Only Fans

CONFESSION.

Synopsis: You find Saiki's instagram account thinking it to be an abandoned one as it is completely inactive so you confess to it.

A Saiki Kusuo x F!Reader crack SMAU, that's mixed in with the normal fanfic format.

1. 2. You are on part 3. 4. TBA...

A/N:

‘Yare yare' means Saikis or readers thoughts (in italics)

'Yare yare' means other characters' thoughts.

'Yare yare' means Saiki is talking telepathically

Seems like the gods have finally decided to smile upon you, it’s one lucky thing after another. First, you’re in the same group as him, and then now you’ve been both assigned to make the graves!?

“So..” You start, looking at him for any sign of reciprocity for conversation. There’s none, oh well. “How should we do this?” You ask, and he just stares at you.

“Uhm..” You stare back and his face gets progressively more confused.

…

“Well, uhm..” Taking your eyes away from him and onto the materials laid out on the floor you start thinking of what you could do.

“We can make a mix of curved and rectangular graves.” You say, not waiting for his approval— he probably won’t answer again— as you grab the pencil to sketch the grave on the cardboard.

You feel his eyes on you the whole time, if he had super laser eyes there’d probably be a hole in the back of your head.

Shifting uncomfortably under his eyes you stop sketching for a little bit, “Aren’t you going to help..?” Wordlessly, he starts sketching by your side too.

Is he just not going to talk to you the whole time?

After a few minutes, Chiyo checks up on the both of you. “How are things going with you guys?”

Before you could even say anything she was already nodding and saying good job on the progress, like she was holding some kind of conversation with Saiki.

The fuck?

Are you missing a memo here or does Saiki and Chiyo have some kind of deeper understanding?

Are they, like, together..?

—

The walk back home is filled with thoughts about Saiki’s and Chiyo’s relationship, you can’t help but think that they’re together.

‘If they’re together, how come Chiyo didn’t pair themselves together??’ You ask yourself, “Maybe they’re keeping it lowkey.’ Another thought supplied.

With a sigh you decide to take a left instead of your usual right to go back home, maybe a treat could get you out of your own head. ‘Café Mami it is.’

Taglist: @jaiistg @greeningout @mit-suri @h0rnyp0t @yuukiririix @2dmenfr @naevisringring @roseberry-jam @syqashiee

Your relationship with Sukuna was on its last legs. You tried to make things work, but he was as difficult as it could get, and mean. After a particularly terrible fight, the two of you made up, and you began to hope again. Later that night, his friends called, inviting him to the club. You told him you weren’t comfortable with it. He agreed to stay, even tucking you into bed.

But once you fell asleep, he snuck out.

Things went downhill from there.

Sukuna and his friends drank heavily, and soon he was caught up in the chaos—laughing, dancing, and losing control. While you slept, his friends began posting videos online: Sukuna receiving a lap dance, drunk and kissing another girl, clearly high and out of his mind.

When you woke up, you reached over to find his side of the bed cold and empty. You thought he had left early for work. But then your phone started blowing up with messages from friends and strangers alike. Your heart pounded as you unlocked it and opened Instagram, only to see the posts.

One after another, each post felt like a knife to your chest—Sukuna smiling lazily, his hands on another woman, his lips brushing hers. You could see the flashing lights, hear the blaring music, and feel the sting of betrayal in every picture and clip. Your fingers trembled, and your vision blurred with tears as you watched in disbelief.

The room felt like it was spinning. You tried to steady yourself, but the weight of it all was crushing. How could he do this to you, especially after you had been so open, so vulnerable about your feelings? After he had promised to stay?

You had told him, in the heat of making up, that this was his last chance. You were clear: if he messed up again, you were packing your things and going back to the States. He had looked you in the eyes and promised. And yet, he still went and did this.

Meanwhile, Sukuna was still sleeping, his head pounding and the room spinning. He didn’t remember a damned thing the night before. He remembered sneaking out, thinking he’d make it back before sunrise, slip back into bed, and act like nothing happened. You were just being too dramatic, he thought. You’d told him how you didn’t like his friends, that they hated you and were trying to break the two of you up. He’d laughed it off as paranoia. Crazy talk.

He vaguely remembered drinking a shot—just one—and after that, things got hazy. He didn’t believe for a second that his friends would spike his drink.

No, they’d never do that… right?

But now, as he blinked his eyes open, he realized something was very wrong. Next to him was a woman he didn’t recognize, definitely not you. The sunlight was streaming through the window, and panic shot through his body like a jolt of electricity. His heart raced as he sat up, the events of the night before still a foggy blur.

“Oh, shit,” he muttered under his breath, his mind starting to piece together the fragments. You two had just made up—how could he have been so reckless?

Sukuna fumbled for his phone, his hands shaking. The screen lit up, showing the time: 12:46. His heart sank even further. He really had messed up this time. The battery was about to die, a thin red line warning him he had little time left. He glanced around, trying to make sense of the unfamiliar room.

What confused him most was that he was still in his clothes from the night before. A small relief—at least he hadn’t slept with the woman next to him. But that didn’t matter much, did it? He was still in bed with another woman, a stranger, and that alone was enough to shatter whatever trust you had left in him.

His head throbbed with a dull, pounding pain, a mix of alcohol and regret. He desperately needed water, but his feet felt glued to the floor. As he forced himself to sit up, the room seemed to spin around him. He rubbed his temples, trying to shake off the fog of the hangover, but his mind remained a jumbled mess.

He checked his phone again, scrolling through the flood of messages, but your name wasn’t among them. No missed calls, no texts, no messages. Just silence.

It took you two hours to get yourself to function properly. When something traumatic happened, you had this tendency to just shut down. No crying, no shouting—just silence. You couldn’t even talk right now. You sat on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the wall, your mind numb. The pain was so immense that it felt like nothing at all, a hollow void where your heart should be.

Slowly, you got up, moving like you were underwater, every step heavy and disjointed. You made your way to the bedroom closet and grabbed a suitcase, your hands moving on autopilot. You began packing everything you owned in this place, methodically folding clothes, stacking books, gathering small, personal items that had once made this space feel like home. Now, every object felt like a weight dragging you down.

You didn’t remember much from those moments, only flashes of despair and confusion. Your mind was clouded, a fog of grief settling over you. All you knew was that you wanted to disappear, to somehow escape the unbearable ache in your chest.

How could this happen? Why? The questions repeated in your mind, over and over, like a broken record. Were you not enough? Was he cheating this whole time?

Your thoughts spiraled into a dark place, each one more suffocating than the last. The silence of the room pressed in around you, amplifying every doubt, every fear. You felt lost in a sea of uncertainty, desperately searching for something to hold onto, but finding nothing but emptiness.

You paused for a moment, standing still in the middle of the room, clutching a shirt to your chest. You wanted to scream, to cry, to do anything, but no sound came out. All that filled you was a deep, aching void that left you feeling more alone than ever before.

Just as you finished packing, the door opened, but you didn't flinch. Your fingers continued scrolling through your phone, searching for flight tickets. You didn’t care where it would take you—anywhere but here.

Sukuna stepped inside, his expression a mix of confusion and panic. You didn’t look up. Your face remained calm, almost eerily so, as if you were in a trance. You kept scrolling, your focus entirely on the screen, like it was the only thing anchoring you to reality.

“Where are you going?” he asked, his voice tight with panic. But you said nothing.

Your face was expressionless, your eyes fixed on your phone. He moved closer, desperate now. “Please,” he continued, “can’t we just… talk?”

Finally, you paused, letting out a slow, controlled breath. But you didn’t look at him. Your silence was deafening, more unnerving than any yelling or screaming could have been.

He swallowed hard, sensing the change, feeling the weight of your silence pressing down on him. “I… I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he tried again. "I don’t even remember what happened. I think I was drugged or something..." His voice grew softer, almost pleading now.

You continued to tap the screen, the sound of your fingers the only noise in the room. You found a flight and pressed "book," moving methodically, as if this was just another task on a list. Your calmness was unnerving, like the quiet before a storm.

“Y/N… please,” Sukuna whispered, taking another step forward, but your detachment made him falter.

You finally glanced up at him, your expression unreadable, your voice steady and calm. “I'm leaving,” you said quietly, as if stating a simple fact.

He blinked, stunned by the flatness of your tone. There was no anger, no emotion—just a cold, stark finality. “But… we can work this out,” he stammered, “right?”

You looked back at your phone, as if he were no longer even there. You were done listening, done hoping, done believing. His words were just noise now, meaningless in the face of everything he had broken.

Sukuna was a big man, another reason you had fallen in love with him. Being with him had made you feel so safe, so happy. But when you reached for your suitcase, he finally broke.

He snatched it out of your hand. "No, no, you're not leaving me," he insisted, his voice frantic. "Look, please just listen. I know I lied to you and snuck out, but I swear I would never cheat on you."

You stood still, watching him, his large frame towering over you, his eyes wide with fear and desperation. But your heart felt like ice. You could see the panic in his eyes, hear the tremor in his voice, but it didn’t matter. Not anymore.

His hands gripped the suitcase so tightly that his knuckles turned white. "Please," he begged again, "just… don’t go."

For a moment, you almost felt something—a flicker of the love you used to feel. But it was gone as quickly as it came. “Let go,” your voice is calm and steady.

“No, look, I would do anything,” he blurted out, his voice rising with desperation. “Okay, I see now why you don’t like my friends. I’ll cut them out. I won’t ever talk to another girl again. Just… anything. Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it. Please.”

He was a mess, still hungover, his head pounding, his hands trembling. His breath came in ragged gasps as he struggled to keep it together, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. He looked so close to breaking down completely.

Why did he make this mistake? Why did he let himself slip up so badly? You had given him a chance, and he had blown it in mere hours. The realization seemed to dawn on him, his face twisting with guilt and regret. His shoulders sagged, and his voice broke. "I don’t want to lose you,” he whispered, his tone raw with fear.

But it didn’t matter anymore. Whatever he was offering now felt hollow, too little, too late. Your heart felt heavy, but your mind was made up.

"Let go," you repeated, firmer this time, your eyes locking onto his.

Sukuna's hand fell away from the suitcase as if it weighed a ton, his breath hitching. He wanted to fight, to argue, but the defeat in your eyes left him lost. “I’m so sorry,” he mumbled, his voice almost inaudible, choking on his own words.

But all you did was nod, a small, almost imperceptible nod, and turn toward the door.

He stood there, his whole world crumbling, as you walked away.

the world when you're with me

synopsis: you seek out sylus for comfort after realizing you were wrong about him.

tags: comfort, fluff, implied avoidant!reader learns to trust sylus, implied avoidant!reader clings to sylus, sylus takes care of reader from afar, sylus has mephisto and the twins follow reader but wbk pairing: sylus x reader, reader is mostly mc word count: 802

a/n: is this the peak of literature? no. did i need to write it after the day i had? yes. did i need to post it today? no, because i’m trying to stagger my posts more, but here we are. anyway 4k caleb pwp coming tomorrow 

For the first few weeks after you’d infiltrated the N109 Zone, you’d avoided Sylus Qin like the plague. 

After being scared out of your wits by the first version of him you'd met—the cold, unavailable criminal mastermind who’d forced you to shoot him within 5 minutes of knowing one other—you were unashamedly wary of working with him again. 

But Sylus’s intel was unrivaled. More and more often, you found yourself visiting the N109 Zone to meet with him, eventually not even bothering to book a place to stay. There was always a guest room at the Onychinus base prepped for your arrival.

As you spent more time with Sylus, he’d noticeably changed his approach to interacting with you. Rather than forcing you to resonate with him, he’d explained to you how his Evol worked, letting you aim his hands at some training dummies to test it out yourself. Instead of unceremoniously shutting you out when he was tired, he’d drag his robe-and-slippers-clad self to sit beside you on the sofa, answering your cautious questions by practically giving away all his secrets. 

His shift in attitude hadn't stopped there. Sylus had clearly been using that endearingly incorrigible crow to keep tabs on you, but for the strangest reasons. 

Whenever you had a bad day at work, some building-wide maintenance emergency would magically appear, forcing your team to cease operations for the rest of the day. He’d text you a couple hours after your early dismissal, saying he was in the city and inviting you on an evening joyride to clear your head.  

The day after you’d lugged a case of water up the stairs to your apartment, having to pause a couple times to catch your breath, you came home to see your fridge mysteriously stocked with groceries. The only traces left behind were the masked twin figures you spotted scurrying away from your window. 

When a new phone showed up at your doorstep one day—you never even told him you’d shattered your screen, you thought—you’d decided that Sylus wasn’t as bad as you’d once assumed. Not anywhere near as bad, in fact. He was thoughtful, generous, and helped you without taking credit or forcing you to ask for it. You’d never had that before.

Which is why, somehow, you find yourself standing in the doorway of his armory, studying him silently as he polishes an antique-looking gun.

When he notices you, Sylus looks up, raising a delicately arched eyebrow. “Something wrong, kitten?” he drawls, subtly checking your body for injuries. 

Mind numb from your absolutely dreadful day, you stay silent while Sylus looks at you expectantly, his hands forgetting their earlier task. 

But for the next minute, you remain hovering in the doorway. You expect him to get annoyed—you almost want him to, so you have an excuse to go back to relying only on yourself—but all you see on Sylus’s face is patience.

When you start shuffling toward him, that patience mixes with a glimmer of anticipation that he visibly tries to suppress. You need him to be calm right now—an anchor, he thinks. If he loses his composure, if he startles you with his excitement at your approach, you might bolt at any moment. 

Sometime during his inner struggle, you reach him. Meekly, you stand before his chair, briefly opening your mouth before closing it. 

“What is it, sweetie?” he asks softly. “Tell me, and we can figure it out together. I’ll personally track down whoever seems to have stolen your words from you.”

At his offer, you break, collapsing into his lap. His large, warm hands immediately encircle your waist, and you bury your face into his neck, inhaling his leather and spice cologne. 

“Aw,” he coos in his baritone voice, rocking you slowly in his embrace. When he lifts your head an inch, you resist, letting out a soft whine. Gently, he guides your head back to his chest, his quickening heartbeat thumping in your ears and grounding you in the the moment. 

After several moments of silence, your deep, shuddering breaths the only interruptions, Sylus murmurs into your ear. “When I noticed you never ask for help, I was worried the world may not be treating as well as it should. You must be very tired, hmm?” he asks, rubbing his chin against your hair. 

Tightening your arms around him, you sit there for a while, his steady breaths seeming to mend a decades-long rift in your heart.

The next time Sylus tries to lift your head, you let him. He pulls your face from his neck so he can look into your eyes, hoping his gaze conveys his sincerity, before pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. 

“You don’t need the world when you’re with me,” he promises. “I’ll treat you better than it ever could.”

Im just thinking about something serpentine or snake like deciding my human body is the perfect warm and humid environment to host its clutch of eggs. It constricting around its chosen host in a tight coil and the width of it alone forcing your legs open and keeping them open with more force than a spreader bar could ever hope to achieve. Thick, oblong and fat eggs being deposited into your body one by one, popping through your forcibly dilated cervix while youre hardly able to breathe from the weight of the massive serpent using your holes for its many young.

cw. established relationship, reader is a perv n a tease, caleb is sort of a perv here too ithink, idk they are both freaky n they match 💔 this is to make up for the bs i posted like two days ago! also i am tempted to try out smaller text.. should i poll it

boyfriend!caleb who swears you’re sooo innocent. the first few months of any relationship are the most tumultuous ones, and you’re shy. he knows he has to tread lightly and carefully, to cement the fact that he loves you unconditionally and always will, that it isn’t just about sex. plus, this is your first real relationship. he doesn’t want to scare you off and screw this up by being too hasty, despite feeling like he’s wearing combat boots while traveling through eggshells.

but, god, are you hard to resist.

it’s like you don’t even know how just how hard he gets when you wear those thin tops that do nothing to hide your pert nipples or when you send him pictures of those dangerously short skirts — the ones where, with just a wave of his hand, could lift up and reveal the dainty, soaked panties you have on underneath.

if he could bring himself to hate anything you do, he’d say he hates it when you send them those photos at work the most, because then he’s forced to leave a meeting or kick a subordinate out of his office just to rub one out. :((

caleb’s thoughts are just so filthy, too — ranging from using your pretty tits to get off to just keeping you home and spending all day, everyday stuffing your cunt full of his cum until the two of you have at least five kids.

but even he knows that’s far too fast for the two of you. no part of him has ever been inside you (save for his tongue when you two make out), and yet here he is, fantasizing about debauching his sweetheart of a girlfriend.

shame on him.

but it’s not like you aren’t thinking the same.

you like walking around his cold house with no bra and a flimsy little camisole. you like wearing tiny shorts with no panties to sleep or short skirts that is, really, but a scrap of fabric. you like accidentally brushing your foot against his crotch during dinner or shifting far too much in his lap whenever you two are watching a show.

caleb’s reactions are priceless — the way his breath gets caught in his throat, how his soft cheeks grow a dusty pink, the subtle jerk of his hips or adjustment of his hardening cock in his pants . .

how could you resist provoking him more, especially when you know he’s doing so much to hold back?

you’ve heard him, whether it be when he’s in the shower, the door cracked open just enough for you to peer in, or late at night when he thinks you’re asleep, fucking his fist like a hormonal teenager or, worse (in his eyes), humping the bed. it’s like he forgets that you’re right there, that you could pop into the bathroom for something while he’s moaning your name or wake up mid-orgasm and watch all that cum go to waste on his toned abs or thighs.

it’d be so easy to interrupt. a little too easy, actually, as if he’s subconsciously wishing that you would catch him and scold him for being so perverted, so disgusting.

but you won’t, no matter how badly you want to take his dick into your mouth and clean it up until he’s quivering with the force of another orgasm or slip into the shower behind him and help him work himself over with softer and smaller hands.

you’ll keep playing the long game, teasing caleb with feigned naivete, sending him pretty pictures while he’s at work and pushing him further and further to the brink until he has no choice but to snap and take you for himself, ripping clothes and spitting and spanking.

there’s only so much a man can take, after all, and he’s undeniably weak to you.

Helloo if I may ask can you do where kusuke makes a little device that removes saiki's x-ray vision and seeing that the reader is pretty?

Pls say yes AND thanks for reading my request beautiful person that i adore 😎.

:3

This was a thought that once occurred in my head; whether I can verbalize my thoughts and write them down is another can of worms.

tiny drabble, may expand on this one, tbh. Not proofread 💔 (none of my works are)

Kusuo knew opening packages from his brother was a mistake—though his mother insisted. Good grief.

He half expected some weird prototype, or even some freaky gag gift—the usual. What did he find? New glasses and antennas, which was odd. His glasses worked fine, maybe it was some sort of prank? His antennae was quite fine as well.

‘To my dear little brother,’

‘I write and deliver to you, my newest prototype! I wish you enjoy my latest findings, and thank me for them. You must use the new set together, you cannot mix and match them!’

‘Warm Regards,’

‘S.K’

Just how annoying could his brother get?

With gentle precaution, Kusuo replaced his glasses and antennas. He didn’t notice any initial difference. Maybe it was some sort of prank? Would he feel a shock? Would he realize that kusuke is monitoring him now? All questions were answered when his father entered. How strange, he wasn’t muscle and tissue…but rather his father. Kusuo’s eyes widened by a small margin.

“Ku, your friend is downstairs, they’re here to see you.”

It was you, you were the only one his mother let in without calling him down first. Perhaps his mother sent his father as a messenger. He merely nodded, he didn’t need his father pestering him with his newfound sight. With his normal, silent grace, he followed his father halfway before she deviated to be in her room.

Nothing could prepare him for the first sight of someone that wasn’t his family. What words could he use? He never used beautiful, handsome, striking, cute, or pretty to describe an organism…so how could he describe you? How do you attribute pretty and cute properly? Sure, he’s seen photos of people, more or less skin, with or without his consent, but they’re not physical. You there and three dimensional. How could words describe you? Skin and eyelashes. Smile lines and crinkled eye corners. Pores and color. Your picture and your personality. Is this how attraction felt? Is this how boys felt when Teruhashi walked by?

No, it couldn’t be. You were the real thing, to him you would be the only real thing.

Very light fake plastic trees mention!!!

I ALWAYS KNEW CALEB'S KISS WOULD BE OUT OF THIS WORLD

Check out my dragon masterlist for more delicious stuff 🖤

Your relationship with Sukuna was on its last legs. You tried to make things work, but he was as difficult as it could get, and mean. After a particularly terrible fight, the two of you made up, and you began to hope again. Later that night, his friends called, inviting him to the club. You told him you weren’t comfortable with it. He agreed to stay, even tucking you into bed.

But once you fell asleep, he snuck out.

Things went downhill from there.

Sukuna and his friends drank heavily, and soon he was caught up in the chaos—laughing, dancing, and losing control. While you slept, his friends began posting videos online: Sukuna receiving a lap dance, drunk and kissing another girl, clearly high and out of his mind.

When you woke up, you reached over to find his side of the bed cold and empty. You thought he had left early for work. But then your phone started blowing up with messages from friends and strangers alike. Your heart pounded as you unlocked it and opened Instagram, only to see the posts.

One after another, each post felt like a knife to your chest—Sukuna smiling lazily, his hands on another woman, his lips brushing hers. You could see the flashing lights, hear the blaring music, and feel the sting of betrayal in every picture and clip. Your fingers trembled, and your vision blurred with tears as you watched in disbelief.

The room felt like it was spinning. You tried to steady yourself, but the weight of it all was crushing. How could he do this to you, especially after you had been so open, so vulnerable about your feelings? After he had promised to stay?

You had told him, in the heat of making up, that this was his last chance. You were clear: if he messed up again, you were packing your things and going back to the States. He had looked you in the eyes and promised. And yet, he still went and did this.

Meanwhile, Sukuna was still sleeping, his head pounding and the room spinning. He didn’t remember a damned thing the night before. He remembered sneaking out, thinking he’d make it back before sunrise, slip back into bed, and act like nothing happened. You were just being too dramatic, he thought. You’d told him how you didn’t like his friends, that they hated you and were trying to break the two of you up. He’d laughed it off as paranoia. Crazy talk.

He vaguely remembered drinking a shot—just one—and after that, things got hazy. He didn’t believe for a second that his friends would spike his drink.

No, they’d never do that… right?

But now, as he blinked his eyes open, he realized something was very wrong. Next to him was a woman he didn’t recognize, definitely not you. The sunlight was streaming through the window, and panic shot through his body like a jolt of electricity. His heart raced as he sat up, the events of the night before still a foggy blur.

“Oh, shit,” he muttered under his breath, his mind starting to piece together the fragments. You two had just made up—how could he have been so reckless?

Sukuna fumbled for his phone, his hands shaking. The screen lit up, showing the time: 12:46. His heart sank even further. He really had messed up this time. The battery was about to die, a thin red line warning him he had little time left. He glanced around, trying to make sense of the unfamiliar room.

What confused him most was that he was still in his clothes from the night before. A small relief—at least he hadn’t slept with the woman next to him. But that didn’t matter much, did it? He was still in bed with another woman, a stranger, and that alone was enough to shatter whatever trust you had left in him.

His head throbbed with a dull, pounding pain, a mix of alcohol and regret. He desperately needed water, but his feet felt glued to the floor. As he forced himself to sit up, the room seemed to spin around him. He rubbed his temples, trying to shake off the fog of the hangover, but his mind remained a jumbled mess.

He checked his phone again, scrolling through the flood of messages, but your name wasn’t among them. No missed calls, no texts, no messages. Just silence.

It took you two hours to get yourself to function properly. When something traumatic happened, you had this tendency to just shut down. No crying, no shouting—just silence. You couldn’t even talk right now. You sat on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the wall, your mind numb. The pain was so immense that it felt like nothing at all, a hollow void where your heart should be.

Slowly, you got up, moving like you were underwater, every step heavy and disjointed. You made your way to the bedroom closet and grabbed a suitcase, your hands moving on autopilot. You began packing everything you owned in this place, methodically folding clothes, stacking books, gathering small, personal items that had once made this space feel like home. Now, every object felt like a weight dragging you down.

You didn’t remember much from those moments, only flashes of despair and confusion. Your mind was clouded, a fog of grief settling over you. All you knew was that you wanted to disappear, to somehow escape the unbearable ache in your chest.

How could this happen? Why? The questions repeated in your mind, over and over, like a broken record. Were you not enough? Was he cheating this whole time?

Your thoughts spiraled into a dark place, each one more suffocating than the last. The silence of the room pressed in around you, amplifying every doubt, every fear. You felt lost in a sea of uncertainty, desperately searching for something to hold onto, but finding nothing but emptiness.

You paused for a moment, standing still in the middle of the room, clutching a shirt to your chest. You wanted to scream, to cry, to do anything, but no sound came out. All that filled you was a deep, aching void that left you feeling more alone than ever before.

Just as you finished packing, the door opened, but you didn't flinch. Your fingers continued scrolling through your phone, searching for flight tickets. You didn’t care where it would take you—anywhere but here.

Sukuna stepped inside, his expression a mix of confusion and panic. You didn’t look up. Your face remained calm, almost eerily so, as if you were in a trance. You kept scrolling, your focus entirely on the screen, like it was the only thing anchoring you to reality.

“Where are you going?” he asked, his voice tight with panic. But you said nothing.

Your face was expressionless, your eyes fixed on your phone. He moved closer, desperate now. “Please,” he continued, “can’t we just… talk?”

Finally, you paused, letting out a slow, controlled breath. But you didn’t look at him. Your silence was deafening, more unnerving than any yelling or screaming could have been.

He swallowed hard, sensing the change, feeling the weight of your silence pressing down on him. “I… I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he tried again. "I don’t even remember what happened. I think I was drugged or something..." His voice grew softer, almost pleading now.

You continued to tap the screen, the sound of your fingers the only noise in the room. You found a flight and pressed "book," moving methodically, as if this was just another task on a list. Your calmness was unnerving, like the quiet before a storm.

“Y/N… please,” Sukuna whispered, taking another step forward, but your detachment made him falter.

You finally glanced up at him, your expression unreadable, your voice steady and calm. “I'm leaving,” you said quietly, as if stating a simple fact.

He blinked, stunned by the flatness of your tone. There was no anger, no emotion—just a cold, stark finality. “But… we can work this out,” he stammered, “right?”

You looked back at your phone, as if he were no longer even there. You were done listening, done hoping, done believing. His words were just noise now, meaningless in the face of everything he had broken.

Sukuna was a big man, another reason you had fallen in love with him. Being with him had made you feel so safe, so happy. But when you reached for your suitcase, he finally broke.

He snatched it out of your hand. "No, no, you're not leaving me," he insisted, his voice frantic. "Look, please just listen. I know I lied to you and snuck out, but I swear I would never cheat on you."

You stood still, watching him, his large frame towering over you, his eyes wide with fear and desperation. But your heart felt like ice. You could see the panic in his eyes, hear the tremor in his voice, but it didn’t matter. Not anymore.

His hands gripped the suitcase so tightly that his knuckles turned white. "Please," he begged again, "just… don’t go."

For a moment, you almost felt something—a flicker of the love you used to feel. But it was gone as quickly as it came. “Let go,” your voice is calm and steady.

“No, look, I would do anything,” he blurted out, his voice rising with desperation. “Okay, I see now why you don’t like my friends. I’ll cut them out. I won’t ever talk to another girl again. Just… anything. Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it. Please.”

He was a mess, still hungover, his head pounding, his hands trembling. His breath came in ragged gasps as he struggled to keep it together, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. He looked so close to breaking down completely.

Why did he make this mistake? Why did he let himself slip up so badly? You had given him a chance, and he had blown it in mere hours. The realization seemed to dawn on him, his face twisting with guilt and regret. His shoulders sagged, and his voice broke. "I don’t want to lose you,” he whispered, his tone raw with fear.

But it didn’t matter anymore. Whatever he was offering now felt hollow, too little, too late. Your heart felt heavy, but your mind was made up.

"Let go," you repeated, firmer this time, your eyes locking onto his.

Sukuna's hand fell away from the suitcase as if it weighed a ton, his breath hitching. He wanted to fight, to argue, but the defeat in your eyes left him lost. “I’m so sorry,” he mumbled, his voice almost inaudible, choking on his own words.

But all you did was nod, a small, almost imperceptible nod, and turn toward the door.

He stood there, his whole world crumbling, as you walked away.

—That’s where these stories get wrong.

Warning: Harsh existential themes, deconstruction of reader-insert tropes. Angst! Read at your own risk.

I wrote this with Sylus in mind, though i guess it applies with all characters.

Just a short little drabble, do not take this to heart or think too much of it! After all, everything’s fiction

word count: 296 words

We’ve all probably read countless stories, including the ‘reader-insert’ ones. Maybe they’re ones about you being a part of his world. Maybe you’re someone from his past, maybe you’re a new addition to his story. Among those, a specific trope is well-loved: him becoming aware—him entering our world.

In these, maybe he’d scavenge the earth for you. Or maybe one day, he’d just appear in your room, sleeping beside you.

But in all of them, one thing remains constant.

He’d fall in love with you.

That’s where these stories get wrong.

He exists in a world of power, a world that bends to him, shapes itself around his presence. Even in fiction, he is wanted—not by one, not by a few, but by millions. Beautiful women. Powerful women. Women who don’t just dream of standing beside him but deserve to.

And what are you?

A face in the crowd. One of countless, no different, no brighter, no reason to be seen when there are so many others.

These stories pretend the universe will break its laws, twist the fabric of fate, just so he will look your way.

But why?

What force, what logic, what truth would make that happen?

Because you’re the reader? You’re a fan? You love him?

So does everyone else.

You could pass by him on the street and he wouldn’t turn his head. You could sit across from him in a crowded room, and his gaze would slide over you like you were never there at all. Because there’d be no invisible hand bending the story for you.

He doesn’t need to be trapped in a game to be in a different world than you.

Even if he’s here, physically, in this reality—he’d still be in a different world than you.