even look me in the eye after.”

Your breath caught.

It wasn’t the first fight. Not even the worst one.

But it felt… final.

“You want honesty?” you whispered, throat tight. “Fine. You’re a coward, Sukuna. You sit in this little fantasy where nothing matters because you’re scared to actually want something. To want me. So yeah, maybe I pretended a little. Maybe I lied. But at least I felt something.”

That stopped him. For a moment, he just… stood there. Staring at you.

And then he laughed. Hollow. Low.

“You felt something? Great. Real useful. Let me know if you ever figure out what it was, sweetheart. Preferably not when I’m balls-deep and playing with your lighting setup.”

You slapped him.

You didn’t even think—your body just moved, and the sound cracked through the room like a gunshot.

He didn’t flinch. He just looked at you like something had gone dead in his eyes.

“Wow,” he said quietly. “There it is.”

“Get out.”

“You sure?” He took a step back. “You’ve got, what, one brain cell left and a thesis due tomorrow? Might as well finish what we started.”

“I said get out.” Your voice broke on the last word. Oh god. Not the voice crack. Not in front of him. That was the equivalent of handing him a loaded gun, then tripping and falling onto the bullet yourself. Incredible work. Ten out of ten. Gold medal in Olympic self-sabotage.

He stared for a beat. Just long enough to register it. The voice crack. The heartbreak. The humiliation curdling in your stomach like expired milk.

Then he scoffed. That trademark Sukuna scoff. That “you’re beneath me” noise that made your skin crawl and your heart crumble all at once. Like it wasn’t worth it. Like you weren’t worth it.

Then he left.

No dramatic door slam. No stomping. No cinematic thunder in the background. Just the soft click of the handle as it shut behind him. Quiet. Cold. Like a polite little fuck you from the universe.

You sat there. Alone.

Drowning in a sea of flashcards, energy drink cans, and the pink lightbulb you swore was a good idea when you bought it. You thought it was romantic. Cute. Mood-setting. Turns out it just made heartbreak look like a music video from hell.

Twenty years of friendship.

Three years of blurred lines.

And one second of cruelty you’d never come back from.

And the worst part? The absolute dumbest, most pathetic, most humiliating part?

You still wanted him to walk back in.

Oh god. Oh no. No, no, no, don’t cry. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t—yep. You’re crying. You’re crying in pink LED, like a sad little flamingo.

You wanted him to go slam the door open, with your favorite ice cream on hand (Friday is ice cream nights).

To say he didn’t mean it. To take it all back. To change the fucking light to blue this time, maybe even purple, something less pity-me-Barbie-core, and call it a truce.

But he didn’t. He never did.

Because that’s the thing about Sukuna. 

He didn’t fix the things he broke. He just stepped over the debris in expensive shoes and left before the dust settled. And you? You were always the idiot standing there, broom in one hand, heart in the other, wondering why it still hurt.

You wiped your face with his hoodie sleeve forgotten on the floor sleeve like a Victorian widow who also hadn’t slept in three days. Because your wardrobe is full of his fucking clothes. Oh my god, you’re still in your underwear. And, your thesis stared at you, cursor blinking like it was mocking you.

Fuck, you needed a drink so hard you wanted to forgot this stupid night.

So yeah—after that night, you both did it.

You broke the last, dumb, invisible rule of whatever-the-hell your relationship was.

You slept with other people.

Not out of desire. Not out of revenge. Not even out of rage. No, it was dumber than that.

It was survival.

You hooked up with someone from a rooftop party. What was his name? You don’t know. You don’t care. You laughed too loud, drank warm wine out of a Solo cup, and let some stranger kiss you like it meant something. It didn’t. Because he wasn’t Sukuna. That was the bar. The bar was not Sukuna. You limboed under it like a sad circus clown.

Across somewhere else, he did the same.

In a random ass bedroom in a frat house with lighting that looked like it was allergic to joy, Sukuna let someone run their hands down his back. He didn’t joke. Didn’t flirt. Didn’t whisper dumb things in her ear like he used to do with you. More like earlier.

He just laid there. Face blank. Eyes open.

Because if someone else wanted him—even just for one night—maybe it would drown out the sound of your voice when you’d said: at least I felt something.

Spoiler alert: it didn’t work.

It never fucking works.

Because at the end of it, you both laid there in different places, beside warm strangers who meant absolutely nothing, staring at foreign ceilings that hadn’t heard you fight, cry, or laugh—and realized something ugly: you finally did the one thing you swore you’d never do.

You became strangers.

Strangers with shared ghosts. No one left to haunt but yourselves.

After that night? Radio silence. Nothing.

He didn’t walk over to your apartment anymore.

You didn’t leave the door unlocked. He has his own key to yours.

No Post-it notes on the fridge. No coffee mugs by the bed. No thesis pages tangled with underwear.

Just the hollow silence of absence. The weight of nothing.

And yeah. Gojo noticed.

Because you and Sukuna? You didn’t know how not to touch each other. You were that disgusting duo. PDA central. Couple-core. Fruit-peeling, lap-lounging, casual-hair-touching menaces.

You once made out behind the school bake sale. For charity.

Now? You barely made eye contact. And it’s been what? Three fucking weeks.

And if he walked into a room? You walked out.

Because looking at him was like looking at a memory you weren’t ready to bury.

Because if you looked too long, you might remember.

And remembering was dangerous.

Remembering felt like relapse.

Which—congrats, by the way—is exactly what you’re doing right now.

And now? You’re so disoriented from today (c’mon, two very deeply buried memories in a day flashing you because of that one look Sukuna gave you and sense of normalcy with this co-parenting situation with your son and his daughter being best friends, too?) – picking up the kids today, smiling like you weren’t dying, pretending that the raw fish didn’t taste like regret even as your son beamed up at you? 

So yeah. That Friday night? Alone in your master bedroom, lights off, ceiling staring back at you, while your son sleeps over at Sukuna’s house next door?

That’s when it hit. The full, unbearable weight of your very stupid, very mutual, very emotionally  constipated downfall.

And the worst part? The truly cursed, absolutely unhinged part?

Somewhere, in a dusty, padlocked corner of your ribcage you’ve spent years pretending doesn’t exist—

You still fucking loved him.

Even after that LED night.

Even after the single parenting.

Even after everything.

God. You’re such an idiot.

a/n: lol part 2 is coming sometime this May (?) aaaand as much as i wanna say that this is proofread – it's not :') hshdashadsah thanks so much for reading – i appreciate u all so much!!! also taglist is still open <3

[idrawweirdstuffnominors]

Could maybe write headcannon about being a stepmom to Pete’s kid and maybe the others! Thank you so much 

(Oh absolutely!!

Headcanons- Being Pete DiNunzio’s Kid’s stepmom

---

Pete was not easy at first. He side-eyed you for months before trusting you around his kid. Not because he didn’t like you—he did, maybe too much—but because he was overprotective in that classic Italian-American dad way. “Nobody messes with my girl, capisce?” Even if you're just helping her with homework.

His daughter is a little spitfire, just like him. Sass, attitude, and a mouth like her dad when she’s pissed—minus the swearing (mostly). You bonded over horror movies when Pete was at work, giggling and making popcorn and doing little home “scares” to spook him when he walked in. One time she hid in the closet with a Halloween mask and made him scream like a little girl. You’ve never let him live it down.

Pete constantly slips into Staten Islandese. “Ey, you tell her she ain’t allowed to wear that shirt out, yeah? I don't care if it's ‘just to the bodega,’ she’s thirteen, not thirty.” He’s the loudest at PTA meetings. The loudest. And you’re the one smoothing things over with the teachers afterward. A classic good cop/bad cop dynamic.

Co-parenting is a ride. Pete’s stubborn as hell. If you suggest a different school or a bedtime change, he’s got to argue first, even if he agrees with you. “Look, I’m not sayin’ you’re wrong, I’m just sayin’ I know my kid, alright? I was raised right, we didn’t have no damn tablets back then.”

But when he sees how much his daughter loves you—how she comes to you crying when she gets a bad grade, how she hugs you like her safe place—he softens. He’ll mutter, “You’re doin’ good,” when he thinks you’re not listening.

Sunday dinners are sacred. You learned to make his nonna’s meatballs, and it was the moment Pete finally said, “Okay, you’re in the family now.” (But you better never mess up the sauce. He’ll call his ma in front of you if you try.)

You and Pete sometimes parent like a divorced couple that still flirts too much. You bicker over parenting techniques, then he smacks your butt in the kitchen and goes, “Yeah yeah, I’ll pick her up from ballet, don’t get all bossy.”

When she calls you “Mom” by accident for the first time, Pete actually tears up and pretends it’s “just allergies.”

---

Bonus fic

Pete watches you from the other side of the couch, that cocky shit eating grin slowly fading into something heavier. Hungrier. The room’s dim except for the TV light flickering across his jawline, and you can feel his gaze like static against your skin.

“You gonna make me work for it?” he repeats, voice lower now. That rough, gravel-under-his-tongue edge that always comes out when he wants something—really wants it.

You look at him without turning your head, eyes dragging over his lazy sprawl, the way he’s slouched with one arm thrown over the backrest, that tank top riding up just enough to flash a sliver of toned stomach.

“Depends,” you murmur. “What exactly are you trying to earn, DiNunzio?”

He licks his bottom lip, slow. “Five minutes alone with you without a damn science project between us.”

You raise a brow. “That sounds like a threat.”

“Baby, I am a threat.”

You don’t even get a chance to laugh before he shifts closer—way closer—knee brushing yours, hand ghosting over your thigh like he’s testing how far he can go. “She’s out like a light,” he whispers, “and I’ve been thinkin’ about you all night.”

“You were thinking about me while bribing your daughter with five dollars?”

“Multitasking,” he shrugs, hand sliding higher. “It’s a talent.”

You don’t stop him. You should, maybe. You definitely should, because this always starts with teasing and ends with you against a wall—or worse, catching feelings you pretend you don’t have.

His fingers trail beneath the hem of your shorts, just enough to make your breath hitch. “Still wanna tell me I’m an idiot?” he murmurs, voice hot against your ear.

You smirk, heart pounding. “You’re my idiot.”

And just like that, his mouth is on yours—hot, rough, needy—like he’s been starving for you since dinner. His hands are greedy but familiar, tugging you into his lap without warning, like this isn’t the first time and sure as hell won’t be the last.

You pull back just enough to look him in the eye, breathless. “We’re gonna wake her up.”

He grins, cocky and flushed. “Not if you stay quiet, babe.”

You narrow your eyes. “You’re impossible.”

Pete slides his hands up your sides, voice dark with promise. “And you’re about to be loud.”

[necronatural]

The Reigen Arataka Deranged NormalMan Review

Do you ever think about how Reigen has like. A really strange belief in The System and How Things Should Be. Like REALLY strange. Whatever he's got going on is so much weirder than "scammer with a heart of gold".

I think it all comes together if you read the 10th Season 3 omake like, seriously interrogate this:

This is normal, if comedically thoughtful and realistic for a shounen character. This guy talks like a mandatory reporter. What's strange is what immediately follows:

"AS A SPIRITUAL SPECIALIST" DOING A LOT OF HEAVY LIFTING HERE REIGEN

Not only did he hunt down the families of the children bullying his client (insane. where did he get that info), he also contacted the school as if he were representing his own son in order to get justice, and then hunted down a source of complaints when the school fell through.

This is like a genuinely bizarre level of commitment to the bit, and the bit is "the system works, and if it doesn't work, we will find a system that does work, and if we cannot, hell or high water it is my PERSONAL RESPONSIBILITY to make the system stop slouching so it works again".

Long thread on the manga with this reading⬇️

Before I start. Reigen adopting Teru is more IC than you think but I don't think it is IC in the way people think it is. I think about this a lot and I think people who do it because they like Reigen aren't understanding how into his bit he is. Guy who talks to social services

So remember the arc that won people over to Reigen despite the fact he's an asshole who takes advantage of Mob and derides him constantly in order to keep him complacent?

He has Mob's phone on his GPS. This makes sense; he's been taking him out and about since he was 11. Very responsible!

Reigen dismisses the "Boss" mistake thinking well, it's a misunderstanding, but it got me in. Yet as soon as he heard they're committing crimes, he VISIBLY puts on his Boss Pants to chastise them. Again, normal so far. I think any scammer with a heart of gold would do this. (And foreshadowing for why he retried reprimanding the Claw Cadres a second time after getting power.)

Again. He's a scumbag. So he leaves Mob to beat their asses using his previous rhetoric. But then!

Reigen's shady morality is more like "people who can take care of things should take care of things". To him, Mob is the Authority on Espers, and can handle conflict like this. Immediately upon becoming aware he can't, Reigen thinks "oh, okay, so the only person who can take care of things is someone who can deescalate". (Pictured: Deescalation)

Okay. Besides the fact this is insufferable as a general concept - YOU just told him to handle it YOU are the source of his stress - his first step in deescalation is to force Mob to back down. Rather than asking him not to fight, he reestablishes "rules" in order to convince Mob he must back down - the same way he tried using what he said to worm his way out of dealing with this shit - and then sets himself up as the authority figure to which the others must obviously defer in matters of His Boy, like a parent accepting criticism at a PTA meeting. This isn't Reigen claiming Mob so much as "in order for them to not attack Mob, they must view me as a representative for Mob".

And like a good authority figure:

Continuing with his phrasing:

If you think about it, this is like...an objectively very strange and incredibly bold approach to this situation. They're homicidal. Reigen is a DERANGED level of Normal Man. He has this image in his head of normalcy, of the world at standard operating procedures, and reinforces it right through an entire conflict. Carceral beliefs don't even factor into this, simply expressing his principles and expecting them to fold.

And they do lol. I keep wondering how Shou must have felt listening to him talk like that

We see a little more of his good side in work; when he was getting so little work it was affecting his grocery bills, this moneygrubbing scammer still asked for like $200 to clear an entire city of hauntings. (His regular exorcisms are around $30). Fair prices are part of his principles of how the business should be. He operates basically at-cost. He mentions he wanted to come out here because he's bored. He's killing time as a career.

Aside:

Just realized he called Mob in last minute so Mob didn't know he accepted crops instead of money. Shigeo didn't like that

So consider that he never got caught here and there was a call on the news to hunt him down at the end of this bit: for the average viewer of the anime, it's just funny, but this is part of the Mogami pre-arc so we've gotten a hold of him by now; he probably holds an inherent belief that the police will intercept him and not Mob. Why wouldn't they? Why would an adult man want to dress up in a highschool girl's uniform? The System will understand.

Not relevant to my point but I like how he realizes what's wrong with Mob way before the final arc, just not why it's happening. Also he doesn't say anything.

With the way his principles are, you really get the feeling that Reigen does his best to avoid culpability specifically because if something happened that was his fault, he'd have to step up to the plate to compensate for that, which is troublesome to him who is a career time-killer. It does not occur to him that an actual bad person and scammer would not step up to the plate as a matter of course. This is his way

What I find really interesting is that this Militant Insane NormalMan does have a sense of wanting something "special", but rather than whip Mob up the way Dimple did Ritsu, he ended up projecting his own values onto Mob, as if he could recreate a special "self" within him. He's always deriding him and baiting him and lying to him in hopes of creating a superb person that a special individual like Mob finds admirable, as if Mob is the authority on his quality of character. Sad! lol

Anyway, it adds a lot more kick to this famous line. Reigen genuinely believes in Authority

Authority works!

And if Mob (the authority on espers) doesn't work, who's the person who MUST step up to the plate [common sense]? You guessed it.

There are other aspects of Reigen's character that everyone and their dog has already picked up on (his self-loathing is the entire reason the way he talked to Mob in Confession arc hit so hard), but this one's my favourite. He's insane

[buddierecs]

eddie diaz centric buddie fics

all mature rating!!! make sure to kudos/comment on these amazing works :)

tomorrow will always and forever now be today (tomorrow is our always and forever) by: withmeornotatall "eddie gets trapped in a time loop on the day buck marries natalia" word count: 43k important tags: time loop au, minor buck/natalia, heavy angst, love confessions eddie diaz vs the pta agenda by: mmtion "really, eddie doesn’t care that the pta aren’t his biggest fan. he knows he misses too many meetings, and it’s not like he’s best friends with any of the other parents. it doesn’t affect christopher, so it doesn’t bother him. he’ll pay for the annual fundraising mugs and consider his duty done. but then buck picks christopher up from a class trip and it all goes to hell. like, of course buck is everyone’s dream guy. he’s responsible with kids, and kind, and funny and interesting and hot to touch. that’s obvious. but now eddie’s fighting to keep the pta moms, teachers, and dads, all off an unsuspecting and tempting buck. because eddie is a good friend. right?" word count: 19k important tags: idiots in love, jealous!eddie diaz, oblivious!eddie diaz a thousand ways to say i hate you by: morganofthefairies "five times eddie buys taylor fuck-you flowers, and one time he doesn't need to." word count: 8k important tags: 5+1 things, awkward dates, minor eddie/ana, minor buck/taylor, petty!eddie diaz, pining!eddie diaz light me and i'll burn for you by: woodchoc_magnum "in which an old friend of buck's joins the 118, and eddie does not like him. at all." word count: 31k important tags: mutual pining, soft!eddie diaz, oblivious!evan buckley, team as family save me from the man i've become by: woodchoc_magnum "told through eddie's eyes as he grows up with his uniquely overbearing parents, and gradually learns to accept himself for who he really is." word count: 20k important tags: self-acceptance, angst, growing up, soft!eddie diaz, pre-relationship, getting together love leaves a little runway by: toomanybats "eddie has a problem. a big, huge, ridiculous, gorgeous, mouth-watering problem. evan buckley, man of his dreams and bane of his existence has just arrived at the park wearing a crop top." word count: 8.7k important tags: fluff, pining, getting together, first time wherever you roam (you'll always want me) by: okanus "eddie starts to untangle his complicated feelings about himself, and buck. mainly buck." word count: 28k important tags: character study, catholic guilt, sexuality crisis, slow burn, jealous!eddie diaz, pining tell me about despair by: hattalove "the entity often affectionately referred to as the unrepression fic." word count: 148k important tags: therapy, ptsd, heavy angst, communication, feelings realisation, friends to lovers, slow burn

baby, you look happier (you do) by: frxm_theashes "five times eddie sees buck happy with someone else, and one time he realizes that buck is happy with him (and that, maybe, eddie is allowed to be happy with buck too). word count: 19k important tags: temporary buck/tommy, jealous!eddie diaz, catholic guilt, internalised homophobia, pining, getting together, making out

the persistence of memory by: withmeornotatall "buck gets shot, eddie has to keep reliving the day until he can figure out what the universe is trying to tell him" word count: 58k important tags: time loop, eddie diaz pov, angst, hurt/comfort, temporary character death, gay disaster!eddie diaz, make outs, gun violence

when i was shipwrecked (i thought of you) by: catchingpapermoons "eddie needs to learn how to let himself feel, and one step at a time, he learns how to do just that. (and he falls in love with buck along the way.) word count: 35k friends to lovers, didn't know they were dating, getting together, panic attacks, angst with a happy ending.

[ohbabydollie]

Mutual Breakup HC

Female reader gets a call from the school about her son being involved in a fight with another student

Schlatt follows her and they both learned that their son was being bullied for not having a dad because his parents aren't married

You walk into the office, schlatt and your son sitting at a table. across was a woman and her son, you recognized him as being on the same baseball team as your son, he looked as he always did. except with a busted lip and black eye, hair messy and shirt stretched at the collar.

you sit down next to your son, whispering “what the hell did you do now?”

before your son can speak the woman starts screaming “He beat the shit out of my poor son over here! GOD YOU WALK IN ALL INNOCENT, I BET YOU TAUGHT HIM THAT CRAP!”

she stands up and before she can continue the principal tells her to calm down

“look, ma’am, understand you’re frustrated but that doesn’t mean you can scream at other parents” he says calmly as she sits back down

“they’re lucky we don’t get the police involved. i need your son to apologize to my poor, innocent baby boy and we can all drop this” she demands as the kid has a shit eating grin on his face

“fuck no” schlatt says crossing his arms “my son doesn’t have to apologize for shit, suspend him, do whatever, but he’s not fuckin’ apologizing”

“jay! what are you doing!” you ask him “im so sorry, matt, apologize to the boy please” you say turning to your son before schlatt shakes his head no

“we’re not apologizin’ he can spend however long at my place but we. ain’t. sorry.” he says

“im not sorry n i never will be” your son replies, schlatt giving a confirming nod

you let out a groan

“look, we’ve been at this for well over an hour” the principal says rubbing his temples “we got two options, both parties apologize and they get back to class or 3 day suspension”

“we’ll take the suspension” “Schlatt! matty, please just apologize to the kid” you say turning to the woman

“look, im really sorry, normally my son doesn’t act out like th-” “it’s probably your slutty behavior teaching him like this!” she says as your mouth opens in shock

“excuse me?!” you say getting up

“oh what like everyone doesn’t know already? you and your, whatever the fuck he is,” she says gesturing to schlatt “weren’t together and haven’t been together his entire life. no wonder he’s acting out so bad, he’s upset for being cursed with a whore as a mom”

you suck your teeth before standing up “what happens in our home is no one’s business besides our own and you can forget about that apology! c’mon matty, we’re going for ice cream” you say standing up, grabbing your purse “we’ll take the suspension, it won’t matter when her kid is living at home in his 30’s”

your son quickly gets up, as you walk out and schlatt takes a quick candy off the bowl on the table as he walks out with a grin.

“meet us at the ice cream place down the street, i’m taking matt” you say walking to your car as schlatt nods.

“matt, what did you do?” you groan once you’re in the car “the pta moms are iffy about me already and once they find out my son beat up some kid? fuckkkk” you say rubbing your face

“im sorry mom” he says softly “it’s-” “just, please, can you save it so we can talk with your dad?” you ask as he nods

“im really sorry mom” he says looking up at you as you exhale and sit up

“you know what? you’re already suspended, it’s all in the past and it doesn’t matter anymore, it’s okay” you say starting up the car and driving off to the ice cream place, trailing after schlatt’s car.

once all of you arrive and are happily eating your ice cream that’s when you speak up “so, what even started the fight?”

you see your son’s mood change from what was calm to pissed off before he lets out a sigh “he was making funna me” he says upset “he called you a whore and i remember dad saying if they ever say anything bad about your mom, let them make sure they know you’re her son” he admits as you look to schlatt

“are you serious? why would you tell him to fight kids for me?” you ask

“mom, this isn’t the first time” matt says as you look to him “they make fun of me ‘cause the two of you aren’t together anymore and this was the first time they called you a name and-and i wasn’t gonna let them!” he says angrily

you look to schlatt as he nods in affirmation, “they make fun of him and say that i probably ran off to get milk and other shit”

you look to your son in sadness and shock “r-really?” you ask, he nods and that’s all you need as you start tearing up “i-i’m so sorry baby” you say hugging him

“you don’t gotta apologize ma” he says as you press a kiss to his forehead

“no, i honestly, im sorry honey” you say softly “i almost made you apologize to that asshole kid! how about we go out today for dinner?” you ask, matt nods

“can dad come?”

“of course honey” you say happily as the three of you finish your ice cream “we’ll do it in reverse, dessert first and dinner last”

the day goes by, then somehow schlatt ends up back at your apartment, carrying matt up to bed before coming back down to you.

“you okay sweetheart?” he asks as you snap out of your thoughts and look at him

“yeah, yeah” you say walking over to him “you think we’ve played this little game long enough?” you question, running your fingers through his hair

“what game?”

“the lets pretend like me and my ex aren’t still in love, like we don’t still want each other and we haven’t wanted each other in years” you say softly “i think im tired of it”

“i am too” he admits, wrapping an arm around your waist

“let’s get married then” you say leaning into his touch “legally, we can move in together and stuff, matt can have his family together without going from house to house”

“that would be nice” schlatt whispers softly as you grin

“okay big guy, let’s get married” you say smiling

schlatt bends down to kiss you “god, ya don’t know how long i’ve been waitin’ to hear those words” he lets out a chuckle “i guess we also did this in reverse”

i feel like they’d get married before she gets pregnant tbh, but do everything privately and wouldn’t publicly announce anything until y/n is very visibly pregnant

[multifandomfix]

Happy Accidents — Tom Koracick

Summary: You come into Grey Sloan after a minor car accident. Your doctors want to give you an X-ray, but you refuse. Then word makes its way to Tom.

Word Count: 1,103

Tags: Pregnancy reveal, a little angst, fluff

You could already feel the headache brewing before the ambulance doors opened. The accident had been minor—a fender bender at best—but protocol dictated that you be brought in anyway. A few spots there were sure to turn into bruises, a small cut on your brow, and what felt like a pulled muscle in your shoulder. But as the gurney rolled into the emergency department at Grey Sloan Memorial Hospital, all you could think was not the X-ray. Anything but the X-ray.

A nurse tried to reassure you as you were guided into Trauma 2. You smiled weakly, trying to keep your voice calm.

“I don’t need an X-ray,” you said quickly. “I’m fine.”

“You’ve got shoulder pain, and you hit your head on the dash,” the trauma resident replied. “We just want to rule out a fracture or internal bleeding.”

“I said I’m fine,” you repeated, more firmly this time.

“Ma’am, refusing scans goes against protocol.”

“Well, I’m not exactly in the mood to follow protocol,” you snapped, and immediately regretted it. You weren’t normally like this. But the past week had turned your entire world sideways, and your nerves were hanging by threads.

You turned your head slightly, catching a glimpse of Dr. Bailey and Dr. Hunt outside the curtain. You didn’t see him. Not yet. But it was only a matter of time.

And sure enough, just as the nurse was preparing the portable X-ray unit, a familiar voice cut through the bustle like a scalpel.

“Why is my girlfriend refusing a simple X-ray?”

You closed your eyes. Damn it. Tom must have been called on your way in the ambulance, though you insisted it wasn’t necessary, now here he came barreling in, incensed that he wasn’t being told everything. You were so used to that cocky swagger by now that you could practically smell it in the air before he even walked in.

You opened your eyes as he pushed past the curtain. His expression showed both concern and exasperation. “I heard you were in a car accident,” he said, striding up to your bedside. “And then I hear you’re refusing imaging like some conspiracy theorist. What is this, a hospital or an episode of House?”

“I’m fine,” you muttered.

Tom crossed his arms. “You’re bleeding from your head, grimacing every time you move your shoulder, and you look like you’re hiding something. That’s not ‘fine.’ That’s ‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ which—spoiler alert—only makes me more nosy.”

You sat up, wincing. “Can we talk alone?”

The trauma resident looked to Tom, who nodded. The room cleared out quickly. He softened once the door was shut, brushing your hair gently back from your forehead.

“You gotta give me something, you’re scaring the hell out of me,” he said, his voice dropping to something low and real. “What’s going on?”

You looked at him. Really looked at him. God, he had no idea.

You should’ve told him last week, when the test first came back positive. But every time you opened your mouth, the words jammed in your throat like cotton. Tom Koracick wasn’t exactly father material. Hell, he’d spent the better part of your relationship proudly swearing off domestic bliss and PTA meetings.

But he had also been…different with you. Softer. Sweeter. Real. And now you were staring up at him from a trauma bay bed with your little secret sitting like a rock in your gut.

“I can’t do the X-ray,” you said.

He nodded slowly. “Okay. But why?”

You hesitated.

“Because…because I’m pregnant.”

The words hung between you like smoke.

Tom blinked.

“Come again?”

You laughed but it came out all nervous and shaky. “I’m pregnant. I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure, and I guess now the universe decided to out me in the most dramatic way possible.”

Tom stared, stunned silent.

You tried to fill the space. “I was going to tell you, I swear. I just—I didn’t know how you’d react. And then this happened and I—”

“Wait,” he said, holding up a hand. “Back up. Pregnant. As in…we’re having a baby?”

You nodded, heart in your throat. He slowly sank into the chair beside you.

“Holy crap,” he murmured. “I thought you were hiding a DUI or an affair or something.”

You snorted. “Seriously?”

“Well, how was I to know? You are incredibly pretty. And stubborn. And… apparently pregnant.” He looked at you again, really looked, and the shock slowly began to melt into something else. Something almost awed.

“I never thought I’d get to do this again,” he said softly.

You tilted your head. “Do what?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached for your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. “I lost David before I ever got to be the dad I wanted to be,” he said. “I shut that part of my brain off a long time ago. Thought it was safer that way. But now…” You saw his eyes go glassy, just for a moment. “I get another shot,” he whispered.

Your own eyes welled up unexpectedly.

“So you aren’t mad,” you asked, your voice small.

“Mad? No. Terrified? Yes. But also…happy.”

You laughed again, letting out a breath of relief. “God, I really thought you’d bolt.”

Tom leaned forward and kissed your knuckles. “I may be a snarky bastard, but I’m not a coward.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

He smirked. “You’re cranky. That’s new.”

“I just got into a car accident and told my boyfriend I’m pregnant. Cut me some slack.”

He placed a hand gently over your stomach. “Hey, kiddo,” he murmured. “It’s your dad. Sorry in advance for all the sarcasm you’re going to grow up hearing.”

You smiled despite the tears pooling at the corners of your eyes.

“I’m scared too,” you admitted. “But I think we can do this.”

Tom kissed your temple, his voice a soft rumble beside your ear.

��We’re gonna crush this. You, me, and the tiny bean.”

“Bean,” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Working title,” he said with a grin. “I’ll come up with something more dignified once we know if it has your stubbornness or my charm.”

You rolled your eyes. “God help us if it has both.”

“Now, get the damn X-ray. It’s only your shoulder. It’ll be fine.” You nodded, tuning in to the outside of your little trauma room. The bustle of the hospital carried on, pages, footsteps, the occasional shout. But inside the closed off area, time had narrowed to the two of you. And the tiny, still secret heartbeat growing between you.

For @ghostsunderstoodmysoul

Forever Tag: @baubeautyandthegeek, @ghostsunderstoodmysoul, @immyowndefender, @valencethefriendlychangeling, @crimsonwidow666, @rebelbossheart, @thedailyspiritualist, @orangeisnttheonlyfruit, @woman-simp, @aperol-with-izzy, @leonoralessoem, @ellepossum69, @lakita-fisher, @trexsuit, @analuw, @luvlesavyy, @malfoyfeed, @aliciabrower, @sparrowspixie, @imaginationismyworldlypleasure, @og-kxsh-420

Tom Koracick: @thekirbishow, @astrogrande

[espinosaurusrexex]

The Karens of the World

BuckyBarnes x Female!Reader modern au

summary: Aunt Karen is possibly the worst person you know. So when her annual Independence Day party arrives, you try to give her as little reason to pick on you as possible. Not being single for once should cover most of the topics she complains about. So you ask your friend Bucky to play pretend.

a/n: So I tried this website @nana1000night (make sure to check out their own chats) posted about and my ideas just started overflowing. I wrote this so quick, there may be some tenses errors, but the concept was so fun, I hope you like it.

word count: 4.1k

warnings: fake dating trope, grumpy!Bucky AND protective!Bucky, bullying, a Karen (this should say it all, really), self-doubt, body dysmorphia, mentions of violence, and sooooo much fluff!

･ﾟ✫* 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ｡✭･ﾟ

↑ This movie altered my brain chemistry and also he looks so good OKAY BYE!

“Don’t do that. Don’t do that now, I really need your help,” you plead with a solid stare. But Bucky just broodily stares back at you with an unfazed expression. “Just answer the question, please.”

For a moment it seems as though he‘s squinting his eyes even more at you, trying to assess whether you are kidding or not. But you aren’t. You are in desperate need of help.

“Fine,” he finally breaks.

“Yes!” You exclaim before collecting yourself. “I mean: cool, cool... So, I’ll send you the details later and we can go from there.” You are a little nervous, but that’s what stressful situations do to you. And well, today definitely categorized as one. 

“You’re a great friend, you know that, Buck? The best there is!” A desperate attempt to save the situation, but Bucky isn’t having it.

“Yeah, kid. Text me, do... whatever.” He huffs before he stands up to leave. You just wrinkle your nose at the little nickname he frequently calls you. It is stupid, but you don’t want him to call you ‘kid’. You would prefer it if he called you 'doll' or 'sweetheart' like he does all the other women. Hell, you’d even settle for your actual name, but he never calls you that. 

You watch as he walks towards the door, but before he reaches it, he turns one more time just to send another annoyed look your way. Talk about being childish.

That was a week ago. And Bucky and you did, in fact, not ‘discuss the details later’. Bucky has merely stared at your messages, cursing himself for having agreed to the stupid plan you laid upon him. But he was committed to doing it anyway and the sooner it was over, the better.

You stare at your phone in silence, the simple text from Bucky making your stomach turn over and over. 

I’ll be there.

He has written. And now there is no going back. Which is what you had planned, right? But Somehow, you are still nervous about the whole situation. 

You stand in front of the mirror while tugging on the outfit you picked out for today. It is simple and light - perfect for a summer barbecue party. But you can’t help yourself when you look at your reflection. Your aunt Karen would have something mean to say about it anyway - she always does. And if it isn’t the lack of a partner (which is a problem you have temporarily solved for the day), it will be your body or your hair, or the way you speak, or the things you pursue in life. Karen is a textbook housewife, who has nothing to do all day but organize PTA meetings and condescend to everyone who doesn’t live up to her standards. And she has invited to her annual 4th of July party in her suburban family home in New Jersey. It wouldn’t bother you that much if meeting her wouldn’t always be connected to a huge amount of self-doubt and general mental chaos. It just bothers you that Karen makes you hate the parts about yourself you have never looked at critically before. 

Your phone pings again - Bucky is here. 

He just sits in the parking lot of your apartment building, his hands clenching the steering wheel tightly, and his eyes - as always - broodily staring ahead. He’s never done anything like this - He’s never pretended to be in an actual relationship. What if something goes wrong? What if they all see through this charade? Bucky wants to help you with your little ‘family problem’, as you have called it, but at the same time, he hates the situation he finds himself in because of it.

Bucky sits up straighter when he finally sees you running out of the door and towards his muddy truck. You look pretty, even if your hair is a little tousled from the small run you just did.

“Hey,” you greet with a smile after Bucky stares for a little too long. “Nice shirt.” 

Bucky looks down on himself. He is wearing a striped short sleeve button-up that fits him very well, and you have to admit, that your eyes linger on the strip of skin revealed by the two undone buttons a little too long before they sway back to the window when you get inside his car. You feel your skin go up in flames at the thought of it again. Hopefully, this will all go well. 

He isn't used to compliments, Bucky notes as he starts the car and backs out of the parking lot. This is just a courtesy; an easy greeting from a friend - no, actually his fake girlfriend for today - to loosen up the tension both of them feel. Bucky clears his throat while making a conscious effort to look away from the woman in his car, who makes him feel kind of... nervous all of a sudden.

The car ride is silent: no music, just the humming of the engine roaring in the background as you stare out the window and watch the trees pass by. Though when Bucky finally pulls into your aunt's neighborhood, you tense up and your hands become clammy - this feels like a really stupid idea all of a sudden. 

Bucky parks the car on the street in front of your aunt’s huge house and looks at you. He raises an eyebrow upon noticing how timid you suddenly look.

Crap. Had this been your plan all along? To get him to agree to pose as your fake boyfriend, to have to face your terrible aunt?

Bucky swallows thickly when he takes in your state. “Do we really have to go in?” He asks still hopeful that you would just allow him to turn around again, but that obviously doesn’t happen. 

“Unfortunately, we do.” You sigh after taking a deep breath to mentally prepare yourself. It shouldn’t be that hard, right? Just a little white lie to get you through the day. It will be over before you know it. “Thank you again for doing this Bucky, it really means a lot.” You smile one last time and then you get out of the car. 

Bucky just watches as you walk towards the suburban home, impatiently waiting for him on the sidewalk where the driveway begins. He isn’t ready for this, but he had promised you.

❁ ❁ ❁

Your heart begins pumping in your chest when Bucky straightens up and takes your hand in his, the other hiding in his pocket. This is actually kinda nice. A squeeze of a hand then the ring of the doorbell. Two times. 

“Oh, how wonderful you finally made it!” A slender woman with a blonde bob opens the door with a wide smile: Aunt Karen. “More than fashionably late, I see.” And then her eyes wander beside you where Bucky stands tall and steady with his hand still etched in yours. “Oh my, honey, is this the boyfriend you’ve been telling me about?”

Her eyes shine and for a moment it looks as though they were to pop out of her head from the way she’s gawking at Bucky. Okay, you get it, Bucky is good-looking. No need to think about breaking up your own marriage about it. Your roll your eyes before reminding yourself that you should restrain. The day has just started and you are ready to leave again. 

Bucky looks at you uncomfortably, but your hand in his grounds him a little bit. He can’t make you deal with it alone anymore. He agreed to help you and this is - unfortunately - his mess as well now. God, he should remind himself to not be this stupid more often.

“Yes,” he swallows, “we are... uh... seeing each other.” Great job, that definitely didn’t sound forced. Bucky looks between you and your aunt for a moment, trying not to cringe at his own words. 

You just send him an apologetic look before entering the house and let Karen pull you into a tight hug. 

“Well, you have certainly gained little since the last time I saw you, I can barely fit my arms around you, honey,” Karen jokes but it hits deeper than that. “Must be that relationship weight, don’t we know it, huh?” Unbelievable, not even one minute in and she is already going at it. 

You try to ignore the anxiety pooling up in your stomach as you watch Bucky squeeze aunt Karen’s hand a little too tightly. There’s nothing wrong with you, but these comments never cease to make you hate yourself a little bit.

Bucky smiles when he notices the discomfort on Karen's face after the handshake. She silently shakes her hand out and forces a bright smile, but he thinks the message came through. So, he decides against saying something just yet.

“Come on into the yard, the guests are all there!” The blonde woman rushes and leads you through the kitchen and out onto the porch from which you have a nice view of the party. There is a buffet set up, your uncle is at the grill, talking it up with his friends and the rest of the crowd is scattered across the lawn. Some people are playing corn hole and if the hostess weren’t such a pain in the ass, you could probably enjoy this party. 

Luckily, Karen disappeared into the crowd once she greeted you, now there’s only Bucky and you.

“Thank God you’re here! I couldn’t stand talking to Grandpa Stan a minute longer. He’s all about his World War Two stories again.” An annoyed redhead approaches you from the side and your mood instantly lightens. You turn and see Tasha greet you with open arms and a playful smile. “You look nice!” She says upon seeing your expression and her smile quickly falters.

“Oh, no. What did she do this time?” She watches intensely, her hands squeezing your shoulders, but now that your cousin is here, there is no need to dwell in the state of depression Karen has put you in. 

Bucky just stays silent as he watches you interact with the redhead. He’s trying to stay off to the side, as he doesn’t really know anyone very well. He’s not a social person, which was yet another reason why this whole thing had been a bad idea from the start, but now that he has seen why you needed a fake boyfriend, he is determined to honor his role for the day. He’d do anything to make Karen feel defeated and unsupported after what he has just witnessed. Because whether he likes it or not, you are his friend, and nobody messed with his friends like that. 

A sense of protection overtakes him every time he sees Karen pass by close to the both of you, And Bucky has to restrain himself a couple too many times from laying his arm around you. 

He watches people laughing and talking from afar, his face blank from expression, his hands in his pockets to keep himself from reaching out to you. 

“Tasha this is Bucky.” You suddenly say and pull him closer, your arm remains around him and he is kind of glad that you officially give him permission to touch in this fake relationship. He blushes a little startled at the gesture anyway. He’s not used to it, but it's kind of nice. 

“Bucky Barnes, right? Yeah, I’ve heard my mother talk about you.” Tasha says and Bucky just rolls his eyes. “And I see you’ve met her, too.” She laughs and Bucky knows she’s an ally. “I wish you good luck for today, our family is a menace.”

“Thanks.” Bucky looks over to Karen who is mingling with her guests and a wave of disgust overcomes him. “Hopefully she won’t ruin this holiday.”

“Oh, she will. You can count on it, actually. But with time you’ll learn to deal with it. We have Karen bingo cards at every event to cross off things she does or says. It’s fun if you make it fun. Don’t let her antics bother you too much. The suburbs are the only place she has something to say and she holds on to it for dear life... I pity her most of the time.” Tasha rambles on and on and Bucky takes a liking to her with every word. He smiles and so do you. 

“Anyway, I gotta get Grandpa a beer but feel free to mingle, and,” Tasha turns to you as she grabs your hand for a brief moment, her eyes staring into yours intently. “Come find me if she gets too much, okay?”

You just nod at your cousin. Tasha is amazing and she always manages to calm you down after yet another unpleasant encounter with your aunt. God knows why she was cursed with such a pain of a mother, but Tasha makes the best out of it. 

Bucky smiles and looks at Tasha walking away. He seems to have already relaxed with her somewhat, so he tries to take her advice and ignore Karen’s antics. Maybe this won’t be so bad. 

❁ ❁ ❁

It's about 30 minutes later when you are off to talk to some other family members who haven’t seen you in a while and Bucky has decided to check out the buffet. He eats in silence, his gaze swaying over the yard - people watching. He finds comfort in it every now and then. But unfortunately, his peace isn’t lasting long. 

“So Bucky, tell me. How did you and my niece meet?” Karen appears next to him and holds out a bottle of beer to him.

Bucky is a little startled but he swallows his hot dog and uses the time to come up with a story. What would you want him to say? Some romantic crap, probably, but Bucky would much rather tell her that you met at a burn-all-Karens petition downtown. Still, he can’t completely ignore his intrusive thoughts, so he simply takes the bottle and answers with a straight face as he watches Karen's expression falter.

“In prison.” Hopefully, this would shut her up.

"Oh? You are a prison guard?” She asks with intrigue, adamant that he is still the glorious man she makes him out to be, and Bucky just sends her a knowing smile. 

“Something like that.”

The blonde bob shakes in his peripheral. “Well, it was only a matter of time until she would end up there.” Karen shrugs but Bucky feels anger bubbling inside him. 

“What do you even mean by that?” It becomes harder to control himself now. 

Your eyes move over to Bucky as you let your relative’s speech about the perfect lawn mower pass by you in a breeze. He looks slightly irritated and uncomfortable, his shoulders are tense but he’s holding up well, and Karen doesn’t seem to suspect anything. Of course she doesn’t, though, she is shallow. 

“I just can't seem to believe that an attractive and interesting man such as yourself would settle for someone so... bland.” And just like that, snobbish middle-aged white women made it to the top of his blacklist. 

Karen sips on her cocktail with a winning smile, she must have known how insecure she could make you with the confidence that radiated off of her right now. 

The paper plate in Bucky’s hand crumbles at her words. His anger is clearly written on his features, turning solid by the second. “Are you fucking kidding me?!”

It just bursts out of him, he can’t stop it - it just feels right. How dare this bitch call you boring? You of all people and not him? The anger crawls up his neck with every second he has to spend close to your aunt and at one point he can’t take it anymore.

“Bingo!” Someone yells from the back of the yard, but Bucky just looks at Karen with his death stare.

“Your niece is the most wonderful person I’ve ever met. She’s smart and kind and courageous and so unbelievably goodhearted. You don’t know how lucky you are to have her in your life. And yet all you do is patronize her. The fact that you don’t see that is seriously pathetic. You are a grown woman, for god’s sake. I highly recommend that you fix your attitude or I won’t be responsible for what happens next,” he sneers into Karen's flabbergasted face. 

The whole party has gone quiet. People have stopped talking and are all turned to look at the disturbance with the potential to bring far more entertainment than anything else that they’re doing. 

You decide to intervene before something else happens. You rush towards Bucky after excusing yourself and drag him out of the yard with a solid ‘Can I talk to you, babe?’. Bucky just glares at Karen for good measure before he lets himself be led away by you. He’s tense, with his hands clenching in fists, he looks like he’s ready to strangle your aunt - as if there is a lot more at play than your feelings in his response to her. 

“I swear... that woman...” He grumbles with vicious eyes, he grinds his teeth in frustration and the muscles in his jaw pop a little. 

“I know, but... well, that’s just how she is.”

“How have you gone this long without knocking her over with a bat?” You need to refrain from laughing out loud at Bucky’s comment.

“I can’t change it. Punching her won’t help. But, hey,” you push a white paper into his hand and upon short inspection, he realizes it’s a bingo card. “We can make fun of it. New round just started.”

You hug him and push a quick kiss to his cheek before you step back and let him calm down a bit. Bucky has to smile at the card in his hand and he looks down to hide the small blush creeping over the heated spot on his cheek. His hand covers the place you kissed and he doesn’t know what to do with himself. When did he start feeling this way?

“Come on now. I want you to meet my Grandpa. I think you’ll get along well.”

❁ ❁ ❁

“Meet Stan, my grandfather.” You say once you reach the small circle of people that gathered around your grandfather. 

“Pleased to meet you, sir. My name’s Bucky Barnes.” You watch them shake hands and Stan’s eyes brighten at the additional listener.

“Pleasure to meet you, young man. Grab yourself a beer and sit down I was just about to tell the story of how a grenade ended up going off right next to me.” 

You exchange a short look with Tasha who has heard the story about as often as you have before, but when your eyes sway to Bucky, you notice the intrigue in his body language. He scrambles to sit down close to Stan with his hands folded over his knees.

“You’re telling me that you survived a grenade? A literal grenade?” Bucky’s eyebrows shoot up and it's like watching a child on Christmas Day. “You’re either tough as nails or incredibly lucky, sir.”

So, hooking Bucky up with your grandpa was a great success. He seemed to be the first person that was actually interested in Stan’s stories from the war. And while you had to not worry about Karen steering up more arguments with Bucky anymore, you watch him interact with the rest of your family with awe.

The day passes by and Bucky seems to catch a conversation with Stan every now and then. He’s interested in history and your grandfather seems like the perfect source for the answers he’s been seeking. But when the moon rises and the fireworks have died down, you decide it's time to go home. 

Bucky is talking to your grandfather again when you approach him from behind. In a weird shoot of confidence, you wrap your arms around him and place a gentle kiss on his shoulder. 

“Are you ready to go home?” You’re a little nervous but you don’t pull away, and Bucky is strangely content with the amount of physical contact he’s gotten today. Still, he tries to stuff the weird feelings in his chest away when he turns in your arms. 

“Yeah,” he looks at you with soft eyes, “I think I’m ready to go home.” But you can’t help but think that his statement holds a little more than the answer to your question. 

❁ ❁ ❁

You smile when Bucky opens the car door for you. You didn’t expect it, and it almost looks as if Bucky didn’t expect it either, but you’re not complaining. He starts the car in silence but this time, there is faint music coming from the radio. The street lights pass by the window as you look out until your apartment complex comes into view. 

Once the car is parked again, you turn around to Bucky. He makes no effort to move and it doesn’t bother you at all. It’s nice in the car. Cool from the AC and Bucky’s presence is a pleasant addition to the calm the car ride home has brought to you.

“Thank you for coming with me today. I know it wasn’t exactly what you expected and I am so sorry for my family. They are a lot... I just...” You fumble with your fingers before looking back up at him again. “I don’t think I would have survived this party without you. It really means a lot.” You finally finish and it feels like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. 

Bucky is quiet for a while, thinking about what you have just said. He feels weird thinking about how many of these family gatherings you had to endure without anyone stepping up for you before, and he has the strong urge to just cradle you in his arms and protect you from all the Karens of the world - let nothing ever touch you like that again. He had seen your heart break a little today and he didn’t like it at all. 

His eyes avert from the windshield when he turns to you and gazes into your eyes intently. There’s a lot going on in them, but it all radiates comfort to you. And then, almost like a button has been pushed, he grabs your chin and pulls you closer, his hand running down your cheek. There’s a moment of complete standstill. Everything is zeroing in on him and then, after a beat or two, he pulls you into him and kisses you. 

It's short and it's sweet but it holds more feelings than you have ever gotten from a kiss. When he pulls back, his eyes just run over your face. He doesn’t know what just happened and neither do you. It’s like a wild dream - a good one.

“What... what was that for?” Your whisper barely reaches his ears and Bucky struggles to construct a proper sentence with the way your eyes lock with his in awe.

“I... It’s... I just... couldn’t help myself,” he confesses while still shaking out of his trance. Uh oh. What if this was a mistake? 

He attempts to pull away reluctantly, but you stop him. “No, no it’s fine,” you grab his hand and place it back on your face, “do it again, please.”

Bucky’s breath staggers when you say that and for a moment, he freezes completely. Is this really happening? And how is he feeling like this when he didn’t even see you this way when this day started? 

The grip on his wrist is gentle, but he’s glued to you. Everything, every sense of his is pulled in your direction until you completely consume him. And he lets it happen. You haul him onto another kiss and this one is even better - more passionate, more... just more. He can’t get enough of you and he wonders how he has gone so long without it - this feeling of flying when you touch him.

Your hand grabs his shoulder and your fingers push into his tender muscles. It feels good, though and Bucky strives to have you even closer. The warmth is all-consuming but he doesn’t mind in the slightest, that the night outside his car is a hundred degrees or that just an hour ago this was all pretend. It certainly isn’t anymore.

“I really like you, Bucky. I hope my family didn’t chase you away. I know that they can be a handful sometimes, but you handled them so well and-“

“Doll,” Bucky stops you and your heart skips at the nickname. His eyes are shining in the dim light falling through the windshield, but you can still see every speck of grey in the deep blue. He’s trying to convey how he feels, but he believes it’s not enough. His nose nudges yours and then he whispers softly: “I really like you, too.”

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[sessakag]

Now all I can think about is Prey!Papa-Naruto because it would be the wildest funniest thing ever! Poor Hinata is probably trying to make sure her kids grow up to be good morally upstanding people and Naruto is just….Yeah 😬. Funnily enough this Naruto probably wouldn’t have as much of a contentious relationship with Boruto because there’s no way he’s putting work above spending time how he wants 😭. And as a Kawaki hater I’m pleased to say I don’t see this Naruto being altruistic enough to take in some random abused kid so really we’ve got my ideal version of the Uzumaki family 🫢. Anyway, I bet parent-teacher conferences and kiddy playdates and birthday parties are gonna be fun times 🤣. Speaking of bday parties happy early birthday! I hope it’ll be a fun one.

Daddy Prey!Naruto is the funniest thing ever, lol.

For sure, Naruto would spend time with his little mini-me. Who would stop him?

I feel like Boruto would be very aware that his father is a homicidal nutjob and spend his time trying to keep innocents out of harms way, but he does it in ways that are just as bad as his father, because of course, the apple doesn't fall that far from the tree, and that he has this huge blind spot to when his own inner crazy is starting to show, lol. And of course, mess with his mom or baby sister, well then, you'll have a hard time telling Naruto and Boruto apart at all🤭he'd justify his violence and the bodies in his closet because Prey!Narupapa taught him that delusion is just another way to say correct, and there's nothing wrong with customizing your own reality when it's convenient. He'd also spend so much time trying to undo Hima's worst tendencies their dad is teaching her in an effort to help his mom out, but ends up making it worse by teaching her "alternative" tendencies that are just as bad but much more slicker than his father's open bluntness, which ultimately, makes Hinata's job harder, lol. Poor lady, I can see her trying to explain the situation to her crazy husband. Hinata: I'm trying to make sure the kids have a moral compass, Naruto Naruto: The fuck they need that for?

I'll be honest, I really don't know all that much about Kawaki since I don't watch the show, but his design is very cool, and the clips I've seen of him on youtube I vibe with🤭but Naruto being altruistic and adopting a poor orphan? Not fuckin likely at all, lol. Prey!Naruto wouldn't care about any kids but his own🤷🏽‍♀️so you're all set for sure, lol.

Parent-teacher conferences would be lit af😂imagine Naruto's big buff tatted up self sitting in one of those itty bitty chairs at a table lower than his knees while the teacher tries to get him to understand that it's not a good thing that his little girl is drawing her classmates with their heads somewhere other than on their shoulders🤣he would be so insulted and have a very scary diatribe about why Hima's work is "art" not a "red flag". The teacher would resign the next day by the time he was done. Omg birthdays🙈One word: Pinata. Take that as you will, lmao!

And omg, I wanna write Prey!Naruto at a PTA meeting, lmao! And you'd think Hinata was the one that dragged him to it, but NO, he'd go on his own because he's a super paranoid bastard that needs to know what is going on in his orbit and that includes his hellspawns, and if he doesn't like what he hears he'll have to retire a few folks to ensure things are being run for the benefit of his offspring😂

Hima's not doing a kiddy playdate, study date, pretend date, any date. Over somebody else's dead body would Naruto allow his baby girl to do any sorta dating🤣hell naw, and don't @ him about it. End of discussion. Why? Because Naruto knows how guys are, and considering the things he does to Hima's mother on a regular basis, he's dead set on not letting any guy near his daughter until she's at least 80 years old, if she's lucky. Teen!Hima good luck trying to date or get a boyfriend😅especially since big brother's not gonna be too keen on the idea either, lol. And thank you for the early birthday wishes!!💕

I feel like this SOL Prey!Naruto family is set in stone to be a thing at this point, lmao. I'm certainly sold on it. I won't say whether or not I plan on Hinata getting knocked up in Prey, ya'll will have to wait and find out but I definitely think this should be a full SOL fic at this point, lol. It's just too good to pass up🤭

[inkinmyheartandonthepage]

Bake Sale

Day two of flufftober2024! The prompt was "Left. Other Left" and I had so much fun with this one :D You can read it here on Ao3

Eddie Diaz examined the map that had been handed to him when they had arrived at Chris’s school and frowned. The layout was simple enough, but it took a moment to locate DIAZ in the small, cramped print. When he finally found their surname, he let out a small breath of relief. They were located along the back wall of the Durand School Gym and on the end where there would be plenty of room for Chris to move around.

“Which way, dad?” Chris asked, tilting his head back as he looked at Eddie.

“Uh. Left,” Eddie said, mentally praying that he was reading this map correctly.

Chris started walking and Eddie gently placed a hand on his shoulder, steering him the opposite direction. “Other left, Superman.”

Chris changed direction easily enough and led his way through the already busy gym towards their table. As they moved past the tables, Eddie felt his heart sink deeper and deeper into his chest. Each table they passed was carefully set up with an arrange of treats to be sold for the semester bake sale.

Brownie bars, biscuits, cupcakes, cakes, and every sweet treat imaginable was neatly and aesthetically styled on each table the walked by.

“Morning Mr. Diaz!”

“Mr. Diaz! So glad you could make it.”

“Hello Mr. Diaz.”

Eddie smiled politely at each greeting that was tossed their way as they passed and his grip on the store-bought muffins grew tighter. He had picked them up on his way the school, guilt stirring deeply in his stomach. Eddie had meant to bake the muffins himself. After missing the last two school events due to work, Eddie had promised Chris he would be at the next one. He dragged himself after a long 12 hour shift the PTA meeting where they had announced their next fund raiser was a bake sale. Eddie had tried to listen, but he had been tired and so most of what had been said went through one ear and out the other. Thankfully, there had been a pamphlet that held all the information Eddie had needed.

And in the weeks leading up, Eddie had been prepared. He had found an easy recipe for muffins to make and had even bought the ingredients to make them. But then each shift had been exhausting and had gone into overtime and by the time Eddie realised, the bake sale was upon him, and he had not made the muffins. With a profound sense of failure, Eddie had bought several boxes of muffins and was resigned that they would have to do.

“BUCK!”

Eddie startled out of his guilt at the shout his son gave. Chris hurried ahead of him, his crutches clacking against the wooden floor as he moved. Eddie froze, jaw dropping as he took in the familiar figure standing behind their table, a layout of cakes already set up.

“Finally!” Buck beamed, stepping around the table. His smile only grew when Chris reached him, and he scooped Eddie’s son up into a hug. “I thought you guys would never get here!”

Chris giggled sweetly. “We stopped for – for muffins!”

Buck gaze met Eddie’s. “Good idea! Can’t have enough muffins!”

Lowering Chris back to the ground, Buck guided him around the table. He paused, looking over his shoulder to look back at Eddie. “You coming, Diaz?”

Eddie felt like he was moving on auto pilot. He crossed the remaining space between them, slipping behind the table and bumped his shoulder against Buck’s. He meant to say hello and thank you but what came out was, “What the hell is this?”

Buck cocked his head to one side. “What’s what?”

Eddie gestured widely to the beautifully set up table. “This.” He nearly whimpered at the sight of the small blackboard where a list of allergens was written under the carefully printed headline Diaz’s Sweet Treats!

“They’re the cupcakes, muffins, brownies, cookies and honey joys for the bake sale,” Buck said slowly, frowning slightly.

“They smell good,” Chris chirped, leaning on the table. He tilted, blinking up at Buck with wide eyes. “Can I have one?”

Buck chuckled, ruffling Chris hair. “I brought a container just for us.”

“Thanks Buck!” Chris beamed, flashing his teeth at Buck.

“You’re welcome, Superman.” Buck grinned back.

Eddie reached out and tugged on Buck’s sleeve, his mind still racing. “Buck.” And when Buck turned to Eddie, he took in his best friend. There were dark circles under his eyes, his skin a little paler than usual making the birth mark stand out even more. There was a tiredness that clung to his posture, but Eddie could read that there was contentment too. Eddie felt dizzy. Because Buck had come off the same hard shift as he had and had spent the time he could have been sleeping baking for Eddie’s kid instead.

“You stayed up all night baking this,” Eddie stated. Because of course Buck would have forgone the well needed rest he deserved after the long shift they had. Anything for Christopher.

Buck grinned sheepishly. “Not all night.”

Eddie shook his head. “You didn’t have to do this.”

Buck gently tugged the boxes of muffins from Eddie’s hand. “Come on, Ed’s. Couldn’t have you guys just serving store-bought. What would Gemma Williams say?”

Eddie shuddered at the thought, remembering the very pointed message that while store-bought wasn’t forbidden, homemade would be preferable. She had directed that last bit at Eddie and while it had made him bristle, he thought she may have had a point.

Clearly, she had not anticipated Evan Buckley.

Chris made a happy noise in the back of his throat, drawing Eddie’s attention from Buck. Chocolate frosting was smeared across his cheek as his chewed happily on the cupcake he had chosen.

Buck chuckled, reaching into a large back that was resting on the chairs they had been allocated and pulled out a stack of napkins. “I knew these would come in handy.”

In a move that made Eddie’s heart beat a little faster in his chest and his knees feel suddenly weak, Buck swiped the napkin over Chris’s cheek, wiping away the icing. He managed to keep the broken noise in the back of his throat as Chris simply leaned into Buck touch, letting the taller man clean his cheek.

“Oh, Ed’s. In the back there a travel mug with coffee in it for you,” Buck said as he balled up the soiled napkin, winking at Chris. “All good, Superman.”

“Thanks Buck!” Chris beamed, revealing chocolate-stained teeth.

Buck barked out a laugh. “Yeah, you may want to lick your teeth, buddy.”

“You brought me coffee?” Eddie managed to choke out.

“Yeah,” Buck said distractedly as he started shifting some of the plates around on the table to make room for the muffins Eddie had brought. “In the blue mug you like so much.”

It shouldn’t have been surprising. Buck and Eddie are best friends so of course Buck knew how Eddie liked his coffee and that he preferred the blue travel mug because the shape of it fit perfectly in his hand, and it was easy to drink out of. It’s not even the first time that Buck had done this for him.

But it was the first time that Eddie was struck with the knowledge that he wanted to pull Buck into a kiss and pour all his thanks and gratitude into it. And that thought almost knocked Eddie on his ass.

Of course, it was Buck. Eddie was feeling extremely stupid that he was only realising now that his feeling towards Buck were not strictly platonic. Because Buck bringing him coffee wasn’t a new thing. Buck cooking for him and Chris was also not new. This is even the first school event that Buck has helped Eddie with because he had been busy with work, taking extra shifts so that he could get Chris everything that he needed.

And Eddie wasn’t oblivious to the jokes that the team had made about them being an old married couple. Or the way that sometimes complete strangers mistook them for a couple. Except, maybe they hadn’t been wrong because they had been building a foundation for years now. They had become a family, partners in every way. The only thing they weren’t doing was having sex.

“Ed’s?”

Eddie blinked at Buck’s concern look. “Yeah?”

“You feeling okay?” Buck asked, shifting to give Eddie his full attention.

Blue eyes raked over Eddie and his suppressed the shiver and the flash of want that went through him at having Buck’s full attention on him. Chris school was not the time or the place to be having those kind of thoughts.

“I’m fine.” Eddie cleared his throat. Of all the times to have a revelation about Buck. His head spun when Buck gripped his shoulders, face ducking closer.

“Liar,” Buck said softly. “What’s wrong? Did you get hurt yesterday?”

Eddie shook his head. “No, no I’m not hurt. I’m fine.”

Buck squeezed Eddie’s shoulders. “Come on, Ed’s. You can talk to me. What’s going on? You’ve been weird since you got here.”

“Dad’s always weird,” Chris chirped.

“Am not,” Eddie huffed.

“You are a little,” Buck grinned. “Now, what’s going on? How can I help?”

“No, it’s nothing. Just, you know,” Eddie huffed out a laugh. “Just realised I’m completely in love you with. No big deal.”

“You…” Buck trailed off, eyes going wide.

Eddie swallowed thickly. “Yeah.”

Buck looked around widely before turned back to Eddie, eyes still hopelessly wide. “You’re having this revelation now?”

Eddie huffed. “Well, it’s your fault.”

“My fault?” Buck scoffed.

“Yes, yours,” Eddie hissed, his heart pounding in his chest. “You went ahead and did all of this,” he waved at the table of baked goods. “And were your usual amazing self and taking care of Chris so he’s not the kid whose dad couldn’t cook anything for a bake sale.” Eddie glared at Buck. “And you brought me coffee.”

“I always bring you coffee,” Buck pointed out, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Yeah, you do,” Eddie said, something warm blooming in his chest. “And you brought me it in my favourite travel mug. So, yeah, it’s your fault.”

“Well,” Buck said, his smile growing wider. “Better late than never.”

“You, uh,” Eddie licked his lips, nerves dancing under his skin.

“Love you too?” Buck asked. His smile softened, blue eyes glittering. “Yeah, I do.”

Eddie let out a breath he hadn’t realised he had been holding. He felt dumb with how giddy he felt. He felt a trail of fire trail down his skin where Buck’s hands slid down from his shoulders and over his biceps before Buck let go. Eddie almost whined at the loss but managed to catch himself intime.

“Can’t believe you figure it out now,” Buck grumbled as he turned back to the table. “I can’t kiss you in the middle of the school gym.”

Eddie bumped Buck’s shoulder. “Shouldn’t have been so amazing then.”

Buck scoffed. “Just you wait. When we are done with the bake sale and not surrounded by nosy PTA mums…” Buck trailed off and winked.

“Are you going to start kissing now?” Chris asked, nose wrinkling.

Eddie’s heart stuttered in his chest.

“Not now,” Buck said. “But probably later. If that’s okay with you?”

Eddie reached for Buck’s hand, giving it a light squeeze when he caught the nerves hidden in his voice. He was pleased when Buck gripped him back, leaning more into his space.

“I suppose so,” Chris said thoughtfully, giving a shrug.

“Awesome,” Buck sighed with relief and Eddie couldn’t help the giggle that burst out of him.

Eddie’s breath hitched when Buck leaned in close, his lips brushing against Eddie’s ear as he spoke lowly. “As soon as its acceptable, we’re leaving so I can finally kiss you.”

“Yeah,” Eddie croaked out. He blushed at the smirk Buck gave him and then gave him a light shove. The bake sale couldn’t end fast enough.

[donationwayne]

here's my confession (I'm kind of hooked on you) CHAPTER FOUR

Pairing: Buddie || 24.7k/109k || Chapter 4/19 ||

CHAPTER FOUR OF MY FIC FOR @118bigbang ! !!!!!

THE RETURN OF DILF EDDIE

This week: buck cooks for eddie, buck and eddie gossip, buck meets up witht he 118

Summary:

Buck is forced to go on a temporary medical leave after getting crushed by a flight of stairs. In the meantime, he works at dispatch while he recovers. One evening after work, Buck hooks up with a mysterious, hot, family oriented DILF. The following morning he’s mortified and a little love sick after discovering said hook-up aka Eddie Diaz is the newest (temporary) firefighter liaison--poached from a house in El Paso, Texas. Buck navigates becoming best friends and eventually work partners with his ex-hookup. In the meantime, he desperately tries not to fall in love. He fails.

Cue: An adorable five year old, prank wars, gay offs, break room gossip, a fake dating plot, firefighting shenanigans, a packed summer of PTA responsibilities, karaoke, and copious amounts of cupcakes and thai food

OR

tldr: the hot dilf from the bar is my new work partner

_________

SNIP

Eddie joins Buck, who already has their meals on the table—potato and zucchini curry over rice. Eddie melts into the chair beside him, taking a long inhale of curry like it was a cigarette. “You’ve really got to teach me how to do this sometime.”

“Over my dead body. What use would you have for me if you learned how to cook?” Buck teases, “Besides, I doubt Chris would enjoy your learning phase of cooking. It sounds like you char even water.”

“Screw you Buckley,” Eddie replies with a light grin. “So, what’s going on out there today?”

It's a new part of his and Eddie's lunchtime routine, ever since the new dispatch trainees started, the pair has begun watching out the windows of the break room as though it were a large scale television. There was plenty of drama going on around the room between phone calls, especially on days that could be considered slow. Buck has made a flow chart of who dislikes who, who was friends, and clashing personalities that rarely interact. He and Eddie have spent the last few weeks stirring the pot in the office to Sue’s chagrin. She humored them with gentle amusement, as long as it wasn’t interrupting work or causing major issues.

“What do you think Sharon is thinking about?” Eddie asks as he spoons some curry into his mouth. He glances at Buck, who is expertly using chopsticks. “How do you use those? One time I went out with my sisters to some sushi joint when I was back in Texas, they all got chopsticks, and I was the only one who didn’t know how to use them. Our waiter rigged a pair with a rubber band and gave them to me, kid style. Chris still laughs about it to this day, I’m pretty sure that was, as that baby dispatcher over there calls it, a core memory.”

Buck nearly laughs coffee through his nose. “I love when you use terminology you don’t really understand that the baby dispatchers teach you, and it's even better when you use it correctly. You’re going to make Chris’ life a living hell when he grows up.”

“That’s exactly what I’m aiming for. There is nothing I love in life more than being the cringe dad. It's a well earned title.”

“Also, as for Sharon, she’s definitely thinking about last night's episode of the Bachelor, we talked about it for the full length of our first break.”

“Is that what you do on calls? Think about The Bachelor while you’re supposed to be saving lives?”

“That’s exactly it, Eddie. I’m confused, I thought I was hired to think about The Bachelor all day, I’m pretty sure it was in my contract.” Eddie rolls his eyes, scooping a large piece of potato. “And actually right now I’m pretty getting into this procedural show, my friend Chim rolled his eyes when I told him I hadn't seen it. I didn’t really watch television growing up, so it's all sort of new to me, and I’m playing catch-up, shoving all this pop culture into my free time.”

“I’m not a big TV buff, but I think I can quote Finding Nemo to you, if that means anything at all. I’m well versed in animated children's movies.”

“Delightful, someday I will come over and we will watch Tangled, and I will force you to sing every word because it is one of the greatest children's musical movies, in my opinion. It's also one of like five children's movies I actually saw growing up.”

“Whenever you talk about your parents, it gives me whiplash. Half the time I think you despise your parents, and the other half of the time you dote on them,” Eddie points out curiously.

Buck opens and closes his mouth a few times. “My real parents live in Pennsylvania, I have no relationship with them. I’ve lowkey been adopted by a different set of adults, and I call them my parents, even though they’re not really my parents. I realize why that’s confusing,” Buck admits sheepishly. “I’ve also never called them my parents to their faces before.” Buck blushes, “But I really do think of them as the closest thing to real parents that I have. I’m 'no contact' with my family.”

[kunasthiast]

just posting a sneak peek of the long one shot (fic) that’s currently eating my brain — singledad!sukuna + singlemom!you (aka enemies-to-lovers through emotionally repressed co-parenting and unnecessary breakfast intimacy)

basically... you know that one ex you never dated? yeah. now imagine raising children next to him in a suburban hellscape while pretending you didn’t make out in college and that your kid calls him “papa”. that’s the story.

cw: enemies (?) to lovers, slow-burn, delusional denial, aggressively coded sexual tension, french toast

It’s either the universe has a twisted sense of humor or you were abandoned by it. Really.

Of all the people in this planet, in this country, and in this obscenely, soul-sucking, beige-coded, stepford-smiling gated community, you had to be stuck with him. 

Sukuna.

That pink-haired bastard with more money than god and an ego large enough to have its own gravitational pull. For the love of strawberries and all things sacred, he’s a narcissistic, cocky asshole that you refuse to be associated with. For years now, actually.

And he, by the way, just happened to be your self-proclaimed mortal enemy.

You’ve known him forever — since diapers, actually, thanks to your parents being disgustingly close. (Money and golf, as they say, deepen relationships and ruin offspring). Back then, it was you, Sukuna, and Gojo: inseparable, chaotic, and constantly banned from formal events for “behavioral disruption.”

Then came college. And oh, college. A series of very questionable decisions – booze, bad judgment, and that one summer you both agreed to never mention again. The one where tequila blurred every line you swore you’d never cross. Let’s just say, some boundaries were… explored. Poorly.

And of course, to top it all off: a stupid, petty fight that led to a rift in your friendship. Now, you’re both single parents, stumbling through young adulthood with a baby on each hip. You, with your son. Him, with his daughter.

Minimal contact is the unspoken rule. Occasional passive-aggressive exchanges at neighborhood meetings (gods, this is a cookie-cutter suburban hell – why is every lawn looked like the golf course green?). Where the air was thick with the scent of freshly cut grass and thinly veiled judgment, and every conversation was a subtle competition for the best-manicured lawn and the most successful offspring. 

Forced civility at school (because, of course, your kids go to the same overpriced academy that call tests “challenges” and uniforms “identity expressions”), and you’re both contractually obligated to show up at family business functions, aka golf disguised as networking disguised as family bonding disguised as a pissing contest.

And, speaking of contests – you’ve been lock in one with Sukuna for years. Specifically, your annual power play at the PTA sponsorship table. One-upping each other in increasingly ridiculous ways because nothing fuels you more than spite.

But what’s life without being a little bitchy, right?

Unfortunately, karma – being the absolute bitch of life – decided that your kids would become best friends. Not casual playground pals. No. Soulmate-level best friends. The kind that build pillow forts with emotional depth. With the insistent sleepovers, shared inside jokes in their own weird language you’re 90% they invented, and referred to each other as siblings.

How did it happen? 

You have no fucking idea. 

Or maybe you do, you’re just in deep denial. Maybe it’s genetic. Maybe it’s some goddamn cosmic joke. Maybe the universe has you by the throat and won’t let go until it watches you suffer in 4K.

Not that you don’t love his daughter – she’s an absolute angel, the kind of sweet that makes dentists nervous. But her being your son’s BFF? That’s… inevitable. 

Especially in your tight, old-money-adjacent social circle. They’ve known each other since they were just wearing diapers, since they were teething on the same overpriced Montessori rattles. 

Just like you and Sukuna. 

Except this time, it’s different. Because their friendship demands one thing: coexistence.

You and that tattoed-to-the-gods asshole had been forced to coexist. Again, coexist.

And Sukuna? 

Oh no, Sukuna doesn’t do coexisting. Nah. Nope. Never. Sukuna breaks balance. He thrives on chaos. He gets off on making your life just inconvenient enough to ruin your peace, but not enough to justify a felony charge.

And this morning? 

This godforsaken Saturday morning?

He outdid himself.

Twelve years of passive-aggressive parenting – scratch that, thirty-three years of slow-burn emotional warfare – have led to this moment. 

This may just be his masterpiece.

Because this was when the relapse started—and Sukuna made damn sure you felt every inch of it.

a/n: this will be a long one shot (currently at 26k and growing), manifesting that i finish it by the weekend. if you wanna be added to the taglist, scream in the notes or drop a reply 💅

[samgirl98]

Mending a Family 27/?

Prev | Next

It's Danny's Birthday!

Wow, I was surprised at the support I got on the last chapter with the PTA rivalry. We won't see Avril for a few chapters, but I already have a few ideas.

Danny’s birthday fell on a Friday. Jason asked his little boy if he wanted to have a party with his classmates. He said no.

“I’d rather spend it with you, daddy, and then have a sleepover with Lian.”

So, on Danny’s birthday, Jason took Danny to work on the Mustang instead of going to school. Hank instantly fell for Danny. It helped that the little boy knew about cars, their parts, and the tools used to fix them.

“You’ve taught that boy well,” Hank said while giving Danny some hard candy.

“Thanks,” Jason said. It’s not like he could mention his son came with that knowledge from before.

Jason spent the day with his son while Jazz fixed the house with balloons, bought the cake, and arranged the presents. He didn’t want to leave everything to her, but Jazz had insisted that Danny deserved to spend his birthday with his father.

Jason’s smile didn’t leave the whole day.

Jason bought Danny a burger, fries, a shake, and a sundae for lunch. Jason couldn’t help but laugh with Danny as he wiped the chocolate sauce off his little boy’s face. They fixed the car for a while longer, then walked around the village. At Danny’s insistence, they stopped at a bookstore. He didn’t know why Danny wanted to go to that particular bookstore so badly. Jason felt a weird but nice energy around the place.

It had just opened and seemed to have every genre of books under its small roof. Jason had fun browsing and was already thinking of when he could come back.

Danny went straight to the science books and found a bunch of engineering and, surprise, surprise, space—particularly alien technology and culture. Jason also got a few books that piqued his interest. He got a few trashy romance books, two sci-fi ones, and one with the entire collection of Emily Brontë. Surprisingly, it had been published a few years after her death and was in pristine condition.

“Did you gentlemen find everything you needed?”

Jason’s skin started to get goosebumps, and his breath came out in smokey wisps.

The cashier was pale with vivid green eyes, black hair, a goatee, and pointy ears. He had glasses, a scarf, and a purple coat over a gray shirt. Jason could see fangs when he smiled.

“Hey, Ghost Writer,” Danny greeted.

“Danny, do you know this…gentleman?”

“Yeah, he’s a ghost. He used to help me with my English homework. He keeps records of everything ever written in his library in the Infinite Realms. What are you doing here?”

“Well, little one, after we heard what happened with the Fentons, a few of us were worried. I volunteered to find you.”

“Really, why? You hate leaving your library.”

“I was worried. Despite how we met, you were one of the few ghosts that would visit me. I missed my friend. Although, I’m surprised to see you so small. And who is this with you?”

“This is my daddy, Jason. He loves to read! He reads me bedtime stories at night.”

“Ah, a fellow bibliophile. Always nice to meet someone who appreciates the written word.”

Jason shook the ghost’s hand; it was cold.

“You’re like Danny, aren’t you? Another halfa.”

Jason nodded.

“Well, it’s good to see someone who cares for Danny. Come by anytime you want.”

“You’re going to stay?”

“Yes, this dimension is…interesting. I think I’ll hang around for a while. Maybe find some new inspiration for my writing.”

Jason didn’t know what to think about the other ghost. Hell, he hadn’t met any other ghosts and was a little weirded out that he seemed so…normal. He even gave them a discount.

“Ghost discount,” he said with a wink, “come back whenever you want! And do recommend my shop to anyone who likes books. I have everything from romance to arcane magic.”

Jason filed that away. He should send Raven along. She could give a read on the place.

They went back home. Danny hummed as he read his new books. After seeing Ghost Writer, he seemed in better spirits (pun intended.)

Jazz had done a great job with the decorations. It turned out Raven, Roy, and Lian had also come early to help set up. Jason hugged Raven greeted Roy with a high five, and Lian with a secret handshake.

Danny ran up to Lian and immediately got her attention. He showed off his books, glad to have his cousin, aunt, and uncle around for his birthday. Soon, the two kids were running off with each other.

They freaked out Roy a bit when Danny was flying in circles with Lian in his arms. The kids laughed at Roy’s distress before Raven got the two children. She used the shadows to make figures to entertain the kids. Even little Ellie enjoyed the show.

Then came presents and cake.

The cake had been ordered to be shaped like a rocket. Danny loved it.

The presents came after the cake.

Lian had convinced Grandpa Ollie to get an autograph from Martian Manhunter. Danny squealed in delight at the photograph with the signature. He hugged Lian tightly and stared at it. Jason promised they would get it framed as soon as possible so it wouldn’t get ruined.

Auntie Raven had gotten Danny a lamp that projected stars and planets and changed colors. Danny hugged his aunt, and Raven couldn’t help but feel warmth at the happiness coming off the little boy.

Next, Danny opened Jazz’s present. She gave him a gold locket with a crescent moon and the North Star. In the locket was a picture of Jason and Jazz holding Ellie. Danny put it around his neck and hid it under his shirt. He didn’t want to lose it.

Uncle Roy had gotten Danny a black and silver star globe. It showed every constellation, and the best part, it glowed in the dark. He’d be able to see the stars in his room.

Even though she hadn’t shown up, Talia had also sent a gift. Jason had been a bit nervous, worried it would be another weapon. He sighed in relief when he saw it was a green blanket with gold embroidery. It was lined in fur and obviously very expensive. Even though Danny didn’t really like Talia (she had made his daddy anxious), he couldn’t help but rub his face on the soft material. He would keep it.

Lastly came his daddy’s present. He opened it with gusto. He gasped when he saw a build-your-own model of the Watch Tower Satellite. It had 1,500 pieces and would be three feet tall when completed. It had cost Jason a pretty penny to get it, but getting his son’s toothy grin and hug was worth it.

Afterward, Roy and Lian showed Danny how to use a bow and arrow. Lian even showed off a little at how better she was at it. Danny pouted, but eventually, he started getting the hang of it. He even asked Jason if he could have archery lessons.

“Sure, chum, I’ll see what I can do.”

“What do you mean, ‘you’ll see what you can do?’ I’m right here to teach the little tyke.”

Jason pretended to think about it and sighed dramatically, “Alright, I guess.”

“Why you, little,” Roy chased Jason around. Jason couldn’t help but laugh at his older brother’s antics. He paused for a moment, and Roy tackled him.

Older brother. Somewhere along the way, Roy had become a brother to him and Raven an older sister.

Could I have had this with Dick if I hadn’t come back wrong?

He dismissed the thought. Right now, it was about being happy and spending time with his family.

That night, they started a campfire and roasted some marshmallows. Danny pointed out the constellations and talked about the myths behind them as his little family listened with rapt attention. Jazz and Jason had set up two tents.

While Lian and Danny would sleep in one, Roy and Jason would sleep in another. Raven and Jazz would sleep in the house so Ellie wouldn’t be alone. The two kids didn’t get much sleep. They played with flashlights and told ‘scary’ stories while their fathers listened to the giggling next to them.

“We have great kids,” Roy said.

“Yeah,” Jason answered.

“And I have a great brother and sisters,” Jason said. Roy looked at him and smiled.

Jason closed his eyes as the contentment surrounding him lulled him to sleep.

Special thanks to Jozette_Rosewood_125 for giving me the idea to include Ghost Writer. He won't show up for a bit, but I'll write him again.

@itsberrydreemurstuff @idontgetpaidenoughforthisshit @skulld3mort-1fan @theauthorandtheartist @emergentpanda-blog @jaggedheart11 @fisticuffsatapplebees @booberrylizard @fantasticbluebirdfan @thegatorsgooseoose @cyrwrites @kjoboo91 @crystallicedart @amaramizuki666 @spekulatiusmuffin @meira-3919 @kilasmess @bubblemixer @lexdamo @wonderland-daisy @mj-arts-n-stuff @amyheart19 @dolfay @the-church-grimm @undead-essence @aph-mable @lizisipancardo @purrloin77 @writer-extraodinaire @charlietheepic7 @sinfulloccultist @nootherusernameworked @coruscateselene @chaoticchange @itsberrydreemurstuff @gmkelz11 @feral-bunny31 @paroovian @thatonegaybitch68 @d4ydr34min9 @overtherose @fandomwandererer @vipower001 @thordottir45 @blackrabbitt3t @rosecinnamonbun @bianca-hooks123 @epilepticnerd @dat1angel @consouling @flamingenchiladadragon @all-mights-asscheeks @ender-reader @fuyu-bitch @ravenswife

[toastedwrittenthoughts]

Pink Ladies Ep 8 Thoughts.. 

Episode 8.. Was rough.

Here are my thoughts.... Not that anyone asked for them.

The fact that Jane has to run away from both Buddy and Richie made me shake my head, and the fact that the Pink Ladies mention that she has 2 potential dates to worry about whereas they don't gave me the best of friends vibes.

Richie looking hurt, but still understanding of Janes decision about going to the Ball with the Pink Ladies. God. Man.

The internalized lecture she gave herself after he left. Say what you will, we've all had a moment like that. Like 'why did I say that?"

Gil coming in to the Frost Palace like a force and even after trying to shake the nerves out, him smacking books out of some persons hands never fails to make me laugh.

I gotta say that I FREAKING LOVE THE FACT!! That Gil respected both Richie and Olivia enough to WAIT UNTIL he got the brothers blessing to move in and ask her out. And as soon as he has an opportunity to do it, he goes straight for it! Atta boy! Get your girl! 

Olivia making him WORK for it with his hunt for nickels.

Hazel. And Wally.

Buddy looking visually a little rougher pleases me. Takes Jane's news well enough on the chin.

Gil being nervous and kinda skirting how he feels about her. .. My sweet boy..

Making nickels outta dimes... All I could think of.

Lydia walking by and Cynthia TRACKING here.

Nancy having a meltdown over her infatuation.

Nancy dropping a big C and Cynthia sounding so concerned.

"Its worse than cancer... Its inside of me. Growing. Spreading."

"A child?'- My roommate.

Cynthia being shook that Nancy has a thing for Potato. Both are probably shocked as hell..

Crushing Me is a western bop.

Potato looking thrilled and kinda scared of Nancy never fails to make me laugh...

Dot looking crushed..

Shy Guy looking subtly thrilled and SLIDING to go sit with the gang and tell them.

Classic Pink Ladies. Put their mind to it, they got dates in 5 minutes.

Richie chilling in the TBird, jacket off, looking at a lighter... Mmm. Yum.

Richie comforting Dot and deciding to go the the ball together is just... so pure. But what he says to her about how the person he likes going with someone else... "I know how that one HITS." And for Richie, they just keep on coming.. Then again, he's used to it. And Dot recognizing pain, offers him a lolly like someone does a drink or a cigg. And her lighting up at going together.

The whole PTA meeting... Just. Don't even get me started. Spelling in front of high schoolers? Are you kidding me? What about the others who's ears aren't covered?!

The more the girls are together, the more I love their dynamics. Jane and Olivia gushing together over the décor, the way they boost Nancy up in all her... Nancyness intensity. And the way Jane reacts when Cynthia comes into view. In a dress.. Just.. sweet girl.

Olivia and Mr. Daniels... GoFUCKYourself. No. Everything. About. You. NO!

Olivia almost using 'I have a date' like a goddamn shield...

Wally being charming AF when Hazel is nervous is just.. Daw.

Buddy looking FOUL and guilty to his dad who tries to dismisses it.

I thought it would pan over to Jane but the fact that it was Richie! Hooo boy!

And the look he sends over his shoulder before it softens in Jane's vague direction... God. Add in the fact that Richie was at a casino acting out when Jane got the news that she lost, and then to hear that after she lost, she didn't even lose fairly because Buddy's dad cheated... My first thought was that he couldn't go an tell her or even comfort her.. And the anger he must've felt to hear that his girl got cheated out and that Buddy hasn't come clean when he 'wants too'.... Lot to process.

The Pink Ladies hyping up eachother. The Birds being awkward around them..

Gil's comment about being a cartoon wolf around Olivia killed me! 

Gil being nervous when he hands her the corsage... YOU CAN SEE HIS HANDS TREMBLE! 

Richie keeping his reactions to Dot pleasantly neutral. He only livens up with Jane. 

Dots Sandy Reference! 

In my opinion, Richie's (Jonathan Neives) performance this episode seemed.... I dunno... weaker? than previous episodes, but when he was with Jane, he seemed to really be himself. Am I just being crazy?

Susan taking the Pink Ladies side in both the dance counsel and when talking to her mother made my opinion of her lift up a little. 

The conversation between Susan and her mother.. And the doctor... 'Buddy had a right to know...'  

Holy. Shit. 

Like, it makes sense and it does check off the classic box of head cheerleader and top quarterback... That is how you say something without saying something. 

Richie cant miss an opportunity to even subtly flirt with Jane. And the way she smiles back at him... Just.. My babies!

Dot picking up on vibes. They are kind hard to miss

Gil being a 'respectful dancing distance away' from Olivia until she pulls him in and the way he melts against her. And her giggle!

Cynthia and Shy guy.. The whole scene is (as weird and bad as this is gonna sound) a good kind of cringe. But Shy guy... My sweet boy.

Richie and Jane having 'ideas'!

Breaking my hear kid! Fly free!

Fly free!

It'll probably be an unpopular opinion but I'm glad we didn't get a kiss between Richie and Jane, especially right after Dot took 'one for the road.' And how he looked at Jane when she did it like... 

He wiped his mouth with his hand. I was both pleased and kinda offended in a good way.. 

"What about Buddy?"/"What about him?" The way his face subtly changes! AND THEY PLAYED THEIR SONG! I started humming 'Carelessly' and then FREAKED OUT!

BORN.TO.HAND.JIVE!

Olivia going after Susan.. is justified but scorpions can still sting eachother.. And dishing out poison like its shots goes out to anyone and everyone she can.

S.O.A.B.. Buddy didn't even come out and say it himself... But when it's already out there, he caves. 

Richie just trying to keep things calm... I felt kinda robbed that we didn't get a.. bigger reaction out of him.. And how he just pushes Buddy away..

Oh DOT! Damn! Dot! 

Wally and Hazel knowing that shits about to go down and need to GTFO. 

When we see Richie and Buddy.. I won't call it fighting.. It's more like a decent tousle.  "GeT him Richie!" 

Wally and Hazel. The Stars and the Sea. Cuties.

"That's. Not. Fair." I swear, that saying makes my eye twitch.

"If you would just Pick a side. Pick a boy." AND THE FACT THAT JANE doesnt respond. Say what you will, but Richie and Olivia make solid points, even when they are hurt/mad.

HE'S IN JAIL?! Olivia! WTAF ARE YOU DOING?!

Nancy looking as broken as the window....

[epickiya722]

Kiya, for the ask game : "Send me a character and I'll tell you my ", can I ask for Miwa (JJK) or RockLock (BNHA) or Haru (Balance Unlimited)? Thx :D

I gotta go with my man, Rock Lock. It's been a while since I have and come on. Y'all know what month it is?!

My first impression: Bro asked about why kids were at a meeting about the yakuza and my first thought was "you have asked a very sensible question, I think I'm going to like you very much". I was right.

My impression now: Oh, Rock Lock is definitely in the top ten of my favorite MHA characters and after Miruko, he is my favorite Pro Hero.

Favorite thing about that character: I already took to him because of his personality. But I definitely admired the fact we have a family man here. I'm a sucker for badass dads who love their families.

Least favorite thing: My guy deserves more shine, just saying. Also, the fact that his wife and son don't have first names. I wanna know their names!

Favorite line/scene: Other than the hospital scene, which I'll talk about later, I gotta say his debut is one of my favorite scenes and I like this line he says "U.A. students or not, kids are kids. Of course I was worried about 'em." To me, it reflects that Rock Lock does have a caring heart. Even after that bit, he acknowledges that younger heroes like Midoriya just need room to shine to show what they're capable of. He's a guy who won't act like he doesn't care. He'll admit he's worried, but he'll still support you like an good person... a good parent will do.

Favorite interaction that character has with another: I want a whole segment of Rock Lock with his family. That hospital scene where his wife comes in running and crying with their son and how she just hugs him and the way he hugs back touched my heart so much! It's crazy to me, now that I'm thinking about it,screening! Pro Hero can I think of with a loving marriage and they barely have had screentime! Everyone else is either single or if they are married, there's problems (Endeavor and Captain Celebrity).

A character that I wish that character would interact with more: I wish, how I wish, him and Miruko had scenes together. They're both heroes who actually take being a hero seriously and you cannot tell me they wouldn't be besties. In my fic , There's Miruko, There's Rumi, they're friends and Miruko is Rock Lock's son's honorary aunt.

Another character from another fandom that reminds me of that character: I haven't seen all of Craig of the Creek, just a couple of episodes (I have younger siblings who watch it) but Rock Lock reminds me of Craig's dad. A man who cares about family and does his best for them? I'm here for it!!

A headcanon about that character: He definitely is that parent who attends birthday parties and PTA meetings (when Lil' Takagi goes to school). I headcanon that he and his wife went to school together and also had friends that live in the same area. In their adult years, some of them are married and have kids and whenever there's some party or play date, best believe the Takagi's are there.

A song that reminds of that character: I can't even think of one right now, but I'm gonna need NemRaps, DizzyEight, 954mari... anybody to make one!

An unpopular opinion about that character: I personally feel like Rock Lock is one the better heroes. Again, I hate that when he debuted the fandom was quick to hate on him and call him "mean" because he had a point. Why in the hell was kids dragged into a situation as dangerous ad dealing with the yakuza? And then it makes sense Rock Lock would think like that! He is a married man with a son of his own! And it wasn't like he didn't think Midoriya or anybody was capable because he does recognize their potential. What he's about is if you're going to take up a duty that can cost you your life, be serious about and not treat it as some game. It's funny to me that someone actually had the nerve once to compare him and Endeavor even though in season 5, Endeavor was quick to act like a brat because Bakugou and Midoriya was joining Todoroki for the Work Studies.

Favorite picture: I won't lie, I totally get why he is a married man. Also can we talk again about the hospital scene? They are a beautiful family!! 😭

Send Me a Character... ✨️