#Also it's packed and smells of cigarettes

[rosiebbydoll]

The Right Time - Sukuna x Reader- Chp. 2

Chp. 1 - Chp. 2 - Chp. 3

summary: Your life was blissfully chaotic. Being a single mom and raising a daughter with a bigger attitude than yours was a challenge, but you love every second of it. You decided to move to the city to be closer to work. You’ve been at your new apartment for about three weeks now and everything has been great. Until, your annoyingly hot neighbor decided to open his mouth.

cw: female reader, modern au (no curses), 18+, enemies to friends to lovers, mechanic!sukuna x librarian!reader, slow burn, fluff, smut, crack, angst, toxicity, Sukuna is emotionally constipated, Nobora is readers daughter, Choso and Yuji are Sukuna’s nephews, Toji is a present father in this, LOTS of family fluff, (more tags will be added)

wc: 10k (woops)

chp warning: Toji & Sukuna pov, fluff, tension, angst, crack, sexual content, toxic traits (from reader & Sukuna), mentions of violence

a/n: we are starting this chapter off on the same day, just a different pov! there is also some lovely backstory and some more tension from our fav enemies (who are so in love).

Toji was one of the last parents to walk out of the school. He had lingered behind to discuss pickup arrangements with Nanami, and of course, to indulge in his usual flirting with the single moms – a habit that never failed to make you roll your eyes.

As he sauntered toward the exit, he caught sight of your car spinning out of the parking lot, the tires squealing against asphalt. His head cocked to the side, that familiar crease appearing between his brows. Literal seconds later, Sukuna's car tore out of the lot too, leaving a trail of dust in its wake. Toji's shoulders tensed, a heavy sigh escaping his lips.

"Well shit," he muttered, running a hand through his perpetually messy hair, the silver rings on his fingers catching the sunlight. He rolled his shoulders, trying to shake off the growing unease as he made his way to his car.

With practiced movements born from years of habit, he pulled out a pack of Marlboros, giving it two sharp taps against his wrist before extracting a cigarette. The familiar click of his butane lighter offered a moment of comfort as he lit up, taking a long drag that filled his lungs with familiar warmth.

Toji had always been meticulous about keeping his different social circles separate – not because he was hiding anything, especially not from you, but because he understood that some personalities were like oil and water.

He decided to pretend that your hasty exits were mere coincidence, though his gut told him otherwise. His instincts, honed from years of reading people and situations, were rarely wrong, and right now, they were screaming that something had gone sideways.

Before she passed, his wife had made him promise to look out for you, her eyes fierce even in her final days, and it was a promise he took as seriously as breathing. You'd been his ride-or-die since high school, his A1 through everything. You were the kind of person who saw the best in everyone, sometimes to your own detriment.

Sukuna, on the other hand... well, he was an asshole, plain and simple. The kind of man who wore his reputation like armor, each sharp word and cold glare another layer of protection. He had a way of letting whatever the hell came to mind spill from his lips without filter or remorse. Cold and usually preferring solitude, he was also an extremely cocky bastard.

Sukuna blames it on his success- definitely not his good looks. His car shop downtown wasn't just a business – it was his legacy, built from the ground up with calloused hands and stubborn determination. The place practically breathed with his personality: organized chaos, raw talent, and an undercurrent of barely contained intensity. The air always smelled of motor oil, metal, and ambition, the walls lined with tools that gleamed like soldiers standing at attention.

He started working at the shop when he was 19, just another grease monkey with too much attitude and raw talent burning beneath his skin. The turning point came when his brother passed away. That was a loss that reshaped his entire world. His brother left behind not just two wide-eyed kids who looked too much like him, but a decent chunk of change from a life insurance policy.

Most guys that age would've blown it all on fast cars and faster women, but Sukuna had always been cut from different cloth. Without hesitation, he put most of it into savings accounts for the boys – his nephews were his brother's last gift to the world, and he'd be damned if they went without. The rest? Well, that went into buying the run-down shop from the old man he worked for, a crusty bastard who'd taught him everything he knew about cars and nothing about people.

Seven years later, and the place is barely recognizable. What was once a dying garage with more rust than customers is now one of the most respected shops in the city. The walls that used to leak now house state-of-the-art equipment, and the floors that were once stained with decades of oil now gleam under LED lights.

He's got some loyal employees who understand his moods better than he does. They can read his grunts and scowls like a second language. His customer base keeps growing despite (or maybe because of) his abrasive personality. Toji being one of his most frequent visitors, though that has more to do with how often he destroys his cars than actual loyalty.

His father still hovers on the periphery of their lives, a silent presence that's neither fully there nor completely gone. Like a ghost that refuses to fade away completely. The old man watches the boys when Sukuna needs it, their relationship better with the buffer of distance between them. It's not perfect – nothing in Sukuna's life ever is – but it works, held together with the same stubborn determination that keeps his vintage motorcycle running.

Now when Toji moved to the city after his wife passed, he didn't know many people. He left you in the town you both grew up in, and surprisingly, you didn't hold it against him. He needed a change, and you supported him effortlessly. Besides, the city wasn't too far, only about a thirty-minute drive. You had to drive there for work anyway. You believe it was fate that he lived in the city because that's where you met Nobora's dad. And no, it wasn't fate for you and him, but fate because now you have Nobora. You only visited on rare occasions though, the library and being a mom kept you pretty busy.

Lucky for Toji , fate was on his side too. Because he met Sukuna at the most inconvenient time.

A couple years ago now- on a random Tuesday night, he decided to go to the bar. Being a newly single dad was a lot for him, so he paid his fifteen year old neighbor to watch Megumi for the night.

He was going out to do... something. He didn't exactly know what yet. The weight of grief and responsibility had been crushing him, making every day feel like he was walking through quicksand. You knew he wasn't doing well. You tried to call as often as possible, checking in with that gentle persistence that had always been your way. But even with the frequent calls and check-ins, Toji was still lost, drowning in the silence of his empty house.

So, that's why he found himself sitting at a bar, drinking his little heart out. The bourbon burned going down, but it was better than feeling nothing at all. To his surprise, women started flocking to him. They circled like vultures, rubbing his shoulders, playing with his hair, whispering lewd suggestions in his ears. The attention was suffocating, making his skin crawl with discomfort.

This was weird. He hadn't flirted with another woman since his wife. His nerves were shot, body stiff as a board as he laughed awkwardly at their advances, feeling like he was under interrogation.

It wasn't their fault – these women with their practiced smiles and careful touches. He was just extremely rusty, trying desperately to avoid getting turned on since he hadn't been laid in a while. Not that he came here for that. Did he? No. He definitely wasn't ready for that. His wife had only been gone for six months, and the thought of being with someone else made his stomach churn.

Women kept approaching him throughout the night, each one blending into the next in a haze of perfume and bad pickup lines. Then suddenly, there was one who stood out – long dark brown hair, so dark it was almost black, with short eyebrows and dark brown eyes. For a split second, his heart stopped. But no, she could never be her. This woman's smile was too practiced, too sultry as she greeted him.

"You all by yourself, handsome?" she hummed, sipping something fruity and too sweet. Toji gave her a quick smirk, glancing around at his unwanted admirers.

"Wouldn't call this being alone," he muttered, already tired of the game.

"Oh, I see, so you brought them all here with you?" she giggles, leaning closer. Her perfume is too sweet, making his head spin or maybe that's the bourbon.

Toji gives her a smirk back, but his heart isn't in it. She's trouble walking in stilettos, the kind of beautiful that usually comes with a price tag. Sure, she's hot – all long legs and practiced seduction – but he doesn't need this right now. Not with Megumi waiting at home, not with his wife's photo still on his nightstand, not with the wedding ring still leaving a phantom weight on his finger.

He's not trying to be rude, but subtlety isn't working. Even with his coldest shoulder, she's persistent, determined to break through his defenses. She lays her head on his shoulder, manicured nails trailing across his chest in a way that should be arousing but just makes him feel hollow. The bourbon isn't buzzing the way he wants anymore, and now all he can think about is his wife.

Fuck.

"Listen, doll—" he starts, but she presses a finger to his lips, cutting him off. The gesture is meant to be sexy, but it just pissed Toji off.

"Shhh, how about we go somewhere else, huh?" Her words slur together, her eyes heavy-lidded in a way that suggests she's had way too much to drink. The seductive act is slipping, revealing something desperate underneath.

Alright, I need to leave.

Toji pushes himself up from the barstool, carefully extracting himself from the drunk woman's grasp. She sways dangerously as he moves, and he has to steady her before she falls. "Don't go," she whines, clinging to his arm with surprising strength.

Christ. He's never wanted to hit a woman, but this is testing his patience. All he wants is to go home to Megumi, to the quiet of his apartment where he doesn't have to pretend to be okay.

"Yarozu." A deep voice cuts through the haze of his thoughts. The woman rolls her eyes and huffs, ignoring the man who called her name.

Toji's stomach twists. Great. This is probably her boyfriend or husband, coming to kick his ass for letting his girl drape herself all over him. He'd be pissed too in their position—

Oh fuck.

He definitely didn't come here to fight. Sure, he could probably win – he's handled worse – but he's too old to be throwing hands over some woman he doesn't even want. Hell, he doesn't even want to be here anymore.

Toji lets out an annoyed sigh, ready to explain himself before this turns ugly. But before he can speak, Yarozu is being pulled away from him. The guy is covered in tattoos, looking more annoyed than angry as he pries her off. "He isn't interested, Yarozu. Leave him alone."

Toji turns to leave, eager to escape this increasingly awkward situation, but the tattooed man calls out, "Hey, wait." His voice is gruff but carries no hostility. Toji stops, shoulders tensing. He really isn't in the mood for any petty relationship bullshit.

"Listen man, whatever this is—" Toji starts, but the guy cuts him off with a dismissive wave, his tattooed fingers catching the dim bar light.

"You’re not the first guy she's tried this shit with." He's still holding Yarozu back with one arm as she continues her drunken tirade, her perfectly manicured nails digging into his forearm. Despite her best efforts, he seems unfazed, like this is just another Tuesday night for him.

A smirk plays at his lips as he holds out his free hand. "I'm Sukuna." Yarozu keeps grunting and grabbing at him, but he ignores her with practiced ease.

Toji raises a brow, studying the man before him. After a moment's hesitation, he shakes the offered hand, noting the firm grip and the calluses. Toji studies that tattooed man in front of him. He looks tired, even sad almost. Kinda like him. Toji’s sighs, “Fushiguro”.

Yarozu frowns at their interaction. "Sukuna, baby, why are you being like this?" She whines, her attention suddenly shifting as she tries to reach for him instead of Toji. Her mood swings from seductive to needy in an instant. "We were having fun..."

"No, you were having fun. This guy clearly wants nothing to do with your bullshit." Sukuna's tone is harsh but carries an undertone of practiced patience, like someone who's had this exact conversation too many times before.

He turns to Toji, and there's something like understanding in his eyes. "Let me get her home before she makes another scene. You wanna grab a drink after?"

Yarozu gasps dramatically, her perfectly lined lips forming an 'O' of indignation. "You're such an asshole!"

"C'mon, you need to get home." Sukuna rolls his eyes, already steering her toward the door with the expertise of someone who's done this too many times.

Twenty minutes later, Toji and Sukuna are sitting at a quieter bar down the street, the kind of place where the wood is actually aged and the whiskey doesn't taste like lighter fluid. The tension from earlier has dissolved into something more comfortable, both men recognizing a familiar kind of pain in each other's eyes.

"I can’t apologize for Yarozu," Sukuna says, sliding a whiskey toward Toji. His voice is gruff but sincere. "She gets like this when she drinks, tries to make me jealous or some shit. Usually ends up making some poor bastard uncomfortable instead." He traces the rim of his glass with a tattooed finger, the gesture almost nervous.

Toji appreciates the straightforward explanation. No bullshit, no drama – just facts. It's refreshing after months of people tiptoeing around him, treating him like he might break. "Sounds complicated."

"Nah. We fuck sometimes, that's it. The complicated part is when she forgets that's all it is." Sukuna takes a long sip of his drink, the amber liquid catching the dim bar light. "Anyway, what brings a guy like you out alone on a Tuesday night? You don't strike me as the type looking for whatever the hell Yarozu was offering."

Something about Sukuna's blunt honesty makes Toji decide to return the favor. The words come easier than expected, maybe because this stranger doesn't look at him with pity. "Lost my wife six months ago. Got a kid at home. Thought maybe I needed to..." he pauses, swirling the whiskey in his glass. "Hell, I don't even know what I needed."

Sukuna nods slowly, understanding flickering across his features. There's no sympathy in his eyes, just recognition. "Yeah, lost my brother last year. Left behind two boys. Been trying to figure that shit out myself." The admission hangs between them, heavy with shared understanding.

They spend the next few hours talking about everything and nothing – cars, work, the general mess that is life. The conversation flows naturally, neither man feeling the need to fill silences with empty words.

The next morning, when Yarozu texts Sukuna her usual post-drama apology, he just sends back a quick 'whatever' and saves Toji's number in his phone.

Toji chuckles at the memory and finally pulls his Camaro into his reserved spot at the front of the complex. The familiar rumble of the engine dies as he shifts into park, his mind still replaying both the past and this morning's events. He's got a stack of maintenance requests to handle today. He lets out another sigh. Just another day of being a landlord. But it’s better than what he use to do.

The stack of maintenance requests on his desk seems to multiply every time he looks away. Being a landlord isn't exactly what he'd pictured for himself, but there's something satisfying about fixing things, about making people's lives a little better one repair at a time. The flexible schedule works well with his life, letting him balance work with being there for Megumi and the other responsibilities that come with single parenthood.

And now for Nobora and you too. He promised to pick up both kids at five to give you some extra time at work. Though if he's being honest, he thinks you're pushing yourself too hard lately. But telling you to slow down is like talking to a brick wall.

Toji settles into his office chair, the leather creaking familiarly beneath him. The morning sun streams through the blinds, casting striped shadows across his desk. He pulls up his maintenance scheduling app, trying to organize his day efficiently. Between the AC unit, the washing machine, and whatever new crisis Yamamoto's faucet presents, it's going to be a full day. Toji likes it that way. He likes to focus and work, helps the time go by and doesn’t let his mind wander.

He goes on about his day trying to finish every request he scheduled. Of course, tenants stop and talk to him, some even flirt. It’s nice to feel a since of pride to help others. He thinks his wife would be proud of him. He’s pretty lost without her. And without you? He might’ve been dead by now.

He starts to walk back to his office with his last job of the day finished. His phone buzzes – a text from you. It’s a voice memo. He raises a brow because usually when you do that you’re ranting. You claim it’s easier than texting fifty paragraphs. Toji presses play and he immediately lets out a sigh.

You start off with yelling at him for being “a piss poor land-lord” and continue with how he has some tenants who he should have never let move in here. You finally get to the point and explain why all happened with Sukuna. And you don’t miss a beat, you explain everything. From the porno you heard last night all the way up to you calling him “limp dick” and flipping him off.

Well fuck. Toji was right. He would love to revel in the satisfaction of it all, but he just knew that something bad would happen if you two ever met. You’re polar fucking opposites. And now you’re neighbors. Which is his own fault because he should have payed attention to that. How the hell did he miss that? Either way it’s done and over with now, but man is he proud of you. In high school you were picked on a lot (by Toji mostly) but you developed a thick skin and don’t take peoples shit. He’s damn proud. And Sukuna deserves every bit of it.

Toji quickly sends back a message apologizing and saying, “We can talk about it later”.

He leans back in his chair and lets his body stretch for a moment before checking the time again. He had about an hour left before he had to get the kids. He was finished with his work for the day and was bored.

So, he grabs his keys, deciding to head out early. He could swing by Sukuna's shop, maybe give him shit about this morning's encounter. Besides you, Sukuna is his closest friend, though neither of them would ever admit how much they actually enjoy each other's company. Some things are better left unspoken.

The familiar rumble of Toji's Camaro engine dies as he pulls into Sukuna's shop. The place is busy as usual – the sound of power tools and classic rock music spilling out from the open garage doors. He spots Sukuna's distinctive figure bent over the engine of a sleek black Mercedes, tattoos visible under his rolled-up sleeves.

"Yo," Toji calls out, unable to keep the grin off his face. "Heard you got your ass handed to you this morning."

Sukuna doesn't even look up from the engine. "Fuck off."

"No, no, please – tell me more about how my 'type' threatened to get you evicted." Toji leans against a nearby workbench, thoroughly enjoying this moment. "Actually, what was it she called you? Limp-dick?"

That gets Sukuna's attention. He straightens up, wiping his hands on a shop rag. "She made sure to tell ya, huh?” He chuckles.

"Course she did. We're fucking, remember?" Toji's voice drips with sarcasm. "You’re real good at talkn’ to women ya know?”

Sukuna throws the rag at him, but there's no real heat behind it. "Get outta my shop, Fushiguro"

"What? Ya mad?." Toji catches the rag easily. “You know, for someone who deals with Yarozu's drama, you sure are quick to judge other people's relationships."

Sukuna's jaw tightens at the mention of Yarozu. "Speaking of – she stopped by earlier." He stares at the ground intensely with his brows furrowed.

"Oh?" Toji raises an eyebrow, recognizing that tone. "How'd that go?"

"About as well as everything else today." Sukuna moves to the mini-fridge in the corner, pulling out two beers. He tosses one to Toji. "She wants more. I don't. Same shit, different day."

"Maybe if you stopped sleeping with her..." Toji suggests, cracking open his beer.

"Maybe if you minded your own business..." Sukuna mimics his tone, taking a long drink.

“I know you aint talking” Toji huffs and starts to down his beer, but immediately remembers he has to pick up the kids and sits the beer down. You would kill him if you knew he sipped on a beer before he picked up your daughter.

They fall into a comfortable silence, the garage's ambient noise filling the space between them. Sukuna fidgets with his beer label, peeling it back methodically, clearly wrestling with something behind those crimson eyes.

"So, she’s the ‘good’ friend you always talk about," he finally says, not meeting Toji's gaze, his voice unusually hesitant. "Why’d ya keep her hidden all these years?”

Toji snorts, a knowing smirk playing at his lips. "Look what the fuck happened when you did meet, dumbass.”

Sukuna tries to hold in a laugh and shakes his head. “Never been the best at talking with women.”

Toji rolls his eyes, “Bullshit. You’re just an asshole.” Sukuna can’t argue with that. He also knows he fucked up. He hasn’t stopped thinking about you all day, it’s been pissing him off.

He takes another drink, his expression thoughtful, almost distant. "She's something else."

"Don't," Toji warns, his tone shifting from playful to serious. "She's not another Yarozu."

"Wasn't gonna do anything, fuck head," Sukuna says too quickly

"Yeah, okay." Toji stands, checking his watch. The afternoon light catches on its scratched face. "Gotta go pick up the kids. Try not to piss off any more single moms today."

"Fuck you," Sukuna calls after him, but there's a hint of a smile in his voice.

As Toji heads back to his car, he can't help but wonder if he should be worried. He knows that look in Sukuna's eyes – it's the same one he gets before doing something incredibly stupid or incredibly bold. He decides to ignore it. Sukuna is a stubborn asshole, so he probably isn’t going to listen to Toji (not a surprise at all). He bites the inside of his cheek and starts his car to head over to pick up the kids.

His phone buzzes (again) as he's pulling into the school parking lot, the screen lighting up with your name. The text reads: "Hey, since you're picking up the kids, just take them to my place. I left snacks in the pantry. I'll be home around 7."

Toji sends back a quick "Got it" before parking under the sprawling oak tree, its leaves casting dappled shadows across his windshield. The late afternoon sun bathes the playground in golden light, where a handful of kids are still running around, their laughter carrying across the empty lot.

His phone buzzes (again) with another text from you: "I ordered pizza for dinner. Should be there around 6:30. And please make sure they do their homework before the movie."

"Yes ma'am," he texts back, unable to suppress his amused smile. You always think of everything, planning three steps ahead.

"Don't 'yes ma'am' me, you ass", comes your quick reply, making him chuckle.

The school bell rings, its sharp peal cutting through the afternoon quiet. Kids pour out of the building like water from a broken dam, their excited voices filling the air.

Toji spots Megumi and Nobora immediately – they're impossible to miss, always gravitating toward each other like magnets. Megumi wears his usual serious expression, the one that makes him look too old for his years, while Nobora bounces alongside him, talking a mile a minute with wild hand gestures that paint stories in the air.

"Dad!" Megumi calls out, his face lighting up like a sunrise as he spots Toji. The rare smile transforms his entire face.

"Uncle Toji! Uncle Toji!" Nobora shouts, her backpack bouncing with each excited jump. "Look what I made today!" She's already digging through her bag, pulling out a slightly crumpled piece of paper covered in vibrant colors and imagination.

Toji kneels down to their level, accepting the artwork. "Wow, is that a... butterfly?" He truly doesn’t know what the fuck he is looking at. He has several drawings in his office and at home designed by the artist Nobora, but he cannot tell you what any of them are.

"No silly!" Nobora puts her hands on her hips and rolls her eyes because it should be obvious of what she created. "It's me and Megumi and you and Mommy at the park!"

"And there's the swings," Megumi adds seriously, pointing to some wobbly lines in the corner with the precision of a museum curator. "Mr. Nanami said we did good coloring in the lines today."

"Yeah? That's awesome," Toji says, helping them both into their car seats with practiced ease. Toji and you both have two in your cars now because it’s easier than transporting the heavy fucking things every other day.

As they all get settled in the car Toji turns on the radio and the kids start humming to the songs. They don’t really know the words, but they are trying their best. This is when Toji feels at peace. Megumi will never know how much he means to Toji, and Nobora is a pretty good bonus daughter.

"We're heading to your place today, Nobora,” Toji says as he turns onto the exit.

"Really?" Nobora claps her hands, her excitement infectious. "Megumi! We can play with my new stuffed animals! We can have a tea party!” It seems she had already forgotten about the Gameboy disaster.

Megumi nods quietly, a small smile playing on his lips like a secret.

"Uncle Toji, you have to play too!" Nobora shouts as she kicks her feet in excitement.

"Oh yeah?" Toji chuckles, turning into the parking garage. “Am I the special guest?” Toji smirks back at them. The kids look at eachother and then frown. "No!" both kids shout in unison, dissolving into giggles that fill the car with pure joy. He gives a fake pout and holds onto his heart like the kids just shot him. They start to giggle and say he can sit by them. He chuckles and turns the car off and begins to unbuckle himself.

The kids are still yapping and Toji shakes his head, grinning as he helps them out of their car seats. They do not shut up as the walk up the stairs. Discussing on which stuff animals are invited to the tea party and who would be sitting by who. It is obviously very important. Nobora is sure to tell Toji he has a spot right next to her.

While the kids and Toji settle in at the apartment, you were still busy at work. You made it your mission to distract yourself. After that stupid fucking asshole- no we are not gonna think about him right now. You got caught up on returns and organizing many books, as well as cataloging. It was a pretty productive day. Except Ino noticed you were off from the moment you stepped in.

You both usually chat about anything and everything, but today you were barely ever seen. He overthinks the entire thing and thought you were mad at him. So, around seven, right before you left he decided to be brave and see what the hell was wrong with you.

“Do you hate me?” Ino asks as he slowly leans over your desk.

You stop typing and look up at him, “What are you talking about?”

Ino immediately leans over on your shoulder and pretends to cry, “Oh! Finally she speaks to me! I thought you decided to hate me forever since you have barely spoken to me.”

You roll your eyes and let out a sigh. “Ino you’re being dramatic. I just had some stuff to do today.”

He frowns, “You eat lunch with me everyday.” He leans in even closer to you, “I don’t even think you at lunch today.”

You dead pan at him and shove him away. “I was busy. I’m fine.” You watch as Ino pouts and he literally looks like he is about to cry.

With an exaggerated sigh you give him a soft smile and hold out your arms to hug him. He immediately accepts and bear hugs you- almost making your chair fall over.

“Look, I’m tired and I wanna go be with my kid, but I’ll explain everything later, okay?” You smile at him and he gives you a nod.

You both walk to exit, making sure every light is turned off and every door is locked. “I’m expecting a full debrief over coffee,” Ino states as you walk to your car.

You give him a wave goodbye, “It’s a date.”

You had a silent drive home. It was actually pretty relaxing. You didn’t even think of he who shall not be named. All you wanted to do was go home and see Nobora. You made sure to have a career, you didn’t want motherhood to stop you from that. But now you feel like you’re missing out. Nobora is getting at the age where she realizes you’re gone. You sigh at the thought and slowly pull into your parking spot.

The apartment stairs have never felt longer, each step a small mountain to climb after your exhausting day. Your feet drag slightly against the worn tile as you make your way up, already imagining the cheerful chaos that awaits in your apartment – Nobora and Megumi probably turned your living room into their latest pretend restaurant, with Toji enabling their every whim like the softie he pretends not to be.

You hear voices before you reach your floor, and your stomach drops when you recognize one of them. Of course. Because this day just needs one more encounter with your hot annoying dickhead of a neighbor. Stop thinking about him.

As you round the corner, you see them – Sukuna's holding a sleeping Yuji, the boy's pink hair tousled against his father's shoulder. Behind him, Choso struggles with several grocery bags, trying to act grown up by carrying more than he probably should, his small face scrunched with determination.

Your steps falter for just a moment, but you quickly steel yourself. No. You're not doing this again. Not today. Without missing a beat, you continue up the stairs, eyes fixed straight ahead as if they're invisible, as if the air they occupy is just empty space. You can feel Sukuna's gaze on you like a physical touch, but you don't give him the satisfaction of acknowledgment.

Yuji makes a small snuffling noise and burrows deeper into Sukuna's shoulder. Despite your resolve not to look, you catch a glimpse of his peaceful face, pink lashes fluttering against round cheeks. The sight tugs at something in your chest – damn kids, making it hard to maintain your righteous anger.

"Miss—" Choso starts to say in his child-like voice, innocent and sweet, but Sukuna cuts him off with a sharp look that could slice steel.

You're already unlocking your door, pretending you didn't hear anything, the keys jingling in your slightly trembling hands. The last thing you catch before slipping inside is Choso's confused whisper, "I thought you said she was mean and loud?"

You pause in your tracks and bite the inside of your cheek hard enough to hurt. Do not give him the time of day. Do not let him see he's gotten under your skin. The keys jingle as you open the door and it clicks shut behind you with finality, cutting off whatever Sukuna's response might have been. You lean against it for a moment, letting out a breath you didn't realize you were holding, feeling your heart hammer against your ribs.

The apartment is surprisingly quiet when you walk in. No chaos, no pretend restaurant, just the soft glow of the TV playing some cartoon on mute, its colors dancing across the walls. You drop your keys in the bowl by the door and slip off your shoes, padding quietly into the living room in sock-covered feet.

The sight that greets you makes your heart melt. Toji's sprawled on your couch, his long legs hanging off the end because he's too tall for normal furniture. Nobora and Megumi are curled up against him, both fast asleep in the way only children can manage. Your daughter's got her favorite unicorn plushie clutched to her chest like a lifeline, while Megumi's using Toji's arm as a pillow.

Their homework is spread across the coffee table, completed and ready for tomorrow, pencils and erasers scattered like evidence of their diligence. The sight makes your heart swell. Never in your life would you imagine Toji of all people being such a good dad. You know his wife is so proud and so are you.

Toji slowly looks up and nods his head. "They crashed about twenty minutes ago," Toji whispers, his voice barely a breath in the quiet room, careful not to wake them. "Pizza's in the kitchen. They insisted on waiting for you, but..." he gestures to their sleeping forms with his free arm, a soft smile playing at his lips.

You smile, taking in the peaceful scene before you. Empty juice boxes and half-eaten pizza crusts litter the coffee table, evidence of their earlier feast. There's a stack of drawings too – probably their latest masterpieces they'll want to show you in the morning, full of bright colors and impossible stories.

"Thanks for watching her," you whisper back, grabbing the throw blanket from the armchair and gently draping it over the kids. The soft fabric settles around them like a protective cloud.

Toji just nods, that soft look in his eyes he only gets around the children. It's moments like these that remind you why he's your best friend, why you trust him with everything. He's grown so much from the troublemaker you knew in high school, transformed by love and loss into someone steady and true.

You carefully scoop Nobora up, her little arms automatically wrapping around your neck even in sleep, muscle memory stronger than dreams. Her plushie dangles precariously from her hand as you balance her weight against your chest.

"I got it," Toji whispers, gently taking the plushie before it can fall. He shifts Megumi onto the couch with the care of someone handling precious china, making sure not to wake him as he gets up to follow you.

You carry Nobora to her room, her warm breath steady against your neck. The glow-in-the-dark stars on her ceiling cast a soft light as Toji helps pull back her covers. You lay her down gently, and she immediately curls onto her side. Toji tucks the unicorn plushie into her arms, and you both watch as she hugs it close, lost in whatever sweet dreams fill her mind.

Back in the living room, Toji's already gathering his and Megumi's things, movements quiet and practiced. "I should get him home," he whispers, carefully lifting his sleeping son. "You good?"

You nod, following them to the door. "Thanks again for today. Sorry about the whole... neighbor situation." The words taste bitter in your mouth.

Toji shifts Megumi in his arms, a knowing look in his eyes that sees right through you. "Don't apologize. Man needed to be knocked down a peg."

You roll your eyes but can't help smiling. "Night, Toji."

"Night," he replies softly, and you watch as he carries Megumi down the hall, disappearing around the corner. Their footsteps fade away, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the quiet of your apartment.

You're too exhausted to even think about the cold pizza waiting in the kitchen. After a quick change into your favorite oversized t-shirt, you collapse onto your bed, not bothering to pull back the covers. The events of the day weigh heavy on your limbs, and your last coherent thought before drifting off is hoping tomorrow brings less drama than today.

Just on the other side of your walls is Sukuna pacing in his living room, wearing tracks in the carpet as he moves like a caged tiger. He's unable to shake the image of you deliberately ignoring him in the hallway, the way you looked right through him as if he were made of glass.

Your complete dismissal burns more than your earlier insults, and he can't figure out why it bothers him so much. He's used to people either fearing him or wanting something from him - this blatant disregard is new territory, and it's getting under his skin like an itch he can't scratch.

"Uncle Sukuna?" Choso's voice breaks through his brooding. The boy sits cross-legged on the floor, homework spread around him like a paper nest. "Is that lady really mean?"

Sukuna stops pacing, looking at his nephew. Yuji's already asleep in his room, worn out from their grocery run, but Choso's still up, his innocent question hanging in the air. "No, kid. She's not mean." He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. "Your uncle's just a fu—" he catches himself mid-word, eyes widening as he realizes what he almost said.

"You almost said a bad word," Choso points out seriously, his face stern in a way that makes him look like a miniature teacher. "That's fifty yen in the swear jar."

Sukuna snorts but dutifully pulls out his wallet. He stares at the jar for a moment, irritated at himself more than anything else. What the hell is wrong with him? One encounter with some mouthy woman and he's acting like... he doesn't even know what.

The reflection in the window shows a man who looks pissed off, unsettled, and – worst of all – intrigued. No. Absolutely not. He's not doing this. He's got enough complications in his life without adding another one, especially not one that lives next door and has already made it clear she thinks he's trash.

“Shit.” He mutters and is already aggressively shoving another fifty yen into the jar.

Your encounter with Sukuna on Monday sets the tone for the rest of the week. You make it your mission to avoid him while making sure he knows exactly what you're doing – a delicate balance of deliberate ignorance and pointed awareness.

You'd purposely talk to the boys, your voice warm and kind, and then make sure to not make any eye contact with him, as if he's nothing more than a shadow on the wall. The first day didn't seem to bother him. But by Thursday, you can practically feel the frustration radiating off him in waves.

Toji did manage to make him feel bad - which is a rare feat indeed. So, Sukuna tells himself he wants to apologize because you're neighbors after all. He didn't know how long he planned to stay at this apartment, and he didn't want to have to deal with you blatantly ignoring him. Well, that was the excuse he was giving himself for why he wanted to apologize. Or he could say Toji made him. Neither excuse feels quite true, but he's not ready to examine why.

He couldn't stop thinking about you. And that pissed him off even more. He’d rather have you call him “limp divk” for the rest of his days, as long as you were acknowledging his fucking presence. But no, you wanted to play your petty games. That's fine, he decides. If you wanted to play, he would play. The game is on, even if he's not sure what the prize is supposed to be.

Ignoring him made you feel powerful, a small victory in each deliberate non-acknowledgment. Hell, you wanted to cuss him out every time you laid eyes on him. It infuriated you how much his presence annoyed you. It annoyed you even more that his mere existence caused unwanted butterflies in your stomach. So, ignoring him and being deliberately cold was the only option that made sense.

The week drags on, your strategy of avoidance complicated by the fact that Choso and Yuji have become instant best friends with Nobora. You'd figured after the gameboy incident she'd be hesitant about being their friends. But to your disbelief, she's more than friendly and has been begging for them to come over all week. The kids' innocent friendship makes your cold war with their uncle even more complicated.

Now it's Friday. Nobora's with her dad, giving you a rare evening to yourself. Work was fine, though Ino spent most of the day talking about this new girl he's obsessed with. You're actually very happy for him. You hired him about two years ago and have watched him grow into his role. He's basically your little brother at this point. But it's hard not to feel a twinge of something as everyone around you seems to be finding connection.

Jealous wouldn’t be the right answer. You want to see the people you care about fall in love and be happy. It’s just been awhile. So, here you are sitting in the middle of your bed reading the directions to the shiny new vibrator you bought after work. It was kinda risky going into a sex shop, but like we already addressed. You’re desperate. It’s time to release some tension.

You’re now kneeling in the middle of your bed as you are reading the directions on how to charge the new toy. You have a draw full of them , but you wanted to treat yourself. This week was awful and spending a little bit of cash so you could have a mind blowing orgasm was exactly the right move. One point for retail therapy.

You treated this moment like a sacred ritual. The everything shower - exfoliating, shaving, moisturizing. Your baby blue pajama top buttoned just so, with cheeky underwear that wouldn't stay on for long. Chinese food waited in the microwave, a reward for later. Everything was perfectly planned for a night of self-care and release.

Settling onto the bed, you scrolled through your phone, finding a particularly steamy chapter in your latest book. Your underwear slipped off, forgotten in the blankets. The bright red toy buzzed to life, its vibration sending a tingle through your hand.

As you pressed it against your sensitive clit, your back arched immediately. Sensitive as hell. It had been so long since you'd truly enjoyed a moment like this. Your mind began to drift, seeking escape, seeking pleasure.

Your breath became heavy, eyes rolling back as you let yourself slip into complete bliss. The slick slowly dripped down, each sensation a reminder of how long it had been. Oh, how you needed this. Especially after that stupid fucking asshole who ruined your week.

That stupid fucking asshole who is your neighbor. That hot fucking asshole who smells amazing and looks like a god. That stupid fucking neighbor who you heard last night fucking the shit out of god knows who. Only you can imagine how he fucks. How he’d rut into your into you so good making you scream his name-

"Mph! Suku- fuck,"

You freeze as you hear the similar noise that kept you awake a few nights ago.

Oh fuck no.

While you were trying to pleasure yourself. Sukuna decided to answer Yarozus message and gave no time to get down to business once she got here. She was here for one reason tonight and that was to piss you off. Yeah you were fucking hot as you told him off, but you’re not gonna fucking ignore him and threaten to kick him out.

So here he is, slamming his hips into Yarozu as hard as he can while her face is pushed deep down into the mattress. He made sure he positioned his bed right against the wall too. He slaps and pulls on yarozu to get every little noise out of her. And she loves it.

Although, Sukuna isn’t really thinking about her. He never really does. But he is thinking about you. The fucking random ass woman who he just so happened to piss off. The random ass woman who is actually stunning and he can’t get her out of his head. But this woman pissed him off to no end, so here he is trying to piss you off.

You lie there in shock for a moment and listen. You can hear everything. Every slap, every breath, and squelch. And just like the color of your new toy, you see red. This motherfucker. Normally, you’d ignore it. But this is a declaration of war.

You sit up and pull your underwear back up. The toy gets placed on your night stand and you roll off the bed. With a huff and a deep swallow you walk over to the wall. Without even placing your ear next to it you can hear what’s happening as clear as day. So, without any hesitation you start banging on the wall. Not only that, you start moaning as loud as you could.

Yes, this is childish. You know it is, you would never want your daughter to act this way. However, you simply have forgotten to give a shit when it comes to this man. Within the past five days of knowing him he has awoken a beast inside of you that you have tried to keep tame for some time. And you are letting it run free.

Sukuna thinks he’s hallucinating. There’s no fucking way she’s doing this, right? At first he ignores it, well tried to. The banging on the wall gets louder and the moans coming from your mouth sound angelic, almost real. It’s hard to focus.

Yarozu finally lifts her head and looks back at Sukuna in confusion. The banging continues and your moans get louder. Suddenly a framed picture on the wall falls and barely misses yarozus head.

Yarozu gasps and Sukuna holds back a laugh. he pulls out of her and sighs, quickly puts on his grey sweats and heads right toward the door. You’re too busy banging on the walls to realize they have stopped and you suddenly hear a knock on the door.

The smirk on your face is devilish. You trot towards your door and open it. There is your asshole neighbor in only grey sweats and he’s glistening with sweat. If you didn’t hate him so much you’d ask him to come inside and finish the job.

“Can I help you?” You say sweetly and bat your eyelashes at him.

Sukuna holds a groan in his throat has he checks you out. You’re only in some underwear and a pajama top, which shows everything. He can see every beautiful curve you were blessed with. He can’t help but notice the way your hair drapes perfectly framing your face. The way your brow furrows and nose crinkles as you look at him in disgust-

Focus Ryomen.

He lets out a sigh and leans down, “What the fuck Is your problem?”

He’s so close as he speaks. You raise a brow and step closer to him. “What the fuck is your problem?” Suddenly a girl steps out behind him wearing a shirt that is way too big for her

“Sukuna, baby who’s that?” She purrs and reaches for his shoulder and he swats her hand. She just rolls her eyes and stands to the side.

Your blood boils as you stare daggers into him. His look is just as bad. His red ruby eyes melts into yours. You swallow thickly and clench your fists. “Keep it down or I’m calling Toji”

Sukuna scoffs and rolls his eyes. “He ain’t gonna do shit, baby,” he says in a mocking tone. Your eye twitches as you hear that stupid pet name.

As you glare into his crimson eyes, you feel a shadow creeping behind you and turn. Toji appears up the stairs with a pack of beers. His eyes immediately dart to you and shock covers his face.

Fuck, he definitely came here to drink with Sukuna didn’t he?

You’re starting to put two and two together. They for sure know eachother. There is no doubt about that. You didn’t think that they were that good of friends. Hell, he never really talked about him. You then feel helpless. Toji isn’t going to kick him out. You don’t even want him kicked out, he has two kids to raise. Just like you.

The tears swell up in your eyes as Toji walks closer and tries to brush the tears out of your face. “Hey pretty what’s-“ you swat his hand away and turn to the door, pulling your shirt down with one hand and cover your tits with the other arm.

“Fuck off toji.” You say coldly and hurry to shut the door. You make sure to lock every lock and dart to the bathroom, tears streaming down your face.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Sukuna watches with a blank face and Yarozu stands behind him, twirling her hair. “Hey Toji,” she smirks.

Toji quickly nods his head and heads into Sukuna’s place. Sukuna lets out a sigh and follows him.

Yarozu begins to step but Sukuna stops, “Go home Yarozu.” She pouts, but he doesn’t turn around to see her. She simply sighs, grabs her purse and heads back out. In only his shirt and her underwear.

Sukuna shuts his door and locks it. Just like you did. He rubs the back of his neck and sighs. “She left her clothes.” Toji says and his eyes dart toward the clothes thrown around the living room.

Sukuna huffs and walks over to the clothes, picks them up and tosses them off the balcony. Toji watches, his eyes widen a bit, but that’s honestly not surprising when it comes to those two.

He lets out a chuckle and shakes his head, “You don’t even like her, why the fuck do you-“. Sukuna cuts him off by grabbing a beer from him and flipping him off. Toji flips him off right back and smirks.

It’s gets silent for a long moment and Toji watches Sukuna as he twiddles his thumbs and sips his beer.

"Want to tell me what the fuck that was?" Toji asks, his voice low.

Sukuna drops onto the couch, running a hand through his hair. "Not really," he mutters.

Toji raises an eyebrow. "She's my best friend," he says, a warning implicit in his tone.

"I know," Sukuna responds, taking a long drink. "Believe me, I know."

"She's not just some random woman," Toji says, his voice carrying a protective edge. "She's been through enough."

Sukuna says nothing, which speaks volumes.

"I'm serious," Toji continues. "Whatever game you're playing, stop."

“Who says I'm playing a game?" Sukuna responds, but there's no conviction in his voice.

They both let out a sigh and stare up at the ceiling. Letting the silence consume them.

In your bathroom, you lie on the floor, tears streaming down your face. The cool tile against your back provides little comfort. Your mind races - everything blends into a chaotic emotional storm.

You're not crying from sadness. No, these are tears of pure frustration. Anger at Sukuna, at the situation, at yourself for being so affected by this stranger who seems determined to get under your skin.

You glance over to the vibrator as it lies forgotten on the nightstand, your evening of planned relaxation completely derailed. It truly feels like nothing ever goes to plan. And this fucking asshole is making sure of it.

With a defeated sigh you slowly sit up a wipe the tears from your face. You’re about to reach for your face wash when you feel a vibration on the bathroom counter. It’s Ino?

The call came unexpectedly. Ino's excited voice filled the phone, talking a mile a minute about a group night out. "Come on!" he insisted. "Me, my girlfriend, Nanami, and his fiancée. We need you there!"

You were hesitant. Group outings typically meant navigating potential awkwardness - endless small talk and the looming possibility of feeling like the perpetual single friend. But Ino's enthusiasm was infectious, his excitement bleeding through the phone in a way that made resistance futile.

Your outfit came together quickly. A black mini skirt that hit a little above the knee, paired with a tight white t-shirt that hinted at confidence without trying too hard. You added black tights underneath, chunky lace-up boots that could handle a night of dancing, topped with a well-worn jean jacket.

You took extra care removing the day's remnants - brushing out your hair, ensuring any trace of earlier tears was completely erased. This wasn't about looking perfect. This was about survival, about drinking away the stress that had been building for weeks.

The evening passed in a beautiful blur of music, laughter, and strategically consumed alcohol. Nanami's fiancé was stunning - the kind of gorgeous that made you simultaneously admire and slightly resent her effortless beauty. Ino's girlfriend, was a revelation - hilarious, the type of person who made friendship feel instantaneous.

You danced with strangers, laughed without reservation, drank far more than any responsible adult should. Karaoke became an adventure - you were pretty sure you sang something, though the exact song had dissolved into the night's liquid memories. The music, the drinks, the company - everything blended into a perfect escape.

The guys could tell something was wrong. You never go out. Ino told Nanami he’s been worried about you all week. You still have yet to tell him what the hell is going on. But they are happy to see you having fun. You deserve it.

Around 1 A.M., Nanami - ever the responsible one - called you an Uber, his quiet concern a counterpoint to the night's wild energy.

You said goodbye with dramatic kisses on cheeks and tight hugs. Ino has you on his Life 360 (he’s nosey and you didn’t say no when he asked) so he plans to watch it to make sure you get home. The ride home was a blur of streetlights and half-remembered conversations, the city sliding past your window like a watercolor painting.

You slowly stumble up the stairs, making sure you don't trip. The hallway seems to sway slightly as you try to keep your eyes open. You keep humming whatever song they were playing at karaoke - something pop, maybe? The memory is fuzzy, blurred by alcohol and laughter.

Finally reaching your door, you thimble around your handbag for your keys. They slip from your fingers, clattering to the ground. "Shit," you mumble, giggling as you bend to retrieve them. The lock seems particularly challenging tonight, your coordination reduced to a comedic struggle.

Unbeknownst to you, Toji and Sukuna are watching your entire performance. Toji was just about to leave, and Sukuna was seeing him out when your drunken arrival caught their attention.

In your current state, you might normally be mortified. Instead, you look up and see them staring. Your response? A defiant middle finger.

Toji frowns and sighs, a mixture of concern and exasperation. Sukuna, however, can't help but chuckle. "Hey there, drunky," he calls out, his voice a low rumble that makes you shiver despite your irritation.

The door finally opens with a triumphant "Ha!" from you.

"Need any help?" Toji asks, stepping forward.

You look up, still fumbling through your bag for your phone, and raise a challenging eyebrow. "Oh, now you're asking if I need help?" The sass is sharp, cutting through your alcohol-induced haze.

"Pretty calm-" Toji begins.

"Don't call me that," you interrupt, folding your arms and shooting a glare that could freeze fire.

Sukuna can't resist adding fuel to the fire. "Don't piss drunky off, Toji!" he shouts, his laughter echoing in the hallway.

Toji tries again, reaching to fix your disheveled hair. "Pretty, c'mon now-"

"No, Toji," you cut him off, your words slightly slurred but no less venomous. "Go suck his dick or something. I'm mad at you."

Toji rolls his eyes. You were pissed. He hasn’t seen you this mad since you found out you were pregnant (a story for another day).

Sukuna, never one to miss an opportunity, smirks. "Not really interested in him, but you can come over if ya want."

You glare back, and he winks. In his mind, you're beautiful, especially when you're fired up. Every encounter he's had with you - when you’re not ignoring him - has been a hurricane of emotion, and he loves every moment of it.

"Oh, I'm sure I'd be on a long waiting list," you retort, laying your head against the doorframe. The alcohol is catching up with you, making it hard to stand.

Toji huffs and steps closer to you, “Pretty, let me help.”

Before you can fully process it, you're nodding yes to Toji's offer of help. He swiftly picks you up, and you wrap your legs around his torso, your body going pliant with exhaustion.

Toji carries you into the apartment, with Sukuna following close behind. His eyes scan the space - moving boxes still needing to be unpacked, the signs of a recent move scattered everywhere.

Yet, it still felt like a home. Framed family photos and vintage art prints hung over the cream-colored walls, arranged in those trendy asymmetrical clusters you'd probably seen on Pinterest.

Nobora's toys were neatly corralled in a woven basket in the corner, a halfhearted attempt at containing the chaos of childhood.

It looked like every piece of furniture had been meticulously picked by you. The mid-century modern coffee table with its gentle curves, the overstuffed armchair in soft leather that practically begged to be curled up in, even the delicate ceramic vases arranged on floating shelves.

You had good taste. He was almost too distracted until he noticed Toji struggling to help your drunk ass.

"Need any help?" Sukuna asks, a hint of skepticism in his voice.

Toji doesn’t look at Sukuna, too focused on your care. He simply gives a nod and asks, “Can you get a shirt for her? I'm gonna help her change."

Sukuna rolls his eyes but complies, moving to your dresser. He opens several drawers, careful not to disturb too much. Realizing he might upset you further by rummaging, he opts instead to take off his own shirt and bring it to the bathroom.

Toji helps you undress, completely un phased . When Sukuna raises an eyebrow, Toji scoffs, "What? I watched her give birth. This isn't the first time I've seen her naked."

You giggle, raising your arms for the shirt like a child. Sukuna watches as Toji pulls the shirt over you, noting how the fabric falls loosely on your frame.

"Need to wash my face and brush my hair," you mumble, your words slightly slurred.

Toji helps you to the sink, supporting you as you carefully remove your makeup. Sukuna can't help but chuckle at the sight - you're a mix of determination and drunken clumsiness.

You use Sukuna's shirt to pat your face dry, then turn to Toji with a mischievous grin. "Mhmm, this smells like the asshole," you giggle.

Toji starts to laugh, the tension from earlier melting away.

"That's because it is the asshole's," Sukuna's voice cuts through, momentarily sobering you.

Your eyes widen at the sight of him shirtless, and he winks. You glare back - still angry, still defiant.

Toji helps you into bed, and you crawl to the center, wrapping yourself in soft sheets. As he goes to get water and medicine, Sukuna explores your room, his curiosity getting the better of him.

A bright red toy on the bedside table catches his eye. For a moment, his face heats up with thoughts he quickly tries to dismiss.

When Toji returns, he leaves water and medicine, then leans down to kiss your temple. "I'll be back in the morning to check on ya."

You wave lazily. "Bye, asshole," you call to Sukuna, who sighs and responds, "Go to sleep, drunky.

After closing your bedroom door, Toji pauses in the living room. A photograph catches his eye - a memory from his wedding day. You, him, and his late wife at the courthouse, where you served as their witness. The image pulls at his heart, a bittersweet reminder of love, loss, and enduring friendship.

Sukuna watches silently as Toji studies the photo, recognizing the depth of emotion playing across his friend's face.

"I'm actually gonna crash on her couch," Toji explains, breaking the silence. "Make sure she's okay. I'll call her baby daddy in the morning to keep Nobora for the day." Thank god Megumi was at the sitters.

Sukuna raises an eyebrow and nods, a simple acknowledgment of Toji's protective nature.

As Sukuna walks out, he can't shake the thoughts of you. It's unprecedented - he's known Yarozu for almost a decade, and she barely crosses his mind. But you? In less than a week, you've occupied more mental space than anyone has in years.

There's something about you - your fire, your refusal to back down, the way you move through the world with such unapologetic intensity. You're not afraid to show your emotions, to be loud, to take up space. It's intriguing in a way he can't quite define.

What the hell is wrong with me?

The thought echoes in the empty hallway, a whispered confession to no one but himself. With a final sigh, he returns to his own apartment, your presence clawing at his mind like a persistent memory that refuses to be forgotten.

Each step feels weighted, charged with an energy he can't explain. He's realizing something, a truth that both irritates and intrigues him.

You were going to consume him entirely.

A slow, inevitable destruction he would welcome with open arms.

summary/notes: sorry this was another chaotic one! we will slowly but surely see those two warm up to eachother (maybe) lmao! I had a blast writing Toji and Sukuna’s pov. I also realize their backstory could’ve been the beginning to their love story. ah well, maybe in another universe. they are just besties, trust.

I am also still figuring out the mechanics of tumblr so I will have links and everything updated as soon as I can! my asks are open, so if you have any questions I will be so so happy to answer! I really hope you all enjoyed this chapter and I love you all so much! mwah! <3

taglist is open: please comment and let me know if you want to be on it!! (:

@sukubusss @poopooindamouf @tojiswifeforlife @777pluto @emochosoluvr @bookfreakk

@withtanxp @pandabiene5115 @fava-boi

[aquaveee]

Ok ok so I know some of us at this point headcanon Jay to be a smoker as her own way of rebelling against her family while also trying to relieve her own stress, however, I would like to add some of my own headcanons to this (especially after the Jay Ferin smoking fanart skye posted).

(Also would like to clarify that I'm not trying to romanticise smoking in any way, it's not good for you and you should not try it. Also not trying to shame anyone who does smoke, I understand it's a hard addiction to overcome and it's a stress reliever for many.)

Her first time smoking was with Chip on Joaldo Island after the argument with Lizzie. He was hoping for a chance to make fun of her for the usual first-time-smoking coughing, but she didn't cough at all. Neither of them knew why it didn't have an effect on her until after the Block, when they both realised that the smoke probably wouldn't affect her cause her whole family line is constantly breathing in smoke from their own flames. So the Ferin family line just has like a natural adaptation to smoke going into their lungs.

Lizzie enjoys smoking with Jay. I like to imagine Ava probably smoked, but she would only do it when she was with Lizzie (because she felt more comfortable letting Liz see that not-so-perfect, more vulnerable side of her instead of her Navy crew). Ofc this also means that whenever Lizzie notices Jay slightly on edge or stressed, she says nothing and just comes with a pack and a lighter, and Jay would never refuse. It was one of the few times Jay could really enjoy the quiet atmosphere of the sea or market, and the few times Liz felt like her old self and not the fearsome Pirate Captain.

Jay only smokes when she's completely alone. For one she wouldn't want Ollie to inhale any of it and second, Gillion probably would have a very adverse reaction to it because he's gotta keep his lungs M O I S T . Even though Chip was around smokers most of his childhood (after the Black Rose Pirates) and he was the one who kinda introduced her to it in the first place, she would start avoiding smoking too much in their room below deck after he offhandedly mentioned something about Price always smelling like cigs. So the best times for her are when she's alone in their room working on her gun, in the kitchen with Earl, or when she takes the night shift with Alphonze.

It's kinda assumed that Gryffon is a smoker just from the fact that he was super ready to get high with Chip and Gil (and he's just chill like that). I bet when he saw Jay smoking one time, he offered his own cigarettes to her, which I also headcanon Gryffon to make his own cigs with special herbs in them and stuff he learned from his home village. It's also probably SUPER strong, so Jay only smokes one when she feels particularly stressed.

Speaking of herbssss. Jay probably has a lot of knowledge with that kind of stuff from her mom, so sometimes when she has the right ingredients, she'll make her own cigs with different properties. Like maybe some with lavender for calming (cough cough ep 109 cough).

[saxlochapologist]

When Saxon finds out Lochlan's started smoking cigarettes during their time apart he's clearly pissed about it. "Lochlan no one smokes cigarettes anymore", "you smell like an ashtray dude it's disgusting" "you're the only one in this family who smokes and you're making the whole house reek, it's honestly disrespectful."

And of course Lochy being the person he is, promises Sax he won't do it anymore, that he'll stop, that he knows it's not healthy, that he doesn't want to bother anyone around him with it, etc etc. Buuuut not even two nights later Saxon walks in on him perched out of his window, sucking on the end of a cigarette. He's fuming! Not only is Lochlan a degenerate now but he's also a liar, it's like he doesn't even know his own brother anymore!

"Well if you want these so badly why don't you prove it? If you aren't going to stop on your own I guess I have to make you." Saxon's voice has an edge even he didn't realize would be there.

Lochlan just stares at him with that wide eyed deer in the headlights expression that honestly makes Saxon feel a little bit unwell. Like he would do anything his big brother told him to, just like he always has. Saxon almost feels bad when he tells him -

"You're going to smoke the whole pack. right here, right now. No more bullshit Lochy, I don't want this shit in the house."

Lochlan quickly counts the remaining cigarettes in the pack. Fifteen. Shit

"Oh come on Sax are you being serious right now? What are you now, my dad? That could make me sick, I'm not doing it." He hates how whiny he sounds. Why does he always find himself begging Saxon for something?

"Lochlan I AM serious, Look, i don't like you doing this shit. I never did this and you shouldn't either, it's disgusting. It makes you smell like a cheap hooker in a motel." But what he wants to say is 'i never said you could do this, I didn't give you permission to do this so why are you doing it'

Lochlan pouts but he doesn't say no. Long fingers gingerly grip his still lit cigarette, only one of fifteen. Saxon hates how he can't stop looking at the way Lochy's pretty lips gently coax the smoke into his mouth, down into his lungs, until it's swirling inside his body. and this really, really shouldn't make Saxon feel the things it does. Because this is just him teaching his brother a valuable lesson, right? And in order to do that properly he definitely needs to sit here and watch Lochlan smoke all of them, you know, just to make sure he really does it. And actually, he's saving Lochy's lungs, possibly his life! This is just another thing good brothers do.

But still, the only word that comes to mind watching his little brother choke back his third cigarette in a row down is "obedient." just the way Saxon likes him.

[the-outlandish-owl]

I hate dublin bus

[naffeclipse]

I'm thinking of making Devil Eyes Officer Y/N a smoker, not like a chain smoker, but one who had previously smoked before joining the police academy and had quit, and then once inflicted with Eclipse's torment, turned back to smoking as an unhealthy coping mechanism (this would also include, of course, Eclipse's reaction to such a thing (he does not like it)), but, I'm afraid this will be a turnoff?? for readers?? so let me just ask

[halogen2]

u Know my mental health is bad when i start genuinely considering buying a pack of cigarettes

[cee-grice]

HALLOWEEN TIME !!!

ok I don't celebrate Halloween but I did dress up this year and y'all are getting pics!! I cosplayed as one of my characters, Mistress Avriele Kaelion >:))

semi-face reveal ig?? (I've never posted pics of myself on social media besides fb years ago lmfao so be nice<3)

anyway I wrote a lil about her here, but she's one of my favorite secondary characters and her appearance is just perfect for Halloween lol

spooky lady 👻☠️🎃

(going on a small ramble here - her design very much embodies the idea of judging a book by its cover, and how that judgement may impact how you approach the story within... her appearance is meant to give you an immediate impression of her personality and consequent morality, but, without giving too much away, that's something that I attempt to invite readers to consider as the story progresses :v let's just say she may not be how she may appear to be lol...)

[cracktopus]

Please let me hold you

[starwarsanthropology]

Inspired by my wild misinterpretation of @here-comes-the-moose's post about what kind of packer Echo is, Echo with a packer post-skako

He's got maybe a little more lower body damage and for whatever reason elects to use an STP device - makes his life a little easier and he's already got a bunch of new accessibility devices and prosthetics so it makes sense.

Normally it's completely a nonissue but once and a while it falls out of his pants or someone shuffles it around when he's not wearing it and the chaos... i know tbb would not be normal about it

[doyoulike-whatyousee]

Y’know I rarely crave a cigarette but when I do damn is the craving hard 😩 I do not feel like feeling sick but mmm

[quicksilversquared]

I'm down to just the last-minute stuff needing to be packed and I am so glad that my mom said not to bother with my winter coat, she has a spare, because now I have just enough room in my luggage for stuff.

....thankfully there are multiple things that will not be making the return trip back (ornaments that are being given as gifts and leftover cranberry-nut bread from the staff party because almost no one had any because everyone brought desserts; my mom was super excited to hear that I'm going to be bringing it, though lol; also materials to knit/crochet several cat blankets that I will leave with my parents to give to their cat-fostering friend), because otherwise I would have concerns about having enough space for gifts.

[kaurwreck]

okay, but irl Ryuunosuke Akutagawa was also chronically ill and smoked. like, I hear you, but Ryuunosuke diagnosed-with-dry-pleurisy-which-refers-to-inflammation-of-the-lining-of-your-lungs-that-causes-sharp-chest-pains-known-to-become-worse-when-you-breathe-or-cough Akutagawa loved filterless Golden Bat and Shikishima cigarettes to excess.

it is innately human to indulge at our own expense sometimes (or nearly all of the time). then again, in his own words—

He put a cigarette in his mouth and was striking a match when he collapsed face-down on his desk and died. It was a truly disappointing way to die. Fortunately, however, society rarely offers critical comment regarding the way a person dies. The way a person lives is what evokes criticism.

Horse Legs, Akutagawa Ryuunosuke (tl: Jay Rubin)

It’s so funny when people draw aku smoking like guys, please, he’s literally dying

[kirbmey]

⠀⠀ ཐི ˚̣̣̣ ⠀⠀ husband!sylus x reader ⠀ ˚̣̣̣ ཋྀ

synopsis: where you sneak into sylus office looking for him cuz you miss him so so much! ε٩(๑> ₃ <)۶з

tw: fluff, sylus is called ‘husband’, reader is especially femenine and shy, usage of ‘kitten’, sylus smokes, he’s sickly in love!, etc.

you know you weren´t supposed to be walking around the house so late, but you were completely restless without your husband holding you tightly while you tried to sleep.

walking around the empty halls while heading to sylus office you yawn; you´ve been trying to sleep for a few hours now, even tried watching your favorite movie or holding your plushie while counting sheep but nothing worked.

so you were left with only one option, looking for him.

he stated a few times that you mustn´t disturb him while he worked, him being the busy business man that he is.

but that didn´t stop you from reaching the pome of the door, hesitant between wether you should open it or not.

once you made up your mind you swang the door open, peeking your head through the small gap to catch a glimpse of your beloved reading some documents while sipping on his favorite expensive wine. he was wearing those glasses you loved, also.

“just come inside, would you?", he stated, not even lifting his gaze to spot you standing in the middle of the room. he relocated his silver frame glasses on top of the bridge of his nose, scooting the big leather armchair aside so you could sit on his lap as you were accustomed to.

“i´m sorry, sylus, i just can´t sleep tonight." you mumble an apology while straddling him, hugging his broad shoulders and hiding your now blushed face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his manly scent.

“that’s okay, kitten. i was about to wrap it up here and go to bed with you, so impacient, aren´t you?" he teased with a low voice, chuckling when he heard you whine against his pale skin.

he left those documents aside, sipping the last drop of his wine and took off his glasses, placing them on the table. then, he grabbed you by the hips, holding you like a baby koala while he walked to your shared bedroom, feeling your breath slowly calm down.

he tucked your little body underneath the warm comforter, heading to the big glass window to open it and move the curtains aside, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and lighting one, sitting on his designated reading nook while staring at you.

puffing the smoke out the window so the smell wouldn´t linger inside the room, he took in every single detail about the scene in front of him; how you fell asleep so quickly in his arms, how you placed your head on his pillow, how your locks framed your face.

once he was done with the cigarette he brushed his teeth, taking note of the late hours. sure, he didn´t need to sleep, but drifting away while holding you was one of the best feelings in the world to him.

he was so in love with his little cherub (｡´ ‿｀♡)

a/n: been thinking about writing for arcane too idk idk (๑•́ -•̀)

— masterlist.

[lale-txt]

EXOPLANETS ; Iwaizumi x gn!reader

five times Iwaizumi almost kisses you and one time he does

contains: gn!reader (no pronouns or gendered terms), strangers to lovers, 5+1 things, fluff, mutual pining, diy tattoos, alcohol mention, weed mention, Oikawa mention, shotgunning, five slightly suggestive lines if you squint, a lot of easter eggs and cross-references. written as a gift for @eggyrocks ♡

word count: 4.5k

✧. ┊ ONE

It’s Kyotani’s birthday party and you’re sitting outside on the fire escape, covered in five buckets of fake blood and rolling yourself a cigarette. The wind is icy on your face and the air would smell like early snow if it wasn’t for the dubious popcorn experiments happening in the kitchen right now. You weren’t allowed to smoke inside anymore after someone set one of the dried up houseplants a little bit on fire when stubbing out a cigarette on it (it was just once but the pot was fuming for two days and a half).

Kyotani always brings a mix of the strangest people together. There’s you and your other fellow students from your gender studies class, then guys from his former highschool volleyball team. There is also a bunch of men with face tattoos and a criminal record from his underground fight club (who are currently nailing the choreo to Rihanna in Just Dance), some nerds he met at a Pokémon TCG tournament (you and him once bought a hundred booster packs together while high and he thought he could recover from the financial ruin by winning one of these things) and the small group of housewives from his DND group who he meets once a month.

It’s unclear why Kyotani asked everyone to dress up for this but you’re not mad about having an occasion to drench yourself in fake blood and call it a night. In true Patrick Bateman fashion you also spent hours with excessive skin care prior to the party while you watched your best friend and roommate Atsumu zip himself up in the skimpiest maid outfit you’ve ever seen. It may be early December but that wouldn’t hold him back from showing off his thighs and a bit of his ass cheeks–maybe at heart he was just a 2000s British party girl trapped in the body of a 6’3 athlete. You shared the same cheap cherry lip gloss before heading out in the cold. 

A few drinks into the night and your head starts to hurt, which is when you retreat outside through the kitchen window to your usual spot on the fire escape. With the rolled cigarette dangling from your lips, you pat down the pockets of your suit in search of a lighter. You let out a frustrated groan when you realize you lent it to two guys dressed as Melody and Kuromi and that you’ll probably never get it back, which sucked because it had a kitty cat leaning on an eight-ball while smoking on it and you got it for free from your local conbini girl in exchange for a hand-crocheted triangle bikini top.

Someone taps your shoulder and you almost drop your cigarette if it wasn’t for the stranger’s quick reflexes, catching it for you before it would be gone with the wind. His fingers tilt your chin up a little and he puts the cigarette back between your lips. You look up and meet the gaze of Inuyasha.

Or well, a guy dressed as Inuyasha, but it might as well be your childhood crush come to life. Tan skin, sharp snaggleteeth that weren’t part of the costume but still fitting, and a pair of eyes that feel like they’re piercing straight through you. Your stomach does the little flip thing and you briefly wonder what was in the drinks you let Atsumu mix for you, but that was something to ponder on later. For now you only stare back at him, nodding when he asks if the seat next to you is free.

He sits down close to you and then reaches for something hidden in his sleeve and pulls out–your lighter. 

“Sorry about my friends. They have a knack for never returning things,” he huffs and you snatch the lighter from him, your face cracking into a smile. 

“Very noble of you,” you say, then hold up the light for him when he reaches for the cigarette behind his ear and puts it between his lips as well. His hand comes to cup yours to shield the flame from the wind and for a second your faces are close, so close, before you lean back again, taking a deep inhale of your cig. 

“Cool costume. You watch a lot of movies? Me too,” he says and rests his chin on one palm, looking at you. There’s something about his gaze that makes you feel drawn to him and you briefly wonder what he’d look like without the cheap white wig and also if he’d keep the costume on if you were to hook up with him and ask him nicely about it. 

“Is that so? Name every movie then,” you retort and it makes him laugh. Fuck. He has a really nice laugh.

You lean over and brush a few strands of the plastic hair behind his ears because the combination of the wind and the lit cigarette seems like a potential fire hazard (you learned a lot about fire hazards this year) and you’d kinda hate to see him combust too soon. 

What you don’t expect is him leaning in, almost nuzzling his face into your palm when you do, and looking back at you with a flicker that can only be described as drunk and lovesick. It makes your heart stumble in your ribcage a little. 

“Or you can just tell me your name. Unless you want me to save your contact as ‘Inuyasha’ in my phone. I can do that too,” you add when you pull your hand away, as if you’ve burned yourself by getting a bit too close to the sun. You put your cigarette between your lips and pull out your phone, tapping the screen a few times before glancing up at him again.

“It’s Iwaizumi. Hajime Iwaizumi.”

You think a lot about kissing Hajime Iwaizumi for the rest of the night.

✧. ┊ TWO

Osamu and Suna share the apartment directly below yours and when they text you that they made weed brownies, you didn’t really think about just how many of them they made. Together with Atsumu you shuffle downstairs, not expecting a bunch of other people to be there. Maybe then you would’ve worn something that wasn’t Atsumu’s old highschool club shirt and a pair of velour track pants you bedazzled yourself so it would read “soup” across your butt, but here you are. 

“Is this some kind of side business now?”, you ask Suna when you pull him aside. He has the biggest, shit-eating grin known to man plastered across his face and shakes his head. 

“A bunch of guys from his culinary school said they didn’t know how to bake weed brownies and Osamu offered to teach them, and somehow it turned into a ‘bring your own weed, get a tray of brownies’ party,” he replies and leans a little closer to you, which you know means he has a piece of juicy gossip to share. “One guy here totally got scammed, too. Spent ¥24,000 on some, can you believe?”

You almost choke on the piece of brownie in your hand. Osamu pressed it faithfully into your palm the moment you entered the kitchen, knowing he could trust you with it. Both of you had a very loose definition of trust–to Osamu it meant believing you won’t be dumb enough to eat more than one piece of the brownies, to you it meant you won’t change the contact names in his phones to soup ingredients again, no matter how high, and you both respected that.

“What, was it gold-dusted or something?” You cough and laugh, tears pricking in the corners of your eyes while Suna pats your back with empathy. “What a guy. Introduce us, I need to add him to my dream blunt rotation.”

Your eyes follow the direction Suna is nodding at, somewhere in the living room, and you meet the gaze of Iwaizumi Hajime slash Inuyasha from the fire escape. You start laughing again and head over to him, the sulk written all over his face.

“Not a word. I know, I know,” he groans when he makes space for you next to him on the couch. You squeeze in beside him and hug your knees to your chest, then catch the pillow he’s throwing at you when you can’t stop laughing the second you look at him.

“It’s okay. Actually, it’s kinda cute.” “Are you just saying that to make me feel better?” “So what if I do?”

Iwaizumi huffs again and his arm just happens to be behind you on the couch, his fingertips ghosting over your shoulder. Appreciate it, he grumbles, and eventually his face softens when you start telling him some anecdotes of your high life that definitely make the ¥24,000 weed purchase seem a little less dramatic. 

It’s loud in the apartment, with music blasting and people chattering, but you barely register any of it; too absorbed by his eyes that dart to your lips every now and then, and his tongue poking out from between his lips when he does, and the rattling desire in your chest that he could kiss you right here, right now. 

His fingers grab your chin and tilt your face up again, just like they did last time on the fire escape, except now he’s brushing over the corners of your mouth, collecting a few crumbs that were still there. He brings them to his lips, licking them off in one clean swipe of his tongue, and you’re pretty sure you’d let him devour you.

✧. ┊ THREE

Mattsun–the Kuromi from Kyotani’s party–and his friends from the forensics science department are hosting an Addams Family themed christmas party on their floor of the dorm and this time you don’t make the mistake of giving your lighter away. Atsumu is on a noble mission to “get laid by one of the goths” and you’re on your own, but not for long. 

“Oh, it’s you! Almost didn’t recognize you without all the fake blood,” Makki–the Melody from Kyotani’s party–shouts across the room when he spots you in the crowd and squeezes past all the people to clink his drink against yours. “You left quite the impression.”

“That so?”, you ask with a raised eyebrow and Makki gives you a boyish grin. You already have a feeling where this conversation is heading.

“Hajime won’t shut up about you. Like, ever,” he says and links his arm with yours, dragging you to the other end of the hallway. “He’s here too, by the way. Last time I saw him he was winning some kind of arm wrestling contest, but if you ask me people just wanted to ogle at his biceps. Can you blame them?” 

Speaking of the devil, you find Iwaizumi stumbling out of the bathroom, stilling when he sees you. His hoodie is tied around his waist and he’s wearing some baggy jeans and a tight, sleeveless compression shirt that does show off his arms nicely. Very nicely. So nicely you forget what to say for a brief second. 

Makki shoves you into Iwaizumi’s arms before heading off somewhere else, probably asking Mattsun to push him against the nearest wall, and you’re alone with the boy again. He caught you by your shoulders, his hands now resting on top of them while he looks you up and down. You wonder if he’ll do the chin thing again, and maybe if third time’s a charm and he’s gonna kiss you tonight for real. 

Instead he asks, “do you want to check out the tattoo station they set up in the other room?” and because your impulse control has vanished the moment you entered his orbit, you agree without a second thought. Maybe not even a first thought. Ten minutes later you’re wearing a pair of black latex gloves and hover over Iwaizumi who is lying shirtless on his back in front of you.

“Kinda sad you don’t want a tramp stamp. It’d look good on you,” you sigh with feigned annoyance while rubbing an alcohol soaked pad over his hip bones to disinfect that part, trying hard to keep your eyes pinned on there, but it’s kind of an impossible thing to ask of you. It would be a shame if you didn’t appreciate the canvas in front of you.

“Maybe next time,” Iwaizumi exclaims with the confidence of a man who simply doesn’t do the whole ordeal of regretting. It’s admirable, really. “And I let you pick the design of this one, didn’t I?”

That he did. You drew a wonky oval shape on the stencil paper which was kind of impressive as it was, given the drinks you had prior to that. Iwaizumi took the pencil from you and added a similar one, overlapping with yours. 

“That’s two eggs,” you muttered, tilting your head to the side and trying hard to focus–which again, was a hard task at hand, given that Iwaizumi leaned over your shoulder shirtless. He smelled nice. You noticed that the first time you met already. Something between fresh laundry, a spritzer of YSL Y on the side of his nape and a hint of sweat, but not unpleasant. It made you want to dig your teeth into the curve of his neck and shoulder.

“It’s a heart, dumbass,” Iwaizumi huffed as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, second to how much both of you were thinking about kissing the other. 

✧. ┊ FOUR

When Kenma invited you over to his place for the Bouncing Ball winter party, you were promised free unlimited food and a goodie bag, but all you got was ancient rage and a badly rolled cigarette passed back and forth between Iwaizumi and you.

“I will fucking kill Oikawa with my bare hands,” you mutter under your breath and squeeze the can of lychee soda (branded with the Bouncing Ball logo) that you’re holding a little tighter. 

“Believe me, I’ve tried many times in the past but this bastard always comes back. Like some demon lord or something.” Iwaizumi takes an angry drag of the cigarette before holding it between your lips again. His fingers brush lightly against your skin when he does and it’s the only thing that calms you down a little. 

“Like. The blue shell right before the finish line felt so personal, right?”

Kenma had sent both of you into timeout outside when you almost flung the unstrapped Wii remote towards the flatscreen and Iwaizumi might or might have not punched a hole into the shoji door after Oikawa won the third round of Mario Kart in a row and was being awfully smug about it.

You’re sitting on the backstairs together, huddled close to each other from the cold and the unspoken desire to kiss the other one stupid. With every minute you spend like this your anger vaporizes little by little, until all you can feel is the body heat radiating off Iwaizumi’s body and how calloused his hand is when he takes yours into his.

He’s wearing the hat you crocheted for him, an apology for the crooked hand poked tattoo you gave him a few days prior to today which now adorned his hip bone. At least it wasn’t infected which was a tiny miracle given the circumstances. His face lit up when you handed the hat to him, wrapped in some tin foil because neither you nor Atsumu own gift paper and that’s the most festive you could do with the utensils you had at hand. At least you threw in a little bit of confetti which was now stuck in his dark hair.

You pick some of it off his strands and Iwaizumi leans a little closer. It reminds you a lot of a big cat asking for head scratches. 

“‘s nice, with you,” he mumbles without looking at you and gives your hand a small squeeze. His thumb rubs over your knuckles with unexpected gentleness and your head sinks against his shoulder.

“Really nice,” you agree quietly, allowing yourself to close your eyes. 

The moment could have been perfect. Just the two of you, the stubbed out cigarette at your feet and the sweet taste of artificial lychee on your lips, the slowly falling snow. If only it wasn’t for the backdoor being flung open again, carrying the chatter and the music from inside towards you and a too familiar voice that will surely haunt your nightmares chirping “yahoo~”, making Iwaizumi next to you groan in agony. 

You spend the rest of the night losing another ten rounds of Mario Kart and Oikawa manifests as your sleep paralysis demon from now on, but at least you got to hold Iwaizumi’s hand under the table a little longer.

✧. ┊ FIVE

Hinata is back home from his semester abroad in Brazil. He texted the groupchat a photo of him (wow, he got really tan and buff, you think) and the three giant boxes of oranges that he brought with him and invited everyone over for an impromptu reunion party at his place. 

It’s not as excessive as other parties of your friends, more of a get together that lasts an entire weekend with everyone dropping by and going as they please, as long as they take a few oranges with them. 

You quite literally ran into Iwaizumi on your way there, your hands full with a bunch of books you borrowed from the library prior to that and him almost crashing into you when he skated around the corner on his longboard. He wore the hat you crocheted him again (with less confetti this time) and offered you his scarf and a ride. You almost wish Hinata would live at the other end of the world just so you’d have an excuse to sit cross-legged on his board in front of him while he pushes it slowly for a little longer. 

Maybe he’ll give you a ride home if you ask him nicely. Maybe the right words would fall out of your mouth this time. Maybe he’ll kiss you on the threshold, with his fingers tracing your jaw and your lips parting for him so willingly.

At Hinata’s place you find your way underneath the kotatsu with Iwaizumi by your side. The air smells like hot punch and christmas cookies and you listen for hours to Hinata talking about the things he experienced while abroad. You swipe through photos on his tablet while around you people come and go, and the entire time Iwaizumi sits so close to you that your knees keep touching underneath the table. Occasionally his hand brushes over the small of your back or pulls you a little closer towards him when someone else squeezes beside you, his touch lingering but never overbearing. 

It’s getting late and you should probably go home soon, considering the last looming deadline you still had to tackle before your winter break, but it’s not easy to peel yourself away from Iwaizumi. Not when he draped his jacket over your shoulders and his fingers brushed the nape of your neck, and especially not when he starts peeling oranges for you and starts pushing the slices directly between your lips when you’re too lazy to lift your head. 

You watch him quietly as he does, his fingers that are usually a little bruised and roughed up now impossibly gentle as he digs through the citrus skin, peeling away layer after layer. It’s beautiful, you think. He’s beautiful. You wonder if he could do the same to you, tearing through every bit of resistance you put up to protect your heart, or maybe if it was already bare in front of him the entire time, ready for him to sink his teeth into your flesh.

You hope he’ll peel a thousand more oranges for you in this lifetime.

✧. ┊ ONE, AGAIN

It’s winter solstice and Atsumu and you decide to host one last party at your home before the year ends. Together you go out to buy liquor and one mistletoe (for the festive spark of it all) but the lady from the flower store insists you take all of them for free since they’re closing soon and she would throw them out anyway. So now there’s around fifty mistletoes hanging from every ceiling of your apartment and the entire hallway of your floor, and you briefly wonder just how many mistletoes it would take for Iwaizumi to kiss you tonight.

Osamu begrudgingly agrees to prepare some food since you’d end up raiding their fridge around 2AM anyway if he doesn’t, meanwhile Suna shows you some paparazzi-esque photos on his phone that he took of Iwaizumi and you over the span of this month. For once you’re grateful that he snaps a photo of everything and everyone, because swiping through these makes your heart do a little flip in your chest.

There’s one with both of you smoking on the fire escape, leaning in close to catch the flame of the lighter. You with your legs thrown over his lap on their couch while waiting for the weed brownies, his arm resting behind you on the couch. The moment when Iwaizumi takes his tight compression shirt off in front of you (it’s slightly blurry and Suna blames it on the goths and their shitty lighting). Iwaizumi and you pinning Oikawa to the floor and a Wii controller on the verge of becoming a murder weapon. You napping with your head on top of your folded arms, a plate with some orange peel in front of you, Iwaizumi’s hand in the back of your neck while looking down at you fondly. 

To be adored by Iwaizumi Hajime feels tender and mellow. There’s something magical about it; never loud or overwhelming, and yet never leaving room for doubt how he does love you with his entire being. It comes to him as natural as breathing. A love as toasty warm like a black cat basking in the sun, storing sunshine in every fibre of your soul. 

When you open the door for him later that night, he hugs you longer than usual, his arms caging you in his embrace. He murmurs something about all these mistletoes against the shell of your ear and you laugh.

“I think it’s a dumb tradition, but they’re quite beautiful, aren't they?”, you ask and Iwaizumi pulls back slightly to look at you, his hand cupping one side of your face now. 

“More than just beautiful,” he mumbles, not talking about the mistletoes.

You learn that night that Iwaizumi doesn’t dance (other than Oikawa and Atsumu who are currently destroying the Dance Dance Revolution dance pads in the living room), but he’ll happily spend hours watching you do your DJ thing. Anything as long as he can be in your proximity. He’s leaning back in the chair in the corner behind your pult, a cold Tiger beer in one hand, his chin resting on the other and his gaze never leaving you. It’s like he’s your personal bouncer for the night. You quite like that. It’s an oddly protective gesture but it makes you feel warm and giddy. 

“Someone just asked me if they can snort protein powder off my biceps,” he tells you when you return from the bathroom back to his side. He holds up a cigarette he rolled for you meanwhile. You lean down and let him put it between your lips before he reaches for your lighter stored in his pocket. 

“And did you let them?”, you ask, your face illuminated for the flick of a second when he lights up the cigarette for you. You’re standing between his spread legs and Iwaizumi reaches for your hips, making you stumble a little closer to where he was sitting. His chest is heaving now, his pupils dilating when he lets his eyes wander over you. You’ve seen this expression before, you think. It’s been the same from when you touched him for the first time, back then on the fire escape.

“Told them I was already taken,” he murmurs, almost not audible, and even in the dim light you can see the tip of his ears dusted in a dark pink color. His eyes flick up to yours and his expression is something between pleading and demanding. Oh. 

How brazen. 

He lets out a labored breath when you push him back in his chair, making room for you to straddle his hips. His hands find your thighs, fingers digging into your supple flesh and it’s clear that he doesn’t plan on letting you go for the rest of the night. Or, forever maybe.

You take a long drag of your cigarette and this time it’s you cupping his chin, tilting it up and hovering above him. Iwaizumi doesn’t need to be told what to do, his head falling back, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly before he parts his lips and lets you blow a mouthful of smoke into his lungs. It’s greedy, how he swallows it so willingly, watching you through half-lidded eyes. Hungry. Begging. Adoring. 

He’s in love with you like no one else ever was. 

“I need to kiss you or else I’m going insane.” 

His voice is hoarse, strained. As if he is clinging to the last bit of his resistance and sanity. In one swift movement he snatches the cigarette from your lips with one hand and carelessly drowns it in his half-empty beer bottle, his other hand wraps around the back of your neck and pulls you closer to him again.

“Please,” he huffs and it sounds like he’s pierced with ten swords, in agony over not feeling your lips against his. “Pretty please.” 

Your arms wrap around him and you kiss him. During the longest night of the year it’s like the sun is rising just for you. You don’t think, just let the feeling wash over you as your body melts against his. Iwaizumi lets out a quiet growl and kisses you back, gently at first, until your tongue slides against his and his calloused hands against your bare skin start trembling slightly. He’s using every ounce of self-restraint so he wouldn’t devour you on the spot. He knows you’d let him and that is a problem. 

“Took you long enough,” you mumble against his lips once you pull apart to breathe, which could have been an hour later or a lifetime. Time becomes a blur under the soft caress of Iwaizumi. He mirrors your smug smile, stealing another kiss from your lips.

“I’ll make up for it,” he rasps, closing his eyes when you rest your forehead against his. His hands on your waist pull you impossibly closer again, his fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt, caressing the sliver of skin there. He lets out a quiet hum, a sound very close to purring. “Gonna kiss you stupid till you forget your own name and can only remember mine.”

“Silly,” you huff back and kiss him again. “Is this a threat or a promise?”

“Both. With you, it’s both.”

a/n: hi eggy ily!! your wishlist was spectacular and i had a lot of fun writing this for you (at some point it got a little out of hand i'll admit lmao). hope you enjoyed your gift and that the rest of your 2024 will be warm and tender. trying not to get sappy here, just know you always leave such a mark with anything you write, it's something i deeply admire. happy holidays & all the love for you <3

[paetalks]

tw: smoking!

imagine being a cute girl in her twenties, living in a big city while finishing up your degree, and getting introduced to ryomen sukuna by one of your friends. you are on a night out at your usual bar downtown and you do vaguely remember your friend telling you something along the lines of “i’m bringing my coworker with us tonight”, but remember also shrugging it off with very little interest. and now there is this guy in front of you, tattooed and and big shoulders, with an annoyed face as if he didn’t really wanted to be there.

“when you said something about bringing a colleague i thought you meant a fun one” you tease your friend, brushing you hand on his shoulder and giggling. sukuna’s eyes dart up as you introduce yourself, smelling the alcol on your breath from the drinks you already had. you look hot, with a low cut top and hair up in a messy bun, pointing at all your friends and introducing them to him as well. there’s about a dozen of y’all, it looks like a big but close friend group, but he really could not care less.

while seating down and shaking a couple of hands here and there, his eyes are only fixated on you, sitting on the other side of the table. the light is dim and your laugh is loud, capturing him even from afar. next to him, his colleague is saying something to another guy with black hair about work, so he could chime in the conversation, but his attention is onto you.

and you can feel him staring, your skin burning under his gaze, as if watching your every moves. your stomach feels weird about it and nobody else seems to notice how his eyes are carving holes in your face, your chest and your hands. you wonder if maybe there is something wrong with what you’re saying, or maybe wearing, but the more you think about it the more your stomach entangles. “i’m going outside for a smoke” you quickly blurt out, getting up and grabbing your jacket in a hurry. it’s like his staring has knocked air out of your lungs.

while you march towards the door, leaving your wondering friends behind, you feel footsteps following you. reaching the handles, you quickly open it and look back. he has followed you out there.

“oh my god.” you whisper, while the tattooed man pulls out a cigarette pack and calmly hands it to you, while grabbing one for himself. looking at his offer and even considering it, you shake your head and take out your own. while lighting his one up, he gestures to yours, but you quickly and almost comically show him the pink lighter in your hand. he nods, but doesn’t say anything.

it’s just when his eyes finally look away, glaring at the starless sky, that you finally blurt out “why are you staring at me?”. he laughs again. “why not?” he asks back “you’re nice to look at”.

“wow”, your words let smoke out of your mouth “that’s the compliment, i guess”. looking at the people walking by, you wonder who this guy is and why does everything he say makes your inside feel like jelly.

his voice is deep and slow, his eyes have something about them that you cannot quite pinpoint and his body looks sculpted. you realize, at this point, that he is a very good looking guy and your cheeks flush involuntarily.

“are you embarrassed by it?” he asks, noticing your redness, a cloud of smoke coming out his nostrils. “no”, you say, standing straight. a faint smile forms on his lips when looking at you again, and there is something in the way you move closer to him, throwing away your cigarette meanwhile, that lights a fire in his chest. your skin looks ethereal in the street light and your plump lips are slightly open. he finds himself wondering how they would feel on his body.

“move” you command, since he is in your way to the door, just standing there, dozed off. he is not, actually, dozed off, just thinking about how to subtly ask his coworker and friend for your number without sounding like a total jerk. you are standing so close now and he hasn’t even finished his smoke, so he nudges at the cig and smirks “at least let me finish properly.”

but when your cold fingers reach for his hand, grab the cigarette and put it in your own mouth, his heart starts beating too loud for his liking. you inhale slowly, letting it be consumed slowly by your lungs, and he watches you the whole time, not daring to blink once. when you reach the filter of the cigarette, you toss it on the side, smirking as well and saying “now you are all done. let me get inside”.

he moves out of the way in a second just to watch you walk by and he’s able to inhale of your perfume. it’s intoxicating, all flowery and sweet he could feel his head spin - but maybe it was just you, your presence, making him feel like that.

walking back in after another five minutes of thinking, he catches immediately a glimpse of you laughing at your friend, sitting at his seat at the table. he rolls his eyes, smiling and thinking something along the line of this is going to be fun.

[ssscatola]

task force 141 headcanons because I have free will

soap wears nothing but adidas slides when he's on leave. he's sick and tired of getting blisters from his military boots that he refuses to wear any other shoe when he's back in scotland

ghost's favorite season is spring. he loves hearing birds chirping and singing (would never admit this out loud) and enjoys hiking when the weather is just right.

gaz will cook a mean roast and is a snob about what herbs and spices go with what meat and vegetables. (this goes for soap as well bc i headcanon he was raised on a farm)

price is so fucking tired all the time but hides it really well. he'll fall asleep standing up in a heli without a problem

speaking of price, he's a loud ass cougher and sneezer and the rest of the force mimic and tease him about it

ghost has every member of the force's phone number. Price is saved in his contacts as 'Captain Price'. Gaz is 'Kyle Garrick'. Soap is just /insert scottish phone number/ and he refuses to change it just to piss off Johnny

to continue that adidas slides thought for soap, i like to think he's dripped out in any sportswear brand. DEFINITELY has a Napapijri jacket and at least three nike puffer jackets. every item of clothing for the gym is either nike or under armour and every running shoe he has is by asics

Gaz has five colognes he rotates. Soap has three (used to have four but lost one??? where the fuck is it?). Price has one that he's been rebuying for the past fifteen years. Ghost also has one (stole the best-smelling one from Johnny)

Gaz really likes board games while Ghost enjoys card games

Price knows some russian and soap is learning spanish

Ghost grew up with nothing and is now insatiable. doesn't spend that much on decorating his apartment or clothes but he sees a weighted or heated blanket on amazon with raving reviews? doesn't even check the price; it's in his cart. A new mattress made out of memory foam for his shitty back? added to cart. He sees a commercial for a 70-inch flat-screen tv? he needs it to watch soccer in 16k 240fps and 480p re-run episodes from youtube of 'how it's made' when johnny visits him.

price types with one finger (sorry to this man)

ghost rarely types out a response to a text. or if he does respond, it's just a thumbs-up emoji

soap gets down NASTY to 2000's and 2010's music. Like girl this man is breaking his neck and back and ankles on the dancefloor after three-four drinks and nobody can stop him

continuing for soap, he once got wasted and borrowed a cigarette from someone at a club and turned into a hired assassin for the night. the guy who gave him the cigarette got jumped and soap dislocated the attacker's jaw with one punch

gaz has every allergy under the sun while ghost gets the flu every five years or so

ghost has a sharp left canine and johnny nearly flatlines when he sees it

price has freckles on his biceps and shoulders

ghost notices soap is always chewing gum. they make stops during missions so the sergeant can buy (more like swipe) a pack. always the same brand, always the same flavor, and he always offers a piece to ghost. for his birthday, ghost gifts him two mega packs (that's like 400 pieces?) of his preferred gum and soap's heart swells in his chest

these are all over the place but i'm writing a ghoap fic and my motivation is dwindling so i just had to write this :')

if anyone wants a part 2 let me know bc this was a lot of fun to write!