mia

if anyone were to describe your relationship in one word, it would be perfect. utterly perfect.

you always knew perfect was a fragile thing, but it felt so good being perceived as such.

you liked being loved loudly because it meant you didn’t have to ask for the one thing you so desperately wanted. with shoko, you tried to be better with this unhealthy world view, but in your heart, you knew love was something you could earn by behaving well.

and you were always on your best behaviour with shoko.

you were constantly bettering yourself for her, always making sure things between you two stay sweet. you never questioned whether she would hurt you or not, because after all, you two were perfect.

so imagine everyone’s surprise when they hear through whispered rumours that there’s trouble in paradise…

~

you are, for lack of better words, shitfaced.

tonight marked the night of finals coming to an end, something you’d desperately wanted to celebrate with your friends. preferably your girlfriend as well, but she opted to stay home despite your insistent pouting.

“pleaseee, baby, it’ll be so much fun! we haven’t been to a party in, like, ages!” you’d whined that morning in the shower, cradling her face in your palms as she rubbed soap over your naked body.

“you go, sweetheart. i wanna relax tonight, maybe watch yellowjackets or something. i’ll be okay,” she’d replied, pinching the fat of your slippery hip teasingly.

“you promise?”

“i pinky promise.”

so yeah. you’d gone to geto’s frat for an end-of-semester bash, had a blast, and now you were ready to come home to your lover.

very much in the mood, might you add. you were always a very touchy, very horny drunk.

you stumble through the wooden door of yours and shoko’s apartment after being dropped off by yuki (bless her soul, always the dd), hopping on one foot as you drunkenly fiddle with the criminally small buckle on your heel. once it’s unfastened, you slip it off and laugh as it tumbles down. the stiletto lands in the foot hole of shoko’s grey converse.

your scrambled mind thinks it’s the funniest shit on the planet. something of yours poking into something of hers.

even when you were off your face, you could make almost anything about strapping her. god, you were down bad for this woman.

“shooo, are you—hic—awake?” you call out, swaying from side to side as you giggle your way down the hall and into the lounge.

you peek your little head around the corner into the room and see your pretty girl sitting quietly.

she isn’t watching anything on tv or scrolling on her phone, no. she’s sitting back against the cushions with one leg crossed, her slender elbow hooked over the armrest, and a cigarette lit between her fingers.

her fingers… you wanted her fingers.

you smile so wide you’re scared your cheeks might split. the way she could so effortlessly draw you in by doing literally nothing seriously needed to be studied.

“heyy, sho?” you repeat, prancing over to the couch and plopping down beside her. you’re so happy she’s not asleep, that she’s here and with you, not in bed.

as she feels the couch dip, she hums in response. although it’s barely a sound. her cigarette lifts to her lips, then lowers.

you grin anyway and shuffle over, your body all heavy and loose. you turn and stretch out without asking, your cheek settling into her lap lovingly like you’d always done.

but, surprisingly, her hand doesn’t move to sift through your hair.

somewhere in your dizzy head, that registers as weird, but you choose to ignore it.

“why’re you up so late?” the words slur out despite trying to sound sober in front of her. you flush a deep pink in embarrassment and tip your face away.

“couldn’t sleep,” she mutters, taking another drag of her cigarette.

okay, you were used to your girlfriend being all mysterious and hot, but this seemed more like mysterious and upset.

“th’ party was dumb,” you mumble, trying to get something else out of her. “too many people. too loud. kept thinking about you the whole time.”

complete and utter silence.

oh.

you lift your head from her lap. “sho?” you ask quietly, your voice stripped bare of the slur from before. “you okay?”

she lets the smoke from her lungs slip from her nostrils, blowing it toward the open window beside the couch.

“m’ fine.” she takes another huff, then taps the smoky ash into a tray.

you sit up properly, folding your legs beneath you and turning to face her. you feel like you’re sitting where you shouldn’t be. her eyes don’t feel as kind or welcoming as usual.

“you don’t look fine,” you whisper under your breath, trying to keep that gentleness about you so she didn’t feel any sort of combative energy from you. “did something happen, baby?”

you see the last flick of light die from her eyes as she turns to look at you. “i dunno… just thought you’d be home earlier,” she murmurs flatly. “guess you were having a little too much fun,” she says with mock resolution, then doubles down, “with gojo and geto.”

those tiny wrinkles pull in between your eyebrows as your face scrunches in confusion. “hmm?” you ask. “what’re you talking about?”

instead of answering, she reaches for her phone on the coffee table. dully, she unlocks it and holds the screen out toward you.

it’s a video.

upon closer inspection, you recognise it instantly. it’s a replay of gojo’s story you’d seen earlier, @/sstoru heading the frame as a shaky video plays, grainy but in an aesthetic kinda way.

it’s of him and geto, laughing and looking like they’re having the time of their lives.

and then there you are.

wedged tightly between the two of them, smiling like you always do when you’ve had a few too many. the three of your bodies are packed so close. the place was packed, and there wasn’t anywhere else to stand.

the clip restarts.

then again.

and again.

fuck. you knew how bad this looked.

“that’s not—” you start to explain, then stop. your still-tipsy mind isn’t really helping you form coherent thoughts right now, let alone words. you look at shoko, then back at the screen. “i promise, honey, that’s not what it looks like.”

she lifts an eyebrow, barely.

“yeah?” she says. “because it looks pretty straightforward to me.”

you lean in, pointing without touching the phone. “no, listen. utahime was with me! i was just trying to get past them, it was wall to wall in there n' they were blocking the way to the kitchen.”

her face stays stone-cold and judging. your heart cracks at the look on your otherwise nurturing girlfriend’s face.

you start to panic, your inebriated head hating the idea of making her more mad than she very clearly already was. “s-someone spilled a drink,” you add fast. “everyone almost slipped. that’s why we were laughing, and why everyone was so close. we were moving away from the spill.”

you weren’t lying. god, you’d never lie to her.

but the way you’d just described the situation wasn’t helping your case. you were terrified of making her more upset, your nervous overexplaining and rambling making you seem more and more guilty.

she locks her phone and drops it back onto the table.

“yeah, well… doesn’t look like that,” she sighs.

you don’t notice your fingers digging into the couch until your knuckles start to sting and cramp.

“you know i wouldn’t do that,” you counter. “i was with yuki most of the night. you can ask her, sho. ask anyone.”

“i’m sure,” shoko replies. “you usually are.”

oof. that one stung.

“what’s that meant to mean?”

she shifts then, turning toward you fully.

“you’re always with someone you know damn well wants more than to be friends with you. you’ve had a thing with yuki, for god’s sake.”

“that’s not fair,” you say right away. “you know how girls are with this stuff. that was four years ago, sho, and we weren’t even dating. you know i can’t help that.”

“you can help being around those two idiots, though.”

“they’re my friends,” you say. “they always have been.”

she scoffs quietly.

“friends who’ve tried to sleep with you,” she says. “more than once.”

“before we were together,” you snap back. “and i shut it down. every single time.”

“and they’re still into you,” she says. “that part didn’t magically disappear.”

the space between you feels wrong now, like there’s not enough room to move without scraping against a wall with fifty thousand needles poking out of it.

“that doesn’t mean anything, okay? i’m with you.”

“how do i know that? when you’re out at these things with tons of people who would gladly fuck you silly,” she says. “how do i know you’ll stay with me? when you’ve had too much to drink and your head’s not on straight, how do i know you’re with me? i know how you are with attention, [name].”

you get goosebumps. your body goes still as you sit there and stare at her in shock at what just came out of her mouth.

“the fuck?” you quiz. “what are you saying?”

she holds your gaze sternly. the cigarette is gone, burned down to nothing. she rubs her fingers together, ash smudging into the crevices of her fingerprints.

“i’m saying people don’t respect boundaries,” she says. “especially gojo and geto. they never have. how am i supposed to be okay with you out there with guys like them, giving you all the love and praise you could ever ask for?”

“so what,” you scoff. “i’m just some attention whore? some untrustworthy hoe who can’t help but give in to a little temptation? just a bimbo who’d cheat on my girlfriend because a few guys give me a little too much of their time?”

you can tell you hit a nerve because her pretty eyes turn wicked with offence.

“that’s not what i’m saying,” she replies. “i’m saying you’re young. you’re still new to this whole committed relationship thing. i—”

you cut her off with a short laugh, pure disbelief more than anything. “‘new to this’? we’ve been dating for two fucking years!” you’re at the stage of being pissed off where every word out of her mouth feels like poison, and she’s getting there too.

“i haven’t thought of anyone else since the day i met you, shoko,” you say. “sure, i’m not as ‘old and wise’ as you think you are, but that doesn’t mean i’m just some dumb kid with no morals.”

“then why do you keep ending up in situations like that? why stay out so late? why get that drunk to the point they’re getting bold enough to post you practically grinding on both of them?”

“because i didn’t think i had to monitor every move i make,” you fire back. “because i trusted you to trust me.”

“sorry i don’t want my girlfriend out there not only looking like she’s single, but getting laid claim to by some assholes who don’t respect our relationship.”

she pauses before continuing.

“really makes you look slutty, [name]. what aren’t you getting about that?” she says it like you’re a child, using that belittling tone of voice you absolutely hate.

it’s clear she’s looking down on you, not face to face like you should be in a relationship.

you’ve never felt so small and worthless in your entire life.

shoko had always radiated that older, cooler girlfriend energy, but it never made you feel insecure for being less than or inexperienced.

but now? it feels like she’s looking at you like gum on the bottom of her shoe, like you’re too ditzy to handle grown-up situations.

at the start of your relationship, you’d tried so hard to leave your old lifestyle behind for her. the constant drinking, the constant functions, the constant attention. for two whole years, you stayed away from it all just for her.

you thought you’d done a good job bettering yourself, but now it seems like all your work was for nothing because she still sees you as an insignificant worm who can’t do this relationship thing right.

if the one person you care about most can’t appreciate the way you changed, then what’s the point of changing at all?

if she wants to veiw you as some reckless child, you’ll show her reckless child, ten times as hard.

~

after that night there was no sort of apology. not a half-hearted one, nor a defensive one. not even a muttered sorry thrown at your back when she thinks you’re sound asleep. shoko stands by what she said, and you can tell because she never takes it back. ever. not even when you're very clearly on the edge of losing your mind.

you stop reaching out to her like you'd always done. you don’t cuddle up to her on the couch anymore. you don’t climb into her lap to attack her face with kisses, and you don’t absentmindedly play with her slender fingers while she smokes. when she talks, you listen, but it’s sort of surface-level listening. like, you're politely landing an ear as if she were a stranger, not the woman you used to build your whole day around.

you used to be so sweet, that's why you attracted so many. everyone saw you as a bubbly, affectionate, always touching, always laughing at everything kinda girl. after all, you were the person who dragged her out of her shell, who made her feel less alone in rooms full of eccentric people.

now you just look tired.. fed up, bored, even.

you answer her questions with shrugs. with “mhm.” with “i dunno.” you don’t pick any fights, but you don’t smooth things over either. when she gets quiet, you don’t rush in to fix it like normal. and when she looks at you like she wants some sort of reassurance, you give her absolutely nothing.

if she wants to treat you like a reckless kid, you’ll show her exactly what that looks like.

you start partying like you were in freshman again. almost every weekend you'd go over to yuki or utahime's to pregame before the sun could even get a chance to set. then, you'd rock up to whatever frat had a function that day.

you post more, and it's not couple pics. not soft candid shots of shoko reading or smoking by the window. it’s just you now. lots of mirror selfies, pretty, blurred videos of you dancing with your friends.

and you start getting absolutely pissfaced.

nine times out ten you're ending the night with your head in a toilet or a shoved in a bush, throwing your guts up of the copious amounts of alcohol you'd consumed.

it feels like spitting in the face of the version of yourself you worked so hard to become.

and it feels good.

one night you're really letting loose at a backyard mixer, skulling alcohol and grinding up on utahime for the gag while people laugh and egg you guys on.

from across the yard a few of the guys you used to party with before shoko are gossiping like high schoolers.

they don’t think you can hear them at first.

“isn't that a sight for sore eyes,” gojo says, nodding toward you. “either she and shoko finally broke up, or she’s going through something.”

sukuna follows gojo's gaze and snorts. “mm, miss when she used to be fun like this. even let me touch up on her last week.”

“shit,” toji chuckles, “she's acting like she wants someone to pick her up and drag her home.”

gojo grins. “mhm, not exactly single behaviour. maybe we should try our luck.”

sukuna’s eyes flick back to you. “if she’s not hitched anymore, i’d say she’s fair game.”

they all laugh and smack eachothers shoulders like the horrible testosterone filled assholes they are, and continued eye fucking you from afar.

you knew the kind of attention you got when you acted like this, but you really couldn't bring yourself to care.

this is what shoko thinks you are, right?

fine. let her be right.

you let strangers touch your tighter when you dance, letting their greedy hands rest on your hips as you rock back and forth to whatever pitbull music was bumping over the speakers. you don't shoo them off like you usually would or tell them to get a life when they blatantly flirted with you, you just smiled and gave them a wishy washy answer that could be taken either way.

you don’t sleep with anyone, of course. but not because you couldn’t, but because an evil part of you wants to see how far you can go without crossing that line, wants to see if shoko will crack first and admit that this is mostly her fault..

when you come home, it's always so, so late.

sometimes she’s asleep, sometimes she’s on the couch, cigarette burning down in the ashtray, her once full sparkling eyes suddenly looking far more hollow. you don’t argue anymore nor do you ask any reassuring questions about how she's going. you drop your bag, toe off your shoes, lean down and press a faint kiss to her cheek.

then you go to bed, and you pass out.

you used to nag her twenty four seven, lovingly and always with a sweet smile.

you used to tell her to cut back on smoking then tell her she’d feel better if she got some air, if she went out, if she didn’t shut herself away all the time. you’d drag her out to do everything and anything with you, got her out of that depressive negitive feedback loop, always told her she deserved more than four walls and a pack of cigarettes.

now there’s no one doing that.

now she smokes four times as much.

she stays in more and isolates harder. she feels like the ghost of the girl she was. she skips meals. sleeps weird hours. lets the sink fill up with dishes because you’re not there to tease her about it anymore.

and it eats her from the inside out.

because she knows this didn’t come from nowhere. she knows she pushed you. knows she said something she can’t ever take back. she watches you pull away day by day, watches you turn into a self destructive version of yourself she both hates and recognises as her own fault.

she starts getting sick.

headaches that don’t go away. chest tight with an intense, agonising worry. her hands shake with uncontrollable anxiety when she lights a cig. she checks her phone every three seconds, monitoring your location, your stories, your posts. every party makes her stomach churn and sink like she's swallowed a bomb and it was set to detonate any second. every skimpy outfit feels like a threat to whatever's left of your relationship.

is she safe?

is she drunk?

is she with someone else?

does she still love me?

those thoughts don’t ever shut the fuck up. not when she’s alone n' not when she’s trying to sleep. not even when you’re right there in bed turned away from her.

she wants to reach for you so badly it rips every valve of her heart from the base. all she needs to do is apologise, and god she wants to, but her pride keeps her quiet.

and fear.

because what if she does apologise, and you don’t come back anyway?

so she stays stuck in her own head, watching you destroy yourself. watching herself sink to rock bottom right alongside you. knowing deep down that this spiral, this agonising distance, this is on her.

and she’s paying for it with every sleepless night, every cigarette, every unanswered “are you home yet?” text that stays on delivered, not even read.

~

choso [4:45pm]: sho

choso [4:45pm]: there's a party on friday, can you come??

shoko [4:47pm]: don't really feel like it, sorry choso

choso [4:47pm]: pleasee

choso [4:47pm]: you haven't been out of the house in ages... it's not healthy.

choso [5:23pm]: shoko?

choso [5:38pm]: if you come i'll give you a pack of 50 for free?

shoko [5:39pm]: mkay

shoko [5:40pm]: do yk if y/n's going?

choso [5:41pm]: shouldn't you know that?

she rolls her eyes at that last message and throws her phone aside in bed.

yeah. she should know, but you weren't really speaking to her at the moment. around three weeks have passed and what used to be polite conversation had diminished and turned into full on ignoring on your part, you were being so childish. that's what she thought, at least.

she could hear the run of the water from the bathroom, you were showering like you'd always done on weekdays, only she used to be right in there with you... rubbing her hands over your soapy breasts, pinching the nipples under the excuse of, 'cleaning them properly'.

shower sex was right up there in the things she missed in her now dead relationship. even thinking about it was making her clit twitch with need, you hadn't fucked in far too long. her fingers late at night while you partied weren't cutting it, she needed you grinding down on her, short of breath and kissing her neck in between gasps while your rode out your orgasm.

when the water turns off, the wetness in her panties dries from fear of being caught awake and feeling. she turns to her side under the sheets and takes a deep breath, shutting her eyes as if she were never there for you to ignore in the first place.

she bites her lip as the bed dips. you smell delicious, you feel warm and soft even from the distance you'd put between yourselves. you were so incredibly tempting, but she knew she didn't deserve it. not when she couldn't even muster up the courage to admit she was wrong, better yet apologise.

"sho, you awake?" she almost choked when she hears you mutter that softly into the air.

"yes." she manages to breath out.

"i.. good night."

"good night."

no, no! what were you gonna say? what were you thinking?! she wanted to know —fuck that— needed to know.

"y/n, i—"

"go to sleep, shoko."

...

"kay."

~

that party seemed to crash up on her faster than she'd anticipated, because now shoko was sitting lazily in a busted up lawn chair next to choso, smoking her lungs away from the pack he'd tossed her when she first arrived.

parties are supposed to be fun, that's what you were always making them out to be, so why the fuck did the pit in her stomach decide to open up and swallow her whole as soon as she sat down?

her anxiety was through the roof, but surprisingly it wasn't because of the people. she just couldn't spot you, anywhere.

when she got here, her first instinct was to try and pick you from the crowd like a good girlfriend would do. but you were no where.

the two of you didn't talk about this function, didn't see one another leave in seperate cars, or debrief about any sort of meet up during said function like any regular couple would do.

so she's left there with this dork choso, looking out onto the massive lawn like a loser, sifting through heads of hair like a gold panner.

after about an hour of worry warting and sipping her drink, she finally spots a silhouette that looks all too familiar playing beer pong about ten meters away.

she watches as you laugh and sink ever cup you try for, you were always so good at everything you did.

you finish the game with an overly dramatic flourish, slamming the last cup back and throwing your arms up. people crowd in around you, patting your back, shouting and laughing.

you feel free and young.

this is what you wanted her to see.

that you’re not delicate. that you’re not some kid she needs to manage or protect or lecture. that you can be loud and messy and wanted without her approval.

your eyes flick over the crowd, and for half a second, you see her sitting there watching.

your smile inflates, good.

you turn away almost immediately, letting yuki pull you toward the pulsating music again. you dance up against her and utahime with your back arching and your hands in the air.

choso peers over at his stressed out friend and decides to poke the bear.

"doesn't seem like you had much to worry about, she looks... normal."

this makes her sigh, because yeah, you weren't really doing anything she needed to be fretting over. just playing games with your friends, looking semi-coherent, and dancing away. everything was fine.

until it wasn't.

until half an hour goes by and she sees you down, not even kidding, around four drinks. one after the other.

she's jaw dropped, she hadn't seen you knock em' back like this since before you promised her you'd stop being so dependant on the stuff. before all of this messy bullshit.

"she's really throwing them down." choso mutters.

"choso, shut up." shoko was getting very antsy.

she gets worse when she sees a certain beefed up, green haired, pierced monster stalking his way towards you.

he slides in besides you smoothly and drags those gross yellow eyes all over your body. he's big, like, really big. it makes shoko a bit insecure seeing his hulking muscle and the way he absolutely dwarfs you in height.

you seem to be entertaining him, naoya, smiling sweetly as he leans down to talk.

“been a while,” he says, moving in just enough to be heard over the music.

you laugh, a little breathless, and nod. “yeah? feels like i saw you just yesterday at one of these things.”

his gaze dips down to your chest, then comes back up slowly. “well, don't you look good.”

you tilt your head, pretending to think about it. “i know.”

from across the yard, shoko's gone completely still.

she watches him move his body closer, watches him flex his arms without even pretending not to. she chose as his hands look like they're about to shoot out and grab you. that's fucking naoya, the guy who's known for quite literally being the worst, most misogynistic man there was. she knew you didn't know that, after all, you were two grades below her and naoya, but it made her go white.

her cigarette drops from her lips down into her palm, then into the grass, completely forgotten. her teeth latch onto her tongue and press down hard enough to draw blood.

this is what she was afraid of. not because she doesn’t trust you (contrary to popular belief (well, your belief.)), but because she knows how men, especially men like him, look at you. how quickly they decide you’re theirs to touch.

naoya laughs at something you say, loud and cocky, then he reaches out.

his fingers close around your arm.

that’s it.

shoko is on her feet before she’s fully aware she’s moved.

she doesn’t think nor does she weigh out the consequences. she cuts through the crowd with purpose and her chocolate eyes locked on you.

her hand closes around your other wrist and you don't realise until she's pulling you away from the towering man.

“hey—” you chirp, a laugh still slipping around on your tongue. she's unrelenting.

“sho, what the fuck—” you try again, but your words trip over themselves, drunk and confused and suddenly very aware of the way everyone is staring at you and your girlfriend.

she's got you dragged behind her as she squishes inside, then straight up the grand stairway into a quiet room, it looked like it belonged to nanami.

"hey, the hell r' you—"

"what the hell do you think you're doing?!"

oh.

she was yelling... at you... had you ever heard her yell before?

"do you know how—" she looks away from you with her forehead in her palm. "—jesus fucking christ— do you think? ever?! what the fuck do you think you're doing with that guy? you know he's literally known for assaulting girls!" she snaps.

you're still a little buzzed, so you shake your head and try to explain, "he's just friendly... yr' just j—hic—jealous."

"jealous? you think me being worried about my girlfriend getting potentially assaulted is jealousy?"

"i think you're pent up and need to chill the fuck—"

"y/n."

you pause. "...shoko?"

"i'm sorry."

...

"what?"

she wipers a hand down her face before looking you straight in the eye, elaborating.

"i know this is my fault, baby. i know..." she's backed up and sat down on nanami's bed, the room is perfectly dim for such a conversation. she turns her head towards the opens window, then takes a breath and continues.

“i fucked up,” she sighs.

you stare at her.

your head is still swimming, alcohol sitting heavy behind your eyes, but that cuts through it clean. the words land wrong because they’re right, and because you’ve been waiting for them far longer than you want to admit.

“you don’t just get to say that now,” you mutter, your arms folding. “not after weeks of acting like i deserved that shit.”

her eyes fall to the floor, “i know.” another deep sigh. “i kept telling myself i was protecting you, or that i was being realistic. but really, i was just scared, and i took it out on you because it was easier than admitting that.”

you scoff. “you called me slutty, shoko.”

her face crumples at that distasteful memory.

“i know,” she repeats, voice cracking now. “and i hate myself for it. i said it because i wanted to hurt you. because i felt small, and instead of dealing with that, i tried to make you smaller too.”

that stings worse than the insult did.

you turn away, pacing the edge of the room like a caged animal. nanami’s shelves blur past you. the open window lets in cold air that smells like smoke and dew.

“do you have any idea what that did to me?” you ask, not looking at her. “i spent two years trying to be better for you. trying to be enough. and then you made it sound like i was just pretending the whole time.”

she stands like she’s afraid you’ll bolt.

“i never thought you were pretending,” she says. “i thought you were slipping away from me. and instead of telling you i was scared, i tried to control you.”

you laugh under your breath. “congrats. worked great.”

“i know.” she rubs her face with both hands. “and watching you lately… it’s been screwing with me. every party, every post. i kept thinking you were punishing me.”

you stop and turn back to her. “i was,” you say. just say it. “i wanted you to see what you thought of me. i wanted you to hurt.”

she nods again, bubbly tears sticking to her messy mascara now. “i deserve that.”

“no,” you snap, then push a hand through your roots. “you didn't. i went overboard, i know that, sho... i just... i just wanted you to admit you were wrong.”

she rakes her eyes from your head to toe, squeezing her eyes shut letting the built up tears flow down.

“i missed you,” she chokes. “even when you were right there in front of me. god, especially then.”

“you think i didn’t miss you?” you shoot back. “i came home every night hoping you’d say something. anything. and you’d just sit there like you were waiting for me to finish ruining myself.”

her shoulders curve into herself. “i was scared if i spoke, you’d leave.”

“so instead you let me spiral?”

“i didn’t know how to stop it,” she admits. “and i didn’t think i deserved to.”

that takes the wind out of you.

you sink down onto the edge of the bed exhausted. the fight in you drains out.

“i was wrong,” she says softly. “about you. about trusting you. about everything i said that night... it was so fucked up, baby, i—"

you swallow. “—i was wrong too. for trying to make you jealous instead of just telling you i was hurting."

she huffs out a pretty laugh. jesus, you missed that laugh. “we’re a mess.”

“yeah,” you reply. “i guess.”

her hand hovers between you for a second before she lets it fall back to her lap. “can i… can i touch you?”

you nod, then her delicate fingers brush over yours slowly, and when you don’t pull away, she curls them around your hand, tight and achingly missed.

“i missed this,” she admits.

“me too,” you reply. your voice goes soft despite yourself. “i missed you. not the girl who was kinda being a jerk, but yeah, you.”

she squeezes your hand and laughs gently again. “i'm gonna try my best to be better, honey, trust me. i can't fucking deal with you not being right next to me."

you look at her, eyes glassy, makeup probably smeared, pride stripped bare.

“so will i,” you say. “but i need you to stop seeing me as something you have to nit pick.”

you lean into her then with your forehead pressing into her slender shoulder. she wraps an arm around you tenderly and nuzzles your neck.

“i missed you so much” you whisper. that girl who liked to be dependant on your lovely girl was creeping back up on you, you felt all gooey, like you needed to be cradled and fussed over after weeks of neglect.

“i know,” she says, voice breaking. “i know.”

deep down you both know this doesn't completely solve things, there’s still a lot of emotional damage to deal with, still some habits to unlearn (again), still trust to rebuild.

but this was a start, a start to healing the love between you and the girl you'd admired most in this world.

"love you, sho."

"i love you more."

you both spend an hours just sitting in the company of one another, talking and sharing your emotions fully and completely. you converse deeper than you ever had before as she twirls your middle finger with hers. the motion is so familiar. you begin to mourn the loss of her, of her fingers... of the way only she could make you feel.

"shoko, can we go home? i... i want to be with you."

she seems to understand your whiny little plea immediately, she tilts your head to look up at her. "horny even now, huh? what a desperate thing you are."

~

now, after driving you home and missing you sensless the moment you'd walked through he the door, she's got you pinned to the bed you'd previously spent weeks not touching eachother in.

“shoko,” you choke out, your voice is already so fucked out from the kissing she jsut laughs. she tilts her head, watching you like she’s both amused and sadistically obsessed. “please, god,i need you.”

“need what, hm?” she teases, the bow of her lip disappearing as her smile grows.

“you,” you whisper, and the little quiver in your tone satisfies her greatly.

her hand teases your with small squeezes moving across your skin in ways that make your heart smack against your rib cage embarrassingly fast. “here?” she asks, with hers hand pressed into the plush of your thigh. you shake your head, breath catching, and she adjusts, placing it at the lowest part of your tummy, pressing down making you moan softly.

“closer,” you choke, and her finally slip down under your soaked panties and find their rhythm pumping slowing in and out of your cunt. she watches your face contort and churn together in pleasure, obsessing over the adorable way your eyes flutter before your irises roll back.

“tell me,” she whispers. “how much do you want me, sweetheart?"

“so much,” you whine, hiding your face in her shoulder so sweetly. she hums softly as her hands start pulling you closer. this makes her pick up the pace, plunging deeper and deeper with each pull from your throat.

“just me, right?” she smirks. “no one else?”

“only you,” you breathe, she presses a soft kiss to your temple, letting you melt against her.

the way she's finger fucking you is addicting, the moans spilling from your throat are otherworldly. every curl of her fingers has the pads hitting your sweet spot over and over again, abusing the poor nerve until tears flow down your cheeks while you chant, "shoko—shoko—shoko—!"

she coo's maniacally and shoves her lips against yours to catch the way her name tastes on your tongue.

every sigh, every tremble, every breath between kisses makes her embarrassingly wet, but she'd rather tend to you than ever put herself first.

“good girl,” she teases, drawing you closer and closer to your climax.

“you're mine,” she whispers, pressing another kiss to your lips, letting her free fingers toy with your hardened nipples.

you moan in ecstasy, finally letting go as she rubs you just the right way.

“always,” you manage to spit out after your collapse.

she cradles you in her arms as you go limp, “easy,” she smiles. the teasing glint in her tone had completely vanished replaced by her nurturing voice.

she reaches into the drawer grabbing out the wet wipes you kept handy. she washes you off briefly, then helps you get comfortable. tugging the blankets up and tucking them around you tenderly. her thumb wipes at your cheek, careful and apologetic.

“i’ve got you,”

she pushes a kiss into your hair, then another, then rests her chin there. “i missed you, baby,” she admits in the quiet.

"me too, shoko."

You have a little crush on the lead guitarist of Käisen, Choso Kamo, and as it turns out, he (and another band mate?) is pretty intrigued by you too.

tw: lowk man-eater reader, rockstar x normie, fem reader, slow build, smut, suggestive content with other jjk characters, suggestive of fmm threesome, size difference, protective/possessive Choso, spit/drool, hair pulling, marking, scratching, to be continued???

‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹

You never believed in love at first sight, or any of that fantastical bullshit, but as soon as you laid eyes on Choso Kamo, you knew you wanted him.

And it wasn’t some fairytale story that went along the lines of “As soon as our eyes met, I knew he was my forever~.”

No, it was far more primal than that.

As soon as you stared, frozen like a statue in the hot, churning crowd of the pit, as the tendons and muscles in his hands and forearms shifted and worked to play the guitar, you knew you wanted to fuck him.

You always hated the idea of being a groupie, though you were somewhat of a fangirl over a whole lot of things. You despised the idea of falling all over yourself for some man; no matter how hot, or talented, that man was.

All of that was out the window when the red lights hit him, head tipped back as if there was no greater pleasure for him than playing that guitar, sweat glistening on his perfectly chiseled chest peering through a partly unbuttoned black satin top. You scanned the smudged black eyeliner smeared down his high cheek bones as his head fell forward, with one black stripe painted across the bridge of his nose. His pitch-black hair was tied out of his face in two high, spikey pigtails, something you wouldn’t normally be attracted to, but it fit his angular features perfectly.

Choso Kamo was the most beautiful man you had ever laid eyes on. Achingly fucking gorgeous.

You snapped out of your trance as someone’s elbow stabbed into your ribs, reminding you that you were at a concert, standing stiff like some kind of weirdo. You shook your head for a moment before lifting your arms up, feeling the music again, letting it move your body. Your hips swerved and churned to the beat, and you allowed yourself to become completely lost in that instead.

That’s what you had paid for, too. Music was far better than any man ever was, right?

Instruments thumped through the speakers so loud the sounds vibrated your lungs, the crowd moving and screaming in reaction to the show. You had gotten super lucky, scoring last minute price-dropped tickets to the grungy band, Käisen. They had originated in Japan, but completely blew up in the states, not only for their edgy, angsty music, but their style, talent, and extremely hot members.

Suguru Geto played bass, with an almost ethereal and feline beauty to him, and was the most private and mysterious. Even the most obsessive fans had no idea about who he truly was outside of performances and interviews, and that only added to his allure.

Ryomen Sukuna was their drummer, certified bad boy. He was huge, covered in tattoos, and you were pretty sure half the United States’ female inhabitants owned a poster of his mugshot.

Satoru Gojo was their star, the golden boy, his stark white hair and electric blue eyes making him their perfect fit for a lead singer. He was charming and graced half the magazines and billboards from New York to Los Angeles.

And then there was their lead guitarist, Choso Kamo, their emo boy. Quiet, broody, uninterested. You despised the way that he had piqued your interest a year ago when you finally had been put on to Käisen. You never allowed yourself to get too deeply caught up in it all, too prideful to do the posters or the phone backgrounds or the internet sleuthing on social media and reddit. Not too much of it, anyway.

But being there in front of him, seeing him, being just a few yards away from him had completely knocked the air out of you.

Now those dark, low-lidded eyes were staring directly at you.

Your heart crawled up your throat, driving your eyes away from him. But something rose in you to think better of it. Fuck it.

You locked gazes with him as you moved, refusing to back down from him. He was just a man.

His hands skillfully played the riff, but he never looked away from you once, shamelessly watching your movements over the crowd of people. You swore you saw the corner of his mouth tick upward.

It was almost like some sort of small competition, some private ritual; maybe you were alone in thinking of it that way, caught up in the heat of it all, but with his energy during his big performance, you couldn't help but feel the silent communication between your bodies.

Did he feel it too?

His solo came, and he played with everything he had, sweat now shining slick on every bulging muscle. His shirt had gotten ripped open, chest bare with his studded belt, leather pants, and boots. Choso dropped to his knees on stage at the peak of the solo, and the crowd screamed and broke into chaos, random items like flowers and bras flying on to the stage.

Then the big lights came back on, and it was over, just like that. The crowd cheered and stirred, some attendees breaking for the exits and merch stands to beat the rush, other staying put for the guitar picks and drumsticks bound to be thrown, desperate for a single piece of memorial from the night, from one of the Käisen members.

Even as it all wrapped up, Choso Kamo's eyes stayed on you the entire time, pinning you in place.

When he finally tucked himself behind the curtain with the rest of his bandmates, you shook yourself out of your haze for the second time. Who did you think you were? He was a rockstar that didn't know your name and would eye-fuck some other chick at the next gig he played.

You gathered up your things, along with your dignity, and turned to make your way out of the venue. You had almost gotten away, when a voice yelling over the crowd caused you to falter and look back.

"Hey, you, miss! Excuse me?? Miss! Over here please!"

You turned, looking over the crowd toward the stage. Some of the people around you looked curiously in her direction as well, before seeing a waving stage manager and continuing on their way, uninterested.

You though, felt like you knew better, something pulling you further into the situation before you even knew what was happening. Slowly, you lifted your hand in question, pointing to yourself as if to say: me?

"Yes, you! Get over here, I don't have all night!" The woman yelled. She had long dark hair, her mic and headset still secured atop her head, and a rugged looking scar across her face. She seemed less than pleased to be doing the task of summoning you.

You pushed your way through the crowd, muttering your "sorry"s and your "pardon me"s until you were finally to the edge of the stage, looking up at the manager.

"Yes, hi there." she said, composing herself a bit, although you could still sense she was rather unimpressed. "I'm Utahime, I'm one of the managers for Käisen, and you have been specially selected for a VIP backstage meet and greet. Congrats!" Utahime splayed her hands in feigned celebration, looking about as excited as a toad.

"Um-wow. Thank you. I don't even know what to say..." you stammered, heart beginning to pound in your chest. Meet and greet? Had he orchestrated this?

You had to be imagining things, dreaming, or maybe losing your mind.

"Well, you can think of what to say on your way backstage. Come along." Utahime ushered you like a mother hen, apparently very well-versed in organizing and making things happen.

"Well, erm, Utahime, how exactly does someone from the crowd get chosen to come backstage?" You asked as you climbed up the ledge, her helping hand about as good as holding on to a feather for support.

She hurriedly pushed her way past the curtain, you in tow, her prompt gait forcing you to speedwalk to keep up. Utahime didn't answer immediately; instead, she pressed a finger to her earpiece and listed orders to some of the other crew before speaking back to you again.

"I actually don't oversee that side of the process, they direct me to the winner and I retrieve them. I believe they said something about a random ticket drawing; but the band hasn't done this before, so I'm really unsure of the standard process."

As she chattered on, your heart flipped. You were the first ever. Ever.

Before you could even fully process her words, you were stopped in front of the closed red door, with a printed sign that read: Kamo

Utahime flicked her chin in the door's direction, urging you to set her free to do the many duties required of her under so little time. "He requested you first. Rules are simple: no recording, pictures, touching or paraphernalia without permission. If you steal from us, we will find out, and our legal team is deadly. So please-" For the first time, Utahime's brown eyes softened as if she were truly desperate for you to be a respectful guest. "-just behave yourself, okay? Have fun."

With that, she was speeding away faster than she had arrived, leaving you and your churning stomach in front of the door. You almost contemplated bolting right then and there, but your feet stayed planted in place.

An opportunity of a lifetime, yet you couldn't coerce your body to move.

"Are you lost, little lamb?"

You spooked at the sudden presence of another, one you did not sense while so caught up in your own little world. A rough, raspy, dangerously seductive voice.

You spun around so fast your hair whipped around you, and then, you looked up.

Ryomen Sukuna was a beast of a man, hovering what had to be nearly 8-12 inches taller than you, his imposing aura enough to make it feel like far more.

"I'm not lost," you blurted, your pulse quickening. You felt like a deer in headlights. "I was just about to go meet Choso."

"Choso?" Sukuna almost looked bewildered for a moment, before he schooled his face right back into that smug, devilish expression. "Why, you are a pretty little thing, aren't you? Why don't you come meet me first." His voice dropped into a low purr, and you hadn't even realized you had started backing away until your rear bumped into the door.

Sukuna pounced on your meek withdrawal, closing the distance between you in two easy steps before he was toying with a strand of your hair thoughtfully. His lips dropped near your ear as he bent down. "I'm a lot more fun, I can promise you that."

The door behind you swung open with enough force that the strand of hair Sukuna was holding fled from his fingers.

A deep, flat drawl spoke from behind you, and you knew he was close, could feel his body heat radiating into your back. You were sandwiched between two males, having a conversation overtop your head.

"Quit being a creep." Choso droned, placing a large hand on top of your head as if he were palming a basketball. "You'll scare her off like that."

Sukuna scoffed, all the easy charm and seduction gone from his face. He just looked...slightly bored. "Oh please, between the two of us, I'm not the one who scares off women."

But Sukuna received the message, a small semblance of the respect and bond between them, as he stuffed his hands in his pockets and turned to make his way down the hall. Of course, not without a last word.

"I'm 3 doors down if he puts you to sleep, darling." He finished, before disappearing into his own dressing room with a slam of his door.

Leaving you alone with Choso, finally. You turned, slowly, your mouth and throat suddenly feeling like sandpaper as you faced him.

He was slightly more cleaned up, though eyeliner was still thick around his eyes, and that stripe still present across his face.

"I think you missed some of the paint." you murmured stupidly.

Choso lips twitched again, his hand lowering from your head to point at the bridge of his nose. "This? This is a tattoo. It doesn't wipe off."

Your eyebrows shot upward and he laughed, his smile knocking the breath right out of your lungs.

"Come on in." he offered, beckoning you inside with his hand, nails painted black as night. He had changed, though his current outfit wasn’t all that different, just a lot less sweaty; a black, fitted t-shirt, dark jeans, and black boots to match. “Don’t mind Sukuna. He was the type of kid on the playground to steal another’s toy simply because they had it.”

You couldn’t help the small smirk that sparked to life on your face, as your eyes took in his dressing room. It felt so strange, imposing on his personal space though you were a complete stranger; his piles of fender magazines, dirty makeup brushes, chains and t-shirts. “Is that what you think I am, a toy?” You challenged, shifting to run your fingers along the vanity of his dressing mirror.

“N-no. No. Of course not.” Choso stepped toward you, your eyes making contact through the mirror. You took him off guard, a small fissure in that unreadable demeanor of his. “Unless that’s what you want to be.” He finished, his voice reaching a different octave.

Something about his words had your heartbeat gravitating from your throat down to your midsection.

You turned around, leaning back against the vanity. “You really think I would want to be degraded like that?”

Your question earned an close-lipped smile out of him, as he slowly sauntered over to you. He got close, so much you could feel his heat again, his sultry scent overwhelming your senses. “Sometimes what we enjoy in the bedroom completely opposes who we are outside of it. It’s part of the fun, don’t you think ?”

Choso bent toward you now, hovering close. He waited patiently for the green light, and you knew it; the tension buzzing hot and thick between you.

“I saw you out there, dancing. I’ve never seen anything like it.” He said quietly, like it was a deadly secret.

“You see girls dance to your music all the time.” You clipped back. You couldn’t make it too easy.

He chuckled, running a gentle finger along the v-line collar of your shirt. “Not like that. You feel the music, through every muscle and bone. It is…breathtaking.”

Maybe it was his words, the adrenaline, or that impossible-to-fight pull between the two of you, but your lips crashed together like they were polarized, meshing sloppily as his body pressed flat against yours in an instant. Your hands snaked up, one of each gripping his pigtails hard, and the moan that rumbled from deep in his throat had your knees feeling like they’d give out any second.

Choso’s hands slipped down the backs of your thighs, lifting behind your knees to set you up on his table. Makeup products and items clattered to the floor, as he easily ripped your top over your head and tossed it aside before removing his own. You both stopped for another beat, staring at each other, pupils blown wide and chests heaving.

“I don’t usually do things like this.” You spoke out into the terse air between the two of you.

“Neither do I.” He admitted.

You smiled at him this time, accepting the hand he offered to hop down off the table again. He kept his eyes on yours as he unzipped your pants, tugging them down. Slowly, piece by piece, he stripped you, baring you to him. Your lower stomach ached as you watched his hunger grow, his face tight with desire and restraint.

His hands brushed through your hair as his eyes returned to your face, fingers winding your hair before giving a sharp tug. You groaned, and he grinned.

Choso spun you around before you could even blink, bending you right over the table to stare yourself face to face in the mirror, watching as his muscles flexed in the low lighting. He positioned himself behind you, hand tracing down the curve of your spine, the prominence of your hip.

Your heart was thundering so loudly in your ears you almost didn’t hear him say how beautiful you looked.

Your thighs trembled as his long fingers stroked the slick heat between your legs, already so wet and ready for him. He released a low, satisfied sound at the feel of your arousal on his fingers, the sound of its wetness audible.

“Look at how ready you are for me. And here you were, saying you didn’t want to be a degraded toy. Your body tells a different story, doesn’t it, love?” He murmured, the sound of his belt buckle catching your attention.

"For your information, no matter who they are, I don’t make a habit of letting men talk down to me." you gritted out, pushing back against him.

Choso only tilted his head in piqued curiosity. "Is that so?"

He enunciated his words with a sharp tap of his hand against your clit.

You gasped and jolted as sparks exploded between your legs. You were damn sensitive for him, and that drove you insane in and of itself.

"Believe it or not," Choso started through a pleasured tone as he loosed himself, throbbing cock slapping against your ass. "I respect women. So you say the word, and I’ll stop."

Choso leaned down against you, eyeing you through the mirror directly "But i’m going to go out on a limb and say you’re not going to do that."

You stared right back at him, holding his gaze stubbornly as your face heated. Then your eyes dropped.

Because you knew you wanted to fuck Choso Kamo as soon as you laid eyes on him, and now by some strange twist of fate, it was happening.

So you let him be right, as he pushed every veiny, perfect inch inside of you, your walls fluttering around him as you both twitched and stuttered at the pleasure you gave to eachother.

When he proceeded to fuck you so hard the vanity rattled against the wall, more objects flying to the floor and breaking on impact.

When he couldn’t stand fucking you from behind anymore because he needed you closer, so he flipped you over and folded you nearly in half, pounding into you until drool dropped down your trembling chin and on to your chest.

When he licked it clean of your skin as his hips slapped against you, and your pussy gripped him for dear life, that skilled hand working your clit in expert circles just like you knew they could, until you were crying, shuddering and marking his shoulders as you found your pleasure.

"That’s it, that’s my girl. That’s—" He grunted as his entire body shivered; some part of you that was still semblent swelling with pride at the effect you had on him. He slammed into you a few more times, emptying everything he had inside of you, filling you in a way you had never experienced before in your life, only imagined.

Choso’s hands raised, thumbs wiping tears and smeared mascara from your cheeks before finally speaking.

"Come on tour with us. With me."

Did you hear him correctly? "Pardon?"

He offered a lazy smile, and it coaxed you exactly in the way he intended. "Just come. You’ll be taken care of. The rest will love you."

Your mouth opened and close. You couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t divise an answer, before loud knocking thundered on Choso dressing room door.

You scrambled on wobbly legs, throwing on his discarded shirt in a heartbeat as Choso zipped up his pants. The air reeked of sweat and pheromones; it wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to know what had been happening. If it was Utahime…

Your stomach dropped as Choso opened the door.

"Oh no, are you having fun without me?"

‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹

© 𝗌𝖾𝗅𝗌𝖻𝗈𝗈𝗄 - 𝖽𝗈 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖼𝗈𝗉𝗒 𝗈𝗋 𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇