iya 🩷

His eyes snap open, he grumbles something incoherent and lays his head back, his hands tight on your waist grounding himself.

After cleaning up his face you move to washing his hair, the both of you awkwardly squeezing past each other so he can lay with his back to your chest.

He groans softly as you massage the shampoo into his scalp, his hands rest on your thigh.

When your done washing his hair, he nuzzles back into you, getting comfortable again before you start dragging him out of the tub.

He complains sleepily as you help him dry off and when hes fully dressed he clumsily stumbles over to the bed before dropping down on his side, already asleep.

You laugh as you climb into bed beside him and pull him close into your chest, already planning to make fun of him tomorrow.

he’s trying to hold back his cute little sobs, biting at his bottom lip, eyes closed tight, which causes you to huff in annoyance and grip him tighter. “you’re safe, baby, just cry for me. I know it feels good.”

“m’gonna get you back for this, I s-swear,” he hiccups, but you shush him. you love when he talks back to you, but that’s not what you want to hear right now. he’s panting, his lips dropped open into an ‘o’, ruby eyes watching each of your movements so carefully.

he cries, almost a yelp, and copious beads of sweet, clear precum roll down his thick shaft again, which you lick up without a second thought, making his eyes nearly cross. “fuck, m’gonna cum again, I can’t—” it feels so good that his tongue almost lolls out before he tries to compose himself again, shaking his head and pulling at the restraints.

“it’s so sensitive, pretty boy .. you love when I make you cum, yeah? it feels better than anyone else, better than yourself, huh?”

you kiss his length before easing him back into your perfect mouth, down your warm throat. you’re finally able to almost fit all of him with all of the practice that you’ve gotten tonight.

“mmhmm, fuck, love your fucking mouth, angel girl, and such pretty hands. not gonna last—”

“cum, katsuki, it’s okay,” and he does, with a gorgeous moan unlike anything you’ve heard from him before, finally just letting go of himself and any insecurities that were holding him back. he sniffles, his handsome face still wet with tears, easily tugging himself out of the necktie wrapped around his wrists, desperately reaching for you.

he’s out of breath and his heart is about to beat out of his chest, but he still needs your touch, kissing you messy and needy. “I needed that, thanks for taking care of me.” he whispers, uncharacteristically vulnerable. you smile sweetly, taking his face in your hands and kissing his cheek before offering to help clean him up. he’s so in love.

thus he finally taps out for the night, but don’t worry, because he’ll last even longer in following sessions …

[ @slutsenpai × @sidesenpai × my masterlist × event masterlist ]

prompt 04 / 15 for my 2k follower event !! ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭

suguru geto: alcohol addiction!

you, satoru, and shoko each coped with suguru's expulsion and disappearance in different ways.

shoko grew mellow, circles shading under her eyes and smiles coming rare. satoru hid his grief, burrowed it deep and continued to see his best friend when he got the chance, unable to truly accept his loss.

and you, well, you drank.

it really all started when riko died. the boys' special grade mission went horribly wrong, and suguru sank into a depression as the jujutsu world stole adolescent satoru away, forced him into a lonely weapon separated from his closest friends, stolen from any chance to help the dark haired boy's deteriorating health.

you'd loved suguru from the moment you met him, nearly falling to your knees when you heard about his terrible injury, about the young girl he watched perish as a bullet blew through her skull, the very same culprit responsible for his own dreadfully recognized weakness within this hellish world.

the hazel eyed man returned your loving sentiments, the two of you secretly feeding into one another's affections. the two of you were often found glued together, your head resting on his shoulder as you drifted to sleep, his hand grazing your lower back as he guided you to the inside of the sidewalk, hugs that spun you around in the air, forehead pecks and handshakes that surely meant nothing.

you were so relieved that he and satoru survived, but that mission changed him. it had changed all of you, but none like how it completely shattered the noble, the passionate, the humble suguru geto. who always lectured satoru about the importance of protecting the weak. who swallowed curses and felt them mold into his essence for the sake of a species which elects to kill one another despite being of the same, puny race. who would have never hurt a fly on the wall, as long as it was weaker than him.

you watched the life drain from his eyes, the fat from his body, the hope for a world that could live protected by him having depleted. he became hollow, disconnected, and when you reached out to him, sought answers, sought some way to help, he grew further and further away, shrinking into himself, fearing the reality in which he could lose you too.

then, he did it. he slaughtered an entire village. then left you.

and you'd never experienced such heartbreak and betrayal in your life.

you heard from shoko that satoru went to see him, that he came close to terminating him but couldn't bring himself to go through with it. your phone blew up with calls from suguru throughout that whole night, and you ignored every single one, stumbling hopelessly toward something that could ease your breaking heart, that could make you forget this gutwrenching grief.

you'd come across one liquor store that didn't id check, as you recalled from a night the previous year shoko dragged you all to the establishment, and you were still a few months away from the legal drinking age.

that night, you end up hammered, wandering the sidewalk aimlessly back to your dorm when you decide to call suguru back.

he picks up on the first ring. “angel. you called.”

you scoff out, pausing to bend over in disbelief. you’re a wobbly mess, balance of kilter and head jumbled. “don’t you fucking angel me,” you slur out clumsily. “how could you, suguru, how could you? what the hell did you do?” your words slip into a pitched whine that crumbles toward the end.

“...(y/n), have you been drinking?” he asks far too softly, too concerned for your liking.

“take a wild guess,” you roll your eyes.

"where are you?"

"i don't wanna see you. you left me. you did all that stuff - please tell me you didn't. say it's a lie," you trip slightly over your feet, swaying to the side.

"...i did it. you know i did it."

you sob out. "why, suguru, what happened?"

"i need you to tell me where you are."

"i don't want you here."

"i don't care. you're alone in the middle of the night and you're drunk. where are you?"

"i'm too close to the school-"

"where."

you stumble, sniffling as you blink away tears to look up at the nearest street sign. you tell him the name, and within a few minutes, you hear the familiar swoosh of rainbow dragon cutting through the air, weaving in spirals to duck down to you.

your lips tremble and snot dribbles down your nose as you look down at the curse, suguru's warmth and familiarity striking you suddenly. you wobble, and rainbow dragon swerves to catch you properly as you ungracefully clamber over his upper back. you wrap your arms around its neck and rest your head against its mane, straddling over its short arms. once you are settled and steady, it whirls you up into the air, mindful of its speed as ordered by its master.

your dizzy when you land in some secluded field by a park, the grass flat and the wind damp as it blows through your clothes. rainbow dragon sets its paws to the ground, and you don't open your eyes as footsteps swiftly approach from behind and wrap you up, helping you carefully off of the curse.

you jump in fear, thrashing suddenly, when you recognize the scent. the firmness of the culprit's chest. the tenderness of his hold around your waist.

you fumble to push away, his arms breaking from you as you stumble back. you almost lose your balance in your drunken stupor, and the figure lurches forward to catch you by your hips, setting you upright with his hand planted on either side of you.

you focus your attention forward and find hazel eyes staring at you through the darkness.

you release a rushed breath, pushing against his chest to free yourself from him again. "don't touch me!"

"(y/n), be careful. you'll fall."

"shut up! you don't care about what happens to me."

you stumble to the side, and suguru reaches for you again, inky hairy swaying over his shoulders with his movements. "you're so drunk," he observes. "why were you out alone like this? what were you thinking?"

"what was i thinking?" you swing yourself around sloppily, eyes popping wide. "what were you thinking? how could you kill all those people, suguru? do you know what the higher ups are saying? they want you dead! you defected! and for what?"

"you could've gotten hurt. someone could have followed you."

"i don't care! this - is about what you did!" he rushes forward to grip your shoulders.

"don't do that again," he demands. "i mean it. that was so stupid."

"it's your fault i'm drinking in the first place," you smack his hands away. "it's your fault! you did this to me."

"(y/n), please. let me just talk to you. i've been trying to call you all day."

"and i didn't want to fucking talk to you."

"you called me back."

"because i'm an idiot, apparently!" you toss out your arms, spinning around again. "because i'm fucking stupid! stupid, stupid, stupid!"

"you're not stupid."

"yes i am," you laugh cynically, trailing further away, just to stumble closer again. suguru inches forward according to your movements, ready to jump and catch you when he needs to, whether you want him to or not. "i was stupid to think i could help you. stupid to think that i'd - i'd change anything after everything you went through. stupid to tell myself you'd be okay. to think you wouldn't - wouldn't leave us. leave me."

"angel, will you let me explain? please?" he asks gently, his voice as soothing as it had always been, as though he isn't responsible for the murder of innocent people. like he's the same sweet suguru you've always known. "there's so much i need to say to you. i never wanted to hurt you. i'd never hurt you."

"too late for that, suguru, you fucked everything up."

"listen to me. you're not stupid, you weren't stupid to try to help me, (y/n). you're sweet. you're considerate. you're a good person, too good for me. you're better than me."

"you're a good person. you were a good person too," you cry.

"i'm not. i've accepted that. i've embraced that," he says, stepping closer to you the second you still yourself in one spot. moonlight glitters in the streaks of tears over your face, eyes struggling to focus. you look completely devastated.

"but you're still - you're still you," you press your palm to his chest, pushing firm. "you're you. you - you-"

"i can't be at school anymore, (y/n)," he takes your hand in his. your nose twitches, frown deepening as you stare at your conjoined hands. "my goals have changed. my beliefs have changed. i don't believe in your cause anymore. i believe in mine."

"what the hell is your cause?" you rip away. "killing people?"

"keeping the people i love safe. protecting you from unnecessary harm caused by filthy vermin who do nothing but take from people like you and i and satoru and shoko. creating a better world. for us. for the people we've lost."

you shake your head as tears fall. "it's not right, suguru. it's not right. you always valued every human life-"

"human life steals from us," he preaches. "and i don't want to support a society that encourages the possibility of you dying for them."

"so it's every human's life for mine?!"

"for all of yours," he breathes gently.

"i can't support this."

"i know," he says. "i'm not asking you to. i know you. you're better," he says again.

"stop saying that," you spit. "stop-"

"you're selfless," he says thoughtfully. "you're brave."

"wh - what are you-"

"you're kind. truly kind. you're smart. you're whole. you're better. and i won't take that from you. but i will protect you." he reaches gently for your hands and gathers them in his again. he looks down at you solemnly, and you don’t pull away. "be better for me."

"suguru," you rasp. "no."

"i can't give you the life you want. i may believe you deserve otherwise, but i won't interfere with your morals and desires. you know i can't be with you, right?"

"i don't know why the fuck you're - you're saying all this,'' you slur. "what does that have to do with... why would you tell me that?"

"i wanted so badly to," he continues, thumbs swiping over your skin, his hands jolting yours with conviction. "you have no idea. i really thought i could. ask you out. graduate with you. live together. get married. live a normal life."

your heart pangs. "suguru-"

"but i'm not that man. i'm not the same as you. and i won't hold you back. no matter how much it kills me. no matter how badly i want you by my side."

"don't do this to me, suguru," you beg in between cries, tears streaming down like a waterfall as he steps into you, closer, the warmth of his body brushing against yours. "please, don't. please."

"you'll make a difference. i know you will."

"please."

"it's alright, angel," he whispers. "you'll be okay. you'll be better without me. and i'll always look after you."

"i won't be okay," you hiccup. you melt in his palm when he holds your cheek to swipe away your tears. "you don't understand, suguru. i can't - i can't do this. i don't want to live without you."

"you don't have a choice. unless you want to come with me, you can't be with me."

"that's not fair," you whimper as suguru lowers his head to press a kiss to your forehead. "why can't you just stay?"

"because i can't. just like you can't leave jujutsu high. and i can't take back what i've done."

"but - but suguru, i l... i love you," you manage out through tears and broken phrases. his eyes widen slightly, for he was prepared to confess the same to you but didn't expect you to beat him to it.

it's the liquor in your system. he knows that much, but the words falling from your lips still knock the air from his body.

he tries to remain composed, to keep himself together, to ignore the way his heart is crumpling to pieces to have to do this, to see you in such a state over him.

but you got him. with your profession of love, with your sad pretty eyes.

"i love you too," he whispers. "i always will. that’s why i have to do this."

you don't remember how you got home that night. you only remember the tears, the pleading, the confession, a fleeting kiss, and the way he broke your heart.

you haven't put down the bottle since that night. you spend your days in bars, wasting away, blowing money on booze to stock your fridge with, to keep your mind off of the man you will never get over.

though he told you he could never be with you, he trampled over that promise by arranging meetings with you, much like how he does with satoru every now and then. you couldn't stay away from him. not permanently. not for the rest of your life.

the first time you meet one another, you're purposely sober, too nervous and frantic and excited and terrified. he books a hotel that he 'forgets' only holds a king sized bed, and in the haze of palpable tension after close to a year of not seeing one another, you collide. lips molded together, hands tangling into hair, and ardor professed through a night of love making.

you lose yourself in his gaze as he traces patterns over your skin, reminiscing days from school that feel so distant now, almost as though they never happened. he tells you he loves you, as though that will ease the sting of getting to touch him again but not quite getting to have him. unable to claim him as yours. to truly be with him.

you drink enough to knock you out that night when you get home.

suguru made sure to live by one rule, to always look after you, to have eyes on you at all times. he recruits certain members of his family to survey you from time to time, to keep tabs on how you're doing and to report back.

but what miguel reports one day about your wellbeing makes suguru pale.

you'd been kicked out of yet another establishment for overdrinking and causing a scene, inching closer and closer to a public misdemeanor charge. you hardly go to work, and when you do, you spike your coffee. you never skip a drink with a meal, and you end most nights passed out on a bench on the way to your old school, in the same area rainbow dragon picked you up and brought you to the man you love all that time ago.

"she's getting worse," miguel had told him, and letting his mask of amiability fall in the privacy of this revelation, suguru sighs with a frown. "i think she really needs some help. i left water for her at the bench and covered her with a blanket. i figured she'd get more suspicious if i took her home."

"she probably wouldn't have thought anything of it. with all those gaps in her memory now," suguru says pensively, sullenly. "thank you, miguel. i'll take care of it."

"with all do respect, master geto... is that wise? to keep getting involved?"

"probably not," he says. "but i don't care. it's (y/n)."

"i know," miguel scratches the back of his neck. "sorry i asked."

suguru is at your balcony a few nights later. the sound of rainbow dragon flapping about outside led you to your living room to open the blinds, revealing the sight of suguru adorned in his robes, a serene smile on his features and love in his hazel eyes.

you stumble over a can of cutwater, fumbling to grip the door handle. you slide it open to let him in. "what the hell are you doing here," you slur, swaying and blinking hard.

the dark haired man’s smile fades as he steps in, helping to close the door behind him. he looks around your space, at the variety of empty bottles that line your kitchen counter, the half finished cans that sit on your coffee table, the trash that litters at his feet.

it's been three years now since suguru left, since he took over the time vessel association, since you first started drinking excessively. suguru knew you'd picked up the habit that night, but he hasn't gotten the chance to see how you live, to see you in your element, unfiltered, unsuspecting of his intrusion.

fifteen year old you would have never lived in such a way. a happy version of you wouldn't. a version he didn't break.

"it's a tuesday," suguru starts.

"the hell does it matter if it’s tuesday? why’re you here?”

"you have no reason to be drinking on a tuesday."

"i can do what i want."

you always get more snippy when you’re under the influence, offended and irritated by all. especially when suguru’s involved, for you lack the filter that thinly shields your pain and resentment when you’re sober.

“angel, are you unhappy to see me?”

“you didn't call. i didn't... didn't know you were coming."

"i know. i'm sorry."

"no you're not."

"come here, beautiful," suguru opens his arms to you, honeyed tone pulling you in. you step toward him, stop, wobble, then stumble into his arms. he catches you, sliding his hand over the back of your head, the other around your waist. "i've missed you."

"missed you too," you mumble drunkenly, blinking heavy as you soften in his arms. "i don't like you, though."

he hums, looking down at you. "no?"

"no. you make me sad. 'cause i love ya too much."

"i thought you didn't like me. now you love me?"

"don't be an ass," your s hisses off into the air, your cheek slumped against the navy fabric of his robes. "i'll take it back."

"don't take it back. you know i love you too. dearly."

"y'don't act like it."

"why would i be here? if i didn't love you?"

"i dunno. to make me feel bad."

“i don’t do that on purpose.”

“you do it anyway.”

he sighs. "i know," he admits. "i don't like that you drink because of me."

"that's - too bad," you swallow. "why're you here?"

he pulls back to look down at your face. "i wanted to see you. check on you."

"you haven't shown up at my place in-" you hiccup. "-months."

"we agreed that i wouldn't do this often. only on special occasions."

"the hell is this occasion?"

the tan skinned cult leader doesn't say anything for a bit as he surveys the environment again, keeping that serene air about him despite the crimes you know he commits on a daily basis. he still holds you the way he did in high school, before everything changed, before you lost him.

the traumas have long followed into your adulthood, despite how satoru may seem optimistic and unfazed by the earth's cruelties most of the time. despite how shoko will prop a cigarette between her lips at the very mention of anything relating to her childhood, memories of what was taken from her and all of your friends filtering into a haze of smoke.

and you, unable to bear the loss of haibara and the loss of the boy that you'd come to love so completely, so wholly, to forget what sorcery has burdened you all with, the lives it has trampled upon, seek the bitter punch of alcohol flooding down your throat and throughout your body. your nose curls at the taste, but you toss it back, letting the liquid control you, letting it become you.

how else are you meant to go on? hearing the new reports on the next horrible thing that suguru has done from yaga, staring emptily into space with a flask tucked under your jacket as you await the moment you can depart and forget all that was said.

you’d rather look at the world as if it’s on an axis, letting it spin around you until there’s nothing but the buzzing in your head that takes your mind off of how miserable you’ve been since high school, while everyone around seems to mask their pain so well.

“what’s this i’m hearing about you waking up on park benches? and getting kicked out of bars?” he asks, smoothing a piece of hair from your face. “hm?”

you stare at him oddly before groaning dramatically, stepping out of his hold. “i knew you were spying.”

“i told you i’d always look out for you. nothing’s changed in the last three years.”

“oh my god,” you exhale loudly, turning sloppily to head into the direction of your kitchen, where you blindly fumble around for a new, unopened can. “who was it you sent this time? manami?” you mock her name.

suguru presses his lips together. “now don’t start. you’ll only make yourself more upset.”

“why, cause she likes you?” you scoff, popping the can, watching bubbles fizz upon exposure to the air. “cause she gets to spend every waking moment up your ass?”

“because all of that is nonsense. she’s my secretary.”

“oh please. like - like rich and powerful men don’t sleep with their secretaries allll the time.”

“i’m not those men. you know who my heart belongs to.”

“shuddup.”

suguru smiles gently, sorrowfully, as he walks into the kitchen, setting his hand on the counter before you to stand by your side. “it was miguel.”

your snort. “okay.”

you bring the can to your lips, letting the liquor flow down without tasting it. suguru’s steely eyes watch you, his hand reaching to grab your elbow and bring the drink away from your mouth.

“he’s worried about you. everyone is.”

you tug your arm away, shooting him a hard glare, turning to chug the rest down. suguru lets his hand fall dejectedly to his side.

“those people don’t know me,” you grumble, crushing the can in your first once it’s empty. your body struggles to adjust to the new influx

“they do.”

“y’re only saying that ‘cause you force them to care. they care ‘bout you. not me.”

“they care about you because i care.”

“like i just said.”

suguru decides to change the subject. "have you eaten today?"

"stop askin' me stupid shit. 'course i ate." you move to step around him, but he stops you with an arm held out to block you. you don't quite react to the action. you merely rock back and forth, dragging your eyes back up to his face as though it is a chore to do so. you can hardly keep your eyes open, hardly even see at this point.

"and what did you eat?" the man you love asks knowingly, quietly.

"just - stuff," you breathe. your head lolls back, your neck unable to properly support it, but suguru catches it, concluding that it is time for you to lay down.

"mm. what stuff, angel?"

you don't register how his palm slides down your back to gently guide you to your room. you trip and tumble without his help, leading him to bring you into his side, letting you lean against him as he grips your waist tight.

you plop down on your unmade bed, the springs creaking under your weight. upon contact, your body leans to the side until you collapse into your pillow, legs uncomfortably dangling.

suguru lifts your legs up and settles them properly onto your mattress. you begin to mumble incoherently under your breath as he moves about your space, helping you sit up to change you out of stuffy clothes and into an old shirt of his he finds lying around. he brings water and a trash can to your bedside, stepping over trash and unfolded laundry.

on the outside, suguru remains grounded for you, but on the inside, he's falling apart, watching you wither away the way he once did before defecting. knowing that he is the reason for your solitude, the reason you've lost your light, your spark, your motivation, your happiness.

he wonders if you'd be better off without him. if he should have kept you away from the beginning like he said that he would, should have fought his weakness, his helpless need to see you, to be around you, to feel you despite what may truly be best.

would you drink as much if he weren't in your life? does having him like this make it all worse?

he slots into the space beside you, circling his arms around you from behind, spooning you with his chin to your shoulder and his thumb drawing circles over your bare navel, just under your shirt. your speech has died down to nonsensical whispers that blend together into one long trail of nothing. he hears the occasional whimper that bleeds through, the grieved sighs you release.

suguru does not think you know just how much he loves you. he thinks, maybe, that you're too blinded by your own love and addiction to register just how deep his affections run.

he loved you when he met you. he loves you now. he'll love you when he breathes his last breath on this earth.

and with that love came the need to draw lines, to separate, to monitor from a distance... but how can he claim to do so from a distance when he can't help but come to you himself? to fall into bed with you? to forget time as is and soak up your presence, to temporarily imagine that he's built the life with you he knows he can't have?

he swore to protect you, but failed to protect you from your own vices and coping mechanisms. he couldn't save you from the plague of alcoholism, for it came too fast, too early, and you have not healed. have not grieved him in a manner that allows you to move on.

you're stuck. with moments of him. pieces strewn about for you to put together.

maybe that's what miguel meant earlier when he questioned whether visiting you was a good idea or not. maybe he meant that suguru's flighty involvement in your life does not aid your mental health, but worsens it.

but what would you do if he left you again?

he couldn't do that to you. it would destroy you. more than he already has. he's not sure you'd be able to handle it, and if your addiction were to get worse as a consequence, suguru would be at a loss. he wouldn't know what the hell to do.

he barely knows what to do now.

even so, you can't live on like this. you'll kill yourself. to lose you to such a horror would strip suguru of the small remnants of sanity he has left, which fray more and more with each passing day.

"(y/n)," your name chimes sweetly against your ear, his warm breath fanning over your skin. you're hardly conscious now, lids half closed, lips parted. you don't respond. you merely grunt. 

suguru clenches his jaw, ducking to press his lips to the back of your shoulder. he lets them linger there, feeling the warmth of your body through the fabric of your shirt, the very sensation making his throat tight. you feel just the same as you always have, even when you're poisoned. even when you're hardly yourself anymore. at the end of the day, at the end of the earth, suguru knows you. he always will. "i'm going to get you some help."

"mm - no... shhh," you ramble, likely already asleep.

"i have to," he speaks into your shoulder. "i did this to you. and i can't stand to see it any longer. i can't stand to keep hurting you."

you hum again before going completely silent, leading suguru to believe that you've finally passed out.

he releases a shuddering breath, his mask of strength slipping. he slots his chest further against your back, dark locks splaying over your sheets in long, spidery tendrils. he breathes you in, breath unstable, brows pinching together.

"i always claim to help you, but i only make it worse," he laments aloud, knowing you can not hear. "i don't want to leave you, angel. i don't. but if i'm the one doing this to you, i won't stay around until you drink yourself to death. i don't know what i'd do if..."

he huffs, kissing the crook of your neck, shielding stinging eyes.

"i can't lose you. i'd rather not speak to you ever again than let you die because of me. you're better than that. you've always been better. i don't blame you for any of it," he murmurs. "you know i fell in love with you the second you introduced yourself to us? the moment i saw your face, i knew you'd be the woman i spent the rest of my life with. when everything with riko happened, i didn't realize what my depression was doing to you. i couldn't see that then. i just couldn't stop thinking about what would happen if it was you in my place, or satoru's. i couldn't stop thinking about you dying."

you shift in his hold, and he hugs you tighter until you slump into him again. "i was so worried about protecting you from non-sorcerers' needs, i couldn't protect you from yourself. from what i did. and now, it's three years later. and the woman i love is sick," his voice falters. "if i knew you'd be happy with me, in my cult, i would have taken you home years ago. i would have dragged you with me. i wouldn't have let you get the chance to pick up a bottle... but that life in the cult, with me, isn't the life you want. i know you don't approve of what i do. i know, maybe deep down, you really do hate me. i love you too much to trap you, but nothing seems to be the right answer. as long as i'm involved, you're so sad. i don't want to make you sad anymore."

images of your youth flicker across his memory, days spent with hands brushing one another's as they sway at your sides, sunlight filtering through the trees, illuminating the campus in an innocent glow. looks shared across the classroom, unsaid jokes communicated through the stifle of laughs and the flicker of playful gazes. nights where you ended up alone together, studying, the barrier of friendship put to question when your legs stretched over his lap, papers and textbooks strewn about. moments where he almost confessed, where his eyes searched yours and your cheeks pinched red, tension disrupted by a cat call from satoru over yonder.

suguru wishes he could go back to when life was easy. to when your greatest issues were passing exams and winning the tokyo vs. kyoto events. to a time where the people he loves were all unified, head full of dreams the world had not yet stomped on.

but he can't. the world is not that kind place you once thought it to be. monkeys mutilate one another. sorcerers are expected to clean up their messes. boys leave and break girls' hearts. friends die. addictions breed.

and in a planet where the only thing that truly makes sense is you and your shared affections, suguru will fight like hell to keep you sound and alive.

suguru knows what he needs to do.

he slips away from you after some time, once he's regathered his composure and contained his sorrow. he gets to work immediately, picking up your trash, emptying your space of cans and bottles that you no longer need, discarding the unopened packages that he knows you'll have his head for when you realize.

he disinfects your surfaces, sweeps your floors, frees you of the waste surrounding you, opening up your space more. he runs a load of your clothes. folds them. puts your belongings back into their proper place.

suguru gazes at you longingly before the sun rises, having made calls throughout the night to make arrangements for you, which will take place after the sun has come up. he leans over and kisses the center of your head. 

"goodbye, angel."

you wake with a jolt to no suguru, but the sound of shuffling coming from your living space. you groan, lifting your head slowly, supporting it with your hand. you cough hard, fighting the nausea that swirls in your stomach and brings you inches away from hurling. you moan in displeasure, snorting and spitting into the trash can conveniently at your side.

you blindly reach for the bottle you'd left on your night stand two nights prior, but frown in confusion when you find that nothing is there. you look around at your spotless floor, your clean clothes folded in the corner, and a blatant absence of liquor.

you stumble out of bed, out of your room, and freeze at the sight of satoru leaning against your kitchen counter, shoko lounging on your couch with her feet crossed over your coffee table, and kento at the dining table, checking his watch.

all eyes fly to you, and you stare, shocked.

you glance at your phone. no messages or calls from suguru. just the time that reads 8:42 am.

and a fucking intervention you know he staged.

what starts as a quiet morning delves into a scene of your screaming and objects flying across the room from your grasp as your old friends attempt to de-escalate, to tell you that suguru did this because he cares, that they all care.

you don't want to hear any of it, for suguru isn't there. how could he claim to care if he couldn't bother to show up to an intervention he set up in your own house?

you know this is a sign. that he's leaving you again. that he's pushing you away, and you won't have it. you rip apart your apartment searching for your stash, raging about for something, anything.

it ends up being satoru who gets through, who hunkers down and forces you to listen. to look him in the eye, to keep still, and hear them all out.

he tells you they all love you, that suguru's love for you surpasses all needs and wants he possesses. he's horribly worried. they all are. and in this moment, you forget that you all are in your twenties. that haibara's gone, that suguru defected long ago.

you're united by your troubles, by your grievances, your alcoholism. and you don't see coworkers before you. you see your friends. you see your youth. you see who isn't there, and it rips you to pieces.

"he said to tell you that he never wanted to abandon you," suguru’s sapphire eyed best friend recounts, a steady melancholy painted on his voice, contrasting his ordinary playfulness. "but he'll do whatever it takes if it means you getting better. we all will."

"i can't do this," you tell him urgently, shaking your head as your eyes dart between them all. your breathing quickens, soon transitioning into hyperventilation. "i can't - he can't leave me again. he can't do this to me."

"he doesn't want to, (y/n). but you have to get better."

"i'm not-"

"remember when you used to watch the sunrise on the field every morning?"

you freeze upon hearing suguru's disembodied voice from behind. your eyes follow the direction it comes from to shoko, who had risen to stand sometime amidst the chaos. she holds out a phone, pointing the speaker toward you all, and lets the audio play out with sad, calm eyes.

"wh-" you take an involuntary step forward, stunned, before planting yourself again.

the recording plays on. "i used to ask you why the hell you'd want to wake up so early. you told me it was because you liked get the day started along with the sun. all of a sudden, i wanted to watch the sunrise all the time. i'd be irritated by first period from losing sleep, but it was always worth it. to have that extra time with you."

"w-why is-?"

"just listen," kento advises. you do.

"i've always known you to be so in tune with yourself. with the world. with the elements around you. everything in your life was so balanced, so well-thought out. you centered your goals around what you could do for the people around you, for your environment. and i'll never forget that. it's who you are. it's always been.

"i know i don't deserve you," his honeyed tone laments. "i've made you cry more times than i'm aware, i'm sure. i left you. i broke your heart. i... birthed this addiction in you. and i'm so sorry." you miss the way satoru's jaw clenches, the way kento looks away, the way shoko dissociates as your old friend speaks from the past, swells the air with a painful nostalgia. "i wish i could be there now. but it wouldn't help. i'd make things worse for you. i always have."

you don't blink. you can't move. you're stiff as you register his words, expecting anger to come, but none does. it vanishes to make room for the anguish that's always laying underneath.

you think to all the times you've blamed suguru, and hear now how he takes responsibility. you know he did wrong. he owned his traitorous actions and walked away, but to keep you safe. to guard you from his world the best he could so that you could go on to be something amazing. the better that you've always been.

but addiction got a hold of you first, and it veiled your heartache in hatred.

"i may not be good for you, but i do know what is good for you. and this isn't. you're killing yourself, (y/n). you've pushed away the people who care. shoko. kento. satoru. all of them except me, and i don't think that's safe for you. for many reasons. i'm not safe for you and your addiction. but they are."

"no," you hastily say, turning over your shoulder to march back to your room. you hear voices call you, and you don't stop until you hear suguru's next words.

"you're not yourself when you drink, angel. i know it because i know you. i always have. and i will love every version of you indefinitely." you still, shoulders tensing. "but i won't stand and watch anymore. i won't stay around to make things worse. you need help. please, let your friends help you in the ways i can't."

you huff out, gaze darting across the floor as you lean heavily against your doorway, eyes blurring over and throat tightening.

the audio ends and shoko speaks. "we may look to suguru as a criminal now, but-"

"he's still the same," satoru cuts in. "his love, his affections, how much he cares about us. it never went away, even if his sanity did. he did this because he loves you. we know how much he loves you. we all love you," he emphasizes.

"don't fight us, (y/n). we only want to help," kento steps in. "we want our friend back. we've... lost too many."

you take in a pitched breath through the illness you feel taking over from your hangover, from your body's need for something alcoholic to soothe your discomfort, and you grimace.

is this who you've become? is this what love and grief have turned you into?

suguru's right. they all are. the things you feel, the way you love, is too much to handle. suguru's presence triggers any spiral you have, as does his absence. there is no cure for the plight you undergo each day, no way to make it all go away unless you're plastered.

you haven't seen your friends in weeks. you'd been distancing yourself, pushing and pushing, expecting them to finally give up on you, but they haven't. none of them have.

suguru wouldn't let them.

you stagger before crumbling to your knees, sliding down against the wall breathlessly. the surrounding sorcerers immediately rush to you, envelope you in the warmth you always push away as you fold over, your body trembling and jerking with cries you can not hide.

you feel shoko's hand come to your back, feel the brush off an offered tissue from nanami's pocket, feel satoru's palm fall over your head as you cry.

"i dunno what i am without alcohol anymore," you manage to blubber. "i dunno what i am without him."

"you're… the girl who watches the sunset every morning," shoko offers.

"the same woman who always tried to cheer me up when i was down about my first few rough missions," nanami adds. "you never let me isolate or feel alone back then."

"and you’re the woman who never went a day without asking how i was when yaga started sending me on extra missions. when everyone started treating me like a robot. you were always there to remind me i'm human," satoru mentions. "you're the woman suguru could never shut up about, who still can't do this day. despite being a cult leader. despite planning half the world's eradication. you're everything to him. to all of us."

"when you forget who you are, we'll remind you," the brunette woman echoes suguru's past words.

you unravel under their words, under the weight that sinks down in sobriety. "i can't."

"it's your choice," satoru says. "we can't force anything on you, but we won't give up on you. neither will suguru."

your eyes pop wide.

three years of misery soaked in fermentation, kisses, touches, meetings that came and went, loving words that stained your soul like some form of torture masked as devotion and comfort.

grief for yourself, and grief for suguru geto. for the good he once was, and the sliver of good that he only continues to be for the sake of you.

you've thrown your life away. you've let yourself go numb. and you've lost all sense of who you are outside of your mourning.

you've said horrible things to people. your freshly cleaned apartment is trashed. your stomach and head hurt, your eyes burn, your friends have taken off from work just to be here. suguru always talks about how he's the one who caused all of this destruction, but in reality, you feel it's you.

and even so, your friends still care. and he still loves you shamelessly, freely, openly.

you let those earlier visions of the past come back to you, recounting the woman you once were. the woman you still are deep down.

perhaps you've been mourning that version of you as well.

you break into sobs that seem to last for hours, but none of them leave you.

you don't remember everything that happens next, or how you get to the rehabilitation facility you sit in stiffly with empty eyes glaring forward, a clipboard tucked in your lap.

you blink, the very act stinging like hell beneath your dark sunglasses. you haven't bothered to wipe the tear stains from your face, or change your clothes, or shower.

it's simply a miracle your friends have managed to get you this far. satoru sits next to you while shoko and kento converse with the front desk, and he allows the silence to spill over you, an equaled, wordless acknowledgement of the dark haired man's presence and impact keeping you upright.

and unbeknownst to you, but known to satoru, suguru lingers from afar. watches. waits perched upon one of his curses midair, wind whipping his hair about his face wildly. sunken eyes stare downward, his heart out on his sleeve, shredded and trampled, but a soft smile graces his tired features nonetheless.

for he may not be able to physically be there for you any longer, but he'll always be close by. watching, loving, longing through his best friends' gaze.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

kento nanami: exercise addiction!

kento often wonders what it is you see when you look in a mirror.

when his soft, honey eyes fall upon you, he notes the things he sees. beauty, internal and physical. soft (s/c) skin, doe like (e/c) eyes, a smile that could wipe half the population from this earth, a light that constantly burns brightly within you.

kento is incapable of seeing anything but good in you. anything but the traits that draw him in, that first attracted him, that keep him in awe of you with each passing day.

unfortunately, you are less inclined to view yourself in such a way.

you were a chubby kid. you never liked recess, or gym, or any class or session that required much physical activity. you enjoyed certain games that your classmates would play, but in truth, you didn't have the stamina to keep up with many of them.

you grew up with an unidentifiable pit in your chest that you often attempted to fill with excess comforting sweets, treats, and junk. your father never batted an eye at you, for he was too busy within his blue collar profession to properly provide for you emotionally and physically unless he stocked the pantry and fridge with quick and easy, unhealthy snacks. and when he'd come home after long days of absence, he'd bear gifts of greasy fast food bags or boxes of pizza that you never once complained to eat.

you struggled significantly through middle school with a shrinking self esteem, unsure of how to navigate your body's needs outside of feeding it what your brain told you it wanted, what your brain decided would swallow up the sadness and loneliness you felt as an introverted, isolated child with no means of entertainment or attention but what you conjured up in your mind.

middle school was especially cruel to you. children in the very peak of their adolescent development, seeking their own ways to fit in and feel good about themselves and their changing bodies, always pinned you as a target for cruel jokes and insults.

you'd cling to corners of classrooms, stray away from group and partner work until your teachers forced you into a pair or table of three, and though you tried so hard to remain invisible, taunting laughs barely hidden behind small hands would spill out upon your approach or entrance into a space.

girls would pretend to be kind to you, asking snarky questions that feign interest and authenticity rather poorly. they'd twist their lips and scrunch their noses with squeals the second you'd turn away, whispering about your sloppy appearance. your untied laces and tight shirts that strained against your plumper figure that always seemed to make their sparkly brand name tees and light up shoes look ten times more glamorous.

the boys were much worse, always making sure you knew that you'd never be desired as anything more than a classmate to cheat off of when math tests got too confusing. they'd taunt you openly, shrieking about how fat you were, about how they suspected you weighed something similar to that of a whale.

and it was always so dramatic, the comments, the laughter, the insults. in truth, you weren't even that big, just pudgy. you just carried extra weight that children have been trained to point out, to antagonize, to view as different and unwanted.

things changed, however, when you got to high school, and it seemed as though everyone around you had gotten prettier, slimmer, more fashionable. the bullying grew worse, as you had yet to discover a voice or confidence that would have urged you to stand up for yourself, and the only consolation you found always resided at home in your kitchen, food filling the emptiness of your house when your dad wasn't home and the insecurities that floated through your mind.

a cruel joke played on you around homecoming time, a boy jokingly asking you out only to stand you up and make fun of you when you arrived at the dance alone, was what pushed you to make changes about your appearance.

something had clicked in your mind. you didn't want to be a joke anymore. you didn't want to be undesired, unloved. so one day, you got rid of all of your snacks in the pantry. you begged your dad for a gym membership, scoured youtube for videos on how to lose weight swiftly, completely reworked your diet, and you obsessed over every little aspect of your body that you could improve.

toward the end of your senior year of high school, you'd begun to look different. really different. your face lost its roundness and full cheeks, your abdomen slimmed and toned, and very soon, people finally took notice of the beauty that you always possessed - but, it was only ever recognized when the pounds fell off.

it all felt so strange, the way the positive attention had begun to flock to you. those who bullied you turned their nose up at your new appearance, while others who never saw you suddenly took notice. that summer, guys started to actually pursue you and try to ask you out on dates, but you never took any of them seriously. though you looked different, you didn't feel any different. the insecurities still swarmed, the self doubt still consumed you, and despite how fit you became, you still saw the fat kid everyone poked at when you looked in the mirror.

so you continued to work out. every morning. sometimes even in the afternoon, piling a second session into one day, going just as hard as you did that morning to burn off that now imaginary weight.

you're in your late twenties now, happily married. kento has granted you a life and lens with which to view it through that a younger version of yourself never believed was attainable. through your body image issues, he's done nothing but adore you, dote on you, remind you of the love he has for you every single second of every single day. and for kento, it's easy. the professions come casually, honestly, as if he doesn't even have to ponder all that he would do for you.

it was difficult for you to trust the blonde's intentions throughout the beginning of your relationship, for he seemed almost too good to be true. you were merely waiting for the shoe to drop, for that trick to unveil itself, for someone to come around the corner one day with a camera, laughing hysterically at how you thought someone could ever truly love you again.

of course, no one ever did, and kento helped mold your skepticism into trust.

kento is your voice of reason, your calm in vicious storms, the fresh breath of oxygen you take after having drowned in a sea of your misguided self-deprecations. he keeps you grounded, helps you avoid spiraling, loves you easily.

he knows you don't like the way you look. he sees it in your eyes when he catches you glancing almost bitterly at a mirror, envisioning flabs and wrinkles and flaws that don't exist, that you have manifested in your mind.

he knows that's why you spend all of your free time at the gym down the street.

in all kento's time of being with you, he has never once seen you take a day off from working out. you're always on go, hopping up to go jogging, play a friendly (not friendly at all) game of tennis with your next door neighbors, or spend the better half of your entire morning switching from the stair master, to the weight room, then the treadmill over and over on a loop.

you're in peak physical shape, much like many of your fellow sorcerers. your quads look chiseled to perfection like those of a greek statue, a fine line details your formidable abdominal wall, trailing from the top of your ribcage down to your pelvis. your calves could cut diamonds, biceps flex when you reach for certain objects, and your jaw tightens with a defined sharpness, your skin smooth.

you have outstanding physical strength and skill, pretty close to that of maki or yuji's, only more developed with age and experience. you eat balanced meals, straying away from anything greasy or with packaging labels that include ingredients you've never even heard of.

you're a beautiful, strong woman. jaw droppingly so. but your mind feeds you lies that pull you back to the gym, back to the sparring room at work, back to any chance to peel off some calories and tighten yourself up.

you refuse to be weak. you refuse to be laughed at. you refuse to be undesired by your husband.

and though your dedication to fitness is admirable, those who ogle over your appearance when walking by don't know that there's a permanent spasm in a muscle in your glute. they don't know that you rise out of bed with aches and pains and stings that you can't name, far too many for you to keep track of. they don't know that you can barely tilt your head back to look up to the sky without the back of your back straining and muscles tensing painfully.

that your heart often likes to skip beats. that there's a constant sharpness that pokes your sides when you breathe in. that sometimes, you get spells of dizziness when you've been walking too fast.

kento has sat you down when he's noticed you get winded just from walking down the stairs, or wincing and hissing abruptly as your hand flies to clutch your thigh. you tell him that it can't be the exercising that's causing this, for working out is the all you really have outside of kento and work.

it's everything.

"besides, i can't let myself get out of shape," you shrug, your thigh jumping restlessly over kento's where you lay with him on the couch, your legs toss over his lap as his palms cradle them.

the chocolate eyed man looks at you, confused. "my love, i don't think that's possible for you. you've done extraneous activities every day of your life. i don't think a week or so off from the gym would hurt you."

"ken, staying fit is all about consistency. if i let myself stop for one day, i'll throw my whole routine off track. i can't risk messing with my body like that."

"i feel you working out so much is what could be messing with your body more," he says softly.

you wave him off. "it's not that bad."

one of his brows lift slightly. "i'm not sure if i would agree with that."

"being sore is normal after working out, honey."

"not this sore," he counters. the conversation topic reminds him of something as he lifts and arm over you to lightly graze his fingers against the back of your head. "how's your neck today?"

"fine," you say quickly, though kento catches the little wince you try to hide when you adjust your head on the couch's arm rest. "but seriously. it's probably that curse i fought a week back that's really making me so sore. remember, it slammed into me and flew me into that wall?"

"yes, and i would not like to reminisce on the matter. the sight was incredibly worrisome."

"aw," you push yourself up to hold his face and kiss his cheek. "sorry. i won't talk about it."

kento sighs, helping to ease your head back down comfortably. "while that incident didn't help, i'm certain you're overexercising, sweetheart. it's the only logical explanation for everything. didn't your physician mention-"

"my physician confuses my name for another patient's every year," you roll your eyes. "he's seventy-something. he's not great."

"even so," your husband presses on, patting his hand gently against your knee. "i know there was some conversation about a few strains."

"strains are nothing in our line of work."

"strains are ordinarily recovered by shoko if they're work related."

"...yeah?"

"meaning, you're enduring strains outside of work."

"it happens," you weakly defend. kento gives you a look. "what?" you frown.

"you know what i'm going to say."

"it's not the exercising, kento."

"we both know it is."

"okay, even if it is, i'll just - do lighter workouts until some of the pain goes away."

"i think the underlying issue here is that you never do light workouts. you always push yourself to the limit. you need days for recovery and rehabilitation, not just exercise."

"i recover all the time!"

"name one time, my love."

"when-" you freeze, fighting to conjure up a memory of so as kento caresses your leg patiently, waiting. you snap your fingers, face lighting up. "-after that one mission i had overseas a few months back. i recovered for a whole day."

"a whole day?"

"mhm!"

"as in... twenty four hours?"

"it was more like ten."

kento pauses to think. "...honey, are you referring to... the plane ride back?"

you pucker your lips sheepishly. "maybe."

kento ducks his head, shaking it slowly. "that doesn't count."

"sure it does. i was sitting the whole time."

"you had no choice. you were on a plane. that's not a recovery day."

"it's still basically the same thing."

"i have to correct you there," he says, and you grumble. "why is it that every time i talk to you about taking a break from the gym, you refuse?"

you pick at your fingers. "i don't know, because i like going."

kento tilts his head with suspicion. "do you? it seems that every time i watch you leave to workout, you look annoyed. i thought you saw it as more of an obligation."

"i mean - it is an obligation to my health, but i like it too," you say uncertainly.

kento shifts slightly, looking down at you. "it isn't as healthy as you think it is. exercising so much is breaking your body down."

"my body isn't broken down. i'm a sorcerer. it can't be."

"you're a human being, and you're my wife," he says, adamantly. "you're not indestructible. our bodies take many tolls."

"satoru gojo's doesn't." nanami's gaze is pointed upon you as you stifle a laugh, for you know your husband dislikes any mention of gojo after work hours, within the sanctity of your home. you giggle softly, looking back down at your fingers. "sorry, thought it was funny."

"perhaps try something different next time, sweetheart."

you gasp in fake offense and kento smiles. "rude."

"none of us are satoru gojo. you know that."

"yeah, yeah. lucky bastard," you murmur under your breath. your husband chuckles softly, hand sliding back up your thigh.

"don't you work from home tomorrow?"

you look up. "i do."

"sleep in."

you freeze as though he's just proposed a divorce. you laugh nervously, slimming your eyes as he looks at you, completely serious. "s-sleep in?" you repeat. "i haven't - slept in on a weekday since high school."

"all the more reason to now."

you push yourself up into a seated position, your legs bending over kento's lap as his eyes follow you. "you really don't want me to work out at all tomorrow? not even once?"

"not once."

"what am i supposed to do instead?"

"recover." kento notices your anxious expression and leans in to kiss your lips. "give it a try. call me to tell me how the morning goes."

you're reluctant. "i don't know..."

"your body needs it, honey. just try."

he kisses you again. soft and sweet with reassurance. 

so you try, the next day, to stay in bed an hour past the time you normally wake up, but your body won't let you rest. you can't relax, you can't go back to sleep, and all you can think about is how you're losing daylight, how you're losing definition in your body the longer you stay in bed.

you end up giving in and doing a set of planks by the time you've gotten up and brushed your teeth. you push through the cramps in your abdomen, breathing shakily through the next minute, then the minute after that, then the one after that.

when you call kento, you tell him you didn't make it to the gym but that you worked out your core. kento recognizes that you've at least still kept yourself out of the gym before the afternoon, and he admits that he's proud you've gotten this far.

that gives you some motivation to get through the day without yielding.

but as the day drags on, your anxieties worsen. you sit at your desk in your shared home office, clenching your jaw, bouncing your leg and threading fingers through your hair. you shift, and turn, but you can't get comfortable. you can't sit still.

you're being lazy, you tell yourself. you need to get up and walk around. to do something.

you decide by mid afternoon to take a walk around the neighborhood, which turns into a few running laps. but by the time you're done, it still doesn't feel like it's enough. your mind tells you that you need more.

you go back to your office and try not to rip your hair out. you're irritated. on edge, like something is missing from your routine, something far more important than your assignments.

you've avoided mirrors all day, forcing your gaze downward when you wash your hands after using the bathroom, brushing by those in your shared room or hanging in the hall.

it's been so long since you've missed a day at the gym, that you begin to tell yourself that you are embodying the abandoned behaviors of your younger self, of the child who treated food as her only friend and parent while your father spent long days away from home for work.

without constant exercise, what are you really? are you a grade one sorcerer, or an apathetic piece of shit with no drive or motivation?

your fingers dig into your scalp, your elbows propped over a mess of papers. "i can't take this," you whisper under your breath, staring holes into your office curtains.

you get up, rush out of your office, and swipe your keys from the kitchen table. just as you storm toward the front door with haste, it opens to reveal your disheveled husband entering after a long day. his normally slicked hair sprawls messily over his forehead, bags weighing under his eyes beneath his goggles. he breathes out slowly, and you take the time to look at your watch and check the time.

it's already past seven pm. what the hell have you been doing all day?

"honey," kento breathes as you rush toward him to swiftly give him a kiss before dropping down to pull your tennis shoes on. "how was your - where are you going?" he closes the door behind him, looking down at you.

"i gotta go, ken. i gotta get the fuck out of here."

you jump to your feet once your shoes are on and reach for the door handle. kento stops you. "hold on. slow down."

"i've been slow enough all day,” you snap.

he registers your words. "how so? you haven't gone to the gym?"

"no," you groan, the very idea of you staying away all day driving you insane. "and i can't focus because of it. i have to go now."

"you made it through the whole day," he observes. "i'm proud of you."

you scoff. "for not working out? i set the bar that low, huh?" you go to open the door again, but he stops you once more.

"wait a moment. i just got home. i've missed you. are you able to hold off until tomorrow? take the evening to relax with me?"

you toss up your hands helplessly, for you want to stay with kento, but you can't help but to prioritize your work out instead. "i - i can't."

the blonde notes your nerves, and sets down his belongings. "come here," he extends a hand to you. you look down at his palm, then to the door, to his face, and back to his palm.

you look back up and meet his eyes. "i'll be back."

"come here," he says again, simply, calmly.

you chew on the inside of your lip and eventually give in. you take his hand and let him lead you back into the kitchen. he pulls out a chair from the island for you to sit down, and helps you out of your shoes though you just put them on. you sigh and rest your chin on the counter's cool surface.

you huff air out of your nose and kento goes to stand beside you, resting his hand on your back. "i'm home now. let me take care of you. you held out so well while i was at work."

"don't patronize me."

"i'd never do such a thing to you. i have no need." he leans down and kisses your temple softly, lingering there as you close your eyes and furrow your brows. "what's on your mind?"

"...kento, i really need to go workout."

"the ring camera caught you going for a run earlier. you already worked out."

"all i did was run."

"that sounds like exercise to me."

you exhale defeatedly, turning to rest your cheek against the counter and look up at your husband. "the day's basically over. can't i go now?"

"just wait a few hours longer."

you pout. "we'll be asleep by then."

"exactly. and if you really want, you can go back to the gym tomorrow morning."

"ken."

he hums. "honey, you're did wonderful for somebody who's been working out every day for years. you can finish out the day if you've made it this far."

"it still just doesn't... feel right."

"why not?"

"because, i-" you shrug, pressing your lips together. "because the gym is... it's all i've had for so long."

exercise replaced the junk food you used to consume. it stands in its place, and you're horrified of going back, of letting loose even just a little bit.

"i know it is," he says tenderly.

"and i don't want to - to, you know, end up ugly or... or fat, or-"

"what?" kento's brows pull together. "what on earth do you mean?"

"you know..." you trail off, unsure of where the disconnect is. "...i was a big kid. i don't wanna go back to that."

"but to fear ugliness?" he asks somewhat sadly. he turns to lean his free arm on the counter, hovering closer to you. "you're the most beautiful woman i've ever seen."

"you say that all the time," you dismiss.

"because i mean it. because you're breathtaking. because you make my heart flutter when you walk in a room."

your cheeks burn, your instinct to look away, shying from his compliments. "because i work out," you murmur.

"because of who you are. if you were heavier, i would love you and need you the same way i do now."

you wrinkle your nose. "no you wouldn't."

"i love you, sweetheart, but do not tell me the conditions to loving my wife. there are none. and your beauty is not something that would ever change with your weight. i love you. in any shape. in any light. as long as it's you."

you stare at him passionately, eyes swollen with love and apprehension, still searching for that lie and pity in his eyes that never come.

"i wish i knew what you saw," you whispered meekly. "i wish i could see me how you view me."

"oh, i wish you could to," he kisses your cheek. "because you're mesmorizing." he kisses the corner of your lips. "and strong. and you don't need the gym to do that for you. that's who you are."

your lips wrinkle and your eyes close as he kisses over your brow, then your temple, and your nose, slowly. "love you,” you mumble.

"i love you too," he kisses your lips. "are you alright, my love? what can i do for you?"

you sigh in defeat, letting your husband's tender attentiveness sweep you away. "my body hurts. and i haven't eaten. i feel so anxious. i can't focus on anything."

he hums lowly, mildly alarmed. "that won't do. you need nourishment, especially now. and water." he kisses your cheek one more time. "i'll run you a bath while i get started on dinner. alright?"

you peel your eyes back open when he pulls away, his warm hues on you as he strokes up and down your spine. "aren't you tired?"

"i'm always tired. but never tired enough to take care of you," he smiles fondly. "i'm always happy to."

you huff. "kiss me again."

the blonde eagerly obliges, ducking to push his soft lips against your. a soft smack parts you as kento's nose brushes yours. "is that better?" he asks, voice gravelly.

"much," you smile lovingly.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

ryomen sukuna: gambling addiction!

you were a mess before sukuna came along and saved you from complete financial ruin and destruction. you're woman enough to admit such a thing.

servants around sukuna's grand estate do not initially suspect you of a criminal past. you seem awe-stricken upon arrival, sure, as your big eyes took in the sheer grandoise of the salmon haired curse's space, but that was all his servants chalked your stun up to - the shock of being allowed the opportunity to live within such graces, royalty, and power.

perhaps, a bit of skepticism did bleed through, for new additions to the flow of sukuna's temple always arouse distrust, curiosity, and at times, flickers of envy as fresh meat is showered with more attention in the beginning, having yet to experience the sting of being cast aside due to lord sukuna's abrupt boredom.

word quickly spread, however, that you were not a temporary form of entertainment. you were not the newest concubine in years, nor were you a fling that sukuna occasionally likes to toy with for a few days, nor were you a servant or anything of the sort considered lower than he.

uraume made it clear to the staff. you're here to stay. you're the woman sukuna has finally, miraculously, come to want at his side forevermore, until the day may you part. and that is final.

to everyone's sheer surprise, you're introduced as his lover. which is why, when rumors begin to circle about your rather sloppy, brow-raising history, a wall of tension builds against your favor.

you notice the stuffiness when you walk into a room, the way everyone goes quiet and keeps their eyes down, avoiding your gaze and any chance to interact with you despite you attempting to reach out, to get to know everyone. your eyes fly to vase polishings and floor scrubbing, seconds away from asking if they need any help, until uraume would appear seemingly out of nowhere to guide you out of the space and onto something they suggest would be more up to par with your desires.

you stand awkwardly, rubbing your arm as sukuna's right hand closes the double doors to the grand hall before you, blocking you out from servant business and eyes.

you knock your hand anxiously against your thigh, restless, self-conscious, unsure of what to do with yourself in this world of unfathomable riches, riches that date back to an era you know very little about. all you know, all you can see around you, is the wealth that you have been killing yourself to accumulate all of your life.

and you don't understand how someone like you has actually managed to stumble upon it after all you've done to destroy your life for it.

addiction has always run through your family's misfortunes. a cousin passed due to an overdose. your mother could never put down a bottle, and neither could your grandmother, or your great aunt. you feel that you were doomed to seek some kind of vice like so many did before you, doomed to fall victim to the temptations of fleeting thrill and enjoyment, as your childhood deprived you of much more than a means to fend for yourself as your dad often fought with your mom in her drunken stupors, the two forgetting you were even around half the time.

as the sound of muffled yelling smushed against your locked bedroom door and vibrated throughout the floors, your teenage self took to the internet to scour for ways to keep yourself occupied, to create some kind of living or life for yourself that your parents could never teach you.

you weren't the best in school. your grades sucked, you tested poorly, and you barely paid any attention to lectures in class. instead, you'd hide your phone under your desk and swipe your fingers over your screen as you battle for your life in an intense game of solitaire, one of many online apps and games that you've actually found yourself to be good at.

hell, games were really the only thing you were good at. they always have been.

and when you discovered that you could compete for money? that you could make winnings from rounds of card games that you’d taught yourself? that there were platforms that allowed you to do so?

you had captured a new hobby.

your only issue, however, is that the country you live in strictly prohibits any form of gambling or sports betting. and by the time you were nineteen, you’d tumbled deep into a rabbit hole of VPNs and firewalls, and furthermore into a catastrophic source of financial aid and incrimination.

 with the money from your fast food job that you'd acquire, you'd bet tens, fifteens, twenties, until it became all or nothing, the whole game for five hundred, then a thousand, then digits that you didn't even possess yourself, digits that only a young woman on a winning high with little care for the risks associated would conjure up.

and when you lost it all, you'd resort to drastic measures. fishing around your parents' wallets when you'd visit, to stealing money from the registers at work to have something to bet with, anything at all.

you've been fired from positions more times than you can count, and you went to jail for the first time on a theft charge when you were twenty. fines came and piled on top of the debt you'd already accumulated, and though you'd make bail from a friend or get out early on good behavior, you returned to your detrimental habits now with an ankle brace, keeping you stationary within your home on probation.

the gambling addiction got really bad during your mid twenties. you'd lost almost everything. your dignity, any crumb of a relationship you'd had with your parents, your occupation, your sense of self. the only way to distract yourself from the emptiness of your world, as inflicted by your own habits, was to continue to gamble. breaking restrictions, only to be charged with new counts of illegal betting when officials scoured your devices.

more jail time. more bail. the loss of those same friends and distant family who you used only to free you from lasting punishment. and then the nothingness. the void that came in between that forced you to sit with all the damage you'd done.

you'll lose your apartment soon. the red notice letters sprawled over your kitchen counter are enough to call that to your attention. your water cut off a few days ago. the lights are beginning to flicker. and you have no money. no home. no loved ones to go to, because you'd pushed them all away for the sake of this.

and through all of this time, sukuna has known you. watched you. he'd caught a glimpse of you one day, perhaps half a year back, leaving the police station from afar during a scour of the nearest city for potential attendants to steal away for a project he wishes to enlist in his garden. he'd been close to wrapping things up when you piqued his interest, his brow lifting up seeing you.

for some time, you thought he was a hallucination. you remember the first time he'd suddenly appeared within your space, an inhumanely humungous frame bulked in the corner of your dim room, the beep of your ankle bracelet filling the silence until a nasty shiver rolled down your spine. you'd slowly turned over your shoulder, peering past the cracked door in your closet, to find two pairs of glowing eyes beaming into your soul.

you screeched, scrambling out of your desk chair to press yourself against the wall. you then lunged for your nearby bed, fumbling under your pillow for the gun you keep by your head every night, as you don't live in the safest of neighborhoods. you shakily pointed the pistol into the intruder's direction, and your eyes widened with terror as the unknown figure curled an inked hand around the doorframe from the pool of shadows, then another, then... three... four....

your gun lowered as you stared up at the beast with a lump in your throat, his body unveiling itself to you as he clambered his way out of your cramped closet, ducking his head through the door to reveal a 6'5 mass of sheer evil, with four burly arms sprouting from his bare torso, wild salmon hair that brushed your ceiling, ominous marks tracing over the entirety of his rippled tan flesh, and four eyes that scattered about monstrously before focusing on you.

you'd never seen anything like him. never felt anything akin to this energy, raw, and blood curdling. he grinned with a wickedness you can't name, and you swiftly raised your gun to shoot without further question.

but suddenly, your weapon sliced into pieces, shattering to the ground from your hands. you breathed out shortly, perplexed, horrified, and you pressed yourself back against the wall as the being crossed his first set of arms over bulging pectorals and a greedy pair of lips settled on his abdomen.

what kind of hell spawn had found you now? you were certain he was here to drag your soul to eternal damnation for your crimes.

"what a miserable thing you are," his voice rumbled out like rolling thunder, low but full of bass and power, dripping with malice. "tell me, what life purpose do you serve other than to wallow in your misfortunes?"

you swallowed hard, trembling, breath stuttering. "i-i don't-" you stammered. "what - what are you? how'd you get into my house...? are you gonna kill me?"

the question only seemed to excite the being, for he chuckled something thick and ragged, stepping forward with a thud due to the gravity of his weight against your creaking floors. "that depends. are you going to waste my time?"

"waste your..." you trailed off, mind spinning. "i don't understand. w-what do you want from me?"

he smirked widely. "i desire something to play with."

at first, that truly is all that sukuna seeks from you. a means of entertainment to keep him in high spirits, a source of misery to siphon from, to use to his advantage.

but he doesn't take you away immediately.

he comes and goes, appearing at the most inopportune times to study you, to make fun of you, to crowd your pitiful space. you don't understand his motives, for if he wants to get rid of you, he should have done so the moment he met you. but instead, he lingers around when your mind stoops to its lowest, showing up mere moments after you've returned home from a hearing, or from a few months in the slammer, or from a bender you'd gone on long before you'd been equipped with the damn ankle monitor to keep you from getting into trouble.

and in time, sukuna does not understand his own motivations. ordinarily, he only ever bothers humans to either get some cheap thrill out of killing or torturing them. those he steals away from their livelihoods do not get to bargain for their lives in such a way. he merely trespasses upon their routines and takes them to his estate without further explanation that uraume soon gives.

in this modern age, sukuna is a bit more strategic about laying siege to civilizations and stealing the ashened town's women and pitiful survivors to serve under his reign. 

even so, nothing within his strategies call for him to visit you so often without taking action. he first tells himself that it's because he likes to see you suffer, that watching your pretty little face wrinkle with anger, or panic, or dampen with tears brings joy to his day, but after a while, even that gets boring.

and soon enough, he's sticking around willingly with no proper excuse, reeled back in by stupid conversation that starts with insults thrown at you to you spacily venting, unfazed by his presence anymore, curious to know more about the being you've decided to characterize as some sort of sleep paralysis demon or signifier of oncoming schizophrenia.

"sukuna, what do you like most about being a king?" you ask one night, back flat on your comforter with your arms folded over your stomach. you stare up at the cracks in your ceiling, following the trail that stops at the beginning of your far wall. where sukuna sits boredly, his back pressed against the surface, his body taking up half of the wide space.

he scoffs, gritting his canines. "what a foolish question."

"it's a normal question, actually," you murmur, long accustomed to the curse's foul attitude, for it often matches yours on your worst days. "weren't you really popular back in the old days or something? what was that like?"

"if you are alluding to the fact that i have lost my title with time, you are sorely mistaken. do not offend me with such assumptions."

"that's not what i'm saying. i'm just - back then was different, right?"

he grumbles, looking away. "quite."

"how so?"

"there were no insolent, pathetic little pests who could not handle their riches yammering away in my ear."

you snort, unaffected. "you say that like you don't choose to be here every day."

"i do not come here every day."

"every other day then."

"i still do no such thing. i have much more pressing matters to attend to than the likes of you."

you lift your brows and purse your lips. "whatever you say."

"watch it, woman."

you try to hide your amusement. "so... what was it like?"

sukuna sighs loudly, dramatically, as if your question poses such an inconvenience to him. you wait for the dramatics to pass, staring at your wall eagerly, feeling every second without something to do, some mouse to click, some money to bet, pass by.

now, the only true distraction you have is this curse, this being who should have killed you by now, but just hasn't.

"it was marvelous," he finally expresses. "no limitations. no mercy."

"but... you don't have either of those now either, from what i hear. mercy, limitations."

"perhaps, but it was different then. the people. the air."

"what about the air?"

"blood always lingered in it. a glorious scent to rise to."

"...right," you respond slowly, quietly. "what about... i don't know. a family? did you ever have one of those? a wife? parents? kids?"

sukuna laughs heartily. "a family?" he echoes the word loudly, preposterously. "i was not human."

"weren't you human at some point?"

"far too long ago to care to recall."

"hm. so you were already a super old curse back then?"

"relatively."

"damn, then you're really really old."

he clicks his tongue "what is the purpose of your fruitless questions?"

"i'm just curious. it's still hard for me to believe you're real sometimes."

"is that so?" you watch as his enormous figure rises from the floor, stepping to the foot of your bed to hover, eyes glowing in the everpresent darkness of your room. suddenly, a force grips you by your foot and drags you down. you yelp, your breath hitching in your throat as you look up at the curse towering over you, the lower half of your body hanging off the foot of the bed, brushing his very real limbs. you gulp.

sukuna's second pair of eyes slim, a hand propping on his hip. "tell me, what about my presence is not real enough for you?" he leans down, shrinking the distance between you. you hold your breath.

"it's just... strange sometimes. to see you and... speak with you."

he raises a brow, propping his hands beside you, caging you beneath him. "stranger than blowing your life away?"

you blink up at him. "yes," you say without hesitation.

sukuna hums, eyes flicking over you. "why is that?"

"because i've been gambling forever. i just met the monster in my closet a few months ago."

the tan skinned curse gives you a bored look upon registering your nickname for him. he takes a moment longer to look at you this way, studying how your hair fans out beneath you, and your eyes remain cold with a detachment he can not decipher. it's like you're hollow inside.

sukuna isn't sure why he hasn't killed you, why he always comes back to see you and spend time in your shitty ass apartment that you are days away from getting evicted from.

"humans and their vices," sukuna grumbles, eyes narrowing down at you. "it's shameful."

"i've heard it all before."

"how weak must your mind be for you to give in to such senseless pleasures? i will never understand the plight you pests inflict upon yourselves."

"you said it yourself. you haven't been human in forever. why would you understand?" you point out softly. your eyes catch a distant look as sukuna hovers over you, watches you. "it must be nice not to worry about human things. like rent. groceries. running water. a job." you sigh. "parents that don't speak to you. depression that never goes away. a pit of... nothing. it must be nice being a king. living forever. having all that power. you'd never have to find an escape for anything. you're probably immune to addictive behaviors too."

he grunts, lips tugging downward. "i am," he attempts to make you feel worse on impulse, but it never works. nothing could make you feel worse about yourself than your own head already does.

"I envy you. i wish i could've been born like that. but it's like... like i was destined to be nothing, just like everyone else in my family."

sukuna's face sours. "you are pitiful."

"heard that before too."

"will you do nothing but wallow?"

"what else is there for me to do? police took my computer. i can't pay my phone bill. i can't go outside-"

you stop yourself when you hear a resounding click, followed by the relief of pressure around your ankle. you pause, and sit up slightly to look down, your forehead inches away from sukuna's before he lifts himself as well, freeing you from his cage.

you look down, and the ankle monitor dangles from your foot, then falls to the floor.

you stare at your foot in awe for a few seconds, and sukuna snorts, crossing his arms. you grab your ankle to inspect it. "did you just-?"

"i've grown tired of hearing your complaints."

you look up at him incredulously. "you could have done that this entire time?"

"of course i could have," he grins. "you never asked."

"you-" you climb to stand on your bed, still hardly meeting his eye level, but getting close enough as you glare at him. he tilts his head with a sleazy grin, sharp canines bearing, eyes lidded as he awaits your gripes. instead, you look back down at your foot, realize that you are free once more, and your shoulders sag. you look back up at sukuna, and with wide eyes, you dare to wrap your arms around his thick neck, staring past him in shock with your cheek against his shoulder.

the salmon haired curse goes rigid, for this is not the kind of reaction he'd expected. your warm, small frame presses appreciatively to him, and for the first time since he's stalked you, he sees life within you.

"thank you," you exhale.

sukuna's brows angle, his second pair of eyes glancing at you out of the corners of them, his first set constricting crimson hues. he should kill you for this. punish you for touching him without permission.

but instead, he just shrugs you off after a few moments have passed, stepping away suddenly, leaving you wobbling for balance before jumping to the floor. "do not touch me," he warns, though not very passionately. his words are mumbled, as if he isn't sure whether he means them or not.

you don't pay him any mind, nor the fact that you hugged him. instead, you wriggle your foot around with a smile, adjusting to its freedom.

"well? what will you do?" he grumbles, arching a brow down at you.

you give him a sheepish smile. "you got a fifty on you?"

you end up right back where you should not be, at one of the nearby mattress warehouses you used to frequent that poorly shelters an underground illegal gambling ring.

sukuna accompanies you for the first time since you've been out of the house, but he doesn't go inside. he perches himself nearby and waits. hours and hours pass before he sees you again, but you aren't in good shape.

a group of men carry you out by linked arms on either side, dragging you along as you kick and scream out into the empty, secluded street. your eye is purple, your lip is busted, and you're hoisted around the corner as a flurry of demands for money filter through your abductors' mouths.

sukuna narrows his eyes.

you're tossed against the brick carelessly, and you sputter and cough, wiping away at the blood dribbling down your chin. your left eye throbs, every part of your body hurts, and you look up to see that you're trapped as three men close you in. "i-i swear to god, i have your money. i promise," you lie hastily, lifting your hands in defense. “i’ll get it to you tomorrow.”

one of them lurches forward to grip your hair. you yelp as he pulls you upright by the roots, face tightening in pain. a blow to the jaw hurdles toward you in a flash, and your head snaps to the side, blood pooling in your tongue.

"we've let you get away with stealing from us for eleven months, you bitch," he growls into your ear. "time for you to cough it up. or we'll ring it out of you some other way."

a chorus of snickers ring out, and your heart pounds in your throat, as you fear the worst. you don't have their money. of course you don't. you fucking forgot you'd even borrowed from them - having tricked them into giving you a loan by parading about the very establishment you're pinned outside of with batting eyelashes and the skimpiest dress you could find.

and in your haste to get your hands back on some illegal money, you completely forgot they existed.

you take the blows, for in some ways, you think you deserve them. this is another cosmic beating, for leaving your house, for gambling again. after everything.

if this is how it's meant to end, you've accepted it.

but... the sukuna has not.

the sound of flash tearing and bones crackling brings you back to reality, as the assault stops and the grip in your hair suddenly slackens. slumped against the wall, you blink your stinging eyes open past streams of blood, tears, and sweat, to see a pile of the men you'd stolen from scattered about the alleyway, and your salmon haired companion standing over them, over you.

ruby eyes gleam down, a curl in his nose.

you blink cluelessly, and it enrages him. "do you enjoy living this way?" he snarls, breath slow and heavy as if simmering with rage.

you look over the corpses sprawled about, your face swollen, and you crack. "i don't enjoy living at all," you croak.

"i can see that much."

and while sukuna should have despised such a pathetic thing like you, he finds himself drawn to your flaws, to your wrecked image, to the unfiltered picture of your beauty. for you are beautiful. you've just forgotten.

he takes you home with him to his estate, leaving behind the nothingness you've let swallow you for so long. uraume nurses your wounds and bandages you up, and you gape like a fish out of water when you are regarded with such care, like you're royalty, solely because sukuna has ordered that you be treated as so.

that night, he visits you in the chambers he's arranged. he does not employ you with any tasks, or push onto you some unwanted position. he holes you up in a luxurious bedroom clad with silken sheets, open windows, books, and the scent of jasmine incense.

you feel as though you've traveled back in time. when sukuna comes to check on you, you let the emotions of the night's events stir up. you’re beyond any semblance of logic, and any boundary you've set for the sake of your sanity swipes away.

you're sad. you're in pain. you're in a new space, and there's sukuna. the being in your closet who never left you alone. the creature who killed the men you were indebted to with the snap of his fingers. the curse who helped you escape.

aggrieved, grateful, lost, you reach up from where you sit on your bed and kiss him.

he pushes you away, eyes fiery. "what the fuck is wrong with you, woman?"

"i'm sorry. i-" you can't find the words, eyes blurring with tears. sukuna's glare is hard, but his mind turns and turns as you fight the urge to cry. sukuna's eye twitches, and his ancient heart jerks. 

god, why has he come to like the mess that is you? 

"i just thought... i wanted-"

he growls and stops you, grabbing the back of your head and pushing you back in to meet his searing lips once more. you hum with surprise and sink into him, letting him sweep you up and corrupt you, for you don't plan on looking or going back.

from then on, you're his. and with very little knowledge of what exactly sukuna is doing by keeping you in his estate, his home acts as something like a rehabilitation center. no electronics. 

no darkness, save for in the parlor and incense room that you don’t often frequent. light pours in from every space, his grand temple nestled in a private corner of the world, surrounded by running streams, fragrant flower beds, and disconnected from society.

it's quiet. it's peaceful. and it forces you to discover a side of yourself that you've always shunned, always buried beneath casino games.

the servants still don't like you, even as you grow and heal, but you don't blame them. you've hated yourself for so long, the notion doesn't even sway you anymore.

but sukuna, a rather aggressive lover, has none of it. he enforces respect, privacy, and god help the attendant he catches casting you a foul glance.

they're gone by morning.

you laugh and smile about where you grew up, your favourite things and your red flags and by the end of the date — bakugou is feeding you fruit and helping you stand with a warm hand wrapped around your wrist. “s’only been a few days so i’m not completely closed off,” he mumbles a little too fast. “i’m open to getting to know you.”

you want to get to know him too.

you don’t tell the girls this when they crowd around you with blinged out bikinis and coconut scented sunscreen to ask you how your date went. you’d rather keep your cards close to your chest, but you tell them how nice bakugou is, how sweet he is. some of the girls can instantly tell how much he’s into you. bakugou’s match doesn’t say much.

“obviously, i don’t want to step on anyone’s toes.” you expressed politely to the girls, your eyes doe eyed and bright, voice level and sweet. “i’ve come in at a difficult point, so i’ll just get to know everyone and let the boys know that the ball is in their court.” you don’t care if it makes you seem fake, but you don’t have any plans on leaving the island without bakugou on your arm.

the rest of the week is spent hopping between the boys, wearing all of your most sizzling swimsuits and pyjama sets — knowing that katsuki’s eyes are following you everywhere around the villa. he makes you iced coffees and scrambled egg with toast at breakfast times. he likes you and you like him and it’s causing problems with the girl the blonde is coupled up with.

on the fourth day, you get a text whilst in the pool — schmoozing with bakugou’s rival, deku. you announce it while he smooches up your ankle, making bakugou see flashes of red “islanders, it’s time to see how much of your heart truly belongs to the person you’ve coupled up with. tonight we’ll test that #heartratechallenge #peepthepulse!”

it’s then that you know exactly what to do. exactly how to get your man.

the producers supply you with a cute little number, one that you specifically request in bakugou’s favourite colour — the burnt orange lace of your corset and tiny shorts contrasting perfectly against your skin, accompanied by thigh high socks that squeeze around the plush flesh. your new best friend in the villa helps you smoke out your eyelids and touch up your makeup for the perfect look while she tells you that you look good enough to eat.

and you are. when it’s your turn to get those hearts racing — you stand before the boys at the fire pit who drink you in like a tall glass of water on simmering hot day and eat up your curves highlighted in your skimpy little outfit like men starved. you start with sero and make your way down the line, taking his finger into your mouth before kissing up his arm and right to his ear once you’re in his lap. todoroki digs his thumbs into your waist when you throw it back on him, kirishima let’s out a low whistle when you give him extra special treatment and a kiss on the neck (courtesy of being bakugou’s best friend), you let kaminari feel up and down your curves and nibble on your ear.

bakugou is rigid in his place by the time you reach his rival izuku — and you put on an extra show, pulling the man to a stand and grinding on him like nobody’s business. the boys holler and whoop and scream, practically sweating at the show you put on for them.

when you reach the blonde, you crawl into his lap tantalisingly slow, his rough hands instinctively coming up to cup your thighs — smooth over the skin as katsuki leans back in his seat and manspreads to make room for you.

“hi handsome,” you greet him with an innocent purr, running your hands up to the back of his neck to toy with his baby hairs.

you’re so close to him that he can feel your heat spread through his soul and burn him from the inside out — replacing any memory of the girl that he’s coupled up with. “hi gorgeous, what took ya so long?”

“i wanted to save the best for last.”

bakugou’s cheeks flood with a red that rivals his eyes when you grind down into him, calculatedly placing your lips inches away from his thumping pulse point. you grab at his hair and he grabs at you, practically groping one another as you ghost over his lips, tease him with the prospect of a kiss. he can hear his own heart thundering through his ears, the blood rushing to his head (and between his legs) making him too dizzy to even think. saliva pools in bakugou’s mouth as you make a mess of him without even trying, rolling yourself in his lap, shaking your ass against him, whispering filthy shit into his ear even though the mics can pick it up.

to wrap it up, when you slide off of katsuki, you pretend to drop something — standing up sensually to give him a little treat. his eyes clearly glued to your cute behind.

by the time your turn is over, katsuki knows that he’s done for. he wants you, and the way your vanilla perfume lingers on his sun licked skin. he’s in a daze for the rest of the game and doesn’t even notice the way his girl’s face twists at the sight of your lipstick prints all over him.

neither of you can hide your faces when deku begrudgingly announces “the girl that raised bakugou’s heart rate the most was….” and your name follows suit. you offer up your most winning smile, giving the blonde those “fuck me eyes.” that really get him going from across the fire pit and he can’t help but smirk back.

the boys clap for him but the girl he’s coupled up with gives you a look that could kill.

before it all comes to head, katsuki approaches you and your best friend by the bar — hands tucked into his lose cargo pants, silver dog tags around his neck glinting around his thick neck as he juts his head in the direction of the sunbed’s.

“can i pull you for a quick chat?” he grunts and you grin, offering him your hand despite the stares from the other islanders. you want katsuki bad, so you’ll be as controversial as you want — no matter who’s coupled up with who. “obviously, i like you, a lot.” he starts, helping you sit down, hand around your wrist and eyes full of admiration.

since you’ve come into the villa all he can think about is you, your laugh and your smile. to say his head was turned would be an understatement. katsuki bakugou is crushing hard on you.

“i think you can tell, ‘specially from how that challenge went.” it’s hard for him to open up like this and admit it to you, but your connection goes beyond your beauty and bakugou feels himself gravitating towards you more than his old match. he doesn’t want to pass this up, maybe lose you to izuku. “i said i was open, but i think… if you picked me. i’d be completely closed off for you. i want you like that. if you’d want me too.”

he fiddles with your hands nervously as you sit opposite him, all dolled up with shiny eyes and glossy lips under the evening sky. you think katsuki couldn’t get any cuter which only solidifies your choice.

“i’ve only ever wanted you since i came here, katsuki. i feel like we get each other,” inching forward until you’re a breath’s width apart, you tenderly brush a blonde lock away from his pretty face. “i wanna be yours just as much as you wanna be mine.” you add, quietly.

and you don’t care if your next move makes you shady or betrays anyone’s trust — but you came into the villa looking for love and you think you’ve genuinely found it within katsuki. so you lean forward, pressing your lips gently against his and squeak in surprise when bakugou reciprocates almost instantaneously. he cups the back of your head, deepening the kiss and pushing his tongue past the boundaries of your soft lips to tangle with your own.

“your lip gloss tastes like shit.” bakugou pulls away with a grumble, but his face breaks out into a wide and accomplished grin. “c’mere, kiss me again.”

“m’kay,” you tilt your head towards him, your own expression light with laughter, and place your hand over the one that cups your cheek. “i like kissing you.”

“i like kissing you too.”

smiling again, you squish bakugou’s cheeks. “so does this mean you’re picking me at the next re-coupling?”

katsuki nods dumbly, wanting nothing more to pull you into his lap. he knows they’ll be drama tonight, dealing with the last girl, his sleeping arrangements and yours — but he doesn’t care. he just wants to share this moment with you.

“i’ll pick you a thousand times over. at this re-coupling and every single fuckin’ one after.” katsuki reaffirms, knowing that he’s absolutely fucked up and in love.

and that’s enough for you to kiss him all over again.

you scramble into his lap, trembling, thighs already shaky. he holds you steady by your waist, watching your desperate little attempts to line him up. his cock brushes against your folds and you whine, fumbling, and his lips twitch. “what’s the matter?” he asks softly. “too dumb to do it yourself?”

“n-no, i can—” you try, voice cracking, but your hands are clumsy, slipping on his shoulders as you sink down on him too fast, too shallow, then jerk back up with a cry. he exhales sharply, eyes flickering down where you’re barely seated on him, his tip stretching your entrance.

“look at you,” he breathes, “you can’t even get it in all the way.”

“s-sugu—” you gasp, desperate.

“shh. dont worry your pretty little head about it. just—” his hands guide your hips down slowly, his cock sliding deep until your eyes roll back “—focus on feeling good, okay?”

your walls flutter frantically around him, your thighs twitching as you try to lift yourself and fail. his grip tightens, holding you down until you’re whining, trembling in his lap. “come on,” he teases, “what happened? can’t even move your hips without me helping?”

you shake your head, lips parted, tears welling in your eyes from how full he feels. suguru’s smirk goes molten.

“that’s what i thought.”

he loosens his hold just enough to let you wobble your hips and it’s messy, your hips roll sloppy little circles that barely move him at all. his cock drags against your walls and you keen, head falling onto his shoulder. “so cute,” he whispers, “trying so hard. brain all fuzzy, isn’t it?”

“m-mhm!” you whimper, barely there.

he groans, bucking up into you suddenly. you yelp, clinging to him, and he does it again, harder, until you’re bouncing helplessly on his lap. “there you go,” he pants, “just let me take over.”

“pleasepleaseplease—” you gasp, nails clawing down his back.

he presses his mouth to your ear, voice a deep rumble. “i like you better like this, baby." he brushes a few strands of hair off of your forehead, “you're so pretty when you're this needy.”

your walls clamp down at that and he moans, dragging you down hard onto him. your whole body jolts, thighs trembling wildly. “fuck,” he hisses, “gonna make you forget how to talk. just a pretty little toy for me to use. would you like that, sweetheart? do you just wanna be my pretty fucktoy?”

your breath hitches, hips stuttering as your eyes go hazy. “mmh… y-yeah… wanna be yours, sugu! … don’t wanna think anymore…”

his hand slides down, pressing his thumb to your clit and circling, and your hips jerk violently, head snapping back. “fuck— you're perfect. that’s it. let go f'me.”

“s-sugu!!” you moan, eyes glassy.

“shit, baby” he grits, fucking up into you harder now. “so tight.”

“s-sugu—ru—” you sob, eyes rolling.

he barks out a laugh, sharp and sweet. “angel, is that all you can say right now? my name? too fucked out to think of anything else?”

“h-huh—?” you whimper, dizzy, and he melts, cupping your cheek with his other hand, thumb brushing away the drool that’s spilled down your chin.

“so cute,” he murmurs, “so fucking cute like this.”

then he slams up into you again and again until you’re choking on his name like it’s the only word you know.

because in that moment, you can't think of anything else even if you wanted to.

He was sat on the floor at the foot of his bed, one leg folded up, as he kept his eyes trained on his half of the screen. Of course, him being the ever-efficient strategist, he was currently mining for iron and hopefully diamond.

You on the other hand, were sitting on his bed with your legs folded underneath you, relaxed grip on the controller. A custom one of your favourite color he had gotten you.

And while he was hard at work in the mines, fighting off the occasional mob— you were taking care of your 3 cats, 11 sheep, 5 pigs, and 2 cows. Cooing at the pixelated creatures and letting out the occasional “you’re so cute!”

Megumi, however, was not all that amused. You kept forgetting to complete the small tasks and errands he gave you: collecting more wood, crafting spare pickaxes, fishing. You were just too distracted by your virtual pets.

Being in the same position for the last fifteen minutes, your legs were starting to go numb, the sensation of pins and needles spreading through them. As you shift to change seating positions, your boyfriend speaks up again. 

“Did you plant those sugarcanes like I asked you to?”

You freeze in the middle of your movement, now propped up on your knees on the mattress. “... I forgot. Sorry.” you chuckle nervously.

He groans again, and this time turns around, resting an elbow against the bed as he looks up at you with that scowl you love so much. “Seriously? They would’ve made progress by now. You know how long they take to grow.” he shakes his head and turns back to face the tv, grumbling to himself as he does so. 

“Would you relax? It’s not that big of a deal. I’ll go plant them right now if that’s what you’re worried about.” you continue moving about on the bed, trying to find a new comfortable position to let your legs breath.

He huffs once more, and immediately retorts. “It is a big deal. We need it for enchantment. I explained all this to you alrea—”

His scolding is cut short the second you sit down in your new position.

Sat at the edge of the bed, your thighs rest on either side of his face, encircling him with them. He stays perfectly still, as if afraid to move.

Clueless, you grab your controller again and start planting the sugarcanes he kept complaining about. You imitated his groaning and puffing, quoting him with an exaggerated deep voice in an attempt to mock him. 

But when you realize he doesn’t react to your impression of him, you stop and put the controller back down. Your hands move to land on his head that was now nestled in between your thighs, his black hair prickling at your skin. Your fingers gently make their way down his jaw and cup the underside of it as you lift his head up. 

“You okay? You’re not actually mad at me are you? I was just teasing.”

The sight you’re met with when you finally make eye contact shocks you. A light pink dusted his cheeks and nose, and his mouth was left slightly ajar. You should’ve guessed that he was flustered from the way his skin burned against your palms, as opposed to his (un)usually cold body temperature.

Megumi looks up at you through his long lashes—the same ones you both loved and envied—his eyes half-lidded. 

He lets his own controller fall against his lap as his hands reach upward to wrap around your bare thighs. 

A shiver runs down your spine at the contact, but you ignore it. Or at least try to.

“... ‘m not mad.” he mumbles. 

His thumbs caress your skin, and the rest of his fingers knead lightly at your flesh. As if he was holding back.

“What’s wrong then?” 

“Nothing,” he mutters. 

You look down at him with an eyebrow lifted, confused on why he was acting so weird. “You sure?”

His lips part ever-so-slightly to say something, but he stops himself short. He looks away, letting his head fall frontward again, and you loosen your grip on his jaw to allow him to.

Silence settles between the two of you, and you’re not sure what to say. You’re not even sure you understand what’s going on.

“This is nice,” he finally speaks up, his voice barely audible, and tightens his grip on your thighs to let his head nuzzle deeper in-between them. His ears feel hot against your flesh, and you take a glance at them. Sure enough, they were a bright red.

So although you could only see the back of his head, it didn’t take a genius to put two and two together and understand his face was probably equally as red.

“What is?” you run your hands back his scalp, lifting his bangs out of his face and revealing his hairline for a moment. He closes his eyes, humming at the sensation your gentle motion brought him. “... are you talking about my thighs?”

He only clears his throat, but that’s all the confirmation you need. 

You lean down closer to him and tilt his head back just enough to press a kiss to his forehead. A small chuckle erupts out of you, and you smile against his skin. “Didn’t take you for a thigh guy.”

His eyebrows knit together in a frown, but he keeps his eyes shut. “Don’t say it like that. You’re making me sound like a pervert.” he grumbles.

You laugh again at his comment, and pepper more kisses on his forehead, this time tracing his hairline. Your sudden attack of feathery pecks melts his frown into a relaxed expression. 

He takes a deep breath, before turning his head sideways and pressing his lips to your inner-thigh in a lingering kiss.

“It’s okay, you’re my pervert.” you reply.

He opens his eyes to roll them. “You’re weird.”

But the words coming out of his mouth did not correspond with the ones echoing through his mind. 

Because Megumi had learned something new that night: maybe he liked your thighs a bit too much.