#tag: Warpath

[artdecosupernova-writing]

WIP Acrostic Tag

Rules: You will be given a word, and you must share 1 sentence from your WIP(s) that starts with each letter in that word!

Taking an open tag from @sleepy-night-child, and tagging @space-writes, @pertinax--loculos, @celemee, and @drippingmoon 😁 Your word is FOLLOW.

MAGIC—

M — "Messier 33," Warren muttered, turning to Thrive. "...That's Triangulum." (Meridian)

A — A long pause. Thrive lifted a hand to chest-level and out of his fingertips rose particles of light, the veins beneath his skin taking on the same glow as the obelisk. The light came together, swirled over his palm to form a star map of unidentified origins. (Aurora)

G — "Gladly." Warren leaned his hands onto the table. "Thrive's had virtually no issue being king until Delegate Sinkship took office, or, more accurately, all of the pushback he's received has been solved with a conversation or a compromise. Interestingly, that leads me to a pretty fun question…" He lifted his gaze to her. "Why does the human delegate have such sway over the others?" (Warpath)

I — "It is," Thrive said, unaffected on the surface. "It's who I, as an obhelian Protector, have been this whole time. I've done unforgivable things in my pursuit of justice, some of which have given me great satisfaction. I have moral ambiguity at times, mostly to do with my oath. I am not a saint. You and I have been together for several hundred years…I'm not sure how that slipped by you." (Asylum)

C — Controlling the essence w̷i̶t̷h̴i̸n̴ ̸y̸o̵u̵, the Emmuli growled. Disrupting the t̴r̴u̶t̸h̶, arresting your given capacity, reshaping your intelligence into the pattern t̴h̷e̸y̶ ̴f̷i̷t̷ ̸y̷o̷u̷ ̵t̷o̴ ̷d̷e̴s̵e̷r̶v̸e̷. (Eternal)

[chaoswarfare]

do x dc prompt #48

When Jason first found himself dead in the Infinite Realms, he was just about lost without a way to contact his family. He fell into a deep depression and only started crawling out of it when Danny took him under his wing. They found they related to each other a lot and could sympathize with being a teen hero, and soon were practically inseparable.

Then he was resurrected.

Jason was so angry and he had no idea why. Every time something reminded him of what came after death, he would fly into a blind rage because he can’t remember anything. He’s missing something essential in his memories, and he can’t admit that to his family, so he doesn’t.

The second time Jason died, it was only for a few minutes. A quick enough end after hitting the surface of the ocean and inhaling what seemed like gallons of seawater. He woke up in the zone, cradled in the grip of the man who took him in the first time, who his memory of had been blocked. They barely had time to catch up before Jason was hauled back to the land of the living. This time he didn’t forget.

The third time Jason died, They thought that was finally it. There’s not a lot of people that can come back from their upper half and lower half being separated for over an hour after all. He settled in. They watched his family, making sure they were coping alright(they weren’t, and it was so painful to watch-).

On the day of his funeral almost two months later(they wanted to wait as long as possible, he came back once after all, they needed to make sure. They wouldn’t leave him to crawl out of his own grave a second time.) The halfa king and the new(?) ghost watched. Jason committed every word of his eulogy to memory, everything his friends and family said. When the alley kids even stepped up to say their goodbyes, Danny pointedly ignored Jason’s open sobs(he never liked people seeing him vulnerable). The burning grief in his core was becoming unbearable(if he was just a little more open would his family have realized that the mission had gone sideways sooner?). Danny flinched next to him and turned toward Jason just as reality snapped and warped, dragging him back. Away from the Infinite realms(his home-) for a third time.

Dick didn’t know what to think when the motion sensors started going off right before they lowered the coffin. To say he was stunned for a moment was an understatement, He didn’t so much as twitch until a fist broke through the lid of the box.

Once is a coincidence. Twice is an anomaly. Three times is a pattern. Nobody ever told Jason how awkward it could be crashing your own funeral. He’d almost prefer digging out his grave.

Danny isn’t just going to sit quietly this time. Jason is back in the living world, completely defenseless. He needs to protect his ward.

(immortal!Danny? yes. today i present to you the first ever time i’ve seen Immortal!Jason ;).)

[tf-animated-out-of-context]

One last round of trivia:

"The Stunti-Con Job" exists as both a comic and a BotCon script reading; the plots are the same, but the script reading added a subplot featuring Minerva, a medibot determined to meet Ratchet at all costs, who's somehow dragged Warpath along on her quest. (She does also appear in the comic version - see below.)

The script reading also featured a musical interlude - a duet sung by G1 and Animated Grimlocks. I don't think it went according to plan.

Like the story's title, the comic's original cover pays homage to the classic British comedy film "The Italian Job". (As do the picture captions on the relevant TFWiki page.)

Sideswipe and Breakdown share a body-type (first seen on Rodimus Prime) - possibly a callback to the G1 episode "Masquerade", in which that iteration of Sideswipe was disguised as Breakdown. (The same applies to Jazz and Dead End, and, more or less, to Optimus and the Motor Master.) In-universe, all the Stunticons underwent spark transplants into Autobot frames - except Toxitron, who's a clone of Optimus. Not a very successful one.

Cheetor, meanwhile, is a retool of Blurr - a fact Sideswipe remarks on four BotCons later, in "The Return of Blurr". which takes place at about the same time as "The Stunti-Con Job". Hence Blurr's appearance in the latter, in the High Council box alongside Cliffjumper - still cubified, and no doubt still talking twenty-four to the dozen.

Strika's Team Chaar, seen at the very end of this story, has undergone a reshuffle since "Transwarped" - Oil Slick is still there, unfortunately, but Cyclonus, Blackout and Spittor have been replaced by Mindwipe, Sky-Byte, Scalpel and Blot.

As for Autobot cameos, there are too many to list, but most of them are here:

(Botanica is also in this frame, but further up in the High Council box. TFWiki claims that Tap-Out is somewhere in the crowd; I can't see him, though.)

[mamawasatesttube]

that last post reminds me of how, similarly, it drives me up the wall whenever fandom (esp with regards to timkon) portrays kon as completely and utterly spineless and intimidated when it comes to bruce. (i mean, i'm not surprised, bc this comes from the same place as the content where tim is a fainting victorian maiden who needs to be protected by her strong stoic owner i mean father, which is definitely not a homophobic trope rooted in misogyny at all, but. that's a complaint for a different post.)

like, bruce's relationship with kon has admittedly been done differently by different writers and all, but at no point has kon ever backed down to him. during hypertime arc, bruce is cordial and even warm, in his way, as they send kon off:

later, towards the end of superboy '94, when kon and cass get into trouble and nearly get themselves killed, kon sees bruce being harsh on cass about it and inserts himself to demand he get half the blame and half the punishment, because it wasn't all on her. (i personally think the way bruce talks here is extremely cringefail and shitty, like... let's not make batman parrot racist rhetoric thanks, but. i blame that on writers moreso than the character.)

like, sure, he's a little hesitant (the "s-sir..." gets me.) but not enough to hold back an ounce in telling batman he's being unfair and an ass. he's not a shrinking violet just bc batman is ooo scary.

also coming to mind are:

a) the panels from batgirl (2000) where bruce is being an extremely overprotective and controlling figure over the idea of cass and kon being friends and clark tells him off for this (it's not directly kon interacting with bruce, but feels... relevant, lol, to the topic of bruce threatening kon and trying to scare him off in that possessive, steeped-in-misogyny way), as well as

b) the ones from tt03 where kon goes to gotham looking for tim, runs into bruce and steph-as-robin, and flips out like WHERE is tim, and bruce is just like. use your superhearing and figure it out. (note that he doesn't try to kick him out of gotham just for being there, either.)

i didn't include those last two bc i don't have them saved and frankly this post is long enough as is, but. you get the idea. kon isn't scared of batman. batman even likes him sometimes. and batman trying to intimidate him on purpose is something clark gets mad about.

[1tbls]

this is so kimharry tbh

[springs-hurts]

Reading Iliad and achilles rage and grief has spoiled "dead gf, mad bf and vice versa plot for me🥲 like you assuming I'm gonna read someone else crying for their beloved and not compare it to achilles? You think I'm gonna see someone on warpath and not compare it to achilles? No way!

[corus24110]

There's still more 💀

[karmirage]

fic masterpost

yeah i do have other marvel fics on my ao3 but some of them i wrote in high school also some of them i don't vibe with anymore

note that some of these are from a while ago! my perceptions and takes on characters change and grow, so if i wrote something, sometimes i won't agree with the characterization later. keep that in mind.

on that note: many of the old fics name Xuân as Xuyen, bc that was the fanmade actually-Vietnamese alternative to Xi'an before her name was changed in canon.

Family Colors (2018): 1,679 words. Standalone (there used to be a second chapter but I didn't like it so I got rid of it). Gen, Kamala-centric, Civil War II era. To whom do the Captain Marvel colors belong?

cloudburst (2019): 423 words. Standalone. Sam Guthrie/Roberto da Costa. ever wake up to a thunderstorm?

Retail Therapy (2020): 1,209 words. Standalone. James Proudstar/Terry Cassidy. Early-krakoa era -- I wrote this just a bit after krakoa became A Thing, when we didn't know what had recently happened with more minor characters like terry. also i think they're very cute.

Morning Song (2020): 955 words. Standalone. James Proudstar/Terry Cassidy. idk I think Jimmy would like cooking.

if you don't mind me saying so (i love you) (2020): 25,423 words. Part 1 of "love like fools." Sam Guthrie/Roberto da Costa. my funny little fake dating indulgence. the epitome of "I wrote it for me but you can read it if you want" (as so many of my works are). i haven't actually reread this one i have no idea if it's good or not. but it sure exists.

Days Off (2020): 1,523 words. Standalone. Sam Guthrie/Roberto da Costa. Sam wakes up sick and Roberto tries to help.

sunlight (2020): 2,090 words. Standalone. Sam Guthrie/Roberto da Costa. Seasonal affective disorder strikes Roberto.

the whole 'not being dead' thing (2020): 1,094 words. Standalone. Gen. Early-krakoa era. Jay is resurrected and catches up with his new nephew.

Winner Takes All (2020): 2,006 words. Two chapters (so far. might fuck around and add another chapter idk). Sam Guthrie/Roberto da Costa. Utopia-era. sparring and unsaid feelings and also Doug's new ability to read body language.

i don't want to spend my life (without your kiss goodnight) (2020): 1,702 words. Rated M for non-explicit making out. Standalone. Sam Guthrie/Roberto da Costa. the world has not ended so obviously let's party

my home in you (2020): 2,122 words. Standalone. Sam Guthrie/Roberto da Costa. patching up the other's wounds.

The Meaning of Family (2021): 10,926 words. Standalone. Gen. Ruth-centric. Ruth bonds with her family -- because she does have family, and no x man is truly ever alone. Also, possibly, she might kill someone in the future.

live our life like we know we could (ONGOING/HIATUS): 22,300 words. Part 2 of "love like fools." Sam Guthrie/Roberto da Costa. Post mission, post reveal, navigating uncharted relationship waters.

in the name of the moon! (2022): 4,382 words. Standalone. Gen (though it's tagged as Sam/Roberto, and you can certainly read it like that if you want, but that's not the focus). Sam textile artist real To Me. also: halloween and sailor moon.

i mean every word i say (2023): 1,559 words. Rated T for mention of sex. Standalone. Sam Guthrie/Roberto da Costa. Sam's been keeping secrets, and that makes Roberto nervous.

we will never be forgotten (2023): 2,689 words. Standalone. Sam Guthrie/Roberto da Costa. Roberto gets mindwiped, knocked out, and a visitor in the infirmary (in that order).

you're never gonna get a second take (2023): 2,166 words. Standalone. Dani Moonstar/Xuân Cao Mạnh. don't you just love those undercover missions where they have to dress in fancy clothes? yeah so does xuân

nothing holds me back at all (2023): 1,461 words. Part 1 of "the memories that make us." Gen. Dani-centric. Dani rides a horse for the first time (with her father's help).

you can never take this part of me (2023): 1,691 words. Part 2 of "the memories that make us." Gen. Sam-centric. Sam goes fishing with his dad and his gaggle of younger siblings.

~~~

works in progress (that I'm posting to hold myself accountable so I actually finish them someday):

- the rest of "the memories that make us" (i.e. the other 13 parts, one for each of the original nine and the six academy x era students. all of it is me practicing writing kids)

- king/lionheart Sam/Roberto medieval au. even tho I hate royalty the aesthetics kind of slam

- megafic (62 chapters planned! six tie ins! almost fully canon compliant all the way up to war of realms!) the ties that bind & related works wrt the better endings au

- rewriting document of high school fics (mostly samberto. I'm more or less a one trick pony)

- several shorter smaller things that I just have to work up the courage to post (including practice with NSFW writing)

- not a fanfiction: but my long ass academic paper (fully cited) that talks about the mutant metaphor and the actual minorities within the x men and my huge large spreadsheet that goes with it.

[dreamersbcll]

“Godless” - for @krikeymate

———————————————————————

Sam could tell from the very moment she woke up that something was wrong.

She liked to attribute it to her sixth sense. Ever since she was little, Sam was able to tell when shit was about to go sideways. From the day she was slapped by her mother the first time to the day she found that cursed journal

That same sinking feeling in her gut. Like she swallowed a boulder, it sat in her stomach and weighed her down with dread and anxiety about what was coming next. The feeling usually disappeared after a while, but this one rotted in her stomach, festering her body with fear.

She decided not to let this feeling rule her and padded her way out to her living room. It was five in the morning, and she didn’t have to be at work until ten, so she might as well watch television.

Turning the television on, she skipped channels until she found the one she wanted. Living alone in a shitty apartment was rough, but not having a smart tv was the worst. Everybody else got to watch the latest Grey’s Anatomy episodes, while Sam watched a lot of public television. It was alright. She learned a lot about the weather and public events in Modesto.

Her favorite channel was the news. It was stupid, but she liked knowing what was happening around her. Strangely, it was comforting to know that other people had lives around her. That things were happening outside of her little bubble. Plus, it was easier to sleep when the gas prices flashed across the screen.

But this morning, with that pit of dread in her stomach, she admittedly hesitated to switch to the news. Something told her just to turn the television off, but like most warnings in her life, she plowed through it.

And there, on channel four news, she saw it.

Her baby sister’s face was plastered across the screen, a picture Sam hadn’t seen. It took her breath away at how grown-up her baby sister looked. It looked like some school photo- as Tara wore a peach long-sleeved shirt, her hair was down and stringy. Tara smiled big, but Sam could tell she was faking it.

Sam was so engrossed with the photo of her sister that she almost missed the headline flashing across the screen.

WARNING: DISTURBING SCENES

She cocked her head, watching the cameras pan around a house. Her old house. The house in Woodsboro. The one she was raised in. Why were they in her home?

The cameras panned around, zooming in on various shots of a clear scuffle.

Sam snorted. Of course, Christina fucked up her home. That woman could ruin anything she touched. But why would they do a piece on her mother being a stupid drunk? It’s not like it was news.

Naturally, Sam spoke too soon.

As the camera zoomed in, Sam felt her blood run cold. On the floor of what once was her kitchen, a broken picture frame, glass shattered around it. She knew that picture well. It was from the day she taught Tara how to ride a bike.

—-

“Okay, the brake is the right trigger. The left one is a brake too, but you shouldn’t use that. That one will stop super quick, and you’re not ready for that, okay?”

Tara looked up at Sam, her big brown eyes wide with fear. Her purple helmet wasn’t tight enough, slipping onto her forehead. Coupled with the splash of freckles over her nose and the braided pigtails on her shoulders, she looked utterly adorable. It was hard for Sam to be serious when her little sister looked like a little angel.

The two sisters were standing at the side of Tara's new bike. Well. Mostly new. Sam had stolen it from the elementary school and spray-painted it purple. Rummaging through her father’s toolbox, she had taken the training wheels off too. Now her baby sister could be just like all the other kids. Seven wasn’t too late of an age to learn how to ride a bike. Sam learned at eight years old from her friend Tracy’s mom.

She knew it was time for Tara to learn. Her baby sister had been begging for weeks to let her ride Sam’s big girl bike. But now, at the sight of her very own bike, her little sister looked unsure.

Frowning, Tara messed with the right brake, feeling the bike stop and go under her hand. She did the same with the left; her brow furrowed deeply.

Sam knelt by Tara’s side, cupping her cheek and gently rubbing her thumb in soothing circles. Her sister leaned into the touch, eyes fluttering closed.

“What’s wrong, baby girl? Are you okay? Am I going too fast?” she asked, smiling slightly at how Tara practically fell into her hand.

Her sister shook her head, jutting her lower lip in a pout. “No, Sammy. I’m just scared. What if I fall off?”

Sam held out her hand, and Tara took it without a second thought. Looking into her sister’s eyes, she saw a mirror of her younger self. Unsure. Scared. Nervous.

She knew she had to calm Tara’s fears. Nobody had done it for her, so she was determined to do it for Tara.

Anything for her baby sister.

“Listen, honey. You’re not going to fall. You know how I know that?”

Tara shook her head, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

Sam smiled, squeezing Tara's hands. “I know that because I’ve got you. I won’t let you fall. I will protect you, okay? Always,”.

“Always?” Tara feebly asked.

Without hesitation, Sam answered. “Always. I promise,”.

Tara smiled and threw her arms around Sam’s neck. “Okay. I’m ready,”.

Sam hugged her back, basking in the warmth of her baby sister.

“Okay. Let's do it!”

Sam doesn’t quite know who took the picture. Maybe the twins' mother or even her father. All she knew was that she was thankful she had swiped that picture frame from Walmart. She knew it would come in handy one day.

She was proud to be Tara’a protector. She always would be. She promised.

—-

Now staring at that picture frame smashed on the kitchen floor she grew up in, Sam started feeling light-headed.

Bloodstains were smeared on the floor and a bloody handprint caked to the wall. Shattered glass was all over the kitchen floor, and yellow caution tape covered the whole scene.

And there she saw it.

Below the bloody handprint, but above the broken picture frame, was a messy word.

S A M A N T H A

Her name was scrawled in red paint on the wall. No, not paint, blood.

She swallowed hard, shivering at the frame. None of this felt real. What was going on? Why was her name on the wall of her old kitchen? And why was it in the blood?

Who’s blood was that?

As if answering her frantic thoughts, the camera flashed back to the news reporter, and Sam saw the new headline underneath him.

LOCAL WOODSBORO TEENAGER FOUND SLAIN IN HOME: NO LEADS AT THE MOMENT.

And there was her sister’s picture again. Right above the headline. Her smiling, beautiful baby girl. A new murder case for the local news to follow.

The room around her started to spin. This wasn’t right. Tara was eighteen now. She was supposed to graduate high school this year. Sam had the date on her calendar- she promised herself that she would see her baby sister walk across the stage. Now she’s dead.

Who would kill her baby sister? Who could take her instead of Sam?

She got up, stumbling her way to the bathroom. Falling to her knees, she emptied the contents of her stomach into the toilet. It was hot acid crawling up her throat. Shame and disgust burned in her gut, and her hands couldn’t stop shaking as they held onto the porcelain bowl.

Leaning back, Sam felt her back hit the wall, and she closed her eyes and tried to breathe.

This wasn’t right. Tara couldn’t be dead. Sam hadn’t even said hello again, much less goodbye. How could she be taken away from Sam? Who would do this?

She shakily got to her feet, hand on the wall to keep her upright. Making her way to the sink, Sam turned the water on as hot as possible. She needed to feel it tear the skin off her hands.

Something to tell her that this reality wasn’t her own.

Letting her hands grow red and angry under the steaming water, she looked up in the mirror, eyes widening at the reflection staring back at her.

Her father stood behind her, a strange look on his face. She wasn’t unaccustomed to seeing him, especially when she hadn’t taken her medication. But he usually smiled behind her, a shit-eating grin occupying his bloody face.

But Billy stood behind her, a knife in hand, blood dripping off the blade, a strange look on his face.

“You know why they did this, Sam. You know why they took her. Are you going to let that slide?” he growled, his eyes dark with bloodlust.

She swallowed hard, pulling her burnt hands from the scalding water. They were red and angry, and she couldn’t bend her fingers. Steam curled off her fingertips, and against her will, her hands shook.

“What can I do? She’s dead. She was murdered,” she choked out, her throat clenching in pain.

He just shook his head, blood spattering onto his soiled shirt.

“Are you going to let her die in vain? Are you going to let her death mean nothing?”

Sam shook her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. “No, no. She means everything. I promised to protect her. I promised,” she sobbed.

Billy leaned in, and Sam could feel him breathing down her neck. She shivered at the feeling.

But a genuine part of her loved knowing his control over her. It felt so fucking good to be understood and accepted for her bloodlust. Her natural state of chaos, the violence she craved to inflict on others who wronged her.

Maybe that’s why she was more than okay with his following few words.

“You can’t protect her now. But you can avenge her,” he whispered.

She straightened up, wiping the tears from her face.

“How?”

He grinned at her, and she felt something bloom in her chest.

Rage.

“You let me take over. And we will make sure that everybody knows not to fuck with the Loomis bloodline,”.

Sam blinked, and suddenly he was gone. She was left alone with just her own reflection in the mirror. Her own tear-filled eyes, and blistering hands. The pain radiated up her arms, making her teeth ache as she clenched them.

But the pain didn’t bother her. No, it was fuel. She knew Billy was right. It was time to let go of the pain she felt. It was time to inflict it on others. It was time for her revenge.

Tara wouldn’t die in vain. Sam promised to protect her. In life or death, Sam would make whoever murdered her baby sister pay for their sins.

And she would make it hurt like hell.

[eorzeashan]

thinks about Eight, who begins his career as an agent removed from his culture since childhood, who struggles being unfit in both worlds of the Empire and being Echani, who constantly battles and redefines what it means to be a warrior of both, who feels lost from others because a sword is all he is. Eight, who eventually becomes a hero of the Alliance, and legend to his people; who becomes immortalized as patron of unnamed warriors and those who walk the shadows alone.

[intothewizardverse]

i really really want peter parker to fucking SNAP in marvels spiderman 2. like, i know its guaranteed to happen bc, yknow, black suit, but i just want an acknowledgement of all that shit he went thru in the first game. Peter lost a LOT. 3 people he cared for turned on him. One of which KNOWINGLY CAUSED his aunts death. And we never see Peter really DEAL with any of this. In the dlc and miles morales hes just, happy normal peter. swinging like his world didnt crash down on him in a matter of days. We never see Peters grief for May, and we never see him grieve for these relationships except for the iconic post final boss scene. I would EAT IT UP if when the back suit comes into play, all these events start weighing more heavily on him. let a vengeful spiderman say "it meant everything to you, but it meant SO much more to me. you will feel the consequences."

and THATS when it hits Miles that Peter isnt all the way there anymore.

[tiredassmage]

also playing today: two disaster spies + their first love confession (bc bold of anyone to assume the first time would be direct)

(and shoutout to fey for tagging along, gs mvp bestie)

[anonyunknownonearth]

Take a peek at the tags, guys - the tags

Jason comes back from the dead and, as he's still a bit out of it, heads to the manor.

Crawling straight up through six feet of compacted earth is hard, especially after waking up suddenly in a coffin, so after he makes it inside, he sits down to rest on the couch.

And immediately falls asleep.

Hours later, Bruce returns home to find Jason's body, covered in dirt, dug up from the grave and left on his couch.

[daftlads]

"best friends cuddle. this is normal. this doesn't have to be romantic." hajisouda lmaoooo

@worldneeds ---- answered.

"will you shut up." this is the fourth time hajime's rolled over in about as many minutes, and maybe the tenth time he's had to shove his elbow into kaz's ribs. "no one is talking about it like that except for you. do you hear them complaining?"

it's been silent (save for souda) for a while, the soft sound of everyone else breathing making it sound as though the island itself is coming to life. there are so few of them, now. hajime can't raise his head to look around, so he twists to frown directly into kazuichi's eyes instead. even that makes him ache, for some reason. "get some sleep."

[kryptonianclone]

If instagram is any indication Kon’s type is “hunky Native with luscious hair and huge muscles.”

Accuse Kon of having a type || Accepting

“Hey! James is just one guy! Sure he’s as tall and wide as two guys but he’s just one guy! I don’t think that counts as a type right?”

[creamflix]

PERSEPHONE — ryomen sukuna x female reader [chapter 1]

summary: ryomen sukuna, ruthless tycoon of the alcohol industry, is used to crushing rivals. but when his former meek secretary walks into his office as his newest competitor, he’s blindsided. you’ve transformed into a powerful force, ready to go head-to-head in a high-stakes battle for dominance. as tension rises between you — both in business and something far more dangerous — sukuna realizes this fight might cost him more than just his empire.

content warnings & tags: enemies to lovers, modern au, business tycoon sukuna, mentions of depression and alcoholism, angst, slow-burn, mentions of other jujutsu kaisen characters (suguru geto, choso kamo, yuuji itadori) - this takes place in the same universe as my upcoming salaryman!choso fanfic

word count: 6,203 words

notes: and the award of best liar goes to.....in my defense i needed a break from all the smut writing, so please! please, enjoy the first official chapter of an impulse project. there will be multiple parts to it, so worry not! and please, grill me in the comments. get as critical as you can get, i need the advice. thank you for reading!

masterlist

"you’re fuckin’ shit at your job! pathetic, you hear? if i see you here ever again, god so help me, you’ll never find another job again."

those words still echoed in your mind. sukuna's sneer, the disgust that dripped off every syllable. that day, three years ago, you were swiftly replaced, just another disposable pawn in his empire. it wasn’t that you lacked skills. in fact, you were precise, efficient — everything a good secretary should be. but no one could keep up with him. sukuna’s fiery temper was like a storm you never saw coming. always brewing, always on the verge of eruption. the minute you faltered, even slightly, he was there, leaning over your desk, barking down at you like you were nothing.

the flashbacks always left a sour taste in your mouth, but you weren’t the same cowering woman anymore. back then, the memory of his cruel words had left you teary-eyed in the restroom stalls, wiping away mascara smudges and biting back sobs. but after you left, you swore you’d prove him wrong. you refused to be just another forgotten casualty in sukuna’s warpath.

and now, you had your own wine company.

persephone.

sukuna found the name laughable at first, but the numbers? they didn’t lie. your brand was making waves, quickly becoming a sensation in the high-end wine scene. it wasn’t just some trendy label either — it had substance. the quality was undeniable, and the industry was taking note. especially his industry.

“fuckin’ ‘persephone,’ huh?” sukuna muttered under his breath, leaning back in his sleek office chair. he was alone, fingers tapping rhythmically against the armrest, his expression unreadable. “she’s really givin’ me a run for my money now.” he chuckled, but it wasn’t from amusement. it was that low, dangerous sound he made when something — or someone — was starting to piss him off.

he was the king of the alcohol game, dammit. ryomen had become a powerhouse in just four years, dominating the market with everything from vodka to rum, sake to whiskey. his brand wasn’t just a name; it was a status symbol. people flaunted his bottles like designer bags. you had ryomen on your bar? you were in a different league.

but lately, his sales were dipping in a very specific category. wine. your wine.

“you’re tellin’ me,” he grumbled, looking at the sales report, “that some chick i fired is takin’ a bite outta my profits? unbelievable.”

his current secretary, a polished woman with the demeanor of a robot, stood nearby, silent. she knew better than to interject when sukuna was simmering like this.

“it’s just wine, boss. nothing we can’t —”

“shut the fuck up,” he snapped, cutting her off. “i’ll tell you when it’s ‘nothing.’ right now, it’s a goddamn problem.”

his thoughts raced. part of him hated the fact that you were even on his radar again. you, the same woman who used to flinch when he raised his voice, the one who could barely get out an apology without her hands trembling. he could still remember how you’d stammer through excuses when he’d tear into you for something as simple as a typo in an email.

“god, she was useless,” he muttered to himself, leaning forward and running a hand through his pink hair. but then, a frown crept across his face. useless… or just unlucky enough to work under him?

he shook his head. no, he wasn’t going down that road. feelings, regret, all that emotional bullshit — none of it mattered. it only got in the way of the goal. sukuna was focused, driven, and nothing could pull him off track.

except maybe you.

he hadn’t dwelled on it much back then, too busy building his empire. but now, here you were, with your fancy brand and your goddamn ‘persephone’ label, threatening the wine segment he’d dominated for years.

“she must think she’s somethin’ special,” sukuna muttered under his breath, a smirk playing on his lips. “bet she’s struttin’ around now, huh? all high and mighty.”

he could imagine it — you, standing in front of a boardroom, confident, assured, looking down on everyone the way you probably thought he’d done to you. but that wasn’t going to last.

he rose from his chair, walking over to the window of his penthouse office that overlooked the city skyline. night was starting to fall, and the lights of the city below twinkled like stars.

“well, brat,” he said quietly to himself, voice low and dangerous, “you better enjoy it while it lasts. ‘cause when i’m done with you, you’ll wish i never fired you in the first place.”

he smirked at his own reflection in the glass. maybe he’d underestimated you back then. maybe he’d been too quick to write you off. but that didn’t change the fact that he was going to crush you now.

and this time, he wouldn’t even need to raise his voice.

saying that you were fucked was the understatement of the century.

the alcohol industry? you picked it on purpose — almost like tempting fate itself. it started innocently enough, with your last paycheck crumpled in your hand, drowning your sorrows in ryomen wine — the same wine you used to grab for sukuna when he’d bark orders at you. you swore you could still hear his voice every time you cracked open a bottle. the sharp aftertaste didn’t help, either. you switched to other brands when your wallet allowed: cloudy bay sauvignon blanc, stags' leap cabernet sauvignon, anything that felt like an escape from his shadow. but your funds ran dry faster than you expected, and soon enough, you found yourself back at your mother’s place, sulking like some NEET loser who couldn't face the real world.

and sukuna? that scumbag was true to his word. not only had he fired you with no remorse, but he made damn sure no one else would touch you with a ten-foot pole. rumors spread fast, and he made sure every single one painted you as the problem. you couldn’t get a job to save your life. so, you hustled. babysitting, tutoring, walking dogs — you did whatever you could just to scrape by. but it was humiliating, feeling like you were clawing at survival while your old boss sat on his throne, sipping his overpriced sake and not giving a second thought to you.

the worst part? you craved a drink. every time you got a little extra cash, you were tempted to blow it on just a bottle of something — anything — to numb the exhaustion. but your mother’s concerned eyes on your gaunt face made you stop. she was already worried enough.

then, one night, as you absentmindedly scrolled through your phone in your cramped childhood bedroom, you stumbled across a buzzfeed article: "how to make your own wine in ten easy steps!"

it was absurd — who the hell makes wine from scratch? but you clicked it anyway. the gears in your brain started turning as you read it over. step by step, you memorized every detail. the next morning, you raided the supermarket like a woman possessed, stuffing your cart with grapes, yeast, and whatever else you could get your hands on. you were going to make your own wine, because if you couldn’t afford it anymore, then screw it — you’d just make the damn thing.

you spent hours in the kitchen, your hands moving frantically, following the recipe to the letter. and somehow, against all odds, the first batch tasted… good. like, really good. your mother, usually uptight about everything you did, even cracked a rare smile when she tasted it.

“this is actually delicious,” she admitted, setting the glass down. “you should bring some to my gardening club next week. the ladies would love this.”

it was a small suggestion, but it lit a fire in you. making those first few test bottles for her friends? it wasn’t just a distraction anymore. it was the first real sense of purpose you’d felt in months. and when they praised it — truly praised it — you realized this wasn’t just a hobby. this was your way out. your way to rewrite the script that sukuna had burned into your life. you weren’t just going to survive. you were going to live.

what you didn’t expect was for your little wine experiment to become such a big hit. 

the ladies from your mom’s gardening club practically lost their minds over your creation. they praised your "natural talent" for winemaking, showering you with compliments and, more importantly, money. they insisted you make more, some even handing over cash in advance just to guarantee their next bottle. you were floored. you could practically hear the sound of money flowing in as you eagerly took order after order, working day and night in your makeshift wine lab — your old side hustles as a barista and a dog poop scooper long forgotten.

now? you were a businesswoman, and damn if you didn’t love saying it. your mom did too. she proudly bragged about you to anyone who would listen. whenever someone asked that tired, familiar question — "what’s your daughter been up to these days?" — your mom would light up, puffing her chest with pride as she told them all about her daughter’s successful wine venture.

time blurred as you threw yourself into your work, orders coming in steadily, and with them, a steady income. it wasn’t long before you had enough to take your mom out for a nice dinner — your treat. the look of pride on her face when the waiter handed you the bill? priceless. you didn’t even feel the pull to drown your sorrows in alcohol anymore. sukuna’s wine? fuck that. the high you got from creating something that people loved, the thrill of turning your passion into profit — that was better than any drink could ever be. but, of course, ambition is a funny thing. once you start getting a taste of success, you start wondering — what if i could get higher?

that’s when suguru geto crash-landed into your life. literally. 

one day, his car broke down in front of your house, a random stroke of luck that led to something unexpected. what started as a quick fix turned into a fast friendship, and in just a week, you went from being casual acquaintances to best friends. turns out, suguru’s aunt was part of your mom’s gardening club, so you two started seeing each other more often, and he quickly became your biggest supporter.

“you know,” he said one afternoon, lounging on your couch, “you should make this a real thing.”

“it is a real thing,” you laughed, raising an eyebrow at him.

“no, i mean like — patent it. sell it in supermarkets. let the whole damn world know about you.”

his words struck a chord in you. you stared at him for a moment, your mind spinning with the possibilities. could you really do that? could you take persephone to the next level?

“i don’t know, sugu,” you murmured, biting your lip. “that’s a lot of pressure. i mean, i’m doing fine as is —”

“fine?” he cut you off, grinning. “you’re thriving. don’t sell yourself short. you’ve got something special here, and you know it.”

his confidence in you was almost overwhelming. it made you wonder — what if he was right? what if this little wine brand of yours wasn’t just a side gig anymore, but something bigger? something that could rival even the big names like… ryomen.

the thought sent a chill down your spine. sukuna.

no. this was your time. your success. and this time, it was on your terms.

your confidence, once sky-high, was quick to deflate as reality hit you like a brick wall. how the hell were you going to get the money to start? you weren’t exactly rolling in cash, and even with all the orders you had, it wasn’t enough to cover what you needed to expand. you were, in every sense of the word, still a nobody in the business world.

sitting on the couch, your mind raced, spiraling through all the worst-case scenarios. that’s when suguru, ever the calm one, leaned back casually and smirked.

“honey, you forget,” he said, shooting you a knowing look, “my talent is breathing money.”

your eyes widened. “you’re seriously gonna fund this?”

“why not?” he shrugged, the confidence in his voice unwavering. “i know you’re serious about this, and i’d rather bet my money on you than anyone else. plus,” he added with a grin, “this is gonna be fun.”

his belief in you left you speechless, and soon after, your mother chipped in too, offering up what she could. “you’ve got something special here,” she said softly, her eyes shining with pride. “we both believe in you, and you know what you’re doing.”

with their help, you pooled together just enough to get things rolling, investing everything accordingly. you finally gave your company a name — persephone. it felt like a declaration. this wasn’t just a passion project anymore; it was your shot at proving yourself, at rewriting the story that sukuna tried to burn into your life.

you managed to get your first stock sent out to the supermarket you used to work in, thanks to your old manager who, having tasted your wine himself, vouched for it without hesitation. he agreed to stock your goods on a trial basis, just to see how the public would respond. you sent the stock out tentatively, crossing your fingers and hoping against hope that you could sell out, just maybe.

you spent that afternoon waiting for a response, nerves gnawing at you, until exhaustion pulled you into sleep. you weren’t prepared for what you’d wake up to.

when you blinked awake, the first thing you saw was your phone screen flashing — seven missed calls from suguru and three from your manager. panic gripped you as the worst thoughts raced through your mind. what if something went wrong? what if people got sick from your wine? what if —

you quickly dialed suguru back, your heart hammering in your chest.

“y/n!” his voice came through, excited, breathless. “you’re not gonna believe this. your entire stock? sold out in four hours. people are demanding for more! even the other supermarkets are calling in, asking for you!”

you blinked, the words not fully sinking in. sold out? your whole stock? your mind spun as you processed what he was saying. a rush of disbelief and euphoria flooded your senses all at once.

“i — what? are you serious?”

“dead serious,” suguru chuckled. “this is just the beginning, y/n. your life’s about to change, and fast.”

and in that moment, you knew — this wasn’t just a lucky break. this was it. your life was about to change forever, and sukuna? he wasn’t looming over you anymore. you were about to loom over him.

all of this was just one year ago. persephone blew up like dynamite, becoming the “it” drink with gen z practically overnight. people everywhere dubbed it “the hot girl drink,” and it spread like wildfire on social media. celebs, influencers, and even rappers were endorsing it — rihanna, beyonce, hell, even international actors from countries you never thought would give you the time of day. your pet project had turned into a full-blown empire, something you never even dreamed of. the insane part? it wasn’t just a fad — it was here to stay. persephone was the new, unbeatable champion of the wine industry, holding the number one spot for the entire year. nothing — and no one — could touch you.

market experts were scrambling to crack the secret behind your success. every business magazine, blog, and analyst was pouring over the data, trying to figure out how the hell a tiny, unknown brand could rise to the top so quickly. when forbes asked you to explain it, your response had been simple:

"all you need is a little bit of love in the mix. that's why everyone loves us."

love? bullshit.

sukuna scoffed, slamming the magazine down on his desk as he glared at your interview in the newest issue of forbes. his eyes burned with frustration as he scanned the glossy page, your face plastered on the front cover — forbes, of all things. he remembered when he was the one on the cover. and now it was you, alongside some other guy, suguru geto, your so-called "business partner." his hands fisted the edges of the magazine as he forced himself to read through the article, bile rising in his throat.

"fuckin’ love," sukuna muttered under his breath. "what a load of crap."

what really pissed him off wasn't the fact that ryomen wines had dropped to number two in the market. no, they were still crushing it in vodka, rum, and sake — dominating, even. sukuna still smugly held onto that victory, and in truth, ryomen's other sectors were thriving. but it wasn’t about the numbers.

it was about you.

you, of all people, had stolen his top spot. the quiet, cowering secretary he’d dismissed without a second thought had somehow clawed her way up to rival him. beat him. and that, more than anything else, was what grated on his nerves. it was like a personal insult, like every bottle of persephone on the shelves was a slap to his face.

he didn’t understand it — couldn’t wrap his head around how you, someone he once considered nothing more than a weak, insignificant nuisance, had built something this big. this powerful. it was unthinkable.

but it didn’t matter. because if there was one thing sukuna hated more than losing, it was losing to you.

“get ready,” he muttered, tossing the crumpled magazine into the trash. “this ain’t over.”

he wasn’t about to let you bask in your victory for long. oh no, sukuna never did well with defeat, and you were about to learn exactly what that meant.

sukuna’s sundays were always a mixed bag when his brothers came over. on the one hand, he secretly enjoyed not being alone, the house filled with chatter and energy he rarely allowed himself to admit he missed. on the other hand… they had their quirks, quirks he didn’t always have the patience for.

today was no exception.

“oii, nii-chan!! is it true you’re cooked?” yuuji’s loud voice rang through the kitchen as he leaned over the counter, his face full of boyish excitement. at eighteen, fresh out of high school, yuuji was all energy and enthusiasm, completely missing the tension in sukuna’s glare.

“we are not cooked, brat. now scram!” sukuna growled, his patience already wearing thin. it wasn’t that he didn’t like yuuji; he loved the kid in his own harsh way. but today was not the day to bring up the one topic that had been gnawing at him for weeks now — persephone.

yuuji, of course, remained completely oblivious to his brother’s thinly veiled rage. “dude, we need to try it out — for sampling purposes, of course!” he corrected himself quickly when sukuna’s eyes darkened, the older man’s low growl sending a shiver down his spine. choso, standing quietly by the side, let out a silent sigh of exasperation that went unnoticed by both of them. as the eldest brother of the three, choso was used to playing mediator between sukuna and yuuji’s endless energy.

“talking about that cheap wine in front of your brother? seems like choso here isn’t teachin’ ya manners, brat,” sukuna scoffed, throwing a sharp glare at choso. but choso wasn’t fooled by the display — he knew sukuna well enough to recognize the silent plea in that look. sukuna wasn’t just angry; he was frustrated and on edge, and right now he needed choso’s help to avoid losing face in front of their younger brother.

choso, ever the calm and rational one, stepped in smoothly. “sukuna’s right, yuuji. why don’t we try some of his wine instead? ryomen’s pretty coveted, you know. you can even tell your friends you’ve got the inside scoop on the best stuff,” he suggested, his voice soft and persuasive. he knew yuuji’s weak spot — flexing on his friends — and wasn’t above playing that card to steer the conversation away from persephone.

yuuji’s eyes lit up at the mention of flexing to his friends. “yeah, that’d be awesome! ryomen’s, like, top-tier,” he agreed quickly, the previous excitement over persephone fading as he eagerly darted toward sukuna’s personal bar.

“but only a sip!” choso called after him, his tone firm but affectionate. yuuji grinned and gave a thumbs-up, too eager to care about the warning.

as soon as yuuji was out of earshot, sukuna’s shoulders relaxed slightly, though his scowl remained. “thanks,” he muttered under his breath, leaning against the kitchen counter with a scowl that barely concealed his relief.

choso merely nodded, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “you should really tell him what’s bothering you, sukuna. pretending it’s not a problem won’t make it go away.”

sukuna’s jaw clenched at the suggestion. “i’m not pretending anything,” he shot back. “just not giving that cheap wine any more attention than it deserves.”

choso didn’t argue — he knew better than to press sukuna when he was like this. but even as they heard yuuji clattering around in the bar, talking excitedly to himself about the bottles he found, choso couldn’t help but wonder how much longer sukuna could keep up this front before the tension snapped.

soon enough, sukuna bid choso and yuuji goodbye, grunting a half-hearted “good luck” to yuuji for his academics and giving a curt nod to choso. it was their silent agreement to continue taking care of yuuji, a bond forged through the ups and downs of their unconventional family. deep down, sukuna wished his brothers could stay longer, but he knew his work environment would be more chaotic than conducive to yuuji’s growth. the kid needed some normalcy, a chance to be a teenager without the weight of sukuna's world pressing down on him.

choso had that normalcy. he had a simple job and quiet life waiting for him back home, something that balanced him out in a way that sukuna hadn’t found in years. as he watched them leave, sukuna couldn’t help but wonder what life could have been like if he hadn’t run off at twenty-seven, leaving his twenty-two-year-old brother to shoulder the burden of raising a thirteen-year-old yuuji all by himself. it felt like a dick move, something no older brother should do. but he’d made up for it in his own way — by rapidly building a name for himself in the alcohol industry, ensuring his brothers were taken care of.

the weight of those thoughts pressed on him as he closed the door behind them. he had sent ample money back to support choso and yuuji, ensuring they lived comfortably and never struggled. yuuji’s education had never been compromised, and sukuna took a twisted sense of pride in that. everything he did — every deal struck, every bottle sold — was silently for them, though he’d never admit it out loud. they knew, though. they understood the sacrifices he’d made and the lengths he’d go to protect them.

leaning against the closed door, sukuna let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair. the house felt empty now, the echoes of yuuji's laughter fading away. but he was used to this emptiness. it was part of the job, part of the life he’d chosen. yet, as he glanced at the bottle of ryomen wine sitting on the counter, the nagging feeling in the back of his mind grew louder. persephone was thriving, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was more than just a business — it was a challenge, a direct competition that tugged at his pride.

he shook his head, pushing away the thoughts. no need to dwell on that right now. there would be time to strategize, to find a way to reclaim what he’d lost. for now, he had work to do, deals to make, and a reputation to maintain. but the tension lingered, a constant reminder that the game was far from over.

every business professional and their mother had heard of the forbes awards — one of the highest honors in the industry, recognizing outstanding achievements in categories like innovation, leadership, and entrepreneurship. it was a big deal, and of course, sukuna was invited. how could he not be? he was the face of ryomen, and ryomen was synonymous with him. it would have been a moral sin to overlook his presence.

but alongside him, in a stunning twist of fate, you were invited as well. your heart raced with excitement as you entered the grand hall, arm in arm with suguru, who wore his usual calm demeanor. the ambiance was electric, filled with murmurs of anticipation and the soft clinking of glasses. you felt like you were floating, clad in the prettiest gown you’d ever worn, the fabric hugging you in all the right places. your excitement bubbled over as you and suguru chatted animatedly, sharing whispers and laughter about the event.

sukuna sat a few seats ahead of you, his presence commanding attention even before the ceremony began. he glanced back at you and suguru, his brow twitching in annoyance. that bastard, he thought, irritation prickling at his nerves. was he annoyed because you were here, or because you were here with suguru? who the hell does he think he is, cozying up to you like that?

he clenched his jaw, forcing himself to focus on the stage as the lights dimmed. why the fuck does it matter? sukuna knew he should be above this, above whatever twisted emotions were gnawing at him. but it was hard to shake the feeling that your success was a direct challenge to him. persephone had blown up like a wildfire, and now here you were, practically glowing next to some random man.

the announcer’s voice boomed, echoing through the hall as the first award was presented. sukuna’s mind raced. everyone in this room is waiting to see me win. his heart pounded as he thought about the years of work, the sacrifices he made to build ryomen into what it was. these people need to remember who the real titan in the room is.

he couldn't help but steal glances at you, laughter dancing on your lips as you leaned into suguru’s space, that smile of yours bright enough to rival the stage lights. you think you’re some kind of star now, huh? the thought twisted in his gut. you don’t know what it took to get here.

as winners were announced, the crowd erupted in applause, and sukuna forced himself to smile politely, though inside he was a storm. you’ll never be more than a little brat who got lucky, he told himself. and yet, here you are, basking in the glory that should have been mine.

with every name called, the tension in sukuna grew. he could feel the eyes of the room shifting between him and you. they’re waiting to see what i do next, he mused, resentment and determination colliding within him. they think this is the peak. they have no idea what’s coming.

the night was still young, and the real competition was just beginning.

“and this year’s forbes most innovative company award goes to — y/n l/n & suguru geto for persephone!”

you sat there dumbfounded, too shocked to move, even as cheers erupted around you, your name being called echoing in your mind like a beautiful melody. suguru was beside you, his excitement contagious as he urged you on, “y/n, we won! go on, what are you waiting for?”

you won. you really won. the gravity of it settled in, and you felt a rush of emotions. you hoped your mother was tuned in tonight — oh, who were you kidding? your mother and every other mother in the room had tuned in, probably with their phones in hand, eagerly documenting the night. your mom's hourly reminders of “forbes award show tonight, my daughter is winning” played in your mind like a comforting mantra.

it took all your physical strength to push yourself up from your seat, legs trembling as you shakily walked toward the stage. the camera panned in on your nervous expression, capturing the moment for the world to see. when the award was handed to you, a giddy laugh escaped your lips, a blend of disbelief and joy.

“i — i don’t even know where to begin. i’m just… i’m just someone who started out in her mother’s kitchen.” the crowd chuckled, and you caught a glimpse of suguru, his face radiating pride. “and here i am, getting an award from forbes.” the room erupted into cheers, and you could feel the warmth of their applause wrapping around you.

“i….i made it, mom! i really did, i—” your eyes inadvertently wandered, locking onto sukuna, who was seated a few rows ahead. his expression was thunderous, livid anger practically radiating off him, his tattoos appearing to shift in the dim light as he stared you down. if looks could kill, you were certain you’d disintegrate on the spot.

for a fleeting moment, you felt like that meek little secretary from years ago — the girl who cowered at his angry words, whose confidence had crumbled under his disdain. your breath caught in your throat, palms clammy around the award that suddenly felt like a shackle, the blaring stage lights pressing down on you.

“t-thank you,” you mumbled quickly, and with that, you rushed off the stage, confusion buzzing in the air as people murmured about your abrupt exit. suguru’s brows furrowed with concern as you settled back into your seat beside him.

“hey, what’s wrong? talk to me,” he whispered, his hand finding yours beneath the table, offering a comforting squeeze.

“i saw him,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper, the reality of your win overshadowed by the weight of sukuna’s gaze.

the moment hung in the air between you, an electric tension that made your heart race. you had won tonight, yet the thrill felt tainted, as if sukuna’s presence had darkened your moment. suguru's grip tightened, grounding you, but the storm brewing inside you was harder to quell. this victory should have felt like a celebration, but instead, it brought the ghosts of your past crashing back, threatening to overshadow everything you had worked so hard for.

you should be counting your lucky stars that you exited the stage as soon as possible because if you had stood there for even one more minute, holding the award and basking in the stage lights, sukuna would have popped a blood vessel.

how could you — of all people — have won the award? it felt like a cruel joke, a slap in the face to all the hard work ryomen had poured into every drink they crafted. sugary excuse of a wine — that’s what he thought of your creation. it didn’t matter that you had poured your heart into persephone; to him, it was a mere distraction, a gimmick that somehow managed to catch fire while he’d been left to stoke the flames of a legacy he had built with his own hands.

sukuna’s jaw clenched, and his hands balled into fists, nails digging into his palms as he tried to reign in the rage bubbling beneath the surface. what the hell did you do to deserve this? it wasn’t fair. i revolutionized the industry, he thought bitterly, a storm brewing in his chest. i put everything into ryomen, and yet here you are, stealing the spotlight with your little pet project.

he couldn’t even pay attention to the next awards being given out; they were just a backdrop to the humiliation he felt. this isn’t how it’s supposed to be. he scanned the room, trying to gauge the reactions of others. do they think this is a joke? he wanted to scream, to lash out at anyone who dared to think persephone was on his level. the mere thought of you being lauded for your success twisted in his gut like a knife.

you didn’t know the sacrifices it took to build an empire, he raged inwardly. you didn’t endure the sleepless nights, the harsh decisions, the pressure of making a brand that people could depend on. to sukuna, ryomen wasn’t just a company; it was an extension of himself, a representation of all he had sacrificed for his brothers, for his future. and now, you had waltzed in and claimed an accolade that felt undeserved.

every cheer from the crowd felt like a taunt, a reminder of how far you had come and how deeply he loathed that it was you who had taken this honor away from him. you’ll never be more than a flash in the pan, he promised himself, a mantra to ease the burning rage. i’ll make sure of that.

his mind raced, plotting and scheming as he gripped the armrest of his chair, knuckles white. i need to show them who the real titan is. he had to reclaim his dominance, to put you in your place. it didn’t matter how many influencers endorsed you or how popular your product became; this was just the beginning, and he would not be overshadowed by someone he once considered insignificant.

as you settled back into your seat, a shaky smile still lighting up your face, sukuna's gaze hardened. this isn’t over, he vowed silently, his heart pounding with a mix of anger and resolve. you may have won tonight, but I’ll be damned if i let you steal my thunder.

days had passed since the forbes award show, but the victory felt hollow for sukuna. sure, he walked out with an armful of awards: the stevie awards, recognizing achievements in management and customer service; the international business awards, celebrating excellence in global innovation and leadership; and the business excellence awards, which honored outstanding performance across the board. it was a haul that solidified his status as a titan in the industry. but even with all that, his mind was consumed by the nagging echo of your name.

how the hell did you manage to steal that one award? it nagged at him like a splinter, refusing to be ignored. it didn’t make sense. even though your win seemed like a mere trinket compared to his accolades, it felt like a theft — a theft of something more precious than gold.

wasn’t it enough that i built this empire from the ground up? he thought, frustration simmering just below the surface. i sacrificed everything to get here, and you — of all people — come in and claim a piece of the pie? it infuriated him to think of you standing on that stage, giggling with disbelief, so carefree and unburdened by the weight of the industry that he had shouldered for years. i’ve earned this!

flashbacks from the award show rolled through his mind like a montage — standing on stage, the lights shining down on him as he accepted award after award. the applause ringing in his ears, the pride swelling in his chest as he shook hands with industry leaders, the kind of recognition that validated every sacrifice he had made.

“congratulations, sukuna,” one executive had said, clapping him on the back. “you’ve really outdone yourself this year.”

“what can i say?” he had replied with a smirk, “i’m just that good.”

yet, while those moments should have felt triumphant, all he could think about was you. that fleeting moment when you stood up there — why couldn’t he shake the image of your smile, your shocked expression? it stirred something within him, an unsettling mix of envy and anger.

you didn’t earn it, he seethed inwardly. you didn’t work your way through sleepless nights or the pressure of making decisions that could sink a company. you just made a drink and got lucky with some influencers.

he wanted to dismiss your success as a fluke, but something about it gnawed at him. why does it bother me so much? he questioned himself, feeling a surge of confusion mixed with annoyance. you weren’t a threat, you were an annoyance, a temporary blip in the industry. yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling that you were becoming something more — something significant.

the thought of you overshadowing his hard-earned victories was infuriating. i won’t let you steal my thunder, he promised himself, his resolve hardening with every passing day. he could not let the narrative shift. this isn’t over; i’ll make sure everyone knows that ryomen is the name that matters, not your little hobby.

but as the days turned into weeks, sukuna found it increasingly difficult to focus solely on his empire. every time he turned on the news or scrolled through social media, your name surfaced, wrapped in praise and admiration, while he was left wondering how you had somehow infiltrated his thoughts, stirring up feelings he had long buried. it’s just a phase, he told himself, clenching his jaw. i’ll crush this little competition of yours. soon, no one will even remember your name.

but deep down, a flicker of doubt loomed. what if they do?

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