#cheerleader!reader

genre/warnings: aged up to seniors in hs, cheerleader!harrington!reader, hurt/comfort, no smut, established secret relationship

desc: After hurting his secret girlfriends feelings, Mike wheeler has to do something grand to win her back

w/c: 2.9k

a/n: hi guysss lowkey this is so short and kinda crappy im soz i just wanted to get something short n sweet out there bcuz i have a really long fic idea that might drain me a bit umm she isn’t proof read honestly writing this felt so cliche but in a good way idk lmk if u like it pls dont lmk if you hate it

Mike Wheeler hated basketball games. He hated all the noise, the jocks, the way that everyone fantasized over all the cheerleaders. It was high school conformity at its peak. 

There was one thing he did like, though. 

Mike had been dating the cheer captain, Y/n Harrington, since the summer before the end of their senior year. Now, it was April, at the rally right before the big playoff game. Mike didn’t understand all the hype, but Lucas had spent the past week training 25/7 for this game. 

Y/n had always been popular, a people's princess just like her older brother. The party, if they were being totally honest, were always too scared to try and talk to her; and Steve had always made it very clear that they were not to fuck with her. Mike had always thought she was pretty, he would blush when he saw her in the hallways. But she was way out of his league; Mike couldn’t stand a chance. Despite always going to the same school, they first met during the summer on a day where he went to Steve’s house with Dustin to drop off something. 

Face to face, she was so much prettier than Mike remembered from afar. She had the sweetest smile Mike had ever seen. “Mike! Dustin!” she said when she opened the door “how can I help you guys?” 

Mike’s jaw practically dropped at her knowing his name. Dustin, sure–that was Steve’s best friend–but Mike? The prettiest girl he had ever seen, Hawkins star cheerleader, Y/n Harrington knew his name. 

Dustin had to do all the talking, explaining to Y/n that they were just returning a can of hairspray that Dustin had borrowed from Steve for a date. They stayed at her door for a while, having small talk about their summer plans and whatnot. Y/n asked them about Hellfire, which Mike had to embarrassingly confess he was the dungeon master of. 

“yeah-I mean, it’s like-it’s totally not a big deal” he stumbled “total nerd crap, y’know? We just sit around and roleplay..really lame” 

Y/n shook her head “I actually think it’s pretty cool. Looks really confusing but I’ve always wanted to play” 

“We can teach you” Mike offered “I can teach you, if you’d like” 

Y/n started showing up a lot more after that. Mike swore it was a coincidence, like he didn’t get information on where she would be from eavesdropping on Nancy’s calls with Steve. They ran into her and her friends at the arcade a couple times, they had bumped into her at the pool; Mike eventually worked up the courage to invite her to go swimming with them at Lover’s Lake. She quickly assimilated into their friend group. Mike was kind of surprised by it–little miss popular fitting in with all the freaks and outcasts. 

Her and Mike would hang out alone, too. He taught her all about Dungeons and Dragons, showed her all of the last campaigns. They would sit alone in his basement for hours, just talking back and forth. 

Y/n was the one who made the first move. Mike had taken her home on his bike after a movie night with everyone in his basement. Right outside her front door, Y/n grabbed Mike’s face and kissed him. It was a small peck, she pulled away and looked at him nervously. 

“Sorry” she whispered “I shouldn’t have-” 

Mike shook his head and pulled her in for another kiss, a longer one this time. 

They made things official about two weeks after their first kiss. Mike knew it had to be a secret, no one could know about them. He thought of Steve, who would beat him up–but he also thought of all the popular kids in school, the ones that loved Y/n and hated Mike. They would never let her live it down if they knew about them, she would lose her status, her friends, maybe even her position as cheer captain. 

They kept it a secret for months. They acted normal around friends, around family, they treated each other as friends. Nothing more, nothing less. Mike liked sneaking around, if he were being honest. It was sort of thrilling; all the kissing in the backs of movie theaters, the secret picnics and late night walks. He liked sneaking around in school even more. They would make out in janitor's closets, right before games or DnD campaigns, in the woods during lunch. 

Everything was a perfect, secret bliss. 

That was until a week ago, when Mike was forced to tell his best friends about her. Mike still swears the fight wasn’t his fault. 

They were sitting alone in Mike’s basement, cuddled together on the couch watching a movie. Y/n had her head resting on his chest, her arms wrapped around his torso. One of Mike’s hands was playing with her hair, the other resting on her legs that laid on his lap. 

“Mikey?” she whispered. It was late, both of them half asleep and barely paying attention to the movie. 

“Yeah, Y/n?” 

“I think,I think I wanna tell everyone…about us, I mean” 

Mike’s body froze. “What?” 

She lifted her head to look at Mike’s face, a nervous smile on her lips “I mean, we’ve been together for like, eight months already” 

Seven months and 23 days–not that he was counting. 

“Don’t you think people should know already?” 

Mike didn’t know what to say. She was too sweet for her own good, too sweet to realize that publicly dating Mike would be her downfall. “I dunno, Y/n” 

Y/n swallowed. He could see the disappointment and fear pooling in her eyes. “Why not?” she asked “I mean, doesn’t have to be everyone. We could just tell the party?”

Mike shook his head “If we tell them then Dustin will tell Steve, Will will tell Jonathan, Lucas will tell Erica. The whole town would know within a week.”

“Is that really so bad, though?”

Mike held his breath. He couldn’t say yes, that would be rude. He couldn’t say no, that would be a lie. 

“I know we don’t-we don't say it” Y/n continued “but, but I love you, Mike. I wanna love you outside of the confines of this basement. I wanna love you in front of our friends and at school” 

She was staring up at him with wide eyes. Mike’s hard was racing, his mind lost. That was the first time she had ever told him she loved him; and Mike wanted to say it back with all his heart. It danced on the tip of his tongue, the words I love you, Y/n begging to escape. But he couldn’t, he never could. Mike didn’t know why, he knew that he loved her. He knew that she loved him. He knew, logically, nothing bad could happen from saying it to her. He just couldn’t. 

“We can’t” was all he could say as a response. 

Y/n’s eyes flooded with tears so fast. She pulled herself away from Mike. “Wow,” she muttered “real sweet, Mike” 

Mike sighed “I didn’t mean-” 

She stood up off the couch “No, no I get it…I tell you I love you and you just tell me we can’t? Really? Do you…do you not love me” Her voice cracked at the end of her sentence, tears threatening to spill out. 

Why did she have to ask that? Was it not obvious in the way he kissed her, the way he held her? “People can’t know, Y/n” He knew it wasn’t the right thing to say, but he couldn’t get any other words out. 

“I should go,” Y/n muttered “I don’t-I dunno, Mike. Maybe we shouldn’t be doing this, not if you don't, you don’t-” 

Mike stood up to follow her as she walked to his door. “C’mon, Y/n, don’t say that. You know that’s not true” 

“So then say it. If it’s not true then say it, tell me you love me”

There was a pause, a quiet moment that went on for way too long. Mike could only stare at her in silence. 

Y/n scoffed and shook her head, muttering “I can’t do this,” before rushing out the door. 

That was the last time Mike talked to her. She had ignored him for the entire week. Everyone had started getting suspicious when she walked into first period all teary eyed. And when she stopped sitting with them during lunch and went back to join the cheerleaders, they all definitely knew something was up. 

Mike didn’t know what to do. By Wednesday his body was filled with dread and guilt. He wanted to make things better, he needed to. That was why he told all his friends. 

He sat Lucas, Will, Dustin, Max, and El down–told them the entire story all the way from the beginning, starting at that day he and Dustin first met her. He told them about their fight, about how Y/n wanted to go public, about how she loved him and he couldn’t bring himself to say it back. 

At the end of his story, Lucas was smirking. Dustin and Will let out a groan and reached into their pockets to grab their wallets. They both pulled out a five dollar bill and handed it to Lucas. 

“Knew it!” Lucas said in a sing-song voice. “I told you guys, I called this months ago”

Mike's eyes were wide “What? How the hell did you know?” 

Lucas shrugged “Dave from basketball asked her out. Y'know, that hot guy that any girl at Hawkins would die to go out with? Yeah, he told me she rejected him because she was busy studying with you, Wheeler”

Mike groaned, hiding his face in his hands. “Does everyone know?”

“Only us,” Dustin said “we were just betting on it” 

Will nodded “Yeah, me and Dustin thought she was too cool for you”

Mike shook his head back and forth aggressively. He looked up at his friends, face full of despair “What do I do? I’ve totally gone and fucked everything up! She’ll never forgive me” 

“You need something big,” Max told him, “a big grand gesture to win her back, to prove to her that you love her.”

El nodded “Yes! Something grand to make up for your stupidity” The girls laughed to themselves. 

Mike groaned. His hands grabbed his hair and tugged at it, as if the pain would bring him new ideas. “I can’t think of anything” he muttered 

Dustin clicked his tongue with disappointment “C’mon, man. I think the solutions pretty obvious” 

Lucas was smirking “How do you feel about pompoms?” 

That was how Mike got where he was now, standing on the sidelines of this week's pep rally. Nerves soared through his entire body, sweat coating the microphone he held in his hand. He looked at the bleachers, watching all the students listen to the principal's speech about dominating the court and whatnot. The cheerleaders had just finished their set. Y/n did great, as always; when was she anything other than perfect? She was sitting on the bleachers with the rest of the cheerleaders drinking water and laughing. He watched as she looked behind her to scan the bleachers. Her smile faltered when she skimmed past Hellfire's usual spot and saw none of them there. 

Mike took a deep breath. He looked across the gym to Dustin, who was giving the DJ ten bucks to leave his stand and let Dustin take over. Over the loud speakers, cutting off Principal Higgin’s speech, was Dustin’s voice. 

“Thank you, Higgins, for the lovely and redundant speech” There was a scattered laughter at Dustin's comment “We’d like to introduce a special friend to the stage…everyone please clap it up for Mike Wheeler!” 

Dustin played a blowhorn sound and some victory music as Mike walked to the center of the gym. There were a few people who clapped along, but most people just stared with confusion. He locked eyes with Y/n, who was staring with furrowed eyebrows. Mike planted his feet and cleared his throat into Mike. 

“Hey guys,” he said. His voice was shaky and his breath was weak. “Well-um, the reason I’m here is…theres this special someone, someone who deserves the world. And-and I’ve been too stupid–or too scared, really–to give it to her. She’s so perfect; and you guys would agree that she deserves this and probably more. She’s funny, sweet, smart as hell…she’s everything I could ever dream of.” Behind him, Will, Lucas, Max, El, Dustin, Erica, and two other members of Hellfire  were standing facing the crowd with small posters. 

Mike stared at the crowd, an awkward silence briefly coming to the crowd. He coughed and nodded to himself, “right, yeah…” he set the mic down onto the floor next to his feet. Feedback screeched across the gym, causing everyone to cringe and cover their ears. Mike put his arms straight against his side, trying to mimic the posture he had seen Y/n practice so many times. 

“Give me an I!” He lifted his arms above his head to look like an I. Some of the crowd followed along, a tiny recall of an “I” returning his chant from the crowd. Will lifted his poster, revealing a letter I painted on it.

He moved his right hand to stick out horizontally on his side “Give me an L!” More of the crowd started to follow. His eyes fell on Y/n. Her expression was unreadable. Lucas raised his poster as the crowd screamed back “L”, revealing another painted letter. 

Mike continued on with his chant, calling out every letter without taking his eyes off Y/n. I-L-O-V-E, by then, realization dawned on her face. She bit her lip, a small smile spreading across her face. Mike was grinning like an idiot by the end of it. Y-O-U. By then, everyone was participating. Mike put his hands back to his sides “What does that spell?” 

A unanimous “I love you!” spread across the gym. Dustin ran back to the DJ booth to play some cheers, fireworks, and any other stupid preloaded sounds he could find. Mike waited for the noise to die down. There was a low muttering around the gym, whispers spreading wondering who this was for. Mike took a deep breath.

“I love you, Y/n” he said as confidently and as proudly as he could, “and I hope this shows you how sorry I am for not saying it sooner” 

Y/n had tears in her eyes and a smile on her face. There were sporadic claps and cheers from the crowd. She stood up, tripping over her and the team's water bottles and gym bags. She ran to Mike, putting her arms around his neck and jumping to wrap her legs around his waist. Mike's hands moved to wrap around her back, holding her up as they kissed. This was definitely not school appropriate, and they would both be getting into crazy trouble for this–but Mike didn’t care. All he could think about was Y/n in his arms, the feeling of her smile against his lips. 

A rough hand on his shoulder is what pulled Mike away from the kiss. He hadn’t realized all the commotion they caused. Some people were clapping, some people were yelling–some people had started to make out on their own. Principal Higgins was staring at Mike and Y/n with the angriest expression they both had ever seen. 

“Detention. Both of you. Tonight.” 

Y/n nodded, ever proper “yes sir, sorry sir”

“And you!” Higgins turned to point at Dustin, who was still playing with the controls on the DJ booth “You are on thin ice, Henderson! Do you hear me?” He walked up to Dustin, who tried to run and hide behind the bleachers. 

Mike turned his attention back to Y/n. He grabbed her hands and interlocked her fingers with his. “So, do you forgive me?” 

Y/n tilted her head to one side as if she had to think about it “I dunno, your Y was pretty sloppy” 

Mike scoffed “I had a horrible teacher! Seriously, Erica doesn’t know anything and I had to give her $50 bucks just to join us-”

Y/n cut him off with a quick kiss. “You’re an idiot” 

Mike hummed, pulling her in as he kissed her back. “I love you,” he said against her lips 

“I love you too, Wheeler” Y/n said almost immediately. 

Mike's hands wrapped around Y/n’s body, pulling her as close as he could. He thought of all the consequences to come. He could imagine Steve twisting a bat in his hands, getting ready to swing it at Mike's face once he found out. He thought of the endless teasing he would get from his friends, the insane debt he owed to Erica for her help. One thing he didn’t mind, though, was detention. Sure, usually it’s boring; you just sit around and stare at the ceiling or clean chalkboards. But something told Mike–maybe it was the way Y/n was kissing him–that tonight's detention wouldn’t be half bad. 

in which confusing hallways, disloyal class partners, exercise sheets, and hypothetical atoms all work towards forming some new, hardly scientific and entirely incomprehensible, kind of bond

tags: pre relationship / fluff ! high school au !! fem cheerleader reader !!! teeny tiny mention of a scar / wound; spencer reid is the loserest of all losers; reader is like really bad at chemistry and so am i, if u cant tell; i also should note i have never been in an american high school chemistry class before; The Hotchners mentioned and jemily propaganda if u squint; i swear initially this was gonna be a slow burn; gif by @/reidgif !!

w/c: 2.5k

a/n: how is it possible that every time i tried to lock in on this something insanely time and energy consuming happened to me irl. if i told u you wouldnt believe it i swear ANYWAY i wrote this thru the most stressful time of my life and edited while surrounded by children so ignore any errors and defects pobody's nerfect AS ALWAYS thanks to my lovely eliza 4 proofreading this <3

prev part | universe masterlist | meet the reader | next part

You give the door the quickest and quietest pair of knocks before opening it slow and hesitantly — the sound ricochets off the walls of your near empty head and you grow to mourn it as soon as Mr. Wilson's nasal monotone comes into your hearing instead.

Something, moles, something, atoms, something this, something that, is all you can understand from the lesson as you interrupt it with your head low and your breath long since lost somewhere between the way-too-many corridors you ran through in a futile attempt at getting to class on time. He (thankfully) stops talking as soon as you start walking into the classroom, but he's only quiet for a second and only to highlight the mean look he sends your way — your shoes are a sight much more interesting (or, at the very least, much less oppressive), you decide, so you keep your eyes down as you walk past his desk with a mumbled apology. “Sorry, sorry.”

He sighs. “I'll mark you tardy before you leave. Just go find a partner… or sit by yourself, I don't care.”

꒰ᐢ - ˕ - ᐢ꒱

nerd!art who gets teased alot, not straight up bullied but teased about his nerdiness. sometimes he gets name called, but that's really it.

nerd!art who gets shy with cheerleader!reader whenever she comes up to him asking him for help. with plump lips and cleavage hanging out of her uniform asking him for help in math.

cheerleader!reader who uses him for answers. giving a tiny kiss on the cheek each time he does her packet of homework.

nerd!art who gets hard at the sight of her red lipgloss getting stained on his cheek. he doesn't bother wiping it off, and when it comes to showering he is very reluctant on wiping it off.

nerd!art who is the envy of his friend group when they see the smudge of lipstick on his cheek. specially when you walk past them and give art a teasing wink? they all wish to be him.

cheerleader!reader subconsciously looks forward to seeing him, she tries to tell herself that its just for fun. but something about having a 6 foot, shy, submissive man squirm and blush at the sight of her gives her something to look forward to each day.

nerd!art and cheerleader!reader who get shipped without them realizing. their friends whisper among themselves about their relationship, but they are too busy in their own little bubble to pay attention.

nerd!art and cheerleader!reader who start warming up to eachother, going as far as art giving her private tutoring on math lessons.

𖠁 stuttering problem

𖠁 getting used academically

𖠁 studying

𖠁 janitors closet

𖠁 reward

𖠁 "keep talking"

𖠁 nipple play

𖠁 dominant art

↷ ⋯ ♡ᵎ What's My Name

FB!Rafe Cameron x Cheerleader!Fem!Reader [ more fb!rafe content ]

SYNOPSIS & WC─•❥ [0.8k] Frustrated by your unreliable co-captain and disorganized cheer team, you find yourself sharing your burdens with the university's football quarterback.

WARNING(S) & A/N─•❥ swearing, rafe's cocky & corny but it's acceptable because he's overwhelming hot

THE CO-ED LOCKER room smelled perpetually of old rubber mats, cheap disinfectant, and the faint, metallic odor of sweat. For nearly half an hour after your own practice had ended, you were the sole occupant, and the silence—usually a relief—was now just a suffocating echo of your overwhelming frustration.

That Boy is Mine

Summary: Going on a boba date with your beloved boyfriend.

Pairing: nerd!anakin x popular!reader

Warnings: people judging their relationship, a bit of jealous reader, anakin and reader being obsessed with one another

A/n: no cuz I was actually thinking about writing something like this!

Part 2

football!coach!rafe scolding cheer!readers coach

heated wind swam through the car’s open window, low music hummed like a quiet pulse throughout the vehicle. rafe had one hand controlling the wheel, the other tapping along it in a rhythm, relaxed. it was needed silence, the contentment of each other’s easy presence, just sitting next to one another as the lazy sun filtered through. 

everything should have felt good, yet there was a ticking underneath your skin. red-hot burns along your legs and arms, even your face had built up with heat. all day you’d been practicing in the humidity, hot sun stalking over you as your coach wouldn’t let up, her orders had more burn to them than the weather. 

however you sat in rafe’s car quiet, silently flinching with every particle of charged air that swirled past you, the hem of your skirt touching your skin like poison. until it became impossible to do so, his hand planted on the flesh of your thigh and you practically jumped out of your seat. a hissing sound released from your sewed lips, rafe pulled back immediately with eyes back and forth from the road to your pain-written face. 

“what the fuck” his tone was sharp, like it was defense and he had already been hurt from the way you pulled away “hey-hey what was that” rafe’s eyebrows creased harsh, hands gripping the wheel tighter. 

“nothing it just hurts, that’s all” you muttered, gaze lost out of the window. the air inside of the car built up to suffocating, an unspoken tension lingered louder than the radio which rafe had turned off abruptly. until the car came to a halt, pulled at the side of the road in a rush, suddenly his fingertips grasped your jaw, facing you towards him.

his eyes were investigating, hovering over every inch of you with an appetite for answers. “did i hurt you” he questioned, although you could barely catch it with how it was whispered like something in the dark, like he didn’t actually want to know. 

you quickly shook your head “i’m just sunburnt s’nothing, coach made us practice all day in the sun” your eyes latching onto both of his in reassurance, but you weren’t met with them. he searched all over your body, gaze running up your legs to the drying skin of your arms, his jaw automatically clenched as if he could feel it. 

“coach made you- why the fuck would she make you do that, you’re obviously hurting” his fingers held the bridge of his nose, his breathing became heavy, overtaking. “that’s not right, all your skin baby, it’s burned” he made an attempt to touch you but your darkened skin flashed as a warning. 

“can’t even touch you, god she shouldn’t just be allowed to do that- fucking wait til i talk to her” stress riled up him with each word, the idea of your coach forcing you to practice til the point of burning kept rotating through his mind over and over. leaning him too over the edge of bad decisions.

truthfully rafe had never really cared about this kind of thing, students needed to learn sometimes, rain, sun, storm. his players got no special treatment, blasted orders thrown at them and bruised knees with how many times they had to pick themselves back up. but the thought of somebody making you do that caused his stomach to churn, his anger racing through like a live-wire, hot.

“rafe it’s fine, you don’t need to-“ your palm gripped his shoulder, attempting to hold him still, unfortunately the fury in him was stronger. “no- no it’s not fine, ok- it’s not fine for you to be hurting like this” his head whipped around to you, your state was offering no help to the storm within him. “i’m gonna speak to her tomorrow alright, gonna get it through her head”

that’s what he planned to do, early morning and the balmy air was already training for the heatwave later on. rafe was on the field, prepping equipment while keeping an eye out for what he was really there for this early. his mind was on a loop, reminded of last night when he took you back to his house, the closeness you were to tears but held back- trying to be strong. 

you were strong. his girl. 

his hand held his cap, trying to keep grip of something. then he saw her, your cheer coach strutting along the grass like it was her own runway, somewhere she called orders. he could practically see the snarky grin on her face, the way she threw it at him so often like some unlucky charm. 

rafe made his way over, determination steering him in direction, the soft breeze wavering to him as if it wanted to untie him, push him to lash out. your coach began setting up the stereo, leaning over to the brim - flaunting her made up youth. as if on time she stood up, like she was alerted the second rafe stepped within a radius of her putrid perfume, rapidly overtaking his lungs. 

“coach cameron” she cooed, lips pulling up with ease, a flashy smile she thought was a gift. rafe felt the words rising up his throat, simmering off of his skin like it was just getting started. he just hummed unamused, nodding his head along with her words that he didn’t catch up to. “listen uh i actually wanted to speak to you” his tone a far reach for her to entertain.

“really, well what can i help with?” her voice laced with intrigue, no doubt admiring the football coach standing in front of her. “it’s about yesterday, you making the girls practice in a damn near heatwave” his teeth strained, gripping hard not to mention your name, but it was the one thing always on his tongue - always tasting like sugar

“yeah uh sorry what about it?” her expression quickly etched into confusion, arms crossed almost in defense. her lack of awareness blinded rafe even more to the rage coursing through his veins, to the ideas flashing through his mind. “what about it? uh maybe when it’s to the point of fucking burning them huh, what’s wrong with you” his fingers tapping his temple, words spewing out of him like bile. 

“now uh you know me, m’no snitch but uh i will take it higher if this carry’s on alright” rafe held his hands up mockingly, a winning smirk wide on his face. “but it’s better if you take it from me, right so i’m telling you not to do it again” he leaned in closer, his words louder with the heaviness of his presence. 

the woman just looked stunned, lips held tight like she was physically unable to muster out a word, no charm or act of confidence could resurface his bluntness. “good, good conversation” he grinned, full with please as he walked off. 

when he entered inside the building, he spotted you with a group of your teammates, finding you almost immediately. the sight of you was his reward, he nodded towards you in motioning. you got the hint, passing by your friends to round the hallway you saw him in. rafe scanned down your body, your skin looked better today after him coating your skin with aloe vera on repeat, refusing to let you breathe without him there.

“hey there pretty girl” his expression smug, accomplished with what he had done. there was an edge of suspicion to him today sharp, looked way too proud - you didn’t know if you wanted answers.

“hi rafe” you smiled up at him, still getting shy around him with his presence too easy to get tangled in. he took his hat off, placing it onto your head, smiling at the way your face was half-hidden

“want you to wear this today alright” 

READER INSERT. AU.

PAIRING: quarterback!toji x Cheerleader!Reader x Sukuna Ryomen (Poly/Rivalry), Reader x plug!Choso, Reader x mult. CAST: frat-president!gojo, frat!geto, prof!nanami, plug!choso, bestfriend!shoko, professor!nanami

You were the IT-girl Cheerleader, the perfect girl on Quarterback!Toji’s arm—until the Frat party turned the summer into sin and secrets. Toji and Sukuna put aside their rivalry to haul a plastic-wrapped secret to the old pier while Gojo and Geto scrubbed the blood from the floor. You all made a pact: the lake doesn't talk.Someone was watching from the shadows of the woods. And even worse—Professor!Nanami is starting to notice the change.

“Check your notifications, IT-girl. I’ve got the footage of the 'accident.' Now, tell me... what is a Zenin’s life worth to you?”

WARNINGS [18+] SMUT, violence, accidental death, body disposal, drug use (pills/blunts - DONT DO DRUGS BABES), possessive behavior, public claims, cheating (?) and angst

Chapter 1: THE SUMMAR INCIDENT

The sky is a bruised violet, bleeding into the last strobes of sunray electric orange. It doesn’t just set; it feels like it’s being dragged down by the weight of the heat of yet another summer night ahead.

The stadium lights hum with a violent, electric frequency—angry drums getting louder with every beat. The air is thick and warm, a cloying mixture of cheap beer and weed, freshly cut grass, and the metallic scent of sweat. There is ecstasy in the air.

The drums and college hymns grow louder and louder, your college overtuning the voices of the college from the next town, standing no chance to overpower the sound.

You’re standing on the sideline of the game, the sequins of your uniform catching the lights of the stadium like you're covered in Swarovski.

Your skin is slick, glowing, and healthy.

You aren’t cheering for the school. You’re cheering because the camera is on you, and you know exactly how to frame your own body against the violence of the game.

You don’t adjust the skin-tight cheerleading top as your breasts get pushed tighter while throwing your arms in the air, pom-poms cheering with the perfect rhythm of the sound.

You know exactly how many eyes are on you. Cheerleaders like you don’t just sell spirit. You sell the fantasy of what winning looks like.

Behind you, the game is at full power. Pads crash together so hard the sound rips through the stadium. It's not clean and it's not pretty.

There is too much testosterone and too much to prove in this last game before summer break. You turn at the perfect moment to spot your sweetheart. Toji is a god on that turf.

Broad shoulders, smudged with grass and dirt—sweaty and manly. It feels as if nothing in the world could knock him off balance. Your hips roll, and the little cheerleading skirt almost jumps up the well-defined curve of your ass. You feel electric.

Only a couple of meters from Toji stands Sukuna. He’s grinning behind his mouthguard. Not friendly. In the game, he is never friendly.

While the other players seem exhausted, he is still at full power, the violence of the game only edges him on more. They collide near the sideline—helmets cracking, bodies twisting, hands grabbing fabric where they shouldn’t.

Sweat drips down your lower leg, your skin hot in the late evening heat.

Next to you, all your girls are in perfect sync, enjoying themselves as much as you are. The red and black outfits and pom-poms make you look like priestesses.

You squat down, ruffling the pom-poms, Shoko close behind you, the hem of your skirt touching hers as your cheer group begins its next dance.

Sukuna takes a second look, for a moment distracted from the game—focused instead on the curve of your naked lower back falling into the curve of your ass.

Toji takes the ball and runs straight into hell. A linebacker slams into him low and hard—something Sukuna could have prevented if he wasn't gooning at you.

The crowd screams, angry voices booing the opposing player. Toji stumbles, recovers, and keeps moving like his body doesn't register damage the way other people do. The crowd explodes. Sukuna is already back in the game, high on testosterone, laughing behind his mouthguard. He loves what’s about to come—when the rules start to fray.

Sukuna charges in early, shoulder first, his helmet tilted just enough to make the player who just slammed into Toji feel instant pain. It’s too hard.

As Toji runs into the end zone, securing the definitive win for your college, the stadium goes feral. Some are already lighting bright red pyros. The referee storms onto the field, face red, veins popping on his neck.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he yells, pointing straight at Sukuna. “This isn’t a street fight!”

The player Sukuna slammed into lies on the floor, helmet off, half his face drowned in the blood of a surely broken nose. Sukuna spreads his arms slowly, mock-innocent. “What the fuck am I supposed to do? I tripped.”

As you and the other cheerleaders jump up and down, celebrating with the crowd, you watch as Sukuna pulls off his helmet, ruffling his hair as sweat drops fall into the dark.

He steams, fine lines of heat rising from him. He looks like the fucking devil come to life.

People throw cups, whistling. The other college is not happy with the dirty game. The referee turns on Toji next, who steps beside Sukuna. The referee stabs his finger into Toji’s chest plate.

“And YOU—fucking control your players! I told you in the half-break: stop fucking terrorizing the field!”

Toji’s helmet is off, falling next to Sukuna’s on the grass. Sweat drips down his jaw, his dark hair wet and sticking to his flushed cheeks. His eyes are dark. You can't hear what he says, but you know that almost evil grin of his. Whatever he says is enough that the ref’s jaw tightens. Suddenly, it almost seems like he’s intimidated by the two college men in front of him.

Both of them are steaming, loaded with the ecstasy of winning and testosterone. Their builds, plated with the heavy uniforms, make them look like Marvel movie gods with heaving chests.

“This is your final warning. Both of you. Or I will make sure none of you get on this field next year!”

Yeah, right, you think to yourself. That has to be the dozen-th final warning both of them have received. Each.

The ref backs away, still shouting, still furious. The medical team lays the knocked-out player on a bench, bringing him near the sideline and into the locker room. The crowd is chanting now—one half celebrating the win as the bass of "Gypsy" plays at full volume. The other half is chanting names and insults, promising revenge.

“Stop eyefucking your men and concentrate!” Shoko shouts at you. You laugh, pulling your gaze from Toji and Sukuna as they walk next to each other, laughing wickedly.

You lift the pom-poms again, slow and deliberate.

The humidity is so thick you can practically see it—a shimmering haze of heat and pheromones trapped under the stadium lights. The game is over, the field is a wreck of celebratory chaos, and the speakers are screaming. Heads Will Roll is now playing at full volume.

“Off with your head. Dance 'til you're dead.”

The anthem thumps so hard you feel it in your teeth. You’re standing on the sideline, confetti sticking to your damp skin, when your eyes drift toward the student section—the part of the stands where the air feels ten degrees hotter because the ego is so dense.

Gojo Satoru is standing on the bench, a god in a white jersey—open now—silhouetted against the indigo sky. He’s got one arm thrown toward the heavens like he’s leading a ritual, a red solo cup in his other hand splashing cheap beer onto the people below him. He’s grinning, his head thrown back, singing the lyrics at the top of his lungs, his voice lost in the roar of the music. In the strobing lights, he looks invincible—a king of the summer, high on his own adrenaline.

Next to him, Geto Suguru is the anchor to Gojo’s chaos. He’s leaning back against the railing, his head tilted back until his throat is a long, exposed line. He’s holding a joint with the casual grace of a man who knows not one of the security men will dare arrest him. He exhales a plume of smoke that glows neon-violet in the stadium lights, his eyes half-closed, tracking the movement of the stars or maybe just the vibration of the bass.

Then there’s Yuki. She’s standing on the other side of Gojo, her hair a messy, dark blonde halo caught in the wind. She’s wearing a tiny crop top that leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination, jumping in time with the beat. When you spot her, her face lights up with a jagged, reckless grin. She starts waving both arms frantically, her body moving with the rhythm of the drums—every jump sending her chest bouncing under the thin fabric of her top. She doesn't care who’s watching; she never does.

Gojo notices her waving and looks down, his blue eyes finally finding yours through the crowd. He tilts his cup toward you, his grin widening, mouthed lyrics still spilling from his lips: “Off, off, off with your head.” It’s the peak. The climax. Flags fly.

The players are now near the sideline, looking like they're returning from a war they enjoyed winning.

Toji and Sukuna are shoulder-to-shoulder, a terrifying wall of obsidian muscle and ego, their jerseys torn and stained with grass and sweat. The testosterone is a physical pressure, thick enough to choke on.

Sukuna is the first to lock eyes with you. He’s drenched, his hair matted to his forehead, the black ink of his tattoos dark against his flushed skin. He grabs a water bottle from a trainer, tilting his head back to drink, the muscles in his throat working with a rhythmic, primal hunger. He catches your gaze and winks, grinning—a slow, predatory twitch of his eye—before spitting a mouthful of water onto the turf like he just tasted blood.

Then there’s Toji. Your boyfriend doesn't just walk toward you; he claims the space.

He’s radiating a dry, aggressive heat. Before you can even breathe, he reaches out and hooks a hand around your naked waist, yanking you into his orbit with a force that knocks the wind out of you. His body is a furnace, his skin slick and smelling of adrenaline and sweat. He doesn't say a word. He just crashes his mouth onto yours in a kiss that isn't about affection—it’s about dominance. It’s messy, hot, and desperate. His hands slide down, gripping the back of your thighs before his palms find your ass, squeezing hard enough to make you squeak into his kiss, laughing. He gives it a sharp, echoing smack that makes a knot form in your lower belly—a public claim for everyone in the stands who watched you dancing.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and dilated. He doesn't let go; his fingers stay dug into your hips, anchoring you to the reality of his weight. He leans in one last time, his lips against the shell of your ear, his voice dropping to a gravelly, possessive vibrate.

“Keep that energy for later,” he growls, his breath hot against your damp skin. “Because before we go to the pool party, we need to celebrate with a fuck.”

He gives your waist one final, firm squeeze—a silent reminder of who you belong to—before he pivots. His face shifts instantly from that dark, private hunger back to the mask of the victorious Quarterback. With a jagged grin, he turns toward the college section, raising his arms and roaring with the crowd, clapping his massive hands together in a rhythm that sounds like thunder. Your heart is filled with happiness and ecstasy, nipples poking through the sweat-dampened cheer top, hard from the promise Toji gave you.

This night couldn't get any better.

In the chaos of the cheering, a shadow falls over you. Sukuna has moved closer, standing so near that his damp shoulder brushes yours. The crowd is screaming, but his voice is a low, intimate crawl beneath the noise. “The way you moved out there,” he says, his voice raspy, his eyes tracking the line of your throat down to your breasts, eyeing the print of your hardened nipples, “sexy as fuck. You were dancing for me, weren't you, IT-girl?”

He doesn't wait for an answer. He just laughs, that dry, hollow sound, and follows Toji into the swarm of bodies, leaving you standing there with your heart hammering against your ribs. Toji is already heading back to the locker room, a titan reclaimed by his teammates, but the heat where his hands just gripped you feels branded into your skin.

Shoko swaggers over, her brown hair a mess of sweat and glitter, her uniform top pulled dangerously low. She’s grinning, popping a piece of gum with a sharp crack.

“God, you two are so fucking performative,” Shoko laughs, throwing an arm around your neck and pulling you into a hug. Cheerleading leaves you both ecstatic every damn time. She smells like strawberry lip gloss and the menthol cigarette she definitely smoked as soon as the game ended. “The whole student section just got a front-row seat to your and Toji’s foreplay. I think the girl in the third row literally came. You guys would make numbers on PornHub, I’m telling you.”

“It’s just the adrenaline, Shoko,” you mutter, trying to smooth down your skirt, though your hands are trembling.

“Is it?” Shoko pulls back, her eyes sharp, tracking the way your gaze unconsciously flickers toward the locker room tunnel where Sukuna just disappeared. She leans in, her voice dropping into that low, gravelly tone. “Because Toji looks like he’s ready to kill someone, and Sukuna looks like he’s ready to die for a piece of your ass.” She edges closer, her hip bumping yours, her grin turning wicked. “I saw him, you know. Standing right there. He didn't just tell you the dance was sexy—he looked like he wanted to eat you right here and now. And Toji? He kissed you like he was marking territory before a war. I thought you two got into it before the game?”

“Stop it, behave yourself,” you say laughing, pinching her waist.

“I’m just saying, girl,” Shoko laughs, her fingers tracing the sequins on your shoulder. “We got a pool party ahead of us. Enough sex ahead. Leave a break for that poor referee.” She winks, blowing a bubble that pops against her lips. “Come on. Let’s get to the house. I need a shower and to get ready.”

The stadium lights flicker, losing the battle against the deepening violet of the night. The humidity has reached a breaking point, making everything feel heavy and wet.

As you and Shoko weave through the thrashing bodies of the victory celebration, ready to get your bags and go to the shared apartment on campus to get ready for the afterparty, two familiar figures detach themselves from the shadows of the bleachers.

Gojo Satoru is leading the way, his white jersey still unbuttoned, showing off his muscled chest, a red solo cup held aloft like a scepter. He’s already glowing with that specific, terrifying radiator-heat of someone who’s four drinks deep and feeling like a god. Next to him, Geto moves with a serpentine grace, his dark hair falling out of its bun, a lazy, lopsided grin playing on his lips. Trailing slightly behind them is Yuki, looking like a fever dream in a gold lamé bikini top and denim cut-offs. She’s already holding a beer in one hand and a half-eaten peach in the other, her eyes bright with a dangerous, drunken shimmer.

“There she is!” Gojo shouts, his voice booming over the anthem still blasting from the speakers. He reaches out, pulling you into a messy, one-armed hug that smells like expensive cologne and gin and tonic. He’s buzzing—literally vibrating with energy. “The star of the field. The girl who makes Toji fucking run like a bull.”

“Careful, Satoru,” Geto murmurs, stepping into your space. He leans down, his forehead almost touching yours, the smell of weed clinging to his clothes. He looks at you with a heavy-lidded, flirtatious intensity. “That performance out there...” he murmurs, his voice a low, velvet rasp. “Pure provocation. You looked like you were trying to see which one of them would snap first. You aren't exactly innocent; that linebacker from the opposing team almost lost his head.”

He pulls back just an inch, his eyes dropping to the pout you playfully made before flicking back up with a knowing, predatory softness. Gojo lets out a sharp, barking laugh. “God, Suguru, stop trying to stop her rizz and let’s get to the house! The ice is melting and the beer pong table isn't going to set itself up!”

Shoko grabs your hand, her grip sweaty and insistent. “Come on! I need a drink, shower, and to get ready—in that order!”

As you’re swept away by the group, your phone pulses with a new notification.

TOJI: “I’m in the third stall. Get back here before I come out and drag you in.”

Staring up at the stars that look like spilled diamonds, erotic energy hums in your blood—a low-frequency vibration that started on the sidelines and has now settled deep in your marrow. Your skin still feels the phantom pressure of Toji’s hands. You can almost feel the weight of him, the way he looked at you in the locker room, the raw, unadulterated promise of what’s about to come.

11:42 PM – THE FRAT PARTY 🍹 🍸

The vibe is a neon-soaked fever dream. The mansion is a skeleton of glass and steel, vibrating with a bassline so deep it feels like your heartbeat is being synced to the music. The big garden pool is a shimmering, glowing turquoise, illuminated from beneath so the water looks like liquid jewelry. Bodies are everywhere—glossy, tan, half-naked, and draped in the hazy purple glow of the lights.

You're sitting on the edge of the pool, the water a glowing turquoise that makes your legs look even more sun-kissed. The air is so humid it feels like a physical touch. You have a drink in one hand that tastes like sugar and gasoline. Your hair is damp, and the air is thick with the scent of chlorine and expensive weed. Government Hooker by Lady Gaga and other pop songs blast through the speakers.

Shoko, Yuki, and a few other cheerleaders are circled around you in the water, bodies glimmering. You’ve been playing Who Am I?, laughing hysterically at the bad guessing.

"Okay, okay, am I... a politician?" Shoko asks, squinting through the smoke of her third cigarette.

"No," Yuki giggles, leaning back so far her gold bikini top nearly disappears under the water. "But you’re definitely a narcissist with a body count."

"Wait..ohhh, what the fuck guys... am I fucking Ted Bundy?!" Shoko shrieks, her laughter cutting through the bass like a blade. She splashes the perfectly cool water at you, her chest bouncing under the thin fabric of her bikini top. "You sick fucks!”

You’re laughing, actually laughing, the erotic hum of the night vibrating in your chest. You look down at your own legs, the way the turquoise light ripples over your thighs, and you think about Toji. You think about the way his skin felt against yours in the locker room, the rough, salt-heavy taste of him. Your internal clock is ticking toward the moment he finds you again, and the anticipation is a sharp, localized heat between your legs. Now Yuki is the one splashing you with water as she jumps out of the pool next to you, leaving you dripping wet again, your bikini top barely holding on. She grabs a towel and winks at you.

"If you think about him any harder, you're going to set yourself on fire, babe. Toji's coming. Relax. Drink the blue stuff."

"I am soooo relaxed," you say smiling, winking at her, the ice in your glass clinking against your teeth.

Gojo suddenly appears at your side, leaning over to steal a sip of your drink. He’s wearing nothing but linen shorts, his skin glowing. "So… why are my favorite sirens busy gossiping when there’s a beer pong table waiting to be conquered?”

“Oh babe, I can't play another round. I’ve moved on to stronger things by now,” you murmur, adjusting the strap of your top.

Geto drifts over from the bar, his dark hair loose and clinging to his damp shoulders. He holds out a hand, handing you a blunt.

The party doesn't just go quiet; the air pressure shifts. Toji and Sukuna walk out together—a terrifying, shirtless wall of testosterone and V-tapered architecture. Toji is wearing low-slung, cut-off black jeans that look like they're barely holding onto his hips, his skin still mapped with the faint red scratches of your earlier encounter. Next to him is Sukuna. He’s shirtless too, his tattoos looking like wet ink in the purple strobe lights. He takes a long drag, exhales the smoke toward the moon, and then looks directly at you, flicking his tongue over his teeth in a way that makes your skin crawl with fire.

"The kings have arrived," Gojo yells, celebration in his voice, holding a bottle of tequila like a trophy. "About fucking time!"

You don't get up. You just lean back on your elbows, arching your back so the neon light catches the curve of your chest. Toji doesn't even blink. He walks straight to the edge of the pool, his shadow falling over you like a curtain. He reaches down, his fingers tangling in your damp hair, forcing your head back gently so you have to look up at him.

"You're already drunk, baby, aren’t you?" he murmurs, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that skips the ears and goes straight to the gut.

"Just a tiny bit," you whisper, reaching up to trace the line of his sixpack. His skin is like hot granite.

Gojo stumbles over, tequila bottle still in his hand, his blue eyes gleaming with mischief. "Listen, Pornstars. Suguru has something new from Choso to make this a truly legendary night.”

Geto drifts into the circle that has now formed around you and Toji. Yuki is still next to you and Shoko is sneaking up from the water. He opens his palm to show all of you the neon-pink pills, his eyes soft and utterly seductive. "One for each of us, Choso said. To make the night move as slow as your heart is beating right now."

The neon-pink pills catch the strobing violet light, looking like tiny hearts. You look up at Toji, your eyes wide and heavy with an unstated challenge. He’s crouching next to you, his bare chest heaving slightly, his shadow long and jagged across the turquoise pool. He doesn't look at the drugs; he looks at you, his jaw set in a hard, protective line.

"Is it safe?" Toji’s voice is a low, dangerous rumble directed at Geto.

Geto just smiles that smooth smile. "Of course. It’s from Choso. You know he doesn't miss."

Toji hesitates, his protective instinct warring with the frantic, hedonistic energy of the night. You don't look away from him; you let your gaze linger on the scar on his lip, daring him to let go.

"God, Toji, stop being such a father figure," Shoko groans, reaching into the baggie and popping a pill onto her tongue with a reckless wink. "I trust Choso more than I trust the dean. I’m in."

Sukuna lets out a sharp, barking laugh from the shadows of a pillar. He steps forward, his tattoos shimmering under the strobe lights, and snatches a pill from Geto’s palm. He swallows it dry, his eyes locked on Toji with pure, unadulterated mockery. “Don't be such a pussy," Sukuna taunts, his voice dripping with venom. "Or are you scared you can't handle the ride?"

Toji’s green eyes flash. The challenge is set. He reaches down, takes a pill from Geto, and then looks at you. He snaps another pill in half with a blunt, practiced motion.

"Half for you," he growls, pressing the fragment against your bottom lip until you open for him. "If things get weird, you tell me. Understand?"

You swallow it, the chalky taste hitting your throat, and the night begins to shift.

💊 💗

The air at the edge of the infinity pool has become a thick, intoxicating syrup of salt, chlorine, and the heavy, floral scent of night-blooming jasmine. The speakers are pulsing with a fast, techno-pop remix. You’re in the center of a circle of bodies, flanked by Shoko and Yuki. Shoko is laughing, her head thrown back, a drink splashing over the rim of her cup as she moves with a messy, effortless grace. She grabs your hands, spinning you around, her skin slick and hot against yours.

"Look at us!" Yuki shrieks over the bass, her gold top shimmering like a second skin. "We’re the fucking goddesses!”

She pulls you both into a tight, swaying hug, the scent of strawberry lip gloss filling the air. For a moment, it’s just girlhood—soft, breathless, and hysterical. You’re laughing until your ribs ache, leaning your forehead against Shoko’s shoulder, feeling the vibrations of the party through her chest. It’s the kind of joy that feels like it could last forever, a golden shield against the darkness of the summernight.

You pull away, breathless and flushed, your eyes drifting toward the outdoor bar. The air between you and the guys suddenly feels vacuum-sealed.

Toji and Sukuna are standing together, a wall of obsidian muscles and silent adoration.

They aren't talking. They aren't laughing. They are just watching you.

Toji is leaning against a marble pillar, his arms crossed over his bare chest, his eyes dark and dilated, tracking the way your sweat-slicked skin catches the purple strobe lights.

Next to him, Sukuna is perched on a barstool, a blunt burning down to the filter between his fingers. He’s leaning forward, his gaze fixed on the movement of your hips with a hunger so raw it feels like a touch. They look like two predators watching a single prize, their rivalry simmering just beneath the surface of the "team" they've built for the night.

Gojo drifts up behind them, looking like a chaotic angel. He follows their gaze, a slow, wicked grin spreading across his face as he takes a long pull from his red cup. He leans in between Toji and Sukuna, his voice a melodic taunt. “God, you two are pathetic," Gojo chirps, his blue eyes gleaming even more than normal. "Why don't you take a picture? It’ll last longer than the high."

Toji laughs, clapping his big hand against Gojo’s neck. "Shut up, you nasty bastard."

"Well then, make me, Quarterback," Gojo whispers, his grin widening. He looks at Sukuna. "And you? You're drooling on the marble, Ryomen.”

Sukuna doesn't even blink. He just takes a final drag of his blunt and exhales the smoke into Gojo’s face. "Just shut that mouth for a moment, Satoru," he rasps, his eyes never leaving yours. "Some things are meant to be witnessed."

🌃 🌌

The garden party has transformed into an altar of hedonism.

You are pressed against the cool wall of the pool house, but all you can feel is the furnace of Toji’s body pinning you in place. He’s a mountain of hot, damp skin, smelling of the field and dark, expensive bourbon. His mouth is on yours—not just kiss, but a slow, rhythmic consumption of lips and tongues. His hands, calloused and massive, are anchored on the curve of your ass, his thumbs tracing the sensitive skin of your cheeks with a possessive, agonizing friction. Every time he breathes, you feel the corded muscle of his chest grind against your breasts.

"You're so loud," he growls against your lips, his voice a gravelly vibration that travels through your teeth. "Even when you're quiet, your heart is screaming."

You tilt your head back, eyes fluttering shut as the pink haze of the drug makes the stars above dance. "That’s why ya love me, Toji," you breathe, your fingers tangling in the damp hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer until there is no air left between you.

Across from you, framed by the jagged architecture of the outdoor bar, Sukuna is a silhouette of pure, voyeuristic malice. He’s sitting on the edge of a glass table, one leg hiked up, a blunt burning lazily between his fingers. He is simply watching.

Every time Toji’s hand slides lower, every time your back arches in a silent gasp, Sukuna takes a drag of smoke, his eyes glowing like embers in the dark. He’s close enough to see the flush on your skin, the way your pupils are blown wide. He flicks a stray ash onto the grass, his tongue sliding over his teeth in a slow, wet motion that feels more intimate than a touch.

The erotic tension is suddenly shattered by a violent crash near the DJ booth. The music doesn't stop, but the rhythm of the night curdles instantly. Naoya Zen’in is in the center of the wreckage, his eyes full of aggression. He’s got his hand around the throat of a boy from the football team, his knuckles white.

"You think you can talk to me like that?!" Naoya shrieks, his voice a jagged edge. "I am the blood of this school! I'll put you in the dirt!"

Toji pulls away from you, the loss of his heat making you shiver in the humid air. His face transforms—the lover vanishes, replaced by the predator. He shares a single, wordless look with Gojo and Sukuna.

Toji and Sukuna move as one. There’s no hesitation, no discussion. They converge on Naoya with a predatory speed that makes the crowd gasp. Gojo and Geto are right behind them, their faces shifting from amusement to a cold efficiency. They grab him—Toji’s massive arm around his chest, Sukuna’s hand on his jaw—and drag him toward the glass doors of the mansion. Naoya is kicking, spitting, his screams muffled by the heavy thud of the bass until the doors hiss shut behind them.

-

Time becomes a distorted loop. You don't know if it’s been five minutes or fifty. The drug is starting to settle into a cold, hollow paranoia. The party outside feels like a movie playing on mute. You stand up, your legs feeling heavy and disconnected, and walk toward the house. The interior is a tomb. The air-conditioning is humming a low, mechanical dirge. You climb the marble stairs, your heart hammering a frantic, erratic rhythm against your ribs. The hallway is long, lined with pictures of your friends that catch your reflection—disheveled, pupils blown wide, a ghost in sequins. You reach the master suite. The door is heavy, solid oak, but it’s slightly ajar. You push it. It swings open with a slow, agonizing groan.

The room is a crime scene. Naoya is sprawled in the center of the white rug, his hair damp with dark red blood. His silk shirt is torn, revealing a chest that has stopped moving. You freeze. The air leaves your lungs in a sharp, jagged hiss.

"Is he..." your voice is a broken whisper, barely audible over the hum of the AC. "Is he fucking dead?"

No one answers. Gojo is standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, his forehead pressed against the cold glass. He looks small, his usual god-complex shattered into a thousand frantic pieces. Geto is slumped in an armchair, staring at his own hands as if they belong to a stranger. Toji and Sukuna are the only ones moving. They are crouched over the body, their skin splattered with dark, wet constellations of crimson.

"Toji," you choke out, stepping into the room. "Toji, look at me. What the fuck is going on here??!! Is he dead!?"

Toji finally looks up. His eyes are hollow, the dark pupils swallowing the iris. "It was an accident," he says, his voice a dead, flat rasp. "He wouldn't stop. He grabbed a shard of the Belvedere bottle. He was going for Satoru’s throat. We just tried to... we just tried to pin him down."

"He snapped," Sukuna adds, his voice terrifyingly clinical as he wipes a smear of blood off his forearm. "He basically slit his own throat. An accident."

"We have to call the police or an ambulance," you say, your voice rising in panic. You reach for your phone, but a hand clamps over your wrist like a steel shackle. It’s Geto. He’s standing now, his eyes dark and desperate. "We can't. Look at him—and then at us. We're fucking high and drunk.”

"He’s a Zen’in," Gojo suddenly snaps, turning away from the window. His face is pale, his blue eyes wild. "Do you have any idea what that means? The Zen’in family doesn't do 'accidents.' They do retribution. They own the police; they own the courts. If they find out we were all high and we killed their golden boy... we don't just go to prison. We disappear."

"He's my cousin," Toji growls, standing up and towering over the room. He looks at the body of his own blood with a mixture of loathing and terror. "I know how they work. They’ll see the marks on his neck. They won't care about the glass shard. We’ll be in a cell before the sun comes up.”

"We're students," you plead, tears stinging your eyes. "It was an accident! We can explain—"

"Explain what?" Sukuna sneers, stepping over Naoya’s cooling body. "That we were having a drug-fueled orgy of ego while the Quarterback slit his neck? Use your head. The money, the drugs, the power... it’s all against us. We call the cops, and our lives end tonight."

The room falls into a heavy, suffocating silence. The only sound is the rhythmic drip-drip-drip of blood hitting the hardwood floor where the rug doesn't reach. Toji walks over to you. He grabs your shoulders, his grip bruisingly tight. "We can't go to prison for this. Not for him. He was a piece of shit who tried to kill us. We aren't letting him take us down from the grave."

"What are we going to do?" you whisper, looking at the body.

"We hide him," Gojo says, his voice suddenly cold, his "Limitless" persona snapping back into place as a defense mechanism. "The party is still going. Nobody saw them take him up here. We wait for the crowd to thin, we wrap him up, and we take him to the lake."

"The lake," Geto repeats, a shudder running through him. "The deep end. By the old pier."

You look around the room—at the boys you loved, the boys you suddenly feared, the boys who just became murderers. The neon-pink high has curdled into a permanent, freezing nightmare.

"Get the plastic from the basement," Toji commands, looking at Sukuna. "Satoru, clean the floor. You... you just... you have to stay here. Go to the bed. If anyone knocks, you tell them Naoya is passed out and nobody is allowed in. You play the IT-girl. You play the part of your life."

The next hour is a blur of cinematic horror. You stand guard at the door, the muffled sounds of the party downstairs serving as a grotesque soundtrack. Behind you, you hear the wet sounds of the rug being rolled up, the rhythmic scrub-scrub-scrub of Gojo and Geto cleaning the hardwood with bleach that burns your nostrils and eyes. Sukuna and Toji work in silent, brutal sync, wrapping Naoya’s body in heavy industrial plastic they found in the garage. The sound of the duct tape being pulled—zip, zip, zip—is a noise that you know will haunt your dreams for the rest of your life.

They move with the efficiency of men who have already accepted their damnation. When it’s done, the room is unnervingly clean. The rug is gone. The blood is gone. There is only a long, heavy bundle on the floor and five people who will never be the same.

"Tonight stays here," Toji says, looking at each of you in turn. "We go to the lake. We drop him. We go home. And we never, ever speak his name again."