‧₊ ᵎᵎ 🍒 ⋅ ˚✮

He wasn’t new, you’d been in Class 1-A together from the start, but your crush on him? Oh, that was very new. Very unwelcome. And very obvious to literally everyone except him.

Because Bakugo Katsuki existed in his own orbit. Explosive. Sharpened. Always ten seconds from blowing something up, and somehow that only made your heart do embarrassing, fluttery gymnastics.

He walked into homeroom, muscles tense, jaw set, eyes sharp and burning, and your brain just went poof.

Like your quirk misfired from inside your skull.

The first time it really hit you was during sparring drills last month. He’d pinned you, not on purpose, your brain insisted, though who could say with Bakugo, one arm braced beside your head, breath hot against your cheek, growling, “If you hesitate like that in the field you’re dead, princess.”

Princess.

He said it like it was an insult.

You heard it like a prophecy.

And obviously, you squeaked. Out loud. An actual squeak. In front of the entire class. Mina had to physically drag you off the ground after.

Ever since then, well. Things had not improved.

When Bakugo walked by your desk? Pens dropped. Papers fluttered. Your quirk fizzled little heart-shaped sparks that you had to smack away with both hands before anyone saw. When he spoke to you? Your sentences got tangled like ribbon. When he looked at you even a little too long?

Glitter. Everywhere.

“Girl, you’re hopeless,” Kaminari whispered one morning as Bakugo passed your row, shoulders broad beneath his hero course jacket, scowl somehow angelic on him.

“I’m fine,” you lied, smoothing your skirt, heart hammering so loud you swore Sero could hear it from across the room.

“You’re sparkling,” Jirou added dryly without looking up from her notebook.

You slapped your hands against your cheeks to stop the glow. “It's a quirk glitch, okay!”

Bakugo didn’t even turn around, just tossed a low, bored, “Tch. Cut the noise,” over his shoulder, which only made your stomach flip harder.

Bakugo usually sat in the back row, prime territory for brooding, scowling, and muttering insults under his breath, but today, for some cosmic reason you were certain the universe did on purpose, he took the seat directly behind you.

Directly. Behind. You.

You could feel the heat of his presence before he even sat down. Like your body had become some kind of Bakugo proximity sensor. Mina shot you a look from across the aisle like, oh this is gonna be good, and you tried very, very hard to act normal while your heart did full Olympic gymnastics.

Aizawa droned something about rescue strategies and topographical reasoning, and you scribbled perfect colour-coded notes like the good little class princess you were, pink pen, sparkly highlighter, tiny little hearts dotting your i’s.

Anything to ignore the boy-sized furnace breathing a foot behind you. You were so focused you didn’t register the sound at first.

Tap.

You froze.

Tap. Tap.

Your heart jumped sideways. That was a shoulder tap. A Bakugo tap. Bakugo Katsuki was tapping you on the shoulder. You turned around slowly, like if you moved too fast you’d explode.

Bakugo was leaning forward in his seat, arms folded on his desk, expression flat but eyes sharp , like he was annoyed and bored and confused all at once.

“Oi.” His voice was low, rough, rumbling right under your skin. “Lemme see your notes. He’s going too damn fast.”

Your mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.

Words failed. Entire language? Deleted. Quirk? Glitching. Brain? Pink glitter slurry.

“Oh! Um— yes! Sure! Notes! Take— here, um, okay—”

Instead of simply handing him the notebook like a normal functioning human being, you panicked. And tossed the entire spiral-bound thing backward over your shoulder.

Like a bouquet at a wedding.

Like a sacrifice to the Bakugo god.

It smacked his chest. You slapped both hands over your glossy lips, mortified heat flooding your cheeks. “Ohmygod I'm sorry—” Aizawa didn’t even look up. He’d grown immune to your brand of chaos.

Bakugo caught the notebook in one hand like it weighed nothing, blinking once, twice, slow and perplexed.

“…The hell was that?” he muttered.

But not angry. Not even close.

When you whipped back around in your seat, spine straight as a ruler, staring at the front like your life depended on it, Bakugo just watched you. Not glaring. Not smirking.

Just… watching. You could feel his eyes on the back of your head, hot and questioning, like he was trying to solve a puzzle.

Why you always sparkled when he got near. Why you squeaked when he spoke. Why the loudest, chattiest, glitteriest girl in all of U.A. became a speechless mess around him and only him.

And he leaned back in his seat with a deep, irritated sigh that didn’t quite hide the confusion underneath.

“Did I do something?” he whispered under his breath.

Like he genuinely couldn’t understand why Class 1-A’s princess, the girl who practically twirled through the dorm halls, beloved by everyone, effortless sunshine, endless chatter, shut down completely the second Katsuki Bakugo gave her a single shred of attention.

He flipped open your notebook anyway.

The second Aizawa dismissed class, you bolted. Not gracefully. Not regally. Not like a princess.

More like a startled glittery rabbit in platform heels.

You scooped your notebooks and pens into your bag and you squeaked like a chew toy, which made your quirk flicker tiny pink sparks all down the hallway as you fled.

“Oi—” Bakugo tried, voice low behind you, but nope. No thank you. Absolutely not. You were running for your life. You didn’t stop until you were inside your dorm, door shut, back pressed against it, cheeks practically glowing from embarrassment and leftover Bakugo proximity.

Your room, your sanctuary, greeted you in full princess glory.

Pink fairy lights. Scented candles. Fluffy rugs. Heart-shaped pillows. And your huge white bed draped in a cloud of soft blankets that looked like they were crafted from baby unicorn fur.

You threw yourself face-first into the mattress with a dramatic whine.

“Why am I like this,” you groaned into a pillow shaped like a strawberry. You made the world’s most high-pitched noise and buried yourself under your comforter like a glittery mole.

Eventually, you changed into your comfort clothes, a tiny pair of bubblegum-pink satin shorts and a matching cami, silky and soft and very you. And reapplied your lip gloss, because even in panic you had standards, you flopped back onto your pile of pillows and scrolled on your phone to distract yourself.

You were mid-scroll through a video of baby bunnies wearing flower crowns when—

Knock. Knock. Knock.

You froze.

No one knocked like that.

Firm. Impatient. Like the person on the other side of the door didn’t knock so much as declare open up. Your stomach dropped. Your sparkles fizzled.

Oh no.

Oh no no no!

You cracked the door open the smallest, tiniest, most microscopic amount and, it was him.

Bakugo Katsuki.

In the dorm hallway. Outside your room. Holding your pink notebook like it offended him.

He looked annoyed. But also weirdly tense? Like he’d been pacing before knocking. His gaze flicked down your body, from your bare shoulders, to your tiny pink satin shorts, and he jerked his eyes away immediately, jaw clenching so hard you could hear it.

“…Why’re you dressed like that,” he muttered.

You squeaked. Again. “It’s bedtime!”

“It’s four in the damn afternoon.”

“Nap time!”

A beat.

He breathed out through his nose like someone fighting God Himself. “Whatever.” He shoved the notebook toward you. “You left too fast. I wasn’t done with your notes.”

Your face went nuclear-level hot. “I’m sorry! I just, you were— I was— brain malfunction— you know—”

He stared.

You wanted to evaporate.

“Do I make you nervous or something?” he asked finally, voice low, rough, strangely gentle under all the gravel.

Your quirk betrayed you instantly. A tiny pink spark popped into existence right beside your cheek. You slapped it away with a mortified gasp.

Bakugo’s eyes widened the slightest bit. Not mocking. Just startled.

And then, God help you, something like a faint, smug smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, like he’d finally solved the puzzle he’d been chewing on all day. He leaned an elbow braced against your doorframe, stepping just a little closer.

“So that’s it,” he murmured. “That why you bolted? Can’t think straight around me, princess?”

Your breath hitched. Your sparkles flickered like a fireworks factory. Bakugo watched every single one. And he didn’t look confused anymore. He looked dangerous.

In a way that made your heart feel like spun sugar.

Before you could even squeak a protest, Bakugo nudged the door just enough with his shoulder, then stepped inside. One foot. Then the other. And suddenly, he was there, in your room, the scent of him, warm, sharp, faintly explosive, wrapping around you like a slow, impossible fire.

His eyes flickered over your fairy-lit lair, taking in the strawberry-shaped pillows, the pastel chaos, the sheer, unapologetic feminity of it all. His smirk deepened. "Figures," he muttered, but it didn't sound like mockery, more like he was filing this away in some private Bakugo catalogue titled You, Explained.

You backed up until your knees hit the bedframe, gripping the edge to stop your hands from shaking. "You—you can't just walk in here!"

Bakugo shrugged, tossing your notebook onto your vanity where it landed with a soft thud. "Too late." His gaze roamed over you again, lingering on the way your cami strap had slipped down your shoulder, the nervous flutter of your pulse at your throat.

When his fingers twitched at his sides, just once, you swore the air between you crackled.

Silence stretched, thick and sweet and unbearable. Then he stepped closer, boots scuffing against your fluffy rug, nostrils flaring slightly like he was breathing you in. "You know," he said, voice dropping to a rumble that curled your toes, "your sparkles get brighter when I piss you off."

They did.

Right now, they were practically strobing.

"You're imagining things," you lied, but your voice wobbled.

Bakugo scoffed. "Bullshit." He reached out, slow, deliberate, and caught one of your runaway sparkles between his thumb and forefinger.

It fizzled against his calloused skin, leaving behind a faint pink smudge. His grin turned wolfish. "Gotcha."

Your breath stuttered. He was close enough now that you could see the flecks of gold in his crimson eyes, feel the heat radiating off him in waves. Some primal part of your brain screamed Danger!, but the rest of you? The rest of you was leaning in.

Bakugo noticed. Of course he did. His smirk softened, just a fraction, as his gaze dropped to your mouth. "What, no comeback? No glittery speech?" He tilted his head, and oh god, was he, was he enjoying this?

You swallowed hard. "Shut up."

He barked a laugh, rough and surprised. "There she is." One hand came up, hovering near your cheek like he couldn't decide whether to touch you or throttle you. His fingers flexed. "You're fucking ridiculous, you know that?"

The words should've stung.

Instead, they settled warm in your chest. Because Bakugo wasn't walking away. He wasn't even scowling. He was standing in your glitter bomb of a bedroom, looking at you like you were the most fascinating problem he'd ever encountered, and Katsuki Bakugo loved solving problems.

Your quirk betrayed you again, showering the space between you in gold and pink. Bakugo's nose twitched at the sudden brightness, but he didn't back off.

If anything, he leaned in closer, eyes tracking the way the sparks reflected in your wide pupils. "Annoying," he muttered. Then, quieter, "Kinda pretty, though."

The confession hit like one of his explosions, sudden, violent, leaving you breathless. Your knees buckled. Bakugo's hand shot out instinctively, catching your elbow before you could collapse onto your pink comforter.

The contact sent a jolt through you, his fingers branding your skin through the thin satin. You could feel every callous, every ridge from years of detonating his quirk.

"Oi," he growled, voice lower than you'd ever heard it. "Nodding ain't answering. Use your words." He leaned in, close enough that his breath mingled with yours, smelling faintly of caramel and gunpowder.

Somewhere between a threat and a plea, he bit out, "Do you like me or not?"

Your sparkles went supernova.

Pink. Gold. Silver.

They erupted around you in a cascading halo, illuminating the sharp planes of his face in flickering pastel. You opened your mouth, nothing came out but a tiny, mortified whimper.

Bakugo's smirk curled slow like smoke. "That's what I thought." His thumb brushed your inner wrist, just once, rough enough to make you shiver. "Fuckin' ridiculous," he muttered, but his grip gentled.

Before you could process, he spun you both, your back hit the mattress, his knees bracketing your hips, palms planted on either side of your head. The fairy lights caught the molten gold in his irises as they dragged down your body.

"You're really wearing this shit just to sleep?" His voice scraped raw over the satin clinging to your thighs.

You arched up instinctively, bad idea. His knee slid between yours, heat searing through the thin fabric. His breath hitched when your sparkles rained onto his shoulders.

"Still not talking?" Bakugo's fingers traced the strap slipping down your arm. "Fine." His palm smacked the mattress beside your head. "Up. Now."

You scrambled upright, pulse hammering where his touch lingered. Bakugo sank onto the edge of your bed like he owned it, legs spread, arms crossed. That look, half challenge, half hunger, sent your quirk into overdrive.

Pink motes swirled between you like fireflies trapped in syrup.

One eyebrow arched. "Straddle me."

Your mouth dried. "W-what?"

"You heard me." His boot hooked around your ankle, dragging you forward until your knees pressed into the mattress on either side of his thighs. "Unless you wanna keep being a coward."

The first brush of denim against your inner thighs nearly short-circuited your brain. Bakugo's hands clamped on your hips before you could bolt, fingers digging in just shy of painful. His smirk turned feral when your sparkles burst against his collarbones.

"Look at you," he rumbled, "all glitter and no guts." His thumbs stroked the dips of your hips through the satin. "Gonna run again?"

You shook your head frantically, curls bouncing, then froze when his gaze dropped lower.

Bakugo smirked. "Bet you're pink everywhere, huh?" The words scraped out like gravel and honey. His grip tightened. "Bet your fucking cum sparkles too—"

Your hands flew up to slap over his mouth, face burning hotter than his nitroglycerin sweat. "Shut up!"

Glitter erupted from your skin in panicked bursts, peach, blush, rose, illuminating the way his irises dilated behind your fingers.

He laughed against your palms, the vibration traveling up your arms like livewire electricity. His tongue darted out, wet, scorching, licking a stripe across your fingertips before you could yank away. "Tastes like sugar," he rasped, watching your breath hitch with predatory satisfaction. "Knew it."

You scrambled , thighs clamping around his waist in the process, horrifyingly intimate. Bakugo's nostrils flared. His palm slid up your spine, fingers tangling in the fine hairs at your nape.

"Deny it," he challenged, breath hot against your ear. "Say your slick isn't glowing right now."

Traitorous warmth pooled low in your belly. Your quirk betrayed you again, shimmering pulses radiating from beneath the satin shorts pressed against his abs. Bakugo's grin turned downright carnivorous.

One calloused thumb hooked under the waistband. "Prove me wrong," he dared, dragging the fabric down an inch, just enough to reveal the first hint of pearlescent wetness catching the fairy lights. His exhale punched out ragged. "Fuck. It is pink."

You whined, thighs shaking, sparkles refracting in the sweat beading along his throat. Bakugo groaned, a rough, punched-out sound, and hauled you flush against him. His teeth grazed your pulse point. "Gonna ruin me, princess."

The first tear of fabric echoed obscenely loud as his claws shredded through your camisole.

Pastel ribbons fluttered to the bedspread like cherry blossom petals, too soft, too feminine for the way his hips canted up against yours.

Your back arched when his mouth closed over one peaked nipple, tongue swirling the glitter beading there. Bakugo grunted, the sound reverent and filthy, when luminescent streaks smeared across his cheekbones.

"Told you," he panted against your sternum, fingers working your shorts past trembling hips. "Fucking sparkly everywhere."

The last coherent thought you had, before his teeth sank into you again, was that Mina owed you new pyjamas.

Bakugo flipped you onto your back with a single rough shove, your thighs spreading instinctively beneath his hips as he loomed over you, pupils blown wide.

His smirk sharpened when your sparkles erupted again, golden, frantic, illuminating the predatory hunger in his expression. "Pathetic," he growled, but his fingers trembled where they gripped your waist.

"Coulda had Deku fawning over you like some damn prince." His knee pressed higher between your legs, dragging a whimper from your throat. "Instead you're here—" his palm slid up your ribs, "wrapped around my fingers—" his thumb brushed your nipple, "glowing like a fucking firework."

You arched into his touch, tremors wracking your spine when his free hand yanked your ruined cami straps down your arms.

The sound of fabric tearing filled the room, too loud, too obscene, but Bakugo didn't hesitate. He leaned in close, lips grazing your ear as his knee pressed harder. "Say it," he demanded, voice guttural. "Say you picked me."

Your hips jerked involuntarily when his teeth scraped your collarbone. "I—" A spark burst against his eyelid, making him blink. "I picked you!"

Bakugo exhaled sharply through his nose, half triumphant snarl, half shuddering groan, before surging forward to capture your mouth in a kiss that tasted like victory and nitroglycerin.

His tongue mapped every inch of you with single-minded focus, as if cataloging the way your breath hitched when he bit your lower lip just shy of painful.

When he pulled back, your sparkles had formed a perfect halo around his disheveled spikes. His chest heaved as he dragged a thumb through the glitter smeared across your cheekbone, then licked it clean with a low hum.

"Mine," he declared, fingers tightening possessively on your hips. "Every fucking shimmer."

Somewhere beyond your glitter-clouded haze, you registered the dorm hallway outside, the distant laughter of your classmates, the squeak of sneakers on linoleum.

Normal sounds. Safe sounds.

The complete antithesis of the boy currently pinning you to silken sheets with his weight and the molten promise in his gaze.

Bakugo noticed your distraction immediately. His palm cracked against the headboard beside your ear, making you jump. "Eyes here, princess."

When you obeyed, trembling, he smirked, all sharp canines and wicked intent. "Good girl." His free hand slid between your thighs, callouses catching on sensitive skin. "Now let's see how loud you sparkle."

The first press of his fingers drew a whine from your throat, high and broken. Your quirk responded instantly, pearl-pink luminescence spilling over his knuckles, dripping onto the rumpled satin sheets beneath you.

Bakugo's breath stuttered. "Holy shit," he rasped, watching the glow spread between your legs with something akin to reverence. His thumb circled once, twice, drawing out another pulse of light that clung to his skin like liquid glitter. "Fuckin' perfect."

You arched off the bed when he crooked his fingers, nails scraping down his biceps as your sparkles rained across his chest. Bakugo growled low in his throat, the sound vibrating through you where your bodies pressed together, and increased the pace, his rhythm merciless.

"That's it," he goaded, lips brushing your temple. "C'mon, light up for me."

The pressure built dizzyingly fast, your thighs clamping around his wrist as the room flickered gold and rose. Bakugo's breath hitched when your back bowed off the mattress, his name tumbling from your lips in a desperate plea.

Right before you shattered, his mouth crashed onto yours, swallowing your moans as your quirk detonated, a supernova of color refracting through the fairy lights, painting his skin in shimmering streaks.

Panting, you went boneless against the sheets. Bakugo pulled back just enough to examine his glitter-coated forearm with a satisfied smirk.

"Told you," he muttered, licking a stripe up his palm where your glow lingered. His eyes darkened at the taste. "Fuckin' addicting."

Then, before you could recover, he flipped you onto your stomach with a single rough shove. "Round two," he announced, kneading the back of your thighs. "And this time—" his teeth grazed your shoulder blade, "I'm gonna make you sparkle loud enough to wake up the whole damn dorm."

Your whimper dissolved into the pillows as his hands spanned your waist, the promise in his touch searing brighter than any quirk.

Bakugo exhaled sharply through his nose when your sparkles flickered against the dark fabric of his belt, already half-undone, the leather slack against his hips.

His fingers trembled, just once, before he yanked it free with a sharp metallic rasp that made your thighs clench. You turned your face into the strawberry pillow just as his palm smoothed down the curve of your ass, possessive and rough.

"Look at me," he growled, thumb hooking in the ruined satin clinging to your hips. When you hesitated, his teeth grazed the nape of your neck. "Now."

The first stroke of his cock against your thigh sent a jolt through you.

Hot, heavy, glistening with the same iridescent slick your quirk left on his fingers. He hissed through clenched teeth, muscles taut as he pumped himself twice, the sound wet and obscene in the quiet of your room.

Your name tore from his throat when your sparkles burst against his knuckles, pearlescent streaks painting his forearm. "Fuck," he rasped, thumb smearing the glow across your hipbone. "Gonna ruin you."

The initial stretch burned, blissful, aching, as he pressed in with a groan that rattled your ribs. Your moan fractured against the pillow when he bottomed out, his hips flush against yours, every ridge and vein slotting into place like you were made for it.

Bakugo's breath came ragged against your shoulder blades, his fingers digging into the meat of your thighs as he adjusted to the vice-like heat.

"Move," you gasped, arching back against him. His answering snarl sent sparks skittering across the sheets.

He set a punishing pace immediately, each thrust punching little glittering whines from your throat. The headboard rattled against the wall in time with the wet slap of skin, Bakugo's palm splayed between your shoulder blades to keep you pinned.

His other hand fisted in your hair, tilting your head back just enough to see the way your sparkles clung to his sweat-slicked collarbones. His teeth found the shell of your ear as the first real pulse of your orgasm lit up the room, gold, pink, incandescent, his groan reverberating through you like a detonation. "Fuck, there it is—"

Your muffled scream dissolved into the strawberry pillow as he fucked you through it, his rhythm turning erratic, brutal. Bakugo's hips snapped forward once, twice, before his grip on your hair yanked your head back entirely.

His lips crashed against yours just as he spilled deep inside you, hot, pulsing, his broken moan swallowed by your mouth. Your quirk responded in kind, pearlescent streaks erupting between your joined bodies, painting his abs in liquid starlight where they pressed flush against your ass.

He didn't pull out.

Just collapsed atop you with his full weight, his rapid-fire heartbeat thudding between your shoulder blades. His fingers traced idle patterns through the glow smeared across your thighs, sticky-sweet and still faintly luminescent.

When you shifted, his arm banded tighter around your waist. "Stay," he grunted against your nape, an order softened by the way his lips lingered on your sweat-damp skin.

Outside, someone's laughter echoed down the hallway, oblivious to the way Bakugo's teeth grazed your pulse point, marking, claiming, as his hips gave one last lazy roll.

Your fingers tangled with his where they rested on your stomach, sparking tiny pink flares at the contact. Bakugo huffed, annoyed, fond, before biting your shoulder hard enough to make you yelp.

"Quit it," he muttered, but his thumb stroked over your knuckles anyway. The fairy lights cast shifting shadows across the walls as your breathing evened out, his chest rising and falling against your back, his breath warming the spot between your wings where his palm rested.

Heavy. Present.

"You're staring," you mumbled into the pillow, skin prickling beneath his gaze. Bakugo scoffed but didn't deny it, calloused fingers trailing down your spine in a slow, proprietary sweep that left glitter in their wake.

His lips followed, hot, insistent, branding each vertebra as he moved lower, pausing to nip at the dimples above your ass with a sound suspiciously close to a growl.

You squirmed, thighs pressing together reflexively, but he wedged his knee between them with effortless dominance. "Bakugo—"

"Katsuki," he corrected against the small of your back, the vibration skating down to where your bodies were still joined. His tongue swiped over a particularly bright sparkle clinging to your hip.

"Say it." When you hesitated, his teeth dug in, not hard enough to bruise, just enough to make your breath hitch. "Now."

"K-Katsuki," you stammered, flushing when he hummed approval against your skin. His lips curved into a smirk you could feel as he kissed lower, the swell of your ass, the crease of your thigh, each touch deliberate, lingering.

He exhaled sharply through his nose when your quirk reacted instinctively, dusting his cheekbones in gold. "You're—mmph—gonna be insufferable in class tomorrow, aren't you?"

Bakugo paused mid-bite, lifting his head just enough to pin you with a look that simmered with wicked promise. "Gonna sit way the fuck closer behind you now," he admitted, voice rough with satisfaction.

His fingers kneaded the supple flesh of your thighs, leaving faint pink smudges where your glow clung to his fingerprints. "Watch you squirm every time I breathe on your neck."

You whined, pressing your burning face into the mattress. "No—that's too embarrassing!"

His laugh was dark, thrilled, vibrating through your ribcage as he licked a stripe up your spine. "Don't care." His palm smacked your ass, once, sharp, drawing out another burst of sparkles. "Shoulda thought of that before you let me in your bed, princess."

The nickname shouldn't have sent heat pooling low in your belly again. Bakugo seemed to sense it anyway, his groan was half exasperation, half arousal as he rolled his hips lazily, still buried inside you.

Your choked moan disappeared into the pillows when his teeth found your earlobe. "Round three," he decided, voice dripping with sinful intent. "And this time," his hand slid around to your front, fingers pressing lightly against your clit, "I'm making damn sure every extra in this school knows who you sparkle for."

Your protest dissolved into a broken gasp as his touch reignited the embers of your pleasure, Bakugo's name tumbling from your lips in a litany that only spurred him on.

Outside, the dorm settled into evening quiet, completely unaware of the way the blond menace behind you was rewriting every rule of engagement between you with each possessive thrust, each glimmering kiss.

"I'd call you a dickhead but I'm sure you've heard that one before," You sighed, brushing your hair back out of your face as your home screen finally popped up, quickly swiping to type in your code to unlock it.

What did surprise you was how many missed calls and messages were waiting for you.

Two from Kaori, a few more from Choso, but the bulk of them were from him.

"Didn't it work out though?" He whined, foot on the brakes to ease the car to a stop at the red light. Well, it was more like a jolt, the car stuttering close to the white line, phone almost falling from your hands while you tried to skim over the messages and piece together what could have possibly happened on their end to warrant this.

"You could've, I dunno, just told him to ask me out on a date," You murmured, distracted. Face scrunched together scrolling through drunk messages from Sukuna, starting with a hey that quickly spiralled into him demanding you call him back to typo-infested paragraph just wanting to know that you were okay. It almost sounded like an apology.

"No one ever listens to me though," Gojo complained, throwing a hand up in the air, his other fingers only loosely holding onto the steering wheel.

"I wonder why," You sarcastically muttered under you breath, a new message from Kaori popping up on screen asking for you to call her.

"Hey, I actually-"

"Shit, um, do you mind if I take a call really quick?" You asked, flicking your gaze back over to him, the red from the flight reflecting through the windshield onto his pale features.

"Nah, that's fine, go ahead," He shrugged. There was a glimmer of interest shining in his eyes, no matter how casually he said it.

Kaori picked up on the second ring, breathing an immediate sigh of relief while you readjusted the phone between your ear and shoulder.

"I told them you were fine," She huffed on the other end, then paused before continuing. "Sorry, I mean, are you fine?"

"Yeah, I'm okay, my car just broke down last night." You answered, stifling a yawn.

"And?" She waited for you to offer more, while you hesitated over what to say - and how much of it. Part of it was respecting Suguru's privacy, the girls' too. But you were a little scared just saying you stayed with him would be, well, jinxing it.

That talking about it at all would be asking the universe to rip it away from you.

"I got a ride," You murmured.

"Apparently not back to your place," Kaori called you on it. You could hear Yuji babbling about something in the background, Jin saying something you couldn't make out. "Two idiots showed up at my door in the middle of the night searching for you since you weren't at your apartment."

She said it like they were still in the room.

"Is it just you or am I on speakerphone?" You frowned. And really, what the fuck was wrong with them?

They hadn't picked up your calls.

It wasn't like you left a voicemail begging for help.

You weren't sure how to feel about it, if you should be grateful that they'd go to those lengths to make sure you were fine or really what to make of it at all.

"Yuji, stop that," She scolded, distracted herself.

"Hey, psst," Gojo half-whispered next to you. You glanced over at him, pulling the phone away from your ear to listen.

"Yeah?"

"Is your friend cute?" He nodded towards your phone.

"She's married," You deadpanned, blinking at him in disbelief.

"Who's that?" You could hear her the amusement in her voice, her precious inquiries and your own forgotten.

"One of his friends," You answered, face flushing. You didn't say who. But you knew she'd probably figured it out and pieced it together considering the topic of conversation at the last dinner you had together was you sleeping with Suguru Geto.

"Oh yeah?" She hummed. "So, I'm guessing you spent the night at his house then?"

At least someone was happy for you.

"Yeah," You awkwardly confirmed, flattening out the edges of your skirt and looking out the window again.

Kaori started to say something else, but suddenly the phone was swiped away from your ear, dangling between Gojo's fingers before he held it up to his.

"Hey," He casually greeted, like he was just answering his phone.

"You are such a child. Give it back," You groaned, seatbelt straining across your chest when you leaned over the center console.

"Are you really married?" He asked Kaori, tilting his head and using his elbow to keep you from snatching your phone back. You couldn't hear her response, but Gojo chuckled. "Can your husband fight?"

You were about to fight him.

"His brother might actually kill you," You hissed, swatting his elbow back down. Sukuna and Kaori may have a, well, strained relationship at best, but he'd started fights for less when it came to Jin.

"Do you have any other single friends then?" Gojo complained. "Suguru said you were off-limits."

"Like I'd sleep with you if I wasn't?" You scoffed.

Maybe if you never had a conversation with him. When you still thought he was the sort of pretty playboy that'd just fuck and forget about you. Not a manchild with too much time on his hands.

"So mean," He pouted.

"What? Did you think he was going to share?" You were being sarcastic, not actually meaning it, but you could read it in the way his eyes widened a little bit, the shape of his mouth and the scrunch of his nose that he actually had.

You blanked. Staring at him in silence for a few seconds.

"Do not answer that," You added, plucking the phone back from his hands.

The call with Kaori wrapped up pretty quickly, Jin huffing about her getting hit on in the background. You hoped for Gojo's sake at least that Sukuna wasn't there and eavesdropping.

"So, is pissing people off like a hobby of yours?" You grumbled as you shoved your phone back in your purse, watching the passing buildings so you didn't have to spare a glance over at him.

"Hey, I'm just an acquired taste," He argued, as if that was something to be proud of.

"Who told you that?" You muttered under your breath. His mom?

His pout faded by the time you reached the mechanic. However you were the one pouting once you took your card out to pay and were promptly informed your boyfriend already covered it when they spoke over the phone.

Tire fixed, and a few other repairs you kept putting off taken care of and paid in full, the keys being handed back to you before you could even wipe the shock off your face.

You were pretty sure the surprise was still there even when you made it back home, trudging through the door and flipping the lock.

Writing and deleting and rewriting a thank you message to him, not sure what to say when no one had done it for you before. Sukuna would sometimes fix things, sure, but you suspected he just half-assed it most of the time. Shrugged it off.

You ended up just letting him know you were home, adding a little you didn't have to pay for that before you could second-guess yourself anymore.

It was his response that you couldn't scrape and claw from your mind while you cleaned up, folding laundry and scrubbing dishes like you could distance yourself from the memory of his hands on your body.

You could almost imagine him saying it.

"I like taking care of you."

Fantasizing about hearing it for real instead of re-reading the words over and over again.

And when he called in the evening, you couldn't help but hope maybe you'd get the chance.

"Hey," His low voice murmured on the other end.

"Hi," You replied, chewing on the inside of your cheek and rolling over onto your stomach on bed.

"I'm sorry about Satoru," He exhaled, probably pinching the bridge of his nose while he did it.

"It's fine," You giggled. "I mean, he did hit on my married friend, but-"

"God," He groaned. "Idiot."

"Yeah," You agreed, a small smile pulling up on your lips picturing what sort of exasperated face he was making.

"I'll talk to him again," He muttered. "He, uh, didn't exactly have a lot of friends as a kid and I guess you could say it shows."

You laughed again, twirling a loose strand of hair before snagging one of your pillows to rest your head on.

"I know someone like that too," You hummed. Sukuna was just a different sort of stunted. "It's not going to scare me away, if that's what you're worried about."

You hoped he would be able to say the same if you ever worked up the nerve to share that sordid piece chunk of your history. It would come up eventually, if he was serious about this, about you.

He was in half your childhood photos, scribbled in the margins and the pages of most of your life.

Until now.

"I think I might've used up all my luck on you," He sighed again.

"Do you ever get sick of saying stuff like that?"

You didn't get sick of hearing it. Even if it felt unnatural. Could spend a life laying there listening his honeyed voice whisper things you used to dream about with clammy palms, picking at your nails while you tried to convince yourself you deserved to hear them.

"I want to see you again," He abruptly said. He spoke like it was a fact. Something he was certain of. "I hated the way it felt watching you get in Satoru's car."

"Oh?" You held your breath, biting your tongue to hold yourself together too.

"I wanted to cancel all my plans and carry you back inside," He huffed, but you couldn't decide if it sounded more like a compliment or a complaint.

Even if the feelings made him uncomfortable, he was still communicating them.

"You know I would've let you," You softly replied.

He sighed again, and you could feel it through the phone he would've kissed you if he was there.

"I know we have a date planned this week," He started, his voice dropping lower, quieter. Your heart fell, the hopes that'd slowly been building crashing down waiting for him to cancel.

"It's ok-" You immediately tried to shrug it off by interrupting, not sure if you could handle hearing the words actually leave his mouth.

"But what are you doing Tuesday?" He finished his question while your mouth was still open, your pulse pounding in your ears.

"I'm sorry?" You heard yourself ask, the surprise lingering.

"Would you wanna come over? I can cook. The girls would be here, but uh, they've been asking about my girlfriend," He chuckled, carefully enunciating the word like he knew how much you'd be replaying it in your head. "They usually go to bed pretty early, and-"

"Your girlfriend?" You repeated, your tongue struggling to shove the syllables out. Playing dumb to make him say it. To hear it for yourself. "Who's that?"

"You," He purred in your ear. "If you want to be."

"Is this you asking?" You hummed, not feeling half as cool as you sounded.

"Will you be my girlfriend?" He drew each word out so slow, somehow sweet even when he was teasing you.

"Okay," You murmured, suppressing a soft laugh from sheer giddiness, glad he couldn't see how wide your smile was.

"Okay?"

"I'll be your girlfriend," You echoed his question in your answer, burying your face in your pillow like it'd contain your excitement. "And, um, Tuesday night sounds great."

"Good."

It was, wasn't it?

"So you're mine now?" You teased, a foreign feeling settling in your chest, but not one you wanted to resist anymore.

"All yours."

"You know, I didn't really think you were the dating type," You admitted, the heat still burning under your cheeks as you hugged the pillow closer.

"I've never been that interested before now," He casually said, and even if it was cheesy, you knew what he meant. One coincidence, one conversation, and he had ripped the rug out from under your feet, a free fall you still hadn't landed from.

"Yeah," You quietly replied, swallowing the lump in your throat.

"I don't want to share you with some other guy or watch you slip out in the morning," Suguru spoke firmly. You wondered if it had anything to do with last night's conversation in the car. Or if maybe sending you off had left the same bitter taste in his mouth that it did in yours. "I guess I figured I'd be stupid to not do something about it."

"I, um, haven't exactly been in a relationship in a while," You admitted, barely stopping yourself from biting your nails. A while was an understatement. Your last actual boyfriend hadn't been since what? College? Even then, the most you could do was study dates and coffee outside of sneaking into his dorm. "But I wanna try with you."

You could picture him running his hands through his hair while he chuckled, wondering if he was still at the studio or back home already, if he was leaning against a wall, cigarette dangling between his lips.

"I wanna try with you too."

It was a promise you hoped he'd keep. You had meant it.

"Suguru?" His name felt right rolling off your tongue, like it'd been waiting your whole life for it.

"Yeah, baby?"

"I like you."

If there was one thing Sukuna couldn't fucking stand, it was the silent treatment.

Unfortunately, it was something you had mastered.

His texts? Seen. His calls? Unanswered.

You never even replied to his messages the next morning. Forced to sit on his brother's couch and listen in to your phone call, unable to hear your voice, trying to guess your answers from Kaori's question, feeling the sharp stabs of anger in his gut when he realized where you spent the night.

Whose bed you were in. The fingers that probably pried your thighs apart to pull down your panties.

Did you let him kiss you?

Flutter your lashes up at him and moan his name? Rake your nails down his back?

He had stomped over, scowling until Kaori begrudgingly put your voice on speaker, the hurt burning hotter when he heard who else you were with, even if you were bickering back-and-forth.

Choso had been right.

He was losing you.

And he didn't know how to even start getting you back.

Your location stayed off. You stopped posting on social media, not even any stupid stories to let him know you were at least doing fine without him. What was worse?

He didn't. Photos of your hand in his, a naked strip of your back, faint bruises and teeth marks with some stupid grainy filter on it, nothing that ever showed your face or more than a snippet of your voice, your laugh, soft launching your relationship for everyone else to see.

You were Suguru's. Put on show.

It'd been weeks since your big fight, and all the distractions he tried to fill his days with didn't fill the emptiness in his chest, the cold spot on his couch where you used to curl up next to him and watch shitty reality TV together eating cold leftovers.

Trying to pour it into music, focus his energy in finishing their next single. But the song it started as wasn't the one it ended up being. Not when you were the one he couldn't scrub from every crevice of his mind when he was writing it.

His manager somehow managed to get them booked on one of those late night talk shows to fill the live performance slot the night it was supposed to be released.

He should be nervous.

Should be thinking about waking up early in the morning to finish filming the music video for it, should be checking his schedule and posting about their appearance, should be scribbling down lyrics and chords to and thinking of what the next couple months would bring.

But the future felt sobering. Sludge sticking to his feet and dragging him down, caught up in his own muck and mess. What was the point of hitting these milestones when you weren't here?

When you weren't watching?

Despite everything, he still sort of expected you to be there backstage, sending you tickets and passes beforehand, pride bleeding and wounded when he had to type out if you want to come.

It might've shattered completely if he sent what he was really thinking. That he wanted you to come.

The distance made his skin crawl, restless in bed and staring at his ceiling wondering whose you were you were sleeping under. He tried to bridge it. Tried knocking at your door and sticking notes through the cracks.

Just to hear secondhand that you needed more space.

Space was all there fucking was.

He hadn't even seen you at Jin's place - although him and Kaori were the only source he had for any actual updates on you. And your new boyfriend.

Did you tell Suguru Geto about him?

He didn't know what he wanted the answer to be.

It wasn't like he could ask.

There were only five minutes left before they were supposed to go on.

And you weren't here.

"Mind if I change the channel?" Suguru murmured in your ear, his lips leaving another hungry line of hickies down your throat even as his free hand reached for the remote on the coffee table.

You weren't watching anyway.

It was mostly background noise for another late night make out session, sinking into his couch cushions with snacks and drinks strewn across the table, movies and shows only playing to drown out the sound while the girls were tucked in and sleeping in their room. Lazy, soft kisses, a hand under your shirt while you played with his hair until one of you eventually caved and begged to take it back to the bedroom.

He looked up, hitting buttons on the remote while you trailed kisses over his jaw, feeling the hard line it was set in.

"Is something you wanna watch on?" You hummed, letting your teeth scrape against his throat and sucking softly, hoping to leave a mark while he was distracted.

"You can bite harder than that, baby," He teased in a low voice, his breathing getting huskier when you sank your canines in, legs locking around his waist while he turned the volume up a notch. The couch creaked, and through both your clothes, you could still feel how much his cock was throbbing pressed so snugly between your bodies.

"You didn't answer my question," You reminded him, nipping at his collarbone instead this time while he chuckled.

"It's nothing important," Suguru insisted.

But his phone was buzzing on the table, close to the edge by his untouched bowl of popcorn.

"Sorry," He apologetically sighed, and you hummed your quiet discontent, returning to planting your soft kisses, tugging down the already stretched out collar of his sweater to feel his smooth skin underneath your lips.

"You watchin'?" You heard Gojo's voice on the other end, close enough to make out the annoyed groan puncturing the question.

"Yeah, we are," Suguru replied, his body going stiff when you rolled your hips up against him trying to make a moan slip out. He cut you a sharp look, eyes narrowed like he'd be returning the favor later. Maybe not tonight. But as soon as he could get the babysitter to get the girls out of the house for a few hours.

You were tempted to stick your tongue out at him, but you traced a hand along his side to slip under his shirt, fingertips ghosting across the muscles until you felt the coarse hair of his happy trail.

"Behave," He scolded in a quiet murmur, grabbing your hand before it could drift further south and holding it over your head, pressing it against the pillow and holding it there before going back to his call.

"Tell her I said hi," Gojo's faint voice insisted.

"Hi, Satoru," You replied, speaking up just enough he'd probably be able to hear you. Suguru sighed, but put the call on speaker phone anyway.

"I think it's about to start," Gojo was being huffy, a strained hint of annoyance in his voice directed to whatever was on.

You had to crane your neck to see past Suguru's broad frame, peeking over his shoulder to see a live audience for some talk-

Oh. Shit.

You forgot.

"Think it's going to be good?" Gojo chattered, and you recognized it now, a familiar streak of competitiveness.

"Maybe," Suguru neutrally answered. He was harder to read. Just a slight crease between his brows, not smiling but not really frowning either. His eyes flicked to the pack of cigarettes on the edge of the table by his keys.

"I hope their single sucks," Gojo complained.

"We'll see."

You weren't sure which one of you froze first when Sukuna came on screen, guitar slung across his chest, standing in front of the microphone, dark stare focused at the camera like he could see through it. The others were relaxed, or well, Uruame and Yuki were at least, the latter twirling a drumstick between her fingers and winking when the camera panned to her. Choso looked like a nervous wreck, but that wasn't really anything new.

Suguru was scowling now, and you didn't think it was even on purpose. Just an instinct. You felt something cold sink in your stomach, ice seeping through your veins.

It was one thing when you knew Sukuna just disliked him. He hated everyone. You never really considered that Suguru returned his disgust.

The camera centered back on Sukuna as he leaned in, lips almost grazing against the microphone. His stare was searing through the screen, knuckles white holding the microphone stand.

"You know this is about you."

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