#but if you asked him to make literally anything else

[neferaskingdom]

♡ Too Precious | LN4

NEFERASKINGDOM

Summary: Lando loves the party life. She prefers quiet nights in. When their differences start to build, so does the tension.

A/N: This is part of my Playlist Roulette series, where I shuffle my playlists and write a story inspired by the first song that pops up. This story is inspired by the song Too Precious by Em Beihold.

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'Cause according to you, I'm too precious You're wishin' that I was more reckless You're wishin' that I would smoke 'til I'm high And play with the guys, regret this You're wishin' that I was more trouble Sorry for being a struggle I do what I want and may not be your type Sorry I can't be a person you like

Lando had always been the type to take things too far.

He lived for the noise. Loud music, louder people, places where the drinks never stopped flowing and sleep was something you caught on a plane. It was easier that way. Fill every second, don’t let your mind slow down enough to catch up.

Since he was sixteen, life had been a blur of tracks and cameras and fake smiles at dinners with sponsors. So when the weekends came, when the pressure finally let up, he wanted to feel like he had some control. He wanted to drink, to laugh too hard, to forget.

And at first, she hadn’t minded. She was different from everyone else in his circle. Calm. Private. Comfortable in silence. Lando had thought it was refreshing. Being with Lando meant fast flights to Ibiza, impulsive parties, nights where the sunrise came too soon. But the novelty wore off. Now she just felt tired. Like she was always trying to catch up to a version of him that wouldn’t sit still. She’d thought maybe he’d slow down for her. He thought she’d go along with him.

They were both wrong.

"Just try it," he said, holding out the glass. "It’s literally one drink."

She didn’t even look at it. "I’m fine."

"You always say that."

"And I always mean it."

Lando leaned back against the kitchen counter, the glass still in his hand. "You’re kind of allergic to fun, aren’t you?"

She glanced up, eyes narrowing. "Excuse me?"

He took a sip and shrugged. "Nothing. Just... you’re too precious sometimes."

She blinked, like she wasn’t sure she heard him right. "Too precious?"

"Yeah." He grinned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "Too good for all this. For drinks, for staying out past midnight, for letting loose like the rest of us."

She crossed her arms. "That’s not fair."

"It’s not an insult."

"It sounds like one."

Lando tossed the rest of his drink back, ignoring the way her face tightened.

"I’m not going to pretend I’m into something I’m not. That’s not fair to either of us."

He pulled back slightly. "Right. Of course. You're too precious."

"Stop saying that."

He smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "Why? If the label fits."

Another night, another party.

She sat in the corner of the room, watching him move through the crowd like he belonged to everyone. He was surrounded by friends, or at least people who laughed when he made a joke and handed him a joint without asking questions.

One of the guys passed it to her.

"I’m good," she said quickly, waving it away.

Lando saw from across the room and walked over, slightly buzzed and way too confident.

"Come on," he said, voice low against her ear. "One puff won't turn you into a delinquent."

"Can we not do this here?"

He straightened, irritated. "We’re just having fun."

"I know. It’s just... not my idea of fun."

His smile faded. "Right. I forgot. You don’t like anything messy."

"That’s not true."

"You say that, but every time things get a little wild, you check out. You sit on the couch and stare at your phone until it’s time to leave."

"Because I don’t want to pretend to enjoy something that makes me uncomfortable."

Lando’s mouth opened, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he turned back toward the crowd. She watched him go, heart sinking.

The fight came later that week.

He showed up late to dinner, still wearing a wristband from some club he never mentioned he was going to. She had cooked for once, tried to make something that wasn’t takeout.

Lando kicked his shoes off and tossed his keys onto the table like nothing was wrong.

"You look nice," he said, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

"You’re late."

He pulled back. "Traffic."

She just stared at him. The lie was too easy.

"You said we’d have a quiet night."

"And we are."

"You went to a party."

He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. "For like, an hour. Don’t make it a thing."

"You could’ve told me."

"I didn’t think I needed permission."

She bit the inside of her cheek. "That’s not what I said."

Lando set the bottle down harder than necessary. "Is this really about me being late, or is this about how I live my life again?"

She met his gaze. "It’s about you never being fully present unless there’s a camera on or a drink in your hand."

He scoffed. "There it is."

"There’s what?"

"The judgment."

"It’s not judgment."

"You keep saying that, but every word out of your mouth is just a more polite way of saying you think I’m a screw-up."

"I just think your... lifestyle. It isn’t healthy."

He blinked, like she’d slapped him. "Wow. That’s what you think of me?"

"It’s just I think you’re constantly burning the candle at both ends and pretending it doesn’t affect you."

He laughed, but it wasn’t light. "So now I need saving?"

"That’s not what I said."

"You didn’t have to."

She stepped closer, trying to stay calm. "I’m not trying to change you, Lando. I just want you to see that this isn’t sustainable."

"You think I haven’t heard that before?" His voice was rising now. "From my team, my parents, everyone who wants a piece of me? I don’t need to hear it from you too."

"I’m not trying to pile on, Lando. I just—"

"What? Want me to grow up? Stay in? Light some candles and watch a movie like everything’s normal?"

"Yes," she said softly. "Sometimes I do."

He stared at her, something shifting in his face. "You want to fix me."

"No," she whispered. "I want to reach you. But you’re always somewhere else."

He laughed, bitter. "That’s rich, coming from you."

"What’s that supposed to mean?"

"I want you to stop treating me like some broken kid who needs to be fixed."

"That’s not fair. I didn’t mean anything like that-"

"You know what’s not fair? You walking around acting like you’re better than all of it. Too perfect to ever mess up. Too perfect to actually live a little."

"I don’t think I’m perfect."

"You act like it. You sit there with your tea and your books and your damn moral compass, and every time I step out of line, you look at me like I’m some kind of disappointment. And now you’re trying to control how I live?"

"I’m not trying to control you."

"You told me my lifestyle isn’t healthy. You basically just said you’re embarrassed by the way I live."

"I said I’m worried."

"Yeah, sorry you can’t mold me into someone you like."

Her throat tightened. "I don’t want to mold you. I want to feel like I’m not losing you to a version of yourself you don’t even like."

"Don’t psychoanalyze me. You don’t get it."

"Partying every night isn’t healthy!"

He went still.

"There it is again!" His tone turned sharp, defensive.

"I think you’re drowning and pretending you’re swimming."

His jaw clenched. "And I think you’re a control freak who’s afraid of anything she can’t schedule two weeks in advance."

"Wow."

"Yeah. Wow."

There was a long pause. Neither of them moved.

Finally, she spoke. "I can’t keep pretending I’m okay with this."

Lando’s jaw tensed. "Then maybe you’re not the person I should be with."

She swallowed hard. "Maybe I’m not."

The silence between them stretched out like a chasm.

He picked up his keys again.

"Let me know when you’re ready to stop looking at me like I’m a problem. I’ll leave you to your quiet night" he said, and walked out the door.

She didn’t cry. Not right away.

Instead, she sat on the couch alone, staring at the plate of food that had gone cold hours ago.

She hadn’t meant to make him feel small. She just wanted him to slow down long enough to see that not everything good had to be loud and fleeting.

But maybe that was the problem.

He didn’t want quiet. And she couldn’t keep pretending to love the noise.

[everrinsly]

a/n: i'm glad there's a few of you who also love sugar daddy suna, thank you; i really need him in this economy. we all need him haha ╰(*´︶`*)╯

~~~~~

suna may be a famous pro athlete, but he is first and foremost your best friend vibes.

and he loves spending money on you (especially on your weekly grocery hauls).

sugar daddying part 3 (450 pieces of candy and a pack of chuppets in aisle 8) with suna. long drabble. fluff. fem!reader. | not proofread.

sugar daddy suna | part 1 | part 2

more reads!

~~~~~

Maybe your first mistake was letting Suna push the cart. And your second mistake... was becoming his best friend because he had all your favorite foods and snacks memorized now—

"There's those peach-milk candies you like. Lemme grab them real quick."

"You want those fancy-ass yogurt drinks, angel? What flavor?"

"I'm gonna grab your favorite brand of udon, so we can make it later, yeah?"

"Mochi ice cream. Vanilla or matcha—actually, nah."

(He threw them both in the cart).

—so what started as a 'quick grocery run' turned into him casually knowing all the likes and dislikes of your tastebuds, speed-running your entire favorites list like it was a shopping game show.

You adored Suna, really. But it gets to a point where you're going to have to fight him at the cash register because you can't afford all of this.

"Rinnie," you sighed softly, tugging on the rolled-up sleeves of his hoodie.

“Hm?” He didn’t even turn, just kept scanning the candy aisle like a predator tracking prey, probably looking for those Hi-Chew candies he knows you love so much (he's right, it's your second favorite).

You leaned over the cart. “Why are there five packs of those fancy yogurt drinks in here—and..." you trailed off, counting. "One... two... three... four—eight?!"

You gave him a look, one that made him just want to squish your cheeks (you don't know that though).

"Rin! Why are there eight packs of peach-milk candies?!"

"You said you liked them," he said blandly.

"There's fifty pieces in each pack!" You slapped a hand against his chest.

Suna hummed, then shrugged, tossing another into the cart anyway. “Well, now you have nine. 450 pieces total. Stay sweet, angel.”

You flushed, groaning into your sleeves, which only made him grin as he pushed the cart forward with the lazy swagger and nonchalance of someone who had way too much money and not enough shame.

And then, when he tossed in your favorite seaweed snacks, your arms flailed.

“Rintarou! No—”

He blinked innocently, green eyes twinkling with mischief. “These? Oh, my bad. Thought they were for me.”

“You said they're too salty for you.”

“Yeah... but you like them. And I like you.”

Your breath caught. He didn't even look at you when he said it, too busy grabbing three of your go-to instant ramen cups.

You squinted at him, heart fluttering in your chest, just begging to be released to Suna's arms.

Suna stared down at you, like he was mentally asking 'you got anything else to say?'

You sputtered. No, you didn't have anything else to say.

Suna smirked like he'd just won a very quiet war. Then, he reached for your favorite brand of fresh milk bread and tossed it in the cart without a word.

"…You don’t even know how much this is gonna cost," you mumbled, trying to sound annoyed and failing miserably.

Suna finally turned to face you, leaning over the cart, his arms folded on the handle like he had all the time in the world.

"I literally make more per match than this whole store makes in a day."

“Still. You don’t have to—”

"I want to," he said simply.

And that shut you up again. Because you knew he meant it. Just like he meant it when he ordered your favorite takeout when you were sad. Or when he kept your favorite playlist downloaded on his phone even though he 'hated that shit.' Or when he drove forty-five minutes to your college campus just to bring you a new laptop charger because yours broke.

You sighed, cheeks warm. "You're really annoying, you know that?"

Suna smiled, a real one, slow and soft. "Yeah. But I'm your annoying."

And just like that, in the fluorescent lights of aisle 8, with your favorite snacks piled high in an overflowing cart, you felt your heart flutter in that dangerous, hopeful way it always did around him.

You didn’t say anything. He didn't say anything.

But you reached out, plucked a bag of his favorite multiflavored chuppets from the shelf and piled it on top of your snacks. Then quietly mumbled, “…Thanks, Rinnie.”

And in true Suna fashion, he pretended not to hear you, but the way his lips twitched gave him away.

Though, you weren't sure if that was caused by you or the chuppets.

[kionetra]

TikTok trend gone horny?!

Synopsis: What starts as a playful TikTok prank—making your boyfriend act out song lyrics—takes a filthy turn when you pick a rather explicit track. You expected laughs. You got something else entirely.

Warning: MDNI +18 ONLY, Fem!Reader, Established Relationship, TikTok Challenge Gone Wrong, Oral Sex (f receiving), Fingering, Rimming (f receiving), Rough Sex, Dom!Gojo, Sub!Reader, Praise Kink, Light Degradation, Size Kink, Overstimulation, Cumplay, Tummy Bulge, Mating Press, Semi-Exhibitionism, Reader Passes Out (from head), Reader is so fucked - literally, Multiple Orgasms, Power Play, Soft Aftercare, Gojo is dangerously good at following directions, You Started It.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You tried to keep a straight face as you set your phone up on the dresser, angling it just right to capture both you and your very unsuspecting boyfriend. He was lounging on the bed, half-scrolling through his phone, half-watching you through hooded eyes that always got you in trouble.

You turned to face him, a small smile playing on your lips.

"Okay, babe - trends simple. I'll play the song and you just have to do what the lyrics say. Got it?"

Satoru raised a brow, looking at you as he put his phone down, still leaning against the headboard of the bed as he crossed his muscular arms - muscles flexing under his tight black shirt.

"And why am I doing this?"

"Because you love me so much and would do anything for me?" You said sweetly, batting your eyelashes.

Satoru snorted, shaking his head like he was already regretting this, but he got up anyway—because of course he did. He could never say no to you.

“A'ight,” he said, stretching like a lazy cat as he stood, his shirt sliding up to reveal the sharp lines of his v-cut—and just beneath it, the tempting trail of white hair that had your eyes dipping far too low, far too fast.

You quickly hit record before he could notice the way your breath hitched.

Starting safe, you played something light—a throwback pop song, just to ease him in. He rolled his eyes but played along, mouthing the words dramatically, even throwing in a little body roll for good measure.

You had to stifle your laugh when you changed tracks, trying not to crack up as the beat of "My Neck, My Back" filled the room.

~ ".....my neck, my back, lick my pussy and my crack," ~

You watched his face, waiting for the laugh, the eye roll - something.

But instead... he smirked.

"Satoru....heh..." you suddenly backpaddled, laughing lightly as your smile faltered, throwing your hands up in defense - the room suddenly feeling much smaller.

"It's just a prank, babe."

He tilted his head slightly, that grin deepening into something slow and dangerous. “Yeah?” he said, stepping toward you with the kind of confidence that made your knees weak. “Funny. Doesn’t feel like one.”

You swallowed hard.

The phone kept recording.

And the prank? Yeah—you were definitely the one getting played.

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annnnnnd that was how you found yourself with your thighs clenched around Satoru's head as he sucked on your clit - fucking into you with his long, thick digits - curling them to hit that spongy spot deep inside that has your toes curling.

"f-fuck! Toru!"

You gasped out, eyes rolling back as your body thrashed, trying to push him away.

"Don't fucking run fr'me - take it, you asked for this."

He groaned into your pussy, his voice sending vibrations through your body as his tongue flicked rapidly over your swollen clit.

the music played in the back, almost mockingly - like you asked for this.

And Satoru? He followed the lyrics to a tee.

You gripped his white locks, tugging harshly as you fucked your cunt into his face, losing control as you felt him meet your actions with equal passion - having the audacity to nip at your puffy bundle of nerves - chuckling at your following yelp.

"Yeah, just like that, sweets - mmm, fuck,"

You felt your orgasm crash over you as you let out a silent scream, back arching off the bed - Satoru still relentless in his assault. He moaned in approval as he continued thrusting his fingers into your gushing cunt - lapping up all your juices with a filthy sluurrrrrppp.

"hah....f-fucking hell Toru...."

You managed to gasp out between your pants, throwing your head back as you looked down between your soaked thighs, his eyes peering up at you as he lifted his head - his face fully drenched in your slick arousal.

Still utterly fucked out, you felt him lift your hips, bending you in half as he pushed your legs back, leaving you fully exposed to him.

"w-wait...hah...I'm still-"

You were cut off as he delved back - this time lower - as he began eating your ass out, tongue licking and prodding as his other hand massaged your clit in rough circles with his fingers.

And that was when you passed the fuck out.

"C'mon baby - open those pretty eyes for me."

Your eyes opened slowly, staring at the ceiling as you tried to remember what the hell just happened.

"Mmph.."

You groaned, looking to the side only to be met with the flushed, leaking tip of Satoru's long, girthy cock. He smirked as he looked down at you with the eyes of a predator who had finally hunted down their prey.

"Ate the pussy s'good that you passed out on me, hm?"

He mumbled, stroking your hair as he gripped the base of his shaft, his heavy balls swinging slightly as he tapped the tip on your forehead.

"You started this, sweets - you gotta finish it, don't hold out on me now, baby."

Seconds later and he had your face smushed down onto the mattress, hips snapping roughly as he pounded into your poor, sopping cunt. You could only moan out, muffled by the sheets as you pathetically pushed your hips back against his brutal backshots, feeling your eyes haze over.

"This all for me? f-fuck! So-" pound "fucking-" pound "good," the headboard slammed violently against the wall, not truly paying homage to the brutal fucking he was giving you.

The only sound heard was the vulgar sound of skin slapping and the wet slosh of your cunt as he slammed into your aching pussy, filling you to the brim as his heavy balls slapped against your clit - almost making you pass out, for the second time.

"ah! r-right there! p-please, 'toru!"

You whined out, drunk on his cock as you gripped onto the sheets, arching your back further as he split you open.

"Yeah? fuck - right here?"

He gripped your hips with a bruising squeeze, angling his hips to hit that spot deep inside he knew would make you shatter. He watched, hypnotised as your ass jiggled in motion, kneading the dough in his hands as he delivered a harsh smack!, almost cumming from the way it recoiled - a red hand print beginning to form.

"Fucking cum for me - soak my dick, baby - wanna feel this pretty pussy milk me for all I got,"

Satoru leaned down, growling in your ears as his hips never faltered, his hand that wasn't holding your head in place sliding down to rub circles on your puffy clit, nipping at your ear as he soothed the sting with his tongue.

"Hah! 'Toru! m'cumming! I l-love you - hgnh - so g-good, ah!"

You came - again - with a gasp as your body trembled, your legs giving out as you felt your body slump down.

Satoru didn't let that happen though - no - he wrapped his muscular arms around your waist- lifting your limp body off the bed as he continued pounding into you ruthlessly - leaving you defenceless.

"You like it when I'm rough, don't you, baby? Like it when I -" his hand reached up to pinch at your nipple, rolling the pebbled peak between his thumb and forefinger - his other arm still wrapped around your waist tightly, using your pussy like a flesh-light from the way he was dragging you down onto his aching cock. "- fuck you like this? f-fuck - when I'm diggin' deep in this pussy? My pussy?"

you could only whimper in response, your body dangling as he fucked you onto his cock, throwing his head back with a groan as he bit his lip, eyes rolling back. Your mixed juices dripped down both of your thighs, pooling onto the towel he had managed to slip underneath when you were passed out.

"Shit - m'gonna cum - hah, love this juicy fucking cunt."

He whispered in your ear. You couldn't keep up - trying to respond but only having incoherent mumbles stumble past your lips as you took him - all of him.

He suddenly flipped you around, laying you down - only this time, looking deep into your eyes as he buried himself to the hilt, balls resting snugly against your ass as he groaned.

"Fuck, yes - take it, baby - Take every fucking drop like the greedy little cumslut you are."

He growled, feeling your pussy clench and flutter wildly around his throbbing cock, milking him for every last drop. He gave your weeping cunt slow, deep strokes, working his cum into you as he smashed his lips to yours, swallowing your cries.

Your body trembled and shuddered beneath his, overstimulated as he filled you to the brim with his seed. You could only cling to him, your nails raking down his back as you kissed him back with equal fervor, swallowing his groans and grunts of pleasure.

He gentled the kiss, his lips softening as he pulled back, a string of saliva connecting between them. His eyes softened as he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

"I love you, sweets - was it too much?" he asked, his mind clearing as he took in your fucked-out expression, smirking slightly in smug male pride, knowing he was the one to do that to you and no one else.

"I am never doing a TikTok trend with you again," you mumbled, voice hoarse, eyes barely managing to stay open.

Satoru chuckled, dragging his fingers gently along your thigh. "Yeah, you will," he whispered, eyes glinting with mischief. "You just won’t survive the next one."

You turned your head as you heard your phone ping with a notification.

Fuck, you forgot to stop recording.

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a/n: hey y'all! Thank you so much for the love on my last post, it means a lot and gives me so much motivation! I saw this video on tt that someone posted and I've been laughing over it for the past hour - literally got inspired to write a whole smutty one-shot over it LMAO. Again, this was lowkey short but they will be getting longer with time!! If you guys want more posts like these, lmk heh 🤓. Hope everyone's having a good day/night!

tiktok that inspired this 😭

[fandoms-in-law]

Wrong Twice Over

Summary: Eddie adopts Dustin immediately because he's mentioned in his soulmate words.Once he hears them though, he just wishes he hadn't discounted someones likelihood of being his soulmate and needs to make it right.

~

Eddie had never told Dustin but from the time the kid had introduced himself, he’d had a place in Eddie’s life. He was mostly thankful that the brat liked DnD so keeping him around wasn’t a hardship at all.

The reason for that were the six words on his knee, the first words Eddie’s soulmate would ever say to him, that mentioned Dustin specifically. Somehow the kid was a connection to them and he didn’t intend to let that pass.

With Lucas and Mike, he’d breathed a sigh of a relief when neither of them said the words, though he definitely hadn’t given them the chance to do so and make sense. It was just better that whomever his soulmate was wasn’t a child.

So far only a week into the new school year had passed, and while Dustin had pointed out a couple of other seniors as people who’d help him, neither of them seemed likely to care if the kid said something right or wrong.

The last person in what Eddie thought was a reasonable age range to be his soulmate was too absurd to even consider as being it: King Steve Harrington himself.

There was no chance that someone like that could be anything to him at all, even if Dustin spoke as if he was a hero.

With those thoughts in mind, Eddie had no worries when greeting his unexpected visitor with, “Well if it isn’t the king coming with threats over something.”

Steve had looked like he actually could have threats given he was holding a few pages of notes out and had gotten out of his car looking like he was on a mission.

Once the words were said though he froze, staring at Eddie and dropping the pages on the ground before seeming heartbroken and turning away. “Well that’s Dustin wrong twice over.” Was all that was said as he vanished back to his car and sped away again.

Now Eddie was frozen, knowing the sentence too well and stunned. He’d expected it to be a joke, or to be something shared flirtatiously, but instead the soulmate words he’d cherished had been hurt and upset. It broke something in him to know he’d somehow been around his soulmate in school for so long yet their first actual interaction had been so negative in the end.

Resolving to figure out how to apologise he picked the pages up and looking them over only felt worse. There were lists and lists on them, things that the new members of Hellfire would struggle with facing in a campaign as well as vague or scribbled out reasons why he should avoid them.

It looked like Steve might’ve even asked someone for help with the list since there were three handwriting styles on the page, some giving ideas for what could be done instead of the things listed, others changing his explanations for why they needed avoiding.

He didn’t know what Dustin had been wrong about, but Eddie definitely felt like he’d been wrong multiple times over about Steve and anything he’d been doing.

At least he knew for certain that he had to make it right again.

~

“Dustin! Need your help!” Eddie called, late to get to the Hellfire table for lunch and focused on the first thing he hoped could be done.

“Better find someone else to help then.” Dustin replied, turning and glaring at him venomously.

Mike also glared, while the rest of the table looked between them in confusion. “Yeah, you don’t do that shit and then ask for favours.”

Eddie looked between them, glancing around to see Lucas staring, expression controlled, where he sat with the basketball team and hopefuls wanting to try out. “I want to apologise. That’s what I’m asking for your help with.” He pulled out the letter he’d written, holding it towards the younger students.

“Why? Because you realised that high school isn’t everything even though you were preaching that all last week?” Dustin snapped. “He literally wanted me to be right. Said he’d try to help when Mike worried at movie night and believed that you’d be cool. We all did. So fuck you, whatever apology you’ve got I’m checking first.”

A throat was cleared behind him before Eddie could reply. “As will I, and all of you better hope it’s good enough.” A band student stood there, arms crossed and eyes hard as she looked over Corroded Coffin. “You spend your life making big statements and gestures so maybe try that this time. I’m taking this now.” She plucked the pages from his hands

“Robin! I need to check that!” Dustin protested, standing to follow her.

Mike rolled his eyes as they both walked away. “She means it. If there’s someone going to raise hell for Steve it’s Buckley and then Dustin. But if that was a letter for him then it’ll get to him.”

“An apology and a thank you. He dropped a list I think he wanted to talk to me about when he came round. I’m glad I have it and wish I hadn’t spoken as I did, though I thought it was just teasing.” Eddie explained, sitting down at the table as he didn’t feel the need for a speech that day.

“What do we have to do with whatever happened?” Gareth asked, looking at the freshman curiously.

Mike sighed as if it was obvious. “Band students sometimes work with the drama kids, so if she talks to the drama teacher where are we going to play? Though I think Nancy might have to get involved to manage that so I will try to avoid it happening.”

“She’d go after a club you’re part of?” Jeff asked, sceptical.

“The party sticks together. We’d accept it if Dustin decides not enough is done.” Lucas says coming over to the table, now looking amused and a glance back to the basketball group showed Robin and Dustin reading over the pages and debating just behind them. “But it sounds like you’ve made a good enough start. Just need to put some actions behind whatever you’ve written.”

The older students exchanged looks, “What party? You mean like in a campaign?”

“Close enough.” The younger pair agreed.

For the rest of lunch conversation moved back to various classes and goals for the year, but Eddie was watching where Dustin and Robin had seemingly come to a conclusion, his apology getting folded into Robin’s pocket.

~

Steve didn’t make an attempt to reach out to Eddie after getting the letter. Dustin calmed down now his initial annoyance had passed, but it was clear not everything had been forgiven.

Soulmates were meant to be perfect for each other, so despite all the ideas based on what Eddie had known of Steve that meant he acted differently, he tried to focus on things he wanted to do to apologise.

Making a character in a campaign would only work if it was one where they got Steve into the school to play, so that couldn’t happen immediately. Writing a song would also only work if Steve allowed it too, and accepted an invitation to the Hideout to see it performed, since Eddie was never going to risk arrest by playing it outside the mansion in Loch Nora.

“Time’s ticking, Munson. Are you going to make a move?” Buckley asked, waiting at his locker when a couple of weeks had passed since he’d sent the apology.

He turned, smiling at her, “Wish I could. Don’t know where to find him and am a little concerned over getting the wrath of his parents if I just turned up on his doorstep to beg forgiveness.”

“We work at Family Video. He gets the early shift during the week so either skip school to see him or come in on the weekend.” She huffed as if this was something he should’ve know. “And those assholes are never in town. I could move in and they’d never realise.”

“Lonely life.” He commented before thinking about it and looking shrewdly at her, “How often do you hang out at his and would you mind if I crashed an evening?”

Robin smirked at him, “Now you’re getting it. Talk to us instead of stewing in that head of yours. This week I’ll be there Tuesday night and Thursday. Entire party will be there on Friday so avoid it unless you know you’re a hundred percent serious over Steve, not just your soulmate.”

“Tuesday night, then. I’ll bring pizza and something sugary.” He decided.

She nodded in allowance of that but, as she turned to leave, added “And something in case he has a migraine. I heard weed can help.”

~

Steve held the door open but didn’t move out of the way of it as he stared at Eddie. “Hi, Munson, erm, are you okay?”

“Fantastic. A birdie told me you’re hanging out tonight and I offered to bring pizza so I could hopefully apologise in person?” Eddie grinned hopefully, but knew his eyes showed the internal wince when he mentioned their last interaction.

“Okay, um, come in. I did get your letter, you know. You don’t need to do anything more.” He replied, stepping back, still looking uncomfortable.

Eddie clicked his tongue, “I have to argue with you there, Harrington. I definitely need to do more, not because we’re soulmates but because you’re apparently the sweetest guy around who keeps lists of things a bunch of kids I can’t figure out your connection to need to avoid in a game it sounds like you never play. I judged you for someone I should have seen you no longer were and that need plenty of pizza apologies.”

“We, basically all of us have similar things we need to avoid.” Steve muttered, but led the way through to his living room where Robin was stretched out over one sofa.

“Munson, come in! Tell us about your day.” She called, gesturing around the room as if it was her own.

He laughed, collapsing onto the other sofa, “What do you want to know?”

“What the shitheads got up to and if they’re planning any chaos for us.” She answered easily.

Steve shook his head, moving to sit on Robin’s sofa, easily accepting it when her feet were placed in his lap. “They’re always planning chaos, if they’re not in deadly situations.”

With that the conversation flowed easily between them and Eddie began to hope that even if he’d messed up meeting his soulmate they could become something wonderful with time, and apparently, with Robin there too. He didn’t need to see Steve with her for long to know there wouldn’t be any separating those friends.

A rocky beginning can still become a great story.

[isetfiretomyself]

Yandere Male survivor X G/N Zombie Reader

Sorry for the lack of fics! I've been going through it but don't worry, I'm back! and killing a reader... again. I do love you guys I promise (⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧ - Jay

Trigger Warnings! Emotional grief, depictions of violence, Emetophobia, murder . I really tried making this fic darker than usual. This is all fictional! I do not condone toxic (or yk literal crimes) behaviour irl!

Riley was devastated. Watching you collapse in his arms. Spasming, foaming at the mouth with tears in your eyes. Watching you turn into a zombie was worse then watching that monster to take a bite out of your leg. Wether it was seeing his face while dying, love or just something unexplainable but your undead form could understand him. Activity trying to reach out to him.

🦴 Yandere Survivor who kept you on a leash at first. You were still alive but now a curious thing.

🦴 Yandere Survivor who kept a shot gun with him.

Every time he met anyone new they all tried killing you. He didn't like that. He'd aim for their knee caps so you'd have some lunch.

🦴 Yandere Survivor who hated nights. Watching you stare at the wall or into some woods killed him. He missed your human form more then society before the apocalypse. He talked to you still, sometimes just talking about memories. He's scared you'll forget one day.

Riley was caught off guard once by a zombie but you stepped in. Repeated smashing another undead monsters skull against the round. The already infected brain smearing on the floor. That was the first time he saw you as a beast but it was for him...to protect him.

🦴 Yandere Survivor knew you still loved him! You two had left your city when the outbreak happened but now that everywhere is infected he really wanted to go home.

Walking along the empty street road. Riley noticed a car was coming along. That's never a good sign, survivors smart enough to find petrol are smart enough to shoot zombies on sight. He gently grabs your hand. He's worried if he used too much strength your hand will rip of your body. The car stops, survivors get out warily. "Don't shoot!" Yandere Survivor yelled out.

🦴 Yandere Survivor didn't really have anything else he could say. He saw one of them grab something from behind their back. He grabbed his shot gun and fired twice. One in each head, they collapsed to the ground almost simultaneously. If he didn't feel sick he probably would've laughed. All that could be heard was retching and his vomiting splattering against the ground. That's the first time he took a lift technically. I mean he'd shot before but so you could go in for the kill.

Riley walked over to the corpses. It was a gun the survivor was going for but it didn't make him feel any better. Yandere Survivor looks in the car, he can hear chewing and a almost moist noise of lips slapping together. He loves you but no zombie could eat in a non disgusting way. He grabbed some of the food he found in the car. A protein bar, bag of nuts it was all useful out here. He noticed a map. Funnily enough they weren't as easy to find as in those zombie games. Looking along those lines stretching out for all over there was a scribbled circle around where you and him had been with the title "specimen". Riley should of caught on sooner it was about you.

More and more survivors were trying to interact with you two, especially trying to immobilise you.

🦴 Yandere Survivor had enough by the fourth time. Holding another survivor at gun point "What's going on!?" He can hear you grunt behind him agreeing with him. "That thing! That's what they want! They said we'd have safety - You- you wouldn't understand! You have a little guard dog by your-" he was cut off by the sound of his own jaw being blown off. The body slumps on the ground. Nobody gets to talk about you like that. You nudge his giving a displeased looked. "Oh yeah! Probably should of asked who 'they' was, shouldn't of I?"

🦴 Yandere Survivor did find out it was scientists looking for you. I mean you're the most human zombie out there but for you to be studied they'd definitely have to cut you open. He's not letting that happen. He's lost part of you, he's not losing the rest. The first two full kills upset him greatly but now he can do it without even cringing. Yandere Survivor couldn't tell if you're more human or he's more zombie at this point.

🦴 But with all this going on with all the darkness and violence there's a few happy times! Yandere Survivor got used to your cold hands holding his arm or your grunts that only he could understand. He never got chance to propose to you but he supposed that also works about you two aren't together till death do you part. He's stayed after that.

[howi99]

From the Nest 22

- morning -

Jaune: *sigh, looking at the empty spot where team RWNY usually sit* ... I hope Weiss is alright-

Weiss: *opening the doors of the cafeteria dramatically, then spotting Jaune* ... *Walk towards him, without a word*

Jaune: *wince* Weiss, i'm sorry for what i said yesterday and-

Weiss: *slamming down her palm on the table, looking him straight in the eyes* Jaune, i need you to come with me!

Jaune: *blink* ... Sorry?

Weiss: *sigh* I talked with my sister yesterday; Seems like everything you said was true!

Blake: *rolling her eyes, mumbling to herself* So when the faunus told you it was fake news, but when a human does it's true?

Weiss: *confused by Blake hostility* I don't- that's not- why do-

Blake: *sigh* Nevermind, carry on.

Weiss: I-... *shake her head, looking back at Jaune* I'll cut to the chase; l need to learn how to fight without dust! *Bit her lip* I... I can't, in good conscience, continue to support my father's actions and-

Jaune: *Panicking* Woah! Weiss! You don't have to change your fighting style because of your father! That's suicide!

Weiss: *looking down* But what he does is horrible and-

Ren: *calmly pat her back* Weiss, i know your company as the quasi-monopole of the industry, but there are still others you could buy from.

Weiss: *sigh* Like who? I never heard of anyone else who weren't scams.

Nora: *lighting up* Oh, there's the CDC! They aren't big, but that's where me and Ren bought our dust from!

Jaune: *smile* Oh yeah, those guys! They bought back some of the camps we kept raiding. *Nod* They ain't bad.

Weiss: *confused* The CDC? *Pensive* I... Don't think i ever heard of them.

Blake: The Coal Dust Company is the only dust company allowed to trade with Menagerie. *Shrug* Since most of their clientele are faunus, that's probably why you never heard of them; they aren't competing with the SDC.

Weiss: *pensive* I see... *Shake her head* Nonetheless, i wish to learn how to fight without relying solely upon dust.

Jaune: *sigh* Weiss, i don't know why you think i should be the one teaching you how to fight without dust considering i rely on it constantly.

Weiss: *confused* What do you mean?

Jaune: *removing his boots* Look inside.

Weiss: ... *Sniffing them, turning slightly green* They smell...

Jaune: *rolling his eyes* You don't have to put your nose inside! Look at the fabric inside!

Weiss: *taking a look* ... Gravity dust?

Jaune: *taking back his boot* I can't Jump like any of you; my aura control is atrocious. So instead i use these to be an immovable object. And that's the case with almost all of my fighting gears.

Blake: *frown* But your semblance-

Jaune: *cutting her* My INNER aura control, i meant. *Manifest his aura, reaching all around him up to 2 meters* I'm a master at projecting my aura outward, but inward? *Shake his head* I can heal myself and... *Shrug* that's about it.

Nora: *looking at her leader with a puzzled expression* You smashed Cardin through a table and then literally threw him hard enough to break a SECOND table! How-

Ren: *nonchalantly* Jaune is ripped.

Everyone: *look at Ren*

Ren: ... What? You do realize we change together, right?

Blake: ... *Picking up her notebook* How ripped are we talking about?

Ren: *pensive* Hm... I'd say enough to make Nora or Yang blush.

Nora: DAMN! *Look back at Jaune with a grin* Sleeper build much, eh?

Weiss: *frown* But that doesn't make any sense! Outward manifestation is far harder to master!

Jaune: *Sigh* From what my teacher told me, it's due to the way i unlocked my semblance. *Cutting Nora before she could say anything* And before you ask, i'm not going to say how i unlocked it. Bad memories.

Nora: ... *Smile gently with a nod* It's fine, i understand.

_ _ _

Weiss: *sigh, walking back towards the dorm* Who should i ask? *Sigh again* Jaune's out, i certainly can't fight like Yang, so who-

Pyrrha: Hey, Weiss!

Weiss: *looming at Pyrrha, who was walking towards the gym* Oh, hey Pyrrha...

Pyrrha: *tilting her head* Is everything alright?

Weiss: *sigh* Yeah, i just... I asked Jaune about tips to fight without dust, but that was a bust.

Pyrrha: *smile gently* You still don't want to use dust anymore?

Weiss: *shake her head* They made me change my mind on that, but i still think i should diversify my arsenal, you know? *Chuckle awkwardly* I mean, you don't use dust at all and yet you can kick everyone's butt so easily.

Pyrrha: *shrug* I don't mind helping you out, you know? Showing you the ropes.

Weiss: *frown, looking at Pyrrha* You... Don't?

Pyrrha: *chuckle* Why would i? We are friends!

Weiss: *blink* We... are?

Pyrrha: *confused* We aren't?

Weiss: *shuffle in place* I-i mean, i just... I thought you didn't really like me much. You weren't really thrilled by me being in your team, right?

Pyrrha: *scratch her neck, looking a bit guilty* Well, you were kinda... Intense, before initiation. But since then? *Smile* You never acted as if i was different from anyone else. *Sigh* Honestly, i was just afraid you'd put me on a pedestal.

Weiss: *confused* Why? You're good, but i'm pretty sure my sister could still beat you without problems. Or any real huntsman who deserves the title for that matter.

Pyrrha: *laugh* Not wrong there! *Sigh happily* Anyway, wanna join me for training? Yang's already waiting, but i doubt she'd mind you joining us.

Weiss: *nod with a wide smile* Of course! Let me grab my gears and i'll be right there!

[elodieunderglass]

I've started watching Ed Pratt's series From Source to Sea Down the Thames (he's the guy you once said was like a younger, posher Dr. Glass) and oh my goodness, I see what you mean about the West Country Adventure Boy. in the first couple installments especially, he really is just crashing around getting into situations he should have no right to emerge unscathed from, and then the next thing you know some lovely people have invited him into their back gardens for tea. (he also encounters many conditions that prompt him to say, "this is awful!" in a cheerful sort of way, and I fully expected him to pull out some Kendal Mint Cake for the occasion, but in this I was disappointed.) anyway, I hope Dr. Glass is doing well and continuing to Perservere Bafflingly

(West Country Adventure Boys)

They’ve got that SOMETHING in them!

I am actually full-on dying of a cold so am viewing him coldly as That Bastard Who Isn’t.

Dr Glass is cross and bored and frustrated at the moment, signed off work for an ME relapse and incredibly annoyed about being commanded to “not do anything” except light Regency lady activities such as embroidering and writing to his penpals. He has just come in to tell me about how a letter to him from his penpal in Japan costs the equivalent of 47p to send, and she gets to put in heavy things and ephemera, but his costs ten times as much for less weight; we can make of that what we will.

He then asked why I’d filled the snack box with KMC and I was like “I ordered it as research for the genius recipe in my comic.” He then perked up and bimbled off to see if it does anything for, presumably, ME relapses, or perhaps energy with which to take Mouse(2) to the postbox to post the letter. Is Mouse eating the mint cake? I think so… I no longer care. Mouse has just made me watch about 90 straight minutes of trains arriving and departing on YouTube and wave bye-bye to all of them. I was too tired to do literally anything else and Dr Glass rotates childcare with me and that was My Contribution.

The other day Dr Glass dropped a sharp knife and then caught it by the handle in midair. I was disgusted

[cllightning81]

Muse

Summary : Paul starts to get a little jealous that you're not drawing him but you didn't want to intrude on his personal space. He becomes your muse

Pairing/s: Paul Aron x Reader

Word Count : 1k

Masterlist Driver Masterlist Want to be included in my tag list? Click HERE - My tag list has been updated now, including new drivers! Please fill it out again so I can keep up to date on your preferences

You’d always been into crafts from painting to crocheting to photography. Any kind of crafts had drawn you in. When you met Paul you were going through your drawing and painting phase again. 

You’d wanted to draw Paul of course you did but you didn’t ask because you didn’t want to make him feel uncomfortable. Instead, you subtly included things about Paul in your art. From using only his colours to hiding his number in them as well. You thought he had noticed until one night when you were sitting on the couch sketching your little pup.

Paul was silent for a while almost as if someone had stolen his golden retriever energy and now he was sitting with a little pout on his face watching the TV. You were so engrossed in your sketch of your pup that you didn’t notice.

“Alright” He huffed pausing the TV causing you to look over at him 

“You okay baby?” You asked tilting your head a little to look at him. Paul let out a breath turning his body to look at you a little more as he fiddled with his fingers. You’d never seen him look so nervous. Not when he was racing at such high speeds or when he was doing something else that could be classified as dangerously stupid

“What’s wrong?” You questioned with a frown moving one of your hands to hold his own 

“You know that I love your art don’t you?” He started to which you nodded 

“Of course I do. You get so excited with every piece I finish or start to be honest” You replied to which he nodded looking down at your hands 

“I erm. I guess you could say I’m a little jealous of our pup” You frowned moving closer to him 

“You want a little more affection? You know I’m always up for a cuddle or sex or literally anything to do with touch” You hummed wrapping your arms around his torso. Paul nodded with a smile 

“I know you’re always up for affection however that’s not exactly what I meant. You’re always drawing our pup or flowers or actually anything really cute and you make it look even cuter because you’re drawing it” He explained and you smiled 

“Baby? Would you like me to draw you?” You asked and he nodded shyly lifting his head to look at you “I never asked because I never wanted to make you feel uncomfortable. I wanted to give you that little bit of space away from those kinds of things” You explained and he squeezed your hand 

“I’d always love to be your muse even if it includes more photography or drawing but because it’s from you I think I can handle it” He smiled 

“You know all my drawings and paintings have a little bit of you hidden in them” You smiled and he frowned sitting up slightly as you grabbed your notebook 

“Yeah?” He asked and you nodded flipping through the sketchbook. Pointing out each of his team colours throughout his career, his number hidden within drawings or drawings based around his number 

“I can’t believe I never noticed these” He frowned and you smiled 

“I thought you had noticed them. It was my way of having you as my muse without wanting you to feel uncomfortable” You clarified and he smiled 

“Armastus (Love) I love them even more now!” He exclaimed taking your sketchbook and placing it on the table to turn you around so that you were underneath him. His hands were on either side of your head as he leaned down and pressed kisses to your lips. You hummed into the kisses chasing his lips once he pulled away. 

“Please never be scared to ask to be my muse again” You hummed and he nodded with a smile 

“I think your first picture of me should be me shirtless” He joked with a laugh and you smiled placing your hands on his shoulders and pushing him up as you sat up. Paul leaned down pressing his lips to your own again. 

“Hey wait a moment I was enjoying this” He whined a little with a pout and you chuckled 

“But you’ve inspired me” You pouted and he shrugged getting up and picking you up 

“You’ve got plenty of shirtless pictures of me. You’ve got a whole album! You can use one of them!” He exclaimed walking to the bedroom. 

When Paul finally fell asleep you snuck out of bed and walked towards the spare bedroom that you’d turned into a little art studio considering no one ever stayed with you both and there was no need for it to be another bedroom. 

Plugging your phone into your charger and setting it up on the tripod before opening up a new canvas and ensuring it is prepared for your drawing. You took your favourite picture of Paul – He was standing on the edge of a boat on a day trip looking away from you – and set it up so that you were able to copy it onto your canvas. 

You weren’t sure how long you had been sitting on your stool drawing Paul before moving on to painting him. 

“Armastus” Paul whispered groggily his voice horse from sleep as he walked over wrapping his arms around your waist his head resting between your jaw and shoulder. A hand moved to rest on his head running your fingers through his hair. “Come back to bed. Please” He whispered and you nodded setting everything back to where it lived 

“Come on then baby. Let’s get you some sleep” You smiled and he nodded standing back up to allow you to get up and walk back to the bedroom with him. You cuddled into him his head resting between your shoulder and jaw. His arms wrapped around your torso as you played with his hair. 

From that day on most of your art became Paul. Whether it was pictures of Paul or drawings of his car. Anything to do with Paul you drew and he loved it. Posing more often so you could take pictures and in the end draw them. 

Tag List

@myloverjk @tpwkstlies @formula1-motogpfan @geniusalpaca @mynameisangeloflife @widow-cevans @morganalatina21

[sincerinty]

“Cupid is so stupid.”

Text exchange with Blue Lock boys with you asking them for love advice since you consider them your best friend, but they like you secretly.

FEAT. Rin, Bachira, Chigiri, Isagi.

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— ITOSHI RIN ┊ɞ・

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ He tosses his phone on the bed but it bounces off and hits the floor. He doesn’t pick it up. That sick feeling in his chest? He knows it. You like someone else. You called him your best friend. He wanted to tell you not to go for the guy. That he’s probably not worth it. That he doesn’t get you the way Rin does. But all he did was shut down. Now all he can think is: “If I said something first… would you have even looked at me that way?”

⋆⭒˚.⋆° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .

— BACHIRA MEGURU ┊ɞ・

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ He puts his phone down, rolls onto his back, and stares at the ceiling. Then he groans. Loud. “Stuuuupid,” he mutters to no one. He smiles like it’s a joke, but his chest feels tight. You always tell him everything—but this time it wasn’t fun. This time it was about someone else. And yeah, maybe he gave you advice. Maybe he played along. But he didn’t like it. He didn’t like it one bit. “Bet he doesn’t make you laugh like I do.” He almost texted that. But didn’t. Not when you called him your best friend like it meant something safe.

⋆⭒˚.⋆° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .

— CHIGIRI HYOMA ┊ɞ・

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ He rereads your texts a few times before locking his phone. Then unlocks it. Reads them again. He told you what you wanted to hear. Calm, neutral, supportive. But when moment you said “you're literally my best friend, ew.” it felt like a paper cut. It stings more than it should. He tugs his hair back into a ponytail with too much force. He knows he shouldn’t be upset. He knows you see him as just a friend. But all he can think is… “why not me? What does he have that I don’t? Why do I still hope you’ll change your mind?”

⋆⭒˚.⋆° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .

— ISAGI YOICHI ┊ɞ・

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ He tries to focus on his training schedule. On anything else. But your words keep bouncing around in his head. “How are you always this thoughtful.” It should make him feel honored. It should feel enough. It doesn’t. What he described was what he felt with you. It hurts to think that you'd feel that with someone that's not him. He answered your question too fast. Too eagerly. Tried too hard to sound okay with it. But deep down, he felt that ache. That “I’ve already lost” kind of ache. He wonders if he should just confess and get it over with. But what if it ruins everything? No—he can’t risk it. Not when just being in your life already means so much. Even if it hurts.

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[kxsagi]

a little rant then a smol request in the end bcs i wanna let it out and i have no one to talk about it with and this is kinda my safe place (and ik you can make me better with your great writing 😚😚)

~

so, i had this classmate that also liked blue lock and this classmate of mine liked nagi sm. he also acted like nagi (as in like both gamers, lazy but genius and vv tall and shi)

had confessed to him exactly 2 years and 5 months ago and got rejected because he wanted to focus on himself for now and i respected that because I totally understand when things get rough in life you want to distance yourself with others

and everytime i move on from him i keep coming back. the first time was after i got rejected, moved on and it came back just right before our Christmas break because he said to me "Merry Christmas and enjoy your break" (i know I'm a simp) and the second one was after our high school graduation and it only came back when i saw him after summer because we attend the same university (and in the same class too)

it's literally so hard to move on from him, like one of his friends had a crush on me that i had spoken to but cut him off (he was a red flag, and luckily i avoided it) because i was still crushing on this guy 😭

and months later (literally just this april) i noticed he keeps talking to all of our classmates, even my own group friends but when I'm in the picture he starts to avoid me and ignore me as if I wasn't even there?

so here i am, moving on and trying to get the closure i want but can't because he keeps running away from me and i guess that's a good thing (??)

so the request was to make a better ending than my life because oml i can't with this (yes it's a nagi x reader so i can just associate him with Nagi since they're the same) during their student night (prom) where Nagi realizes he just kept running away because he didn't want to fall in love but he knew he'd be better off with reader and confessed that night and they become lovers (yay)

(ps. sorry for the long message and sudden lovestory lore drop, i couldn't talk abt this to my friends because i know if i did, they'll just question my feelings because they know it's nigh impossible for me to move on and let on my efforts go to waste 😔😔)

– 🪻

“𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐫”

a/n: hey pretty! honestly, your feelings are totally okay, normal, and valid. us as girls tend to have crushes on people for a long time, and if he’s still single, then that’s okay! it’s nothing to be embarrassed about it and if he’s a green flag, if you think he’s good for you as a partner, i PRAY that you two get together someday! 

him avoiding you isn’t a bad thing, don’t overthink about it + i’m always here if you wanna talk about anything as well :)

side note: where i’m from, we have high school prom in hotel ballrooms. i’m not sure if it’s like that for other schools

side note #2: i chose i was all over her by salvia path as the title because i think the song is fitting for this scenario. nagi’s known to be lonely and he definitely finds comfort in others’ presence

the music is loud, the lights are spinning, and the ballroom smells like too much cologne and cheap perfume. your heels are already starting to hurt, your mascara’s a little smudged, and your best friend ditched you for their date ten minutes ago. 

and then there's nagi. 

leaning against the back wall like he always does. hands in his pockets. slouched posture. tie half undone. phone in hand like he’d rather be anywhere else. you catch his eye across the room and flash him a look that says really? you promised you'd try tonight. 

he shrugs. lazy as ever. but his gaze lingers longer than usual, like maybe there’s something on his mind. something heavy. 

“this is kinda lame,” he says when you walk over to him, voice low and bored like always. 

“you’re the one who didn’t wanna go in the first place,” you tease, nudging his arm. “but you still came.” 

“’cause you asked.” 

your breath catches a little. he says it so simply. like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

nagi seishiro doesn’t do effort. he doesn’t move unless it’s convenient. he doesn’t stay unless it’s worth it. but he’s here. in a suit he didn’t wanna wear. at a dance he didn’t care about. standing next to you like it’s the only place that makes sense. 

“did you eat?” you ask, trying to change the subject before your heart betrays you and starts beating out of your chest. 

he shakes his head. 

you pull him toward the snack table. he doesn’t complain. he lets you drag him through the crowd, fingers brushing together until he just... holds your hand. casually. no warning. 

your brain short circuits. 

he pops a cookie in his mouth like nothing happened. 

you try not to explode. 

“you’re acting weird,” you mumble. 

“am i?” he says, chewing. 

you look at him. really look. something’s different tonight. not in his appearance, he still looks effortlessly good, like some model who wandered into a school dance, but in his eyes. they’re softer. warmer. watching you like you’re something rare and precious. 

“i’ve been thinking,” he says, voice quiet. 

that alone is shocking. nagi? thinking? willingly? unheard of. 

“about what?” 

he glances at the ceiling like the words are stuck there. “about you.” 

oh. 

your stomach flips. 

“i always thought love sounded like a pain,” he continues. “too much work. too many feelings. not worth the effort.” 

you nod slowly. “and now?” 

he meets your gaze. “and now i think i’ve been running away. ‘cause maybe i didn’t wanna fall.” 

you don’t say anything. you can’t. the music fades into the background. it’s just the two of you. the lazy genius who always kept things at arm’s length, now looking at you like he’s finally ready to let go of his fears. 

“but then there’s you,” he murmurs. “you make everything easy. even when it’s hard. and i don’t wanna keep running.” 

your breath hitches. 

“so... can we be something? like, for real?” he says, cheeks slightly red. “you and me?” 

you blink. once. twice. and then you smile so big it hurts. 

“took you long enough.” 

he lets out a soft chuckle. it’s rare. boyish. genuine. 

you pull him onto the dance floor, ignoring his halfhearted grumbles. he puts his arms around your waist, lets you sway with him, lets the world blur. 

and in that moment, nagi seishiro realizes love isn’t something to avoid. 

not when it feels like this. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[towasdandelion]

YOUR SUGGESTIONS ARE OPEN!!! (∩^o^)⊃━☆ HAI I HOPE YOURE DOING WELL!!! as always no pressure to write this but i have had an idea rotating in my head since like uhhh two weeks ago?? nd i think it would make for a very fun smau ♪(´▽｀)

LETS JUST SET THE SCENE: mc is hanging out with a ghoul who is a very good friend of theirs!! THEN the ghoul leaves their side for one reason or another, and someone else swoops in and starts flirting w the mc (someone like haku or rui for the sake of ghoul rivalry?? or maybe just some random general student who knows.)

mc texts them something to the effect of IM BEING HIT ON HELP and the ghoul comes RUNNING!!!!!

ofc you can do with this what you will these are simply my brain worms <3 (if i may ask for ritsu to be included pleasepleasepleaseplease okay THANK YOU)

and ofc thank u for you writing as always!!! hope u have the best day ever (๑•̀ㅂ•́)و✧

Hiiii! They are they are hehe (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠) honestly I never even imagined getting any! Maybe that's why they make me feel a bit overwhelmed at times (⁠^⁠～⁠^⁠;⁠)⁠ゞ writing for someone is fun but it definitely feels different! I'm doing good now though thank you!! That's a very nice idea by the way so let's get goooo. I decided to kinda do a mix, a few with ghouls rivalry and a few with general students since I couldn't decide!! This was so much fun to write (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

Sinostra and Obscuary ghouls when someone flirts with you

Ritsu would be there in the blink of an eye. He would be like "Excuse me? I do hope you're aware you're breaking law right now. You can't touch people without their consent" (Proceeds to recite a whole ass paragraph) to which Kaito just pales before leaving in hurry without another word. He would then make sure you're okay and after that.. he'd drag you to the library, sit you down and open the Penal code, telling you to read the paragraphs he pointed to until you can recite them. He wants you to be able to fend off anyone who dares to get too close in case he's not around. Very thoughtful!

Taiga wouldn't usually care, but there's this important thing - you're his lucky charm. And that really changes things. He's there in literal seconds, glaring at the student as he approaches you, draping his arm loosely over your waist. "Ya lost or somethin?" Is all he needed to say to make the poor guy shiver. He would stand there frozen until Taiga grins at him, showing off his sharp teeth. The student gulps before quickly excusing himself. Problem solved. Without another word Taiga would smoothly escort you to his room, where he then make you pick a gun he'd later train you with... Extreme measures you say? Please, it's Taiga we're talking about.

Romeo would mutter to himself on the way, complaining how useless you are, not even being able to rid of some random guy. He gets furious upon noticing the student reaching for you, immediately slapping his hand away. "Just what do you think you're doing touching her!? Scram if you don't want me to make you beg for mercy!" The student's eyes widen. The guy is not even able to utter a single word. Finally he just let's out an awkward laugh and walks away. And now finally, Romeo can scold you for being so apathetic in this situation. If you dare to tease him about how protective he got just a minute ago I can't guarantee that you'll come out of this alive...

Rui lets out the biggest dramatic gasp upon seeing Haku openly flirt with you when he arrives. "Hey, hey buddy! Sorry but the role of her simp is already taken, thanks though!" He would say before throwing an arm over your shoulder and swiftly leading you away from the potential suitor, not even giving him a chance to say anything. Poor guy just got rejected not by the girl, but a ghoul who appeared to be your boyfriend. Yes, that was Rui's goal. Even if you two weren't together, it was more fun that way! He will pout playfully until you reassure him he's still your favorite flirt.

Ed, just where did he come from? You could have sworn you never heard any footsteps approaching yet there he was standing behind you, resting his head on your shoulder and looking at the guy with a lazy smirk. "My, my, and who is this gentleman? Is he a fresh meal for me? How kind of you" He'd lick his lips and you just know the guy wishes he never spoke to you in the first place. He sweats profusely before muttering a lame excuse and running as fast as he could. A shame, Ed admits but then he teases about you becoming his meal as a reward for scaring away the guy. By any means, feel free to get this idea out of his head.

Lyca's brows furrow the moment he spots you talking to Rui. He approaches you without hesitation, taking a stand between you and the blonde. "She's not interested in you" he states flatly, glaring at his 'opponent'. Surprisingly, he will then lecture him, saying to never ignore girl's body language and to never touch without consent. Rui blinks in confusion but nods along nonetheless, before laughing it off. He quickly excuses himself before walking away. Lyca doesn't understand the look on your face though. Why are you staring at him like that? Did he do something wrong?

[infanttoes]

Flip4Flip! 💥Katsuki & Izuku☘️ HCs

Sorry for my lack of posting. I don’t have an excuse tbh, I just didn’t feel like it :P

This duo as my apology. Idk how I haven’t done them yet, I just realized. They’re one of my faves🧍

☘️ : This has been established before, but Katsuki’s a toddler regressor (4-ish) while Izuku kinda slides around from toddler to preteen, nothing’s ever really stuck.

💥 : Katsuki refuses to ever admit he’s regressed. He’ll literally threaten to uppercut someone in the jaw at the mere suggestion, even though he’s simultaneously fantasizing about going to bed and watching All Might movies with a sippy cup full of orange juice. Izuku’s tactic is often to just subtly watch over him and do simple things like grabbing him snacks or changing the TV channel to cartoons until he stops trying to fight it.

☘️ : Izuku definitely picked up Katsuki’s swearing habit and it’s become a major battle. Katsuki would be making him lunch and accidentally drops food on the floor, followed by a hushed “shit.” But we all know nothing gets past Izuku. That word became his anthem for the next three hours.

💥 : You haven’t seen hyperactive ‘til you’ve seen a regressed Katsuki. Izuku takes him to the park and gives him activities to do regularly, but he never seems to run out of energy. He’s always on the go! This has resulted in very, very frequent hikes and rock climbing trips because that seems to be the only thing that tuckers this kid out.

☘️ : Izuku forces Katsuki to color with him. And gets offended that his drawings look better so he takes away his crayons. Sometimes he’ll shove his paper in the other’s face and make him guess what it is, but God forbid he gets it wrong (even though it’s usually All Might or Katsuki himself.)

💥 : Both have very distinct ways of comforting each other. Katsuki believes in the art of minimalism (he doesn’t know how to comfort someone.) He’ll usually sit with Izuku and rub his back idly until the tears die down. Izuku doesn’t mind since he doesn’t typically wanna talk about it anyway. On the other end of the spectrum, Izuku is like an anxious mom. He’ll destroy all 7 world wonders to satiate the beast we call Katsuki, and most of the time he just needs a nap.

☘️ : Katsuki calls Izuku mama or papa. It’s never consistent, just depends on the day honestly. At first, Izuku tried correcting mama but he gave up after a week of no results. Izuku only ever uses Kacchan, and Katsuki actually finds he’s more comfortable with that than anything else.

💥 : Although they’d both been regressors for a while, Izuku was the first one to make himself known by appearing in Katsuki’s doorway at one in the morning, trembling in fear because he thought the pile of clothes on his desk chair was a monster. Katsuki’s first time regressing around Izuku was after the war. They co-depended too hard and he accidentally revealed his true identity during a sleepover 😔

☘️ : Physical Touch & Acts of Service. They clash very often because Katsuki has very strict physical boundaries and Izuku feels guilty when people do things for him, but they make it work.

💥 : You best bet they still bicker and annoy each other, even when one is little. It’s just a bit different. Katsuki tries to purposefully break the rules and give Izuku an attitude just for the attention. He likes testing his patience. Izuku is the “why” type of kid. He’ll ask why a million times over, even if he already got or knows the answer to his question, just because he thinks it’s hilarious to see Katsuki try not to pop a vessel.

☘️ : They have a shared drawer full of All Might bandaids that they restock bi-monthly.

[rekino2114]

I’m missing the Nayuta daughter au posts… So celebrating Nayuta’s birthday request! Could be headcannons or a oneshot, it’s up to you! (it’s not my birthday btw, mines in November, but still, I had an idea!) how far would Makima and her husband go for their daughter? How many presents? Who would be invited? Anyone from public safety? (Would her aunts be invited <.< ? And if so what would Fami and Yoru bring?) Where do you think Nayuta would want to go for her birthday? Also, (this is a bit suggestive, so only add this if you want to) what if Nayuta asked for a sibling for her birthday, and then Y/n looks over and sees Makima giving him the look. And their both like “well… gotta give our daughter what she wants-“ sorry if school is bothering you, as a college student, I know its really tiring ;-;

…imagine if Yoru brings Nayuta a loaded shotgun or smth-

You and makima celebrating nayuta's birthday

A/n:the second request was sent literally today and it fit with the second part of yours so I added it here

From the moment nayuta understood what a birthday was she was very excited to celebrate them, she gets everything she wants for an entire day? She couldn't have been happier, just as you and makima couldn't have been happier to celebrate with her

She will get the day off no matter what and no one can tell otherwise. There are paperworks to do? Aki can handle them a devil is attacking a city? She'll just send someone else to take care of it without caring too much. Nothing can stop her from spending this day with her family

Makima will literally buy anything nayuta wants, she's rich anyway so money is definitely not a problem and she probably already knows most of the stuff her daughter wants even without asking her because she has a great memory when it comes to things like that but just to be sure she will ask her and buy everything she says.

She'll even give you a little gift. She knows it's not your birthday and you don't need it, but she just can't help but spoil you on any occasion she gets and she was shopping anyways and saw this and thought of you so just take it. She won't take no for an answer

"So nayuta do you like your gifts?"

"Yeah! They're amazing! It's exactly what I wanted"

"I'm glad to hear that, what about you darling?"

"W-well I love it too but you really didn't have to"

"But I wanted to, didn't you say you liked that?"

"Yeah I do but-"

"Then there's no problem, I love spoiling my two favorite people on any occasion and this was the perfect one, so please just accept it"

"........thanks you're the best makima"

"It's no problem darling"

Even if makima wanted this to be a party on the smaller and cozier side with only you three nayuta insisted on denji being invited which turned into power and aki coming too because the fiend didn't stop yelling until she was invited too and someone had to babysit the two of them

Makima told them to leave early though and no one dared defy her

Nayuta's aunts came too (and asa too technically who was very very embarrassed and uncomfortable the whole time even if she wasn't in control of the body for most of the party)

Yoru genuinely forgot she was invited until asa mentioned it to her on the day itself so she had no time to buy a gift so she just bought an actual shotgun that thankfully wasn't a former human at least

You and makima immediately told her to throw it away and almost banned her from the party because of that

".........why did you think bringing our daughter a loaded shotgun was a good idea?"

".......I mean I always wanted a shotgun as a gift when I was little"

".....you can literally make one whenever you want"

".......so?"

Fami had absolutely no idea what to bring and almost had a mental breakdown while deciding cause she thought her niece would hate her if she brought something bad

She ended up bringing the top 5 results that came up when she searched "things human children like" (and that her boyfriend helped her choose) which resulted in tons of toys that nayuta liked

Death brought a lot of food....like a lot way more than the people at the party could eat so she just brought the leftovers home for herself and her own bf (she also definitely had to stop herself from eating more than one slice of the cake)

Death was also the most comfortable around nayuta, even if she didn't talk much your daughter liked her and said that she was her favorite auntie....which might have resulted in fami crying a bit

The whole day was just amazing for all three of you but makima's favorite part was definitely at the end of the day when you three cuddled and watched nayuta's favorite movie together. Just hearing her laugh and smile at it made her heart melt even more than usual... she really loved this so much

"Hey, Mommy, daddy today was awesome!"

"Really? We're glad you think so"

"Yeah, thank you! It was super cool and....c-can we do it tomorrow too?"

"Sorry yuta, but birthdays are only once a year remember?"

"O-oh yeah sorry"

"It's fine"

"......but thank you again! You're the best mommy and daddy in the planet!'

"......thank you......you have no idea what that means to me"

After that you put her to bed and told her that she still had one birthday wish if she wanted

"I want a sister!"

"........w-what?"

"Yeah yesterday i saw two girls who looked the same and they were playing together and having so much fun and I want that too!"

"Well we have to give our daughter what she wants isn't that right darling?"

"....I suppose you're right, but it will take more than one day for the wish to come true.......a-and sleep a lot tonight ok?"

[promise-of-soup]

Hiiiii :3, I want to say first of all you WRITE BEAUTIFULLY WTF, I KISS YOUR HANDS FOR CREATING SOMETHING AMAZING. The HC's of Jiro???? THE OS????? Bruh, I love you, I fucking love you.

So, if you don't mind... Could you make out of the same Affection HC's with Yuri??? 🥺💕 Do it and I'll give you my soul and fidelity for the rest of my life, thankyou.

–🍄(or fungi)

AAAAAAAAA yooooo thank you so much 🍄anon! I'm so glad you liked it xD!! also can i just say; you sound like a fun guy (sorry i have chronic "needs to make a pun" syndrome)

Yuri is such a loser (affectionate), I love him so much :( so...

♫Yuri Isami Affection Headcanons♫

♬Synopsis: how does Yuri Isami show and receive affection? Is it true that he likes being called 'sweet'? find out here :3

♬Tags: Yuri Isami, kind of romantic but not inherently, MC with no description, cringe :3, fluff, a bit suggestive for one second, hehehe

♬Notes: I formatted this the same as the Jiro ones, lemme know if you want more characters :3 I'll eventually make like a masterlist thing if we have more than 4 lolol

*＊✿❀°˖✧✿✧˖°❀✿＊*

Yuri Isami has a bit of a reputation around campus... Sure, pretty much everyone knows he's really smart and that he's already published a bunch of academic papers before he even graduated, but he also gets bullied, a lot, for being kind of an oddball, so when it comes to affection, he is a bit cautious... So that no one thinks he's distracted or anything, not because he gets bullied.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ꕥ Showing ꕥ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

He has a modus operandi that is extremly obvious in canon with other things, so I assume it carries out to him showing affection... THIS MAN IS A TSUNDARE.

Alright, so, the very fact he has allowed you to be around him in the first place is a privilege that you should cherish and be thankful for, ignore the fact that he was the one who demanded your company.

When he wants to show affection he begins by finding a way to make you give him affection and then acts like he's doing you a massive favour that you literally begged him for.

In his head, he did that very confidently and slyly, and you can never pick up on it; he tricked you!

In reality he is a stuttering, blushing mess and asked for whatever it was while fidgeting with his hands and looking away -- you'd be evil not to agree ngl

He thinks he's confident with everything else when it comes to affection; in his head he's like "ha-ah! I had embraced MC with a great passion!" and in reality he is shaking and about to cry because the hug is comfortable and you're so close to him.

His favourite form of affection is letting you sit around him while he works, so long as you're not bothering him.

He will text you to come over urgently for a really important thing and then blank realizing he has nothing real to ask you to do, so he'll tell you to sit somewhere and then proceed to stare at you every once in a while as he works lolol, you can tell he's looking at you because he's suddenly sweating a bit and he always clears his throat.

Once more, in his own head he's like "MC has not noticed, in fact, MC is staring at me"

He LOVES holding hands, but is the kind to do it as a designated activity, ie. he would grab your hand, and then stand there holding it for a few minutes, growing more and more sweaty and red, and then he'll be like "Yes, that is sufficent" and let it go lmfao.

When he gets more comfortable and realize you're not going to bully him, his favourite physical affection will transition to hugging.

To him it's sudden, unplanned hugs, but to you, Yuri is approaching slowly with shaken arms and then very cautiously holds you against him for a bit.

He's really sweet, like really really sweet, but he's gone through a lot of mean name calling and dishonest interactions with people, so it takes him a while to feel safe.

Yuri isn't the best at figuring out his own signals, like he feels as though he wants to hug you, but doesn't realize it's because he's sad or anxious, so when you do hug, he suddenly crumbles :((

His highest form of affection is allowing you to see him cry.

Beyond the physical aspect of affection, which as I established, he's a bit slow with, Yuri shows most of his affection from a safe distance using his words.

"Your attire suits you well!" or "You're a competent helper!"

He has enough confidence to say things that are a bit impersonal, but when he gets more comfortable these become, "I enjoy your company" and "You look good" But those are stuttered while he looks away.

Hear me out; hand kisses. IT'S SAFE ENOUGH, so he can do it quite well. He'll grab your hand and slowly raise it to his face, giving you a gentle, barely noticeable kiss on your knuckles, and then look up at you hoping you get the hint and do something further.

That's his way to initiate more contact, he'll do it, and then when you don't move away or call him gross or anything awful like that (because of course you won't), he'll start kissing up your arm until he reaches your face and stops there for even more confirmation that you're alright with it. If you pull him in and kiss him on the lips he will fidget for a second and then kiss you back really intensely.

Guess what? he will still act like you're the one that seduced him into it, of course you did, asdjasskdafhadf

He wants to be affectionate, but it takes him a while to get there, so please be nice to him, but also be patient with the poor guy, he's trying.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ꕥ Receiving ꕥ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

Because of what we've established, Yuri needs you to be more straight-forward with him. Trust he loves everything you do, but he will attempt to push you away at every single turn.

He loves when you show up for him:

Come to the lab and put a jacket over his shoulders, massage his shoulders a little bit, sit beside him quietly and let him put his head on your shoulder, caress his head a bit.

If he falls asleep you better let him sleep and not move, also you're lucky because that's him lowering his guard to the extreme.

He looks so cute when he sleeps, you just wanna kiss his forehead and play with his hair gently, he's literally so so cute.

TELL HIM WHEN HE WAKES UP.

Okay look, praise the f out of this guy.

"You're so sweet, Yuri." , "You've done so well today." , "You're so smart" , "So pretty" , "Good job"

Especially if you give him a quick peck on the head after you say it, or like wrap your hands around him. Depending on his mood that day he might be on the verge of tears, but he'll always mummble a little "okay..." or something and melt into you.

Yuri not only loves praise, he really needs it, so on days he feels better; as I said, he's a tsundare so he'll be like "of course I am" or "ah! your praise will get you nowhere.... good try though." but he's invented a new shade of red in the meantime and is avoiding your gaze.

LOVES when you text him that you miss him or ask when you can come visit, because it saves him time making up a reason, and also he can use it against you because you're the one who begged him to visit.

For proper kisses, you need to give him a clear, verbal warning, otherwise he freaks out and goes "wHAT ARE YOU DOING?" he likes being prepared for it so he can hype himself up mentally before it happens.

You know how I mentioned he'll kiss up your arm? yeah, the little hand kiss he does is how you know he wants more of you, if you cut to the chase and immediately pull him in for a kiss, he'll be soooo happy, because you really really need him, don't you?

Anything that boosts his ego, truly his ego is a front, he's not confident at all, so if you make him feel like he is confident, he will be really pleased.

Pepper. him. with. kisses. he will giggle at this by the way, and he will like it.

Hold his hand, smooth your fingers over his.

Will die if you call him "my", like, he is yours, but you don't have to mention it, it's too much for him to handle :(

"Aww my sweet baby" and he's jumping so high he shoots through the ceiling and then starts walking in circles until you grab him and hug him tightly.

Y'know what you should do? Tell him he's the best and that people who speak badly about him are all losers, make sure everyone sees you hold him, praise him behind his back (he can still hear you and you know this) when defending him in front of other people, deliberately make sure Jin knows you like Yuri, really rub it in his face too lmfao

Basically he is baby.

[glassbxttless]

You don't see me requesting this...

Rye with chicken, and cheddar. And anything else you might want.

I've been thinking about it since you posted it.

Thank you <33333333333

It Was Only A Kiss

tommy gallagher (warfare) x fem!reader

word count: 4.1k+

summary: Sandwich Shop Request from (getaapologist) | You’ve got a weekend you need to spend with your family, who definitely think you have a boyfriend. So you ask Tommy to step in.

warnings: He does mention he’s a SEAL in here. There’s some kissing. Tommy’s falling in love whether he wants to or not. He wears his dress blues to a wedding. The typical fake dating romp. Very brief research was done, if it’s not accurate, it’s not accurate. Just enjoy it for what it is.

notes: this sandwich got a little out of hand! but order up for Tara! I had this queued for later this week but I couldn’t help myself anymore. Thanks to the girlies™️ for helping me pick which of these to post first. Big thank you to you, darling and to @keeryhours for reading this over. And big thank you to @peachyproserpina for editing (:

If you had ever wondered what setting yourself on fire felt like, you would guess it would be akin to asking Tommy Gallagher to be your fake date for the weekend. 

You had spent almost an hour pacing the small length of your living room, right in front of the coffee table. You were muttering half-formed speeches under your breath trying to work up the courage to just tell him, while Tommy sat quietly on your couch. He was watching you with a confused frown— the kind he got when he was trying really hard to be patient even though he had no idea what was going on. The kind that meant he was worried deep down in his bones, and not just about the hole you’re most definitely walking into the floorboards. Finally, you stop pacing and plant yourself in front of him. You breathe in, pressing a hand to your forehead worriedly as you let it all tumble out, “I really need you to fake date me.”

Tommy blinks and opens his mouth. But closes it when he isn’t sure what to say. “You need me to… what?”

You groan, dragging the hand that was placed on your forehead down your face. “Okay, that sounds bad. Like really bad. Please hear me out? Let me explain it.”

He just nods, his eyes wide and lips parted slightly, like he was bracing for impact. His ears are tinged red and the freckles dusted across his nose are hidden by a fresh new swell of pink. 

You start pacing again, words beginning to tumble out in a rush. “My family thinks I have a boyfriend. I know. I know. It’s this stupid thing— I didn’t even really lie! I just… didn’t correct them when they assumed! That’s not lying? And now my older sister’s wedding is this weekend, and if I show up alone, it’s gonna be a whole thing— pity looks, lectures, ‘maybe you should lower your standards’ speeches, all of it. I can’t even take thinking about all of that right now.”

Tommy’s brow knit together like he’s trying to make sense of the word vomit you’ve dumped right into his lap, “And you want… me? To be your fake boyfriend.”

You stopped in front of him again, two feet and a coffee table away, feeling like you were about two seconds from spontaneous combustion. “Please Tommy? You’re literally my best option. My only option. We’re already friends, you’re nice, handsome, and you’re convincing! It’s just a couple days, yeah? And then we come back here and everything’s back to normal.” But you watch as Tommy hesitates. He’s chewing on his bottom lip. Ears starting to turn a shade of red you didn’t even know was possible— which you know Tommy well enough by now to know that this was a sure sign he was overthinking it. Your eyes start to soften and you sigh. You could almost see the battle within his chest; he was probably worried it would make things weird between the two of you, probably sure you deserved someone cooler. Why would you ask him of all people? Why not Sam? Why not the bartender Kev you’d been seeing a few weeks back? Scratch that. He remembers now, Kev used your apartment as a bachelor pad. But underneath all the worry, the screaming thought in his head… he’s really just terrified because somewhere deep down, Tommy has had a crush on you since the day you’d met, so a lot longer than he liked admitting to himself.

You think you can see the moment he decides, like something clicks and the redness in his face just washes away. He gives you a tiny, lopsided smile. The same one that always makes your heart do stupid little weird gymnastics deep in your chest. “Yeah,” he clears his throat, voice a little hoarse. You aren’t sure if it’s from the mental anguish he went just went through or from dry mouth. “I’ll do it.”

Relief floods your veins and you flop down next to him on the couch. You turn your head to look at him, a grin spreading across your face as you throw your arms around his neck. He goes stiff for half a second, long enough for you to notice— his hands hovering awkwardly before they finally settle against the small of your back. From the way you have him pulled close, you could feel his heart hammering against his own ribs. “You’re a lifesaver, Tommy,” you mumbled into his hoodie, squeezing your eyes shut. And he just laughs, shaking his head. He kisses the top of your head and gives you one good squeeze with those arms wrapped around you and then you let him go.  

That’s how he finds himself standing side by side with you on your parents porch days later. Your hand was hovering just above the doorbell, sucking in a breath, each of your nerve endings buzzing like livewires under your skin. “You ready?” you ask, voice barely over a whisper as you glance up at Tommy.

He shrugs and shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans, just for somewhere to put them. “As ready as I’ll ever be to lie to a whole bunch of strangers.” He grumbles and knocks into your hip lightly, the force enough to make you stumble and hit the doorbell. 

“They’re not strangers,” you huff and roll your eyes, a smile playing at your lips. “They’re just really judgmental. Just… Be yourself, yeah? I like you. They’ll love you.” Tommy knows deep down you don’t mean anything by that. But it still turns his cheeks pink and gives him hope that you thought about him more than you let on. But before he could respond, the front door swings open— and your mom nearly tackles you both into a tight hug.

“There’s my baby!” She holds you tight, and kisses your temple before her eyes settle onto Tommy, “and the boyfriend!” she practically squeals, pushing you to the side. Tommy’s yanked into a hug before he could even process it. You watch as panic flashes across his face for half a second. And then you smile as he melts a bit and awkwardly bends slightly and hugs her back. “Oh, you’re so handsome,” your mom gushed, giving his cheek a playful pat as she pulls away. Tommy stands up straight, “And so tall! Good job, sweetheart.” Now it’s your turn for heat to creep up the back of your neck as Tommy just stands there, looking dazed and confused. He’s smiling like he’s just happy to be here with you. No matter the circumstances. Fake boyfriend? He’ll be the best fake boyfriend ever, even if it kills him, as long as he gets to see you smile for three days straight.

Your dad appears in the doorway next, giving Tommy a once-over— sizing him up like a general inspecting new recruits. And that makes him a little nervous. He squares his shoulders a bit and lifts his chin, a confidence you’d almost never seen in Tommy exuding out. Fake it till you make it, baby. You’ve heard him say it so many times. “Strong handshake, boy?” Your dad asks gruffly, sticking out his hand. Tommy reaches out, still quiet and manages to grip your father’s hand firmly enough that he gives a small nod of approval. Then came the inevitable question tumbling from his lips. “So, what do you do for a living, son?”

Tommy lets go of his hand, suddenly feeling a whole lot smaller as he rubs the back of his neck, a faint flush creeping up from his collar. He won’t look him in the eyes. He’s looking at you. Waiting for the nod that they’re safe. He’s waiting for you to let him know it’s okay. So you smile, so soft it helps him calm himself down, and then you nod. So Tommy takes a deep breath and then brings his eyes back to your dads. “Uh… I’m a SEAL. The Navy kind.”

The silence that grew over the four of you standing there on the porch stretched larger and larger. But your mom, the first one to gasp. The sound rattled around in your head like you’d just introduced her to a fucking movie star. And your dad’s eyebrows shot up so fast they practically hit his hairline. “Well, damn!” your dad barks out a laugh and lands a slap against Tommy’s back again. 

Tommy chuckles, pink-cheeked and awkward, a smile on his lips as he mumbles, “It’s not really that dramatic, I promise.”

But it didn’t matter as you lead him inside and away from your parents’ grasp. Your family was smitten with him. Your mom leaned over to you, whispering, topping it off with a wink— like Tommy wasn’t right beside you and could see and hear every move she made. “He’s a keeper.” You looked at Tommy, standing there beside you. A shy smile permanently etched onto his features under the weight of all the attention, and something squeezed tight in your chest at your mother’s words.

Yeah. He is. Even if you couldn’t. 

The rehearsal dinner later that evening was somehow even worse than you’d imagined it being. You tried sticking to the plan, the one you’d laid out in the car over that 10 hour drive home. You’d keep it to light hand-holding, flirty smiles, maybe a forehead kiss if someone was really watching. It was no big deal. But then one of your aunts, a few glasses too deep in the wine served for dinner, claps her hands like commanding a show. Which brings on an onslaught of giggles from her and your cousins, “Come on, you two! Let’s see a kiss!”

Everyone’s eyes are on you two now. And a wave of attention slams into you like a damn freight train. You turn to Tommy, eyes wide. He turns redder than a tomato in real-time. You almost feel sorry for dragging him into this. But he puts on a smile, gives you a little nod— okay, he’s good. You know he’s good now. But your family is relentless and is already chanting— Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!— so Tommy does the only thing he can think of to keep the charade going. He slides an arm around your waist, pulls your chair closer to his, and kisses you. It was supposed to be quick, just an innocent little kiss. Sell the lie and move on. But when his mouth brushes yours— careful, his lips soft— Everyone around you seems to fade away. The hand that had snaked its way around your waist, settles against your hip, grounding you both right there. You could feel the tremor in his fingers. It lasted maybe three seconds, but that was long enough to wreck him.

When you pull back, you shoot him a little smile. Tommy just sits there next to you, staring at you like you’d knocked the wind out of him. The whole room fills with laughter, giggles, and words of love, but he barely heard it. All he could think about was the way your lips felt against his. The way that kiss cracked his heart open wide and had it beating wildly in his chest.

That night, you offer him your bed— you didn’t mind sharing. But fuck he wasn’t crawling into a twin bed with you, having to press himself up against you in ways that certainly would not help him hide this ever growing problem inside his chest. So he just shakes his head and grabs the extra blanket and pillow to set up camp on the floor. “You sure?” you asked softly, raising an eyebrow as you pull your duvet up over your waist. 

You watch as he tosses the pillow down onto the shag rug next to your bed. He lowers himself down with a huff and rolls to his back before covering himself with that comically short and pink blanket. Tommy just smiles— it’s soft and shy. A smile he only reserves for you— He lets out a chuckle and then nods, “Yeah. ‘S your bed. I’m good down here.” He stretches out on the floor. And then he folds his arms under his head, staring up at the ceiling. 

You reach over to flip the lamp off. “Goodnight Tommy.” You mumble softly, letting yourself relax against the mattress. And it doesn’t take long before sleep wraps around you. The house was dark and quiet at this hour. He could hear your breathing, soft and even in the bed above him. It was the only sound he could really focus on.

So Tommy tries to tell himself to calm down. To will all of the thoughts plaguing him away. This was just pretend for you. None of it meant anything. But his head was spinning now. That kiss had certainly felt real. Maybe even more real than the few girls he had sworn he’d loved in his short twenty years. You had felt real. His arm wrapped around your waist, hand on your hip. His lips against yours. If he makes it out of this weekend he’ll never forget about that kiss. And lying here now, wrapped up in blankets that smelled entirely too much like you, it hits him like a sucker punch right to the chest, he wasn’t just nursing a crush anymore. He was completely, stupidly, helplessly in love with you.

And he really had no idea how he was supposed to keep pretending for two more days when all he wanted to do was make it real. So Tommy takes one last glance at your sleeping form above him. He knows he’s gotta get a grip. You don’t love him like that. You’re just friends. Nothing more. And he rolls onto his side, his back to you, willing himself to sleep until the buzz of his alarm. 

You wake up later than intended. There’s a soft rustle of blankets being kicked to and fro, and the faint sound of someone moving about the room. Back and forth from suitcase to closet, to suitcase to closet. Blinking sleepily, you push yourself up on your elbows, using one hand to rub the remaining traces of sleep from your eyes. You grin when you see Tommy— he’s already dressed in a white undershirt and dress pants. He’s shrugging a jacket up on his shoulders and fussing awkwardly with the buttons, like he’s never worn something so regal before. You rub your eyes, much like Bugs Bunny, and take another look. You nearly choke at what you see.

Tommy Gallagher was in his Navy dress blues.

The jacket clings to his shoulders. His chest looked even bigger in it than it did in those too-tight t-shirts he likes to lounge around in. He looks like he could probably carry you and half the wedding guests on his back without even breaking a sweat. The sleeves strain just slightly around his biceps and the gold buttons on the cuffs gleam under the soft morning light. But your gawking session is over too soon, when he catches you staring and immediately flushes red.

“You’re up,” he mumbles, glancing down at his hands fumbling with the buttons on his jacket, like he could somehow disappear into the carpet if he kept his gaze away from you.

You grinned sleepily, stretching lazily, much like a house cat. “Oh, I’m up alright. Look at you, Gallagher.” Your laugh is quiet and teasing. 

Tommy can feel his cheeks heat up as he grumbles under his breath. He tugs at the jacket collar like it’s choking him. “It’s.. It’s not a big deal. Alright? Only reason I’m wearin’ this is ‘cause I don’t fit in my other suits anymore.”

You raised an eyebrow, biting your lip at the thought. Tommy’s other suits too tight to shrug on over those broad shoulders. “You filled out that much, no?”

Tommy sighs like you’ve just punched him in the stomach and he ducks his head. His cheeks are burning brighter and he’s trying anything to hide that right now. “It’s not my fault, okay?” he mutters and sighs. “SEALs’ll either make you big or kill you. Guess I got the big part.”

You laugh softly, shaking your own head. Then you slip off that little twin bed, tug your pajama shorts down just a bit and cross the room to stand in front of him. His eyes flick up to yours for a moment and you reach out to fix the slightly crooked medal on his chest. He freezes under your touch— God, you were trying to kill him. He can’t do this. His breath hitching so subtly when your fingers brush against his chest, that if you weren’t standing this close, you would’ve missed it. “There,” you said softly, smoothing the fabric against his arms. “You look perfect, Tommy.”

Those hazel eyes jerk up to meet yours, and for a second, he swears the whole world was holding its breath. He could lean in right now, kiss you like he’s been thinking about since yesterday. He could— But then your phone buzzes with a loud reminder— The wedding, the one you’re doing all this God forsaken fake dating for, starts in two hours— and just like that, the moment between you is long gone. You both move slowly at first, not really wanting to peel away from one another. Tommy clears his throat and reaches for his shoes as he takes a seat on the edge of your bed. You grab your dress and makeup bag and pretend your heart wasn’t doing cartwheels inside your chest. You almost kissed Tommy. Not for your family. Not for show. Just for you. 

The ceremony was beautiful— even if it was a little overwhelming. Tommy didn’t leave your side once, just like you’d asked. His hand rested on the small of your back the entire time, a steady and reassuring presence. Giving you something to melt into. You caught a few of your relatives shooting you heart-eyes from across the pews, mostly your aunts and great aunts. Your mom gives you a little thumbs-up, with a smile so exaggerated it makes you snort out loud. When you lean over whispering into Tommy’s ear, “Congratulations Tommy, you’re officially Mom’s new favorite son-in-law,” he nearly chokes. His hand tightens slightly at your back— it’s barely noticeable— but you feel the way he shifted, like he was struggling to stay still. Like all it would take is one more word to have him giggling and smiling just like you’re used to. So you decide to push just a little more. “You know,” you look down at the way you’d placed your hand against his chest. It’s all for show, of course, “if this were real, they’d probably be planning our wedding already.”

Tommy pulls away at those words, like they burned as they hit him. You tilt your head up to meet his eyes, confused. And you’re just in time to catch him mumbling something about needing air as he pulls away from you and steps outside.

Your heart sank. Shit. Maybe you’d pushed him too far. Maybe the whole fake dating thing was getting to him the way you hadn’t expected. It surely was getting to you in a way you hadn’t expected. You were seeing him as more than just that goofy friend that crashed on your couch when he had a little too much to drink, or snuck your favorite candy into the movies, or remembered you liked tulips and not roses better than any of your dates had ever remembered before. But that’s what friends are supposed to be like, right?

You wait a few minutes— giving him a bit of space, pretending you weren’t internally panicking, you put on a smile, tell family members who ask that Tommy just went outside for a moment— And then you’re slipping outside yourself. You scan the Church’s courtyard until you spot him leaning against a tree. His hands are shoved deep in his pockets, staring at the ground like it had personally offended him.

You approach him slowly, carefully, like you shouldn’t even be awarded with his presence right now. You hurt him, somehow. “Hey,” you smile weakly, the words coming out a bit sadder than you intend. Tommy looks up when he hears you— and the raw, open look in his eyes nearly knocks the breath out of you. “I’m sorry for what I said inside,” you reach out to him, but think better against it. So you move to just lean against the tree as well. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I was just only joking—”

“No, it’s not that,” he cuts you off quickly, voice rough. He’s about to cry and you fucking hate it.

You hesitate, crossing your arms over your chest to hide the way your hands were shaking. You look up at the leaves above you, taking just a few moments to bask in the way the sun heats everything up around you, the way the birds chirp and sing, and then you sigh. “Then what is it?”

Tommy let out a shaky breath, stealing another glance at you as he’s pushing off the tree. “It’s just…” He scrubbed a hand over his hair, the overgrown buzzcut had grown on you. He thinks, It’s now or never. If he doesn’t get this out, he never will. “This isn’t pretend for me, okay?”

Your heart stops right there in your chest. He swallows hard, looking like he was about to bolt, he wants to. God, he wants to. He wants to run and hide like he never agreed to this fucking shit— but he forces himself to stay put right there. He doesn’t move an inch, afraid to even breathe. Just like he was trained to do. But then he forces himself to look you in the eye, to take a deep breath. “I had a crush on you before all this,” he admits softly, voice barely above a whisper. “Thought I could handle it… For you. Thought… y’know, i’ll fake it, have a few laughs, no big deal. You’d get what you wanted out of it and you’d be happy.” He shakes his head, giving a shaky little laugh. He tilts his head up a bit, to stop the tears threatening to slip. “But now I’m standing here thinking about what it’d be like to do this for real. To kiss you and not have to stop. To kiss you when no one’s watching. To wake up next to you for the rest of my fucking life. And I can’t… I can’t fake that anymore. My chest feels like it’s going to explode.”

The world tilts on its axis. You push off the tree and take a step toward him. Your chest was aching so badly it felt like your heart might split in two.

You wanted that too. You take a moment to try and recall each time Tommy looked a little too long. How it would feel warm from your chest straight to your toes. You recall each passing brush of Tommy’s hand and how it had set your nerves alive like fireworks. Maybe you’d wanted this longer than you’d even realized.

“Tommy…” He steps closer too. He’s nervous, his hands are hovering at your waist like he was asking permission without words.

“I’m fallin’ in love with you, okay?” he says, so soft you barely caught it over the breeze. “Might already be there. So you’ve gotta say the word. Tell me to get lost. Please.”

You didn’t really think about your next actions. You just grab him by the front of his dress blues jacket, careful of the pins and you pull him down into a kiss. This one wasn’t for show, it was just you and Tommy out here. This one was everything he hadn’t been able to say in words, every long glance he’d given over the last few years, every nervous laugh he used to cover up how red his cheeks were from watching you cut vegetables, every time his hand brushed yours like he wanted to hold it but he was just too fucking scared. Tommy kissed you like he was starving for it. One of his hands slides up to cradle your jaw, the other wraps around your waist and hauls you so close there wasn’t a breath of space left between you.

When you finally pull back, you’re both gasping. He rests his forehead against yours, his eyes squeezed shut like he couldn’t believe this was real. “Still wanna be my fake date tonight?” you ask softly, a giggle threatening to leave your lips.

He laughs, breathless and wrecked. “Only if you’ll let me be your real one after.”

You smiled wider and kissed him again right there next to that tree. You kissed him like there was never a doubt in your mind that this was where you’d end up. Because there wasn’t a doubt, not anymore.

tags ;; @peachyproserpina @getaapologist

[ccazimi]

You Are Also Like Me

pt.1 - pt.2 - pt. 3

cw: incest (uncle/niece but there's some faux dadcest idk how to explain... either way it's only between reader and sukuna), age gap, dubcon, freudian elements, reader's daddy issues are explored in depth, reader has family issues, fluff, angst, mutual hurt, dry humping, kissing/making out, unprotected piv sex, creampies, loss of virginity, degradation/namecalling, dirtytalking, humiliation, sadism/masochism, slight blood kink if you squint, pussy eating/ass eating, blowjob, deepthroating, spit play, cumplay, fingering, DDDNE wc: 21k a/n: im sorry the if the formatting is ass, apparently tumblr only allows "1000 blocks in a post" so i had to go through and cut a bunchhhh of paragraph breaks D: it might read better on ao3

“I want you to take my virginity.”

Sukuna’s eyes flit to yours as he takes another bite of his food, not answering right away, just watching you.

Annoying.

You put down your chopsticks and refuse to take another bite until he gives you some response.

Finally, he smirks at you, speaking lazily. “That’s a big step. You sure you’re still not just worked up from the other night or something?”

“That was like four days ago,” you hiss, “So no— it’s obviously not that.”

“I don’t know.” He shrugs as he chews. “Maybe you got all horny remembering it.”

You lean forward, teeth clenched, scowling at him hard enough to kill. “Can you please just give me a useful answer, for once?”

His eyes flicker down to the chopsticks laying across your plate of food. “Eat. I don’t pay Uraume as much as I do for you to throw a tantrum and waste your food.”

God he can really be insufferable sometimes.

“I’ll eat when you answ—”

“Eat. Now.” Sukuna’s voice drops to a stern command and he stills, watching you expectantly until you finally pick up the chopsticks and shove a bite of food into your mouth, angrily.

“Good girl.” He resumes eating, and you swear he waits a beat longer just to piss you off before finally adding, “I’ll do it whenever you sign up for classes.”

You stiffen slightly.

Classes. Six months.

You know damn well what you agreed to. Logically, it's the right move—and yet, any mention of it makes your chest tighten with a dull, anxious ache. Makes you want to think about literally anything else.

But Sukuna—in the most ironic way—is actually good at getting you to do things. You know he won’t bend on this, not when it comes to your future.

“You know I’ll have to ask my parents about that, right?” you point out flatly. “Especially if you’re financing it.”

“Already spoke to them,” he says, casually.

“What?! When?”

“None of your concern. But your mom’ll probably call you later today or tomorrow to confirm, so might as well start prepping now.”

You stare at him for a second, then just huff. “Fine. You promise?”

“Of course, princess. You’ll have to show me proof, though.”

Reluctantly, you nod.

Just like he said, the call comes later that evening—your mother’s voice neutral, if a little relieved, as she runs through application deadlines and housing options. She doesn’t say it, but you can hear it in her tone—anything to get you back on track. Back to your degree, to who you used to be.

You tell her you’ll look into it.

And you do, sort of. You open your laptop that night, click through your old student portal and check a few deadlines.

But the tabs sit there open and unanswered. Because you’ve always been like this—avoidant, stubborn when it matters most.

Maybe it’s fear. Or maybe it’s something deeper, some twisted logic that if you never re-enroll, never hit submit, then the end of your six months here won’t come, and that staying will stay possible.

That Sukuna won't actually make you go.

But as the days pass, your need for him grows heavier. Hungrier. Harder and harder to ignore. Sukuna promised you ruin and while you waited expectantly for the next three days, on edge and feeling like a fool, he gave you absolutely nothing, leaving you out to dry.

His way of messing with you, probably. Making you really beg for it.

Just like now — dangling himself just out of reach, so you’ll cave and sign up for those damn classes. The day after he told you his condition, he’s definitely started playing with you more — not cruel, but deliberate.

Close touches, subtle innuendos, intense eye contact.

In the evening, when you come out of the bathroom with your hair still damp and dressed in pajamas, Sukuna calls to you from the dining table where he’s nursing a glass of whiskey.

You expect a lecture—maybe about forgetting to empty the dishwasher again—but instead, he catches your wrist as you pass. You let him pull you in, straddling his lap, pleasantly surprised.

His fingers skim your cheek, tilting your face up to meet his gaze.

“Make sure to dry your hair before bed. Don’t want you catching a cold,” he murmurs.

You snort under your breath, but don’t bother saying anything. In your experience, explaining to anyone your parents’ age that cold wet hair making you sick is nothing more than a myth, is a futile endeavor.

But then his lips are on yours—soft at first, then deeper. All tongue and teeth and the faint bitter taste of whiskey melting into your mouth.

Your hand slides into his hair as you tilt your head back, letting him in, sighing when he nips your lip. Your hips shift instinctively, seeking friction—pressing down against the bulge in his pants in a slow, barely-there grind. His hand slides to your lower back, holding you steady, letting you move just enough to feel it.

Ever since he taught you how to kiss, it’s secretly been one of your favorite things to do with him—making out at odd, quiet moments until you’re breathless and aching without even realizing how far you've gone.

But then he pulls back, leaving you flushed and involuntarily chasing after his mouth.

You blink up at him, frowning, your thighs still tight around him—and the smirk tugging at his lips tells you everything. Abruptly, he pushes you off his lap and stands, tossing back the rest of his drink before looking down at you, smug.

“Well, I’m off to bed. See you in the morning.”

You shoot him the dirtiest look you can manage as he turns away, clearly trying not to laugh.

“Oh, and dry your hair. I’m serious.”

And with that, he’s gone—leaving you alone, warm, aching, and seriously considering banging your head against the wall.

Two more days pass, still no progress.

You want him—crave him in the way your body always does—but your mind keeps recoiling from the one simple task that would make everything easier.

Instead, you take the long way around it.

Late at night, you drift to his room like it’s nothing, one of his shirts hanging off your frame soft and oversized, paired with the smallest pajama shorts you own. You don’t knock, as has become habit lately.

He’s seated in his bed, glasses on, looking at something on his phone, not even bothering to glance up when you speak.

“Can I stay here tonight?”

His eyes stay on the screen, reflecting on his frames. “You’ve got your own room. What’s wrong with it?”

You pout a little, speaking softly, “I just…don’t feel like being alone.”

There’s a pause as he scrolls, and you step a little closer, the air thickening.

“You said you’d do it if I signed up for my classes. I did.”

You didn’t—not yet, at least. But maybe if you keep him distracted, he’ll forget about that part.

Sukuna just cocks a slitted brow. “That’s funny. Don’t remember seeing any proof yet.”

You hesitate, but decide to push on anyway, hoping you can soon make him forget about the proof. So instead of answering you climb onto his lap.

Sukuna stiffens, jaw ticking slightly, but he lets you. You lean in, pressing a kiss to his jaw, shaky fingers coming up to unbutton the top of his shirt — in nervousness, frustration, need, you don’t know.

He doesn’t react, just watches you quietly, face impassive before quietly asking, “What are you doing?”

You swallow, trying to sound as confident as you can. “What do you think?”

His hand finally moves, up your back, till the nape of your neck, and you finally think you’ve won. You lean in slightly, but then he tilts your head up, forcing you to meet his narrowed eyes.

“You’ve gotten pretty brave…”

You gulp, and he smiles — all teeth, no warmth.

“You think this is how it works? You crawl into my lap, bat your lashes, and I forget every condition we laid down?”

Your throat tightens, despising how smug he sounds.

“It’s not like that,” you protest defensively.

“No? Then what is it like?”

You don’t answer, as his thumb brushes your lower lip. “I know what you want. You’ve made it very clear.”

Then he pulls away, leaving you sitting on his lap flushed and frustrated.

“You don’t get to change the rules just because you’re impatient. Desperate girls don’t make demands.”

“I’m not desperate.”

Your second lie of the night, and both of you know it.

He snickers. “What’s this little show then, hm?”

You bristle, and he leans in, speaking softly, just a little cruel. “Show me proof, princess. Otherwise you’re just pretending you want it.”

You’re not given a chance to retort before he lifts you off his lap, deposits you onto the bed like a doll, and goes back to whatever he was looking at on his phone.

If he was trying to get through to you, it certainly worked.

“I did it.”

As usual, he barely looks at you. “Did what?”

“My application. I signed up for classes. Check your email.”

He’s quiet for a beat—then his phone buzzes, and he opens the attachment. Your name, bold and official. All real.

He exhales, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “Tch. Didn’t think you’d actually do it.”

“You said you’d stop dodging me if I did,” you say, voice taut.

Sukuna sets the phone down, gaze cutting toward you like a blade. “And you followed through,” he murmurs. “Good girl.”

Your breath catches, pulse quickening.

Then he rises slowly, deliberate, until he’s standing in front of you. His voice drops; quiet, amused almost. 

“So that’s all it takes to get you to commit to your future,” he says, brushing your hair back. “One fuck from your uncle?”

You tense, but he just leans in to whisper near your ear, “I bet your parents wouldn’t be so proud of you for going back if they knew the real reason…”

You flinch, heat and humiliation mixing in your chest because of course he has to make this as vulgar as possible.

But you refuse to back down.

“You promised.”

“I did,” he says simply. Then he cups your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

“Just remember,” Sukuna adds, gaze dark and steady, “You signed up for this.”

You don’t look away, not even as the air grows heavier, as you feel a certain thrum starting up between your legs.

“I know,” you whisper, throat dry.

He watches you for a long beat, eyes roaming over your face like he’s searching for hesitation. But you don’t give him any — you want this more than anything.

“Take off your clothes,” he says finally. It’s not a request.

You’ve done this before, you’ve done worse than this before, and somehow you’re still not entirely used to the feeling of undressing in front of someone — certainly not in front of him.

Your fingers tremble as you reach for the hem of your shirt, but you do it, breaking the silence with the soft rustle of fabric, the whisper of cotton slipping off skin, revealing the expanse of your skin.

Next your pants, pulling at your ankles before you step out of them. His gaze darkens with every inch of bare skin revealed but he doesn’t move to touch you, not yet.

He watches, waiting, expecting as your hands reach around back to unclasp your bra. It falls to the ground, exposing your tits, your tightening nipples. You stand there, bare under his eyes that roam your curves, heart thudding, trying to ground yourself.

And still, he doesn’t touch you.

“Are you scared?” he asks, voice quieter now.

You swallow. “No.”

“Liar.”

You step forward anyway, closing the distance between you, resisting the urge to cross your arms over your chest. “Do it before I change my mind.”

His hand slides into your hair, firm but not cruel, tilting your head back. He looks at you like something he wishes he didn’t crave as badly as he did. Something he wants to leave his fingerprints all over anyways.

“Six months,” he murmurs against your lips. “That’s all we’ve got. Then no more of this.”

“Then stop wasting time.”

That’s all it takes. He kisses you—nothing like the last time. There’s no pretense now, no power play. Just heat, and want, and something else buried beneath it all, something like the night he told you he wants to ruin you.

He lifts you like you weigh nothing, carrying you to the bedroom. There’s no hesitation in him, just intent.

You feel it in the way he throws you onto his bed, peels your underwear down your legs, the way he tilts your chin back to bare your throat to him, kissing it like something he owns. Kisses turn into something harsher, sucking, biting, and the rough scrape of teeth that stings enough to make you suck in a sharp breath. You know now there’ll be marks of his claim littering your skin for days after.

But when he pauses—just for a second—eyes meeting yours again, it’s not just control you see there. It’s restraint.

A question, silent but real. You answer it by pulling him down, mouth meeting his again.

And then there’s no more waiting.

There’s a sound that escapes you when his mouth finds your throat again—quiet, startled, and helpless. He drinks it in like it’s what he wanted all along.

Warm palms roam slowly, like he’s mapping out every fragile inch, learning you by feel, by the way you shiver under his touch as his he trails open-mouthed kisses down your neck, along your collarbone.

You wonder if this is what sex is supposed to feel like - being worshipped and ruined at the same time. His hands make their way to your tits, tweaking one of your hard nipples between his fingers, before he bends to capture the other one in his mouth.

You whimper a little at the feel of his tongue tracing wet circles over the areola, then sucking hard enough on the bud for it to sting just a bit before he releases the pressure again.

"You really went and did it,” he mutters against your skin. “All that pouting, all that begging... just to get fucked like a slut.”

You swallow, your own trembling hands making their way to the hem of his shirt, tugging at it, craving more of him, the feel of his bare skin against yours. Sukuna takes the hint, pushing off you with a low chuckle, just enough to pull his own shirt over his head. Dark markings crawl from over his shoulders, along his chiseled abs.

All muscle and sinew rippling under his flesh.

It occurs to you that you’ll never want a boy after this, not after you’ve been with a real man.

“It’s rude to stare,” he comments, arms flexing as he tosses his shirt aside.

“Give me some more to stare at,” you mutter shamelessly.

Eager to see him again, all of him.

Sukuna smirks, an arrogant gleam flickering in his eyes as he steps even closer, his body hovering over yours.

“Mm, you’re getting impatient again. We’ve got all night sweetheart.”

His eyes roam down to the apex of your thighs, where they’re clenching together, trying to relieve some of the ache.

“Spread yourself.”

You take a shuddering breath as you part your legs as wide as you can, heat flowing directly to both your cheeks and your cunt. He lays on the bed, and you leak more arousal in anticipation of his face right in front of your folds.

“I said spread yourself, girl. Do I have to show you how it’s done?”

You frown at him, trying to keep your voice steady. “I d-did, can’t spread my legs any further than this—”

He clicks his tongue in annoyance, before taking your hand and using your fingers spread your inner folds open.

“Like this. Hold it.”

The flesh inside is softer, more sensitive, and you cringe when you feel it cool from air brushing against the slick skin.

“Why? It’s not…comfortable…” you mutter nervously.

“It’ll feel better,” he states simply, large hands wrapping around your thighs to pull you in closer while you try to breathe and stay calm.

You trust him and hold yourself open as he leans in, and in a moment you understand what he means now — his tongue hot and insistent against not just your clit, but the surrounding areas of your sensitive inner labia.

You can feel everything, every stroke of his tongue, every small nudge of it against your clit and your sticky flesh. Bolts of pleasure light up your spine, as he works against your dripping cunt, lapping with increasing fervor. You whimper and quiver as he licks inside every crevice of your cunt, sucking on your clit, eating you out greedily.

You pant, feeling hot from your cunt all the way to the backs of your watering eyes as you twitch and tense, feeling yourself come closer and closer.

“Mmh, j-just like that, don’t -ah- fucking stop—” you whine desperately tilting your pelvis into his mouth for more, and soon you’re cumming all over his tongue, his hands keeping your thighs pried apart as they threaten to lock in around his head.

You finish, muscles laxing into a trembling mess and he intentionally gives you one last, harsh lash of his tongue right against your overstimulated clit, making you flinch in pain. He pulls away, inspecting your sopping hole, humming in approval before standing up to slip off his pants.

Down they go, and you can’t help but watch the large bulge in his boxers straining against the fabric, a wet patch already formed. They slip off and you ogle unabashedly at his large, leaking cock, his hard length swaying slightly as he steps forward, crawling onto the bed.

His mouth latches back onto one of your tits, suckling and licking gently as he strokes himself a few times.

“You’re shaking,” Sukuna murmurs, almost amused.

“I’m not scared,” you breathe, though your voice wavers.

He smirks against the slick mess on your breast. “Maybe you should be.”

His hand trails down your waist, rough palm against skin, as he finally rests his cock between your thighs.

Warm, with a dizzying weight. Soft skin against skin.

Just the sensation of his bare cock on your folds feels oddly vulnerable and intimate, enough to make your ears burn hot. Your stomach does a flip when you peer down, finally able to gauge the sheer size of him when his length is laying across your mons like this, his swollen tip reaching all the way till your navel.

Despite it, you could stare at his cock for hours.

And then it occurs to you—

“Wait, do you have a condom? I’m…I’m not on the pill.”

The words come out like a choked gasp, as though something inside you finally gives way. Your mind stutters, the fog of desire lifting just enough for the ugly reality to sink in. The heat that was rushing through your veins turns cold, a creeping dread that coils tight in your chest.

A terrible realization of what you’re actually doing. How real this all is. Because the chance of conception would be horrible enough on its own, but with a family member?

Well, that’s what the natural revulsion to incest was supposed to prevent, right?

Your body’s response is instantaneous—an involuntary shiver that starts deep in your gut, an icy feeling that spreads outward, stiffening your spine. You thought you’d come to terms with this, but perhaps you hadn’t — not all the way, at least.

“I do, but I won’t use them,” he states coolly. “I have more than enough money to afford a plan B pill if needed.”

He’s right, but still…

Sukuna looks up at your face, taking in the hesitation written all over it.

“Having second thoughts?” he asks, voice too smooth, too knowing.

Were you? You don’t know.

Because in spite of the cold, you want this, and maybe the perversion of it all makes you want it more.

“You knew there wouldn’t be any holding back if we did this, didn’t you?” He drags his cock languidly along your glistening folds, the head of it catching on your clit over and over, as he speaks.

Cruelly slow. Like he’s savoring every inch of your hesitation, every stifled breath, every twitch of uncertainty you don’t want him to see.

You can feel the heat in your cheeks, the hesitation still curling in your chest, but it’s fading. Slowly, so slowly.

Your body betrays you, the cold tightening in your stomach transforming into something deeper, more urgent with every drag of his swollen head across your clit, pre smearing with your own slick.

Your hands, trembling but eager, make their way to his chest, pressing against his skin. A part of you wants to pull back, to stop this madness—but the other part? It’s begging for more. The thrill, the perversion, it warms you.

You want to feel him completely.

“I did,” you whisper, “So don’t hold back. Even if you think you should.”

“So you’re really gonna let me do this?” he asks, his mouth brushing your collarbone, tone low and mocking. 

He wants you to want him, but he also wants to test how far you’ll go — and that contradiction is Sukuna’s affection.

You should say something. Anything. But all that comes out is a soft gasp when his fingers ghost over your inner thigh.

“Don’t worry,” he whispers. “I’ll make sure it hurts just a little. You’ll remember it.”

You hate how that thrills you. That you want him more for it.

His hand slides beneath your knee, hitching your leg up around his waist. You feel everything in that moment—his breath, his warmth, the coiled tension under his skin as he presses in closer.

“Breathe,” he says, right against your lips. “It’s just me.”

He finally pushes forward to part your lips, slow and deliberate, and you gasp. Building pressure gives way to pain, sharp and acute as you feel your walls stretching to accommodate him.

It burns.

“Uncle,” you gasp, hips reflexively trying to pull away from the intrusion in your virgin cunt.

But he holds you in place, murmuring against your panting lips, “Almost there, sweetheart. It’ll get better after this, I promise.”

You believe him, but your body reacts of its own accord — walls clamping down, trying to push out the invading length.

“It w-won’t fit—“ You start to panic a bit as you feel the burning stretch.

He hisses through his teeth at the tightening of your cunt, fighting the urge to simply slam in all the way as you wince and tremble.

“Fuck, you need to breathe, I’m serious — take deep breaths.”

“It hurts—“

“Breathe.”

You swallow and nod, forcing a deep inhale all the way into your belly. As soon as you do, he slides in all the way in one final push till he’s bottomed out inside of you.

There’s a moment of stillness, where it all weighs down on you. The feel of him sheathed inside you, the stretch, his breath mingling with yours, the gravity of what you’ve let happen. What you wanted to happen.

He presses a quick, light kiss to your lips. “Good?”

“Uh, y-yes, I think so…” you reply unsurely, trying to get used to the feeling of something inside you. “Feels a little weird…”

“Mm, well we can stay like this till you’re ready for me to move again.” His lips pepper your face in gentle pecks. “I don’t mind having you cockwarm me.”

You stay there for a second, basking in this rare show of affection from him, as twisted as the circumstances might be.

And then, another deep breath. “Okay, I’m ready.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s gonna hurt.”

You pull your face back to glare at him, finding his lips twisted into a smirk. “You fucking sadist, can you just do i— ahh!”

You wince in pain as he abruptly pulls out, till only his tip is left inside and he grins down at you wickedly.

“Okay w-wait not so fas— Uncle!”

Your sentence once again ends in a yelp as he slams back inside of you, hard enough to make your nails dig into his back as you jolt.

He groans obscenely in response at your heat enveloping him again, clenching down on him.

Your face is contorted now as you grit your teeth. “What is your problem?! I swear you’re doing this on purpose—“

“I told you I was going to make it hurt. Or do you not listen to the things you agree to?” he snaps back too quickly. A bit too sharply. 

“I—“ Your face crumples and you swear you see his eyes soften ever so slightly in response, like something akin to pity. Maybe realization that he’s being a bit too mean right now. Especially given what’s actually happening here. You trusted him to take your virginity, after all.

You must look upset—maybe even a little scared—because something in his face shifts. That awful grin fades.

“Okay, okay,” he murmurs, his hand coming to cradle your cheek, slow, almost gentle. And then, as if to make up for earlier, “You’re doing so good for me, you know that?”

You blink up at him, breathing uneven. You don’t trust the softness, not from him. But you don’t pull away, despite your trembling. His other hand strokes the inside of your thigh—too gently for someone who just made you cry out a moment ago.

“I’ll go slow,” he says, quieter now. “But it’s still gonna hurt.”

You bite your lip, nodding slowly. He watches your expression, like he’s testing how much of your fear you’re willing to swallow for him.

“But it’ll pass. It always does,” he says, brushing your hair back. “You just have to take it. Be good, breathe through it. I’ve got you.”

He grips your hips, and slowly pulls out again.

It burns still, but less.

And back in his cock goes. You try to keep your breathing even, but it’s true, he shows restraint and goes slow enough for the pain to begin subsiding.

Sukuna watches you carefully, your lip still held between your teeth in slight discomfort, though your body starts to relax.

The pain might be fading, but you’ve heard it’s supposed to be replaced by pleasure. Except you can’t really feel any — you think his fingers felt better.

You look up at him. “More. Go harder.”

“More?”

You nod.

“Finally ready for me to actually start fucking you now?”

He smirks at the slight pout forming on your lips, soothing the slight sting of his teasing with another kiss to your lips as he begins to thrust faster. You’re not sure when but soon your fingers are digging further into his muscle, anchoring yourself there as he begins fucking you with short, shallow thrusts, and soon your mouth parts around a sound you don’t even recognize.

He groans softly in response, and it’s not mocking now. It’s something raw, something real. “There you are, my pretty girl…”

His praise goes straight to your gut, coiling in with the heat slowly building there, more of your arousal lubing your silken walls making it a bit easier for him to slide in and out.

And then he stops.

You look at him confused, as he pulls away, standing on his knees, cock slipping fully out of your raw hole. It glistens in the dim light, flushed and turgid.

“Just wait,” he says as he grabs a pillow from besides you, and drags it under your legs. “Here, put your butt on this.”

You’ve heard something about pillows making penetrative sex feel better — you figure that’s what this is as you shift downward till your ass is cushioned, pelvis raised slightly higher. He kneels a bit to the side, positioning one of his knees under the crook of your bent one, and grabs your other ankle, lifting your leg straight up.

You just can’t help the snarky words from falling out of your mouth, “Thought we were having sex, not doing yoga.”

He gives you a warning glare, the same disciplinary kind whenever you purposefully annoy him, or try to protest against some mundane chore he’s assigned to you.

And then he’s positioning his cock against your entrance again, the other hand coming to toy with your clit, making you sigh at the sensation.

“You’d better shut that mouth while I’m still trying to play nice, sweetheart.”

You want to say something but you feel the round head of his cock breaching your entrance again, and instinctively you tense up as he pushes inside.

There’s still pain, but it’s tolerable now.

Sukuna starts fucking you again, harder now, and this new angle makes you moan, back arching slightly off the mattress.

“Hnngh, m-more Uncle—” you whimper.

“What was all that you were saying about yoga, earlier?”

He punctuates his words with a sharp thrust, a high-pitched noise coming out of your throat as you savor his fat cock massaging that spot in your swollen walls that makes you feel utterly gone.

“’M s-sorry, I didn’t mean it,” you babble mindlessly, eyelids dropping as he fucks all the attitude right out of you.

His pelvis snaps forward, dark pink hair brushing against your burning skin, as he tightens his grip on your ankle, pulling your leg taut with ease.

“Silly girl,” he chides you, though his lips are pressing kisses along your ankle, down the length of your calf. “You never learn, do you?” he mutters against your skin. “Good thing I’m here to teach you your lesson over and over again…”

“Ha—ah!” you mewl when he abruptly bends your leg a bit, placing his lips to the back of your knee to suck and lick at the delicate, sensitive skin there.

“U-Uncle!” You moan and gasp in ecstasy, shivers running down your spine all the way to where his cock is thrusting into your drooling cunt.

And then you take a look at him, a good look at him, in the faint warm light of the bedside lamp falling over his features.

He’s familiar. Very familiar.

The broad shape of his muscular chest, the veins that run down the forearm gripping your leg, the set to his angular jaw as he fucks you, slight crinkles at the corners of his eyes.

You pull your leg from his grip slightly, moving around a bit in discomfort at staying in this physical position.

“Stop squirming,” he says authoritatively, like he’s talking to some petulant, hyperactive child.

“Mh, w-wait lemme just—” Soon you’re pulling your leg from his grip, planting your foot on the other side of his body as you stand on your hands and feet, arching your back, panting in desperation to feel more of him.

Sukuna lets you change positions, wrapping his arms to support your lower back as you grab his neck with one of your hands, undulating your hips so that his cock hits you in a new place — deeper than before.

“F-Fuck, greedy fucking girl—” he grits out and you can tell he’s losing his restraint now too, slowly focusing more and more on taking his own pleasure from your body rather than just giving. He thrusts into you harshly, kissing your cervix with each squelching movement, watching your tits bouncing on your splayed out torso.

“Yes, yes, fuck yes—”

The musky smell of sex, the salty tang of sweat-slicked bodies now permeates the air as you move sensually, trying to feel him deeper inside you.

“Good girl, keep going baby, just like that,” he rasps, voice rough with arousal as he ruts into you.

The furrow of his brows, the smell of his skin, the warm, steady weight of his hands holding you, supporting you.

Familiar.

“Ah, a-again, say it again, that I’m good—”

He slows down for a millisecond, eyes flicking to yours, at the needy look all over your face as you look up at him with pleading eyes, clouded and hazy with lust.

“Do you deserve that?” he breathes lowly, taking lead and fucking you harder with an intense pace you can’t keep up with. “My dumb, needy little niece. Wonder which side of the family you got all that desperation from, because it certainly isn’t mine—”

The sound of his heavy breathing, the shape of his smirk, slightly lopsided.

“P-Please!” Something claws in you, something desperate and vulnerable to hear it from him, to hear that praise and validation, god, why can’t he just give it to you—

To your dismay he sneers, too far gone in that side of him that needs to degrade you, hurt you, control you.

“Good? You’re bleeding all over my cock like a dumb piece of meat.”

“H-Huh?” You open your eyes, realizing they’re blurry with tears as you look at where you’re connected.

And it’s true, his cock is covered in streaks of red every time it pulls out to slam back into you again. Maybe the sight should’ve alarmed you, or made you feel more cautious or whatever — what it shouldn’t have done was make you moan lewdly, clenching down on his length.

Sukuna notices your reaction, and it only sends him into more of a frenzy, gripping you so tightly he’s practically holding your nearly limp body up like a doll, as he fucks your hole.

“You like that? Sick little slut—” he growls, before leaning in to whisper in your ear, “You think your dad would still call you his daughter if he saw you like this?”

Your watery eyes widen, all the air sucked from your lungs as the words hit like a punch to the gut.

That’s what it is. Who he reminds you of, why he feels so oddly familiar.

Did you forget you were fucking your dad’s brother?

The similarities are undeniable now, a physical reminder of the genes you share.

Something twists in your gut, like a writhing serpent with the realization, yet your cunt leaks more and more, waves of shuddering pleasure only growing in their intensity.

Sukuna grins at your shock, before abruptly dropping you onto the bed, cock slipping out from your abused hole.

“Straighten your legs and turn on your side a bit.”

You obediently do as he tells you, and then he’s straddling your bottom leg, folding the top one and hitching it over his waist. You watch him, spine twisted so your torso lays supine on the mattress.

His other hand grips your ass, before he thrusts himself back into the warm, wet heat of your tight cunt, stretched perfectly in this position so that he hits you even deeper, like he’s in your lungs. He watches the pout on your lips, the crestfallen expression on your tear-stained cheeks as he fucks you so good that he’s forcefully pulling moans from you.

“Still gonna look at me like that? Well cry if you need to — I’ll still be here, fucking you through it.”

And even as he’s fucking you, losing himself in your pussy, Sukuna’s mind is sharp — he knows the reason behind this change in your demeanor. What it is that’s bothering you. It's the same reason you need him, need his validation right now, his words of praise and reassurance.

You don’t care if they’re fake.

“Mm fuck, p-please,” you pant incoherently between moans, crying out when he hits another spot that makes a rush of warm liquid drip out of you, coating his cock. “B-Be good to me—”

Sukuna snickers, reveling in the way you beg. “Why? I’m not your fuckin’ dad, slut.” He slaps one of your tits, making you jolt.

“S’kuna!” you cry his name, slurred with the weight of your tears, at how cruel he's being when you feel most vulnerable.

“I’m not him,” he repeats, hand grabbing your ass, digging his nails in till it hurts. You barely notice that pain amidst everything else right now, with the way he’s fucking you stupid. “But we are blood. That’s why you fit so perfectly around me. Your cunt was made for this, sweetheart.”

He grinds his cock inside you, making you squeal in both pleasure and shame and disgust at his downright disturbing words.

“Don’t say that! You’re gross-”

“Oh please. You fucking love it.”

“I don’t—”

Your words are cut off as a large hand wraps around your throat, pressing down onto your esophagus as he picks up the pace even more, heavy balls slapping against your skin.

“Say it and I’ll tell you all the things you wanna hear,” he whispers darkly.

You don’t have much resistance in you, not when he’s ruining you like this, when your cunt is simultaneously aching and sore but screaming in pleasure.

“I…I love it.”

“Love what?”

“How…fucked up this all is. That we’re related. And that..” you hesitate, and the grip on your throat tightens, making you wheeze a bit, the words coming out as barely more than a whisper from your strained throat. “And that you’ve been like a…father to me.”

“There it is,” he breathes triumphantly, loosening his hold on your neck though his hand still stays collared around it. “My good little girl. Finally being honest for once.”

His thrusts turn sloppy as he leans down to kiss you messily, and murmur against your skin.

“You’re so perfect, you know that? Smart, capable, pretty...”

You moan at his praise, feeling your pussy clench tighter and tighter around his pistoning length. The words go straight to your core, building and building, melting with the pleasure into something that threatens to swallow you whole.

“I’m so proud to call you my niece.”

You cum instantly, wet noises spilling out at you gush slick and kiss him messily, a thin droplet of drool running down the corner of your mouth. And then with a twitch of his cock and a guttural groan, warmth is spilling inside you, the most heavenly feeling, as he fills you with ropes of his hot seed.

A few euphoric moments of him emptying his balls into you, and then the cum stops flowing and he stills his thrusts. Warm breaths fill the silence, then he’s collapsing on top of you, careful not to put the majority of his weight on top of you. Your damp skin sticks against his, and he grabs your body as he spoons you from behind.

“You feel that?” He rolls his hips, slow and deep, his softening dick squelching inside the mess of fluids he’s plugged you up with. “This is what it means to be mine.”

You take a deep, shuddering breath as he pulls out of you, cock exiting your hole with a wet pop.

And then stillness. Too much of it.

The only sounds are the hum of the lamp and the uneven rhythm of your breathing. Your body curls in on itself instinctively, sheets tangling around your legs. You half expect him to push you away as you press your cheek to his chest, listening to the slow steady thrum.

He doesn’t. And the sound of his heartbeat is the only constant you have in the chaos still blooming inside of you.

Sukuna doesn’t speak. One arm lies draped lazily behind his head, the other wrapped around your waist—possessive, but not tight. His thumb strokes the small of your back, lazy and unthinking, like he’s petting a sleeping animal.

You don’t know what you expected after — a sharp word, a joke, indifference, maybe. But not this. Not him letting you hold onto him like this. Not his lips brushing against your temple like it means something.

“You’re quiet,” he says finally, voice low and almost too soft. “Regret already sinking in?”

You don't answer with words. Just shake your head a little against him, like you're refusing to answer something you can't explain.

Numbness. And the physical need to feel him next to you. That's all you feel.

His hand moves up to your hair, fingers threading through it. “Hn. Didn’t think you’d cling like this.”

“I’m not,” you mumble, even as your fingers curl tighter in the sheet between you.

He chuckles under his breath, the sound vibrating through his chest. “Liar.”

There’s no malice in it, no mockery. Just a strange, patient warmth that makes your throat ache. And when you finally dare to glance up at him—at the faint cut of his jawline in the soft light, at the familiar cruelty in his eyes dulled by something quieter—it aches deeper.

Not regret. Something else, something softer and more tender that feels like it shouldn't hurt.

And yet it does.

But then something shifts — imperceptible, but there. The slightest stiffening of his body under yours.

“You good?” you murmur, sleep-heavy, cheek still pressed to his chest.

He doesn’t answer right away. His hand lingers in your hair, then stills. His breathing changes—not relaxed, not calm; more like he’s suddenly aware of something he hadn’t let himself think about.

The silence between you stretches, no longer warm. You’re already half-asleep when you feel the mattress shift, his voice cutting through the haze a moment later.

“Don’t get comfortable. We need to get you cleaned up, and more importantly you should go pee.”

You groan, dragging the blanket over your head. “Are you serious? I don’t need to go.”

He tugs the blanket down with one hand, unimpressed. “Yeah, well you’re still sticky, bruised and probably bleeding a little. Get up.”

You scowl. “So romantic.”

“I’m not trying to be romantic. I’m trying not to let you get a damn infection.”

“I’ll survive,” you mumble, rolling over.

And then—before you can react—his arms are around you, and he’s scooping you up like you weigh nothing.

“Hey!” you yelp, squirming in his grasp. “Put me down! I can walk!”

“You had your chance,” he mutters, already heading toward the bathroom. “You made your choice when you started whining like a brat.”

“I am a brat,” you snap, arms crossed, glaring at his jawline. “And you like it.”

“Right,” he replies sarcastically, “Or maybe I just don’t feel like explaining to your parents why their daughter has a goddamn infection.”

You let out an exaggerated sigh, but despite your annoyance, you can’t help but relax a little into his chest, finding some strange comfort in the way he holds you. Maybe it’s the fact that you know he’s right—he’s always right about these things, even when it’s irritating.

“Well actually you’d be the one explaining, in that case. Don’t want Mom and Dad to know the kinda things you’ve been up to, huh?”

You glower at him as he tries not to look too pleased with himself, dropping you clumsily to your feet in the dark bathroom. You suppress a grimace as you feel his cum leaking out of you, sliding down your inner thighs.

It’s an odd, slightly disconcerting sensation.

“Can you at least try?”

“There’s nothing!” you snap, slightly embarrassed that the topic of you peeing is still being brought up. “I went….before, okay?”

Sukuna just sighs. “Make sure you do it next time. Don’t wanna deal with a UTI.”

You make a face but he’s already pushing you with a hand on your back to step into the shower. The warm water hits your skin, and you shiver before it starts to soothe. You’re still sulking, arms crossed under the spray as Sukuna steps in behind you like it’s just another chore he has to handle.

“You gonna stand there pouting all night, or do I need to wash that attitude off first?” he drawls, already grabbing the wash towel like you’re completely useless.

You try to snatch it from him. “I can do it myself.”

“I’m sure you can, sweetheart,” he replies condescendingly sweet, though he holds the wash towel up and away. “But I can do it better.”

You glare at him, but he’s already starting to lather your arms, completely unbothered by your glare. “You’re so annoying.”

“No,” he says, deadpan, “You’re annoying. I’m just responsible.”

You let out an exaggerated scoff, but your shoulders relax under his touch. You hate how smug he is when he’s right.

“You know I hate it when you treat me like a kid.”

“You act like one,” he replies, adding more of the fragrant bodywash onto the towel, before forcefully spinning you around to face him. “Especially when you’re tired. Or hungry. Or pretending you’re not clingy.”

You sputter a bit at the sudden spray of water in your face, before finally giving him another cold look.

“Me? Clingy? Are you out of your mind?” you reply, genuinely a little offended for some reason.

He just snorts, clearly unconvinced, and drags the towel down your back with a slow, deliberate hand. “You literally cried the last time I left for more than two days.”

“That was once,” you bite back, jaw tightening. “And I was on my period.”

“You called it a ‘separation-induced emotional collapse,’” he quotes flatly, then dips the towel just beneath the curve of your ass like he’s cleaning you, though you know he’s doing it just to get a rise out of you.

You swat at his arm, but he grabs your wrist and pins it lazily against your side, still holding the towel in the other hand. The motion isn’t aggressive—just practiced, smooth, like he’s done this a thousand times before.

“Let me go.”

“No.”

“I’m going to push you and you’re going to fall in the shower and not be able to get back up because of how old you are.”

He huffs out a short laugh through his nose, clearly amused. “Sweetheart,” he says, still calmly lathering your skin, “if anyone’s breaking a hip in here, it’s you. I saw you nearly sprain your knee trying to climb on top of me last night.”

“Once again, that was one time.”

“That was this week.”

You squirm against his grip, which only tightens slightly—enough to keep you still, not enough to hurt. He lathers the soap with the cloth on your chest, then squeezes it till the foam drips lewdly down your breasts. You only notice what’s happening when he smirks, eyes trained on the bubbles traveling the curve of your chest.

You swat half-heartedly at his chest, cheeks burning. “You’re disgusting.”

He grins, utterly unrepentant. “You say that like it’s new information.”

“Sometimes I forget how unbearable you are when you get your way."

“And yet, you keep letting me have it.”

His eyes flick down again—languid, slow—watching the water and suds slide down your skin like it’s a show meant for him alone.

You roll your eyes and try to pull away. “Maybe I’m just too tired to argue.”

“Liar,” he murmurs. “You like it when I take care of you like this. Even when you pretend to hate it. Especially then.”

You stare at him like you're about to challenge him, but no words come out.

“Tell me to stop,” he says, his voice low, fingers dragging just slightly along your waist now, “and I will.”

You look at him. He’s still holding the cloth, still waiting—for once, serious.

So you cross your arms to give him another stubborn look. "You forgot to get behind my ears, by the way."

His mouth twitches—not quite a smile, more like a warning.

“Don’t push your luck,” he says, but the way he tosses the towel over his shoulder and leans in tells you he’s taking the bait anyway.

You hold still, stubbornly proud, even when his hands bracket your jaw and tilt your head just so. He uses his thumbs first, rough pads gliding just behind your ears, then switches to knuckles as if he’s mocking the gentleness of the gesture.

“Since when you got so bratty?” he mutters. "This definitely can't be the same girl who showed up on my doorsteps a few months ago."

You glare at him, lips parting for a sharp retort—but he beats you to it, voice dipping just low enough to make your stomach flip.

“She used to be quiet. Timid. Didn’t even look me in the eye.”

You scoff dryly. "I’ve always thought you were unbearable. Difference is, now I say it out loud."

He huffs out a laugh, more breath than sound, the corner of his mouth twitching. “And here I was thinking you’d just grown attached.”

“Delusional and smug. Impressive combo.”

He doesn’t rise to the bait. Instead, his fingers slide from your neck to your collarbone, slow and measured like he’s mapping you out again.

“Keep talking like that,” he murmurs, “and I’ll start thinking you enjoy mouthing off just to see what I’ll do.”

“Maybe I do.”

There’s a pause. A taut little silence between you—charged, waiting, thick with steam and something heavier than heat.

Then suddenly his grin widens, wicked and boyish all at once.

“Alright then,” he says—and then, without warning, he twists the shower handle.

A blast of cold water smacks your skin like a slap, and you let out a shriek, practically leaping backwards into him.

“Uncle!” you gasp, teeth chattering as you try to scramble out of the spray. “Are you insane?!”

He laughs—really laughs—arms effortlessly catching you as you flail, pressing you against his warm chest like you aren’t soaking and furious.

“You looked like you were overheating,” he says smugly, completely unfazed by your glare. And the ice cold water, for some reason. “Just trying to help.”

“You’re a menace,” you hiss, shivering as you try to reach around him for the handle.

His hand closes around your wrist before you can reach the knob.

“Easy,” he says, voice low but firm. “You’ll throw off your system if you change the temperature too fast too much.”

You blink at him, teeth still chattering, but he doesn’t budge. Just calmly reaches past you and adjusts the water himself—slowly, carefully—until it warms again, just enough to stop your skin from prickling.

“Better?” he asks, like nothing happened. 

“You’re lucky I don’t have hypothermia.”

He raises a brow, unimpressed. “You were flushed and bratty and needed cooling off. Don’t make me explain the logic.”

“There was no logic. That was violence.”

“Soft violence,” he replies. “Therapeutic, even.”

You open your mouth to argue again, but he’s already guiding you gently under the warm spray, his touch firm and no-nonsense now. Not serious exactly, but steadier.

“Head down."

You sigh, complying, letting the water run through your hair as he works shampoo into your scalp with methodical hands—fingertips massaging a little too well for you to keep up your grudge.

“You’re ridiculous,” you mumble.

“Mm. Probably.”

He finishes rinsing you off in silence, hands steady and impersonal now—guarded, almost, like the line between teasing and responsibility has been redrawn. 

Soon you’re out of the shower, wrapping yourselves in towels, drying your hair. The bathroom is silent as Sukuna brushes his teeth. 

That feeling, in your stomach again. Something bitter and unpleasant. Fear? You’re not sure of what.

“Can I…sleep with you here tonight?” you suddenly ask, voice smaller than you’d like.

Sukuna pauses, eyes flicking to yours in the mirror, and there’s something unreadable in them.

Uncertainty, maybe? 

You don’t want to think about it — the thought would only make you spiral. If he regrets this, if he sees you differently now. Maybe he’s even disgusted by you. 

He spits into the sink, rinses, and sets his toothbrush down with a clack. For a second, he doesn’t say anything, and your chest tightens.

“Tch. You’re clingier than I thought,” he finally mutters, avoiding your eyes as he wipes his mouth with a towel.

But it’s not biting , it’s hollow. Deflection.

You flinch slightly. “Sorry. I’ll just—”

“I didn’t say no,” he cuts you off, voice quiet but firm, still not looking at you.

You freeze. “So… I can?”

He finally meets your gaze in the mirror — and for once, there’s no smirk, no mockery in his eyes. Just something tired, maybe even resigned.

“It’s your bed too,” he says after a pause. Then adds, almost too low to catch, “At least for now.”

Your eyes flit over to his toothbrush, and as quickly as you can, you reach for it. But Sukuna’s faster. He grabs it out of your hand, squeezes the toothpaste, and tilts your chin up with two fingers.

“What are you doing?” you mumble, brows furrowed.

He doesn’t answer—just shoves the toothbrush gently between your lips and starts brushing your teeth for you, slow and deliberate.

“Are you serious right now?” you try to say around the bristles.

“Mm-hm,” he hums, condescendingly calm. “Since you probably can’t do anything without me, apparently. Mouth open.”

You try to pull back, but his hand is firm against your jaw. “Uncle.”

“Shh,” he murmurs. “Open your mouth wider.”

You glare at him, cheeks puffed up, while he carefully brushes in exaggerated little circles, way too pleased with himself.

“This is so demeaning,” you mutter.

He grins. “Is it? I think it’s adorable. You’re like a spoiled little cat. All hiss, no bite.”

When he finally pulls the toothbrush away, you shove him lightly in the chest, scowling. “I hope you don’t do this with your girlfriends.”

He smirks, not missing a beat. “Well, you’re not my girlfriend, you’re my—”

"Do not," you quickly cut him off, shooting him a venomous glare.

You expect the usual smirk—that smug, needling grin he wears whenever he knows he’s gotten under your skin.

But it doesn’t come.

Instead, there’s a flicker of something else—a beat of silence that lingers just a second too long. Then he looks away, the moment slipping like steam through fingers. “Go put on your pajamas,” he says quietly. “I need to change too.”

Your chest sinks. “What? Why?”

He doesn’t look at you as he turns away. “Because we’re not animals.”

That gets under your skin. Deeper maybe, somewhere more sensitive. “Yeah, except we just fucked like animals, so—”

“It’s not about that,” he cuts in, too quickly, too quietly. “It’s just… better this way.”

You watch him, frustration rising like heat under your skin. “You said you wouldn’t do this.”

He pauses, back still turned. “Do what?”

“Draw lines.” Your voice comes out sharper than you meant it to—brittle, breaking around something you didn’t expect to feel. “You promised. Said you'd give me all of you. Until I had to leave.”

He’s quiet. His shoulders rise and fall with a breath that sounds heavier than it should. You’ve hit something, and you both know it.

You press. “What��did you think I wouldn’t actually take it?” you sneer. “And you were the one accusing me of pretending to want it.”

That makes him turn, just slightly. His eyes meet yours, and for a flicker of a second, there's something raw in them. Frustration. Guilt. Or worse—fear.

But he doesn’t argue, just exhales through his nose, tension bleeding from his shoulders.

“Fine,” he says. “Get in bed. But don’t complain if you wake up with my elbow in your face.”

You roll your eyes, but move, letting the towel fall from your body. You’re bare, except for your panties—the liner catching the faintest trace of blood and what’s left of him. You don’t look away as you straighten the blanket and peel it back, sliding under the sheet. It’s cool against your skin, kissing your chest where you’re usually too shy to sleep uncovered.

But not tonight.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch him glancing—unsure, maybe even uncertain where the lines are anymore. You don’t say anything. Just wait, still and quiet, as he kills the light and lies down beside you. The space between you feels fragile, thick with everything neither of you is saying.

At first, neither of you moves.

You lie on your side, facing the wall. He’s behind you. Not touching, not close.

You shift slightly under the covers. “Are you really gonna sleep all the way over there?”

You meant it to sound teasing—but it comes out... needy, almost.

A heartbeat passes and then the bed shifts as his warmth touches your skin, his body fitting behind yours. Not quite touching yet, but it’s much closer than before. Tentatively, you push back, your back brushing his chest, careful not to let your ass brush up against his groin. He doesn’t pull away, just lets out a long breath, like he’s been holding it this whole time.

“You don’t have to pretend it didn’t mean anything,” you whisper.

But you know that’s not the real question. The real question is what this is, now, why he’s gone distant, why the warmth of his body doesn’t quite reach the space where you needed it to.

Guys pull away after sex — you’ve heard that. But he isn’t just some guy, and this wasn’t supposed to be just sex. There’s something more to his silence than that, you’re sure.

Or at least you hope.

That maybe the twisted, complex nature of your relationship would count for something here, where it matters more than ever, perhaps.

He doesn’t reply but soon his arm is slowly wrapping around your waist, pulling you into the expanse of his broad chest, fingers resting right beneath the curve of your breast. They caress the underside so softly it almost tickles.

And then, softly—so quietly you almost don’t catch it—he murmurs against the back of your neck, 

“I don’t want to miss you.”

The closest he’s ever come to a confession.

You wake up to the smell of grilled fish and miso.

Sukuna’s here this morning. You’d half expected him to fuck off to wherever he goes for work, just to avoid seeing you after last night.

And not necessarily the sex part—but the part after, where you slept tangled together, limbs knotted, his body curled around yours. You swear that at some point during the night, between dreams, you felt one of his large palms gently cupping your breast. Not sexually. More like the way a kid hugs a stuffed toy in their sleep. Something unconscious.

Possessive yet soft.

But now, there’s nothing in his place except rumpled sheets and an empty stretch of mattress. You get dressed in your pants from last night, then pull one of his oversized shirts over your head to cover your chest. You’re not in the mood to cross paths with him in the kitchen half-naked, just to grab clean clothes from your own room. Finally, you make your way to the dining table and slump into a chair.

Sukuna’s standing at the stove, hair still damp from a shower, sleeves rolled up as he plates breakfast like it’s any other morning.

“You need to talk to your counselor today. About the dorms.”

You blink. “What?”

“For school,” he says, like you’ve asked something stupid. “Next semester starts in a few weeks. You still haven’t put in your housing request.”

You frown, slowly sitting up straighter. “Okay, well—good morning to you too.”

He finally glances over his shoulder. “Morning. Now eat.”

You study him carefully. There’s no trace of last night in his expression. No warmth, no softness, just that familiar sharp-edged irritation, like you’ve already done something wrong. “You’re being kind of a dick this morning.”

“I’m being realistic,” he replies flatly. “You want to finish your program, don’t you?”

It’s true—you do want that degree. But something about the way he says it now digs under your skin. “Yeah, but—why are you suddenly on my ass about it? You’re acting like I’ve been slacking or something.”

He doesn’t answer right away, instead sets a bowl of rice in front of you with a little too much force. “That’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point?” you challenge, looking up at him. “Why are you suddenly breathing down my neck about this stuff?”

Sukuna dries his hands with a towel, leans against the counter, and stares at you. His face is unreadable—annoyed, yes, but there’s something else under it. Distant and resigned.

“You said you wanted to go back,” he says simply. “I’m making sure you do.”

“Yeah, but why now?” Your voice rises before you can stop it. “We literally just—” You stop, cheeks burning. “You know.”

He doesn’t flinch. “That doesn’t change anything.”

You push the bowl away. “Right. Of course it doesn’t.”

The silence that follows is thick and bitter. “I’m not hungry,” you mutter, standing up.

“You need to eat.”

“Oh my god, can you stop acting like my dad for five seconds?”

He freezes. The words land in the room like something dropped and shattered. You hadn’t meant to say it but there it is, ugly and raw. He stares at you, jaw tight, eyes sharp. “I’m not your fucking dad.”

You cross your arms, scowling—but your insides are trembling. Embarrassed. And you don’t even know why. “I didn’t mean—”

“Yes, you did,” he says, voice going cold. His expression twists, sharp and mean. That look he wears when you push him too far—when he lets something rotting and cruel crawl to the surface just to watch it burn you. “As if your dad’s ever seen you naked. Wrapped around his—”

“Okay, stop!”

He doesn’t stop. Instead, his voice goes low, flat and weaponized. “Don’t pretend you don’t like it when someone tells you what to do. You melt for it. Like a fucking pet. Tail wagging the second someone shows you attention.”

He steps forward, slow and deliberate, letting the silence stretch between each word. “You want someone to feed you. Dress you. Tell you what’s good for you. Praise you when you behave. Punish you when you don’t. Isn’t that right?”

His smile is wrong. There’s no humor in it. “You don’t want a dad. You want an owner.”

Your stomach drops.

“And you’d rather it be me than anyone else. That’s the sick part, isn’t it?”

You clench your jaw, knuckled white around the chopsticks you grip so hard you’re surprised they don’t snap. “Don’t fucking talk to me like that,” you hiss, eyes burning.

His voice is equally low, gaze equally cutting. “Then sign up for your goddamn housing and make sure you’re out from under my roof in six months.”

Sukuna had almost forgotten what you were like before all this. Before you let him in.

But over the next few days, he remembers. He remembers how cold you can be. How distant. How easily you can withdraw behind those walls of yours, quiet and unreachable.

Polite, even — that’s the worst part. Not cruel, not defiant. Just... cordial. Impeccably so. With that measured tone and perfectly impassive face, like he’s a stranger you owe civility to and nothing more.

You don’t sleep in his bed anymore. Most nights, you’re behind the door of your own room. You wake up early, make breakfast before he’s even down the hall. You greet him with a sterile “Good morning,” eat when you’re supposed to, excuse yourself without fanfare.

And through it all, not once do you snap at him. Not once do you cry.

It’s this version of you — competent, composed, independent — that reminds him, with aching clarity, that you don’t need him.

You do the things he used to remind you about before he even opens his mouth. You fold your laundry without being asked. Clean your space, your dishes, your bathroom. You eat, on time, like clockwork. When you struggle with a jar, you don’t ask him. You run it under hot water, twist a rubber band around the lid, and open it yourself.

At first, it annoys him. Then, it sinks in.

You’ve always been capable. Always sharp, always resourceful. You could take care of yourself. You did, before him — before he inserted himself into your life. But now he sees the truth, that all those moments when you leaned on him weren’t signs of helplessness. They were choices.

You let yourself rest, let yourself be cared for, for once. Gave up the exhausting self-sufficiency because, for the first time, someone was there — and you wanted that someone to be him.

No it was never incapability; it was surrender.

And now you’re showing him that you can go back to holding it all again, alone, if you have to. And that, somehow, is worse than any screaming match, any slammed door. You even inform him one evening yourself — perfectly neutral — that you’ve talked to the counselor. That you’ve applied for housing, and the results should get back in a few weeks.

In many ways, you are certainly much more tolerable than before. And at the same time, in the most ironic twist of fate, he can’t stand it.

He can’t stand those guarded, polite smiles you give him. The way you clean your own dishes without being asked. How you only come to him, or speak to him, when it’s necessary. How you seem unfazed by his longer hours, how you barely seem to even care or notice.

Sukuna only realizes then how much you’d opened up to him, how much of you you’d let him see. That the clinginess, the neediness he used to tease you for—those weren’t flaws. They were the soft depths you’d chosen to reveal beneath that armor he now remembers all too well. The quiet trust behind it, the way you’d let him in. And he’d taken your vulnerability and used it against you.

Vulnerability—somehow your greatest strength. Because he doesn’t know how to show it himself. Doesn’t know how to be soft without destroying something in the process.

He knows—as your guardian—that whatever this is between you has to stop. That it’s fundamentally wrong, that you deserve a future untouched by this, by him. That you should go to school, finish your degree, meet someone your age, live clean and normal and free.

But as a man who wants a woman—wants you—he doesn’t want any of that. He wants to keep you close. Keep you his. Make sure no one else ever sees you the way he has, touches you the way he has, ruins you in the way he already has.

And gods, it would almost be easier if you didn’t look at him like that—like he’s worth everything. Like he’s still someone you want, even now. And that’s what makes it dangerous. Which is why he had to draw the line and set the goddamn deadline. Force you to take control of your own life, even if it hurts you. Even if it kills something inside him.

And the worst part is—it’s working, isn’t it? You’re moving on. Maybe not willingly, nor gracefully, but you’re moving on.

And he’s stuck somewhere between what he owes you as your uncle… and what he wants as a man.

He doesn’t say much these days to you.

But he starts showing up in small, quiet ways.

A freshly folded towel left outside your bathroom door. A full cup of barley tea placed by your laptop while you study. Groceries restocked with your favorite brand of yogurt.

Little things. Nothing dramatic, nothing direct.

You ignore them all. Not because you don’t notice — you do. Every single one. But acknowledging them would mean softening, and softening would mean giving in. And that strange, ugly ache still swells inside your chest every time you see him. So instead you harden.

When he knocks gently at your door one night, a quiet “You eaten yet?” slipping through the wood, you pretend you have your headphones on. He waits a few moments, doesn’t push. Eventually, you hear his footsteps retreat. You stare up at your ceiling and feel the guilt press against your ribs, dull and stubborn. But you don’t open the door. Not yet.

Because some part of you still wants him to feel it. That you were hurt and that you’re not just going to pretend like it didn’t crack something open. And until then, you keep that distance. Even as it eats at you too.

A few days later, Sukuna finds you on the balcony.

You’re small in the dark. Knees pulled to your chest, sleeves tugged down over your hands. It’s cold, but you don’t shiver.

He leans in the doorway for a long moment before stepping out. Doesn’t say anything at first, just pulls out a cigarette, lights it with a quiet flick, exhales a slow curling stream of smoke into the night.

You don’t look at him, but there’s that familiar ache in your chest. A tightness.

“You’re freezing out here,” he says eventually, like it’s casual.

Nothing.

He tries again. “Didn’t touch your dinner.”

Still no response, not even a shrug.

A longer pause this time. He shifts his weight, running a hand through his hair.

“You remember that stray cat? The one you used to leave food for down the block?” His voice is low, rougher. “Haven’t seen it in a while.”

You don’t respond but your fingers twitch. Sukuna stares at the side of your face. The line of your jaw, clenched tight, the blankness in your expression.

But inside, you’re fracturing. You don’t know what it is — this urge to hurt him, to dig in the knife and twist, even if it hurts you too.  Some side of you that’s simultaneously sadistic and masochistic, that wants to sabotage everything good, that enjoys the mutual pain.

You suppose that like your uncle, you have a cruel streak somewhere within you as well.

It's been a full week now.

Sukuna lingers in the doorway of your room, like he’s debating whether to say something or leave. Hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes low. He doesn’t look like himself, not in the way you’re used to — no sharp smirk, no biting comment ready to tear into you.

Just that annoying silence again. Heavy and hesitant.

“You doing okay?” he asks, eventually.

You don’t look up from your notebook. “Fine.”

“...You eat anything?”

“No.”

A pause. You let it stretch out, wanting him to leave. Or maybe, secretly, you want him to stay and try harder.

“I made soup,” he says. “You could’ve just—”

“I didn’t want it.”

He tenses — not a lot, but enough that you notice. It makes you feel that rush of power, laced with bitterness. With hurt. And somehow you can’t stop yourself.

So instead you flip a page, scribble down a word you don’t care about.

He exhales sharply. “Look, I didn’t do it to punish you. I thought... if I didn’t give you a push, you’d never try. You’d stay here. Get stuck. With me.”

Now you glance over your shoulder, barely. “So you thought hurting me was a favor?” Your voice is flat, almost bored. It stings.

He clenches his jaw. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

You finally lower the pen, clipping it to the side of the notebook to close it and keep it down. Then, you turn — calm, composed, lips pressed tight.

“No,” you say coolly, “I think you meant every word. That I’m a burden. That I should get out of your hair.”

“That’s not—”

“You don’t have to explain,” you cut in. “It’s fine. You want me to move on, right?” You smile a bit. “I have a date tonight, by the way. Don’t wait up.”

It lands exactly where you intended it to. Sukuna goes still. A slow, bitter kind of stillness, the kind that simmers behind his eyes. You walk past him without another word.

And behind you, he doesn’t follow.

Your date is forgettable.

Some guy from a dating app you downloaded on impulse a few nights ago, during a moment of defiance or loneliness — you can’t tell which. He talks about cryptocurrency the entire time. You nod along, barely listening, more focused on finishing your ramen than the words coming out of his mouth.

When the check comes, he glances at it, then at you. "Want to split?"

You don’t even bother sighing, just slide your card forward and nod.

On the way home, the silence in the train feels more like relief than emptiness. You realize it then — the whole outing was a quiet attempt to prove something. To yourself, or to Sukuna, you’re not sure. All it proves is that he’s still the one you think about, even when you're sitting across from someone else. He would never ask you to split the bill. And for reasons you don’t want to examine too closely, that thought makes your chest ache more than it should.

You unlock the front door quietly, out of habit. The home is dark except for the low flicker of a lamp. You toe off your shoes, slip inside, and pause there for a moment — unsure why.

He’s not in the living room. Not in the kitchen. You glance toward his closed bedroom door

You expected to feel…something. Triumph, maybe. Validation. Or at the very least, distraction. Instead, there’s only that dull, familiar ache settling back in your chest as you wash your face, brush your teeth, change into pajamas..

You should get to bed, sleep it off. Pretend the date meant something, that it helped.

But you don’t.

Instead, like some quiet pull you can’t resist, you drift toward his door, knock once — barely audible — and let yourself in without waiting for an answer.

He’s in bed, half-asleep or pretending to be. The soft glow of the lamp beside him casts shadows over his face. He doesn’t say anything when you approach, just watches you through lidded eyes.

You hesitate at the side of the bed. Then, without a word, you crawl in beside him — careful, uncertain.

His body is warm, solid. You don’t touch him at first. Just lie there, facing away, the space between you sharp with tension. Then, slowly, you feel the mattress shift. A hand brushes your back, barely there.

You don't speak; you don't need to. Eventually, your hand finds his, and holds.

Not an apology. Certainly not a resolution. But something.

You wake up before him.

It’s still dark out, just the faintest grey bleeding into the corners of the sky through the window. His room smells like sleep and the faint woody aroma of whatever soap he uses. You’re curled toward him, one arm tucked under your head, the other resting lightly near his chest.

Not touching. Just…close.

For a while you just lie there, heart aching and quiet. You hadn’t meant to come to him last night but now, in this slow, blurry moment, you realize it was the only place you could’ve ended up.

He shifts a little in his sleep and a quiet sound escapes him, the kind that makes your throat tighten for no good reason.

Finally he speaks, voice low and groggy. “...You came home late.”

You don’t answer. Just breathe slowly, carefully.

His arm shifts, hand brushing your back again tentatively.  “Was he any good?”

You let out the smallest breath of a laugh. Not amused, just tired. “No,” you whisper. “He was boring as hell.”

A long pause. You don’t look at him, and he doesn’t press. “Good.”

Another beat. You almost laugh again, but it catches somewhere painful in your chest. So instead, you let your eyes fall closed again and say nothing. His fingers linger on your back, warm and uncertain.

Still no resolution. Still no answers. But somehow, the silence between you feels less like distance — and more like a thread slowly weaving itself back together. You fall asleep like that, side by side. 

A couple days pass.

Things don’t go back to normal, not completely, but the ice isn’t as sharp as it was before. You’re both still circling each other, careful, cautious. But the air between you is a little less brittle now.

It’s late morning. You’re in the kitchen, halfheartedly eating some toast, still in your sleep shirt. He walks in, dressed and ready to head out, keys in one hand, phone in the other. He says nothing at first, just grabs a bottle of water and downs half of it.

You keep your eyes on your plate, but then, casually — maybe too casually — you ask,

“You working today?”

His brow lifts, ever so slightly though he doesn't turn to face you right away.

“Mmh,” he hums, wiping his mouth. “I am.”

You nod once, like that was all you wanted to know. But the smallest flicker of something akin to disappointment flashes across your face, and he catches it. He leans against the counter, watching you for a beat too long. “…You gonna miss me or something?”

You roll your eyes without looking up, cheeks warm. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He grins faintly — just a hint of smugness there, but it’s gentler than usual. Almost soft. “Mm. That’s not a no.”

You snort under your breath and finally glance up at him, just for a second. He’s already turning toward the door, but there’s something lighter in the way he moves now like maybe your question meant more to him than it should’ve.

And maybe your asking it meant something to you, too.

You don’t say anything else as he leaves. But when the door closes, you sit there with your half-eaten toast and feel the quiet press of his absence in the apartment. And this time, it doesn’t feel like punishment.

It just feels like… missing.

You don’t plan to wait up. At least, that’s what you tell yourself. You clean up the kitchen after dinner. Do a face mask, scroll on your phone. You even get in bed at a decent hour, lights off, pretending you're tired enough to sleep. But you don't; instead you just lay there, staring at the ceiling, wrapped in too many thoughts and too much quiet.

You hear the front door open sometime after three in the morning. The soft shuffle of his shoes being kicked off and keys landing in the bowl. 

You could stay in bed. You should. But before you can put thought into it, you're getting up and padding out into the hallway quietly, not sure what you're doing, until you catch sight of him in the living room — jacket off, sleeves rolled up, rubbing his neck like it’s been a long day.

He hasn’t noticed you yet. You hover a moment, then casually speak up, your voice quieter than you intend. “Late.”

He glances up, just a little startled. But his gaze softens when he sees you — rumpled from bed, arms loosely crossed like you’re pretending this is some kind of ambush and not the result of waiting for him for over three hours.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he says.

“You didn’t.”

He doesn’t say anything right away. Neither do you. There's a quiet tension that might’ve been awkward once, but now just feels…careful — like both of you are trying to speak without saying the wrong thing.

Then, after a moment, he gestures with his head toward the couch. “Wanna sit with me for a bit? We can watch TV or something.”

You hesitate but only for a second. “…Yeah,” you murmur. “Alright.”

You curl into the corner of the couch, and he sits down beside you — not too close, but close enough that your shoulder brushes his when you shift. You just sit there silently, some late night talk show on the screen that neither of you are really watching, the clock ticking on the wall.

Neither of you says it, but you’re both thinking the same thing. That this… is better. You missed this.

The room is dim, the air thick with the remnants of the night. You can feel the weight of his presence even without looking at him. It’s strange, how the space between you doesn’t feel empty tonight.

You sit, stiff at first, then relax, just enough for the warmth in the room to seep into you. You can hear him breathing — slow, steady, and soon the quiet becomes comfortable. He’s the first to break it, his hand still lingering in the air, hovering above you, before he drops it to his lap.

“Go to bed if you’re tired.” His voice is low, almost absent, but there’s something in it — a softness you don’t expect from him.

You don’t answer at first. Instead, you just feel the weight of your own exhaustion settle in. The events of the night, the day before, everything else—all of it starts to catch up. You never realized how much you needed this quiet.

“Not sleepy,” you mumble.

“You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“Then just let me.”

Your eyelids flutter, and the weight of sleep tugs at you, slow and irresistible. You try to fight it, but your body betrays you and involuntarily you lean back, just a little, and your head slips sideways.

His presence is warm, familiar, an anchor that you can’t seem to pull away from. Before you realize it, you’re not just leaning against the couch anymore. Your cheek is against his shoulder, your body curling slightly in towards him.

You don’t move. His hand is still resting near you, just close enough that you can feel the heat of his skin if you shift an inch. You want to move away, to keep that distance, but you’re too tired. Too drained. And, despite everything — despite the fighting and the sharp edges between you — you feel safer here.

You don’t notice when you finally drift off, your breathing evening out in rhythm with his. Sukuna watches you for a moment, his gaze lingering on the top of your head. He doesn’t move, even as you shift slightly in your sleep, closer to him.

His hand hovers for a beat before he rests it on your head, just a light touch, like he’s afraid of waking you. Or maybe afraid of needing you. He doesn’t let himself think about it too long. He shifts slightly, adjusting his own position to make you more comfortable, but he doesn’t push you away or force you to go back to your room. For the first time in a while, he simply allows himself to be in the moment with you, even if nothing is fixed.

Slowly, your odd relationship begins to rebuild itself. Almost like nothing’s changed. Which feels good, but you know is probably ultimately bad.

There isn’t much left for you to do regarding your college application now other than wait, which works in both your and Sukuna’s favors since he doesn’t have to ask you about it. And for a little while, you can both pretend like it doesn’t exist, like there isn’t a definitive end to all this.

You once again start bugging each other in that way, where it becomes a game to push each other’s buttons. The subtle jabs, the teasing remarks — it feels familiar, like slipping back into an old pair of shoes. Comfortable, easy.

One morning, you deliberately make a mess with the breakfast dishes, leaving them in the sink just to see if he’ll say something. He doesn’t disappoint.

“Spoiled,” he mutters, eyes flicking to the unwashed plates before he grabs his coat to head out for the day. You’re about to say something snarky back, but he catches you off guard when he pauses by the door. “I’m leaving. Don’t forget to eat. Don’t make me come back here to check on you.” His voice is sharp, but there’s something behind it that catches you off guard.

You don’t even reply, just raise an eyebrow as he walks out.

The day stretches on, and as usual, you find yourself stuck between the feeling of wanting to be left alone and the pull of his presence — a silent, strange comfort.

A few days later, you’ve had enough of your own thoughts spinning in circles. You’re lounging in the living room, scrolling through your phone when Sukuna walks in, the air shifting the moment he steps through the door.

“Made yourself comfortable?” he remarks dryly, nodding to the mess of books and papers scattered around the coffee table. You shrug, not bothering to answer, but he continues, his voice cutting through the silence. “You’re avoiding me again. Good to know I’m still that important.”

You roll your eyes but a tiny smirk tugs at the corner of your lips. “Oh? And how am I avoiding you?”

“You’re still keeping your distance. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.” He leans against the doorway, his arms crossed, but there’s something different about the way he’s looking at you today. Less guarded. Almost vulnerable, though he’d never admit it.

You don’t respond immediately, the tension in the air thick. For a long moment, neither of you speaks. Then, the game kicks in. You look up from your phone, tilting your head with a feigned innocence. “And what about you? Still not asking about my college stuff? You’d think you’d care by now.”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he smirks in that infuriatingly smug way. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? For me to care? But I’m leaving it up to you. All of it.” His voice softens just a bit, and for a second, the tension fades. “Just don’t waste the chance.”

It stings. Not because of the words, but because you know they’re true. And deep down, you’re not sure if you’re ready to make that choice.

Sukuna won’t admit it, but he’s secretly thrilled at the way you’ve started to cling to him again.

It begins with you sometimes crawling into his bed at night, asking if you can sleep with him. He agrees, and soon the asking eventually just turns into you announcing that he’ll be sharing the bed with you.

And then the casual, domestic bickering returns full time to your daily life. One morning you’re sitting at the breakfast table, innocently eating leftovers from last night as he opens the fridge to grab some milk from his coffee.

The carton is suspiciously light, but he tries his luck anyway, unscrewing the lid to pour some into his glass.

A single drop falls out.

He catches you trying not to look at him, clearly hoping to escape the reprimanding that’s about to come your way.

“Seriously? Can you just throw away the damn containers when they’re finished?”

You sigh. “Okay, I’ll do it next time.”

“You say that every time.”

“Okay what do you want me to do? Go back in time and throw the carton away? I just forgot.”

He narrows his eyes. Maybe he’d buy into it a bit more if he didn’t see how well you could really do things, when you weren’t talking to him. Weaponized incompetency - that’s what this is.

If you’re not acting like some poor woman’s kind of shitty boyfriend, you’re acting like a spoiled pet.

You stand in the doorway to his office, arms crossed over your chest. Sukuna is bent over his desk, scribbling something on a piece of paper. He doesn’t look up at first, but you can feel his awareness of your presence, as always.

“I’m bored,” you announce, breaking the silence.

Sukuna barely glances up. “Do I look like your entertainment?”

“Not really,” you mutter, stepping closer. “But I’m here, so I thought you might want some company.”

He doesn’t respond, and the silence stretches until you can’t stand it any longer. You move behind his chair and sit down on his lap without asking. He freezes for a moment, but doesn’t push you off. His hands remain on the paperwork, not acknowledging the shift in your position.

You lean in slightly, eyes flicking to the paper in front of him. “What’s this? Planning to buy something else you don’t need?”

“Shut up,” he says, his voice rough but not unkind. “I’m working.”

You roll your eyes, shifting your weight a little to grind—barely—against his thigh. “It must be hard to focus when you’re this uptight,” you say, deliberately lazy in your tone.

He glances at you sideways. “I’m not the one climbing into someone’s lap uninvited.”

“Don’t need an invitation. It’s my birthright as your only niece,” you reply with a half-smile.

His gaze sharpens, but he doesn’t bother responding. Pen scratching against the page like he’s willing himself to ignore you.

You want his attention, maybe something more — to get a peek into his head. But you know him; he never gives anything away when asked outright. That’s fine, you’ll go for the side door instead.

After watching him for a moment you lean in a little, voice laced with provocation. “Let me guess—you think this is annoying. That I’m clingy and that you’d rather be alone.”

He pauses just for a second, but you catch it. Still, he doesn’t say anything. Push a bit further.

You tilt your head, feigning thoughtfulness. “Or maybe you’re just trying not to care too much. Wouldn’t want to make things messy, right?”

That’s when his pen stops moving. His jaw tightens, just enough to make you smirk.

“You don’t know anything about what’s going on in my head,” he mutters, low and sharp.

There we go.

“Well, maybe you should share then,” you respond casually.

He leans back in his chair slightly, bringing his face closer to yours, and you feel your breathing quicken. Your pulse stutters—God, you’ve missed this. Missed him like this. Sukuna grins slowly, in that way that tells you he’s up to no good as his hand finds its way to the curve of your hip.

“You really wanna know what’s going on in my head?” He shifts beneath you, just enough for you to feel it—hard and rising under your weight.

“Guess I do,” you breathe, feigning calm.

“I’m thinking,” he says lowly, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear, “That the shipping clause in the new procurement contract’s gonna screw us if customs get nosy in Kobe again.“

You blink before your face settles into a scowl of irritation. “God you’re fucking insufferable,” you mutter, looking away.

“What, did you want me to say I was thinking about you?”

You give him a dry, biting, pointed look that makes him smirk even wider.

“Well I was thinking about you too….”

You freeze for half a second.

“…And how you still haven’t bought the milk you finished without telling me. Or taken out the goddamn trash.”

You turn away, trying not to let the dejection get to you. Sure maybe you’re horny but it was more than that too — you wanted him to want you like that again. To feel that he still desires you in the way you know he shouldn’t.

So you begin to get up with a sigh, when he pushes you back down abruptly before casually adding, “Oh and how I want your pretty little lips wrapped around my cock right now-” He grabs your hips, grinding your throbbing cunt right onto where his bulge is straining against his pants, “So I can fuck your throat till you choke on it.”

Your eyes widen, breath hitching a little in surprise. Exactly the reaction he wanted, clearly, considering how it makes him smirk.

“Is that the kind of thing you wanted to hear? Huh?” he teases.

Yes, it is, but you’re feeling a bit more bratty after the way he just messed with you.

So you purse your lips, trying once again to climb off him. “Nope. Not anymore at least. I think I’m gonna go take out the trash actually since you were so concerned about that—“

His gaze darkens and before you can even catch the movement he’s gripping your wrist. “Knees. Now.”

You shoot him a glare. “And give me one good reason I should do that after that shit you just pulled?”

Of course the thought of getting to feel his cock in your mouth for the first time is more than arousing, but your penchant for demand avoidance proves to be just as stubborn.

“Because you waltzed in here practically begging for my attention—and now you’ve got it,” he says smoothly, thumb brushing along your lower lip, hand cupping your jaw. “Interrupting me while I’m working…”

His eyes drag over your face. “Might as well make yourself useful. Help me burn off some of this stress...”

You don’t respond, but you don’t pull away either. He watches you, waiting. When you still don’t move, his hand trails lower—fingers wrapping around your throat with deliberate pressure.

“Get on your knees.” His voice drops, grip tightening just slightly. “I won’t ask again.”

You swallow hard, eyes locked on his. Then you move. He releases you as you shift, lifting yourself off his lap and lowering to the floor between his legs, gaze never breaking from his. Sukuna’s eyes follow you, widening his thighs a bit more so that you have better access to the bulge now at your face level.

And before he even has to ask, you’re reaching forward, unzipping his fly to expose the swell in his boxers. He exhales softly when you finally pull down the waistband, freeing his erect cock, already flushed and leaking at the tip.

You swallow again, this time louder, the sound exaggerated in the quiet between you. He hears it, clearly, and lets out a low, amused snort.

“Nothing to say now?”

You give him another half-assed scowl, before returning your attention to his dick. His skin is tan against the dark pink of his hair, a contrast that draws your eyes before anything else. And when your hand finally wraps around him, the weight of him is undeniable—solid, warm, real.

His cock is just as imposing as the rest of him. No wonder he acts like that.

“What do you want me to do?” you murmur, giving him an experimental pump of your fist, before bending forward to lick the pearlescent bead of pre gathered at his slit.

A little salty, maybe even sweet, ever so slightly.

Sukuna breathes a bit sharply at the touch, though his voice stays composed, condescending and arrogant as ever. “Suck it? Give me a blowjob? Want me to say it in another languag— ah, fuck,” he hisses when you deliberately stiffen the tip of your tongue, firmly prodding into his slit.

Not hard enough to hurt, but certainly enough to probably feel uncomfortable. You lift away, stroking his length gently with a small satisfied smile.

“Was that good?” you ask innocently, knowing few things annoy him as much as your weaponized incompetency.

“Just open your mouth and let me fuck it since you can’t do it right yourself.”

You place one hand on his thigh, the other bringing his tip back to your lips to give it another kitten lick. “In a moment.”

You tease your tongue around his frenulum, sliding your tongue up and down with soft, almost curious licks. He lets you explore dick as you borderline inspect it, lifting his shaft to peer at the heavy balls sitting below before running your tongue along the seam with almost reverent carefulness. Sukuna’s breath deepens, as you feel his hand coming up to knot in your hair.

“What’s this all about? Never sucked a dick before or something?” he murmurs, though he stays patient, letting you go at your own pace.

“I have. Just not yours,” you mumble, as you bring your lips back up, rubbing it against his sensitive glans just to see what it feels like.

Soft, so soft, almost satin-like.

You’ve sucked dick before, yes, but never felt the need to get so familiar with another man’s intimate areas, to take your time like you’re trying to permanently imprint the memory of it in your brain. You find yourself wanting to memorize every vein you trace with your tongue, the smell of him, the taste of him, the feel of him in your mouth.

Perhaps you understand now why he was so adamant on wanting to see every inch of your own pussy. Not to mention no other man’s ever leaked as much precum as he is right now, oozing from his slit as you coat your lips with it in a slick sheen. Sukuna’s muscles are visibly tensed beneath you, you can tell he’s reaching his limit from the steady tightening of the hand gripping your roots. Good.

But you want to push him further, just a bit. So you look up at him as you collect spit in your mouth, before parting your lips to drip it obscenely over his tip. And then, you blow on the wettened skin, ever so gently.

A notch forms between his brows, jaw clenching as it does when he gets irritated. Suddenly your head is yanked back, scalp stinging from the harsh tug.

“Enough,” he growls. “Stick your tongue out like a good slut.”

You do as you’re told, and soon he’s taking his cock and rubbing it against the flat of your tongue as you gaze up at him.

“That’s it.” He slides cock off your tongue, and onto your face, slapping it against your cheek with a wet noise, your saliva sticking to you skin. “Now open up.”

You widen your jaw and take a deep inhale through your nose right before he slides his girth in, inch by inch, feeding it into your throat. Immediately your gag reflex kicks in as he goes deeper than you’d expected, sooner than you’d expected.

Sukuna only snickers meanly when he hears you choke a bit, your throat convulsing around his cock. “Too much?”

You narrow your watering eyes in defiance, inhaling again through your nose before remembering a trick you’d heard somewhere about squeezing one of your thumbs so you don’t gag.

So you ball your left fist around your thumb as hard as you can, and strangely enough, it works. With that you hollow your cheeks and push your head down until your nose reaches the coarse hairs on his pelvis, taking in how tight your throat feels around his cock sheathed fully inside.

He smiles as you still a bit, the grip in your hair loosening so that he can stroke it instead, as he murmurs pleasantly surprised, “Oh, good girl. You learn fast, huh?”

Before he can do it himself, you begin moving your head back before sliding back down again, feeling the velvety skin of his shaft brush along your tongue as you bob your head up and down. Slick, squelching noises fill the study, your throat making wet clicks as it moves around him. You can feel your saliva starting to drool out, dripping down his shaft, some smearing on your lips and chin.

It feels sloppy, even more when you hear him groan in pleasure as he grips your hair again, the noise sending an unbearable warmth down to your core while you try to focus on keeping your teeth out of the way and breathing through your nose.

“Mmh, just like that baby, your throat feels so fucking good,” he rasps.

His praise goes right to your head, feeling much better than it had any right to. It’s enough to make you push away the aching pain flaring in your jaw from holding it open, just to hear more of it, to show him how well you can please him. You unclench the fist you were squeezing to fondle his balls, caressing and massaging them delicately while you work your throat around him, rubbing your tongue along his length and letting more of your spit drip out and onto his cock as you swallow around it.

You know Sukuna. You know beyond a certain point of pleasure, his lust will morph into something worse, something vicious that likes to ruin.

And you know it's what compels him to abruptly grip your hair so tightly it stings, and thrust his hips so hard into your mouth with a guttural noise that you make a muffled squeak of surprise, losing your rhythm and feeling you gag reflex claw up your chest, trying to push him back out of your throat. He grins wickedly, cock only twitching in excitement when he feels you struggling to take him, only encouraging him to go harder, fuck your skull till tears are streaming down your face and spit froths at your lips and dribbles down. Strands of your hair stick to the mess, but he’s too busy bruising the back of your throat to care enough to peel them away.

“Hah, I think this is your birthright as my niece,” he sneers between pants, as you try and regain some semblance of control, fingers trying find some purchase on his thighs to steady you a bit. “Finally putting that fucking mouth of yours to proper use.”

You’d be annoyed normally, but in the hazy mess your mind is in right now, with nothing existing but the wet heat of your throat engulfing his cock, the musky scent of him and the stiff pain in your jaw, you’ve been reduced to a primal need to devote yourself to his pleasure. So you relax, and let him use your throat, gazing up at him through teary eyes, drinking the sight of his face contorted in pleasure, brows pulled together, bottom lip sucked in between his teeth.

Surrender.

Maybe he can sense the moment you finally do so because then his face is crumpling and you feel his hips stutter as he pulls back so his tip rests heavily on your tongue.

“Oh, fuck-“

Spurts of seed spread across your tongue as he fills your mouth, warm and viscous, as he fills your mouth. He finishes finally, pulling out his wet dick from your mouth with a satisfied sigh.

You don’t swallow; instead you keep his semen in your mouth for a bit, tasting it, feeling it, as he tucks himself back in. The texture is somewhere between saliva and diluted syrup, and under the saline taste there’s a strange sweetness — warm, earthy, almost like the smell of skin after sex. You chase it with your tongue, savoring the taste not because it’s objectively good, but because it’s his.

And then, an idea comes to mind.

Before Sukuna can react, you’re getting to your feet and climbing onto him. You tilt his jaw towards yours, muffling his surprised grunt as you abruptly kiss him, pushing your way through his lips, guiding the slick taste into his mouth with the tip of your tongue

You more than half expect him to push you away, but he catches you off guard when he kisses you back instead, deepening it and groaning softly as sucks the cum off your tongue, some of the white fluid leaking down the corners of your lips. When you no more is left, you pull away, breaking a thin strand of fluid connecting your wet lips.

You sit there for a moment, flustered and out of breath, before wiping your lips and face with your sleeve, scowling when he smirks at you completely unfazed.

“Was that supposed to be revenge? Because it kinda turned me on instead.”

“Sorry, I forgot you’re a fucking freak,” you comment dryly.

“Guess you got it from me.”

You glare at him again, pushing against his chest. “I’ve had enough of you.”

But Sukuna’s hand is trailing up your waist, coaxing you to stay there.

“Aw, and here I was thinking about rewarding you for your good work,” he purrs.

“Rewarding me?” you repeat, suspicious but a bit intrigued.

“Mhm,” he hums. “Get on the desk.”

Your brow furrows as you peek at the desk behind you, still covered in documents. “What?”

“You can move the papers to the side.”

You don’t move yet. “For what?”

Sukuna sighs. “Just do it. And take off your pants.”

And for some reason you comply, getting off him to hastily swipe the papers to the side before shrugging your pants down your legs and sitting on the desk in front of him.

He clicks his tongue. “No, I want you to turn around. I’m gonna eat you out.”

Oh.

You’re certainly not going to fight against that. Sure he’s never eaten you out from the back before and the position makes you a bit nervous, but then you remember you only get him like this for a few more months and soon you’re climbing up all the way onto the desk.

You feel a bit more vulnerable like this with your cheek pressed against the cold hardwood, your ass presented to where you can’t see him.

“Perfect. Just stay still now.”

You hear him moving and a warm palm squeezes one of your cheeks, kneading the pliant flesh before his second hand joins on the other side.

“Okay…” you mumble, “Just don’t try anything …weird.”

He doesn’t respond, but you think you catch a light laugh under his breath. Not a good sign, but you’re too far in now.

And then your panties are being pulled down your ass till right above your knees, and you can already feel how wet you are just in anticipation.

Sukuna doesn’t waste any time, and immediately his tongue is caressing at your damp folds, before slipping in and gliding through them till your clit. You moan softly as he begins lapping at your pussy, tingling heat building between your thighs as he licks you firmly, suckling on your clit in between.

Sukuna’s certainly talented at eating a woman out, you’ll give him that, because not even five minutes later you’re whimpering and shaking as the pressure in your clit builds till you cum on his tongue.

A few breathless moments and then you feel yourself loosening up again, coming down from your high, feeling much better now than a few minutes ago when you were sure he had some devious plans in mind.

“Shit, that was good,” you mumble as his tongue pulls away from your sopping cunt.

The relief you were basking in is ripped away when suddenly you feel him gripping your cheeks and spreading them apart.

Uncomfortable.

“I said no weird stuff—” Your words end in a squeak of surprise when you feel something warm and wet press against the tight rim of your asshole. Heat quickly rises to your face in indignation as you shift, trying to get away from the ironclad grip he has on your ass. “Oh my god, do not do that—”

A sharp slap to your ass shuts you up as you wince in pain instead. “You should really try new things, you know that? It’ll get you a lot farther in life.”

“Uncle!” you cry out in mortification when you feel his tongue back on your hole, prodding at it. “Do we really need to do this?”

“Yes,” his answer comes between small licks at your hole, making you flinch when he abruptly spits on it. “How else will you take my cock up here if you can’t even take my tongue?”

“What!?” You squirm, twisting your head to try and look at him. “No, no, that is definitely not happening.”

“Why not?”

“Why does it have to!? Is my pussy not good enough for you?” You can barely see him behind you from the way he’s holding your ass firmly in place, but that won’t stop you from trying, even if it makes your neck hurt a lot.

You hear him audibly sigh. “Do you always have to fucking argue with me?”

And then maybe as punishment, or just because he likes to torture you, he presses the tip of his tongue firmly enough against your puckered hole that it actually breaches through. You yelp at the odd, visceral sensation

He pulls it back out just to laugh at you. “If you can go three minutes without moving around or fucking bitching, I’ll let you go. How about that?”

“You better put a goddamn timer.”

Sukuna sighs, but he agrees, setting the time on his phone before putting it back on the desk. “Now shut the fuck up.”

It is still far from comfortable, this strange new sensation, and at first you’re still fighting to try and not squirm, especially when his tongue presses teasingly into your entrance again, before probing a little deeper. You’ve never done this before, not even with your own fingers, really.

His tongue feels delicate and invasive at once- even though he’s barely in deep, it’s somewhere untouched. Yet somewhere along the way you stop tensing and just let him play with your hole, and when his tongue pushes a bit more insistently against the tight ring of muscle, a quiet whimper falls from your lips.

Then his fingers are joining by pushing into your wet pussy, and the feeling of him massaging your walls as his tongue works diligently at your other hole is enough to make you moan and melt into the touch.

You hate it. That’s he always right. That he really, definitely, knows what he’s doing if he’s actually able to make you enjoy this despite the discomfort and your initial reluctance. And fuck, it feels good- dirty and sinful enough to make your arousal drip down his fingers and your hole clench around his tongue. But then the shrill ring of the alarm cuts through, startling you and yanking you before you can fall deeper into the haze. You don’t even realize you’re panting till he pulls away and you turn to look at him, feeling a bit conflicted.

“You can…keep going,” you mumble. “It felt kinda good.”

And to that, Sukuna looks at you with amusement as he licks his lips.

“Oh, would you look at that? My dirty little niece actually likes getting her ass eaten,” he coos as you stare at him venomously.

“But,” Sukuna leans back into his chair, grinning lazily. “The timer rang, and I promised I wouldn’t go longer than that remember?”

Irritating, infuriating man.

But you did say that, so this one’s a bit fair, even if you always feel like he’s setting you up on purpose every single time. You don’t say anything, just huff and roll over to pull your panties back up before sitting and getting off his desk, putting your pants back on.

Sukuna stands and stretches with a low grunt. “I’m gonna wash my hands. Then I’ve got work to finish.”

You nod, shifting a little where you sit, and watch as he disappears into the bathroom. The sound of running water fills the quiet room for a moment, then cuts off. When he returns, drying his hands on a towel, his gaze flicks to you—still lingering where he left you.

He drops back into the chair, spreads his thighs, and pats one. “Come here. Sit.”

“Do you always have to talk to me like I’m a dog?” you mutter under your breath, though you quickly move to make yourself comfortable on his lap, resting your head against his chest as he gets back to work like you still can’t taste the faint astringent aftertaste of his cum in your mouth, or the dampness on the gusset of your panties.

Your relationship not only returns to what it used to be, but becomes something even more—evident from the fact that you now regularly sleep with him at night. Hours of tossing and turning trying to fall asleep turn into minutes as soon as you’re next to him. But with him next to you, the restless ache that builds in your body each night has nowhere to go—and you can’t exactly handle it the usual way with him lying inches away.

After a few nights, Sukuna can’t take it anymore. You crawl into his bed again, barefoot and sleepy-eyed, and he lets you in without a word—again. You curl into him like you always do, seeking the warmth and safety he pretends not to offer. And as always, he runs his hand down your back, lets you rest your head against his chest, even pulls the blanket up over your shoulders without complaint. But then it starts- the shifting. The sighing. The squirming.

He can feel every frustrated twitch of your body, every little exhale like your skin is too tight to hold in whatever’s stirring inside. He cracks an eye open, jaw clenched. You’re on your back now, eyes open, staring at the ceiling like it’s personally offended you.

He waits. One minute. Two. Then—

“You done?” he mutters.

You glance over, sheepish. “Sorry… I just—can’t sleep.”

“No shit,” he says, voice gravelly with exhaustion. “And you’re making it my problem too.”

You try to apologize, genuinely feeling kind of bad. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what it is—“

Sukuna just sighs and then his hands are sliding to your hips, pulling you closer against him.

You don’t say anything. Words are never needed with him — he understands what you need, even before you do. How to offer you some relief. He notices how your breath hitches, thighs shifting as he slips his fingers under your top, skimming along your skin. He notices all the things you try to hide.

“What’re you…” Your voice trails off as his fingers dip lower, beneath the waistband of your pajamas.

“Shut up,” he murmurs gently, hands slipping fully into the waistband of your panties.

Lower and lower, till they brush against your slick folds.

“You really need me to do everything, huh?” he muses, his voice low and lazy. “Can’t even get yourself off like a big girl?”

“Sukuna,” you whisper, flustered now, but your legs shift again—nervous, needy.

“What?” he taunts gently, like he’s scolding a pet. “You want to toss and turn all night like a brat, or do you want to cum so hard you pass out?”

You glare at him, cheeks flushed. “You’re such an asshole.”

He smirks, leaning down, mouth brushing just under your jaw as he deliberately dips a finger into the arousal collecting at your entrance, before puling it back out to smear your slick across your folds. “Yeah. And you’re wet for it.”

You let out a breathy sigh, just giving in, relaxing your body into his and letting him take over. One of his fingers slips inside you at first, and he presses it right against the spongey part of your wall. He can feel a throbbing under the sensitive, swollen flesh there, like your heart is literally beating in your cunt.

It makes blood flow to his own cock, but he ignores that for now.

He fingers you under the sheets, your juices spilling and dampening your panties, though you don’t really care. Soft, wet noises are audible from under the blankets, amidst your small whimpers and mewls, grinding into his hand for more.

Finally you cum with a small cry, and when Sukuna pulls his hand back out his fingers are covered in a glistening glaze. And just like he predicted, your body stays lax, satiated, no longer restless and squirming, and he can feel you starting to doze off against him.

But he’s Sukuna, so right before he lets you fall asleep he sticks his cum-coated fingers into your mouth abruptly. You make a muffled noise of surprise, and agitation.

“Clean them,” he says plainly. “You made a mess.”

You’re too drowsy to really fight back anyway so you lazily suck his fingers clean, tongue licking at the crevices in between , the taste of your own arousal coating your tongue before you swallow it down.

And when you decide you’re done, you pull his fingers from your mouth with a soft pop, turning your head away in quiet defiance. He snorts under his breath, wiping the damp fingers on your cheek just to get a rise out of you.

You groan, muffled against the pillow. “Can you not?”

“Shhh,” he murmurs, unbothered, like you’re the one making a scene.

You try to swat at him half-heartedly, but your arm's too heavy with sleep, and he easily catches your wrist, pinning it lazily to the mattress.

“Such a brat,” he mutters, voice low and warm near your ear.

You don’t bother answering, just sigh, turning your face into his chest instead, letting the steady rhythm of his breathing pull you down. His hand lingers at your back, a quiet weight as you fall asleep and neither of you realize it's the first time you've addressed him by his name of your own accord.

There’s something about growing up with very little family. No buffer—no siblings to confide in, no cousins to rely on, no grandparents to balance things out. Every relationship carries extra weight.

In your case, it’s your parents. In an ideal world, this would’ve drawn you closer. A small, tight-knit family. But in reality, emotional absence from either parent creates a gaping void—whether you name it or not.

For you, it’s a paternal wound. One that only becomes glaringly obvious when Sukuna slips into your life, uninvited, into the role of a pseudo-guardian.

It isn’t some cliché Freudian desire to date your father; it’s something deeper. What draws you to Sukuna isn’t the simple need for a father figure—it’s how he fills a hollow space inside you. And the quiet resentment that he wasn’t there to do it sooner.

But there are downsides to filling a wound. You haven’t forgotten that moment—the horrible, embarrassing moment the morning after he took your virginity. When, raw and vulnerable, you snapped, calling him "your dad."

Neither of you ever brought it up again. And maybe that’s for the best, because the implication was too real. Because while the sense of protection from him draws you in, it also comes with expectations you never asked for. Sometimes, when Sukuna acts like he cares, it feels like a leash—an invisible tether you never wanted, but can’t escape.

You don’t look too closely at it. You don’t ask questions. You don’t dig into why it feels this way, because deep down, you know that if you did, you’d start trying to excuse it. And that feels worse.

So you let it haunt you quietly instead. You let it settle in your bones, a constant undercurrent of discomfort that you’ve learned to live with. And you don’t question it.

Not even when, one evening, in the middle of one of your usual bickering sessions, Sukuna announces—out of nowhere—that he’s taking you on a date. Especially since, according to him, your last one was pathetic.

You’re pretty sure it’s just his way of proving a point, another game to pass the time.

But still.

Your stomach flips. That giddiness bubbles up, childish and bright, almost shameful in its intensity—not because you crave male attention, not just because someone chose you.

But because he did. Because it’s Sukuna, and everything he represents.

The one person who never had to care, who didn’t owe you anything—but still chose you, regardless. And even if his gesture is wrapped in sarcasm and ego, it feels surprisingly pure. Like something tender buried beneath something cruel.

It disarms you.

Especially when he adds, almost carelessly, that you’ll need a new dress, proper heels, maybe even a little makeup.

“If I’m doing this,” he says, “I’m doing it right.”

Of course, you try to laugh off the part about him buying you things. You’ve been trained to never take from others, to never be the one who gets lavished with attention, and you don’t know how to accept it anymore. Or maybe it’s deeper than that. Maybe you’ve never known how to let yourself be spoiled.

Sukuna, however, just gives you that look—a sharp, unamused stare—and tells you to shut up.

So you do. You nod, face flushed, trying to hide the way your chest tightens. Not just from excitement, but from something heavier, something sharper. The ache of being cared for in a way you were never shown how to care for yourself. Something dangerously close to wanting—no, needing—to be wanted in a way you never learned how to ask for.

Sukuna means it when he says if you’re doing this, you’re doing it right.

Which is how you end up at the store that weekend, standing in front of an employee assigning you a changing room. You hold out the dresses draped over your arm—four of them—for her to count.

“Ooh, those are great choices. What’s the occasion?” she asks, smiling.

And then Sukuna appears behind you like some large, intimidating shadow, and you swear you can see her recalibrating behind that smile—trying to figure out if he’s your dad or an older boyfriend. She definitely lands on the worse conclusion when he smirks and rests a hand on your shoulder.

“She has a date tomorrow night,” he says.

You force a small smile, shifting under his touch, laughing nervously. “Yeah.”

“Lucky guy,” she replies—now clearly convinced he’s your father. "You can take that big stall at the end,” she adds with a knowing look.

You blink, eyebrows knitting as you glance between Sukuna and the girl. “Oh, he’s not co—”

“Thank you,” Sukuna cuts in smoothly, steering you away before you can finish your sentence.

The second you're out of earshot, you twist out of his grip, shoving the door to the stall open. “There is absolutely no need for you to come in with me. Just stay out here. I’ll show you each one when I try them on.”

Sukuna tilts his chin toward the bench inside the stall. “See that? That’s for uncles supervising their bratty nieces. Tradition.”

He gives you a grin so filthy you nearly combust.

“Oh my god—shut up.” You glance around, mortified. “Don’t say shit like that. People’ll get the wrong idea.”

“More like the right idea. Hope they all know you suck your uncle’s—”

You slap him before he can finish, cheeks blazing, and yank him inside by the wrist as he laughs.

“You’re the worst,” you mutter.

The door clicks shut behind you. You hang the dresses up one by one, studiously ignoring him as you grab the first one off the rack. Sukuna sprawls on the bench like he owns the place—and you. Legs wide, arms folded, eyes fixed on your reflection in the mirror.

You peel off your top, then pause at your waistband. “Can you, like…close your eyes?”

He opens his mouth—no doubt ready to say something disgusting—so you cut him off before he can get the words out.

“Ugh, never mind. Forget it,” you mutter, yanking your pants off anyway.

Now you’re hyper-aware of the mirrors. Of the lighting. Of the man sitting behind you who doesn’t even pretend not to stare. “Can you not ogle me like some creep?”

He doesn’t blink. Just watches, then slowly palms himself through his jeans.

Your mouth drops open. “Seriously?!”

You yank the dress down over your chest, catching him trying not to laugh, which only infuriates you more.

“Need help?” he drawls.

“No.” You drag the dress into place and turn toward the mirror.

At least he’s stopped groping himself. But his gaze still drags over you like he’s memorizing every inch.

“Well?”

Sukuna tilts his head, chin resting in one hand. “Cute. But the next one’s tighter, right?”

You roll your eyes—trying to ignore the flutter in your chest—and grab the next dress. The tightest one. Black, short, zipper up the back. You strip off the first dress without looking at him and step into the second.

It hugs you like a second skin. The zipper, of course, sticks halfway up. You grunt, trying to reach around.

“Sure you don’t want help?” he murmurs, smug.

“I said no.”

There’s a pause. Then you hear the soft creak of the bench as he stands. Your breath catches, as you feel him behind you before you hear him. His fingers brush your spine lightly through the fabric.

“Stop squirming,” he murmurs. “You’ll jam it.”

He tugs the zipper up—too slowly, too deliberately, the gliding motion grazing your skin like a tease. 

“There you go,” he murmurs as you look up.

The dress is black silk, soft to the touch and sinfully tight. It hugs every single curve without shame, the fabric catching the light in a way that makes shadows dance across your body. The neckline plunges just enough to make your pulse quicken, and the back dips scandalously low, exposing the gentle curve of your spine.

It stops mid-thigh—short enough to tempt, long enough to tease. The sleeves are off-shoulder, barely clinging to your upper arms, adding that extra edge of vulnerability, like the dress could slip just a little too far with one wrong move.

Sukuna’s gaze is unreadable as he takes in this one, but you’re too focused on one small detail to even worry about that.

Your hands pause at your lower stomach, fingers brushing the slight bump that feels more noticeable in this lighting, in this mirror, in front of him. You tug the fabric subtly, trying to flatten it, your face twisting with discomfort.

Sukuna’s eyes catch the motion immediately. “What are you doing?”

You don’t answer, just keep adjusting, suddenly wishing the lights were a little dimmer. “It fits weird here. Makes me look—”

“Don’t finish that sentence.” His voice cuts clean and low, that stern, irritated tone.

You glance over at him, and his gaze has shifted—no longer teasing, no longer just looking for fun. 

“You look good,” he says simply. “There’s nothing wrong with you. Stop pulling at it.”

You try to deflect with a shrug, suddenly warm in the face. “Whatever. I just don’t like how it fits right here—”

Sukuna steps closer, towering behind you as his hands slip down to rest at your waist. His fingers settle exactly where you were trying to hide, pressing just enough for you to feel it.

“This part?” His voice dips. “It’s hot. Not sure who put those silly ideas in your head.”

His eyes meet yours in the mirror—not looking at you, looking through you, like he wants you to see exactly what he sees.

“Wear this one tomorrow,” he says, already deciding.

“What about the other ones—”

“No. This one.”

You try to argue, but the words feel thin. You just nod.

You make it out of the changing room alive—barely—and he lets you breathe for a while.

The next stops are easier. He picks out a pair of heels you actually like, lets you test them with a spin, and even hums approvingly when you twirl for him. Then he lets you drift toward the makeup section like it’s no big deal, arms crossed while you test swatches on your wrist. He even pays for everything without blinking, which should annoy you more than it does.

It’s... almost domestic. Almost.

Too domestic. Which is exactly why the second your guard drops, he grabs your wrist again.

“Wait—where are we going now?”

Sukuna doesn’t answer. Just smirks and steers you with that same annoying confidence you’ve learned to hate. And then you see the store sign. Lace everywhere. Soft light. Satin mannequins. Entire walls covered in things no sane person wears unless they plan on not wearing them for long.

Your stomach flips. “No. No, no, no—absolutely not—”

“You owe me- I sat through the whole makeup segment like a saint,” Sukuna says, voice low and lazy. “Besides what do you think we’re gonna do after I take you out to dinner? You didn’t think it was just that, did you?”

“Wh— First of all you were on your phone the entire time! Second of all, that’s not what I thought,” you stammer, heat crawling up your neck. “I mean—I didn’t think anything! And you could’ve warned me, you psycho!”

It doesn’t help that the saleswoman gives you a courteous, knowing smile.

“Where’s the fun in that?” he murmurs, already plucking something red and lacy off a nearby rack.

He starts picking things out way too fast—like he’s been here before, like he already knows exactly what he wants to see you in. A red lace set that’s mostly straps. A black sheer bodysuit with strategic cutouts. Something so small and silky you’re not even too sure what it actually is.

Your mouth opens. “Are you—seriously?”

Sukuna doesn’t even look at you. “You said you’d try something on. Don’t get shy now.”

“I didn’t say I’d try on whatever sadistic thing you pulled off the wall,” you hiss, snatching the red one from his hands. The thing barely weighs anything—it’s just lace and suggestion.

He finally glances at you, eyes flicking down to the scrap of fabric in your hands, then back up to your face. He smirks. “You’d look good in it.”

“You don’t know that—”

“I know your size.” He grabs another hanger. This one is deep wine-colored and... crotchless? You choke on air.

“I’m not wearing that.”

“No,” he says easily. “You’ll keep that one for later.”

Your entire face burns.

But there’s that spark again—the one he always knows how to strike. A tiny thrill under your ribs, curling somewhere low and secret. You hate how easily it lights up around him, how much worse it makes everything. Your parents would skin you alive if they saw you come home with things like this.

And sure, maybe the lingerie is scandalous. Obscene, even. But it’s also… beautiful. Beautiful in a way that makes you nervous. Erotic in a way that feels like it wasn’t meant for someone like you. This is what people wear when they want to be seen. Worshipped.

Adored.

You’re not used to that, not sure you believe it’s something you’re allowed to want. Maybe that’s why it unsettles you so much. Why you keep glancing away from the mirror, like you’re afraid of catching your own eyes. Why you deflect—tell him he’s a total perv for wanting to see you in all that stuff, pretending to be offended with each skimpier set he picks out.

Sukuna doesn’t seem to care. He ends up with half a dozen pieces slung over his arm—lace, mesh, satin, straps.

“You’re disgusting,” you mutter, trailing after him as he heads straight for the fitting rooms.

“Thank you,” he says, unbothered.

You glance around the store like someone might save you. The girl at the register doesn’t even blink as you pass by. Clearly, she’s seen worse.

You make it to the fitting room and try—again—to shake him off.

“I’m going in alone,” you say, palm flat against his chest, blocking the door. “You don’t need to supervise everything, freak.”

He doesn’t budge, just glances over your head toward the row of fitting rooms, eyes flicking until he finds the one he wants.

“This one,” he mutters, guiding you toward the end of the row. You start to protest again, but he’s already turning the handle and nudging the door open with his foot like he owns the place.

“There’s a seat,” he says plainly.

You freeze. “There’s what?”

He gestures inside. And sure enough—tucked in the corner like some kind of luxury upgrade—there’s a little bench. Padded and polite.

Utterly unbelievable.

“Why the hell is there a chair in here!?”

Sukuna shrugs, completely unfazed. “Probably for men like me. The ones who pay.”

You scowl. “You’re not coming in.”

But it’s already too late. He steps inside before you can close the door, brushing past you with that arrogant ease like this is just his natural territory. The lock clicks behind you, and suddenly the space feels smaller.  The room is too pink, the lighting too warm, too sensual. Too many mirrors.

You stand awkwardly in the middle of the room, lingerie in your arms, staring at him like maybe he’ll take the hint and leave.

He doesn't. Instead he sprawls on the little bench like it’s a throne, legs spread wide, one arm casually draped over the backrest. His gaze is lazy, almost amused, as he watches you, and it grates on your nerves more than it should. You yank a hanger free, desperate to get this over with. You don’t even look at the tag, just grabbing the first thing that catches your eye—something black and sheer, satin and silk, its fabric soft but undeniably revealing.

You take a closer look. A chemise.

But not just any chemise. The front has an open bust, leaving little to the imagination, with two thick ribbons dangling at either side—meant to be tied over your breasts. You can't help but cringe; the ribbon looks thick enough to cover just your nipples probably, leaving everything else exposed.

“I’m not doing this,” you mutter, voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes, you are."

You sigh, a mix of frustration and resignation, and take off your top, holding the chemise against your torso, trying to get an idea of how it might fit.

“You need to take your bra off too," he adds smugly.

Your face burns, and you’re almost certain you can feel the heat creeping all the way to your ears. You hesitate, the chemise still pressed against your chest, the weight of his words settling heavily in your stomach. You can feel the faint pulse in your throat, and despite the sharp burn of embarrassment, your fingers move to undo your bra, almost without thinking.

Sukuna watches you, the air around him thick with that same, unreadable calm. The amusement never leaves his expression, but it feels like there’s something more beneath it, like he’s watching a very private performance.

You pull the bra off, leaving you bare chested as you pick up the chemise to put it on. Your nipples stiffen in the air, and you try not to look at the way his eyes are drawn to them, how he licks his lips.

You slip it on, the fabric soft and delicate as it caresses your skin, till the underwire sits right below your breasts. Heat prickles all across your skin, and somehow you feel even more exposed with the lingerie outlining your nakedness.

With another swallow you lift the ribbons to your chest, across your nipples, when—

“Let me,” he says, voice low and smooth.

Intense, but not biting. Soft, almost, though the look in his eyes certainly is not — closer to something much hungrier, instead.

But your beyond bound of arguing, not when you feel so vulnerable, so you turn around and timidly walk up to him till your breasts are in his face, holding the ribbons out for him. He takes them from your hands without asking, holding them gently across your bare nipples. The fabric brushes your skin—soft, deliberate, teasing. Then he slowly begins to tie them.

He pulls the satin taut until the soft weight of your breasts spills out around it, obscene and almost delicate, like a gift he’s unwrapping in reverse before finishing it with a bow, neat and centered. You stare at your reflection, heat blooming across your chest, your neck, your face.

“I look ridiculous,” you murmur, voice barely audible.

“Ridiculous,” he repeats, like the very word offends him. His tone turns low, almost lazy. “Then how come”—he takes your hand, guides it lower—“you’re doing this to me?”

He presses your palm against the growing bulge in his pants. Firm, heavy and real. Your breath catches as your thighs tense. Your panties grow damp as your mind short-circuits, shame and arousal folding over each other like waves.

“Gonna call me a creep or a perv again?” he teases, almost gently. Almost fond.

No. Because those were only reflections of your own discomfort with yourself, weren’t they? Because right now you feel desirable, so his arousal makes you want more.

Surrender.

You give in, not caring that you’re in a public changing room, as you straddle his lap and settle, guided more by instinct than thought. Your lips find his—hot, searing, desperate—and he kisses you back with that slow, claiming hunger that always makes you feel like you’re being owned.

But even in that closeness, something twists under your ribs. A voice.

Not loud, but constant, like pressure behind your eyes. It always shows up when you're too close to him like this, when it stops feeling like a game and starts feeling dangerous.

It reminds you, as it always does, that this isn’t forever. That it can’t be, even if there wasn’t that goddamn deadline.

Because what you have isn’t just complicated— it’s illicit. Unnatural. Wrong.

Something that can’t have a future, not with what he is to you and what you are to him. Because of that twenty-five percent. That shared part of you that ensures this can never become love, only shame and ruin.

It aches, sharp and splintering, like a thorn working its way deeper into your heart. You know you should pull back. That you should start untangling yourself now, before you sink too deep into something you’ll never escape cleanly.

But his mouth is like a sedative, his touch a kind of sweet anesthesia that dulls your self-preservation into a low, useless hum.

And so you don’t stop. Because in this moment, he makes you forget. Forget what’s right, what’s wrong, who the hell you’re even supposed to be.