"baby, i can't see you," nanami says, and his voice is that low, steady rumble, but there's an edge to it.

"i know," you slowly lean in, letting your lips ghost over the shell of his ear. "that's the point."

nanami exhales sharply through his nose, and you feel the faint tremor that runs through his bound arms; he's holding himself back. you know that posture — the rigid control he maintains even when he's losing it underneath.

he's so used to being the one in charge, the one who takes care of you, who makes sure you come apart so beautifully before he even thinks about his own pleasure.

tonight, you want to return the favor.

and you start slow — deliberately slow.

your fingers trace the lines of his collarbones, featherlight, and nanami shivers. you let your nails scrape gently down his chest, over the firm planes of muscle, and his stomach clenches. nanami is breathing through his mouth now, lips slightly parted, and you can't stop staring at his mouth.

you lean down and press a kiss to the corner of it, then pull away before he can turn his head to catch yours properly.

"patience," you whisper, and the sound nanami makes is almost a growl, low in his throat.

you kiss a path down his body. his neck, where his pulse jumps under your lips. his chest, pausing to drag your tongue over a nipple, feeling it pebble instantly. nanami’s breath hitches, hips twitching beneath you, and you smile against his skin. you take your time there, alternating soft kisses with sharper nips, listening to the way his breathing turns ragged.

"you're doing this on purpose," he says, and his voice is strained now, the composure cracking at the edges.

"of course i am."

you slide lower, mouth tracing the ridges of his abdomen, dipping your tongue into his navel just to feel him jerk. his hands have curled into fists above his head, the rope taut between them and the headboard. you can see the muscles in nanami’s forearms standing out, the effort it's taking for him not to strain against the bonds.

when you finally, finally let your fingers brush over the waistband of his boxers, nanami’s whole body goes rigid.

"please," he says, and it's barely a whisper, but you hear it; the word scrapes out of him like it costs him something.

you hum, low and thoughtful. "please what?"

nanami’s hips roll upward, desperately seeking friction you're not giving him. "please touch me."

"i am touching you."

"baby, you know what i mean."

you hook your fingers into nanami’s waistband and drag his boxers down, slow enough that the fabric catches on his hips before you work it over them. his cock springs free, already so hard and flushed against his stomach, and you hear the sharp inhale he takes. the cockhead is already wet, a smear of precum gleaming in the low light.

but you don't touch him there yet.

instead, you settle between his thighs and let your breath wash over him, hot and teasing. his hips jerk again, and the sound he makes is somewhere between a laugh and a groan.

"you're going to kill me," nanami says.

"no i'm not," you drag a single finger up the inside of his thigh, so close to where he wants you, and he trembles. "i'm going to take care of you."

"this is—" nanami cuts himself off with a gasp as you finally, finally let your tongue lap at his cockhead, a tiny, teasing flick that barely touches him. "this is torture."

you smile against him and do it again, longer this time, tasting salt and skin. nanami’s hips strain upward, chasing your mouth, but you pull back just enough to deny him.

his fists clench so hard his knuckles are white.

"please," he says again, and this time it sound broken and so desperate. "please, i need—i need you to—"

"you need me to what, kento?"

the use of his name makes him shudder.

you know he loves it when you say his name, and right now, with the blindfold stealing his sight and the rope keeping his hands away, it hits him harder than usual. nanami’s lips part, and for a moment he just breathes, chest heaving, looking so undone and so beautiful that your chest aches.

"i need your mouth," he finally manages, and his voice cracks on the last word. "please."

how can you deny him when he asks like that?

you wrap your lips around his cockhead and suck, gentle at first, and the pretty noise nanami makes — a deep, guttural moan that seems to come from somewhere primal — sends a thrill straight through you.

you take him deeper in your mouth, inch by inch, letting your tongue work against the sensitive underside, and nanami’s hips rock up into your mouth before he catches himself, trying to hold still, trying to be so good for you.

"don't hold back," you say, pulling off just long enough to get the words out. "i want to feel you."

oh, nanami doesn't need to be told twice.

when you sink down on him again, he lets his hips move, shallow thrusts that push him deeper into your throat. his breathing is ragged now, unsteady, and you can hear the little sounds he's making — tiny whimpers and groans that he's probably not even aware of.

the stoic, composed nanami kento, reduced to whimpering because of your mouth.

you pull off slowly, dragging your lips up his length, and then you focus on his cockhead. you circle it with your tongue, feeling the way he twitches against your lips, and then you suck, hard, pulling back to let it slip free with a wet pop.

"oh," nanami breathes, and it's almost a sob. "oh—fuck."

you do it again, and again, and again.

each time you take him to the root, swallowing around him, and each time you pull back to lavish attention on the head until he's trembling uncontrollably, his thighs shaking so bad against your shoulders. nanami’s hands are pulling at the rope now, not trying to escape, just needing something to hold onto, and the sight of his straining arms, the flex of his shoulders, makes you want to push him even further.

you reach up and wrap your hand around the base of his cock, squeezing gently, and his whole body arches off the bed.

"too much?" you ask, but you already know the answer.

"no," nanami gasps. "no—don't stop, please don't stop."

of course you don't.

you keep your hand moving in a slow, steady rhythm while your mouth works nanami’s cockhead, alternating between soft sucks and sharp flicks of your tongue. his hips are moving now without restraint, fucking up into your fist, and you can feel him getting closer — the way his thighs tighten, the way his breath hitches in shorter and shorter gasps.

"are you close?" you murmur against his skin.

"y-yes," he chokes out. "yes, i'm—please, i'm so close—"

you completely stop.

nanami’s groan of frustration is almost feral, his hips jerking uselessly against absolutely nothing.

"why—why did you—"

"i'm not done with you yet."

you crawl up nanami’s body, letting him feel the drag of your skin against his, and when you reach his face you press a soft, sweet kiss to his lips. he chases your mouth when you pull away, blind and desperate, and you give him another kiss, then another, each one brief and teasing.

"i want to watch you fall apart," you whisper softly against his lips. "but i want to take my time."

he makes a sound that's half laugh, half whimper.

"you're going to be the death of me."

you kiss down nanami’s jaw, his neck, nipping at the spot where his pulse beats fastest.

"what a way to go."

you settle back between his legs, but you don't take him in your mouth again. instead, you wrap your hand around him and start to stroke, slowly and deliberately, using the wetness from your mouth to slick the way.

nanami’s hips lift into your grip immediately, desperately chasing the friction, and you let him set the pace for a few strokes before you slow him down again.

"i thought you said you wanted to take care of me," nanami grits out, and there's a hint of his usual dry humor beneath the strain, but it's barely holding.

"i am taking care of you," you squeeze him lightly, thumb pressing against the underside of the head, and he jerks. "i'm taking very good care of you."

"baby, this is—" nanami breaks off with a loud gasp as you change your rhythm, faster now, your fist sliding wet and hot over his length. "this is not—oh fuck—this is not taking care of me, this is torture—"

"do you want me to stop?"

"no," the word is immediate and desperate. "no, don't stop, please, just—please don't stop."

you keep stroking him, varying your pace, sometimes slow and teasing, sometimes fast and relentless.

nanami’s breathing is completely wrecked now, coming in harsh pants, and the pretty sounds he's making are no longer restrained at all — low moans, broken whimpers, the occasional bitten-off curse. his hips are moving without any rhythm, just chasing sensation, and you can feel him starting to tighten, to tremble, to break apart.

"i'm close," he gasps and his voice is so wrecked, so raw. "i'm so close, please, i need—i need to cum, please let me cum—"

"then cum," you say, and you lean down and take him in your mouth again, sucking hard as your hand works the base.

nanami comes with a sound that's almost a scream, muffled behind his bitten lip, his body arching off the bed as he spills into your mouth. you swallow around him, working him through it, and he keeps coming, pulse after pulse, his thighs shaking and his hips jerking and his fists pulling at the rope so hard the headboard creaks.

when he finally goes still, boneless and trembling, you pull off gently and press a kiss to his hip.

"good?" you ask.

nanami doesn't answer for a moment, he simply lies there breathing, chest heaving, sweat gleaming on his skin.

his hands are still tied above his head, fingers now slack against the headboard, and the blindfold is damp at the edges where his lashes have pressed against it.

"kento," you prompt softly, crawling up to lie beside him.

he turns his face toward your voice, blind but tracking.

"i don't think 'good' covers it."

you smile and press a kiss to his cheek.

"we're not done yet."

the shudder that runs through nanami is visible.

"we're not?"

"no," you reach up and run your fingers through his hair, pushing the damp strands off his forehead. "i said i was going to take care of you, didn't i?"

nanami swallows, and you watch his throat work.

"i'm not sure i'm going to survive this."

"you will." you kiss him, so soft and slow, tasting himself on your lips. "i'II be gentle."

the laugh nanami lets out is breathless, disbelieving.

"that's exactly what you said before you spent an entire hour driving me insane."

"it hasn't been an hour."

"it's felt like three."

you grin against his mouth and kiss him again, deeper this time, letting your tongue slide against his. nanami kisses you back with an intensity that surprises you, his bound hands straining toward you even though he can't reach, and you feel the answering throb of arousal low in your belly.

when you pull back, he's breathing hard again.

"baby, can i touch you?" nanami asks, and his voice is rough, pleading. "please, let me touch you. i need to feel you."

"not yet."

he groans, dropping his head back against the pillow.

"you're so cruel."

"i'm thorough," you trail your fingers down his chest, over his stomach, and nanami tenses as you approach once again his spent cock. "there's a difference."

he's already starting to stir again when you wrap your hand around him, soft and warm in your palm. his hips twitch, and he makes a sound that's half sensitivity and half want.

"you're not going to—" nanami starts, and then you squeeze gently and he gasps.

"i told you," you murmur, beginning to stroke him slowly, feeling him harden under your touch. "i'm taking care of you."

nanami’s breath is already hitching again, oversensitive and overwhelmed, and his hands are fisting in the rope once more.

"it's too much," he whispers, but he doesn't tell you to stop.

he doesn't pull away, and his hips are rocking into your hand, pathetically chasing the friction even as he shudders through the overstimulation.

"do you want me to stop?" you ask again, thumb circling the head, and he cries out.

"no," nanami gasps. "no, don't stop, please, i can—i can take it, i want—please don't stop—"

you stroke him back to full hardness, slowly and patiently, and when nanami is fully erect again you lean down and take him in your mouth once more.

his reaction is immediate — a broken moan, hips jerking, hands straining at the rope. you work him gently at first, letting him adjust to the sensation, and then you increase the pressure, sucking hard as you move up and down his length.

"i can't—i can't—" nanami is babbling now, words tumbling out between gasps. "baby, it's too much, i'm going to—please, please, i need—"

you pull off, hand taking over, stroking him fast and firm.

"you need what?"

"i need to cum again," he chokes out. "please, i need—fuck, please let me cum again—"

"then let it go."

he does, with a cry that's almost pained, his entire body convulsing as he spills over your hand.

nanami’s cum is thinner this time, but no less intense, his hips pumping into your fist until he's completely empty, completely spent. he collapses back against the mattress, shaking, and for a moment you think he might have blacked out — his chest is barely moving, his breath coming in shallow gasps.

you crawl up beside him and gently untie his hands.

nanami doesn't move them immediately, he just lies there with his arms still above his head, wrists marked with faint red lines. you rub them gently, massaging the circulation back, and he lets out a soft, shuddering sigh.

"how are you feeling?" you ask softly.

he turns his face toward you, still blindfolded.

"i can't feel my hands."

you laugh, leaning in to kiss nanami’s jaw.

"that's probably not a good sign."

"it's a very good sign," his voice is hoarse and wrecked. "baby, you've broken me."

"and i'm not done."

his whole body goes rigid. "you're what?"

you smile against his skin, kissing down his throat, feeling his pulse jump.

"i said i was going to take care of you, kento. i meant it."

nanami lets out a laugh that's half hysterical.

"i've already come twice."

"almost three times."

"almost three times," he shakes his head, and you can see the way his chest is heaving, the way his hands have dropped to his sides and are fisting in the sheets. "you're going to kill me."

"i told you," you kiss your way down his chest, over his stomach, settling between his thighs. "what a way to go."

when you take him in your mouth again, he actually sobs; it’s a broken, desperate sound that goes straight to your core.

nanami is still so sensitive, still half-hard from the last orgasm, and the dual sensations of pleasure and overstimulation are very clearly overwhelming him. his hips jerk, trying to get away and push deeper at the same time, and you hold him steady with one hand on his hip.

"please," he gasps, and his voice is unrecognisable, stripped raw. "please, i can't—it's too much, i can't—"

you pull off, just for a moment. "do you want me to stop?"

he’s shaking his head before you even finish the sentence.

"no, no, no, don't stop, baby please don't stop, i need—i need you, please—"

nanami’s voice is not loud — the man is too far gone for being loud — but it's a sound you've never heard from him before, a raw, guttural cry that seems to tear out of him. his hips buck wildly, his hands find your hair, not pushing or pulling, just holding on, and you feel him swell against your tongue, feel him tighten, feel him break apart completely again.

when he cums this time, it's a shuddering, trembling thing, barely any release left in him, just the convulsive aftershocks of pleasure pushed past all reasonable limits.

he’s sobbing openly now, tears soaking into the blindfold, his whole body wracked with tremors that won't stop.

you work him through it gently, slowly, until nanami goes completely limp beneath you, completely boneless, his breath coming in tiny, hitching gasps. his huge hands slide from your hair to fall beside his head, fingers twitching, and for a long moment he doesn't move at all.

you crawl up beside him and carefully untie the blindfold.

nanami’s eyes are closed, lashes wet, and when you press a soft little kiss to each eyelid he flinches, oversensitive even to that gentle touch.

"kento, baby," you whisper.

his eyes flutter open, and you're struck, as you always are, by the color of them — warm brown, usually so steady, so calm. right now they are glassy, unfocused, the pupils blown wide.

nanami blinks slowly, trying to bring you into focus, and his lips part but no sound comes out.

you kiss him softly, and his mouth moves against yours, clumsy and uncoordinated. his arms come up slowly, like they weigh a hundred pounds each, and naturally wrap around you, pulling you against his chest. he's still trembling, fine tremors running through his whole body, and you can feel his heart hammering against your ribs.

"hey," you say softly, pulling back to look at him. "you okay?"

nanami stares at you for a very long moment, and then a smile slowly breaks across his face — not his usual measured, controlled smile, but something open and unguarded and utterly, completely wrecked.

"i love you," he says, and his voice is a ruined whisper. "i love you so freaking much."

you laugh, relieved, and kiss him again. "i love you too."

nanami pulls you tighter against him, burying his face in your hair, and you can feel the last of the tremors fading, his breathing slowly evening out. his hands are warm on your back, stroking lazily, and after a few minutes you feel the tension finally drain out of him completely.

"you," he says after a long silence, his voice muffled against your hair, "are absolutely terrifying."

you grin. "in a good way?"

he lifts his head to look at you, and there's something in his eyes — wonder, maybe, or awe, or a mixture of both.

"in the best way."

nanami slowly reaches up to touch your face, fingers brushing your cheekbone, and his expression is so soft, so unguarded, that your heart aches.

"i've never—" he starts, then stops, swallowing. "i've never let anyone do that before. take control like that. i've never trusted anyone enough to just... let go."

you turn your head to kiss his palm. "and now?"

nanami smiles, slow and sleepy and so, so beautiful.

"and now i don't think i could ever trust anyone else."

you curl up against his chest, and his arms wrap around you, holding you close. nanami’s heartbeat is steady now, slow and strong, and you can feel the way his breathing has finally evened out, the tremors completely gone.

"you're going to fall asleep," you murmur.

"mmh," nanami’s voice is already drifting from reality, heavy with exhaustion. "your fault."

you laugh softly, pressing a kiss to his chest.

"i'll take that as a compliment."

"you should," his arms tighten around your body, pulling you impossibly closer. "best compliment i've ever given."

It always started this way - a screaming match with your boyfriend, things thrown or knocked over, tears and curses. Then, as if on cue, it would always end with a “fuck you”, and his departure.

As much as you wanted to leave him, to find someone better, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Each attempt to assert your independence felt hollow when faced with the pervasive loneliness that surfaced in his absence. He had a way of worming his way back in, no matter how steadfast you were that he was out of your life, too good.

The relief of separation would quickly dissipate, replaced by a gnawing anxiety about confronting a future alone. He’d apologise, and kiss, and caress. He’d whisper sweet nothings, promises of marriage and life with each other, vows to never leave again—only for him to be out the door the next weekend.

Both of you were stuck in this vicious cycle, too afraid of being alone to tear away, each of you clinging to the familiarity of pain over the uncertainty of solitude.

What he didn’t know about, however, was the company that you had over whenever he’d storm off, promising to seek comfort in another woman’s arms. Of course, you knew he didn’t have the balls to - he wasn’t that kinda guy, and you appreciated it.

You weren’t so pure of heart.

“He left again?” Toji’s voice was level, almost with the cadence of boredom, and gravelly on the other end of the line.

“Well, hello to you too,” you chuckled, still sniffling a little from your latest argument. Wiping your face with your sleeve, you shuffled around your apartment, putting knocked-over or thrown items back into place.

“What’s the point in niceties? I know what you’re calling me for. Booty call, fuck ya brains out, back home before brunch. Anything else?” You could hear the smirk in his voice, and you hated it, you’re lying to yourself, you love it but caught yourself smiling regardless.

“Okay, you have a point,” you sighed, throwing yourself back onto your bed with a grunt. “Alcohol would be greatly appreciated, I guess.”

“Rough one?”

You gulped softly, sniffling again before steeling yourself to reply, voice still shaky and weak regardless of your efforts. “He broke my CD player and one of my favourite CDs.”

Unlike his usual self, Toji’s voice was laced with concern as he responded. “Shit, really? Which one?”

Casting your glance to the side, the upturned bookcase - which your CD player had previously been neatly presented on - burned a hole into your carpet.

“All Eyez On Me, my Tupac one. It was in the player when he threw it.” Trying to inject some levity into the situation, you tried to brighten your face and tone as you continued. “But the case wasn’t damaged, thank god! That’s the actual signed part.”

Toji hummed, staying quiet for a second, contemplating. He then kissed his teeth, voice slightly strained.

“Be there in 30.”

—————

“You really didn’t have to, Toji.”

Rolling his eyes, he set the new CD on your bedside table, along with a bottle of liquor. He turned to the bookcase, inspecting it for a second before picking it up from the floor and putting it back into place.

“Fuck off, Y/N. It was like 5, 8 dollars max. I was more surprised I was able to pick one up.”

You watched quietly as he continued to look for any serious damage to the piece of furniture, quickly joining him when he began to scoop your books from the floor. “Still, I appreciate it. It was a thoughtful gesture.”

‘Whatever’ was the only response you received, the two of you settling into a comfortable silence as you pieced together your prized possessions. Books, CDs, pictures, trinkets, and other collected oddities were painstakingly replaced until the only difference was the startlingly bare spot where your CD player usually sat. The two of you looked at it for a minute, some sort of strange communication between each other that was both perfectly understood and unexplainable.

Shaking yourself out of it, you rounded the bed and sat down, opening the bottle. “I can’t be bothered with glasses, so we’ll have to trade spit, unfortunately.”

Scoffing, Toji followed suit and sat down next to you, letting you take a swig before snatching it, skin brushing against yours.

“I’ve eaten your ass, we’re way past trading fuckin’ spit.”

You were thankful Toji had the decency to at least let you swallow your shot before spouting his bullshit, even if you still choked and stared at him in shock-horror. This soon led to the two of you dissolving into laughter, with you leaning your head on Toji. He raised an eyebrow, one of his large arms encircling your waist.

“Getting handsy already? You can’t at least make a guy feel special first?”

“Nah, you’ll live.”

You punctuated your quip with a hungry kiss, hand snaking behind his head to hold him in place and ultimately wiping the cocky smirk off of his face. While momentarily startled, Toji eagerly settled into the embrace, putting the bottle on the floor as you clambered onto his lap, pushing him flat on the bed as you continued to kiss.

Raunchy as usual, Toji was squeezing and moulding your asscheeks, tongue exploring the entirety of your mouth as you tried to assert dominance. It was cute, honestly, and he decided to let you have your way for once.

Your lips parted briefly, just for you to trail rushed kisses along his neck, settling into his nape with a harsh suck. He didn’t reciprocate - you strictly forbade him from marking you up - but fuck, he really wanted to. He wanted to litter you with lovemarks, bites, bruises - anything that was a visible indicator of him claiming you.

“Need you to fuck me good tonight, yeah? I don’t wanna remember anything.”

Under your lips, you felt the warm rumble of Toji laughing, one of his hands pausing their kneading of your ass to thread through your hair, “that’s always the objective; stuff you full until you’re a babbling mess, just how you like.”

You could feel your face heating at his words, at the truth behind them. As much as it pained you to admit, Toji was the best you’d had in… well, ever. He was rough and unrestrained, almost bestial when he fucked you, trapping you against the mattress and pistoning until satisfied. Toji manhandled you with ease, unafraid to push your knees to your chest, flip you over, and pin you down. It was almost objectifying being treated in such a manner, but you weren’t opposed in any way.

“You’re always so vulgar, Toji. You should learn how to romance with your words.”

Scoffing, Toji sat up slightly, looking you up and down with mock disdain. “Words aren’t m’thing. Mouth has better uses anyways.”

Toji had set you off again, blushing and groaning with second-hand embarrassment on top of him. Before you could slither off his lap, his hands clamped down on your cheeks, pinning you into place. You could feel the heat of his palms through your sleep shorts, struggling to suppress a moan as your core brushed his hardening cock.

“Horny lil’ slut like you’d probably fuck my thigh if I gave it to you. No need to pretend you’ve got standards, baby.”

Biting your lip, part of you felt the need to defend your honour. However, considering the fact you’d envisioned that exact scenario before while rubbing yourself raw, it seemed a fruitless endeavour.

“Just hurry up and fuck me.” Scoffing, Toji gave your cheek a chastising pinch before his hands slipped beneath the fabric, the large intrusion stretching your shorts taut and pressing the seat against your already-leaking pussy. You hissed slightly at the sensation, biting your lip so he wouldn’t become even more smug, and yet he still smirked infuriatingly as his lips met your ear.

“Don’t hide now, baby. You know I like hearing how good I make you feel.”

Nodding, you didn’t hold back your next gasp as his hands slid back out, one planted firmly on your thigh and the other slipping your shorts to the side. His finger gave your pussy lips a lewd swipe, collecting juices on the tip for him to eagerly suckle off. Stuck on top, you had nowhere to hide as Toji stared at you intently, tongue dragging along his finger. Luckily for you, his eyes soon flitted to your pussy, licking his lips softly before pressing his thumb firmly into your clit.

“Do you miss me when you’re with him?” he murmured, rubbing circles absentmindedly as his attention returned to you. You didn’t even realise your eyes had shut until they snapped open as you processed his words.

“W-what?”

Chuckling softly, Toji’s free hand gave your thigh a soft squeeze before he spoke again. “I miss you, y’know.” His hand trailed up to your waist, palm spreading warmth as his words brought a cold chill. “I miss this body,” he smirked, giving your nipple a playful flick. “These beautiful tits.” As you gasped, he gave your clit a gentle pinch, delighting in the shiver that overtook your body as you moaned wantonly. “And fuck, I miss this pretty pussy every second I’m not buried in it.”

Your head swam as you tried to take in his words, tried to process them as pleasure ran rampant through your body.  But before you could speak, he was already sliding a finger into you.

“You don’t really love him, you’re just comfortable.”

Brows furrowed, you shook your head, eyes lidded as you panted softly. “No, T-Toji you’re w-wrong-”

“Shhh,” his voice was like warm honey, dripping all over your brain, smothering any other thought. All you could think about was Toji, all you could smell was Toji, all you could feel was Toji-

“C’mere, sweetheart.” Sweetheart. It settled on your tongue like a sugar cube as Toji threaded a hand into your hair, gently tugging you down to his eager embrace. His kiss was overwhelming, tongue bullying its way into your mouth as his scar rubbed against your lip. If it were possible, you would assume he was trying to eat you alive, his mouth moving with a never-before-seen hunger against yours. His finger began to pump slowly, agonisingly, his other palm still heavy on the back of your head. Pinning. Suffocating. When he couldn’t bear another second without air, Toji pulled away, panting against your skin as he sloppily kissed your nape. His hand still pinned you, even as your hands pushed at his chest.

“Toji! You know you can’t-”

You yelped quietly as his teeth sank into the skin of your neck, his tongue quickly darting out to soothe the inevitable mark he made. “I don’t care anymore.”

He continued to bite and suck at your neck, littering the length of skin as you whimpered and moaned his name softly. One agonising finger was joined by a second, pumping diligently into you. By the time he finally let go of your head, there was no way you could possibly have covered his marks. You pushed up as little as he would allow, his fingers stilling whilst his free arm now snaked around your waist.

“Are you fucking insane, Toji?!”

He stared at you, deadpan, as if you had just stated the obvious. “Yeah. And I’m sick of sharing. Any other questions?”

Scoffing, he didn’t even give you space to argue, slipping his fingers out and deftly flipping the two of you over. As angry as you were, you couldn’t help but whine at the loss, as if your body was a completely separate entity from your mind. You mind wanted to cuss him out, push him off, send him home with his tail between his legs. But your body?

Well, your body craved him like a drug.

“You’re a dog,” you grunted, fingers curling in his hair as he continued to lap hungrily at the marks he’d made. The only response he gave you was a callous chuckle, head dipping down to unashamedly suck at your nipples through your shirt, fabric darkening with saliva.

“Bark.”

You couldn’t help but snort at the monotone retort, smile quickly fading into pleasure as he impatiently tugged your top up, watching in glee as your breasts bounced out. Toji’s breath was warm against your skin, tongue dragging roughly from your under breast to your nipple before his lips wrapped expertly around it. “T-Toj-!”

His fingers tweaked and tugged at your other nipple, ensuring they both got equal attention. You couldn’t even arch your back with how much he was pressing down onto you, so you instead resorted to tugging on his hair and whimpering weakly. His groans vibrated deliciously against your skin, sending shockwaves along your spine. Soon enough, he pulled away, only for his lips to envelop your other nipple, teeth grazing as he tugged slightly harder than before.

“You should be mine, Y/N,” he mumbled, eyes flitting upwards to watch how you threw your head back in ecstasy, shaking slightly from the stimulation. “I’d treat you right.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to hold back your scoff, biting back a smirk as Toji pulled away to lean over you. “You’re a bum, Toji. All you do is steal, lie, and cheat.”

He frowned slightly, chewing on his lip softly as if trying to process… hurt?

“We wouldn’t be so bad, y’know. I may not be a good guy, but I… I could be better. For you.”

Whatever emotions brewing beneath the surface were quickly replaced by a taunting smile; Toji licked his lips hungrily as he tugged down your shorts. You gasped as the cold air of the room hit your bare half, watching as his eyes raked intently over your glistening pussy.

“I’d fuck you good, every night. Keep you warm nd’ full.” His hand trailed to your stomach, pressing gently on it as he began to shimmy out of his pants. “Make sure this pretty pussy is stuffed with so much cum you drip any time you try and do anything.”

You moaned softly when his cock finally sprang free, and he immediately guided the tip to your entrance, rubbing teasingly along your slit.

“I’d work six fucking jobs if it meant coming home and sinking into this perfect pussy,” he murmured, “always so wet, so warm.”

“Toji,” you whimpered, hands cupping his face almost desperately, hips unconsciously rutting against his cockhead, “please, just put it in.”

Humming softly, Toji’s hand left your stomach to brush a few sweaty tendrils from your face, touch almost tender. His voice was low and yet not as rough as usual, his calloused hand cupping your cheek as if it were made out of porcelain.

“You gonna be a good girl and let me cum inside? Make you mine?”

Already past the point of no return, you simply nodded shamelessly, something warm twinging in your gut as Toji seemed visibly pleased by your green light. Of course, he didn’t revel in his delight for long, instead lining up his cockhead with your already-pulsating hole. His eyes flitted over your needy expression for a second before his hand returned to your hip, finally pushing his hips forward, his other arm pushing into the mattress next to your head for support.

He watched in wonder as your mouth fell into a pleasured gasp, your pussy sucking inch after inch inside as if it craved him. Moulding together agonisingly slow, becoming one, his head dipped with a soft ‘fuck’ while you tried to accommodate his size. No matter how many times he left your pussy gaped and raw, the first moments were always a stretch with him.

“Gooood girl,” he drawled out, clearly also affected by the stretch of your gummy walls despite his attempts to hide it, “such a f-fucking good girl.”

Biting your quivering lip, you tried to keep yourself calm, appreciating the fact that Toji was waiting for the go-ahead to move. It didn’t hurt, not like the first couple of times, but it still wasn’t the most comfortable experience. Humming softly, he lowered himself until his lips were centimetres from yours, his breath ragged as he melted against you.

“Can I move, sweetheart?” His voice was softer than usual, the warmth within you only building in response.

“Please,” you whimpered, finally releasing your lip and all the emotion you were trying to suppress, “please Toji, before I go fucking insane-”

Your words quickly trailed off into an elongated mewl as Toji pulled out and sank back in, sitting heavy inside you as his lips once again enveloped yours. Starting slow and deep, you could feel every inch stretching you wide and pressing insistently against your G-spot. Trust Toji to find it instantly, devouring your moans hungrily whilst his hips worked their magic. Every thrust felt like a gunshot, forcefully knocking the breath out of you with each knock of his hips against yours.

It wasn’t the wild, unrestrained sex you were used to with Toji, but something even more deep, more intimate. Your whole body had been set alight by the sheer desperation of his movements — the way his hand left your hip to tug gently on your hair; the way his tongue slid into your mouth, claiming each area and swallowing your sounds; the way his body pressed you deep into the mattress but didn’t suffocate you; the way his cock was already pulsing with need.

“I love you,” he rasped against your lips. “Fuck, I love you so much. You’re all I want, Y/N.”

You didn’t process his rushed confession, not with the way he grunted softly in between, not with the way he continued his jackhammered assault of your pussy. All your brain could dare to process was the fire beginning to ravage your body as he stimulated all of your senses.

“Toji-!”

He moaned, low and gravelly. “Fuck, just like that. Keep saying my name, sweetheart.” The hand that had been tugging on your hair now cradled your neck, keeping you intimately intertwined with Toji in a way that you couldn’t escape if you tried. “M’gonna fuck this pussy full of cum, get you pregnant.”

Hands falling around his neck, you helplessly tugged Toji lower until he was flush against your nape, gasping as he hungrily kissed your skin. Turning your head, you nibbled and licked at his lobe, moaning into his ear, “c-close, Toji! Mmmmmfuckk, ngh-! Please!”

“Please, what?” he chuckled, nipping gently at your neck in retaliation, trying to cover the stutter of his hips at your desperate pleas. “Use your words, Y/N.”

Whining in protest, your back arched as Toji picked up his pace, thrusts shallow as you fruitlessly pressed against him. He had you pinned, he had you cornered, fuck, there was no escape-

Toji’s teeth sank into your neck, grounding you with a low groan. As much as he loved it when he rendered you a babbling mess, he needed to hear you say it.

“C’mon Sweetheart, be a good girl for me- ngh, fuck- tell me what you need.”

Drawing what little willpower you had left, you begged him almost pitifully, “Breed me, Toji! Shit, pump me f-full! Wanna be full, wanna be pregnant! Pleasepleaseplease-!”

He didn't answer you, instead stilling with a grunt of relief, cum steadily flowing inside you. Not long after, your own release was triggered, legs shaking and mouth agape as Toji began to slowly fuck both of you through your highs. A lewd squelch accompanied each of his thrusts, and you could already feel his release trickling out of your hole, even as he remained inside you. Never before had you felt so content, so full, as if he had quenched a thirst you didn’t even know you had.

After what felt like an eternity, Toji finally let himself fully slump against you for a second before pulling out and flopping next to you. As both your chests heaved under the soft glow of your lamp, as clarity began to return to your mind, you let your head turn to face him. Toji was already looking at you, looking at you as if you were the world, looking at you as if you were everything. To him, you had already been for a while. But he didn’t need to tell you that, his eyes did.

“Did… did you really mean all of that? Everything you said?”

Licking his lips, nervous, Toji hesitantly nodded. While his mouth ached to fill the silence with excuses or apologies, his mind couldn’t bring itself to focus on anything except the way your body shimmered with sweat in the low light.

“Yeah. I… I meant everything.”

Swallowing softly, you looked at the marks decorating both of you before reaching out, caressing his cheek gently. Unlike his usual self, Toji felt himself lean into the touch almost desperately, like some touch-deprived animal. You were always affectionate, especially after sex, but this? This felt different. Warm. He liked it a lot.

“I… I um… god,” you chuckled nervously, you were never good at these kinda things, “I would like it if you… If you stayed the night, this time. Like, y’know, even after brunch.”

Booty call, fuck ya brains out, back home before brunch.

Your offer hung between the two of you, a stark contrast to the status quo. Different.

“Yeah?” He tried not to sound too hopeful, too happy, but the corner of his scarred mouth itched to break into a smile.

Leaning up, you pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, an equal mix of bashful and excited. “Yeah. I… I’d really like it if you stayed.”

Unable to keep his cool for any longer, Toji pulled you into his arms, the embrace warm and comforting. You could hear the way his heart pounded, and a small part of you revelled in the fact that he also felt just as emotional as you did, even if his face wouldn’t give his cards away.

Little did you know, you had been Toji’s all way before you had come to terms with it.

“Mmmmm, I guess if I have to.” He barked out a laugh as he felt you hit his chest, no true force behind the blow. He couldn’t give himself away, couldn’t admit that this was everything he’d wanted for ages.

As he rested his head atop yours, inhaling deeply and relishing your scent, everything seemed to fall into place so perfectly. His hand fell to the small of your back, tracing shapes aimlessly as his other arm still wrapped around you tightly. Just as you began to relax into him, perhaps even fall asleep, he spoke again.

“Does that dickhead have keys to your place?”

You froze for a second before shaking your head, tilting your head up to meet his gaze.

“No. He still lives with his mom.”

Grimacing, Toji hummed, “Of course he does,” rolling his eyes playfully before smiling that sleazy smile of his at you. “Want me to burn his clothes?”

Scoffing, you couldn’t fight off your smile as you shook your head, leaning against his chest.

“Nah, but you can give them to him in a trash bag when he comes crawling back. That good enough for you?”

Dipping down to kiss your cheek, you felt the warm rumble of his chest before he spoke.

“That’s perfect, sweetheart. I’ll make sure to scare him off for you, yeah?”

Nodding, you let your own fingers draw lazy circles on his neck, noticing how Toji slightly bristled at the action, cock twitching. Smirking to yourself, you couldn’t hide the sultry undertone of your words as you pressed yourself closer to him.

“You’ll have to, I won’t be able to get out of bed anyways once I’m through with you.”

Both Toji and his little Toji perked up at that, and soon you found yourself face-first in the mattress, Toji already above you and angling your hips upwards as his cockhead grazed your already-leaking hole.

“Trust me baby, you won’t leave this bed until I’m sure you’re pregnant.” His hand dragged along the length of your spine before pushing you into a deep arch, smirking that sharp-toothed grin as he watched you clench with need, a tiny whimper falling from your lips.

“M’gonna breed this pussy, and you’re gonna keep it all in like a good girl. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”

It didn’t matter if you could, in the end. He’d make sure you were plugged full of cum regardless. Toji was many things, mostly bad, but he kept a promise. By the time he was through with you, you wouldn’t be able to move an inch without his cum dripping out of you.

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Sukuna’s not perfect though. He’ll come up and bug you after he gets a couple of drinks in him. His version of it. Which is, in a slightly lame way, just talking. Maybe a little flirting— saying that you smell nice, or that he likes whatever the fuck you did with your hair, yada yada. Sometimes you fold, sometimes you don’t. It’s different every time, he thinks of it as a little game he likes to play once in a while.

On this particular night, you had a little more to drink than what you usually had, and lucky for him, you didn’t actually crumble 5 minutes into talking about something as mundane as your job.

He wasn’t following you around and marking his territory on you like some dog, but he can admit that there were a few times he lingered around you. Not that you noticed, it was one of the very few times you let loose, so therefore you weren’t overly aware of your surroundings.

It wasn’t until everybody left when things got interesting though. You both just so happened to be spending the night at a shared friend’s house. Separate sleeping arrangements, of course. But you two were the last ones awake, in the basement, sitting and talking on the couch he was planning to sleep on.

It started with him asking about your dating life, if you had anybody you were seeing or not. You two were still drinking. Not too much, but enough for the conversation to inevitability turn suggestive.

Until he straight up told you that he enjoyed putting women in headlocks and fucking them until they cried. It was a piece of information that you definitely didn't mind being told, but it was only a matter of time before it'd circle back to you.

"Alright, what about you?"

“I don’t know,” you let out an awkward laugh, clearly flustered from the sudden pressure he put on you.

He just smiles, eyes drifting down to your lips. “I’m just asking what you like— nothing to be shy about,” he hums.

You take a moment to think about it, deciding for once to push past the shyness you tend to feel around him. "Alright, fine."

And without hesitation

“What about dick piercings?”

“I don’t— huh?” Your brain short circuits, already telling yourself that this can't be happening. It’s too good to be true. “I’ve never been with anyone that’s had one before, but I guess they’re nice.”

You really don't know why you say you guess. They are nice.

Your answer makes Sukuna look at you as if you’ve experienced nothing but back-to-back tragedies in your life, all because you've never been with someone pierced before.

“Yeah— feels good, too.” His response of course does not match his face or his tone, it sounds more like he’s pitching a sale. “Especially when you have a few of them stacked over each other like mine.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

“That’s—“ your throat grows dry at the thought, “did it hurt?”

“Nah, felt more like a pinch.”

“And there’s… how many?”

“Five,” he says the number like it carries weight and meaning, and at this point, it does. “One right under the tip and the rest is a Jacob’s ladder.”

You try to imagine it and end up looking confused as you open your mouth to say something, only to close it due to the words dying in your throat.

It happens 3 times before he eventually cuts in again.

“Wanna see it?”

What kind of a question is that? Of course you wanna fucking see it. Why wouldn’t you? You still hold on to what little respect you have left though.

“That wouldn’t be weird or anything?”

“Maybe, but it was me who brought it up. Can’t blame you for wanting to see.”

He’s full of shit and knows exactly what he’s doing. But you go along with it because this is something you've thought about for years. Less than a minute later, he’s unbuckling his belt and zipping his pants down.

There’s a moment of (fake) reluctance when he palms his boxers and remembers that it’s not just the piercings you’re going to see. It’s also his cock, which, in his honest and humble opinion, is a work of fucking art. Especially when it’s hard, like right now. He almost feels like he has to warn you, but decides not to and instead asks if you're ready.

You weren’t sure. You’ve been internally screaming this entire time though, and knew you’d explode if you didn’t see it already, so you gave him a nod.

Then your jaw nearly drops as he pulls his boxers down low enough for his entire cock to spring out. Spring’s not even the right word to use, it was too heavy for that, and if anything, just settled right on his stomach.

It was long and thick, a couple prominent veins running down his shaft. Big, dark pink tip that had some precum dripping from it. And then the five piercings.

Holy shit

It didn’t help that his hand was loosely wrapped around the base, lids growing heavier the longer you stare.

“Oh my god?”

“Yeah,” he rasps.

“You’re fucking huge.”

“I know.”

You don’t really care that much about the piercings despite them being the only reason why he has his dick out right now, but he is not complaining. By all means, stare at it. Please.

Drool, even.

He huffs out a laugh as he sees a little bit of it collect at the corner of your mouth, and swipes it off with his thumb before raising it to his mouth and licking it clean.

“Sorry,” you say without an inch of shame.

“You’re good,” he casually says, not trying to ruin the romantic moment you’re currently having with his dick. “Probably from one of the drinks you had earlier.”

“Mhm.” Neither of you believe that, but just go along with it. “Do the piercings ever get caught in your boxers?”

“Never,” he shakes his head. “They’re smooth against everything. . . You can touch them. If you want.”

Your hand’s already reaching out before that sentence is even finished, and his abs involuntarily flex at the feeling of your fingertips brushing over the underside of his shaft.

You say nothing, because you can’t think of anything respectful to say, and just continue to trace up until you get to his tip.

He feels you pull back and takes a good guess at why you did as he watches you rub your fingers together.

“Shit, sorry— fuck, you’re kidding me,” he suddenly groans out.

You licked precum off your fingers, but didn’t realize it until after.

Your eyes widen in panic. “Oh my god— that was so weird, I’m sorry.”

“No, that was— it wasn’t weird,” he tries to put a response together, but he’s honestly just as shocked as you. “You're fuckin’ nasty— did it taste good?”

You can’t even believe you’re saying this right now, but, “Honestly, yeah.”

“Jesus,” he lets out a low laugh, throwing his head back for a moment to take a deep breath, which turns into a deep, drawn-out hum when he feels you wrap your hand around his base. “You’re fuckin’ killin me right now.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” you whisper at first. “We should just—“

He opens one eye. “Fuck?”

“Yeah.”

“you look a little flushed baby.” you sat back on your knees and took his face in your hands, cupping his warm cheeks— your frown deepening at the look of his blown pupils.

“i—”

you lifted his face a tad to examine.

“you’re worrying me yu… you feel warm like— really warm… you coming on with a fever?”

your voice was so soft and caring, and yuji couldn’t help but imagine that same honeyed tone edging him on to dump his cum all over your face—

shut the fuck up shut the fuck up—

“no! i’m— i’m okay angel! honestly heh…” he gently took your hands from his cheeks and lowered them, watching as you pursed your cute lips to the side in dissatisfaction, and his limbs twitching— feeling his stupid dick gush out a bit of precum in his pants at the sight.

“it’s just—” he swallowed, shakily breathing through his nose. “m’just a little achy is all.”

you tilted your head in confusion.

“achy?” you placed your hands on his shoulders, squeezing carefully before sliding your palms down his arms, yuji’s breathing picking up then, chest ragged as you kept dragging your hands further, inspecting over him to see what was wrong. 

“from what yu? tell me where—”

god why was he like this?

you were innocently just trying to figure it out and help him… it was him that was being a sick foul pervert that was potentially about to pounce on you and scare you off.

“it’s nothing baby i swear—”

your palms slid down to his lower abdomen and he sprang up from the couch, you jumping back in alarm— drawing your hands to your chest as your eyes stretched wide.

“the gym! the gym! i’m aching from the gym the—”

yuji looked at you and a guilty pang shot through his heart once he realized he fucking startled you, you staring up at him with a shaken expression— breaths quick, and him feeling his soul actively burning off his body because of it.

stupid stupid idiot stupid—

“fuck i’m sorry baby jesus.” his big hands came down to cup the sides of your head, you slowly easing a little at his reassurance. “i didn’t mean to scare you like that i’m sorry… i’m just being dumb—”

he paused.

from— from the way you were positioned, and  from the way he was— holding your face…

your pretty plump lips were perfectly aligned with his bulging freaking dick.

yuji instantly went to rip himself away from you when you reached for his hips and stopped him midway, a choke tumbling from his throat as you firmly held him in place.

he could practically feel your breath through his jeans dear god—

“what hurts yu?” you sweetly asked, soft and airy and yuji could only frantically shake his head no.

you pouted.

“please.” you leaned the side of your cheek on his thigh, and he just about saw the heavens himself. “i— i wanna help yu… i don’t care what it is. i promise.”

yuji’s skin was tingling and itchy all over, a giant lump in his throat that he couldn’t pass no matter how many times he swallowed, his clammy hands then returning to your cheeks— lifting your head so he’d get a proper look at you.  

he couldn’t take it anymore.

yuji was about to look like a vile fucking freak.

“my… my dick baby…” he softly explained, voice shaky as he used his thumbs to caress your cheeks, trying to bite down the embarrassment that rose up his system at the way your cheeks went red. “it’s just— a little tight but— it’s— it’s okay! i’ll deal with it la—”

“can i help..?”

his pupils blew out and he stopped breathing.

“please.” you finished off with a little timid smile, your kind glimmering eyes not once breaking from his. “i want to… if that’s okay.”

it was more than fucking okay.

“you wanna— help me baby?” he gave your cheeks a loving squeeze before letting your face go, taking your eager nod as a sign to keep going.

“okay…” yuji took a step back. “can— can you get on your knees for me angel..?”

you nodded once more, shuffling a bit to get down on your knees, your skin padded against the soft fur rug of your carpet.

slowly… he shakily popped open his jeans and unzipped them, willing and begging his cock and mind to relax or else he was going to cum just by how gorgeous you looked on your knees for him…

“just—”

his dick literally jumped out from the confinements of his pants and you blushed, his own neck growing uncomfortably hot as he stared down at you with wobbly lips.

“just… suck for me a little?” yuji gave his length a languid pump, his tip already swelled up and irritatingly glistening. “you don’t have to do all of it baby… i don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

you parted your lips then and carefully took him into your mouth, suckling on the sticky tip and yuji having to inhale a sharp breath at how warm your tongue felt— fluttering and gliding along his slit before you sunk your lips a little further down his cock bit by bit.

“fuuuckk yes baby just like that—”

yuji shuddered and gripped tighter at the hem of his shirt, keeping it in place just above his abs to keep it out of your way, groaning at your mouth bobbing up and down his veiny dick, tiny bubbly suds of spit coating his base.

“god please don’t stop please—” he threw his head back and heaved, placing a trembling palm to the back of your head— gently guiding you through your wet mouthful slops that filled his ears so deliciously, your cheeks hollowing as you took it upon yourself to suck harder, you moaning through it and the vibrations making him that much more sensitive.

“shit!—”

he snapped his head back down and went lightheaded, your pretty little swollen lips wrapped around him so good and slurping him up so insanely messily, drool trickling down your chin as you made it your mission to help him feel better and relieve the ache he felt moments prior.

to be good for him.

“angel if you keep— sucking me like that m’gonna cum already— hic!— holy shit please slow down please—”

but you only went faster, bobbing your head without stopping even when you chocked on his cock through particularly deep swallows, him struggling to catch his breath and keep his balls from exploding and draining down your throat, jaw hardening in restraint as his abdomen stiffened up.

because that’s not where he wanted it.

jerking his hips back, yuji slipped his dick off your mouth in one swift motion with a pop!, you plopping down on your ankles and gasping for air at the sudden action, hands quickly coming up to wipe at your saliva coated lips.

“did i— do something wrong?” you panted, your doe eyes sincerely so uneasy that he nearly fell to his knees at how cute you were.

“i’m— i’m sorry yu—”

“god no baby you were fuckin’ perfect.” he breathed out, licking over his lips— half lidded ditzy eyes looking down at you as he pumped his cock over your face. “always so so perfect for me…”

and you beamed, a sweet smile spreading across your cheeks that made his balls twitch and stiffen, jerking himself faster.

“can i just—” he struggled on a moan, small tiny strained whimpers rumbling through him as he pumped, sticky obscene shlicks! echoing through the room that only made your face grow pinker in need. 

“can i please please cum on your face angel?” yuji panted. “i won’t— shlick shlick shlick— make a mess i promise you i just— you’re so so pretty and you’d look so good with my cum on your face—”

without hesitation you nodded, and he wildly grinned at your permission, feeling fucking floored that his dream was coming true and he’d finally get to unload all over you like he’d nastily wanted for so long.

“thank you thank you!—”

yuji cupped a hand under your chin and gently brought your face up to keep you in place, his fist gripping his cock so hard and suffocating it as he jack hammered, babbling utter nonsense with his fogged horny brain entirely focused on you.

“stay just like this for me okay?” he was sweating, a tingling sensation twisting through his limbs that started manifesting from his pulsing tip. “can you— can you stick your tongue out baby? please? fuck m’gonna cum m’gonna cum—”

you quickly stuck your tongue out and laid it flat, the way you were so obedient absolutely ruining him from where he stood, moans grumbling through him that only grew louder and louder the closer he tipped over the edge.

“you’re so fuckin’ good to me baby—”

the grip he had on your jaw was subconsciously tightening, so much so that your cheeks were now mushed up between his fingers and making you look sluttier than before, his feral eyes brightening at the sight.

“you’ll let me do this again right?” he gulped, thin stringy lines of cum seeping from his slit and dangling lightly over your face. “you’ll let me cum on you? on— on your tummy maybe?”

“uh huh!” you spoke through your open mouth, and he basically cried— breathing erratic and the pacing jerk he had going on so insanely fast that it was borderline animalistic, endless strings of high pitched whimpers slipping from his lips.

“fuuuuccckkk! fuck fuck i love you i love you—”

his rhythm was relentless, sticky slicks sliding and pulling over his wet cock, until a white flash blurred his vision and yuji’s entire body locked up, a cold prickle washing over him then as he shot hot spurts of his load over your stunning awaiting face, gooey and thick— dripping over your flushed cheeks as you took it with one eye blinking shut.

yuji moaned so loudly, his gaze stuck watching you like glue and refusing to look away as he painted you, squeezing everything he had out of his cock to drown you in his release, up until the very last dribbling drop.

he swallowed and tried to catch his breath, speaking up after a few panting moments, letting his softened cock rest against the side of your cheek.

“you— you okay baby?” yuji wiped his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand, a tired smile breaking out once he heard you giggle.

“mhm! i am yu.”

you licked up cum from your lips and his balls almost swelled in size again, his gaze still permanently trained on you.

“you look so pretty like this angel…” he murmured, and your heart fluttered, him collecting some of his white cum from the corner of your mouth— thumbing it through your suckling lips. “so so pretty…”

just like he’d imagined.

maybe next time he could do it on your tits!

Across the room, you catch glimpses of Suguru, Choso, Toji with his wife—everyone falling into that familiar flow you always get into when you’re together. It's crowded, messy, and loud, but it feels good because it's yours.

Then there’s him. Sukuna isn’t really doing anything special; he’s simply there with a drink in hand, looking relaxed and laughing with his best friends. He looks annoyingly good, which feels a bit unfair, and it’s not just about the clothes or the effort, but how he carries himself, how people unconsciously give him space, and how your eyes keep finding him, even when you’re not trying to.

Watching him for a long moment, you wonder how much you can push his buttons. Your grip on the glass tightens as you decide to tease him just enough to find out where his limit is tonight. Yeah. This is going to be fun.

The first chance comes easily, maybe even too easily. You end up with Utahime and Choso, and at some point, Sukuna slips in behind you, wrapping his arms loosely around your waist and resting his chin on the top of your head.

Utahime is mid-story about work when there’s a faint give at your wrist, and your bracelet slips off, dropping somewhere near your feet with a soft sound lost in the background noise.

It didn’t fall on its own, obviously. You helped it along a little.

“Oh—hold on,” you mumble, more to yourself than anyone else, and no one around you reacts as you bend down to grab it.

You stay right where you are, leaning down to reach the floor but pressing your ass back into him, dragging it along his length, and straightening up the second you’ve made your point. Then you just fasten the bracelet again like nothing had happened.

It's enough to feel his body react, and his hand moves from your waist to your hip, fingers pressing firmly, like his touch is now serious.

You turn your head slightly, looking back at him over your shoulder, almost curious.

“Something wrong?” you ask softly, acting genuinely clueless.

The way he's looking at you is anything but easy now, and you know exactly why.

Not long after, you head to the kitchen for a refill, where Shoko and Yuki pull you into their circle. As you listen to their yapping, sipping your drink through a straw, you look up, and it takes no time to spot him. You huff under your breath at how easy it is, even when he's nowhere near.

He’s listening to Satoru, who is, as usual, loud and absolutely animated. Then, Sukuna looks above Gojo’s shoulder, and his eyes instantly lock onto yours, like he knew you'd be looking. You hold the gaze, half-listening to Shoko, half-focused on your husband.

The straw is already between your lips, and your grip on the glass tightens a little as you draw slowly, sucking your cheeks in to make it obvious. You take your time, keep eye contact, letting it sink in before you pull back, letting the straw slip from your lips bit by bit, your tongue tracing it, then dragging across your lower lip, leaving a faint shine. And you casually take another sip, like the whole thing meant absolutely nothing at all.

Across the room, Sukuna freezes. If you didn't know him, you wouldn't catch it, because he's always been good at hiding reactions behind that bored, disinterested look. But you see right away that his attention drops out of whatever Gojo is saying, and his gaze fixes onto your lips.

Satoru clocks it a second later, stopping mid-sentence. His eyebrows furrow as he follows the line of Sukuna’s stare, tracking it across the room until his eyes land on you, while your eyes are still glued to your husband like no one else even exists.

There's a pause where Satoru just stares, then he lets out a sharp sigh, already turning away, thoroughly unimpressed.

“Seriously, Sukuna?” he grumbles, dragging a hand down his face. “Can you stop eye-fucking your wife just for one damn second?”

Your husband doesn’t even spare him a glance, and your eyes stay on him a moment longer before your lips close around the straw again. You wink at him, then turn back to your own conversation, like you didn’t just make him stop dead in the middle of someone else’s story.

You barely get two sentences out before he’s right behind you again. His hand finds your waist first, and his mouth brushes your ear, breathing a little heavier than before.

“You’re pushing it, brat,” he murmurs, his voice low and slightly rough, and it definitely isn't from the drinks or the noise.

Tilting your head, you glance up at him from under your lashes and murmur softly, “Am I?” making it sound like a genuine question instead of the answer he already knows.

But where’s the fun in leaving it at that?

At some point, Sukuna is talking to Kento and Suguru, explaining something, and this is going to make the interruption you’re planning land harder. You walk over, stand close to him, and one of his palms instantly settles on your waist, without him breaking his thought. Geto chimes in once or twice into his story, dry as ever, and Sukuna snaps back, earning an amused little huff in response.

When no one’s watching, your hand moves, sliding down your shirt as if you’re adjusting the fabric, until your fingertips brush the front of his jeans—lightly at first, still seeming accidental if you stopped there, but you decide to push your luck.

A slow, intentional drag with enough pressure to be unmistakable, tracing over him through the denim, before your hand lightly squeezes and quickly drops away, and Sukuna visibly flinches, cutting off mid-sentence.

Nanami raises an eyebrow. “What was that?”

Clearing his throat, your husband swallows his reaction before it shows anywhere it shouldn’t.

“Lost my train of thought,” he says calmly, though his voice is rougher than five seconds ago. “Doesn’t matter. Wasn't important.”

Geto shrugs, continuing the conversation with Kento, but Sukuna doesn’t join in right away. You feel his body tenses beside you, the change in his breathing, and how his attention is now entirely locked on you, not split between the conversation and the room. He leans down, his voice strained and barely audible.

“Try that shit again,” he mutters, the words tight between his teeth, “and I—”

You cut him off with a soft, unbothered giggle, tilting your head slightly toward him as you murmur, sweet and easy, “Okay.”

You’re really not letting him finish anything tonight, and you’re not even pretending otherwise.

Someone suggests sitting when space opens up on the couch, and everyone moves. Sukuna drops on one end, and you settle onto his lap, your arm draped over his shoulders. You easily jump into the conversation around you, laughing with the others, and he calms down, thinking you might be done.

Not even ten minutes pass before you decide to fuck around and find out, and you adjust, rolling your hips down once, twice, slowly grinding over his cock. To everyone else, it just looks like you’re simply getting comfortable.

He stiffens beneath you, his hand immediately clamps down on your thigh, fingers digging in to stop you, and you feel a sharp inhale behind you. A few seconds pass as he desperately tries to let it go, but he loses the fight with himself, and his breath brushes your ear again.

“Get your ass upstairs. Bathroom. Lock the door,” he rasps, and his arm tightens around your waist. “I swear to fucking god, if you don’t move right now, I will fuck you on this couch.”

You blink at him, tilting your head to the left, then to the right, pretending you have no idea what he's on about. Sukuna closes his eyes for a second and takes a deep breath.

"I wasn't fucking joking."

Seeing how much hunger burns in his eyes, you swallow hard and slide off his lap, walking away through the crowd without looking back, knowing he’s watching your every step. He leans forward, resting his arms on his thighs to discreetly hide how hard he is, then waits thirty seconds and follows.

The bathroom door shuts behind him, cutting off the party noise downstairs, leaving only the sound of your breathing and the faint faucet drip as Sukuna turns the lock.

Without hesitation, he pins you against the sink, turns you to face the mirror, grabbing your hair to pull your head back so you're forced to watch your flushed face while his body presses against you, the hard outline of him against your lower back through his pants.

“You wanted to see how far you could push me before I snapped, didn’t you, brat?”

His other hand goes straight for your jeans, unzipping and pulling them off along with the already soaked black lace. He lets out a soft groan right by your ear when his fingers find your slick folds. Two press deep inside, curling hard on that spot that makes your knees buckle.

“Quiet,” he rasps, sounding absolutely wrecked, clapping his palm over your mouth to smother the whimper that escapes anyway. “You’ve been a fucking menace all night—sucking on that straw like it’s my cock, squeezing me like that, grinding on me in front of everyone—and now you think you can moan like that for the whole party to hear? Not tonight, brat. One sound louder than a whimper, and I stop. You wanted to play? Then we're playing by my rules now—no noise, no begging, just take what I give you.”

His fingers work fast, stretching you out, while his thumb rubs your clit in tight, relentless circles that make your thighs tremble. 

You watch your glazed eyes and hips rocking back for his every thrust in the mirror—and Sukuna watches too, with a dark, hungry gaze, tracking every flutter of your lashes and every muffled gasp he silences with his hand.

“Feel that?” he growls in your ear. “Feel how fucking wet you are? Dripping down my wrist like you’ve been dying for this since we left the house. My perfect little wife, so greedy for me, she can’t even keep it down.”

You’re trembling, walls clenching around his fingers, thighs shaking, nails scraping the sink edge as you fight to keep the sounds down, but fail. The moans turn into muffled sobs, and he feels you tightening and your body starting to lock up, and he curls his fingers harder, pressing firm circles on your clit until you shatter. 

The first orgasm hits you fast, leaving you seeing nothing but white. Your body arches under him, pulse hard around his fingers, squeezing tight, and you gush all over his wrist and your legs.

“Look at you,” he growls, forcing your gaze back to the mirror. “Just look at how flushed you are for me, hah.”

He doesn’t let you recover, dropping his hand from your mouth as he pulls his slick fingers out and pushes them past your lips so you can taste yourself. You suck instinctively, swirling your tongue around them as he watches in the reflection, pupils wide, breathing hard against your neck.

Grinding his clothed cock against your ass, he lets you feel how hard and thick he is, before he pulls his pants down. His cock springs free, and he slowly drags it along your slit, letting the veiny length glide through your wetness, coating himself, the head bumping your clit with every pass.

The knees threaten to give out under you when he lines up and pushes the tip in. The first out of five bars of his Jacob's ladder slips inside with an obscene sound that makes him groan, and you gasp at the faint, delicious pull, then clench around nothing as he backs out.

Repeating the move, he obsessively watches you stretch around his pink head as he sinks deeper, letting you feel every single piercing slide in. They pop past your entrance one by one, each dragging firmly along that sensitive front wall until he’s buried to the hilt, letting out a guttural groan at how you flutter and squeeze him.

“Fuuuck—you’re so tight, baby,” your husband breathes right into your ear, locking eyes with you in the mirror again.

He pauses, giving you a moment to adjust, then starts moving, with long, deep thrusts that make you feel every ridge, every vein, and every bar going in and out. Your head drops back onto his shoulder with a muffled moan caught against his palm, eyes rolling, as the piercings make your legs shake.

“Feel that?” he rasps, rolling his hips deep inside and grinding against that spot. “Feel how fucking perfect you are? How you suck every bar into this little cunt?”

The rhythm turns hypnotic for him—pulling out slow to feel the bars tug and pop, then slamming back in hard so your ass jiggles and you moan into his hand. The wet, squelching sound fills the small room every time he bottoms out, absolutely unmistakable, and you silently hope the music outside is loud enough.

“Come on, pretty thing,” he growls, thumb finding your clit again, rubbing slow, firm circles while he's fucking you, watching your reflection fall apart. “Come all over me. Let me feel you, baby.”

You cry out in broken, desperate sobs that he smothers with his hand, and your muscles clench down on him so tightly he lets out a strangled breath and has to grit his teeth to keep from finishing too. He fucks you through it, snapping his hips harder and driving into you with everything he has until you’re trembling, begging with your eyes in the mirror, and that punishing rhythm steals your breath.

“That's it—that’s my perfect girl… falling apart so pretty for me.”

A deep rumble leaves his chest, his eyes drop to his thick cock sliding in and out, and to you, shaking every time the silver bars hit your entrance and graze your walls. He's fully lost in the moment, lip caught between his teeth, feeling your pussy flutter and grip him, watching your cum drip down, and how you look wrecked, perfect, and completely his.

“Fuck,” he breathes, hips stuttering. “Can't—can't get enough. So good. So fucking good. Gonna come for me again, huh? Gonna come on this cock while I fill you up? Hm? Think you can do it, baby? Give me one more?”

Suddenly, he is drilling in you so fast, so mean, you can't even think straight, and you try to whimper that it's too much, but it’s muffled by his hand. Your hips betray you, rocking back to meet him, chasing the feel of his piercings dragging along your walls that makes lights explode behind your eyes, and as the wave builds impossibly fast, he coos roughly, “Mm. Doin’ so good f’me—yeah, just like that. Such a good girl.”

And just like that, you're shaking, moaning against his hand, your walls pulsing around him in waves that pull him closer to the edge, but he fucks you harder, and the room is filled with the sound of skin slapping skin, your muffled gasps, and his low, ragged breaths.

Sukuna suddenly pulls out, leaving you empty and clenching around nothing, and a broken mewl whimper from beneath his palm before he takes it away. He spins you around and pushes you down to your knees, holding the base of his thick cock in front of your face.

“Open,” he growls, voice wrecked. “Take it.”

Your lips part, tongue sliding out, and he thrusts shallow at first, then deeper, hitting the back of your throat. He can’t take his eyes off you, your tongue swirling around the bars, and your cheeks sucking in. 

“Wider, baby. Take it all.”

His hand grips your hair, guiding you, and his hips rock forward in quick bursts that force more and more of his cock inside.

“Fuuuck—” he hisses, and his voice cracks on that single word as his free hand slides lower to your throat, feeling it bulge every time he pushes deep. 

You moan around him, and he loses it, thrusting deep once more. Hot, thick ropes of cum spill down your throat as he holds you there, making sure you take everything until he’s completely empty.

As he pulls out slowly, he knows he’ll never get tired of the sight of your lips dragging along him and your eyes looking all glazed over and dark like they are right now. He brushes his thumb across your bottom lip, wiping away the last drop, then pushes it into your mouth.

“Swallow,” he rasps hoarsely, and you do. “Atta girl.”

He helps you up, pulls you close to his chest, and presses his lips to your forehead. 

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs roughly against your skin. “So fucking perfect.”

You let out a soft, breathless laugh, kissing him hard.

Across the room, you catch glimpses of Suguru, Choso, Toji with his wife—everyone falling into that familiar flow you always get into when you’re together. It's crowded, messy, and loud, but it feels good because it's yours.

Then there’s him. Sukuna isn’t really doing anything special; he’s simply there with a drink in hand, looking relaxed and laughing with his best friends. He looks annoyingly good, which feels a bit unfair, and it’s not just about the clothes or the effort, but how he carries himself, how people unconsciously give him space, and how your eyes keep finding him, even when you’re not trying to.

Watching him for a long moment, you wonder how much you can push his buttons. Your grip on the glass tightens as you decide to tease him just enough to find out where his limit is tonight. Yeah. This is going to be fun.

The first chance comes easily, maybe even too easily. You end up with Utahime and Choso, and at some point, Sukuna slips in behind you, wrapping his arms loosely around your waist and resting his chin on the top of your head.

Utahime is mid-story about work when there’s a faint give at your wrist, and your bracelet slips off, dropping somewhere near your feet with a soft sound lost in the background noise.

It didn’t fall on its own, obviously. You helped it along a little.

“Oh—hold on,” you mumble, more to yourself than anyone else, and no one around you reacts as you bend down to grab it.

You stay right where you are, leaning down to reach the floor but pressing your ass back into him, dragging it along his length, and straightening up the second you’ve made your point. Then you just fasten the bracelet again like nothing had happened.

It's enough to feel his body react, and his hand moves from your waist to your hip, fingers pressing firmly, like his touch is now serious.

You turn your head slightly, looking back at him over your shoulder, almost curious.

“Something wrong?” you ask softly, acting genuinely clueless.

The way he's looking at you is anything but easy now, and you know exactly why.

Not long after, you head to the kitchen for a refill, where Shoko and Yuki pull you into their circle. As you listen to their yapping, sipping your drink through a straw, you look up, and it takes no time to spot him. You huff under your breath at how easy it is, even when he's nowhere near.

He’s listening to Satoru, who is, as usual, loud and absolutely animated. Then, Sukuna looks above Gojo’s shoulder, and his eyes instantly lock onto yours, like he knew you'd be looking. You hold the gaze, half-listening to Shoko, half-focused on your husband.

The straw is already between your lips, and your grip on the glass tightens a little as you draw slowly, sucking your cheeks in to make it obvious. You take your time, keep eye contact, letting it sink in before you pull back, letting the straw slip from your lips bit by bit, your tongue tracing it, then dragging across your lower lip, leaving a faint shine. And you casually take another sip, like the whole thing meant absolutely nothing at all.

Across the room, Sukuna freezes. If you didn't know him, you wouldn't catch it, because he's always been good at hiding reactions behind that bored, disinterested look. But you see right away that his attention drops out of whatever Gojo is saying, and his gaze fixes onto your lips.

Satoru clocks it a second later, stopping mid-sentence. His eyebrows furrow as he follows the line of Sukuna’s stare, tracking it across the room until his eyes land on you, while your eyes are still glued to your husband like no one else even exists.

There's a pause where Satoru just stares, then he lets out a sharp sigh, already turning away, thoroughly unimpressed.

“Seriously, Sukuna?” he grumbles, dragging a hand down his face. “Can you stop eye-fucking your wife just for one damn second?”

Your husband doesn’t even spare him a glance, and your eyes stay on him a moment longer before your lips close around the straw again. You wink at him, then turn back to your own conversation, like you didn’t just make him stop dead in the middle of someone else’s story.

You barely get two sentences out before he’s right behind you again. His hand finds your waist first, and his mouth brushes your ear, breathing a little heavier than before.

“You’re pushing it, brat,” he murmurs, his voice low and slightly rough, and it definitely isn't from the drinks or the noise.

Tilting your head, you glance up at him from under your lashes and murmur softly, “Am I?” making it sound like a genuine question instead of the answer he already knows.

But where’s the fun in leaving it at that?

At some point, Sukuna is talking to Kento and Suguru, explaining something, and this is going to make the interruption you’re planning land harder. You walk over, stand close to him, and one of his palms instantly settles on your waist, without him breaking his thought. Geto chimes in once or twice into his story, dry as ever, and Sukuna snaps back, earning an amused little huff in response.

When no one’s watching, your hand moves, sliding down your shirt as if you’re adjusting the fabric, until your fingertips brush the front of his jeans—lightly at first, still seeming accidental if you stopped there, but you decide to push your luck.

A slow, intentional drag with enough pressure to be unmistakable, tracing over him through the denim, before your hand lightly squeezes and quickly drops away, and Sukuna visibly flinches, cutting off mid-sentence.

Nanami raises an eyebrow. “What was that?”

Clearing his throat, your husband swallows his reaction before it shows anywhere it shouldn’t.

“Lost my train of thought,” he says calmly, though his voice is rougher than five seconds ago. “Doesn’t matter. Wasn't important.”

Geto shrugs, continuing the conversation with Kento, but Sukuna doesn’t join in right away. You feel his body tenses beside you, the change in his breathing, and how his attention is now entirely locked on you, not split between the conversation and the room. He leans down, his voice strained and barely audible.

“Try that shit again,” he mutters, the words tight between his teeth, “and I—”

You cut him off with a soft, unbothered giggle, tilting your head slightly toward him as you murmur, sweet and easy, “Okay.”

You’re really not letting him finish anything tonight, and you’re not even pretending otherwise.

Someone suggests sitting when space opens up on the couch, and everyone moves. Sukuna drops on one end, and you settle onto his lap, your arm draped over his shoulders. You easily jump into the conversation around you, laughing with the others, and he calms down, thinking you might be done.

Not even ten minutes pass before you decide to fuck around and find out, and you adjust, rolling your hips down once, twice, slowly grinding over his cock. To everyone else, it just looks like you’re simply getting comfortable.

He stiffens beneath you, his hand immediately clamps down on your thigh, fingers digging in to stop you, and you feel a sharp inhale behind you. A few seconds pass as he desperately tries to let it go, but he loses the fight with himself, and his breath brushes your ear again.

“Get your ass upstairs. Bathroom. Lock the door,” he rasps, and his arm tightens around your waist. “I swear to fucking god, if you don’t move right now, I will fuck you on this couch.”

You blink at him, tilting your head to the left, then to the right, pretending you have no idea what he's on about. Sukuna closes his eyes for a second and takes a deep breath.

"I wasn't fucking joking."

Seeing how much hunger burns in his eyes, you swallow hard and slide off his lap, walking away through the crowd without looking back, knowing he’s watching your every step. He leans forward, resting his arms on his thighs to discreetly hide how hard he is, then waits thirty seconds and follows.

The bathroom door shuts behind him, cutting off the party noise downstairs, leaving only the sound of your breathing and the faint faucet drip as Sukuna turns the lock.

Without hesitation, he pins you against the sink, turns you to face the mirror, grabbing your hair to pull your head back so you're forced to watch your flushed face while his body presses against you, the hard outline of him against your lower back through his pants.

“You wanted to see how far you could push me before I snapped, didn’t you, brat?”

His other hand goes straight for your jeans, unzipping and pulling them off along with the already soaked black lace. He lets out a soft groan right by your ear when his fingers find your slick folds. Two press deep inside, curling hard on that spot that makes your knees buckle.

“Quiet,” he rasps, sounding absolutely wrecked, clapping his palm over your mouth to smother the whimper that escapes anyway. “You’ve been a fucking menace all night—sucking on that straw like it’s my cock, squeezing me like that, grinding on me in front of everyone—and now you think you can moan like that for the whole party to hear? Not tonight, brat. One sound louder than a whimper, and I stop. You wanted to play? Then we're playing by my rules now—no noise, no begging, just take what I give you.”

His fingers work fast, stretching you out, while his thumb rubs your clit in tight, relentless circles that make your thighs tremble. 

You watch your glazed eyes and hips rocking back for his every thrust in the mirror—and Sukuna watches too, with a dark, hungry gaze, tracking every flutter of your lashes and every muffled gasp he silences with his hand.

“Feel that?” he growls in your ear. “Feel how fucking wet you are? Dripping down my wrist like you’ve been dying for this since we left the house. My perfect little wife, so greedy for me, she can’t even keep it down.”

You’re trembling, walls clenching around his fingers, thighs shaking, nails scraping the sink edge as you fight to keep the sounds down, but fail. The moans turn into muffled sobs, and he feels you tightening and your body starting to lock up, and he curls his fingers harder, pressing firm circles on your clit until you shatter. 

The first orgasm hits you fast, leaving you seeing nothing but white. Your body arches under him, pulse hard around his fingers, squeezing tight, and you gush all over his wrist and your legs.

“Look at you,” he growls, forcing your gaze back to the mirror. “Just look at how flushed you are for me, hah.”

He doesn’t let you recover, dropping his hand from your mouth as he pulls his slick fingers out and pushes them past your lips so you can taste yourself. You suck instinctively, swirling your tongue around them as he watches in the reflection, pupils wide, breathing hard against your neck.

Grinding his clothed cock against your ass, he lets you feel how hard and thick he is, before he pulls his pants down. His cock springs free, and he slowly drags it along your slit, letting the veiny length glide through your wetness, coating himself, the head bumping your clit with every pass.

The knees threaten to give out under you when he lines up and pushes the tip in. The first out of five bars of his Jacob's ladder slips inside with an obscene sound that makes him groan, and you gasp at the faint, delicious pull, then clench around nothing as he backs out.

Repeating the move, he obsessively watches you stretch around his pink head as he sinks deeper, letting you feel every single piercing slide in. They pop past your entrance one by one, each dragging firmly along that sensitive front wall until he’s buried to the hilt, letting out a guttural groan at how you flutter and squeeze him.

“Fuuuck—you’re so tight, baby,” your husband breathes right into your ear, locking eyes with you in the mirror again.

He pauses, giving you a moment to adjust, then starts moving, with long, deep thrusts that make you feel every ridge, every vein, and every bar going in and out. Your head drops back onto his shoulder with a muffled moan caught against his palm, eyes rolling, as the piercings make your legs shake.

“Feel that?” he rasps, rolling his hips deep inside and grinding against that spot. “Feel how fucking perfect you are? How you suck every bar into this little cunt?”

The rhythm turns hypnotic for him—pulling out slow to feel the bars tug and pop, then slamming back in hard so your ass jiggles and you moan into his hand. The wet, squelching sound fills the small room every time he bottoms out, absolutely unmistakable, and you silently hope the music outside is loud enough.

“Come on, pretty thing,” he growls, thumb finding your clit again, rubbing slow, firm circles while he's fucking you, watching your reflection fall apart. “Come all over me. Let me feel you, baby.”

You cry out in broken, desperate sobs that he smothers with his hand, and your muscles clench down on him so tightly he lets out a strangled breath and has to grit his teeth to keep from finishing too. He fucks you through it, snapping his hips harder and driving into you with everything he has until you’re trembling, begging with your eyes in the mirror, and that punishing rhythm steals your breath.

“That's it—that’s my perfect girl… falling apart so pretty for me.”

A deep rumble leaves his chest, his eyes drop to his thick cock sliding in and out, and to you, shaking every time the silver bars hit your entrance and graze your walls. He's fully lost in the moment, lip caught between his teeth, feeling your pussy flutter and grip him, watching your cum drip down, and how you look wrecked, perfect, and completely his.

“Fuck,” he breathes, hips stuttering. “Can't—can't get enough. So good. So fucking good. Gonna come for me again, huh? Gonna come on this cock while I fill you up? Hm? Think you can do it, baby? Give me one more?”

Suddenly, he is drilling in you so fast, so mean, you can't even think straight, and you try to whimper that it's too much, but it’s muffled by his hand. Your hips betray you, rocking back to meet him, chasing the feel of his piercings dragging along your walls that makes lights explode behind your eyes, and as the wave builds impossibly fast, he coos roughly, “Mm. Doin’ so good f’me—yeah, just like that. Such a good girl.”

And just like that, you're shaking, moaning against his hand, your walls pulsing around him in waves that pull him closer to the edge, but he fucks you harder, and the room is filled with the sound of skin slapping skin, your muffled gasps, and his low, ragged breaths.

Sukuna suddenly pulls out, leaving you empty and clenching around nothing, and a broken mewl whimper from beneath his palm before he takes it away. He spins you around and pushes you down to your knees, holding the base of his thick cock in front of your face.

“Open,” he growls, voice wrecked. “Take it.”

Your lips part, tongue sliding out, and he thrusts shallow at first, then deeper, hitting the back of your throat. He can’t take his eyes off you, your tongue swirling around the bars, and your cheeks sucking in. 

“Wider, baby. Take it all.”

His hand grips your hair, guiding you, and his hips rock forward in quick bursts that force more and more of his cock inside.

“Fuuuck—” he hisses, and his voice cracks on that single word as his free hand slides lower to your throat, feeling it bulge every time he pushes deep. 

You moan around him, and he loses it, thrusting deep once more. Hot, thick ropes of cum spill down your throat as he holds you there, making sure you take everything until he’s completely empty.

As he pulls out slowly, he knows he’ll never get tired of the sight of your lips dragging along him and your eyes looking all glazed over and dark like they are right now. He brushes his thumb across your bottom lip, wiping away the last drop, then pushes it into your mouth.

“Swallow,” he rasps hoarsely, and you do. “Atta girl.”

He helps you up, pulls you close to his chest, and presses his lips to your forehead. 

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs roughly against your skin. “So fucking perfect.”

You let out a soft, breathless laugh, kissing him hard.

Toji groans, “Fuck baby, such a messy little slut, probably been thinkin bout this all fuckin night, huh?”

You let out a hum, chocking as Toji presses your head further down his dick. Faster than before, his grip on your hair tight, only giving you seconds to breath inbetween every thrust into your mouth.

You wrap your tongue around it, making Tojis hips buck, his cockhead brushing against the back of your throat. He lets you go for a second, tilting your head up as you gasp for air, “Shit mama, you alright?” The older man smears his pre across your plump lips, his hard cock right against your face.

You’re bribing him heart eyes, eyes practically dilated as you bring his tip back to your mouth for mot action, chest rising and falling rapidly, “Don’t- hah- don’t stop. ”

Cock drunk and the man hasn’t even given you an inch of it in your pussy.

Your eyes water, hallowing out your cheeks as you him in deeper, opening your mouth wider, bubbles of mixed fluids coming out of your mouth as the filthy noises fill the small bathroom.

“So damn filthy doll. Need my cock to keep your head on straight? Huh? Shit- Gooood shit Dollface- look so pretty just like this, hah- should use your mouth whenever I want.” He grunts, shivering as you mewl around him. Eyes blown and stuck on him, your hand goes up his happy trail, fingers feeling every ridge of his abs.

He hisses, Adam’s apple bobbing as he tries to contain himself in your tight throat, “Fuck- doll- shit- too damn good at this.” his cock twitch at the back of your throat. You push him in the wall of the bathroom stall, letting his thick cum fill your mouth up till your chocked up and gagging.

You finally let out with a wet ‘pop’ licking your lips, half your face soaked in his cum and your spit, raunchy. Toji takes your face in his calloused hand, dipping a thumb in your mouth for you to suck it.

“You’re too tipsy doll,” the ends of his scared lip curves upward, mischievous in his emerald eyes as he pull you onto your feet. He coos, “gotta take you home. Lemme take care of you.”

Criminal!Sukuna who lights up in the most feral way whenever your name comes up. Won’t admit it, of course. But it’s obvious how he stops pacing when the mail comes. He snatches your envelopes out of the stack like a territorial dog, scowling at anyone who looks over.

Criminal!Sukuna who sits in his cell reading pages upon pages of you calling him a brain-dead brute with no sense of decorum. Threats piling up saying you’ll break things off completely if he doesn’t clean up his act when he gets out.

He smiles anyway. Because the letters smell like your perfume. Lips splitting wide in that creepy, clinically unwell way that has Gojo surmising Sukuna must have stockholm-syndromed his way into his relationship somehow.

Criminal!Sukuna who writes back instantaneously. Pencil scritching against paper like he’s got a vendetta – and perhaps he does, because he writes venomous, downright heinous shit. All watch your tone and you won’t find a better fuck, signed with a little sketch of his dick. For good measure, of course.

𓀐𓂺 𓀐𓂸

Criminal!Sukuna who spends half his sentence arguing with you through busted-up phone receivers and glass partitions. Sometimes you’ll be face to face at the visitation area, nary a word spoken. Once, you threaten to “start seeing someone normal”, and he slams the counter so hard the whole thing jostles.

There’s something special in the way you speak to him. Like he’s an exceptionally stupid man, and not a dangerous bastard with an egregiously extensive crime record.

“Do you want to get out of prison,” you hiss, enunciating each syllable with a finger jabbed hard at the glass, “or do you want to buttfuck your cellmate?”

Sukuna’s sprawled in his chair, massive arms folded with a sleazy grin, eyes glimmering with mirth. He leans closer.

“Depends. You gonna dump me if I do?”

“Maybe.”

The phone receiver slams against the cradle on his side so hard the inmate six seats down flinches. Sukuna stands to full height, chair scraping back loud across the floor. Hunched over the counter.

“You try it,” he sneers. “See what happens.”

A normal person would back down right about now. Think: hey, this probably isn’t a healthy or sustainable relationship! I should end things right here!

You do not. Instead, you stand and collect your things, a vein pulsing at your forehead as you muster a sweet smile. “Maybe I will.”

He stares ahead three long seconds after you leave, then drops back into his chair, muttering curses beneath his breath as a reprimanding guard draws near.

Criminal!Sukuna who finally gets that long-awaited conjugal visit slot after years of good behavior (read: not slamming anyone’s head into a wall for about a week and a half). And lucky him, you’ve requested special accommodations! – a little trailer just off prison grounds. 

He would’ve been fine fucking you for all to hear, too, but he digresses.

He’s half-hard just from the walk out the confine, veins prominent as his cuff-clad hands twist together. Too busy thinking to bother snarking at the guards who trail behind him.

He wonders what he’ll do when he sees you first. Maybe he’ll smirk, make a snide comment. Or maybe instinct’ll take over, and he’ll bury his face in your hair and his dick in your pussy. Who’s to say?

He’s excited. Very. In many ways.

Criminal!Sukuna who’s one foot into the trailer when he freezes up. The guards have to push him through, slamming the door behind him as his system reboots.

Something tambourines across his ribcage as his eyes meet yours, pounding, pounding– fuck. There you are.

God, he’s missed you.

“You’re staring.”

“..you’re breathing.”

“Yes, that tends to happen.”

His fingers twitch, a soft exhale escaping.

He can’t even find it in himself to be pissed. You’re so pretty. Especially when you’re mad. The angrier you get and the sharper you snap back, the brighter that little gleam in your eyes burns.

Sukuna likes it. He likes it a lot.

He likes you a lot.

The sole reason he even bothered to behave long enough to earn this visit was so he could see that exact frown on your lips once more.

Criminal!Sukuna who’s snapped out of his reverie with the telltale warning of your fingers threading through his hair.

Then those exact lips slam against his with a hiss, your teeth clashing, biting and pulling at his bottom lip as if punishing him for all the time you’ve lost.

His hands – still restrained – press into your waist.

He can’t be bothered to care.

He’s on a sugar high for the first time in months, swallowing down your sativa taste until he’s lightheaded and preening, the outline of kuna junior™ peeking out his orange garb to wave hello.

Your grip on his hair tightens, tugging when his metal cuffs digs into you. In the way. You shoot him a glare, and he snarls beneath his breath.

“Hold still, woman.”

“I am holding still, you dolt–”

There’s a sharp crack!

All you see is the flex of his forearms before the cuffs give way, steel snapping like cheap jewelry and skewing across the trailer floor.

Criminal!Sukuna who hauls you up by your thighs, slamming your back against the flimsy trailer wall so hard a framed motivational poster clatters to the floor. His mouth’s on your throat, kissing tattoos into your skin while he grinds his aching length against the warmth of your clothed cunt.

Criminal!Sukuna who swipes your panties to the side instead of bothering to take them off. There’s a wet spot where he’s been grinding that has his smile spreading mean, two fingers rubbing at your clit before dipping in and crooking up.

“No one’s been spreading you right, huh? Miss me that bad?”

“Missed the dick. Didn’t miss the mouth.”

He snorts at that. Mutters “brat” beneath his breath as he drags his fingers out, slow and glistening, smearing slick along your folds before pushing them back in deep. “Lucky the mouth missed you.”

Criminal!Sukuna who drops to his knees. More collapse than kneel, weight falling hard as he plants himself to the floor, thighs spread wide, hands gripping at your ass to pull you closer. Then he smiles up, tongue running along his molars in anticipation.

Criminal!Sukuna who eats you out like he’s starved. Who dives in with no preamble, mouth sealing over your cunt, tongue flat and broad and greedy as he drags it from your entrance up in one long, lewd-sounding swipe. He takes a moment to grin against your clit, tongue swirling messy circles as his nose presses to the warmth of your skin. Then he’s enveloping the puffy nub between his lips and sucking hard enough to make your hips jerk, humming low when his fingers swipe through your folds and meet a gush of arousal. You buck into the feeling with a whine his name, nails scraping through his scalp, and he practically groans, a hand dropping down to unzip and jerk himself off.

Criminal!Sukuna who gets slower when he’s about to insert himself. Who brushes his tip through your folds, kissing gently at your clit before going back down to gather slick. Then he notches himself at your entrance and thrusts in, agonizingly unrushed, grunting as he sinks into your warmth.

It’s been a while, but his dick still recognizes the feeling like a soldier coming home from war. The fluttering, the way you suck him in like you never forgot him at all – like you waited for him just like he waited for you and worried for him wholly more.

The stretch aches. Your nails rake bloody reality down his back. A groan escapes unbidden – guttural and painstricken and all the more relieved that he’s here, and you’re here, and you’re his.

Criminal!Sukuna who fucks you mean. At first. Sharp and punishing, hips snapping like he’s trying to escape by rocking the trailer to nirvana. Each thrust has a gasp slipping out of your pretty lips, of which he drinks down with fervor, tongue swirling and coaxing yours to muffle the sounds so the guards outside don’t get a free audio show. His balls slap wet against your skin, swollen from months of nothing but his own fist and your perfume-stained letters.

Criminal!Sukuna who slows down when your legs lock tighter around him and your teeth find the side of his neck. He’s still buried to the hilt. His hips rolling in filthy circles, grinding his length against that sweet spot that makes your toes curl and your vision go blurry.

His forehead drops to yours, sweat-slick hair sticking to skin as his voice lowers.

“..say you love me.”

Criminal!Sukuna who lets out a tch when you don’t answer fast enough. Who pulls almost all the way out, letting you feel the drag of every veiny inch, then slams back in so deep your mouth opens in a silent cry.

“Say it. Tell me you’re mine, tell me you– fuuuuuck. Been thinking ‘bout you. Dreaming ‘bout you, every night. Jerked off so much I thought my dick would fall off.. c’mon, baby. Say it. C’mon.”

Criminal!Sukuna who starts begging when your walls pulse around him. Not pretty begging, either – pissed-off. Hoarse.

“Don’t do this to me, please– fuck– just say it. Say you love your piece-of-shit boyfriend. Say you’ll wait. I’ll be good, I swear– only you, just for you, I’ll get out– so say it. Say it. I need you.”

His thrusts turn erratic. Sloppy. He’s close, and he’s trying not to be, trying to drag it out as long as possible before the moment fades into steel bars and white walls of nothing.

Criminal!Sukuna who shivers when you finally card your fingers through his hair, yanking his head back so you can look him in the eye.

You’re pretty. Always pretty, but especially pretty like this, lips swollen and tears pooling at your eyes out of overstimulation.

“I love you, you stupid, stupid man.”

Criminal!Sukuna whose whole body locks up. Whose cock pulses violently inside you – once, twice – and then he’s cumming with a strangled groan, doubling over to hold you tight as he fills you up. He keeps grinding, encouraged by the way your walls milk his length, cum leaking out in a frothy little ring that has his chest preening.

Criminal!Sukuna who doesn’t pull out after. Just stays seated inside, trembling, face buried in the crook of your neck and arms wrapped around you like you might disappear. Who mumbles against your skin, barely audible –

“..missed this pussy.”

He’s still half-hard, twitching every time your walls clench around his oversensitive length. Already thinking about round two.

But despite his perverted words, and his overeager dick, you know exactly what he’s trying to say.

Criminal!Sukuna who spends the rest of your visit inside you in some capacity – fucking, eating you out with your thighs locked around his head, making you ride him on the tiny bed ‘til the frame creaks dangerously. Every time he cums, he begs to hear you say you love him again, hissing it back at you like a promise.

When the guards finally bang on the door to collect him, he snarls “five more minutes” and shoves his tongue back in your mouth. Trying to swallow you whole and take you with him.

Criminal!Sukuna who leaves the trailer with his shoulders loosened, lips swollen, fresh bite marks ringed around his throat and oh-so visible with his head held high. The dopiest, most lovesick grin painted fond across his lips.

He’s gonna get out of here. And when he does, his girl’s gonna be waiting.

––––

Criminal!Sukuna who gets released on parole after god knows how long. The guards walk him out, and the world feels a little different. The air is clearer. And his woman–

.

Where the hell are you?

Criminal!Sukuna who’s a little disappointed when his parole officer is the one to escort him home. But he can’t be too upset about it. You must’ve had it hard, too. He’ll make it up to you.

Criminal!Sukuna who almost breaks down the door on his way in.

DAAAARLING. GUESS WHO’S BACK FROM JAIIIIIIL–

You’re sitting on the couch, legs tucked beneath you, remote in one hand. Unimpressed.

“Hi,” you sniff.

His eye twitches.

“Woman.”

“Yes?”

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Sitting.”

He drops his duffel bag with a heavy thud. “Yeah. I can see that.”

Criminal!Sukuna who starts prowling around the apartment like a bloodhound. He checks the kitchen and the hallway and the bathroom and the bedroom – including the closet, the door to which he swings open so hard it bangs against the wall.

Bathtub. Bed. Under the bed. Back out again.

He stands silent for a long moment before storming back into the living room, planting himself in front of the couch and looming over you with a scowl.

“You told me you were seeing someone.”

You lean a little to the left so he doesn’t block your view of the TV, ignoring the freshly released menace like you haven’t been yearning for his presence for the past four years. Serves him right. “I told you maybe.”

“Maybe means yes.”

“No,” you reply, calm, “Maybe means maybe.”

“Maybe means there could be some guy sitting in my apartment right now.”

“Our apartment.”

“Same difference.”

You don’t respond, and he feels the panic set in.

Sukuna trusts you. He knows you waited, and he knows you didn’t have to.

What he’s more uncomfortable with is the memory of all those nights in his cell staring at the ceiling wondering if he would come back changed.

It’s not like he’d know if or when that would happen. It’s not like you’re blind to that possibility. You’ve probably spent just as much time wondering the same thing – if the man who came home would still be the one you loved, or just some asshole you’d have to learn to live with until your lease was up.

And if you did anticipate that, and you did move on, and there is some other guy? What then? What useless method of intimidation or blackmail or torture could possibly earn back your heart if he had already lost it somewhere along the way?

You glance up after a bit. A wry smile blooms across your lips when you see the worried set of his brow.

“There is no guy,” you snort.

“You sure about that?”

“Yes.”

“Then why didn’t you pick me up?”

“You know where the apartment is.”

“..would’ve liked balloons, at least.”

You register the little quiver in his voice with a hum.

It’s kind of funny, because when he first got into prison four years ago, he was the one who tried to cut things off. Said he didn’t know you at first – assumed you wouldn’t want to associate with a convict. And now here he is, asking for welcome-home balloons.

“Wow,” you muse, pausing your show, “prison really softened you.”

He glares down at you. You smile back.

And then he lets out a long, aggravated exhale, drags a hand down his face, and plops down onto the couch. The whole thing dips under his weight.

“Missed you,” he murmurs.

You laugh and let him pull you into his arms.

“You big baby.”

Criminal!Sukuna who’s “reformed”. On paper. Ankle monitor long gone and patrol officer off his case. He’s even scored a legitimate (albeit mundane) part-time mechanic gig, which you’re 90% sure he got solely because the owner of the shop used to joyride with him. Some big burly guy named Toji who overcharges his clients and busts all his earnings in a casino at 4am, no doubt.

Still, the itch never leaves.

Criminal!Sukuna who can’t quite give up that pesky little habit of his. He’ll steal anything he can. Snatching your lacey panties right out the hamper just to shove them in the washer four hours later after jerking off until the fabric is soaked. And if ever you ask, he’ll just shrug and feign innocence.

“Dunno. Maybe they ran away from your stank ass pu–”

You don’t let him fuck you for the next two weeks, and from the desperate look on his face when you pass by, it isn’t difficult to assume he’s in just as much agony as he was when he was behind bars.

Criminal!Sukuna who “borrows” your car keys and drives off. He doesn’t have anywhere particularly important to be, but the jingle in his palm and the roar of the engine give him that good ol’ dopamine hit. He goes down three blocks to the gas station just to buy the same energy drink you already have three packs of in the fridge, then comes back home and acts like he wasn’t just driving on a suspended license.

Criminal!Sukuna who’s reintegrated into society. And yet he’ll never truly get rid of the urge – the whisper that he could do something, and he could probably get away with it, too.

But he won’t. He’d kill himself before getting locked up again.

Scratch that – his girl would, first.

that’s his way out. he just needs a smart partner who can carry his hopeless ass.

sukuna’s eyes sweep across the room, scanning for anyone who looks like they know what the hell they’re doing. most of the people he usually talks to in class are as useless as he is, too busy flirting or sleeping through lectures.

but then his gaze catches on someone sitting right up the front.

you.

the quiet girl with the tidy notes and the neat handwriting, the one who always answers when the professor asks a question no one else dares to.

you’re sitting there now, head slightly tilted as you jot something down, your pen gliding across the page with that easy confidence of someone who actually understands this shit.

you’ve always sat alone, tucked near the window. you never talk during lectures unless you have to, and even then your voice is small, hesitant. you wear oversized sweaters, keep your hair pinned up, and avoid eye contact with anyone who looks remotely like they belong to his world.

still, he’s noticed you before. everyone has. it’s hard not to. you’re the kind of girl that seems untouchable, not because you’re trying to be, but because you’re so far removed from everything he knows. soft, focused, real sweet.

and right now, you look like salvation.

he pushes up from his seat, ignoring the curious glances from a few classmates as he moves down the aisle. his tall frame blocks the light for a second when he stops beside your desk. you glance up, startled, your pen pausing mid-sentence.

"yo, my names sukuna. and you?"

"uh, hi? it's y/n." he smirks at your shy response, but continues.

“you’re like, a chem genius, right?” his tone is low, rough with disinterest, though his eyes linger on you a little too long.

you blink up at him, hesitant. “oh, um… i guess? why?”

“i need a partner, like, real bad,” he says, dropping the failed exam onto your desk with a dull slap. the red ink almost glows. “i'm gonna be honest, i completely fucked myself with this last exam. i can’t afford to fail again.”

you stare at the paper, then at him. up close, he’s intimidating. messy pink hair, dark eyes sharp and unreadable, tattoos trailing up his arms, his face, and peeking out from under his shirt collar.

he looks nothing like someone who’d ever ask for help, especially from you, and the fact that he’s doing it now makes your mind reel.

“i- look, don't take this the wrong way, but... theres a lot of people in this class,” you manage softly. “why pick me?”

he shrugs, leaning one hand on the desk beside your notes. “because you actually know what you’re doing. and i’m not looking to get stuck with some idiot who’ll drag me down, i'm already so fucking cooked."

you hesitate, glancing away. you’ve never really talked to him before. actually, you’ve barely even noticed him beyond the times you’ve seen him walking across campus with toji. that’s usually when your stomach does that stupid fluttering thing. watching toji laugh, his arm slung lazily around sukuna’s shoulders, both of them looking like they own the place.

it’s strange seeing one of them standing here now, asking you for help.

you fidget with your pen. “that's fine, sure. but… if we’re partners, wed have to split the workload.”

"yeah,” he says. “i can pull my weight, don't stress it, sweetheart. mostly just need someone to keep me from bombing it.”

it’s almost funny. he’s trying to sound casual, but something about the way he’s watching you feels uncharacteristically careful. like he’s actually waiting for your answer rather than being the overbearing dick he usually is.

maybe it’s because you’re cute. or maybe it’s because he knows you hold his fate in your small, nervous hands.

you chew your lip for a moment, then nod. “yeah, okay. i’ll help you out.”

his mouth tilts in a grin that’s half smug, half genuine relief. “good. 'preciate it, babe.”

you look down instantly, pretending to organize your papers so he doesn’t see the way your face warms. you weren't used to such casual name calling.

he drags a chair over from the next row and drops into it beside you, leaning back like he’s been sitting there all semester.

the professor’s voice fades into the background again as you stare straight ahead, trying to focus on anything but the fact that sukuna ryomen, the most notorious guy in beta tau, is now your project partner.

a few minutes pass in silence. the lecture drags on, your notes filling another page. but your mind’s racing the whole time. sukuna, meanwhile, can’t stop sneaking glances at you from the corner of his eye.

he hadn’t expected you to actually agree. and he definitely hadn’t expected to find himself curious about you. you’re so… different. not the kind of girl who shows up to parties. not someone who flirts back when he smirks at her. just quiet and sweet, head buried in your work, the type that shouldn’t even be in his orbit.

and yet here you are.

when the professor dismisses the class, people start packing up. you hesitate, fingers tightening around your pen. then, before you can talk yourself out of it, you turn to him.

“hey… sukuna?”

he hums, eyes flicking toward you lazily. “yeah?”

you look nervous, the words almost tripping over themselves before they leave your mouth. cute. “i’ll help you pass. but… can you help me out with something too?”

his brow arches. “hmm. depends what it is.”

you take a quiet breath. “it’s about your friend. uh.. toji.”

that gets his attention. his posture stiffens a little. “what about him?”

you look down at your notebook, like it’s safer than looking at him. “i just… i think he’s really attractive. and he looks nice. i know it’s kind of stupid but i was wondering if maybe... you could help me get him to notice me.”

for a second, sukuna just stares at you.

out of all the things he expected you to say, that wasn’t it.

you, the shy little thing sitting up front, blushing and tripping over her own words, want toji fushiguro. one of the biggest assholes on campus. his best friend, sure, but a guy who barely remembers girls’ names after he sleeps with them.

he leans back slowly, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. “you’re serious?”

you nod, eyes still fixed on your notebook.

he studies you for a long moment. you’re fidgeting again, twisting your pen between your fingers, your voice so soft he almost misses it. “you don’t have to if it’s weird, i just thought… you two are close, so maybe…”

sukuna exhales through his nose. part of him wants to tell you it’s a bad idea. that toji doesn’t deserve someone like you. that you’d get hurt trying to chase a guy like that.

but he doesn’t.

instead, he tilts his head and says, “yeah, fine. i’ll help you out.”

your head snaps up, eyes wide. “huh? really?”

“yeah. but only because you’re saving my ass with this project,” he says, smirking a little. “guess we’ll call it even.”

you smile, small, bright, genuine, and something tightens in his chest.

you're so cute.

“thank you,” you say quietly.

he grins again, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “don’t mention it, honey.”

and as you pack up your notes, he watches you go, already trying to ignore the strange feeling crawling up the back of his neck.

he tells himself it’s just a deal. a trade. nothing more.

but as you disappear out the door, he can’t shake the thought that maybe, just maybe, he’s gotten himself into more trouble than he realises.

~

music blasts through the frat, heavy bass shaking the walls, bodies moving in rhythm across the living room floor. someone’s yelling over the noise, someone else is laughing too loud.

the air smells like bad beer, smoke, and sweat, the classic friday night cocktail that means beta tau is alive and wild again.

sukuna leans against the kitchen counter, red solo cup in hand, watching a game of beer pong play out in front of him. the noise is deafening, but it’s a familiar kind of chaos. toji’s across the table, grin sharp as he sinks another ping-pong ball into the last cup.

“hell yeah,” toji shouts, hands raised. “that’s another win for me, baby!”

someone hands him another drink, and he downs it in one go, slamming the cup down as the room cheers. toji fushiguro lives for this kind of night, beer, bets, and easy company. sukuna’s used to it, the routine almost comforting.

he joins the next round, barely losing after a stupid bounce, then lets himself collapse onto the sagging couch beside toji. the music’s pounding through the walls, but the corner they’re in feels quieter, almost like the noise fades around them.

toji stretches out, arm slung over the back of the couch, shirt sticking to his skin. “you’re slipping, man,” he says, smirking at sukuna. “used to be able to hold your own in beer pong.”

“fuck up,” sukuna mutters, head tipped back, eyes half-lidded. “that last shot was rigged.”

“rigged?” toji laughs, deep and unrestrained. “you’re just rusty.”

sukuna grunts, tossing his empty cup onto the coffee table. his head’s buzzing, not from the alcohol, just from thoughts, mostly the image of you, the way you looked earlier in class, keeps floating up uninvited. you sitting at the front of the room, your careful handwriting, the little way you’d fidget with your pen when you were nervous.

he doesn’t even realize he’s been quiet until toji elbows him. “yo, what’s got you zoning out?”

sukuna runs his tongue over his teeth, deciding. screw it. “you ever heard of someone named y/n?”

toji raises a brow, blinking like he didn’t catch that over the noise. “who?”

“y/n,” sukuna repeats.

toji shakes his head, lips quirking. “nah. that some new chick you’re banging?”

sukuna sputters, choking on air. “what? no. i’m not-” he cuts himself off, dragging a hand down his face. great. smooth start.

toji’s smirk widens. “come on, man. don’t get shy on me. you’re stuttering like some freshman.”

“shut up,” sukuna mutters, glaring at him. “it’s not like that.”

“then what’s it like?”

he hesitates, watching the light flicker off the beer bottles on the table. there’s no way to explain it without sounding weird. he’s not even sure why he’s bringing you up at all, except that he made a promise, and now he’s gotta start somewhere.

“she’s just… in my chem class,” he finally says. “smart as hell. the kind that actually knows what she’s doing, y’know?”

toji snorts. “so, a nerd.”

“yeah,” sukuna says, ignoring the way toji says it like it’s an insult. “but, like… cute. shy, quiet, nice, i guess.”

toji’s grin widens. “bro. you’re seriously telling me about a crush right now? what the hell happened to you?”

“it’s not a crush,” sukuna says quickly, though his voice comes out sharper than he means. “she’s just..” he stops, running a hand through his hair. “she’s helping me with chem, okay? and i told her i’d help her with something too.”

“what, she want free alcs?” toji laughs.

“no.” sukuna exhales through his nose. “she wants you.”

that earns him a pause. toji tilts his head, eyes narrowing like he’s trying to decide if he misheard. “me?”

“yeah.”

“as in… she wants to, what, date me?”

“basically.”

toji’s silent for a moment, then he breaks into a bark of laughter so loud it turns a few heads. “you’re kidding, right? some shy nerdy girl wants me?” he grins, tapping his chest. “guess she’s got good taste.”

sukuna grits his teeth. “don’t be an ass about it.”

“what? i’m not being an ass,” toji says, still smirking. “just saying, that’s not really my type, man. i like girls who can actually keep up, y’know?”

“yeah, i know,” sukuna mutters. “that’s kinda the problem.”

“problem?”

sukuna leans forward, elbows on his knees, voice dropping low. “look, she’s… she’s sweet. like, actually sweet. the kind of girl that probably still says ‘sorry’ even when someone bumps into her first. you’d break her in half.”

toji shrugs, unbothered. “then maybe she shouldn’t be into me.”

“she doesn’t even know you,” sukuna says, frustration creeping into his tone. “she just saw you around. thinks you’re… i don’t know. hot and nice.”

“ha,” toji barks out a laugh, finishing his drink. “then she’s definitely got the wrong idea.”

sukuna sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. this was going nowhere.

he tries again, his tone careful. “i just figured maybe you could give her a chance. she’s not like the other girls you mess with. she’s…” he hesitates, searching for the right word. “different. the kind you’d actually like if you gave her five minutes.”

toji side-eyes him, clearly amused. “you trying to sell me a girlfriend or something? what’s in it for you?”

sukuna’s jaw tightens. “nothing. i told her i’d help her out, that’s all.”

toji grins, eyes glinting. “you sure about that? you sound kinda like you wanna keep her for yourself.”

sukuna’s silent for a beat, his pulse ticking faster than it should. “i don’t.”

“right. and i’m the pope.” toji laughs, leaning back. “are you high? tellin’ me about how cute and shy she is… just fuck her and move on, bro. no need for all this emotional shit.”

sukuna drags a hand down his face, groaning. “i wish i was fucking high. jesus, you’re impossible.”

the music gets louder again, another chant rising from the kitchen as someone calls for shots. toji stands, stretching, grinning down at him. “come on, man. stop thinking so hard. let’s go get wasted.”

sukuna waves him off. “nah, i’m good. go ahead.”

toji shrugs and disappears into the crowd. sukuna sinks further into the couch, head tipping back, letting the noise drown out the frustration burning in his chest.

this was going to be a nightmare.

.

the next morning, the fluorescent lights of the lecture hall feel like punishment. the air smells like stale coffee and paper, and the chatter around the room grates on his nerves. sukuna slouches into his seat, sunglasses hiding the exhaustion clinging to him.

you’re already there, of course. neat stack of papers beside your laptop, pen in hand, posture perfect. you glance up as he approaches, offering a small smile.

“morning,” you say softly.

“hey,” he mutters, sliding into the seat next to you.

the teacher doesn’t waste time, telling everyone to start working on their projects. pairs scatter across the room, some staying behind, others leaving for the library. you glance at sukuna, uncertain.

“should we…?”

“yeah, library,” he says before you can finish. “less noise.”

you nod quickly, tucking your notes under your arm as you follow him out.

the walk’s quiet. you keep close but not too close, fingers gripping the strap of your bag. sukuna glances at you once or twice as you walk, the sunlight catching the edge of your hair. there’s something weirdly calming about you, like your presence forces the chaos in his head to settle for a bit.

when you reach the campus library, you pick a small table near the back, away from the groups of whispering students. the morning light filters through tall windows, catching dust motes in the air. it’s quiet enough that every turn of a page feels loud.

you sit across from him, pulling your laptop from your bag. “um, before we start, maybe we should exchange contact info?”

he nods, pulling out his phone. “yeah. what's ya' number?”

you rattle it off, and he types it in. his phone pings a second later when you text him, and he adds your contact with a lazy swipe. then you both exchange social media.

you open your instagram to show him, but he’s already found it. your account’s small. cozy, soft colors, pictures of coffee cups, notes, and the occasional selfie that looks like you were trying not to take one.

then you look at his. thousands of followers, stories from parties, shirtless gym photos, snapshots of him and toji grinning like idiots with red cups in hand.

you blink, then smile politely. “ours are… really different.”

he huffs out a quiet laugh. “yeah. just a little.”

he doesn’t tell you that he finds it kind of adorable, how small and peaceful your corner of the internet looks compared to his chaos.

you both settle in to start discussing the project, papers spread between you. you talk about ideas, your voice growing steadier as you get into the topic. you explain concepts easily, your hands moving as you describe how you could structure the research, how to divide the work.

he listens. or tries to. mostly, he’s just watching the way you light up when you talk about something you love.

after a while, you pause, glancing at him with a small, hopeful look. “did you… talk to toji?”

he freezes for a fraction of a second, mind flashing back to last night. the laughter, the teasing, the absolute disaster of that conversation.

“yeah,” he says after a moment, forcing a smile. “i did.”

your eyes widen, curious. “what’d he say?”

he hesitates. you’re looking at him so earnestly, waiting for an answer, and he can’t bring himself to tell you that toji laughed it off, that he’d said something crude about just sleeping with you and moving on.

so he lies.

“he seemed interested,” sukuna says smoothly. “asked who you were. said you sounded cute.”

you go still for a moment, then your cheeks flush, and you duck your head. “really?”

“yeah,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “told him you were smart, nice. he said that’s rare.”

your shy smile makes his chest tighten in a way he doesn’t understand.

“that’s… really nice of you, sukuna,” you say softly. “thanks.”

he shrugs, forcing a grin. “told you i’d help.”

but as you turn back to your notes, still smiling faintly to yourself, he can’t look away. he doesn’t know what’s worse, the way lying to you actually hurts his heart, or the way part of him’s starting to wish that toji never finds out who you are.

because the thought of you smiling like that at anyone else makes his stomach twist.

~

the frat house is quieter than usual when sukuna pushes the door open.

no bass pounding through the walls, no laughter echoing down the hallway, no beer pong table clattering in the kitchen. just the faint hum of the refrigerator and the distant muffled sound of someone’s tv from another room.

it’s strange. unsettling, almost. he’s gotten used to the constant noise, the never ending roar of people that filled the house from dusk till dawn.

he kicks off his shoes at the door, shoulders rolling back as he heads for the stairs. his head still feels heavy from the long day, the faint scent of your shampoo stuck in his memory.

it’s weird? he’s been around a thousand girls, maybe more. girls who practically threw themselves at him, who laughed too loud at his jokes and leaned in too close.

but somehow, you, sitting across from him with that shy smile and your soft voice explaining inter molecular relationship, manage to stick in his head longer than any of them ever have.

his room’s dark when he steps inside, save for the light bleeding in from the street through the blinds. he tosses his keys onto the desk and falls back onto his bed, exhaling. the ceiling stares back blankly.

he doesn’t even mean to grab his phone, but his hand moves before he can think. he unlocks it, thumb hovering over instagram.

just checking something, he tells himself.

his fingers type your username into the search bar without hesitation.

your profile opens instantly.

the same cozy layout he remembered. a few new story highlights. your bio, something simple, maybe a quote or a flower emoji. his thumb scrolls down slowly, eyes following the grid of neatly arranged photos. you, a few landscapes, coffee cups, snippets of sunlight through your window, a cat that might not even be yours.

he stops when he sees a picture from about a month ago.

you’re holding a tiny puppy in your arms, your face caught mid laugh, like someone had said something funny right before snapping the picture. the puppy’s paw rests against your chest, nose tucked near your chin. in your other hand, you’re holding a paper cup of coffee, a little swirl of foam peeking through the lid.

he stares at it for longer than he should.

it’s just a photo, nothing special, but something about it hits him hard . the little details, the way your fingers hold gently under the puppy’s paw, the sunlight catching on the curve of your cheek, the way your smile looks completely unposed.

he catches himself wondering stupid things.

was that your dog? probably not. maybe a friend’s. or some random one you met at a cafe.

was the coffee yours? it looks like something you’d order, something simple. maybe vanilla, maybe something with caramel.

where was that taken? some small corner cafe? a weekend morning somewhere quiet?

he doesn’t know. and that bothers him more than it should.

his thumb hovers over the photo for a second before he double taps it. the little red heart fills in on the corner of the screen.

great. now you’re going to see that he liked a post from a month ago. real smooth.

he tosses his phone onto the bed beside him, covering his face with his hands.

“what the fuck am i doing,” he mutters.

he’s never been that guy. the one who scrolls through a girl’s profile like he’s studying for an exam. the one who cares enough to wonder what her favorite coffee order is, or if she likes dogs or cats more. he doesn’t ask those questions. he doesn’t want to ask those questions.

but he can’t stop himself.

he scrolls again, back up to your most recent post, another candid shot, you’re wearing one of those oversized sweaters you always seem to wear to class, sleeves pulled over your wrists.

you look peaceful. and sweet. and so painfully far from the world he lives in.

his throat tightens unexpectedly, he looks deeper, really looks at you.

you’re really fucking pretty.

he’d always known that. he’d noticed, sure, he’s not blind. the first day you’d agreed to work with him, he’d thought you were cute. adorable, even. but now, staring at your pictures, seeing the small glimpses of your life beyond those chemistry notes and shy smiles, he realizes it’s more than that.

you’re beautiful.

and that realization sits heavy in his chest, thick and uncomfortable.

because he knows exactly where this is supposed to go.

he still owes you. he still promised you something.

toji.

the thought of his friend’s name makes him exhale hard through his nose.

he can already picture it. if he brings you up again, toji will laugh the same way he always does. say something crude. maybe shrug and agree to meet you, just for the hell of it. and maybe you’d smile that soft, nervous smile at him, and maybe you’d fall for him harder than you already have.

and that image, that thought? makes sukuna’s jaw clench.

he shakes his head, forcing the phone screen off.

“get a grip,” he mutters, rolling onto his side.

but it’s no use. even as he closes his eyes, the image of you laughing with that puppy burns into the back of his mind.

~

two weeks pass withf lectures and late-night text exchanges about project deadlines.

you’ve met up three times since that first day at the library. each time, sukuna’s noticed small things. how you seem to relax around him more, how you’ve started teasing him lightly when he messes up an equation, how your laugh sounds quiet but genuine when he actually manages to make you smile.

and now, on the fourth meeting, he finds himself heading to the library again, trying to ignore the way his stomach feels weirdly tight.

you’re already there when he walks in.

same table. same corner near the back.

but this time, something’s different.

you’re standing by your seat, waving slightly when you see him. and in your hands, you’re holding two cups of coffee.

“hey,” you say, your voice bright and clear in a way that makes him pause.

he blinks, momentarily thrown off by how cheerful you sound. “hey,” he replies, trying to sound as casual as usual.

you hold out one of the cups toward him. “i, um, got this for you. black coffee, right?”

for a second, he just stares.

it’s stupid. it’s a coffee cup. but his mind stutters anyway.

“yeah,” he says, voice quieter than he means it to be. “yeah, that’s right.”

“i wasn’t sure how you take it,” you admit with a small laugh. “you seem like the kind of person who drinks it straight. no sugar, no milk.”

he huffs out a small laugh, taking the cup from you. “you got that right.”

“lucky guess.”

you sit down, cheeks faintly pink. he watches you for a second longer than necessary before clearing his throat and dropping into the chair across from you.

“thanks,” he says finally, lifting the cup slightly. “for the coffee.”

you smile, soft and genuine. “you’ve been helping me a lot with this, so i thought it was the least i could do.”

he wants to tell you that you’ve got it backwards, that you’re the one keeping him afloat, not the other way around, but he bites his tongue.

instead, he takes a sip, the bitter taste grounding him.

“you didn’t have to, y'know.”

“i wanted to,” you say, eyes flicking down to your notes.

and for a brief second, he feels his pulse skip.

you wanted to.

he tries to shake the feeling, pulling out his own notes. “alright, so. what’s the plan for today?”

you talk about the experiment data, what needs to be written up, the references you still have to gather. he listens, but part of him’s distracted.

it’s the way you’re talking now, louder, lighter. you’re not tripping over your words anymore. you’re not afraid to meet his eyes. the shy girl who could barely look at him two weeks ago is now smiling at him between sentences.

and fuck if that doesn’t make something twist in his chest.

as the minutes pass, the project talk starts to blur into something else. he’s the one who changes the subject first.

“so,” he says, leaning back slightly. “what’s with you and coffee? every time i see you, you’ve got one.”

you look up from your laptop, blinking. “i just like it, i guess. i go to this little place near campus almost every morning before class.”

“the one with the green sign?”

“yeah, that one.”

“figured.”

you laugh quietly. “you go there too?”

“sometimes,” he says. “after workouts. they’ve got good espresso.”

you tilt your head. “you work out every morning?”

“almost,” he says, smirking faintly. “gotta keep my sexy frat guy aura in tact.”

“oh, right,” you tease, eyes glinting a little. “wouldn’t want to disappoint your fans.”

he blinks, caught off guard. “fans?”

“your instagram,” you say, trying not to laugh. “you’ve got, like, a thousand girls following you. i saw.”

he groans, rubbing a hand over his face. “don’t remind me.”

“why?”

“because half of them don’t even go to this school,” he says, grinning a little. “they just… show up.”

you laugh, the sound soft but real, and he finds himself smiling before he can stop it.

after that, the conversation drifts. you talk about random things. your classes, your favorite kind of music, the dog from your photo (“that’s my friend’s puppy,” you explain. “he’s named mochi.”).

sukuna finds himself asking questions, more than he’s ever asked anyone before. not just because he wants to fill the silence, but because he genuinely wants to know.

you tell him about your hobbies, your part tme job at the campus bookstore, how you’re saving up for a trip after graduation.

he listens. really listens.

and for every small thing you share, he feels himself drawn in deeper.

when the session finally ends, the clock showing that two hours have slipped by without either of you noticing, you start packing up your things.

“same time next week?” you ask, glancing up.

“yeah,” he says. “same spot.”

you smile again, that soft, shy one that makes his chest ache.

and as you wave goodbye and walk out of the library, sukuna stays seated for a moment, staring at the empty chair across from him.

he should be thinking about the project. about grades. about keeping his promise to you.

but all he can think about is how the smell of coffee still lingers faintly on his fingers and how, somehow, that’s become his favorite part of the day.

~

the frat house always feels heavy on monday mornings. air thick with the smell of stale beer and cheap cologne, empty red cups scattered on tables like small grave markers from the weekend before. sukuna drags himself through the hallway, towel hanging around his neck, hair still damp from a quick shower.

toji’s already waiting in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a protein shake in one hand and his phone in the other. he looks up when sukuna walks in, flashing that familiar cocky grin.

“yo, you down to hit the gym?”

sukuna doesn’t even hesitate. “for sure.”

mondays are brutal, but skipping a session isn’t an option. not when you’ve got someone like toji keeping score. they finish off their drinks, grab their bags, and head out.

the campus is still quiet. early morning sun stretches across the pavement, birds chirping somewhere above. their sneakers hit the concrete in sync.

“bro, did you see the game last night?” toji asks, tossing a smirk his way.

“yeah,” sukuna mutters. “you owe me twenty.”

toji groans. “bullshit. that last call was garbage.”

“still counts.”

they go back and forth for a while typical talk. girls, workouts, who pulled who at the last party. toji’s loud, animated, the kind of guy who fills silence with his own voice. sukuna listens, laughs when he should, but half his mind’s somewhere else.

they’re cutting across the main quad when he spots you.

you’re walking toward one of the lecture halls, tote bag slung over your shoulder, hair catching the light in a way that makes his breath hitch.

you’re wearing something simple. a cute shirt and nice jeans, your hands wrapped around a coffee cup, but somehow it makes you stand out more than anyone else on the path.

you don’t see him, too focused on your phone, but his chest tightens anyway.

for a second, it’s like the rest of the campus fades away.

then he remembers who’s walking beside him.

toji’s still talking about some girl he hooked up with over the weekend, words fading into the background as sukuna’s jaw tightens. he forces his eyes away, tells himself to stop being weird. this is stupid. you’re just his lab partner.

except he’s not supposed to be thinking about how good you look in the morning light. he’s supposed to be thinking about the deal.

the one with toji.

his throat feels dry as he forces himself to speak.

“hey,” he says suddenly. “you remember that girl i was talking about the other night?”

toji glances over, raising a brow. “the chem one?”

“yeah. that’s her.”

he nods toward you before he can second-guess it.

toji slows immediately, his attention shifting in your direction. you’re still walking across the path, the sunlight brushing over your face as you look up for a moment, squinting.

sukuna watches as toji literally stops in his tracks.

“no way,” toji says, eyes widening. “that’s her?”

“yeah,” sukuna mutters.

“holy shit.” toji’s grin spreads, sharp and impressed. “you didn’t tell me she was that cute.”

sukuna doesn’t respond. he just keeps walking, pretending to be unfazed, but every word toji says feels like it’s digging deeper under his skin.

“seriously, bro,” toji continues, still staring after you even as you disappear into the building. “you made her sound like some dorky little nerd. i was picturing ugly glasses, messy bun, the whole thing. but she’s, damn. she’s adorable.”

sukuna’s stomach twists. he forces a smirk, because that’s what’s expected. “yeah, she’s not bad.”

“not bad?” toji laughs, clapping a hand to his shoulder. “she’s gorgeous. you holding out on me, man?”

“nah,” sukuna says quickly. “just didn’t think you’d be into that type.”

“what type?”

“the smart, quiet type,” he says, voice flat. “thought you liked girls who could ‘keep up,’ remember?”

toji scoffs. “yeah, well, she’s too cute to pass up. shit, you should let me tag along next time you’re studying with her. see what she’s like up close.”

sukuna forces a laugh, but it comes out strained. “yeah, sure. whatever.”

inside, he’s cringing so hard he feels sick.

they head into the gym, the sound of clanging weights filling the space. he tries to focus on the burn in his muscles, the rhythm of his breathing but his thoughts won’t shut up. toji’s words keep echoing. she’s adorable. she’s gorgeous. you holding out on me?

this was what he was supposed to do. this was the plan. introduce you to toji, let things fall into place, make good on his end of the deal.

so why does it feel so wrong?

~

the next study session comes faster than he expects.

the day’s overcast, the library quiet except for the soft hush of the air conditioning. you’re already there when he walks in, sitting in your usual spot by the window, books neatly stacked, pen tapping absently against your notebook.

you look up when you hear his voice.

“hey,” he says, slipping through the aisles toward you.

your face brightens instantly, that small, warm smile tugging at your lips.

“hi,” you say, already starting to greet him.

then your voice falters.

because right behind him, towering and broad-shouldered, is toji.

your words die halfway out of your throat, eyes going wide. he’s impossible to ignore, dark hair, sharp grin, that easy confidence that radiates from him like static.

sukuna can see the exact moment you freeze. your fingers grip your pen a little too tightly, your posture going stiff.

“this is toji,” sukuna says, trying to sound casual. “he wanted to tag along today.”

“hey,” toji says smoothly, pulling up a chair without asking. “nice to meet you, y/n.”

you nod, cheeks pink. “h-hi.”

it’s awkward from the start. painfully so.

sukuna tries to start things off, opening his notebook and asking about the data you collected last week, but toji’s already jumping in with his own questions, none of them relevant.

“so,” toji leans forward, elbows on the table. “you’re really good at this chem stuff, huh? always been a little nerd?”

you laugh nervously, eyes flicking between the two of them. “i… guess so?”

“yeah, i could never,” he says, shaking his head. “i barely passed last year. too many parties, you know how it is.”

you nod politely, but the look on your face says it all, you have no idea what to say.

sukuna grits his teeth.

toji keeps going, oblivious. he talks about the last frat party, about the time he benched two hundred in front of half the football team, about some girl who texted him last night. you just sit there, smiling faintly, giving small nods and quiet hums of agreement.

it’s brutal.

every word toji says feels like a slow car crash sukuna can’t stop. he knows he should’ve expected this. this was always how toji was but now that it’s happening in front of you, he can’t stand it.

you’re sitting there, trying so hard to be polite, cheeks flushed, fingers fidgeting with your sleeve. and for the first time, sukuna hates how loud the other guy is. hates how he’s filling the space that’s always felt quiet and easy with you.

after what feels like forever, toji’s phone buzzes. he glances down, reads the message, and stands up.

“gotta head out,” he says, smirking. “good luck with your project, sweetheart. maybe i’ll swing by next time, yeah?”

before you can respond, he gives you a wink.

you freeze again, murmuring something that barely sounds like a goodbye.

he leaves, whistling under his breath, completely unaware of how painfully awkward that was.

the second he’s out of sight, sukuna exhales hard and runs a hand through his hair.

“fuck,” he mutters. “sorry about that.”

your eyes widen a little. “oh, um, it’s fine.”

“no, seriously,” he says, glancing at you. “i should’ve told you i was bringing him.”

you hesitate, then smile, shy but real. “it’s okay. i was just… nervous, i guess.”

he tilts his head. “why?”

you look down at your notes. “he’s just… kind of intense. i didn’t expect that.”

“yeah,” he says quietly. “he’s like that.”

the silence that follows isn’t awkward, though. it’s calm. steady.

you’re visibly more relaxed now, shoulders no longer so tight, your voice softer when you start talking again. sukuna listens, his chest loosening with every word.

you don’t mention toji again.

and he doesn’t either.

for the rest of the session, it’s just the two of you again. back to the easy rhythm he didn’t realize he’d missed until it was gone. you explain a reaction mechanism, he teases you about your handwriting, you roll your eyes and laugh.

when it’s time to leave, you pack up your things slowly, almost like you don’t want the moment to end.

“see you next week?” you ask.

“yeah,” he says, smiling faintly. “next week.”

you give a small wave, and as you walk out, sukuna watches you disappear between the shelves, that same quiet warmth settling in his chest.

he should feel relieved, he did what he was supposed to. he introduced you to toji. he followed through.

but instead, he just feels like he’s made a mistake.

because the whole walk back to the frat, the only thing running through his head isn’t how toji couldn’t shut up or how awkward the whole thing was.

it’s how your voice had softened when you told him it was fine. how your eyes met his, even for a second, and he felt that stupid little spark again.

he doesn’t know what to call it. doesn’t want to.

but deep down, he knows one thing for sure.

the next time you two meet, he’s showing up alone, keeping you to himself.

~

music pounds through sukuna's chest, pulsing out of the open doors of the sorority like a heartbeat on overdrive. laughter spills down the steps, mixed with the sharp scent of alcohol and perfume and that sticky-sweet haze that always clings to these kinds of parties.

banners hang crooked above the door, fairy lights tangled like spiderwebs. the sorority girls really went all out.

it’s a mixer. one of those invite only things, where every girl in greek row tries to get noticed by the “right” house. and sukuna’s frat, their house, was always the right one. full of grade A hotties like sukuna and toji and successful athletes like gojo and geto.

he spots toji near the entrance, already in his element. white t-shirt, chain glinting at his throat, grin carved sharp enough to cut through the noise. every few seconds, someone calls his name. girls from different sororities, guys from the rugby team, even one of the organizers waving him over.

toji was built for this. sukuna knew it. hell, everyone did.

“about time, man,” toji says when sukuna steps up beside him. “thought you’d bailed.”

“nah,” sukuna mutters. “just took my time.”

“yeah, well, tonight’s supposed to be wild. let’s make the most of it.”

they shoulder their way through the crowd, music pounding overhead, the smell of beer and sweat and too much perfume thick in the air. sticking together like usual.

a few girls call out sukuna’s name as they pass, and he just flashes that lazy grin he’s perfected, the one that says he’s not interested, but he might be later.

it’s all automatic now. the smirk, the eye contact, the way his shoulders roll when he laughs. it’s all muscle memory.

but tonight, something feels off.

maybe it’s the way every laugh sounds fake. maybe it’s the way the lights flash too bright, painting everyone in the same plastic color.

maybe it’s because all he can think about is you.

they end up in the kitchen, where the music’s still loud but not deafening. beer pong’s already set up on the long dining table, cups half-filled, ping-pong balls scattered across the sticky surface.

toji grabs a ball and grins. “let’s go. loser does a shot.”

sukuna smirks, rolling up his sleeves. “you’re on.”

they start playing, drawing a small crowd of girls who cheer and giggle at every throw. toji’s competitive as always, talking shit between shots, while sukuna plays quiet and steady. the rhythm feels familiar, the weight of the ball, the sound of it hitting the cup, the way everyone leans in to watch.

after two rounds, they’re tied. toji wins one, sukuna the other. the girls watching don’t seem to care who’s winning they’re too focused on the way the two of them look, the easy confidence that comes with knowing the room revolves around them.

and then they descend.

a blonde slides up beside toji, pressing herself against his arm. another girl, brunette this time, drapes herself over sukuna, laughter dripping from her lips like honey.

“you guys are, like, scary good at this,” she says, voice high and flirty.

“practice,” sukuna says automatically. his smirk looks real enough. it always does.

her nails trace the edge of his sleeve, and she leans closer. “bet you’re real good at other things too.”

normally, this is the part where he’d lean in, let the moment pull him under. he knows how this goes, shots, dancing, slipping upstairs when the music gets too loud. normally he'd do anything for a quick fuck.

but tonight, it doesn’t land.

he looks down at her, at the perfect makeup and glitter around her eyes, and all he can think is how different she is from you.

how you’d never lean on someone like this. how you’d never grab at someone you just met. how when you talked, you actually meant what you said.

his jaw tightens.

toji’s already got two girls around him, laughing loudly, drink in one hand, the other at someone’s waist. he looks like he’s having the time of his life. and for the first time, sukuna feels nothing but exhaustion watching it.

the brunette keeps talking something about the psych department, something about a pool party next weekend but her words fade into static.

god, he can’t stop thinking about you.

he pictures your small smile, the way you tuck your hair behind your ear when you’re nervous. the way your voice lifts just slightly when you talk about something you love. the way your eyes meet his only for a second before darting away again.

then he thinks about how you’d react if you saw this.

if you saw toji right now, grinning, drunk, hands everywhere.

you’d look crushed. maybe not outwardly, but he knows you’d feel it. he can see that tiny flicker of hurt in his head, your lips pressing together, pretending not to care.

and for some reason, that thought hits him like a punch.

you’d be heartbroken over a guy like toji. and he hates that. hates it enough that his fake smirk starts to slip.

because toji’s the one you wanted. and toji’s right there, laughing with some random girl like you never even existed.

it makes his stomach twist.

the brunette leans in closer, her perfume cloying and too strong. she presses her lips against his neck, and something cold floods through him instead of the usual heat.

he stiffens.

she pulls back, confused, maybe even offended, but he just steps away, shaking his head.

“you good?” she asks, pouting a little.

“yeah,” he mutters. “just need a smoke.”

he grabs a beer from the counter and makes his way outside.

the air’s cooler out here, cleaner. it hits his lungs in a way that almost feels like relief. he digs into his pocket, finds his pack, and lights up. the first drag burns his throat, grounding him a little. he thinks back to the time you'd seen a flash of the packet in his pocket, the look of concern plastering your cute face.

"you smoke cigarettes? y'know that pretty bad for you, sukuna..."

he sighs and takes another drag, he knew you were right, hell, he even cut down after that little statement.

inside, the party’s still raging. someone shouts, laughter echoing off the walls. he hears toji’s voice above the rest, loud and easy and so damn sure of himself.

sukuna exhales a long stream of smoke and stares out at the street.

why’s he even thinking about you like this?

you're just a girl. just a project partner. you needed his help, he needed yours. that’s all it was supposed to be.

but then he remembers how you'd smiled when he showed up on time for once, how you’d brought him that stupid cup of coffee just because you thought he’d like it. how careful you’d been, shy but trying.

and now he’s here, surrounded by everything he used to want, feeling nothing but restless.

he thinks about the library tomorrow morning.

you’d be there early. you always are. waiting at the same table, your notebook open, your pen tapping as you concentrate. you’d look up when he walks in, offer that small, quiet smile like you’re genuinely happy to see him.

the thought of showing up hungover makes his stomach knot.

he can’t let you see him like that. not reeking of beer, not bleary eyed and dead from a night he didn’t even enjoy.

he flicks the ash off his cigarette, curses under his breath.

“what the fuck am i doing?”

he looks back toward the house. the windows are glowing with golden light, silhouettes moving inside. laughter spills out again, shrill and wild.

that used to feel like home.

now it just feels loud.

he takes another drag, the ember lighting up in the dark.

this isn’t him. at least, it’s not the version of him you’ve seen. the one who actually listens, who tries, who stays sober enough to remember what you said about catalysts and reactions. the one you’ve somehow turned him into without even knowing.

he huffs out a quiet laugh, bitter and low.

you’d probably never believe it if someone told you sukuna ryomen left a mixer early because of a girl.

but here he is.

he stubs out the cigarette, tosses the butt into the gutter, and pulls his jacket tighter around him.

he steps back inside just long enough to find toji at the beer pong table, a girl perched on his lap now, and rolls his eyes.

“yo,” toji calls over. “where the hell’d you go?”

“m' heading out,” sukuna says. “got shit to do tomorrow.”

toji raises a brow. “it’s friday, man.”

“yeah. i know.”

“whatever,” toji laughs. “your loss.”

sukuna just shrugs, already turning toward the door.

the music fades behind him as he walks out again. the night air hits him, cool against his skin. campus is mostly empty now, streetlights flickering.

he lights another cigarette as he walks, the smoke curling up into the cold.

his mind won’t stop racing.

he thinks about you again, about how small you look sitting behind your laptop, about the way you focus so hard you don’t notice him staring sometimes. about how quiet the world feels when it’s just the two of you in that corner of the library.

you’d laugh if you saw him now. the guy everyone calls a monster, walking home early from a party just because he wants to look sober in front of some shy chemistry nerd.

but it’s not just that anymore.

he doesn’t want to look sober. he wants to look good for you.

he wants you to think he’s better than this. better than what everyone thinks he's like.

he blows out smoke and watches it fade into the dark.

when he gets back to the frat, the house is nearly empty—most of the guys are still at the mixer. it’s quiet for once. he climbs the stairs, every step heavy, and stops at his door.

he stares at the handle for a second before going in.

the room smells like cologne and laundry detergent. his desk’s still a mess, papers and dumbbells scattered everywhere. he drops onto the bed and stares at the ceiling, cigarette burning low between his fingers.

he should sleep. he should forget tonight.

but all he can see is you.

your smile. your voice. your eyes when they meet his and flick away just a second too fast.

“fuck,” he mutters under his breath.

he ashes the cigarette in the tray, lets his head fall back, and closes his eyes.

the thought of you lingers like smoke in his lungs. intoxicating, slow, impossible to shake.

and for the first time in a long time, the idea of tomorrow doesn’t feel like just another day. it feels like something he’s waiting for.

~

the sun crawls through the blinds too early for a saturday.

pale light drags itself across the room, landing on the mess of clothes and empty bottles scattered over the frat floor. everyone’s still passed out.

bodies everywhere. some sprawled across couches, others snoring in corners, heads tipped back with half-empty beer cans slipping from their hands.

but not sukuna.

he’s awake.

he’s the only one who doesn’t feel like he got hit by a truck. no pounding head, no sour stomach. just the faint trace of smoke on his tongue and the quiet buzz in his chest that’s been there since last night.

he sits up, rakes a hand through his hair, and exhales. the air smells like sweat and cheap vodka. he looks around at the disaster that was his frat house, sticky floors, someone’s shoe on the counter, a guy in nothing but boxers drooling into the carpet, and shakes his head.

he’s not sticking around for the aftermath.

there’s something about this morning, something clean, light, strange. he grabs his hoodie, slings his bag over his shoulder, and checks his phone. too early for most people. not too early for you.

he smiles a little at that.

when he walks into the hallway, a few guys groan from the couch.

“yo,” one of them croaks. “where the hell are you going? it’s like… eight?”

“got plans,” sukuna says, slipping on his sneakers.

“plans?” another mumbles, half-asleep. “with who?”

“no one,” sukuna says quickly. “don’t worry about it.”

he’s already halfway out the door before they can start asking more questions. the last thing he needs is toj or anyone, really catching wind of this and deciding to tag along like last time.

the air outside hits him cold and fresh. campus is quiet, only the occasional sound of birds or a bike rolling past. everything’s washed in soft gold light, the kind that makes the world look cleaner than it really is.

he starts walking.

there’s a bounce in his step that he tries to ignore. it feels stupid to feel this way. giddy. like he’s got something worth looking forward to. he tells himself it’s just because he didn’t drink last night. he’s clear-headed. alert. that’s all.

but he knows it’s a lie.

the café comes into view just down the block. it’s the one you always go to, the one with the green sign. he remembers the first time he saw you there, hunched over your laptop with a coffee that had already gone cold, scribbling in your notebook like the world might end if you looked up.

the memory makes his chest feel weird.

he pushes open the door, the little bell chiming. the barista greets him with a sleepy smile. he glances over the glass case, scanning the pastries. croissants, muffins, a few danishes. then he spots the one he remembers you ordering once, faky and soft, sugar dusted over the top.

“one of those,” he says, pointing.

the barista wraps it up neatly in paper. sukuna hands over the cash, then hesitates when she asks if he wants a drink.

he almost says yes. almost orders a sweet coffee for you.

but then he remembers.

you’ll already have one right now, you always do.

“nah,” he says, shaking his head. “js' the pastry.”

he walks out with the small paper bag in hand, a faint smile tugging at his mouth.

he feels ridiculous. it’s a fucking pastry. but somehow it feels like more than that. like he’s carrying a confession.

when the library comes into view, he spots you right away.

you’re there, in your usual spot. that back table near the window, the one you’ve claimed without ever really saying so. your coffee’s beside your laptop, steam curling up faintly. you’re biting your lip, eyes narrowed in concentration as you read through something.

and god, you’re cute.

it slaps him all over again.

the way your hair falls forward, the soft sweater you’re wearing, the tiny crease between your brows. you’re not trying to be anything. you’re just there, focused, quiet, real.

he stands there for a second, just watching.

then he remembers himself and walks over.

“g'morning,” he says.

you look up, startled, then your whole face softens when you see him. “oh, hi! you’re early.”

“yeah,” he says, dropping his bag into the chair across from you. “didn't wanna sleep in today.”

you laugh softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “fair.”

he pulls the paper bag from his hoodie pocket and slides it across the table.

he holds it out to you. “for you. figured you might want breakfast.”

you blink, startled. “wait, really?”

“yeah. it’s from that cafe you like.”

your mouth falls open slightly, and your cheeks go pink in that way he’s starting to adore. “you... remembered that?”

“guess so.”

you take the bag from him carefully, like it’s something fragile. when you peek inside and see what it is, your expression softens even more.

“oh my god,” you whisper, smiling so hard your eyes crinkle at the corners. “this is my favorite one.”

he watches, almost helpless, as you keep talking, thanking him over and over. your voice stumbles with embarrassment, your fingers fidget with the bag, and the more flustered you get, the more something warm spreads through his chest.

“you didn’t have to! really, that’s so sweet of you.”

“it’s nothing,” he says, but his voice is rougher than he means it to be. “just figured you might be hungry.” he softens.

you look down, still smiling. “thank you.”

and it hits him, how long it’s been since a girl said that to him and meant it.

you break the silence first, switching to the assignment, pulling up your notes and explaining something about the next section. he nods along, but he’s not really listening. he’s watching the way you push your hair behind your ear, the way your brows furrow when you focus.

he forces himself to pay attention. still, the moment feels easy.

you talk for a while about the project, comparing notes, trading small jokes. he feels himself relax into the rhythm of it, like it’s become a routine.

and then, without warning, you bring up toji.

you clear your throat first, eyes flicking down to your notes. “so, um... toji.”

he stills, one brow lifting, you were finally gonna talk about him since that awful run in last time. “hmm?”

“he’s… very…” you trail off, searching for the word. “loud.”

he snorts. “that’s one way to put it.”

“and, um, big. like, physically. and personality-wise. very… confident.”

he groans, dragging a hand down his face. “yeah. sorry about that. he’s… a lot. again, i didn’t mean to unleash him on you like that.” he was apologising again, so out of character for him but he couldn't help it. not with you.

“no, no,” you say quickly, shaking your head. “he’s just… different than i expected.”

“different how?”

you hesitate, chewing your lip. “i guess i thought he’d be more like you.”

the words hang between you for a second. his pulse stutters.

“like me, huh?” he says, teasing, leaning back in his chair, spread wide as he looks you up and down. “what’s that supposed to mean, hm?”

you go red instantly, trying to drag your eyes away from his man spread legs. “i just meant- you’re, um, thoughtful. more focused. not overbearing, you're nice...”

he grins. "nice, huh?"

you hide your mouth behind your hand and look off to the side. "nicer than toji, yeah."

he laughs, "that's not a very high bar to clear."

you giggled in response, letting him continue.

“so you like my type better?”

“that’s not what i said,” you mumble, covering your face with your hand again.

“didn’t have to.”

you peek at him through your fingers, and he has to bite back a laugh. your cheeks are so pink it hurts to look at you.

“you’re bullying me,” you say, your voice small.

“maybe.”

you shake your head, still smiling, and reach for your coffee. he watches the way you hold it, the delicate tilt of your wrist, the little sigh you make after a sip.

then, quieter, he asks, “so… you still interested in him? toji, i mean.”

you freeze.

“i.. uh.” your voice falters. “i guess so? i... i don’t know.”

“you don’t sound sure.”

“he’s just, not what i thought he’d be. i thought he’d be a little calmer.”

“he’s not really the type to surprise you in a good way,” sukuna says.

you smile faintly, eyes on your cup. “yeah. maybe not.”

the way you say it, soft, thoughtful, uncertain, it makes his chest ache.

you’re too sweet for this. too genuine. you deserve someone who actually listens, who doesn’t treat you like background noise. and for some reason, he hates that the person you’re hung up on is his best friend.

he sighs, rubbing his jaw.

you look up, curious. “what’s wrong?”

“nothing,” he says, forcing a smile. “just tired.”

you nod, and the two of you fall back into quiet work. it’s peaceful again, the only sounds the soft click of your keyboard and the scratching of his pen. time blurs.

when you finally close your laptop, stretching your arms, he realizes two hours have passed.

“we got a lot done,” you say, smiling.

“yeah,” he says, though he can’t remember a thing you just studied.

you start packing your things, tucking the empty pastry bag into your bag. before you can leave, you hesitate. then, shyly, you step closer and wrap one arm around him in a little side hug.

“thank you,” you murmur, voice barely above a whisper. “for breakfast. and for helping me.”

for a second, he forgets how to breathe.

you smell like coffee and sugar and something faintly floral. your hand rests briefly against his side, and he swears every nerve in his body lights up.

then you pull away, smiling up at him, oblivious to the chaos you’ve just caused.

“see you tomorrow?”

“yeah!” he says quickly, way too excited. “d-definitely.”

you wave and head out, the door swinging shut behind you.

he stands there for a full minute, still staring at the spot you’d been standing, until he realises his hands are clenched and his pulse is hammering.

he grabs his bag, mutters something under his breath, and heads outside.

the moment he’s in the open air again, he takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself.

the breeze does nothing to cool the heat crawling under his skin.

he walks fast, head down, eyes on the pavement.

every step feels heavy with restraint.

because all he can think about is how soft you felt, how small your hand was against him, how much he wanted to pull you in, bury his face in your neck, keep you there for hours.

he curses under his breath, tugging his hoodie lower, hoping it hides the problem growing in his jeans.

“get it together,” he mutters.

he tries to think about anything else the assignment, the game tomorrow, the half finished paper on his desk but his mind keeps circling back to you. your laugh. your blush. your hug.

by the time he reaches the frat, his heartbeat’s finally starting to slow, but the feeling stays. that dizzy mix of guilt and want.

he steps inside quietly, the house still a mess of hangovers, and slips upstairs to his room.

the first thing he does is sit on his bed, elbows on his knees, and let out a long, shaky exhale.

he’s in trouble.

he knows it.

because he can’t stop smiling.

~

the gym in the frat house isn’t much. it’s a dim room tucked behind the kitchen, with cracked mirrors and rusted weights, the air always heavy with the stale scent of sweat and cheap deodorant.

the guys call it a “home gym,” but it’s really just a collection of mismatched dumbbells, an old bench press, and a speaker that always buzzes when the bass hits too hard. its nothing like the fancy campus one him and toji visit, still, it works for sukuna.

he’s halfway through a set, sweat sliding down the back of his neck, when his thoughts start slipping away from the burn in his muscles and land right where they always seem to go lately.

he tries to ignore it, focusing on the motion, the rhythm, the push and pull of the bar in his hands.

but the harder he tries not to think about you, the more vivid you become. your voice, soft but steady, your shy little smiles whenever he cracks a joke, the way you always tuck your hair behind your ear when you’re trying not to blush.

it’s infuriating, how easily you creep into his head.

he exhales sharply, finishing the set with a grunt, letting the bar clang down harder than he means to. it rattles against the frame, echoing in the small room.

“fuck,” he mutters under his breath, sitting up and grabbing the towel draped over his shoulders.

he wipes his face, breathing hard, his reflection in the mirror smudged with fingerprints and dust. he looks exhausted, not just from the workout but from everything sitting in his head.

you and toji.

you and that stupid, innocent crush you’d confessed to him like it was nothing.

he leans forward, elbows on his knees, towel hanging loosely around his neck. he can’t keep fucking around pretending like this is going to work anymore.

he can’t sit through another study session with you knowing that toji knows you're into him.

toji doesn’t even remember half the girls he flirts with, so why should he get to occupy that sweet spot in your brain.

that thought alone makes his blood boil.

you’re too good for that. too damn good.

he picks up the dumbbell again, trying to lift through the frustration, but his mind keeps racing. toji’s face flashes in his mind—the obnoxiousness, his interest in you only after finding out what you looked like.

the memory makes his jaw clench.

toji doesn’t deserve to know you exist, let alone be someone you lose sleep over.

his grip tightens around the handle. he lifts again, but it feels pointless now, his muscles burning for a different reason entirely.

finally, he slams the weight down and stands up, chest heaving.

he’s done.

done thinking he can stomach this, done keeping that deal, done lying to himself.

without even thinking about it, he walks out of the gym, towel still slung over his shoulder. his feet move on instinct, carrying him through the hall, up the grand stairs, straight to toji’s room.

the door’s half-shut, light spilling from the gap, and he doesn’t bother knocking. he pushes it open, the wood hitting the wall with a dull thud.

toji’s sprawled across his bed, shirtless, scrolling through his phone. there’s a protein shake on the desk, a game controller tangled in the sheets. he looks up lazily when sukuna appears.

“yo,” he says, grinning. “you look pissed. what, satoru stealing your shirts n' shit again?”

sukuna doesn’t answer. he stands there for half a second, jaw tight, and then the words just fall out before he can stop them.

“y/n has a boyfriend,” he blurts. “so you can forget the whole crush on you thing.”

toji blinks, confused. “uhm?”

“what,” sukuna says, crossing his arms. “shes got a guy.”

toji sits up slightly, eyebrows furrowing. “who’s y/n again?”

the silence that follows is deafening.

sukuna stares at him, the vein in his temple twitching.

“are you actually deadass right now?”

toji shrugs. “bro, i talk to a lot of girls, you gotta be more specific.”

that’s it.

sukuna drags a hand down his face, muttering something that sounds halfway between a growl and a groan. he doesn’t even bother explaining. it’s not worth it.

“don't worry, man,” he snaps, spinning on his heel.

he slams the door behind him hard enough to rattle the frame.

by the time he gets back to his room, his chest is tight, the frustration boiling over into something heavier. he paces once, twice, then finally drops onto his bed, letting his head fall back against the wall.

“who’s y/n again?”

the words echo in his mind like a bad joke.

he can’t believe it. he can’t believe he ever thought this was a good idea, trying to set you up with that idiot.

it’s not even about the deal anymore. it’s about you.

because now he knows what it feels like to be around you, to hear you laugh, to see the way your eyes light up when he remembers the smallest things. he knows what it feels like to walk beside you through campus at night, the air cool and soft, your voice quiet but steady.

he likes you.

really, really likes you.

and it’s not just because you’re pretty, though god, you are. it’s because you’re kind. because you make him feel human again, in a way that nothing else ever does. because you talk to him like he’s worth something more than the reputation that follows him.

he doesn’t know when it happened, but it’s there now, and it’s not going away.

.

the weeks that follow move in a blur. the two of you keep meeting for study sessions, but they’ve shifted. so subtly that neither of you seems to notice.

you’re more relaxed now. you smile more, laugh easier. you’ve started showing up with little things for him too. chocolates, protein bars, a can of cold brew. every time, he teases you about it, but inside, he’s having a spaz out.

and every time he brings you something in return, you light up like he’s handed you the world.

you’ve started talking about more than the project. now, it’s everything. random things. favorite youtuber, weird scandals, childhood fuck ups, "yeah, i used to be one of those devious lick kids in middle school, me and gojo stole an entire sink".

sometimes, you talk so much you forget the assignment altogether, and he never stops you.

he lives for these moments.

sometimes, when you’re sitting side by side at the library, your knees brush under the table. it’s barely a touch, accidental every time, but it makes his pulse stutter.

you’ve started giving him hugs too, real ones. not just quick, polite ones, actual, full-bodied hugs that make him want to forget how to breathe. all he wants to do is bundle you up and take you back home, lock you away where no one could possibly taint that beautiful smile.

he pretends to be chill and nonchalant, but inside, he’s crashing out so hard.

one afternoon, it’s raining outside, and you show up in a damp tank top, hair slightly damp. he nearly forgets how to speak. you hand him a hot chocolate and giggle when he stares at it like he’s never seen one before.

“it’s not that weird,” you say, smiling. “i thought you might want something warm and sweet for this type of weather.”

he looks at you for a long moment trying not to stare at your see through chest, then takes the cup. “thanks,” he murmurs, and it sounds like something heavier than gratitude.

you shrug, shy but pleased, then sit down beside him, close enough that your shoulders almost touch.

when the session ends that day, he walks you home like he always does. it’s become a quiet habit between you. no one suggested it, but neither of you questions it either. you live just off campus, in a small apartment with ivy creeping up the walls, and every time you reach your door, you both hesitate.

he wants to ask if he can come inside, just once.

you always look like you might invite him, too.

but neither of you ever says it.

instead, you smile, soft and warm, and tell him goodnight. he always watches until you disappear inside, until the light flicks on and frank ocean starts softly pouring from the window.

and every time, he walks back to the frat with that same ache in his chest, the one that’s half longing and half fear.

he knows he’s in wayyy too deep.

but he can't stop.

you’ve started coming out of your shell in little bursts. you tease him now, gently. you call him out when he’s being lazy, roll your eyes when he tries to act too chill. and he eats it the fuck up. every second of it.

you’re different with him now. freer. you trust him.

and that makes everything both better and worse.

because every time you look at him with that open, honest expression, he has to remind himself of the lie he built this on, th e deal, the fake promise to get you closer to toji.

it barely comes up anymore. sometimes you mention toji in passing, usually as a joke, and you both laugh it off. it’s like neither of you really care about it anymore.

and maybe that’s the truth. maybe it stopped mattering the moment you started looking at him like that.

one evening, when the sun’s setting, you’re sitting across from him at the library, talking about nothing in particular. you’re smiling, head tilted, your voice soft. and he catches himself staring, not hearing a single word.

you stop mid way through your sentence, blinking. “what?”

he shakes his head quickly. “nothing.”

“you’re staring,” you say, cheeks pink.

“you’re imagining things, honey."

you laugh, hiding your face in your hands.

he smiles too, but there’s something behind it something he doesn’t let you see.

because in that moment, it hits him all over again, stronger than before.

he’s seriously can't do this shit any longer.

he doesn’t want to help you get to toji anymore.

he doesn’t want to stand by while you talk about someone else, even in passing.

he wants you. all of you.

the quiet smiles, the shy blushes, the little quirks he’s learned by heart.

he wants to be the one who gets to see every part of you, every version of that soft, sweet girl who’s been slowly unraveling in front of him.

and he knows, deep down, that if he ever let himself say it out loud, he’d never be able to take it back.

so he keeps it buried, just for now, as he walks you home again that night. the streetlights stretch long shadows across the pavement, and your arm brushes his once, twice, and each time, he swears of he doesn't concentrate he'll trip over his jordans.

when you reach your door, you turn to him with that same bright smile, the one that always knocks the air from his lungs.

“thanks again,” you say softly.

he nods. “anytime.”

you linger for a second, like you want to say something more, then wave goodnight and disappear inside.

he stands there for a long moment, staring at the door, listening to the faint hum of music from your apartment.

then, finally, he exhales, a small, helpless laugh slipping out.

he’s ruined. completely.

and for once in his life, he doesn’t even mind.

~

the classroom is thick with the sound of quiet chatter, chairs scraping against tile, pens clicking as people jot down reminders before leaving. the fluorescent lights flicker slightly, casting everything in a washed-out glow that makes it feel like time’s been stretched too thin. the chemistry teacher’s voice cuts through it all, cheerful but distant.

“alright, everyone, just a quick reminder that your paired assignment is due at the end of this week. make sure you’ve got everything finalized. i’ll be checking submissions on friday.”

the words hang in the air like a quiet ending bell.

you look up from your notes at the same time sukuna does, and for a moment, your eyes meet across the shared lab table. he’s already watching you, elbows resting on the counter, twirling his pen between his fingers.

he gives you this crooked half-smile, something between fond and nervous, and you return it, though yours falters just a little at the edges.

it hits both of you at once. this thing between you, this rhythm you’ve fallen into, the study sessions, the walks home, the quiet coffees before class? it’s been built around this assignment. and when the assignment ends, what happens then?

he taps his pen against his notebook, looking away first. “guess we’re almost done, huh?”

you try to sound light. “yeah… crazy how fast it went.”

but it doesn’t feel fast. it feels full. it feels like a lifetime compressed into a few short weeks, every minute threaded with something unspoken.

he hums in agreement, glancing at you again. “we should probably go over everything one more time. make sure it’s perfect.”

you nod, pretending to check the notes in front of you. “mhm, library after class?”

“yeah,” he says. “one last session.”

one last. the words make your stomach twist.

.

sukuna drops his bag on the chair across from you, stretching his arms as he sits down. his hair’s a little messy from the wind, and he smells faintly of the sexy cologne he always wears, something clean and manly that clings to his skin.

you open your laptop, trying to focus on the document in front of you. it’s almost done, just small edits, formatting, double-checking citations, but the words keep blurring. you can feel his presence across the table, solid and steady, and it’s impossible to think about chemistry when he’s right there.

he’s quieter than usual too. his knee bounces under the table, a restless rhythm, and every now and then you catch him glancing up, like he’s about to say something but decides against it.

the silence stretches between you, thick and loaded. you can’t stand it anymore.

“so…” you start, voice softer than you mean it to be.

he looks up instantly, like he’s been waiting for you to speak. “yeah?”

you open your mouth, close it again, glance at your hands. “never mind. it’s nothing.”

he frowns slightly. “come on. what is it?”

you shake your head, forcing a small smile. “seriously, it’s nothing. just focus.”

he watches you for a second longer, then sighs and leans back, crossing his arms. “fine. but you’re acting weird.”

you let out a soft laugh that sounds too nervous. “i could say the same about you.”

that gets a real smile out of him, crooked and teasing, but it fades quickly.

you both go quiet again, typing half heartedly, neither of you really working. the tension builds, unspoken and unbearable.

you can feel the words sitting on your tongue, begging to be let out. you want to tell him everything. how the crush on toji fizzled out weeks ago, how stupid it feels now, how you can’t stop thinking about him instead. how every time he looks at you, your whole chest feels like it’s about to give out.

you glance up. he’s staring at his screen, jaw tight, eyes unfocused. and somehow, you can tell he’s holding something back too.

finally, you both move at the same time.

“i have to tell you something,” you say, right as he says, “there’s something i should tell you.”

you both stop, eyes locking.

you laugh softly. “you first.”

he shakes his head. “nuh uh, you first.”

“no way,” you say, smiling now despite the nerves. “you looked like you were about to explode. go ahead.”

“ladies first,” he shoots back, that teasing lilt returning to his voice, though his eyes are still serious.

you roll your eyes, but your heart’s hammering. “fine,” you breathe.

he leans forward, forearms on the table, watching you carefully.

you swallow, your fingers twisting the edge of your sleeve. “okay. so, um… this is kind of embarrassing, but.."

you stop, take a breath, try again. “it's about toji.”

his expression flickers for a second, something unreadable crossing his face. “yeah,” he says slowly. “what about him?”

you toy with a pen to keep your hands busy. “i don’t really… feel that way anymore. about him.”

his brow lifts just slightly, his voice careful. “ts' that so?”

you nod, cheeks warm. “yeah. i mean, it was kind of silly, wasn’t it? i barely knew him. i think i just liked the idea of him. and then when you brought him to that one session, i realised he’s… kinda clapped, nothing like what i imagined.”

he lets out a small sound, something close to a laugh, but it’s quiet, almost nervous. “yeah, that sounds like him.”

you smile faintly, tracing a finger along the edge of your notebook. “the truth is, i think i was just projecting. when we started hanging out, i didn’t know you that well, and i guess i thought maybe toji was like you. you know? confident, funny, easy to talk to.” you pause, your gaze flicking up to his. “but he’s not you. not even remotely close.”

his breath catches slightly, and for a moment, he forgets how to speak.

“i don’t know,” you go on, voice softer now, almost trembling. “i kept thinking i wanted someone like toji, but… the whole time, i was really just wishing he’d be more like you, sukuna.”

you meet his eyes fully now, and the world seems to narrow around you both. “and then i realised maybe i don’t want someone like you. maybe i just, you know, want you.”

the silence that follows feels endless.

he’s staring at you, completely still. you can see the realization hit him. the tension in his shoulders easing, his expression softening in disbelief and relief all at once.

you bite your lip, instantly flustered. “that sounded so stupid, didn’t it?”

he shakes his head quickly. “no. no, not at all.”

he leans back in his chair, letting out a long, shaky exhale. it’s the biggest breath of relief you’ve ever seen someone take. he runs a hand through his hair, laughing under his breath, a sound that’s half disbelieving, half overwhelmed.

“holy shit,” he murmurs, still smiling. “you have no idea how good it is to hear that.”

you blink. “uhm, what?”

he laughs again, softer this time, his hand still pressed to the back of his neck. “that’s what i was gonna tell you. i’ve been losing my fucking mind these past few weeks because i’ve been trying so hard not to say it.”

you stare at him, your heart pounding. “say what?”

he meets your gaze again, eyes warm and honest. “that i like you. like, really like you. i’ve had this massive crush on you for a while now, and it’s been killing me trying to act normal.”

you can’t help the little laugh that escapes you, part disbelief, part giddy joy. “you’re deadass?”

he nods. “one hundred percent.”

“but… the deal,” you say quietly. “you were supposed to help me with toji.”

“yeah, about that,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. “i kinda… just didn’t.”

you tilt your head. “uhhm, what?”

he laughs again, nervously this time. “i told him you had a boyfriend.”

your eyes widen. “you did?"

he winces. “yeah. i told him that weeks ago. i just... i couldn’t do it anymore. couldn’t keep pretending i was helping you get with him when all i wanted was to keep you all to myself.”

you blink once, twice, then cover your mouth to stifle a laugh. “you told him i had a boyfriend?”

“yep.” he grins now, a little cocky, a little embarrassed. “guess that’s me sabotaging the deal.”

you drop your hand, still smiling. “that’s so stupid.”

“i know.”

“but…” you pause, your smile turning softer. “it’s kind of sweet.”

he leans forward again, elbows on the table, eyes never leaving yours. “you’re not mad?”

“mad?” you repeat, shaking your head. “no. that’s… exactly what i wanted, actually.”

he blinks. “really?”

you nod, heart in your throat. “yeah. i didn’t want you helping me with toji. not anymore. i just didn’t know how to tell you.”

he stares at you for a long moment, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “so what now?”

you smile. “i don’t know. maybe we just… stop pretending.”

he exhales, leaning back with a grin that could light up the whole room. “i can do that.”

for a moment, neither of you says anything. you just sit there, the quiet hum of the library around you, the sun slipping lower through the windows, painting his skin in gold.

finally, he breaks the silence, voice low. “for the record, i was terrified you were about to tell me you had a new man for real.”

you laugh softly. “no chance.”

“good,” he says, and the way he looks at you soft, sure, a little possessive, makes your pulse race.

you don’t know who moves first, but suddenly you’re both leaning across the table, closer than you’ve ever been. the distance between you shrinks until you can feel his breath on your lips, his hand brushing lightly against yours.

neither of you say anything. you don’t need to.

the moment stretches, slow and sweet, full of everything you’ve both been holding back.

~

the second you get back to your apartment, your face ignites with the kind of fire only a really nice fireplace could match, the ones in those fancy houses you see on the block.

the guy you'd been crushing on for a total of four weeks now had just told you he felt the same. and ever more, he'd been so obsessed he'd told your ex-crush you'd had a boyfriend in hopes of bagging you himself.

for a girl not used to being in the spotlight, having such a loud, well known frat guy like ryomen sukuna become vulnerable, just for you? it was like the world came crashing and burning down at your feet. he made your stomach swim with love and passion, a feeling you'd only ever gotten from receiving higher grades than everyone else, a feeling so much better than finding a new delicious pastry you couldn't help but order again.

ryomen sukuna was it. he was the kinda guy you'd been dreaming of ever since you'd started college. he was the perfect man, and he was as into you as you were him.

you settled into your living room with an adorably large smile painted on your lips, the sensation of fulfilment taking over your ever thought as you dreamt of what was to happen next.

~

the week after the submission crawls by. you think about both sukuna and the possible grade you'll both get every day. every time you pass the lab, every time you open your laptop, every time you catch sight of sukuna across the courtyard, leaning against the wall with his friends.

you can tell he’s thinking about it too. the way he catches your eye during class and offers a small, crooked smile says everything. neither of you can really stop wondering what the final mark will be, as well as what life has in store for the both of you.

friday finally rolls around, the classroom feels weird. students trickle in with tired faces and restless energy, everyone buzzing quietly with the same anticipation. the teacher walks in, holding a stack of papers in one hand and a steaming cup of coffee in the other.

she sets everything down at the front desk, claps her hands together, and gives a small, approving smile.

“alright, everyone,” she says, her tone almost teasing. “i’ve marked your projects. you’ll get the official grades through the online portal, but since i know you’re all impatient,” her gaze sweeps the room, landing briefly on you and sukuna, “i’ll let you know this much: some of you really impressed me.”

a ripple of chatter runs through the class. sukuna shoots you a look from across the room, eyebrows raised. you smile nervously and shrug.

after class, the two of you linger by the doorway, waiting for the crowd to clear out. you’re clutching your phone, refreshing the student portal again and again even though the grades still aren’t visible. sukuna leans close, peering at your screen.

“nothing yet?” he asks.

“no,” you sigh. “probably another hour.”

he tilts his head, thinking for a moment. “want to check it together later? at that little cafe with the green sign?”

you blink. “awe, my favourite. sure!”

“of course,” he says, smirking lightly. “how good am i remembering your favourite things n' shit.”

you laugh, cheeks warming. “what a man. how about we meet there at five?”

“five it is.” he gives a small wave as he heads down the hall. “see you then, partner.”

the cafe smells like roasted coffee beans and sugar, the air humming with quiet conversation and the clinking of ceramic cups. it’s early evening, and the place is wrapped in that warm, lazy glow that makes everything feel softer. the green sign outside flickers faintly through the window, the letters worn from years of weather and sunlight.

you spot him immediately sitting near the counter, wearing a black hoodie and tapping his thumb against his phone screen. his hair’s pulled back, a few loose strands falling into his eyes. he looks up the moment the door chimes, and that grin spreads across his face like it’s second nature.

“hey,” he says as you approach.

“hey,” you echo, sliding into the seat across from him.

he gestures toward the counter. “i already ordered for us. black coffee for me, that thing you like for you, and...” he grins, “...a pastry, because apparently you can’t sit in this place without one.”

you laugh softly, trying to ignore the way your heart flutters. “you know me too well, we needa' hang out less.”

“noo,” he teases, leaning back. “i'm just an observer.”

the drinks come quickly, steam curling from the cups. you take yours with both hands, staring at the little swirl of foam, trying to calm your nerves. sukuna pulls out his phone again, refreshes the student portal, and freezes.

his eyes widen. “holy shit,” he mutters.

you look up sharply. “what?”

he turns the screen toward you. there it is, your names side by side, and next to them, the number that makes your breath catch.

98%.

you stare at it for a second, then look at him, and the two of you just burst out laughing.

“oh my-” you say, grinning from ear to ear. “ninety-eight?”

he leans back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. “holy shit- holy shit! can’t believe it,” he says, half-laughing, half-sighing in disbelief. “i actually passed. i can stay in the frat. holy shit.”

you laugh again, the sound bubbling out of you uncontrollably. “i told you you’d do fine!”

he stands up suddenly, still laughing, and before you can react he pulls you into his arms. it’s a full, tight hug, so warm, so big. his chest rumbles with laughter, and you can feel how much this means to him, how much the stress and pressure have finally melted away.

“thank you,” he murmurs into your hair, his voice low, almost breathless. “thank you so much for helping me. i would’ve completely fucking tanked without you.”

you laugh against his shoulder, feeling your own face heat up. “you’re welcome,” you mumble, your words muffled by his hoodie. “you did so good, really.”

when he finally lets go, you can still feel the warmth lingering where he’d held you. he looks just as flustered, rubbing the back of his neck as he sits back down.

“sorry,” he says, half-smiling. “got a little carried away.”

“it’s fine,” you say quickly, trying not to sound as breathless as you feel. “it was… nice.”

his grin widens at that.

you both take a moment to calm down, sipping your drinks in the cozy corner. the sound of the coffee machine hums faintly in the background, and sunlight filters through the leaves outside, dappled across the table. it feels like the whole world’s slowed down just for the two of you.

“so,” he says eventually, voice softer now, “ninety-eight percent. that's so peak."

“yeah, we did that,” you reply, smiling. “you’ll probably get a compliment from the teacher next class.”

“you too,” he says. “you carried me, you're actually so clutch.”

“you helped too,” you insist. “you actually tried, sukuna. that’s what mattered.”

he chuckles, shaking his head. “yeah, but even if i hadn’t passed…” he pauses, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. “i don’t think i’d be too upset.”

you tilt your head, smiling faintly. “no?”

“nah.” he leans forward, resting his arms on the table. “because i got to spend all that time with you. and honestly? that made it worth it.”

your chest tightens, a flutter rising under your ribs. you look down quickly, pretending to focus on your coffee. “you’re just saying that.”

“i’m not,” he says firmly. “you made studying actually fun. no one’s ever done that shit before.”

you look up again, and his expression is so genuine, so open, that you forget how to breathe for a second.

“well,” you say softly, “i liked spending time with you too.”

your cups sit forgotten on the table, the croissant half-eaten, and all you can hear is the chatter of other uni kids and the soft clatter of dishes.

you stare into his eyes, and there’s a question there, unspoken but clear.

he smiles, almost shyly, a rare thing for him. “so… what now?”

you shrug lightly, but your smile mirrors his. “i don’t know. i guess we don’t have to stop hanging out just because the project’s done.”

his grin grows wider, and you can see the faintest pink dusting his ears. “good,” he says. “because i was kinda hoping you’d say that.”

he hesitates for a moment, then sits up a little straighter, as if gathering courage.

“actually,” he says, rubbing his thumb against the edge of his cup, “there’s something i wanted to ask.”

you tilt your head. “hmm? and what’s that?”

he exhales slowly, eyes locked on yours. “i know this is probably cheesy as hell, but… i’d really like to take you out. like, properly. dinner, movie, whatever you want. an actual date.”

the words sink in, soft and certain. you blink, surprised but instantly smiling, your cheeks growing hot.

“you mean… like, a date date?” you ask, teasing just a little.

he laughs under his breath. “yeah. a date date.”

you can’t help the grin that spreads across your face. “i’d love that.”

his expression softens into something that almost makes your heart ache. “yeah?”

“yeah.”

for a moment, you just sit there, both grinning like idiots. it feels unreal, like something out of a quiet, sunlit dream.

he leans back in his chair, relief washing over him in waves. “good,” he says. “i was worried you’d say no.”

you shake your head, still smiling. “never.”

the light outside shifts slowly, spilling gold through the window, painting his skin in soft warmth. he looks at you like he’s memorising the moment, the coffee, the laughter, the way you keep tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

and as he sits across from you, grinning like he can’t quite believe his luck, you know that whatever comes next, it’s going to be something worth waiting for.

~

months slide by, slow but lovely. what once was a study partnership built on awkward exchanges and quiet glances has become something sooo much more. somewhere between library stops, coffee stops, and tight hugs, it shifted. you shifted. sukuna shifted. the line between school and romance blurred until it disappeared completely.

now, you’re his. officially his. and he’s yours.

the first time sukuna brings you to the frat house as his girlfriend, it feels like stepping into a completely different world. the place is loud, music spilling from bluetooth speakers, guys shouting from the kitchen about who’s out of beer, the smell of cheap cologne and pizza hanging in the air.

you pause in the doorway, clutching sukuna’s hand like it’s an anchor. he glances down at you with that little smirk that never fails to make your heart stutter.

“don’t stress it baby,” he murmurs, leaning close enough that his breath grazes your ear. “they’ll love you.”

and they do.

weather or not that's because he threatened to beat them unconscious if they made you feel uncomfortable before you came over is irrelevant.

satoru’s the first to notice you, perched on the couch with a controller in hand. he looks up mid game, grins wide, and immediately calls out, “holy shit, sukuna actually brought a girl here voluntarily?”

“shut up,” sukuna grumbles, tightening his grip on your hand. “this one’s permanent.”

that earns a chorus of oohs and whistles from the guys nearby. your face burns, but when you glance up at sukuna, he’s smiling,not his usual cocky grin, but something softer. proud.

“hey,” you mumble under your breath, “it smells so bad in here, ryo.”

he chuckles quietly. “you’ll get used to it.”

before you can even respond, toji appears from the kitchen, a beer in hand and a knowing grin on his face. “well, if it isn’t the little chem genius.”

you blink. “you… remember me?”

“of course,” toji laughs, setting his drink down and stretching out a hand. “heard you saved this idiot’s academic career.”

“hey,” sukuna cuts in, rolling his eyes. “i wasn’t that bad.”

“you had an eight percent, bro.”

the whole room bursts into laughter. sukuna just grumbles and flips toji off while you try not to giggle too loudly. it’s strange, seeing them all like this. so loud, so chaotic, so different from the quiet rhythm you’re used to, but somehow, it feels okay. you feel okay.

by the end of the night, you’re sitting between sukuna’s legs on the couch, his arms draped loosely around your waist, your back against his chest. someone puts on an old movie in the background, and the chatter slowly fades into easy quiet. for the first time, the frat doesn’t feel intimidating. it feels warm. welcoming.

satoru catches your eye from across the room, giving a thumbs up before mouthing, she’s a keeper. sukuna just smirks.

later that night, when everyone else has gone to bed and the house has fallen quiet except for the hum of the fridge and the faint creak of floorboards, sukuna presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“told you they’d love you,” he whispers.

“yeah, you were right,” you murmur, smiling softly. “they’re so nice.”

“you’re even nicer,” he says, his voice barely audible. “that’s why they love ya'.”

and you can hear the truth in his tone. you know he means it.

after that, everything starts to fall into blissful routine. you help him study, drilling formulas and reactions into his head late into the night. he’s surprisingly good at it now, his grades climbing steadily, proof that maybe he was capable all along, he just needed someone to push him in the right direction.

and in return, he helps you come out of your shell.

he brings you to tiny cafes you’ve never been to before, teaches you how to play pool (terribly, but he doesn’t care), and pulls you into spontaneous late-night walks through campus when the air is cool and the stars are bright.

sometimes, you end up sitting on the hood of his car, his jacket wrapped around your shoulders, your fingers tangled with his as he talks about everything and nothing.

he tells you things he’s never told anyone else—about his parents, about the pressure to be someone bigger, stronger, louder. about how he never really cared about anything before he met you.

“you made me start giving a shit,” he says one night, his voice low as he traces lazy circles against your palm. “about school, about the future. about being a better guy.”

you glance up at him, smiling faintly. “you're the bestest guy, kuna.”

he looks at you for a long time, his chest squeezing with the urge to squish you until you pop. then, with a soft exhale, he leans down and kisses you. gentle, slow, like the world could end and he’d still be happy just holding you against his muscular chest.

word gets around campus fast. whispers follow you sometimes. half disbelief, half awe. people don’t really understand how you ended up with him. the shy, quiet girl who sits at the front of every lecture, always polite, always prepared… dating one of the loudest, most notorious frat boys on campus.

but the thing is, neither of you care.

you’ve seen the way people look at you two when you walk hand in hand across campus, his tall frame towering beside yours. you’ve heard the murmurs, 'how long do you think it’ll last, she’s too good for him, he’ll get bored'. but then he catches your hand, presses a kiss to your knuckles, and all of it melts away.

"don't listen to those clowns."

because you know him now. the real him.

the boy who wakes up early to get your favorite pastry from the cafe before class. the one who drapes his hoodie over your shoulders when it’s too crisp. the one who never forgets to text you goodnight, even when he’s exhausted.

the one who stopped showing up to most frat partys because, as he put it, “none of it’s fun without you anyway.”

you see it in the way he’s changed. not because you asked him to, but because he wants to.

he doesn’t flirt with girls anymore. he doesn’t even seem to notice when they do. his focus is all on you. your laughter, your voice, your little quirks that no one else ever bothered to notice.

and it’s not just the big things that show it. it’s the way he always walks on the side of the road closest to the cars. the way he remembers all your orders without ever asking. the way he’ll pull you closer when you’re out together, even if it’s just to rest his big hand on your hip.

he doesn’t talk about feelings much, not directly. but in every gesture, every glance, it’s there.

you’re his world now, and everyone can see it.

his room at the frat house has changed, too. gone are the stacks of solo cups and random gym gear scattered across the floor. in their place are little pieces of you. a throw blanket you brought one day, a mug you left on his desk, your notebook tucked on the shelf next to his textbooks.

he keeps a photo of the two of you pinned on his bulletin board. it’s a candid, one of those moments you didn’t even know he was taking. a shot of you sitting cross-legged on the couch, wearing his hoodie, laughing with a half-eaten cookie in your hand. he swears it’s his favorite picture in the world.

“you look so fucking cute, and happy,” he tells you when you catch him staring at it one night.

“i am happy,” you reply softly.

“better be,” he says. “that’s all i ever want for you, y/n.”

some nights, he stays over at your apartment instead of the frat. he always claims it’s because it’s quieter, easier to focus on studying. but you both know it’s just because he sleeps better when you’re beside him.

you cook together sometimes, though “cook” might be a really shitty out of touch excuse for the disaster you two create. he burns half the things he touches, laughs through every fuck up, and still insists on taste-testing everything like he’s on master chef. you can’t stay mad when he grins at you with flour on his cheek, his dimples showing as he holds up a misshapen cookie.

“hey, we’re improvin',” he says.

“barely,” you reply, giggling.

he just leans down, presses a quick kiss to your nose, and murmurs, “yeah, but you’re still here, so i must be doing somethin' right.”

there are still parties, of course, he’s still in the frat, and sometimes showing up is expected. but it’s much different. when he does go, he stays by your side the whole night, a protective hand on your back or wrapped around your waist.

he barely drinks anymore, claiming he doesn’t need to. when people flirt or make comments, he just laughs them off and pulls you a little closer.

and when it gets late, when the music’s too loud and the air too heavy with alcohol and perfume, he’ll lean down and whisper, “wanna get out of here?”

you always nod. and the two of you slip away, walking through quiet streets until you reach your place, where everything feels calm again.

people still whisper, still wonder how it works. how a shy, soft-spoken girl could tame someone like ryomen sukuna. but you know the truth.

you didn’t tame him, you just saw him. really saw him. beneath the tattoos, the reputation, the arrogance. you saw the boy who just needed someone to care, and he saw the girl who needed someone to make her feel brave.

and together, you found something that feels a lot like forever.

months pass, the seasons shifting from late autumn to the first chill of winter. the air turns crisp, the sky pale and bright. the two of you walk through campus hand in hand, your breath forming little clouds in the cold.

“remember when we first started that project?” you ask one day, laughing softly. “you barely knew what a periodic table was.”

“hey,” he says, pretending to be offended. “i knew what it was. i just didn’t give a shit.”

“hmm, and now you’re pulling straight a’s.”

he grins. “guess i had a real good tutor. she's real sexy, too..”

you bump his shoulder lightly. “awe i bet she'd be real flattered to hear that.”

he stops walking for a moment, looking down at you with that same warm, unguarded look that still makes your stomach flip.

“you know something?” he says quietly.

“hmm?”

“i still think that fuckass project was the best thing that's ever happened to lil' ol' me.”

you smile, reaching up to fix the collar of his jacket. “yeah?”

“hell yeah,” he murmurs, leaning down until his forehead rests against yours. “because it led me to you.”

the world fades for a moment, the cold, the noise, the people around you, and it’s just him. just you.

when he kisses you, it’s slow, steady, full of all the fuzzy romantic fire that’s been culminating between you since the day he walked up to your desk with a failed test and a hidden nervous smile.

you remember that moment so clearly now, and you can’t help but think how far you’ve both come. from shy glances and awkward silences to this. a love that feels like home.

and as his hand tightens around yours, you realize something simple, something certain.

you’ve both found exactly where you’re meant to be, with each other.

choso had dropped out to focus on his band, 'exorcize'. gojo on vocals, geto on guitar, toji on bass, and him on drums.

the band had taken off, and after being personally invited to one of their gigs, a small introduction from choso had suguru immediately hooked.

from then, your relationship with choso almost immediately depleted. nice, quiet nights of spectated drum practice while you studied, or long meaningful conversations were gone, replaced by surprise visits from geto and sleepless evenings that left choso pissed off or restless, often times both.

deep down, in that dizzy, stoned part of his mind, he knew he felt something for you, and this whole thing with geto was tipping him more and more over the edge.

“god, sugu' i seriously can’t– oh my god!”

he heard your cries, felt his stomach twist with a mix of disgust, anger, and jealousy. he couldn’t endure another sober second of listening to you plead.

his hand found a pre-rolled blunt in his dresser, lighting it with the pretty red lighter you'd gifted him months ago.

“c’mon, you can do it, just a few more– fuck– seconds!”

fuck, he hated him. he hated the way he acted so entitled, so selfish with you.

but more than that, he hated the way suguru spoke to you.

the subtle-but-not-subtle degradation, the possessive control masked by his picture perfect composure.

choso knew you noticed it too by the way your fingers gripped tight around anything you could grab when suguru got too close or too possessive. the way you'd shy away from him rather than leaning into him lovingly. and yet, for some reason he couldn't fathom, you stayed.

“just a little longer, y/n, fuck, you can do that for me, can’t you?”

he closed his eyes and inhaled, letting the smoke fill his lungs, the only thing that could dull the constant back-and-forth inside his head when it came to you. the only thing that dulled the voice in his head, from when you used to talk to him like he was the only man in the world. his addiction, his only vice.

~

morning

the brunette boy sat slumped on the couch with his head bowed and an arm tossed over the arm rest.

he looked fucking wrecked.

you padded out from the hallway, wrapped in a big t-shirt that definitely wasn’t yours. that made your heart blip when you noticed choso glance at it once, then away with a twitch of his eye.

“good morninggg, cho” you said, trying to sound all cheerful like nothing weird had happened last night.

he didn’t really look up, but he flicked you a small wave with his right hand, tho other has his thumb tapping against the armrest. “yo.”

this was awkward... you’d never had an awkward silence with him before.

“uh, you sleep okay?” you asked, trying to keep the mood somewhat lighthearted.

he finally turned to look at you, dark circles rimmed his eyes, and his voice was nothing short of flat and bored. “mhm. where’s geto?”

your stomach falls to the floor. “huh?”

“suguru,” he said again, leaning back into the couch. “where’d he go?”

you blinked, your throat suddenly dry. “oh. um. he, uh, left early. he doesn't really stay the night...he sorta just comes whenever he wants and leaves when we're done.” you clear your throat trying so desperately to try and give this awfully tense conversation some leeway.

choso didn’t say anything, he only nodded, eyes still droopy with the clear lack of rest. but you knew that look, his patience was threatening to snap.

“choso,” you said quietly, walking over a bit. “did you… hear us?”

his eyes flick up to yours, staring right through your soul. “mhm.”

you looked down at your hands, fiddling with some loose cotton on your shirt. “oh my god. i thought you were asleep. i didn’t mean for you to–"

“–s’alright,” he said, cutting you off. “walls are thin, y’know, i get it, y/n.”

you winced. “was it... was it bad?”

he let out a low, humorless chuckle, the memory of his band mates grunts and your pretty gasps still fresh in his brain. “mhm. heard it all.”

you felt heat crawl up your neck, mortified. “shit, choso, i’m so sorry. i really didn’t think–"

“–don’t worry 'bout it,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. “i’ll just sleep the morning away, got the gig tonight anyways, so it should be fine.”

you shied into yourself, wanting to say something to make it better, to make him better, but his tone felt like a closed door.

so you offered the only thing that came to mind. “let me make you breakfast? as like, an apology?”

he looked up slowly before nodding. “right... sure.”

you let go of a long breath and turn toward the kitchen, grabbing eggs and bread from the fridge.

you weren’t sure what he liked this early, hell, he'd never been up this early, he usually slept until noon, leaving the scent of smoke and nutri grain behind, but it felt like the right thing to do.

behind you, choso leaned his head back on the couch, eyes open, watching the sunlight catch beautifully in your hair as you moved. he wanted to stay annoyed, to keep that boundary up. but the sight of you with your bare legs, hair messy, singing softly under your breath while cooking in the kitchen? that hit him in the dull, sore spot inside his chest.

“you should come to the gig tonight, if geto didn't already invite ya',” he mumbles softly.

you glanced over your shoulder, surprised. “yeah, you want me to come?”

“i do.” he stretched, reaching for the blunt on the table but not lighting it yet. “you haven’t seen us play in a while.”

you smiled a little, flipping a piece of toast. “yeah, sure. i’ll come.”

he grunted nonchalantly, pretending not to notice how your pretty eyes softened up when you said it, the way your face lit up.

you’d seen so many clips online, crowds packed like smelly sardines tight in dark centers, stage lights shining over exorcize as they played.

they weren’t just another college band anymore. they were it. the band everyone wanted to fuck, to be, to orbit around.

gojo with his wild white hair and stupidly perfect grin, toji’s quiet dominance on bass, suguru’s calm confidence, and choso behind the drums, silent but oh so magnetic, his hair sticking to his face.

they all had that look, that raw, sexy allure that made people crave them like meth heads.

and you’d been there at the start of it. before the crowds and before the smoke machines and the afterparties. when it was just choso, hunched over a kit in the living room, half stoned, tapping out rhythms while you studied quietly on the couch. the good old days.

the smell of butter and coffee filled the apartment. you plated up the food, scrambled eggs, toast, a few slices of avocado, and brought it over to him.

“hereee you go,” you said in a sing song voice (trying your best to be not annoying but still welcoming), setting the plate in front of him. “a really shitty apology.”

he gave a small smile, “yum.”

you sat down next to him, tucking your legs under you. the couch dipped between you, and the silence that followed wasn’t as weird this time round. he picked at his food for a while, eating slowly.

“seriously though, cho,” you said after a minute, eyes on your plate, “i’m really sorry about last night.”

he shrugged, chewing. “told you, s' fine.”

“it’s not 'fine',” you insisted. “that must’ve been… really weird for you. i didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable.”

choso let out a low snort, setting his fork down. “y/n. you were horny, so you got dicked down. shit happens.”

you froze, staring at him with wide eyes, face flushing deep. “ew,”

he smirked a little, leaning back. “what? just sayin’. it's no big deal.”

“yuck, don't talk to me like i'm one of your little junkie friends!”

“why not? we're not friends now?” he asked, in a tone that was so laid back and careless it made you angrier, “what are we then? don’t get all shy now, i'm tryna lighten the shitty mood.”

you swatted his hand away, embarrassed but smiling despite yourself. “stop it, we're just friends... it's just.. just shut up.”

“yeah,” he said, a small grin tugging at his mouth. “heard that before.”

you laughed under your breath, shaking your head. for a sec, it felt like the time where flirting like this was common place, you missed it.

choso feels better after your half asses apology, but the thought of geto touching you, of your voice on the other side of the wall, it's still looped in his head like a bad overplayed katy perry song he couldn’t skip.

he finished his plate, leaned back, and closed his eyes.

“thanks for breakfast, it was real good, y/n. you'd make a good housewife y'know,” he said.

“god just shut up,” you said with an all too dramatic eyeroll.

~

the studio reeked of ash and stale beer. gojo was already shirtless, sprawled across the leather couch, strumming suguru’s guitar with no real purpose.

“bro, put that down before you break a string,” suguru droned.

“relax, i’m blessing it,” gojo said, flashing him a grin then begun crudely fingering the hole in the front.

"oi! don't touch her like that!" suguru ticked.

toji sat off to the side with a bass in hand, rolling his shoulders like he was shaking off the day despite it literally being 11am. he didn’t say much, but he didn’t need to, his presence was enough to keep the room nice and balanced.

gojo noticed the slight tire in getos purple eyes and decided to pry. “so,” he said, spinning a drumstick between his fingers. “you look fucked, man. late night?”

suguru stretched his arms overhead, dark hair falling into his face. he smirked like he couldn’t help it. “mmm, something like that.”

“oh, come on,” gojo said, grinning. “you can’t just say ‘something like that.’ i need details, you fuck some chick, or?"

toji gave a quiet snort but didn’t look up from his tuning. “you gossip more than a fucking teenager, huh?”

“yeah, keeps me in shape.” gojo’s grin widened. “so? do tell.”

suguru’s smirk deepened, “you know, just y/n.”

“shit,” gojo said, sitting forward, elbows on his knees. “again? chosos little roommate? thought she was too sweet for you or whatever shitty excuse you made last time you slept with her and dipped.”

suguru shrugged. “sweet doesn’t mean boring.” he spoke like he was discussing what to have for dinner. “can't stop going over to her place man. she's a great fuck. real obedient, y'know? and tight as hell.”

gojo laughed under his breath. “oh yeah? she's sexy, sure, but didn't know she had all of that going for her. you mind if i..."

“yeah, i do,” suguru said, unbothered. he leaned back in his chair, stretching out his legs. “she's only sucking my cock right now and i wanna keep it that way.”

gojo raised both hands in mock surrender. “fair enough. so does she know about all the other pussy you get or?..." he teases.

"no. and she's not gonna. thinks i'm some fucking saint."

the way he said it made the air go all stagnant and strange, like they were both too comfortable talking about someone so badly who wasn’t even there.

toji glanced at them with a flat expression.

“so what’s the deal then?” gojo asked, voice dropping just slightly. “you two dating?”

suguru’s tone turned dry. “not exactly. it’s just casual, ts' a bit messy.”

“ohh so she thinks you are, but you don’t?”

"bingo."

little did the guys know, choso was standing in the hallway outside the studio, leaning against the wall.

at first he just wanted to pass, maybe pop in later when they started playing. but then he heard it–

“she’s a little too attached. wants to talk about, like, everything. i don’t do clingy bitches,” suguru said almost bored.

choso froze.

“it’s fine. she knows what this is, if she gets hurt, that’s not on me.”

choso’s neck ticks with a popping nerve under his hoodie. his hands curled into fists, then unclenched. the smoke haze that usually clouded his head felt sharper now, stinging like cold air.

"does choso care? i mean, he's pretty much always high off his face so i doubt he'd even notice, but still. you can't be quite even if you tried." gojo added.

"nah, choso doesn't give a fuck about anything, i'm sure he doesn't mind."

gojo just rolled his eyes and nodded along, clearly geto didn't know shit about his supposed friend.

choso was classically stoned, sure, but he was a deep thinker. although he never really voiced his opinions, doesn't mean he didn't have any. and the assumption that he doesn't care about you, the one girl he can actually be himself around, feel comfortable with? it's a punch to the gut.

“plus, maybe he’s some sick cuck, maybe i’m doing him a favor fucking y/n loud enough for him to hear,” suguru said next, the words like a punchline to the room.

gojo laughed, oblivious, egging him on. toji’s bass sat idle, a quiet observer.

choso’s stomach twisted but his face stayed blank. he’d heard enough. everything he’d felt last night, the jealousy, the heat, the ache, pulled into a tighter knot in his heart and mind.

and still. he didn’t react to any of it. didn’t slam the door open or yell, he was too level headed for that kind of shit. he just let the words steep there, let the laughter flush over him. the slow, steady rhythm of his heartbeat became his anchor.

then, like he always did, he slipped into his usual mask. the hoodie covered his eyes, his hands shoved deep into the pocket of his baggy sweatshirt.

he pushed the door open, just enough to enter, and let his presence announce him.

“’bout time,” gojo said, lounging back on the couch, grinning like nothing was off, like he wasn't just talking questionably about him. “thought you were skipping rehearsal.”

“nah,” choso said, voice low, clipped, casual. “traffic was slow.”

suguru glanced up, immediately switching to his usual calm, lazy composure. “afternoon,” he said evenly.

choso gave a small nod, dropped his bag, and moved to the drum kit, adjusting cymbals without looking at anyone else.

but under the surface, the coiled anger, hurt, and frustration hummed. every tap of the drumsticks later would carry some of that weight, silent, restrained, but there.

gojo, pretending to be oblivious, grinned at him. “you good, man? look like you haven’t slept in days.”

“didn’t,” choso said, tone clipped.

gojo whistled, dragging the notion. “what, neighbor’s dog barking again?”

“something like that.” choso gave suguru a quick side glance before settling in further.

suguru’s hand stilled for a second on the fretboard. he didn’t look up, but he could feel choso’s eyes flick toward him.

toji caught the tension first, his gaze shifting between them. “you two done?” he asked dryly. “we practicing or what?”

choso exhaled, sitting down behind the kit. “yeah. let’s get it.”

the first few hits were slow, a warm-up rhythm, but every strike landed with more force than usual. the echo bounced around the room, sharp and deliberate, filling the silence that had started to suffocate the space.

gojo laughed lightly, trying to shake it off. “guess that’s a yes.” he adjusted his mic stand. “alright boys, from the top.”

the noise erupted again, guitar, bass, drums, the controlled chaos of sound. it filled every corner of the studio, pushing back whatever words had hung there before.

suguru played clean, precise, every note in place, but his mind wasn’t entirely in it. he could feel the weight of choso’s rhythm behind him, each beat heavy, almost personal.

choso kept his head down, sticks moving fast, steady. he wasn’t thinking about the music. he was thinking about voices in thin-walled apartments, about laughter that sounded just like this. about how easily people could talk about something that still sat raw in his chest.

gojo sang through the chorus, hair sticking to his forehead, eyes half-closed. toji’s bass lines held everything together. and choso, he hit the drums like he was trying to keep from saying something out loud.

when the song ended, there was a moment of quiet, the kind that comes right after noise when everyone’s heart is still beating too fast.

“tight,” gojo said, wiping sweat off his face. “we’re gonna kill it tonight.”

“yeah,” toji said simply, setting his bass down.

choso nodded once, not looking at anyone.

suguru adjusted his guitar strap, clearing his throat. “we’ll meet back here at eight,” he said, tone easy. “venue’s expecting us by nine.”

choso started packing up his sticks. the others were still talking, voices fading into background noise. he kept his head low, eyes on the drum kit.

“yo, cho,” gojo said suddenly. “you bringing anyone tonight?”

choso hesitated. “y/n said she'd show.”

“ahh, she better,” gojo grinned. “need a familiar face in the crowd.”

suguru’s hand tightened imperceptibly on his strap.

choso zipped his bag and stood. “mhm. see you later.”

no one stopped him. the door shut quietly behind him, the sound echoing longer than it should have.

for a second, the three of them just stood there. gojo hummed, breaking the silence. “yeah, i think he heard you, and he definitely does care.”

suguru didn’t answer. he just stared at the door for a long moment before setting his guitar down, the corner of his mouth twitching like he wanted to say something and thought better of it.

toji rolled his shoulders and muttered, “doesn’t matter now. just shut up and focus on tonight's gig."

~

choso pushes the door to your apartment at around 7.p.m, his skateboard bumping against the wall as he toes his sneakers off. he decided to hit the skate park after the studio, and was just getting back now.

the apartment’s dark. not quiet-dark, off dark. no wannabe niche indie playlist humming from your room, no yellow light spilling down the hallway, no half-finished tea on the counter. just the faint sound of the fridge and the hanging scent of your coconut shampoo that always stuck in the air.

he squints toward the living room. nothing.

“yo, y/n?” his voice echoes a little. it sounds lazy, but underneath it’s got that edge, confused, half-worried. “you home, babe?”

nothing.

he pauses, drumming his fingers against his thigh. normally he wouldn’t think much of it, you liked to take long showers, disappear for coffee runs, but the place feels weird tonight. the kind of quiet that sits heavy.

“yo, for real, where the fuck are you?” he calls again, walking toward the kitchen, his hoodie half-zipped, hair still damp from washing it after practice. the smell of weed clings to him, mixed with cigarette smoke and a hint of cologne he must’ve borrowed from gojo.

he flicks on the hallway light, flinches a little at how harsh it is. the walls glow pale and flat. still no answer.

“y/n,” he mutters, a little louder now, “don’t fuckin’ do this horror movie shit. not in the mood."

he checks the balcony. empty. checks the bathroom, light off, door cracked. nothing. his chest tightens even though he keeps telling himself he doesn’t care, that you’re probably fine, that he’s overreacting like some clingy idiot.

then he hears faint music. a muffled bassline leaking through your bedroom door.

he exhales, tension leaving his shoulders all at once, muttering, “jesus, fuckin’. you’re gonna give me a heart attack.”

he knocks lightly, then pushes the door open without waiting.

and freezes.

you’re standing in front of your mirror, airpods in, the faint shimmer of your lip gloss catching the lamplight. you’re half-dressed, black skirt, sheer tights, tiny top, and your hair sits perfectly like you didn’t even try. your room smells like warmth and perfume and clean skin.

for a second, choso forgets how to breathe.

“shit,” he says under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck.

you pull an airpod out and turn toward him, surprised. “oh my god, you scared me.”

he blinks slowly, eyes dragging up from your legs to your mouth, then back down again. “yeah, uh, my bad. place was dark. thought you got kidnapped or somethin’.”

you laugh softly, shaking your head. “kidnapped? really?”

he shrugs, leaning against the doorframe. “could happen. you never know. world’s fucked.”

you roll your eyes but smile. “well, i’m fine. just getting ready for the gig.”

“yeah, i can see that.” his voice dips lower without meaning to. “you look…” he pauses, tongue running over his teeth, trying to sound casual but it comes out rough. “fuck, you look hot as hell.”

you blink, heat crawling up your neck. “you think so?”

he nods, still rubbing his neck, eyes locked on you. “yeah. like, real talk, y/n, you’re gonna make it hard to focus tonight. literally everyone’s gonna be staring.”

you laugh, a little flustered. “you’re just saying that.”

“nah,” he says, finally walking into your room. “not just sayin’. like, you look fuckin’ insane. good insane, tho.”

you smile, looking back at your reflection, fixing your earring. “thanks, cho.”

he drops down onto your bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. “you mind if i chill here? watch the whole… transformation process?”

“be my guestt!” you say, turning back to your mirror.

he leans back on his hands, watching you move. your drawers open, mascara wand twirling between your fingers, your skirt swishing when you shift. the music in your airpods leaks just enough for him to catch the rhythm.

he tries to stay cool, keeps that lazy look on his face, but his heart’s still pounding from the moment he saw you. his head’s full of too many things, practice, suguru’s voice, your laugh, the sound of his name coming from you.

after a minute, he says, “we gotta leave in, like, an hour. gojo’s picking up suguru and toji, you wanna ride with me or get there yourself?”

you turn around, surprised. “oh, i can come with you?”

“course,” he says, shrugging. “beats paying for parking. you'll be abit early is all.”

you grin. “then yeah, i’ll come with you, doesn't matter to me, cho.”

“aight,” he says, stretching his legs out, smirking just a little. “sweet.”

he’s quiet for a while after that. you keep getting ready, music still faintly playing, the smell of your perfume thick in the air. he fiddles with the ring on his thumb, his mind replaying suguru’s words like static.

she’s a great fuck, obedient and tight as hell.

she thinks i’m some fuckin’ saint.

maybe he’s some sick cuck.

the words crawl under his skin. he can’t stop hearing them, can’t stop imagining the look on your face if you knew.

he shifts, sits up straighter. “hey,” he says suddenly.

you hum in response, focused on your eyeliner.

“can i ask you somethin’?”

“sure.”

“what’s the deal with you and geto?”

you pause mid-stroke. “what do you mean?”

he shrugs like it’s no big deal. “just… what are you two, exactly? like, are you dating or is it just some hookup thing?”

you blink at his reflection in the mirror, half-smiling. “why, you gonna make fun of me again for last night?”

he shakes his head. “nah. i’m serious.”

something about his tone makes you turn fully, leaning against your dresser. “oh. um…” you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “i don’t know. i mean, i like him a lot. we hang out, we… yeah. i guess we’re dating? hes never actually said it, but it sure feels like it.”

he stares at you for a long moment, his chest tightening.

“you guess?”

“yeah.” you laugh softly, awkward. “he’s not, like, big on labels, i think. but we spend time together. he’s nice to me. i like being with him.”

choso nods slowly, but his face doesn’t change. “right. 'nice to you.'”

you frown, studying him. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

he looks away, picking at a loose thread on your blanket. “nothin’. just… didn’t figure him for the relationship type.”

“why not?” you ask, voice soft but curious.

he shrugs again, lazy like always, though his voice is heavier now. “he’s just… not the kinda guy who stays still, y’know? always got somethin’ else goin’ on. kinda hard to picture him with one person.”

you tilt your head. “you sound like you know him better than i do.”

“maybe i do,” he mutters.

“then tell me,” you say quietly. “should i be worried?”

his jaw tightens. he doesn’t answer right away. he wants to tell you, wants to let it spill out, the whole disgusting thing he heard at practice, the way suguru laughed about you like you were nothing but a story to pass around. it’s right there, sitting heavy on his tongue.

but when he looks at you, soft eyes, hopeful little smile, the way you look at him like he’s safe, he feels sick.

you’re too good for it. too sweet. too fucking naive to see how much he’s playing you, and he can’t stand the idea of being the one to shatter it.

“cho?” you ask gently.

he blinks. “yeah.”

“what were you gonna say?”

he opens his mouth, ready to just do it, to tell you everything, to ruin whatever fantasy you’ve built around suguru, but then your phone lights up on the dresser.

suguru calling.

you both look at it.

your heart jumps a little, that reflexive smile pulling at your lips. you grab the phone, swiping to answer. “hey.”

choso watches you, expression unreadable. your voice softens instantly, your tone sweet and familiar in a way that makes his stomach twist.

“yeah, i’m just getting ready,” you say, turning slightly away from him. “mhm… yeah, i’ll see you there, choso's driving me.”

his fingers drum against his knee. your voice is quiet now, almost a whisper. he can’t hear the words, only the ton, light, careful, like you’re trying not to say the wrong thing.

you laugh at something he says, that little laugh that used to be his favorite sound in the world.

and something in choso deflates.

he stands slowly, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket. your perfume still hangs in the air, heavy and warm.

“hey,” you say, glancing at him mid-call, mouthing, one sec, before turning back.

he nods, grabbing his keys from your desk where he’d dropped them.

you’re still talking, giggling now, saying something about how you’ll be there soon. he heads for the door.

“yeah,” you murmur into the phone. “love you too.”

his steps falter for half a second, then keep going.

the door clicks shut behind him, quiet.

you love him? god, how could he tell you after hearing that...

~

the venue’s already packed when you and choso pull up. neon bleeds across the cracked pavement, the sound of bass leaking through the concrete.

you can feel the pull of the crazy fans even from the street. drunk laughter, the sharp scent of cigarette smoke, someone yelling over someone else.

choso kills the engine and leans back in the driver’s seat for a second, watching people shuffle in through the side door. the light outside hits his face in flashes. pale, pink, blue, he’s fading between moods.

“you ready?” he asks, voice low, lazy, but you can hear something else under it.

“yeah,” you say, adjusting your skirt, checking your lip gloss in the visor mirror.

he glances over, eyes flicking briefly down your legs before turning away again. “lookin’ like that, you’re gonna cause a fuckin’ riot, man.”

you laugh softly. “you said that earlier.”

“yeah, and i meant it both times.”

you shake your head, smilin despite yourself.

inside, it’s chaos. the place smells like sweat and beer, lights flashing in dizzy loops, bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder. gojo’s voice echoes somewhere backstage, already hyping people up. you follow choso through the narrow hallway, your hand brushing his arm as someone shoves past. since when was he so muscular?

“sorry,” you say automatically.

he glances back. “nah, you’re good.”

he holds the side door open, letting you through first.

the band’s gear is scattered everywhere. amps, cables, beer cans, half-empty water bottles. suguru’s there, tuning his guitar, cigarette hanging from his mouth.

when he looks up and sees you, his expression softens into that easy smile that always used to make your stomach twist.

“hey, pretty thing,” he says, walking over.

choso looks away, jaw tight.

“hey,” you say quietly, leaning up to kiss him. his hand slips to your waist, the kiss short but a little too public, a little too look-at-me.

“you made it,” he murmurs.

“told you i would.”

behind you, gojo’s laugh cuts through the noise. “yo, choso, you finally dragged n/n outta her cave!”

choso smirks. “yeah, figured she could use a little culture.”

“culture, huh?” gojo grins at you. “hope you’re ready for noise complaints and groupies.”

“i’ll manage,” you say, smiling.

toji doesn’t look up from his bass, just gives a small nod in greeting. the whole room buzzes with the kind of pre-show tension you can feel in your teeth.

everyone’s running on nerves and caffeine and whatever else they’ve put in their systems.

choso tosses his hoodie onto a crate, rolling up his sleeves. he looks good like that, focused, hair half-tied, a strand falling over his cheek. he’s calm but sharp now, a different kind of energy from the stoned version of him you’re used to. the one who drifts through mornings in smoke.

“five minutes,” someone calls out from the stage manager’s booth.

you hover near the wall, watching them all get into place. gojo bounces on his heels, suguru spins his pick between his fingers, toji stays silent. choso’s behind his kit, tapping his sticks against the snare like he’s talking to it.

the crowd roars as the lights dim.

you press closer to the side of the stage, the bass vibrating through your shoes.

gojo’s voice hits the mic, smooth and arrogant. “we’re exorcize. don’t fucking blink.”

the first chord screams through the room, and everything shifts.

the sound is huge. overwhelming. suguru’s guitar cuts clean through the noise, toji’s bass a low pulse under it all, and then choso, he owns that rhythm. every hit lands deep, every movement controlled but raw, like he’s drumming out something that’s been living under his skin for years.

you seriously can’t take your eyes off of him.

he’s sweat-slick already, jaw tight, eyes half-lidded. the lights flash white, then red, then blue across his face. every motion is deliberate, steady, like he’s trying to stay anchored in something only he can hear.

and even though the crowd’s losing their minds, it feels like it’s just him and the sound.

you glance at suguru. he looks good too, cool, collected, confident. but next to choso, he feels out of place, like a performative douche you knew deep down he was.

your chest squeezes together. you look back at choso.

there’s something odd in the way he plays tonight. like he’s exorcising something, (no pun intended.) every strike on the snare is much louder, almost angry and harsh. you ponder if it’s just adrenaline or if something happened earlier?.

when the first song ends, the crowd screams. gojo throws his head back, grinning, shouting into the mic. “holy shit! you guys showed up tonight!”

choso stays quiet, twirling his sticks, taking a long drink of water. his eyes flick toward the side of the stage, toward you.

you smile.

he doesn’t. just nods once, small, subtle, before looking away. the next song starts before you can think about it too long.

you dance a little, lost in it, letting the music carry you. but somewhere in the back of your head, you can feel his stare again. quick glances between beats, the way his gaze lingers just a second too long before he looks back down.

and for the first time, you realize you’re not sure which one of you it’s harder for.

by the time the set ends, you’re breathless from the noise, your voice hoarse from shouting. the band leaves the stage to cheers, sweat-soaked and buzzing. gojo’s the first to collapse backstage, laughing.

“we killed that shit,” he says, half-yelling.

“yeah, not bad,” toji mutters, towel over his head.

suguru grins, walking straight toward you. “told you we’d put on a good show.”

you nod, heart still racing. “you were amazing.”

he leans in to kiss you again, and you let him, even though your eyes flick over his shoulder for a second, to choso. he’s wiping sweat from his forehead, jaw tight, eyes fixed on the floor.

suguru pulls back, arm still around your waist. “so, you coming to the afterparty?”

you hesitate. “uh, yeah, i think so.”

“good.” he kisses your temple, then turns toward gojo to talk about something.

you stand there for a second, unsure of what to do with your hands. the noise of the room fills the space between you and choso. he finally looks up, trying to push aside the guilt he still felt for not being able to man up and tell you about suguru.

you smile, small and tired. “you were insane up there.”

he laughs, strong yet humorless, the phrase 'love you too' still haunting his every thought. “yeah? thanks.”

“no, really. i couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

his mouth twitches, like he wants to smile but doesn’t trust himself to. “yeah, well… guess i did my job.”

you step closer, voice soft. “you okay?”

he nods, eyes flicking briefly toward suguru, then back at you. “yeah. just… beat.”

you nod too, not sure what else to say. gojo yells something about shots, suguru laughs, and the night keeps moving around you.

but in the middle of all of it, you and choso stand there for a second, caught between the noise and the silence. like the whole night’s holding its breath, waiting to see which one of you breaks first.

~

the afterparty’s at some half-finished warehouse space two blocks from the venue, the kind of place that smells like spilled beer, sweat, and old amps. led lights are strung along exposed pipes, blinking unevenly. someone’s blasting music from a bluetooth speaker that keeps cutting out.

you walk in first, suguru’s hand laced with yours, his thumb tracing idle circles against your skin. you look good under the dim light, like you belong there, like you’re glowing even in the noise and haze.

choso follows behind, slower, his hoodie unzipped and hair sticking slightly to his forehead. he already smells of weed; he’d lit up the second they left the venue.

people yell greetings, offer shots, hugs, congratulations. gojo’s already got his arm around two people he definitely doesn’t know, yelling about how they fucking killed it tonight. toji’s slouched near a speaker, scrolling through his phone like none of this matters.

suguru doesn’t let go of you. not once. he keeps you close, leaning down every so often to murmur something in your ear that makes you laugh. he’s magnetic in these settings. composed, charming, eyes sharp enough to make anyone feel seen.

choso sits on a couch near the edge of the room, elbow draped over the back, watching through half-lidded eyes.

you look happy.

and for a minute, that’s enough.

he takes a drag, holds it, exhales slow. watches the smoke drift toward the ceiling. you’re laughing at something suguru said, your head tipped back, eyes bright.

he can almost convince himself it’s fine.

you’re happy. maybe that’s all that matters.

but he can’t stop remembering the way suguru talked earlier at the studio, voice low, that half-smirk twisting his mouth as he said your name like it was something to toss away. you lean up and kiss suguru’s cheek, whisper something. he nods, still holding your waist.

“gonna go fix my makeup,” you say, smiling. “don’t move.”

he smirks. “not going anywhere, princess.”

you squeeze his hand and disappear down the hallway. choso takes another drag. exhales through his nose, slow. for a few seconds, suguru just stands there. then, like someone flipped a switch, his attention shifts.

choso notices it instantly, the way suguru’s gaze catches on someone across the room. tall girl. dark hair. red lipstick. she’s leaning against the kitchen counter, talking to some guy with a drink in her hand.

choso knows her. everyone does. she used to hang around the studio all the time. suguru’s old fling. the one he’d bragged about, laughed about, talked about like she was a good story, just like you. his shoulders tense.

suguru drifts over. slowly. easy. one hand tucked in his pocket, the other reaching for a drink as he greets her.

she smiles like she’s been waiting.

he says something that makes her laugh, that same sexy smile sliding across his face, the same one he used when he looked at you five minutes ago. choso stares at them, heartbeat starting to pick up, jaw tightening around the joint.

he can’t hear what they’re saying, but he doesn’t need to. he can read the body language, the subtle lean, the flirtatious tilt of her head, suguru’s gross smile.

the same old shitty act.

he feels something stir in his chest, something dark and heavy. he looks toward the hallway, half expecting you to come back. you don’t.

he looks at suguru again, and his mouth moves before his brain can stop it. oh well.

“yo.”

his voice cuts through the music, quiet but sharp.

suguru glances over his shoulder. “hmm?”

choso’s still on the couch, but his tone’s much differnt, “you maybe wanna get your shit in order before y/n gets back?”

the girl looks baffled, stares between them, then takes a step back (yeah that's right).

suguru raises an eyebrow. “huh?”

choso leans forward, elbows on his knees, smoke curling around his fingers. “you heard me.”

the room feels quieter even though the music’s still playing.

suguru laughs once, soft, incredulous. “you serious right now?”

“deadass.”

he looks away for a second, shakes his head like he’s amused. “you’re high, choso.”

“not that high.” choso stands up, slow and deliberate. “i just don’t like watching you act like a fuckin’ idiot when she’s not even gone five minutes.”

suguru’s jaw tightens, that calm exterior starting to crack just a little. “what’s it to you?”

“what’s it to me?” choso echoes, stepping closer. “she’s my roommate, dumbass. i actually give a shit if she gets hurt.”

“roommate,” suguru repeats, his smirk returning. “that what we’re calling it?”

“yeah,” choso says flatly. “that’s what we’re calling it.”

suguru laughs again, but it’s sharper this time. “come on, man. don’t tell me you’re getting protective. that’s cute.”

choso doesn’t smile. doesn’t scoff. “just don’t be the asshole i know you can be, yeah?”

for a second, something flickers behind suguru’s eyes. annoyance, maybe? guilt. or nothing at all. he looks away, taking a sip of his drink. “you don’t know what you think you know, choso.”

“nah,” choso says quietly. “i know exactly what i heard.”

suguru’s gaze snaps back to him. “what?”

“the studio,” choso says, voice steady. “you should watch you have to get more toilet paper what you say when you think nobody’s listening to you talk shit.”

suguru freezes, for a long moment, neither of them move.

then suguru laughs again softly, controlled. “you think you know what that was about.”

“don’t need to think,” choso says. “you said it clear as day.”

“she’s a big girl,” suguru says after a pause, voice low. “she can handle herself.”

choso’s eyes narrow. “you mean she trusts you. that’s not the same thing.” suguru doesn’t respond.

choso takes another step forward, close enough now that the smell of smoke and alcohol mixes between them. “if you don’t give a fuck about her, fine. just don’t stand here pretending you do.”

suguru finally looks up, eyes darker now. “you done?”

choso lets out a dry laugh. “mm. guess i am.”

he steps back, drops the joint into an empty cup, and turns toward the hallway, he almost bumps into you.

you’re back, smiling, oblivious, still glowing from the night. “hey, what’d i miss?”

both men go still.

suguru’s mask snaps back on instantly, smile smooth and easy. “nothing, babe. just talking band shit.” you nod, glancing between them. choso’s eyes are hard to read. too calm, too quiet. you loop your arm through suguru’s. “oh! okay. drinks?”

“yeah,” he says, kissing your temple. “let’s get you one.” he leads you toward the kitchen, the two of you slipping back into the party’s pulse.

choso stays where he is, arms crossed, jaw tight. from across the room, he watches as suguru hands you a drink, laughs at something you say, leans in close like nothing happened.

and for the first time in a long time, choso feels the kind of anger that doesn’t burn out, it just settles. slow, deep, and quiet.

he reaches into his pocket, pulls out his lighter, flicks it once, twice. the flame dances for a second before he shuts it off.

he takes a breath.

then another.

the music swells again, the noise swallowing everything.

and still, all he can hear is suguru’s laugh and the echo of his own restraint cracking, one hairline fracture at a time.

.

a few hours later

choso doesn’t mean to, really.

but the tight, burning knot in his chest, the one suguru’s smirk planted there, the one that grew watching him flirt with that old girl, the one that pulsed every time he saw your smile linger on suguru instead of him. fuck, it’s unbearable.

he’s been quiet, slow, keeping that lazy, half-asleep stoner mask on, puffing on his joint like everything’s fine. but it isn’t. it never has been.

he promised. always promised. no pills, no hardcore shit. just weed. the band worried enough about him already, addiction has always been a shadow he could never quite shake, and they knew if he went deeper, it’d swallow him.

but now, standing in the pulsing warehouse light, the noise vibrating up through his shoes, the alcohol and smoke thick in the air, he’s feeling something foreign. anger. jealousy. raw heat that makes his chest ache and stomach twist.

“yo, kamo,” he hears a guy drop down next to him, some old friend from college, he's leaning in. “nice to see you man. it's been ages."

choso just nods along, letting the guy talk about whatever he thinks is so important, his ears only really peeking up when the guy says, "you look like you need somethin’ a lil stronger.”

choso looks at him, slow. “mm, like what.”

the guy holds out a small baggie. pills, little white caps. “just some party shit. everyone here's doing it."

choso stares. his promise to the band, to you, floats somewhere in the back of his head , only weed, nothing heavier.

you'd all told him how addictive he could get, how dipping his feet into any sort of hardcore drugs wouldn't turn out great for him.

he takes the bag anyway. too pissed if to give a shit about anything other than numbing what he's feeling. "yeah, alright.”

“sweet,” the guy says, handing him a drink to wash it down.

the high hit him slow at first, a gentle fog wrapping itself around his chest, legs, fingers. choso felt the kind of calm that usually made him drift through a morning on the couch, hoodie loose, blunt tucked behind his ear.

but tonight, it was different. it hit like a wave he couldn’t ride without tumbling. and the warehouse, sticky, crowded, glowing in neon and sweat, was the perfect storm for it.

he wandered through the party, each step lazy, like he was moving through molasses, yet every sense screamed sharper than usual. the bassline rattled his chest, people’s voices blurred into a constant hum, the smell of booze, perfume, and sweat mixing into a heady cloud.

he took another long drag from his joint, holding the smoke, letting it curl around him, thinking it might shield him from the gnawing coil in his stomach, but it didn’t. not really.

“hey, choso,” a familiar voice broke through the haze. a fan, a girl maybe nineteen or twenty, pressed forward with wide eyes and a camera phone. “can we… like, take a pic? i love your band, dude, you’re insane on drums..

choso blinked slowly, the effects of the drug tangling with his words. “ahh, yeah… fuckin’ yeah, for sure.” he motioned lazily to the spot, half-smile tugging at his mouth. he let the girl snap a few pictures, asked her dumb little questions, about the band, gigs, where they got the idea for that last song, and he answered, voice drawling and thick, slurring words just slightly.

every few minutes, though, his gaze flicked back to you. and every time, there you were. pressed against suguru, who had that impossible grin plastered on his face, thumb brushing your hip while making conversation with someone else. choso’s stomach twisted. you weren’t tense. you laughed at something suguru said, head tilted back, but his ja tight.

and then he noticed it. suguru’s eyes, dark and dirty, sweeping across the room, lingering on every passing girl with a flash of that smug, possessive look. choso felt something sour bloom inside him, disgust. jealousy. something he hadn’t felt in a long time, something sharp and alien.

he sucked in a long drag of his joint, letting it burn down slowly, but the warmth didn’t soothe him. the high pressed against the raw edges of his chest, amplifying the foreign heat that bubbled with every glance suguru threw.

the way his lips curved slightly at you, and yet his eyes traveld over the figure of every passer by, made choso’s fingers itch to smash something, anything.

and then it happened. a girl, tall, laughing, hair loose over her shoulders, crossed the warehouse floor, and suguru’s gaze latched onto her, heavier than he had been doing.

just like that, he leaned down slightly to you, whispered something, and before choso could register it, suguru excused himself.

"gonna step out for a bit,” he said smoothly, voice low, eyes catching choso’s once before he disappeared through the side door.

you watched him go, smiling like it was nothing. like you didn’t notice the tension he left behind.

choso’s lips parted slightly, and for the first time tonight, he felt some clarity in the chaos, the haze, the crowd, the thrum of the bass, all of it funneled into one magnetic point: you.

he made his way through the crowd, knees a little wobbly, mind thick and messy with high thoughts, each step pulling him closer to you.

when he reached you, he leaned against the wall beside the couch, blinking slowly, trying to anchor himself despite his brain telling him to just spout nonsense.

“yo,” he said, voice low, a lazy drawl that was already fraying at the edges. “hey… hey you- you look… fuck, you look like, like somethin’ really fuckin’ hot. like, goddamn, don’t even, don’t even talk, just stand there, yeah?”

you looked at him, frowning slightly. his eyes were glassy, unfocused, but they held a sharp, almost wild intensity.

“cho… did you..? what did you take?” you asked carefully, voice low, hands resting lightly on the couch back. “you’re really high right now, aren’t you?”

he blinked slowly, shaking his head, hair falling into his face. “nah… nah, it’s… just… the whole place… it’s like, fuck, it’s like the world’s spinning.”

he ran a hand through his hair, eyes darting to you, then back toward the doorway where suguru had disappeared. “man, I swear, every time I look… he’s lookin’… like, fuck, like he’s owning somethin’ that’s mine. not yours, mine.”

you frowned, stepping closer. “cho… slow down. breathe. you’re not making sense.”

“sense? ha!” he laughed, sharp and hoarse. “fuck sense, you’re… you’re standin’ there, and I’m… I’m, shit, I’m like, all these fuckin’ feelings,” he trailed off, gesturing vaguely at you, voice cracking a little with the intensity.

“cho,” you said softly, moving to grab his arm, trying to steady him. “look at me. what did you take?”

he shook his head violently, sitting down on the edge of the couch, hands tugging at his hoodie strings. “nah… nah, can’t… fuck, can’t tell. you'll be mad at me. but you… you’re like… god, you’re fuckin’ everywhere in my head.”

you bit your lip, exhaling through your nose, letting a faint groan of frustration escape. “hey… listen to me. you’re too high. you’re spiraling. it’s not healthy. come on… we’re going home.”

he blinked up at you, expression softening slightly, but the haze still clouded his gaze. “home?” he muttered, a slow grin tugging at his mouth. “fuck… home. yeah, yeah, you… you’re home.”

you knelt beside him, voice gentle but firm. “yeah. c’mon, we’re leaving, you're fucking soaring.”

he blinked at you, then laughed softly, a little shaky. “you… you’re fuckin’ bossy, y’know that? like… goddamn, bossy as hell… I fuckin' like it. I like it a lot.”

you shook your head, smirking despite yourself. “yeah, well, bossy is gonna save your ass tonight. now get up.” you extended a hand. he took it slowly, fingers brushing yours, gripping tightly for a moment.

as you led him through the crowd, you leaned slightly toward gojo, speaking over your shoulder. “hey, tell geto I’m leaving for the night. also tell him not to come over later.”

gojo’s grin faltered slightly, but he raised a hand in mock salute. “yeah, yeah. whatever.”

you didn’t answer, just kept walking, guiding choso toward the side door. the night air hit him like a splash, sharp and cold, clearing some of the fog from his mind. he shivered, pulling the hoodie tighter around himself, looking at you with wide, almost pleading eyes.

“fuck, it’s… it’s cold out here,” he muttered, voice rough. “but… yeah, fuck… you smell, like… everything good.”

you rolled your eyes, smiling, tugging gently on his arm. “c'mon, get in the car you big baby.”

he followed, shuffling along beside you, shoulders hunched, hands fumbling with the hem of his hoodie. he let you guide him into the passenger seat of his sleek black mercedes, heat and regret and longing pressing together as you let go of his arm.

“yo… you know,” he said suddenly, voice low and rough, “I… I like you. fuckin’… like… goddamn, like really, really… yeah.”

you glanced at him, surprised, hand resting lightly on his arm. “cho… you don't know what you're saying,” you said softly, voice steady. “now let’s just get you home before you do anything stupid.”

he grinned, shaky but wide, and leaned slightly into you as you guided him along the sidewalk. “yeah… yeah, okay… home… yeah… but fuck, I swear… I swear, I’m like… all my feelings… all of ‘em… you’re fuckin’… yeah, you’re it.”

you laughed softly, shaking your head. you were starting to get really anxious. he's ever like this, never so open, never so talkative. “you're high. i don't want to hear any more of this nonsense, okay?”

~

you open the door to your apartment with a slightly more sober choso trailing behind you. normally, it was warm here, soft, your little refuge from the chaos of the outside world. tonight it was cold, unfamiliar, as if every object, the counter, the fridge, the chipped mug in the sink, was holding its breath.

choso was already inside, leaning against the kitchen bench, sleeves rolled up, hair falling into his eyes.

normally, even high, he was lazy, drifting. tonight he was… heavier. darker. like every beat of his pulse carried some of the tension from the warehouse, every breath filled with something raw, sharp, desperate.

“cho?” your voice was soft, tentative, as you stepped closer. the door clicked shut behind you and the sound seemed louder than it should have been. he didn’t answer at first, just watched you, eyes glassy but unblinking, half-shadowed in the dim light.

then he moved. suddenly, decisively. one long step forward, and he was close enough that you felt the heat from him, smelled the faint mix of weed, sweat, and his cologne. before you could react, he caught your wrist and guided you toward the counter, pressing you lightly against it.

“hey,” he murmured, low, rough, voice shaking just slightly. “don’t… don’t move. just… just listen.”

you froze, pulse jumping. normally he was lazy, teasing, stoner-lazy. not like this, not intense, not… commanding in that way that made your lower stomach tighten.

“choso—” you started, but he silenced you with a sharp glance, his eyes flicking up to yours, desperate, pleading.

“i… i’ve been keeping something from you,” he said, voice tight. “something stupid. something i should’ve… fuck, should’ve told you about a long time ago.”

you swallowed, your heart picking up. “hmm?… what is it?”

he exhaled slowly, hands brushing against the edge of the counter near your hips, close but not overbearing, just there enough that you felt trapped in the tension he carried.

“it’s… it’s about… suguru,” he said, jaw tightening. his voice caught in his throat for a second, then he pushed through. “about all the… shit he’s said. about you, y/n.”

your stomach dropped. what the hell was he talking about? he was clearly fucked out of his mind, slurring his words as his jaw twitched. you wanted to put him to sleep, tell him to calm down, but he looked too controlling, like he'd explode if he didn't get this out.

“suguru, he… he talks about you like you’re nothing,” choso continued, hands tightening around the edge of the counter as if he needed the anchor. “like… like he’s the only one with a right to… to even fucking look at you. he… he laughed, y/n. we were at the studio, and... he said, he said such shitty things about you."

your breath caught as he leaned in closer. "l-like what?..."

"shit... he said that he likes you because you’re obedient, you're 'tight as hell', a good fuck, like you’re… like you’re just… I don’t even know, a thing for him to screw. and then—”

he ran a hand through his hair, frustrated, dark eyes flicking to yours. “—then, tonight, while you were in the bathroom, doing your makeup, he went straight to his old fling, the girl he used to bang and brag about, just… just to… to prove something. he looked me dead in the eye. like he was… like he’s proud of it.”

you felt your throat tighten. your hands gripped the counter instinctively. “oh choso... i'm sorry you had to hear all of that… i—”

“no, no,” he cut you off, urgency flashing. “don’t you fucking start apologizing. don’t. you didn’t do anything. it’s all him. it’s… it’s just… i hate him. i fucking hate him, y/n.”

his voice was so hoarse, breaking a little on the last word.

the smoke curling around him made him look sharper somehow, the dim light accentuating the edges of his face, the dark lines under his eyes. you’d never seen him like this. vulnerable, angry, but also… unflinchingly honest.

“choso... he's your band mate, i know what he did to me was shitty, but don't let that ruin your relationship with him... cmon…” your voice was quiet, unsure. you weren’t sure if you were supposed to comfort him or run. your chest hurt at the honesty in his voice.

“no. i don't care, y/n... and that’s not the worst part,” he said, leaning just a little closer, hands still on the counter, gaze locked on yours.

“the worst part is… i can’t—i can’t stop thinking about it. about him touching you, talking about you, laughing at the way he’s—fuck, i don’t even know. it makes me… it makes me feel like i’m losing my mind. like my chest is… i don’t know, ripping in two.”

your lips parted slightly, unsure what to say. his usual lazy, stoner-laden grin was gone. this was… desperate. needy. almost like he couldn’t stand not saying it out loud.

he was slurring his words, looking frantic.

“and i… i want to—” he paused, swallowed, voice rough, low. “i want to tell you… that i’d never… i’d never do that. not to you. not like him. not even close. you… you’re too good, too… i don’t… fuck. you’re not like that. and i… i like you, y/n.”

the words hit harder than you expected. you’d thought he was joking before, rambling high, maybe even teasing. but this… this was different. he was standing close, breathing uneven, heart thudding in his chest, eyes pleading, and you realised, he meant it.

“choso…” you whispered. you didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, your chest tight. “you… you mean that?”

“yeah,” he said, a harsh exhale of smoke escaping his lips. “i mean it. i’ve liked you for so long, and i… fuck, i just… kept it buried. kept it lazy, kept it… i don’t know, hidden. i didn’t wanna make it weird, or fuck things up. but tonight… tonight i saw everything. you with him. and i couldn’t hold it anymore.”

he reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. his hand lingered, trembling slightly. “you're... you're really special to me, y’know? not like… possessive or some shit. just… like… i need you. i need you to know i don’t want anyone else doing what he did. talking about you like that. looking at you like that. not ever."

you bit your lip, heart racing, conflicted. the intensity of his confession, the anger at suguru, the neediness, it was… a lot.

you didn’t know how to feel. your body was leaning slightly into him, the pull of him against you magnetic, but your mind was spinning. suguru. choso. confusion and lust and relief all knotted together.

"why are you just telling me this now...?" you ask, shyly as he inches closer, grabbing your jaw and holding it loose.

"because i'm off my fucking face, y/n."

it was sudden, and you even giggled. because he was right. sober choso, stoned choso, he'd never been this open, never this vulnerable.

"... i don't know what to say, this is all so— fuck— it's so sudden. what am i supposed to do about suguru..." you ask, he closes his eyes and responds with his forehead pressed to yours.

"if i had it my way... you'd block his ass, never speak to the mother fucker again, and spend your nights wrapped up in my bed, instead of his. letting me take care of things, keeping you close so you'd know i was yours, asking you out like a proper fucking guy. not using you like some sort of pocket pussy."

that hit. because that's all you'd ever really wanted from someone. companionship, love, the kind of respect you just didn't feel from suguru no matter how many times you'd try make yourself think you did.

he finally let go of your face and stepped back, rubbing his hands down his own thighs like he needed the grounding. “c’mon,” he muttered, voice rough, low. “bed. i… i just wanna… be near you. just… lie down, okay?”

you nodded, still unsure, heart pounding, but the pull was magnetic. his bed was just down the hall, soft, slightly messy, with a blanket he probably hadn’t folded in days.

normally he was too stoner-lazy to care about anything resembling organization, but tonight the bed felt like a sanctuary. he moved ahead of you, swaying a little, still fumbling with his hoodie, and you followed, careful not to trip over the rug in the hallway.

once inside, he lowered himself onto the mattress with a groan that was half frustration, half relief. he patted the space beside him, a small, awkward gesture but charged with meaning. “get in here,” he said, voice soft now, almost pleading. “just… be here. with me.”

you perched at the edge for a moment, looking down at him. he looked vulnerable in the way you hadn’t seen before—high and open, yet completely raw. then, slowly, you slid in beside him.

he shifted slightly, making room, then wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. your head rested lightly against his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing, the soft heat of his skin beneath your cheek.

“fuck… you feel good,” he murmured, voice thick and rough. “like… like everything i’ve been waiting for, all at once. i… i don’t want to move,"

you exhaled softly, heart hammering. “i’m here,” you whispered. “i won’t go anywhere.”

he pressed his face into your hair, a quiet groan escaping him, not sexual, not demanding, just… relief. he was holding onto you like no one's business, like proximity to you was the only thing keeping him tethered.

“i… i fucked up tonight,” he said, voice muffled against your hair. “i know… i was all over the place. off my face. but… you gotta know… i meant everything i said. every word. you’re the only one i want to be… like… close to. like this.”

you shifted a little, looking up at him. the sharp, high tension in his face had softened, replaced by a mixture of haze, exhaustion, and longing. “cho… i get it,” you murmured. “you don’t have to explain anymore. just… be here.”

you let yourself sink against him, chest pressed to his, but your mind was a storm. part of you was still sharp, aching with betrayal. the thought of suguru’s words, his casual cruelty, it stung, too fresh to be jumping into anything emotionally taxing as of now.

it left a sour taste, a tight knot in your stomach. you hated that you’d ever tried to make excuses for him, that you’d tried to convince yourself his calm exterior meant anything other than manipulation.

and yet, lying here with choso, pressed close to him, his warmth and his raw honesty wrapping around you, it felt like a shield. the tension, the anger, the hurt—they softened at the edges, dulled by the simple fact that he was here. that he wasn’t pretending. he wasn’t playing games. he didn’t want to own you—he just wanted you near, wanted to take care of you in the quietest, simplest way.

your chest warmed despite the lingering anger, the betrayal still gnawing at the edges of your thoughts. and yet, in this space, tangled together, pressed close in the dim glow of his bedroom, you could let yourself be content. content with the one person who’d always been honest with you, who’d finally shown you exactly how much he cared.

for now, that was all you needed.

~

the weeks had slipped past since you’d messaged geto to fuck off. you hadn’t spoken to him since that curt text, and honestly, it was quieter than you’d expected. no drama, no confrontations, just the dull ache of his absence.

the apartment felt calmer for it, too. you and choso hadn’t talked about that night, about the confession, the intensity, the things he’d admitted, but it hovered in the space between you like a low hum, unspoken but insistent.

and slowly, almost imperceptibly, a rhythm emerged. mornings were quiet, coffee mugs and peeling toast and sleepy smiles. afternoons slipped by on the couch, half-watching a show, half-dozing, your knees brushing against his.

evenings smelled like takeout and weed, music humming in the background as he sprawled lazily on the carpet, drumsticks idly tapping against his legs.

there were moments where it almost tipped, where the electricity between you made your fingers tremble and your stomach twist. a brush of hands in the kitchen, a shared laugh over something dumb on your phone, and for a heartbeat it felt like you could collapse into each other right then and there.

but choso was careful. patient. giving you space to breathe, letting the sting of geto fade, even as his gaze lingered longer than it probably should. he still wanted you close, but he held himself back, letting you set the pace. only on your own terms would he get close, letting you slip into his bed when you got lonely, letting him rub your back when things got stressful. the little things.

the band had its own tension.

practices had become sharper, more pointed, the edges of old frustrations showing. suguru’s sulking was more obvious these days, jaw tight, fingers always on his guitar strings like he was ready to snap at any moment.

he hadn’t forgiven you, or himself, for the way you’d just ended things. toji sighed more than usual, muttering about drama infecting the rhythm of the band.

gojo, predictably, had made it his life’s mission to tease both suguru and choso mercilessly. apparently, choso had spilled every detail from that night to him, and gojo’s sharp, smug grin had never left since.

“yo, cho,” gojo called during a rehearsal break, plopping onto the bass amp with a lazy flop. “have you swooped her up yet? any new updates on your little scheme to make her your play thing?"

choso’s eyes flicked up from the drumkit, one stick lazily twirling in his fingers. “shut the fuck up, gojo. that's not what i'm doing,” he said, voice flat but amused, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

he was back to his usual rhythm now. easy, teasing, present, but the underlying tension in the studio hung there anyway, like the air before a storm.

suguru scowled from the corner, tuning his guitar obsessively. “idiots,” he muttered, voice sharp. “both of you.”

toji snorted. “cho’s chillin’, you're the only one sulkin' man.”

the drums hit again, slow and steady, choso’s stick tapping a rhythm into the carpeted floor.

back at the apartment, it was quieter. the city hummed outside the windows while you and choso settled into something gentle, unspoken, almost tender.

one night, he was sprawled on the couch, hoodie pulled over his head, knees bent, and you were perched at the edge, flipping through a magazine. your hands brushed, his fingers lingered just a little longer than necessary as he gazed into your eyes like a man starved, the pull was undeniable.

“choso… we shouldn't just…ignore it.” you started, heart hammering.

he cut you off with a soft hum, eyes still hidden beneath the hood. “i know. but i’m… i’m trying… letting you breathe. letting you… heal first.”

your chest tightened. “it’s… it’s still weird. still raw. geto… he—”

“fuck geto,” he interrupted softly, voice low but firm. “he’s out. he’s done. i’m… here. for you. not asking for more than you can give.”

and that was enough. the rest of the night passed in quiet, soft laughter over dumb shows, slow music, the faint drumbeat from his sticks echoing against the walls.

no confessions, no admissions, just presence and the weight of his calm, steady warmth.

practices were intense now. the band had a gig coming up, the biggest they’d ever do. every session was longer, every riff tighter, every cymbal crash deliberate.

choso’s drumming drove the rhythm, his usual lazy charisma replaced by a quiet focus, punctuated by moments of laziness where he’d just lean into the kick drum and let the beat flow through him.

and through it all, you were there with choso. kitchen chats between sessions, lounging on the couch while he absentmindedly tapped his sticks on your coffee table, brushing against your knees when you passed by.

the apartment was your sanctuary and your battlefield, tension and warmth coexisting, your bodies close but boundaries carefully observed as you'd talk about everything.

"so, will i see you at the gig?"

"duh. i'll be front row screaming your name."

god, he wishes you would scream his.

~

the venue pulsed with energy. bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder, the air thick with sweat, smoke, and anticipation.

you could feel the bass thumping through the soles of your boots before the band even came on. a low chant started somewhere in the crowd—ex-or-cize, ex-or-cize, ex-or-cize—and spread fast, a heartbeat made of strangers.

you were front and center, caught in the current of people, hands gripping the barricade. your chest was tight, a knot of nerves and excitement wound together. this was their biggest gig yet. bigger venue, bigger crowd, the kind of show that could push them up a tier.

the lights went low. a hush fell. and then gojo’s voice hit the mic, clear and cocky, dripping with that smug grin you knew even without seeing it.

“alright, alright, you sexy motherfuckers,” he drawled, drawing out every syllable. “we’re exorcize, and we came to make your night filthy.”

the crowd erupted. lights flashed red, then white, smoke rolling over the stage. suguru stepped up first with his guitar drawn low and his hair slicked back.

toji followed, head down, fingers flexing around the neck of his bass.

choso came last, sliding onto the stool behind his drumkit, sticks already spinning between his fingers. the moment he sat, everything in the room seemed to lock into rhythm.

you couldn’t take your eyes off him.

the set kicked off hard; gojo’s voice raw and teasing, suguru’s guitar slicing through the noise, toji’s bass thick and grounding. but choso… god, choso was something else entirely.

his body moved with the rhythm like he was the rhythm. sweat already glistened at his temples, hair falling into his eyes as he leaned into each beat. his arms flexed with every strike, the muscles shifting beneath the fabric of his tee, drumsticks flashing in the lights.

it was hypnotic. enticing. you felt it low in your stomach, that steady pulse syncing with his.

geto was there, of course. you’d spotted him near the sound booth, head low, arms crossed, pretending he didn’t care. the sight of him twisted something sharp in you at first, but it faded fast, burned away by the heat rising from the stage.

because when choso hit that first solo, nothing else mattered. not the press of bodies, not the alcohol hiring your tounge, and definitely not suguru geto.

he tilted his head back slightly, lips parted, eyes half-lidded as his hands blurred.

you’d seen him play before, countless times —but this was different. this was him, stripped down, alive. raw talent and rhythm and restraint all breaking loose in front of a crowd that screamed his name.

and you were screaming it too.

every cymbal crash sent a jolt through you. every roll of his shoulders, every flick of his wrist made your breath hitch. your fingers gripped the barricade harder as heat coiled low in your belly. you couldn’t stop watching him. didn’t want to.

gojo grinned into the mic between songs, sweat dripping down his jaw. “give it up for the best damn drummer in tokyo—my guy choso!”

the crowd roared, and you swore you saw choso’s mouth twitch into the faintest, shyest grin. his gaze swept across the crowd for a fleeting second, and when it landed on you, your stomach dropped. he saw you. he felt you.

the rest of the set blurred together, grinding guitars, crashing percussion, gojo’s voice splitting the air like lightning. when they closed out with exile mind, their heaviest song, the crowd went feral.

choso drove the final beat like he was trying to break through the floor, and when the last note hit, he threw his sticks high into the crowd. one disappeared into the sea of hands; the other bounced off the barricade and landed right in front of you.

you picked it up, clutching it tight.

the lights faded. the crowd’s roar slowly dissolved into chatter and laughter, the sound of the night spilling back into the open air. the band vanished backstage, swallowed by cables.

you slipped through the press of bodies, heart still pounding, the drumstick warm in your hand. a couple of drinks from the merch table had loosened your nerves, and you could feel a confident heat rolling low in your belly, pressing against the restraint you’d been holding onto all night.

when you found him outside—behind the venue, near the alley where the smoke from the back door curled upward—he was leaning against the wall, hoodie half-zipped, head tipped back, still catching his breath.

“you were…” your voice caught, breath slightly slurred and warm from the drinks, “holy shit, choso, you were incredible.”

his lips quirked, soft and tired. “yeah?”

“yeah.” you stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair from your face, deliberately letting your hand linger a second longer on his chest. “i couldn’t look away. like… i don’t even have words. you sounded—” you lowered your voice, letting the warmth of the drinks give you boldness, “you sounded so good. so fucking good.”

his gaze flicked to yours, something dark and quiet sparking in it. the pull between you was immediate, electric, and you let your fingers brush his hoodie again, teasing, deliberate.

“you think so?” he asked softly, voice rougher, more ragged than usual.

you nodded, stepping closer until your body nearly pressed against his. “yeah. you made me feel it. every beat.” your lips curved into a half-smile, half-grin, letting the alcohol fuel a boldness you usually didn’t give yourself.

after weeks of pretending like there was nothing going on between you, this was definitely the breaking point.

"i couldn’t stop thinking about you, how i'm so lucky to have such a talented friend.”

he swallowed, shoulders rising, that lazy grin cracking just slightly as he stepped a fraction closer.

for a second, the air felt so thick you could barely breathe.

the back door swung open then, and gojo’s voice cut through the air.

“yo, you two!” he shouted, grinning under the streetlights. “afterparty at mine. everyone’s invited. you better show up, cho—you owe me a joint and a round of beer for that call out, man.”

choso didn’t even glance back. his gaze stayed on you, dark and intense.

you tilted your head, voice soft but teasing, letting the boldness roll over your words. “maybe skip it,” you said, hand still lightly resting against his chest. “the last afterparty didn’t go so well for you, remember?”

his laugh was low, slightly hungry, genuine. “yeah,” he murmured. “fair point.”

“come home,” you said, your body brushing against his side as you spoke, fingers pressing lightly into the fabric of his hoodie. “come home. with me.”

he hesitated a heartbeat, then exhaled, eyes softening, a slow smile tugging at his lips.

“yeah. home sounds really good.”

.

as soon as the door clicked shut, the air between you ignited. his hand found the small of your back before you could even react, pulling you flush against him. your body pressed to his chest, heart hammering, pulse racing, every nerve alight with anticipation.

“fuck,” he breathed, forehead leaning to yours, voice low and rough, vibrating in your chest. “i can't take this anymore. i can't keep ignoring this.”

you swallowed, breath hitching, hands braced against his shoulders. “cho—”

he cut you off with a growl, lips brushing against your jaw as his hands slid down to grip your hips firmly, anchoring you to him. “no. fuck that. i mean it. i… i’ve been holding back everything. every word, every look, every feeling.”

your stomach fluttered, heat pooling between your thighs, and you couldn’t stop the shiver that ran down your spine. he tilted your chin up, eyes dark, heavy with desire and something softer, something raw and unguarded. “i can’t… can’t stand it anymore, y/n. that night, everything i said… everything i’ve wanted… i need you so badly.”

“choso…” your voice was breathless, half warning, half pleading, but your body betrayed you, leaning in closer, the tension unbearable.

he laughed, low, rough, almost a growl. “jesus, look at you. you're so fucking beautiful… i want you all to myself, all of the time. i don't know how i control myself most of the time, y/n.” his hands roamed lower, teasing the curve of your waist, thumbs brushing against the soft line of your hips.

“i need you. i’ve wanted you… every lazy, fucking long day i’ve spent here in your vicinity, it's like i can't breathe properly without you.”

your chest tightened, mind spinning, everything he’d said that night pooling back into focus—his confession, the anger at suguru, the raw truth. you’d thought it was a high, a ramble, but now… seeing him, feeling him, you knew it was real.

“ i—” you started, voice trembling, then cut yourself off as he leaned in, pressing his mouth to yours.

the kiss hit first soft, lips delicately meeting for the first time, then it grew demanding. a low growl vibrating from his chest, hands gripping your hips tighter, rolling you against him like it was the only natural motion in the universe.

you gasped, fingers tangling in the back of his hoodie, pulling him closer, feeling the press of his hardness against you, the undeniable weight of him. your body arched instinctively, pressed to his, heart hammering, chest rising and falling in sync.

“tell me,” he murmured against your lips, voice rough, low. “tell me you want me… all of this… me.”

your eyes fluttered open, heart in your throat, and you met his gaze. you looked him up and down and pulled him in tight, letting your lips do the talking.

"does that answer your question?"

he groaned, a sharp, feral sound that made your stomach clench, and pressed harder, pinning you against the door like it was his god-given right. “good,” he breathed, tilting his head as his lips sought yours again, slower now, tasting, teasing, claiming. “i need to… i need to ask, too.”

“ask?” you whispered, breathless.

he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, hands cupping your face, thumbs brushing along your jaw. “be… mine, y/n. completely. no games, no half-assed shit. i want you. all of you.”

your chest tightened, eyes swimming with heat, desire, and relief. “yes,” you breathed, voice trembling, letting everything spill out.

that was all he needed. his grin cracked wide, teeth grazing your lips, and he dove back into your mouth, hands wandering over every inch he could reach, lips and tongue claiming, teeth grazing just enough to draw gasps from you.

you pressed into him, hands clawing at his back, hips grinding, the friction of his body against yours setting you alight. each kiss was sharper, heavier, demanding, full of need and want and something that had been simmering for years.

he backed you into the hallway, every step making the tension coil tighter, until finally he spun you gently, but with no less force, toward the bedroom. the air was thick, your breaths ragged, hands clutching at each other’s clothing, trying to close the distance you both had held back for too long.

“god, you’re perfect,” he murmured against your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin, and you shivered violently. “i’ve needed this… wanted you… for so long.”

you couldn’t hold back anymore. “me too, cho. so badly.”

he groaned, a deep, rough sound vibrating through your chest, hands gripping your hips and pulling you closer as you crossed the threshold into the bedroom. the door shut behind you with a definitive click, muffling the city outside, leaving only the sound of your hearts, your breaths, and the magnetic pull between your bodies.

and then… he kissed you again, slow and searing, full of hunger and want and heat, pressing you onto the bed as your legs tangled together, bodies seeking, finding, consuming.

he’s all teeth and tongue, biting, sucking, nipping at your neck, shoulder, jaw, dragging low, urgent groans from deep in his chest that make you ache and melt at the same time.

your nails rake down his back, pulling him closer, and he leans in, grinding, pressing, heat and hunger radiating from him in waves that make your knees weak.

“fuck, choso—” you gasp, but he swats your hands away gently, lips still devouring yours, teeth grazing, tongue probing, tugging, tasting.

every touch, every snap of his hips as he grinds his clothed cock against you, makes your clit pulse with anticipation.

his fingers slip under your shirt, pressing and pinching at your hardened nipples, trailing down your sides slowly, dragging heat across your skin.

your hands clutch at him, tugging his hoodie off of his body, anything to get more of him, more contact, more friction. he responds with a low, guttural growl, teeth sinking into your shoulder, hips snapping hard, testing, teasing, driving you insane with want as he tears off his shirt.

you catch a glimpse of the body you'd see on the daily, a perfect chiseled masterpiece, only this time, it was all yours.

he doesn’t just kiss you, he devours you. hands roaming over your pretty body, he slips your skirt off next, and slides his big, veiny hand down, down, until the thick pads of his fingers tease and prod at your wet bundle of nerves. you hiss in reply.

"fuck! choso— that feels— so good!"

he smirks at your confession and slowly pushes his thick digits inside, scissoring them back and forth, driving you up the wall as you let out pretty, breathless moans.

"ch-choso!"

his mouth drifts lower, teasing the swell of your breasts, biting just enough to make you arch and cry out.

after working you open, he kisses your lips tenderly before pulling down his pants and underwear in one swift motion. his rock hard cock springs free, and, wow. just wow.

"th-that's not gonna fit..."

"we'll make it fit, baby."

and fit it did. he slowly pushed his fat tip past your puffy lips, whispering reassuring praise as you squeezed your eyes shut from the streeeetch.

"aww— you can do it, ma. you're doing so good for me. that's it, just keep breathing baby."

his hips jerked forward, letting the last few inches fully stretch you out, earning a porn star worthy moan rip from your throat.

"holy fuck— holly shit! choso, you're so big!"

he groaned in satisfaction, your cunt swallowing him whole as he slapped his hips back and forth over and over again, cursing and moaning deeply into your ear.

his pace turns brutal, like all of his emotions were being poured into fucking you nice and deep, the way you deserved.

he dips his face down impossibly close to your face to capture your quivering lips in a kiss. he smirks against your skin, letting lewd comments tumble out of his smirking lips.

"you moan so prettily for me baby— shit— nothing— hah— gets me harder than hearing you whine like a slut while i fuck you fast."

you arch, grinding against him without thinking, letting the friction and his raw heat take over, body trembling beneath him. he groans into your neck, claws digging into your thighs, holding you open, guiding, punishing, claiming.

he’s insatiable. every roll of his hips, every snap, every deep press of him against you makes your body combust, trembling, gasping, aching for more. your moans, ragged and loud, fuel him, and he leans in, tongue and teeth and lips all at once, relentless, like he’s trying to imprint himself into your skin.

you can’t think. can’t breathe. can’t do anything but ride the fire, hips rolling into him, chest pressing into his, skin slick and shivering. he drives you higher, deeper, grinding with unrelenting intensity, low growls vibrating through his chest, vibrating through you.

"fuck! baby— gonna cum— gonna fill y' up, shit!"

you locked your legs around his torso as his thrusts become more and more feverish, the sheer pace making your face squeeze tight in ecstasy.

he's breathing heavy, holding your hips against him so hard you're sure his hands will leave bruises, your cunt being relentlessly pounded as he finally lets go.

"fuck— y/n! fuck i love you, i love you so much!"

you gasp at his words and blurt out a response like it was muscle memory, like it was the most perfect irrevocable truth.

"i love you too, choso— hah!—,"

when he finally drives the both of you over the edge, it’s explosive. he pants and collapses immediately, groaning into your chest as he caresses your hair, speaking soft praise into your ear.

"god, that was so good. you did so well f'me... holy shit, y/n. you're so perfect, so good... you took me like a fucking champ."

you were too busy coming down to fully comprehend, but you cradled his head against your chest all the same.

he doesn’t pull away. just holds you, chest pressed to yours, lips brushing your forehead, arms tight around you, skin slick and sticky, breaths mingling, pulse still wild. the tension hasn’t left, it’s just simmering now, a coiled heat between you two that promises this is only the beginning.

you’re still gasping, shivering, trembling in the aftermath, but it’s… thrilling, dark, messy, and perfect. he leans down, brushing his lips over yours once more, teeth grazing, murmuring something low and rough that makes your stomach knot again.

"i love you, y/n. you're mine. i don't fuck and dip, this is a forever thing now, okay? i promise, i'm never letting you get away from me."

the world outside is gone. it’s just the two of you, tangled, fevered, and utterly, terrifyingly alive.

you reply through breathless speech, looking deep into his beautiful, tired eyes.

"i know, cho. and that's all i've ever really needed."

© 2025 sixxels. All work belongs to @sixxels Do NOT repost, modify, translate or plagiarize in any way on ANY platforms.

Satoru watches as you strut across the yard with your sorority sisters, throwing water balloons at each other with reckless abandon. Shirt drenched and clinging to your frame, you laugh ever so freely when a fratboy scoops you up, tossing you over his shoulder as you scream playfully.

“Yeesh,” Shoko grumbles. “They pay thousands of dollars just to party.”

The carefully crafted pre-med path Shoko treads on hardly gives her enough time to smile at the very least. Even Satoru himself didn’t have the time to relax, let alone party. With his Astrophysics and Aerospace Engineering double major, his tutoring job to pay the bills, and duties around his clubs, he had no time to so much as breath. Only time he spared anything to but his studies was when he’d stare at you around campus—because he knew he could not do it too much in your shared calculus class.

You dread that class. Each time you walk in, you feel your lungs giving out. You loathed math. English was way better! Who in their right mind would rather solve strenuous formulas than read a romantic story? Hell, clearly your degree advisor believes that you should prefer the former over the latter.

Just get through this required course for your core classes, then never again. Never will you touch math again.

The teacher does nothing but ramble in his monotonous voice about functional continuity and optimization. All you knew was the Pythagorean Theorem. Beyond that, was there truly a need to extend algebra into trigonometric fundamental theories?

“Your quizzes from last week have been graded as well,” your professor drawls. “They are up on your portal. I highly suggest that if you performed poorly, you reassess your study method. You don’t want to retake this course.”

Your heart sinks as you pull your phone from your pocket, tapping through to your portal. Drowned altogether, your heart has no way of returning to the surface, not now that you’ve seen your failing quiz grade. You were fucked for the final.

It took much molding of your dignity to stand at the bulletin board in the campus library and sign up for extra tutoring. If any of the other rival sororities learned of this news—that a member of your sisterhood had to fall from grace and take to being tutored for her failing course grade, it would end in a humiliation ritual. Speaking of, you scribble your name down along with your contact information.

Satoru downs a handful of colorful m&m’s, crunching boisterously due to his headphones blocking out the noise in the library. The dark frames of his glasses slip down the bridge of his nose, and he can’t be bothered to push them back up while entrenched in the notes and models he reviews for Aerodynamics. He’s trying to bang out another lecture of notes before his next tutoring session student arrived. He supposed he needed a refresher for the calc exam anyway.

He doesn’t even hear the door to the private study room open or look at the time again since he knows his tutee is running late. In his peripheral, he sees a pair of shoes, then a pair of legs, then a snug shirt, and then your pretty face.

“Hey, Satori, right?”

Satoru fumbles to take his headphones off, they dangle around his neck as he awkwardly stammers, “S-Satoru.”

“Oh—sorry,” you say, lightly patting the notebook in your hand. “So…”

“Oh—right,” he clears his throat, but the unknown force clogging his esophagus feels it might choke him to death. “Have a seat.”

“Thanks,” you pull out the chair by him. “I’m Y/n, by the way.”

Satoru nods, lowering his gaze and trying not to be insurmountably offended, “I know who you are. We’re in the same calculus class.”

Your brain freezes, and a chilling heat overcomes you. Satoru catches the way you cringe. Sure, you may not have paid attention in class—that’s why you’re here—but come on, you seriously could not have been that delusional to never have noticed the white-haired boy that sat only two rows behind you.

“Oh—yeah!” you light up, startling him. “You sit behind me—with that girl with the tired eyes.”

This earns a slightly shocked laugh from the boy, “Yeah, that would be Shoko.”

You nod, looking him up and down, logging the arguable fact that seems ridiculous to even be subject for debate—that he was quite cute for a nerd.

Satoru does his best to not stare too hard, averting your gaze as he suggests, “How about we start with chapter 3? How’d you do on the quiz last week?”

You oblige wordlessly, tearing open your textbook and notes. With thinly veiled shame, you slide your graded quiz to him, teeth gritting and lips pursing. Satoru takes the paper, brows raising at the dreadful grade.

You blink boorishly, rolling your eyes at the reaction on his behalf, “I know it’s bad. Just tell me how to fix it.”

Satoru makes another effort of clearing his throat. He still could not believe his luck—of all the people doing terrible at Calc 102, you had been the one fated to be his mentee. He spent months admiring you from afar, memorizing the way your brows quirked, and the sound of your laughter. He had a hard time not eyeing your figure, all the dips and curves, all the impossibly sexy things that came along with you. He’s wondered about the type of guys of you must be into, and how he could never be one of them.

Satoru’s recalcitrant heart does not heed his mind. It continues to patter and tremble and stay entrenched in the back of his throat, throbbing like it may jump from his very lips.

The little scrunch between your brow kickstarts his degenerating brain, forcing him to focus once more. He tugs your textbook toward him, setting it between the two of you. “We’ll start off from the beginning of this lesson. That sound good?”

You have no other choice but to say yes. It’s clear to you and you assume to him as well that you would rather be lounging around with your friends, but if you wanted to graduate on time, passing this course was imperative. So, all you do is dumbly nod.

“Feel free to stop me to ask questions, I’m going to solve this question for you step-by-step,” he glances at you to ensure you understood and were ready. Then, he dives in. He explains the beginning of the problem, what methodologies and key factors to keep note of, and how to ultimately solve the question. “And there you go.”

You blink, baffled at how effortlessly he navigated through the problem—like it was second nature—a language he was fluent in. You knew this was the very first principle of the chapter, the simplest form of the methods that you are to use. But this in all its entirety was so much more complex than you could even admit to.

“Um…” you trail off, pointing at a section of his work. “I don’t understand how you end up with negative 79x here—I mean, why is that the value being applied to this,” you point at another fragment of the problem, “part of the equation. It doesn’t make sense to me.”

“Well because—” he uses his pen, a darker hue of blue than his eyes, to circle a portion of the paper, ringing the problem area you mentioned. “—you get the derivative from this part, then apply that right…there. Then, it’ll result in the final solution.”

Your eyes flit over the trace of his penwork, piecing together the numbers and algebraic alphabets as he watches the way your face twists—trying oh so hard to make sense of it all. He can’t even reprimand himself for watching so closely because it’s adorable how your expression softens then sparks aflame again when you seemingly have put it all together.

“Oh,” you breath out. “I’m so dumb—that makes complete sense now.” 

Satoru’s bottom lip awkwardly tucks into his top, pressing in a line as a response all on its own. He didn’t appear entirely comfortable, that you could surmise.

“Let’s try another one, yeah?” he proposes, jotting down a question on your notebook before sliding it over to you. His frosty blue gaze is on your work, wincing ever so slightly when he sees you messing the question up. “You’re doing it wrong again, look,” his voice is gentle. His pretty hands, you realize, are quite big—and all you can look at now as he points on your paper. “Try distributing this to the right values before moving to the next step.”

You bite your lip, zeroing in on the problem again and taking his advice. When you eventually reach the final product, you look at him expectantly, waiting for his approval.

“Yeah,” he smiles proudly. “Good job.”

You return to smile sweetly at him, feeling something strange stir in your core from the sheer fact that this boy was so incredibly intelligent—and so kindly teaching you. You’d had your fair share of men—each frat boy you’ve spoken to has been even more diabolical than the last. But watching Satoru—hearing him praise you rather than hearing another man degrade you—it felt nice.

“You’re pretty smart, Satoru,” you say, leaning your cheek in your palm as you look at him with an expression he can’t decipher at all.

His face flushes in heat akin to magma ready to erupt. He knew he was smart; it was an irrefutable fact. He did his work above and beyond how it was asked to be done and he had always been far ahead of the curve his entire life. But hearing the words fall from your pretty lips paired with his name, no other compliment has ever meant anything to him. It only feels like the fact carried truth when it came from your mouth and your mouth only.

“Thanks,” his lips twitch into a hesitant smile.

“No, I mean it,” you softly tell him, eyes reverting to the textbook. “I suppose it wouldn’t kill me to pay attention in class.”

“It takes practice—math isn’t about understanding it in one go,” Satoru chimes in—hoping to ease your doubt. “So don’t worry if you feel like you have to practice a hundred problems before you understand a concept. Sometimes I have to do that too. Ends up taking me days before I finally understand.”

“Really?” you raise your head, ears perking.

“Oh yeah,” he lies, nodding his head to sound as convincing as one can be. “I have to restart and redo the same problem over and over again most the time. It takes me a while too.”

You smile, reassured by his words, “So you don’t always get it right away either?”

He hums, shaking his head. Your smile wavers, remembering you have more work yet to be done.

“You ready for another problem?” he raises his brows encouragingly.

You nod, a soft curl in your lips.

The next session unfortunately for Satoru isn’t in the library. In order to cram for that quiz coming up, the two of you have to find some other quiet place. And studying was certainly no task to be done in a sorority house. So, to his dismay, Satoru has no other choice but to offer up his dorm. Luckily, Suguru would be out.

However, redecorating would be the feat of a century. Surely, something he could not do with only twenty minutes before you arrive. Maybe you won’t think too poorly of the Star Wars and Star Trek memorabilia plastered on every spare inch of the room.

Satoru slams a palm on his forehead. Why did he text you to come over without thinking about how dorky his room would look?

There’s suddenly a knock on his door, well, it’s looks like it’s too late to do anything about his room now.

Satoru musters up every morsel of strength his body can congregate and turns the knob, pulling the door open. And there you stand, all perky and cute in your short, frilly skirt and baby blue top—his favorite shade of blue—that put your chest on clear display. He’s left staring at you, gawking boyishly at your pouted lips and scrunched brows, clearly not registering the fact you are waiting for him to invite you in or say something at the very least.

“Hey,” your glossy lips purse in mild confusion. “We going to study out here in the hall or…?”

Satoru suddenly remembers that he is a real-life person and not sitting behind a screen looking at a picture of you. He jolts, “Ah—sorry! Come in.”

He moves aside and you step into the room with full dominion, not easing inside as you gawk at the décor. Meanwhile, Satoru is shutting and locking the door, making haste because of that creepy freshman down the hall that had been gaping at you, turning his head to catch more of a glimpse before Satoru could close that damn door.

Then—he wants to curl into a ball and die when he sees you stepping through the room, staring at the canvased walls. All the Luke and Anakin Skywalker, Princess Leia, Darth Vader, Obi-Wan (etc.) funkopops line shelves along with Spock, Captain Kirk, Bones special edition collectible figures that have not even been torn from their boxes. The giant Lego Death Star he and Suguru spent an entire week building is on top of his dresser and a tapestry hangs on the wall by his bed that truly puts the rest of this space-infested room to shame. One with Darth Maul’s face plastered on it, eating a chocolate chip cookie dunked in milk that reads Come to the Dark Side. We have Cookies.

Holy Fuck.

Saying you are overstimulated is an understatement. You have never been a room like this ever. Any boy’s room you have stepped into was far different. Characterless. Hardly any charm or personality. But here, Satoru had spared all his passion. Where there wasn’t anything related to his fictional universe fixation, there he would have books and other placards of Astronomy, Cosmos-related infographics. Formulas and formulas—chemical equations and chemical equations. Any scientific concept there was to know, there was some sort of print on it in this room.

“So, you like space a lot, huh?” you finally say, face blank and eyes wide as you continue spanning the room.

Satoru scratches the back of his neck self-consciously, “Yeah. Sorry. It’s a little much I know.”

“No, I think it’s cute,” you casually tell him, continuing to inspect the room far too closely. “It is pretty dorky though.”

Satoru stills, staring at you like you were an angel fluttering about his room. Nanami and Haiba would not believe him if he told them the hottest girl on campus was standing in his room right now—Wait a fucking minute.

“Cute?” he skittishly follows your gaze. “I haven’t heard anyone ever think that a Star Trek and Star Wars obsession was cute.”

That’s when you blink twice at him, mouth turning down, “Wait, what’s the difference? I thought this all was the same show.”

Satoru feels as though he’s been slapped across the face. Same? Show? God, maybe you were clueless.

“Have you never watched Star Wars or Trek?” he sounds awfully cocky when he speaks—a tone you had heard from him for the very first time. “Did you actually think they were the same thing?”

You chuckle, shrugging carelessly, “Well, I mean, stars, planets, wars, spaceships. Isn’t it practically the same thing?”

This stirs a strange fire in Satoru, he begins to run his hands through his hair, “It’s only the two largest and most successful space adventure franchises—not the same thing. Star Trek is driven by the scientific desire of exploration and adventure. While Star Wars is one of the greatest political space fantasies. I—I can’t believe what I’m hearing.”

Seeing Satoru get so worked up over something so silly was making a smile spread across your face that you could not contain.

“I know that,” you point at Darth Maul’s tapestry on the wall, “is one of the bad guys in Star Wars. And that—” you point at Princess Leia’s funkopop “—is the girl that got kidnapped by that ugly blob guy. And I know that because I wore her costume for Halloween last year.”

Satoru’s eyes widen to the point that they may leap from his very sockets. “You went as Princess Leia for Halloween? When she’s Jabba the Hutt’s prisoner?”

“Mhm,” you nod, plopping down on his bed. “The guys loved it. It was a ten-out-of-ten purchase. Thank you, Star Wars.”

Now all Satoru can do is picture you in that costume—how could he have missed that? You in a golden brass bralette and barely-there red skirt—He hardly can dwell much on that because now he’s focused on the fact you are in his bed.

“What’s the matter, Satoru?” you ask amiably, sliding a finger up your bare thigh. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I—no,” he stammers. “I’m fine. Let’s just—get started.”

You smirk, watching him stride over to sit at his desk. Fuck, he really is gorgeous. He’s even cuter when he’s so riled up.

“Don’t any of your girlfriends find it adorable how much you love this stuff?” you ask, laying on his bed and propping your head up with your elbow.

“No,” he says. “I never really bring anyone in here.”

Your sly smirk grows, “So I’m your first. I took your room virginity.”

Satoru’s ears go crimson red. He can’t even face you. He simply tries to relieve that scratching at his throat. “Don’t say it like that.”

You chuckle, batting your lashes at him, “Whatever you say, sir.”

His gaze shoots back to you as you slip off his bed, skirt hiking up as you do so. His breath catches in his throat at the sight, you in your sparse clothing, sliding off his bed and sauntering towards him at his desk. All just to study the ins and outs of calculus.

The sessions take place twice a week. You meet Satoru in the library, going over the lessons and lecture. That quiz comes to pass and after two weeks of being his pupil, you approach the white-haired boy in your Calculus class.

“Uh oh, here comes Polly Pocket,” Shoko mumbles to Satoru before you reach them.

“Hey, Satoru,” you smile at the boy.

“Hey,” Satoru’s heart thunders in his ears, mind afloat just by the fact he’s near you again.

Shoko’s eyes widen—appearing like she was struck across the face—which clearly would not be as shocking as you approaching Satoru or even knowing his name—

“Hey, Shojo,” you say to her, turning back to Satoru you politely ask, “You mind if I sit with you?”

“Oh—absolutely, here,” he moves his bag over to make more room for you, earning a grateful grin from you when you sink into the seat beside him.

You excitedly turn to him, “Guess what?”

He registers your elation, grinning at the very site, “What?”

You pull your portal out and show him the dazzling 97 percent quiz grade you received. Hardly able to contain your joy, you’re tapping your feet on the ground, watching his eyes twinkle as he eyes the score.

“Nice!” Satoru perks up in his seat, holding his hand up for you to high-five.

You laugh elatedly, high fiving him. Satoru doesn’t know how to react—because you just touched him. Sure, it was a millisecond celebratory slap on the palm of his hand, but he still feels his knees wobble at the very slight contact. But then, you do the most outlandish thing.

You peck a kiss on his cheek.

“Thank you, Satoru,” you smile, sliding back into your seat like nothing happened.

Meanwhile, Shoko’s jaw is on the floor, struggling to pick it back up. And Satoru…well he is a hot mess. His entirely body is tingling, every nerve in his wretched body is splitting open or short circuiting and his heart is hammering, a choir chanting across every expanse of his body. And when he feels his pants begin to tighten, he sinks lower into the seat, feeling absolutely embarrassed by how much he’s thinking about this little gesture. Just by his bodily reaction alone, he’s beating himself up. Now he knows this is the most virgin thing to happen to him. That’s not counting how he reacted to you saying you took his virginity while in his room the other night.

“Of course, anytime,” he clears his throat.

You turn to look at him, wiping your smirk and replacing it with an innocent smile that has layers of deviousness etched within. “My sorority’s throwing a party tonight at our house. If the two of you aren’t doing anything, you should come tonight—Oh! And you can bring your friend, Subaru.”

Shoko and Satoru sit in a stunned silence. Both at the fact you just invited them to a party—they’d never been invited to any party ever—and at the fact you just called Suguru by the complete wrong name.

“Yes,” Shoko blurts. “We’d love to.”

Satoru casts a baffled look at his usually cool and collected friend—clearly acting totally and completely uncool.

“Uh—yeah, count us in,” Satoru hesitantly says, looking at you.

To this, your smile widens all the way to your ears.

This was your usual weekend scene. Red plastic cups littered about and in the hand of each sweat-slicked, debauched college kid. Bass thundering in every last corner of the house. And hardly any space to so much as breathe.

You missed the last few parties, but alas, you find your way back to it one way or another. Not that you particularly felt as though you were missing much. Studying with Satoru was not half bad.

Speaking of, you roam the party, making several laps around the house to partake in the festivities—and see if your shy blue-eyed tutor decided to unwind too. So far, no sign of him. You frown to yourself. Why did you care if he came anyway? There are dozens of hot guys here that need tending to.

“Hey, what’s got you distracted, gorgeous?” a voice rumbles by your ear.

You look over your shoulder, a little caught off guard by the man. You are left face to face with Ryomen Sukuna, infamous man-whore frat boy. You’ve had a couple tangles with his friends, but nothing beyond a couple kisses between the two of you.

“Hey, Ryo,” you chuckle lightheartedly, bringing your drink to your lips. “Just people-watching.”

He leers at you, full of intent, “What do I have to do to get that attention of yours?”

You could smell the alcohol off his breath. And you are well aware of his little score to settle with his fraternity brothers: Sleep with every girl in your sorority. It just so happens that he decided it was your time, as morbid as that may sound. Why is chivalry and class dead amongst men?

“My attention must be earned. It takes a very special type of person to be able to achieve that,” you say as-a-matter-of-factly.

“Is that so?” he grins greedily. “You and I have been friends a long time, is that not enough?”

You are about to answer, not particularly certain what it is you will say. However, a white-haired head bustling about the living room catches your eye. Satoru is quick to adjust his glasses that had been cast askew while navigating through the cluster of partygoers. His two friends are with him, mumbling something to one another.

Your eyes already lit, spread that same very light to the rest of your face. You straighten your posture, prepared to call them over when Sukuna says, “Who invited the band freaks?”

You roll your eyes, sparing him no response when you leave your pathetic excuse of a conversation with Sukuna to wave to the trio.

“Hey!” you call with a grin.

The sound of your lovely voice captures Satoru’s attention immediately. He looks lost, completely out of place. He feels it too. But it’s nice to see at least one familiar face. It doesn’t hurt that it happens to be so beautiful.

You rush over to the three of them, “Hey, Shoko. Hey, Suguru. Glad you guys made it.”

Shoko raises her brows, wondering if you hit your head or something for you said her name correctly. Could be the first time. Satoru lets out a shaky breath, eyes spanning the packed home.

“Happy to be here,” Suguru smiles kindly. He sees his best friend then turns his gaze to you, eyeing you like you are a fierce flame, with a warmth that already scorches his skin. “Shoko, let’s go get a drink from the kitchen.”

Satoru looks at Suguru, telepathically thanking him for leaving the two of you be. And so you face him—he does notice the way you glance at Sukuna however. It makes him want to cower away all the more.

“So,” you chime cheerily, “What do you think?”

“There’s… a lot of people. Pretty loud,” he swallows, peering around as he replies. He then looks down to you again, a slight twitch in his nervous smile. He tries to be respectful with where his eyes linger, trailing down your body adorned with such little yet shimmery clothing. No wonder there were so many eyes on you.

You chuckle lightly, “How about we go someplace quieter then?”

He doesn’t know what that gleam in your eye means, or that parted-lipped smile. But he obliges nonetheless, “Uh—sure.”

Your smile never falters as you take his hand, guiding him through the labyrinth of horny college kids and towards the stairs. There’s a little less foot traffic on the second story, only the kids that managed to find a room to fool around in or those waiting in line for the restroom.

But the two of you waltz past the bumbling students, reaching the end of the hall before you pull a key from where you tucked it in your bra. Then, you open a door. Satoru is half alarmed, half dazed as he glances between your door and the rest of the hall. But when you tug him in, who is he to question it?

Pictures of you and your friends hang on the wall. Of you in a cheerleader uniform in high school. Banners of your sorority dangle from the ceiling, your makeup littered across your vanity, bedazzled frames and cups, couple sparkly shirts spilling from your closet. And a sweatshirt of the most infamous fraternity on campus dangles off the back of your desk chair. And your name in glittery letters rests atop a shelf with vibrant flowers.

He is in your room. He is in your fucking room.

A click of the door lock mechanism kicking in place draws his attention and he spins around to face it. You have a mischievous expression that he confuses with playful innocence as you step away from the doorway.

His brows raise as you circle around him and take a seat on your bed. You pat the empty space on your side invitingly, “Well, don’t be shy. Come, sit.”

Satoru gulps nervously, listening to your command and taking a seat beside you. He can smell your fresh shampoo, the scent of your sweet buttery lotion, and notes floral perfume. Your scent is consuming him. He can hardly stand it. You’ve bewitched all his senses. Sight, smell, hearing—all he’s missing now is taste and feeling. It’s what he’s left craving.

“Well, I suppose I should start off by saying thank you again, Satoru,” you begin, leaning your weight on one arm and playing with your hair with your free hand. “You’ve done so much to help me. I don’t know what I’m going to do to repay you.”

Satoru feels like a lost puppy—unsure of what to even react with, “Oh, no need to thank me. I’m happy to help.”

“No, seriously, you dug me out of a deep hole,” you urge, practically invading his personal space with how close you lean in. You set your manicured hand on his thigh. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“A-anytime,” he shakily smiles, feeling his blood rush to and from ever crevice of his body.

You eye him, sighing out hopelessly. “You’re so smart, Satoru. Way too smart for me.”

“Thank you, but that’s not true,” he does his best to politely assure you. You can see how his skin is perspiring in cold sweat just by the compliment. “You’re a good student. It helps when you have a pupil that catches on quick.”

You chuckle, “You know, you are too smart for me. But sometimes I think you’re not smart at all.”

This causes Satoru to freeze. Not smart? He could easily make a game out of the periodic table and spell each element backwards in alphabetical order or sort according to proton power. That is the most absurd thing he’s ever heard—not smart.

“Why do you think that?” he asks, feeling bold.

You begin to trace your fingers up and down his thigh, causing him to shiver almost uncontrollably. Only then does your smile drop.

“There are certain things you can teach me, Toru, and certain things I can teach you,” you say, leaning closer to him, so much so that the heat of your body is melting him.

“L-like what?” he tries not to tremble.

You feign a dumb smile, shrugging as you look him up and down. Then you shake your head, “Nothing.”

Satoru furrows his brows, seeing the sudden shift in your playful demeanor. While all impish and teasing only a second prior, you now retract your hand from him while your head hangs low dejectedly.

He’s a nice boy. Not like Sukuna or any of the other fuckboys here.

“W-what’s the matter?” Satoru adjusts himself, lowering his head to enter your eyeline.

Even his voice is soft and gentle. It fills you with guilt and…makes your heart beat all the more.

“No, it’s nothing,” you shake your head again. You lift your gaze, looking at the scrunch between his brows and the puzzled look behind his frames in those piercing blue eyes. It makes your insides melt. “That guy,” you begin, knowing you were probably on the verge of rambling, “that Sukuna guy.”

Gojo blinks, a little disheartened, “Oh. You like him?”

“No!” you say quickly, sucking in a deep breath. “I just—I don’t know. I know what he’s after when he talks to me.”

“What’s that?” he asks, eyes wide like a child’s.

“Sex, Satoru,” you scoff lightheartedly at his innocence.

His eyes grow impossible wider. And he mouths an inaudible Oh.

“I mean—it’s not necessarily a bad thing, but with these party boys—there’s no…” you search for the correct word, slightly flailing your hands as if you were hoping it would appear out of thin air. “—Pleasure.”

“Pleasure?” Satoru frowns. “What do you mean?” he tilts his head, lip pouting as if he is trying to understand a concept of aerodynamical engineering. He gets comfortable on the bed, facing you a little more as he looks to be solving one of your long-winded calculus problems. “Like he can’t…make you finish?”

You feel embarrassment all of a sudden—your face grows hot and you see that he doesn’t seem like a shy nerdy kid at all right now, but a curious mind that wishes to figure out and understand a complex formula.

“Yeah,” you slowly bow your head. “It’s not enjoyable in general. They’re just after chasing their own high. Hardly remember they have to make me feel good too.”

“But—that’s supposed to be the best part,” Satoru squints, puzzling something together in his mind.

You stop mid-thought. “I know—guys are just—selfish. I don’t know.”

Satoru watches you very intently. The way he always has. “Not every guy. You just haven’t let the right guy give you want you want.”

You chuckle, “What? Like you?”

“Why not?” Satoru raises his brows, “I could make you feel amazing. Whatever you’d want me to do, I’d do it.”

“Yeah,” you giggle, looking him over. He is much bigger than you had thought before the first time you talked to him. Tall with a broad frame, long slender limbs alarmingly attractive. “Right. You’re cute.”

He narrows his eyes, a little offended that you believed his offer to please you was analogous to a silly joke. He scoffs.

“Hey,” you grab his hand, still laughing. “I’m sorry—you’re just such a sweet guy and—”

He is not listening to this. Besides, you had a habit of saying stupid things and rambling on and on about nonsense. He never minded. But this one instance was like nails on a chalkboard. He didn’t have to listen to this. Why should he?

So he leans in, cutting you off with a harsh kiss.

You gasp—eyes wide and pupils dancing alarmingly. He’s kissing you. Holy fuck he’s kissing you. It’s firm and confused and reckless and depraved and pining. Lovesick in every pathetic little aspect. He pulls back—shocked at his own profligate actions. He does not want to apologize, why the hell should he? He likes you, so he kissed you. The probability of being in this exact moment ever again were slim to none according to his analytical estimation. That aside, he’s preparing for you to tell him you never wanted to see him again.

Except you don’t. You stare, blinking like you’ve been met with a life altering revelation. Holier than anything you have ever considered. You are staring back at that doe-eyed look in his sparkling blue irises. Like a beautiful winter storm, warring with the earth and sea.

What the fuck? You think to yourself. He must be crazy.

Whatever it is you may be thinking seems so irrelevant compared to what your desires are thrashing and screaming at you to do. You give in without so much as another thought, and roughly take his face in your hands and press your searing lips against his.

He lets out a surprised yelp as you do so, a startled whimper against your lips, “Hmph.”

You swallow it down, body tingling just from the pathetic sexy sound spilling into your mouth. He tastes sweet. Like he spent his entire day on rock candy. And you—you taste heavenly. He can’t even believe his luck right now. He’s not kissed many girls, but this is by far the best kiss of his life.

Your hands remain on his face and you deepen the kiss, turning your head to the side to slip your needy tongue into his mouth. He’s not sure how to react anymore—his body’s gone stiff as a board, too fearful of fucking it up.

When you pull back, he’s out of breath just like you. You search his eyes, looking at his parted mouth and state, “Satoru.”

“Y-yeah?” he asks, staring quite keenly.

“You are a very bad kisser,” you tell him.

He stills, cheeks flushing as he childishly retorts, “I don’t kiss many people. I don’t know how to do it.”

You giggle softly, cradling his face as you bite your lip, “Let me teach you.”

He nods brokenly, hardly believing his luck right now. Maybe there really was something you could tutor him in.

You begin to lean in, moving your body to shift towards him. He’s left baffled and lost, watching like a lost pet as you push him down by his shoulder and climb on top of him. Straddling him, you push your hair back, gazing down. His heart is hammering against his chest, trembling at the sight of you on top on him. You bend down, nose grazing the tip of his.

“It’s nice when you take your time with it, and really focus on the intimacy factor,” you softly mumble, lips brushing his. “Tilt your head to the right—”

He tilts toward his right.

“My right,” you clarify. He heeds your command. “Good. Now, take my face in your hands, be gentle at first, then firm. Like you own me.”

Satoru feels like he’s a shivering hot mess. He gulps and nods like he totally can pretend he owns you, when in actuality, it was very much the other way around. He does as you say, but he takes it a step further. Satoru’s eyes are flicking between yours and your lips. Your heart clenches at the very gesture. He tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, cupping your face and pulling you down to meet his mouth gently.

The kiss is slow, not sloppy in the least. It’s soft, it’s full of tenderness, like he is vowing to take care of you for eternity. His lips are soft, sweet and calculative. It’s like he’s putting too much thought into the kiss blending it in with an air of confidence—like it comes easy to him.

“Satoru,” you murmur against his lips. “I like that you don’t know how to kiss”

He furrows his brows, watching you closely as your lips continue to gently brush against his, “Really?”

“Mhm,” you say softly, kissing him once more, slow and deep. You pull back again, hearing him groan as you suck and bite on his bottom lip. “Use your tongue now.”

One arm lowers down your mid back, draping around your waist to pull you closer. He parts his mouth, licking at your bottom lip experimentally. Ever so slightly, your jaw slackens, giving subtle yet enough access for his muscle to sneak in. He softly moans at the sensation, the novelty of it makes his heart flutter all the more beneath your fingertips. Just by the sound, you giggle, and he feels his pants grow even tighter.

Satoru’s cheeks flush in embarrassment—that you could look down and tease him and ridicule him about something he has hardly any understanding of. But all he mutters is a curious, “Like that?” between open-mouthed kisses.

He was terrible at kissing, only a few minutes of you on top of him, and he’s gotten only slightly better. Not bad at all. You try not to smirk. “Yes, Toru, just like that.”

He kisses you deeper, hands tangling in your hair as he breathes you in—and it’s the most passionate kiss anyone has ever landed you with. It makes a pit in your stomach pulse with something well beyond the strength of butterflies—something that travels further between your legs.

“Toru—” you mumble between kisses, “—you can touch me however you like, you know.” You shove him lightly at his chest to part your lips as your own breasts heaves. “I won’t bite,” you chide with a playful tilt of your head. Your grin spreads wider as you lean down with the most lascivious look in your eye. “Unless you want me to.”

He doesn’t understand what comes over him as he grabs your waist and flips you over on your bed, an animalistic glint in his eye. A gasp rips from your throat when your back bounces slightly against the mattress and he looms over you again. Where has this guy been all this time?

You’re about to open your mouth to say something—you had no idea what that would even be because he leans down and hungrily kisses you again. This time, it wholeheartedly feels as if he has full dominion over you.

Tongue meshing with yours, he groans into your mouth. The passion in the kiss blends with hallucinogenic sloppiness, putting you in a trance of some sort. Perhaps he was tearing through the spacetime continuum and forging a contrasting reality. One in which a hot popular sorority girl like you gets absolutely riddled to filth by a geeky four-eyed nerd like Satoru Gojo.

His glasses begin to fog from your conjoined breaths, fast and heavy—he can hardly even see anymore. Your back arches into him and the bulge grows in his pants when his hot kisses trail down your jaw, to your neck. Nope, not another galaxy. Not an alternate reality.

You throw your head back, sighing out much more than you could comprehend at the very moment. Your hands go to the back of his head, practically cradling him as he sucks on your delicate flesh. The edge of his mouth curls against your throat when your gasps get sharper, whinier.

He chuckles darkly, eyes sparkling behind his lenses, “Your neck is your weak spot.”

Your eyes crack open to look his way but he’s lifting his face to meet your lips again. You sigh into his mouth, throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him closer. Fuck, his shoulders are big enough to drape over your entire frame.

“Satoru—” you breathe, feeling his tongue drag along the column of your throat. “Are you going to make well on your promise or not?”

He grunts out, a little huff of annoyance, “Shh.”

You watch as his lips begin to descend your body. How he experimentally presses pecks to your collarbone, your chest, then the mound of your tits. God, he can’t believe he’s never carved time out of his busy schedule for this.

He shakily watches as you, with hazy eyes, begin to slip the straps of your top off your shoulders. You have a look so lustful, it drives his highly-functional brain into a fritz when he gazes upon the dazed look of desire and urgency as you push the top of your shirt down to expose your tits completely. He might just lose his shit.

You nod encouragingly, cupping your breast with one hand and using your other to guide him closer, “Taste them, Toru.”

His breaths are uneven, shallow and teetering the tip of the deep end. Satoru dips his head, mouth wrapping around your pert nipple as you arch into him even more. You watch as he sucks—taking your nipple into his mouth and switching between each, licking the pebbling buds.

There is too much to register that you can’t pick what to focus on. You don’t know whether to fixate on how soft his snowy white hair feels as you card your fidgety fingers through it, his pretty pinks lips kissing and licking your tits, or how his glasses keep adorably sliding down the bridge of his nose. Your hands fumble to slide them up a second time but he’s trekking down your body once more, much further down.

You take his hands and place them on the hem of your skirt, “Take it off me, Satoru.”

Just the breathy plea in the way you say his name has sweat beading at his skin. How could he defy any command of yours?

He does as you ask, sliding your short skirt off your hips, then your legs all together. Then, he’s left staring at a barely clothed you, all that’s left is your top dangling around your waist and your lacy pink thong dampening between your legs. Thank god for his photographic memory. He could never forget this image—those metaphorical six eyes of his would not allow him to.

Your breath breaks as you take in the way he’s gaping, like he’s calculating the atomic mass of a brand-new element, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes as he does so.

“S-Satoru,” you shudder, hand reaching out for his. “Touch—touch me—” In that very moment, your hand grasps his wrist, tugging it forward and guiding it toward your waist. You murmur, “Focus on what’s between my thighs.”

His chest caves from the command intertwined with the fact you were urging his hand lower and lower, tracking between your legs. And so, with your guidance, his fingers finally glide over your drenched panties.

He shivers—no, moans—with you at the feeling. Then, with deliberate movements, he shifts your panties to the side. However shy he must be feeling right now, he certainly doesn’t look it. In fact, he gazes upon you with such fervent curiosity. A strange marriage of desire and concentration.

“You’re so gorgeous—God,” he shudders, chest rising and sinking with heavy breaths. Then he leans closer, face lowering to inspect closely. “I don’t get why any guy would ever not pay closer attention to—fuck.”

You feel like you could melt right this very second. You have hardly been touched by him, but you feel like your insides are broiling—needing a bucket of ice no less to calm down.

Satoru’s long pretty fingers swipe over your glistening folds, making a gasp tear from your mouth.

“When you understand the anatomical makeup of a woman,” he begins to say, his thumb swipes over your clit, causing you to practically jerk in place with a cry, “—you can make her feel all sorts of things.”

Your eyes pry wide open from that—a little alarmed, as you for some stupid reason, did not expect for Satoru to be able to find the clit at all.

“A-and how do you understand the anatomy of a woman, Satoru?” you try to remain calm as he places a doting kiss on your upper thigh.

He moves away, letting his fingers spread your folds apart, “Just basic experimentation.”

You furrow your brows, leaking by his every touch. And when he takes his middle and ring finger to your clit, moving in gentle circles, your shoulders tense and you fall back.

“For example, you like that,” he does not sound like he’s gloating, rather taking mental notes aloud. “You’re weak here—I’ve read this is a pleasure point for women.”

He was so casually obscene, not shying away like you had expected him to do so. In fact, he is leading a full case study on your body with full volition.

You sit up, trying to not crumble from him toying with your clit. Bracing yourself, you cup his face, kissing him desperately. A long whiny moan spills into his mouth from yours. And when you pull away, “Toru,” you rasp, “spit on it.”

He furrows his brows, “You don’t think that’s too dirty?”

You quietly whispered, “I like dirty.”

Entranced, he watches you lean back. Heeding your command, he gathers all the saliva pooling beneath his tongue, and spits on your pussy. The second you whine sharply when he plays with your cunt again, rubbing his spit along your folds and over your clit, he understands you even more.

He continues rubbing your pussy, the slippery, wet mess of your arousal mixes with his spit and beads down your cunt. The pad of his fingers deftly rolls your clit, all the while he watches you, catching an eyeful of the way your face contorts in pleasure.

“Fuck,” you cry, hands scrambling to bunch your sheets. “Don’t stop.”

He had read about this before. One of many points of pleasure in a woman. One was the clit, of course, but another was—

He lets a long finger sink into your entrance, past your opening and sliding against your gummy walls. Sucking in a gasp, your eyes clench shut, similar to how your legs clamp over his forearm too.

“Hey, you got to work with me a little,” he grunts, using his free hand to pry your legs apart.

That desire to master all avenues of science conspires with the prospect of steering you towards what other men could not give you. What only he wishes to give you.

Moaning a mess and slew of profanities, your back is arching and—this seems to be a good response, one that has Satoru dying for more.

“Feels good?” he asks, only slightly hesitant.

You nod vigorously, words failing you as he quickens his pace, fingers plunging into your wet cunt, eliciting the filthiest sounds of squelching. And then, he felt it. He felt that spongy mound deep inside your pussy. If that violent convulsion of your body and that convincing grip of your walls harbors any truth, then he found it. Your sweet spot.

If anyone at this party were to learn of this, learn of how Satoru Gojo the geeky boy who looked like he played Digimon in his spare time (and did), was playing it fast and loose with your g-spot instead, they’d ridicule you shamelessly. You did not care though. And how could you with the way he rolls his tongue out, drool trickling in a long clear line to spill over your pussy as he continues fingering you.

Then Satoru stills for a moment, unsure of how to tame the way his cock grows underneath his jeans when you buck your hips up in desperation.

“What are you waiting for?” you quiz exasperatedly.

He swallows harshly, inhibitions strung on a wire and hung up to dry. “I want to taste you. Show you how selfless a man’s tongue can be.”

Your expression softens, as does your heart when you nod smally, seeing the way he dips his head to your abdomen, kissing you wantonly. Wet lips plant against your stomach and he’s hooking his arms around your thighs, securing you in place in case you made plans to run off. Not that it was likely.

Satoru lowers his head, his cloudy strands of white fall over his eyes that are veiled behind his framed lenses. God, he is so pretty. Why did it take you so long to notice him? Whatever the circumstances may have been, you simply are grateful you are blessed with the sight of him between your legs, prepared to put that wistfully smart tongue of his to good use.

He presses a kiss atop your mound, focused so intently on what lies before him. His mouth lowers even further, planting a sloppy, tongue heavy kiss to your swollen clit.

“Ngh, fuck—do that again—” you plead pathetically.

He obliges, doing it again and so enamored by the taste. According to his research, and what he heard from other men and women, it was meant to taste somewhat decent. But he had no idea how those descriptions would have severely underscored the reality of it. You taste as perfect as you look. He’d always wondered how it would be like to be in this position, and how downright stupid any other man was to never give you what you wanted. To never have wanted this for himself, to taste every inch of your body.

Lolling his tongue out, he licks a long stripe from the middle of your slit all the way to the top of your mound, your body jolting beneath him.

“You taste…so fucking good,” his eyes grow misty, a strange tingle ripples over his entire body and he continues to eat you out. Not like a man with piqued interest anymore, but as a man starved.

He buries face in your pussy, nose-diving straight into the dewy mess to create an even bigger one. A scream brandishes in your throat from the grotesquely beautiful intrusion of his tongue dipping back into you.

It was nasty. The licks along your sopping entrance, the spit dribbling down to your ass, the way he sucked your clit and slips his thumb to circle it. It was a culmination of vulgarity.

“Holy fuck,” your fingers card through his hair, switching between digging your nails into his silvery white locks for purchase, or indulgently guiding his jaw as to ride his mouth.

Your head drags against your pillow, nose turning up in the air as your slick coats his nose. His cunning tongue moves with greed, inconsistent calculation. Intent clear on making you feel good but also to devour you whole.

“Satoru—” you tremble, looking down at him as he flicks his muscle against your dripping folds, rubbing your sensitive bud. “I want to—I need to—”

“Do it,” he advises, voice almost whiny. “I want to feel it on my tongue. Need you to—in my mouth.”

You are far more pent up than you suspected, less than you’d been attended to prior to the boy knelt before you now. Your back lifts off the mattress altogether, seeking respite as your vision goes a fiery white as his hair and your entire body thumps with a bass that is similar to the one that shakes the walls of this very party. Then you do something you have never done in your life.

You cum so strongly, that you’re left quite literally squirting all over his tongue and face.

“Oh! Oh—S-shit!” you mewl mindlessly, stupidly. “Satoru.”

Oh, if his chest were filled with pride before, it was now swelling from it. Made his point, didn’t he?

He continues lapping at your cunt, letting your juices gush over his face and mouth. His feels it on his tongue, but it sprays his glasses, covering them in your essence and clouding his vision just as he has done yours.

You begin to settle from your high, senses blurred and still muddled. All you know now is him. And nothing else. What else is there room for in your mind anyway? There is nothing else that any form of tutelage that could reside in those confines.

Satoru gulps down whatever essence of yours rests on his tongue, whimpering softly at the taste. Your eyes don’t open slowly—they tear open with horror. He made you squirt. No other man had been able to come close to that.

“You…okay?” he tilts his head to the side, wiping his mouth with the palm of his hand.

You gawk at him, and he just sits there. All pretty and half as spent as you like he’s torn down each wall of your psyche. Destroyed every brick you’d placed and expected you to be fine afterward.

He’d proved you wrong. What else do you have to lose now?

Your hands gravitate to the back of his neck, yanking him toward you and capturing his lips with yours. He whines at the sudden action, groaning as your tongue slips in and swallows each and every sound he makes.

“Do any other guys make you feel like that?” he asks, not teasing in the least. He genuinely wishes to know.

“No,” you shake your head as you make out with him. Then you shove him over, he breathes sharply when his back meets the mattress. You climb on top of him, straddling him with your thighs, “Let me return the favor now.”

He’d be a fool to object. He knows that, but when your lips trail down his jaw and neck, his heart tells him to stop you. When your fingers at the hem of his shirt begin to creep up against his hot skin, he grabs your forearm.

“W-wait!” he practically pipes, breath heavy.

“What’s the matter?” you tilt your head. “If you don’t want to, we don’t have to.”

“No,” he shakes his head so violently, his mind goes spinning. “I want to. Trust me I want nothing more than that.”

“Then…what is it?” you furrow your brows. “Satoru, is it size? I assure you I don’t mind. I just want to make you feel good.”

“No,” he almost scoffs. “It definitely is not that.”

“Is it because you’re a virgin then?”

“Yes—but it’s not even that,” he quickly counters, unsure of what gave away he was a—okay maybe you figuring that out wasn’t so far-fetched.

“Then what?” you quiz, still so bizarrely unsure of what he is trying to tell you. Here he is, a hot naked girl on top of him, probably not getting an opportunity as golden as this soon enough, and answering questions like he has his thumb up his ass. “You’re scared you’ll… be quick…? Trust me, I do not mind at all.”

You lift his shirt, and he breathes, alarmed, “No.”

But it’s too late, the damage has been done. When you lift his shirt halfway up his torso, you are met with a sleeper build if there ever was any. His baggy t-shirts and hoodies always gave the impression of a lanky frame but he was built up with lean muscles, corded with a faint creamy pale pack of soft abs and a slim waist.

While his body is beautiful, that is not what takes your breath away. It’s what’s at the base of his abs. A line of silvery white hair smatters sparsely along his pelvis, trailing down to lead somewhere beneath his pants. But something impedes that trail. A tattoo at the base of his torso, where his v-line is, in a typewriter-style font, it reads, The dark side.

Your brows raise, intrigued and perplexed all at once. Your silence hangs in the air, it’s all that resides in it.

He feels its suffocation and with a reeling mind, he tries to frantically explain, “I know it’s dorky—Suguru, Haiba and I got a little crossed and we ended up in a tattoo parlor—I got this—and Suguru got a Prince Albert piercing—he didn’t feel it till the next day thankfully—and Haiba didn’t get anything because he started crying at the shop when the needle touched him—”

You clamp your hand over his mouth, “Satoru, shhh.”

“I’m sorry,” he muffles from behind your hand and repeats, “I know it’s dorky.”

“It is—it very much is,” you acknowledge. But you can’t deny the heat pooling once again in your core. “But I think it’s really sexy.”

“You do?” he appears quite genuinely baffled when you lower your hand and continue to gawk at the tattoo with wonder.

“Fuck, yes,” you exhale, tugging his white t-shirt. “Take this off.”

He does as told, tearing his shirt from his body, leaving your eyes to feast upon his pretty frame. You kiss him again, mouth slotting against his as you mumble, “You are such a dork, Toru. You’re lucky I like that about you.”

He grumbles softly against your mouth, letting you suck on his bottom lip like you wish to tear it off as well. And when you grind your soaking cunt on his clothed dick, he practically jumps in your hold, “Y/n—fuck.”

And so you do it again, loving the feeling of him hard and throbbing beneath you.

“Please do that again,” he asks, lips feathering yours.

Your mouth curves up, tugging at the edge into a sly smirk before you slide off him, hands clasping his waistline and pulling at his jeans. You were riled up, waiting to be alone with him like this—why prolong what you’ve been wanting any longer?

He watches with tense twitches in his pretty face. Helping pathetically to drag his pants and his boxers off his legs in one go. And it might as well have slapped you in the face when it springs out. Long and leaking and flushed an angry red at the tip, his cock is oozing with precum and oh so painfully hard, it’s embarrassing.

You shudder in awe, hand reaching to wrap around the huge shaft, “You’re so pretty, Satoru. So big.”

He might have just creamed himself there. Suppressing it any longer would be a miracle. He doesn’t know how much longer he will last when you begin to experimentally tug at it, hand hardly able to wrap around the entire thing that you ponder just how in the fuck he managed to survive this long hiding a monstrous thing like that and not getting laid. It had to have been a choice at this point. It makes you all the more prideful.

“How’d you manage to keep such a big secret from me, Toru?” you ask innocently, pumping his cock, slapping the tip against your exposed nipple. “Hm?”

His voice cracks with a moan, “Oh fuck—I can’t—I—I’m gonna.”

“Please, Satoru,” you scoff. “I had expected you to be pathetic but not this badly.”

He shakes his head, as if refusing your insults. Satoru holds his breath, tries not to combust and fuse like a lightbox, but now that your head bends lower, he fears he may not stand much of a chance at all.

With your eyes closed, you drag your tongue along the side of his length, an insatiable moan swelters from you, voice sending vibrations to his dick and immediately sequestering his mind to mush.

You case your lips around his tip, sucking and licking at the head like a piece of candy. It isn’t like you’re being exceptionally harsh. In fact, you are being teasing, tantalizingly slow. To most, that is just as bad as being vigorous—fast paced.

He falls into that category it seems. You smile, most virgins do.

His hand grasps the back of your head, “God—you’re—so beautiful. I’m gonna—”

“’Gonna’ is not a word, Satoru,” you coo, kissing the tip of his cock—the brackish flavor of his precum rests atop your tongue. “Your perfect articulation is becoming a mess.”

His articulation is not the only ruined victim. His dick is coated with juices mixed with your saliva, to which you spit some more onto him. The sight is truly unbecoming for a man like him, one with his nose pressed between the pages of factual books and texts.

His hands rake through your hair, grip tightening, and you moan so shamelessly, that it makes his length twitch. Twitch so erratically and he’s left falling apart even further, and cumming all over your mouth. And hard.

“Fuck!” he bucks his hips in the air, further into your hand.

That pleasantly surprised laugh that rips from your throat graces his ears. Although, it is hard for him to blink through the tears in his eyes, he does so, all so he could see your face as you please him of all people.

“You do cum quick,” you giggle, licking off his cum from the crown of his flushed tip.

“Sorry,” he shivers, trembling and bashful.

You grin, climbing on top of him again, “It’s fine as long as you make me feel good too.” Leaning down to brush your lips against his, you whisper, “And you’ve made me feel the best I’ve ever felt in a long time.”

Satoru’s not sure whether to float off the bed séance style and alert all his bullies and cruel old classmates that a girl as perfect as you had said that he was the best—okay, he’s miswording it, but who the fuck cares?

He slots his mouth so perfectly against yours that it feels it’s meant to live there forevermore. You grind down on him, bare pussy rubbing salaciously against his bare dirty cock. You both gasp into each other’s mouths, positively thwarted by the sense of touch alone.

“Need you inside me, Toru,” you shiver, pecking the corner of his mouth.

Shit. He feels like his heart could explode in a million pieces, shattering into remains so tiny that the only explanation is the universal law of fragmentation.

So, you lift your hips up, your hand traveling down between each of your bodies and grabbing his—once again—hardened dick. With your free hand, you shove his chest down roughly, eliciting a sharp groan. His head hits your silk pillow, white hair fanning out beneath you.

No longer grinning or laughing, you slide his cock between your folds, bucking your hips to meet him. Finally, you do what he’s hoped you would. You lift your hips more, sliding his tip between your folds after slapping it against your clit.

“I’m going to be gentle, Toru, I know it’s your first time,” you say softly, coaxing him to reply with earnestness of his own.

“N-no, you can use me however you want—I—I want that,” he says.

You grin, “Is that so?”

He nods, and you chuckle, patting his cheek softly with your free hand, “Okay, pick one place to look: my face when I put it in, or your dick sliding in me.”

His eyes grow, electricity sparking in them with the potency of a thunderbolt striking down to split the land itself in two. He doesn’t know where to look—at that lingering half-lidded smirk on your face, or the way his tip was slipping against your clit.

Finally—fucking finally, he feels it. You pushing his cockhead past your slick hole, slowly sinking down on his length as your mouth falls open pornographically at the girthy stretch that comes along with it. And he truly has no idea where he should look. Or perhaps he should not look at all, with how his eyes were on the verge of clenching tautly shut.

No, he tells himself. Don’t close your eyes, Satoru. Do not miss a single moment.

Struggling to keep his eyes open, he flicks them between the way his dick is slipping into you and how your jaw has gone slack and how your head tips back. It’s the sexiest thing he has ever laid his eyes on.

“Oh God,” you exhale shakily, peering down as you bottom out. “Fuck.”

He chokes on his own spit when he’s completely inside you. He can hardly believe his eyes. Or that sentiment that he is inside you. Pretty little you, with your hair a mess, lipstick and eyeliner smudged, and cheeks flushed all because of him.

At a pace so tortuous, you lift your hips, dragging yourself off as he whines wantonly. Oh, so pathetic.

“Oh—oh shit,” he shivers, hands trembling at your sides, digging into your waist as a means of seeking procurement. He whines, open-mouthed whimpers with the most diabolical cracks in his voice known to man. “Fuck—shit—a-ah!”

Your eyes drop to his abs, his milk toned skin a stark contrast to the dark tattoo pattered on his pelvis. Just staring at it makes you wetter, needing more than just friction. It’s all your body seems capable of at this very moment, just slowly grinding down on his cock, your clit dragging against that sexy tattoo of his.

Your moans grow needier, breathier, whinier. All the while, you are flicking your gaze between his pretty face contorting in pained pleasure and that fucking tattoo. The black lettering in a neat font that accentuates just how his waist narrowed out from his already lean build.

Hands curling around his shoulders, you ground your position even more. He’s a panting mess, like a dog in heat, unsure of how to act or carry himself. He’s mesmerized, completely and utterly taken by the sight before him: you riding the fuck out of him with reckless abandon.

Your jaw is slack with breathy gasps slipping from your pretty lips, a little scrunch in between your brows as your eyes remain locked on his dick. How you were sucking him in with and how at first, stretching your walls out beyond imagination.

Your hands scramble and rake at his chest while you lift your ass, only to slam it back down on him. It elicits a choked cry out of the white-haired boy.

“Ah! W-what happened to going easy?” Satoru’s face scrunches in agonizing desire.

“You were the one begging for more,” you say with a sly smirk. “Don’t tell me that pretty old head of yours is starting to clear up.”

And before he can respond to the challenge in your voice, a sudden combination of a stroke and grind of your body against his makes your little taunt come true.

His mind goes as blank as what he feels he’s about to shoot in you. He has dreamt of this moment. Not because of sheer will, but because his mind conspires against him much more often than anyone may expect. He is a perfect gentleman first and foremost of course.

“Oh-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck!” he cries, cracks in his voice one after the other like flimsy old farm eggs. “I’m going to—you’re sucking me in sooo good, I can’t take it.”

“Go on, Toru,” you urge, still riding him. “Do what your body is telling you it wants to do.”

He shakes his head, clenching his eyes shut and you let your hands slide up his torso and to his face. He nearly burns at the tender gesture all on its own.

“Yes, you can, Toru,” you murmur. “Smartest man I know. Can do anything. Does everything I ask him to do.”

Oh. Oh, you had him. Even if you did not say any of that. Satoru was yours without a shadow of a doubt. But when his cum spurts out, the warmth of it rushes into your snug cunt, it feels more like he had you.

You jerk in place, shuddering at the feel of his seed trickling into you. It’s alarming how fucking much there is, how he’s struggling through pants and groans as he releases into you. Like he’d been pent up and wound tight for so long, needing to empty every last morsel from his body.

“God—Holy shit,” Satoru shivers, trembling like a leaf, his hands begin to loosen their grip on your waist, afraid he may have been squeezing too tight.

You tilt your head, a mischievous grin as you brush his lips with your fingertip, “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

He nods, a docile pet, “So good.”

He then does something you are not expecting in the least; he flips you over. It draws a sharp breath from your lungs, eyes widening when he climbs on top of you, half-shivering, half staring you down.

“I proved you wrong, didn’t I?” he quietly mutters, a stitch of challenging taunt in his voice.

You feel… almost shy all of a sudden. Like he isn’t a dorky boy anymore but a full-fledged man—all classical literature reading, up and at ‘em bright and early in the morning, sipping black coffee while peering through his refined frames at the Sunday paper kind of man. A man.

In response, all you can muster is a wide-eyed—pathetic nod.

“Kiss me, Toru,” you murmur, almost timid as you say so.

He bends down, softly brushing his nose against yours as you lift your chin to meet his mouth. The small act of desperation pleases him, you almost would have missed it, if it had not been for the way his lips curl against yours.

“Mmm,” you hear him hum into the kiss, already growing wetter just by the sound.

He certainly is not like any of the jocks in the fraternities on campus. Star Wars tattoo and all. A recluse you did not know you were missing out so much on.

The kiss grows heated, sloppy, and messy. Your heads are turning this way and that, tongues and teeth clash, spit becomes one and all you can recognize is the taste of him. All he recognizes and desires is that taste of you.

“Y/n—” he breaks the kiss, breathing heavy. “Can I…”

He winces, eyes flicking to look between the two of you and that’s when you see it before you feel it. His cock growing erect again, hardening and pressing against your bare cunt.

Not in such a generous mood as you may have been prior, you innocently ask, “Can you—what, Satoru?”

He swallows his spit, trying not to flinch, but he does anyway, “Can I fuck you?”

You nod, beaming at him as you adjust yourself beneath him, spreading your legs so he can settle between them easier. Prepared to let him do whatever he wanted to you.

His hips draw close, and your hand reaches between you, wrapping around his hardened cock, beading and leaking at the tip from your arousal. Guiding his dick back into you, both of your mouths fall open, his moan stutters out, loud and unabashed.

“Fuck, you’re perfect—” his face scrunches adorably.

Your moans swirl into heedless breaths, whirling with his. Arms hooking under his, your back arches as he slips back in, making your back arch off the bed. Your head slides back against the sheets, mouth falling further open as your legs wrap around his waist.

“God, you’re sucking me in-” he shudders, tremors in his hands as he attempts to ground himself by gripping the sheets by your head. “Squeezing me—so tight.”

You shake your head, feeling him ever so subtly draw his hips back and rock them into you once more, “Satoru, you’re being s-so vulgar.”

He shakes his head, “Sorry, can’t help it. You’ve got me losing my mind.”

Oh, how your heart leaps at that. A man as put together and smart as Satoru, unraveling all because of you. Your eyes flick down every so often, watching that drag and pull of his hips, how his heavy balls slap against your ass with wet—sticky squelches from his cum mixed with yours, how that lettered tattoo of his looks as every muscle in his torso constricts.

His veins branch against the ink, and he pulls his body back and slams his cock back into you with much more force than before. At the new and harsher pace he has fostered, you find your own body reeling back further up the sheets, closer to the headboard of the bedframe.

“Can’t believe how stupid you are,” he shivers, another stammering thrust drives back into you, the tip of his veiny cock throbbing deep inside.

“W-what?” you dumbly furrow your brows, feeling the strenuous stretch of your walls just from his length, how it prods as far as brushing the entrance of your cervix, kissing it as heatedly as Satoru had kissed your mouth to prove a point to you. That being said, that’s all you can truly focus on, and not on the fact he insulted your intelligence.

“How dumb could someone possibly be?” he says again, not caring about the repercussions of his sentiment. It sounds to be something that had plagued his mind for quite some time. He continues fucking you, burying his face in your pretty neck as he bites into your shoulder. “Not even realizing how badly I’ve wanted you this entire time. Not noticing any look or any—anything. Fuck—so pretty but s-so stupid.”

Maybe you truly are stupid, or maybe he was just fucking you dumb. Because you lose all power and sense to argue back at him. To tell him you are smart and clever. But all you can fixate on is the way his cock molds your pussy, practically reshaping to fit and remember him and only him. Fuck, he felt so good, it’s actually quite embarrassing.

His strokes aren’t shallow in the least, not quick and hurried and slight as most boys are at times. He is precise, someone who tends to something with such delicacy as one does with a craft. Or art.

Satoru’s teeth sink into your flesh, drawing a high-pitched whine from you and you anchor your own nails into his back. His lean, pretty back. A back that isn’t bulging with years of football, but sinewy and sculpted ever so delicately from years of bookkeeping and academics. A feat in it of itself.

He lifts his head up and catches you off guard with a forceful kiss. All his kisses thus far have been reticent, coy. This one heralds governance, a desire to be the one taking and not politely asking to be doing so.

His hips don’t stop pile driving into you. There’s a hunger, a thirst to learn what may come about from each and every single deliberate thrust. He opts to watch you this time, study each little twitch in your face, tug of your lips, sigh to flee your throat. How you are becoming a mess, one babbling hot mess.

“Toru. Ah! Fuck! Fuck me just like—that!” you practically squeal, beginning to rock your own hips up to meet his thrusts, flushed in embarrassing heat.

His breaths grow wearisome, tired and heavy. Shoulder blades contract when he shifts to kiss you passionately again, muffling his moans into your mouth, and yours into his. The lens of his glasses fog with the condensation of a cold windshield, slowly slipping off the sweaty bridge of his narrow nose. To which you draw your hand up, taking the frames off altogether.

He blinks a little at you when you part your lips to do you, seeing the way you graze his cheek tenderly.

“So pretty,” you mumble, throwing your arms around his neck and pulling his chest flush against yours.

Satoru’s brain short circuits at the compliment. So much so that he feels he is about to lose his wits about him. Hardly had any left with the way you’re clenching around him, pulling and sucking his cock for all its worth. He watches how your mouth falls open and a cute crinkle forms between your brows, a shocked yet longing look that he understands immediately, you’re about to cum again.

Music to his ears, he takes in everything, how your moans mingle with his, how you gaze back at him, eyes watery with an expression so debauched he can’t believe he’s gone this long without it. Maybe he was the stupid one.

And when you let out a choked cry and clench down on him so hard he feels you may cut all the blood flow in his cock, he witnesses you cum. Wrapped around, fluttering around him and absolutely gorgeous, he can’t help but cum too. With your back bowing off the bed, chest carving against him, your fingers tighten their grip on his snowy locks at the back of his neck. So devastatingly handsome, Satoru lets out a strained whine of his own, cock twitching, and painting your walls white.

Settling from your high only seconds before him, you watch that dazed, inebriated look in his eyes. You still feel trapped in that moment of ecstasy, much like him. Not in your wildest dreams would you have expected to feel the best you’ve ever felt with Satoru Gojo, certified campus dork. You wouldn’t shy away from this temptation again.

“That was…” he breathes in disorientation, unsure of what words in the English language even exist that could describe this.

You grin sheepishly, “I know.” Your nails gently rake against his nape, cajoling him into relaxation.

“Are you…okay?” he asks, his blue eyes piercing through you in worry.

“I’m the best I’ve ever been,” you say with a lazy smile, hands dipping down his arm. “Or who knows? I’m too stupid to understand.”

Satoru’s eyes widen and he blurts in childlike fear, “You’re not stupid.”

You chuckle, “I’m kidding, Satoru.”

Gently, you bring your hands to his face, cupping his cheeks and pulling him towards your mouth. Beguiled by this trance akin to a sailor falling for a siren, Satoru lets you guide him where you want him.

Then the Star Wars theme song begins to play.

Satoru jolts up, scrambling for his ringing phone through his discarded clothes piled on the ground. He slides his glasses back on his nose as he apologizes, gripping his phone in the process, “I’m sorry—Suguru is calling.”

“Call him later,” you say. “I’m sure he’d understand.”

“But I’m his ride,” Satoru, clueless as ever says. You cock a brow at him, and he lets his phone fall to the ground, “But I’m sure he can catch a ride with Shoko.”

Your grin begins to widen as you move over on the bed, making room for him to get back in with you. And when he does, he kisses you softly, an air of admiration in it. Your hand that isn’t on his face, lowers to his pelvis, tracing his tattoo there.

“This was a pleasant surprise,” you tell him, fingers grazing the ink.

“You like it?” his voice is soft.

“Mhm,” you hum, meeting his lips once more. “So much.”

He can hardly believe this. The prettiest girl in the world, sprawled out beneath him after inviting him into her bed. Touching him dotingly, biting his lip like a delicacy, attention—for once—completely and totally on him. Satoru could die in this very spot.

Suddenly, the doorknob to your room jangles—and the door pushes open. You both were under the impression you locked that. He hopes it’s someone who has the courtesy of realizing this room is very much occupied, that they will avert their gaze and shut the door again to avoid further embarrassment.

But that seems a poor thing to hope for when Ryomen Sukuna stands there, face twisted in riled confusion as he stares between you and the bumbling boy your limbs are tangled with.

Satoru could die in this very spot.

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