lostgxrlblog

a small snort escaped from the other side of the door, “yea ryo ive been shitting for two hours.” 

his crimson eyes fluttered into a roll before he twisted the knob again, “okay brat then why is the door locked, let me in.” 

needy bastard. “kuna you can wait for like two minutes, im almost done.” you added the final touches to your face before adjusting your dress again. kinda short. eh its fine. 

he leaned against the door frame, arms crossed “almost done what? I can smell your body wash, did you wanna go on a date ton-” 

the door swung open, revealing your finished look. hair done and neat, makeup on point, gold jewelry layered all over your body, and your new brown mini dress that hugged your body perfectly. 

sukuna paused, looked you up and down, eyes immediately turning hungry. 

“black shoes or brown shoes?” you cocked a brow at him. 

“fuck, you look gorgeous baby.” he answered completely ignoring your question, “where we goin’?” 

you puckered your lips and smiled back at him, “thank you. okay so black or brown?” 

“brown. and give me like fifteen minutes, I'll be ready.” he bee-lined straight to the bathroom before your manicured hand pressed against his chest, stopping him right in his tracks. 

“ryo you can’t come to girls night. I've told you this like a thousand times.” 

girls night? It was like someone shot him in the chest right then and there. not only were you looking absolutely beautiful on a night the both of you had off, you were going out with your friends. instead of sukuna. not to mention how much they hated sukuna. the burly mans shoulders tensed,

 “nonono, the hell you mean girls night? I thought WE were going out tonight.” it was almost pathetic how whiney his voice sounded. to anyone else it would've been a once in a blue moon sight, unfortunately for you it wasn’t. 

“ryo I told you last night that I was going out with them.” 

“did not.” 

“did too.” 

“did not.” 

“ryomen i literally told you before we went to bed and you said ‘okay ill drive you.” you pushed past him and slipped on your brown kitten heels, before admiring your full look in the mirror. 

“There's no way I said that, I was out cold before you even shut off the light.” he followed your trail like a sulking puppy`. a large six foot something sulking puppy.

“sukuna i promise you i’m not lying.” you paused with your purse and keys in hand.  

“fine. but if i get handsy in the car, you cannot blame me. you look so hot.” he grabbed the keys from your hands and opened the front door. 

you tsked, “mhm mhm no touching while my girls are in the car.” 

“what.” 

“we’re picking them up, remember?” 

“you’re shittin’ me.”

-

after thirty minutes of being interrogated, looped into gossip, and asked the ‘you’re a guy what do you think?’ question approximately fifteen times,  sukuna finally got to the restaurant. 

your girls murmured a bunch of rushed thank yous before quickly hopping out of the car and heading into the restaurant. sukunas hand still gripped the wheel, 

“thank you for dropping us off kuna.” you leaned over the center console and gave him a peck on the cheek, causing him to turn his head. 

“call me if anything.” he responded in a low mumble. 

“i know i know.” you smiled before turning to open your door. 

“wait.” you paused and turned to look back at your boyfriend who was already outside of the car, he made his way around to your side and opened your door. He held your hand in his large gruff one before pulling you into another kiss, he pulled away just an inch from your mouth, his breath still on yours,

“i’m fucking the shit out of you when you get home.” 

you felt the warmth pooling in your cheeks, you bit back a smile and mumbled back 

“promise?” 

sukunas hands gripped at your waist, before dropping to his sides, a slow huff escaped his nose, “pinky.” 

you snorted before walking off, feeling the sting of sukunas hand slapping your ass as you did so. 

-

sukuna knew as soon as you called three hours later, slurring every other word, that he would be eating his words that night.

 after dropping off your equally drunk friends, he carried you into bed, taking his time removing your make up because he knew you would yell at him if he didn’t, then taking off your heels and dress, changing you into one of his shirts.

“ryo.” 

“hm.” 

“my friendsss saidd they loveeyou.” 

“really?” shocking. considering they mean mugged him all night. didn’t even bother to say his name properly.

you nodded slowly under the sheets. 

“why’s that?” 

a hiccup escaped your lips, eyes fluttering shut “they said… youmake mee glow.” 

“they’re idiots.” 

you snorted, “loveeyouu.” 

“i love you too brat.” 

he couldn’t even be mad at you for blue balling him all night.

theres always tomorrow.

posting schedule rivals coryxkenshin atp

He was the most selfish man you had ever met. He was so insane, so crazy, that he was almost free. He was wanted everywhere he went; everything he touched turned to blood or death. He had no love to offer and no empathy whatsoever.

He was wanted for everything under the sun and more. This man had cannibalism on his list, so it was no surprise to see any crimes he committed.

He just did not care. No fucks are given. He was 23 when you two met, and you were just turning 20. Life has been harsh and unkind to you. With nobody to understand and no friends to count on, you were slowly losing it.

The bullying from school, the family dysfunction, the emotional absence of your parents—what broke the camel's back was when your mother's boyfriend tried to assault you, and she kicked you out for seducing her husband. She had always been jealous of you and everything you had done. She had picked a strange man over her own daughter.

You saw the empty warehouse, and it was tall enough that you wouldn't survive and become even more of a pain in the ass by being paralyzed or something like that. So, on the third night of being homeless, you have had enough. The winter was harsh, and you had seen everything by now.

Death would be rest; it would be a comfort compared to this.

Standing on the edge and looking down, the wind was stronger here, and it was so cold too. If the height did not kill you, the winter would do the job.

You didn't even have anyone to text "I love you" or "thank you" to. That was how pathetic you were. Letting the last tear drop to your cheek and closing your eyes, you let go.

But then there was a hand.

Someone pulled you backward.

God? Had he finally answered your call?

No, it was actually the devil himself.

As you lay on the ground, looking up at him, he sneered, “What a silly little girl you are,” and blew smoke in your face.

You lay on the cold ground, staring up at Sukuna, who stood over you with a disdainful look.

“What… dude, what is your problem?” You asked, your voice trembling.

Sukuna's expression remained unchanged. “Look here, if you want to kill yourself, do it somewhere else. I don’t want any trouble here, you hear me?”

His words were as harsh as the winter wind. There was no hint of sympathy, only a blunt demand for you to leave. The lack of compassion stung almost as much as the cold. You realized, in that moment, that his concern was not for your well-being but for his own convenience.

You looked at Sukuna, feeling a bitter mix of frustration and resignation. You can't even die in peace, you thought, but you nodded in defeat. “Fine,” you said, your voice barely a whisper.

“You see that building over there?" He pointed to the tallest building. "It’s taller. Trust me, you wouldn’t survive that one, so do it there.”

The harsh reality of his words cut deep, but there was a grim sense of finality in them. Sukuna’s indifference was almost a relief compared to the constant emotional turmoil you’d been through. You turned to leave, the weight of your decision heavy on your shoulders.

“Wait, little girl, come here,” Sukuna’s voice cut through the frigid air. You turned to see him sitting on a broken air conditioner, smoke curling from his cigarette. He was shrouded in a dark hood, his face was partially obscured, but his imposing figure was unmistakable. At well over 6'5", he was a mountain of muscle, dressed head-to-toe in black.

“Do you need a job?” he asked, his tone nonchalant as he took another drag of his cigarette.

Confusion etched on your face, you hesitated. “Excuse me?”

“Yeah,” he replied, unfazed by your surprise. “I have a job if you want it. Are you good with numbers?”

The offer came out of nowhere, and you weren’t sure if it was some cruel joke or a genuine opportunity.

“Yeah, I’m good with numbers…” you replied, your voice trailing off.

“Good, good,” Sukuna said, his tone almost indifferent. “You see, I need someone who can count money—lots of money—make sure it’s real, and handle drug calculations. You think you can do that?”

You thought about it for a moment. Considering you were on the brink of death and your situation couldn’t possibly get any worse, why not? What did you have to lose?

“Yeah, I can. When can I start?”

Sukuna raised an eyebrow, a hint of surprise in his eyes. “You won’t even ask how much you’ll make?”

“I don’t care if it’s more than ten bucks,” you said, your desperation clear.

Sukuna’s smirk widened slightly. “Alright then. I’ll give you the details later. For now, just stick around.” He tossed a key and some cash at you. “From now on, you’ll live here. This place has a bed and a bathroom. I’ll get you whatever you need. Rest for today, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You caught the key and the cash, feeling a mix of relief and uncertainty. It wasn’t the kind of opportunity you had ever imagined, but in the face of imminent despair, it was something—an unexpected chance to pull yourself out of the abyss.

“Thanks,” you muttered, though you weren’t sure what you were truly thankful for. The promise of a bed and some semblance of stability, however tenuous, was a small comfort in the midst of your turmoil.

<^>

That was how it all began. The empire you and Sukuna would build, and in just a little over four years, you both were millionaires with so many properties and so many things ahead of you.

The empire was built on the bodies of people who were your enemies or were just in the way. You were the brains, while Sukuna handled everything else. You handled the drugs and money laundering while others managed other parts, but you brought in more money than any of them combined.

Of course, you had gotten into trouble before, or there were some spies within the ranks, but you both could overcome anything.

Over the years you had known Sukuna, you and he had gotten to know each other on a deeper level. People may not believe it or choose not to believe it, but there was no sexual relationship for the first four years of your friendship.

He had surprised you in so many ways, and you owed him your life, even if he didn't care.

You realized that he indeed had many undiagnosed issues, but you were not there to solve or figure him out, and that is what he liked about you. You weren't fixing or changing him; it was actually the other way around. He was doing the fixing.

He loved how easy it was to be with you. You just knew when to do or say things. No one could read Sukuna like you. No words were needed for you both to understand each other. Some people found it weird and disturbing, but he did not give a shit.

He never felt judged when it came to you. He could talk about the most outrageous things, and even if you did not agree with his ideas, you would listen and understand his thought process. No one had done that for Sukuna before.

He did not realize it, but he had come to depend on you in many ways, both emotionally and for business. He trusted no one and talked to no one except himself or you. This man could not trust his own shadow but trusted you with his money and where he had hidden it. Sometimes he even gave you some to hide for him.

One night while he was high, he told you about his crimes, and you asked many questions, all of which he answered correctly. You knew this man was and is evil and will continue to be his way. He would not change or be fixed. He told you that was why he did not like women too much.

"They all try to fix me. I don't need to be fixed, Y/N. You know that, right?"

Of course, you did. You nodded, rolling his joint. He told you what the business future would be and how it would move forward. Sometimes he told you about his long-lost twin brother, Sukuna, who was kicked out after his first kill. He had not seen him for a long time.

"Did you miss him?" He was now lying on your lap. You were both in bed. He had come to your house in the dead of night to talk. He liked to touch your skin—nothing sexual but just to cuddle you naked. That was when you saw his never-ending tattoos. He was like an art museum in a person. He was an art.

"I don't know. We were never close. He was a good person, and I cared for him. When we were hungry, I cooked for him, cleaned him, and was a big brother to him, even though we were the same age. He needed someone to look after him. Grandpa was getting old and was busy. I knew him in the womb; I should have eaten him there. I remember I was hungry…"

Things he said didn't make sense sometimes. He saw dreams and felt things that made no sense, but he saw and felt them.

The longer you two knew each other, the clingier Sukuna became. He slowly moved in with you. It took a year, but now he is here all the time. He slept in the same bed as you, but with his body and height, you had to upgrade the bed and quality. He even slowly started taking showers with you. Seeing each other naked was no surprise to you both.

He was not aroused, and you weren't either, but he had this constant need to touch you in some way and be closer to you. You two became inseparable. You two were slowly becoming one person.

It took a while for you to open up to Sukuna, but slowly you did. You two would sit in a bath and talk about your life, your trauma, your thoughts, and your dreams. You told him one day you wanted to go to art school and do something with that. The next day, he got you a notebook and hired someone to teach you art.

You came to realize Sukuna was selfish, an asshole, a psychopath, and all of the above, but he had a side to him, like the moon. There was an unseen and dark part of him that was so vulnerable and caring in his own twisted way. In his own way, cannibalism was love. Just like kissing, when he loved someone, he wanted to give himself wholly to others but also take the other person as a whole.

Not many people could handle that and match his intensity like you did. Sometimes you were more intense, and he got surprised by the things you said, like your opinions on current politics or the meaning of life, souls, human patterns, even as useless as celebrity gossip.

<^>

The first time he kissed you was on your 24th birthday, and after that, everything spiraled out of control. Your whole life, you had never been in a relationship or even wanted one. In this business, there were many men who tried things with you, but they got turned down quickly. It wasn't because you had someone in mind; you just weren't interested. Your view on relationships was shaped by your parents' marriage, and if that was what marriage looked like, you wanted no part of it. In a way, it was a trauma response, but who gives a shit.

He kissed you in bed after you had taken a shower and finished everything in your very dark house. He just got up and kissed you. The kiss was exactly how you imagined Sukuna's kiss would be. He might as well have sucked your soul out. You tried to get away, but he held the back of your neck tightly. You tried to hit his chest or push him away, but that just made him pull you even closer. Your lungs were burning, and the way he tasted made you feel fuzzy and dizzy. After the shower, he didn't bother putting anything on, and that just added to the strangeness of it all.

He had never shown any attraction to you unless you count the fact that he can't, in fact, live without you. He had seen every part of your soul and body. Yes, your relationship with him was strange and unique. At some point, you gave up and let him kiss you, your hand on his heart, and you could hear it. He was on another planet.

The kiss lingered, turning from something forceful into something almost tender. His grip on your neck softened, and his other hand moved to cradle your face. You could feel his breath mixing with yours, and the heat of his body against your skin. The room seemed to close in around you, with only the two of you existing in that moment.

When he finally pulled back, he looked at you with an intensity that was both frightening and mesmerizing. His eyes seemed to pierce right through you, as if he was seeing into the deepest parts of your soul.

“Why did you do that?” You whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

Sukuna smirked, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Because I wanted to,” he said simply, as if that explained everything.

You wanted to argue, to demand more of an explanation, but the words caught in your throat. Instead, you just stared at him, searching for something in his expression that might give you a clue to his thoughts. But as always, Sukuna was an enigma.

From that moment on, things changed between you. The line between friends and something more became increasingly blurred.

Everything was the same, yet nothing was the same. The main difference was that Sukuna now had to kiss and suck your face for at least 10 minutes every hour. He seemed insatiable, constantly craving the taste and feel of you. His kisses were rough and intense, leaving your lips swollen and bruised. He loved to bite and suck your blood when he kissed you, a mix of pain and pleasure that made your head spin.

You tried to push him away at times, but this gigantic man wouldn’t budge an inch. He held you firmly, his strength overwhelming, and you had no choice but to surrender to his passionate advances. Despite the roughness, there was an undeniable heat between you, a magnetic pull that made it impossible to resist him.

Sukuna’s need to be close to you, to touch and taste you, became a constant in your life. He was possessive, always wanting you near, wanting to touch you, wanting your attention on him 25/8.

One night, you were both high and making out. He had started to kiss your neck, leaving hickeys. It was all going too fast, but he stopped himself, surprising both of you. When he met you the next day, he never talked about it.

Two months later, it happened again. This time, he did not stop himself. He looked into your eyes to see if you didn’t want it, but he saw nothing. He took you to his car and went to a secluded area, saying nothing, just caressing your thigh. What you two did was not sex or a fuck. It felt like you exchanged souls—some sort of ritual. It was dark and intense, and you were certain you saw Sukuna’s eyes become even redder and saw his eyes double.

It was your first time, and he knew it. It was slow; he bit and sucked your blood more than you could count. The drug in your system, with him being inside you and constantly blowing smoke on your face, made you just crumble. Your body was red and purple by the time he was done with you.

No one could touch you but him. You were his to keep and use.

You did not go out the whole week after that, and when you did, he told you that if any man or woman tried to touch you, he would kill them.

When you saw his eyes, you realized he was serious.

You had slept with a man with many issues and a dark past. He had no soul, no empathy, no nothing. His pleasure was yours. You lived to serve him.

Sukuna never made it official. He was an official liar and manipulator, but he had a soft spot for you. As long as he was not denying you, you did not care what others thought or said.

<^>

2 years later/present day

"How are you related to Sukuna Ryomen?"

"I am his wife."

"Do you have a marriage certificate to prove that?"

"Yes, but I do not have it with me now."

"How is your relationship with Sukuna?"

"I just told you." The black sunglasses you were wearing made it difficult to see your true emotions, but it was clear that he would not get any information out of you.

"Look, ma'am, we just want to help you, okay? If you could testify against your husband, trust me, you would not have any sentencing. You are the key here. You knew he was a monster and a killer. If you can just tell us what you know…"

"Look, officer, all I know and all I have ever known is that Sukuna is my husband. I do not know what kind of job he did or his business. Frankly, I do not care. And I will not testify against my husband."

The officer sighed, frustration evident in his eyes. He leaned forward, his voice taking on a more urgent tone. "Ma'am, you have to understand the gravity of the situation. Sukuna Ryomen is not just any criminal. He's involved in some of the most heinous crimes imaginable. If you don't cooperate, you'll be seen as an accomplice."

"I understand what you're saying, but Sukuna is my husband. I made my choice, and I will stand by him."

The officer leaned back, his frustration written all over his face. He wasn't getting anywhere with you, and he knew it. "Alright, ma'am," he said, standing up and gathering his papers. "We'll continue this tomorrow."

As he left, you took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. Meeting with at least three officers a day was exhausting, but you had to stay strong. This was their plan—to wear you down until you slip up. But you wouldn't fall for it.

You understood their motives. Each officer wanted to be the hero who brought down the infamous Sukuna Ryomen, and you were the key to their success. What they didn't realize was that you had meticulously changed your identity, scrubbing your past clean. To the outside world, you were simply the mysterious and beautiful wife of Lord Sukuna. No one knew anything about your true background except Sukuna himself.

Sukuna had always been cautious, eliminating anyone who got too close to the two of you every two years. "People shouldn't know too much about us," he would say. "The less they see and know, the better."

You replayed the events that led to this moment in your mind. Sukuna had made just one mistake, a single misstep that had triggered this entire mess. It was a minor slip-up, but in his world, even the smallest mistake could have catastrophic consequences.

It had happened a few weeks ago. Sukuna had been working on a major deal, one that would have secured his empire's future. Everything had been meticulously planned, but an unforeseen variable—a mole within his ranks—had thrown everything into chaos. The mole had been planted by law enforcement, and their information had led to a raid on one of Sukuna's most important operations.

Despite his best efforts, Sukuna couldn't cover up the evidence. The raid had resulted in several arrests, and those arrested had quickly turned informants, pointing fingers at Sukuna. The authorities had pieced together enough evidence to launch a full-scale investigation, leading to your current predicament.

Sukuna had anticipated this and had made arrangements for your safety. "If they catch me," he had said, "you must deny everything. Stay strong. We have contingencies in place."

And so, here you were, facing daily interrogations, holding firm to your story. You would protect Sukuna, just as he had protected you. No matter the cost, you were determined to see this through.

Your marriage to Sukuna happened only a year ago, and it was the happiest moment of your life. You had hoped it was the same for Sukuna. The ceremony was simple and secret, just the two of you in the middle of the night. He had spent the entire day exhausting you with sex and kisses, and in a haze of intimacy, he had casually asked if you would marry him.

That was it. No grand gestures, no witnesses, just the two of you.

No one even knew you were in a relationship, let alone married.

After the marriage, Sukuna had insisted you quit working. He wanted to give you a normal life, one where you could do anything and meet anyone—as long as it was approved by him. Yes, he was beyond controlling and jealous, possessive, and exhibited every red flag in the book, but somehow, it worked. The relationship and the marriage worked.

You had always wanted to be on autopilot, to let someone else take the reins, and Sukuna was the ultimate control freak.

In his world, control was everything. He dictated the terms, and you followed, finding a strange comfort in his dominance. The life he gave you was one of luxury and protection, albeit with the caveat of his stringent rules. He monitored your interactions, vetted your acquaintances, and kept a tight grip on every aspect of your life.

Despite the constraints, there was a deep, undeniable connection between you. Sukuna’s intensity, his fierce protectiveness, and the raw passion he had for you made you feel alive in ways you had never experienced before. The way he looked at you, as if you were the only person in the world that mattered, made all the control and possessiveness worth it.

Your days were filled with a mixture of lavish experiences and quiet moments of intimacy. Sukuna showered you with gifts and affection, but it was the private moments that you cherished the most. The way he would hold you, his touch, both gentle and commanding, made you feel safe and loved.

The secrecy of your relationship added an element of excitement and danger. It was like living a double life, one where the outside world saw you as a mysterious figure, while only you and Sukuna knew the truth of your bond.

Now, as you faced the officers day after day, you clung to the memories of your life with Sukuna. The happiness, the passion, and the unwavering loyalty you had for each other were your anchors. You knew that no matter what they said or did, you would not betray him.

choso, eyes rimmed red and glossy, glances up quickly at the familiar voice. his pupils grow wide at the sight of sukuna, shaking with rage. and already fallen off the edge…actively losing it.

kaori’s eyes widen in shock, her gaze drops to her hand then to her step-son. she swallows thickly. her short black bob lays flat on her head, a black skirt hugs her waist, as the rest flows, reaching her boney ankles. her formal attire stands out in the sea of casually under dressed teenagers and young adults. and none of it can hide the slight wrinkles around her neck, or the unnerving sensation that shoots through sukuna when she meets his gaze.

“choso said you weren’t here—“

she doesn’t get the chance to finish her sentence when sukuna’s suddenly slamming the frail woman into the wall. choso’s eyes widen as sukuna’s frame towers over her with little effort. he ignores how his hand shakes, gripping the collar of her blouse, squeezing. every muscle in his body shifts, tightening his hold on her.

“I asked you a fucking question!” he shouts in her face. unbothered by the sudden looks of people backstage, including ino, who ran into the crowd to call for sukuna when the woman came in.

a few moments earlier….

ino’s standing beside mechamaru, the two watching over choso as he adjusts his guitar for the fourth time that night.

“dude it sounded fine before, now you’re just messing with it,” mechamaru exhales in exasperation.

choso’s brows pinch, “no, this chord is loose.”

“because you keep playing with it.”

“just give me a sec!” choso snaps.

the two boys glance at one another, looking down at their distraught friend. it’s obvious choso’s been on edge since they arrived. but the guy won’t give them a straight answer. instead he keeps fidgeting and messing with his guitar like there’s a fly constantly buzzing in his ear. to make matters worse, ino and mechamaru noticed sukuna coming in with a couple of his friends. last they heard, choso still hasn’t cleared the air with him. is that why he’s on edge?

“got it,” choso finally exhales.

unfortunately, the good news is immediately cut short when choso notices his bandmates looking like they’ve just been shot.

standing behind him is the uncanny woman that looks like a spitting image of their best friend. choso’s heart drops to his ass, and the blood drains from his face in seconds.

“choso.”

the unnerving sound of his name coming from this woman’s lips has a chill running down his spine. his sweat turns cold as he looks up from his seat on the ground, quickly moving to stand up. choso stands at nearly the same height as the tall skinny woma, maybe an inch or so taller.

“mom, how’d you—“

SLAP!

the sound rings so sharp it cuts through the muffled bass bleeding from the stage outside. choso freezes. completely still. his head jerked with the impact, black hair falling into his face as the sting blooms hot across his cheek. for a second, he doesn’t even process what happened. his body locks up as his brain tries to catch up. his eyes are wide and unfocused as he stares somewhere past her shoulder.

ino and mechamaru go dead silent. the two boys stand there like statues, shock written all over their faces as kaori lowers her hand with terrifying calmness. there’s no guilt at all, just that same unreadable expression.

“you lied to me,” she says coldly. the authority in her voice settles instantly, suffocating the space around them.

choso slowly lifts a hand to his cheek, fingertips brushing over the burning skin, still unable to wrap his mind around the fact that she actually hit him. it’s been years— his throat feels tight.

“choso,” she says again, sharper this time. “i’m speaking to you.”

his eyes flick up properly now, confusion and disbelief behind his eyes as he finally looks at her. then instinctively, his gaze darts toward ino and mechamaru.

his jaw clenches.

“can we talk after?” he mutters quickly, voice rougher than normal. “i’m about to go up—”

“no. we’re talking now.”

her fingers wrap around his wrist immediately. it tightens, making choso stiffen as she pulls him toward the farther corner backstage, away from the noise and people passing through, heels clicking.

the second they’re out of earshot, mechamaru’s neck nearly snaps as he whirls toward ino. “why is she here?!” he whisper-shouts.

ino throws his arms up, drumsticks still clutched in one hand. “i don’t know! that was a hard fucking slap too—”

both boys suddenly glance back toward the corner kaori dragged choso to, he’s sitting on a stool as she stands in front of him. and the reality settles ugly in their stomachs. maybe this is exactly why sukuna didn’t want choso around her alone. and neither of them have to voice that realization.

“should we—”

“i don’t want him killing us though—”

“he’ll kill us for sure, but if we call him he probably won’t!” ino cuts in frantically, already moving. “c’mon!”

the two practically trip over themselves rushing out backstage. the second they hit the main crowd, the noise slams into them full force. music shaking the grass, colored lights flashing violently overhead from the strobes attached to the makeshift stage, and bodies shove shoulder-to-shoulder near the elevated stage as another band screams through their set on stage. the battle of the bands was the first huge event kicking off summer break, and the turnout at the rented park is insane and only getting bigger as more people flood in.

finding sukuna in this mess feels impossible.

“i honestly don’t know which way he went!” mechamaru yells over the music, shoving past a group near the bar trucks.

“split up!” ino shouts back immediately. “call me if you find him!”

they separate without another word, because somewhere in this packed park is a six-foot-four soccer captain with face tattoos, a terrifying temper, and enough presence to make grown men shut up when he walks into a room, and right now they need him.

eventually, ino spots a familiar head of pink hair through the sea of people. well….two heads.

an almost identical, much smaller version of the man he’s looking for sits perched on sukuna’s shoulders, glow sticks hanging around yuuji’s neck as the eleven-year-old screams along to the music like he’s completely lost his mind. sukuna isn’t much better, one tattooed arm is hooked around yuuji’s leg while he shouts something toward the stage, feral under the flashing lights.

ino nearly cries in relief, “sukuna!”

he starts shoving through people immediately, bumping shoulders and muttering rushed apologies until he finally reaches the college student. his hand grabs the back of sukuna’s plain black tee.

sukuna whips around instantly, ready to shove whoever grabbed him, then stops. “ino—”

“there’s a small problem!” the drummer’s panting, sweat dripping down his temple from sprinting around the park venue. sukuna’s expression shifts immediately. brows pinching sharply as his stomach drops before ino even finishes speaking. he can see it all over the kid’s face.

“choso’s mom is here.”

everything happens at once. yuuji yelps as sukuna grabs him off his shoulders without warning, shoving the younger boy toward gojo’s side. the white-haired man barely catches him properly before sukuna’s already gripping ino hard by the arm.

“where?”

“backstage—she took him—”

“watch him,” sukuna snaps toward gojo and geto, voice suddenly low cutting through the music.

gojo’s grin vanishes instantly. geto’s brows pinch instantly, that tone isn’t new to them. “for sure,” gojo says immediately.

ino doesn’t hesitate. he spins around and starts forcing his way back through the crowd, sukuna right behind him. except “behind” isn’t even the right word, his shoulder slams into strangers hard enough to make them stumble, dark eyes fixed ahead as the noise around him dulls. his pulse pounds violently in his ears with every step, ino’s words looping over and over in his head.

choso’s mom is here. his jaw clenches so hard it hurts. and somewhere deep in his chest— something ugly starts waking up.

present….

“I asked you a fucking question!”

kaori raises a hand to her step-son’s forearm. lips parting as her eyes dart over his hardened expression, his eyes flashing red, every muscle on his body protruding as sweat beads down his forehead.

“are you deaf?—“ he snaps after she takes too long to respond. his head snaps to choso still sitting on the stool. “she hit you?”

choso stands, head dropping and hand covering his face. his heart pounds against his chest.

“choso—“

choso’s clenches his jaw, blood boiling.

“choso—“

“forget about it!” choso snaps.

sukuna suddenly lets go of kaori, taking the single step to uncover choso’s face. his other hand cups his chin, tilting his face up, and it all hits him at once. the tears building behind his brother’s brown eyes, looking away from the older as he bites down on his teeth, and the bright red hand print on his right cheek.

kaori smooths out the front of her wrinkled blouse, eyes cold as ice.

“choso lied to me,” she says flatly, but not to sukuna, she never talks to him, it’s always at him. “he told me the money was for cram school because he was falling behind in his classes and needed it for his finals.” her lip curls faintly as she gestures toward the backstage area and the unruly screaming crowd beyond the curtains. “then i find out it was for this.”

choso tries pulling away from sukuna’s grip, but sukuna’s frozen, completely still as he stares at the red handprint burning against his little brother’s cheek. the heat builds u see his skin, sweat collecting behind his neck.

“spending time with you has rubbed off on him, something I did not want to know.”

that finally makes sukuna’s eyes snap upward, sharp and furious as his gaze cuts to choso instead of her. “how would she know to give you that money?” he asks quietly, that tone is worse than yelling.

choso visibly shrinks, shoulders tightening as he avoids eye contact. “she asked to meet with me,” he mutters, uncomfortable. “and asked if i needed anything.”

sukuna’s jaw flexes hard enough to hurt. “so when I asked you, it was before that?” choso looks away. and that’s all he needs. sukuna’s head whips toward kaori so fast it nearly startles ino beside them. “I’m getting a fucking restraining order on your fucking ass.”

kaori scoffs immediately. “we both know that’s not an option.” she crosses her arms now, anger bleeding through her composed expression. “i’m more concerned about my son going around asking people for money over some ridiculous band competition while struggling in school—”

“choso isn’t struggling with shit!” sukuna barks. “he’s a fucking genius. that’s how he scammed your psycho ass in the first place.”

people nearby are definitely staring now. a few phones are raised before mechamaru immediately starts hissing at people to stop recording while ino frantically waves others back. choso looks like he wants the floor to swallow him whole.

“are you seriously praising him for lying?” kaori demands.

“to you? fuck yeah.” sukuna steps closer. towering. violent rage practically radiating off him. “actually, i’m disappointed he didn’t ask for more money.”

“ryo—” choso starts weakly, oozing with embarrassment.

“that’s what you get for going behind my back,” sukuna cuts over him, eyes locked onto kaori. “throw all the money you want at him. choso isn’t going anywhere near you.”

“choso,” kaori says again softly, completely ignoring sukuna, that sets him off. choso’s face twists, confusion and guilt and stress all mixing together as he looks between them. “you know i’m just disappointed in your actions,” kaori tells him, voice suddenly gentler in a terrifying way that makes sukuna see red. “you can tell me if you’re having trouble asking your grandfather for things.”

the faux sweetness hits choso like another slap. sukuna sees the hesitation and confusion immediately. choso’s chest tightens, and suddenly sukuna’s moving again.

“stop fucking talking to him like that,” he snarls, voice low and shaking with fury. “jus’ ‘cause he answered your texts doesn’t mean you can suddenly care about him.”

“ry—” choso tries, voice tight.

sukuna doesn’t even hear him.

“you’re outta your fucking mind if you think giving him money is gonna win him over.” sukuna spits at kaori.

“i was helping my son,” kaori fires back immediately.

“your son?” sukuna laughs harshly. “now he’s your son?”

“ryo,” choso says again, louder this time, but sukuna’s blood is roaring too loudly in his ears to listen.

“i didn’t forget the way you fucking treated them,” sukuna steps closer. “some mother leaving bruises on her fucking kid, making him all jumpy. not after the shit you did with me—“

“i said stop!”

the shout cuts through backstage so sharply that even the people shouting over the music nearby go quiet for half a second. sukuna freezes. choso’s chest heaves. his face is bright red now from humiliation and anger. his eyes are glossy with held back tears that only seem to piss him off more.

“I don’t give a shit!” he snaps, voice cracking despite how hard he’s trying to keep it steady.

kaori’s expression shifts quick. “choso—”

“no—” he jerks away before she can touch him again, stumbling closer to sukuna, instinctively. “don’t— don’t touch me.” his breathing is uneven. ino and mechamaru exchange nervous looks from a few feet away. “I don’t fucking care about anything other than playing tonight—that’s it!” choso gestures wildly.

sukuna’s jaw clenches.

“i can handle my own shit,” choso continues, breathing shakily now, attention now on his older brother. “ya don’t have to make a big deal outta something when I didn’t ask for it!”

sukuna’s eyes darken immediately. “the hell you mean by that?”

“i mean i’m not yuuji!” choso explodes. “you don’t have to hover over me every second like i’m two!” a thick ugly silence follows, even choso goes quiet after saying it, but he doesn’t take it back. instead he glances briefly at his older brother, than at his mother, his jaw tightens. “i’ll pay you back the money by the end of summer,” choso snaps, eyes burning now. “so you can be disappointed at me, somewhere else.”

the words hit hard, then choso walks away, angry. truly angry.

sukuna watches his younger brother shove past the backstage clutter, shoulders stiff and fists clenched at his sides and for a split second, the resemblance is almost nauseating. not in appearance — sukuna’s always known choso looked too much like her — but in their temperament. the rage settling ugly beneath his skin until it explodes. sukuna never really noticed how much of himself choso inherited. but kaori notices it immediately, especially when her expression flickers.

choso reaches ino and mechamaru, both immediately crowding him with questions.

“dude are you okay?”

“what the hell was that?”

“did she seriously—”

“i’m fine,” choso cuts sharply. the three fall quiet, choso’s fingers tighten around the neck of his guitar before he looks toward the stage entrance where the current band is finishing up.

“we’re up next,” he says, jaw locked. “and we’re gonna fucking win this.”

ino blinks, then quickly grins. “HELL YEAH,” he shouts, shaking choso’s shoulders.

mechamaru nods quickly beside him, still nervous, but determined all the same. and just like that, the three disappear further backstage toward the stage call area, leaving sukuna alone with kaori.

sukuna’s sharp eyes cut through her, there was no holding back now that choso was gone. his hand snaps back onto her blouse, fingers curling in the fabric until it bunches tight and strains under his grip. he yanks her forward, lifting her just enough that her heels barely touch the ground.

“i’m going to fucking kill you,” he spits. his voice is low, and shaking with controlled rage. it was worse than shouting. “I’ll rip your arm straight out of your body if you—” his grip tightens again, the words weren’t enough to contain what he meant. “—ever lay a finger on him.”

kaori’s breath catches. she’s on her tippy toes now, frozen, sweat gathering at her temple, and for the first time, something in her cracks. this wasn’t another intimidation tactic or performance. it was a real threat from sukuna.

he leans in closer, voice dropping even further, every word precise, already imagining how it would happen. “i won’t even give you a chance to breathe,” his eyes are deep crimson blood, “if you touch them again… i’ll rip you in half before you even know what’s happening.”

and with that, sukuna lets go of kaori, and she stumbles back a step, catching herself with a sharp inhale.

“keep threatening me,” kaori spits, chin lifting even as her voice wavers at the edges. “I don’t take childish boys seriously—“

something in sukuna snaps again. “i’m gonna fucking kill you, you cunt—”

he steps forward, already closing the distance with terrifying quickiness— and then an arm locks around his chest and yanks him backward.

“what the fuck?!” sukuna twists immediately, muscles tensing as he fights the grip, but it holds him steady, pulling him off his line like he weighs nothing. he doesn’t even need to see the face at first, he just knows from the strength alone.

toji.

sukuna digs his heels in, shoulders straining as he tries to wrench free. “get off me,” he snaps, still fighting forward, still locked on kaori like she’s the only thing in the room. but toji doesn’t budge. he just drags him back another step, grounding him with pure force, cutting through the athletes strength with some struggle.

“get a fucking grip!” toji snaps in his ear. he uses every muscle in his body to knock sukuna off his weight again and drag him further away.

sukuna digs his fingers into toji’s forearms, but it’s too late when he’s pushed back to the exit, joining the crowd cheering the current band.

“fuck!” sukuna shouts, receiving a hard shove from toji until he’s completely knocked back. the rage had boiled way over, that toji standing in front of him, just as pissed, then he’s gripping sukuna’s collar, bringing him to his face, fist raised.

“are you fucking seventeen again!” he shouts, the music and chaos around them made everything much calmer than what was actually happening. “I’ll knock your teeth out if you don’t calm down!”

sukuna still struggles—

PUNCH

the hit directly lands on sukuna’s eye, sending him back, but toji keeps him up. fist curling tighter. “you wanna fuck everything for your brothers? do you!”

“you fucking bitch,” sukuna spits on toji, just to receive another punch directly in his solar plexes, almost knocking the wind straight out of him.

his breath catches, a few people nearby step away in surprise. the ocean crashes in the distance. toji still grips his shoulder. sukuna is hunched over, catching his breath, back rising and falling like a beast ready to attack. but instead, sukuna aggressively shrugs toji’s hand away.

“I’m going to fucking kill her,” he repeats under his breath.

toji rubs his face, chest heaving with his own rage.

“woah! what happened!” yuuji shouts over the music, eyes wide as sukuna finds them in the crowd again, toji not far behind.

gojo, geto, megumi, and now nanami, all glance up, all stunned at the bruise slowly forming around sukuna’s eye. sukuna looks furious still, not explosive like before, but still pissed. the anger settling deep. his chest still rises hard under each breath, jaw locked tight enough to crack teeth.

toji walks a few steps behind him, equally pissed, rubbing at his own face.

“jesus christ,” gojo says first, brows lifting. “did you get jumped?”

“shut the fuck up,” sukuna mutters instantly.

his voice comes rougher than usual, and he wipes the blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand standing back beside his brother.

yuuji stares up at him wide-eyed. “did someone hit you?!”

sukuna finally looks at him then. his expression doesn’t soften much, but something in his eyes shifts slightly at the sight of his little brother hovering there, worried out of his mind.

“i’m fine,” sukuna says shortly.

yuuji clearly doesn’t buy it. “your eye’s all swollen.”

“and?” sukuna shoots back, dismissive, though the edge in his tone dulls just a little. “still standing.”

toji scoffs behind him. “barely.”

sukuna cuts him a glare sharp enough to kill. for a second, it looks like sukuna might start yelling again, but then he just exhales hard through his nose and leans his head back instead. the ocean crashes somewhere behind them. music shaking the ground beneath their feet.

geto studies the tension between the two men carefully. “what the hell happened?”

“nothing,” sukuna says immediately. yuuji still lingers beside him, nervous energy practically radiating off him, and sukuna notices immediately.“quit staring at me,” he mutters, finally shoving lightly at yuuji’s shoulder. “i said i’m fine.”

yuuji doesn’t even get the chance to respond before sukuna suddenly grabs him by the waist and lifts him back onto his shoulders like nothing happened. except everyone notices the slight wince that flashes across sukuna’s face. his hand brushes his stomach for half a second, fingers pressing there instinctively before he adjusts yuuji’s legs over his shoulders again.

toji notices immediately. his jaw tightens.

“choso is up,” sukuna says instead, voice flat, already looking back toward the stage through the crowd.

yuuji steadies himself, hands gripping the top of sukuna’s head as he tries to lean down to see his brothers bruised eye. “are you sure you’re okay?”

“you ask too many questions,” sukuna mutters. but he keeps one hand locked around yuuji’s calf anyway, secure and steady despite the bruise forming around his eye and the ache spreading through his ribs.

gojo watches the whole thing with raised brows. “wow. tough guy for real.”

“say another word and i’ll knock your teeth out.”

“there he is,” geto sighs. nanami shakes his head slightly, though the corner of his mouth twitches for barely a second. behind them, toji exhales through his nose, still irritated, but at least sukuna has settled for the time being.

everyone’s attention shifts fully to the stage as choso’s band gets called up. megumi sits on toji’s shoulders, arms loosely resting over his dad’s head as the whole group drifts closer to the center front where the crowd thickens. lights flare across the stage, as the anticipation of the next band rolls through the audience. yuuji immediately lights up the second he spots choso stepping into place.

“CHOSOOOO!!!” he screams at the top of his lungs, bouncing on sukuna’s shoulders. sukuna tightens his grip instinctively, keeping him steady. the motion pulls at his bruised ribs again, but he doesn’t show it beyond a slight tightening of his jaw.

“THAT’S MY BROTHER!”

sukuna exhales through his nose, eyes fixed on the stage. choso stands under the lights now, adjusting his position at the mic, shoulders rolling back shaking off everything that happened earlier. the crowd noise builds around him, voices overlapping, everyone cheering.

gojo cups his hands around his mouth. “YOU GUYS GOT THIS!!”

on stage, choso finally looks up, and for a split second, his eyes find the group in the crowd.

yuuji waves wildly like his life depends on it. “you got this choooo!!!!”

sukuna doesn’t wave, but he holds eye contact with choso for a moment longer than anyone else, steady and sharp. the bruise on his face not visible under the shifting lights.

choso inhales sharply, shaking off the rest of his anxiety. sweat building from the nerves and heat. and then they start.

the first hit of ino’s drums sends the entire crowd shouting with excitement…

sukuna’s chest tightens. the uneasiness weighs on his shoulders as a dark pit quietly stirs awake inside him. though his focus remains ahead, eyes locked on his brother performing their first set, there’s that lingering anger that he hasn’t felt in a long time.

not since he was seventeen, standing by the intersection, red and blue lights flashing across his face, and his dad’s car jammed slightly beneath the truck, completely crushed.

“shit—that’s your dad’s car?” kashimo repeats, as if saying it again will snap sukuna back.

but he’s already moving. his feet stumble off the sidewalk before his mind catches up, shoving straight into the street. his skull is split open by the sirens screaming loudly. ambulances and police cars clogging the street. the headlights blur his vision, only seeing the wreck straight ahead.

“SUKUNA—!” kashimo pushes after him, nearly slipping as he forces his way through the growing crowd. officers notice immediately when the two teenagers duck beneath the tape.

“hey! kid—!” an officer grabs for sukuna’s arm.

sukuna violently shoves him off. “THAT’S MY DAD —!”

his voice sounds unfamiliar to him as it tears straight out of his throat, making the officer stumble back just enough for sukuna to break free and start running the second he sees paramedics dragging someone out from the passenger side.

his stomach drops.

the familiar body is pulled out, and all he sees is his father covered in deep red blood.

blood coats his face, runs down his neck, soaks through the front of his shirt. glass sticks to his skin. bruises already spread dark beneath the flashing lights while firefighters shout over each other around the wreck. controlling the truck from starting a fire. sukuna drops beside his dad so fast it scrapes the skin clean off his knees.

“shit—shit, shit, shit—” his hands shake violently as he looks at all the blood.

one of the paramedics tries pulling him back. “kid, you need to move—”

“dad?” sukuna grabs onto jin’s arm anyway, panic rising so violently inside him it feels like he’ll throw up. “dad, what the fuck—? WHAT THE FUCK?!”

his voice cracks at the end, eyes wide as jin tries to respond but only wheezing comes out. blood covers one of his eyes as he struggles to open them properly. every breath sounds wet and broken.

“r-ry—” his fingers twitch upward weakly, trying to reach him.

and suddenly sukuna can’t fucking breathe, the anger explodes through his chest making him dizzy. “YOU SHOULD’VE STAYED WITH ME!” sukuna shouts, tears burning hot behind his eyes. “WHY DID YOU GO AFTER HER?!”

jin barely seems aware of the wreck around him, or the paramedics putting a mask on him, or the blood soaking through his clothes. instead, his entire focus stays on his eldest son kneeling beside him with bloodshot eyes, and an anger he can’t seem to ease.

“ryo…” he wheezes painfully. “men…” his hand finally reaches sukuna’s hand, smearing blood across his skin.

behind them, paramedics pull another person from the opposite side of the car, alive and walking. kaori stumbles against the police cruiser, hysterical, mascara running down her face. her eyes are bloodshot and unfocused.

“ma’am,” an officer says sharply, catching her arm before she falls again. “have you been drinking tonight?”

another officer immediately steps in beside him after smelling it. kaori starts crying harder, words slurring together into panicked nonsense.

sukuna looks up. then something inside him twists… his father is laying in front of him and she’s standing.

“you fucking bitch,” sukuna spits, shoving himself to his feet so fast his knees nearly give out beneath him. jin’s bloodied hand slips from his sleeve, still reaching after him weakly.

“ryomen…”

but sukuna already storms forward. an officer immediately moves between him and kaori. “hey—hey! back up!”

“get the fuck out of my way!” sukuna barks, trying to shove past him again, completely losing it.

kaori sits against the side of the ambulance now while a paramedic presses gauze against the cut on her forehead. another wraps a blanket around her shoulders despite the smell of alcohol practically soaking the air around her. she looks up just in time to see sukuna lunging toward her and for the first time that night, genuine fear crosses her face.

“you did this!” sukuna screams.

two officers grab him before he reaches her. sukuna fights violently in their grip, rage tearing through him he can barely see anything besides red.

“HE WENT AFTER YOU!” he shouts. “HE FUCKING WENT AFTER YOU!”

“kid, calm down—”

“DON’T TELL ME TO CALM THE FUCK DOWN!”

behind him, paramedics suddenly start shouting near jin’s stretcher. one of them yells for another medic, and starts pushing sukuna’s father faster toward the ambulance.

what followed turned into a blur that sukuna’s mind never fully managed to piece together afterward. his body moved before his mind did. one second officers held him back, paramedics shouting around him, and the next he climbed into the ambulance beside his father while someone yelled that he couldn’t ride along unless he stayed seated.

sukuna didn’t even remember agreeing, he just remembered the inside of the ambulance feeling freezing cold, remembered the medic cutting jin’s shirt open, and remembered the blood. so much blood.

sukuna sat there with blood covering both hands, staring while they worked on his father right in front of him. jin barely stayed conscious the entire ride. every now and then his eyes opened halfway, searching weakly until they landed on sukuna again. like he needed to make sure he was still there. and every single time, sukuna felt something twist apart inside his chest.

then the hospital lights replaced the sirens. people moved around him constantly, nurses, doctors, officers asking questions—but sukuna stayed hunched over in the waiting room chair with his elbows on his knees and his father’s blood smeared across his hands. he stared at the floor so long he lost track of everything.

the automatic doors eventually opened again. heavy footsteps quickly coming towards him. toji. and then his gramps following close behind him.

“ryomen,” toji says immediately, breath uneven like he rushed there as fast as possible. “what happened?”

sukuna doesn’t answer. he just sits there, shoulders tense, brows pinched tight while his fingers curl harder against his palms. staring at the blood in the creases of his hands. then he mutters. quietly. low. “she killed him.”

toji’s expression shifts instantly. “what?”

“she killed him,” sukuna repeats, harsher this time, the words scraping out of his throat. “she killed him.”

sukuna barely notices the two men hovering around him. he keeps staring at the blood on his hands instead. his scraped knees. his football uniform still on.

sukuna genuinely can’t tell how many hours or minutes pass. the hospital waiting room grows quieter as the night drags on. his grandfather quietly rests his head back, while toji paces near the windows like he might punch straight through the glass. and then finally, the doors open again, a doctor walks out. everyone freezes immediately. and sukuna doesn’t need to hear the words, before the doctor even speaks.

he’s dead.

and it’s her fault.

the hard yank on his hair snaps sukuna straight back into the present. music crashes through the field while people scream their heads off around them. yuuji sitting on top of sukuna’s shoulders has one hand gripping sukuna’s phone while the other fully tugs on his brothers hair to keep balance.

“GRAMPS DO YOU SEE HIM?!” yuuji screams into the phone loud enough to blow out the speaker.

gramps voice crackles back immediately. “you keep shaking the damn phone!” the camera angle violently jerks around. all yuuji can see is the top half of the old man’s forehead shoved way too close to the screen. “stay still!”

“OHHHHHHHHH!!!!” yuuji completely loses his mind the second choso steps up to the mic again.

the entire field erupts with him.

ino’s drums shake through the speakers while the guitars kick in harder, the stage lights flashing over choso and his band as they absolutely light up the crowd. even nanami cups his hands around his mouth to yell, whatever dignity he usually carries cracking under the sheer energy of the performance. gojo screams something incomprehensible beside him. geto laughs while shoving him. megumi claps from toji’s shoulders with far more enthusiasm than he’d ever show on a regular day.

and somehow yuuji’s excitement finally drags sukuna with it. the tension in his chest loosens for the first time all night as yuuji bursts into louder cheering.

the two brothers start yelling toward the stage together, voices getting swallowed by the music and chaos around them while choso stands under the lights. and sukuna’s resolve hits him that very moment too.

he’s not letting these two out of his sight.

the celebrations, surprisingly, continued through the night until all the performers were done.

sukuna and the boys watched in the audience as all the bands crowded onto the stage and the promoters stood in the middle with a list and began announcing the six bands that will be proceeding to the semi-finals in two weeks.

“DEATH PAINTINGS DEATH PAINTINGS DEATH PAINTING!” yuuji starts the cheers, sitting back on sukuna’s shoulders. the rest quickly join, and as the four bands are announced, the chanting grows louder. the crowd joining, a universal want for choso’s band, death paintings, to be one of the semi-finalists.

“and the final band to make it into the semi finals is….” the host waits for the anticipation to simmer, but it’s not realized with how unbelievably loud the chanting has gotten for different bands, but the loudest being for— “DEATH PAINTINGS!!”

—

the culmination of celebration among the group extends to choso. him and his two friends are on cloud nine after the announcement, riding the adrenaline. somehow, choso manages to push everything else aside that almost swallowed the entire night.

people keep stopping him before he can even take three steps, congratulating the band, asking questions, slapping him on the back. toji leaves before everyone else, megumi staying behind with the group as security pushes the crowd out of the venue field and toward the beach nearby. bonfires burn in the distance and music continues from portable speakers.

everyone was distracted, except sukuna. his decision settled during the performance and by the time they return home, well after midnight, the house felt exhausted. choso’s friends immediately crash his room. megumi sleeping in yuuji’s room without complaint. doors shut, voices fading until silence settles over the house.

sukuna sits alone at the kitchen table. the only light comes from his laptop screen.

the black envelope sits beside it. opened.

a thick paper rests beneath his hand as he reads the letter again for what must be the hundredth time. an invitation. the one he’s waited to receive again for the past five years.

a la liga club. three weeks training with one of the best clubs in the world. three weeks that could change his entire future. the letter might as well weigh a hundred pounds. for weeks, sukuna pushed away replying, even when everyone brought it up. he had more pressing things at the front of his mind….

his eyes drift toward the hallway where his brothers sleep. a few months ago the answer would’ve been simple. obvious, even…but since kaori, everything’s changed.

his jaw tightens as his fingers move across the keyboard.

Dear Recruitment Team,

Thank you for extending the invitation. I am honored by the opportunity and would like to formally accept.

But before finalizing travel arrangements, I would like to discuss one logistical matter. I am the primary caretaker of my two younger brothers and am responsible for their supervision and wellbeing during the summer. As a result, I will not be able to travel without them and would like to ask whether accommodations can be made for my brothers to accompany me during the three-week training period. Their presence would not interfere with my participation in training or any club obligations.

his eyes narrow, reading over the email. he isn’t asking, he already knows what he’s doing. if the club says yes, yuuji and choso are coming. end of discussion. if they don’t…then. his fingers flex, veins straining.

both outcomes will result in consequences. the first is choso, but after today, he doesn’t care if choso throws a fit, or if he gets called controlling or insane. he isn’t leaving them behind after tonight and remembering exactly how fast everything can disappear.

his fingers resume moving.

I understand this is an unusual request, but I wanted to address it before confirming. If necessary, I would be happy to discuss the situation further and provide any information you may need.

Thank you again for this opportunity. I look forward to hearing from you.

Sincerely,

Ryomen Sukuna Itadori

sukuna leans back in his chair and stares at the ceiling. for a moment, the silent churning deep in his chest twists… the lingering feeling that’s been pushed returning. a familiar one that’s ruled his life for years. bad things happen whether you’re ready or not. people leave whether you hold onto them or not. life keeps moving whether you’re scared of it or not. and if that’s true—

his gaze drops back to the laptop. the cursor hovers over the send button. the house remains completely silent. inside their rooms, his brothers sleep peacefully, completely unaware that their summer plans are about to change.

SEND

the email vanishes.

for several seconds he simply stares at the screen. then he reaches over, grabs the black envelope, and crushes it in his fist. three weeks in spain. suck it up.

—

the following two weeks went by with a breeze. aside from two separate incidents in two completely different places. one unraveled in the itadori household a few days after the battle of the bands tournament, and the second was in a certain hospital staircase that same day.

your jaw tenses. shoko quietly stands beside you, your hands tucked behind your backs. a resident stands across from you while an attending stands front and center. the staircase feels too small and you already know this isn’t about a patient, glancing at shoko beside you.

the attending, your father, removes his glasses, folding them in his hand. “you know why we’re having this conversation?”

you shift your weight, shoko glances at you. heat crawls up from the back of your neck. you finally respond with a small shrug. the resident cringes, your father doesn’t. “you asked shoko to ask a resident physician to prescribe medication to you.”

you swallow thickly biting your cheek. shoko opens her mouth, but your dad holds a hand up.

“I’ll give you a chance. I’m asking her to answer first.” you can feel his eyes on you, waiting for you to meet his gaze. which you do.

“i asked a question,” you clear your throat. “I was asking shoko to ask for me.”

“you put them in an inappropriate position,” he cuts, silencing you in seconds.

your chest tightens, heat spreading to your face now. the embarrassment sits heavy on your chest now. you see shoko try to raise her hand beside you again.

“can I—“ the attending finally turns his head to shoko. “we were just talking.” she clears her throat, “we both didn’t know what the policy was on—“

“the policy is your supervisors can’t prescribe you medication,” he snaps.

shoko nods, glancing at the resident, who’s supervising this summer’s undergrad students, including her and you. “yeah, I was told.”

you scratch your wrist awkwardly, “I didn’t mean to put anyone in an…inappropriate position.” you wet your lip, pushing the coil crawling up your throat. “it won’t happen again.”

he processes your apology. his eyes flick to the resident and shoko, dismissing them. shoko glances at you as she follows the resident out, the staircase door shutting behind her. the silence grows louder with just the two of you. you inhale sharply, your head falling back, hands covering your face.

“dad—“

“do you need a new prescription?”

“no,” you cut, hands shielding you from his gaze.

“then why did you ask? have you spoken to your doctor about this?”

“I’m not—“ you stop, taking a deep breath. “I don’t need another prescription. and I told you already I’ve been talking to my doctor. I was just asking a question— I was just stressed.”

“why? you’ve done all this before,” he cuts, brows furrowed, and arms crossed in confusion.

“I’m stressed about other stuff,” you exhale, hands falling, face still burning from the humiliation earlier.

“what other stuff?” he pushes. genuinely confused about what you could be worrying about. “you don’t have classes or exams. you know everything. if you have any questions you can ask me—“

“yeah, I’m worried about other stuff, like generally,” you huff, rubbing your face. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“you’re not taking any medication now?” he changes the subject back, brushing off your concerns to push his own out, “jennie told me you weren’t when she visited.”

your teeth clench, rubbing your eye, “yeah, I don’t need it anymore. I haven’t had them since finals.”

his eyes narrow, you can see the concern pinching his brows. “I don’t have a problem if you still need to take them. you know that—“

“yeah, but I don’t need them,” your stomach curls tighter, especially when he glances over you like…like you’re causing him more stress. it’s confusing, you know tjat. saying you don’t need any more medication, but then asking a resident a question about whether they can give you some for stress. it doesn’t make sense, and at this point you’re getting frustrated with yourself. “it’s not a big deal. next time I just won’t ask anyone anything,” you mutter.

“we’re having a conversation, so don’t do that,” he shakes his head in disappointment. the pit in your stomach growing at the sight. “I want to understand why you asked.”

you stomach churns, “it’s fine.”

the silence stretches between you, then you finally decide to leave.

“you should go home,” he steps to block the door.

you barely blink, the comment rolling off your back as you hum. “great.”

your father exhales through his nose. “i’m serious.”

“i know.”

“you don’t sound like you know.”

your jaw tightens, ignoring the passive aggressive tone. “can i go now?” you ask.

he stares at you for another second before stepping aside. the staircase door swings open and you leave. your shoes slap against the floor as you move through the hallway. nurses pass, residents pass, families pass, and it all irritates you. you don’t even realize how fast you’re walking until another set of footsteps catches up beside you.

“hey.” you don’t look over. shoko keeps a quick pace beside you anyway. “hey.”

“what?” you stop.

the word comes out harsher than intended. shoko is unfazed, “i’m sorry.”

you glance at her. the two of you standing by the lockerroom. “for what?”

“for telling the resident.”

“yeah well you didn’t tell on me.”

“still.”

you put the code in before entering the locker room, shoko follows. “still what? i asked a question and apparently that’s illegal.”

“that’s not what i mean,” shoko sits on the bench as you take your backpack out.

you sigh, “i know what you meant.” you start changing. “it’s just annoying that I was scolded like that and I didn’t even wanna do this stupid ass program in the first place. no offense,” you start rambling. “but seriously, how many times does this make it—like the fifth freaking time I get yelled at in front of these residents and I haven’t even done anything that crazy. asking a question?! god forbid!” you throw your hands up in sarcastic defense. you scoff at the situation rolling your eyes.

“this whole thing is just a humiliation ritual of being a fucking doormat, and having every single person around me be the biggest ops ever—not you,” you put your shirt on, pulling your jeans up right after. “let’s bet how much shit I’m gonna get if I just mention to jennie how annoyed I am,” you roll your eyes, knowing exactly what she’ll say. “if yOU doN’t LiKe it sO mUCh jusT qUiT,” you mimic her voice.

shoko, who has been quietly listening, stifles her own laugh. “why do you let her get under your skin?”

you deadpan. “she is the only person that can ragebait me until i wanna tear my hair out,” you’re basically clawing at your skin. “can’t even complain about anything anymore,” you mutter more to yourself. “whatever.”

shoko gives you a sympathetic look.

“call me when you finish, I’ll come pick you up,” you conclude, waiting for shoko’s hum before leaving.

and just a few miles away, another incident was unfolding in the itadori garage.

“what?” choso’s voice cuts through the room. “you’re lying.”

“you don’t want a free vacation?”

“it’s not a free anything! i’m not going to spain! the tournament—”

“yeah, the finals are the day before our flight, still lying—”

“i’m not lying! when we win we’re gonna be meeting with producers and stuff—”

“and stuff,” sukuna laughs. “you can zoom in.”

“that’s not the same thing!”

“sounds the same.”

“it literally isn’t!”

the garage erupts. the old fan rattles uselessly in the corner, guitar cables snake across the floor and choso stands in the middle, face red with frustration while sukuna lounges against the workbench like this is the funniest thing he’s heard all week.

“i’m not missing opportunities because you’re going to spain!” choso shouts.

sukuna shrugs, “good thing i’m not asking.”

“you can’t do that!”

“watch me.”

“ryomen!”

“choso!”

the younger teen looks seconds away from committing a felony, his jaw tightens, anger bubbling dangerously, “you’re possessively controlling.”

“shocker,” sukuna replies lowly, checking his phone after it buzzes.

“you can’t just drag people across the world!”

“sure i can.”

“i’m sixteen!”

“exactly.”

choso makes a strangled noise just as the garage door suddenly slides open.

“hey, i brought—” ino freezes, a pizza box hangs from one hand. his eyes dart between the brothers. “…oh.”

“tell him he’s insane!” choso shouts, voice cracking and pointing at the tattooed brother lounged in the corner on his phone.

“tell him i’m right,” sukuna says at the same time with less effort as his younger brother.

ino slowly starts backing out. “nope.”

choso’s jaw clenches, “ino.”

ino shakes his head more, “no.”

“ino,” choso’s words strain.

“naaahhhh man.” the teen points at both of them, pizza box fumbling. “last time i got involved in your family drama i got interrogated by psycho satan.” he means sukuna.

“that’s dramatic,” sukuna snorts.

“you threatened me,” ino huffs.

“that’s different,” sukuna casually scratches his large tatted bicep, with an added shrug.

ino frowns, “how is that different?!”

suluna shrugs, while the younger teen throws his hands in the air, choso’s black hair is messy and pushed out of his face from how much he’s run his hands through it. “he accepted the offer!”

“what offer?” ino asks.

“the spain one,” choso frowns, and sukuna eyes dart up, not realizing how many people knew about this offer. ino blinks, lips parting and eyes lighting up.

“…spain spain?”

“yes, spain spain,” choso snaps.

“like beaches?”

“yes.”

“europe?”

“yes!”

“yoooooo,” ino is smiling wide now, stepping further into the garage. “that’s so cool!”

“dude—“ choso snaps.

ino cringes, but the smile doesn’t go away, “sorry, but like DAAAAANG, remember a couple years ago, we talked about it—duuude,” ino’s attention shifts to sukuna, smiling wide. “congrats!!”

“what—stop glazing him!” choso interrupts, and ino holds back his tongue, conflicted.

“cool but like yeah, no, that’s actually insane, why does choso needa go with you? not cool,” ino falls in line.

choso relaxes just a bit, “thank you.”

“but also…” ino hesitates, and choso’s eyes narrows immediately.

“don’t.”

ino puts the pizza on the table, shrugging, “i’m just saying—”

“ino.”

“i mean…spain is kinda sick,” he plays devils advocate. and sukuna barks out a laugh.

“ino!” choso looks ready to throw his guitar right at his best friend. “you never help, shit friend.”

“he’ll get over it,” sukuna says to ino, who feels slightly guilty, opening the box to take out a slice while it’s hot.

“i won’t!” choso shouts, putting his guitar down.

sukuna ignores him, “he will.”

“i won’t!”

“you always do.” the words come out too casual, and for half a second, the garage falls quiet. choso’s jaw tightens, and sukuna’s grin fades slightly, watching his younger brother’s expression shift, the anger burning hotter. the same anger claws at sukuna’s own chest remebering why he has to force choso to come with him.

“I’m staying with gramps,” choso’s voice is lower. his own brain trying to wrap around the sudden information. he hadn’t even known that his brother accepted the offer when he wouldn’t even talk to anyone about it. and to find out he accepted it and was told it’s okay for him to bring his brothers without even asking him?!

“gramps is going to the lake with his war buds like he does every summers so yeah, you’re not staying here alone.” sukuna tsks, standing up. he glares at choso across the garage, waiting for choso to test him. the tension suddenly hits ino full force. the bickering had turned into something charged in a matter of seconds. his chewing slows, awkwardly.

“I’ll stay with ino,” choso pushes, eyes darting between sukuna’s.

“this lying shit?” sukuna scoffs pointing at ino without glancing at him.

ino chokes, coughing, “me?!!”

sukuna frowns, eyes narrowing sharply, “I fucking asked you if he saw that bitch of mom and you said no. that constitutes as lying.”

ino lowers his head.

“I told him not to say anything,” choso defends, “he’s my friend.”

“exactly why you’re not staying with him because he’ll lie and I won’t know if you see that woman again or not.” sukuna takes a step towards his brother.

“i took money from her,” choso tilts his head, clearly not afraid of the older as his eyes narrow. “I’m gonna give her that money back.”

“I don’t give a shit if you don’t or if you take more money from her. she owes you and yuuji a shit ton of money anyways,” sukuna stops in front of choso. an unknown look crossing the man’s face, and choso hesitates for a moment. “I have a problem that she laid her hands on you.”

choso’s jaw clenches, stepping away. “I stole money from her.”

“so you think you deserve to get hit?” sukuna snaps. choso rolls his eyes, grabbing a slice of pizza, forcing himself to act casual. “she’s a toxic psycho.”

“whatever, man,” choso mutters, dismissing the conversation about his mother. an uncomfortable twist settling deep in his stomach making him slightly nauseous. “I don’t wanna talk about her with you.”

“why because I don’t sugarcoat how horrible she is?” sukuna scoffs. choso’s defensive attitude quietly triggers the older. choso rolls his eyes again, gaze locked at the pizza, but sukuna catches it and ino sinks further in the corner. “stupid ass teen,” sukuna grabs his keys from his pocket, walking towards the door, opening the garage. “fucking proving my damn point by acting stupid as fuck.”

sukuna scoffs, pissing himself off as the memories of this woman flood his mind. jaw tensing as he looks at choso turning away from him. “mothers don’t beat their kids, and she was more of dad’s fucking mental patient than a mom to you”

“how the fuck would you know!” choso finally snaps. “your mom left and my mom isn’t yours, I have my own memories!”

“the ones when you were two?” sukuna scoffs, walking towards the parked pick-up truck. “I doubt you remember shit before you were twelve,” sukuna says the comment without realizing the flame he lit.

“I remember you going to jail too and losing your first club offer,” choso spits. “great example compared to her. definitely my role model!”

sukuna stops dead in his tracks, jaw tightening, he glances over his shoulder and choso doesn’t back down. “you’re more like her than me or yuuji are, so it’s pretty hypocritical that I’m being forced to go to spain with another psycho.”

mechamaru had just parked his car and is exiting when he hears the yelling from his friend’s open driveway. ino has attempted to blend in with the couch, empty plate in his lap while choso’s chest heaves. the strings in his heart strain ignoring the unfamiliar look on his brothers face. especially when sukuna fiddles with his keys with one hand, the jangling fills the tense air, before sukuna licks his teeth.

“at least I’ve never hit you guys.”

the response is deeply honest that choso pauses, unable to respond. sukuna swings his keys between his fingers, rubbing the back of his neck and walking down the driveway. he passes mechamaru silently, unlocking his truck.

the teens are left in defending silence minutes after sukuna’s already driven away. ino and mechamaru exchange looks, especially when choso disappears into the house to wash his face.

at some point the houses thin out and the ocean appears. the clouds hang low and heavy overhead, turning the late afternoon gray. rain threatening to fall any minute. sukuna parks in an empty lot overlooking the beach and kills the engine. his hands are locked around the steering wheel, staring straight ahead.

you’re more like her than me or yuuji are.

his jaw aches. choso hadn’t even sounded afraid when he said it, he was angry enough to mean it. sukuna drags both hands over his face, wishing he can claw at everything. “fuck.”

the word disappears, waves crashing against the shore, ahead as his phone vibrates inside. and miles away, parked beside an empty field, you do the same.

the hospital sits somewhere behind you, and your home is in the opposite direction, and neither destination sounds appealing. the engine is off. the windows are cracked. summer wind drifts through the car as you stare at absolutely nothing. your father’s voice rings around your skull making you rest your head against the window. you don’t want to go home or go back or do anything.

eventually your phone lights up.

after another few minutes of staring at the ocean, his hand finally reaches for his phone. notifications flood the screen, group chats, soccer shit, gojo being annoying, something from toji, and his thumb scrolls through the usual unopened messages until he sees a certain contact.

his thumb stops. three days ago.

crybaby: where’s the video of your brother’s band?

his gaze lingers. for some reason, that message irritates him less than everything else. he opens the chat and for a moment he considers not responding, his thumb mindlessly scrolls through your earlier conversation, until the photo you sent him fills his screen.

dumbass: they made it to the semifinals

a beat passes..

dumbass: i forgot to send the video

your phone vibrates against the passenger seat making you glance down and see his name, and despite the day you’ve had, despite everything, your chest loosens just a little.

crybaby: woww

crybaby: a whole 3 days later

crybaby: i was starting to think u hated me

sukuna snorts. his head tips back against the seat. outside, thunder rumbles somewhere over the water.

dumbass: good guesser

you roll your eyes, holding back a smile.

crybaby: haha u’re soo funny

sukuna scrolls through his camera roll. easily finding the video gojo had taken and sending it to you. you heart the message, and a few minutes later the texts flood in.

crybaby: WHAAAA

crybaby: WTHHHH UR BROTHER IS SO GOOD

dumbass: u def thought they were gonna be ass

crybaby: ngl…I wasn’t expecting much

dumbass: rude

crybaby: ONLY BC I’ve gone to a few in the past and RARELY r they ever good

crybaby: NO OFFENSE

dumbass: I’m offended

you don’t realize the smile on your face as you watch another video sukuna sends. relaxing back in your seat, jaw agape.

crybaby: no like actually wth — ur brother’s voice is making me tear up

crybaby: it’s so angelic esp for a hard rock band

sukuna snorts.

dumbass: crybaby

crybaby: did I say CRY? I said TEAR UP smh smhh

a few beats pass, not long enough for you to fully exit your messages, but long enough to watch the little typing bubble appear then disappear, and then your face fills your screen.

….incoming FaceTime from dumbass….

your lips part, cheeks warming as you easily click accept, the call connecting. sukuna’s face fills your screen, the camera angle is terrible, but somehow he still looks unfairly attractive.

the lighting inside the truck is dim from the storm clouds outside, shadows cutting across the sharp lines of his face. his pink hair looks soft, a few strands hang loose across his forehead. his tattoos disappear beneath the collar of his black shirt, the dark markings curling up the side of his neck. his forearm rests against the driver’s side window, broad shoulders, strong jaw—you hate how hot he looks.

on the other side of the call, sukuna feels much the same.

he expected your voice, but there’s something about seeing your face. your hair is slightly messy from your long day. you’re leaning sideways against the drivers seat, cheek pressed against the headrest of your car seat. golden evening light spills through the window in front of you, softening everything. you look tired, but pretty…really pretty. something in his chest loosens.

your eyes blink slowly, then narrow, “what happened to your face?”

sukuna’s brow furrows, “what?”

you lean closer to the camera, “your eye.”

his hand immediately comes up, glancing at the mirror in front of him. forgetting about the faint bruise caused by toji a few days ago, and barely noticeable to anyone except apparently you.

his fingers brush beneath it. “nothing.”

you stare and sukuna stares looks back at his phone, “that’s not nothing.”

“it’s nothing.”

“yeah definitely,” you sarcastically quip.

“it’s literally nothing.” your expression flattens. his matches yours instantly. neither of you budge. the silence stretches then—

“did you get punched?”

the offended look that flashes across his face almost makes you laugh. “the fuck kind of question is that?” he snaps.

you shrug fast, “it’s a valid question.”

“no it isn’t.”

“it is, since that’s what people who get punched in the face look like,” you say, like you’re some expert.

“speaking from experience?” he tosses, irritation scratching at your questions.

“yeah,” you lie, and he probably knows that, but still he leans back in his seat again. “it definitely looks like you got a bruise.”

“yeah, because i play a contact sport,” he huffs. you squint suspiciously as he rolls his eyes so hard it physically pains him. “gojo elbowed me in the middle of a game.”

“see?” you point triumphantly. “that wasn’t hard.”

sukuna tsks, “you’re annoying.”

“i was curious,” you shrug.

“it’s a bruise.”

“on your face.”

“you sound like yuuji.” the corner of his mouth twitches, barely there, but enough for the tightness in both of your chests to ease just a little. your lips part, still looking at the bruise.

“does it hurt?” your voice is softer, allowing something warm to settle in sukuna’s chest.

a smirk tugs on the players lips. “yeah. you gonna come make me feel better?” the teasing has your thighs clenching. his voice is low, deep, watching your eyes dart off screen. “where are you right now?”

you shift in your seat, flipping the camera to do a 360 of your surroundings. sukuna notices your bag in the passenger seat, “you get off work?”

“yup left early,” you flip the camera back, your phone on your lap as you fix your necklace in the mirror.

“you ditched?”

you laugh, “no,” you pick your phone back up, “I was kicked out.”

sukuna whistles. “bad girl. what’d you do?”

you shrug, leaning back in your seat, “I punched a patient.”

sukuna’s eyes blow wide, “you’re lying.”

you snort, “obviously,” you smile, pretty lips glossy as you wet them. “just had a chat with my dad and he told me to go home.”

“are you home?”

you shake your head, tilting just a bit as you watch sukuna through the phone. the silence fills both your environments. “doesn’t look like you’re home.”

“got work soon,” he answers, eyeing the curve of your jaw as you look out the window as if you weren’t parked in a deserted lot. still he can’t help the churning in his stomach as you fiddle with your earrings, lips parting again.

“so you gotta go soon?”

sukuna can’t fully read your emotions through a shitty phone screen, but he can catch the slight sweetness in your tone. and that was enough to pull a subtle smirk from him. he’s fully resting his back against his seat, arm propped on the open window holding his phone, while the other rests on his lap.

“I have some time,” he tilts his head, eyes narrowing a tad when you hum. “you have something in mind?”

you wet your lip, eyes twinkling as you nod your head. “yeah, i wanted to ask you a question.” he smirks, letting you continue. “how fast did you cum when i sent you that picture on saturday?” sukuna’s smile falters. “because you sent me a pic like three minutes later.”

you really love to push his buttons. the scowl is written all over his face. “i was already on edge, so i was doing it for awhile before you even sent it.”

your smile grows, if possible, a devilish twinkle in your eyes. “so i really helped you cum, ryo, hmm?” you wet your lip, and the action, coupled up with your sultry tone, has sukuna’s pants growing tight, “you made a big mess. cumming all over yourself like that,” you tsk, teasingly. “do you always make a big mess when you play by yourself?”

sukuna’s jaw tightens, his crotch swelling from your teasing. the bulge pushing up against his jeans, just as his palm digs against the evidence. unable to hide the fact that you’re turning him on.

“don’t be embarrassed, ry,” you coo with faux sweetness. “big boys make messes too.”

a loud, strangled scoff, escapes the man’s mouth. cheeks hot, as you continue degrading him. “suddenly y’er all confident because I can’t pin you down from here?”

you shrug, little smirk still playing on those pretty lips of yours. fuck, he misses having those lips on him. kissing you deeply, swallowing your whines and strangled moans. “am I not allowed to make you feel better?”

“fucking teasing me,” he grunts, jaw tightening as he palms his bulge.

heat pools between your legs, face warm as you see his shifting. “did I make you hard?” the excitement was obvious in your tone.

“don’t act surprised,” he mutters, flipping the camera to see the big bulge he’s gripping over his jeans. sukuna see’s the dizzy like look you have, lips parting.

“take it out.”

he smirks. you’re a little perv. and not so surprisingly, you see the uncoordinated moving as he unbuckles his belt, the phone dropping then getting raised again to see the way he pushes the waistband of his black Calvin’s, dragging it down. his dark pubes not as well groomed as it usually is, and that has you biting back a whimper.

fuck fuck, you miss pressing your face there, licking the coarse hairs, kissing his base.

and finally his hand wraps around the chubby length, freeing his semi-hard cock in his car. thunder cracks in the distant, rain starting to pour.

“gonna keep telling me what to do, or do you want closeups?” he teases, stroking his base lazily, biting his lip.

you shift in your seat.

“spit on it—“

you already see his spit fly and hit his flushed cock, immediately making your cheeks sting.

“c’mon, gotta keep talkin’ to me like my personal slut,” he hasn’t done anything since spitting on his cock, waiting for you to continue your directions. if you’re gonna act all dominant, then he’ll give you all the control…at least when you’re separated by a phone screen.

“stroke your cock…slow,” you command, wetting your lip as you watch him, and he listens. a wave of quiet confidence floods your head at his submission. “rub your slit with your thumb…yeah…” your lips part watching him stroke his cock. “faster.”

his breath is heavy behind the phone, grip tightening when he reaches the base, before twisting his hand back up, thumb collecting his pre and spreading it to the rest of his cock.

“do you usually jerk off like this?” your lewd curiosity always makes him smirk.

“I’m taking your direction.”

“jerk off like you usually do then…I wanna see,” you interrupt.

he snorts, loosening his jaw, before his pace picks up, tugging on his impressive size, collecting more pre and doing his best to self lubricate. his grunts are slightly louder, sending heat to your pussy, you can already feel your drenched panties.

“let go.”

a strangled noise comes out of him as his hand lets go making his cock bob between his legs, his thighs flex, jaw tightening as more pre cum leaks out in humiliation. “fuck.” he runs his hand on his abs, lifting his shirt higher, watching his own cock throb and twitch mid-air. the weight angling his cock down.

“ow!”

he doesn’t fully realize what you’re doing, until you yelp. his brows pinch, eyes narrowing because your phone is no longer on your face, but on the ceiling of your car.

“what’re you doing?” his words fall on deaf ears, when you’re suddenly lifting the camera back up, and revealing the state you’re in. you’re completely naked from the waist down, shirt pushed above those beautiful tits, and your lips all wet from how much your biting them. “fuck, baby.”

you smile, pushing the drivers seat further back to give yourself space, cheeks hot as you spread your legs. “lemme see your face, ryomen.”

he easily flips the camera back. you blush seeing the pink dusting his cheeks. “you like risky stuff,” he points.

“I’m alone.”

“still public.”

your lips part, rubbing your nipple, slowly teasing yourself. his eyes darken, gaze darting between your face and those beautiful perky nipples he wishes he could suck this very second. fuck, when you’d run your nails through his hair when he’d bite your perky buds and you’d moan so sweetly.

“you’re not even twisting them hard enough,” he tsks, watching you play with yourself…incorrectly. “how often do you touch yourself.”

“not as often as you touch me.”

sukuna chokes. you’re way too fast for him, and it catches him off guard every once in a awhile. he quickly recovers, “show me how wet you are.”

you listen, managing to face the passenger seat and have the phone propped on your bag.

“aw, you’re dripping,” he coos, biting his lip, as you run your fingers through the mess, spreading your pretty folds for him. “dirty girl,” he groans, hand sneaking down to his twitching hard cock—

“don’t touch yourself,” you cut possessively. “it’s my turn.”

“I didn’t even cum,” he tsks, but still eases back, thick legs spreading wider as he watches you shrug. “fine, lemme see how many fingers you can put in that little pussy.”

“one.”

“I said: let me see,” his voice drops an octave and that has you clenching and blushing all over. “lick your finger.”

you lean close to the camera, making a show of caressing your plump bottom lip, then easing your middle finger in. your suck the digit, eyes heavy as they look directly at sukuna. he silently watches, jaw loosening as he tries his best to keep his hand away, especially when you pull your middle finger out, flipping him off.

“cute,” he smirks, screenshotting. “put it in.” he tilts his head, humming as you sit back just a little. he eyes the way you open your legs, running your finger down your body, before circling your clit. your lips part and sukuna notices the way your back arches just a bit, finally pushing in, “theere we go.”

you hum along, jaw agape as you curl your finger in slowly pumping your finger. it’s not the same though. you hate having to do this shit yourself, it would kill the mood if sukuna wasn’t praising you on the other line.

“fuck, your pussy looks so pretty,” he groans, “so hot.”

you bite back a moan, lashes fluttering as you move your finger back to your clit. unaware of the disappointment until you hear a loud tsk.

“why’d you take your finger out?” sukuna barks.

you frown, still rubbing your clit, “It doesn’t feel as good.”

“bullshit,” he huffs, “put two fingers in.” your cheeks flush hot, collecting your arousal on your finger and teasing your hole again. “fuck your pussy like I told ya too.”

you wet your lips with attitude he can clearly read, especially when you add a sarcastic, “yes, sir.”

pre oozes from the brute’s twitching cock.

still, his eyes narrow with lust as he watches you dip your pretty little fingers in that tight hole. it’s always the initial stretch that has your lips parting. “keep moving your fingers. curl ‘em,” he husks, voice much lower and sexier, unbelievably turned on. “dirty girl fingerin’ herself in her car.”

you whine, back pressed against the door, as you angle your hips up, back arching as you continue fingering yourself, especially when you curl them and finally feel that spot. “got it?”

your glossy lips part, nodding, “y-yeah haah—ry-touch y’rself to me.“

fuck.

he doesn’t waste a second grabbing his cock and working himself up to the pace you’ve set. his own jaw clenches, watching your legs tremble as you pump your pretty fingers in and out, watching the way your fingers glisten every time you pull out, pretty nipples all hard and exposed, and lips glossy.

his thigh trembles, jaw tensing as he squeezes his base, holding himself back as you pull your fingers out to stimulate your neglected clit.

“good girl,” he husks under his breath, unaware of how much he enjoys watching you and getting jealous from nothing. you respond with a heavy sigh, tongue poking out as you feel yourself getting closer.

“gun- cum with me…ry-haah?”

he starts working his chubby cock, wishing to death he can feel the heat of your pussy against his swollen tip. “yeah, keep working those little fingers, make yourself cum.”

your whine pitches a little higher in the small car. thighs spreading wider as you stimulate your clit, oblivious to the low praises sukuna is muttering, feeling his heavy balls clench up. and just as your about to reach the edge, toes curling in your shoes, your phone tips over, hitting the ground just as sukuna hears you moan—

“anhh—“

“what the fuck!?”

you whine, back hitting the door as your legs close around your hand. lips parted as your chest rises with each heavy breath. you don’t even realize what happened until you hear your name being called, followed be another “where the fuck did you go?!”

your brows furrow, glancing at where your phone once was, then to its place on the floor of the passenger side. “oh.”

you move over the center, reaching down to lift your phone, and the moment your face comes to view, sukuna’s jaw tenses more.

“you came?”

your lips part sitting back in your seat. “yeah, I think i accidentally kicked my bag. did you cu—“

“no.” he cuts sharply. you suck your lips in to refrain from laughing. “cum again.”

your brows rise. “I can’t.”

sukuna barks out a humorless laugh. “I always make you cum more than once—“

“yeah, YOU—not ME. I don’t know how to overstimulate myself,” you reach for some tissues to clean yourself off camera. but sukuna groans loudly, cock throbbing as he works himself. “just imagine me cumming.”

his jaw locks, head tipping back so you can get a perfect shot of his sharp jaw. the silence stretches for a second before sukuna opens his mouth, refusing to look at his phone, missing the way your lips part, and face burns.

“talk into the phone then.”

your stomach flips with something you don’t want to name, especially when he tilts his head back clearly still working his monster of a cock that’s painfully red. “I’m close. speak.”

the command has you closing your thighs tighter, raising the phone to your lips, inhaling slowly, controlling the butterflies.

another beat passes before you finally begin.

“my fingers are so wet after cumming…” you dramatize a gentle sigh, “my pussy is so empty…I need your big fat cock filling my tight…little…pussy…ryo.”

“fuck,” sukuna’s jaw clenches harder, abs tightening as he aggressively twists his hand up his cock, thumb digging into his slit, much more aggressive than how you’d touch his cock, but he just needs to cum.

“can’t wait to see you, ryomen,” you exhale sweetly, adding a little pitched hum, “want you to use my pussy like it’s your pretty toy,” you blush at your own words, keeping it just a little over a whisper because if it was any louder than you might melt into the seat with embarrassment. but sukuna’s strained, low grunts, is reassuring. “fuck me until I can’t move, kiss me until I can’t breathe…you wanna kiss me right, pretty boy?” your cheeks sting viscously at the pet name that casually rolled off your tongue—

but then, a long deep groan comes from the back of the 6’4 footballer’s throat.

your entire body catches on fire, and a smile quietly tugs at the corners of your lips.

“you wanna kiss me that bad, baby?” you tease lightly, and even though sukuna refuses to reply, his strangled grunts, and sounds of his squelching cock being tugged, is enough reassurance to give you that final sentence that pushes him off the edge. “you also wanna stuff my pretty pussy right: wanna fill me with your thick…heavy cum, don’t you ryo?” you bite your lip the moment you hear the choke on the other end.

you quietly listen, pulling your phone to see that sukuna’s phone is forgotten in his lap. your finger playing at your lip, still smiling, waiting for sukuna to come down from his orgasm.

the man’s jaw is locked. head tipped back against the head rest. chest heaving. and face burning with a light shade of pink.

“you cum?” you break the silence, tone laced with something that twists in sukuna’s gut. the phone shifts, your face unable to stop your smile when you see his flushed face. your fingers still playing with your lips with faux innocence.

“yeah.” his clipped tone isn’t too harsh, but definitely shielding something else as he looks down at the mess. his jaw tenses seeing his cum covering his hand and splattered on the steering wheel. even if the phone is on his face, you can see the way his eyes are looking past it.

“you made a mess?”

he licks his teeth, eyes catching yours. “yeah.”

dang he’s cold. is he embarrassed? a warmth settles in your tummy at the thought. it’s hard to read him, but it’s even harder when it’s through the phone. either way, you shift around your car, putting your panties and pants back on and pulling your shirt down, fixing your bra. on the other end, sukuna is pulling his shirt off, and using it to clean the mess he made. jaw tensing every time your voice rings in his head again.

“who taught you how to talk like that?” he raises his hips pulling his pants back up, tucking his softening cock in.

your brow quirks lightly, “nobody lol,” you look back at your phone. “I was just going with the flow,” you smirk, head tilting just a bit that the man freezes, stomach flipping at the pretty sight on his phone and he instinctively just….*screenshot* “was I good?”

he makes a grumbling noise, then, “made me cum.”

“so, good?”

he rolls his eyes, “sure.” he ignores your smile as he finishes cleaning his mess. the buzzing of your phone interrupting. “you have to go?”

you hum, “yeah, gotta pick up shoko.” you text her that you’re on your way. sukuna looks back at his phone as he starts his car up, you do the same. “I’ll talk to you later, then.”

and the second sukuna gives an affirmative hum, you hang up.

as the days pass. neither one of you found your stress levels steady. instead, you were tested again and again, more rejection emails coming in for writing and producing programs you applied too for the summer. and as was sukuna with his brother’s attitude, especially with this weird phase that’s caught his attention with yuuji.

“I thought you were seeing megumi tomorrow?” sukuna glances up from his spot behind the bar, stopping mid-wipe down to see yuuji slinging his backpack on.

“we’re going to the beach today to see them set up before the festival tomorrow,” yuuji mutters, pushing his overgrown hair off his forehead in quiet annoyance.

sukuna’s brows pinch tight, “thought we were gonna do that?”

yuuji shrugs already walking to the back of the bar, large open windows lining the back that overlooks the beach. megumi and nobara wait outside, chatting. “s’fine,” yuuji stops by the door, “choso doesn’t talk to you, and you’re always busy—so whatever.”

sukuna tenses, grip curling around the dirty rag as his little brother turns and leaves. what the fuck?? since when has yuuji been cut and dry with him!?

just as sukuna stresses about his younger siblings, you’re wondering how much longer you have to hold yourself back until you tear your eyes out. another rejection email, that could’ve been the reason why your sudden stress skyrockets and then it immediately crashes after higuruma finally texts you after not hearing anything from him since you first got his number.

[12:34PM] hiromi higuruma: hey this is hiromi

[12:34PM] hiromi higuruma: sorry it’s been awhile but my uncle finally got back to me, he’s free thursday or friday around the afternoon to chat

[12:35PM] hiromi higuruma: lmk which day works so he can put it in his calendar before he gets booked

your lips part, standing outside a patient room staring at your phone. shit. your heart pounds rapidly against your ribs. you work until five everyday. your jaw tenses…just ask if he can do anything after—he can’t. unlike you, people can’t just move things around for you. your fingers quickly tap your screen.

[12:40PM] you: hii

[12:40PM] you: yea friday works for me, would this be a zoom call or phone call?

you see the bubbles appear, then disappear. you shift your weight, stomach churning.

[12:42PM] hiromi higuruma: shit

your stomach drops.

[12:42PM] hiromi higuruma: I forgot—you’re not based in the city?

[12:42PM] you: no, I’m back home for the summer

[12:43PM] you: would it be a problem doing it on zoom?

your back leans against the wall, stomach aching as you wait for his response. seriously, can one thing not work out in your favor?

[12:44PM] hiromi hirguruma: I’ll talk to him, but I think it’s better to wait until you’re back in the city and do it in person

[12:44PM] hiromi higuruma: only saying this bc he forgets everyone he talks too on zoom but he’ll be much more helpful if he meets you face to face, plus you’re a good conversationalist (js from my perspective) so you’d leave a good impression

a beat passes.

[12:45PM] hiromi higuruma: your call tho, i can still talk to him if u want

[12:45PM] hiromi higuruma: he's here all summer, so whenever you're back js Imk and I can set up a meeting

fuck!! your jaw aches, clenching down hard enough to break your teeth. hot tears sting behind your eyes, threatening to spill. you inhale sharply. grinding down harder on your teeth as you squeeze your phone.

what’s the fucking point in meeting with him now if he’ll just forget about you?

[12:47PM] you: oh okay, yeah I think it’s better in person then

[12:47PM] you: I’ll be in the city in august, is that okay?

your heart twists unbelievably tight, nails digging into your palm.

[12:48PM] hiromi higuruma: yeah for sure! and dw I’ll set a meeting up with u and him

almost like he can sense your disappointment through your hesitant texts. he sends another message.

[12:49PM] hiromi higuruma: how’s your summer?

wrong question…

[12:49PM] you: 😀 so good!

the bubbles appear then disappear, then:

[12:50PM] hiromi higuruma: that’s a sarcastic emoji right?

you can’t control the quiet chuckle that slips out.

[12:50PM] you: loll yeah

[12:50PM] you: its fine…working here…with my dad…yayy

higuruma seems to understand your tone as he responds.

[12:51PM] hiromi higuruma: u losing ur mind?

[12:51PM] you: nope

[12:51PM] you: y would u say that (I wanna kms)

[12:51PM] hiromi higuruma: (rip) just a hunch, guess I was wrong

a smile threatens your face.

[12:52PM] hiromi higuruma: don’t stress tho, my uncle has some rlly good connects so he’ll help u out

you bite your cheek, pushing down the anxious twists that’s been eating at you for months. you’re still waiting on another possible opportunity for the second half of summer, but now you’re scared if that falls through, all you’ll have is nanami’s friend’s uncle as a connection..

[12:52PM] you: thanks🥹🙏

[12:53PM] hiromi higuruma: how long is ur program?

[12:53PM] you: till the last week of july so js two-ish more weeksss

[12:54PM] hiromi higuruma: homestretch

[12:54PM] hiromi higuruma: u need a vacation after

[12:54PM] you: TRUSTT

[12:54PM] you: it is in the works🫡 my friends r planning it

[12:55PM] hiromi higuruma: where r u guys going?

you pause, lips parting.

[12:56PM] you: oh….i forgot

[12:56PM] hiromi higuruma: fr?

[12:56PM] you: no frrr shoko just told me to block off the dates but i actually forgot where we’re going bc they were planning it for awhile and i was too busy to pay attention

you cringe, trying to remember where shoko said satoru’s infamous mediterranean summer house is. either way higuruma responds with a cool message, unbothered by your lack of remembrance.

[12:57] hiromi higuruma: well it’s clear u need that vacation then

[12:57PM] you: 😪✊

you don’t realize you’ve basically been standing on your phone for awhile until a resident passes by, eyes flicking down.

“put the phone away before I tell your dad,” he mutters, and though the “joke” has been tossed around multiple times by the residents who know exactly what your relationship is with the chief of surgery, it doesn’t make it any funnier when you heard it the first time or the hundredth time —

your jaw tenses, glancing at your phone to see higuruma’s text.

[12:58PM] hiromi higuruma: make sure to stop in the city after tho and text me ahead of time

[12:58PM] you: i willlll

you shut your phone off, exhaling sharply as your head tips back. at this point…the only thing you’re looking forward to now is this trip. considering the second half of your summer is delayed after pushing this meeting back. and from the looks of it…you highly doubt you’re getting accepted into those writing programs.

“great,” you mutter to yourself.

your feet finally drag you away from the wall, and down the hall. unfortunately the pressure on your chest doesn’t leave, instead your mind quietly moves in circles as you continue the day’s work. unable to remove yourself completely from the stress of your future.

you smile at patients when they greet you. you laugh when shoko mutters something inappropriate under her breath. you still finish your notes, answer questions, make coffee runs, and remember to ask people how their weekends were. nothing is wrong enough for anyone to pull you aside and ask if you’re okay because you’re not falling apart. you’re just…tired. there’s a heaviness that sits beneath your ribs and makes everything feel harder than it should.

even when you check your phone during lunch. your conversation with higuruma sitting near the top of your messages. another month of waiting. another month of this feeling. you lock your phone just as someone calls your name, answering immediately.

it all keeps moving, dragging you along. the routine sucking you in. driving home as shoko talks from the passenger seat about the residents. about a movie she wants to watch. about a patient that yelled at her. about her not fully confident about her mcat studying methods. you nod and laugh, chiming in.

that’s how it goes in the mornings. driving at six am, music playing softly through the speakers. your eyes randomly burning behind your sunglasses, making you blink, unable to stop the tears from gathering for no apparent reason other than you can shake this heaviness on your chest. but it’s easy to wipe beneath your eyes during the red light. shoko doesn’t notice.

even at home, your sister asks how your day is, if you ate, how dad is, and you answer shortly without much thought. jennie watches you for a moment longer. her eyes lingering, opening her mouth like she’s going to say something before deciding against it. especially when you quietly play with yazzy now. playing with her barbie’s clothes in silence, clearly not fully present, but still able to pull a smile for your niece.

“fix her hair now!” yazzy shoves another barbie in your hand, the gum stuck to the ends making you scowl.

“why is there candy all over them?” you lightly scold, making yazzy cover her face with a doll, bashful and guilty.

“it was an accident!” she giggles, making you tsk lightly, giving her a faux disappointed look which earns you another loud giggle from her.

jennie quietly watches from the living room, eyes softening. she’s been gone for some time, but her concerns are present, so when shoko walks into the kitchen, her attention shifts momentarily.

“question,” jennie glances at the brunette. shoko hums, looking over her shoulder from the fridge. “how upset is she? because she’s working with our dad?”

shoko glances at you in the living room, the tv playing masking the conversation in the kitchen. “she hates it.”

jennie hums, looking down at her nails. “she said that?”

shoko nods, “she takes it on the chin though, but yeah…she hates it. she usually complains then feels guilty for complaining.”

that seems to twist something inside jennie, her jaw clenching. “yeah…she’s an idiot.” she mutters, hand rubbing her face. “there’s only so much you can tell her and she still won’t listen.” jennie stands straight. “it’s her life.”

shoko doesn’t respond. instead watching as jennie calls her daughter to head back to the hotel, and once they leave the house quiets, and you’re left alone with yourself.

you brush your teeth while staring into the bathroom mirror, foam gathering at the corners of your mouth as your reflection stares back. the faucet runs as you tilt your head. you look the same…same face, eyes, person — there’s no visible proof that anything is changing beneath your skin. but…you wonder if everyone else feels this way. is everyone secretly mourning versions of themselves they haven’t even become yet. are they walking around pretending everything is okay too? do they also hate where the direction of their lives are heading? can they even see what path they’ve taken—

you spit into the sink, washing your face.

once you crawl into bed, your room finally settles, feeling the darkness press close. and once again, your chest tightens. you think about the mcats. about the future. about all the people your age collecting internships and recommendations and certainty. you think about your father’s anxieties of your future. your mother’s concern. jennie’s harsh words—

you turn onto your side…then your back…then your other side. then…your eyes sting.

the tears build on their own, as they always do. your throat drying as you feel the warm liquid slide onto the pillow. you’re not sobbing. you don’t even know what you’re crying over. nothings happened. but eventually, sleep takes you.

“are you excited for college?” “what are you majoring in?” “you’re going to be a doctor, right?” “isn’t your dad a really good surgeon? my dad wants me to go into med school, but i don’t think i have the patience.”

the high school girls are packed into the locker room before gym, voices bouncing off metal lockers and tiled floors. someone’s trying to braid their ponytail in the mirror. another girl is complaining about wanting to get out of this gym period.

“wait, did they release decisions yet?”

“can your dad help me out when i’m looking for an internship?”

“yeah, you always work for your dad, so it’s not fair.”

“i’m jealous.”

your seventeen year old brain can only laugh, “it’s not like that,” you say automatically. but your friends only seem to double down. marking all your “wins” on one person who isn’t you.

“must be nice having your whole life figured out.”

the pressure in your chest tightens. you blink. you’ve heard these conversations a hundred times, so you should be used to them by now. but something tight twists in your chest. your fingers fumble with the combination lock on your gym locker. the metal slipping beneath your hands.

“you okay?”

“yeah,” your voice comes out too fast. you try again. however, it becomes harder to breathe, your vision blurring around the edges.

“shit!” your friend moves back just as you hit the lockers, falling to your knees as you grab your chest. is this a heart attack? people have heart attacks. can a high schooler have one? your dad would know—

“i can’t breathe.” the words tear out of your throat. your heart pounds harder, your fingers feel tingly and your head lightheaded.

“i can’t breathe.” you try again. nothing is coming out. air won’t come in. your hands shake violently, chest twisting.

“someone get the nurse!”

“she’s crying—”

you don’t feel the tears spill down your face before you even realize you’re crying. your chest hurts, your head spins, and the girls crowd around you.

—

the week leading up to the trip moved strangely, it was slow. the days blurred together as each individual hour stretched.

sukuna picked up more shifts at the bar, the smell of beer and musk clinging to his clothes long after he got home. when he wasn’t working, he was on the field by the beach, shirt sticking to his back beneath the summer sun as he played against whoever was willing to challenge him. usually it was gojo and geto. sometimes yuuji joined him, always laughing, but sukuna could feel the subtle shift. the kid lingered less…asked fewer questions, and as close as he is with gramps, even he wasn’t telling wasuke the full answer. and that was starting to make sukuna a little on edge.

then there was choso. it was inevitable after their argument. choso went out of his way to avoid his older brother and buried himself in rehearsals for the upcoming semifinals, spending more nights at ino’s, then with yuuji or gramps.

meanwhile, you’ve settled deeper into a routine. the hospital shifts, and early mornings that made you want to claw your eyes out. the drives with shoko that always eased you a bit. but then there was the wedding that jennie came for. and every aunt and family friend had something to ask. was there anyone special? were you talking to someone? how is it going into your senior year of undergrad? had you started studying for the mcat? have you taken the mcat yet?

your mother brushed them off, while your sister laughed because dating felt like the last thing on your mind. you smiled through it all, even as your stomach twisted tighter with every question you couldn’t answer honestly.

and then there was your father. he’d become quieter after the incident in the staircase, polite but distant in a way that unsettled you more. is he disappointed you aren’t taking the mcat yet? did one of the residents say something about your performance? you don’t ask. you just keep the questions with you, swirling in your mind whenever you see him.

none of the stress eases. not even when you quietly see sukuna in gojo’s ig stories. not even when yazzy tries to teach you and shoko a new dance move she’s learning. not even when your sister finally heads to the airport. none of it seemed to scratch that itch that kept your mind loud and irritating.

“did you get any sleep?” shoko pulls her shirt off, slipping into her scrubs. you stifle a yawn, shaking your head as you pull your scrub pants up. shoko yawns along with you, but exhales loudly afterwards. shaking her hands as she gives you smile. “last day though!”

your lips part, eyes widening, “oh snap.” and maybe that was what you needed because you’re suddenly smiling with shoko, laughing as you look at your phone. “last day!”

shoko hums, smiling wider as you both start dancing. and that definitely could be considered the longest, and best day of your week. and before you can blink, you’ve packed your suitcases and kissed your mom goodbye as she drops you and shoko off at the airport.

and with full unbridled honesty, you knew the best part of this trip was the excuse of being away from everything and everyone, and that’s what you’ve convinced yourself is what you need.

even after hours trapped in a middle seat, struggling to fall asleep, awkwardly folding yourself away from the men occupying both armrests beside you, you endure it. by the time the plane lands, your eyes burn with exhaustion and dark circles sit beneath them. the warm air greets you outside carrying the scent of salt and sunscreen.

you and shoko collect your luggage in a daze, exchanging tired glances until your attention catches on a sharply dressed man near the exit, holding a sign with both your names.

and that’s when your oasis begins.

the drive stretches along the coastline, blue water glittering beneath the afternoon sun. the mediterranean houses blur past the windows. shoko rests her cheek against her fist while you stare outside, feeling something inside your chest tighten again. what’re you even taking a vacation for?

you turn the corner into the neighborhood and your jaw drops. a villa sits at the end of the hillside like something straight out of a movie, and beyond the property is the ocean stretching endlessly, waves crashing.

“…you’re kidding,” you breathe.

shoko lets out a low whistle, stepping out of the car, “i forgot how disgustingly rich he is.”

the front doors slide open before either of you can fully process the sight, grabbing your suitcases.

“well, well, well!”

of course, the first thing you see is satoru gojo. he stands at the entrance wearing nothing but black swim shorts and a pair of sunglasses perched on top of his white hair, arms spread wide like he’s welcoming royalty into his kingdom. his skin is slightly tanned, abs glistening, and veins crawling up his forearms.

“took you guys long enough,” he announces obnoxiously. “i’ve been suffering all alone.”

“you’ve been posting pool pictures for three days with everyone,” shoko deadpans.

“but we’re still missing people,” gojo rebuts.

shoko laughs despite herself, stepping forward to wrap him in a quick hug. gojo squeezes her dramatically before turning his full attention toward you, who’s still dragging your suitcase across the polished floors, gaze darting between the towering ceilings, the sweeping staircase, and the ocean visible through the open living room.

“…what the hell,” you murmur. “this is insane.”

gojo’s grin somehow widens, “i know.”

you finally look at him properly, “thanks for letting me join,” you say, sincerity slipping into your voice before you can stop it. “seriously.”

for a brief moment, he looks genuinely touched, then— “well, it’s the least i can do,” he says, placing a hand dramatically over his heart. “i’ll just need significantly more praise from you and sho for being such a generous, handsome host—”

“sure,” you cut him off easily, making him pout. but you finally step closer, wrapping your arms around him in a greeting hug anyway. “thank you, satoru.”

the complaint dies in his throat. “you’re welcome,” he says quickly but sounding almost suspicious of your sincerity before recovering instantly. “see? this is why you’re my favorite guest.”

“sure,” you sarcastically hum. “I’m just guessing you say that to everyone.”

“i do not.”

“you literally called utahime your favorite yesterday on facetime,” shoko points out.

“that was an obvious lie,” gojo shrugs.

“you definitely told geto he was your favorite,” shoko adds quickly.

gojo points, “he’s my favorite best friend.”

you glance between them, exhausted laughter bubbling out of you despite the lingering ache behind your eyes. sunlight pouring through the windows.

your suitcase stands forgotten by the doorway. somewhere outside, waves crash against the shore. and as gojo continues arguing with shoko about favoritism while leading you deeper into the villa. more people start coming into view.

“ahhh!! finally!!” a familiar voice booms, suddenly seeing a blur before you’re being engulfed in a hug by utahime. “it’s been hell with just these guys!”

gojo snorts, rolling his eyes, “why don’t you go ogle yuno, you perv—“

the harsh slap to his bare arm shuts him up, utahime glaring at him as she looks over her shoulder. luckily, yuno was still chatting loudly with nanami and some other guy you weren’t familiar with.

geto takes the attention as he steps in from the front door, sunglasses on and hair tied in bun. a smile immediately comes to his face when he spots more people. “it’s finally starting to feel like a vacation.”

you and shoko are taken upstairs. your suitcases bump softly against the polished tile floors as gojo launches into an overly detailed tour that neither of you retain, and something shoko’s already heard before.

but what you do manage to take in is how the villa becomes even more breathtaking the more you see of it. the arched doorways connecting the rooms, the patterned tiles lining the hallways, and carved wooden accents softening the stone walls. the villa held about eight bedrooms, and you and shoko barely process the number before finding yourselves in your room—or rather, your suite.

utahime’s presence is immediately obvious. her clothes are draped over the armchair near the balcony doors, makeup bag open across one of the dressers, bikinis and dresses laying on two of the beds, and several pairs of shoes already claimed near the closet.

“she really made herself at home,” shoko mutters.

you hum softly, too distracted by the room itself. two queen-sized beds sit beneath the exposed wooden beams, white linen curtains swaying every time the wind passes through the open balcony doors. the adjoining layout gives the three of you more than enough space, and the balcony utahime had apparently secured for the girls stretches across the back of the villa.

you wander to the open balcony before you can stop yourself, curious as to what the view is. warm air brushes against your dampened skin from the journey, but you’re immediately welcomed by the scent of salt and blooming flowers. below, you see the large pool, and then past the trees that circle the property, are terracotta rooftops of other villas, then the coastline in the distance. you can see the ocean glittering invitingly.

eventually, you peel yourself away making your way to the shower, washing away the hours of sticky travel air. the warm water loosens the knots in your shoulders, the steam clouding the mirror. by the time you emerge in an oversized t-shirt and sleep shorts, toweling your hair dry, your body feels impossibly heavy.

the room is empty. you can hear shoko and the rest of the group outside from the open balcony. but all you can manage to do is walk across the tiled floor, barely managing to crawl onto the bed to turn of your phone alarm. your eyes struggling to stay open as you uncap your bottled water and swallow your scheduled pill. and once it goes down your throat, you toss the birth control pills back in your bag, and hit the warm sheets. you sink into the mattress with a relieved sigh.

the balcony doors remain open. the breeze filtering through the curtains. setting sun painting soft patterns across the tiled floor. and somewhere between one blink and the next, lulled by the sound of the ocean just beyond the villa walls, the exhaustion from everything finally catches up to you.

your eyes eventually drift shut.

unaware of what’s taking you so long, shoko and utahime go upstairs after an hour, freezing once they see you passed out.

“what the—“ utahime frowns. “we’re gonna go out to eat, wake up—“

utahime’s words die feeling shoko tug her out of the room.

“just let her sleep,” shoko cuts. “she’s been stressed for weeks, and i feel bad.” shoko’s voice is much softer, eyes down as utahime glances at her expression, then at the closed door.

“did something happen?” utahime’s brows are pinched.

shoko steps away from the door, shrugging, “I dunno,” a beat passes. “her sister just told me she doesn’t sleep well when she’s stressed, so just to keep an eye on her and make sure she doesn’t drink too much if she’s still, like,” shoko tries to find the right words. “funky, I guess. so like…this is a good chance for her to catch up on her sleep and relax a bit.”

utahime nods, immediately. “for sure. I’ll keep an eye on her too then— and we can help her destress in these next two weeks!—“ utahime suddenly slaps a hand over her mouth after she basically shouted.

shoko chuckles, but hums along.

the two had the right idea leaving you to sleep. you knocked out for the rest of the day, and by the time you wake up, the sun is only a few minutes from rising. you were slightly confused, having slept for so long. groggy, you sit up and blink around the unfamiliar room. the pale morning light filters through the open balcony doors, the curtains shifting softly with the breeze. and once you see the two other people sleeping in the room, you realize where you are.

utahime is asleep beside you, laying on her side hugging her pillow. shoko is sprawled across the other queen bed like a starfish, blanket tangled around her legs.

and you simply sit there, still waking up, until your stomach starts growling. you rub your eye, reaching for your phone, happy someone had put it in the charger.

6:02 a.m.

“…damn” you mutter to yourself, you hadn’t eaten since the shitty airplane food. careful not to wake either of them, you slide out of bed and slip out of the room.

the villa is quiet in that way when everyone’s still asleep. it’s peaceful and calming. you notice a few abandoned glasses still sitting on the kitchen island from the night before. some half-finished bags of chips on the counter and couches. through the open doors, the warm morning air drifts inside carrying the scent of the ocean.

gojo’s pretty rich to not care that all the back doors are wide open, you think.

you rummage through the mediterranean style kitchen until you find bread, cold cuts, cheese, and enough ingredients to throw together a decent sandwich. then with a plate in hand, phone tucked beneath your arm, you wander outside. the backyard overlooking the hillside below, terracotta rooftops spilling toward the ocean in the distance. the pool reflects the pale pinks and oranges beginning to stretch across the sky. and you settle onto one of the lounge chairs by the pool. your legs curl beneath you as you scroll mindlessly through your phone between bites of your sandwich.

it’s nice and quiet, and your shoulders sink further into the chair, slowly beginning to force yourself into a vacation mindset. and because of that, you don’t hear the front door open, or the footsteps crossing the brown tiled floors.

what you suddenly hear, mid-scroll, is a heavy unexpectedly loud thud of a duffle bag hitting the ground startling the living hell out of you. your heart hitting your ribs.

“…what the fuck?!”

you yelp entire body jerking, nearly tumbling off the chair as your heart launches straight into your throat. you’re still holding your sandwich, immediately whipping around to see the perpetrator.

and standing in the middle of the living room. black soccer shorts hanging low on his hips, a loose black t-shirt stretching across his shoulders. a cap resting in one hand, headphones around his neck. suitcase standing beside him, and a worn-in duffle bag abandoned at his feet….is sukuna.

he looks like he just got off a flight, slightly sweaty, slightly irritated, slightly exhausted, and unbelievably attractive. his scowl is already in place from being startled by the scream, but then he pauses once he sees you.

his eyes drag over your messy sleep-tangled hair, oversized shirt, bare legs tucked awkwardly beneath you on the lounge chair, and the bite of your sandwich still sitting in your mouth as you slowly chew. the edge of his expression shifts, not quite a smile, but something softer than his scowl.

“…the fuck are you screaming for?” he asks.

you stare at him, chewing the rest of your sandwich that flew out when your screamed. he stares back.

“…you look a mess,” you finally say through your bite.

his gaze flickers over you once more. “i think you’re looking in a mirror,” he replies flatly.

and just like that, sitting barefoot beside the pool at six in the morning with food in your mouth and your heart still hammering against your ribs, you can’t explain the way your shoulders ease a bit.

“asshole,” you reply with no bite. sukuna hums, sliding his backpack off and dropping his cap, headphones, and phone on top of his duffle before walking towards you. you swallow the bite you’d been chewing just for sukuna to kneel on the ground beside you, inspecting your sandwich.

“what is that?”

you glance at it, then down at him, your cheeks warming in seconds. he’s so close. “turkey, cheese, olives—“

“olives?” his large hand wraps around your hand, holding the sandwich.

you raise a brow, “yeah, it’s good—wha!” your eyes blow wide when he suddenly takes an obnoxiously large bite out of your sandwich. “what the hell!” you shove his shoulder back, making him loose his balance and catch himself on his annoyingly big arm, but it was too late. he’s chewing your sandwich, as you frown. “you didn’t even ask.”

“y’ didn’t look like you’d give me a bite if I asked,” sukuna speaks with his mouth full.

you scowl, “obviously, it’s mine. you can make your own, tch.”

sukuna continues chewing, still sitting back on his arm, eyes heavy as he stares up at you from your spot on the lounge chair.

you frown right back at him. even half-awake, with travel exhaustion weighing down your limbs, your expression pinches in annoyance. your brows pull together, nose wrinkling slightly, and your grip tightens around your sandwich.

his gaze lingers, “your eyes are bloodshot,” he finally says. you blink at him. “did y’ get any sleep?”

you take another pointed bite before answering, glaring at him over the edge of your sandwich, “yeah, actually. i slept the second i got here and missed dinner,” you narrow your eyes. “which means the first thing i’ve eaten since yesterday is the sandwich you freaking stole.”

sukuna scoffs, “dramatic.”

“you took half of it!” you screech lowly.

“that’s not half.”

“you have no idea what half means.”

his eyes drift downward before returning to your face. you’re sitting cross-legged on the lounge chair, turning slightly away from him now as you continue eating, subtly trying to finish it before he tries to take another bite. which he probably would do, just seeing the way he’s eyeing it.

sukuna feels a quiet tug beneath his ribs. the morning sun finally stretches over the horizon, painting gold across the pool water and catching against your soft skin. you’re still grumbling under your breath as you chew.

“you’re unbelievable,” you mutter.

he pushes himself up a little straighter beside your chair, his calloused palm rests on your bare thigh. “one more bite?” he asks.

you let out a humorless laugh, “yeah, as if.”

he lifts a brow, squeezing your thigh, “c’mon I’m starving. the plane’s breakfast was ass.”

“make your own then,” you say through another mouthful, keeping your free hand against his shoulder to keep him at arm’s length. he glances down at it, then back up at you.

annoyance flickering across his face. “seriously?”

you glance between his eyes, swallowing and taking another bite, “yeah.”

“one more bite.”

“there’s barely any left though,” you whine, keeping his shoulder back as he tries to get closer. but he clicks his tongue before wrapping his hand loosely around your wrist, pulling your palm away from his shoulder with little effort.

“selfish,” he mutters.

you nearly choke. “selfish?” you repeat, staring at him in disbelief. “you’re tryna steal my breakfast.”

“whatever,” he scowls, still holding your wrist. “I’m hungry.”

“ryomen.”

“what?”

“make your own sandwich.”

he stares at you. you stare back. then, without warning, he reaches for your wrist that holds your sandwich, making you gasp loudly, using your legs now to keep your bodies apart. “don’t—“

your free hand wiggles in his grip while he leans over, the corner of his mouth twitching upward as your horrified complaints echo through the otherwise peaceful sunrise. your body struggles as he takes control, easily manuring himself onto the lounge chair, your knee keeping him away, as the other squirms to move between your body, but hanging loosely around his torso.

“ryo pleasee,” your whine rings so clearly, he can’t contain the flip in his stomach. he stops.

your chest is rising and falling from the struggle, anxiously glancing at him, brows pinched expecting him to pull your wrist to his mouth, but he remains still. staring down at you. then at your lips. then back at your eyes.

and suddenly, your legs are loosening, heart beating against your ribs, and letting sukuna fit himself comfortably between your legs. his hand holding your free hand, carefully brushes beneath your jaw before settling against the side of your neck. it’s warm and familiar. the morning breeze lifts strands of your hair across your face, and for a second, neither of you move.

waves crash in the distance. birds calling out in the pale sky. sunlight spilling over the terrace, painting soft lines across the sharp planes of sukuna’s face. his eyes don’t leave yours, and you can feel his breath against your lips, warming a deep spot in your tummy.

“you good?” you whisper eventually, voice smaller than you intend.

his gaze flickers down again. your mouth, then back to your eyes. then groggy, and voice much deeper then before, he mutters… “been a minute.”

your stomach flips. wetting your lips unconsciously, and sukuna’s eyes sharpen at the movement, barely blinking before you feel his firm lips against yours.

the breath leaves his lungs in a quiet rush. there’s a desperation hidden beneath the steadiness he tries so hard to maintain. but his hand tightens ever so slightly where it rests against you.

your lips move in sync like muscle memory. it’s familiar and instinctive. your fingers drift upward, threading through the soft strands at the nape of his neck before settling against his scalp. he releases a gentle exhale against your mouth at the contact, making your pulse stumble. sukuna leans closer without realizing it, his broad shoulders block out the morning sun as he deepens the kiss. your lips part on instinct, welcoming his tongue.

you can’t explain the urge that grows inside you the longer you kiss. the make out feels unbelievably calming, his grip tight around the lounge chair above your head, his knees digging into the seat, and his tongue swallowing your moans that have his pulse stuttering. your nails scratch at his scalp, threading through the pink locks digging gently.

“you taste like my sandwich,” you murmur with a clipped tone, tongue kissing his as he hums.

“yeah, fuck if I care,” he so easily brushes off the attitude to kiss you again. there were only two bites of your sandwich left, but you still held on to it, even as sukuna skillfully traced your bottom lip with his tongue. his hips lowering just to press his semi-bulge right against your clothed cunt, and that was enough to note the way your breath catches.

he can’t put into words how much his body needed you. just seeing you when he first walked in after his shit flight had his chest twisting, and now, kissing you…he feels every second relieving the weight on his shoulders.

your nails scratch at his scalp, tugging gently just to have him pull away, his eyes watching the way you catch your breath. lips all pretty and wet from him. eyes slightly dazed as you stare up at him, face lit softly with a healthy glow that has him leaning down again. he kisses the corner of your mouth, then your bottom lip, caressing your tongue as it meets again.

“you didn’t send me any more pics,” he mutters.

your cheeks flush, nails caressing his nape. “you didn’t ask for more.”

“it should be unspoken.”

you snort, leaning closer when he pulls away, “it’s not now.”

sukuna grumbles, jaw ticking for a moment until your lips find each other again, your legs wrap around his torso, letting him put his weight on top of you, unbothered by the plane’s air that still clings to him. “give me a bite of the sandwich,” he mutters, trailing his lips down to your neck. and even if it’s been weeks, he still finds your sweet spot in seconds, nipping at it. your breath catches in your pretty throat, whining shyly when he licks the spot again with his warm tongue.

“no,” you say, managing to take another bite, doing your best to chew it as fast as you can, even with the bread being so thick, sukuna catches your wrist again. your eyes widen, watching him move your hand to his open mouth, taking the last bite.

you groan with a mouth full, eyes harsh as they glare up at him. the two of you chewing all the while his hand finds its way to your waist, slipping under your shirt to caress your bare skin.

“is it too hard for you to make a sandwich?” you speak with your mouth full, swallowing bites but still chewing.

“yeah, it is,” he replies coolly.

your brow twitches in irritation. but you still can’t help the way your gaze lingers. it’s been almost two months, and somehow he looks exactly the same. however, his salmon hair has grown out just enough to brush against the nape of his neck, it’s slightly damp from the warm weather. his shoulders seem broader than you remember, his t-shirt stretching across his frame. his veins stand out beneath his sun-bronzed forearms, hands rough and familiar where they rest against the lounge chair and your bare waist.

even sitting there, lazy and half-awake from travel, there is something unfairly imposing about him. it’s all familiar, but it could be the distance apart that has you pointing out the sharp tattoos again, the intimidating size difference, and the quiet confidence of him, painfully aware of what his body does to you.

your eyes drift over the dark tattoos peeking beneath his sleeves and disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt. his beefy thighs crowding the edge of the chair when he shifts, solid beneath his worn soccer shorts. he’s inconveniently attractive, stealing your sandwich like a jerk, familiar arrogance seeping with each glance your way, and his typical scowl…but still, your fingers almost ache with the remembered habit of tracing his inked skin beneath your fingertips, wanting to hear the low huff he’d give you in response.

you don’t miss him…but you do miss this pull of wanting someone who always feels just out of reach, but still appears right in front of you when you need him most.

“good-fuckin’-sandwich,” he finally swallows, licking his lips. he leans down with little effort, and high confidence, pressing his lips to yours again. body moving on top of you, rolling his hips down just to hear your little hiccup, your hand suddenly presses against his shoulder, pushing. he barely moves, but he does pause, pulling away enough to keep his face hovering close. “what? you mad I took the last bite?”

you roll your eyes, ready to respond when your stomach suddenly pierces the air with a loud grumble.

the sound has the frat boy freezing, glancing down. your lips part, cheeks flaring, glancing away as sukuna sits up just a little. “you seriously didn’t eat anything?”

“I told you I haven’t eaten,” you tsk, cheeks inflamed from the sound, desperately trying to ignore the caresses of sukuna’s hand under your shirt, thumb brushing your torso, suddenly pushing the material of t-shirt higher revealing more of your torso.

the air grows awkwardly uncomfortable, neither of you saying a word, and him not responding has you growing slightly more aware of the position he has you in. you don’t want to address it, you seriously, strongly, want to ignore how he’d just made himself comfortable with touching you after being apart for weeks. but that sudden thought as you pushing yourself up.

your hand climbs up his chest, curling your fist around his collar. and with little resistance, you tug him towards you.

“I’ll make another sandwich,” you mutter, your pretty chest rising with each breath. “you can keep kissing me…” his eyes flick between yours, they’re heavy with either exhaustion, lust, or both, but then you whisper the precious words he’s been dreaming of hearing this close, with your warmth wrapping around him, and your scent making his head spin… “please, ryo.”

his lips twitch up, arm wrapping around your waist, holding you close from under your shirt. then your heart skips a beat. his head tucks down to your shoulder, burying his face there, pulling you to his chest.

your lips part, cheeks burning hot as he hugs you closer. his fingers dig possessively around your waist, bicep flexing around.

the summer breeze wraps around you. heart beating aggressively against your chest. fingers twitching trapped between your bodies, his hot breath fans against your neck. seagulls fly above you, the sky clear as day. but none of it can be fully processed, not when sukuna is hugging you like it’s been years since you’ve seen each other.

“r—“ you stop yourself when a warm kiss is pressed against your neck. then another. his hand brushes up and down your warm torso, making you always aware of his presence. slowly trailing kisses up your neck, subtly inhaling more of your flowery scent.

his cheeks sting, and he feels the heat crawl up his neck as his bulge grows harder. but he doesn’t stop peppering your burning skin with wet kisses. he pays a certain spot with more attention, sucking just a bit harder, smiling subtly when he hears your cute hiccup-like-moan.

“y’know,” he mutters against your skin, sucking another light hickey on your pretty neck, barely noticeable. he doesn’t wait for you to respond, your fingers twitching at his waist, holding his shirt. “I’ve been thinking’ bout how you got naked in your car,” your cheeks sting as the memory resurfaces quickly. “and how you fingered this pussy ‘cause I asked ya too,” you don’t have to look at him to hear the devilish smile he’s sporting. “then you fucking knocked over the phone when you came.”

your lips part in a quiet gasp, “it was an accident—“

he tsks, “still.” you blush. “I wanted to see it.” his hand brushes higher, unbothered by how he’s pushing your shirt up, revealing your lower back to the warm air. your skin is just so soft under his rough palm, and you fit perfectly against him. “you’ve been teasing me.”

your eyes go wide, “me?!—haah—“

the moan has your face bursting into flames, his teeth sink into your neck. your hand finding its way to his bicep, nails digging in, as he licks the mark he leaves. his lips skim up your neck, warm breath fanning gently until your lips are parting to inhale the same air.

“yeah, you,” his eyes flick over your lips. “with that call, and the one before that, and your photo.” he wets his bottom lip, a sinister smirk exposing his sharp canines. and in that moment you feel like he’d swallow you whole any second. “and now you’re lounged out here waiting for me.”

that’s when a a loud scoff leaves your lips. cheeks aflame. “as if. I didn’t even know when you were coming. it’s a coincidence.”

a disbelieving hum resounds from his throat. “so you were camped out here in these little shorts,” he tugs the hem of your shorts. “and this shirt wearing nothing underneath, for who then?”

you raise a brow, amused by him, forearm casually resting on his shoulder as you look back at him. “would you believe me if I said it was for me?”

he clicks his tongue.

you hum, glancing away for entertainment, free hand coming up to your chin. sukuna sits still, surprisingly patient, almost like you both have all the time in the world. it was unnervingly attractive. but you still decide to tease him, amused by the thought so you say it.

“then it was for satoru.”

and the moment that name leaves your lips, the reaction is far from what you’ were expecting. sukuna’s once calm features shift into a sudden disgusted scowl. the expression catches you so off guard that you suddenly burst out laughing, right in his face.

“fuck outta my face,” he spits.

you laugh even louder, hand coming up to your mouth trying to control yourself. “what? you don’t believe me?”

your push has sukuna rolling his eyes to the back of his skull. “playin’ in my face.”

“pleaseeee,” you cackle, adjusting yourself higher, waving a hand in front of him. “I was—I meant to say it’s for suguru.”

you visibly see the twitch in his eye, and that has you laughing louder hitting his chest as your head falls back. “I’m DEAD, you’re actually killing me!!” your laughing is so loud it irks him how much you’re getting a kick out of his reaction. he also ignores how cute your stupid laugh is after not hearing for so long. “cmon, it’s no biggy, wearing this skimpy little thing for my suguru.”

“your suguru,” sukuna spits back, disgust laced in every word.

you nod, bitting your top lip as you hold in your laughter, even if your eyes are laughing. “it makes sense, since me and him are sharing a room.”

his body suddenly goes dead still. “you’re fucking with me.”

his tone has you laughing louder, unaware how much that bothered the footballer. “you don’t believe me?”

sukuna rolls his eyes, loosening his jaw as he exhales through his nose. “daamn, relax ryo.” you coo, hand coming up to squish his cheeks. “tough month? you can’t take my little jokes anymore?” your faux pout has him scowling immediately, but his cock jumps at the expression.

“ragebait,” he mutters. you softly snort, smile lighting up your face, then your pretty head tilts for him. so fucking pretty.

“aww, that wasn’t my intention,” you coo.

the lie has sukuna scoffing, eyes flickering between your insincere doe eyes, and it tickles an itch deep in his core. “I was just playing with you,” you playfully squish his cheeks again, watching the way his lips purse together. he’s so cute.

his hands rest on your waist, staring straight into your eyes, and he unknowingly allows you to mess with him. enough that a string tugs at his chest.

“you mad?” your lips part slightly when he doesn’t respond, your eyes still holding a playful spark in them.

“yeah.”

it was a detectable lie that has your pretty lips pulling into a smile you can’t control. “yeah?” you’ve seriously grown confident in your time apart, and it’s unbelievably attractive. “but I thought it was pretty funny. you can’t be mad about that, can you?”

your thumb brushes the morning shadow on his chin, the stubble beyond attractive. but sukuna is too busy clicking his tongue at you to notice the way you’re checking him out whilst pushing his buttons. “I can. do you see me laughing with ya?”

you purse your lips, smile spilling out wide. you shake your head, then you push yourself up. your pretty legs are loose around his hips, your fingers gently curling under his chin, wetting your bottom lip with a soft hum.

“I don’t,” your voice is low, sweet. his jaw tenses slightly, waiting for you to act, and surprisingly you catch it. and you start smiling again. “you’re so patient, ryo.”

his breath catches, covering it with a loud, offended scoff. “maybe finish your sentences,” he snaps. “y’ keep fucking trailing off.”

you smile, leaning close to his face. breath warm against his lips. “I just answered you though,” you trail off again, purposefully. your lips hover over his, slowing your breath, lashes fluttering like a subtle seductress. and it works. he leans closer, wanting your warmth to encompass him even more. his cheeks a stained dark pink as you exhale softly. “you just like listening to me…don’t you?”

your smile is unbelievably beautiful, but his remains still, glaring at you through his dark lashes. his thick brow quirks. “i don’t remember ya being this cocky,” he mutters and there isn’t much heat behind the insult.

your smile only widens, “I didn’t realize how easy you make it,” you coo softly.

his brow twitches, “don’t flatter yourself.”

“mm.” your fingers drift along the collar of his shirt, eyeing the tattoos that peak, then meeting his crimson gaze again. “too late.”

the morning breeze curls around the two of you, the scent of salt and sunscreen drifts through the quiet villa. the pool glitters behind him and still, neither of you moves away.

his eyes drag over your expression, lingering on the curve of your smile and the amusement brightening your face. he’d spent weeks listening to your voice through a phone speaker, catching glimpses of you through photos and stories, and now that you’re here, he finds himself unable to take his hands off you.

you tilt your head. “what?” you ask, trying and failing to sound innocent.

“you’re annoying,” he cuts.

“but…” you lean closer, your lips brushing his, and he barely reacts. “you haven’t asked me to stop.”

something shifts behind his eyes. the confidence in your expression flickers for half a second, replaced by something softer, and something he sure as shit brushes away. but the teasing quiets just enough for his stomach to twist.

“tell me ryo,” you murmur quietly, voice just above a whisper. the sweetness drips into his ear like honey. his cock straining in his shorts, unable to control his body’s reaction to you. “you like being teased…right?”

his mouth twitches. “you fucking with me again?”

you slowly shake your head, staring into his eyes, twirling his hair around your finger. “you can tell me,” you tug at his hair lightly. “I don’t judge.”

he’s leaking for sure. the clear outline of his cock would be embarrassing if he wasn’t packing. and even with how obviously turned on he is, how flushed his ears are, and how blown his pupils have gotten. he still manages to hold his composure, and bite back a shit eating grin.

“cute,” his arm tightens around your waist, the other dragging up your thigh, pushing up your shorts. his bulge is pressing directly onto your shorts, and his sharp canines almost make him look animalistic. “I don’t think you realize what you’re doing.”

you hum, dragging the sound in faux innocence, lashes batting up at him, almost making him release a pathetic noise. “what am doing? I thought I was creating a safe space for you,” you coo.

“don’t play dumb.”

you shrug, face still close, and fingers still playing with the ends of his hair, the other squeezing his bicep. “I’m not.“

and once your eyes glance over the scowl that flickers across his face, your unable to control your reaction. you laugh softly against the small space separating you, and the sound seems to snap whatever fragile thread of restraint he’d been clinging to.

you make a startled sound against him, one that quickly melts into something softer when he kisses you harder than before. his brows knit together, expression caught between irritation and want.

he completely steals the breath from your lungs. all the teasing from the last several minutes dissolves into something far less careful. the laughter lingering on your lips disappears beneath the press of his mouth, your fingers tangling tighter in the ends of his hair as he forces his tongue to meet yours. and the moment your tongues make contact, a guttural groan comes from the back of his throat. the sound is muffled against your lips, but the way you feel the warmth pool between your legs is immediate.

he doesn’t care anymore. his mind has wrapped itself around you, the familiarity of your lips, the warmth of your body, and the soft edges of your aura, it all has him melting. and it doesn’t take long for him to press his fully erect cock right against your shorts. rutting.

a squeak escapes your pretty lips at the first roll of his hips. jaw falling agape at the stimulation. the sunrise paints everything gold around you, warm light spilling across the pool deck while the rest of the villa remains asleep. and as exhausted as sukuna is from his flight, he physically can’t stop his body from rutting into you like a dog in heat.

his tongue is thick and hot, slowly stroking your lips passionately until you’re meeting the wet muscle with your own. your whine is muffled, arms latched around his shoulders, as he hooks your leg over his arm, humping your clothed pussy.

“we should fuck,” he mutters between kisses, grinding even harder, stimulating his cock. “yeah?” his hand squeezes the flesh of your thigh, kissing your bottom lip with haste. “everyone’s sleeping, I got a condom in my bag—“

a choked groan slips out of his throat when you tug his hair, his pupils twice their normal size. cheeks flushed a dark red, and his body unable to pull away from you. he doesn’t want to address how quickly you turn him on, or how much he craved your touch after being away from you for so long—no, none of it crosses the front of his mind when you’re under him, hands caressing his nape, lips glossy and swollen from kissing, and dark lashes batting up at him like you know everything. “you haven’t showered.”

he kisses down your neck, grinding slower, reminding you what he’s asking for. “I don’t smell that bad.” he unintentionally presses his face against your nape, inhaling. “fuck, but you smell so fucking good.”

your lips part momentarily, cheeks flushed. you feel him kiss the warm skin of your neck. he trails back to your lips, hand wrapping gently around your neck, tilting your chin up with a thumb, kissing you deeper, if possible.

it was a scene. and it was one that gojo was waking up to. his blue eyes are still heavy with sleep, white hair sticking in every direction, as he wanders down the staircase in nothing but a pair of shorts hanging dangerously low on his hips. one hand disappears beneath the hem of his shirt as he scratches absentmindedly at his chest, the other reaching automatically for the carton of orange juice waiting in the fridge.

the villa is quiet. the open screens let the morning breeze drift through the house, sunlight spilling across the floors and stretched toward the living room, where a duffle bag and suitcase had been abandoned carelessly near the entrance. gojo blinks, his gaze moves from the luggage to the open patio doors, then stops. “…oh.”

outside, beneath the morning blue sky, was a certain someone hidden behind one of the lounge chairs overlooking the pool, and sukuna was right on top of her. the two of you were obviously making out, his head bent toward yours, your hand buried somewhere near the ends of his pink hair, his broad shoulders blocking part of your frame from view, and his lower body was rocking against yours.

gojo stared, lifting the orange juice to his mouth, then lowering it. “…they’re still not dating,” he murmured to absolutely no one.

“what are you doing?” nanami’s voice breaks through the silence making gojo glance over briefly. fresh out of bed himself, nanami is halfway through pulling a shirt over his head, pajama pants slung low against his waist, catching a brief sight of his dark blonde happy trail, as he walks into the kitchen, following gojo’s line of sight. his steps slowed. “oh.”

gojo points toward the patio, “they’re not dating.”

nanami yawns, moving toward the fridge anyway.“i went to bed early,” he said. “did he get here last night?”

gojo shakes his head immediately, finally twisting the cap off the orange juice. “nope. he literally just got here. i got the notification from the security.” nanami pauses, glancing over his shoulder again, then toward the abandoned bags in the living room, then back outside.

“…they’re that comfortable with each other?” the question slips out before he can stop it.

gojo snorts, “or they’re just ridiculously attracted to each other,” he shrugs. “but they’re definitely not dating.”

nanami raises a brow thoughtfully. “did they not have sex with anyone else if they’re jumping each other like that now?” gojo tilts his head in genuine surprise. nanami’s eyes linger on the scene outside.

maybe it’s instinct or it the unmistakable feeling of being watched, because outside, sukuna’s gaze lifts. his sharp crimson eyes slide toward the villa without warning and land directly on the blue and honey-colored pair staring back at him from the kitchen. the silence stretches, until gojo slowly raises his carton of orange juice in greeting.

your brows quirk seeing sukuna’s suddenly pulling away and scowling over your shoulder. that’s when you decide to stick your head out, brows quirking at gojo and nanami both standing in the kitchen.

“didn’t mean to interrupt the streamy sesh,” gojo calls out casually, nanami glancing at him in annoyance. “you guys can continue.”

you snort, pressing a hand to sukuna’s chest, just for the hot head to sit back on his knees, glaring at his friends. “damn, but you kinda made me loose my appetite though,” you say stepping away from sukuna to stand up. his eyes follow you, jaw tightening as gojo cackles loudly from the house.

“whaaaat—but don’t you guys miss each other? I didn’t wanna ruin the reunion,” gojo lightly teases, unknowingly hitting a nerve as sukuna tsks, and you surprisingly raise a brow.

“you’re not ruining anything,” you say, glancing over your shoulder at sukuna who’s still sat on the lounge chair, hand over his bulge. “we were jus’ talking.”

gojo smirks, nodding sarcastically, “yeah, for sure. must’ve been the wind then.”

you sarcastically cringe, shrugging. “ah, must’ve been.” you don’t break a sweat as you walk further into the house passing by the boys as you make your way up the stairs, leaving them behind. and even with your heart beating erratically, and your face sweltering. you keep your composure until you’re out of sight.

as for sukuna…he remains seated, quiet, and unbelievably pissed off. nanami finds it slightly amusing, while gojo is snorting loudly. “that’s how much you wanna get in her pants—I just got the notification that you walked in and you’re already tryna fuck her—jeez.”

sukuna scowls, standing up. the irritation dripping from his being as he slips a hand into his shorts, tucking his erection up. “since when do you fucking cockblock me?” he snaps, walking into the house.

gojo’s hands fly up in defense, “you’re the ones that stopped. I was just drinkin’ my juice here.”

“he was watching,” nanami casually corrects, earning another shrug from gojo. sukuna clicks his tongue, and it prompts nanami to follow up with the only question swimming in his head. “are you guys dat—“

“no.”

the room falls silent.

sukuna picks up his duffle bag. his sharp eyes find the two men, and he utters his next words, with little thought, only wanting to end any further discussion on a subject he has little care to address with outsiders.

“we fuck. and I’m gonna fuck her again. and that’s my deal with her.”

his harsh tone is followed by a low whistle from the white haired man. and though sukuna walks away from them fully believing he put an end to whatever assumptions they insisted on making. because whatever existed between you and him has always been simple, physical, and convenient. except…

later that week, the simplicity shakes just a bit. when your arms lock around his torso, fingers twisting desperately into the back of his soaked shirt, refusing to let go. face pressed against his chest, eyes rimmed raw, breaths breaking apart into uneven pieces as your entire body trembles against him. the rain coming down harshly, drenching the quiet street and soaking through your skin and fabric.

and sukuna can only stare over your head into the empty street. his arms tighten around you without fully realizing what he’s doing it. his veins straining beneath his skin because you won’t stop shaking. your nails digging into him.

“don’t…” your voice is strained, the softness still shining through even in the state you’re in. “don’t push me away yet.”

his jaw clenches.

“please.”

a/n: watch you guys burn me alive after this. no joke, this shit was gonna be longer but I reached the line count limit on tumblr so I had to cut the scene short and add a sneak peak into next chapter.

mean bf!toji likes dragging the heavy, blunt tip of his cock up and down your wet slit, teasing you ruthlessly until you're begging him to just put it in. instead of giving in, he’ll slap his wet tip against your clit over and over, mocking the needy little noises you make and telling you that you haven't earned it yet.

mean bf!toji just laughs when you try to complain that he’s being too rough or too mean. he won't slow down; instead, his chest rumbles against your back as he grips your hips harder, driving into you with even less mercy just to prove that he rules the bed.

mean bf!toji loves leaving you completely ruined and breathless. he likes looking down at the mess he made of you—smudged makeup, tangled hair, and thighs shaking uncontrollably—while he casually rolls off to grab a drink, completely unfazed while you can barely move.

mean bf!toji will pull your hair back with just enough force to make your eyes water, forcing you to look directly at him while he pounds into you. he hates when you try to hide your face in the pillows or close your eyes; he wants to see every single expression of pleasure and overload on your face.

mean bf!toji uses verbal degradation as a tool to keep you completely flustered. he’ll call you a "good little slut," mock how loud you're breathing, or ask you why you're crying over a little bit of fun, his voice deep, raspy, and completely devoid of the warmth he usually speaks to you with.

mean bf!toji will deliberately overstimulate you, rubbing his thumb harshly against your clit while hammering into you, and when you start to sob because it's too much, he’ll just kiss you hard to muffle your screams and keep going right through your orgasm.

In chapter one, probably. Never leave the Birthday Girl unattended. The Birthday girl should never wake up without kisses. Never make the Birthday Girl wonder where her doting boyfriend has disappeared to. Simple. She could possibly die of heartbreak.

Dragging the covers up to your chin, you stare up at the high ceilings above with all the wounded dignity of a prissy house cat who’s been denied her favorite treat as a scary, distant thought drifts along the back of your brain. It feels ridiculous in a way . . . to think that Izuku has forgotten your birthday. It’d be more shocking than the sun refusing to rise. He remembers everything about you.

Your favorite flowers, the exact shade of pink you prefer, the name of your imaginary friend your tiny brain conjured up between the ages of six and nine, your first kiss anniversary, doctor appointments, sweet treat orders, clothing sizes — he couldn’t have forgotten. Not by a long shot. Which means, he’s downstairs . . planning something. Getting stuff ready. The simple thought is enough to keep your brain from spiraling and mood from souring . . . for about eight seconds.

Because, in that case, what’s taking so long?

The beginning of your birthday began the millisecond you fluttered your eyes open yet, nothing. You look towards the double, bedroom doors. Nothing. Back up at the ceiling, still nothing.

You can hear movement downstairs. The door opening and closing, shoe soles squeaking against polished calacatta gold, and soft mumbles from multiple people, as if they’d been told to keep their voices down.

Regardless . . . still no Izuku.

By the time one of those silver knobs to the bedroom twists open and he makes himself known, you’ve already managed to work yourself up into a mood entirely of your own creation. Which makes the sight of Izuku’s terribly handsome, freckled face looking much too pleased with himself frustrating. He balances a large, golden lap tray upon one of his palms while the other holds something behind his back. A big, bright grin pulls at his lips the second he sees you sit up.

“Good morning, birthday girl.”

He pulls whatever he’s hiding behind himself to the forefront. A bouquet of twenty four peonies and lilies, all beautifully crafted into an arrangement of creamy pinks and whites with pops of green and a specific variety you’d casually pointed out last year while the two of you strolled by a florist shop downtown. Upon the tray he holds are two plates — one toppled with pancakes, buttermilk. Crispy edges, fluffy middle, and strawberries and bananas meticulously arranged upon them like careful decoration. The other plate holds hash browns and a couple poached eggs.

Everything looks perfect.

The man is impossible.

Which makes having to be upset with him feel harder than what it should be. Still — principles are principles. Your gaze slightly narrows, “I’ve been awake.”

“Oh?”

Carefully, he settles the tray above your lap. You take the flowers with a huff yet can’t help hugging them to your chest. The fresh, earthy scent of them is even perfect. Expensive somehow, too. “Mhm. You left.”

The corner of his mouth twitches. Something bright wades within the dark juniper of his eyes. “I did.”

“Without telling me.”

“Didn’t realize I needed permission.”

Your eyes narrow in closer. Somehow, his grin widens.

“Izuku, I woke up alone.”

“Mm, yeah. That’s usually how waking up works.”

The gasp you heave is immediate. You’re offended. Horrified, actually. And he laughs . . . he actually laughs. The sound low and warm, entirely too delighted with itself as his chest strains against the tight, black muscle tee he wears. “Good morning to you too, trouble.” His scarred hand reaches for your chin before you can attempt to turn your face away. Large fingers curl around your jaw and you’re frowning when you return the delicate, sweet peck he presses against your lips. Rude. He’s an absolute terror when he decides to be, nevertheless, he swears up and down that somehow you’re worse.

“How long have you been up?”

“Not long.”

Liar. It’s obvious that the flowers had to have been picked up only about an hour ago, the petals are much too dewy and vibrant to have been sitting in his car or a linen closet all night and preparing breakfast surely had to have required some time.

You’re reminded of the shushing you heard downstairs . . . “Are people here?”

He pauses, “They were.”

“Who?”

“Everyone.”

Somehow, the word feels like a bomb’s been dropped. Your mouth pops open, “Everyone?”

“Mm.”

“As in—“

“—As in the people in your life that you like. Yes, everyone.”

His expression remains relaxed. You’re staring at him as he busies himself with making your coffee — long pour of your favorite raspberry - white chocolate creamer, dash of sugar . . then another because he knows that you always seem to claim that you don’t want too much then proceed to grumble when it isn’t sweet enough. “You’re having people over before I’ve even brushed my teeth?”

A smirk lifts the corner of his mouth. “You’re really worried about that?”

“Yes . . ?”

“Really?”

He’s trying not to laugh again. Your eyes zero in on the quiver of his chin. “Don’t.”

It tumbles out of his mouth — bright and loud. And disgustingly attractive. Which only deepens your annoyance. “So grumpy,” he murmurs as he hands over your mug. A white one with ‘princess’ curled across the ceramic in looping, pink script. A gift from him, clearly. You watch him settle upon the mattress and take a seat right beside your outstretched legs, all broad shoulders and messy, forest green hair. “Most people would’ve started this entire conversation off with a thank you . . you know that?”

With a shrug, you murmur, “Well, most people aren’t the birthday girl,” while lifting the rim of your mug up to your lips, eyes locked directly on his.

“Hm.”

He studies you quietly for a second, soft smirk still playing along his lips. It’s not a casual stare . . more lingering. Intense. You take another sip of your coffee as your fingers tighten around the mug and he notices — eyes quickly flick downward before back up into yours. It’s only after such when he asks, “How long were you awake before I came upstairs?”

The question stumps you for a beat. “. . What?”

“How long?”

“Why?”

His shoulder lifts then falls, “Just wondering.”

Your answer never truly arrives which seems to tell him something. Avowal glints within his eyes. “Mmm . .” His smile returns, easy and charming. “So you’ve been up long enough to get yourself all worked up, hm?”

“I am not worked up.”

“Okay.”

You hate that. You absolutely loathe when he does that. A curt, simple reply like such always somehow feels more insulting than if he were to just argue back. Because arguing means he’s taken the bait. ‘Okay’ simply means he’s already silently made up his mind on something and he’s not interested in debating on it.

Before you can formulate a reply, the mattress dips beneath the sudden shift in weight as he stands. “Anyway.”

You bristle, “Anyway?”

The black tee he wears clings to his chest in a way that’s much too distracting. His stature blocks out the entirety of the morning sun shining in through the arched windows and it pours over the edges of his hair, turning green into gold. “All of your gifts are downstairs.”

How quick the annoyance that previously resided in your body seems to leave is embarrassing. “Gifts?” The swift change in your expression changes amuses Izuku. What were once furrowed eyebrows, stubborn pouts, and large huffs have now all been smoothed over into a pretty face full of wonder and want. He feels victorious.

“Mhm. I want you to eat first though, yeah?”

“I want my gifts.”

“You’ll get your gifts,” he nods, fists in his sweats’ pockets as he heads towards the door. “After you eat.”

“Izuku.”

“Can’t hear you.”

—————

Hours pass when you find yourself promenading through the middle of a luxurious shopping district hand and hand with Izuku, wearing an outfit that surely wasn’t hanging in your closet last night. The tiny, white skirt acts as a perfect compliment to your vintage, denim blue, J’adore Dior top and cute, little Louis Vuitton mule heels. With each step you take, the gold bangles hanging from your wrist prettily jingle. They match with the jewelry studded within your ears and hanging from your neck, too. New shoulder bag, twinkling anklets, even the gloss coating your lips had been pulled from one of your gift sets from this morning — all flawlessly coordinated and put together by Izuku.

You are, in a million ways, his doll.

Never in a thousand years would you have imagined yourself to be allowing your boyfriend, let alone a man period, to assemble your outfits and yet . . Izuku has been doing so since around the time he’d asked you if he could become your boyfriend — two and a half years ago.

You think that he knows your closet better than you do.

Your pajamas, hot yoga outfits, brunch dresses, date night tops, beach cover ups.

In some way, he knows what silhouettes fit you best while also making sure you feel your prettiest. And which fabrics you seem to adore more than others. Near the beginning, it’d just been suggestions.

“I think you should go with the other bag, baby. The one with the silver buckle.”

“No wrist jewelry. Just your charm bracelet.”

“Try the ivory one on instead for me?”

“Think it’ll look best with your braids pulled up with the claw clip.”

Then at some point, his suggestions stopped being just suggestions. They became your way of life. Catching your reflection in the storefront window as you walk past it, you can’t help but find yourself disgustingly cute. “Do I look pretty?” You don’t ask because you need the assurance, you have to ask because hearing him say it means the most.

Izuku turns his head and lower his chin to settle dark green eyes on you come the question. Not the outfit, the jewelry, or even the dark brown shadow that’s been buffed and smoked out upon your eyelids but, you. It’s only after staring at you for a second when he takes a more attentive look at your outfit, thoughtful as always. Then he smiles, earnest and sweet, “You look beautiful.”

The statement comes so easy yet full of so much adoration that it completely catches you off guard for a moment. Your lips twitch as you fight to keep a grin from spreading too wide across your burning face. Squeezing his hand to release some of your own sudden, nervous jitters, you quickly turn your head away with a small huff, “Oh, shush.” . . Then more quietly, “. . Thanks.”

But of course, he hears it.

You feel the rough pad of his thumb drag along the small knuckles upon the back of your hand and for a few minutes, that’s all it is — comfortable silence beneath the distant mumble of passing conversations and pop tunes spilling out onto the sidewalks from other stores, until he hears your soft gasp. Your hand tenses up within his as your feet suddenly stop moving which forces Izuku to turn and face you, brows pushed in close, before following your line of sight.

“. . . Oh,” he soon murmurs.

Your arm lifts and with it, you point one manicured finger in the direction of a shoppe. “There. I want to go.”

The store window has four posing mannequins, all of them draped in either lace, ribbons, bows, silk, or pearls. Everything’s soft and pretty. Izuku thinks that the soft, dreamy music pouring in from the inside of it is like your siren call. “You don’t wanna maybe—“

Your eyes never pull away from those mannequins, “—It’s my birthday. I wanna go in there, Izu’.”

No fuss, no muss. He won’t deny you of something you want. He’ll never do that. “Alright, baby,” he squeezes your hand. “Alright, come on.”

Disregarding the already near dozen of bags he carries upon one arm, Izuku leads you towards the entry of the shoppe, not surprised to feel almost the immediate power exchange the second both your feet cross the threshold. Outside? He’d been the one leading you — maneuvering you both throw clusters of people, clearing a path and making sure you didn’t accidentally step on a glob of gum stuck to the pavement. In here, you’re the one pulling him here and there, “Ooh, Izuku. Look at this one.” You’re an unstoppable force as you tug him from display to display, “Oh my gosh, I need this.” “What do you think?” “I’m getting both.”

Within only ten minutes, you’ve accumulated an arm full of dresses, tops, and skirts and naturally drift towards the hall of fitting rooms to try them all on. You can hear Izuku take a seat upon one of the lone, cushioned, waiting benches directly outside your door and get comfortable due to the fact that he already knows your process. You refuse to leave a clothing store without trying every thing on, it just makes sense to.

“Pretty?”

He looks up from either staring at his phone screen or gazing about the bustling crowds outside the store’s glass windows to take you in come each article of clothing you try on . . . every single one, without fail. His attention parts from whatever he may be doing and settles fully on you. Izuku has always been able to read the minuscule ticks in your expression to know if you like how you feel in whatever you’re wearing, he knows to hum, “Very pretty,” when you shuffle out past the door with a big smile on your face or give a soft, “Mm, maybe not that one,” when the corners of your lips are pulled down.

Back behind the curtain you go, each time, separating the yays from the nays. And this continues for nearly twenty minutes. Not once does Izuku complain or huff for you to hurry up or even showcase a smidge of boredom. Each time the door to your fitting room swings open, he’s locking his glowing, heart thumping attention on you like it’s always belonged there.

And maybe that’s the problem.

Because after two and a half years together, you’ve grown accustomed to it — some can say utterly spoiled by it. You’re used to having those twinkling, mossy green eyes on you, used to always being the first thing he looks at. He’ll always notice everything and respond to you in just the way you need, disregarding the situation or day.

Especially today. It’s your birthday.

And his attention should belong to you and only you today. Selfish, you know how you come across sometimes yet you can’t find it in you to necessarily care too much about that particular word. You’d never say these thoughts out loud, but these thoughts exist, quietly, within the back of your mind and deep inside your chest.

You’re back within the dressing room, standing in front of the mirror and fiddling with a strap along your hip when you hear voices unfamiliar to you. Initially, you don’t think too much of it, coming to a realization that they may just be trying on things as well . . then,

“Oh my God.”

The voice comes from a girl, coated in jittery nerves and disbelief.

“Aren’t you Deku?”

You completely stop whatever it is you’re doing . . . not shocked to hear a familiar laugh, warm and polite.

“Yeah, uhm, hi.”

You can’t stop your eyes from rolling.

Of course.

Of course.

As they carry into a conversation, you continue to stand there, ears tuned in for anything out of the ordinary. The fan honestly sounds sweet and genuinely excited. You think you hear Izuku sign something of hers, take a picture, then answer something she shyly asks. They part after he thanks her for her encouragements and with that, the interaction is done — piece of cake. Clearly a rhythm he’s been settled into for a couple years now.

Still, disregarding just how easy the conversation between them was, you can’t help but feel the slightest bit annoyed. It settles somewhere directly beneath your ribs, thick and nasty. Realistically, you’re aware that the girl hadn’t done anything wrong. She was sweet and respectful. Izuku hadn’t done anything neither.

You know that.

Yet, your mood has gone sour even so. Maybe it’s because the second someone recognized him, his attention, that same attention something in you horribly craves all the time, shifted. Maybe it’s because you feel as though you’ve been waiting in this fitting room too long for him to see your outfit. Maybe it’s because it’s your birthday . . . maybe you’re just greedy.

The thought makes your nose wrinkle.

You don’t like that answer however, find it impossible to not realize that it’s the correct one.

When you emerge from the fitting room, Izuku’s eyes are on you immediately. You huff.

“. . . Well?”

The dress you wear’s soft material brushes along your upper thighs.

“You look good.”

“Just good?”

“Stunning.”

Narrowing your eyes, you soon breathe out an obnoxious, little ‘hmph’ through your nose while sauntering over to a full length mirror to take a look yourself . . . Yeah. You do look good, delicious even. The dress cinches at your waist from its built in corset — makes your boobs look amazing, however . . you can’t help but notice Izuku’s slowly widening grin in your peripheral.

“You fishin’ for compliments, baby?”

Your answer is immediate, “No.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

Dramatically, you turn back on your heels to walk back to from which you came, nose stuck in the air and hips swaying with each purposeful step. Izuku finds it difficult to not find you entirely too cute . . even harder to keep from smoothly calling out behind you, “You are impossible. Birthday girl.” By the time the two of you leave the boutique, though his bank account is three grand lighter from the previous hour and across his arm dangle enough shopping bags to possibly fill a small supply store, he’s happy that you’re happy. The bright, golden disc of the sun dangles lower in the sky now, shining over the busier streets and thicker crowd that engulfs the span of them. With your fingers intertwined within the spaces of Izuku’s, you’re halfway through explaining why a particular brand of ice cream is far much superior than another when the both of you hear it,

“Oh my God.”

The sound of someone’s deep baritone cleanly cuts through your words and immediately, the edges of your smile goes a little frayed.

“Aren’t you Deku?”

A group of three teenage boys this time — they all stare up at Izuku, bright eyed and breathless, looking almost two seconds away from passing out where they stand, and then you feel it . . Izuku giving your hand one, slight apologetic squeeze before releasing it. The action is harmless enough yet something in your chest burns like it’s been ignited by lighter fluid and a flaming match. Stepping off to the side, you lift your phone up chest level, type in your passcode, check the weather app, answer a few ‘happy birthday’ texts, scroll through the photos you’ve taken so far today . . just to do something with yourself while the boys take pictures with Izuku and ask him questions.

You watch something on your boyfriend’s face absolutely soften when one of them tells him that he’s the reason that he wants to become a hero, how great an inspiration he is.

Normally, you’d find the interaction far too sweet. However today, you simply stare at the pavement while picking imaginary lint off of your skirt. Every second he spends with his attention elsewhere, you find it irritating.

And when the boys are gone with their phone cases signed by Izuku and about a dozen new pics featuring him in their camera roll, you feel familiar eyes settle upon you, looking at you, closely reading you . . and taking only about two seconds to take in your demeanor. One slight tilt of his head and you’re positive that he’s already gotten you all figured out. A distant thought shoots out from the back of your brain, Don’t let him see it! Snapping yours away quickly, you expectantly hold out your hand, “C’mon,” your fingers wriggle. “I wanna go now.”

A fond smirk pulls at the corners of his lips, not . . entertained — he looks at you like he can see right through you and into your brain and heart specifically to read every single emotion you’re currently experiencing. “Alright, baby,” he eventually says while taking your hand. “Let’s go.”

Throughout the rest of the day, Izuku begins to notice something of a pattern. It’s . . . It’s funny, in a way, too. How he takes heed of it almost immediately and how you pretend that you don’t. When he spends too long checking out at a register, you’re impatiently huffing and folding your arms. Come him answering a five minute work call, you heave an exasperated sigh. You get so agitated with him at one point that when he offers to carry the bags holding your new acquired purchases, you deny letting him touch them with a mean swat to his hand . . . only to give them over five minutes later with a small complaint that your wrists were beginning to hurt.

There comes a time where he buys you a drink — a virgin pina colada with strawberry syrup lining the cup.

“It’s too sweet, Izu’,” you gripe with a swift turn of your head while pushing it back into his hands after one sip. “No. I don’t want it.”

“Sorry ‘bout that, baby.”

He buys another . . this one a frozen virgin mojito.

“Yuck. ‘s not sweet enough. Too tart.”

Eventually, he buys a third drink . . that you end up pouring half out to pour half of his into and declare it perfect. The entire time, Izuku remains patient . . sweet and receptive. It’s your day. You deserve whatever it is you want and more. He understands that . . . however, he’s watching you closely. Filing all of these little eye rolls and huffs and jealousies away. The way your mood visibly improves when he’s doting on you nearly hand and foot and how badly it sours when he isn’t.

By evening, your feet and shoulders ache. The two of you had gone home after an entire day spent out on the town near six pm to shower and get ready for your birthday dinner at one of the finest restaurants the country has to offer — Tower 86. Izuku had been the one to select it, of course. Dim, romantic lighting dances across crystal glasses, there’s soft music, and fresh flowers decorating each and every table. Below the building, through massive floor to ceiling windows, are the city lights, brilliant and extensive. It’s the kind of place people spend months trying to get a reservation for.

Nevertheless, here you sit, worked up into another mood because they don’t have your favorite drink in stock at the moment.

“You are unbelievable.”

Izuku murmurs it beneath his breath while flopping his lap napkin out to settle it over his thighs. He’s looking handsome tonight in an all black fit — tailored pants and blazer, first two buttons of his shirt undone, and a gorgeous, silver watch wrapped around his wrist.

“. . What?” You find yourself biting out through your glossed lips come you hearing the tail end of his words.

“Nothing.”

To top the allegorical cake off with a plump, bright red cherry, your waitress recognizes him some time around her bringing appetizers to you both. You pay close attention to her fingers beginning to tremble and how wide her eyes get . . and you watch Izuku give a warm, polite smile because he knows now, too. You roll your eyes when she eventually walks away after the third time and push your fork into your pile of piping hot, short rib pasta. “. . . You wanna invite her to my birthday next year, too?”

There’s silence for a long while after the question is smoothly asked.

Not particularly awkward or confused silence . . . more tensed. Through your peripheral, you watch Izuku slowly set his fork down against his own plate with a soft clink then lean back in his seat, real slow and controlled. How quiet he is forces your eyes up to really get a better look at him and reflexively, your heart stutters on a beat upon finding his expression entirely neutral. One wouldn’t think he was glad or mad as he just . . . stares at you for a while — not smiling, barely even blinking, just watching. The only thing visible on him is just his focus . . a frightening amount of it. Steady and unwavering.

For the first time today, there isn’t an immediate response from him. He wants you to sit with your question, bask in it.

“Careful.”

Is all he eventually says — quietly, slipped in like it was just a natural part of the conversation.

You can’t help but giggle . . somewhat out of defensiveness, more out of disbelief, “Excuse me?”

His eyes never part from yours, brewing fire within juniper, “I said careful.”

Suddenly, the table feels smaller. He feels bigger somehow . . broadness of his shoulders already be damned and you know that you should stop. One skim of his body language and you’re aware that you’re currently walking a thin line that only you know how to find within Izuku. ‘Careful’ had been him warning you, not arguing with you, not even threatening you. A warning.

You’d honestly prefer him threatening you.

Because you know Izuku.

You’re aware of his tells — when he’s annoyed versus amused, frustrated versus tired. This one you’re currently sitting across from is neither. He’s . . patient. Dangerously so. It’s the kind of patience someone arrives at when they’ve already reached a conclusion.

So . . . you behave.

When the waitress returns to refill your glasses, you’re softly thanking her, nice and polite. He notices and yet, nothing changes. Because suddenly behaving doesn’t magically make his irritation with you disappear — it remains there, small and persistent, beating beneath his ribs. You find yourself glaring down at your plate, fingers balled into fists on your lap. Why do you feel so dissatisfied after an objectively perfect day? Flowers, breakfast, gifts, shopping, everything and yet . . nothing feels like enough.

It frustrates you.

Instead of thinking too much about it, you let your lips part open and words to fall out, “. . . It feels like I’ve been sharing you all day,” you murmur while never looking up from your finger tracing along the edges of a dessert menu. “You didn’t wake me up this morning . . people kept stopping you . . you took phone calls . . . None of it’s fair, Izuku.”

The silence that follows simply feels just . . . wrong.

Slowly, very slowly, you lift your eyes to peer up at him beneath your wispy lash extensions without moving your head. He’s already staring at you, not the slightest bit surprised or even agitated. His expression tells you that he’s been aware of everything, this entire time. Jaw moving, he looks at you, then out towards the windows, the untouched dessert menu laid upon his plate, then at the waitress walking nearby.

Just like that . . a decision’s been made.

He lifts a few fingers and catches her attention, “Can we get the check, please? . . Thank you.”

Instantly, your stomach drops. “What?”

“Of course, sir.”

You watch her leave and find yourself gripping the armrests of your seat, “But . . my dessert — I haven’t gotten it yet.”

“No dessert,” his voice remains quiet and terrifyingly calm. “We’re leaving.”

“Because I wanted dessert?”

“No,” his head slowly shakes. “You know that’s not why, ꒰ ⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ꒱.”

A knot in your stomach tightens. You’re left to watch Izuku pay with his card, add a generous tip to the tab, then he’s pushing his seat out to stand and hold his hand out towards you. For a few seconds, you simply stare at it. The way he’s looking at you proves that he knows exactly what’s waiting for you when the two of you find yourselves alone. Carefully, you place yours within it, feeling his close around your fingers — not tight or possessive but, just enough.

The ride in the elevator down to ground level is painfully quiet. The entire thing is a mirrored box, therefore you can clearly see how Izuku stands beside you, one hand in his pocket, the other holding yours as you descend floor by floor. Taking a look at yourself — the perfect curls of your sew in, birthday make up you spent nearly an hour and a half perfecting, the flowing dress you wear, you can’t help but sigh out, “You’re bein’ dramatic.”

Nothing.

Not even a glance your way.

Your irritation rises, “. . I only said what I felt.”

Silence.

You realize that he isn’t just ignoring you, he’s consciously choosing not to engage with you . . . which is worse. When the doors finally open, a fresh, summer breeze sends your curls fanning out to frame your face and takes the hem of your dress back to reveal your soft legs and pretty, diamond dusted heels. He walks you to his car, an all black Ferrari Purosangue, stride unhurried, steps measured and opens the passenger door first, waiting patiently for you to slide inside. A perfect gentleman, as always.

The minute he climbs into his side and the door shuts, you’re surprised to watch him simply sit there for a while, engine off, eyes pinned somewhere outside the windshield.

. . . You roll your own.

“You know what your problem is?” Your pulse pounds as you hiss out your words. “Everyone thinks you’re so nice, but you’re not. You’re freakin’ mean, Izuku. I wanted my dessert. Who denies someone of dessert on their birthday? How is that fair?”

Eventually, he slowly turns his head your way. The look he gives you is enough to run your blood cold. Not angry, just . . . done. “. . You finished?”

“Oh my God—“

You barely even finish your words by the time one rough, scarred hand suddenly palms your face with enough pressure to have brown foundation and silky contour smearing against his palm. Your breath catches in your chest as he slowly slides it down, from forehead to chin . . blurring powders, blush, mascara, and lip gloss — hours of work and effort ruined by one hand.

“Iz . . Izuku!”

You’re wrecked with disbelief as you find yourself sitting there as he squeezes your cheeks between his fingers, worsening it all. To top it off, his expression never changes as he does so.

“There,” he finally mumbles when he lets go, voice low and horrifyingly calm. “Now you finally look how you’ve been acting all fuckin’ day.”

The words hit harder than they truly should. Humiliation, shock, and embarrassment all come crashing on you which sends a hot wave of tears to bubble at your waterline. A small breath is huffed out of his nose when he sees them, not quite a laugh but . . close.

“Oh?”

You look away from him.

“Now you wanna cry?”

The question is mocking.

“T-Take me home.” Your voice cracks as you fold your arms and turn away from him.

“No,” though he reaches for the ignition and the engine roars to life, he continues to sit there, arm on the center console, the other’s hand rested in his lap. “You’ve spent the entire day being an absolute fucking terror. You can sit with this for five minutes.”

His words shove the air out of your lungs. You feel so many emotions that they make your entire body feel hot. Hiccupy, you silently sit there as he continues to stare out the windshield, handsome face completely devoid of emotion.

“Y-You jus’ embarrassed me.”

Your accusation forces him to look at you move he eventually starts backing out of the parking spot. “No,” he hums. “No, that was all you, angel. You’ve been embarrassing yourself all day.”

The entire ride home is quiet. No music or hum to break it. The car’s interior is only filled with your shuddery breaths and congested sniffles. By the time he pulls within the driveway, you’ve made up your mind. Fine. You’re going to go upstairs, take the rest of your ruined make up off, lock yourself in the bedroom, cry if you need to, and order your dessert instead. Whatever.

Albeit, the minute both your feet cross the front door’s threshold, you hear it again . . Izuku’s voice, somehow darker this time around, “Ah, ah, ah.”

It forces you to halt, right there between the distance of the door and the staircase.

“Nope. Kneel.”

“N-No.”

“No?”

You hear his footsteps behind you, suddenly quick and purposeful. They’re so quick that you barely even realize what’s happening by the time his strong arms are wrapped around your waist which only awaken you to burst into another fit of bratty sobs as you kick your feet and squirm within them. “N-No, Izu’. No!”

But somehow he’s forcing you down. You’re left crying as he forces your head back with a fist gathered in your curls while his other hand works on unbuckling his belt and undoing the button to his slacks. “Think you don’t deserve this?” he grits out. “Huh? . . Think you’ve been a good girl today, baby? Nah . . open your mouth.”

His cock is only half hard when he forces your jaw open to push the thick, veiny shaft within the warm, small orifice of your mouth. Your eyebrows furrow as he forces you in by the grip of your hair til your nose is nestled in a thick thatch of forest green pubes, then back off, nice and steady. Thick pools of drool immediately gather upon your tongue from his tip beginning to incessantly knock at the sensitive ridge of your gag reflex. He tastes like soap and musk . . you hate that your clit begins to thump against the lacy gusset of your panties.

“Yeah,” he groans quietly, jaw flexed as he scowls down at you through the mop of messy, green curls that flop over his freckled forehead. “There you go. Swallow my fuckin’ cock.”

Your fingers dig into the meat of his thighs as you cough and gag around him. And it’s as you’re staring up at him with those big, almond shaped eyes, glistening with tears of both humiliation and strenuous work from his dick pushing in and out of your throat when Izuku thinks about the entire day. He’s used to you being a little bit of a brat, it’s in your nature . . also kind of why he fell in love with you in the first place. Where you push, it’s natural for him to pull. He’ll deal with the rolled eyes and pouts and whining, he will . . . but only for so long.

You need correction sometimes. And he’ll always give it as long as you remain this way.

“Lemme in,” licking his lips, he adopts a wider stance, gives a slight bend to his knees and pushes his cock in deeper within the passage of your throat. “Let Izu’ inside, baby — fuuuuck, there y’go.”

Your eyes roll back into your skull . . . the first sign of your give. It’s what he’s been looking for all day. Pulling his shaft free from your mouth, Izuku watches you gasp and heave as the mix of your drool and his precum comes dripping from his tip and across your swollen lips. Meanly, he takes himself by the base and slaps it against them and the chub of your cheek, further dirtying your already messy face as he holds his bottom lip captive beneath his perfect, top row of teeth.

It’s while you’re staring up at him, brown eyes completely darkened over and nearly flooding with fervor when it finally clicks . . when he finally understands. “. . . ‘s what you been wantin’ . . . ? . .” His head tilts as his face smoothens over with awe. “You serious right now?”

You loll the pad of your soft, pink tongue out across the slope of your chin in reply.

Plaplaplap. He taps his cock on it then rubs the underside of his tip from left to right across it. “God, you’re such a fucking . . .”

No words.

He pulls you right back down — wouldn’t be surprised if your pussy was dripping puddles on the floor he just paid to have buffed last night. Disgusting.

“ ‘ve had it up to here with you.”

The sensation of cool, leather being wrapped around the column of your throat makes you give a small sound full of curiosity. The clatter of a buckle and soft swish! is heard as the belt gets pulled through the silver hardware and adjusted tight until each breath you take has your skin straining against the material makes a chill run down your spine. Once more, he’s pulling his cock free from your mouth while grabbing the longer end of his belt to then tug you in the direction of his moving feet.

That first one makes you squeak and stumble clumsily to land on your hands and knees, yet Izuku keeps walking without even sparing you a glance, pulling you in the direction of the living room.

It’s jarring just how much you love and hate this.

“Fuckin’ blame myself,” you hear him muttering to himself as he plops down on the couch. “Put up with this shit for too long . . should’ve gotten you together this morning . . maybe today could have ended better.”

All said while he forces your dress off of your body, lugs you up onto his lap, back to his chest, then lifts your legs high within the air, held back by his arms behind the backs of your knees. The warm, dimmed lighting of your home catches on the thick webs of slick that connect your panties to the fat folds of your pussy as he snatches them to the side. Neither of you can see much past your mound however that doesn’t stop Izuku from getting comfortable, leaning back against the couch cushions, man spreading with you on his lap and reaching down to slide his fingers along the short length of your slit.

You make a whimpery, broken sound, toes curling in your heels once the coarse pads of his fingers find the little button of your clit. “I still haven’t heard a single thank you from you all today,” he mumbles while caressing the bud with painfully slow circles. “So, you know what? . . . This is what we’re gonna do . .”

Suddenly, the flat of his palm is falling onto the meat of your pussy, forcing the flesh to bounce with a mean ricochet as you squeal and naturally fight to shut your thighs closed.

“Gonna count these out for me . . and tell me thank you, Izu with each one.”

“No—“

Another slap and you wail as your feet jerk.

“I’ll stop early if you be good and count.”

“Okay,” you mewl, letting your head fall back onto his shoulder. “O-Okay, Izu’, ‘ll count.”

One slap.

“One, t-thank you, Izu’.”

Another . . . and another . . . and another.

“Fuck — Izu’ p-please, thank you.”

“T-Thank you — thank you.”

“Okayyyuh.”

Your pussy’s warmer to the touch when he cups it within his palm after the tenth swat. Crystal tear drops drip towards your wobbling lips as your hips lurch into his touch as he soothes your pulsing clit with tender, smooth massages with his two, longest fingers. “Can be so mean, baby.”

Sniffling, you shake your head, “Nuh uh.”

“Uh huh,” he hums as he shallowly dips the tips of them within the tight, dripping ring of your cunt’s entrance. “Think you were bein’ fair all day . . bein nice?”

You don’t want to answer that question.

Wriggling deeper down into his lap, you feel the hardened staff of his cock, still lugged out between the zipper of his slacks, slotted between the plump cheeks of your ass. You want it, “Fuck me, please?” You mewl as your fingers wrap around the wide breadth of his forearm. “Please? ‘ll be nice, I promise . . I promise.”

“That desperate, huh?”

Whining, “Yeahhh,” you feel Izuku drop your legs to then add some pressure to your hips to force you to stand. Your heels click against the hardwood as you listen to his clothes rustle and you’re preparing to turn around and face him when you feel pressure against the front of your throat, the belt being tugged backward to impel you to take a seat right upon his stiff, dark cock.

Your lashes flutter as your eyes pivot back within your skull come that first pop of him inside. “Shouldn’t give you a thing else tonight,” he murmurs, eyes focused on your ass cheeks slowly falling down upon his lap as your pussy engulfs him until his heavy ballsack. “. . Should I?”

You’re softly sobbing as you slowly rock your hips back on him, feeling him hit somewhere inside you that has your walls squeezing on him, “Wan’ . . Wanna be good, please, Izu’, please, make me g-good, fuck me, please—“

You drive a good bargain. “. . . Yeah, okay,” he sighs, fist still wrapped around that leash, the other clutched within the soft crease of where your thigh meets your hip. “ ‘ll make you good, baby . . Izu’s last gift for you tonight, hm?”

The sounds are lewd.

The slapping of skin come each time your ass cheeks clap down onto his pelvis, pussy squelching out thin strings of slick that only smear against his balls and drips down to the sectional below you both. You gasp and sob and babble as you roll your hips back into the menacing shoves of his own, meeting him halfway as your fingers grip onto his knees for balance. It’s almost confounding how different of a person you become when dick’s inside of you. No more mean huffs and whines and snarky one liners, you just . . take it — all fuzzy brained and weak spined like it’s all you were put on this earth to do.

“You’re lucky I love you, y’know that?” Izuku breathes as he gets a nice chunk of your ass within his hand and forces you down on him harder. “Lucky you’re beautiful . . That you fuckin’ feel this good . .”

Your walls tense around the width of his cock at his words. Your voice jumps an octave higher as you nod, “J-Jus’ love you s’much,” you finally admit through a hard hiccup. “Wan’ you . . hng, to m’self all the — all the t-time.”

This is what he means.

You can be too fucking sweet sometimes, even as you’re bouncing on his cock after basically dancing on his nerves all day. It’s all forgotten about when you say shit like that. You have some type of hold over him. Izuku can’t explain it.

“Oh my God,” he groans, low and long as he engulfs you within his arms and forces you to lie back against his chest again. “M’baby’s so stingy, huh? . . So stingy with her Izu’.”

You curl your fist into the back of his head within his curls as he suckles a love bite into the crook of your neck. You no longer move — he keeps your hips at a standstill a few inches above his own to hammer his cock up inside the syrupy tunnel of your cunt. “M-My Izu’,” you gurgle around a mouth full of droll as your head lolls back against his temple. You’re already so close to cumming. “You f-fuck me so good . . .”

He moans at your words while reaching down to fondle with your clit again — rolling and pinching that hard nub between his fingers. “O-Only the best for m’baby. Need this pussy like I need fuckin’ air, yeah?”

He’s so gross. Whimpering, an arch curves within your spine as you squeeze your eyes shut and lips dip down in a watery frown, “. . Fuck’mcumming.”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck, baby.”

“There you go.”

A high pitched whine spills from the depths of your chest as Izuku continues to fuck you through the spasms of your pussy clenching down on him as you cream. It’s so much, you feel like you can barely even breathe . . . But you can’t think that he’s not going to keep going . . . that he’s not going to selfishly work towards his own after the shit he’s had to put up with today . . .

Clenching his jaw, Izuku pushes you back forward to get you on your feet, hands flat on the decorative table and legs spread wide. The belt is once more held within his fist as he uses it for leverage to compel you backward as his cock bullies its way inside your pussy. Your breathing’s strained as your tits bounce out from over your bralette. Drool swings from the tip of your hanging tongue. It feels so good . . so fucking good.

“Gimme y’r cum,” you slur, all thin and broken. “C-Cum inside me.”

“Oh my fucking God,” Izuku whispers beneath his breath as his head falls back. Then arrives a phrase you’ve been hearing all day, “Alright, baby . . I will.” Izuku isn’t the slightest bit shocked to feel his orgasm hit him with almost the same pressure of a freight train not more than ten seconds after your words . . forcing his body completely still as his voice catches within his throat. “A-Aweee fuck. Awe, God . .”

He’s blind to the dreamy, little smile that spreads across your lips as you feel his shaft throb with each shot of cum that pulses deep inside past the tight pucker of your cervix because even if it takes a day, a month, a year . . even if it takes a million complaints and gripes and glares . . .

“Her favorite color was blue,” Gojo blurted out, and Choso felt his eye twitch. Mouth barely able to hold onto thin neutrality as he resisted reacting. 

“When I was with her, it was purple,” he evenly replied, pushing off the ground to stand up straight. You wouldn’t even let him paint the kids bathroom blue. Skipped every shade of it to pluck out a soft lavender, smiling as you offered it to him. 

“Well, I guess you just know her so much better than I do,” Gojo scoffed, white brows pinching together tightly as he walked over to place his flowers by Choso’s.

It was hard not to cringe. 

Jealousy used to burn him up inside, gnaw at him endlessly at night no matter what you whispered or how tightly he held you in his arms. But now, seeing the man who was responsible for it teetering on a knife’s edge, miserably mourning your memory the same way he was, just sorta made all those harsh edges of his own hurt soften with unexpected sympathy. 

“She wouldn’t want you to waste the rest of your life waiting by-” 

“You don’t know that,” Gojo snapped at him, before immediately wincing, probably realizing how he sounded. “That was childish, I’m-” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Choso waved it off. 

Truthfully, he didn’t know what he’d do if he was in his shoes. 

Except for maybe not leaving to start with. 

“I used to be terrified I’d wake up one day and you’d be waiting at the front door,” he added, not sure if being candid would help him any, or if it just felt good to get it off his chest. 

“I wish I was,” Gojo openly admitted, defined jaw clenched tight. 

Up close, Choso could make out the curve of his cheekbones, a little too hollow to be healthy. A haunted quality etched into every line, every feature of his face. Not getting enough to eat. Probably not getting enough sleep either. 

Struggling to cope with his new circumstances.

Displaced in time and space.

And still there was one thing they both had in common. 

“I miss her,” Choso softly spoke, throat constricting as a lump started to take shape, blocking his breathing as he steeled himself. He wouldn’t cry. Not here. Not in front of him. 

“Yeah,” Gojo awkwardly agreed. “Me too.” 

“Do you want to go out for lunch later? Talk about her?” He offered, shoving down his own discomfort to extend an olive branch. 

Hope blooming when Gojo hesitantly accepted it, nodding with just a short bob of his head. 

“Can you bring some photos of her?” 

And a couple hours later, they were sitting across from each other in a corner booth of a restaurant he used to take the twins and Yuji to with you, plates pushed to the side as they poured over photo albums, fingers tracing over the glossy plastic protecting your pictures. 

Choso paused over an old one, back when the two of you first started dating, where you were sandwiched between Apollo and Artemis, smiling at him from behind a snowcone in a roller skating rink. It was supposed to be a playdate for the kids, but it kinda felt like one for him too. Holding your hand skating, making conversation over the loud bass of the obnoxious music blaring, and blushing when you nearly fell and sent him tumbling down on top of you. He could still remember that flutter in his chest when he helped you up, your fingers gripping onto his forearm and his own splayed across your side, lovestruck at the way you looked up at him with those pretty eyes, a temporary tattoo of a butterfly stuck to the bottom half of your cheek courtesy of Artemis and crinkled when you laughed. 

He didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone so gorgeous. 

Snapping photos of your side profile and the kids racing around the arcade section, glued to your side and feeling like a dumb dog lapping up every little sliver of affection you tossed down to him. 

Devouring every ounce of it, feeling like he’d been stuck in a drought, wandering in a desert without you as he watched you help Yuji calculate how many tickets he’d need to get a ridiculous stuffed animal from behind the prize counter, Apollo tugging at your pants and pleading for you to play air hockey with him after Artemis went back to skating. 

It had been a good day. 

A great one. 

The five of you together had felt like a family far before you actually became one. 

“They look like they’re having fun,” Gojo muttered, tapping the picture of the little boy who looked so much like him. 

It was strange, honestly, a little uncomfortable how much Apollo had grown up to resemble him.

And now Apollo was older than him, his dad damn near the spitting image as him at that age. 

Not that he’d admit it. 

No, his stepson had done everything he could to diminish the similarities, running as far from his dad’s shadow as he could while his sister found the light in it. 

“We had just started dating back then,” Choso wistfully exhaled, reminiscing about how naive he’d been back then. 

How easy things had been. 

Artemis had filled your former fiancé on the basics. A rough history lesson on the years he’d spent in space. A vague outline of your life since he left. 

But he didn’t know how much Gojo really knew.

“You seem pretty close,” Gojo commented, his mouth pressed in a thin line as he flipped the page to a photo Mrs. Geto had snapped of the five of you at a soccer game, Apollo still in his uniform and beaming at the camera while you leaned into his side for the shot. 

“It, uh, was a little rocky,” he admitted. “Mostly because she was still in love with you.” 

And you had been terrified of falling out of it. 

“I think she was scared of falling for me too,” Choso added, leaning back against the leather seat, still able to shut his eyes and bring himself back to the first night he confronted you about it. 

Standing in your kitchen, putting plates in the dishwasher as you wiped the crumbs off the table, all three kids watching a movie in the living room, throwing popcorn at each other and giggling while you cleaned up after dinner. 

Another night where everything had revolved entirely around the kids, picking up after them and playing, breaking up their bickering or dragging them around from place to place. 

He had felt like a fucking asshole for having any kind of complaints, but when the most the two of you managed was a handful of makeout sessions you had to sneak in, a brief foray to second base that ended in less than a minute when Artemis burst into the bedroom crying about a skinned knee, frustration had begun to build. 

Choso didn’t mind waiting, if that was what you wanted. 

Taking however much time you needed if the idea of being intimate was still too much. 

But you weren’t saying anything. Avoiding the conversation every time he tried to bring it up, switching subjects or shifting back to the kids like you were searching for an excuse not to be close with him. 

To not move to the next step together. 

He wanted to take you on real dates. To spend time with you one-on-one. Be a couple instead of just coparents. 

“Can we talk?” Choso cleared his throat, shutting the dishwasher and fixing the settings without looking over at you. 

“Yeah?” He could tell you were nervous already, voice cracking on just a single word. 

“I, uh, just was thinking that we haven’t gone on a real date, y’know?” He started, peeking back at you just to see how stiff you were suddenly standing, shoulders squared as your mouth parted in surprise. 

“I mean, I guess,” you awkwardly replied, biting your bottom lip as you avoided his stare, turning your attention away, and he could already anticipate how many seconds he had left before you’d offer to check on the children or change the topic.

“Are you avoiding being alone with me?” He bluntly asked, a tiny bit stunned himself at the way the words just fell out of him. 

“No, no,” you stammered it out, repeating yourself as you shook your head. “It’s just, it’s hard to find time with the kids, it’s not you-”

It was the fact he wasn’t actually their father. 

But he didn’t say that. Didn’t bring him up. 

“I don’t want to rush you,” he tried to clarify, stepping closer and reaching out. Desperate to feel some kind of connection even when he suspected he might only end up freaking you out. “If you’re not-”

“What if I, um, ask Suguru’s mom to watch all of them next weekend?” You offered before he could explain his concerns, cutting him off with the words he wanted to hear.

“You’d do that?” Choso asked, heart thumping against his rib cage as he contained the hope he’d been clinging onto since the first day he met you.

“Yeah,” you nodded, smiling at him softly as he ran his hand over your arm, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead.

He hadn’t looked then. 

But part of him wondered now, what he would’ve seen if he had. Would the smile reach your eyes? 

Still, you kept your word. 

Dropped all three of them off to be babysat for the night a week later, got all dressed up in a little purple dress that left him swallowing his drool throughout the entire dinner, clumsily opening doors for you and paying the check despite his dismal teaching salary. 

You laughed at his jokes, leaned across the table and let him trace circles over your knuckles with his thumb over white wine. 

Choso didn’t go on dates often. 

But he hadn’t met anyone who made him feel like you did. Warm and fuzzy and frustrated and so entirely wrapped up in every word that left your lips that it was driving him mad.

Practically vibrating just from your touch, the way your fingers delicately intertwined with his when you led him back up to your front door, electricity he might just be imagining buzzing between your body as his as you leaned back against the the frame, giggling when you accidentally bumped into the bell. 

He could see that nervous glimmer in your eyes. 

Shared his own sea of anxiety over how tonight would end when everything inside him was aching for it not to. 

“So,” you started, sucking in your bottom lip for a second as your unsure stare met his.“Are you gonna come in?” 

Choso felt like he was going to black out.

Sure that he was going to blink and wake back up in his bed. Alone. Exhausted. Craving you so goddamn much he could hardly contain it. 

And before he could hold himself back, he was cupping your pretty face and kissing those lips that constantly lingered in the back of his brain. 

The rest was a blur. You kissing him back and looping your wrists around his neck. Shutting the door behind both of you and stumbling back to your bedroom, clothes hitting the floor while his chest strained to catch his breath. 

And when your back hit the bed, he was sure this had to be heaven. 

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, god, I can’t fucking believe you’re mine-” He didn’t even realize he was rambling until your mouth collided with his again, your soft thighs wrapping around his waist as his cock pressed up against your entrance.

You were already wet, which felt like far more of an accomplishment than it should. 

Pride sparking in his chest as his pre-cum unhelpfully leaked out onto your skin. 

“Condoms are, um, in my drawer,” you blinked when you broke the kiss, swallowing hard as you tilted your head towards your nightstand. 

“Okay,” he nodded, a little too eagerly as he climbed off to grab it, yanking open the drawer to find a sealed box. 

Brand new. 

Did you actually buy it for him? 

Or was he being delusional? 

He ripped open the top flap, but before he put one on, he looked back at you, feeling a little bit like an idiot for thinking with his dick instead of his brain. 

How could he forget about foreplay? 

Choso tossed a condom on the bed, walking back around to the edge of it before getting on his knees and yanking you down by your thighs until that pretty pussy of yours was right there in front of him. 

Ready to be prepared. 

“Can I taste you first?” He asked, not entirely selfless in his request. 

He wanted to bury his tongue inside you. Get the whole experience rather than rush into it and risk cumming in just a couple clumsy minutes. 

You nodded, maybe a little unsure yourself. 

As rusty at this as he was. 

You had confided in him before you hadn’t dated anyone since him. But Choso had no clue whether or not you’d actually been with someone else – even if it was just a hookup. 

His fingers trembled as they slid over your pliable thighs, pulling them closer as he shyly leaned in to tentatively take his first lick. 

But all it took was a taste. 

And a handful of minutes later, he was nuzzling his nose as he sucked and lapped like a man starved, cock throbbing and twitching as he resisted the urge to cum every time you moaned and whined for him. 

Pausing to ask if you were okay a couple times before he got too tangled up in balancing your pleasure and his. 

Your fingers laced through his hair, tugging at his roots to keep him going, thighs clamping down on his head as he swirled his tongue around hungrily. 

It honestly felt like a crime you’d kept it from him for so long. 

He could spend the entire night like this. 

Solely devoted to you. 

Trying out every little thing, pushing and pressing and prodding at every spot inside you until he made a map of your likes and dislikes. 

But you were prying him off, ignoring his deep whine as his glossy lips froze in a panicked pant, ready to plead his case to convince you to let him have a teesny more time. 

“Are you alright?” He asked, swallowing hard as his own saliva and your slick dripping down his throat. Pretending he didn’t notice the rings gleaming around your neck, the diamond one you’d switched from your fourth finger to a dainty chain. Daring him to remember that you weren’t supposed to be his. 

“I-I’m fine,” you murmured, chest heaving with every breath, making the necklace bounce with it. “Good.” 

“Please,” he began to beg, brows knitted together tight. Desperate to make you his. For tonight, at least. “I just want-” 

“I want all of you,” you half-whispered, like you could hardly believe it. 

He couldn’t either. 

Brain still lagging by the time he was sheathing his cock inside the condom, squirting lube on his hand and stroking his shaft before slowly starting to slip his way in you. 

No resistance. No more holding back. No more hoping for something he didn’t know would ever happen. 

Just you and him here together. 

It was perfect. 

You were perfect. 

Your warmth, your touch, your scent, god, every last detail was far better than he ever dreamed it.

His thrusts were precise, dragging in and out all slow and deliberate so he could study the way your face scrunched up in pleasure, watch your lips part and purr his name like a prayer. 

“C-Cho,” you groaned, raking your nails down his shoulder blades, not enough to sink into his skin, but more like a soft graze. 

“Y-you like that?” He stuttered over his own words, not coming off nearly as confident as he liked. 

You were nodding, your head on a bobble as your mascara-laden lashes fluttered. 

He was shuddering, whimpering right as his cock pressed all the way in, bumping into the back as your walls squeezed down on him. 

Nothing had ever felt so good. 

He wasn’t sure anything ever would again. 

Fucking you all soft, hips sliding smoothly against you, grabbing your hands and pinning them over your head so he could kiss you as much as he liked. Tongue slipping into your mouth, tracing your teeth, exchanging whines just for the other to swallow. 

Pressure building and twisting in his core, terrible tension he couldn’t resist, trying to break him before he could make you finish. 

Rushing to rub your clit, murmuring into your mouth and practically begging you to cum for him. 

You were hurting. 

He still thought he could heal you. 

Intoxicated by your face when you unravelled for him, cumming into the condom twice as hard as usual hearing your breathy moan, half-collapsing on you as his knees went weak. 

Choso might’ve been more embarrassed if he wasn’t so enticed by every little shiver and shake of your body, absolutely enveloped while he left kiss after kiss across your soft skin.

Talking to you in a soft voice, pulling your body back up the bed and flipping over so you could be on his chest. 

It didn’t take long for you to drift off like that. 

He didn’t blame you. 

Between work and the twins, you barely had time to take care of yourself. You rarely got restful sleep. 

He was feeling it call to him too. 

Peace. Contentment. 

Heat lingering underneath his cheek as he held you close, brushing your hair back from your face as you dreamed. Your mouth curled up, a pretty smile reflexively forming as your fingers tightened around his side. 

Some sliver of him sort of wanted to wake you, to ask what occupied your mind when you slept so soundly. But he just craned his neck down to nuzzle his nose in your hair, pulling you up another inch or two closer to cradle your body against his. 

And then you said it and shattered the illusion completely. 

“Satoru.” 

One sleepy word. Three soft syllables. 

And you broke him in a way he wasn’t sure he could repair. 

He stilled beneath you, heart lodged in his throat as he resisted the urge to throw it up. Flush it down the fucking toilet as he tried to lie to himself. 

Swear that you didn’t mean it – even if your subconscious did. 

That he wasn’t even here. 

But fuck, that look on your face, so relaxed, so raw, it made something inside him snap. 

What the hell was he thinking? 

He couldn’t do this. 

Slowly, he slipped out from underneath you, making sure to tuck the pillow under your head and cover your bare body back up with the blanket before he padded silently over to his discarded clothes. 

Choso couldn’t take just being your consolation prize. 

But the idea of going home and never coming back to you felt pretty fucking unbearable too. 

He didn’t want you to know he felt like this either.  

Hated the idea of you seeing him spiral into doubt. 

His feelings were his responsibility. He couldn’t put anything else on you – be another burden on your shoulders. He just needed time. 

Yeah, that was it. To think this through. 

Figure out if you were really ready for this. If he was ready to be what you needed while knowing he wasn’t who you needed. 

Choso had only managed to get his socks and boxers back on when he heard rustling behind him. 

You were sitting up and staring, eyes wide and worried as you watched him wordlessly. 

“I need to get Yuji,” he lied, sweat sticking to his forehead and plastering his bangs down as you blinked at him. 

“Why?” 

One word, and he nearly cracked. Changed his mind and caved in. “I forgot that we’re supposed to go see Sukuna in the morning,” he excused, shrugging his shoulders. “I should probably pick him up and head home.” 

“You’re going home?” Your voice was wound tight, but you didn’t call his bluff. 

“I should, yeah,” he muttered. 

You didn’t fight him on it. 

Just covered yourself with the blanket as you got up to grab some clean clothes from the closet. Not looking directly at him when you got dressed, mumbling under your breath that you’d let Suguru’s mother know you were picking the kids up as you sent her a text message. 

She answered the door with a soft smile for both of you, murmuring that the kids were still asleep as she let both of you in. 

“I’ll go get them,” you yawned, walking past her – and all the framed photos of men who weren’t around anymore. 

“Would you like some tea while she wakes them up?” 

Choso always had trouble saying no. 

Ending up in the kitchen, a deep line imprinting on his palms from the bite of the sharp counter’s edge as she poured him some fresh tea. 

She glanced up at him with tired eyes, holding out a steaming cup he timidly took. She wasn’t a fool. Probably figured it out from your text alone that something was up. 

“Can I ask you something?” He started, readjusting to lean against the kitchen cabinets as he looked at the ticking clock on the wall. 

“Of course,” she nodded, a fondness in her gaze that he knew wasn’t reserved for him either. 

You had told him about her son. Your fiancé’s friend. 

Commenting quietly a month after he had met her that you thought he reminded her of him.

“Do you think I’m wasting my time?” He asked, keeping his voice down as he felt all the muscles in his face involuntarily clench. Mouth twitching in a tight line as he voiced the thought haunting his mind. 

Was he just a moron for standing here wishing for someone who didn’t want him back? 

He didn’t want to be a placeholder. 

“Wasting your time doing what? Waiting for her to stop loving Satoru? Or for her to start loving you?” She asked, tilting her head to the side knowingly. 

His mouth opened, but no sounds came out. 

Unsure what question he really was trying to ask once she said the silent parts out loud. 

“She’s never going to stop loving Satoru,” Mrs. Geto calmly said, no malice or condescension, just stating a fact Choso already knew. “But you’d have to be blind to not see how far she’s fallen for you.” 

He hoped she was right. 

Would rip his heart out of his chest and hand it to you if it made it true. 

Artemis stumbled in first, sleepily rubbing her eyes and clutching a stuffed animal to her chest as the boys trailed in after her. You were behind them, but you weren’t looking at him. 

“What’s happening?” Apollo grumbled, leaning all his weight against your leg as Yuji scampered over to his big brother. 

“We’re going home,” you answered, your voice coming out all breathy, familiar heat still curling hot in his stomach just at your pitch . “And Yuji’s going home with Choso.” 

“But I thought we were-” 

“No buts,” you huffed, wrangling your kids towards the door without looking at him once. 

He knew that he might’ve screwed things up. 

Still, he didn’t think it would still be so tense a full week later. 

That when he didn’t text you good morning, you wouldn’t either. No more dinners for five. Or carpooling to school. No more cozying up on your couch while the kids fell asleep halfway through a bad movie. 

The distance didn’t make him feel any better. 

It only made him miss you more. 

Staring at the stars outside his window and wishing that he was home with you. Even if there would always be a ghost haunting its halls. Looming over the two of you no matter how much love he had to offer you. 

Was the man you loved before him still out there somewhere? 

Craving you the way he was now? 

Sympathy he hadn’t anticipated surged inside him, daring him to fully empathize with someone he wanted to hate. 

But he couldn’t hate him. 

And he couldn’t stop himself from loving you. 

So he sent you a text Saturday morning, typing and deleting a variation of the same ten words before finally hitting send.

He wasn’t lying when he said that Yuji missed the twins. Choso just didn’t know how to tell you how much he missed you too. 

But you replied back that he could bring him over if he wanted, and he refused to miss the chance to reconcile. To fix things before they ended up broken. 

Choso thought you might be a little upset. Confused by the sudden space between you. 

But you barely even glance at him when you opened the door, speaking only to Yuji as you directed him to the backyard, nodding along to his endless chirping about what he learned in school yesterday before he ran out to join the twins. 

The morning sun wasn’t too harsh yet, your side profile illuminated in the soft rays as you stepped out with them, wearing one of your favorite faded shirts he suspected belonged to him, the chain of your necklace peeking out underneath the color. 

“Are you going to say it?” You broke the silence, your stare focused solely on Yuji and Apollo chasing each other and laughing. 

“Say what?” He repeated, running his fingers through his hair, attempting to not sound as nervous as he felt. 

You scoffed, low and soft, your mouth curling down as you looked down at the grass around your bare feet. 

“I guess this is it then?” You asked, refusing to so much as glance his way. Leaning against the wall with your arms tightly folded across your chest like you were trying to protect your heart. “We’re over?”

His own practically fell through the fucking floor as he processed what you just said. 

“What?” The question came out wounded. His throat drying out as he forced himself to exhale, “Why-”

“I don’t want to waste your time,” you coldly replied, but he could hear how much you were struggling too. 

Oh god. 

You must have overheard the first part of his conversation with Mrs. Geto. 

“That’s not what I meant,” he defensively started, panic pulsing through him as he reached out to touch your arm. But you recoiled, flinching fast like his fingers would burn you. 

“I thought things were okay,” you murmured, shaking your head like the very notion was stupid now. “Was it the sex? Was I not good enough for you?”

“No, no, I swear-”

“Then what?” You snapped, finally looking back at him, your beautiful face scrunched together in pain. Big tears welling up in your pretty eyes that you were trying to blink away. 

For a second, Choso froze, stunned that he could be the reason for that. That you cared enough about this, about him to cry. 

His mouth stuck open in a moronic ‘o’ as he stumbled for the right thing to say to stop your relationship from unraveling. 

“You had your fun and fucked me. I’m just not what you wanted, right?” You were half-whispering, keeping your voice down to not alert the kids. Bottom lip quivering as you continued, “I don’t know why I thought you’d stay.” 

Fuck. 

This was not how this was supposed to go. 

He was supposed to be smoothing things over, not losing you over nothing. 

“No, baby, no,” he insisted, grabbing your hand before you could retreat even further away. “You are everything I’ve ever wanted.”

You tried to pull your hand out of his, but he wasn’t the kind of fool who would let you walk away. 

“The sex was amazing, god, you’re amazing,” Choso rambled, rushing through his words as he felt a frightening surge of anxiety at the idea of you thinking he was just using you like some scumbag. “I just, I thought everything was perfect, and after you dozed off, you said his name and I-” 

“What?” You faltered. 

“You were in my arms, and you called out for him,” he murmured, attempting to suck air in his lungs as he inhaled sharply. 

A tear slipped down your cheek, and before you could burst into sobs, he was pulling you back against his chest. Enveloping you in his embrace, arms wrapped around you as your body wracked with the weight of your sorrow. 

“M’sorry,” you cried, your voice muffled as your tears left damp spots in his shirt. “I-I-” 

He was stroking your hair, swallowing the lump in his throat at the sound of your broken voice. 

“It’s okay,” he soothed, pressing your head against him to make sure the kids wouldn’t have to see you crying. 

Not when you tried so hard to be strong for them. Built a life around being there when their father hadn’t been. 

“I didn’t mean-” You started again, and he only pulled back to wipe the tears away beneath your eyes, thumb slowly dragging over your cheekbones. “I just haven’t had sex with anyone since-”

“You don’t have to apologize when you didn’t do it on purpose,” he reassured you, feeling that hole in his own heart chisel just a tad wider at your acknowledgement he’d been the first man to fuck you since him. “I just needed some time to sort out my own feelings.” 

“You’re still going to leave,” you mumbled, wiping your nose on your forearm as you tried to step back and recoil back. 

“I’m not,” he promised, cupping your cheek. “I’m just scared of being his stand-in. A shitty replacement for the real thing.” 

You stared back at him, taken a little aback before you shook your head, leaning into his palm. “You know you’re not.” 

He didn’t though. 

How was he supposed to believe he wasn’t second place when you wore the proof of who was first around your neck every day? 

But he couldn’t point that out. 

Not when he knew that he wasn’t being fair. 

Your former fiancé had been gone for years. It wasn’t a bad breakup, or like you lost him in some tangible way. 

You had no closure. No answers. 

Just an empty hole in your heart that Choso was doing his damndest to fill. 

He glanced back at the children, clueless as they played in the sandbox, Artemis threatening to dump a bucket on her brother while Yuji dared her to do it. 

And his chest fucking spasmed at the idea that there might be another life where they weren’t his family. 

Where you weren’t his. 

“I’ll always love Satoru. I wouldn’t have the twins without him,” you admitted, sniffling a little as you pulled yourself back together. “I wouldn’t have you either.”

He didn’t know what to say to that.

Aware that you were right, but having a hard time finding it in himself to be grateful. 

You were a gift.

Choso just couldn’t decide how to feel about the sender. 

“I love you,” you spoke so softly to him though, so tenderly despite how scared he could sense you were just saying the words out loud. “I’m sorry it took me so long to say it.”

“I love you too,” he promised, leaning down to press a soft kiss against your lips. 

To seal it. 

“I think we just have to work on talking to each other,” Choso added after you started to pull away, slipping a hand around your back to keep you close. “Communicate better before it turns into this.” 

He didn’t want to be the reason you cried. Be the one who broke you. 

“Yeah,” you mumbled an agreement, relaxing into him before looking back over to the twins and Yuji. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“And then what?” Gojo interrupted his story, shoving a fry in his mouth with an annoyed frown. “You guys lived happily ever after?” 

Wouldn’t that be sweet? If it had been so simple? If you’d both stuck to what you swore? 

“Uh, not exactly,” he muttered. “I mean, most of it was great. But we did have a pretty bad patch.” 

Gojo freely glared at him, like he was offended at the concept of him having anything to complain about. 

“Why are you looking at me like it’s my fault?” Gojo huffed. 

Some childish part of him wanted to retort that it was. 

That he spent his life fixing the damage he’d done to you by getting on the damn spaceship. 

But Choso had made his peace with that long before you were his wife. 

“You’re the one she married,” he bitterly added, jaw locked with barely concealed contempt he wasn’t bothering to hide without Artemis around. 

Apollo didn’t even want to entertain him at all, only tolerated seeing him when his sister dragged him around to family gatherings and brunches, excited to have someone to chatter about science stuff the rest of them couldn’t comprehend.  

Choso didn’t blame either of them. 

“You know, she didn’t say yes the first time I asked her to marry me,” Choso confessed, twisting his own wedding band around a wrinkled finger. 

You broke up with him, actually. 

He had tried to dull the memory over the years. Make the edges of it less sharp, enough that it didn’t taint you in his mind. 

But it still stung. 

No matter how much time had passed. No matter what he knew now that he hadn’t then. 

Choso had spent weeks planning it. 

Debating on all the different ways to do it before finally deciding that he should do something as a family. Show you how much he loved you and the twins. 

He didn’t want to just be your live-in boyfriend. 

He wanted to be the step-dad to your kids. Your husband. To slip a ring on your finger and swear to love you for the rest of his life. 

To never leave. 

He settled on making the kind of meals usually reserved for holidays, buying candles and balloons, buying a pack of rose petals to scatter on the bed. Picking out a ring he hoped you’d like and saving enough money to afford a second if you didn’t. 

Waiting for the perfect opportunity to get you out of the house long enough to set everything up only for you to hand it to him on a silver platter. 

You were distracted when he got home from work, chewing on your lip as you dropped your phone in your purse and murmured that you needed to go run a couple errands while he tried to hide his excitement. 

Maybe, if the kids hadn’t rushed over and started tugging on his jeans, distracting him with what they’d done at school, he might’ve seen your face before you walked out the door. 

Maybe it would have all played out differently. 

But he didn’t, and he’d never get to know what could’ve happened instead. 

Roping the kids into the plan was perhaps a mistake. 

But he wanted the twins' permission before he proposed. 

“I need to ask you two something,” he hummed, ruffling Apollo’s hair as Artemis squinted suspiciously at him. 

“What?” She murmured, glancing between him and Yuji, who was practically bouncing up-and-down with excitement he couldn’t contain. 

“I would like to ask your mom to marry me,” he admitted, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he measured their reactions. 

Apollo threw his arms around his leg, looking up at him with those bright blue eyes, absolutely elated. “So you’re gonna be our dad?” 

“It would make me your step-dad,” he replied as calmly as he could, still trying to respect the man who made them – even if he’d never gotten to watch them grow. “And that’s up to your mom.” 

You lived together. You told him you loved him. 

He never thought no was really an option. 

“If it makes mom happy,” Artemis murmured, a little more reluctant as she nodded. 

“That’s all I want,” Choso softly replied, smiling at her. 

She looked like a little version of you. Acted like one too sometimes. Slower to trust. Sweet underneath it all. She wanted to seem strong, but she was still soft underneath it all.

Choso had overheard her on the playground telling her one of the other kids swinging that her daddy was up in space, swearing that he’d come back after the child called her a liar. 

He felt pretty fucking shitty for his silent hopes that her father would stay up there. 

Did it make him an awful person? To want a place in your life that badly? Unsure if you would really pick him if your first choice became an option once more? 

He did what he did best though. 

Push down his anxieties and pray he never had to find out. 

“Who wants to help set everything up for her?” He asked, forcing his brightest smile as his ring sat impossibly heavy in his pocket. Weighing his heart down like a lead balloon, threatening to bury it as he tried to swallow the fear that he might fuck this up. 

But the chorus of ‘me’s and the bright faces of the kids that had all started to feel like his own was enough for him to forget about it and focus on you instead. 

Getting all the details right as he devoted himself to the dinner, letting the kids lay out the tablecloth and set the plates up – although he had to stop Yuji from accidentally setting his hair on fire when he snuck the lighter out of the drawer to light the candles Choso had set out. 

But eventually, everything was in its place, the lights adjusted and the food set out, the children all changed into nicer clothes as the twins talked about how they’d all be siblings soon. 

“What do you guys think?” Choso grinned, wiping his palms off on the apron before taking it off. 

“She’ll love it,” Apollo optimistically smiled, one of his front teeth missing from where it’d fallen out the week before and traded in for five dollars from the tooth fairy. 

Choso really hoped you would. 

It was too late to change anything, because they all heard the familiar sound of your key turning in the lock, the creak of it swinging open. The front door thudded shut, and he was pretty sure his heart was going to explode if it started pounding any harder. 

“Are you guys hungry?” You called out, your voice wavering, bordering on exhausted, pride flaring in Choso’s chest at how happy you’d be to see the spread on the table, to see the way the kids were all eagerly holding their breath, glancing between each other and nearly bouncing out of their seats. “We could order pizza or-” 

You stopped speaking the second you saw it. 

Froze in the open doorframe, your eyes going wide as you scanned over the scene. All the food and the fancy tablespread and the flickering candles, the way the kids were holding in giggles as he stepped forward to bridge the distance between you. 

“What is-” 

Choso got down on his knees mid-question slipping a hand in his jeans to clumsily grab the crushed velvet box, blinking a little too fast, mouth opening too soon as he struggled to remember the speech he rehearsed a thousand times in the mirror over the last month. 

“Um, I, uh,” he paused, spit thick in his throat that he had to swallow before continuing, “I love you, and I love our family, and I can’t imagine living the rest of my life without you or the twins in it. Will you make me the happiest-” 

“I cannot believe you,” you interrupted him, shaking your head as you stepped back, your face blank, mouth hanging open as you sucked in a shallow breath. 

“What?” He blanched, barely even processing the words that had just left your lips as your expression shifted to anger, of all things.  

Brows scrunching together as you scoffed, fingers trembling as you pointed down the hall. “My room. Now.” 

The kids looked at each other, awkwardly slipping into dining chairs as if they were the ones in trouble, but Choso didn’t know what to say to soothe them when it felt like his heart was shattering too. 

Humiliation burning his cheeks as he put the ring box back, getting up off the ground and following you like some dejected puppy, hoping for his owner’s love. But the moment you were alone, the second you shut the door behind him, the way you were staring at him was closer to a stranger. 

“What the hell did you think doing that in front of my kids?” You asked, and he couldn’t comprehend what the fuck he’d done that was so bad in your book. 

“We’ve been talking about marriage for like, a year,” he argued, indignation he didn’t know how to handle boiling up inside his chest at your attitude. Glaring like he had done something so absurd to deserve it, your rejection leaving a sour taste in his mouth he didn’t think would be going away any time soon. 

“We?” You hissed, hurt written all over your face before you wiped it and replaced it with thinly-veiled resentment. “You were the one who kept bringing it up.”

His jaw dropped. 

“Are you kidding me?” Choso deadpanned, disbelief wracking through his body as he felt a shot of adrenaline begin to course through his veins, fingers flexing into a fist before he forced them to relax. 

“I was just trying to keep you happy, I didn’t think that you were serious about it,” you said, turning away from him as you buried your face in your hands for a second, breathing hard like you might be on the verge of a panic attack. 

Instinctively, he wanted to reach out. Hold you close and let you crumble while he whispered soft words to coax you through it. But he stayed still, nails digging into his palm as he found himself fuming at you for the first time ever. 

“What the fuck?” He spat, his voice starting to raise as you recoiled back even further. “Why wouldn’t you say something? Why the hell would you just let me think you wanted it too?” 

That you wanted him? 

“Don’t shout at me,” you huffed, mouth still quivering as you folded your arms tight across your chest. 

“What happened to communication?” He demanded, thinking about the fight the two of you had. How you’d sworn that you loved him and didn’t want to lose him. 

And now here you were, refusing to meet his eyes, mouth pressed in a thin line as you held your tongue. 

Something he didn’t know he’d been holding back snapped when he realized you weren’t going to reply. 

“Oh, I get it,” he grimaced, brows knitting together in frustration as his disappointment bubbled into disgust with himself for not seeing it sooner. “You don’t want to marry me because I’m not him.”

He knew the second he said it that he couldn’t take it back. 

“That’s not fucking fair and you know it,” you snapped at him, and a bitter voice in the back of his head pointed out that you were only speaking up now that he brought up your real fiancé.

“You’ll wear his ring every day and not mine,” he retorted, doubling down rather than backing out of his accusation. 

He thought you’d yell back.

That you would fight him on it. He wanted you to fight him on it. To finally let every thought you kept from out so the two of you could get out of this frustrating limbo. He didn’t care if it dropped him in hell. 

He just wanted to get somewhere with you. 

But you shut down. 

Silently staring at the floor, chest heaving as you dug your own fingers into your side.

“I really am just a fill in for you,” Choso continued, trying to get any kind of reply out of you. 

And still, you somehow found the only one he didn’t want. 

“Get out,” you whispered. 

“What?” 

“Get out.”

Everything that had been boiling seconds before abruptly stopped, the pot ripped off the burner and left him stranded in hot water as his senses finally snapped back into place. 

You had never kicked him out before. 

What the hell had he done? 

“I’m not trying to hurt you, I just, I want to understand,” he tried to backpedal, holding his hands out and stepping forward just for you to not even glance up at him. 

“I need a break,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, sounding like you were a world away.

“From this conversation? Or us?” He blanched. You were supposed to be throwing your arms around him right now. Telling him you loved him and discussing what season your wedding should be in. Not fucking dumping him. 

“This is just too much,” you muttered. 

What the fuck was that meant to mean? 

He felt helpless as he stared at you, the way your head was hanging down, shoulders slumped as you shut him out. 

“I’ll take the twins somewhere and you can get your stuff,” you added, getting up and walking around him, making up your mind without even giving him a chance to talk this out.

Watching you walk away, dumbfounded as you slipped out the door, the conversation over before it had even properly begun. 

“Are we going to be a family now?” Apollo’s hopeful voice carried through the door down the hall, and Choso rested his head against the door, wishing the conversation had gone another way and still too upset to think of a reasonable way to reach you. 

To break through the barriers you were haphazardly throwing back up. 

“Yuji and Choso aren’t going to live with us anymore, baby,” you softly said back. 

Fuck. 

You were supposed to be his wife. 

Not his ex-girlfriend. 

“You’re a fucking moron.” 

Said the jerk that left a pregnant you to go to fucking space. 

“You’re one to talk,” Choso commented, mouth curling down as he grabbed his glass to take a sip, the sight of his own aged hand reminding him that he was definitely too old for starting fights like this. 

“So she really dumped you?” Gojo grinned, irritatingly white teeth on display as he leaned forward, looking directly at him instead of the photo albums. 

“Not for that long.” 

“You should’ve fought for her more,” Gojo pointed out, before almost immediately stopping himself, brows scrunching together like he realized what he was saying and who he was saying it to. 

“I thought she didn’t want a future with me,” he shrugged. “Not when she was still thinking about what one would’ve looked like with you.” 

Always stuck in the same position. 

Torn between wanting your heart and wishing that he wasn’t second-place in it. 

“If I could’ve been there,” Gojo started, genuine remorse bleeding through, and Choso remembered once again why he’d never been able to bring himself to loathe the man you loved. 

Because they both loved you. 

“I know,” Choso murmured. “I sorta wished sometimes that you would just show up if it meant she would be happy.” 

𖥔 ݁ ˖

You weren’t sure you had ever been so fucking miserable. 

Breaking up with Choso had nearly broken you. 

You hadn’t seen him since you came back home to find every trace of him and Yuji gone. Hadn’t said his name since you had to explain to Apollo that you were going to switch him over to a new soccer team for the summer. Artemis had asked if you were happy, giving you that look like she could see through the stories you tried to keep up for them. All you could do was twist the necklace and tell her that her and her brother were all you ever needed. 

But she had wanted to go to a sleepaway space camp for the summer, and you couldn’t bring yourself to say no when everything you would have planned with Choso had fallen through. So she was hours away, gone for weeks while Apollo was busy with his own soccer camp and sleepovers with friends from school. 

When he was home, he was just complaining about how much he hated the older kids in the 9-12 group he’d gotten stuck in, muttering under his breath that his old team was better. 

You sort of thought if you stayed busy with him, you could forget about all the other stuff. 

Shut out the awful spiralling that started in your head every time you laid down in your cold, empty bed and rolled onto your side to see the unwrinkled spot next to you. 

Picturing your pretty dark-haired man there, his eyes lazily opening and noticing you staring before pulling you into a warm embrace. Waking up in a daze from a dream where your blue-eyed boy was still holding onto you, murmuring that it was all just a nightmare and to go back to sleep. 

Now you didn’t have either of them. 

God, you couldn’t even pull yourself together enough to send a video message to Satoru like you used to, staring at the unused webcam when you got ready every day and lacking the strength to even sit in front of it and say something. Couldn’t bring yourself to call your therapist either, cancelling appointments over text and shrugging your shoulders to swear that you were fine. 

You wanted to believe that you could heal from this. That there was still real happiness to be found somewhere between the lines of hurt and heartache. 

But it didn’t feel like it when you pulled into the parking lot for one of Apollo’s exhibition tournaments and he started bouncing around in the backseat swearing he was sure you passed by Yuji. 

Shit. 

God, you were sure that he wouldn’t be here. 

Yuji was in so many sports, and Choso usually coached younger kids anyway, so what the hell-

“Can I please go say hi, mom?” Apollo begged as you stopped the car. 

“Of course, sweetheart,” you nodded, going ahead and practicing your smile when the muscles to make it were a little rusty. 

The second you had slung your chair over your shoulder and opened the door for Apollo, he was sprinting over to the grassy area, Yuji’s voice calling out his name as a boy you didn’t recognize protectively puffing up his chest as he stepped between the two of them. 

“Who’s this, brother?” The boy asked, looking back to Yuji as he stepped out from around him. 

“Apollo, are you playing?” He chirped, his loose soccer jersey swaying as he rushed over.

“Yeah,” he nodded, deflating the moment he noticed how close Yuji was with his new friend. “My team kinda sucks though.” 

There really weren’t many feelings worse than watching your kid go through something you didn’t know how to help them with. 

Seeing the shock scrawled all over their face the second they thought they were replaceable. 

“You think we’ll play against each other then?” Yuji asked, grinning with a gap in his teeth, one that must have fallen out this month. 

“We’ll definitely beat you,” the other boy boasted, and you knew you shouldn’t hate a kid, but you sorta did. 

And then you looked up, glancing around just to see Choso approaching – but he was too busy talking to a blonde to notice you with his brother. Her hand on his forearm, leaning forward as he spoke all seriously about something, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she listened intently to every word. 

You hated her. 

Almost as much as you missed him. 

But you couldn’t deal with either emotion. Had no way to defend or deflect it, just putting your hand on Apollo’s shoulder and nudging him away, “Sorry, but, uh, I should get him to start his drills. It was good to see you, Yuji.” 

You didn’t stay long enough to see what kind of accusatory stare he’d give you for breaking his brother’s heart. Or run the risk of Choso coming over and catching you clinging to the remnants of your relationship by letting Apollo hang around Yuji. Rushing off to find the right field, a sick feeling spreading across your stomach, filling your lungs and choking up your throat as you set up your chair and tried to tell yourself that the chance of Yuji playing against Apollo was slim considering how many teams there were here today. 

But luck hadn’t decided to grace you today.

Because standing across the field twenty minutes later, in his stupidly attractive jersey and shorts, Choso was tying half his hair up off his face, bending over to listen to Yuji before looking over to see where Apollo was sitting on a bench, a cap hiding the steaks of white from the sun as he kicked his feet and waited for the game to start. 

You saw the way his mouth pulled tight. How his jaw clenched before he looked over to the sidelines, starting to scan it before you looked back down in your lap, pretending to be interested in something on your phone instead of staring at him. 

Just one game. 

That was all, you told yourself. 

You could make it through that. 

But fuck, it would have been so much more bearable if she wasn’t a few seats away once it started. 

Loathing didn’t quite cover the jealousy simmering inside you at the way her pretty blonde hair cascaded down her back and gleamed in the sun, how freely she bounced and cheered, clapping her hands together and calling out Yuji’s name in a chipper voice along with her own kid. 

The one who called Yuji brother. 

That was how it was now. 

Choso wanted a happy family. So he started one with some other soccer mom, huh? 

It had only been two fucking months. 

How the hell could he just move on like that? 

Maybe you broke it off, but he could have at least pretended to be bent out of shape about it when he had said he wanted to marry you. 

Were you just not that serious? Had the past few years really meant that little to him? 

Every time she cheered for Yuji felt like a fresh stab. 

It was hard to hold back your annoyance when Apollo was struggling on the field too, all his older teammates refusing to pass the ball to him on the rare chance that he got to play. 

And then came the moment that her kid knocked Apollo down, big tears welling up in his blue eyes as the ref called it and his coach had to pull him off the field for good. He tried not to cry. To hold it in and not seem like a baby in front of the big kids. 

But rage was boiling inside you, injustice at how fucking unfair everything always for you. 

You were trying to fight for your kids. 

It wasn’t like you had someone other than Suguru’s mother to rely on. Not really. 

No one else understood. 

Knew what it was like to lose your whole world and then have to hold it together anyway. To never get closure and still be expected to just move on like nothing happened. Like you weren’t reminded of what you were missing every moment of every day. 

Apollo’s team lost. And you were still trying to be the mature adult you knew he needed you to be as you folded your chair back up and slung it over your shoulder, hurrying over as he nursed his scraped knee, still trying not to sob as he bottled it all in. 

But Choso beat you there. 

Kneeling down on the ground and putting a bandaid over it as he smiled at your son softly. You used to love the way he cared for your children like they were his own. But now you were second-guessing if maybe that was just who he was, that it never had anything to do with you.  

“-did great out there, okay? You should be proud of yourself,” he spoke gently, using all the right words as you tried not to wince. But Apollo smiled, wiping his tears away with the back of his hand, ignoring the dirt and grass sticking to it before throwing himself at Choso in a big hug. 

Arms wrapped around his neck before you could move forward fast enough to pry him off. Choso patted his back, but you were already trying to pick him off yourself, swallowing the pain threatening to close your throat. 

You couldn’t breathe. 

Couldn’t think straight.

Clouded with so much distress it felt like someone had embedded sharp shards of glass in every fiber and muscle of your body, limbs robotically moving as you mentally replayed what your last conversation had been.

“Can we go out for ice cream? Please? Like we used to?” Apollo blurted out, and you hated that you knew he would hold the refusal that was about to leave your lips against you. 

Choso opened his mouth to reply, hesitating as your eyes actually met his for the first time, and you wondered if he could see the hurt in yours as the lump in his throat bobbed. 

“Choso!” The blonde called out, her tits bouncing in her shirt as she waved to him. “Time to pass out snacks!” 

“Choso’s busy, sweetheart,” you said, picking Apollo up, his long legs dangling as he kicked, trying to get put back down. Trying to save yourself from the scene of him begging for attention from a guy who wasn’t his father. 

Even if you both wanted him to be. 

He watched you leave. 

Didn’t try to make you stay. 

That wasn’t who he was, you guessed. 

No, he just wanted to throw a ring at you on the second worst day of your life and toss the fact that you’d lost the father of your children back in your face when you were on the verge of a breakdown. 

Apollo pouted the entire way back to the car, his little nose scrunched up as you pulled out of the parking lot, muttering that he didn’t want to play soccer anymore. 

You tried to talk him out of it, saying that the next game would be better. 

But you didn’t know if he believed you. 

Not with the way he was dramatically staring out the window the rest of the ride home, switching between having  arms folded across his chest and fidgeting with the seatbelt. 

“I know you’re upset, but-” 

“I’m fine,” he stubbornly insisted, shaking his head. He had his cap back on, unable to make out any of his white hair underneath it as his blue eyes looked up at you through the mirror. “Are you?” 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” You asked, even though you knew he wasn’t stupid. 

He wasn’t as scientifically minded as Satoru, or Artemis, but he read you like a book. Saw in between the lines without you having to say anything. 

“I want to sleepover at grandma’s house,” Apollo murmured, diverting his stare  as you swallowed your pride and shrugged. 

“Okay,” you muttered. “I’m sure she’d like that.” 

Suguru’s mom had never said no to either of the twins. 

And when you brought him over in the evening, watching him run straight back to the spare room she made for them, hearing faint rummaging and rustling noises as he pulled out toys to play on his own. 

“I take it the game didn’t go so well?” She asked, fine lines and wrinkles really starting to show on her soft, tanned skin. Wisdom you wished you had even a small sliver of in her kind smile as you flopped down on her couch. 

“Choso was there,” you muttered, your stupid heart stuttering just saying his name. 

“Oh?” That piqued her interest. 

She always liked him. Told him that he was good for you. Good for the kids. 

But you could see how much he reminded her of Suguru. Always chalked it up to her seeing some of her son in him. 

“He already moved on,” you bitterly huffed.. “Some other soccer mom was practically all over him. God, her kid even called Yuji brother.” 

“Honey, are you sure? Did you speak to him?” She started, trying to be careful with her words as you scoffed louder.

“No, but-” 

“Have you spoken to him at all since you broke up?” She pressed, and you could only shake your head. 

What the hell were you supposed to say? You were broken up. 

It wasn’t like you had his number blocked.

But he hadn’t reached out either. 

“That boy loves you,” she insisted. “He wouldn’t just-” 

“He left me,” you muttered. 

Well, you left him. 

But if he loved you, he wouldn’t have let you leave. Just stood there when you walked away. 

You had made that mistake before. You let Satoru go. Trusted him to come back. 

He didn’t. 

And you were the one who had been stitching yourself back up every time his memory tore your heart back open. 

But how were you supposed to marry a man who couldn’t tell when you had come undone? That you were falling apart in front of him? 

“Did you want him to stay?” She asked, and you knew the answer instantly, no matter how hard it was to actually say it. 

Of course you wanted him to stay anyway. 

Even though knowing that felt like betraying Satoru. 

“I should go home,” you murmured, picking yourself back up off the couch and snagging your purse from the floor as you threw a long look down the hall to where Apollo was, debating on peeking in to tell him good night before deciding against interrupting him. “Just, uh, call me when I should come get him.” 

Or just walk next door. 

The house was horribly quiet. 

Your footsteps echoing as you returned to your room, the silence following wherever you went as you stripped and showered, scrubbing your skin raw with soap and sighing at your blurred reflection in the fogged-up mirror after you got out feeling no fucking cleaner than you had when you stepped in.

Truthfully, you didn’t really want to look at yourself anyway. 

Clinging to the towel you wrapped yourself in, staring at the clothes in your closet as you searched for something to hide yourself in, settling on an oversized hoodie you’d bought before either man you were wrecked over. 

Throwing on pajama shorts too, wondering whether or not it was worth wasting an hour scrolling through shows and movies searching for stuff to watch or giving up and crawling into bed when you heard a knock on your front door. 

A flicker of relief slipped in, thinking that Suguru’s mom must be bringing Apollo back, that maybe he changed his mind and you could offer to let him stay up late watching whatever movie he wanted together as you scurried back towards it. 

You didn’t even ask before pulling it open, but you stopped in your tracks the second you saw who was on the other side. 

“Hey,” Choso greeted, the single word shoved out unceremoniously as you just stood there and stared.

“What are you-” 

“She, uh, called me,” he muttered, jutting his thumb over to the house next door. He had changed into an outfit you missed seeing him in. A sweater you used to steal of his, thick and cozy, in your favorite shade of purple. Jeans that were well worn. His hair was a little damp too, bangs framing his handsome face as the dim lighting made his dark eyes hard to read. “If you want me to go-” 

“You didn’t speak to me today,” you pointed out, not that you made the effort to talk to him either. Picking a fight in the first five seconds. 

“I didn’t think it was a good idea,” Choso sheepishly answered, and before you realized it, you were stepping aside, letting him back in. Although, you guessed it was better than letting half the neighborhood hear you bicker. 

“Yeah, I’m sure your new girlfriend wouldn't be happy with you talking to your ex,” you defensively said, gritting your teeth as he shut the door behind him. Throwing you a confused glance before he fully turned to you with his thick brows all pinched together. 

“What are you talking about?” He shook his head dismissively. 

“Did you think I wouldn’t see the new soccer mom all over you?” You snapped at him. Your jealousy was plain to see, painfully obvious as the words came out all wounded and weak. 

“Are you talking about Yuki?” He asked, his lips parting as you imagined her mouth meeting them.

“Oh, is that her name?” You spat it out, backing away as you resisted the urge to roll your eyes. “She’s pretty, huh?” 

Did he think she was prettier than you? That he upgraded? 

The worst part was you could barely recognize yourself right now. 

You didn’t want this to be you. Petty and pathetic and pining over something you were trying to damndest not to want. 

Since when were you so insecure? So jealous that you were starting an argument with Choso because you couldn’t get a fucking grip on yourself? 

“She is,” Choso agreed, and you wanted to throw up. 

Ruin his sweater like he ruined your day. 

You didn’t know what face you made, but whatever it was, however wrecked you must have seen before you could recover, he softened. Unlocking his jaw as his eyes crinkled, exhaling slowly. 

“I’m not into her like that,” he added. Treacherous respite rippled through your body, but you held onto your anger, resisting everything you instinctually wanted to do around him. “But, we’re not together anymore. We can see other people without-” 

“You proposed to me two months ago,” you pointed out, but the accusatory tone didn’t really do much when it came out half an octave too high. A horribly familiar lump was growing in your throat, heat crawling up your cheeks dangerously close to your eyes. “If you actually loved me, you wouldn’t just move on like we were nothing.” 

“I’m not just moving on, it’s just,” he paused, budding frustration threatening to boil over as he took a small step closer. Standing in front of you as if he was the victim, like everything was all your fault for being the fucked up one in your relationship. “I should be allowed to heal however I need to heal.” 

For a second, you couldn’t stand him. His maturity. His rationality. The way he was still collected when it felt like someone had plucked out all your seams and left you to crumble. 

Tears you couldn’t stop welling up, a choked sound coming out before your broken words, “I’m sorry I was such a horrible girlfriend you have to do so much healing.” 

“I’m healing from your rejection,” he clarified, but you couldn’t stop yourself from crying, rubbing underneath your eyes as you tried to stop yourself, scoffing a little as you tried to reel yourself back in. 

“You had an out from the beginning,” you sniffled, although it sounded more like a huff. “I told you I didn’t want to waste your time.” 

He recoiled at the reminder, and panic sprung back up, hot and bright, burning your throat. You wanted to take what you said back. 

But you were too stubborn to say that. “Our relationship wasn’t wasted time,” he muttered, and there was a hint of remorse in his tone. Disappointment that things didn’t work out the way either of you wanted. “But this argument is.” 

You were about to throw out a retort, ask him what that was supposed to mean, but then he was walking away, sweater stretched across his broad back as he started towards the door, and you were bridging the gap between you, snagging his sleeve to stop him. 

“You’re just going to leave again? Like that?” You asked, voice quivering as you forced your stare to harden. He looked down at you like it was taking everything inside him not to give in too. 

“You wanted to break up,” he murmured, and you bit down on the raw spot you chewed in your cheek, ignoring the taste of blood on your tongue as the temptation to take it all back grew harder and harder to resist. “I was stupid to think that maybe we could talk things through tonight.” 

He began to slip away again, and impulsively, you were pulling him down by his sweater, your mouth crashing into his to reclaim him in a manic kiss. 

You sort of thought he would push you away. 

Tell you that he was really done this time. Through with you and all the baggage he’d have to bear being yours. 

But then his calloused palm was cupping your cheek and he was kissing you back twice as hard, returning the fever with his own heat. It seared through you, fried your nerves as his tongue slipped past your lips, his nose nudging against yours while his body pressed up against yours. Clumsily forced back a few steps until you were both falling on the couch, sandwiched between his heavy chest and the stained cushions. 

Having sex with your ex was almost always a mistake. 

But you couldn’t bring yourself to let Choso go. 

“I hate how much I love you,” he muttered when the kiss broke, and your pulse picked up, self-loathing sinking into you as it struck you how much your fuck-ups were fucking him up too. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, weak and almost whimpering as your apology came out sincere this time. 

You weren’t even sure which crime of yours you were apologizing for. 

Breaking up with him to begin with. Forcing him to bear the weight of your burdens. Being too emotionally constipated to communicate what was haunting you without turning it into a fight. 

“Show me then,” Choso dared, his usually low voice dropping down to damn near dangerous while his intense stare narrowed, studying your face for some sign that you meant it. 

And then you were tethering your fingers through his hair, pulling him back down for another rushed kiss, shutting out all the thoughts of how many sins you were trying to atone for. 

You spent so long trying to be strong for the twins. For Choso. For yourself. 

But you were so tired. So exhausted from expending all your energy putting on a show pretending to be fine when you just kept failing. 

Couldn’t you just let it go for a little bit? Let yourself love Choso without holding back? 

His hands were slipping underneath the soft fabric of your hoodie, phantom shivers racing down your spine as he nudged your thighs further apart with his knee. You could feel each finger, how they tentatively ghosted across your side up to your chest, greedily grabbing a handful of one of your breasts, nothing shy or reserved about it. 

No soft questions of if it was okay, or if you wanted more, just taking what he wanted. 

And you were willing to give it. 

To let him have all of your body when you struggled to hand over your heart. 

Kissing him came easy. His palms pressed so firmly against your skin, pulling at the soft muscle and tender flesh, his lips fitting so nicely between your own as his nose nuzzled against you. The connection you had been fighting was too intense for you to resist his pull, the intimacy that used to terrify you slipping its tendrils around you and wrapping around you so tight you didn’t think you’d ever be able to escape the hold he had on you. 

He pulled away, and you were left chasing the kiss, craning your neck up, whining and missing him the moment his mouth wasn’t on yours. 

That was the truth, wasn’t it? 

You had missed him the moment he stopped being yours. You were used to loneliness. To being lost in your head and longing for someone. 

So why the hell did it feel so different with him? So visceral and raw to accept that he might move on if you couldn’t give him what he wanted? What he deserved? 

“You don’t want me but you don’t want me to go,” he accused, and you were shaking your head, pulling him back down by his hair as you locked your thighs around his waist. 

“I do want you,” you admitted, brows knitting together tightly as you practically begged him to believe you. 

Your heart and your head might both be a mess. 

But you could pick out that brutal fact between the wreckage any day. If you didn’t want him, it wouldn’t hurt half as bad as it did right now to see him hurt. 

Like he was concerned you could change your mind (or maybe before he changed his), his grip slid back down to your hips, pulling you up some so he could get your clothes off. Adjusting down so he could shimmy your shorts and panties down your thighs in one go, 

You awkwardly lifted your arms, and he was half-ripping the hoodie off of you, but the moment it was off, he was flipping you over in one rough move, one hand on the back of your neck to press your face into your throw pillow. 

He left his clothes on. 

All his shields still up when it came to you. 

Your body trembled, cool air hitting your ass as you heard the rustle of him pulling down his pants behind you. 

Usually the sex was slow with him. An hour long affair of foreplay and making out, rolling around the sheets before taking turns giving each other head, drawing out an orgasm or two before he actually fucked you, or you even rode him. 

You were in uncharted territory. 

On the outskirts of his heart instead of taking up space inside of it. 

He ran his other palm over your ass, slowly trekking over your spine and letting out a low exhale you couldn’t decipher. You tried to look back at him, but the fingers on the back of your neck kept you firmly in place, sinking in a little deeper to get you to stay. 

You shouldn’t be soaked. But you could feel the dampness leaking down your thighs, your hips aching to wiggle a little and entice him into just fucking you into feeling something other than sorry for yourself. 

There was no prep. 

Just him tentatively testing how wet you were with his swollen tip before smoothly sliding in, a drawn-out hiss leaving his throat at the way your warmth wrapped around him the same way it had a thousand times before. 

You wanted him to kiss you again. Would even settle for a handful of pecks pressed to your shoulder blade or a few tracing up your throat. 

But you didn’t feel like you had the right to make any kind of requests from him right now. 

“C-Choso,” you whispered, your voice muffled into the pillow as your walls clamped down around him mid-thrust, squeezing as he shoved his way past the first ring of resistance. 

“Don’t,” he murmured, and if he didn’t already feel so good inside you, you might’ve broken down from that single word. 

Don’t what? 

Call out for him? 

“Not unless you’re mine.” 

You knew what he was asking of you. To give him the pieces of you that you were still desperately clinging onto. To let go of the ones that were someone else’s. 

His mouth hovered over your shoulder, so close to touching and still so far away, a little squeak escaping as his cock rubbed right into a spot he knew was sensitive. 

“When you close your eyes, are you picturing me? Or him?” 

The raw sound of his voice ripped through you, painfully piercing your heart as his hips pinned you to the cushions. Bottomed out and buried inside like he was aching to claim you completely and utterly as his own, his teeth finally skimming over your throat as a moan involuntarily slipped out. 

“You,” you half-whispered, and you could see his face in your head now, dark and dreamy and dragging you over the coals of a fading fire. The fight you used to have in you, the one that kept you dreaming for the life you lost, dying out.

Choso had fire of his own. It was tamed, controlled, where the flames wouldn’t hurt if they licked your skin. A warm hearth you could curl up by without fear of being burned. 

“Promise me,” he grunted, the springs beneath you creaking as he thrusted right where he knew you’d crumble and crack, your pleasure memorized like it was his favorite book. 

“It’s you,” you echoed, a whimper echoing in your living room as his back pressed flat against your own, his hand moving your hair off the nape of your neck so he could kiss you again. Mouth leaving a messy trail of kisses, each consecutive one making the invisible thread in your stomach tense and tighten, pulled taut as he pounded you into the couch with no mercy. 

“I said promise,” he groaned just before biting down, your wrecked whine just making his cock twitch as his free hand slipped around your side, roughly beginning to rub your clit like you weren’t already on the brink of breaking. 

“I p-promise,” you stammered, clawing at the cheap pillow for grip, each of his thrusts threatening to make you jolt. But he didn’t stop fucking into you faster, no matter how hard you were clamping down around him, thighs trembling and toes curling at the force of his rough strokes. 

So stuffed you thought you were going to snap, strangled noises buried into the pillow as his thick fingers worked your sensitive bud, his mouth littering your neck with what you hoped were love bites. 

Even if he wasn’t fucking you the way he usually did, Choso was still Choso. 

Still made sure you came first, waiting until your breathy gasps turned into a broken moan, shuddering as he painted white splotches across your vision, cumming and crying his name, ruined and half-limp underneath his body. 

Hiding your face in the pillow as hot tears welled up in your eyes, knowing it would probably leave damp spots after this was over. 

Were the two of you still over? 

Now probably wasn’t the time to ask. 

He pulled out at the last second, hand furiously pumping his cock, cum spurting out to spill all across your bare back as you started to come back down to earth from your climax. 

Waiting for him to say something first, shutting your eyes as you struggled to catch your breath, the metal of your necklace pressing hard into your chest as his weight shifted. Carefully moving off of you instead of collapsing like he used to. Sometimes you could spend half an hour afterwards just with his body melting onto yours, playing with each other’s hair or listening to him murmur about whatever was on his mind. Letting him trace pretty shapes over your skin while he swore he adored you. 

“I got some in your hair,” he mumbled instead.

Oh. 

Right. 

“We can shower,” you offered quietly, turning your head to the side, but still barely able to make out any of him in your peripheral vision. 

You thought he’d turn you down. 

Leave anyway now that he fucked you. 

“Okay,” he agreed. 

There was no big conversation. No emotional breakthrough under the hot water. 

Choso cleaned you with the same attention he always had. Scrubbing your skin with the loofah, massaging your scalp when he washed your hair. 

Taking care of you like a lover. 

Even if you didn’t deserve it. 

You knew you should have a proper conversation. Address what had landed you here, adjusting the water and pretending not to notice the ghost in the room. 

But then the shower was over, and he was stepping out first, tying a towel loosely around his defined hips, water droplets still clinging to his happy trail as he handed you your own towel wordlessly. Was this just how things were going to be from now on? 

You watched him in the steamy mirror as you dried yourself off, searched him for remorse before he bent over to pick up his phone from the pocket of his discarded jeans.  

“Yuji wants me to pick him up from Todo’s,” he muttered, looking back at you with an uncertain expression. 

“Oh,” you muttered, stomach twisting with discomfort you once again didn’t want to vocalize. Todo. Wasn’t he the one that belonged to the blonde? “So Yuki’s place?” 

And despite what he said earlier, a poisonous part of you whispered that he might be going over to just repeat what he’d done with her instead. 

That perhaps he had just picked up those moves from being in her bed. 

“Yeah,” he casually confirmed with a small nod. 

You didn’t know what to say. 

How to bring up your insecurity when you couldn’t even commit to him how he wanted in the first place. 

So instead you deflected, biting down on your bottom lip before tilting your head to the side, “Do, um, you wanna come back over tomorrow?” 

Surprise registered on his face, and he slowly nodded. 

“What time?” 

He was at your door the next afternoon while the kids were off at camp. 

And the one after that. 

Keeping your bed warm for an entire week, fucking you into your mattress like he was hoping to leave an imprint by the time he finished. To permanently press the shape of your bodies into the sheets, mold it around both of you while he molded you around him in everything from mating presses to reverse cowgirl. Any position where he could make a point in seeing how hard you would cum for him. Even in the shower afterwards when he was supposed to be cleaning you up. 

Kissing you from the moment he crossed the threshold to the time he left. Desperate ones that gave away the craving you both shared, the hunger that seemed to spread and sink you further into starvation. 

You didn’t know what this was. 

What your relationship with him would be once the summer camps were over and you wouldn’t have the time to spare for having steamy sex with your sorta-ex. 

“Shit,” he groaned, throwing his head back, the outline of his Adam's apple bobbing hard in his throat as you stole a glance over your shoulder at him. On your hands and knees, cum sticking to your ass and connecting your skin to his cock as he came a few seconds after you. His muscled abs glistened in the fading daylight, toned ridges and divots on display as he finished fucking his frustrations out on you doggy-style. 

Pulling out instead of using condoms, the risk of it making your stomach flutter all funny even if you had a hard time imagining yourself ever having another kid. 

You knew he wanted one though. 

Another conversation you’d been avoiding. 

But before you could even consider broaching it, your phone started to buzz beside the bed, and he was leaning over to pick it up for you, face softening as he held it out. 

“It’s Artemis,” he muttered. 

“Shit, okay,” you blinked, climbing off the bed in a hurry to grab your robe off the back of your desk chair, hastily throwing it on and tying it around your waist before rushing back to take it. 

You barely got to speak to her since she’d been so busy with her space camp. 

Answering before it could end, biting your lip as the facetime automatically connected, the image of her all fuzzy and blurred for a few seconds before becoming clear. 

“Hi, sweetheart,” you greeted, heart rapidly thumping in your chest as you made sure she wouldn’t be able to see the rest of your room.

“I missed you, mom,” she grinned. 

Artemis had a light in her eyes that you missed. That spark, that gleam of excitement that was infectious, smiling easily back at her as she pushed a planetary model in front of the camera to show off. 

“Check it out. Do you like it?” She beamed, proud of her work as you instinctively thought of what Satoru would make of it. How he’d probably grin and goad her into going over every detail. How happy he’d be that she was into the same stuff as him. 

“I love it,” you promised, nodding along as she started rambling about how they were learning about worm holes earlier, bouncing up and down as you tried to not let the sinking pit in your stomach swallow you up with how much she reminded you of her father. 

But if he was really still here, would he be here to see this? Or would he still be choosing work over the three of you? 

You were so distracted, you didn’t hear Choso creeping back up until you felt the weight of him against your back, bending over to rest his chin on your collarbone as he saw Artemis’ project on your phone. 

“You made that all by yourself?” He asked, and you could see his soft smile on your screen, admiring her work like she was his. The pretty picture of a perfect father. “Choso?” Artemis blinked, mouth falling open and nose scrunching up in surprise as she looked back at you with sheer confusion. 

You stammered something out, a weak excuse about her brother calling, ending the call before you had to actually answer her reasonable questions about what you were doing with him. Turning back the second you were sure she wouldn’t overhear, scoffing as you shook your head at him. 

“Why did you do that?” You asked, blowing a short puff of air out of your nose as his palms settled on your hips. 

“Do what? Talk to Artemis? We’re back together,” He said it as if it was obvious, and you reflexively wanted to refuse. To sabotage the slice of heaven you were living in for the past week. 

“I never said that.”

The moment those four words left your lips, you wanted to put them back. 

Freezing as his hands fell away from you, loathing yourself for letting this happen, seeing how hard and fast he recoiled from you.

“I’m such a fucking moron,” he muttered, turning around and grabbing his sweater from the bed, pulling it over his head as your body seized with dread. “You’re just using me. You never wanted a life with me.” 

“No,” you breathed the word, but you were already sure it was too late. You screwed it up again. “I didn’t-” 

“Stop with the stupid lies,” he shook his head, not believing you. 

“Stay, please,” you half-whispered, the slowly-growing guilt gripping your heart encasing it completely. “I wasn’t trying to-” 

“To what?” He interrupted. 

“I panicked,” you weakly explained, an excuse forming on your tongue about not wanting to confuse the kids anymore, but he wasn’t about to let it go this time. 

“Why don’t you want to marry me?” He bluntly asked. 

No room for wiggling out of the conversation or wishing it away when it meant watching him walk out your door again. 

You had to be honest. 

No matter how much your brain was trying to convince you that you were just jinxing it. Cursing him to follow the same fate as your former fiancé by saying the words out loud. Condemning yourself by tying yourself down to someone you were scared would slip away too.   

“The day you proposed,” you hesitated, holding your breath as you swallowed hard. “While you weren’t here, someone from NASA stopped by that afternoon to tell me Satoru had officially been declared dead.” 

You didn’t know why it had even surprised you. 

All the years he’d been gone, the excuses his old coworkers had offered started to dry up, the same old stories they sold you not holding the same hope. 

And now they were admitting there wasn’t any. 

Satoru was dead to them. 

And you didn’t even really get to be a widow. 

“I went to his grave after you got home, but I just, I don’t know how to say goodbye to him,” you muttered, thinking about how it felt to sit there knowing his body would never be buried by his headstone. About the life he deserved and never got. Where he got to be a father and a husband and be a family. “And then you came home and pulled out the ring, and it was like everything was happening all over again.” 

The memory of it was a blur, your head a complete mess as an awful as intrusive thoughts threw everything you were terrified of straight in your face. 

Telling you that you were just replacing Satoru. That he would hate you if he knew you had moved on. Insisted that if you said yes, Choso wouldn’t stick around either. 

So scared that he’d leave you too, that you nearly lost him anyway. 

“Baby, if you had told me-” 

“I know,” your voice broke, body trembling as he wrapped a warm arm around your shoulders to tug you into a tender embrace. “I should’ve said something. But I didn’t know how to bring it up and I just shut down, and-” 

“If I had waited, would you have said yes?” He asked, and you couldn’t answer straight away. 

Was it a betrayal to Satoru to say yes? 

Or were you losing the best thing in your life by clinging onto the ghost of a man who hadn’t loved you enough to listen and stay in the first place? 

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I don’t want another proposal if it ends in losing the person I love.” 

Looking up at him anxiously, waiting for the foundation you were standing on to crack and crumble – for him to prove you right. For the world to rip him away now that you admitted that you loved him enough to fear living without him too. 

“The only way you’ll lose me is if you keep pushing me away,” he comforted you, and you wanted to cry. 

“I don’t want to push you away,” you mumbled. 

“Then let me in,” he whispered, pulling you onto the bed and placing you on his lap. Letting you curl up on him, holding you tight like he was trying to make it clear he wasn’t going to let you go. 

Your sniffles turned into soft sobs, all the tears you’d been holding in, all the mourning you’d been rejecting released the moment you had someone to lean on. 

“Are you still seeing your therapist?” He pressed, and you hung your head lower.  

“No,” you confessed through the tears. “I haven’t been since we broke up.” 

“You need to go back,” he softly goaded, and you knew he was right. That you were only hurting yourself the more you held it all in. 

“Could, um, you go with me?” You muttered, unsure and anxious as you searched his face for some sign that you weren’t making a mistake, rubbing the damp streaks off of your cheeks as he nodded. 

“If you want me there,” he muttered. 

And you could finally admit to yourself that you did. 

That you wanted there when you went to sleep, and when you woke up, and for everything in between. 

“I want you here for everything,” you whispered. 

“I’m sorry that I didn’t see what you were going through-” 

𖥔 ݁ ˖

“So what? The second she thinks I’m dead she decides to marry you?” Gojo interrupted his retelling of it, Choso’s mouth finding it hard not to frown at how much he sort of reminded him of you. Seeing the bits of his personality that had melted into yours, picturing how the two of you might have worked together if the positions were reversed. 

“It wasn’t like that,” Choso muttered. 

“That’s what it sounds like,” he retorted. 

His phone vibrated on the table, Artemis' name flashing on the screen before Gojo snatched it off and shoved it in his pocket. 

“You can answer that,” Choso muttered, shrugging his shoulders. It was a little uncomfortable sharing a daughter, but she was too grown for him to say anything about it. And between the twins, she was the one who always had a soft spot for the father she lost to the very thing she was studying. 

Of course she was going to be excited that he was home. 

Even if some things were better left in her imagination than in real life. 

Choso had never planned on meeting him. Never considered what he might actually be like.

Although he did find it a little annoying that he was somehow even more obsessed and in love with you than he ever conceived. 

“I’ll call her back later,” Gojo answered, but there was a nervous glint to his eyes as he cleared his throat before picking up his fork to shove some food in his mouth, still talking mid-chew. “How long, exactly, did it take for you to marry my-” 

He nearly said fiancée. 

But Gojo corrected himself, clearing his throat, “Her.” 

“Your friend’s mother, she, uh, got cancer a year later,” Choso muttered, still a little haunted by the look on your face when she announced it. At the hard memories always attached to the good ones. “The doctors thought she only had six months to live.”

“Oh,” Gojo muttered, a crease forming between his brows on his pretty, wrinkle-free face. 

“It changed things.” 

If it hadn’t been for her, he wasn’t sure if the two of you would’ve found your way back together at all. 

It had been her birthday. All of you over at her house, the kids playing in the living room while you helped her clean up. Choso was supposed to be keeping an eye on the twins and Yuji, but he was within earshot of your conversation, beating a level that was too hard for them on the game console she’d bought them last Christmas.

He nearly died the second he heard the words terminally ill leave her mouth, using every ounce of his self-composure not to snap his head around and ask all the questions he was itching to know. But then the kids would notice, and the idea of the twins realizing that they were about to lose the closest thing they had to a grandparent was enough to make him hold onto his cool. Force his face into a neutral expression as he clicked buttons haphazardly. 

“You can get a second opinion, or, or-” You were stumbling over your words, in denial as Mrs. Geto tutted at you. 

“Sometimes, it’s just a person’s time,” she softly said. “I’ve lived a long life. A happy one.” 

Choso glanced back right as your entire face fell, devastation obvious in every line etched into your skin, shaking your head hard as you rejected it. 

You tried to speak, but nothing came out. 

“I want to be with my husband and son,” she said, and you were trying so hard not to cry. Eyes watering with tears you were quick to blink away. “I’ve made my peace with it.” 

Choso knew you. Could see how hard you were resisting the urge to say that you wanted her here too. 

“Don’t give me that look, dear,” she lightly said, reading you like an open book too. “All I want now is to know that you’ll be okay when I’m gone. All three of you.” 

You might not be her daughter. But you were damn near close to it after nearly a decade of leaning on each other for support. 

“You know Choso takes good care of us,” you softly replied, your voice barely audible as you sniffled. Rubbing your face from the spot you’d frozen in, lip still quivering. 

“He does, doesn’t he?” She knowingly said, and you were nodding. 

“He’s great,” you reiterated, and even when the timing was terrible, he couldn’t help but feel a small flicker of gratitude at hearing you speak about him like that. On you counting on him. 

“Not great enough to marry?” 

He almost flinched. 

A game over screen flashing across the TV as the kids groaned in unison, little fingers poking and pushing and telling him to try again. 

“I don’t need his last name to know I love him,” you muttered. 

“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t marry him,” she argued, and Choso felt his chest constrict, wondering whether or not he should even be listening when she started talking about Suguru, so fondly, recounting a memory of his father, her husband, the weight of her missing them present in every syllable. “Even if it hurts sometimes, I wouldn’t take any of it back.” 

You knew what that felt like. 

Choso could see the contemplation scrawled across your face, struggling to keep his focus on the game as Mrs. Geto continued. 

“You’ve known him longer than Satoru, sweetheart,” she guided, touching your shoulder tenderly as he caught a glimpse of you chewing on your lip. “He loves you just as much.”

It wasn’t a competition. 

Even if sometimes did feel like he was fighting a phantom for your love. 

“He would understand if you went all in with him,” she spoke gently. “All any of us have ever wanted is for you to be happy.”

You were about to start bawling, but you held it in, nodding along like you knew she was right. And Choso was already planning on sending her a gift basket the next day with all her favorite foods and snacks, including a note promising to make time to take her to any appointments she needed. 

“I loved Satoru like he was my own too, but even if they came back tomorrow, I don’t know if he’d be the one that’s right for you now, dear,” she gently goaded, guiding you as you sucked in a sharp breath. 

Choso waited for you to shake your head, to tell her that she was wrong. 

But you didn’t. 

And he was still thinking about what you were thinking that night. You told him about her illness after the kids had fallen asleep in their beds, sitting up with a pillow pressed against your chest as you gave him that look you always did when you were deep in thought. 

He pretended not to know, just wrapping his arms around you to offer whatever comfort you needed. He wasn’t going to push. Press about marriage just because you had spoken with Mrs. Geto about it. 

Truthfully, he didn’t expect anything to actually come of it. 

He understood your reservations. Those fears you were still working through with your therapist. 

So you caught him off guard when you looked up at him with wide eyes and nervously asked, “Do you still think about marrying me?” 

“Of course I do,” he answered a little too fast. “But I understand why you don’t want to.” 

He would take a forever of being your boyfriend than a future where you weren’t anything to him. 

“Why do you want to?” You asked, the question coming out slightly stilted, a hint of something he had a hard time placing. It wasn’t dismissive. Not completely curious, more like, searching for confirmation from him. 

“You already know I’m in love with you,” he murmured, reaching over to brush his fingers across your cheek. “And how much I love our family.” 

You and the twins. The way you readily accepted Yuji as their sibling. Loved his little brother without hesitation. 

“I want to grow old with you. Spend as many moments of our lives together as we can. Watch the kids graduate and get families of their own,” he mumbled, finding more confidence with each sentence as you leaned into his hand. “I want to write cheesy vows and say them in front of all our friends. I want Yuji to be my best man and Apollo to carry the rings while Artemis tosses flower petals down the aisle.” And fuck, when you were looking at him like that, like you wanted all of it and more too, he nearly melted on the spot. 

“I want to see you in a white dress, walking towards me while I cry at how beautiful you are,” Choso whispered, his gravelly voice standing out in the soft silence, the sound of crickets chirping through the cracked window as a breeze filtered in. “But really, I just want you to choose me. Forever.”

He didn’t want to spend the rest of his life waiting and wondering if he was the one you wanted. 

You swallowed hard, your hand reaching over to graze against his fingers affectionately. 

“Ask me again,” you breathed.

He stared for a moment, barely believing what had just left your lips. But the moment it sunk in, he was rushing off the bed, nearly stumbling towards his nightstand, pulling it open and rummaging through everything to find the ring box he tucked in the back when he moved in with you again. 

You sat on the edge of the bed, a ghost of a smile curling up on your lips as you watched him hurry to get down on one knee and pop open the box, revealing the ring you didn’t get to see last time. 

“Will you marry me?” 

Gojo looked like he was about to puke over the photo album in front of him. 

There you were, standing in your wedding dress, Choso’s hand slung on your waist as you leaned into him. Mrs. Geto was by your side, using a walker as her illness left her struggling to get around the way she used to. Yuji clinging onto the leg of his tux, grinning and sticking his tongue out at the photographer by his new step-siblings. Artemis and Apollo were in front of you, your bouquet in her hands while Apollo beamed at the camera, proud of himself for doing a good job not tripping or falling with the rings. 

“She’s glowing,” Gojo murmured, tracing over your face down to the wedding dress, face twisting up in pained tension. Maybe thinking of what his photos might have looked like with you. 

All his plans wrecked by his own confidence that the world would bend to what he wanted. 

And before Choso could really react, tears welled up in his blue eyes, his jaw clenched tight as he tried to hide the fact he was crying at the photo. 

“She was pregnant,” Choso explained, feeling himself getting choked up too thinking about that year. “It wasn’t planned.” 

Honestly, when you told him, stepping out of the bathroom with a positive test, that nervous glint of pure fear in your eyes as you held it out, he was sure you were going to tell him you didn’t want it. 

That you could marry him, but you would draw the line at having his kid. Sure that you wouldn’t want to put your body through it again, especially ten years after having twins. 

But you just anxiously asked if he wanted it, if he thought the two of you could really handle it. 

“How was it?” Gojo asked, a surprising sincerity to the question. Genuinely wanting to know, maybe because he missed his chance to go through it with you. Only got a handful of videos you sent when you were pregnant. Didn’t get to be there for the sonograms, or the appointments, or the birth. 

Missed buying baby clothes and painting a nursery. Picking out names together. 

Although, it had been you who suggested naming her Keso, after one of his brothers who passed when he was younger. “It was hard, sometimes,” he admitted. The later months especially. Your anxiety picking up the closer your due date came, convinced that something would go wrong, going to see your therapist every other week until your delivery date.  “But our daughter was healthy, and I was there to help her recover.” 

Choso never left you once. 

Was there for every diaper change and late night feed. Comforted every time he picked up his little girl relief he hadn’t expected blooming in his chest at having one that looked like him. He had told himself it wouldn’t matter. That he would’ve loved a little girl that looked like you too. Especially since he already adored Artemis. 

But it was nice to know that strangers would see his girl and know she was absolutely his. 

Gojo had only met her once since she came back at a big family dinner, and she was too preoccupied with her own husband and kids now to care about the man her mother once loved, just offering him an awkward smile before going back to talking to Artemis. 

He was wiping his face, pretending like he hadn’t been crying as he flipped the pages back in the photo album, finding one where you were sprawled out in the backyard on a towel and smiling at the camera, shielding your face from the sun. Artemis was laying next to you, her head buried in a book. 

“Can I have this one?” He asked, and Choso wanted to say no. 

Not let him have any more pieces of you than he’d already stolen. 

But it was hard to actually say no when he knew there was a second copy of the photo underneath, reluctantly nodding. “I suppose.” 

“I’m glad she got to move on,” he mumbled, not that it sounded even remotely truthful. The only thing there was regret. “That she could forget about me.” 

“I meant what I said,” Choso sighed, turning more serious as he looked into those frustratingly familiar eyes. He loved you too much to hate him. Loved Apollo and Artemis too much to loathe the man he had to thank for them. “She never forgot you.”

Gojo was the one who was struggling to swallow the fact he had to share your heart with someone else now. 

“Yeah,” he dismissively muttered, lips pressing together. 

“When she got sick a few years ago, her memory started to go too,” Choso reluctantly broached his least favorite subject, recalling the long months of watching you waste away. “Eventually, she forgot almost everything. Except you.” 

Gojo didn’t know what to say. 

Sitting there stunned as he stared at Choso, finding it too hard to meet his eyes and turning his attention to the wedding band still on his fourth finger. 

“She couldn’t remember the twins or our grandkids. But she still talked about you. Called me your name a couple times when I helped her get out of bed. Looked up at the sky and told everyone who visited that you were up there,” Choso admitted, his voice wavering as he tried his damndest not to hold it against you. To remember all the decades that had come before that when you were more than happy to be his. “Swore that her husband was just with the stars for a little bit before he’d come back for her.” 

He wasn’t quite as emotional as he had once been. But it was hard to not break down at the fact that he’d lost you long before you passed away. 

That in the end, he hadn’t carved himself deep enough into you to be the one you recalled. 

Sure, you still had moments of clarity. Rare days where you were almost like your old self, where you’d kiss him and hold him and swear you loved him more than anything. 

And those were enough. You were enough. Even when there was barely anything left. 

“We both loved her,” Choso murmured, although love didn’t seem like a big enough word for it. He had a feeling that Gojo would understand anyway. Know what he was trying to get at here. That they’d both felt the full spectrum of emotions, the highest highs and the lowest lows that came with worshipping you. “And lost her too.” 

“Yeah,” Gojo whispered. “I guess we did.”

“I don’t know what’s worse,” Choso exhaled, taking one last sip of his drink. “Losing her all at once like you or seeing her disappear piece by piece.” 

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, and Choso looked up to see the way his face had scrunched up, his brows furrowed as he twisted around the wedding band he started wearing too. The one you bought for him once upon a time. 

“You don’t need to apologize,” Choso shook his head. 

If anyone understood what it was like to miss you, it was him. Even if he spent most of his adult life despising him to some degree.

But Gojo was still staring at him with guilt he hadn’t anticipated. Like he knew everything was his fault and he didn’t know how to fix it. 

Choso contemplated telling him that there wasn’t anything left to fix. 

It wasn’t like he could go back in time to change anything. And even if he could, Choso wouldn’t change a single moment. Not when he’d gotten you. Gotten his daughter – and two bonus kids. 

His life had been filled with your warmth and laughter and a million smiles he wouldn’t trade for anything. 

Even if the ending had been a bit lackluster. Even if he had to spend the next ten years on his own wishing you were still around. 

“I’m going to Apollo’s place,” he announced. “His daughter brought her baby over.” 

Awkwardly extending an invitation even if his son wouldn’t exactly be thrilled at having the father that was now younger than him around. 

“Oh,” Gojo said, his mouth curling down like he knew it too. 

Recognized where he wasn’t wanted. 

It might be too late for Apollo. But he still had time to get to know the rest of his family if he stopped focusing on the past and learned to live in the present. 

“Don’t you want to come spend some time with your great grandson?” Choso asked, his voice coming out gravelly as his knee ached with the effort of standing. Gojo’s stare flicked down at his lap, towards the pocket he shoved his phone in. 

And even though Artemis didn’t share his physical features, he recognized that distracted look of hers in Gojo now, like he was working out a problem too complex for anyone else to solve. 

“I’ll, uh, catch you guys there later,” he excused, running his thumb over the edge of the photo. 

He didn’t have the energy left in him to convince him to come. 

Gojo would just have to learn for himself how little time there was left with the people he loved in this life. 

Choso supposed he should consider himself lucky. At least he got to spend most of his by your side. 

It wasn’t jealousy that plagued him as he collected his photo albums, the proof of every year you’d given him while Gojo was gone, but pure pity. 

If only he had the foresight to realize how misplaced his empathy was. 

But even if he had, he wasn’t the one who could turn back time. 

“also i think i’m swearing off dating. it was going perfect with one guy and then he breaks it off because he doesn’t want his business ending up on the podcast…. i haven’t even said anything about him!” you whine, “and now it just looks like i’m proving his point because i’m talking about it but i wouldn’t have if we were still dating.”

the text on the video screams, “YN SINGLE?!”

bakugou taps on your instagram. loads of clips from your podcast pops up. he finds the next video, the one after the last.

“well dms are open if any fine men are interested. when i say fine i mean fine. you also have to be able to keep up with me, handle a little joke,” you laugh.

and bakugou thinks about it for three days. watches more videos of you talking, your goofy opinions, your educated opinions, your real opinions. scrolls through your personal instagram too.

so he does it. he dms you on your instagram because he deems himself a fine man, he can handle a little joke and well, he likes you. a lot.

you’re funny and smart. articulate yourself well. very beautiful. hobbies on your instagram, full group of friends. well travelled and a homebody and social and he’s eager to know more.

@ dynamight: Are applications still open?

it’s fun, bakugou thinks. a good slide into your dms.

but you don’t reply for a week. he thinks he’s been completely ignored. clearly not interested in him and defo not your type. even though you’re both verified so you’ve definitely got the notification. bakugou takes it all on the chin. doesn’t mention it to anybody because it’s a little embarrassing. maybe it’s been buried from all the other dms you’ve received from men.

until he gets a video on his timeline. then the same video sent to him from three different friends.

the words are captioned loud and bold on the video. straight to the point and pure clickbait. well is it clickbait if it’s true? bakugou chokes on his spit, turning up the volume in his work bathroom.

“DYNAMIGHT IN THE DMS?”

“now guys… walk with me here. if you’re dynamight, thee bakugou katsuki, one of the sexiest men in the world, PLEASE don’t watch this clip. i can’t believe you’ve even seen clips of my pod. i swear this isn’t even me!” you ramble into your microphone, tucked up with your knees to your chest for a more casual episode. “okay guys, now that he’s gone, i’ve got to tell you… after last episode when i said can fine men send me dms, why the fuck did dynamight send me one? i was so shocked by it i still haven’t replied. i’ve avoided talking about him here because i do not want to be on that man’s radar. he’s way too gorgeous for me to comprehend.”

you giggle to yourself, “but he dmed me… something about are applications open? the boyfriend ones. now i can’t reply because ive just told everybody but there’s no way i pulled him.”

bakugou watches it leaning against the sink, three times. his smile gets bigger every second till he’s full on grinning at his phone.

you’re joking a little, entertainment for the podcast because you know you’re just as fine as him. though you don’t think your worlds would ever cross?

he decides to make another move.

@ dynamight: I think you’re gorgeous too

commented underneath the video.

an onslaught of likes and comments commence. mostly your fans giving a whole load of keyboard smashes and “yn is going to go insane”.

then he puts his phone down, washes up his hands and checks his appearance in the mirror. wipes his nose and what not.

but he gets lured to his phone again, picking it up and opening instagram to find you’ve replied to his comment.

@ ynpod: @ dynamight i swear i don’t share all my business online

It’s unnerving. The flapping of wings in the pit of your stomach is exchanged for a more ill-seated churning when Satoru leaves and Sukuna takes his place. Yesterday when you didn’t have the gumption to ask how the hell this arrangement was meant to work, you might have called it nerves, but by only day two, it’s just frustrating.

The brute glances up from whoever he’s texting, visibly fiddling with his lip ring that shifts each time his jaw ticks.

You meet his gaze from behind your phone, dropping the device from your gaze when he doesn’t waiver.

“Do you mind?”

His head tilts an inch, his chin raised just enough that his smirk feels condescending. “Not at all.”

You can’t decide whether you prefer Sukuna when the weather in his world is stormy or when it’s sunny and he’s amused. They’re a different brand of asshole.

“You know, asking you for help was pretty fucking hard to do in the first place,” you begin, frustrated with the theatrics of your co-worker. His brow cocks as you pin him in place with your words. “So I’d appreciate it if you stopped making me feel weird about it.”

His lips press into a thin line, any hint of amusement fading. “Look,” he begins with equal frustration. “I’m not trying to make you feel weird for asking for help. I don’t give a shit how you learn about what we sell, even if it’s because of Satoru. I told you that from the start. If you want someone’s instruction, whatever. That’s fine.” He pushes up off the counter, all six-foot-something of him towering over you. “You’re allowed to ask questions about sex, especially here. But you knew from the start what I’m like.”

The demeanor he carries himself with that gives you the sense he thinks he’s above not just you, but everyone, still simmers under his skin. You can see it in the way he carries himself, like that egotistical mindset never fades.

But you can’t be upset when he’s honest with you, and open too in the subject that makes your stomach flutter. His words aren’t comforting, but they settle your frustration and nerves. Something in the way he’s direct and has nothing to hide reminds you why you ever asked him in the first place.

Pushing his fingers back through his hair, he shakes his head. “Why not just tell Satoru you don’t have experience?”

Your shoulders rise and fall as you face him. “It’s not…” You sigh, your gaze falling. “Just about Satoru.”

“Then what’s it about? What’s getting to you so much that you asked me?”

Running your tongue over your lower lip, you worry it in between your teeth. When it takes you a moment too long to reply, Sukuna grunts questioningly again, pushing for an answer.

“I just…” you stall, scratching your shoulder. “I shouldn’t still be a virgin at this age, right?”

Somewhere under all of that snide overconfidence is a man who was raised right, in spite of all of his shortcomings and his belittling behaviour. His nose scrunches, his head shaking from side to side in short, disbelieving movements. “What? Who fucking cares, that’s your choice.” Then, something else dawns on him as he starts up again before you can answer. “Wait. You’re a virgin?”

“See, it does matter! And whether it’s Satoru, or any other guy, they’re just gonna think I’m a prude or something because I haven’t–”

Running a hand over the faint stubble along his chin, his jaw briefly hangs open as he listens to your retort. When you keep going, at last he interrupts. “No, it doesn’t matter.” He pauses, pinning you in place with adamance. “The reason I’m asking is because I want to make sure you actually want to do this shit with me,” he states plainly, no amount of teasing present in the serious gaze he fixes you with. “I’m not fucking around when it comes to boundaries and consent.”

As much as his condescension and total righteousness is frustrating, you can appreciate his ability to be serious when there’s a need. At least he has a couple of redeeming qualities under all of those layers of snide narcissism.

Shutting your eyes as you try to formulate an answer, you give a short shake of your head. “Look,” you sigh, waving a hand through the air as your lashes flutter. “I don’t know what possessed me to choose you,” you begin, earning a snide huff from the other party, “but I wanna do this. I’ve tried dating apps and things but I feel like it’s so hard to meet people organically and I finally found someone I really like, so I just don’t wanna mess things up with Satoru, okay?” Your shoulders hang as his expression remains largely unreadable.

Your closing remark has your co-worker dragging his hands down his face. When he finally drops them to his sides with a plop as they hit the denim of his jeans, he gives a haphazard shrug. “All this for that asshole,” he mutters. “Why start with an arrangement like this, anyway? Why not go to the bar if you’re so against dating apps? It’s not like some one night stand means anything either.”

You grimace. “I want someone I trust.”

He won’t admit it, but it’s humbling to a man like Sukuna. Not because he doesn’t think of himself as trustworthy, but because he’s given you no real reason to put so much of your trust in him. He’s been cruel from the start and only a few days ago was reminding you that no matter your deal, you aren’t friends.

He’s still for a long time, a genuine disgruntled frown unrelenting. 

“Fine,” he gruffs at last. “For the record though, Satoru wouldn’t care that you’re a virgin. If he did, he’d be a piece of shit.”

If only your mind would wrap itself around that concept. Twenty some-odd years on an earth that treats virginity– particularly at your age– as taboo has taught you otherwise.

“Oddly insightful from you.”

Displeased as you throw snide commentary back at him, he takes another step forward. “No matter what you think of me, I wasn’t raised wrong.” His tone is low, almost dangerous, and you’re surprised when warmth spreads to the pit of your stomach. You’re grateful he’s already turned back to his laptop as you find yourself blinking at nothing in particular. “What did you want to try anyway? And you’re buying, FYI. This is for you, not me.”

You hum thoughtfully as you find yourself staring between the gaps in the shelves at the far end of the story. Your gaze briefly stops upon reaching the vibrators, which feels like a fairly low barrier of entry. 

“A vibrator?” You query.

Sukuna, leaning over the counter on his elbows with his back facing you, rolls a muscle in his shoulder. “Sure.”

His lack of enthusiasm has you grimacing. “We get an employee discount, right?”

“Half-off.”

“That’s pretty good,” you comment in an attempt to make conversation as you slip out from the counter and walk to the wall to look over options.

He hums his agreement, typing as his eyes skim whatever project he’s working on.

Taking the hint, you let your attention drift back to the wall of silicone and plastic. Although there are a variety of different options, you’d made up your mind a while ago upon hearing Sukuna’s explanation.

With a small black bullet vibrator in a discreet box with a purple-blue gradient in-hand, you make your way back to the counter, setting it aside. Whether out of curiosity or a subconscious movement, Sukuna’s attention flips to you as he evaluates the box on the counter. He languidly shoots you a glance before you fall into nothing more than background noise for him once again. You don’t get much of an idea of his thoughts on your choice, if he has any.

And much like his silence on your choice, that’s how you spend the evening, aside from when he teaches you to close. Over the past month or so you’ve grown to find the dead air less and less uncomfortable and no longer feel the need to fill it. He still shoots you a disapproving side eye every time a customer asks a question that’s left to your anti-social co-worker because you can’t answer it, but it’s noticeably less harsh.

By, like, a fraction. He’s irritated still, but he’s not outright disappointed. 

You call that a win.

You’re pretty sure your friends back home would call it sad.

But you can’t talk to Yuki or Choso about your arrangement with Sukuna anyway, so you suppose it’s not worth thinking too hard about it.

By the time you’re flipping the open sign and turning the lock on the door, Sukuna is ringing up the vibrator you chose, along with a bottle of something you didn’t add. He slides the payment terminal towards you as you make your way back. You don’t question his judgement upon finding the label to say toy cleaner. With your card in-hand, you find yourself hovering hesitantly over the payment terminal.

The question atop your tongue feels stupid.

“What?” Sukuna gruffs when you don’t speak your mind.

“Is this… a good choice?”

He sucks in a breath, measured. “It’s a fine first choice. It’s kinda cheap, but it’s a good starting point.”

“I know the quality and how long it’ll last would be affected, but does how cheap it is affect much beyond those two things?”

Another breath, but it’s equally measured. He picks up the box, his gaze darting across the lettering that covers it. “If it was your only toy, I’d say to invest in something better, but if we’re trying a lot, cheap is fine.” His mild expression seems to pick you apart when you’re faced with sanguine irises that flicker across your face. There’s the faintest hint of an upward quirk of his lips when he catches your pout.

“You never actually answered my question,” you mumble snarkily, snatching the box back from him.

No longer tempering his amusement, he shifts to the other foot with a full-blown smirk. “It’s a cheaper plastic or silicone. Less durable, the motor inside will give out quicker, and the battery won’t last as long. It’s louder than more expensive ones, too.” He glances at the box, a thoughtful narrow to his eyes. “It probably runs on watch batteries, which get expensive the more you go through.”

You recall him mentioning that to a customer, but given the circumstance, you suppose he’s right that it won’t matter. Nodding, you tap your card without another thought. He takes a bit of extra time to show you the remaining closing procedures which feels less like a courtesy and more like a curse given that you run on his clock at his will now, but you suppose a couple of extra hours won’t hurt here and there.

Even if you won’t be paid.

Shutting off the lights at the back, you make your way to the door where he waits. “So,” you start, digging through your bag for your keys, “my place is pretty noisy, should we–”

“Where do you live?”

“Oh, uh– I’m next to the station on third street.”

“Good. Meet me at the pub on the corner.”

You blink as he tosses you the store keys, barely managing to catch them in clumsy fingers. Before you can even protest, he’s already getting into the old but well-maintained black Honda across the street.

“O-kay,” you mutter to yourself, turning back to the door as you pull down the security shutter, locking both it and the glass door. His engine has already rumbled long into the distance by the time you finish fiddling with the old finicky locks and get in your beat-up vehicle. “You have to wait for me anyway, asshole.” Your muttering somehow feels better left for the world to hear rather than internalized.

The ride to the coffee shop has you once again replaying every life decision that brought you to this point in life. Maybe you should have given time to that guy who was trying to flirt with you in the library. Then again, you were studying for your final. Maybe you should have indulged the man who told you that you were pretty at a karaoke bar once. Well, no, he was creepy.

You’ve just been focusing on yourself and your fingers have done the trick anytime you were horny.

Not to mention, you can’t help but find that you don’t see yourself in porn and it doesn’t leave you feeling satisfied. That’s not even beginning to mention that much of what you found feels performative, which doesn’t cut it at an adult shop.

Though, that’s a lie too. Because at the end of the day although you are curious and this is something that you’re intrigued by given your environment lately, you’re equally hoping to impress Satoru.

Maybe Sukuna’s right that you should just tell him.

But that also feels like an uphill battle.

Stupid. This whole thing has you feeling like you’re overthinking everything and in an effort to stop thinking so damn much, you shut your car off and push into the pub.

Sukuna’s sitting in a booth at the back, already nursing a drink in one hand. His opposite arm is lazily strewn across the back of the booth, his gaze following you with that striking intensity that never fails to make your hair stand on end. Slipping in across from him, you watch as he leans back, completely at ease. As much as his arrogance can piss you off, his ability to remain calm and even puts out any fires your nerves threaten to stoke.

“Want anything?” He asks, jutting his chin towards the drink menu. Curiously, you flip to the first page before Sukuna’s hand comes down authoritatively, stopping you from browsing the menu he just offered. He flips to the back page confidently. “Non-alcoholic only.”

Fixing him with a scowl, you point towards his drink. “What are you drinking, then?”

He slides it an inch closer to you, an offer to test him. “Non-alcoholic IPA.” He lifts his hand from the menu, finally allowing you to browse your options as he leans back again. “We have rules to go over. Need your head on right and your consent after.”

As much as you don’t appreciate his commanding nature, you can admit it settles your nerves that he’s taking this seriously. He’s so flippant and dismissive when he wants to be that the soberness with which he’s treating the situation is reassuring.

In fact, it’s even a little hot, as much as you don’t even want to so much as think of the compliment. Truthfully though, you appreciate that he knows when to turn the damn attitude down.

Inhaling slowly, you look over the menu, waiting for the waiter to arrive. You order a Pepsi just for the sake of having something to hold and hide your fiddling as Sukuna’s gaze scarcely departs you.

“I thought we went over the rules already?” You ask when you finally have something to focus on. The condensation is cool against your fingers, a much-needed departure from the facetious personality across from you.

“Of the agreement, sure.” He starts, bringing his glass to his lips as he leans back casually. “But I’m not doing this without knowing what you want.”

“I thought I–”

He doesn’t give you the time of day, glass still held between his fingers as he leans forward on his forearm. “You want me in charge, yeah?”

You blink, nodding. 

“You understand that that puts me in a dominant position for our agreement, correct?”

Your cheeks warm as you nod again. “That’s kinda what I wanted,” you admit quietly.

He hums, a hint of his teeth gleaming behind a smirk. He lets the moment hang a second longer, basking in the way you squirm under his gaze. Throwing back what’s left of his drink, he sets the glass on the table with a dull clank. “Right,” he begins, “so you’ve never been with anyone before?” He asks, growing more serious again.

His ability to casually swing back and forth between both moods is beginning to piss you off.

“Yeah, you know that,” you reply snarkily.

His eyes narrow. “Not what I mean, sweetheart. You ever done anything with anyone? In any capacity?”

You chew on your lip briefly. “I gave a guy a handjob once,” you admit quietly, painfully aware of the public setting.

Sukuna’s eyes avert for a moment as he considers how to approach things. “That's it?”

“I– Yeah, can you stop asking?”

His throat bobs as he swallows, frowning. He lays his thoughts out plainly, straight to the point and without the arrogant attitude. “Think what you want of me, but I’m not trying to embarrass you. I already told you it doesn’t matter. I’m asking because it gives me a good sense of where to start.”

Sitting upright, you nod slowly.

“Do you masturbate?”

With every question, you swear your face gets warmer. “Yeah.”

“But no toys?”

“No.”

He rolls his jaw, prodding his tongue against the side of his mouth. “Alright. I can work with that. Do you know what you like when you touch yourself?”

“Do we have to do this somewhere so public?”

He snorts. “No one’s listening. The closest table is so sloshed you’d think it’s three in the morning,” he points out, motioning over your shoulder. Admittedly, he’s right. There’s a group of three women and two men all slumped over, eyes red-ringed and laughter bubbling from within. 

With a sigh, you turn back to him. “Fine. So what rules do we need to go over, then?”

“I need to know what’s completely off-limits for you.” He taps a finger once on the table. “I’m kinky but there’s shit I’m not into either.”

“Okay, um,” you take a moment to consider the toys lining the walls and some of the porn you’ve seen while browsing. “I don’t know, I guess I don’t think I’d be into whips or spanking.” Sukuna hums. “I know the candles are for… wax play, right?”

“Mhm. Some people like the pain.”

“I don’t think I would want anything painful.”

He nods his agreement. “Anything like that is off the table.”

Tapping your nails along the sides of your glass, you wrack your brain of the items that line the walls at work. “I don’t think I’m into collars or muzzles or anything.”

“Alright. No pet play. You not into being tied up, or just the pet part?”

Your hesitation is brief as you consider the difference. “I think I’d be okay with being tied up,” you muse. “Not yet, but–” you shrug, cracking a smile. “It sounds kinda fun.”

Sukuna smirks. “She’s a little kinky, I like it.” His lidded expression sends heat up the back of your neck and straight to the pit of your stomach. You adjust the way you’re seated, crossing one leg over the other as you focus on the glass in front of you. Amused, your counterpart pushes for details. “What about gags, handcuffs, and blindfolds?”

“I’d be open to those.”

His smirk grows, teeth bared just enough to call it a grin. “Alright. No whips, and pet and pain play are past the ceiling. Anything more intense than that’s off the table, yeah?”

You nod, grateful that he isn’t leaving you to try to come up with things when you’re scarcely familiar with the products at your own job.

“Hair pulling? Choking?”

You take a moment to consider it, but nod. “That’s fine.”

That seems to be the majority of his questions as he leans back in his seat again, stretching his arms overhead. He has that same expression from the day you originally made the agreement, the one that makes you feel like you’re no longer background noise in his world. Like you’ve surprised him and he’s willing to humor you.

“Alright. Anything else we can go over if it comes up,” he shrugs. “I just needed a baseline.” Yawning, he takes a moment to let his thoughts settle as he works out details in his mind. It gives you a moment to reset, gratefully taking the opportunity as you lean back in your seat, no longer fixated on your glass.

It occurs to you in that moment that he’s surprisingly quelled your nerves. You can’t place whether it’s through making a point of doing this in a public setting but ensuring this stays between you, or the way he’s actually maneuvering this conversation in a way that makes you feel open and in charge. Either way, you have to hand it to him that for a guy who’s made it clear he isn’t fond of people, he’s good with them. With you.

He spends a moment thinking things through before at last continuing. “Are you familiar with the traffic light safe word system?”

You meet his gaze, shaking your head.

“I need you to understand that even if I’m the dom, your word is my law. You tell me green and you leave shit in my hands to make you feel good. You tell me yellow and we’ll stop for a bit to figure out what you don’t like or what doesn’t feel good. You tell me red and my hands are off of you. What you say goes, you understand?” He leans forward with an intensity that seeps straight to your bones.

“Okay. I understand.”

“Good.” His shoulders rise and fall as he sucks in a breath, letting it out gradually. “And for the record, no kissing. No making out. No sex.”

As he repeats his rules, you press your lips into a thin line at how much he loves to remind you that you aren’t friends and these aren’t benefits. “You mentioned.”

“I’ll take my shirt off if it makes you comfortable, but that’s all you’re getting from me.”

“How sweet,” you comment dryly as he completely ignores your previous retort.

He grins, shrugging like the chivalrous man he is. “You didn’t ask for love, sweetheart.”

“And if I had?”

His grin stays in place, his chin lifting an inch as he regards you with the kind of expression only someone as conceited as Sukuna himself can manage. “Then you’d be switching to morning shifts.”

You want to roll your eyes, but you can at least respect his honesty, even if it’s painfully self-centered. You suppose it’s in part why trust comes easily with him. It’s not out of respect or friendship, but rather the simple fact that he doesn’t sugarcoat things. For better or for worse, he means what he says and has nothing to hide.

Jutting his chin in a motion to your nearly-finished glass, he keeps that painfully smug expression as he gruffs out a question. “Ready to go?”

Downing the last of your drink, you nod as you make your way to the bartender. She rings up your drinks together, only for Sukuna to step aside for you to pay.

Chivalry might just be dead, after all.

Your counterpart shoves his hands into his pockets with a haughty smirk, watching every micro expression cross your face as realization tents your brow, before twisting into a glare. Sukuna’s gait is entirely casual as his boots hit the pavement outside. When he comes to a halt by his car, his hand settles on the roof. “Send me your address,” are his last words before he ducks into the driver’s seat. The engine rumbles on and his music begins in an instant, a booming bassline that’s faintly familiar, but it’s too muffled to make out.

Sucking in a breath, you let the music fade as you head for your car, sending him your address just around the corner. You take an extra moment to make it to your car, breathing in the cool summer night air. The ever-present murky smell of smog hits you the moment the sharp scent of alcohol dissipates, but you’ve grown accustomed to it by now. The air on your skin is refreshing, and gives you a moment to think.

In spite of his frustrating tendencies, Sukuna treats sex– in all forms– differently from the men you’re used to. Not just men, but everyone. Even your closest friends. It’s not an expectation, it’s not something that requires any pressure. It’s whatever you want it to be, and whatever you’re comfortable with.

You appreciate the fact that in spite of you wanting him to take charge, this is all still at your beck and call. Sukuna says everything like it is. As much as you despise that for how plainly he’ll point out any fault the moment he finds it or throw you under the bus in a heartbeat when he sees himself as a man who’s always in the right, you appreciate the fact that he doesn’t make things into a spectacle either.

How many parties have you been to where ‘never have I ever’ turned into a wave of judgement, or a game where you found yourself lying to avoid it? How many times have you avoided parties altogether, hating the way all concepts surrounding you seemed to change over something that shouldn’t be everything it’s so often perceived as?

Hell, growing up in an era where sex was perceived as something cool and sold to adults through media only to be thrust into a new era where censorship is pushed more than education, it was bound to twist the perception around virginity.

Your own insecurity is an unfortunate side effect of those two very things clashing with one another. Just like your insecurity in the impression you’ve given Satoru, regardless of if you’ve actually spoken to him or not.

Which is why Sukuna’s attitude around sex is a breath of fresh air. There’s no judgement from him that you’ve abstained for so long.

And for that, you find yourself excited as you pull up to your house.

The man in question is parked before you even arrive, standing at the brick staircase by the time you lock your vehicle. The three-story building towers overhead, yet he still looks big at the base of the stairs.

His arms are crossed as he leans back casually, eyes on his phone. The racing jacket he sports hangs heavily over his broad shoulders. It looks like a replica F1 jacket of sorts, and in spite of its large size, the muscle definition beneath the tank top clinging to his skin is still obvious. It’s almost unfair that he’s so attractive and such a dick.

Just as the thought crosses your mind, his crimson eyes lift from his phone screen. He pockets it, looking you up and down once before letting you lead the way. You pull the front gate open without a word, unlocking the inner door and shutting it to latch behind you. Your apartment resides on the second floor, a single room backing onto the subway. Convenient, but noisy as all hell.

You like to think of it as the epitome of what it means to chase your dream, but in reality you know it’s little more than measly tape to cover up the fact that it feels more like failure. You’ve only been here for a couple of months and played at a couple of crappy venues that didn’t turn out well and you aren’t about to give up now, but your apartment fails to feel like home.

When you flick the lights on, it gives a warm glow to the run-down apartment.

“Make yourself at home,” you offer of the small space. It’s nothing more than a studio with a bathroom. A kitchenette sits at your immediate left with a microwave, fridge, and a single plug-in hot-plate, while your bed is pushed into the corner at the back. You’ve managed to fit a small TV on a table in the corner, and a tiny couch beside it, but that’s about all there is to see of your small space. Wallpaper peels at the top corners and there are stains and scrapes over the old wooden floor that could very well be older than you.

You’ve done what you can with the space. Over the couch is a number of signed and framed band posters and by the TV sits a cork board with memorabilia pinned to it. Old concert ticket stubs, set lists, and guitar picks all pinned or clipped in place. A lamp sits behind the TV in the corner that makes the space feel more warm, giving light to the two gaming systems sitting under the table. It’s not perfect, but it’s very you.

As you set your keys and bag on what little counter space you have, Sukuna takes in the sight of the small space, his gaze lingering on the signed posters and memorabilia before landing on your guitar, leaning against the couch haphazardly.

“You’re a concert girl?” He queries. It’s hard to get a read on where the question comes from when his tone lacks any real interest or enthusiasm.

“When I could afford it,” you agree with a wry laugh.

He hums, kicking his shoes off and dropping his jacket beside your guitar on the couch. He plops down on the double bed, picking up a drumstick sat on the small night stand wedged between the bed and the tiny table the TV sits atop. He twirls it on a finger as he continues to look around while you fiddle with the box for the bullet vibrator you got, picking at the tape keeping it shut.

Like a sixth sense, your hair stands on-end when his striking gaze settles on you again. He continues to fiddle with the drumstick, but his expression is otherwise unreadable. His slightly narrowed gaze gives you the idea that something is on his mind. “What?”

“Just thinking,” he mutters, his gaze dropping the full length of your body again.

Standing still at the counter, you chew on the inside of your cheek as he checks you out. Or something similar to that. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew this question would arise. A part of you had hoped to avoid it, but given the nature of your agreement with Sukuna, the question doesn’t bother you as much as it might from someone else.

“I won’t be offended, you know.”

The drumstick stills in Sukuna’s fingers. “About what?”

“If you ask.”

“Can you be fucking direct?” He sneers, his eyes narrowed to pinpricks as he fixes you with the kind of gaze that would have made your skin crawl a month ago. Back then, you would have taken it for genuine frustration, but you know now that this is a man who finds pleasure in the fact that one look can make someone avert their gaze.

But you don’t budge, turning to face him with the bullet vibe in-hand. “You wanna know why I’m still a virgin if I’m open enough to ask you for this arrangement.”

You can’t blame him. You get the feeling you’re a year or two older than him based on the fact that you graduated already and he’s in his last year. Your reply even seems to intrigue him as he leans forward just enough to show interest. You have his attention, although he doesn’t say it. He may not judge you for it, but you certainly can’t blame him for being curious. After all, your request was a bold one in the first place.

With a sigh, you set the toy on the counter as you manage to free it from its packaging. “You know how I told you I’m from a small town?”

“Mhm.”

“How small do you think I meant?”

He shrugs, having clearly never considered the question. “Ten thousand,” he throws out a haphazard guess.

“Four hundred people.”

His nose wrinkles at the mere thought. Fitting for a guy who seems well-versed in navigating life in a massive city.

“So my options kinda sucked with guys my age,” you laugh dryly, returning to the counter where you set the toy down. You turn to him suddenly, a finger held out pointedly towards his chest. “Don’t even get me started on the older men.”

He snorts, barely more than a push of air from his nostrils that gives way to his amusement.

“It was one of those roadside attraction towns where our whole thing was like,” you wave a hand through the air, looking for the right words to describe it. “Having one of those weird statues or whatever that people will pull over to see.”

“Yeah? So what weird thing did you have, then?”

You crack a smile. “The world’s largest garden gnome.”

He blinks in disbelief, in sudden understanding of the whole situation. One single garden gnome painting a whole picture of who you are and how you grew up. “Damn. That blows.” There’s something so strangely friendly in the interaction that’s unbefitting of everything he is, but for a moment you forget this is Sukuna you’re speaking with.

You laugh. “Yeah. It’s not even the world’s largest anymore from what I’ve been told. So now we’re the ‘original’,” you make finger quotations in the air, “world’s largest garden gnome.”

He snorts again, pushing a hand back through his hair. “No wonder you like punk music. You did need to get out of your town.”

You surprise even yourself at how heartily you laugh. When he’s not being a stick-in-the-mud, it turns out he’s kinda funny. In fact, when he isn’t acting like he’s above you, there’s even a sort of warmth to him that you don’t mind. Whether it’s a public front and he’s dropped the curtain for a moment or he’s growing more comfortable with you is yet to be determined.

Or maybe this is like a one time event that you were lucky enough to witness.

“You must have gone to the city pretty often if you go to a lot of concerts,” he muses. “No interest in hooking up with a guy or doing this shit with someone before now?”

You frown, glancing up from the instructions on the bottle of toy cleaner as you loosely skim them. “I never really considered any of this until the shop. And I’d rather be with someone I know.”

He grunts in irritation before you even finish the first sentence, but he lets it go by the time you finish. At least his frustration with you is purely on a work level. “You don’t know me,” he points out. “You don’t know jack shit about how I am in bed and you barely know me outside of it.”

“I trust you, though.”

His gaze drifts to the floor, something stoic passing over his expression as he allows the thought to sink in. “You trust me,” he parrots dryly, for no other reason than to solidify them for himself. You open your mouth to elaborate, but he’s already talking over you before you can spit out a second word. Infuriating man. “Right. And now you want me to show you the ropes–” he pauses at the irony of his statement, a smug smirk returning to his lips. “Literally.” He stands up from your bed, tossing the drumstick aside in the midst of his amusement.

With a roll of your eyes, you stop whatever narcissistic or teasing comment was about to leave his parted lips, steering the conversation another way before he’s too frustrating to handle. “I can make a guess.”

Sukuna pauses, stepping towards you with curiosity. “About–” he raises his brows. “What I’m like? In general, or in bed?”

“Both,” you shrug. “You like to be in charge. You like to have someone who’s willing to admit that you’re better at something and you like to be mean about it. You like when people feel small around you, it makes your ego feel good like the big man that you are.”

Where you expect offense, you only find amusement, which unfortunately isn’t in your favor either. At the end of the day, he’s still running this interaction like he owns it. His head tilts, his grin unrelenting. The way the muscle shirt he sports clings to his chest as it rises and falls feels unfair. He’s a tease without trying, all because he has the fortune of being hot. “Oh?” His voice comes low, a grit to it that sends heat between your thighs. “Are we guessing, or psychoanalyzing?”

You shrug. “It can be whatever you want.”

His gaze flickers around your face as you move past him to the spot where he was just seated. The amusement laced through sanguine eyes as he watches you sits under your skin in the kind of way that has you grimacing. The way he picks you apart so effortlessly is a shadow compared to the pile of things about him that frustrate you, but you hate the way it gets under your skin.

He has no issues making himself at home either, moving his jacket aside so he can manspread obnoxiously on the couch across from your bed. Your brows tent downwards as he doesn’t hesitate to reach for your guitar either, as though he knows that, too, will get under your skin. “Here, I’ll move that.”

You dart towards him, picking the instrument up before his fingers can graze the neck, setting in on the stand it should have been on anyway. His brow quirks, head tilting as he watches your every movement. The way he moves through life so easily is grating.

When you take a seat again across from him on your bed, you tap your foot a couple of times on the worn wood below. It sounds hollow, even beneath your clothed feet. “So… What should we do?” You query, praying you can find a rhythm with him that makes everything more comfortable.

A smile curls at the corners of his lips. “I told you. You’re–”

His words come to a quick halt, expression twisting into disbelief and clear concern as your apartment rattles briefly, before the obvious noise of the subway passing behind the building follows, and the room settles as it comes to a stop. Unphased, you await his next words.

“You fucking live with that?”

You shrug. “Yeah. I uh– didn’t really realize it would be an issue until I moved in.”

A puff of air leaves his nose, his eyes trailing between you and the window where the train’s shadow cast across the floor moments ago. “How the fuck do you sleep? The subways run all night.”

“They’re less frequent at night,” you offer.

“How the fuck do you get off with that noise?”

Worrying your lower lip between your teeth, you shrug. “It’s just background noise.”

Sukuna hangs in a state of disbelief for a moment, crimson boring into you like even he’s questioning how the fuck he got here now. When the moment settles, he runs his tongue over his teeth and shakes his head, muttering a curse under his breath. “You’re something.”

“Thanks,” you reply dryly. The nerves of opening yourself up to someone buzz more as you draw Sukuna’s attention away from the train. Your leg bounces involuntarily, a hollow thump to it as you wait for a reply to your question, no matter how snarky it’ll inevitably be.

But the arrogance never comes. His eyes flicker down to your leg, the previous curl of his lips gone and replaced with something far more staid. With a hand on the couch’s armrest, he moves across the small room with ease, his large frame casting a long shadow over the floor as he blocks the lamplight. Your heart pumps hard against its cage, jumping to your throat when his palm settles on your leg, pressing it to the hardwood to stop its pace.

“Relax.” His voice has a sultry tone that feels foreign to you yet lived-in, like he knows just how to pitch his voice to send it like a shock straight to your stomach. You shift at the sensation, drawn to his gaze as he leans in with a brazen chuckle, clearly pleased that he can affect you in such a way. “Stop talking. Stop thinking. About all of this shit. About me, about the job, the money, the train. Turn your brain off.”

He’s right, painfully so, about every little thing on your mind. But the most relief you usually get is a warm cup of tea on a cool night, and even then it’s disturbed by a train every few minutes. It’s not like you haven’t masturbated, particularly since starting at the shop, but your brain always seems to need something to latch onto and porn feels so performative you can’t get into it.

Sukuna gives you something to focus on, taking the bullet vibrator from within your fidgeting hands as his other hand glides from your thigh to your torso over your shirt. His thumb frames your breast, the sensation sending a shiver straight up your spine. He uses just enough force that you could call the pressure he uses to guide you back onto your bed a ‘suggestion’ rather than a command.

“Give me a color.”

“Green.”

“Good,” he hums, low and smug as you watch his smirk grow into something painfully self-assured and egotistical as he flashes his teeth. You don’t have time to be annoyed when your lashes are already fluttering as he drags the bullet vibrator in his palm over your clothed pussy with just enough pressure that your breath catches. “And it’s not even on yet,” he purrs in that ever-condescending tone.

“I should have asked someone less–”

He grinds the vibrator against your clit in an effort to stifle your attitude, shooting you a smug smirk when it works. “But you didn’t.”

Your scowl barely has a chance to form before it dissipates as he glides a thumb beneath your shirt. The sensation has you shivering as he scrutinizes every micro expression you make when his thumb glides over the sensitive skin of your bare stomach. Goosebumps rise in its stead, inevitable as your body reacts to the sensation. You jolt when his touch is so feather-light that it feels more ticklish than something sensual, and like everything else he picks it up and files it away for later.

When he stops at your hipbone and dips two fingers beneath your waistband, you instinctively suck in a breath, stiffening. His movement pauses, eyes narrowing as he fixes you with a sharp gaze that you recognize as instruction.

“Green,” you breathe.

Something smug in his expression has you swallowing your pride at the realization that submission came easily. He’s too keen to have not noticed how you’re not running your mouth anymore, and you don’t need to read between the lines to know that he enjoys that fact.

With your consent, two fingers drag your pants down, haplessly discarded as his gaze trails the length of your legs slowly. You can’t make out what he’s thinking, your hair standing on end as some part of you longs for warmth in a partner who might revere you, but that isn’t what you asked for. It’s not who Sukuna is.

When his eyes meet yours, they narrow an ounce. “Stop worrying,” he admonishes the thoughts he seems to be able to sense as though your insecurities are written in the air for him to see. It warms your cheeks further than they already are. When he catches the twitch of your brow, whether it’s a tell that he’s correct or some bratty form of defiance, he brings a hand to your jaw, his thumb and finger forcing you to keep his gaze. “I’m serious. Bodies are all different, and–”

“That doesn’t make me feel better, Suku–”

His thumb and finger shift until he’s pressing your cheeks together to shut up your protests. “Everyone is different. You should be. Stop fucking worrying.” He loosens his grip enough to allow you to nod, no longer pursing your lips. “Focus on my hands. Focus on the feeling. Don’t think about the fucking train that’s gonna pass in three minutes. Don’t distract yourself.”

He releases your face, shifting his hand until he’s prodding your abdomen pointedly with a finger. He waits for your gaze to follow before continuing.

“Masturbation is one thing because you know exactly what you want and can make yourself finish quickly, but bringing another person into things changes how your body and brain work.” He moves his hand back to the bed as he leans over you, watching with a faint smirk as the other hand presses the small vibrator, still off, into your clit and you take in a sharp breath. “If you get distracted by all the dumb shit going through your head and don’t stay focused on how you’re feeling, your body won’t let you cum. You’ll go straight into overstimulation without orgasm, or your body just won’t respond. It’s common as shit and a lot of people don’t think they can cum with a partner.”

You blink at how strangely insightful and educational the tattooed prick can actually be. Your shoulders fall into the mattress as you focus on the pressure of the hard silicone pressed into your clothed pussy.

There’s another side to it as well that has your mind ready to reel into something far more tangential, as much as you know you should listen to his advice. The fact is that the very same man who told you not to expect love or care from him is sitting here reassuring you, all the while explaining to you just how much he understands the human body. It’s not just from a biological or fact-driven perspective either, he’s putting your pleasure first.

Sure, it’s worth acknowledging that at the end of the day your arrangement does revolve around your pleasure, but Sukuna’s not just insightful. In one way or another, it’s caring. Whether he wants to acknowledge it or not, you’ve heard horror stories of men not being able to find the clit and it’s driven you further into insecurity surrounding the very concept of sex as someone with no experience.

Sukuna isn’t just skilled or good as you’re sure he’ll put it. He’s put time into this. Not just the kind that comes with being with people, but the kind that comes with research and education.

You knew he could talk about toys without batting an eye.

This is deeper.

He flicks your forehead, eyes flashing with irritation as you protest with a yelp. “What did I just tell you?”

“You’re just kinda being sweet,” you excuse yourself, blinking at him from where he’s crouched over your lower torso.

Something flashes in his eyes. “Don’t fucking mistake being good at what I do for sweetness.” His lip curls, the word dripping in disgust like the very concept is venomous to him. “Or do I need to remind you that this is a fucking deal and the moment this shit’s over you’re nothing more than my co-worker who doesn’t know fuck-all about the product?”

You let out a disbelieving scoff at the way he manages to kill the vibe entirely over what you might consider a compliment. “You’re right. You’re a dick.”

He straightens as he takes command of the situation once more, making himself look bigger as he leans over you. He shifts the reins like he owns your every reaction and can predict the situation. With a flick of his thumb, he turns the bullet vibe on, the vibration a sudden and intense sensation even over your panties. It’s a stark contrast to what your fingers feel like.

“Now stop thinking.” He drags the vibrator from your clit back across your clothed slit, your lips parting as you arch into the sensation.

“How am I supposed to focus when you’re being such an ass?” You grit in spite of the pleasure.

“Now you know why I’m good at this shit.”

He drops the attitude again as he manages to turn you on without the sensual touch or words of a partner, but rather through other methods.

Keeping a steady, albeit low vibration setting over your clit through your panties, he slips a hand under your shirt again. His thumb glides smoothly over your nipple, raising goosebumps along with his calloused touch. Sharp crimson eyes fix on the way your gaze finally shifts from his movements to the ceiling, your hands reaching for the blanket laying over the mattress. Your fingers curl into the cotton as all thoughts of insecurity and Sukuna’s attitude finally dissipate and all you’re left with is a tingling sensation that spreads warmly to your extremities.

“Thaaat’s it,” he guides you in a low tone that acts like sparks in your mind, kindling a fire that burns out whatever last thoughts served as a distraction. At last it’s just you and the sensation of his finger circling your nipple, slow and sensual as he takes the time needed to work your body up to a point where the vibrator won’t be too much.

The mattress dips as Sukuna shifts, his footsteps lost on you as the train passes by the window. It’s nothing more than background noise with your exterior senses dulled to focus only on touch. You blink at the tattooed man as the noise of the vibrator is silenced, lidded eyes watching his fingers hook into the waistband of your panties.

“Color?”

You swallow hard. His gaze lowers as he watches the movement, every tiny detail catalogued as he reads your reaction.

“Green,” you reply, breathless.

He gives a nod, fixed still on your expression when he gives the first tug. On instinct your legs twitch to close, so he guides you through the nerves rather than ignoring them. “You’re good,” he gruffs. It’s not soothing, but somehow it settles a modicum of the uncertainty that comes with putting your trust in someone else in such a vulnerable way.

Once they’re over your knees, he tugs the panties off, sending them across the room.

You still can’t help instinctively trying to hide yourself from him, squeezing the blanket tighter between your fingers as the cool air of your apartment reaches your dripping core.

“You want my shirt off?”

The question hangs before you, eyes dipping down to the black muscle shirt he sports, tight over his built chest. It’s the kind of thing you would spot at a gym, but it’s just loose enough over the rest of his torso that it looks less like he’s showing off and more like he effortlessly owns the look and everyone else is just mirroring him.

Pulling your lower lip between your teeth, you nod. When you meet his gaze again, it’s smug. He knows every last word that just ran through your head like he’s heard it before and the thought should piss you off, but you can’t be too bothered when he sets the vibrator on your abdomen and grabs the hem of his shirt with crossed arms. He pulls it up over his head with intention, flexing his biceps as he does so and sets it aside. Conveniently, his shirt doesn’t fly across the room.

The tattoos that curl around the sides of his neck snake over his shoulders in thick off-black lines that curve over his pecks. There are another set of bands similar to his wrists on his upper biceps and circles at his shoulders. They sharpen the persona given off by his intense egoism and dyed black hair, but they also accentuate his muscles in the kind of way that has your pupils dilating as you trail over the lines before falling to his abs.

As if that sight isn’t a show enough, at the base of his abdomen is a snail trail that you fix on just enough to earn a chuckle. It’s startlingly pink, matching the roots you spot every few weeks when they grow out.

Your hips shift as your stomach clenches at the sight. The cool air makes it obvious how turned on you are, and when you look back up, Sukuna is smirking. You’re feeding his ego more than you could know.

Satisfied with your reaction, he settles both hands on your thighs, slowly pulling them apart. Exposed to him once again, you find that action has surprisingly replaced your nerves with something far more debauched that has your mind racing.

This time, in all the right ways.

When your legs stay spread, he picks the vibrator back up, flicking it back on in one deft movement. The bed dips when he settles between your legs, dragging the vibrator through wet folds and over your clit, you arch into it with a soft moan. “Now you’re getting it,” he smirks as at last you let go of the endless stress of thoughts and give in to pleasure. “A bullet vibe is too small for much else besides placing direct pressure on the clit,” he explains as though your mind isn’t on another plane. “So it works best with other forms of stimulation.”

He keeps the small vibrator pressed directly to your clit. Your head falls back into the mattress, balling the fabric of your blankets up into your fists.

“You gotta work with me if you want this shit to work,” he continues, his hand pressing your thigh down when he adds additional pressure to the vibrator and your legs jolt shut on instinct. “What feels good?”

“I– hah–” You blink, cloudy eyes fluttering open to drag across the ceiling until they find his gaze, impossibly red and horribly smug as a moan tears your words apart. “The pressure is nice.”

“Nice?” He parrots the word, dripping in amusement. “I’m using a vibrator on you, don’t mince your words.”

You arch into the sensation in spite of his chatter, but he pulls away when you don’t reply immediately. Swallowing hard, you adjust your grip on the blankets and blink as your mind reels trying to catch up to what he wants. “It gets me a lot closer when you press it into my clit.”

He hums.

“But it’s kinda nice when you take it away too, makes the feeling l-last longer,” you stammer over the sentence when he tests your words, pulling it away for a moment. Your hips jolt, but the sensation is nice.

Vibration isn’t like your fingers. It’s far more intense and works you to the edge quicker when Sukuna knows how to maneuver the toy. “That’s called edging,” he gruffs, pulling the vibrator back as he waits for your eyes to meet his again. “This is a pretty tame form of it, but the human body wasn’t built for a vibrator so you’ll cum too fast if I don’t and it’s not as good.” You nod weakly, gaze flickering back down to the small device that he’s still holding away from your body. “Some people like being brought to the edge and coming down over and over, though. If that’s something you wanna try, that’s fine, but let me learn what you like first.”

You nod again, chewing on your lower lip as you buck your hips into his waiting hand.

He clicks his tongue, amused. “Eager.” Before you can retort with something equally cheeky, he presses the vibrator back to your clit as the stimulation curls through your body again, warm and welcome. It blossoms from your stomach to your chest until you can feel yourself teetering at the edge again, only for Sukuna to pull back. “Finger yourself.”

“What? Me?”

“You fucked stupid already?” Condescending prick. “Yeah, you. I told you, a bullet vibe works best with outside stimulation and I wanna see what you do to get off.”

You huff out a sigh, but your fingers slip from the blanket, down your body until you feel slick gather along your fingers. They’re cold, the thin windows giving way to a chill that seeps into your skin. The sensation has you sucking in a breath when they touch your skin, one finger slipping first between your folds, cool and pleasant, and then another. You work yourself open at a comfortable pace and adjust your hips until you find a rhythm and depth that feels nice, though it’s nothing compared to the vibrator.

“Could you cum just from that?”

“I don’t think so,” you breathe.

He hums in acknowledgement, pressing the vibrator with gradual pressure back into your clit. Your fingers stutter, pausing altogether. “Keep going,” he mutters. Even through the fog of bliss, you follow his instructions and keep the pace, your fingers curling into your walls as they begin to convulse around you.

Your breaths turn to soft, somewhat shy, moans with every second the vibrator spends pressed to your sensitive bundle of nerves. The world around you is fuzzy and you swear you can even hear the static that gathers at the edges of your vision. When your abdomen begins tensing and the rhythm of your fingers grows less accurate, more frantic, he uses more pressure to elicit the exact reaction he’s looking for. The sensation throws you over the edge without warning, hitting you in waves far more intense than the best orgasm with your fingers has ever given you.

As your body reacts to each wave of the orgasm, muscles clenching in time, the vibrator shifts slightly and the sensation heads straight into overstimulation. Sukuna reads the reaction and pulls away, letting you come down naturally. Your chest rises and falls heavily as you stare up at the rickety old ceiling.

Letting go and giving in entirely to the pleasure feels good. Your thoughts don’t race. There’s no constant stream of what needs to happen for the rest of the day or when you’ll head to the bar for your next gig. You’re just on cloud nine.

You feel Sukuna rise from between your legs. He moves around the apartment like he owns the place, opening the only door that doesn’t lead out without asking, and returning with a towel.

Pushing up onto your elbow, you hold out a hand expectantly, but Sukuna holds it out of reach. “No. I told you you’re not getting sweet, but I’m not leaving you without aftercare.” He takes a seat on the edge of the bed, folding the towel into something more manageable before holding it out for you to wipe your fingers on. “An arrangement like this,” he waves the folded towel haphazardly between you once you’re done with it, “means that the person in the dominant position should be helping clean up and make sure the sub is in the right headspace.” He speaks so matter-of-factly, you have a hard time believing this is the same guy who asked if you applied for the wrong job.

Tonal whiplash if you’ve ever heard it.

“If you ever have sex with someone who puts you in a submissive position and doesn’t give you aftercare, dump the prick.”

Truthfully, you’re not sure Sukuna has any right to call someone a prick, but you nod regardless. You’re not about to protest when he is cleaning you up and has gathered your panties and pants for you.

Once he’s satisfied, he sets the towel aside and pulls his shirt back over his head. He grabs you a glass of water as you cover yourself back up, and is surprisingly domestic as he checks in on you. “Feel good?”

“Yeah.”

“See what I mean when I say the bullet vibe is best with outside stimulation?”

You blink up at him from where he’s standing, a neutral expression plastered to his face as though nothing’s happened and there isn’t a tent in his pants. “Yeah, I guess.”

His eyes narrow, chin tilted up slightly. “You guess?”

“Sorry. I just don’t know what to do now.”

Unbothered, he simply nods, his gaze passing to the window as a train casts a dark shadow over the apartment, gone in a split second. He runs a hand through black strands of hair, revealing the pink at the roots before crossing his arms over his chest. “Why’s that?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never been… whatever we are, with someone.”

He snorts. “Can’t say I have either, sweetheart. Just talk with me until I know you’re back in a normal headspace. Tell me what worked and what didn’t.” He brings a hand up to his shoulder, rubbing the muscle along his back idly as he stands a short distance away.

Now fully clothed, you sit upright. “Okay.” Letting out a breath, you navigate the blissful fog still hanging over you in search of something to answer. “I appreciate that you took your shirt off,” you admit, heat climbing your spine as it curls up to your ears. You press on, grateful that he doesn’t make a big deal out of it in spite of his minute smirk. “I liked when you used pressure, but it was a lot when I came.”

He hums. “That’s overstimulation. Was it a lot in a bad way?”

Your brow knits together in thought. It was too much in the moment, but you don’t suppose you’d label it as bad. “No. Not exactly. Just too much.”

Shifting to the other foot, he considers your words. “Overstimulation is a pretty common kink. There’re a lot of people who like being pushed into that territory because it is a lot but the stimulation is also pleasurable and it can push you to cum again pretty quickly.”

“I think I saw that in some of the porn I tried watching.”

“I would say it’s one of the more common kinks in the kink community. Makes sense.”

You nod slowly, considering the sensation as you shift, your body still feeling particularly loose. “I think I’d try it.”

“Sure,” he agrees, seeming to only half pay attention when he pulls his phone out. A dim blue light illuminates the lower half of his face before he shoves it back in his pocket. “You seem good. Feeling alright?”

“Yeah.”

“Great. I’m leaving.” He turns abruptly on his heel, tossing his jacket over his shoulder as he makes his way to the door. “Clean the vibe,” he reminds you. “And don’t use it too often. We’re not built for electronics, we’re built for fingers. It’ll fry your nerves and regular stimulation won’t feel as good.”

You nod solemnly, his advice adding up. “Wait!” You call when his hand rests atop the old door knob, the golden paint chipping away as it gives up the facade of luxury. “You don’t want anything?”

“No.”

You shake your head. “Why did you agree to this, then?”

He pauses, turning fully to face you. His gaze travels to the darkened path over the wooden floor where enough steps have been taken that the wood has physically worn away. “It’s convenient,” he offers, “having you take my shifts. It’s…” he trails off for a moment, his tongue running over his lower lip. “It’s helpful, really.”

You’re shocked at the sincerity behind the admission, like in spite of how frustrating and egocentric he can be, he feels he owes you honesty.

“But you’re right.” He lets the words hang, pools of cerise washing intensely over you as your head tilts quizzically. He blinks as he searches for the words to put his thoughts together. “Look, it pisses me off that you applied to this job in the first place, but you’re here now and Jillian likes you.” He shrugs his shoulders. “There’s fuck-all I can do about that and you should have known this shit before applying.”

Your eyes narrow as he repeats something you’re getting real sick of hearing. You can’t say you’re sure how this goes with the statement ‘you’re right’, either.

“But this shit is hard to learn if you don’t have an in.” His hand leaves the door handle with a hollow metallic clang as he takes a step towards you. He’s still across the apartment, but it bridges a gap of sorts. “Sex is treated as something you’re not supposed to talk about and kinks are taboo. So finding resources brings you to all sorts of sketchy sites or outdated books because the resources surrounding it suck.” He shrugs. “You should have a way to learn and experiment without feeling stupid for not knowing shit or for asking questions.”

“You literally called me stupid for asking a question not even ten minutes ago,” you interject.

“I didn’t call you stupid. I asked if I’d already fucked you stupid, because the question was stupid.”

You throw your hands in the air at his brazen reply, in disbelief that he can somehow manage to be simultaneously the most frustrating man on earth and unusually open and honest on topics that deserve discussion.

“It’s not stupid to ask questions about sex, or toys, or rules, or anything that makes you more comfortable. It’s not stupid to ask questions about your body or ask me to adjust to something that feels better.” He begins his clarification as though it helps at all. “It’s stupid to ask who I meant when I said ‘finger yourself’ when you’re the only other person in the room,” he snorts, amused as you shoot him a deadpan expression. “And it’s stupid as all hell to apply to a store where you don’t have any fucking clue what we sell.”

“You’re–”

“Yeah, yeah. Save it for later.” He makes a quarter turn, hand on the handle again. “I gotta go. See you at work.”

And with that, he’s gone.

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౨ৎ a/n ; helloooo!! thank you all so much for all of the support :') i couldn't possibly have imagined all the love for this series, so it seriously means a lot.

i've gone for what i think is a fun writing challenge for myself in giving sukuna and reader both a very interesting dynamic, while also showing that sukuna's views on sex are very different than traditional ones bc of his line of work. we'll see more of satoru's perspectives as well and where those views come from!! reader, of course, struggles with insecurity in spite of the fact that she is bold and confident and slowly but surely we'll see more of that come into play in further chapters as well as where it comes from.

i hope you're enjoying it so far <33

౨ৎ taglist ; OPEN. age must be visible in bio. 18+ only. @lilrosyhaven @tiny-mimi @grimm3r @yujisredkicks @knittybritty98 @sukunahs @saezzi @epicderpface @ynishalee @pandabiene5115 @silibiliballs @ane5e @feyrinnn @jkslvsnella @maomimii @megumuro @beereadzzz @beaniesayshi @ryomeowie @suguusatoo @gojosoups @yenayaps @m3owr3ow @tohru-tales @crimzie129 @lostgxrlblog @sterzin @scaraamo @sunyomz @norahlolzz @whateverineedsblog @buttclencher28 @blueemochii @pequnopastel @cupidxml @saintdilucc @officiallydrunk @yvannaille @brazzigy @ilovebeansyay @deewrites01 @martianzmars @volleyballgirl2022 @mtchamnsta @astrokenny @ge3ked @ri-sa20 @heichouaack @iluvgetosuguru @winkii

His hair is freshly trimmed, the ash blond strands still slightly damp from his shower, pushed back messily from his forehead. The sleeves of his black compression shirt cling to his shoulders and arms while the expensive button-up he plans on wearing hangs neatly from the bathroom door beside pressed slacks he spent way too long picking out earlier. Even his watch sits carefully beside the sink instead of abandoned somewhere random like usual. The entire thing feels too deliberate. Too polished. Too much like he gives a shit.

Which he doesn’t.

Obviously.

Except his stomach has felt weird since he woke up this morning.

Not nervous. Definitely not nervous. 

He can’t pinpoint the exact moment he clocked off hero work or how much time he spent at the gym so he could show off a pump tonight, nor can he try to convince himself it isn’t for the reason he doesn’t want to admit. He just wants to look good.

And that’s it. Simple as it sounds. No reason for him to choke on stuttering breaths.

The razor scrapes harder against his jaw this time as he rinses it aggressively under the sink. Hot water rushes over his fingers, turning the tips of them pink.

The celebration dinner is stupid to begin with, if you ask him.

Shoto gets ranked top two after the downtown incident last month, Endeavor immediately turns it into some flashy media spectacle about family legacy and hero society, and somehow all of Class A gets invited because the public still eats up that “golden generation” garbage years later. Old classmates pretending they all still keep in touch more often than not. The entire thing sounds exhausting.

But you’re gonna be there.

That’s the problem.

For all he cares, it’s been—what? Three years?

Three fucking years since he’s properly seen you.

Not in passing through articles online. Not blurry photos people tag him in accidentally after hero events. Not hearing your name mentioned by Mina or Sero every couple of months when they gossip over drinks.

Actually seeing you.

As in, In person.

Close enough to touch.

Because when him and you were no more, instead of running back to him like you’d always do, you moved out of Japan, got a job somewhere else in the world. You blocked him on all socials, blocked his number —even the agency landline— and for a while, he didn’t care to contact you. He didn’t care to check up on you, because who checks up on someone who said they wished they never met you? He went out of your life as quietly as you went out of his. Not caring if his last words hurt you, like you did.

Katsuki braces both hands against the sink and stares downward as water drips steadily from the faucet. His reflection blurs at the edges from the steam still clouding the glass, turning him into something distorted and unfamiliar.

Pathetic.

The worst part is he doesn’t even know what version of you is walking through those doors tonight.

Maybe you’re angry.

Maybe you barely look at him.

Maybe you’ve become one of those calm, polished heroes that smile perfectly for cameras now, the kind that know exactly how to navigate crowded rooms without making enemies out of everyone in them.

Or maybe you’ll look through him entirely.

That thought digs somewhere unpleasant beneath his ribs.

Fair enough, honestly.

He earns that.

The memory still crawls up on him sometimes when it gets too quiet. Usually late at night after patrol when he’s too exhausted to keep his thoughts from wandering somewhere ugly.

In all honesty he did try to talk to you. Last year, after he found out he wasn’t blocked anymore. But he was angry, vulgar, everything you’ve ever said you hated about him. And for better or for worse you had only told him you knew he’d never change. And he had left it there, not pressing anymore, not needing anymore proof to accept you just weren’t coming back.

Maybe this is why he won’t wear the polished clothes he’s picked out for tonight. Maybe the Nike sweats he tumble dried this morning and a t-shirt will make him look more casual, put together in a way fancy clothes won’t.

Because tonight is casual to him. It should be, at least, amidst picking up Kirishima and Izuku in his new car. He shouldn’t even care that you’re going to be there.

He keeps staring at himself anyway.

Like maybe if he looks long enough, he’ll suddenly figure out why this feels so fucking strange.

The bathroom light washes his skin pale while steam curls slowly around the edges of the mirror, softening the sharpness of his reflection. Katsuki barely recognizes the version of himself standing there sometimes. Not because he looks different—he does, obviously, older and broader and rougher around the edges—but because somewhere between twenty-two and twenty-five, the anger inside him changed shape.

Less explosive.

Much more exhausting.

He reaches for the towel hanging off the counter and drags it roughly over his face before tossing it aside. The nick near his chin still stings faintly. Tiny. Irritating. His eyes flick toward the button-up hanging from the bathroom door again, then away immediately.

Abso-fucking-lutely not.

The idea of showing up looking like he spent hours trying to impress you makes something hot crawl up his neck. It feels pathetic now. Worse now, somehow, after standing here spiraling like an idiot for nearly forty minutes over a dinner he doesn’t even want to attend.

Katsuki grabs the hanger off the door and shoves the expensive shirt deeper into the closet on his way back into the bedroom.

Fuck that.

The softer lighting from his room settles easier against his eyes compared to the harsh fluorescent buzz of the bathroom. Outside the windows, the city glows orange and blue beneath the darkening sky, traffic crawling between towering buildings while distant sirens echo somewhere far below. His apartment sits high enough that most nights the noise blends together into background static.

Tonight it all feels too loud.

He yanks open a drawer harder than necessary and pulls out the black t-shirt he wears for training. The fabric stretches tight across his shoulders when he changes, outlining muscle built from years of relentless schedules, combat drills, patrols, sleepless nights at the gym whenever his head gets too crowded to sit still inside his own apartment.

Not for you.

Obviously.

The thought comes so defensive it almost makes him scoff at himself.

The sweats are clean at least. Black Nike joggers fresh from the dryer this morning, soft at the inside, fitted enough that Kirishima once called them “boyfriend material clothes” before Katsuki threatened to blast him through a wall. Casual. Comfortable. Like he isn’t thinking about tonight at all.

Like he didn’t spend an embarrassing amount of time earlier deciding between watches.

His jaw tightens again.

This is ridiculous.

You’re just another person he used to know.

That’s it.

Three years changes people. Hell, maybe you aren’t even the same woman anymore. Maybe you cut your hair shorter now. Maybe you picked up some accent overseas since your Japanese seemed too weird the last time you talked. And— and maybe, like the thoughts that used to consume him before he ever reached out to you last year, there’s somebody else waiting for you back home after tonight, somebody softer than him. Somebody easier. Someone your shared friends know about but won’t let him know of.

That thought lands badly, like he woke a dragon from a millennial slumber. His chest immediately feels too tight for it.

Katsuki snatches his car keys off the counter before he can sit with the feeling any longer.

His hone buzzes again from the kitchen table as he passes by. Probably Kirishima. Maybe Deku. Maybe another last-minute reminder about tonight’s schedule.

He ignores it.

The kitchen still smells faintly like coffee from this morning, dishes abandoned beside the sink because he hasn’t had enough energy lately to care about cleaning immediately after meals. There’s protein powder spilled near the toaster from breakfast. A hoodie tossed over one of the dining chairs. Tiny signs of somebody actually living here instead of the spotless, polished apartment magazines keep trying to photograph whenever reporters sneak glimpses during interviews.

For a second, his eyes drift unconsciously toward the balcony.

You used to stand out there all the time. Especially during storms.

Wrapped in one of his hoodies with your arms folded over the railing while Musutafu lit up below you in blurred neon reflections. You always complained the city looked lonely from this high up.

Katsuki used to think that was stupid. Now he gets it.

His throat feels strangely dry.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he mutters under his breath.

The worst part is he genuinely has no idea how tonight’s gonna go.

Maybe you’ll smile politely at him like he’s an old coworker and he’ll have to be casual about greeting you, though he doesn’t want to.

Maybe you’ll avoid him altogether.

Maybe Mina’ll force everybody into some obnoxious group photo and suddenly he’ll be standing beside you for the first time in years pretending his heart isn’t punching against his ribs hard enough to bruise merely at the thought of it all.

Or maybe—

Maybe you’ll just look heavenly good.

That’s the real problem, honestly.

Because he already knows you will.

Not because of makeup or clothes or whatever expensive shit pro heroes wear to these events now. You always looked good to him in ways that annoyed the hell out of him. Half-asleep in his shirts. Sitting on his kitchen counter eating takeout straight from the carton. Yelling at him from across the apartment while he ignored you on purpose just to hear you get louder.

Three years later and his body still remembers stupid things about you automatically.

The sound of your laugh.

The weight of your legs thrown over his lap.

The smell of your peachy shampoo lingering on his pillows after arguments where one of you stormed out dramatically only to come back two hours later.

Katsuki grips his keys tighter.

Nope.

He’s not doing this tonight. He’s not showing up already halfway dragged into the past because of somebody who made it painfully clear they didn’t want him in their life anymore.

That should matter.

It does matter.

And honestly, he understands why you left.

Back then he was still angry at everything. Angry at hero society. Angry at himself. Angry at how badly he wanted somebody and how terrified he is of needing them at the same time. Every conversation between you eventually turned into him snapping before you can get too close to whatever ugly thing sits underneath his ribs.

You called him cruel once.

Not loudly. Not even during a fight.

Just tired.

And somehow that had struck him worse than any screaming ever could. That’s when it clicked to him, that no matter how much you said you saw the good in him, you never truly could. Even if one of your last sentences to him was that you loved him, he didn’t believe you could ever love someone you thought was cruel, someone you wish you never met. 

Katsuki locks the apartment behind him harder than necessary before heading toward the elevator.

The hallway lights flicker softly overhead while he waits, fingers tapping restlessly against his thigh. His reflection stares back at him from the metal elevator doors—broad shoulders, tired eyes, black compression shirt clinging too tightly against muscle that suddenly feels more like armor than confidence.

Casual.

Tonight is casual.

Just old classmates catching up. Nothing more.

Then his phone vibrates again.

EIJIRO: don’t be weird tonight bro

A second message immediately follows; something about sitting shotgun in his new car.

Katsuki stares at the screen for a long moment. Then another vibration.

IZUKU: Kacchan are we still meeting downstairs in 20?

His jaw flexes hard enough to ache.

Because somehow, despite everything, despite all the years and silence and blocked numbers and ugly last conversations—

A part of him still feels twenty-two again. Twenty-two and convinced that no one could love the way he expressed himself.

______

By the time Katsuki parks outside the izakaya, the knot in his stomach has already settled into something meaner. Sharper. Musutafu glows around him and his friends in streaks of reflected neon against rain-dark pavement while a valet moves between cars beneath the izakaya entrance. The place itself is ridiculously upscale even if it is just traditional, all warm golden lighting spilling through enormous glass windows and polished black stone.

Kirishima lets out a low whistle from the passenger seat as he climbs out. “Can’t wait to see everyone.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” Katsuki mutters automatically, already slamming the car door closed harder than necessary.

Cold evening air immediately brushes against the back of his neck. Somewhere nearby, traffic hums steadily through the city while muffled laughter spills from the izakaya entrance every time the doors open. Izuku smooths anxiously at the sleeves of his suit beside the car, glancing toward the building with that same nervous energy he’s carried since high school.

“Do we think Todoroki planned all this himself,” he starts, adjusting his tie, “or do you think Endeavor hired—”

“Deku,” Katsuki interrupts flatly, shoving his hands into his pockets, “if you start analyzing anything, i’m leaving.”

“I wasn’t gonna analyze the—”

“You literally were.”

Kirishima snorts loudly beside them, and normally the familiar bickering would loosen something in Katsuki’s chest. Tonight it barely registers because his attention keeps drifting toward the entrance before they even reach it, heartbeat strangely steady in a way that feels worse than panic. Like his body already knows something his brain is still trying to avoid.

The hostess opens the doors with a practiced smile, and warm air immediately wraps around them alongside the low hum of conversation and clinking glasses. The restaurant is crowded with heroes, old classmates that are lingering discreetly in sorted tables near the back, all surrounded by polished wood and amber lighting that makes everything glow soft and expensive.

Katsuki barely notices any of it.

His eyes find you almost instantly.

Of course they do.

You’re seated near the center of the room beside the girls, half-turned toward Mina while Ochaco laughs at something across the table. The lighting catches warmly against the side of your face, softening the curve of your expression while gold jewelry glints subtly against your skin every time you move. Your hair is longer now than the last time he saw you in person, falling over your shoulders while one hand curls loosely around a sake glass. You look comfortable there. Relaxed. Like you belong in rooms like this now.

And for one awful second, Katsuki genuinely forgets how to breathe.

Three years vanish instantly beneath the weight of recognition. His body remembers you before his brain does, something visceral and humiliating tightening beneath his ribs before he can stop it.

Fuck.

You look different, but not enough to feel unfamiliar. Older, maybe. Sharper around the edges in the way everybody becomes sharper with time. There’s confidence in the way you sit now that wasn’t fully there before, something steadier beneath your posture. You carry yourself like someone who’s finally learned how to exist without apologizing for taking up space.

Then Mina notices them entering.

“Oh my god, finally!” she calls immediately, waving dramatically across the room. “You guys are late as hell!”

Several heads turn at once.

Including yours.

Katsuki feels it immediately, that split second your eyes land on him from across the room. It happens so fast he almost convinces himself he imagined it. No widening. No visible surprise. No anger flashing across your face. Your gaze settles on him briefly before moving smoothly toward Kirishima instead.

“Oh, Eiji,” you smile warmly, standing slightly from your pillow as the group approaches. “Hi.”

The knot in Katsuki’s stomach twists tighter.

Kirishima grins instantly. “There she is. Damn, it’s been forever.”

“It literally has,” Mina groans dramatically. “This bitch abandoned us internationally.”

You laugh softly at that, embarrassed enough to duck your head slightly.

The sound lands somewhere dangerous in Katsuki’s chest.

Ochaco immediately stands to greet Izuku while the others start talking over each other all at once, greetings and questions colliding noisily together after years apart. You converse with everyone easily. Kirishima gets pulled into a quick side hug while you squeeze Ochaco’s hand excitedly across the table. You ask Izuku about agency work overseas, laugh when Kaminari nearly trips over a table trying to sit down, you smile politely at Jirou when she teases your accent sounding slightly different now.

But Katsuki gets nothing.

At first he tells himself maybe you just haven’t gotten there yet. Maybe it’s awkward. Maybe you’re nervous too and trying to settle into the conversation before acknowledging him properly.

Then Kirishima nudges him lightly with his elbow.

“Oi,” he mutters under his breath, “say hi, silly.”

Katsuki’s jaw tightens immediately.

His eyes flick toward you again, but you’re already sitting back down beside Mina, smoothing your sleeve absentmindedly while listening to Momo speak. Completely relaxed. Completely normal.

Like he isn’t even there.

Something hot immediately crawls beneath his skin, but it doesn’t feel like anger. Anger would’ve been easier to deal with. Easier to understand. This feels uglier than that.

Because you aren’t being cold.

You aren’t glaring at him or avoiding eye contact dramatically or making the tension obvious for everyone else at the table.

You’re just indifferent.

Clean, casual, effortless indifference that makes it painfully obvious you’ve already figured out how to exist in the same room as him without it affecting you at all.

Katsuki pulls form to his seat harder than necessary across from Kirishima, the sharp scrape of the table flinching away from him against the floor briefly cutting through the table conversation. Nobody reacts except Mina, whose eyes dart toward him automatically before flicking carefully toward you.

You don’t even look up.

Jesus Christ.

His chest suddenly feels too tight.

“You look good, by the way,” Mina says suddenly, leaning dramatically against your shoulder. “Like suspiciously good. What the hell are they feeding you overseas?”

You laugh quietly, almost embarrassed by the attention. “Literally just less stress, probably.”

The joke lands casually around the table. Kaminari laughs. Jirou snorts into her drink. Ochaco starts teasing you immediately about abandoning Japanese work culture.

Nobody else notices anything strange about the comment.

But Katsuki does.

Of course he fucking does.

Less stress.

Like loving him had exhausted you so thoroughly that leaving the entire country became the healthiest thing you’d ever done for yourself.

His fingers curl tighter around the edge of the menu sitting untouched in front of him.

“Still working with that rescue agency?” Izuku asks curiously.

You nod. “Mostly disaster relief now, yeah. It’s quieter than here.”

“Quieter?” Kaminari repeats incredulously. “Why would you want quieter?”

“Because some people enjoy peace,” Jirou answers dryly.

“Exactly,” you laugh.

And there it is again, that strange feeling pressing heavier against Katsuki’s ribs every time you smile. Because you do seem peaceful now. Not forced. Not pretending. Actually peaceful.

Your posture stays relaxed through every conversation. Your smile comes easier than he remembers. Even your voice sounds lighter somehow, no longer carrying that constant tension that used to sit beneath your words whenever the two of you argued. Back then, loving each other always felt loud. Intense. Like every conversation teetered dangerously close to becoming a fight neither of you knew how to stop once it started.

Now you just seem… calm.

Katsuki suddenly feels too large in his seat. Too rough around the edges for this version of you. His broad shoulders, his obnoxiously loud voice, the constant restless energy simmering beneath his skin all feel painfully obvious in comparison to the quiet ease you carry now.

Mina notices it first.

Her eyes flick carefully between the two of you once. Then again.

Her smile falters slightly.

Because now it’s becoming noticeable to everybody else too.

You still haven’t acknowledged Katsuki properly once since they entered the izakaya.

Kirishima notices next, judging by the awkward way he shifts beside Katsuki before clearing his throat.

“So, uh…” he starts carefully, eyes darting between you both. “Crazy seeing everybody together again, huh?”

“Mm,” you hum politely before taking another sip of your drink.

That’s it.

No tension sharpens your voice. No bitterness leaks through your expression. Nothing about your reaction feels forced or emotional at all. Katsuki Bakugo has somehow become just another former classmate sitting at the table across from yours instead of the man you once shared a bed and apartment and entire future with. 

You used to tell each other that by the time you’re twenty-five you’d surprise your friends and old classmates by popping a kid out of the blue in one of these events. You used to laugh at the thought of him flaunting a baby bump on you, dreaming that you’d hide your engagement ring from everyone until it was the right time to announce you’d get married.

In another life, it may have been different.

Instead of that, you and him are forcibly strangers now; the realization settles, once again heavily in his stomach.

At least showing hatred towards him would mean he still mattered enough to ruin your evening.

This indifference feels like being erased entirely.

______________

The longer the night settles around the izakaya, the more Katsuki realizes he completely misjudged what this dinner was supposed to be.

Not some polished, high-class event packed with cameras and stiff hero society bullshit.

Just an izakaya. Despite how fancy it is.

A crowded, noisy, familiar little place tucked between glowing Musutafu storefronts where the tables are too close together and the air smells like grilled meat, fried oil, spilled beer, and cigarette smoke clinging faintly to old wood. Somebody in the back is laughing loud enough to echo over the music while waiters squeeze through narrow spaces carrying trays overloaded with skewers and drinks. Half the group’s jackets are already tossed carelessly everywhere.

Casual.

Comfortable.

The kind of place Class A used to practically live in after internships.

Which somehow makes this worse.

Because you fit into it too naturally even if you’ve missed the majority of it.

Time passes eerily as Katsuki watches from across the table while Mina complains dramatically about agency interns stealing her skincare products, and you laugh so easily at something dumb Kaminari says that for a split second it genuinely feels like no time has passed at all.

Except it has.

He notices it in tiny things.

You don’t interrupt people as much anymore. Back then you used to talk over everyone whenever you got excited, eyes bright and hands moving while you argued passionately about absolutely everything. Now you lean back when people speak, quieter in a way that feels more intentional than shy. You still smile the same, though. That part hits him unexpectedly hard.

Same slight squint around your eyes. Maybe a few subtle wrinkles now, that still manage to look good on you.

Same habit of hiding your laugh behind your drink or your hand sometimes.

It’s awful how quickly he notices all of it.

A waiter slides another round of drinks onto the table, glass clinking loudly against wood.

“Bakugo,” Sero grins from farther down the booth, already flushed pink from alcohol, “you’ve been weirdly quiet all night. You sick or somethin’?”

“I’m always quiet,” Katsuki answers flatly before taking a long sip of beer.

The table immediately erupts.

“That is literally not true,” Jirou snorts.

“Shut up! It is!”

“Me when I lie” Mina snorts.

“You used to start fights with strangers in restaurants,” Kaminari points out.

“Correction,” Kirishima says, grinning, “he used to start fights with strangers everywhere.”

“I remember that guy at karaoke—”

“He deserved it.”

“You didn’t even know him!”

Katsuki barely listens.

Because across the table, you’re smiling into your drink again, shoulders shaking slightly with quiet laughter while Mina nearly falls sideways into Ochaco from laughing too hard.

And you still won’t look at him.

Not really.

Your gaze passes over him occasionally in that absent, polite way people acknowledge furniture in crowded rooms, but nothing lingers. No awkwardness. No tension. No visible effort to avoid him either still, which somehow stings too much.

It’s like you already adjusted to his presence within the first five minutes of arriving.

Meanwhile he feels painfully aware of every movement you make.

The way your rings tap softly against your glass.

The faint crease between your brows whenever you listen closely to someone speaking.

The small scar near your wrist he remembers kissing once while you laid half-asleep across his chest.

His stomach twists hard enough to make him irritated with himself all over again.

This is fucking ridiculous.

“Bakugo.”

His head lifts automatically.

Momo’s looking at him from across the table. “Did you hear me?”

“No.”

“I said,” she repeats patiently, “Shoto wants everyone at his agency anniversary event next month too.”

“Absolutely not,” Katsuki answers immediately.

Kaminari groans. “Dude, you say no to everything.”

“Because everything sounds terrible.”

“See?” Mina points accusingly toward you. “This is why our sweetie over here escaped the country. We’re emotionally exhausting.”

The comment is obviously meant as a joke and the table laughs.

Even you smile.

But Katsuki feels the words land somewhere unpleasant anyway.

Before he can stop himself, his eyes flick toward you.

For the first time all night, you finally look directly back at him.

It lasts maybe two seconds!?

Three, max.

Then, when Kirishima opens his mouth it’s as if he can’t stop being a moron. Like he never could have guessed what the context of ‘time and place’ is. He points at you, then Katsuki.

“Remember when you guys sneaked out during the winter festival and everyone thought you were kidnapped?”

The entire table immediately erupts.

“Oh my god.”

“They were gone for HOURS—”

“Because SOMEONE turned their phones off,” Kaminari wheezes.

“You guys came back looking guilty as hell,” Mina accuses dramatically.

Katsuki feels his shoulders tense instantly. He sees you shrink into a timely creature in your seat.

Back then, you’d dragged him behind the gym building because you were freezing and irritated and insisted his body temperature was “unnaturally useful.” He remembers pinning you against the wall afterward just to shut you up after you laughed at how red his ears got.

He remembers kissing you until neither of you could breathe properly. 

The memory hits hard enough to feel physical. Youthful kisses, teenage love— he remembers how it felt when he kissed you first and when he had kissed you then. He remembers making out in your dorm late at night when he should’ve been resting his injuries after the war.

Around the table, everyone’s still laughing.

Except you.

You’ve gone still beside Mina, fingers tightening almost invisibly around your drink before you take another sip.

Then, calmly, casually—

“So,” you interrupt smoothly, turning toward Ochaco and Tsuyu instead, “how’s hero life treating you two?”

Clean cut. Effortless for anyone who can’t read behind your eyes.

The conversation immediately shifts away from the topic entirely.

Like you did it on purpose. Like the memory embarrasses you now.

Katsuki drops whatever sits at the top of his tongue like it stung too much to be spoken out loud. Like he was given a sound reminder that his words are always unnecessary.

___________

Everyone eventually becomes too careless despite the fragility of the situation.

Alcohol warms the tables steadily, loosening voices and posture until conversations start overlapping loudly across the cramped izakaya booth. Kaminari is practically hanging halfway over Sero now while arguing about hero rankings nobody else cares about, and Kirishima’s laugh keeps booming loudly enough to earn irritated glances from nearby tables. Even more empty beer glasses crowd together beside greasy plates streaked with sauce while waiters weave expertly through the narrow aisles carrying fresh rounds of skewers and drinks.

Normally Katsuki would be right in the middle of it all.

Tonight he barely said a word, even if he found himself at your table for some reason.

Because every single time the conversation drifts naturally toward old memories involving the two of you, you choose to redirect it before it can fully land.

Always subtle enough most people probably don’t notice.

But he notices.

Every single time.

When Mina starts retelling the beach trip where the two of you once again disappeared from the bonfire for over an hour, you smoothly interrupt to ask Jirou about her latest music project overseas. When Kirishima almost brings up the apartment you used to share in the heart of the city, you casually wave down the waiter and ask if anyone wants another round of drinks before he can finish the sentence.

And the worst part is how effortless you make it look.

You aren’t visibly uncomfortable. You aren’t tense or bitter or awkward every time his name comes up paired with yours. You navigate around him cleanly, naturally, like you’ve already spent years learning exactly how to exist comfortably in spaces where even if Katsuki Bakugo is present, he can simply be erased.

The notion starts irritating him more with every passing minute. It sits tighter beneath his ribs by the second. Makes his heart beat in fragile, irregular beats.

A doctor had once told him to keep track of arhythmic beats like this. 

Tonight he does not. But usually, he does.

Across the table, you tilt your head back slightly while laughing at something Ochaco says, fingers still loosely wrapped around your glass. The soft amber lighting from the hanging lanterns catches against your face warmly enough that Katsuki immediately looks away afterward, jaw tightening hard.

Then your phone lights up beside your plate.

His eyes catch it automatically, assumption quick to replace every spec of vermilion in his irises.

A name flashes briefly across the screen before you casually turn the phone face down against the table.

It’s a nickname paired with a heart.

It could be a friend, but for that he’s unconvinced.

Something twists violently low in Katsuki’s stomach.

Immediate. Sharp enough to genuinely piss him off.

Three years.

Obviously there’s somebody else now.

What the hell did he expect? That you spent years overseas grieving a relationship that ended with both of you saying things cruel enough to permanently carve into each other?

His fingers curl tighter around his beer glass.

Mina notices instantly.

Her eyes flick carefully between him and you before she awkwardly clears her throat. “Okay, wow,” she says carefully, trying to laugh through the tension, “this table energy’s getting kinda weird.”

“Only because your face gets louder every time you drink,” Jirou answers dryly without looking up from her glass.

“No, seriously,” Mina insists now, glancing more cautiously toward Katsuki. “Everybody’s acting strange.”

“Nobody’s acting strange,” you answer calmly before finally looking directly at Katsuki for the second time all night.

And somehow that feels worse.

You really are fine. Not pretending. Not secretly emotional underneath the surface. Fi—ne. Almost too cold.

You are completely, genuinely fine sitting across from him after three years apart.

Something reckless rises inside his chest almost immediately.

“You got somethin’ to say?” Katsuki asks suddenly, attention fully turned to you. “Then say it to my face.”

For once, he manages to keep your eyes in his.

The table quiets.

Not completely, but enough that nearby conversations and clinking glasses start bleeding awkwardly into the silence between your group.

Your brows pull together faintly before rising. “What?”

“You’ve barely looked at me all night.”

“Why would I?”

When you respond, Kirishima visibly winces beside him.

“Bakugo,” he mutters quietly under his breath.

An effort for calmness that pays out fruitless soil. Katsuki barely hears him now that the irritation’s already pushing its way out.

“No, seriously,” he continues, eyes locked onto yours. “What’s the deal?”

The atmosphere around the table shifts immediately.

Mina looks horrified. Izuku suddenly looks like he wants the floor to physically open beneath him—he hasn’t said anything about you up till now. Not on the phone, not in the car when Katsuki snapped like broken glass at every single thing. He didn’t even say anything about you when Katsuki told him that if he treats everyone like they’re special, then no one really is special to him. (When does Katsuki ever get so emotional?)

Even Kaminari goes quiet for once.

You stare at Katsuki from across the table for a long moment, expression unreadable beneath the warm restaurant lighting. Then you blink slowly before setting your drink down carefully against the table.

“…There’s no deal. You made sure of that.”

The calmness in your voice instantly makes his irritation worse.

“You’ve been ignoring me all night.”

“No,” you answer evenly, “I’ve been talking to everyone.”

“Except me.”

The silence afterward settles heavily between you both.

Around the table, nobody moves. The noise of the izakaya suddenly feels distant compared to the pressure building in the booth. You lean back slightly in your seat, eyes finally holding his properly instead of sliding politely past him like earlier.

“What exactly are you expecting from me here, Katsuki?”

The question catches him off guard immediately.

Not because of the words but because of the exhaustion in your tone that has completely replaced anger.

“I dunno,” he answers flatly, defensive before he can stop himself. “Basic acknowledgement maybe.”

You stare at him another second before letting out a small breath through your nose. Not dramatic. Not emotional. Just tired.

“I said hi when you walked in.”

“No,” Katsuki says immediately, “you said hi to Eijiro.”

Kaminari audibly mutters “oh my god, bets. Bets now!” under his breath before Mina immediately kicks him hard beneath the table.

Your fingers tap once lightly against your glass before stilling again completely.

Then, finally, something shifts in your expression.

And it’s not sadness.

Just plain right resignation. Like you’ve already given up.

“You want honesty?” you ask quietly.

Something inside Katsuki’s chest tightens instinctively.

Because now everybody at the table is looking literally anywhere except the two of you. Kirishima suddenly becomes very interested in his drink. Ochaco stares fixedly at the condensation sliding down her glass. Even Sero awkwardly clears his throat under his breath.

“Fuck yeah, stop playing games.”

You hold Katsuki’s gaze the entire time when you speak again.

“I ain’t got shit to say to you in front of everyone.” You say, bluntly, “but since you say we don’t have to play games, I didn’t ignore you because I hate you,” you continue. “I ignored you because every single time I look at you, I remember the last conversation we had.”

The words land directly against his sternum. Heavy. Sharp like a swirly blade and enough that for a second he genuinely forgets how to respond.

The memory crashes back immediately whether he wants it to or not.

Rain hammering against pavement outside the apartment.

You crying so hard your voice kept shaking despite how badly you tried hiding it.

Him saying things he knew would hurt before they even left his mouth.

You standing there afterward like he’d physically reached inside your chest and twisted something apart with his bare hands.

“I wish I never met you.”

Katsuki remembers that part perfectly.

Worse, he remembers exactly what he said right before to make you say it. Something cruel. Something calculated. Something along the lines of “you’re lying to yourself when you say you love me.”

Because back then hurting each other always came easier than admitting how badly neither of you wanted things to end.

Across the table, your expression remains composed, but now he notices the strain sitting carefully beneath it. The effort it’s taking you to stay this calm. To keep your voice level instead of letting old wounds split open in front of everyone.

“I’m not trying to make tonight uncomfortable,” you continue more quietly now. “I came because I’m back in Japan and I missed everyone. That’s all.”

Everyone.

But not specifically him.

The distinction settles ugly and heavy enough inside his chest that he and everyone else in this room are short of words

The atmosphere around the table changes only when the emergency hero alert rings on everyone’s phones.

Around you, everybody moves at once.

Years of training erase the awkwardness almost instantly. Drinks abandoned. Jackets pulled on. Conversations cut short mid-sentence while tables scrape across wood flooring. The emotional wreckage sitting between you and Katsuki gets shoved violently aside beneath instinct and urgency.

You stand automatically too.

And for one humiliating second, relief floods through you so fast it almost makes your knees weak. Because now you don’t have to stay sitting across from him anymore.

You don’t have to survive whatever expression is currently sitting on Katsuki’s face after what you just said.

You don’t have to keep pretending your heart isn’t beating so hard it physically hurts.

The group spills out into the cold Musutafu night in a rush of noise and movement. Sirens already echo faintly somewhere ahead, reflecting red against rain-slick pavement while civilians stop to stare at the sudden crowd of pro heroes flooding onto the sidewalk.

You breathe in sharply the second cold air hits your lungs.

It helps. Barely. Your hands still feel shaky and so fucking stupid..

Because the worst part—the genuinely humiliating part—is that none of what you said was a lie.

You did ignore Katsuki because looking at him hurts.

But not in the way everyone at that table probably assumed. Everyone, including him, thinks it’s because you stopped loving him.

And honestly that—would’ve been easier.

The problem is, that standing across from Katsuki after three years still feels dangerously close to standing too near an open flame. Like one wrong moment of weakness could drag you straight back into him before you remember all the reasons you left in the first place.

And God—you wanted to.

That’s the pathetic part.

The second he walked into the restaurant tonight, broad shoulders filling the doorway, looking so pretty even if all the boyish charm had abandoned his face for good, while his eyes immediately found yours across the room, something inside your chest reacted so violently you almost forgot how to breathe.

Three years.

Three whole fucking years.

And your body still recognized him instantly.

You hated that.

Hated how good he looked. Hated how familiar his voice sounded. Hated that even now, after everything, some traitorous part of you still wanted to walk straight across the room and touch him just to prove he was real. Kiss him so you at least be able to go back to your friends overseas and let them know you got the kiss of closure you’ve been wanting so desperately. 

But you knew better now.

You had to know better now.

Because loving Katsuki always felt like standing too close to an explosion and convincing yourself the heat wasn’t burning you alive.

You pull your hair back quickly while jogging after the others down the crowded sidewalk, the heels of your boots striking wet pavement hard enough to ground you back into the present. Neon signs blur overhead while people move aside hurriedly at the sight of pro heroes rushing past.

Beside you, Ochaco glances over briefly.

“You okay?”

The question is gentle enough to make your throat tighten unexpectedly.

“Yeah,” you answer immediately.

Too quickly.

Ochaco’s expression softens in that awful way people look at wounded animals they aren’t sure how to help. That facade that all heroes put on when they’re helping a missing child find their mommy.

You look away to let her go before she can say anything else.

Ahead of the group, Katsuki is already moving faster than everyone else, irritation practically radiating off him in waves while sparks crackle faintly against his palms. The familiar sight hits somewhere deep in your chest with painful precision.

God.

There he is— Still carrying himself like the entire world personally offended him for existing.

And somehow you still love him enough it makes you feel sick.

You wonder briefly if he knows.

If he’s always known and if so, why he’s denying it.

Maybe that’s what made the breakup so unbearable in the first place. Katsuki understood exactly how much power he had over you, and every time he got scared of needing someone that badly in return, he lashed out before you could hurt him first.

________

The robbery cleanup drags longer than expected.

Statements. Damage reports. Civilians needing reassurance. Media helicopters circling overhead long enough to become irritating background noise.

By the time everything finally settles, the sky above Musutafu has turned that heavy shade of black and blue. The streets are quieter now, washed silver beneath streetlights while exhausted civilians slowly reclaim the sidewalks. Neon signs remain glowing in the background of it all.

Katsuki feels wrung out.

Not physically, though. Physically he’s fine. His heart, at least, has finally stopped palpitating. It’s everything else which isn’t his heart that's clawing at the inside of his chest that’s making him tired.

After an agonizing thirty minutes of broken communications on splitting the bill with everyone else, he gets dragged into easy conversation.

“Alright, alright,” Kaminari groans dramatically while stretching his arms over his head. “I’m officially declaring tonight cursed.”

“You declare everything cursed,” Mina replies instantly.

“Because everything is cursed.”

Kirishima snorts beside them while Izuku adjusts the strap of his gauntlets. “At least nobody got seriously hurt.”

“Yeah,” Katsuki mutters distractedly, digging his car keys from his pocket.

His mind hasn’t stopped replaying the familiar sound of your voice through your conversation for the past twenty minutes. The kind of familiar that dug straight under his skin and stayed there.

Katsuki hates how much those words affected him. Hates that part of him wanted to turn around and ask what the hell that tone meant after everything that’s happened between you before leaving for his hero duties.

Instead, he shoved it down where everything else goes. The pit of his dropping stomach.

The group behind him, after enthusiastically rejoicing and pleading for even a sight of his car, reaches the parking structure entrance together with him, footsteps echoing faintly through the concrete levels while fluorescent lights buzz overhead. Mina’s still talking about how good the food was. Kirishima’s half-listening while Denki complains loudly about tomorrow’s paperwork.

Normal. Everything feels painfully normal again.

Izuku has already left to chase after Ochaco. Katsuki gets to go home with one less friend to lash out on and half a heart.

“Later, man,” Kirishima says to a far away Izuku raising a hand.

Katsuki barely listens while waving him off with a lazy flick of his hand.

Then he sees you. And every thought in his head immediately cuts clean in half.

You’re standing beside his car. leaning against it casually. Not waiting in some cinematic pose.

Just there.

Hands tucked into the pockets of your jacket while cool garage lighting spills softly across your face. You look tired now. More tired than you did at dinner. Hair slightly messy. Faint smudges of eyeliner still near the corners of your eyes.

Real. That’s the first thing that hits him. Just you. Waiting for him.

Kirishima notices you first from the whole group.

“Oh, hi.”

Mina stops talking.

Denki’s eyes widen slightly before darting rapidly between both of you like he accidentally walked into live explosives.

Katsuki’s pulse kicks hard once against his ribs and his neck.

You look at him quietly before speaking.

“…Can we talk?”

Simple words. Calm voice. And somehow they hit harder than that joke of an argument earlier.