This Video Was Hilarious And So Cute Omg. I Still Won't Have Kids Tho

I love Chris and Sebastian tgt

CAPITAL B CAPITAL O CAPITAL A CAPITAL F ....

BOAF

....both?

BOAF

THERES SUM WH0RES IN THIS HOUSE

Like doja cat said ..dem nose ..dem nose gotta be my seat

relief - hobie brown

being a spider person can be a lot of work for hobie sometimes and between fighting the high powers, destructing capitalism, and fighting off powerful enemies, hobie ends up neglecting himself at times

that’s why one night when he walks through the door, bruised and tattered, with those big brown eyes of his nearly overflowing with tears, and he is begging for you to take care of him, you do

and oh do you take care of him

tying his hands behind his back with your softer silk scarves, knowing he won’t bother to try and break free, and sitting him down on the bed so you can take care of him right

soon enough, his eyes are rolling back into his head while your hands are wrapped around his cock, stroking to the music of broken moans and high noted whines

his hips buck up every now and then but he knows you’ll make him feel good without his help. so while he repeats the mantra of “be good” to himself, you make him feel good

and just when he thinks you’re done after hes cum once, he sees you slide your panties off quickly and position yourself above him, slowly sinking down onto his already sensitive cock

this is when he becomes completely complient to you, letting you ride him with his face in your hands, stroking away his tears from pleasure and submission

hes whispering “please” and “i love you” against your stomach repeatedly and you can’t help but feel bad for how fucked out and dependent he looks, so you do him a favor and ride a little faster which ends in him cumming deep inside you and you making a mess over his cock

some more!! hehe

Steve is the only man who can manhandle me like this

Idk why but I have this theory that stevie boy prays when his girl is going down on him.

a/n: this took so long! i hope you like it, i feel kind of rusty with writing lol. enjoy the catholic guilt <3 1.5k words of deepthroating & Please stop reading if you are not 18+

brooklyn after dark masterlist

“blessed”

He’s got it bad.

He stuffs it behind his stern face and resilient body and a collected, competent demeanor but at the heart of it, in his heart, Steve is truly, embarrassingly, a lovestruck boy and intimacy is a hurdle he’s having a hard time clearing.

He doesn’t want to hurt you. He’s always afraid he’ll lose control, so he keeps it as vanilla as fucking possible and it is probably driving you just as crazy as it is him.

But then you kneel down in the middle of the floor and there’s nothing he can possibly hold on to, he thinks you must be out to kill him.

You tell him he’s pretty, and that he’s got these gorgeous, long legs, and when you start kissing up his knee and rest your face at the crease of his groin, his head is so cloudy he might as well be floating.

He’s smack dab in the center of the kitchen this time, condemned to yet another instance of helplessness. His hands have nowhere to go, and he begins to stutter for alternatives, but you shake your head, already on the move.

He shudders. You want him and you can’t wait another second. You want him here, now, with your bare knees on tile, the pre-heated oven and its dinner plans shelved for later because you. want. him. And that’s the end of that.

You begin unbuckling his belt, fingers pulling apart the leather, unclasping, unzipping, and then you lift your mouth off him long enough to let the denim fall to the floor.

He groans, already beginning to breathe harder, his abs flexing as you nose your way up one thigh. You sigh as you go along, eyes shut as if trying to concentrate on the mere scent of him. You take deep breaths, moan lightly, and the barest hint of a smirk begins forming on your face when you press your forehead to him and murmur, “I want it so bad, Steve. I’d let you keep me like this all night for it.”

His entire body jolts and he thinks he should get more furniture just for the safety of surfaces alone. You don’t seem bothered by his muteness—you’ve done this so many times with your special talent for making him ache all over with just a few dirty words. He’s stil learning how his body can move now that he’s in love—now that he feels safe giving himself over to someone.

You slip your fingers over his erection, fully hard now because you look like that.

“I love the way you smell.” You breathe him in, rubbing at him like a cat, lewd and devoted in equal measure. “Love how it feels on my face.” You show him, looking up now, your cheek pressed against the curve of his shaft, eyes reflecting of the overhead light and his own breathless face back at him.

“You’ll let me suck you here, right?”

His head falls back, tongue flicking out to wet his lips as the heat in his face runs down his neck and chest. Why do you have to say things like that? Why do you have to make him feel so much?

You mouth the tip of his cock, tongue lapping at the damp spot of precome through fabric before taking it in, as if you could put him in just how he is. He’s so hard at the entrance your warm mouth, your breath huffing over his cock, the cotton layer catching moisture like an inescapable wall keeping him from feeling the rest of you—but it’s hot. It’s so fucking hot and you keep on doing it, suckling and moaning and grabbing at him. You pant, watching his expression, taking in how he responds.

He worries the heel of his palms to his brow—but he can’t help staring. Can’t help the way he keeps twitching every second. Can’t help the low whine that falls out of his mouth when you finally spring him free and let him bounce on the tip of your tongue.

“Baby you’re leaking,” you tease, flicking at the slit where he dribbles out, “Mmm, it tastes so good.”

“Christ,” he grunts, face burning.

You grin, giving him a firm suck, and then a soft kiss at his tip. You show him your wet, pink tongue, your open throat. And then you swap all that chatter for work. You take him in, easing him past your back teeth, his cockhead rubbing at the entrance of your throat, pressing into the soft muscle there as it grips around him weakly.

Your eyes roll back and— you look— so pretty.

“Oh, god…Oh, hell..”

You keep your jaw slack and bob your head steadily as if suggesting that he take the lead. Your hands cup his sac, rolling the sensitive skin between two fingers, letting the rest lie in your other palm. He feels so completely taken, all of him, warm and encased and throbbing.

To your delight, he slowly begins rolling his hips. Experimental at first, half-hearted and worried about startling or choking you, but at the first reflex of a gag, your eyes light up before fluttering half-closed and you practically mewl.

Fuck.

He pulls away, “Sorry—I’m sorry—” but you grab him by the back of his thighs and swallow him down, opening up more, letting the saliva collecting around his dick dribble out down your chin. You look so easy and vulnerable, entirely receptive to however he wants to use you.

His cock is pulsing, making squelching sounds as it rubs against your tongue and slicks itself up with spit, pushing some out with every pull. You’re arching your body into the correct position for him, and he places one hand on the back of your neck to hold you steady as he tries to get—ah, right there, just a little more—

He practically shouts when he stuffs himself into your throat. The tip of your nose is pressed into his groin, chin warm on his balls as he shifts, feeling crazed about it all. The resistance, the squeeze of your muscles—he reaches around to your neck and blindly feels for the bulge his cock is creating.

“Holy shit,” he blurts, “holy fuck, holy fuck, baby—that feels so good—oh my god—oh fucking god.”

And then he starts spinning off in his head, all his Catholic upbringing like an unstoppable flood—those stupid prayers for serenity and grace—lead us not into temptation—racing across his mind because if he doesn’t cling onto something he’ll lose it completely. He’ll choke you—he’ll choke you over and over with his cock and he’ll love it.

There are tears in your eyes, but you don’t pull away and you don’t make him stop. Your fingers are digging into your legs, but you keep looking at him, asking silently for him to see—for him to notice how much you want him like this, all the time.

The noise is filthy when you yank free, and you look wrecked, leaned back on your haunches. Your breaths are ragged and weak, and you bite at your lips in a daze.

“Again,” you say quietly, hoarse. “Please, again.”

And all those prayers flit away. He forgets every sacrament. The only blessing he’ll ever need is you, uttering again.

He shoves himself back in, forcing a loud gag out, and he feels insane for it—feels utterly crazed for more of this sensation. Shocks are sprinting up and down his spine, his toes are curling, his body tense and loose at the same time. He doesn’t want to stop feeling you, doesn’t want to stop seeing you attached to his cock, worshiping it with your tongue, tears brimming in your pretty eyes from the effort.

“Your fucking throat,” he grunts, too rough now with his hand on your head to force you down, but unable to stop, each thrust bringing him closer and closer. “Fucking incredible. So—dirty—you naughty fucking girl."

There’s spit everywhere. Down your shirt, long lines of it dripping from his dick to your mouth when you gasp for air. Your lips are swollen so pretty and bright.

Steve hauls you up, bullies you against the nearest surface and fingers your cunt until his fingers are coated. He gets behind you, makes you taste your own pussy, and then fucks his way in, choking off your cry with his hand.

And it doesn’t take long. You squirm and clamp down and sob when you come, and Steve barrels headfirst into it soon after, his cock pulsing and unloading inside.

“Steve,” you gasp, turning your head to mouth at him instinctively. He’s still hard, fucking gently into you.

He paws at your breasts, your face, belly, feeling every inch of you now that he’s cleared this hurdle. Now he knows what he wants, knows how to get it.

His cock is filthy with slick and semen. He’ll need you to clean it off.

“I’m not finished yet,” he says, certainty firmly in his chest. He smiles into your hair, pulls out slow and sloppy and fingers the inside of your mouth. He'll do exactly what it is you wanted-- what he wants, too.

He’s gonna keep you here all night.

YES. DESK. NOW.

Part Six: when I'm near you

PT1 PT2 PT3 PT4 PT5 PT7

Warning: 18+ Smut!

Summary: Connor and Y/N finally manage to have some alone time together!

A/N: Thanks again to everyone for being so kind toward my writing. In regards to the taglist I feel super slow for not figuring out how to do that yet, so bear with me. I hope you enjoy this sauciest of chapters!

"Some other time” did not arrive as quickly as Connor had been hoping. You were seemingly being pulled in every direction at the station, your expertise becoming a commodity among the other officers. Connor admired your work ethic and your commitment to the other officers, but he couldn’t help but feel annoyed every time he tried to have a moment with you and it was cut short by someone demanding your attention or advice for their case. To make matters worse you would look at him with big puppy dog eyes that screamed, “I’m sorry” and he would make himself smile and tell you that it was alright, that he understood. He expressed his frustration to Hank who simply shrugged and said,

“Well, do something about it then.”

Connor took the advice in stride and came up with a plan. He knew that you usually got up to grab a snack from the kitchen around 2:00 pm, so if he positioned himself in the maintenance closet you passed around that time, he could pull you in for a private moment. Connor waited until he heard your soft footsteps across the tile and then quickly pulled you into the closet before you could process the action. You let out a small yelp but calmed when you saw who had grabbed you.

“Apologies for startling you Y/N, but I find myself displeased with our lack of time together, so I decided to steal you away, at least for a moment,” Connor explained. He noticed that he had you pinned against the wall and released his grip, much to your disappointment.

“I’m sorry we haven’t been spending time together Connor, I’ve just been so swamped.” You sigh and play with the loose strand of hair that falls over his forehead.

“I understand. But perhaps…” Connor says and places a hand over your head and angles his mouth toward yours.

“You can apologize another way.” He finishes eyeing your lips. Your heart begins to beat faster as your lips near his, and you see him smile.

“I sense your heart rate increasing, is that because of me?” He whispers into your ear, causing a shiver down your spine.

“Are you going to kiss me or analyze my vitals?” You tease him, embarrassed. His smile fades and he closes in, his lips on yours now. Connor has a hand on your side, and you feel it tighten as you pull him closer to you by his tie. He moves his lips down your chin and to your neck, forcing you to release a small moan despite your best efforts to remain silent. Connor pulls back for a moment, a satisfied grin across his face. As he goes back for more you put a hand on his chest and hold him at bay.

“Connor, this is…really really nice, but I am not having sex with you in the maintenance closet at work. I mean, at least not the first time.” You tell him regaining your breath. He forces himself back and straightens his tie.

“I didn’t mean to assume…” He starts, but you put a hand up to stop him.

“My place, 8pm, don’t be late.” You say with a wink as you exit the closet.

Connor knocks at your door at 7:55 pm, more purple roses in hand. You throw open the door immediately and pull him inside. He was going to tell you about the flowers, but his mind goes blank when he notices the black lingerie you’re wearing under a short lacey robe. He drops the flowers on your floor and hoists you into his arms.

“Bedroom?” He asks.

“Second door on the right.” You say playing with his hair. As he carries you down the hall you plant light kisses down his neck and revel in his frustrated groans.

“Do you like that?” You whisper into his ear. He quickly makes it into the bedroom and gently lays you down, taking a moment to gaze over you before undressing himself. He throws his suit jacket to the floor and you lick your lips at the sight of him undoing his white button-up, revealing his lean physique underneath. From that moment he looks lost, and you don’t waste a second. You rise and push him to the bed deftly undoing his belt. He looks down at you, his expression a combination of mild terror and excitement as you take hold of his cock and move your hands up and down his shaft, eventually making circles with your tongue around his tip as you do. Connor throws his head back in a tremendous moan, and you decide to push him even further and wrap your lips around him and take as much of him as you can. He softly pats your hair as you do but as you increase speed it changes to a tangled grip in your hair, and he pulls you off.

“That is…more wonderful than I can say. Please, let me return to the favor.” He says and pins you to the bed with ease. He rips your bottoms off and begins to kiss your inner thighs, making you shudder. Finally, he rolls his tongue over your clit, painfully slow and you release an exasperated moan.

“Do you want to cum for me?” He asks, his voice low.

“Yes, please.”

“Keep begging.” He orders and slows his tongue movement; every touch becomes electric as you yearn for more.

“Connor…please…’ You beg and hear him chuckle against your skin. You gasp as you feel him slip a finger inside you, then another along with his tongue, and you can’t help but cum all over his eager licks. You lay there for a moment until he crawls up to you, the smuggest look you’ve ever seen plastered on his face.

“I thought you only used your tongue for police work.” You say between your rapid breaths. He responds by pulling you against him for a kiss, the taste of your climax on his lips.

“I made an exception.” He murmurs, beginning to tease you with the tip of his cock.

“You’re so goddamn wet.” Connor sighs, his grip tightening on your wrist.

“Connor, I want you inside me now,” You groan but he still resists the urge and continues to tease you with a coy smile on his lips. Finally, you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him inside of you, making you both gasps.

“Holy shit.” Connor breaths out, his LED flashing rapidly. He manages to contain himself enough to start slow, but as you call out his name again, he thrust faster into you, enjoying the looks of pleasure across your face, all because of him. You tighten your grip around his waist again and flip him around so that you sit on top of him now. You move slowly up and down on his cock, making sure he can see himself going in and out of you.

“Faster.” He commands now, gripping the sheets.

“Beg me.” You whisper and raise yourself up so only his tip brushes against your wetness. Connor releases a frustrated growl and grips your hips, pulling you down onto his cock, making you cry out his name again. You’re moving with each other now as you bounce up and down, your walls tightening around him, he sits up with you, and as you both cum he pulls you in for a kiss. You collapse together on your bed, a mess of pleasure and moans. He lightly strokes your hair, and you listen to the soft pitter-patter of rain on your roof. You crawl up and kiss him softly on the lips, enjoying the way he looks at you like you are absolutely everything.

“Next time, we should try it on a desk.” He smiles.

Something about softkuna...

lovesick — ryomen sukuna.

"I'm serious about my girl." Sukuna retorted back, snickering at the white haired vice-captain. "I'm serious, if she calls me anything else, I'll be nothing. Just how it is." "I see, I see." Before Sukuna could fire back something at him, Gojo’s attention shifted to something—or someone—over Sukuna’s shoulder. Gojo started pointing at the doorway. “Oh, and here she is now, captain.” he said, smirking like a man who’d just lit a match in a fireworks factory. "Your beloved girlfriend!"

Genre: Alternate Universe — College! AU;

Warning/s: Short Fic, General Rating, AFAB! Reader, Use of She/Her, Use of Female Centered Identification, Pet Names (Babe, My Love, Etc), Romance, Fluff, Humour, Love, Comfort/No Hurt, Established Relationship, Lovers, Dating, Feeling, Light-Hearted, Slice of Life, Idiots In Love, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Healthy Relationship, Friendships, Profanity, Swearing, Teasing, Volleyball, Volleyball Captain! Sukuna, Boyfriend! Sukuna, Girlfriend! Reader;

Words: 3.8k words.

Note: i wanted to see ryomen sukuna be someone that is pathetically in love with his lover, because i needed a break from my pattern of being angsty with sukuna, so here you go. that being said, i'm sorry this is shorter than what i usually write. i'm prepping a lot of things because im going to be back in uni soon and i need to make sure i fix the queue!!! that being said, i'll post tomorrow about the valentines special!!! thank you for reading!!! i love you all <3

masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

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IF THERE WAS ONE THING ABOUT HIM, ITS THE FACT THAT HE IS A STRONG PERSONALLY. He knew that too well, everyone knew that just as much. Ryomen Sukuna was just easily the most incredible force to be reckoned with. Whether that be meeting him personally or whether that be hearing baout him in passing.

Everyone would say the same thing about him — it's hard to find out what to say about him without going on a tangent for hours on end. And that was just the easiest thing to do, rather than finding anything definite to say.

The one and only captain of the top ranking college varsity volleyball team in all of Japan, Ryomen Sukuna dominated the court like it was his personal kingdom with that iron fist. He has such a stellar record of existence, that was to be sure, wearing the crown.

All his opponents could only quiver at the sight of his one of a kind powerful line spike. All the teammates he'd have since junior high could only respect and fear him with almost military reverence, like he was their general.

Of course, all his coaches over the years swore he could crush concrete if he so much as clenched his fists mid-serve. That perhaps, it would be good to gentle parent him as much as possible, knowing he's already quite the fire cracker of a man.

Or that he could end up cussing out everyone at the court as easily as one does breathing. That's of course, why the coaches would find him to be the "Cursed King." It was an intimidating title that had followed him since junior high school.

One moment he's someone that you curse because you lost a game because of him, another time you curse him because your team got fined because he ended up causing a fight. And with a name like that, Sukuna relished the air of invincibility it gave him.

Everyone had a box for Sukuna to fit in, of course. That continued over time, to be something that people couldn't avoid making for him and only him. That was just how it was, when you have someone as enigmatic as him.

To some of his teammates, he was "Cap"—the iron-willed leader who demanded nothing less than perfection. The one that would force them to run miles on end until they fell from exhaustion. The one who forced them to do hundreds of spikes until it took out the bottles he prepared on the other side of the court.

The rival schools referred to him as "Demon Spike" but this was mostly because he left a trail of destruction (and bruises) every time he stepped onto the court. One moment that's from the fact that his serves were just dangerously low and one moment it's because he heard someone bad mouth his underclassman.

Of course, even his many teachers and now his college professors had their own opinions for him one at a time over the many years. One of the most known nicknames for him by the professors in the college halls is “The GPA Crusher”.

To the younger underclassmen, who unfortunately still looked at him with bright eyes under those filtered glasses on — he was a mix of "Sensei of True Discipline" and "Volleyball God".

He was to them, a figure of unadulterated awe and of course, that desire to hope, that perhaps they would end up like him too. After all, he was always a star in the court. But in a different way, in the good way. That's how they think.

But this was because Ryomen Sukuna spent more time perfecting his jump serves against his opponent than ever having effort in writing essays for submission. Ironically, even though he was quite a smart young man. The fact that he shows up to exams more than classes and still passes with flying colors is quite certain proof.

But to you, his beloved girlfriend, Ryomen Sukuna was none of these things. He didn’t live in a box and he never wished to do so, no. Instead, he lived eternally, forever, even in the next life — in your heart.

Though he’d never say something that cheesy out loud. That part is not easy for him, but you didn't mind that. You liked to keep him to yourself most of the time. And he was satisfied with that.

The most you could hear from him about you is in passing. Sometimes practice would finish and he, still full of sweat, would immediately pack his things into his gym bag, almost suddenly becoming ignorant of everything else.

His underclassman would invite him to eat something like yakuniku and he would say with a straight face — "I can't. My girfriend wants to cook some authentic pasta for me at her place. Bye."

He would leave almost instantly, much to the shock of the underclassman each year. But most of his teammates, who were also somehow his friends, were not surprised. He and you were dating early on during junior high school. And he would be the same way.

When he wasn't looking, people could only surmise what he looked like when he towered over your giddy figure at every practice, at every game — 'Ah, I see. He's lovesick. And in a good way.'

To Sukuna, you were perhaps the only thing that could triumph against volleyball. You were his number one. And he knew that you thought of him the same way too. And everyone knew that too.

That's why you only ever called him one thing: my love. And to Sukuna, that title was worth more than any championship trophy. But of course, no one knew that. It's not like you don't call him that in public. It's just that no one asks, what that nickname is.

The look in your eyes was more than enough when he makes a wink for you at each serve was enough, the smile on your lips when he comes to greet you at the bleachers was more than enough. No one needed to hear the nickname to know that there was something loving between the two of you.

He knew this truth as well as he knew how to spike a ball with a precise edge. He knew this as much as he knew what would get him a championship. But of course, that doesn't stop curiosity at times. At times he humors them, at times he does not. It was a hit and miss.

That’s why, during a post-practice break, when the Vice Captain of the Volleyball team, Gojo Satoru, decided to start stirring the pot as usual with his antics. And somehow, today, Ryomen Sukuna didn’t mind it. There was something in the air. They could feel it.

(He won't tell anyone about this, but he has very happy about something.

He was after all happy that his girlfriend was staying at his dorm tonight to spoon on his bed after your finals kept you apart for nearly two weeks —

But no one needs to know that.

Otherwise, they'd use it against him.

And he can't have that right now.

It will spoil these bastards and make them too relaxed before championships again.)

Gojo leaned against the bleachers with that signature cocky grin. “Hey, Sukuna.” he drawled, as he watched the captain drink from his water bottle. "You’ve got about a million nicknames floating around. But what are you to your girlfriend?”

Ryomen Sukuna didn’t miss a beat.

He put down his water bottle swiftly.

He glared at Gojo Satoru with a passion.

He tilted his head back, eyes half-lidded with that calm arrogance he wore so well. “Huh? My girl can only call me my love or nothing.” he said, his voice practically dripping with pride.

"Hehhhhh, really?"

“If she calls me anything else, I’ll disappear and leave no trace. Hell, I'll jump off a cliff and make sure I drown into the ocean and never be seen again."

Gojo barked out a laugh, his hands clapping together as if Sukuna had just told the world’s funniest joke. “Wow. Our captain sure is seriously whipped. Actually, that probably doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

"I'm serious about my girl." Sukuna retorted back, snickering at the white haired vice-captain. "I'm serious, if she calls me anything else, I'll be nothing. Just how it is."

"I see, I see."

Before Sukuna could fire back something at him, Gojo’s attention shifted to something—or someone—over Sukuna’s shoulder. Gojo started pointing at the doorway.

“Oh, and here she is now, captain.” he said, smirking like a man who’d just lit a match in a fireworks factory. "Your beloved girlfriend!"

Ryomen Sukuna turned slowly, his earlier bravado evaporating the second he saw you standing at the gym door. Your arms were crossed, your eyes sharp, and your posture practically screamed, You’re in trouble.

“Sukuna.” you called out, your tone cutting through the gym like a whistle signaling the end of a game.

His entire body could only stiffen. He didn’t just flinch—he practically short-circuited. The other players and members, the entire volleyball staff, sensing the shift in the air, immediately stopped what they were doing to watch the drama unfold. All of their eyes were glued on this moment, more than anything.

“Ryomen Sukuna!” you said again, each syllable landing like the sound of a referee’s whistle before a penalty.

Sukuna’s brain scrambled for an escape route. “What the fuck?” he muttered under his breath, frozen in place.

“Ryomen Sukuna, come here.”

“No.” His voice cracked as he stood up so fast he nearly knocked over a water bottle.

His scarlet eyes were shaking as much as his body was. No one has ever seen this before. No one had ever seen the panic on his face before. Not even in a hard game to win. This was the very first time their formidable captain looked so defeated and horrified.

“No, no, my name is my love! It’s my love! What did I do?” he asked, practically sprinting toward you like a volleyball rolling out of bounds.

Gojo Satoru, thoroughly entertained, cackled so hard he nearly fell off the bleachers. “Man, even the Cursed King has a leash!” he wheezed, clutching his stomach. "This is how he is with her. That's interesting, isn't it?"

"He doesn't look like who he actually is in the moment, huh." Nanami Kento whispered under his breath, wiping the sweat with the towel over his shoulder. "We should have used this card when he refused to stop practice during last year's finals."

"Well now we can." Geto Suguru snickers, lounging on the floor as he watched the scene with mirth in his purple gaze. "Does anyone have objections?"

"None here!" The chorus of seniors and juniors retorted back at him.

"Someone save her phone number for speed dial!" Gojo said, pointing to one of the managers who nodded.

By the time Ryomen Sukuna reached you, he was a completely different man. The fearsome captain who dominated courts and crushed spirits was reduced to a panicked, apologetic mess. You continued to stand before him, rolling your eyes, his towering figure in tatters at what you called him.

“I swear I didn’t do anything! There's no girls or even guys! There isn't anything else. You can check my phone. Or you can ask everyone here too!"

"Sukuna—"

"Whatever it was, I’ll do everything fix it and make it right, babe—just don’t call me that again. Please!” he begged, his voice low enough that only you could hear the desperation in it.

"Calm down." You raised an eyebrow, letting him stew for a moment before finally speaking. “You forgot to text me that practice was running late. And I was concerned. I thought we were going to meet up at the cafe nearby so we can go to your dorm together!”

Sukuna blinked. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.” you said, though your tone suggested you might have a few more grievances stored up for later. "Well, I'm also hungry."

Sukuna exhaled so dramatically it was a wonder he didn’t collapse on the spot. “I’ll never forget again, okay?” he promised, his voice full of sincerity. “Babe, I’ll set an alarm—no, two alarms—just for you. And don't worry, we're gonna eat. Actually, take my card and buy something in the cafe while you wait for me.”

As he continued to rattle off promises, you couldn’t help but smile at him. Cursed King or not, to you, Sukuna was just your dorky loving boyfriend, forever trying to live up to his title of my love in your life. And if the rest of the gym wanted to watch him grovel? Well, that was just an added bonus. By the gods, you love him.

"I love you, my love." You whispered to him, taking his hand into yours. "I'm sorry I scared you like that."

"No, no, that was my fault." He grumbled under his breathe, taking a moment to settle in the warmth of your eyes, reserved just for him. "I should have noticed the time. I will never forget about it again, I promise."

"Hm, that's all that matters, my love."

"I'll make us dessert tonight as an apology." He says, moving closer to kiss your temple.

"That would be good, my love."

As Sukuna continued his frantic apologies, the rest of the gym erupted into poorly stifled snickers. Gojo Satoru, of course, was the loudest, slapping his knee like he’d just witnessed the greatest comedy set of the century.

“My love, huh? Big, bad Cursed King reduced to a golden retriever!” he teased, practically howling. “Hey, did you hear that, boys? If she calls him Ryomen Sukuna one more time, he might just cry.”

“Should we start calling him my love too, senpai? Y’know, in solidarity?” chimed Underclassman Itadori Yuuji, grinning as he leaned on his volleyball. The suggestion earned a chorus of laughs and a few enthusiastic nods.

“Yeah, Cap! Don’t worry, my love, we’ve got your back!” Underclassman Fushiguro Megumi deadpanned from the sidelines, his usual stoic face cracking into a rare smirk.

One of the first year underclassman, emboldened by the chaos, cupped his hands around his mouth and called out, “We love you, my love! You’re our MVP for all seasons! With so much love, my love!”

Sukuna whipped his head around, his scarlet glare promising death, destruction, and possibly laps for everyone involved. “If anyone other than my girlfriend calls me that, I swear.” he growled, “I will personally make sure you regret it.”

“Sure, my love!” Gojo crowed, leaning back against the bleachers with a devilish grin. “Ooooh, should we get it printed on the back of your jersey? Cursed King on the front, My Love on the back—perfect balance, don’t you think?"

Geto laughs loudly. "You know what, I think we can make this happen. Coach! We got the budget for that, right?"

“Or maybe embroider it on the team banner!” someone else chimed in, sending the gym into another fit of laughter.

You couldn’t hold back anymore, doubling over as Sukuna turned a deeper shade of red than the volleyballs on the court. His sharp retorts and death glares only fueled the chaos, the once-commanding presence of the Cursed King now utterly eclipsed by the sheer hilarity of the moment.

Finally, Sukuna turned back to you, his expression a mix of betrayal and exasperation. “You’re supposed to defend me, babe.” he muttered, his voice low but desperate.

You reached up to pat his cheek, your grin as sweet as honey. “Oh, my love, I am defending you. I’m making sure they never forget how cute you are to me."

For the rest of practice, you sat down and watched everything unfold before you as you ate your croissant and drank your coffee from the cafe which you bought using your boyfriend's card, of course.

For a while, the gym echoed with the sound of volleyballs, laughter, and the occasional teasing chorus of “My love!” — especially when Sukuna found himself scoring a point, which of course led to him missing the next hit.

Every time someone said it later on, Ryomen Sukuna looked seconds away from snapping a net in half, but deep down, though he’d never admit it, he wouldn’t have traded his nickname or the teasing for anything in the world. Not when you were there, cheering it for him with that adorable voice of yours, loving him completely.

Maybe it wasn't so bad to be lovesick like that.

Not when it was you who loved him just like that.

That's just how he loved you too.

══════════════════

epilogue

After what felt like the longest practice of his life, one that was just peppered with relentless teasing from his teammates and the volleyball team staff — Ryomen Sukuna was finally free to leave with you, to enjoy the weekend together.

He barely said goodbye to the others, grumbling something about “making them run that suicidal hill again on Monday” before grabbing his bag and leading you out of the gym.

“Unbelievable.” he muttered under his breath as you walked side by side. “Gojo’s gonna be insufferable for weeks.”

You stifled a laugh. “Weeks? You mean forever.”

He shot you a look, but there was no real heat behind it. Instead, he sighed and draped an arm over your shoulder as the two of you made your way to his car. “You’re lucky I love you, y’know. Otherwise, I might’ve disappeared on the spot after what you pulled, babe.”

“Oh, come on, my love.” you teased, leaning into him. “It was worth it to see the great Cursed King turn into a puddle in front of everyone. Especially because he loves me.”

“You’re cruel, babe." he grumbled, but there was a small, fond smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Can't believe I've loved you since we were in junior high."

You winked at him, smile on your lips growing wider. "And for forever too! You'll have to deal with it."

By the time you got back to Sukuna’s place, you immediately made the move to cook while he got into the shower. Soon enough, the air was thick with the scent of miso broth bubbling on the stove.

You’d planned this hotpot night earlier, since he was supposed to have gone home much earlier. But after the chaos at the gym and his long grueling practice, you just felt like it was even more well-earned.

Sukuna, finally emerging from the bedroom, rolled up his sleeves and helped you set the table, his mood softening with each step of the ritual as you hummed along the song playing on the radio.

“You got everything, babe?” he asked, peering over your shoulder as you arranged plates of thinly sliced meat, tofu, and an assortment of vegetables.

“Yup.” you replied, popping a piece of bok choy into your mouth. “And don’t even think about hogging all the meat this time.”

“Me? Hog it?” He snorted, grabbing the chopsticks and pointing them at you in mock accusation. “You’re the one who fishes out all the good stuff when I’m not looking.”

“That’s called strategy, my love.” you said, grinning as you threw his words from earlier back at him.

Sukuna groaned, dropping his face into his hands. “Not you too…”

You waved your chopsticks at him. "Well, I say it more lovingly. You like it like that, you know!"

He grumbles under his breath, red appearing on his cheek. "You're lucky I love you like that."

"Hm, that's why I'm shameless!"

But any complaints were quickly forgotten as the two of you settled down around the simmering hotpot. The warmth of the broth, the crackling of the stove, and the quiet clink of chopsticks filled the room. Sukuna started to relax, his earlier frustrations melting away as he watched you happily dunk mushrooms and noodles into the pot.

“Okay, babe.” he said suddenly, breaking the silence. “I’ve decided.”

You raised an eyebrow, chewing on a piece of tofu. “Decided what?”

“Next time Gojo calls me ‘my love’ in front of everyone, instead of just you, it’s on sight,” Sukuna said, leaning forward with a wicked grin that promised destruction.

He jabbed his chopsticks into a slice of tofu like it was Gojo’s face. “I’m spiking a volleyball straight at his stupid face.”

You burst out laughing, nearly choking on the piece of fish cake you’d been chewing. “Good luck with that. He’ll just dodge it and make fun of you even more. You know how he is—Gojo thrives on chaos. The man’s immune to consequences.”

Sukuna rolled his eyes, stabbing another piece of tofu with unnecessary aggression. “Then I’ll spike two balls. One after the other. And if that doesn’t work…”

You looked at him curiously, mirth in your eyes. "What will you do?"

He paused, his brow furrowing in mock concentration. “I’ll add laps. So many laps. He’ll be running until graduation.”

You snorted, wiping a tear from your eye. “Right, because Gojo would totally listen to your orders. He’d just turn it into a race and leave everyone else in the dust.”

Sukuna grumbled under his breath, his scowl deepening—but the corners of his mouth twitched, betraying his amusement. “Fine. If volleyball and laps don’t work, I’ll come up with something else. Something evil.”

“Evil?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow. “What, like stealing his Bottega Veneta sunglasses?”

“Too easy. He’s got like fifty pairs, babe.” Sukuna muttered, resting his chin on his hand as he considered his options. “Maybe I’ll prank him during practice. Replace his water with vinegar. Or set his alarms an hour early every day.”

"I forgot he makes his password too easy for people to guess." You murmured, drinking from your cup. You sigh. "Well, I suppose that would work."

"Right? Fool-proof!"

You tilted your head, feigning thoughtfulness. “Hmm, as solid as that is, what if he gets revenge? Gojo’s the type to double down, you would know best."

He hummed. "I'm way better at being stubborn than he is."

"I know that. But he might start serenading you in the middle of practice. Like, full-on ‘My Love’ with a guitar and everything on campus like it's 10 Things I Hate About You."

Sukuna froze, chopsticks halfway to his mouth. “He wouldn’t.”

“Oh, he absolutely would.” you said, grinning. “And you’d never live it down. The Cursed King getting serenaded in front of the entire team? In front of the whole university? They’d be talking about it for years.”

He groaned, dropping his chopsticks and leaning back against the chair like he’d just been defeated in battle. “Why do I even put up with him? Or any of you, for that matter.”

“Because deep down, you love us.” you said, smiling sweetly as you plopped another piece of meat into the hotpot. “Even Gojo.”

“I do not love Gojo,” Sukuna snapped, pointing an accusatory finger at you. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“Sure, sure, my love!” you teased, nudging him playfully with your elbow. “But admit it—you’d miss him if he wasn’t around to drive you insane.”

Sukuna gave you a flat look, but the twitch of his lips betrayed him again. “I’d miss you more.” he said gruffly, his voice dropping just enough to make your heart skip.

“Aww, my love.” you cooed, leaning closer to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “Don’t worry, you’re stuck with me.”

“Good to know, babe.” he said, turning back to the hotpot with a satisfied grunt. “At least you don’t call me my love in front of the team like that.”

You smirked, swirling your chopsticks through the broth. “Not yet, anyway.”

Sukuna froze mid-bite, glaring at you with wide eyes. “Don’t you dare.”

“No promises!” you said with a mischievous grin, earning a groan from him that was half exasperation, half affection.

"You're such a menace."

"Well, that's how you know I love you, my love!" You grinned, moving forward to steal his tonkatsu.

"Babe!" He groans, as he watches you eat the tonkatsu happily.

"I love you!"

Sukuna sighs, his eyes softening, watching you happily eat. "I love you too......"

just two dark-haired, blue-eyed capricorn, born on the 22 of December, socially inept and unable to properly express emotions people communicating

This is MY yaoitsu kaisen

"no grave can hold me down; i'll crawl home to her." 🪦

Clint is so cool

idle hands

Clint Barton x Reader

Prompt: “my butt is not a drum, dude.”

Summary: you’re trying to get work done on a quiet afternoon, but your boyfriend clint barton is nothing if not distracting.

Warnings: fluff, smut, adult language, fingering, unprotected sex.

Word Count: 3,123

Got a Request? Prompt list for: tony | clint | quill

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