choo:)

His movement snares your attention as he shifts suddenly above you, his lower half dropping low enough that he can begin to grind between your spread legs. The spatter of hair at his base tickles at your over sensitive clit while the tip of him continues to kiss incessantly somewhere tight and silky - deep enough that a pleasant little ache blooms to life low in your gut.

His knuckles dig into the mattress either side of your head, muscles leaping in his thick forearms, and you groan unashamedly at the sudden closeness of him. You all but melt into the new layer of contact, head tossed sideward until your lips graze his skin, frantic breaths puffing hot and humid over the delicate skin of his wrist.

“Oh ffffu-huh-…oh fuck, ‘kuna…” you moan, shaking your head, lips parted in a mindless sort of awe.

All you can feel is the firm smack of his hips as he works you into the mattress. The sensation is stunning, all consuming, enough to send your legs into a trembling wobble on each downward pump, each thrust winding that little coil in your belly ever tighter.

“No,” He grunts from above you, “not ‘kuna.”

He lifts the last word into a pitched lilt - high and a little breathless in a pointed mockery of you.

“It’s daddy now, isn’t it?”

The sheer sound of his voice, that dirty word growled in his silky rumble is enough to send your eyes rolling skyward. You moan - weak, unashamed, and you hear him chuckle lowly in reply.

“What’s the matter?” He coos, though there’s nothing soothing about the hungry edge his voice has taken on, “you wanted me to take care of you, didn’t you?”

You nod wildly, struggling to lift your lids to blink up at him - a task which suddenly feels herculean with the way his attention is scrambling your already pleasure drunk brain.

“Go on,” he purrs, slow thrusts turned suddenly lethal - firm slaps of his hips tight and wet against your own. Your thighs are trembling now beneath the weight of his assault, wracked with the sheer force of each thrust, “call for me again, pet.”

bf!toji becomes totally obsessed with this—knowing he can make you lose control just by touching you makes his ego go through the roof. the sweet boyfriend who hates to see you cry in public completely disappears behind closed doors. in bed, your tears mean he's doing a good job.

bf!toji gets really smug and loves to tease you about it. he’ll purposely slow down, touching the exact spot that makes you crazy, watching your eyes fill with tears while he smirks.

"look at you," he’ll whisper, wiping a tear away with his thumb. "crying already? you're so sweet for me. keep going, let me see how good it feels."

bf!toji loves to push you over the edge by building the friction until you can't take it. he’ll pin your wrists above your head, spreading your legs wide so he can look right at you while he slides all the way inside. every time he thrusts deep and hits your sweet spot, a fresh wave of tears leaks from your eyes, and he just stares down at you with a dark, heavy grin, loving how loud you gasp and sob under him.

bf!toji who will change positions just to make you cry harder. he'll flip you onto your stomach, pulling your hips up high so he can slide in from behind. the angle is deep and intense, and as he grips your waist hard enough to leave marks, you're burying your face in the pillows to muffle your crying. he'll lean down, his chest pressing against your back, and talk right into your ear.

"baby, let me hear it—turn your head and look at me—god, look at how wet your face is just because i'm stretching you out like this."

bf!toji decides that if you aren't crying by the end of the night, he didn't try hard enough. it becomes a game to him. he will deliberately push you over the edge, using his dick and his dirty mouth to keep you completely overwhelmed until you're shaking and crying in his arms.

and you'd seen the way sukuna had started looking at you when he thought you weren't paying attention.

that was the part that stuck with you, honestly. the way you'd catch sukuna staring at you across the library table or from the other end of his worn-out couch, his expression soft and unguarded in a way he'd never let you see before that tuesday. the way he'd immediately look away the very second your gaze met his, his jaw tightening like he'd been caught doing something really embarrassing.

three weeks of this; sukuna flirting and panicking and flirting again, of you pushing just enough to make him squirm but not enough to break the careful dance you'd both settled into.

three weeks of both of you pretending that something fundamental hadn't shifted between you, that you hadn't accidentally kicked open a door sukuna had been trying to keep closed so freaking bad.

but today, you were done pretending.

today, you were going to kiss your flirty best friend, sukuna, and you were going to do it in a way that left absolutely no room for interpretation.

today, it was a saturday afternoon, the kind that felt lazy and golden and full of possibility, and you'd shown up at sukuna's apartment with a bag of takeout from that thai place he liked so much and the specific kind of determination that came from weeks of watching him flail.

sukuna opened the door looking like he'd just rolled out of bed, which was probably accurate given that it was almost two in the afternoon and he'd texted you at 4am about a dream he'd had where his stats professor turned into a sentient spreadsheet. sukuna's pink hair was messier than usual, sticking up in ways that shouldn't have been attractive but absolutely were, and he was wearing that faded black t-shirt that had a small hole near the collar and made his tattoos stand out even more against his skin.

"you brought food," sukuna said, his voice rough with sleep, and the way his eyes lit up made something warm curl in your chest. "i was about to text you to ask if you wanted to order something. i haven't eaten since, like, yesterday."

"that's disgusting," you said, stepping past him into the apartment. "and also incredibly on-brand for you."

sukuna made a little sound of protest that was mostly performative, shutting the door behind you and following you into the living room like a large, tattooed shadow.

the apartment was the same as always — slightly cluttered, faintly smelling like his cologne and whatever takeout containers he hadn't thrown out yet, with that old leather couch that had seen better decades and the coffee table covered in his notes and empty energy drink cans.

you set the takeout bags on the table and turned to face him, and of course, sukuna was already looking at you with that familiar, lazy amusement, like he was already gearing up to say something annoying.

"you know," sukuna said, folding his arms across his chest in a way that made the muscles in his forearms shift, the dark lines of his tattoos pulling tight over bone and tendon. "you're kind of spoiling me. showing up with food, looking all—" sukuna gestured vaguely at you, his eyes dragging down and then back up in a way that was supposed to be teasing. "—like that. i might start expecting this."

"expecting what?" you asked, and you kept your voice light, casual, like you weren't about to completely upend both of your lives. "me bringing you food because you can't be bothered to feed yourself?"

"no," he said, and his grin sharpened, that particular tilt to his mouth that meant he was about to be a menace. "you showing up. looking good. being all—" he made another vague gesture, his fingers curling in the air like he was trying to grab the right word. "—you know. you."

and there it was, the thing that had changed, that you'd noticed more and more over the past few weeks.

sukuna had stopped simply saying you looked cute or making some comment about your outfit — the pink haired boy was getting softer, clumsier, like he was trying to say something real and didn't quite know how.

you could feel your stupid heart beating a little faster in your chest, but you kept your expression steady, and your posture easy. you'd been planning this for days now, running through it in your head again and again, trying to figure out the right moment and the right way to do it.

"you," you repeated, and you stepped closer to him, just one step, close enough that you could see the way his throat moved when he swallowed. "is that supposed to be a compliment, kuna? because it's kind of vague."

sukuna's eyebrows pulled together, just slightly, the way they always did when you deviated from your usual deflections. his arms were still crossed, but you could see the tension in his broads shoulders now, the way sukuna was holding himself just a little too still.

"it's not vague," he said, and his voice had dropped just a fraction, that roughness from sleep still clinging to the edges of it. "you know what i mean."

"do i?"

you took another step closer, and now you were close enough to see the way his pupils had dilated just slightly, the way his breath had caught in his throat. his tattoos seemed to darken against his skin in the afternoon light filtering through the windows, those familiar lines shifting as his muscles tensed.

"you're doing it again," sukuna said, and there it was, that slight crack in his voice, the one that had been appearing more and more often over the past few weeks. "the thing where you're—where you act like—"

"act like what?"

sukuna's arms uncrossed, and for a moment he looked like he didn't know what to do with them, his hands flexing at his sides before he shoved them into the pockets of his sweatpants. the gesture was almost defensive, and you could see the way his jaw worked as he ground his teeth together.

"act like you're going to—" he stopped, swallowed, tried again. "you know what. you know exactly what you're doing."

"do i?" you asked again, softer this time, and you let your gaze drop to his mouth for just a second before bringing it back to his eyes. "tell me, then. what am i doing?"

sukuna's breath hitched; you heard it, the way it caught in his chest and came out uneven, and you watched the flush start creeping up his neck in that splotchy pattern you'd become intimately familiar with over the past few weeks. it started at his collarbones, just visible above the collar of his t-shirt, and spread upward in patches that stained his skin pink.

"you're—" sukuna started, and then he had to stop to clear his throat, the sound embarrassingly loud in the quiet apartment. "you're trying to make me—i don't know what you're trying to make me do, but you're doing it on purpose."

"maybe," you said, and you let yourself smile, just a small one, the same way you had three weeks ago. "maybe i just wanted to see what would happen."

sukuna's eyes went wide, and you could see the memory of that tuesday flickering across his flushed face — the way you'd leaned in, the way he'd frozen, the way he'd spent the rest of the evening in a daze, not flirting once, just staring at you when he thought you weren't looking.

"that's not—" sukuna started, and then his voice cracked, and the sound of it made something in your chest ache. "you can't just—that's not fair. you can't just do that and then act like nothing happened."

"i'm not acting like nothing happened," you said.

you reached out, slowly enough that sukuna could stop you if he wanted to, and let your fingers brush against his wrist. the skin there was warm, his pulse racing beneath your fingertips, and you felt the way he shuddered at the contact.

"i'm acting like something did happen. something that changed things. something we've both been pretending didn't happen for three weeks."

sukuna's mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, and absolutely nothing came out except this small, strangled sound that might have been your name or might have been a prayer. his pulse was hammering under your fingers, fast and uneven, and you could see the way his chest was rising and falling too quickly, like he'd just run up several flights of stairs.

"i—" he started, and then he stopped, and his free hand came up to rub at the back of his neck, the movement jerky and nervous. "you're serious. you're actually—this isn't a joke?"

"no," you said, and you stepped closer, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off his body, close enough that you could smell his cologne and something underneath it that was simply him. "it's not a joke. it was never a joke."

sukuna's eyes searched yours, and you could see the war going on behind them, the part of him that wanted to deflect and the part of him that wanted to just let go. his jaw worked, his throat moved, and his huge hand came up from his neck to hover near your face, not quite touching, like he was afraid you'd disappear if he made contact.

"you're serious," sukuna said again, and his voice was so quiet, so fragile, nothing like the sharp confidence he usually wore. "you're not—you're not just messing with me?"

"i'm not messing with you," you said, and you lifted your other hand to cup his jaw, your palm warm against the stubble there. his skin was hot, his pulse fluttering under your thumb where it rested near his ear, and you watched his eyes flutter closed for just a second before they opened again. "i'm not. i want to kiss you, kuna. i've wanted to kiss you for a while now."

the sound sukuna made was something between a whine and a groan, and his hand finally made contact with your face, his fingers splaying against your cheek like he was trying to memorize the shape of you. his palm was warm and slightly rough, and you could feel the slight tremor in his fingers, the way they shook against your skin.

"you can't just say that," sukuna said, and his voice was wrecked, completely destroyed, like you'd reached into his chest and pulled out something he'd been trying to hide. "you can't just say that and expect me to—i've been—do you have any idea how long i've—"

"how long you've what?" you asked, and you let your thumb trace along his jaw, feeling the way his muscles jumped under your touch. "how long you've wanted to kiss me?"

sukuna's eyes were bright, almost too bright, and his blush had spread to his cheeks now, staining them pink in a way that made him look younger, softer, nothing like the sharp and untouchable figure he pretended to be.

"yes," he said, and the word came out rough and raw, like it had been scraped out of him. "yes, okay? i've wanted—i've wanted to kiss you for years, and you—you just sat there on my couch like it was nothing, like you didn't—"

"like i didn't know?" you finished, and you leaned in, your forehead almost touching his, close enough that your breath mixed with his. "i knew. i just didn't—i wasn't ready. and then that tuesday, when you—when you looked at me like that, i thought maybe you were ready too."

sukuna's hand on your cheek tightened, just slightly, and his other hand came up to grip your hip, his rough fingers pressing into the fabric of your shirt like he was desperately anchoring himself. sukuna's eyes searched yours, and you could see the fear there, the uncertainty, the desperate hope he was trying and failing to hide.

"i'm scared," he said, and his voice broke on the last word, splintering in a way that made your heart ache. "i'm scared that this is—that i'm going to—"

"you're not going to mess this up," you said, and you leaned in closer, your lips almost brushing his. "you're not. i'm right here. i'm not going anywhere."

and then you closed the distance, and you kissed him.

it was soft at first, just a gentle press of your lips against his, testing, asking. sukuna's mouth was warm and slightly chapped, and you could feel the way his breath caught against your skin, the way his hand on your hip tightened convulsively. the kiss was tentative, almost shyly so, and you could feel the tension in sukuna, the way he was holding himself back like he was afraid of breaking something.

but then you pulled back just enough to breathe, and you looked at him, and the expression on sukuna's face literally made your heart stutter.

sukuna's eyes were wide, his pupils blown so dark you could barely see the red of his irises, and his lips were slightly parted, wet from the earlier kiss. sukuna's blush had spread down his neck and disappeared beneath the collar of his shirt, and his breathing was fast and uneven, his chest heaving like he'd just run a marathon.

"was that—" he started, and his voice came out as barely a whisper, cracked and fragile. "did you—"

"yes," you said, and you couldn't help the smile that spread across your face, so warm and so genuine. "that was real. that was me kissing you."

sukuna made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and his hand on your cheek pulled you back in, and this time the kiss was not soft.

this time, it was desperate.

sukuna’s mouth was hungry against yours, like he'd been starving for this for long years and had finally been given permission to eat. his lips moved against yours with a kind of frantic urgency, and his huge hand slid from your cheek into your hair, his long fingers tangling in the strands and pulling you even closer. his other hand was still on your hip, his grip almost bruising, and you could feel the way sukuna’s whole body was trembling against you.

he kissed you like he was trying to memorize the shape of your mouth, like he was trying to pour every unspoken word from the past three weeks into the press of his lips.

sukuna’s warm tongue brushed against your lower lip, asking, and you opened for him, and the sound he made when he tasted you was something you'd never forget — a low, desperate sound that vibrated against your mouth and made your knees feel oh so weak.

you kissed him back just as fiercely, your hands finding his shoulders, feeling the tension there, the way his muscles were coiled tight like he was barely holding himself together. his tattoos shifted under your palms as he moved, those familiar dark lines stretching and pulling over warm skin, and you could feel his pulse hammering under your fingertips.

when you finally broke apart, you were both breathing hard, your foreheads pressed together, and sukuna's eyes were squeezed shut like he was trying to process what the actual hell had just happened.

his chest was heaving, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps, and his hands were still in your hair and on your hip, gripping you like you might disappear if he let go.

"that," sukuna said, and his voice was hoarse, wrecked, completely destroyed. "that was—"

"good?" you offered, and you were smiling, you couldn't help it, the way his whole body was trembling against yours.

"good," he repeated, and he let out a breath that was almost a laugh, almost a sob, somewhere in between. "good doesn't even—i've been wanting that for—and you just—"

sukuna pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes bright and his face flushed, and there was something raw and open in his expression that he'd never let you see before.

"you have no idea how long i've been waiting for that."

"tell me," you said, and you reached up to brush a strand of pink hair from his forehead, feeling the way he leaned into your touch. "tell me how long."

sukuna's lips curved into a smile that was soft and almost shy, absolutely nothing like the sharp grins he usually wore. his blush was still adorably staining his cheeks, and his ears were pink, and he looked so vulnerable and so open that it made something in your chest ache.

"too long," sukuna said, his voice still rough, still fragile. "longer than i want to admit. years, maybe. i don't—i really didn't know how to tell you, and i didn't want to mess things up, and then that tuesday—"

"that tuesday," you repeated, and you laughed, soft and warm. "you were so pathetic. your voice cracked."

"shut up," sukuna said, but he was laughing too, his body shaking against yours. "i was caught off guard. you never—you never do that."

"maybe i should do it more often," you said, and you leaned in to press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, feeling the way he melted into you. "maybe i should kiss you more often."

sukuna's breath hitched, and his hand in your hair tightened, and he turned his head to catch your mouth with his, this kiss slower than the last, deeper, like he was trying to savor it. his lips moved against yours with a kind of tenderness that made your heart swell, and his tongue was tracing your lower lip gently before pulling back.

"yeah," he said against your mouth, his voice barely more than a whisper. "yeah, you should. you really, really should."

and you did.

you kissed sukuna until the takeout got cold, kissed him until the afternoon light shifted into evening, kissed him until he was a trembling, blushing mess in his own living room, his tattoos warm and familiar under your hands and his heart racing against your chest.

sukuna was still pathetic, still whining and blushing and falling apart every time you touched him, and you loved it.

you loved him, you realized, and you'd probably loved him for a little while now, even before that tuesday, even before everything changed.

and from the way sukuna was looking at you, his eyes bright and his face flushed and his mouth curved into that soft, shy smile — he loved you too.

"so," he said finally, his voice still hoarse, his hand still tangled in your hair. "does this mean you're my—like, you're—"

"yes," you said, and you kissed the corner of sukuna’s mouth again, just because you could. "i'm your something. we can figure out the labels later."

sukuna made a sound that was almost a whine, and he pulled you closer to him, burying his blushing face deep in your neck and mumbling something you couldn't quite hear but you were pretty sure was 'finally'.

and you laughed, warm and happy, and held him, and the evening light filtered through his windows and painted the room in shades of gold and pink.

three weeks of pretending had led to this, and it had been more than worth it.

sukuna finally looked up, one dark eyebrow raised, and he turned his head toward the window just to check. when he saw nothing there, his gaze slid back to you with that familiar mixture of amusement and mild offense.

"you're lying."

"oh, am i?" you clicked back to your reading assignment, highlighting a sentence you'd already highlighted twice. "bird must've flown away. tragic timing, really."

sukuna laughed once, short and sharp, and went back to his phone, but you knew damn well he wasn't done; sukuna was never done when he was bored and you were the only person in the room. it was like a game for him, or maybe like a compulsion — throwing out these little flirtatious comments just to see if he could get a reaction, any reaction, even though he'd known you for long enough to understand that you'd stopped reacting to that particular brand of nonsense somewhere around year two of your friendship.

"you know," he said after a moment, dragging the words out like he was savoring them. "most people would at least pretend to be flattered. but you just sit there like a brick wall with a laptop. it's kind of insulting, honestly."

"i'll try to care about your feelings more," you said flatly, not looking up. "let me just find that emotion real quick."

sukuna kicked at your foot with his own, just a light tap of his sneaker against your socked heel.

"you're the worst."

"you're the one who keeps flirting with a brick wall. that sounds like a you problem."

sukuna grinned at that, wide and sharp and entirely unbothered, because this was simply how things worked between the two of you; he'd flirt, you'd deflect, he'd laugh, and then five minutes later he'd ask if you wanted to order food or complain about his stats professor or show you some ridiculous video he found at two in the morning.

it was comfortable, it was routine, and it meant exactly nothing, and you both knew it.

but today, something about the light and the quiet and the way sukuna was sitting there looking entirely too pleased with himself made you feel like switching things up.

just a little.

just to see what would happen.

you set your laptop aside slowly, making a show of closing the screen and placing it on the cushion next to you, and then you turned your body toward him.

sukuna was already watching you with that lazy curiosity he always got when you deviated from your usual patterns, his phone completely forgotten in his hand, and you let your gaze drag over him in a way you never actually did — leisurely and meticulous, like you were taking your time with something you'd been saving for later.

his eyebrows pulled together just slightly. "what?"

"nothing," you said, and you let your voice drop just enough to change the texture of it, to make it softer and slower than your usual flat delivery. "just looking."

you watched the confusion flicker across sukuna's face, quick and genuine, because this wasn't how the script went;

you weren't supposed to look at him like that. you weren't supposed to sound like that. and you sure as hell weren't supposed to slide off the couch to sit on the floor next to him, close enough that your shoulder almost brushed his, close enough that you could smell whatever cheap cologne he'd grabbed off his dresser this morning.

sukuna's hand tightened around his phone.

"okay. you're being weird."

"am i?" you echoed your earlier words back at him, tilting your head just slightly, and you let your fingers rest on the floor between you — not touching him, not yet, but close enough that the proximity felt intentional. "i thought this was what you wanted, kuna. you're always saying all that stuff. figured i'd finally give you a response."

sukuna's throat moved as he swallowed, and you could see the moment his brain started scrambling to catch up with what was happening. the confidence he normally wore like armor seemed to flicker, just for a second, and his gaze dropped to your hand on the floor before snapping back to your face.

"that's—" he started, and then stopped, and you'd never seen sukuna stumble over a word in your entire friendship. "i mean, yeah, but—you don't actually—"

"don't actually what?"

you leaned in just a little, and you watched the tips of sukuna's ears go pink. his ears, of all things. the same sukuna who could make a waiter uncomfortable by accident just by existing was sitting here with pink ears because you'd leaned about four inches closer to him.

"don't actually find you attractive? because i never said that."

sukuna's mouth opened, then closed, and then opened again, and absolutely nothing came out except this small, strangled sound that might have been the beginning of a laugh or the end of his dignity.

you could feel the heat coming off his arm where it was braced on the coffee table, you could see the way his chest had started rising and falling just a little faster than before. his tattoos seemed to move with every small shift of his muscles, the dark lines pulling and relaxing as he failed spectacularly to figure out what the hell to do with his hands.

"you're messing with me," sukuna said finally, and his voice literally cracked on the last word.

ryomen sukuna's voice cracked like he was fourteen years old and talking to his first crush, and you had to physically bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling too obviously.

"am i?" you asked again, softer this time, and you let your finger trace a small, idle pattern on the floor between you; not toward him, not away from him — just there, like you were thinking about it. "i don't know. maybe i just got tired of you being the only one who gets to have fun."

sukuna's blush was spreading now, crawling down his neck in splotchy patches that disappeared beneath the collar of his shirt, and he was gripping his phone like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.

you could see his pulse beating in his throat, quick and uneven, and his eyes kept darting between your face and the small space between your bodies like he was trying to calculate something he didn't have the formula for.

"this isn't—" sukuna started, and then he had to stop to clear his throat, and the sound was embarrassingly loud in the quiet apartment. "this isn't funny."

"i'm not laughing."

"you're definitely laughing on the inside. i can tell. your eye is doing that thing."

you blinked innocently. "what thing?"

"the thing where you're being an asshole and enjoying it."

but sukuna's voice was way too high to land the way he wanted it to, too breathy to sound like anything other than a man who was rapidly losing control of a situation he'd assumed he'd always be in charge of. his leg was bouncing now, that restless energy he got when he was nervous translating into small, jerky movements that he probably didn't even realize he was making.

you let the silence stretch, you let him sit in the discomfort of not knowing what came next, and you watched as he absolutely failed to fill it with one of his usual easy quips.

sukuna's brain was working overtime behind his eyes, you could easily tell — trying to figure out if you were serious, if this was a joke, if he was supposed to laugh it off or lean into it or run in the opposite direction.

finally, he did the last thing you expected.

he looked away.

sukuna actually looked away, his jaw tightening as he turned his face toward the window, and you could see the way his hand shook just slightly when he reached up to rub at the back of his neck. the movement made his sleeve ride up, exposing more of those dark lines, and you noticed the way his fingers trembled against his own skin.

"you're doing this on purpose," he muttered, and his voice was so quiet you almost didn't hear it. "you're trying to—i don't know what you're trying to do, but you're doing it on purpose."

"maybe," you said, and you let yourself smile then, just a small one, because he looked so genuinely thrown off that it was actually kind of endearing underneath all the hilarity. "maybe i just wanted to see what would happen."

sukuna turned back to look at you, and his eyes were wide in a way you'd never seen before — less of the sharp, amused glint he usually carried and more of something raw and uncertain, like a door you'd accidentally nudged open that he'd been keeping firmly closed. his blush had settled into something deeper now, staining his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose, and his lips were parted just slightly like he was still trying to figure out how to breathe normally.

"well," he said, and his voice cracked again, softer this time, almost fragile. "are you happy? because i'm—i'm not—this is—"

sukuna gave up on words entirely and just gestured vaguely at himself, at his flushed face and his bouncing leg and his white-knuckled grip on his phone, and the gesture said everything sukuna's his voice couldn't.

you laughed then, not meanly, just a warm exhale of a sound, and you bumped your shoulder against his gently.

"yeah," you said, your voice back to normal now, dropping the flirtatious edge entirely. "i'm pretty happy, actually."

sukuna stared at you for a long moment, his chest still rising and falling too quickly, and then he dropped his head back against the coffee table and made a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a whine.

"i hate you," he said to the ceiling. "i genuinely hate you. you're the worst person i've ever met."

"you're blushing."

"shut up, i'm not blushing. my face is just warm. from the—it's warm in here."

"it's twenty-one degrees in here."

"shut up."

sukuna didn't move his head from the coffee table, but his large hand found your knee — just a brief, clumsy tap before retreating, like he'd meant to do something else and changed his mind at the last second. his fingers were warm through the fabric of your jeans, and you could still feel the slight tremor in them even after he pulled away.

you sat there together in the golden afternoon light, the silence softer now than it had been before, and you watched as sukuna slowly, painfully tried to collect himself.

his ears were still pink, his breathing was still uneven, and every few seconds, his gaze would slide toward you and then snap away again, like looking at you for too long might somehow make things worse.

it was, without a single question, the most pathetic you had ever seen him.

"sooo," you said after a while, keeping your voice light and easy. "you want to order that thai place, or are you too busy being embarrassed to eat?"

sukuna lifted his head just enough to glare at you, but the effect was ruined by the fact that he still looked like he'd just run a marathon in a sauna.

"i'm not embarrassed."

"okay."

"i'm not. i just wasn't expecting—" sukuna stopped, swallowed, tried again. "you don't just—you never—"

"never what?"

he held your gaze for a long, charged moment, and something in his expression flickered — some thought you couldn't quite read, some emotion the pink haired boy shoved back down before it could fully surface. then he looked away once again, reaching for his abandoned energy drink like it might offer him some kind of salvation.

"nothing," he said quietly. "forget it. thai sounds fine."

sukuna didn't flirt with you for the rest of the evening.

not once.

and if you caught him staring at you when he thought you weren't looking, his expression soft and confused and a little bit scared like he'd just discovered something he didn't know how to name — well, you didn't mention that either.

some things were better left for another tuesday.

bf!nanami who is a little bit mean about it, but in the most intoxicating way possible. he deliberately applies just a fraction more pressure, kneading the sensitive muscle with his broad palm and watching you squirm helplessly against him. "i didn't realize a simple touch could reduce you to this," he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave, thick with a gravelly warmth that tells you he finds this incredibly hot.

he teases you relentlessly, leaning down so his lips brush your burning ear. "look at me. tell me why you're trembling so much just from my hand. if you don't answer, i'll just have to keep squeezing until you do." he refuses to let you look away until you confess just how sensitive your thighs actually are.

bf!nanami who likes to abuse this newfound knowledge at every single opportunity, especially when he wants to fluster you in public. if you're out at a quiet restaurant, his hand will slide under the tablecloth, his fingers mapping out the soft skin of your thighs.

he loves watching you try to maintain a straight face while ordering food, your fingers white-knuckling the menu because he's lightly scratching the apex of your thigh. when you catch his eye, pleading with him silently, he just takes a calm sip of his wine and whispers, "focus on the waiter, sweetheart. tell him what you want to eat."

bf!nanami turns into an absolute menace behind closed doors. during sex, your thighs become his absolute favorite target. he likes to pin your legs wide apart, his heavy palms bruising your hips before sliding down to grip your thighs with enough force to leave faint, temporary marks.

he loves to deeply knead the ultra-sensitive skin right where your leg meets your hip, watching your back arch off the bed as you let out a ragged sob. "look at how flushed you get here," he grunts, his thumb pressing firmly into the sweet spot, relishing the way your thighs clamp around his waist in a desperate bid for relief.

bf!nanami who pairs his heavy-handed groping with sensory overload. while he’s driving himself into you, he’ll lean down to bite and press open-mouthed kisses against your inner thighs, deliberately targeting the spots that make your hips stutter-step and bring a sob to your throat.

he loves the contrast of his rough, calloused hands soothing over the ultra-sensitive skin, murmuring praises against your neck while ensuring you can't think about anything else but his touch.