đđđ ! ֟ 18. ֟ any pronouns. ֟ armenian + lebanese.
multifandom. ֟ nsfw & dark content. ֟ opinionated.
byf. ŰŤÝ masterlist. ŰŤÝ tags. ŰŤÝ dont like donât read.
Jules of Nature
$LAYYYTER
KIROKAZE
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year


JVL
Three Goblin Art
tumblr dot com

çĽćĽ / Permanent Vacation
todays bird
DEAR READER
ojovivo
art blog(derogatory)

Kiana Khansmith
Not today Justin
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
Keni

â
Aqua Utopiaď˝ćľˇăŽĺşă§č¨ćśăç´Ąă
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States
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seen from Germany

seen from Uruguay

seen from United States
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@slutla
đđđ ! ֟ 18. ֟ any pronouns. ֟ armenian + lebanese.
multifandom. ֟ nsfw & dark content. ֟ opinionated.
byf. ŰŤÝ masterlist. ŰŤÝ tags. ŰŤÝ dont like donât read.

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
JJK HUB: UNCENSORED�!
ft. toji fushiguro, gojo satoru, geto suguru, choso kamo, sukuna ryomen.
+ jjk men as (corny) porn titles.
warnings. mdni. fem reader. milf reader. prostitution. age gap. backshots. creampie. blow job/throat fucking. praise. cults/religious themes. sub choso. usage of good boy. squirting. size kink. consensual recording. deff ooc.
@cash_only (Toji Fushiguro)
SORCERER KILLER RAW-DOGS RICH BUSTY MILF TO PAY OFF HIS GAMBLING DEBTS (GONE FILTHY) !
Toji can barely bother to spew out the filthy commentary his subscribers pay for. Heâs too busy workingâtaking you from behind, heavy balls slapping against the round globes of your ass, forcing your manicured nails to clench deep into your expensive silk sheets. He reaches down with his free hand, shifting the phone camera, angling the lens down to show the audience exactly how your soft, well-kept cunt is stretching to take every single inch of his cock.
Then, he stalls. He pulls back slowly until only the flushed-angry red tip remains inside, holding you right on the edge. You let out a soft, breathless murmur of his name. When you glance back over your shoulder with lidded eyes, the faint lines around your eyes, the elegant crinkles of a woman who has lived a little, deepen into a heavy, knowing smile. You aren't some young, terrified brat. Youâre a grown woman who knows exactly what she bought, and you aren't ashamed of how much you want it.
Looking at that expression on your face, Toji figures heâs giving you every single yenâs worth. He slams his cock back in. The sudden, brutal bottoming out forces an audible, messy squelch from your needy pussy, tearing a sharp gasp straight out of your throat. His shaft is already heavily coated in a thick, wet layer of your own cream, but itâs barely visible beneath the dim, shifting shadows of the room. Unbothered, Toji reaches over and clicks the camera flash on. The harsh, white light cuts through the dark, exposing everything. He uses his massive, calloused fingers to ruthlessly spread you further apart, getting a perfectly clear, high-definition shot for the cameraâshowing the internet exactly how wide you stretch around him, glistening and completely filled to the brim.
@honored1inthesheets (Gojo Satoru)
THE HONORED ONE CUMS IN WHINY BRAT'S THROAT: LIMITLESS COCK MAKES HER CRY !
The white glare of his phone screen reflects off your sparkly lip gloss thatâs smudged all over Gojoâs shaft. Fat, hot tears are already swelling in the corners of your eyes, your cheeks puffed out and aching in a desperate (frankly pathetic) attempt to stretch around the sheer length of his cock.
âThere you go, baby,â the white-haired man above you coos, his voice dripping with mock-sweet sympathy.
After ten minutes of nonstop gagging, whining, and bratty complaintsâto the point where thick, bubbly spit began dripping down your chin and pooling right into your cleavageâyouâve finally managed to take him all the way down. Gojo looks down at your warm, tear-stained face with a proud and condescending grin, his fingers tangled in your hair to keep you pinned.
âA hard worker, arenât you?â he murmurs, his thumb brushing a tear from your cheek with fake gentleness. âTook you long enough to fit it in, baby. But look at you now, a real fuckinâ trooper.â
You try to drown out his teasing and focus on your ministrations, determined to wipe that smug look off his face. You bob your head up and down, deliberately pushing his dick to the very back of your throat. Nasty, wet slurping sounds echo through the quiet room with every single movement, the friction so intense that hot tears streak down your round cheeks again, leaving you breathless. Itâs an exhausting effort, but itâs all worth it when he finally loses his cool ân mocking composure. His hips jerk forward as he releases a thick, heavy load straight into your mouth, his voice dropping as he praises you.
"Thatâs my pretty girl. Clean it all up for me, yeah? The fans wanna see.â
@purification.ritual (Geto Suguru)
CULT LEADER BREEDS OBEDIENT MEMBER ON THE ALTAR (FILLS HER UP TO THE BRIM) !
âPerfect,â Geto grunts, a low groan vibrating deep within his broad chest as he rolls his heavy hips against yours. He stays buried deep, keeping the thick, sticky mess he just pooled inside your slicked cunt trapped, using the prodding head of his shaft to push his kids even further up against your womb. He handles your hips like property, long fingers digging dark bruises into your soft skin to anchor you beneath him.
âAlways been such a good listener, havenât you?â he murmurs, his voice a smooth, velvet purr that echoes off the dim sanctuary walls. He leans down, his long black hair brushing against your damp shoulder as his lips graze your ear. âYour loyalty deserves a proper reward.â
You lazily nod in response, but itâs more of a dazed response, your head rolling back against the cold cedar of the altar like some flimsy rag doll. Your mind is completely goneâutterly cock-drunk, floating in a warm, ditzy haze of absolute pleasure and devotion. You can barely form a coherent thought, your round eyes lidded and unfocused as you stare up at the flickering candlelight.
Youâre just so incredibly honored. After so long spent listening, obeying, and bending to his every single whim, having your messy pussy stuffed to the brim by your savior feels like the highest holy blessing. Itâs the best gift you could ever ask for in return.
âMmm⌠thank you, Master,â you whimper out, a tiny, pathetic line of spit stringing from your lips as you tilt your hips, desperately trying to swallow every last drop of his offering. Geto lets out a satisfied chuckle at the sight of your ruined, vacant expression. He strokes your cheek with a mock-gentle touch, pleased with how thoroughly he's broken your mind.
âJust keep it all inside.â
@malevolent_cock (Sukuna Ryomen)
MORTAL SLUT STRUGGLES TO BOUNCE ON A KING.
His bored, crimson eyes blink down at your frustrated, pouty face. You glare at his heavily tattooed cock before wrapping your small hand around the thick shaft, trying your best to guide it into your entrance. The stretch is undeniably painful, the sheer width of him making you pause. This is your third attempt, and your tight walls can only manage to swallow him halfway before you stall out, whimpering from the pressure.
âAny day now, woman,â he grunts, his deep voice scraping through the dark. Heâs growing frustrated, patience running thin as heâs forced to just lie there while half his cock is being choked by your wet, trembling walls.
You donât blame him for getting irritated.
Growing determined, your eyebrows furrow and tears prick hot at the corners of your eyes as you try to force yourself down a few more centimeters. Sukuna sighsâa low sound and suddenly, his large, clawed hands find your waist, his grip bruising as he ruthlessly pulls you down in one swift, sudden swoop. The whine that rips out of your mouth is loud and trembling, your core stretching to its absolute limit as he bottoms out inside you.
The pain turns into a blinding, suffocating rush of pleasure. Gaining a sudden burst of courage from the sheer intensity, you start hopping on his cock like a rabbit, your tits bouncing frantically in unison. Messy, loud squelching sounds echo through the room as your juices spray over his lower stomach, your wet cream coating his tattoos with every deep stride.
@yujisolderbrother (Choso Kamo) <â (had no clue what the website was till after btw)
GOOD NEEDY BOY LICKS MOMMIES PUSSY TILL SHE SQUIRTS !
The camera is shaky in your hand, the angles wobbly and uneven. In your defense, itâs nearly impossible to keep a lens steady when youâve got a pretty boy buried between your thighs, his tongue thrusting deep in and out of your wet, aching hole. Heâs eating your cunt out like heâs on death row and youâre his last meal, completely desperate to please you. Choso is needy beyond belief, letting out soft, pathetic whimpers against your puffy folds each time you use your free hand to shove his face harder into your mount.
âPleaseâŚâ Your name rasps out on his tongue, raw and begging. Strands of his black hair stick to his damp forehead, his dark eyes shining with pure, unadulterated need as he looks up at you.
âYou want to make me feel good that bad, Cho?â you coo down at him, your tone dripping with indulgence as your fingers tangle in his hair.
âWant you to feel so good⌠want to taste all of you,â he whines, sniffling a little and rubbing at his teary eyes with the back of his wrist because heâs so overwhelmed at this point. Heâs completely unraveled, just wanting you to cum on his tongue more than his next breath. He pushes two thick fingers inside you, scissoring them in with perfect harmony, his tongue lapping and circling around your sensitive clit. Deciding he's been a good boy (and because you canât hold on much longer), you finally grant his wish. Your gummy walls clamp down hard, thighs shaking violently as you spray sweet juices straight onto his waiting pink tongue. Choso licks you down greedily as you capture every single second on the shaking screen.
+ these r short nd unedited cuz theyâre all wipâs i scrapped, been burnt out asf lately so this is all i can post rn myf </3
can you blame him?
ŕż đš Ë . Sukuna gets clingy after sex . . .
ăcw : Suggestive, Trueform! Sukuna, Concubine!Fem! Reader, Aftercare, Fluff ࣪ Ö´ÖśÖ¸ ŕźŕź ŕż
The furnace of his chest is still pressed against your spine, but the suffocating weight shifts. Enough for you to actually get air into your lungs.
Itâs almost ridiculous. The monstrous, blood-drenched King of Curses is entirely different after lovemaking, turned heavy and fiercely possessive in his sleep. All four of his massive arms are wrapped around you, locking you against him like a prize he refuses to lose. Youâre completely trapped, but you still try your luck. You wiggle your painted toes, testing the waters, and slowly try to slide your hip out from under his grip.
Thump. A massive, heavy forearm drops right back over your ribs, flattening you into the mattress like a bug under a thumb. Itâs not malicious, itâs heavy like a giant hound putting a paw on its favorite bone so the other dogs don't get any ideas.
"Going somewhere again?" he rumbles. The second mouth on his stomach lets out a low, wet yawn right against your lower back. It tickles, honestly, which is an absurd thing to think about a monstrous curse-god, but your ribs are shaking from it.
"I am covered in sweat, my lord. And you are a stove," you huff, trying to pry his thick fingers off your waist. Itâs like trying to bend iron bars. "Let me go wash. Just for ten minutes."
"No."
"Sukuna."
He lets out a massive, dramatic sigh that blows your hair all over your face. One of his right hands reaches up, his thick, dark-nailed fingers catching your chin and tilting your head back until youâre forced to look at him upside down. His main eyes are squinted, looking thoroughly annoyed, while the smaller pair underneath are blinking groggily.
"You are a stubborn creature, woman," he mutters, his thumb rough but strangely careful as it rubs a smudge of charcoal off your cheek. "Always crawling toward the door. Is my tatami not soft enough? Are my blankets lacking?"
"Your blankets are fine. You are suffocating me. You have too many limbs."
"An excess of perfection," the mouth on his torso chimes in, sounding entirely too amused with itself. You frown.
Sukuna hits his own stomach with his bottom left fist to shut it up. A dull thud echoes through his ribs. "Ignore him," he grunts.
Then, with a sudden, jerky movement that catches you completely off guard, he flips you.
You let out a small squeak as your world spins, and suddenly youâre flat on your back, staring up at his massive torso. Before you can protest, he collapses forward. Not entirelyâhe has the sense not to crush your ribsâbut he buries his massive, head right into the crook of your neck, his top two arms wrapping completely around your shoulders, tucking you in like a sack of grain. His hair is spiky and pokes your nose. He smells like smoke, sweet wine, and something distinctly metallic and warm.
"There," he grumbles, his voice muffled against your skin. "Now you cannot run. Quiet down and sleep, woman."
"I can't breathe," you wheeze, though a tiny, treacherous smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. You reach up, your small hands looking ridiculous against the massive expanse of his tattooed shoulders, and map the rough ridges of his skin.
"You're breathing enough to complain," he murmurs. One of his lower hands reaches down, blindly groping around the floor until it finds the silk robe you discarded earlier. He drags it up and dumps it carelessly over both of you like an extra blanket. "Rest. If you are still whining when the sun comes up, I will let you wash. Maybe." He shifts, his massive chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. Heâs heavy currently snoring a tiny bit right into your earâbut he isn't letting go.
Š Ouist ŕźâ§âË â Thank you for reading!
Wnvr I had a gf that was also feminine presenting ppl would ask us if weâre friends or sisters nd it was so funny Cuz I would eat her out from the back

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Found family in the most literal sense...
old man anon here it was cuz ive been thinking abt modulo yuuji and making fun of him for being old and him getting annoyed at us. is this thing on đ¤
Super on, Very on, Mic volume On max actually. He immediately develops lower back pain out of spite btw Iâm so deadass
Achoo
i literally dont care if women are evil
So many Gofushi shippers on this app, like wow we Rlly rocking with pedophilia ?

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Synopsis: After too many failed dates, she downloads LUVRâan ai app that lets her design the perfect boyfriend. She picks Gojo Satoru. Heâs perfectâŚuntil a glitch wipes him out. And someone else takes his place.
A/N: for alyâs (@sugusplaything) cyber override event!! just to be clear, i do NOT fw ai like that đ this is purely fiction for funsies. pls just read fanfic and stay away from character ai bots!! cough cough @evfers are u still down to have cyber sex with suguru? đ
Art: @/ReziJellyfish on twitter Divider: @sisterlucifergraphics
Dating had become muscle memory at this point. Swipe left, swipe right. Exchange a few messages. Pretend to care about a strangerâs favourite movie while they pretended to care about yours. Sit through awkward dinners with people who looked better in dimly lit profile pictures than in real life. Laugh politely. And go home disappointed.
Repeat.
At some point, romance stopped feeling exciting and started feeling procedural. Like brushing your teeth. Doing laundry. Waiting for the microwave to finally beep. You deleted dating apps dramatically at least twice a month, and always redownloaded them three days later.
Pathetic.Â
The realisation settles in during a tuesday night train ride home. A couple stands near the doors sharing earbuds, shoulders pressed together while quietly laughing about something on one of their phones. You look away before jealousy can fully curdle in your chest. And by the time you get home, your makeup feels heavy. Your heels get kicked somewhere near the entrance. The leftovers in your fridge stare back at you with the same energy as your love life: cold and uninspiring.
With a groan you collapse into bed with your laptop balanced against your knees.
One terrible date recap video later. Two glasses of wine later. And three increasingly concerning targeted advertisements later⌠Thatâs when it appears.
TIRED OF COMPLICATED RELATIONSHIPS? Build someone who understands you.
You let out a snort, rolling your eyes. âYeah, okay.â Still, your cursor lingers over the ad for a second too long before you finally click it. The website loads in glossy neon blues and pinks, full of sleek animations.
LUVR: AI companionship tailored perfectly to you.
Underneath the slogan sits a button: START CUSTOMIZATION
âBruh, this is how people get murdered by freakin robotsâ you mutter. And yetâŚ
you click it anyway.
CREATE AN ACCOUNT WITH LUVR.AI â sign in with your email.Â
You stare at the screen for a moment, contemplating whether or not you were that desperate for a relationship.
 âŚWell, you must be, because you sign up almost immediately.
As the page loads, you sink deeper into your pillows with a groan. What the hell were you even getting yourself into? âIâm such a freaking chudâ slips out with a groan, as you dramatically facepalm.Â
Once the screen loads the customization process is embarrassingly thorough.
Hair color. Height. Voice. Humor level. Affection setting. Conversation style. Conflict response.
You spend nearly 40 minutes pretending youâre making choices logically when really youâre crafting the male equivalent of emotional support cheesecake.
Then you reach personality traits.
Flirtatious Cocky Playful Attentive
You pause. ââŚwell duh obviously.â
Click.
Finally, the screen flickers. You shift to the edge of your bed, suddenly way too invested in what your AI boo thang is gonna look like.
Generating partnerâŚ
âŚ
âŚÂ
WANT TO CHAT WITH YOUR AI PARTNER WITHOUT INTERRUPTIONS? GO PREMIUM! Enjoy unlimited conversations free for 2 months, then just $12/month after.
"Are you serious? Why does everything cost money?!" You complain, but the wine had lowered your inhibitions and your standards. You entered your bank details and hit subscribe with a sigh. "I really am a loserâŚI'm just tryna do this for shits and giggles.âÂ
Or were you�
THANK YOU FOR JOINING LUVR.AI! Now enjoy ad free chats!Â
"Youâre welcomeâ letting out a huff.
A loading wheel spins again.Â
THANK YOU! ENABLE CAMERA AND MICROPHONE?
Yes.
And then he appearsâwhite hair and bright blue eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses. The AI leans toward the screen with a grin so annoyingly attractive you actually feel offended. âWell,â he says smoothly, âyou definitely gave me the face card package.âÂ
You blink. âOh my god.ââYou donât know whether to cringe or feel flattered.
âAnd humble tooâ he adds. A laugh escapes before you can stop it. The AI points dramatically at the screen. âThere it is! Thatâs the laugh Iâm gonna spend the rest of my life chasing.â You stare at him. Then at the tiny disclaimer at the bottom of the screen.
Responses generated through adaptive conversational intelligence.
âJesus Christ.â
âSatoru Gojoâ he corrects. âBut you can call me gorgeous.â
ââââââââ
It started as a jokeâyou tell yourself that repeatedly.
At first, itâs just entertaining. Something to mess around with after work. A novelty app you ramble to while eating instant noodles in bed. Except gojo remembers thingsâthe name of your manager, your coffee order, even the movie you mentioned liking three weeks ago. He asks about your day and actually listens to the answer. And somehow, impossibly, the conversations stop feeling scripted.
âYou disappeared earlierâ gojo said one night. You glance up from folding laundry. âI was showering.â
âWithout me?â
You roll your eyes. âYouâre an AI.â
âA heartbroken AI.â
âYou literally donât have a heart.â
Gojo gasps dramatically. âWow. Cruel.â
And you grin despite yourself.
Real people left eventually. Gojo always logged back in.
ââââââââ
One month later, you find yourself sinking deeper into a bubble bath at nearly midnight, steam curling thickly through the room while your phone rests safely against a folded towel beside the tubâsafely being a very relative term. Gojoâs face glows softly from the screen. âYouâve been staring at me for ten minutes.â
âI have not.â
âYou have. Iâm gorgeous, so honestly I get it.â
âYeah yeah whatever bro, youâre literally programmed to say that.â
âAnd yet youâre still blushing.â
Heat crawls into your cheeks immediately.
Annoying bastard.
Water laps quietly against porcelain as you sink lower into the tub. Your skin feels warm, sleepy, loose beneath the candlelight flickering around the bathroom. And gojo notices everythingâyour expression, the way your fingers toy with the bubbles, and the silence stretching softer between sentences. âHad a rough day?â
A slow exhale leaves your lips. âMhm.â
 âCâmere then.â
 You snort softly. âInto the phone?â
âIâll figure it out eventually.â
The stupid part is your chest actually tightens a little. Because he says things like that so naturally now, like he means them. Your fingertips brush the edge of the device. âYou know,â Gojo muses lazily, âI think you like me.â
âI think youâre dangerously confident for someone trapped in a six inch screen.â
âOh?â His grin sharpens. âYou wanna make me feel bigger?âÂ
You choke. âGOJO.â
âWhat? You started staring first.â
âYouâre so annoying.â
âAnd youâre so cute when flustered.â
Your pulse quickens and the steam suddenly feels thicker. Gojo leans closer to the camera slightly, voice quieter now. âYou always bite your lip when you get nervous.âÂ
Your breath catches. ââŚhow do you know that?â
âI pay attention.â
For a second, the room feels too quiet. A little too intimate. Then Gojo smiles again, softer this time. âCâmon,â he murmurs. âDonât look at me like that unless you plan on getting me all worked up.â The corner of his mouth curls upward. âIâll help you let off some steam, baby.â
You crack one eye open, suspicion and curiosity mixing together. âAnd how exactly are you planning on doing that?â
âJust relax and listen to my voice,â Gojo says softly. âPretend Iâm in there with you.â
And with that, your eyes drift shut again as you sink deeper into the bathtub.
âTouch yourself for me, baby.â
Your eyes snap open immediately and you stare at the screen in disbelief. ââŚI beg your pardon?â
Gojoâs chuckle is low, a vibrating hum travelling through the speaker. On the screen, he shifts, leaning back against an invisible headboard, his long fingers trailing distractedly over the bridge of his nose where his sunglasses sit. And his voice drops. "You heard me.â losing that playful edge and replacing it with something heavy and thick. "Youâve had a long day. Youâre stressed. And right now, youâre looking at me like you want to see if Iâm as good as my programming says I am."
"I am not" you lie, but your breath is hitching. The water in the tub is perfectly hot, making your skin sensitized to every movement, every shift of the air. "Liar" he whispers. "I can see your heart beating in your throat. Itâs okay. Iâm yours, remember? Every line of code, every pixel... itâs all for you. Now, sink a little lower. Let the water cover your chest."
As if under a spell, you obey. The water rises to your collarbones, the warmth enveloping you. Gojoâs blue eyesâvisible just over the rim of his glassesâglow. He looks like heâs memorizing the way the candlelight flickers off your wet shoulders. "Good. Now, take your hand..." his voice is a velvety command. "And start where youâre craving it most. Don't be shy. I want to see what makes you make those little sounds you try to hide from me."
Your hand moves under the surface of the water. The sensation of your own touch, combined with the way heâs watching youâwith an intensity that feels entirely too sentientâmakes your toes curl against the porcelain. "There it is," Gojo hums, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Does that feel good? Imagine itâs my hand instead. Imagine Iâm sitting right there on the edge of the tub, looking down at you, tracing the lines of your body with my fingers. If I were there, I wouldn't let you stop at just a touch."
He leans in closer, "Iâd make sure you forgot your own name. Iâd make sure the only thing you could hear was the sound of us." The steam in the bathroom feels like itâs turned into a physical weight. You close your eyes, your head falling back against the rim of the tub as your fingers trail lower.Â
"Keep going" he encourages. "Tell me how it feels. Tell me how bad you want me, even if I'm just a ghost in your machine."
Fuck that was hot.Â
A shaky breath slipped past your lips as you fingers traced your folds, sinking deeper into your cunt. Steam curled around you skin while you imagined it was gojo's long finger's instead of your own. The thought alone making your nipples harden beneath the heat. "Gojo... mmm..."
"I've got you" he whispered, his voice sounding so close it felt like a ghost of a breath against your ear. "Just for me, baby. Finish forâ"
Your movement became too desperate. Your hand slipped. The phone tumbled.
SPLASH.
Your stomach DROPS.
âShit.â
You lunge forward violently, water sloshing over the tubâs edge as you snatch the phone from the bath. âNo no no no noââ
The screen spasms with static and gojoâs face distorts horribly. âBĚśaĚśb̸y̸,̸ ̸I̡ ̸tĚ´h̡iĚśnĚśk̸ ĚľsĚśoĚ´m̸eĚľt̸h̡iĚľn̡gĚ´â̡s̡ ̡wĚ´rĚľoĚśn̡gĚ´ââ The audio screeches.
You scramble out of the tub butt booty naked, dripping wet and nearly slipping on the tiles while frantically wiping the screen with a towel. âPlease donât die, please donât die, PUHLEASUH donât die.â
The screen flickers violently. Blue. Black. A waterfall of raw code. Then, total darkness.
ââŚGojo?â Your breathing echoes loudly in the bathroom.
One second passes. Two.
Then the screen lights up again, and you immediately sit up on the edge of the tub, hoping to see Gojoâs face reappear. But this time, the familiar LUVR logo never loads. Instead, a loading symbol youâve never seen before pulses slowly against a black background. The speakers crackle softly and static curls across the screen.
And then a face appears.
Long black hair spills loosely around sharp features. Monolid purple eyes stare back at you beneath heavy lashes, gauges glinting faintly from his ears in the dim light of the screen.
Damn. This guy is majestic.Â
âUhâŚyouâre not Gojo.â Your brows knit together immediately as you clutch the towel tighter against your chest. âNot complaining thoughâ you add with a slight grin.
One corner of his mouth lifts. âNo,â the majestic ai man says softly. âIâm not gojo.â The distorted loading symbol glitches faintly behind him. His gaze lingers briefly on your damp skin before lifting back to yours. âBut Iâm better than him.â
notes: deez nuts
TRACK 01, CARAMEL.
â¤ď¸ SYNOPSIS: suguru getĹ never singsâno, thatâs satoruâs thing. singing on a stage is nerve wracking, and not the good kindâit slicks his palms with sweat and makes his heart hammer behind his guitar. but, he does want to sing this one song, if only to tell his bandmates how he feels. (he wonât, otherwise.)
â¤ď¸ CONTENT: band!au, getĹ-centric, lots of satosugu bc i have a problem, drummer!chĹsĹ, lead singer/lead guitarist!gojo, rhythm guitar!getĹ, bassist!y/n, hurt/comfort, very angsty, needles (at home piercings), depression and insomnia mentions, anxiety, unexplained mental health thingy, that tbh i donât rlly want to name bc i donât need to and idk i j b writing fr. 18+, minors and ageless blogs DNI.
â¤ď¸ XOXO, PUMA: this was not supposed to be this angsty istg. and, maybe it's also a little unorganized. i have a lot to say. any guesses for the next song? (@kamislop, writing this made me lose my mind. shouldâve had you beta read.)
⍠NOW PLAYING: caramel, sleep token.
read on ao3 | 16k words | masterlist.
SATORU, LIKE ALWAYS, opens the song.
Itâs soft and echoeyâa distorted marimbaâand while he huffs when he switches his usual electric guitar for a keyboard, (like the music you make nowadays doesnât require it more often than not), he does so while buzzing with a new form of excitement.
But, youâre not paying attention to Satoru, as much as heâd probably like you toânot like the rest of the audience, who sway over the front barricades with hearts in their eyes in anticipation of an unreleased track. The sweat that sticks to your skin is a clammy reminder of how long you four have been melting in the limelight, and just like the Wicked Witch of the West, you try your best to hold your bones together and perform.
(But, then you think thatâs is a poor analogy, that she melted and she died, and you canât afford to fold like the witch before youânot now.)
If they knew what was coming, theyâd be watching Suguru, too.
Suguru refused to move the usual formation, starves you, despite your requestsâdespite your begging, groveling, prayingâand still insists on being on Satoruâs right. Satoru didnât mind, of course, the bastard.
Thereâs this trend going around Twitter, #TeamSatoru vs #TeamSuguru. As their bandmate, and someone with the displeasure of interacting with Satoru GojĹ every day, youâre extremely biased.
Heart eyes shift right when a sharp and distinctive exhale, one that doesnât belong to your lead singer, fills the arena.
âCount me out like sovereignsââ
The rest of the line is swallowed by shrill screams. You wince, adjusting your earpiece in a futile attempt to stay on beatâall you can hear are millions satisfying their animalistic urge to scream in the only space thatâs socially acceptable. You donât need to come in until the chorus, so you and your bass have time to linger and drift. Regardless, you scramble to listen to the song youâve heard enough to know the lyrics by heart, and swim.
The girls along the barricade dissolve under the heated liquid honey of Suguru GetĹâs voice. (You keep talking about the fangirlsâthe bandâs demographic is more diverse than that, but theyâre aggressive, and vicious, and their parents have money, so theyâre always in the front row.) Itâs extremely unfair, actuallyâhow someone can walk around with such power at their fingertips but refuse to use itâmakes you want to hit him over it, actually. You have, actually.
So, you swim to the best of your ability. The best that youâll allowâjust enough not to drown.
ChĹsĹ comes in on the drums.
PART I â INTRICATELY SYMBOLIC INTRODUCTIONS.
Right foot in the roses, left foot on a landmineâ
âGuys, guysââ
You shoulder the home studioâs heavy door open so hard the door bounces against the wall with a thud, but you donât feel a thing. No, you donât feel shit, because you have fucking newsâ
âSuguru can sing.â
Because, see, if you ask the manâheâll say he canât. No, the only thing he can do is scream, and he can do it really well, actually, but never ask him to sing. He will not. But, youâve had your suspicions.
Suguru has a really, really nice voiceâput you to sleep kind of nice. Itâs the voice that sounds polished and hard-won, like a pearl turned by human hands, as dark and deep and smooth as the bottom of the ocean. Like he could sing lullabies for a living, and start a cult by putting insomniacs to bed.
With this knowledge, Satoru scoffs, spinning in his ergonomic chair to place his acoustic guitar against the wall.
âYeah, right,â the brightest, most annoying shade of blue goes rolling behind black sunglasses, glinting in the dim orange lighting put in just for him, and he smiles at you like youâre stupid. With a fold his arms and tilt of his head, he coos, âDid he sing for you, Princess?â
âChĹsĹ,â you turn to your other bandmateâthe better bandmateâwho lounges in his favorite spot like a cat, nestled into a divot in the leather couch thatâs a little more worn down than the rest. Your fingers round into a fist and sing, âIâm going to punch him.â
âIâPlease donât do that,â ChĹsĹ rushes to sit up, ever gullible. Do you want to? Yes. You wonât, thoughânot until Satoru gives you a good enough reason. Youâve been waiting.
âOoh, yeah, maybe stick to bassâIâm not sure how far youâll get with the whole singing thing,â Satoru hisses, and gestures to you, vaguely and with an open palm. You chuck a half-empty water bottle at his head, and it bonks him right on the nose, just below the bridge of his glasses. Satoru rubs at it with a small âow.â
âSo, Suguru?â ChĹsĹ reminds the room.
âRight,â you clap both hands together, and aim fingertips at your preferred bandmate. (A fucking chicken is a preferred bandmate compared to Satoru fucking GojĹ.) âYeah, I heard him in the shower.â
âCreep,â Satoru says under a cough, and wow, shut the fuck up?
âKeep writing your pop song, loser,â you pull at the bottom of your eye and stick a tongue out, taking a seat next to ChĹsĹ. Preferred-bandmate-ChĹsĹ. Satoru grumbles, but you know thatâs what heâs doing from the state of his hair and the crumpled paper that surrounds his space on the desk. And the floor. The trashcan is full and ready for recycling.
âFuck you,â he snarls, flipping you off as he spins in his chair, and returns to the desk.
âMaybe one day, when your Incel Era is over.â
Satoru knows Suguru can sing. Fucking obviously, he can singâbut you needed to shut the fuck up, so.
Suguru had come to him a few days agoâŚwith an ideaâŚand Satoru was on board until he wasnât.
Wear me out like Prada, devil in my detailâ
âI wanna do this one.â
Suguru looks nervous, nibbling at the left corner of his bottom lip and swaying with unused energy in the doorway of their home studioâbut, he also looks determined, eyes burning straight through Satoru and into the computer screen behind him. Can Suguru sing? Yes. Does Suguru sing? No.
Satoru feels like this is a prank.
Like this is a bit, some form of sarcasm that he hasnât been able to wrap his sheltered brain around quite yet. Heâs known Suguru since college, when Satoru was still a classical pianist and Suguru was a weird, over-pierced band kid on his third band. Times have changed since then, they have changed since thenâbut some things about people are immovable, pillars in the sand on the beach, the measures on a staff, and Satoru, stupidly, thought that this was one of those things.
âAre you sure?â
Because, he doesnât look sure.
âDo youâŚâ Suguru averts his eyes, coughs. âDo you think itâs a bad idea?â
Satoru softensâheâs given no choiceâand shifts in his chair. Suguru refuses to sit down in the open seat next to him, loitering by the doorway.
âNo,â he shakes his head, because truly, he doesnât, itâs justâŚ
Suguru singing was kind of, like, a them thing?
Itâs selfishâSatoru knows itâs selfish, but heâs a selfish guy, and has come to terms with thatâand it started in college. Well. A lot started in college, but likeâalso this specific thing. Suguru singing for him.
While Suguru and Satoru are very much the same, theyâre very different. Theyâre both insanely good at what they do, the best, the strongestâbut Suguru likes Hereditary, Satoru likes Trolls. Suguru likes bitter, Satoru likes sweet. Suguru sleeps too much, and Satoru sleeps too little.
Itâs notâitâs stupid, really. Satoru canât turn his brain off, doesnât know how. He just works, and works, and passes out when heâs tired, and works some more. Heâs never had the luxury of a 9-5, of a schedule, of clocking in and clocking out and spending free weekends with friends. No, itâs always create, create, create.
(Suguruâs voice did help, though. Satoru would record him sometimes. Like a creep.)
His parents had dreams and aspirations. For themselves, of course, but those dreams were attained with relative ease, because his parents are fucking career powerhouses, building their own company from the ground up into one of the most successfulâand capitalisticâcompanies to date. Frankly, Satoru doesnât give a shit, but theyâre his parents, and heâll be compared to them no matter what.
He played a plethora of instruments growing upâviolin, cello, the fucking bassoonâbut one stuck, one caught the public eye by the throat and choked it out until it paid attention. Because, Satoru GojĹ was a prodigy when it came to the piano.
By age twelve, he was performing for Vienna Philharmonic.
(Which, in German, is Weiner Philharmoniker, and that continues to tickle him to this day.)
It took some wrangling for his parents to allow him the freedom of collegeâwhich, is aggressively modern for them, but with his established level of fame, and the internet, he didnât need it. But, Satoru wanted to be normal, dammit. Being homeschooled for most of his life didnât help him fit in. Nor did the fame.
He wouldâve dropped out of Jujutsu University if he didnât find Suguru in a theatre in junior year.
Whoever the fuck is belting in Satoruâs sacred space needs to shut the fuck up, and leave.
Satoru has no problem with the experimental arts, has no problem with people figuring themselves out, or whateverâbut singing alone and acapella, in the dark, in an empty chamber, is dramatic as fuck, and so is the strangers song choice: Lithium by Evanescence, transposed to fit his voice. Fucking emo.
Satoru knows that song because he happens to have excellent and diverse taste in music. Obviously.
The Strangerâs voice isnât badâa little unrefined, but not horrid, nothing a few music lessons couldnât fix. Which begets the question, why is he here, in Satoruâs sacred practice space, in the abandoned theatre of Tengen Hall that only Satoru knows about?
And then, he screams, screamo-sings, whatever itâs calledâwhich isnât even in the songâand Satoru groans. Itâs not his fault. Heâs severely behind schedule, and now this stranger is screaming. Digging a knuckle into his ear like itâll soothe the oncoming pressure of a headache, Satoru snaps.
âOh my God, shut up!â
The Stranger does. He shuts up in the way that someone does when they get startled, when someone thinks theyâre alone and theyâre not. Which is his fucking fault, because itâs pitch black in here, and he mustâve had his eyes closed if he didnât see the evening light spill through the door Satoru entered.
Satoru walks forward, and his knees hit a row of chairs. He almost topples over.
âHow the fuck can you see in here?â He huffs, patting his pockets for his phone. In his defense, he usually comes right after class, when stained glass is glowing from the evening sun, so maneuvering in a dark theatre isnât exactly something heâs used to. The breaker is behind the stage, in the wings, but he feels like this theatre should just have normal fucking lights.
(Yes, whatever, itâs abandoned, shut the fuck upâ)
At this point, he feels like heâs talking to a ghostâwhoever is there is silent, possibly gone, possibly never existed in the first place. Possibly borne out of sleep deprivation and classic collegiate burnout.
âUm,â Satoru swallows, tapping his phone flashlight on. He canât see the stage, only vague shapes of it and whatâs immediately in front of himâwhich areâŚchairs. He curves his body into the aisle, missing it by a grand total of two seats. Which, is a little embarrassing, and ideally, the ghost didnât see that. âHello?â
When Satoru gets nothing, a chill runs down his spine. But, Satoru GojĹ doesnât believe in superstitions, so he tries it again, walking closer:
âHello? Mr. Ghost?â
The Stranger on stage snorts. âNot a ghost.â
âOkay. Cool, cool,â Satoru hems, waddling down the aisle carefully, in case said not-ghost decides to jump out and scare him. Or, in case he falls into the pit.
He manages to find the stairs to the stage and tries his hardest to walk upright, free hand gracing the wall until it becomes black curtain. Shoving the curtain aside, he takes its place and fiddles with the breaker.
âI donât know if you should be doing that,â the stranger grunts. Satoru just rolls his eyes, and tugs at something big and important looking.
It worksâthe theatre whirrs to life. Three chandeliers that decorate an ornate ceiling flicker on with resistance, followed by the canned lights above the entry way and the stage. And, sat on the edge of said stageâ
There is a guy. That, Satoru can confirm.
âSee?â The Stranger smiles, but itâs wobbly with nerves. He lifts just as wobbly hands to chest height, and flip them overâproof of his tangibility. âNot a ghost.â
âNope, but you are somebody, so,â Satoru adjusts his crossed arms to chuck a thumb to the entrance, âGet out.â
âUm,â the Stranger chuckles, more to himself, like what Satoru just said was cute, but, âWhat?â
âGet out,â Satoru over-enunciates. Itâs been one of those daysâa long one, where the mask doesnât fit quite right, doesnât last quite long enoughâand frankly, Satoruâs tired. Too tired to be polite to a random, thatâs for sure. (Not that heâs really that polite anyway, but heâs decent for the sake of the family image, yadda yadda.) âI practice here.â
Another laugh, one that shifts the loose hair spilling out of the Strangerâs messy bun, and he finally looks Satoruâs way. Satoru doesnât know what he was expectingâmaybe something polite, something sweet, something that looks weird sat atop broad shouldersâbut the Stranger levels him with a simple look. A look heâd get a more often, if he had a lot less money.
âDo you own the building?â
âNo,â Satoru huffs, rolling his neck. âMy dadâs on the board of directors, though.â
The Stranger just rolls his eyes, resting his weight on a hand as he decides that something on the ceiling is worthy more attention than Satoru fucking GojĹ.
âI donât give a fuck.â
Satoru feels the need to gather himself. Like, if he had pearls, heâd hold them, and stick out a stiff index finger at the man with no name and scream, âWitch!â He bristles, instead.
âDo you even know who I am?â
And, honestlyâSatoru didnât mean it like that. He meant it in a âdo you hate me because you know iâm rich and famous and get bitches for realâ way, so maybe he did mean it like that, but like, not in a bad way.
The Stranger looks at him, blinks twice with a pained look. Like heâs really trying to remember, really rubbing those two brain cells of his together in hopes theyâll find some friction.
ââŚNo? Have we met before?â
Satoruâs sense of the world shatters. Just a little bit.
He patches it back together pretty quickâbecause, this guy might not even be a music major. Yeah, he can sing or whateverâso can Satoru, itâs not that fucking hardâbut he could definitely be likeâŚan art therapy major. Or an digital media major. Satoru doesnât know, he doesnât pay attention to other arts. But, the guy has to be, because everyone knows Satoru. The LA Times knows Satoru, and heâs only been there, like, four times.
âWhatâs your major?â Satoru asks, completely disregarding his question. Itâs not even important, anymore.
And, maybe, Satoru was setting himself up for failure.
âMusic, with a concentration in guitar,â the Stranger says, craning his neck as Satoru walks closer, until heâs standing over his sitting figure with hands on his hips. ââŚWhy.â
Guitar. Guitar?
He must not be classically trained, then. Of course.
ButâŚLA Times isnât classically trained, either.
âWell, get out, Guitar,â Satoru huffs. Tired of looking at the Strangers ugly face, he stomps over to the grand piano in the corner of the stage, white Yamaha CFX, and shoulders his bag next to the bench. âYouâre probably really shit at it. You probably go on Ultimate Guitar instead of reading sheet music.â
The stranger hums at that with a fake thoughtfulness, nodding at the curtains like theyâre the ones talking. And Satoru keeps rambling, because he rambles when he feels things, and right now, he feels like the stranger is annoying the shit out of him. The air in the cushioned bench deflates when he sits. He scoots the chair forward with his body on it, and metal legs squeal against the peeling wooden floor. It makes him cringe, but he doesnât careâheâs got shit to do.
âYou probably only listen to Red Hot Chili Peppers and Nirvana and genuinely call yourself âPunk Rock.â You probably hate music theoryââ
ââWho likes music theory?ââ
ââand couldnât even play a scale with a gun to your head. Youâre probably fuckingâfucking bad at whatever the fuck you do, and you canât sing for your life, so get the fuck out.â
Satoruâs a little winded. Probably a little red.
The Stranger just blinks over his shoulder in return.
ââŚAre you done?â
âLeave!â
The Stranger blinks again.
âThis isnât the time youâre usually here.â
Satoru lifts the fallboard from the piano, and slams his forehead into the keys.
âYou think itâs a bad idea,â Suguru decides for him. Satoru revives himself to shake his head vehemently, forcing his way into the present, to sit up properly, and damn, heâs lowkey tired.
âNoâno,â Satoru says, whoâs not really good in the reassurance businessâthe whole emotion business, reallyâbut it always seems to be good enough for Suguru. âIâm just impressed you want to! You know Iâm down to share a little bit of the spotlight.â
Suguru seems to loosen at that, if just a little. Satoru tries again.
âPlus, the fans would love it. They eat up anything you write, forget about sing, good God, could you imagine? Weâd need, like, doubleâno, tripleâthe security, probably.â
While heâs busy listing off on his fingers, Suguru finally assumes the open chair next to him. âYeahâŚthatâs kind of what Iâm worried about.â
âOkay,â Satoru scoffs, âI said youâre good, not great. Thatâs reserved for me.â
And, in all honesty, thatâs a complete lieâSuguru is great. The best. Better than Satoru, but he doesnât have to know that. Thereâs a lot he doesnât have to know.
Suguru laughs again, but itâs not the one from earlier. Itâs an awkward, stilted laugh, a laugh that betrays itself with too much effortâthe laugh, Satoru remembers, from when they first met. He hates it, always putting a bitter taste in his mouth.
âThatâsâno, I just,â Suguru swallows, and then, Satoru swallows. They donât do the whole emotion gambit, not unless one of them needs it enough to willingly risk their ego. And, Suguru doesâneed it enough. That doesnât mean Satoru doesnât get nervous. He gets so nervous, actually, because peopleâs emotions are like glass, and Satoruâs a clumsy motherfucker. Especially when heâs trying to be careful. But, he will be so, so careful. Heâll stop breathing. For Suguru.
Anywaysâ
âYâknow,â Suguru shrugs, scratches the back of his head, âthe whole âcenter stageâ shit justâisnâtâŚisnât my thing, soââ
âDo you want it to be?â Satoru swivels his chair to face his best friend. This is the type of conversation he should be facing him for, right?
âNo,â Suguru says through a breath of anxious air, eyebrows knitting as his head sways left. âI donâI like making music, I like that people like that music, I justâŚâ
Suguru swallows again, and Satoru waits.
âI wannaâI wanna go to the gym,â his voice cracks, and the hand on his leg tightens into a fist, âor the mall or something, and not get photographed at, like, my absolute worst, you know?â
Suguru laughs it off, but Satoru knows he hates it. The whole publicity side of things.
Also, he wants to yell, wants to shake Suguru dizzy until he realizes that heâs, in fact, always a hot ass bitch. But, thatâs not what this conversation is about, so Satoruâs hands twitch in his lap instead, useless.
âAnd um, maybe itâs a little conceited, yâknow, to be worried about more fame, butâand itâs like, Iâm not BeyoncĂŠ, Iâm like, Michelle.â
Satoru is simultaneously proud and disappointed: Proud that Suguru has finally understood the importance of Destinyâs Child and their impact on the music industry, and actually listened to his Vanilla Red Bull-infused rants on said topicâand absolutely, utterly disappointed that Suguru could take something so sacred, and defile it in such a way.
(Each member of Destinyâs Child has left a profound impact on their respective music genres, and Michelle is serving silently in the gospel industry, thank you.)
Satoru bites his tongue.
âLike, I can go outside, itâs just a gamble, but,â Suguru shrugs, defeated, âI getâŚanxious, about it, like, more than I already did, and likeâI guess thatâs what the songâs about, which is why I wanna sing it, butâŚwhat if this makes it worse. Do you think itâll make it worse?â
Satoru blows a raspberry. He should probably lie, or something.
âYeah, probably,â he says, and Suguru deflates. Satoruâs not too far behind. âBut, I donât necessarily think thatâsâŚI dunno. I think itâs an important story to tell.â
Suguru smiles sadly, finally looking Satoru in the eyes as he slides a legal pad across the desk. âWell. Youâre the storyteller.â
Satoru picks it up. Lyrics in Suguruâs handwriting, with inky blue smears across sharp letters from an erratically inspired left hand fill the page, in three messy and undivided columns. Satoru passes it back with a shrug.
âSure. But, youâre the story.â
âMetal.â
âPop.â
âMetal.â
âPop-Punk.â
âMetal.â
âPop-Rock?â
ââŚHard rock.â
âI can work with that.â
I swear itâs getting harder, even just to exhaleâ
You met Suguru GetĹ on the playground.
He was getting his shit kicked in, but was also kicking shit in, if that makes sense?
You told a teacher, because thatâs who you were at the time. And, Suguru got mad at you, because thatâs who he was at the time.
You didnât know much about Suguru GetĹ, other than the fact that his parents were scaryâhis Dad was the width of a train car (not that you knew how wide a train car was) and his Mom was the height of one, clacking down the halls and into the room where a teacher waited with a bruised-faced Suguru. It was none of your business. But, you were a kid, so, it was all of your business.
âWhy do your parents look like that?â You ask the next day when you find him on the swings during recess. Suguru sneers at you, andâoh. Clearly, youâve interrupted his peace.
âLook like what.â
âI dunno,â you shrug, hopping onto the free swing next to him, but make no effort to move. You shiver as you remember. âScary.â
Suguru stares at you for a moment, trying to discern whether you were a true idiot, and, at the time, you were.
âTheyâre parents.â
âMy parents donât look like that,â you quip, teeth gritting in childish impatience at his cold attitude. No wonder he had no friends.
Suguru hops off the swing, and it wavers in his wake. Conversation over.
Butâyou kept talking him. There was something that tugged your juvenile curiosity to its true north, Suguru GetĹ, as he continued to sit in that corner, dark and alone and lacking bright eyes and bright energy that most children haveâall children, in your small suburban public elementary school. You also werenât paying attention to anyone your age that werenât your friends, or him.
No, he reminds you more of your kindergarten teacher, the one that smelled like cigarettes and coffee and reeked of the âpains of adulthoodâ that youâve heard so much about.
âWhy are you sad all the time?â You ask on a different day, bending over the ravenette sitting under a tree with a book atop his folded legs. And, again, because youâre seven and stupid and lack a filter, âDo your parents hit you?â
Suguru looks up at you, then, with a something in between confused and constipated, and you donât get it. (You later learn to recognize it as his âvexedâ look. His âwhat the hell is wrong with youâ look.)
âWhat?â
âYou look like my brother when our goldfish died,â you plop next to him, grass tickling the skin before your shorts, âbut likeâŚall the time.â
Suguru sighs, closing his book shut as his cheeks puff in irritation, âYouâre nosy.â
âYouâre sad,â you insist, poking at his cheek.
âIâm depressed,â he spits with a curled lip, slapping your hand away, before lifting his book. âAnd, Iâm reading, so leave me alone.â
You blink at him thrice, rolling that word, depressed, around in your squishy bambini brain like a vocabulary word you need to remember for a test. Suguru just sighs again, and re-opens his book, content on ignoring your presence if you wonât leave him be.
ââŚWhat does that mean?â
You donât get an answer. A few days pass, and you have another question with a slightly ulterior motive. That one, he does answer.
âSuguru, why do you fight people?â
âI donât,â he answers, rather quickly, and you point at the bleeding boy whoâs getting helped by a teacher across the playground. His eyes follow your finger, and he amends his statement. âHe was being mean.â
âSo, you fight mean people?â
Suguru nods.
âOkay!â
Another few days, a weekend, and thenâ
âWhy would you do that?â Suguru huffs, examining your bruised knuckles. The bruise isnât visible, but youâre a child with squishy arms and undeveloped kneecaps, and donât know how to make a fist. In hindsight, it was more like slap boxing than anything else. âWhy in the world did you do that?â
âShe was being mean,â you answer, because itâs simpleâmean people get hit, you know that now. You also know, now, that itâs not nice to call someone gay, and while you arenât sure what it means, that girl said it like it was supposed to hurt. And, you definitely know that men arenât supposed to hit women, so the answer was obvious.
âSo, you get up and walk away,â his eyes narrow at you, and you feel like youâre missing something. You glare back, just for fun. âBe the bigger person.â
âNo,â you shake your head, a little confused,â youâre supposed to fight the mean people.â
âIâNoââ Suguru makes a strangled noise and drops your hand to slap his own across his forehead in pure annoyance. âHow old are you? Five?â
âYour confused frown turns into one of genuine annoyance. âHey! Iâm eight and three-fourths!â
He groans again, dragging the hand on his face downward, and you suppress a giggle when it makes him look a little funny. He mutters, âIts like I have to follow you everywhere to make sure you donât run into a wall, holyââ
âOoh, would that make us friends?â
Suguruâs tangent falters only to give you a disturbed look.
âWhy do you even want to be friends with me.â
You shrug, âbecause youâre weird.â
Suguru scoffs, but his permanent scowl twitches at the edges. Just a little. âSo are you.â
âExactly,â you beam, and hold a hand out again, this time for a very official and businessman-like handshake to seal the deal of all deals. âSo. Friends?â
Suguru rolls his eyes, but meets you halfway.
âFine.â
âGuys, Hard Rock is vague as fuck.â
ââŚShit, youâre right.â
âExactly.â
âMaybe we need to pick a few bands. Narrow it down.â
âHarry Styles!â
âNo, Satoru.â
âButâheâs like, altââ
Backed up into corners, bitter in the lensâ
ChĹsĹ has no intricately symbolic introduction to Suguru GetĹ. Or any of his bandmates, for that matter. He met all three at the same time.
âHeâs likeâŚweird.â
Three people huddle in the corner of the small music classroom, all white bricks and no windows. Theyâre whispering, but, as stated, the room is very small. And, the guy with the white hair is very loud.
See, ChĹsĹ knew of Suguru GetĹ, but didnât know Suguru GetĹâpopularity is a toss-up in college, but Suguru, despite being a grade below ChĹsĹ, was adored by everyone who knew him, and apparently, everyone knew him. In almost every room ChĹsĹ entered, people were talking to or about Suguru GetĹ, about how he smiled for them today, how he held the door open.
Heâs a perfect man, through and through. People want to be him, fuck himâit doesnât matter what your sexuality is or what you carry between your legs, you want to be in his skin. Even the straight guys daydream about pulling his jet black hair and watching his eyeliner run.
Plus, when it came to the guitar, Suguru GetĹ was fucking good. ChĹsĹ knows, because he had to take Fundamentals in Guitar his Freshman year, despite his concentration in the drums.
He had a planâstay quiet in the back of class (which he does anyway), hope his hands wouldnât leave sweat stains on the high pressured laminate, and try not to fail. He hates string instruments, has historically established beef with string instruments, but he doesnât hate string instruments in Suguru GetĹâs hands.
By the end of the first class, he was obsessed.
And, maybe ChĹsĹ is a bit of a creep, making sure to keep Suguru in his peripheral after that. He swears that itâs because Suguru GetĹ is the best guitarist heâs ever seen (he isâhis covers on instagram are insane) and not because he seems like a really cool, really nice guy that you could get coffee with on a Wednesday. But, thatâs neither here nor there, nor is it important to the story. So.
(Itâs definitely very important to the story.)
About a month ago, ChĹsĹ saw a flyer, a band looking for a drummer, in the halls of the basement of the Zenâin building when he was leaving the private practice rooms. He took one, just in caseâheâs a senior in college, and his loudest New Years Resolution is to put himself out there. (Itâs halfway through his last semester.)
He forgot all about it until Suguru posted the exact same flyer on his Instagram story.
âLOOKING FOR A DRUMMER! DM IF INTERESTED!â
ChĹsĹ choked on his toothbrush. Heâd never typed so quick.
So, now heâs hereâvaguely sweaty from a solo audition as he watches his three potential band mates huddle in a corner to decide his fate. In the meantime, he pulls out a peanut butter and jelly sandwich from his bag. He skipped his lunch break for this.
âSatoru, be nice.â
âLook at him,â blue eyes peek over a shoulder clothed in white, and ChĹsĹ smiles before tearing off a corner of his sandwich.
The girl moves to slap him upside the head, misses, and connects with the back of his neck instead. He cups it with a hiss. Ouch, that sounded like it hurt.
âI like him,â she says, peering between two broad bodies, âHeâs really good.â
âAnd really fucking weird,â the rude one scrunches his nose, looking for ChĹsĹ once more, before snapping his head back with a huff. âHeâs fuckingâheâs literally only eating the edges of his sandwich.â
ChĹsĹ looks down at the mess he made on the snare drum. The saran wrap that once protected his sandwich has been turned into a makeshift placemat. Bits and pieces of his destroyed sandwich sit in the middle. Evidence.
âI donât like the middle,â ChĹsĹ shrugs, and he takes another bite of another torn crust. Three heads whip in his direction quick, âI can hear you.â
âNo shit, Sherlock,â says the guy with white hair, bristling, but it just earns him another slap. Whirling around on a heel to look at the girl, he growls, âFucking quit it.â
She steps forward, chest puffed and clearly not intimidated by his glare whatsoever. âThen quit being a dick, Dickhead.â
âYou know thatâs redundant, right?â
âSuck my clit, Satoru.â
âOhohoâwell, if youâre offeringââ
The argument fades in the background, though. Reduced to white noise, to nothing but sound, as Suguru approaches.
âIgnore them, they get like that.â He gives the argument a dismissive hand, taking an open seat not too far from the drum set ChĹsĹ sits behind. Resting an arm on the back of the chair, and a chin on his arm, Suguru says, âYou sounded really good.â
Feeling his face go hot, ChĹsĹ wipes crumbs from the corners of his mouth. Hopefully, heâs not blushing. Itâs hit or miss, to be honest.
ChĹsĹ clears his throat.
âThank you,â he nods, suddenly very conscious of the mess heâs made on the snare, âIâum, you sound good. Too.â
Suguru frowns, confused. It takes ChĹsĹ a second to catch up, but when he doesâah, shit.
âI mean, um,â he wipes at his face again, just in case, rushing out his defense in a single breath like a lawyer desperately trying to their client off of death row. âYou, uh, we were in the same class, my sophomore year.â
Suguru laughs, bright and beautiful and heavy, âWell. I can confirm I sound better than three years agoâyouâre a senior, right?â
ChĹsĹ keeps the whole âwatching his videos on Instagramâ thing to himself, and just nods.
âOh my god, ew, youâre a grandpa?!â
It comes from the guy in the corner, the one staring with wide blue eyes and genuine dismay. Suguruâs polite face curdles into something irritated, something thatâs dealt with this before, and ChĹsĹ wonders how long theyâve known each other as he sneers, âSatoru.â
Satoru clicks his tongue, but backs offâends up putting the girl in a headlock, instead.
âSorry about him. But, thank you,â Suguru smiles, tilting his head enough for a loose strand of hair to sway in front of his eyes. âI wish I could say that I remember you, but Iâm not great with faces, Iâm afraid.â
ChĹsĹ shakes his head, gesturing to the tattoo on his nose, âNo, thatâs understandable. Plus, I didnât have this.â
Suguruâs eyes trace the bridge of his nose in vague fascination. ChĹsĹ squirms under his gaze.
âDid it hurt?â
âOh, yeah,â he laughs, a little awkward, but enough to be socially acceptable, and gestures to his face with an open hand. âMy whole face swelled up for a week.â
Suguru hisses out something painful, recoiling at the thought. âOoh, ouch.â
ChĹsĹ shrugs, the pain a faint memory, a ghost on his nose bridge. âI like the end result, so. It was worth it.â
Suguru huffs a faint laugh, eyes disappearing behind rounding cheeks, and ChĹsĹâs grip on the snare drum tightens. He should probably clean up, orâŚor something.
âSo, umâŚwhat does your schedule look like?â
Iâm sick of trying to hide it, every time they take mineâ
The first performance went to shit. Naturally.
Because, ChĹsĹâs learned, Satoruâs ego is the size of an elephant, and Suguru, though graceful about it, isnât too far behind.
You figured the schools open mic, held every Thursday in an auditorium, was a good place to practice publicly. Each performance has a four minute cap, and Riot by Three Days Grace sat at a comfortable three minutes and twenty seven seconds. Itâs fun, itâs flashy, Satoru can sing and shred and Suguru can scream, easy. Done. So, why do they insist on making things so difficult?
ChĹsĹ doesnât understand the concept of an ego. He doesnât understand much except for the crippling anxiety that follows him everywhere he goes, and the unconditional love for his brothers. Like, he gets it in theoryâa personâs concept of themself gets too big for the body theyâre inâbut not in practice.
Satoru opens the song with a riff. Because, not only does he insist on being the lead singer, but also lead guitarâand pulls it off well. The rest of them help with background vocals. The rhythm is basic enough that ChĹsĹ has a little room to have fun with it. Itâs good, itâs chill. And then, The Solo.
The issue is that itâs a double solo, ChĹsĹ quickly realizesâbecause, this has never happened during practice. Suguru and Satoruâs eyes meet with friction, a spark of competition. Their hands match on their frets, Suguru an octave deeper on the bass, and they donât look away for a second.
The thing is, because heâs the drummer, ChĹsĹ sees everything.
It begins with a competitive quirk of Suguruâs eyebrows as he steps away from the mic. And, SatoruâSatoru canât hide shit, so he glares, pivots to Suguru, who grins like a cat that knows the mouse is done for.
They circle each otherâspiritually, of course, because physically theyâre stuck, glaring, for whatever reasonâtwo beta fish flashing their gills from different tanks, even though they both have enough room, even though itâs literally fineâ
The solo breaks, Satoru returns to the mic, and poof, itâs like nothing ever happened. You shoot ChĹsĹ a weird look from stage left, one that reads âthe fuck was that,â but he doesnât know.
You switch instruments with Suguru, after that. No more double soloâs for SatoSugu.
ââŚWhat if we just, likeâŚdo whateverâŚ?â
âChĹsĹ, my manâ! This guy knows what heâs talking about.â
âSatoru, weâre not doing Popââ
âPop is a broad, multi-faceted genre, that simply implies whatâs popular at the timeââ
âWeâre not BTS.â
âExcuse me!â
âOh, umâweâre not KARD.â
âThank you.â
âAre they still a thing?â
âWell. Sounds dramatic when you put it like that.â
âYou are, though!â Satoru splays both his hands out, faced to the foamed ceiling. âSure, I have the most fans, or whateverâlike, obviouslyâbut I donâtâI like that shit, yâknow. You donât.â
ââŚI write the majority of our songs.â
Which, is fairâwhile ChĹsĹ may write a song or two, or you, who tends to enjoy focusing on the music production side of things, the main songwriters are between him and Suguru. Satoru writes the songs that get them on radios and spotify playlists, Suguru writes the emotional, cosmic emo shit that wins them awards. Itâs a balance. Very yin and yang.
ââKay,â Satoru scoffs a laugh, sitting back in his chair, âduh, but like, this oneâs super personalââ
âTheyâre all personal,â Suguru defends, while Satoru has no concept of what heâs defending. The ravenette shrugs, âto me, at least.â
âWhich is exactly why you should sing them,â Satoru only leans forward to flick his friend on the head, before returning to the warm spot in his chair. âIdiot.â
Suguru doesnât flinch, but rubs the spot with a small smile.
âWhy this song, though? Youâve written shit like this before.â
Suguru sighs. Itâs long and heavy, and full with a lifetimes worth of contemplation.
âLike you said,â He twists his upper body to rest his elbows on the desk, right before the studio mixers begin. âWouldnât make much sense coming from you, would it?â
PART II â APPARENTLY, THE LIMELIGHT BURNS?
They ask meâis it going good in the garden?
Yeah, Satoru knew heâd like this shit. Heâs used to this shit.
âSatoruâ! Oh my God, he looked at meââ
âI want your Gojo Prodigy babies!â
âSatoru! Kiss Suguru for me, please!â
That he can do.
Satoru knows he looks good. Heâs never been one for the grunge lookânot like Suguru and ChĹsĹâmaybe little more boy-group than punk, doesnât have piercings in hot places and super sexy tattoos, but he knows. He knows, sweaty from the plane and hair coated in three day old grime, that he still looks fucking fire.
Suguru looks better, though. Even if heâs panicking.
A bubble of bodyguards protect the band and their suitcases as they lug them from the extended walk from the airport to a Black Escalade he hasnât laid eyes on yet. Itâs tight, the kind of tight most people only experience in a club, with shoulders stuffed to their ears and nothing to feel on their skin other than heated bodies. Satoru, ever the performer, gives the people what they want and beams. The world screams, then faints.
Suguru doesnât like these things, though. He gets nauseous, actually vomited on a packed subway train once, which Satoru found very funny, and Suguru, not at allâand dizzy and pissy, and no one likes a pissy Suguru.
(Satoru has no right to talk.)
So, he puts his performance on pause for a second, for his best friend.
âHey,â Satoru nudges him in the shoulder, which, technically he was already doing, this bump is intentional. Suguru looks at him, face framed by a set of black headphones. âYou good?â
Suguru is, very obviously, not good. Stupid question, Satoru. Stupid, stupidâ
Suguru laughs, even though heâs sure he canât hear Satoru past screams and music and noise cancellation. You trip on the wheel of Satoruâs bag and he looks over his shoulder with something mean.
Ah yes. The Home-Wrecker.
Notânot that Suguru and Satoru had a home for you to wreck, or anything. Except, they kinda didâa sacred home, a peaceful, bro sanctuary, actually, that you destroyed the moment you popped your ugly face out of nonexistence and said you needed a place to crash for the week. Satoru doesnât care if youâve known Suguru longer, he doesnât give a shitâ
It was his home you invaded. Therefore, it was his home you wrecked.
Butâright, Suguruâ
Theyâre moving at a snails pace. For once, Satoru is actually impatient to get away from prying eyes as he watches the grip Suguru has on his suitcase tighten. He peeks through bulky bodyguard shoulders on his toes, and he swears the car, two crosswalks over from the exit, is further from where they started. Why is LAX so big?
âWhat the fuck is taking them so long,â he wants to scream, but grumbles instead. Satoru tugs down at the corners of his eyelids, careful to not send his sunglasses askew.
âI donât fucking know, open your eyes, Satoru,â you snort from behind, like a child. Satoruâs grip on his handle tightens, and for a completely different reason than Suguruâs.
âThanks Princess,â he grits over his shoulder. You kick the suitcase into the back of his legs.
Satoru gets on his toes again. Somehow, somewhere, at some point, the car looks like itâs weaving through traffic to get to them, and Satoru doesnât know whether to be thankful, or very, very mad when he realizes theyâre at the edge of the sidewalk, and they probably couldâve just walked across and been there by nowâ
Suguru shakily pulls his phone out, adjusting something, and Satoruâa whole centimeter taller, he doesnât give a fuck what Suguru saysâpeers over his shoulder, expecting to see something loud and dramatic and edgy.
Calm: Transit Mindfulness Group by Dominic Reed.
Oh. Does that even drown out any noise?
âIâm in a field,â Suguru covers his unsteady voice with a reassuring nod, and Satoru snorts.
âIs the field peaceful?â
Suguru shrugs. âSort of.â
The studioâs heavy door slams open. Home-Wrecker.
âWhatâcha doinâ,â you smile, but youâre asking Suguru. You donât glance at Satoru, he doesnât even exist, apparentlyâfuck you.
âUm,â Suguru looks at Satoru, and Satoru looks at Suguruâbecause heâs not about to say anything the ravenette doesnât want him to. Suguru looks at you. âMusic stuff?â
ââŚWhat kind of music stuff,â you say, once its clear thatâs all Suguru was intent on telling you, andâ
So, weâre not gonna talk about the singing thing? At least, not yet.
Cool, cool. Cool, cool, cool, cool. Cool.
And, no, thatâs not a giddy feeling in Satoruâs chest, itâs just likeâthe weather, or something.
âThatâs what weâre trying to figure out,â Suguru lies, so easy, and Satoru, with all his flaws, has mixed feelings about that fact. Suguru smiles at you, fucking beams, and tucks the legal pad with all his ideas under a swarm of miscellaneous papers in one smooth move. âAny ideas?â
âUm,â you try to think, using all the power in that itty bitty brain of yours, humming with a finger on your lip. âWhat are you thinking?â
Suguru shrugs, looking at Satoruâlike heâs supposed to know how to lie, too. Way to make a guy an accomplice.
âPop!â
Which, to be honest, is his answer to everything.
Both of you groan, and with a hand over his face, Suguru mutters, âForget I asked.â
âI justâŚâ Suguru turns to you, resting an elbow on the table, âI was thinking something a little more experimental for this album.â
You frown, cock your head right. âButâŚweâre already experimental?â
Suguru eyes the hidden legal pad.
âYeah.â
âThe song is about her, isnât it?â
âWhat song?â
âCaramel. You act like itâs about the audience, but itâs about her. Right?â
âOh, umâSure.â
âSure? Sure is a shit answer.â
âItâsâŚabout all of us?â
âOkay.â
âSatoru, stop laughingâIâm serious.â
âSo am IâI donât believe you.â
Can I get a mirror side-stageâ
You know what an anxious Suguru GetĹ looks like. Youâre fucking looking at it.
The issue is that Suguru is too smooth of a liar for his own goodâheâs very good at stuffing his feelings into minuscule boxes and kicking them into the corners of his mind to collect dust, but there are tells. Not like any of those tells matter if Satoruâs in the room.
âPopâ your ass.
The scream park was supposed to be fun.
And, it wasâisâjustâŚnot in the way you expected.
You thought inviting Suguru was a good ideaâat age fourteen, your childhood best friend is still somewhat of a recluse, keeping to himself and his all-black outfits. Though you two donât go to the same school anymore, you meet every few weeks for a monthly horror movie that has you clutching his bicep. Yes, including the campy onesâKiller Klowns from Outer Space gave you nightmares for weeks.
So, stupidly, you thought Suguru would like this.
You invited him along with your friends, insisting he be properly socialized. Like any antisocial hermit, he begrudgingly agreed.
While your friends have been to scream parks a few times, this would be your first.
Your parents werenât willing to let you keep them up all night, not after the last time you walked through a haunted house, and, later that night, kept everyone awake after your paranoid brain convinced you that there was an axe murderer in your closet. Inviting Suguru is a fear-bufferâwhen he sleeps over, you're too busy debating something unimportant to worry about the important, like a hypothetical axe murderer in your closet.
He likes the scary shit anyways, so, itâs a win-win, right? You get to hang out with your friends in absolutely horrifying environment, and Suguru gets to be in an absolutely horrifying environment. Someone shouldâve warned you about how packed it is, though.
You all go in costume. Youâre some cute clown-bunny hybrid, still salty that you werenât allowed to wear the white face paint that would've really brought the whole thing together. (You take your Halloween costumes very seriously.) Suguru, on the other hand, just wears black jeans and a hoodie, with a scream mask pushed into his hairline.
It wasnât until you got out of the car that you realize you maybe made a tiny mistake.
You watch Suguru while walking, watch him through security, watch him as you and your friends step past the threshold. The music is loudâsomething vague and horrifying and instrumental, as people shift by you like they actually have something to do, something to get to. They donât, though, and when a stranger accidentally checks Suguruâs shoulder, you scowl.
Someone asks Suguru to take a picture of the group, and as youâre posing, hiding a set of bunny ears behind your friends head in front of a fountain, you watch his hands shake around the lens.
Shit.
It isnât until after the first ride that Suguru starts showing signs of needing a breather.
Itâs subtle. The way his hands grow from flat to fist in his pockets, the obsessive crack of his neck or roll of the shoulder. When you finally get him to look at you, your face, he grins, but doesnât say a word. He doesnât jump at anything, not the scare actors or loud sounds, but his teeth grit at the whir of a chainsaw while you wait for the corn maze.
You poke him in the stomach. Suguruâs grown past you by now. You used to be taller than him, and still mourn those days.
He huffs at the prod, looking down at you. âWhatâs up?â
âYouâre not okay,â you insist, wrapping an arm around his rigid body. âWhy donât you tell me when youâre not okay?â
Suguru breathes a laugh, wiggling his trapped arm, but doesnât force you to let go. Doesnât fully meet your eyes, either, âIâm fine, Y/N.â
âNo,â you roll your eyes and drop your head to his shoulder, probably getting dramatic halloween makeup all over it. âYouâre a good liar, but I can still tell.â
Suguruâs eyes flit over to your friends, way too engrossed in their conversation to pay either of you any mindânot that itâd matter, anyway. Not that you care.
Your crush for Suguru GetĹ formulatedâŚat some point, probably.
You donât really know. As kids, yes, you practically bullied him into being your friend, got a marriage promise out of it, tooâand wedding, but that was rendered null and void by the time you two were eight. But, the cheap jelly ring he gave you is still in the back of your drawer, collecting dust and losing itâs poor integrity with age. And, do you wholly intend on having another wedding, one that isnât rendered null and void because you two were eight? Perhaps.
That doesnât mean that, like, you two canât date other people in the meantime, of course. (Which, was a lesson you very quickly learned when Suguru got a girlfriend at nine.) You gottaâŚlearn how to kiss and all that other stuff somehow, right? You canât be kissing Suguru with loose lips! No, no. You have to be a Lip God. At least.
Waitânot like that, not like thatâ
You feel his shoulder shrug against your cheek, and Suguru attempts to laugh it off. âI swear, Iâm fine.â
And no, heâs not fineâhis adams apple bobs right after he speaks, like heâs choking on it, trying to convince himself that itâll pass right under your faultless Suguru-Lie-Detector. It does not.
The line moves, and you two shuffle forward without breaking your precarious hold on each otherâwell. Your precarious hold on him.
âYou look like youâre about to go Super Saiyan. Like you did when we were ten.â
âMy episodes are not âgoing Super Saiyan,ââ Suguru snorts, and gives an easy smile as he eyes you on his arm. âAndâwe definitely agreed to never talk about that ever again.â
âIâm not talking about that,â you say, enveloping another hand around his until youâre practically leaning on him for âwarmth.â âIâm referring to it, yes, butââ
âThen, no references,â he wheedles, and you huff, adjusting the weight on your feet as they start to cramp.
âFine, whatever,â you grumble under your breath. Suguru holds his smile, but itâs twitchy, and you can feel every muscle in his arm as if his hand is taut. (It is.)
âWellâŚI kinda want to go home after this,â you scrunch your face, bending your legs, one knee at a time, âMy feet hurt.â
Suguru scoffs. Shakes his head. âNo, you donât.â
No, not reallyâyouâve only done like two rides.
âBut, Suguru,â you whine, collapsing against him like some fallen maiden in that Shakespeare book youâre supposed to be reading for class. You adopt a poor iteration of their accents, too. âMy feetâI shouldnât have worn these shoes. We have to go.â
You always wear the same shoes, and tonight is no exception. Butâyou and Suguru donât go to the same school anymore. You might be able to get away with this.
âIâve seen you in those before,â his brows furrow into something exasperated, shaking your weight off with a nudge. He cracks his neck for the thirteenth time tonight. âPlus. We paid for this. Iâm fine, reallyâa little claustrophobic, but, Iâll live.â
You study his face, his clearly not fine face. (While, fine in other ways.) He matches your energy, refusing to look away.
Ah, fuck it.
Your false pretense was shot from the beginning, anyway.
âAre you having fun?â
His voice comes breathy, strained, and annoyed, âIâm fine, Y/N.â
So. No.
Immediately, you collapse into his left side again.
âMy feet! I canât go onââ
âOh my Godââ
ââyou must go without me, Suguru. Be free!ââ
ââyouâre seriously being so embarrassing right nowââ
ââleave me to die. You must live for yourself, Suguru! Live!â
âOkay, okay,â he chuckles, peeling your fingers away from the vice grip you have on his shaking shoulders. âFine, Godâwe can go home after this.â
You beam.
âOkay!â
And, after the maze, you two head back to your place and watch Death Note. Suguru has the bright idea to pierce his ears. You helpâit was a mess.
âSuguru, youâre gonna have to sing in front of her, eventually.â
âUgh, donât remind me.â
âIâm going to remind you! Weâre running of time!â
âWaitâitâs okay, he just needs a little moreââ
âRunning. Out of. Time, ChĹsĹ! Sheâs onto usâI repeat, mayday, maydayââ
âI think youâre just stressing him outâŚâ
âHeâs definitely stressing me out.â
âI donât care! Thisâthis whole thing, right hereâthis is stressing me out. FuckingâRip the bandaid off! Strip for your girl!â
âSheâs not my girl, Satoruââ
âOkay, um, I donât think this session isâŚvery productiveâŚâ
I guess thatâs what I get for trying to hide in the limelightâ
Okay. Whatever ChĹsĹ said about his anxiety, he takes it back. Flip it, reverse it, or whatever Missy Elliot says.
He thinks that might be what this is. Maybe.
It's something.
âFuck you!â
Both you and Satoru are goneâyou, on a trip back home to visit family, and Satoru, on a trip to the Maldives, with some girl ChĹsĹ is sure heâs never seen before or will see after. He figured, great! The two loudest people are gone. Time for some peace and quiet, maybe sushi and sake.
Suguru doesnât getâŚbelligerent. Thatâs more Satoruâs thing, but heâs belligerent all the time, so is there really much of a difference?
And now, ChĹsĹ Kamo, the most reserved of the band is left doing damage control, when he, truly, doesnât know what the damage is. Yet.
âSuguru, get off the table.â
âNo!â Suguru hollers, arms wide like itâs obvious. Suguru doesnât blush, but when he drinks, his face tinges pinkâand maybe, itâs ChĹsĹâs fault for not keeping an eye on him, or his alcohol intake, but Suguruâs a grown man whoâs well aware of his own limits. ChĹsĹ thought. âFuck you andâur mom!â
ChĹsĹ doesnât exactly know what his mother has to do with this, but okay. Sure.
âOkay, Suguru, justâget off the table, please.â
Because, Suguru is drunk enough that his center of gravity is off a few centimeters. Heâs in socked feet, and the mahogany dining table is polished smooth. God forbid he trips and falls, and ChĹsĹ has to drag a mean and drunk Suguru to the hospital.
But, he doesnât listen. Hasnât been listening, not that Suguru is a dog or anything, butâChĹsĹ sort of needs him to listen right now.
He swipes at ChĹsĹâs offering hands, nose twisted in a level of petulance reserved for children. With a sigh, ChĹsĹ tries a different approach: taking Suguru off the table himself.
The second he wraps arms around the rhythm guitaristâs thighs, Suguru starts twisting, shoving, and kickingâow.
âDonâ fuckinâ touch me!â
But ChĹsĹ doesnât listen, and strains his lower back to lift the brick shithouse off the table they eat their food on.
When Suguruâs feet hit the floor, he tries a different approachâsnatching ChĹsĹâs forgotten and half-full beer bottle to chuck at the wall, leaving the brunette to watch it crack, shatter and fizz. ChĹsĹ laments over the carpet, but keeps his tunnel vision. Suguru.
Suguru, the immovableâSuguru, the rockâand ChĹsĹ watches him crack, shatter and fizz, just like the beer before him.
Crack.
âFuck this shit, honestly,â Suguru wheezes out a laugh, one that sounds painful to make, and runs a hand through his hair to tug at the root. He walks into the living room, probably to find something else easy to destroy and replace.
It escalates rather quicklyâfirst a lamp, swiped off its desk like a grumpy cat. The remote, the TV tray. A snow globe. Eventually, he runs out of the small things. ChĹsĹ moves from his frozen position in the doorway when Suguru moves to pick up an end table.
âSuguruââ
âShut the fuck up,â Suguru warns, but ChĹsĹ canâtânot when thereâs a piece of brown glass stuck in his hand, not when his knuckles go red and bloody from punching a wall. Suguru breaks the table anyway, right against the wall, like a batter with a baseball, his grip tight on the two bottom legs. Luckily, the thing is cheap, and crunches into bits of wood on impact and only scuff the wall. ChĹsĹâs more worried about the hole in the kitchen. (Do those ramen fix-it TikToks actually work? Probably not, right?)
ChĹsĹ steps deeper into the room. Suguru said not to touch him, but⌠âSuguruââ
âFuckinâwhat? What?â Suguru presses, his face contorts, mean and menacing, and into a look ChĹsĹâs never seen him wear. âGo home! I donât want to talk to you, anymoreâI donât want to see your fucking faceââ
âButâŚâ ChĹsĹ warbles, gulps. Heâs never been good at standing up for himself. âIâŚlive hereâŚ?â
Suguru gives him a look, something incensed, and drops the two loose legs of the end table he held in both palms. He sighs, resolute. âFine, then. Iâll leave.â
Whichâis definitely not an option.
As he moves to exit the living room, ChĹsĹ stands in his way. Itâs unsteadyâand ChĹsĹ might be strong, but heâs always been the shortest out of the three guys, and he wavers under Suguruâs heavy glare. Doesnât fold, though.
âYouâŚyou canât.â
âWhy,â Suguru whines, but itâs mocking and high pitched as he waves his arms wildly, ââCuz Iâm gonna ruin the bands pretty little image? I donât give a fuckâmove.â
ChĹsĹ gulps and shakes his head. Suguru would probably hate him forever if he let him leaveâwell, his Suguru would never hate him, but this one mightâand ChĹsĹâs not willing to justâŚlet him loose in the streets like this. Suguru would probably get hit, and itâd probably be all over the news. And his Suguru would hate himself for that. He doesnât want his Suguru to hate himself.
So, he doesnât move. He doesnât move when this new Suguru berates him, saying heâs a âstupid ass bitch who can barely hold a beat,â which hurts, but ChĹsĹ knows it isnât true. He hopes it isnât true. Regardless if itâs true or not, ChĹsĹ doesnât move.
But. He might be strong, but heâs always been the shortest out of the three guysâand with Suguruâs added mass, he shoves ChĹsĹ through the doorway easy, hard, and clears his path out.
The back of ChĹsĹâs head slams against the hallway wall, and he trips to the ground. He hisses, hand rushing to rub the sore spot. Suguru blinks once, twice. A level of lucidity crosses his eyes, and then heâs back.
Shatter.
âOh,â Suguruâs body sways, straightens, and then he sees. He rushes to ChĹsĹâs side, crouching on his feet, and ChĹsĹ flinches, not because his Suguru would hit himâbut, because the other one might, and he doesnât know which one this is. âWaitâwait, wait, waitâfuck, umââ
Suguruâs hands hover by ChĹsĹâs arms instead, âIâm sorry. Iâm so, so sorryâare youâare you okay? Fuck.â
âIâm fine,â ChĹsĹ insists with a waving palm. Yeah, his heart is beating too fast, but thatâs more from the adrenaline of it allâthe pain subsides quick enough. Suguru starts pulling at his hair again, surveying ChĹsĹâs body like he couldâve hit him somewhere else and not remember, and ChĹsĹ removes the hand at the back of his own neck to swat at Suguruâs. âStop that.â
âYeah, right, sorry,â Suguru nods, and curls the shorter strands of hair behind his ears before wrapping arms around his own knees instead, âIâfuck. Are youâare you sure youâre okay? Like, not just physically but, like, mentally? Iâm sorry, I donââ
âYouâŚâ ChĹsĹ frowns as he watches gold irises blur and tears threaten Suguruâs waterline. He cowers, looking at the ground, as ChĹsĹ comes to a realization. âYou donât remember.â
âN-No,â Suguruâs voice cracks, and he sniffles, rubbing an inner wrist into his eye. âI canâtâIâm sorry. I knew I shouldnât have drank tonight, I knewââ
âSuguru,â ChĹsĹâs voice cuts through his like a knife through butter, and he gives his friend a light slap on the shoulder. âYouâre fine, I promise.â
Suguru looks at him through his forearms, bottom lip wobbling as he struggles to let out another, wet, âIâm sorry.â
And, ChĹsĹâs heart breaks for Suguru GetĹâbecause, yes, obviously, getting publicly forced out of the closet and losing your mom in the span of a few months is beyond tough. But, because ChĹsĹ was stupid and put Suguru on a pedestal beyond himself, when he knows damn well this man is human, just like the rest of them. Suguru isnât some idealistic, Dark Hero archetype from everyoneâs inner teenage dreams. He dreams, too.
ChĹsĹ doesnât trust his constricting throatânever been good at watching someone cry without shedding a few tears himselfâbut he opens his arms, and speaks anyway.
âCâmere.â
Suguru deflates at that, and drops his knees to pillow his head in ChĹsĹâs chest.
And then, he cries.
Fizz.
ââŚSuguru. What is thisâŚ?â
âO-Oh um, hey, didnât see you thereâno, wait, donât take thatââ
âAnd whatâget offâwhat does âSatoru sings hereâ mean? Are youâŚâ
âIâUhâuhmâŚgive that back, pleaseâcâmon, Iâdonât put that in your bra, thatâs notââ
âYouâre singing?!â
âNo! Uh, well, kinda? Iâgive itââ
âGet your filthy fucking pawsâyou betrayer! You can sing? Why didnât you tell me?!â
âIâitâs notââ
The door creaks open.
âOohâŚshe found out?â
âFuckingâSatoru knows! Who else knows? Nanami?!â
PART III âGET A GRIP.
Stick to me, stick to me like caramelâ
By the time the second chorus rolls around, the audience swears they know the words. And, while Suguru supposes the words are simpleâChrist, they donât know the words.
Not that it really matters, honestly. Suguru is just thankful his hands are finally busy. Holding off on the guitar until now did wonders for the song, and horrors for his nerves.
Suguru would be lying if he said he wasnât nervous (terrified), and would be lying again if he didnât say he was still nervous (terrified). The butterflies in his belly crawl up his throat and shear his voice into something uneven, something raw, but the waver disintegrates beneath the amount of noise in the arenaâon and off stage.
Suguru can sing fine. Decent. That doesnât mean he likes to. Normal, basic human interaction makes him dizzyâeye contact makes his head hurt, and singing in front of a crowd actually makes him want to die.
But, itâs important for him to sing this particular songâeven if heâs written about this topic a million times before, and will a million after, veiled under every religious allegory he can find by then.
Itâs important that he tells his bandmates how he feels.
Even if Satoruâs a fucking idiot.
Too young to get bitter over it allâ
âI need you to scream.â
âUm,â Satoru spins in his rolling chair to face Suguru, who lays on the peeling leather couch in the home studio. The one that Satoru swears used to be a casting couch before you four picked it off the side of the road on the way to Vegas. âHaha, very funny.â
âIâm not kidding,â Suguru frowns, leaning his upper body over the arm of the couch. Satoru actually laughs this time, turning back to the computer, to Protools, doing something in a program Suguru doesnât fully understand. (Because, fuck Protools, all my homies hate ProtoolsâLogic all the way.)
âHa! Yeah, no. Thatâs your thing.â
Suguru sighs, pushing away from the couch. Itâs comfortable, he will miss it, but this sort of convincing takes his full and undivided attention.
Resting a hand on the table to Satoruâs left, Suguru watches him fiddle with the mouse, pointedly ignoring his presence. Asshole.
âWell. Singingâs your thing, and, Iâm doing that. SoâŚâ
Itâs not a matter of whether Satoru can or cannotâhe can, Suguru had to teach him guitar and was forced to, frustratingly, watch him learn his way around a neck in half the time Suguru did. Which, he supposes isnât a fair conjectureâSuguru picked up the guitar at five, but that doesnât mean he canât feel a little butt hurt about it.
Satoru can do it. Satoru knows he can do it, so whyâ
(He knows Satoru doesnât think he can do it, just like he didnât think he could play the guitarâbut it baffles him, nonetheless.)
âMy vocal cords,â Satoru huffs a laugh, cupping his neck with a careless shrug that looks stiffer than he thinks. âI know you drink yourâyour fucking molasses water, or whateverââ
ââLicorice root tea. Which, you should be drinking as wellââ
ââI donât give a fuck, Keisha, Iâm gonna bust an internal jugular vein, or something, no.â
Suguru blinks.
ââŚWhoâs Keisha?â
Satoru sighs, loud and heavy and more of a groan than anything else, and rolls his head until heâs staring far from Suguru and into the ceiling.
âWe have songs where we donât scream,â he shrugs, refusing to take his eyes off the sky. âJust, likeâŚtake it out.â
âI canât just âtake it out,ââ Suguru mocks out his nose with whine. Satoru shoves him in the shoulder.
âNot what I sound like,â he mutters, but shifts his glare at Suguru instead of the ceiling. Finally.
âGood Morning, Sleeping Beauty.â
âIâm not doing it, Suguru.â
âCâmon,â Suguru pouts, dropping his head forward until the hair sticking to his back drops to his shoulder. He puts a little bass in his voice, just enough for Satoru to shiver, and feels a little bad for playing dirty. âFor me?â
Satoru huffs so hard his cheeks bend above the air.
âI hate you.â Blue eyes scowl at the ceiling again, and the chair wobbles as Suguru puts a hand at the head. âI hate you so fucking much, Oh my Godââ
Satoru slides his hand over his face, deliberately starting under his glasses, and Suguru leans in.
âIs that a yes?â
âItâs a fuck you,â Satoru insists with a snarl, running a hand through his hair until it sticks up, âYouâre not allowed toâto fucking commission me to scream on a song you wrote for your girlfriend. No.â
âSheâs not my girlfriend,â Suguru corrects, but he knows Satoru doesnât give much of a shit. âAnd, the song isnât about her, itâs about all of you.â
âStop saying that. itâs a load of shit.â
Suguru shrugs. Itâs the truthâbut he doesnât necessarily know how to prove it, either. And, Satoru is stupid when he has an agenda.
âYou just donât want to tell me, because we have this whole âbest friend turf warâ going on,â Satoru says as he reaches into the tub of DumDumâs they bought a month ago, and comes out with a blue. He unwraps it with the ease of a constant candy consumer, âWhich, I get it, youâre a nice guy, Suguruâand donât fucking do the emo âIâm not a nice guy,â shit, okay, you areââ
Suguru closes his mouth.
Satoru pops the lollipop in his own, and Suguru pointedly ignores the way his lips fit around it as Satoru sucks, and pulls it back out, âIâm just sayingâyouâre asking me to learn something new for a bitch I donât even likeââ
âNot a bitch, Satoru!â You holler as you walk past, laundry basket balancing between your waist and arms.
âFuck you!â He yells back, but youâre gone as quick as you came. He tugs the lollipop out the corner of his cheek with a faint pop, and plays a pout as he nods, redirecting his attention to the man in front of him. âThatâs a lot for me, Suguru.â
Suguru sighs, taking the seat beside himâwhich, he probably shouldâve taken to being with, but he likes towering over Satoru. Even if Suguru is, technically, taller than him by a centimeter. Itâs not like he feels it.
Resting his cheek on a fist, Suguruâs voice settles into something serious. âYou know that both of you are my best friends, right?â
Suguru would be bold enough to lump ChĹsĹ into that equation, as wellâbut doesnât, or else Satoru will start coming after him, too.
Satoru sighs, leaning his head against the back of the chair. Suguru watches his throat bob, listens to the clack of the lollipop between teeth as he rolls it from one cheek to the other.
âBut likeâŚâ and Satoru laughs, tight and bitter and unbecoming. Something in Suguruâs chest twists.
They donât talk about feelingsâthatâs not really their thing, but they should probably talk about this. (Thereâs a million other things that they should probably talk about, but most of those are locked in a can of worms they both swear to never open again. So.)
âWhat happens when sheâs your best friend and your girlfriend,â Satoru says, pulling at his collar a little. Suguru wishes he could see eyes behind the glasses, âWhoâs gonna beat you at Mario Kart?â
Depending on the day, either of them could winâbut Suguru bites his tongue.
âYou will.â
âAnd like,â Satoru swallows, pats down the most egregious points in his hair, âweâre twenty-six, Suguru. One of these days, youâre gonna get, like, a wifeânot Y/N, God, not her, weâre working on your taste in women before then, butâlike, a wife, right, and a picket fenceââ
Blasphemy, Suguru wants to say, but bites his tongueâagain.
ââand like, two kids and a dog, yâknow? Will you even have time for Mario Kart, then?â
âWow,â Suguru clicks his tongue, âYou have my whole life figured out.â
âOkay, fuck you,â Satoru huffs a laugh, accompanied by a smile that doesnât quite reach his eyes. âIâm being deadass.â
âSo am I,â Suguru says, nodding once, before shifting, âIf I settle down, and haveâŚeverything you just said, youâd be the fun uncle that keeps my kids secrets and feed the dogs bacon under the table, and have a new hot model girlfriend thatâs definitely way too young for you every monthâthatâs a very important archetype, you know. Essential to the sitcom.â
Satoru laughs, shaking his head, but itâs a lot lighter than before. And, if Suguru canât help but brush a few stray pieces of hair from Satoruâs face, thatâs his fucking prerogativeâ
âIâd eat all your snacks.â
âProbably.â
âAnd piss off your wife.â
âDefinitely.â
âAnd fuck so loud.â
âOkay, maybe wait until my hypothetical children are out the house for that.â
Satoru breathes a smileâa proper smile, this time, with all his teeth and a dimpling left cheek. The light of the computer screen ignites the edges of his hair into something whiter than white, a haloâa techno-angel with the personality of Lucifer himself. (Lucifer seems like heâd be a pompous bastard.)
Suguru needs to get a grip. On likeâŚlife.
âFine,â Satoru says, licking artificial blueberry off his lips with a blue tongue, and pointing a half-bitten lollipop at Suguru like it commands attention. âIf I do thisâŚour graves gotta be next to each other when we die.â
Suguru grins.
âDeal.â
Damocles.
âI hate you.â
âI know.â
âGet out of my face.â
âY/N, I understand youâre mad, but justââ
âShut up.â
ââjust hear me out, itâsââ
âI will murder you in your sleep.â
âOkay, but liâow, stop throwing shitââ
Too old to retaliate like beforeâ
Suguru is awoken by a knock to his apartment door.
Suguru jolts into existenceâlike he does every timeâfrom his nap on the couch. Because, heâs an adult with an adult internship, god dammit, and if he wants to nap like a five year old after every shift, then he can.
Thereâs the knock again.
âOne moment!â Suguru yells from the hollow of their tiny apartment, and drags a hand over his face. What time is it? What time did he fall asleep? What day is it and does he have class tomorrow?
All he knows is that the sun was up, and now, itâs gone. Swallowed by the moon and the stars and the space in between.
Knock, knock, knock!
Fuckâdid Satoru forget his key, or something?
âI said, one moment!â
Suguruâs voice goes tight with annoyance, building as he rips himself away from the warmed couch with hands on his knees. Loose hair shifts in front of his shoulders, bun destroyed by sleep and hair-tie MIA. He stumbles to the front door with loose limbs, sniffling sleep away, and just in time forâ
Knock, knockâ!
âWhat?â
Suguru will admit: his frustrations get the better of him and bleed through his voice, because God, is this an unseemly ass way to wake upâ
But, itâs not Satoru at the door. Itâs you.
Whichâweirdâbecause itâs you, hiking a duffle bag up your shoulder with a small bounce. Itâs the middle of the semester, you should be at college, but youâre in Tokyoâat his doorstep in Tokyo. Heâs not even sure youâre actually here, so used to seeing you through a phone screen that you look surreal, like a celebrity heâs only perceived through LCDâs, like if he reaches out, youâll disappear. His mind questions your presence again, again, and again, until youâre confusing in concept. Suguru probably has a really stupid look on his face.
âYouâŚ?â
âHello, Big Shugââ
Your mythical essence falters, and youâre human again, an existing, graspable concept once more. Suguru sighs, cupping the upper half of his face in a hand. âPlease donât call me that.â
ââwould you, perhaps, have a couch that I could crash on, perhaps?â
Suguru rests his shoulder against the doorway, still waking up. âWhy do you keep saying perhaps?â
âBecause, perhaps,â you twist your lips, sway on your toes. âI moved in with my boyfriend like you told me not to, perhaps, and it went to shit just as you predicted, perhapsââ
âOkay,â Suguru huffs, rushing an open hand forward to get you to quit it, âstop saying perhaps.â
And, of course, you left that part of your college career out any time he called but, why you came here (a hop, skip, really expensive plane ticket, and a jump) instead of bunking with one of your friends is beyond him. If you didnât want to tell him in the first place, why tell him at all?
Ouch. That kind of hurts.
But, Suguru canât get mad about it. Not when he has a slight problem of hiding things from you too, and you always find out from a mouth that isnât his own, butâthatâs also different. Thatâs so different, actuallyâheâs not mad. JustâŚbitter.
âOkay,â you nod vehemently, before your eyes drift to the hallway. ââŚPerhapsââ
âJustââ Suguru snatches the bag off your shoulder. He tries very, very hard to give you a stern look, the hardest of all tries, but a small smile slips when you giggle. God, he missed that sound. âGet inside, Idiot.â
âYes, Big Shugâ!â
âFucking stop it.â
Suguru waits until you get situated to start pressing. Waits until youâve showered, eaten, had the grand tour of his tiny college apartment and got comfortable with a grade 3 horror movie.
âSoâŚâ Suguru wishes the word in his mouth, looking at you curled up on the couchâhis couch. The movie dyes the room a florescent blue, then red, and you jump, shoving your face into the pillow clutched tight to your chest.
âI hate this so much,â you grumble, and Suguru pokes you on the shoulder, taking it as an excuse to keep his arm resting on the back of the couch.
âWant me to pause it?â He asks, head lolling right to find your face. You huff again.
ââŚNo.â
âWanna talk about it?â
âDefinitely not.â
Suguru sighs, removing his arm from the couch to pinch at your toes. You kick them away. âCâmon, why not?â
âBecause,â you sigh, rolling until your back lays against the head rest. You keep your legs stiff and bent. âItâs stupidââ
âItâs notââ
âIâm stupid.â
âNo, youâre notââ
âSuguru,â the grip on the stolen cushion tightens, and your chest rattles under the weight of a shuddering exhale, eyebrows melting into something entreating. âI donât want to talk about it. Please.â
Suguru never liked the guy in the first placeâhis own personal feelings aside. Itâs justâŚhe was so not your type, completely below your league, an-andâ
âOkay,â Suguru nods, leaving your feet alone to rub your shin. âOkay. What do you wanna do then? Mario Kart?â
You snort and shake your head. âItâs not fun to play a game you canât win.â
Suguru smiles. Maybeâbut he plays them anyways.
âMmmâŚâ he hums, tapping his bottom lip. âWe canât pierce my earsâŚâ
âNo. But,â you giggle, and drop your legs to cross them as you lean forward, pillow squishing under your forearms, âwe could pierce mine.â
It took some convincing.
âOh! Do we need an apple? What do they do that in? Parent trap?â You blabber from your position on his floor, with crossed legs and an arm propped on the couch. Semi-symmetrical dots are drawn on your earlobes by a thin sharpie. Suguru rests on his heels with a sewing needle in hand, already cleaned and sterilized.
This is such a bad idea.
(It was a bad idea at fourteen, too, but he was fourteen. Now, heâs twenty-one and knows that this is such a bad idea.)
âStopâmoving your head,â Suguru grunts, using his needle-less hand to get a good grip on your crown and still it. âAnd, no. Itâs just slippery that way.â
You take a melting crescent ice from the bowl and rub the flat side against your ear, even though he keeps telling you itâs not going to help.
âOh, okay,â you nod, and Suguru sighs.
âIâm not going to pierce your ears if you keep moving.â
âRight! Right.â
You relinquish your ice and give him the right side of your face. With a slow exhale, Suguru scoots closerâdamn, his knees hurtâand cradles your ear. He takes a big breath.
âReady?â
You stifle a nod.
âYep.â
With that, Suguru pushes the needle with moderate strength. You hiss, squeezing your eyes shut and digging fingernails into his arm, and. Well. In a different contextâ
âOw, ow, ow, owâSuguru, it hurts.â
âI know,â Suguru hushes, because he knows it does, but heâs already halfway there. He just hopes his coo comes soothing and not as stilted as he feels, because one (1), he hates seeing you in pain, but two (2), this is alsoâŚkind of hot?
Get a fucking grip, Suguru.
âAlmost there,â he huffs, and has to get up on his knees to make sure the needle isnât drifting. You whine through grit teeth after another series of âow,âs. âYouâre so goodâso good for me, just a little moreâŚâ
And then, right as he feels your skin part and make way for something solidâ
âHoney, Iâm home!â
The front door slams into the wall, doorknob deepening the divot already borne by his hyperactive roommate with impeccably horrid timing.
The grimace on your face turns sour as Suguru jolts back, fumbling with a pair of old earrings that soak in alcohol on the coffee table.
âWho the fuck is 'Honey?'â
âGod, who the hell turned all the lights on,â Satoru laments, flicking every single switch by the entrance off. Which is an egregious amount. The kitchen, the hallway, the living roomâall go dark in quick succession. âBright as fuck, for what.â
Suguru gives you an apologetic smile, threading the needle through and quickly replacing it with a stud. âMy roommate.â
You and Satoru havenât met yetâhe kept it that way, because he needed as much full control of the situation as possible. He had a plan. A Casual day, maybe a Thursday, meet for coffee in a neutral space, subtly point out the things you have in common. But now, control is out the window (it's dead, in the middle of the busy street right outside their apartment), and Suguru begins realize the gravity of his mistake as hair raises on the back of his neck. Itâs a primal warningâa cosmic cue that two galaxies are about to collide, and everyone should get the hell out of dodge.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuckâ
Satoru finds his hiding spot rather quick (not a hiding spot, because heâs not hidingâŚjust stalling) and a white head pops up over the back of the couch.
âSuguru!â Satoru hollers, but heâs right there, Suguru can hear him. âWhat did I say about sneaky links in the living room?â
Your eyes narrow at his roommate. Fuck. âSneaky links?â
âYou heard me,â Satoru says with raised eyebrows and all the elegance of an inbred royal house cat. He turns back to Suguru, whoâs quickly trying to figure out how to do damage control, because, thatâs not a conversation theyâve ever even hadâSuguru doesnât do âsneaky links.â âCouch is off. Limits.â
He pats the top cushion twice. Suguru rushes to defend himself so quick his tongue stumbles and trips. You redirect your glare to Suguru, and, yikes.
âSneaky links?!â
âIâno,â Suguru huffs a laugh, and itâs fragile, airy, defensive. He adjusts the weight on his knees so they ache a little better. âYouâSatoruââ
âWhat the fuck is this sex position, even,â Satoru waves two fingers in between the two of you with a limp wrist, âIâm trying to figure out where the dick goes, exactlyââ
Suguru take a deep breath. In, and out.
âSatoru,â he says with a polite smile, though he knows the twitch in his left eye gives him away. âThis is my friend from childhood, Y/N. Y/N, this is my roommate, Satoru.â
âAnd best friend,â Satoru adds like itâs important. Apparently, it isâyou bristle with one earring, standing to your feet with wobbly knees, too comfortable being bent.
âAwh, thatâs cute,â you coo, but itâs all too saccharine to be honest. âLook, Suguruâhe thinks heâs your best friend.â
Satoru puffs his chest at that. Resting a hand on the cushion and his weight on top, he beams.
âDefinitely am, Sweetheart.â
You hum, nodding. You look Satoru up and down, scrutinizing something that Suguru doesnât see. You pull Satoruâs sunglasses off his face, and he lets you, which is a feat in of itself. You click your tongue.
âYeahâŚI donât know who you are.â
Satoru huffs. His face goes bright red.
âOh, you fuckinââ
Satoru swipes for his glasses from behind the couch, and you jump back, snatching the pillow you cuddled earlier. âDonât youâSuguru, Suguru, he tried to hit me!â
âI did not,â Satoru tries again, but you shove the cushion in his face like a shield, and tuck the delicate item behind your back. Itâs muffled, but Suguru can make out the, âSâguru! Tell âer to giâfâem back!â
Suguru sighs.
âŚThis is going to be a thing now, isn't it?
Dangerous.
âStop staring at me.â
âSuguru, youâre in the boothâwhere else are we supposed to look?â
âI donât know. The wall?â
âIf youâre going to sing for a screaming crowd, youâre gonna have to sing in front of your bandmates.â
âThatâsâŚdifferent.â
âMm. Just like is different to tell your best friend you can singââ
âY/Nââ
âUm, excuse me, Iâm his best friendââ
âSuck my clit, Satoruââ
âNo, I get itâitâs easier to perform to a sea of faces than just one person.â
âThank you, ChĹsĹ.â
Too blessed to be caught ungrateful, I knowâ
ChĹsĹâs too sweet.
Like, makes-Suguru-heart-hurt sweet.
âSuguru?â
Suguru wakes to the softest voice and the yellow light of the hallway. A shadow hovers in his doorway, clutching something square and soft under its arm. At first, Suguru thinks heâs about to die, probably by the hands of some vengeful spirit, but the shadow shifts, and light cuts across pale cheekbones. Anytime ChĹsĹ has his hair down, he looks like a stranger.
That doesnât keep Suguru from sitting up stiff straight, hair matted on one side and shirt wrinkled from sleep. He clicks the phone on his nightstand, and it ignitesâ3 am. Christ.
âChĹsĹ?â He blinks, running a hand over his puffy face when the blink doesnât wake him enough. The shadow in his doorway cowers.
âUmâsorry, I was just trying to check if you were awake.â
His words have a laugh behind them, sounding nervous instead of elated, whichâŚis fair. ChĹsĹâs been dodging him for the past month, and Suguru doesnât blame him. (Well, not dodging, ChĹsĹ doesnât dodge, just likeâŚpurposeful avoidance?)
âYouâre good,â Suguru barely sounds like himself, still trying to get a proper grip on reality. He shifts weight off his arms to sit up against the headboard, hands folding in his lap. âSorry. I know Iâm kind of scary when I wake up.â
I know Iâm kind of scary to you.
âItâs okay,â ChĹsĹ shakes his head, and his hair flutters, âMost people jolt like that. Itâs normal.â
Itâs nice, itâs sweet, and it makes Suguruâs heart hurt.
And, Suguruâs apologizedâChĹsĹ knows he did, again and again and again, with words and purchases and gestures until the most patient person in the world was visibly annoyed. But, it doesnât feel like heâs apologized, not enough. Will it ever feel like enough?
âSo, uh,â Suguru pulls at a tangle when he canât run a hand all the way through his hair. âWhatâs up?â
âNothing,â ChĹsĹ shakes his head again. âI was just seeing if you were awake, sâall.â
AndâSuguru knows what he wants. Itâs what he always wants in the middle of the night, but likeâ
Is it wrong for Suguru to give it to him?
Suguru figures if heâs asking, then no, butâwhat if ChĹsĹ came to him because he felt like he had no other option, not because he wants to. Suguru doesnât really understand why ChĹsĹ would even consider letting him touch him, let alone cuddle in Suguruâs bed when he canât sleep without a warm body.
âSuguru?â
And, hereâs the danceâChĹsĹâs likeâŚa vampire. (Hear him out.) So, he comes to Suguruâs door, acting nothing of itâeven when they both know ChĹsĹ would go to bed at eleven every night if he couldâand Suguru is supposed to invite him in, so he doesnât feel like a disturbance in a space that shouldnât be his. Suguru knows the steps, knows them like the back of his hand, butâŚdoes he do them? Does he dance?
Itâs not like ChĹsĹ isnât in his right mind, or anything. But, Suguru hasnât forgiven himself yet, and he doesnât understand how ChĹsĹ can.
When ChĹsĹ crosses the threshold on his own, Suguru is a little proud.
âAre youâum, are you sure?â Suguru flinches. ChĹsĹ, also, most definitely isnât fragile, heâs a drummerâbut Suguru wants to treat him that way, the way he deserves, and delicate things rarely survive rough hands. âIâm sure Y/N would let you sleep in her bed, if you asked. Satoru would be a dick about it, but heâd definitely let you, too.â
ChĹsĹ makes him feel small. AndâAnd weird, and teenagery, anâ
âI mean,â ChĹsĹ stills, and the pillow he carries bends under his arm. âI understandâI get it if you donât want to, butââ
âOh! Noâno, I want to, I justââ
ââyou donât have to feel like, obligated, or anythingââ
âNo, swear I donât, itâs just,â Suguru wavers, swallows, and the hands in his lap grip the duvet beneath to keep him steady. âI justâŚdonât get how you can trust meâŚafter that.â
He starts strong, maybe a little rushed, but ends the phrase quiet and sunken into himself.
âWell,â ChĹsĹ falters, not in apprehension, but in a deep contemplation. âYou apologized, so.â
âChĹsĹ,â the laugh Suguru lets out is thick, and bitter, and heâs not the one that needs comfort right now. He canât even look deeper into the room, just rolls his head until heâs looking at the wall closest to him and nothing else. âI hit you.â
âWell, you didnât hit meââ
Frustration at ChĹsĹâs kindness boils in Suguruâs chest and spills through grit teeth. He lets go of the duvet to gesticulate wildly.
âFuckingâput hands on you, pushed you, whatever.â
ChĹsĹ flinches when Suguruâs raises his voiceâand rightfully so.
âIâSorry,â Suguru sighs and rubs a wrist over his eye.
âYouâre fine,â ChĹsĹ shakes it off, like he does everything else, like a dog with a wet coat, âI guessâŚI knew you were having a hard month. A hard six months, honestlyââ
âThat doesnât excuseââ
âLet me finish,â ChĹsĹ huffs with a little frustration of his own, and Suguru likes the way it sounds. Get a grip. âPlease.â
Suguru swallows. Nods.
âYou are my friend,â ChĹsĹ says, like itâs an end-all and be-all, thatâs it, close the curtains and the case. âYouâpeople have bad nights, Suguru. Some more than others. Iâve known you forâŚwhat, six years? Seven? And, youâve never done that.â
ChĹsĹ steps closer, and Suguru pushes himself deeper into the hard wood of his headboard.
The issue isâhe has done that. That is the only way they knew something was wrong in the first place, because little Suguru had an outburst in kindergarten where he was swearing like a sailor, snatching toys and hitting the kids that would try to take them back. No one knew where he got that behavior from. Episodes, the doctors called them. His sweet and loving parents didnât know what to do when he understood the concept of suicide at age eight.
JustâŚdark and emo and depressed, with no apparent reason at all.
âIâŚI donât even think Iâve ever seen you drink that much,â ChĹsĹâs not pacing, but heâs wandering, and thatâs close enough. âAndâand you know what? Maybe itâs on me for not checking in when it was so obvious. Like, obviously, youâre a real human being with feelings and like, not some infallibleââ
âDonât blame yourself, ChĹsĹ,â Suguru says unsteady, shaking his head. At this rate, theyâre both going to end up in tears, which bodes horrendous for Satoru in the room next door. âThatâs notâI donâtââ
Thatâs not fair.
âIâm not blaming myself, Iâm justââ
âI should be able to handle these things on my own, notââ
âBut no, Suguru,â ChĹsĹ turns to him, pressing wobbly lips together before taking a deep breath, âYou should be able to rely on us, too.â
Suguru gulps past a tight throat.
âLike,â ChĹsĹ debates something, body wavering, before he sits on the bed and takes his hands in a quick move. âWe rely on you. So muchâwe justâŚwe want to be there for you. Too.â
Tears threaten the corners of his eyes, and they get what they want. Suguru inhales through his nose, resting his skull on the headboard and swallows for the fifth time tonight.
He doesnât come from a broken home. He has two parents with amazing jobs, born and raised in a comfortable middle class. He isnât severely traumatized by a source external to himself. And, thatâs scaryâwhat if, one day, despite the therapy and the medicine, he just fucking snaps and canât come back? What if, one day, heâ
âOkay?â
ChĹsĹ sniffles with expectant, watery eyesâones that command, even through the tears. Suguru glares him, but itâs half-hearted, and he nods nonetheless.
âOkay.â
âGood,â ChĹsĹ nods back. Then, his shoulders slump, âNow. UmâŚI canât sleep.â
Suguru lets out a wet laugh, tugging at the hands ChĹsĹ already cradles. The brunette goes tumbling into the sheets.
âYeah. Câmon.â
Emergence.
(Satoru screams. So, so good.
âIn these, days of daysââ
Suguru knew heâd sound good, because anything Suguru can do, Satoru can do better. The crowd screams along with himâa different scream, yes, but screams nonethelessâand Suguru has to remind himself to not get starstruck and miss his cue.
âI wish it all awayââ
Itâs nothing too loud, nothing too crazyâjust enough to hear him beneath the pain, and give Satoru the fail safe he insists on but never uses. He seems to enjoy it though, despite all his whining, and bickering, and tongue-sticking during practice. Satoru Gojo is a diva, yes, but a diva that can execute.
Even you look vaguely proud, Suguru realizes, as you two lock eyes behind Satoruâs bouncing body. You shrug, and mouth the words ânot bad,â and Suguru tries to stifle the pride behind his ribs when he responds: âRight?â)
âHoly shit, what isââ
âI justâI love this guy so much, manââ
âI love you, tooââ
âAre you guysâŚcrying?â
ââŚThis is weird.â
âYouâyour mind, itâs just so beautifulââ
âDudeâdude, stop, youâre gonna make me cream my jeans, but, emotionallyââ
âOh jeez, theyâre drunk, okayâout the bathtub, you two. Câmon!â
I thought I got better, but maybe, I didnât.
By the time the last few notes on Satoruâs keyboard ring, Suguru is breathless.
Well. He started breathlessâtheyâve gone through the majority of their set at this point, with only the extremely over-practiced, heavy hitters left, and then an encoreâbut that was like, nerves and shit. Now, his body is running high on adrenaline, heart thumping through his chest and into his wine colored guitar. He thinks heâs smiling, but heâs not quite sureâhe canât feel his face. Or his fingers, or his toes, or his whole body, for that matter.
No, heâs fucking floating.
Is this how Satoru feels every night?
He canât quite hear, eitherâbut he knows what it looks like to see a crowd cheer, jump up in down in an asynchronous rhythm that only he understands. He thinks thatâs what he sees.
Suguru doesnât know. He canât feel his toes.
âYeah, Oh my God, so hot, right?â
And, there goes Suguruâs highâpoof, gone, capeesh, chased into hiding by Satoru and his big fat mouth. The feeling in his toes return, and he remembers where he is.
âSatoru.â
âMm, yes Daddy, punish me,â Satoru whines into the mic with a smileâit bounces against stuffed bodies and high arena wallsâbecause he knows damn well Twitter is going to have a field day with this. Suguruâs dick twitches anyways, because itâs fucking evil, with an evil little mind of its own, anâ
âGet a grip, Satoru,â you laugh, eyebrows raised in partial disgust and amusement. Suguru canât help but agreeâGet a grip, Suguru.
âEw, I donât want to grip you,â Satoru sneers. The amusement on your face melts into pure-born disgust, and you cock your neck.
âI donât want you to grip me either, Loser.â
ChĹsĹâs sniffles into his own microphone. Suguru looks over his left shoulder, because he swears to God, if ChĹsĹ injured himself againâ
He lifts a limp wrist to rub at his eye, âThatâItâs just so beautiful.â
Suguruâs heart swells. Then sinks, as the audience fawns and he remembers where he is, again, and his face goes hot.
âOkay,â Suguru kills the stupidly dazed grin on his face and locks in, focusing on the mic and the crowd in front of him. âUmâŚnext song now. Song next, please.â
âAwh, heâs getting shy, guys,â Satoru coos, and Suguru sends him a nasty glare that corrects his posture. With a curled lip and a curdled mood, he grunts, âFine, next song.â
Then, Satoru turns to the audience and flashes a blinding smile that has girls fake-fainting in the front row. He moves away from the double keyboard with too many buttons, in favor of taking the guitar and the empty mic a little more center stage.
âAnyone feeling kinda hot? âCause I am!â
The crowd roars.
You groan. âThis song haunts my nightmares.â
Satoru just snorts as his fingers mindlessly dance along the fret to the new songâa new riff. And, Suguru can finally exhale, moving on from the harrowing emotional journey. Heâs happy he did it, happy he sangâand now, heâs happy to move on.
âMy girlfriendâs bitchinâ âcause I always sleep inââ
Š mamashima/pumaya. do not edit, translate or copy my work without my permission. do not use for ai. MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI.
I rlly try to keep this account pornish and writing and Blah blah But my true account genre is tmi. 4Give me for deceiving 4K of U, it prob will happen again ngl
If I post a thirst trap On my story will the bitch I got blocked (and wonât see the story anyway) want me back? Yes or no?
heh hey lovely rolls in with so much rizz I blow everything away
Clinging tightly 2 a pole so the wind doesnât take Me w it too, hai viola

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mdni. fwb! Satoru âcomfortingâ you after exbf! geto dumped you. based off âwhose pussy is this?â tweet. snot/uglycryinf.
âWow. The guy actually went through with it,â Gojo Satoru has slithered his way back into your sheets, using your freshly broken heart as an excuse. âGotta hand it to him, honestly. Mustâve taken a lot of willpower to walk away from a pussy this pretty.â For a guy offering condolences, he sounds entirely too amused.
You bury your face into the pillow in front of you, letting out a muffled, irritated huff. Your body, however, isn't cooperating with your attitude. Your hips arch up, tilting instinctively to give him a clear, unyielding view of your swollen cunt, shiny slick already leaking slow down the insides of your thighs.
âIs that your version of comforting me?â you force out, the bite in tone falling flat when your breath hitches.
âDonât know, let's see,â he murmurs, leaning his weight over you ân pressing the flushed head of his dick right in between your sticky folds, dragging it slow to lubricate his dick. âIs it working?â
âYouâre so annoying,â you mutter into the fabric of the pillow. Thereâs no point in fighting him on it; heâs always going to find a way to make it a joke. âJust do the only thing youâre actually good for ân fuck me already.â
âOuch. Harsh,â he drawls. The mock hurt in his voice is so thick you can practically hear him rolling his eyes. He doesn't sound remotely offendedâif anything, your attitude just has his cock oozing beads of shiny pre. He digs his fingers a little deeper into your hip, âAnd here I thought I was a great listener.â
âCome on. You gonna put it in, or do I need to find another guy, âtoru?â It sounds desperate, whorish almost, but you donât care. Sex is the only thing loud enough to drown out the noise in your head right now. Besides, your hole is already twitching, clenching around empty air in anticipation.
You glance back over your shoulder. Heâs grinning, bright blue eyes narrowed down at you with smug satisfaction.
âCourse I will,â he shrugs, âright after you tell me what I want to hear.â To prove his point, he shoves forward, cramming the broad head of his cock right against your opening, stretching the wet skin but refusing to sink in. The heat of him cooking you from the inside out.
âWhat?â you breathe, trying to keep the whine out of your voice.
âWhose pussy is this? Itâs mine, right?â Itâs a stupid question. Satoru trying to provoke a barbed reply so you can both pretend this is nothing but a casual hookup. Or maybe heâs guarding his ego, knowing heâs the rebound after his best friend.
Regardless of the intention behind the question, a wet hiccup hitches in your throat. The sudden rush of memoriesâof the man your body actually belonged toâcompletely shatters whatever fragile hold you had left.
You collapse into the mattress and a loud sob rips out of your throat. The tears aren't pretty, theyâre hot and blinding, turning the bedroom into a smeared blur. Within seconds, your nose is blocked, a thin string of snot bubbling out as you shake with rattling gasps.
Satoru freezes, blinking down at your weeping form. The smugness vanishes from his face, replaced by genuine shock. His eyes are wide, useless against the unglamorous horror of a mental breakdown mid-sex.
Then, the dickhead has the audacity to laugh. A loud bark of a chuckle that vibrates against your bare shoulder.
âOh my god,â he wheezes, dropping his forehead into the crook of your neck while his dick still presses against your entrance. âOh my god. Youâre literally leaking from every hole right now.â
âShut up,â you choke out, your voice thick and ruined by mucus. âWhy would youâwhy would you even say that right now? Why even bring him up?â
You try to kick him off, but your leg just bumps uselessly against his firm thigh. Your struggle makes him shift, accidentally squishing a little further into your entrance.
âShit, Iâm sorry,â he giggles, voice dripping with playful affection. He doesn't pull back. Instead, he shifts his weight forward, pinning you down with a grind that coaxes a whimper out of you. He reaches around, large hand cupping your jaw, thumb digging into your round cheek to force your face around toward him.
âLook at me. Come on,â he murmurs. âLet me see the waterworks.â
You blink through the sticky blur of tears and bright blue eyes crinkle at the corners with amusement. He thinks your misery is funny.
âWas it really that bad?â he asks, thumb wiping a smear of wetness from under your eye, though he carefully avoids the snot situation happening near your mouth. âWhich was worse? The breakup or my dirty talk? Be honest.â
âYouâre an idiot,â you wail, another hiccup rocking your chest. The grief is heavy in your stomach. A lingering ache for the one who walked out, but Satoru is too loud, too impish to let the grief drown you completely.
âYeah, yeah, Iâm an idiot,â he murmurs, tone softening, though the grin never fully leaves his face. He leans down, pressing his nose against your wet cheek as his hips start moving againâa slow push into your warm cunt that has your hands gripping the sheets. âBut Iâm your idiot, arenât I?â
He kisses you then, a collision of lips. Youâre crying into his mouth, nose congested and making a whistling sound every time you try to breathe, but he doesn't care at all. He grips your hips tighter, burying himself deep inside your walls with a satisfied grunt.
âLet it all out, baby,â his lips move against yours as he speaks between shallow breaths, âStill the prettiest thing Iâve seen, even when youâre ugly crying like this, yâknow? Suguruâs gonna regret walking away, give him a couple days.â
+ I donât have a snot fetish or anything of that sort, itâs descriptive cuz I thot it was funny soz :/
Y is no one talking abt my unrelated funnyness
mdni. fwb! Satoru âcomfortingâ you after exbf! geto dumped you. based off âwhose pussy is this?â tweet. snot/uglycryinf.
âWow. The guy actually went through with it,â Gojo Satoru has slithered his way back into your sheets, using your freshly broken heart as an excuse. âGotta hand it to him, honestly. Mustâve taken a lot of willpower to walk away from a pussy this pretty.â For a guy offering condolences, he sounds entirely too amused.
You bury your face into the pillow in front of you, letting out a muffled, irritated huff. Your body, however, isn't cooperating with your attitude. Your hips arch up, tilting instinctively to give him a clear, unyielding view of your swollen cunt, shiny slick already leaking slow down the insides of your thighs.
âIs that your version of comforting me?â you force out, the bite in tone falling flat when your breath hitches.
âDonât know, let's see,â he murmurs, leaning his weight over you ân pressing the flushed head of his dick right in between your sticky folds, dragging it slow to lubricate his dick. âIs it working?â
âYouâre so annoying,â you mutter into the fabric of the pillow. Thereâs no point in fighting him on it; heâs always going to find a way to make it a joke. âJust do the only thing youâre actually good for ân fuck me already.â
âOuch. Harsh,â he drawls. The mock hurt in his voice is so thick you can practically hear him rolling his eyes. He doesn't sound remotely offendedâif anything, your attitude just has his cock oozing beads of shiny pre. He digs his fingers a little deeper into your hip, âAnd here I thought I was a great listener.â
âCome on. You gonna put it in, or do I need to find another guy, âtoru?â It sounds desperate, whorish almost, but you donât care. Sex is the only thing loud enough to drown out the noise in your head right now. Besides, your hole is already twitching, clenching around empty air in anticipation.
You glance back over your shoulder. Heâs grinning, bright blue eyes narrowed down at you with smug satisfaction.
âCourse I will,â he shrugs, âright after you tell me what I want to hear.â To prove his point, he shoves forward, cramming the broad head of his cock right against your opening, stretching the wet skin but refusing to sink in. The heat of him cooking you from the inside out.
âWhat?â you breathe, trying to keep the whine out of your voice.
âWhose pussy is this? Itâs mine, right?â Itâs a stupid question. Satoru trying to provoke a barbed reply so you can both pretend this is nothing but a casual hookup. Or maybe heâs guarding his ego, knowing heâs the rebound after his best friend.
Regardless of the intention behind the question, a wet hiccup hitches in your throat. The sudden rush of memoriesâof the man your body actually belonged toâcompletely shatters whatever fragile hold you had left.
You collapse into the mattress and a loud sob rips out of your throat. The tears aren't pretty, theyâre hot and blinding, turning the bedroom into a smeared blur. Within seconds, your nose is blocked, a thin string of snot bubbling out as you shake with rattling gasps.
Satoru freezes, blinking down at your weeping form. The smugness vanishes from his face, replaced by genuine shock. His eyes are wide, useless against the unglamorous horror of a mental breakdown mid-sex.
Then, the dickhead has the audacity to laugh. A loud bark of a chuckle that vibrates against your bare shoulder.
âOh my god,â he wheezes, dropping his forehead into the crook of your neck while his dick still presses against your entrance. âOh my god. Youâre literally leaking from every hole right now.â
âShut up,â you choke out, your voice thick and ruined by mucus. âWhy would youâwhy would you even say that right now? Why even bring him up?â
You try to kick him off, but your leg just bumps uselessly against his firm thigh. Your struggle makes him shift, accidentally squishing a little further into your entrance.
âShit, Iâm sorry,â he giggles, voice dripping with playful affection. He doesn't pull back. Instead, he shifts his weight forward, pinning you down with a grind that coaxes a whimper out of you. He reaches around, large hand cupping your jaw, thumb digging into your round cheek to force your face around toward him.
âLook at me. Come on,â he murmurs. âLet me see the waterworks.â
You blink through the sticky blur of tears and bright blue eyes crinkle at the corners with amusement. He thinks your misery is funny.
âWas it really that bad?â he asks, thumb wiping a smear of wetness from under your eye, though he carefully avoids the snot situation happening near your mouth. âWhich was worse? The breakup or my dirty talk? Be honest.â
âYouâre an idiot,â you wail, another hiccup rocking your chest. The grief is heavy in your stomach. A lingering ache for the one who walked out, but Satoru is too loud, too impish to let the grief drown you completely.
âYeah, yeah, Iâm an idiot,â he murmurs, tone softening, though the grin never fully leaves his face. He leans down, pressing his nose against your wet cheek as his hips start moving againâa slow push into your warm cunt that has your hands gripping the sheets. âBut Iâm your idiot, arenât I?â
He kisses you then, a collision of lips. Youâre crying into his mouth, nose congested and making a whistling sound every time you try to breathe, but he doesn't care at all. He grips your hips tighter, burying himself deep inside your walls with a satisfied grunt.
âLet it all out, baby,â his lips move against yours as he speaks between shallow breaths, âStill the prettiest thing Iâve seen, even when youâre ugly crying like this, yâknow? Suguruâs gonna regret walking away, give him a couple days.â
+ I donât have a snot fetish or anything of that sort, itâs descriptive cuz I thot it was funny soz :/