V4mpyyb4tzz

۶ৎ series masterlist Choso wants nothing more than to be loved- but when you start to show interest in him, he appears to be blind to it!

Choso was drowning.

Not literally, of course. More metaphorically. Every time he looked at you his heart skipped a beat, jumping from his ribcage and running toward you at full speed. Well, that’s what it felt like anyway.

He wanted nothing more than to be loved, his whole body craved it– but not just from anyone, from you. Choso had been pining after you for years now, his whole soul dedicated to trying to get your attention. Hell, he even joined the music club just to spend more time with you. It seemed stupid for him to be so infatuated with you– you and everything you did from the clench of your fist when you were angry to the beaming smile you let cross your face when you laughed. 

His pining was the kind someone would write a song about and then be called pathetic for it, but really, he didn’t care. Luckily for him fate (or rather his irritating older brother Ryomen) had brought the two of you closer together. You sang for Ryomen’s band, stood at the front of the garage with a scratched up purple guitar as his brother played the drums. Of course there were other members, but Choso only cared for you.

However, much to his despair he seemed to believe that you had no interest in him. Opting to pursue his older brother instead. Sure, you dropped by his room whenever he came over, saying hello or bringing him the leftover from whatever weird snack you'd brought to take to class that morning. Yeah, you also smiled at him every time you saw him, fiddling with the hem of your short t-shirt whenever you spoke.

But damnit, he couldn’t seem to get any straight signs that you liked him! He was oblivious!

On your side it seemed that either he was extremely blind or just stupid, and really, you couldn’t tell which one it was. You’d been hitting on Choso for months now, complimenting him whenever you saw him, bringing him food, asking if he wanted to come over and study, but he appeared to have absolutely no idea that this was happening.

Hell, you’d even asked Sukuna about it. 

The pink haired man had just rolled his eyes, continuing to pull smoke from his spliff before lazily passing it back to you. “The boy’s just thick, give him some time. I’m sure he’ll figure it out eventually.” He grumbled one evening. 

You sighed heavily at his reply, shoulders smushed between him and the brick wall next to you. “That’s mean, Ryomen.” You replied, shaking your head. “It’s just like he has no idea that I’m into him– I mean I can see him trying to flirt.” 

Ryomen crackled deeply, an evil sounding noise. “Sure you can. Why don’t you just tell him you like ‘im?” 

“Beacuse…” you dragged out in a sing-song manner. “That’s just not how things work. Okay? He has to at least acknowledge I’m flirting with him first. Y’know? I can’t go in blind, I think the poor boy would have a heart attack.” You giggled.

“Sure he would. Look, Choso isn’t stupid, he’s just blind. I wouldn’t worry about it.” 

That in itself was reassuring enough, you took one last drag of the joint, handing it back to Ryomen before standing with a grunt. “‘M going home. We have practice tomorrow?” you asked, receiving nothing but a low vocal groan from the boy in the ground. You kicked his leg as you left the garage, entering the conjoining kitchen.

Damnit. None other than Choso Kamo stood by the counter, he was shirtless, bent over scrolling on his phone while he awaited the beeping of the microwave. “Hi.” You greeted, gulping thickly at the sight of him. The spiky haired boy turned his head, eyes lighting up as soon as he caught your eye. 

“Hey.” He smiled softly, placing his phone faced down on the counter. He stood up, “Are you headed home?” Choso asked, running a hand through unruly raven locks. You nodded, stumbling over your words.

“Y-yeah I am.” you paused, looking around the familiar kitchen before turning your attention back to him. “I was gonna walk. Your brother is asleep in the garage and y’know… I walked here earlier so–” Before you could finish your sentence you were cut off.

“I’ll drive you home!” His hand shot up almost childishly. You stared at it for a beat, witnessing him slowly retract his arm back down to his side. 

Sniggering, you leant against the doorframe next to you. “Enthusiastic much? Plus, you don’t have to do that, sweetie, it’s not late.” You replied. 

Choso flushed beet red, shaking his head frantically. The microwave beeped behind him but he paid it no mind. “Please! It would be my pleasure. I can’t let a lady walk by herself at night.” He insisted. 

You sighed, thinking it over for a moment. You weighed up the options– chances were that you could get away with blatantly flirting with him. Yeah, maybe then he’d notice. You nodded in agreement, smiling politely at him. “Sure. Did you wanna get whatever was cooking first?” You asked, gesturing to the microwave behind him. 

“Huh?” Choso hummed dumbly, glancing back. “Oh shit, my popcorn.” He muttered, opening up the microwave to pull the brown baggie out. You snorted as he poured it into a bowl on the side, the kernels clinking against the plastic rim. “Here.” He spun on his heel, holding the bowl out to you.

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh, no it’s okay I’m not hungry.” You shook your hands in front of you, declining his offer.

“I’m not asking. Take some.” He mumbled. Your shoulder dropped, taking a small handful and holding it in your palm. God, it was pathetic how quickly you folded to that. He smiled to himself. “Did you wanna leave now?” Choso asked.

You nodded. “If that’s alright, yeah. I can hold the popcorn in the car.” You snickered. 

“Are you sure?” he questioned. You hummed in reassurance, taking the bowl when he handed it to you. You followed him through the house, hovering by the front door as he slid on a pair of beat-up DC trainers. Your hand traveled to your pockets, checking you had your phone and house key.

Once you were certain you had both, Choso opened the door, holding it for you as you stepped into the chilly nighttime air. The walk to his car was short, just down the road, never in the driveway as that’s where Sukuna’s bike and Yuuji’s small shitbox of a car was kept, you were honestly surprised he’d even managed to get a licence, let alone maintain one long enough to have his own car.

Choso didn’t seem to mind that he had to park on the street, he was a family oriented man who was happy to make sacrifices for his brothers, even if he made their lives just a little bit easier. Being the gentleman he was, Choso pulled open the passenger door for you, his hand holding the top of the doorframe so you didn’t hit your head, you were grateful for that, thanking him with a flirty wink before he scuffled away.

You loved to make him squirm like that, it was so easy yet he was so blind. Poor boy, he really didn’t know how much you liked him and it was so dreamily clear. Choso didn’t say much at the start of the drive other than asking if you had your seatbelt on, occasionally his hand brushed your stomach as he reached into your lap for popcorn, and you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t actively re-wiring your brain.

After minutes of silence, you broke the unspoken tension in the air. “I know you like me.” you stated. 

You swear Choso stopped breathing the second you finished your sentence. He turned his head to look away from you, you raised an eyebrow in confusion at his lack of reaction. Though with the harsh jerk of the steering wheel the car pulled into a sidelane. Choso shut off the engine, staring at you wide eyed like a cat caught on camera at night. 

He immediately went to explain himself. “No! No, it’s just– uhm… how did you know that? I promise it’s not like that. I just, I think you’re really pretty but I’d never take action because, well, you’re older than me and uh, you’re probably not interested and– who even told you anyway? It doesn’t matter, sorry I shouldn’t have—” 

Your hand wrapped around the collar of his t-shirt, closing the distance between you as you pressed a kiss to his lips. He melted into it instantly, humming against your mouth. Once you were satisfied that his rambling would stop you pulled back, hand still clenched in fabric. Blown out brown eyes met your own, his jaw dropped open a little– you giggled, using the finger of your free hand to push it closed.

“You okay?” You asked softly, pulling your hand away. The headlights of a passing car illuminated his face, lighting pale skin in such a way that it made him look as if he was glowing.

Choso opened his mouth again. “I– why did you do that?” he stumbled, clearing his throat after. 

You simply smiled at him. “Because, I like you too. Obviously. Are you really that blind?” 

He shook his head frantically, still leant over the console, being held up by your fist in his collar. “No…” he murmured, relaxing so much it was like he was sinking behind the neckline of his t-shirt. 

You hummed at him skeptically. “So you knew I've been flirting with you for months now, huh? Why deny it when I said I knew you liked me then?” You questioned, cooing at him.

Choso shrugged dizzily, seemingly lost in the way you were speaking to him. “Uhm” He mumbled. “I dunno. I lied. I thought you weren’t into me.” he whispered.

You giggled at him. “I know sweetie.” Just as you were about to open your mouth to say something more, you saw Choso’s eyes divert to the side– downward, specifically. You pulled away, following his gaze only to realize the popcorn was all over the floor. You swore under your breath. “Shit.”

The dark haired boy whined, leaning back in his seat. “Damnnit, now I’ve gotta clean that up tomorrow.” He mumbled. You turned to look at him once you’d picked up the empty bowl from the floor. 

“I can help, but you gotta take me on a proper date after.” You proposed, “How about that? We can go out to lunch or something, maybe go to the record shop after?” 

Choso moved his head to look at you, cheek pressed against the leather of his seat. “That would be nice.” He breathed, slumping impossibly further against the seat, whole body fully relaxed. You patted his cheek, grinning once again.

“Okay then. It’s a plan.”

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

꩜ ◞ RAVAGE ME BY SUPPER, MY LORD

The King of Curses Sukuna become intoxicated with the dip that connects your shoulder and your neck because of your scent. Despite being your lover, he thinks this is a troublesome thing.

content ꩜ 2.5k words ， (domestic) fluff ， heian au ， herbalist reader ， marriage life ， having a child together ， scents and sniffing... ， honestly lots of purple prose ， no real warnings its just sukuna fluff ， i can't say anything

You have noticed that before supper, Lord Sukuna becomes restless every time he comes near you.

You realize this not soon enough, but this is simply due to the doing of Ryōmen Sukuna being utterly, thoroughly, and inexplicably enthralled by the way you, his wife smells. There is a certain way the fragrance that clings to the fine hairs on your neck feel and smell, one that Lord Sukuna does not know how to describe. Truthfully, this should not be a concern for him, especially given you are simply you, the herbalist daughter of that man who owns the apothecary.

And yet, he cannot stop himself from restlessness nor get the thought of you out of his head because of three distinctly indistinct reasons.

Firstly, the hollow of your neck smells of the herbs you pick at dawn. He does not know why they linger so often and so potently, however, the smell is unmistakable, because Ryōmen Sukuna cannot be mistaken. He has wandered through the plains near the capital much and many times, some at your request when you were too sickly to gather said herbs (and even then, you still smelled like the plants you gathered). This is a hassle to him. Because now Sukuna possesses knowledge and assumptions that beneath your jaw lies angelica smelling of earth and warmth, tangy sweetness hidden under musk. Then the slight bitterness of mugwort and dried chrysanthemums that’s near honey-like in softness.

You have been courted by Ryōmen Sukuna for six months, officially. This is merely because although the King of Curses, the Four-Armed Calamity does not abide by rules given by anybody other than himself, you have become the bender of his soul at your will. The featherlight touches you have given each other during your exhausting sessions of teaching him literacy—which have still resumed in motion—have proven intoxicating to Sukuna because at the second your body comes into his vicinity, he is swallowed by the warmth of your potent scent. Although, he would never admit to it.

Secondly, the sleeves of your kimono smell of smoke. They seem to absorb everything, and they seem to absorb home. The charcoal of hearth sticks strongly to the intricately woven strings of the fabric and a reddish, almost skittish in aroma comfort sticks to the roof of Lord Sukuna’s nose. Then there is the smell of fresh steamed rice, the surprisingly sweet smell that coats your sleeves again; only available to him once he’s stood close enough to you. Then there comes roasted tea, to the fresh rush grass of the apothecary’s tatami, to the undeniable overarching smell of sun: warm linen, spring wind.

Sukuna has found himself inching closer to you as you work. Your father had begun snickering whenever Sukuna came over for you. Your father is a man too, and your father had been in love with your mother for far too long to not know the humiliating way a man can become transfixed with a woman’s scent.

Thirdly and lastly, Lord Sukuna has memorized the scent of your hair. Before supper, Sukuna has found you in your chambers alone frequently; nothing immoral, nothing indecent happens. You are simply a woman that understandably prides herself in her hair, as all women do in this period. A wooden brush combs through the bottoms of your silky hair at first, then it breaches up, up, and up. Your hair also smells of spring, somehow even in the winter. The locks of your hair are well taken care of. You brush through it once and smile once you are alerted of his unannounced presence.

But that does not matter, because your hair smells of plum blossom oil. You perfumed it. You also smell like camelia, clean and unfloral, somehow exhilarating for Ryomen Sukuna. In the fourth month of your courtship, Sukuna had presented you with a gift—which you have suspected was stolen—of aloeswood. You had never used it because who are you but not a humble herbalist? You are no noble. Even if Sukuna seems to treat you as such.

Now Ryōmen Sukuna has never understood why nobles insist on burning expensive incense until their robes smell like forests that have never existed. Smoke is smoke. Perfume is perfume. If a person smells pleasant, they smell pleasant. If they do not, they should bathe.

Simple.

Which is precisely why he refuses to acknowledge that his newly-wedded wife smells different from everyone else. The proximity that is afforded at the act of sharing a home together has become Lord Sukuna’s blessing and Lord Sukuna’s curse. Because now, he owns a home that smells of you, or you smell of home. You’ve infiltrated the space where he resides and it has become a problem as it bedriddens him in bed, almost refusing to let go of his partner as the sun comes to wake him from his slumber. And it is horrible to get him off you before supper.

You notice of course. Sukuna, your husband—the word tasted so foreign in your mouth, yet with the same sweetness of pounded rice cakes—and his shift in demeanor. You have known the man for years. Taught him, thought of him, loved him. You figure it is simply because he is your husband that he has started creating excuses to stand as close to you as possible. Ridiculous, you’ve said to his face. He simply frowns at the comment and refuses to leave your side.

And this problem of your scent worsens considerably after your marriage. He wants to bury himself in the crook of your neck constantly. It did not matter that Lord Sukuna, the terror that came from the East had learnt courtship for you—because even if you knew the decadent tales of women in the Heian period, you still dreamed of proper marriage; some hope you never thought would be lived until the man whom everyone feared somehow made it come true. It did not matter that Lord Sukuna learnt how to read because of you, and then for you. Because he at the very least understands that those acts had a goal: you. Now what is the goal of him wanting to merge his body with you because of your scent? And how does it not make it worse now that he’s realized, as you’ve settled in your new home, that your scent no longer belongs only to you.

Eventually, Ryōmen Sukuna accepted that every room you occupy eventually begins to resemble you. The bedding. His robes, if you have folded them—and while he has never explicitly asked, you cannot deny the amusement you feel when you see your husband tug at his sleeves whenever you’ve washed and folded his clothing. The wooden engawa where you insist on sitting to dry herbs. The sleeves of the kosode you absentmindedly borrow and never remember returning. This, apparently, is what wives do.

Irritating. Extremely. He does not mind; he minds very much.

Marriage, Sukuna discovers, is deeply inconvenient. Before, he only encountered you when he sought you. Now you are simply everywhere. You brush your hair beside him. You fall asleep against him. You steal his blankets despite claiming they belong to both of you. His rooms smell like plum blossom oil. His robes smell faintly of dried chrysanthemum. There is perpetually tea somewhere. He has begun identifying your whereabouts by scent alone. This is an ability no battlefield has ever required of him.

Once, Uraume asks where you’ve gone during the winter. Of course, you pluck herbs, you wander about constantly. Yet you are now Lord Sukuna’s lady, which means you must be protected because stuffs and persons that Lord Sukuna possesses must be protected.

Sukuna looks up from the veranda. His arms are tucked into his sleeves; you’ve modified his new kimono for his second pair of arms, even as you waddle pregnant, after Sukuna had deflowered you on your wedding day. He grunted for you to stop as you would exhaust yourself and you had not listened. “…South garden.”

Uraume blinks. “Did Lady [Name] tell you?”

Sukuna merely shakes his head and he leaves it at that. He continues to stare at the unseeable particles that are swept by the breeze, tucking his hands further into his sleeves. Uraume waits and still, Sukuna says nothing further.

Several moments later, you emerge from the south garden carrying a basket of herbs. Uraume decides not to ask. Uraume notices something odd the next following months; Lord Sukuna had begun collecting your hair, the ones that fall out from the weight of your weave. Somehow, they still smell like your oils.

Sukuna believes nothing could get as disturbing as your scent after your marriage. He is proven wrong. Ten months after your marriage, your son is born. Effectively humanoid-looking, and with the grip that your father, his grandfather says, might rival Lord Sukuna himself. Sukuna had struck his father-in-law a proud little smirk at that comment. His son shall grow strong. He shall also inherit your beauty, and perhaps, the constant, everbearing scent of the hearthlike smoke and camelia oil.

Sukuna stares at the infant for an extraordinarily long time, and soon enough, it is the summer and your son has grown faster than you would like.

Your son toddles through the house on unsteady legs, forever smelling faintly of warm milk, crushed grass, and the plum blossom oil you insist on rubbing through the child’s hair whenever it begins sticking up. Sukuna has developed the deeply unfortunate habit of lifting the boy beneath the arms whenever he walks past, not because he particularly intends to but merely because he can. Each time, he pauses and sniffs once. 

Sukuna watches with curious eyes, your son waddling in the open garden; eventually, he trots over to his father. Sukuna bends slightly and effortlessly, picks your son up, that little boy that’s become too heavy for you to carry but of course, all too light for Sukuna to carry—though he does not seem to mind being assigned carrying duty. One measured breath. Angelica. Mugwort. Smoke. Spring wind. All over again, his nose is engulfed with the smell of you. So he speaks, “You smell.”

Your son’s face crumples, like his favorite bamboo toy had been broken right in front of his eyes. But before tears can stream down his face, Sukuna continues. “Like your mother.”

Perhaps materializing out of thin air, you appear behind him. “You keep smelling him,” you laugh. A radiant giggle at the antics of your husband. Still, you have not quite figured out the exact reason why he keeps smelling you, nor your son.

“He smells of you,” Sukuna murmurs. Your son blinks up at him once, then yawns, tucking his face and the tousle of hair into his father’s chest. Your son was inexplicably fond of your husband it seems, mostly because he had read him tales for children in different voices, even if he would never admit it to you. “And he smells of milk.”

You blink. “He is a baby.”

Sukuna nods, because he does not want to demand answers. Sukuna is not afraid of things, however, demanding answers from you has caused unpleasant things to rise and curdle in his chest. So Sukuna simply stays quiet. He has just stayed content and irrationally pleased at your son’s acquired scent. 

On the eighteenth day of the third month, before supper, you had changed the scented oil you use in your hair simply because you found a new recipe from an elderly woman in the neighboring village which you infused with something else. It’s more woody. No doubt about it, it is the scent of aloeswood, the agar of it all making you smell… royal. That evening, Sukuna freezes the moment you walk into the room. He frowns deeply and it only serves to make you frown back. “What?”

“Something is different,” Sukuna mutters, akin to an afterthought he had not yet even conjured up yet. “You smell…” he struggles. Like the words physically pain him. Your hair does not smell of the clean plum blossom he had grown to detect just by standing, it smelled like something heavier. Not unpleasant, just, “…Wrong.”

You gasp dramatically. “My own husband has insulted me.”

Sukuna frowns at your conclusion. “I did not.”

“You say I smell wrong,” you point at him, eyes narrowing. Sukuna has learnt that upsetting you is something that is as much of a hassle as an army sent by the Imperial Court itself. Sukuna takes a step back, hands slipping into his sleeves once more, his ever-staying habit.

“You do,” he reaffirms, “your hair smells  different,” you would find it almost comical how much he had moved from his position after taking that step back. He sniffs your hair once, a heavy whiff of deep, woody textures that smell entirely too wrong surrounds him. “You must change it.”

“No,” was your simple answer. And after arguing for three more sentences, Sukuna forfeited. No, postponed his battle, because Sukuna does not forfeit. Sukuna does not lose. And yet Sukuna spends the entire week pretending not to care. He gave you the scent you are wearing. It is technically a bestowment. And he should not care about the scent of his woman, and yet, he absolutely cares. He dislikes this new scent. Not because it smells bad. Because it doesn’t smell like you. He doesn’t realize that’s the reason so he tells himself the plum oil was simply superior. 

Eventually you switch back. Entirely because you preferred the old one anyway. That evening Sukuna walks past you. Pauses. His shoulders visibly relax. “…Better.”

Sukuna still does not understand why the scent of your hair changing bothers him so much. “Did you hate it that much?” he does not respond. He didn’t. Still, it was not you.

One evening, before supper, after you have both long since put your son to bed—he had also become a rather restless little creature, same as his father—you find Sukuna sitting alone on the engawa. The night is cool and crickets sing. You settle beside him without a word. After all these years, silence between the two of you has become comfortable. You lean your shoulder against his. He says nothing and only turns his head slowly until his face rests against the crook of your neck.

You smile despite yourself. “What are you doing?”

Sukuna does not answer your call. Not even a small grunt escapes his throat and he simply looks onward at your shared garden. You try again. “My lord?” and he still does not answer. So you try again. “Sukuna?”

A long pause. Then, quietly, he murmurs, again, like it is an afterthought that he couldn’t even fathom thinking, “…You smell nice.”

You laugh softly. “That’s all?”

“Yes.”

So you understand now. The way he had started associating your scent with things he has never had names for. Returning. Warmth. Rain against the roof. Dinner waiting. The sound of brushes scratching against paper. Home. He does not know it is home. He only knows that whenever he catches the familiar mixture of plum blossom oil, crushed herbs, smoke from the hearth, and the faint sweetness of dried persimmons you insist on keeping in the cupboard, something deep inside him unwinds. 

“You looked terribly serious,” you say blankly.

Sukuna looks at you for one moment, then brushes the hair covering your neck. He plunges into the valley. “I am serious."

◟ ㅤ© kayuekou, 2026 𖥻 do not copy, reconstruct, or upload on other platform nor feed my works into generative AI.

notes ꩜ hi if you liked this u might like my other sukuna heian sukuna things. anyway i have a taglist. i have herbal medicine. goodbye

taglist ꩜ @tiffi26 ， @teaspecifically ， @v4mpyyb4tzz ， @nightmarenyxx ， @spectranix | typical taglist form

Teaser: Childhood best friend!Suguru who has always looked like an emo, closed off loser in your eyes ever since you were awkward middle schoolers suddenly grows to be a womaniser you can’t seem to move on from.

Tags: [MDNI/18+] Porn with a whole lotta plot, smut, fluff and angst w comfort, pining, yearning and pathetic geto, blowjob, riding, f recieving, messy sex, hotel sex, doggy style… When will I actually write pure smut without feelings?

Satoru and Suguru are the two most inseparable but different boys you have had the misfortune to meet.

Suguru is the kind of man straight out of your kinkiest most freaky dreams that would have you floored if they were to ever escape the confines of your mind.

He’s all black clothes, ear gauges that suit him criminally well, long and shiny locks that took years of growing to achieve, subtle yet dangerous piercings that make you spiral whenever you catch glimpses of them.

Suguru is hot.

You know it.

Your body knows it.

But your mind refuses to resonate with that perfectly obvious fact.

Because you’ve known Suguru before the tattoos and the cigarettes he carries in his pockets.

You know the boy with less than shoulder-length jet black hair that was dry before he learnt to take care of it junior year of highschool to try and impress some preppy bitch that used to get on your nerves too quickly.

You know the version of him who threw his guts out in your bathroom toilet after his first party, and the one who collapsed with his then-boney figure on your bed and called it a night—only to wake up 16 hours later.

Groggy as shit, voice deeper than a broken speaker, eyes swollen as if he were crying but it was really just from the first time he smoked mary and had a bad reaction to it.

That is the Suguru you know.

The one who isn’t a muscular and seductive man he has turned into. You love him in the present either way, but your mind can’t process that little virgin Geto is now the same man that has thousands of girls wrapped around his pretty pale and long fingers without doing anything about it.

Maybe it’s a secret defence mechanism of sorts that your body set up for you after you noticed how popular he got first year of college.

Or it could be that deep down you hate not being the only girl around him anymore. The only one he could find comfort in after getting rejected by yet another girl because of Satoru.

Which brings us back.

Satoru is a complete 360 from Suguru. He’s bubbly, bright, dramatic, overly friendly and extroverted for his own good.

With no sense of personal space or privacy, Satoru jumps around life surprisingly with no repercussions—flunking all of his classes in high school due to his fucking around with girls but somehow ending up at the same prestigious school you, Suguru and Shoko got into by working hard.

Though none of you dare to say it out loud, you’re all aware it’s because of his connections. The Gojos are quite well off.

Which makes the three of you resent the little albino shit at times.

But you wouldn’t change him for anything.

Within your group of 4 though, Suguru and Satoru have always stuck out like sore thumbs. Being glued by the hip since babies, of course they share a bond deeper than you and Shoko do with them.

The difference is, you entered the picture a bit after Shoko did in middle school to kind of “replace” Satoru during that time as he discovered the world of girls and parties after only living in the comfort of video games and his best friend for the last 15 years.

So while Gojo ran around flaunting his awkward charm and pick-up lines—living off the thrill of being able to get any girl he wanted because of his looks—you and Suguru naturally got closer as your short-haired friend was always buried in her books.

Weekends at Satoru’s turned into weekends at yours with cookies in the oven and chess pieces fighting eachother.

Somewhere along the lines, you stopped seing Suguru as someone else in the ground and more like your own best friend.

He seemed to see it the same way. Soon confiding in you more and more—sharing plans about his future and how he wanted to pursue philosophy while his parents pushed him into a business-oriented career.

Back then, you supported him, convinced him that he didn’t have to listen to his parents nagging because he was his own person, forcefully drilled confidence into that innocent teenager until he finally grasped it.

Everything was going smoothly.

Satoru was in his own world.

Shoko was doing great in school and after-hours clubs, anything for extra credit so she could get better grades for uni.

You and Suguru shared dreams over tea.

Everything was fine until that party.

Suguru’s first.

Satoru had invited him, saying that his frat friends—the ones he had recently met and somehow managed to befriend despite being younger by a few years—promised fun and a good time.

You didn’t expect hard-headed Suguru to cave and go. But he did.

Shoko stayed with you that night while the boys were out until her mom picked her up at 11 P.M. as she had piano practice in the morning.

Fridays were usually the quietest days for you. Your parents took weekend trips to your grandparents house religiously and you usually skipped on visiting to study.

Which was what you were doing when at 1 in the morning, the front door was being unlocked and the sound sent a bone-chilling shiver down your spine.

An old baseball bat in hand and with hesitant steps, you slowly moved down the stairs to catch sight of messy black hair over a tall body slouching against the entry.

Your heart recognised him before your eyes caught up in the dark. And you managed to drop the bat, cross the distance and reach him before he fell over.

Later, you found out as he threw his guts out in the toilet bowl, that he was batshit drunk.

You remember holding his hair back, the dry locks in between your fingers as he retched on and on.

And then.

The hickeys.

The small purple and faint red marked along his side that peaked out from under his loosely fitted black shirt all across his collarbones.

Your breath had hitched without you even noticing it. But your world shattered.

Because you’d grown feelings for the man that you knew would cause you more harm than good. But who were you at the hands of love? Only 16 and already feeling betrayed when there was nothing promised between the both of you.

You never acted like you liked him, never spoke about love, never showed interest. So who were you trying to blame?

Who were you going to blame for being such a pussy when Suguru got on the same train Satoru was and started changing again.

Learned how to do his hair, got piercings, gauges and his first tattoos in no time. Suddenly turning into a woman magnet that had your heart clenching painfully in your chest.

Yet, throughout the years. No girl ever stuck. No woman made it past the texting stage, not a single one of them slept in his bed the way you did at times when you’d crash at his place.

And you never stuck to any man either. A relationship here and there to get Suguru off your mind with some asshole that only messed with your head even further before you’d ditch him and swim in regret over never having confessed to your best friend before the words carved themselves into your bones.

So Suguru, at 24, has been your crush for seven round years by now.

And you’re one sorry excuse of a supportive best friend when he mentions dates and girls. You want so badly to rip your ears out, stuff his mouth with cotton till he chokes on the skinny blondes and Coke addicted bitches he ends up with at random bars.

Your raspy, beer-ghosted voice cuts him off as he tries to scramble together where he met his latest situationship.

“I’m tired, Suguru. We should continue this tomorrow.”

It’s not often you cut him off so brutally but the few times you do, Suguru sees the sirens going off in his head.

Head lolling to the side, left hand holding his drink in between his fingertips, he subtly lifts an eyebrow as his eyes rake over every inch of your beautiful skin.

Covered in a sheet coat of shine, probably from a body oil that he will remember tonight as he pumps his cock in his hands like he does almost everytime he sees you because you always come so pretty for him.

Well, he hopes it’s for him.

But 7 years of acting like he’s fine with being your best friend with his feelings wrapped under bandages and buried under cement, and he’s fearing that soon he won’t be able to hold it in anymore.

You’ve never shown interest in him. He’s never caught a sliver of love swimming in your eyes when his onyx ones prayed to find it in them.

What was he supposed to do? Risk your friendship? No.

Instead, he put himself out there. For every other person to see, hoping that you realise someday he is actually selling himself open for you to snatch off the market.

Yet, time passes and time passed. Nothing.

You stay quiet.

When in the present, your jaw is working and you’re mumbling something along the lines of “I’m really worn out, not really in the mood for talking right now.”

Suguru softly sighs, eyes crinkling at the corners as his eyes soften under the dim yellow-light lit bar you’re both at after work.

“I’ll take you home.”

He can’t remember the amount of times he’s done it for you. Taken you home tipsy, carried you up your apartments stairs because the hellhole you live in has an elevator that works once a month, tucked you into bed after tugging most of your clothes on because he’s done it ever since you were young and too tired to change but refused to sleep in dirty clothes, kissed your forehead goodnight and let his chest tighten.

Because he wishes he could say “let’s go home.”.

And he wishes he would stay over, wake up with you in his arms in the morning where he’d kiss the soft corner of your shoulder before the pecks would turn warmer.

But he buries those thoughts deep down and walks out the front door, steps heavy and shoulders weighing a ton.

You wake up feeling like a truck slammed into you sometime in the night—muscles aching, head banging, eyes burning. Though last night you swore you didn’t drink too much, your morning dizziness is really screaming for a rain check on how many beers you actually had.

Were you turning into Shoko?

Catching sight of your phone plugged to charge on the nightstand, you open it to find a mess of texts from your coworkers in the group chat talking about some event they’re trying to set up.

A plethora of messages from Shoko stressed out because of her latest karen patient. A checking in text from Suguru you’ll reply to in a bit. And a thousand texts from Satoru..?

You click on his icon and swipe past the hundred of messages where he’s literally just screaming your name in order for you to reply and get straight to the point.

The favor he’s asking you seems almost ridiculous as it stares back at you.

You, me, Shoko and Suguru. Friday at my company, need u all there for a major event. But I don’t have a date, I need you to act like my girlfriend. 🙏🏻😭

Please help, can’t take Shoko ‘cause she’s already been here and everyone knows her.

I’ll literally buy you anything you want, you know I got the means, boo.

And unfortunately, that last text is what sells it for you.

Friday you waltz hand in hand into one of six eyes’ hotel branches with Satoru who paid for your custom Chanel outfit—elegant silk dress with the tiniest most intricate details around the hemming, a nice cream shade that brings out all the right places—and you wear your new Manolo Blahniks that he got you like the deal promised.

Feeling good, you barely notice how the hall holds you it’s breath when you come in. People’s spines straighten up, how certain women that aren’t really comfortable with being outshined with simplicity and elegance, narrow their eyes.

But the tint gasps go straight to your blood vessels and straight into your heart. You feel good and nothing can stop you tonight.

Satoru whispers in your ear—hair gelled back, crisp cream suit to match your dress with subtle brown outlining, black slacks.

“Careful, Suguru is about to jump at anyone who stares at you for longer than three seconds.”

Your breath hitches, head swinging back to him. You’re supposed to feign innocence over your little huge crush on your best friend, but all along, Satoru has known.

“How do you know?”

He smirks, that cocky and know-it-all one that makes you want to slap him square sometimes. “You’re not so slick, Y/N. I am also your best friend after all.”

Well shit..?

Before you even have time to debunk his claim—which was already confirmed by your subconscious look of surprise, caught red handed in the worst possible moment—a figure you hadn’t noticed creeping up cleared their throat.

Your heartbeat jumps to the hundreds at the sight of Suguru. Clad in everything dark—black blazer with no lining or details, just the dark void of the color complimenting him dangerously well—silver piercings shining under the bright hall light, helix in place, gauges sitting in their right place, three small studs on his lobes.

And that tongue piercing you know he has is tucked away behind his teeth.

Shoko monotonously stands by his side, expression dull, looking every bit unhappy to be here. Though you know she’s about to hop onto the bar and flip that look right around.

You exhale for the first time in what feels like the five excruciatingly tense minutes beneath Suguru’s piercing quiet gaze.

“Oh, hey, Suguru.”

Suguru.

You’ve been calling him a lot that recently and he’s not liking the sound of it. Where is the nickname you usually use on him?— Sugu?

It’s his name. He knows. But god does he hate to hear it coming from your pretty lips.

The words “What the fuck are you doing wrapped around Satoru?” and “You look gorgeous.” drop straight into his stomach acid as he swallows them and says instead a brief, oddly cold “Hey.” back.

Truth is, you look divine. But the sight of you clinging onto his best friend kicks him in the wrong way even though he knows you’re both just friends and this is just an act.

He’s been let on the plan.

Yet he can’t stand to watch it unfold.

Satoru sweeps you away to network with you on his arm because it gives him a good look. A nice lady on his side and smooth words could get him deals after deals tonight.

You pretend that you’re enjoying yourself when all you can think about is how you felt and feel Suguru eating you up with his eyes.

It feels illegal. The way his eyes are so hungry for you, shooting bullets through your skin from where he is with Shoko at the bar.

From your side, Satoru mutters something you barely catch from having your mind somewhere else, and your arm drops from his forearm suddenly.

You find yourself alone at a small circular table in the gathering, swirling your drink in your cup and patiently waiting for him to come back till a cold, possessive hand settles on the small of your back.

Chills immediately overtake your body.

The air in your lungs gets kicked out once the figure circles you and reveals Toji Zenin. You know him from the bullshit smeared over his name everywhere.

The business industry’s biggest rival. Every season he’s out for some company’s neck again. The Zenin’s have their claws deep in everyone’s business.

He’s weirdly tall, looming over you with his wispy bangs covering the half-lidded eyes he has. Dark like someone else’s, still different.

But the hair on your skin stands up despite the fire in your eyes. His touch feels like poison to you.

“Toji Zenin.” You recognise. He smirks, sending a small nod your way.

“Y/N L/N.”

Huh? How does he know your name?

“I’ve had my eye on you all night.” He casually points out, putting your questions to rest for the moment.

His touch is long gone from your back but it lingers there in an uncomfortable way that still has the hairs on your arms prickling.

He’s every bit intimidating, from his looks to his gaze. The tattoos on his skin that don’t offer a single ounce of comfort to you like Suguru’s does.

Shit, why can’t you ever get him out of your head no matter how many times you throw yourself in-front of other men?

“Yeah? Am I that intriguing?” You ask, a sly smirk mirroring his on your face. Deciding to play into his game, you rest your drink on the table and relax your previously tense stature.

Briefly, he takes a good look at you again before replying confidently. “Very.”

You fake a giggle to keep the chat going.

“Let me buy you a drink?”

The freshly ordered cosmopolitan you were sipping on suddenly seems good enough to abandon, so you nod.

In the blink of an eye, before the man can even open his mouth, you’re yanked away. A strong grip on your wrist and your body getting dragged through the multitude of people in the room by someone you don’t catch sight of until you reach outside of the hall.

"Suguru." He finally stops dead in his tracks at the sound of your sweet and confused voice ringing in his ear.

Body on fire, soul frusturated, he holds it in to not lash out over seeing Toji even think you're on his level.

“Suguru.” You try again to rip him out of his head.

Only when your hands find his bicep does he physically jerk out of his thoughts.

Deep onyx eyes stare back at yours under the dimly lit sidewalk where the only thing wrapping around the both of you is the faint noise coming from behind the closed wooden hall doors and the night’s coldness.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, worry lacing your tone.

“Nothing.” He spits out, too quick to be thought through.

You push back, knowing him. “There is something wrong. Come on, you’ve always been clear with me.”

One of his hands run down his face to try and lessen the growing turmoil inside of him.

Defeated, resolve chipping little by little by your warm concern, he sighs. “No, I haven’t.”

“What?” A shaky breathe escapes you, maybe from the cold or because of the tension.

Unlike himself, he dodges your question. “I didn’t like seeing you with Satoru.”

“Or with Toji.”

Confusion replaces your initial worry. Eyebrows knitting together, your hands twitch by your side.

“What? Toji?”

Suguru doesn’t dare to look into your eyes, glueing his sight to the empty street behind him.

Nevertheless, you continue. “Why did you pull me away from him? I was getting to know him.” Bothered by how he stepped in when he had no right to.

“You could’ve just asked me to come with you like a normal person does. There was no need to cause a scene.”

You catch the way his fists ball into fists by his side, the way his shoulders square up under your words.

“Suguru. Say something.”

“Stop calling me that.” He cuts you through.

Something splits in your chest. “What? Why? It’s your name.”

Without missing a beat, he continues while dodging your face. “You never call me by my name.”

“I do.”

“You didn’t.”

Silence takes the wheel.

And you realise where you both have gotten.

When did it ever turn so cold between the two of you? Was it when it started to hurt too much to keep your feelings in check while he fucked around?

Maybe.

“I don’t get what’s your problem.” You breathe out, shoulders slumping.

He finally turns to you. “You are my problem.”

Another beat passes.

A knife is jabbed between your heartbeats.

“Then leave.”

His eyes thin out, unaffected by you. “I won’t.”

Voice shaky, you pry again. “Then what do you want from me, Suguru?”

What does he want?

What does he not want is the question.

“I want you to see me for once.”

Your heart turns to stone immediately. Every vein in you freezing.

“I want you to look at me and not those other men. Fuck.” He pivots on his heels, slacks clicking against the cement as he turns around and runs his hand through his pulled back hair again. Frustration bleeding from him.

“I’ve been in love with you for seven fucking years, Y/N. What don’t you understand?”

What?

Your eyes burn with tears you’re not sure are supposed to be brimming.

Seven years?

Since the chess matches? The afternoon study sessions? The nights you’d both spend stargazing?

“In middle school you told me to start taking care of myself if I wanted girls to like me so I did. And you thought I did it for them when it was all for you.”

“In high-school I got my first piercing because I overheard you tell Shoko that men who had them were hotter.”

“Then the tattoos too. I’m a pathetic loser who has done everything to try and get you to look at me. Yet you don’t.”

“I went around to try and find you in someone else but I couldn’t. And i’m at my wits end, Y/N. I don’t know what else to do.”

The air is too thick for you to swallow, but its even harder to process his words as they pierce painful holes in your chest.

He did all of that for you?

Every single detail carved into his body is for you?

“God, you’re such an idiot.” You whisper, feeling a warm tear slip past your waterline and fall down your cheek.

“I’ve always loved you, asshole. You never looked at me.”

He swings back to you, to see the streaks falling down your angelical features. And something fractures inside of him too.

Fuck, you’re both such idiots.

His arms wrap around your trembling figure before you can calculate your next sentence. Warmth and his signature smell of faint vanilla and musk cradling you to calmness.

Your head softly hits his chest, listening to his heartbeat for a second before pulling it upwards and searching for his eyes.

He tilts his head down and loses himself in your doe-eyed look. Feeling his rough corners go smooth.

Neither of you need to communicate anything as your souls search for each other, bringing your lips in a deep kiss.

One that took too long to play out.

The kiss lasts an eternity longer than it actually did, but you’re experiencing such euphoria that you don’t pay mind to the way your lungs pray for air.

Eventually, you do break the kiss.

The fragile moment feels like it’s a fragment of your imagination.

It shatters when the front door of the hall opens, a plethora of people spilling out in a hurry.

You freeze in Suguru’s hold. His head is already running though. Once more, this time gently, he gets a hold of your wrist and takes you with him back inside.

You’re confused as you cross the swarm of people inside still working. From the corner of your eye, you see Satoru, and you see Toji following you from the other side of the room too—hand in hand with Suguru—and him with a drink pressed to his lips.

Subconsciously, you swallow the awkwardness before you enter a different room.

Standing before a corridor full of elevators, you turn with the intention to question Suguru—but before you can, a lift’s door opens and he pulls you inside where you land against the mirror.

He locks you there beneath him, palms pressing into the mirror that sees you both. And he catches your gaze so much you don’t even dare to think about looking anywhere else.

Feeling butterflies explode in your stomach, crawling up your throat and spreading through your chest, you can only look up at him with the galaxy in your eyes.

Suguru is breathing heavily, eyes clouded with possession and love while he looms. Chest lifting and falling in the quietness.

The elevator doors close with a ding! and your lips meet once more. Hungrier this time. You feel his desperation clinging onto every surface of you as his hands drop from the mirror and circle your waist.

A small moan escapes you when he parts from the kiss and pecks a sensitive spot beneath your ear. Something needy has overtaken him and you won’t complain at all.

His long fingers press into your ribs, keeping you in place and not enough to harm, but enough to make your panties wetter by the second.

You didn’t even hear the lift stop or the doors opening, fortunately, he did and slowly he guided you out the elevator. Mouth still on your neck, one hand on the small of your back while his other shuffles around for something in his pocket.

You’re pressed against a foreign door that unlocks when he presses a keycard to the lock while still kissing you madly.

Cold, cold kisses your bare shoulders the second you’re gently pushed inside into the darkness of the empty room.

Before you can catch a glimpse of the place, you’re meeting the closing front door again, Suguru’s hands roaming more freely than before.

The cold tips of his fingers meet the exposed skin of your back as his lips press soft kisses to your collarbones. Ghosting around your neck every now and then.

Every coherent thought is fleeing your mind—Is this how it feels like to be touched by your best friend? What have you been missing out almost for a whole decade?

“Y/N.” Barely hearing his muffled call, you try to hum a yes but accidentally let a small whimper escape when he briefly bites your carotid gently.

He kisses the red spot once his teeth detach and you feel his lips in a smirk as they meet your throat.

“Do you really want to do this?” He asks, nipping on your sensitive skin—searching for where you’re most delicate and where you fall apart the easiest.

Teeth grazing a particularly sensitive spot, you shudder and he fights back the urge to chuckle at his effect on you.

“Yes.” You breathe out after getting a grip on your mind again.

He hums against you, the vibration travelling all the way down to your soaked panties begging to be pulled off.

“Really?” He muses, a slender hand tracing the curve of your waist unhurriedly, landing on your hip before giving it a firm squeeze and continuing it’s way down.

Hand on your ass, he starts to knead the plush skin of it over your silky dress once your lips combine again in a sloppy, half-minded kiss.

Fed up and so needy, your hands fist his silk shirt—black like most of his closet which you’ve learned over the years—and bring his lips close enough till they brush yours again.

“I’ve waited enough.”

And he crashes against you, lips colliding, hips closing in on you and making you feel the hard outline of his boner pressing against your stomach.

Moving on your own while your mind is absent, your sly fingers find the hem of his pants and slip past to palm him over the thin material of his boxers.

You almost groan at the feeling of his cock—at the shape of his prominent vein under your touch, and the tiny bit of liquid spilling from his tip.

Not even noticing it, you’re so beyond dripping that when Suguru hooks a leg between yours and presses up into your cunt, you leave a wet patch on the cotton of his pants.

He continues to explore your mouth as you subconsciously grind your hips on his muscular leg, steadily supported with the help of his hands on your waist to the wall.

Under your hand, you feel his length twitching—every time his cock jerks weakly in your hand, struggling to move much by the restriction of being in his boxers and because of its weight—you wonder why he feels so big.

And if he will even… fit.

The thought consumes you quicker than you have the time to stop it. Suguru feels you stopping your dry humping and your hands settle on his chest before pushing him back.

Curiously bites at him but disintegrates when he sees you drop to your knees, pupils blown wide open and your hair falling perfectly on the sides of your face. Framing those perfect features of yours.

Without ever admitting it, Suguru feels himself being able to already cum at the mere sight of you like this—but he holds it in the best he can as he feels your hands crawl up.

Hook around his belt, slowly pull the leather out of the secure, pull it off and throw it somewhere on the side, bundle the fabric at his upper thigh and pull down till the only thing in your sight is his aching cock pulsing against his underwear.

You bring your hands excruciatingly slow like everything else you’ve done in the last few moments to his dick. Seeing the thick ridges of him throw the light gray and practically salivating at the mouth.

The material smoothly glides off his skin once you pull it by the edges and…

Suguru might look like he always messes up somewhere along the way with girls, never able to get an actual girlfriend and settle down—resulting in him looking like he gets no bitches.

But boy, that dick is eleven inches.

Those girls have no idea what they are missing on.

And you’re the lucky winner.

It slaps loudly against his firm abs once it’s set free, tempting you alternately with its looks.

Pale, dusty pink tipped, veiny all around, girthy and criminally long. For a second, your eyes flicker to Suguru.

And he’s smirking. Looking down at you like you wished for this upon yourself and now there’s nowhere to run to.

Swallowing, you bring saliva onto the floor of your mouth and prepare to take him in. Wrapping your hand around his shaft, you part the connection between his chest and his dick before licking the tiny pearl of pre-cum that was on the top.

Suguru quietly hisses, and that’s all you need to immediately take him in your mouth.

Starting by the tip, you feel your mind already exploding at the salty and tangy feeling of his juices, smearing the sensitive end on your textured tongue while peering up at him.

Desperate to catch every reaction.

His fists ball into tight fists once you wrap your pretty lipstick-smudged lips around him.

Immediately wrapping him in the warmth your mouth it.

Then your tongue comes into action and Suguru starts counting his blessings, praying he has room for one more so he doesn’t immediately lose it already.

Skillfully swirling your tongue around him, you map every surface of his dick and memorise every dip of his veins—every length of them, the ones that go all the way to the base and the ones who only pop up at the very top.

Only being able to take him halfway before choking, you try to stroke the rest with your hand until you feel him place a hand on your head and start to choke you on his dick.

Your eyes shut closed as his tip hits the back of your throat, saliva spilling from the corners of your mouth as he breaches your oesophagus—hauling himself somewhere tighter.

Flattened tongue resting on the bottom of his heavy cock, you fight the urge to gag as he fucks himself harder.

Only when you feel yourself about to collapse from the lack of oxygen do you tap out and he immediately pulls out.

Your throat burns with that delicious ache you’ve just discovered.

Voice hoarse and raspy, you let out a curse under your bed before he’s moving again.

Back meeting the soft mattress of the hotel bed, you let out a breath before seeing that Suguru is already sitting between your legs, spreading them so far that your dress rides up and displays your wet panties clearly for him.

The low chuckle he gives reaches your ear in a soft melody. Long fingers hook around the flimsy material and you’re already jerking at the feeling of his knuckle brushing your clit.

There’s not an ounce of shame in your body when you let out a throaty moan as his fingers dip inside of your hole, mouth latching onto your twitching clit instantly after.

He takes two licks with a flattened tongue and your touch-deprived self already starts to collect tears on your waterline.

Mewls start to subconsciously spill out of you.

“Sugu~ Ah!”

You feel him smirk against you as your sensitive bud makes out with his mouth. Quickly, your vision starts to go blotchy when he curves his long fingers inside, finding that spot that makes you gummy in his hands.

You’re so close to the edge, so ready for the orgasm to crash over you when he pulls away in the blink of an eye.

You whimper at the loss of contact, near damn crying at the escape of your climax.

And he smirks, he fucking smirks.

Pulling his shirt over his head and climbing back, saying.

“That’s for leading on Fushiguro, and for even accepting being Satoru’s for the night.”

Eyebrows knitting and your eye catching the possessive side of him, you circle back to the first name.

“Leading on Fushiguro?” There’s curiosity in your scratchy voice.

But he doesn’t miss a beat, doesn’t let you ponder any further while his hands hook around your waist and flip you on your stomach.

“You’re mine.”

And his cock breaches the first muscle of resistance, making you scream out both in pain and pleasure as the first few inches mercilessly dip inside of you.

Feeling like you’re being split in half, your hands start fishing the sheets, anything to lessen the pain.

Suguru presses slow, open-mouthed kisses to your shoulder and back, soothing you through the ache that soon turns delicious.

Once the pain subdues, you feel him move again—only being able to fit half of him inside of you, but he takes it nonetheless.

Pulling your hips upwards and arching your back—Suguru finally starts hitting mean thrusts to your poor overwhelmed pussy.

Not caring at all how the whole building can hear you scream out, moan his name like it’s the only thing you know how to do.

The headrest groans in an uneven rhythm as Suguru plunges deep into your velvety walls, creating a frothy ring at the base where your bodies meet.

“Come on, Y/N, relax so I can fit.”

“N-No—You won’t-haah.” You can barely get your words out, panting and shaking while tears run down your face. “Fit.”

But Suguru is a level of stubborn and hard-headed you’ve known since middle school.

“I’ll make it fit, dear.”

And you’re flipped on your back again, wincing at the loss of him nuzzling his tip into your womb, but getting hauled up before being able to catch your breath.

His back meets the leather of the headrest as his hands guide your shaky legs to each side, your knees digging into the soft cotton sheets, and you pussy hovering right over who she wants inside.

“Take me.”

And you do.

You succumb to his order like a body with no mind. Legs collapsing on you from the lack of strength and lowering your cunt to meet his glistening tip again.

He hungrily watches himself disappear up until where you physically cannot take him anymore—halfway through.

Seeing how your hands tremble on his shoulder, how your breathing is shaky and your body unsteady, he hooks an arm around your back and places a warm hand on your hip.

And pushes down.

Down.

And down.

Till he’s buried to the hilt and you’re groaning so much that they are bouncing off the walls and settling in his bones.

You can’t believe Suguru has been hiding this monster for god knows how long. It almost makes you wish you never had sex with anyone else just to experience this as your one and only.

But some things can’t he changed.

Just like you know that he has been with other girls because you didn’t notice he was in love with you the whole time.

Like you have been.

What a mess.

What a mess it is between your bodies too—sweat clinging to Suguru’s forehead and moistening the front pieces of his silky jet-black hair that cling to his forehead.

The straps of your dress have long fallen and revealed your chest once you sat down on him, giving Suguru the perfect angle to nip and suck on your breasts as you focus on riding him.

He takes control once more when he rams up at you, feeling your walls fluttering around him and spasming closer to the edge you were previously stripped of.

You feel your jaw going slack, the air in the room impossibly hot and the coil in your tummy at its end.

And it takes him a few more thrusts, angry and desperate till you come down crashing on him.

Body violently shaking, high-pitched mewls coming out of you and your weight going dead on him.

At the very last second, he pulls you up, almost cumming inside of you—but his dick slips between your bodies—shooting his seed over your dress and chest.

Ruining your attire, shamelessly so.

And the room goes dead silent save for your heavy breathing and his.

Fingers twitching against your sex-slicked skin, Suguru finally relaxes against the bed. Draping your body over his—the aftermath of him finishing sticky between your bodies but neither of you care.

It’s quiet for a second while the memories and the weight of the moment settle between the both of you.

“We are so stupid.” You whisper after another beat, cuddling your head further into his chest, searching for the steady beat of his heart beneath the muscles and bones.

“Yeah. So stupid.”

Stupid in love.

Not proofread yet, maybe my longest work as of now (def in the smut category.) this is my 1k special as a thank you to all of you for being so kind with me and genuinely making writing so fun <3

Main masterlist, JJK masterlist.

۶ৎ series masterlist You've been friends with Denki since you were 11, now, at 22 he's blinded by the jealousy of you "pursuing" another man to see just how much you like him.

Denki Kaminari had accepted his fate a long, long time ago. He knew you weren’t interested in him, that was blatantly obvious from the way you’d turned him down on the playground when he was eleven and to the way you were now pressed up against Kirishima’s side. Tits pushing against his bicep as you whispered in his ear– a blush settling on your face as he whispered back.

The fairy lights that were strung from the fence twinkled in the darkness of the night, casting a yellowish hue on all its surroundings. 

It had his heart clenching, for the last eleven years, the only thing Denki had ever wanted was you. His fist was tight on the red solo cup he was holding, squeezing the mysterious concoction of alcohol up to the top, teetering into the dangerous territory of spilling all over his shirt– the shirt he'd specifically chosen because he knew you liked it. 

All he could do was watch. It’s all he ever did whenever you flirted with another guy, coming back waving your phone at him, celebrating your win of getting a man’s number, knowing they’d treat you like shit, though perhaps he was biased.

Maybe that’s what got him so worked up when you took a shine to Eijirou. Deep down, Denki knew the red haired man had everything he lacked and more. He had the body, the smile, the winning personality. And now– he had the girl. It irritated him beyond belief, he couldn’t even blame you for clearly falling head over heels in love with the dude. 

He was perfect! Compared to Eijirou he looked like nothing. 

Denki was snapped back to reality by a concerned tap on his shoulder, Jirou looking up at him with a look of confusion. “Dude, are you good?” She asked. “You looked spaced as hell. Do you need water or something?” 

The yellow haired man turned his head to look at her, simultaneously manoeuvring his body away from yours. He couldn't bear to look at you any longer than he had, and he knew if he was facing even slightly in your direction his eyes would betray him. He nodded. “Yeah- fine.” He lied, shaking his head of his thoughts. “Anyway, you were saying about the class you’ve been teaching?” 

Jirou cocked her head to the side, “Mmm, no… I’ve been tutoring Eri for her music class.” She corrected, raising a sculpted eyebrow. Denki kicked his feet against the grass under him. “Are you sure you’re okay?” She asked again. “Look- I’m gonna go get another drink and you some water.” She stated, brushing past Denki before he could argue. He spun, watching her leave. 

Christ, he was so stupid. He couldn’t believe he was letting you, let alone Eijirou get under his skin so easily. Neither of you had even done anything! It was just… you know, the premise of seeing you with him that was ticking him off. Somehow it hurt more knowing he had no power over who you saw. 

Whatever. 

Denki stared off into space for a moment, looking up at the night sky as he thought about what the hell he was going to do. Suddenly, a thought occurred to him. First, he had to establish whether or not Eijirou liked you. 

Denki downed the last of his drink, scrunching the cup and shoving it into his pocket— sure it was uncomfortable but it was his best option right now. He moved, walking over to you and Eijirou. However, as soon as you saw Denki moving toward you, you excused yourself, scuttling away inside the house. He watched you go suspiciously, settling himself next to the red haired man who was grinning widely. 

“What’s up man?” He asked, dapping Denki up. “You good? You look constipated.” Eijirou asked, cracking at Denki’s facade of nonchalantness. 

“All good here, what’s up with you? I see you’re heading for Y/n.” Denki questioned, the slap of his palm against Eijirou’s echoed throughout the busy yard. “A birdy told me you like her.” Way to be subtle, idiot. He thought to himself, shoving his hand into his pocket. 

Eijirou shook his head, taking a sip of his beer, the condensation dripping over his knuckles. “Nah. No clue who told you that man, ‘cus it ain’t true.” He responded, a tone of honesty covering his voice like a safety blanket. “Don’t you like her anyway? I’d never go after something that’s been yours for the last eleven years.” 

Denki stared at him blankly, brain short circuiting. Yours. “What?” His mouth moved before his brain could catch up. 

Eijirou did nothing but laugh at first. The sort of laugh that had all his teeth on show and his shoulders shaking. Instinctively, Denki looked around to see what was so funny. Was Eiji laughing at him? “Dude-” the red-head cackled, jabbing his finger into Denki’s chest. “You really are stupid.”

“Huh?” Denki scratched his head, looking down at the tanned finger poking back and forth at his sternum. “I don’t get it… She’s not mine. You know that, right?” He asked cautiously. Eijirou just chuckled again, dropping his hand back to his side.

“Dude, she’s obsessed with you! I can’t believe you’ve never noticed before.” 

“You’re messing with me, surely? She goes off all the time to get other men’s numbers and then waves it in my face!” He hisses in reply.  “And– and– she’s been rubbing up against you for months now. I thought she was in love with you.” 

The boy next to him shook his head. “Nah, man. She’s been plotting on you. That’s why we’re gossiping so much.”

“Shit” Denki swore, looking back to the house hoping to even get a glimpse of you through one of the glass doors. “So if I like… I dunno, asked her out or something she’d say yes?” He asked, looking back at Eijirou.

The red-head nodded, a reassuring look on his face. “Go for it dude! Be manly. Get the girl before someone else does.” 

Denki didn’t have to be told twice, he threw himself at Eijirou, almost knocking the poor boy over with the sheer weight at which he landed on him. Eijirou grunted, patting Denki’s back encouragingly. The yellow haired boy pulled back, hands on the others shoulders. “Thank you!” He beamed, running off toward the house as fast as his legs would take him.

It didn’t take long to find you leaning against the counter with a drink in hand, phone in the other. Denki moved as nonchalantly as he could, as to not accidentally sneak up on you. He weaved between people, sliding beside you, elbow resting on the cold, sticky counter. “Hi.” He stated, catching your attention instantly.

You looked up at him, dim flashing light reflecting on your face. “Hi.” You greeted back, shutting your phone off and placing it down on the counter. You angled your body to mirror his, eyes meeting electric yellow pools. “Can I help?” 

Denki nodded, swallowing thickly as he looked for the right words. His gaze darted, glancing to the side at the swarm of people dancing. “Uhm. How about we go for a walk?” He proposed, looking back at you.

You appeared to consider it for a bit, maybe weighing up your options. “Can I bring my drink?” You asked, clumsily holding up your solo cup to his face. He pulled his head back, narrowly avoiding being smacked in the nose.

He sighed. “Sure.” 

You nodded, straightening up and stretching with a grunt. Denki did the same, tilting his head to gesture that you should follow him. You did, tailing him through the lounge of people smoking and out into the hallway. You grabbed your jacket off the coatrack, sliding it on as Denki opened the front door for you. 

The front of the house was relatively silent compared to the back. Sure, you could still hear music thumping but it wasn't as gaudy as the rest of the estate. Denki and you walked down the path side by side, stepping out onto the street. 

“So…” You lead, wobbling a little on your feet as the two of you aimlessly strolled. The yellow haired boy scuffed his feet against the moss between the cracks of the paving, hands shoved deep in his jean pockets. You glanced at him in your peripherals, trying to decipher his emotions.

Denki didn’t reply at first. He’d gotten confirmation that you liked him, so why was he so worked up about this? It should be simple right, say he likes you and ask to go on a date. That was it. He took a deep breath, the smell of the night filling his nostrils. “I– I have something to tell you.” He started, turning a corner into the local park.

You eyed him up as he stopped, zipping your jacket up to protect from the cold evening chill. “Okay.” You nodded, looking at him expectantly. “Should I be worried? You’re kinda freaking me out, Denks. You’re never this quiet.”

The boy shook his head, looking down at the ground and avoiding your face. “No I just–” an owl hooted in the background as Denki paused. Your hand came out to brush his arm and it took everything in him not to lean into it. “I like you.” He blurted out.

Time seemed to slow as you pulled your hand away, cars drove past but the noise was hardly registered in Denki’s ears. Fuck, what if Eijirou was lying to him? What if you didn’t really like him and Eijirou only told him that so you two would stop being friends when he confessed? God how could he be so stupid… he didn’t even think about it before asking you. He just–

“I like you too.” Your voice came out strangled.

Denki looked up at you. For the first time that night he fully took in your features, your smile that seemed to pierce through him with how widely you were grinning. You looked like you’d been waiting for him to say something for years. He tilted his head at you.

“But– You… I don’t understand. How long?” he asked.

You cleared your throat. “Only around five years now… what don’t you understand, Denks?” 

Denki felt the blush rising on his cheeks. “Five years? But– but you got other guys’ numbers and waved them around like trophies.” He tilted his head to the side. “Why would you… I– dude! I thought you were in love with Eijirou!” he exclaimed.

Giggling, you stepped closer. Denki felt his throat tighten. “I was just trying to get a reaction out of you, dummy. And, Eiji and I were plotting on you. I was going to ask you out tomorrow.” You hiccuped. “But clearly, it got through your thick skull that I liked you.”

Denki’s arms reached down, his hands edging toward your waist. “Can I?” He asked, you nodded, allowing him to splay his fingers over your hips. He stuttered, breath hitching as you wrapped your arms around his torso. “Hi.” He mumbled sheepishly, feeling the heat of your body pressed against his. 

“Hi Denki.” You replied back, giggling. “Is it safe to plan a date first… a proper one?” You questioned.

Denki’s lips pursed paper-thin. Nodding frantically. “I can erm, make a reservation at that restaurant you like… if you want.” You grinned, nodding back with hummed agreement. The two of you stayed in each other's arms for a few minutes. Denki sniffed, breathing in your scent.

He swore under his breath. You were intoxicating, clouding his mind of all proper judgement as he leaned down to kiss you. You accepted his lips– deep, slow and passionate as he moved against your own. He pulled away, resting his forehead against yours. You stared into honey orbs, tightening your grip against his waist.

It was cliche, but the two of you really did slot together like you were made for each other– like the princess and her lover from a romance book you’d read when you were younger. Denki smiled at you, absolutely drunk on you… and whatever he’d consumed earlier that night as well, probably. 

“Fuck, I’ve been waiting for this for years.” He mumbled, pressing another chaste kiss to your lips. You shushed him, giggling as you pressed your lips to his cheek, muttering something about him being stupid. But still, he completely melted into it.

Maybe it really was worth the eleven year wait…

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

★ HEAVY | bakugou, k.

pairing: katsuki bakugou x reader

summary: when you’re unable to sleep for the third night in a row, katsuki notices— and takes matters into his own hands.

( OR: your boyfriend fucks you to sleep. )

content: comfort / fluff + SMUT - mdni ! pro-hero!bkg. established relationship. domestic intimacy. implied insomniac!reader — can be read as simply having issues with sleep. some banter. clear consent. soft kissing. slight marking / hickeys. pet names (baby). breast play. spit (on ur clit). dedicated pussy eating. fingering. self doubt/insecurity + praise/reassurance. finger sucking. missionary to mating press. "i love you" during sex. multiple orgasms. overstimulation. cum eating. aftercare. emotional & soft smut with feelings, bkg is very much in love !!! and he doesn’t cum but he dgaf this is abt u. quite some build up before the smut lmao. wc: 6.2k.

note: thinking back to the days i would literally Not Sleep 🚬🚬 also this to me is veery soft dom bkg i like dat ^_^

masterlist. | fic based on this request ! ( thank u anon!! )

The glow of your phone was soft against the tired lines of your face. You scrolled through your feed mindlessly, dry eyes fixed onto the screen, barely lingering on anything for longer than a few seconds.

Dull frustration sat heavy under your skin. 

You couldn’t sleep. Again. And it wasn't for a lack of trying.

You'd taken the medicine, made your attempts— many attempts. Setting your phone down, squeezing your eyes shut, wishing desperately for a soft, peaceful slumber to come find you. 

But it never did.

So, you did what you had done the two nights before this: distracted yourself. Doomscrolled well into the hours of the early morning, when the faint, first rays of the sun filtered through your curtains and you could finally get up and not have to pretend anymore.

It was all you could do, really.

Your weighted gaze dragged over to the time in the top right corner. The bold numbers 3:24 stared back at you like a taunt. You exhaled quietly, temples throbbing.

You should stop.

You should’ve stopped hours ago.

But before you could berate yourself any further, a high-pitched squeak tore through the stillness of the room.

You clutched your phone over your chest in an instant breath caught dead in your throat as the mattress creaked. Your pulse hammered in your ears as the sheets rustled behind you, a tell-tale sign of your boyfriend shifting in his sleep.

art cr @ kimama__12 on x

18+ MDNI, aged up!megumi, perv!megumi, established relationship, solo masturbation, panty kink. abstract, fushiguro megumi was doing a perfectly fine job at being your boyfriend. normal, respectful, composed. unfortunately, his dreams, his shikigami, and one very cute missing pair had other plans.

꣑ৎ MEGUMI HAD ALWAYS THOUGHT HE WAS A DECENT PERSON :)

quiet, maybe. emotionally constipated, according to nobara, which felt rude but not entirely false. he was blunt when embarrassed, painfully calm when he didn’t know what to do with his feelings, and weirdly committed to pretending he didn’t care whenever you stole his hoodies, even though he kept leaving them in places you could easily find.

then he started dating you.

and apparently, dating you had reduced him to some sort of victorian man seeing an ankle for the first time.

three months into the relationship, and megumi still acted like your touch needed a warning label. you could kiss his cheek outside the campus library and he would look away like he had just been caught committing tax fraud. you could lean against his side during movie night, warm and sleepy, and his whole body would go still for half a second before he remembered that boyfriends were, in fact, allowed to be held.

you thought it was cute.

megumi thought he needed professional help.

because it wasn’t just the soft things anymore. it was the way your shirt slipped off your shoulder when you stretched. the way your thighs pressed together when you sat on his bed. the way you looked after training, skin warm from the sun, hair messy, laughing with your water bottle pressed to your lips like you weren’t personally dragging his self-control behind a building.

he wanted to be normal about you. really, he did. you were his girlfriend, not some divine punishment sent to test whether his dignity could survive physical affection. you deserved a boyfriend who was calm, respectful, and not quietly combusting every time you hugged him a little too close.

megumi tried very hard to be that boyfriend.

unfortunately, wanting you had started eating through his self-control like a curse with expensive taste.

the dreams came first. vivid, feverish, humiliating things that left him waking up with a harsh gasp, his hips jerking up into the mattress to chase a ghost. your voice would linger near his ear. your skin would press flush against his. your mouth would be somewhere it shouldn’t be yet, sweet and needy and completely unfair. the details always blurred as reality crashed in, but the physical aftermath was painfully clear. he’d snap awake aching and rock hard, his chest heaving in the quiet dark, the front of his sleep pants ruined and uncomfortably sticky. he would just lie there, face burning into his pillow, before dragging himself out of bed to wash the evidence away, feeling like an absolute criminal by morning.

every time, it was you.

of course it was you.

you were his first serious girlfriend. the first person he actually wanted to be good for. the first person who made him think about things he immediately wanted to bury under concrete and never speak of again. maybe, hopefully, someday you would be his first in other ways too.

the thought alone made him shove his face into his pillow and silently consider becoming religious.

oh, he was so cooked.

the worst part started after evening training.

the campus field was still warm from the afternoon sun, grass damp beneath everyone’s shoes, the air filled with the sound of yuji complaining that nobara kept aiming for his head. you had dropped your gym bag near megumi’s by the benches, half-zipped because you never really closed anything properly, then wandered off to refill your water bottle.

megumi had summoned rabbit escape for control practice. nothing serious, just a few white rabbits scattering through the grass while yuji tried not to step on them and nobara accused him of weaponizing cuteness. one of the rabbits, smaller than the rest and apparently born with no morals, hopped toward your open bag.

megumi saw the flash of pink before anyone else did.

his body went very still.

the rabbit tugged something soft from the side pocket and sat there proudly, your panties caught between its little teeth like it had just won a prize.

megumi moved so fast he almost tripped.

he scooped the rabbit up, turned his back to the field, and pulled the fabric away before yuji could glance over. his heart was beating too hard for something that was, technically, laundry. just laundry. normal laundry. laundry that absolutely should have gone straight back into your bag like a normal boyfriend with a normal brain would do.

“don’t,” he whispered to the rabbit.

the rabbit blinked.

you called his name from across the field, smiling as you lifted your water bottle. “gumi, you okay?”

megumi panicked.

he shoved the fabric into the pocket of his track jacket.

“yeah,” he called back, voice flat enough to pass as normal if nobody looked too closely. “fine.”

just for now, he told himself. he would put it back later. when nobody was looking. when his pulse stopped acting like he had robbed a bank.

꣑ৎ DECENT PERSON, MY ASS.

that night the dorm room was too quiet. megumi sat on the edge of his bed with the lights off, only the faint glow from the campus path outside slipping through the blinds. the pink panties were still in his pocket. he hadn’t even taken his jacket off yet. his fingers brushed the soft fabric when he finally reached in, and the second he pulled them out his stomach flipped.

he should throw them back in the drawer. he should wash them. he should do anything except what he was about to do.

instead he leaned back against the pillows, breath already shaky, and unfolded the delicate pink material. the little bow caught on his thumb. the scent of you—warm skin, faint floral detergent, the ghost of your body—hit him so hard his cock twitched instantly in his sweats.

“fuck… i’m sorry,” he muttered, like you could hear him. like apologizing to the empty room would make this less pathetic.

he shoved his sweats and boxers down just enough, his cock springing free, already flushed and leaking. he wrapped the panties around his length slowly, the silky fabric cool against hot skin, and the first stroke pulled a quiet, broken sound from his throat. the little bow dragged under the head and his hips jerked up without permission.

megumi closed his eyes and let the thoughts flood in.

he imagined you in his lap, thighs spread over his, wearing nothing but that exact pair. the way you’d smile at him all teasing and fond when you felt how hard he was. the way you’d rock against him, grinding the soft fabric right against his cock while you kissed that spot under his jaw that always made him weak. your voice in his ear, low and sweet, calling him “gumi” like you knew exactly what you did to him.

his hand moved faster, twisting a little at the head, the soaked panties sliding obscenely over his shaft. pre-cum darkened the pink almost immediately. he pictured pushing the fabric aside, sliding his fingers through your slick folds instead, hearing that tiny gasp you made whenever he touched you somewhere new. he wanted to bury his face between your thighs and stay there until you were shaking. wanted to hear you moan his name while he finally pushed inside you, slow and careful and so fucking deep.

“shit— you’d feel so so hng g-good,” he whispered, voice hoarse. his strokes turned messy, desperate. the wet sound of fabric and skin filled the room and it only made him harder. “so warm… so tight… f-fuck, i want you so bad—”

the guilt twisted sharp in his chest, but it only made the heat worse. he was disgusting. he was a terrible boyfriend. and still, he couldn’t stop. he pressed the panties tighter in his fist, close enough to feel the soft fabric against his palm, imagining your hand instead, your mouth, the way you’d look up at him with that bright, wicked little smile while you took him apart.

his thighs tensed. his free hand fisted the sheets. when he felt himself getting close, some ridiculous, half-functioning part of his brain still had the nerve to panic.

not on them.

megumi jerked the fabric away at the last second like it was something precious, something he had no right to ruin, and buried his face into his forearm as the feeling hit him hard and sudden. his hips stuttered, breath breaking into a choked sound he barely managed to swallow, body trembling through every shaky wave until the room went quiet again.

for a long moment, he just lay there, chest heaving, staring at the ceiling like it might offer judgment. it didn’t, duh.

which was rude, honestly.

the pink panties were still clutched safely in his hand, untouched and soft, still carrying that faint trace of your perfume, your laundry soap, you. megumi looked at them through half-lidded eyes, flushed and ruined and still careful enough to fold them against his chest like that somehow made any of this less insane.

megumi, once again, told himself he would return it before this got any worse.

꣑ৎ JOKE’S ON YOU.

by the next afternoon, it had gotten worse.

not because of the drills, though they were annoying. not because yuji kept trying to turn sparring into a competition no one had agreed to. worse because you were sitting beside megumi on the bench, digging through your gym bag with a frown while he wrapped tape around his wrist and pretended the top drawer in his dorm didn’t exist.

“this is actually so annoying,” you said.

megumi kept his eyes on the tape. “what is?”

“my new pink pair is gone.” you pushed aside your towel, lip gloss, and spare shirt with growing offense. “i swear i put it in here after changing yesterday. it had a little bow and everything. very cute. now it’s missing.”

megumi’s fingers paused for one single heartbeat.

“maybe you left it in your room.”

“i checked.” you sighed like you had suffered a real tragedy. “twice. i think the campus laundry ghosts have chosen me.”

“sorry for your loss.”

“thank you. i’ll need snack compensation.”

“for underwear?”

“for emotional damage.”

he looked at you then, and you looked so genuinely annoyed that guilt twisted through him, sharp and hot. you weren’t suspicious. you weren’t accusing him. you were just talking to him the way you always did, dragging him into your little complaints because he was your boyfriend and that was supposed to mean something simple and safe.

megumi swallowed.

he would return it tonight.

probably.

training picked up again after that, saving him from having to speak. the two of you sparred under the sun until sweat slid down the side of his face and his black shirt stuck lightly to his back. you were quick today, playful, laughing whenever he dodged too easily and calling him a show-off when he pinned your wrist for half a second longer than necessary.

by the time you both stopped, megumi was warm, tired, and dangerously close to forgetting how to act normal.

he turned away and lifted the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face.

the movement exposed his stomach.

you went quiet.

megumi lowered the fabric just enough to see you staring, eyes fixed on the lean lines of muscle along his abdomen and the sharp dip disappearing beneath the waistband of his sweats. your expression changed slowly, surprise melting into something bright and wicked.

“wow, ’gumi,” you said, stepping closer. “i didn’t know you had nice abs.”

his whole body locked. “don’t say it like that.”

“like what?”

“like you’re enjoying this.”

“i am enjoying this.”

that should not have affected him as much as it did.

you reached for him before he could escape, fingertips brushing the exposed skin near his ribs. megumi’s breath hitched so quietly he prayed you didn’t hear it. your touch slid lower, still teasing, still light, tracing the firm plane of his stomach until your fingers grazed the line near his hip.

his body betrayed him immediately.

megumi caught your wrist, quick but gentle, and shifted his hips back just enough to save what remained of his dignity. you blinked up at him, then smiled like you had just discovered something valuable and planned to become a menace about it.

“sensitive?” you asked.

“annoying,” he said, voice too low.

“you’re blushing.”

“it’s hot outside.”

“mhm.” your eyes flicked down for half a second. “sure.”

he was going to die on this field.

then yuji’s voice cut through the air like divine punishment. “are you two flirting or are we training?”

megumi let go of your wrist so fast it was embarrassing.

you only laughed, bright and shameless, before stepping back like you hadn’t just put him through five stages of grief in public. nobara, of course, saw enough to make her grin sharp.

“they’re flirting,” she said. “badly, but still.”

“we’re training,” megumi muttered.

“sure,” you said, attempting to tease him. “whatever helps you sleep at night.”

it did not help him sleep at night.

꣑ৎ SPICE UP UR LIFE, COME GET A FREAK LIKE ME(GUMI)...

later that day, after practice ended, megumi returned to his dorm alone and opened the top drawer. he stared at the folded pink fabric tucked beneath one of his shirts. outside his window, campus lights glowed soft and yellow. on his desk, his phone buzzed.

y/n: still mourning the pink pair </3

y/n: she was cute, she was soft, she was taken too soon ☹

y/n: snack compensation tomorrow? ✌︎㋡

megumi stared at the message until the corner of his mouth twitched despite himself.

then he looked at the drawer again. “i’m a terrible person,” he muttered.

from the corner of the room, one of the rabbits twitched its nose like it agreed.

he should have shut the drawer. he really should have.

instead, megumi opened it again, slow enough that the wood barely made a sound. the pink fabric sat folded beneath one of his shirts, soft and damning, carrying the faintest trace of your scent. his fingers curled around it before he could talk himself out of it, and for one shameful second, he pressed the fabric directly over his nose and mouth. his eyes fell shut as he dragged in a long desperate breath.

your scent—warm, sweet, and intoxicatingly familiar—flooded his lungs, pulling a low, ragged groan from the back of his throat. his knuckles turned white as his grip tightened.

oh, he was disgusting.

worse than that, he was hopeless.

because for all his restraint, all his discipline, all his quiet little attempts to be the perfect boyfriend you deserved, fushiguro megumi had one serious problem.

he was a freak for you.

and you still had no idea.

A oneshot series of anime's best alternative people, I hope this scratches someones itch, because it definitely scratched mine. A quick desclaimer: not all the songs match to character's subgenre. Eg; a char could be hc'd as punk and have an emo song :)

۶ৎ AOT-

Rockstar!Eren ⚠︎ King for a day - Pierce the Veil Goth!Mikasa ⚠︎ Ladykillers - Lush Punk!Jean ⚠︎ Thnks Fr Th Mmrs - Fall out boy

۶ৎ JJK-

Emo!Choso ⚠︎ About a girl - The academy is... Emo!Suguru ⚠︎ Ghost of you - My Chemical Romance

۶ৎ MHA-

Emo!Shinsou ⚠︎ Miss Murder - AFI Emo!Kyouka ⚠︎ Misery Business - Paramore Indie Sleaze!Denki ⚠︎ Uneasy Hearts Weigh the Most - Dance Gavin Dance Aizawa ⚠︎ Still Loving You - Scorpions

۶ৎ Gachiakuta-

Goth!Zanka ⚠︎ You can't eat cats Kevin - Mom Jeans

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Series masterlist: Comment on this post or send an ask to be added to the series masterlist!

Loving Yūji comes with a package deal you don't necessarily know how to deal with. Granted, you've loved him first before this whole ordeal even happened — it still is a matter of when and never an if, per se, when it comes to his special situation. 

"So tight, baby," Yūji says between sucking his breath. He's not quite sure whether to ram and go at a harsher pace or let you adjust to his girth first. His control is being tested too much right now. "Even after all that." 

You moan his name in praise before you lock your legs around his waist and pull yourself closer to him, effectively shutting him up from keeping things slow. You've always wanted things rougher, something that Yūji loves about you (but even then, he still wishes to take his time). 

"Oh s-shit, baby!" Yūji would've let his eyes roll back if he wasn't focused on keeping his entire weight off of you. "F-Fuck!"

"H-Harder, Yūji," you beg him, "please."

Yūji doesn't need to be told twice. He grabs hold of your thighs roughly and pounds into you like an animal in heat. You arch your back further for more, and he gives in. 

"So good, baby," Yūji drools, "so, so good. Oh my — fuck!" 

Just as you are coming down with your first orgasm, another voice pierces through the solidity of the air and breaks it easily as if he had done this countless times before. 

"Enchain." 

Suddenly you are flipped on your hands and knees. Your hair has been forcibly fisted and yanked until your head is pulled back enough to see your lover covered in tattoos, and a vitriol laugh teases your ears. 

"Y-Yū —" 

"Brat's not here," Sukuna's voice deeply rumbles against your skin. 

This is the first time he's ever made his presence known to you. You've heard stories of how Sukuna would pop on Yūji's cheek or his hands whenever he's got something to say (especially towards your sensei and Megumi), but not once has he ever manifested and break through Yūji's control — and right in the middle of fucking, too. 

"Heh," he yanks you further until you can see his eyes gazing heatedly at yours, "pussy so good, my own vessel lost control. Let's see if you do live up to that expectation."

Then he slams your head against the pillow and fucks you senseless. It's wrong . . . to even feel how fucking good it is to be brutally pounded. 

Yet, here you are in the mercy of a sadistic curse, cackling like a bastard that he is. 

Sukuna had you spread out for him, as he continues to ram his cock up inside of you. One of his hands kneads your ass mockingly before he slaps each cheek hard. 

Your teeth bite into the soft fabric of the pillow, muffling your screams lest you want Megumi to hear you at the other side of the room. At this point, Sukuna slapping you might've really been a dead giveaway. 

"Y-Yūji —"

"My name, brat —"

"—Y-Yūji, Y-Yū—"

"— I said my name." He slaps your sloppily wet clit. 

You arch your back unknowingly to the sensation, and before you could have thought twice about it, your body yields and your mouth muddles the name, "S-Sukuna!"

"Good." He mutters darkly, "Good girl."

He fondles your breasts next. Then his tongue laps to the outline of your spine and back up to your neck, where he marks you. His canines have sunk into your skin so deeply, he can taste your blood, and that further fuels him into a mess of moans and praise as if he's drunk on an aphrodisiac. 

"Again." He orders you. "My name. Only." 

"Sukuna," you say. "Sukuna! Sukuna! Sukuna! F-Fuck, I —" 

"That's it."

The first of your orgasms comes to you like a torrent. It's harsh and unforgiving, much like how Sukuna doesn't even stop fucking you even as you try your best to squirm away. 

When you feel that he's finally slowed down, when his hands have released the hold against your body, and you allow yourself to breathe a little better, there's a sudden shift between you and the King of Curses. You realize that it's because you've been flipped back and your legs are locked around his waist again. 

"S-Sukuna?" 

"No," Yūji breathlessly says. He leans his face closer until his lips brush yours. "I-It's me, baby. It's me. I'm sorry. I-I lost control. Are you hurt?" 

You shake your head with a smile. "N-No, I'm fine. I'm more than fine." 

"Yeah?" Yūji perks up. You notice that his cock has hardened once more and he's repositioning himself to your abused cunt. 

"Yeah, baby." You laugh dumbly. "That was . . . quite exhilarating." 

Yūji bumps his nose against yours. The heat in his eyes is visible, but it is nowhere near as intense as the other pair you were forced to look at prior. 

"That was hot," Yūji admits. "Watching you . . . like that." 

"It was," you breathe out. 

When you peer below Yūji's eyes, you swear you've seen the glints of red and black squinting back at you as if to tell you that he's heard about your little honesty. 

Well, it really can't be helped sometimes. After all, loving Yūji does come with a deal. 

"Are you tired?" Yūji brushes your hair tenderly. 

You shake your head. "Not at all, baby." 

"Let me fuck you next, then." 

mdni ✿⁠ smut

wc 1749

“Drop these off in Master Sukuna’s chambers,” Uraume instructed, handing you a stack of dark red linens. “Place them on the low table when you walk in.”

“Okay,” you nodded as you accepted the stack of silks. You chose not to comment on the way Uraume wiped their hands on their robes after your hands briefly brushed. 

“Should I knock or just walk in?”

“He shouldn’t be there right now, so just walk in. He’s attending to personal matters. If he is there, stay silent and keep your head down,” said Uraume, lips etched into a permanent half-scowl. 

Although they had never said it out loud, everyone knew that Uraume put Sukuna high above everyone else, followed by themself and then all the servants.

“Of course,” you nodded again, nervous to be sent off into Sukuna’s chambers.

You, along with most of the servants, did your best to stay as far away from him as possible. Keep to yourself, stay out of the way, and do your best to get by.

You’d never even dared enter his private wing of the estate. 

“And remember,” Uraume’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. “No matter what you do, do not disturb him.”

You’d barely stepped out of the doorway before you heard Uraume scolding another meek servant, already moved onto the seemingly never ending to-do list they filled their days with. 

Sliding the door shut behind you, you nervously made your way across the estate. The further you went, the more sparse the servants were, and you only prayed that Sukuna wasn’t there.

It wasn’t a secret that he preferred to be alone. No personal servants, besides Uraume, of course, no advisors, no concubines, not even any family.

Those who dared try to impose themselves on his life often ended up with a few less limbs than the average person. 

Your footsteps seemed to echo through the silent hallway. You had finally arrived just outside his bedroom and there wasn’t another soul in sight. 

Swallowing your nerves, you tilted your head downward and opened the door. 

You stood still in the doorway. 

Recalling Uraume’s orders, you kept your eyes trained on your feet until you were sure nobody was going to yell at you or kill you on the spot. 

You finally walked two steps over to the mahogony table and quietly set down the linens. 

Now what? Just leave?

The silence seemed ever consuming. 

Clearly nobody was in the room, it wouldn’t hurt to take a peek, would it?

Wrong. 

You lifted your head up just enough to sweep your eyes over the expanse of the room. 

Large desk, large bed, and–oh, fuck.

Sukuna, right in the middle of the bed, staring at you as he held his cocks in his hands.

Two?

You couldn’t help your eyes from widening, mouth dropped open in a little ‘o’ shape as you processed what you were seeing. 

Clearly, your instincts needed sharpening to allow you to just openly gape at Sukuna. 

It was just so hard to look away from the way he used both of his right hands to stroke himself. 

Two cocks stacked on top of each other, each one thick and dripping. 

He wasn’t stopping, even with your staring, and you realize he must’ve just been waiting for you to get the hell out of there. 

You must have been staring for a while, because his scoff suddenly snapped you out of your thoughts. 

“Are you just going to stand there gawking?” He asked, voice low and annoyed. 

“N-no! Sorry,” you quickly corrected yourself, bowing your head as you rushed to leave the room. 

You turned as fast as you could, hoping he’d decide to let you keep all your limbs if you got out quick enough. 

Just as you were a step away from the door, his voice called out to you.

“I didn’t say you could leave.”

That’s it. This was the end.

You paused in the doorway and hesitantly turned around, eyes once again trained on the ground. 

“Did someone send you here, or did you wander in all on your own?”

You swallowed. “Uraume sent me to deliver some fabrics.”

“Look up when I’m speaking to you,” he commanded.

You lifted your head up, eyes trained on his face so as to not watch the hypnotizing way he stroked himself. 

“That’s better,” he commented dryly, eyes not-so subtly looking you up and down before one corner of his mouth lifted up in a grin. “You didn’t seem to have a problem with it a few moments ago.”

“I apologize, Master Sukuna,” you said, ready to get down on your knees and pray for forgiveness if you needed to. “Please forgive me. I didn’t intend to intrude.”

“Hm,” the grin disappeared to be replaced by a neutral expression you couldn’t dissect. “Come here.”

Yup. Definitely the end. 

You stiffly walked across the room over to where he was sprawled out on his bed. He hadn’t let up his motions, palms dragging up and down and up and down repeatedly. 

“You just couldn’t help your curiosity, could you?” He asked, eyes taking a better look at you as you stood at the edge of his bed. “Stop shaking. If I wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead.”

As calming as the words should be, they didn’t do much to reassure you of your safety. 

He rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath, “So fragile.”

You stood there stiffly, only looking at his face as you nervously awaited your next instructions. 

He exhaled in frustration. 

“You very rudely interrupted me with your staring,” he said dryly. You opened your mouth to apologize again, but he cut you off before you had the chance. “Stop. You can help me to make up for it.”

You closed your mouth.

“How?”

He said nothing, simply nodding at his lower half with his chin. 

“What?” Your eyes widened, immediately understanding what he wanted your help with. “But–two!”

He raised an eyebrow. “That wasn’t an issue when you were gawking earlier.”

“Um,” you were at a loss for words, simultaneously embarrassed and scared for what was to happen. 

“Relax,” he huffed. “I’m not going to fuck you.”

That did nothing to help your nerves. 

You couldn’t deny he was attractive. Very, if you were being honest with yourself and the nights you shamefully let your hand slip under the waistband of your pants. It’s just that the attractiveness doesn’t cancel out the intimidation and the knowledge of the crimes he’s committed.

“Then what do you want?” You dared to finally ask. 

“Start by getting on the bed.”

You blinked, swallowing your pride and finally lifting yourself up on the plush mattress to sit yourself in between his massive legs. 

You looked at him for directions.

“You have two hands, use them.”

Breath hitching, you reached a tentative hand out to replace the one covering the cock closest to his stomach. The hand absolutely dwarfed yours. 

As you wrapped your hand around his length, you frowned as you realized it barely covered anything and one hand on each would do almost nothing. 

Everything about this man was huge. 

He must have sensed your thoughts, because he suddenly spoke in that low timbre. 

“It doesn’t matter.” Lidded eyes looked down at you. “Do what you can. You’ll have time to learn more later.”

You didn’t dwell on the words, giving an experimental stroke to his cock, flushed red and already leaking down over your hand. 

It was captivating. 

"They wont bite."

You didn’t waste any time before taking the other one out of his hand and starting to work it. 

You heard the amused chuckle rumble his chest above you, but it only encouraged you further.

Biting your lip, you squeezed both cocks gently as you moved your hands up and down in sync. 

Every twitch in your hands let you feel every thick vein running along the shafts, both cocks curved downward. 

Although you didn’t look away from the mesmerizing mess in your hand, you noticed the way his head started to tilt backwards from pleasure. 

You continued to pump them together, more precum spilling onto your fingers every time your fist lifted from the thick bases up to the tips. 

Not much longer later, his chest started to rise and fall in an irregular rhythm. 

He was even more attractive like this, you thought, eyes back up on his face instead of the warmth in your hands. 

You could tell he was keeping himself quiet on purpose. Eyes almost all the way shut, he still let out a few unsteady breaths and you clung onto those breathy sounds coming from his lips.

Everything about this was hypnotizing. 

From the way his cocks sat flushed and heavy in your hands to the tattooed muscles along his torso to the way he pretended not to be affected, you took all of it in and kept the memory for safekeeping. 

The warmth of him finally spilling into your hands snapped you out of your thoughts. You focused back on that, speeding up the friction on his cocks as he came on your fists. 

He hissed, head thrown back against the pillow as your movements spurred him on through his release.

You had a hard time tearing your eyes away from his face, his jaw clenched until the bottom half of his eyes looked down at you. 

“Good,” he decided. “Your curiosity is good for something.” 

You frowned, but didn’t dare complain to the King of Curses.

“Well?” He asked after a moment, and you sat there dumbfounded and unsure what he wanted you to do. “What now?”

“Are you just going to sit there like you want a turn, or are you going to clean yourself up?”

“Sorry.” You pulled your hands away like he burned you, face heating up in embarrassment. You looked around the room for something to clean your hands with. 

“Use those,” he added, pointing to the linens you originally brought in. 

“I just brought these in, though. They take so long to wash.” You sighed, slipping off the bed to use one to wipe your hands with. 

“You’ll have to go back to get some new ones, then,” he commented, two arms resting behind his head. 

You frowned at the thought of walking all the way there and back again. 

“Don’t look so sad,” he grinned, eyes shut again. 

“Next time you come back, i'll return the favor.”

you was being an absolute brat today.

your poor boyfriend, megumi, has been begging you for space, but you just wouldn’t listen. you was so horny, you couldn’t help it, your boyfriend was the sexiest guy alive.

that being said, you’ve been begging him for sex all day. he told to be patient, to let him get done with everything he needed to get done today, but you wouldn’t listen. he was trying to get some paperwork done at his desk before you came in his room, pleading to just sit in his lap because you “missed him” megumi let out a huge sigh, irritation growing slightly because he already told you to leave fifteen minutes ago. he begrudgingly agreed, scooting out his desk chair as you planted down on his lap.

it only took you five minutes for you to start grinding on him, trying to coax him into getting what you want. “that’s it, go.” he said sternly, shooing you out of his room before literally locking the door behind you. he could finally focus on his paperwork now, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t slightly hard from your grinding. great, now he has to focus extra hard to get this done.

you waited for him outside his room on the couch, the wet ache between your thighs only getting worse as the minutes blurred into several, and those minutes turned into two hours. your ears perked up at the sound of him unlocking his door and finally walking out of his room, looking tired and worn. you immediately got up, violating his personal space as you practically threw yourself on him, feeling him up in the process.

megumi looked down at you, a hint of irritation mixed with his usual blank face as he tried to pry away from your touches. “let go of me, i have lunch plans with itadori and kugisaki.” he said, tone flat to hide the effect you was truly having on him. your smile grew, begging for him to let you come with him, promising to not be annoying.

he doesn’t know why he believed that for even a second.

he’s trying to hold his composure, swatting your hand away from under the table as you palmed him next to you. you was having way too much fun with this, blabbing away with his friends as you felt him growing harder under your hand. he swatted your hand away harder, irritation blooming on his face as he skimmed the menu. “dude, you okay? you look pissed, and you keep jerking.” yuji asked, concern lacing his voice. you only sped up your hand under the table as megumi struggled to keep a grip. “he’s seething in anger over the menu.” nobara teased, bumping yuji’s arm as they giggled.

he glanced over at you, swatting your hand away again as he gave you a warning glare while they was busy laughing. “i’m fine.” he replied, tone short and clipped. they continued to laugh and tease him. you laughed right along with them, having the audacity to snuggle up against him afterwards.

he was about two seconds away from snapping. you couldn’t keep your hands off him as he drove the two of you home, whining about how horny you was, how bad you wanted him to fuck you, trying to make excuses for why you couldn’t stop touching him inappropriately at lunch. he wasn’t having any of that though, shutting you up and turning up the car’s radio to calm his nerves.

when the two of you got home, he was quiet, strangely calm as he walked past you and straight to the bathroom, starting the shower. you followed him, whining about needing him and wanting to spend time with him. “get out.” he muttered, moving you out of the bathroom before shutting the door.

finally, the space he’s needing all day. he let the warm water soothe his tense muscles, leaning his head back and letting the water course through his naturally spiky hair, leaving it flat on his head in the process. he purposely spent extra time in the shower, washing away the dirt, grime, and irritation of the day before turning off the water and grabbing his towel to wrap loosely around his waist.

just for all that irritation to come back, seeing you waiting for him in the bathroom, starting your bullshit up again, begging for him and even trying to tug his towel off.

and megumi fushiguro, the usual calm and composed man, snapped.

he was pissed, it was evident in the way he was fucking you within an inch of your life. he’s got a tight grip on your hips, pulling you into every brutal thrust, cock pistoning in and out of you rapidly. he was still warm and damp from his shower, hair wet and flat on his head and hanging in front of his eyes. he looked so hot like this, anger mixed with pleasure in his expression as he hunched over, broad shoulders almost shielding you from the outside world.

“such a fucking brat. don’t ever know when to quit.” he snarled, fucking into you harder as he replayed today’s earlier events in his head. “i told you to fucking—mphh—wait. but you don’t know what that means do you?” he taunted between grunts, head hanging low and in your face. the pleasure was suffocating, it was hot and sweaty, no room to squirm away from the aggressive fucking he was giving you.

he’s never been this rough with in bed before. you must’ve really pissed him off, his hold on you bruising as his hips clapped into yours violently. it felt too good, his cock slotting through your velvety walls as his tip slammed into your sweet spot. you moaned wildly underneath him, trying to squirm away from the almost painful pleasure. “gumi..! go softer, it’s too-“ you attempted to whine before his hand covered your mouth, silencing you.

“thought this is what you wanted? so shut up and take what i give you.” he grunted in your ear, pace picking up as he lost himself in your slick walls, your moans and whines against his palm spurring him on as he fucked all his anger out on you. he almost looked like a different person, wet hair slick down on his head, eyes dark and intense with a deranged look on his face had you clenching around his cock bullying your insides.

the way he was taking control, fucking you into your place, and being mean with it, had you whining under his hand. your thighs shook in pleasure as you grew wetter, slick walls pulling him deeper despite your protest of it being too much just seconds earlier, and the obscene sound of his cock sliding in and out of your soaked pussy filled the room as you gripped at the sheets desperately to ground yourself.

the pleasure coiled warm and steady in your core, arousal dripping onto the sheets and coating megumi’s dick in the process. you writhed with your eyes closed as he fucked into you faster, each thrust causing the bed to creak and the headboard to knock against the wall in a steady rhythm. “sound so much better like this…not nagging me.” he moaned, pleasure catching up to him as he felt his balls tightening with his impending orgasm.

your legs began to kick and jerk, being the only part of your body that could move properly due to megumi’s body weight pressing into you. drawn out whines left your mouth as your walls clenched ans spasmed around him. “yeah? gonna cum, baby? go ahead, soak me.” he demanded, thumb coming down to rub harsh circles on your clit.

that was your undoing, squealing under his palm as you came around his cock, throwing your head back as your orgasm soaked everything. “haah…fuck…now you know how to listen. when you’re getting what you want.” he said harshly, thrusts losing rhythm as he chased his own orgasm. he removed his hand from your mouth to kiss you deeply, hips jerking once more as he came hard and deep inside you.

he moved his hips slowly, riding out his high as the two of you gasped and breathed heavily. his cum seeping out between the two of you as he stayed buried inside your warm walls.

the two of you sat in a long silence, kissing softly in the dark. he was being loving and affectionate compared to how he just fucked you violently. you threaded your hand through his slick hair, admiring the way his face was starting to soften. “you look good like this…can we go again?

“no.”

“pleassee?”

✦ katsuki hates arguing with you ⸝⸝ .ᐟ

katsuki who feels particularly bad after an argument. he can't even remember what it was about, only understands his own feelings enough to know that he doesn't want to make you feel like that again — he doesn't want to feel that distant from you ever again.

even after the problem is resolved through a heart to heart and make-up kisses, he wants to prove to you that he means it — and maybe quiet the voice in his head that yearns for reassurance while he's at it.

he memorizes your body for hours, cherishing it like it's been gone for too long. kisses littered all over your body, head between your thighs ... even just sitting on his haunches admiring the way your chest rises and falls ... anything he can do to erase the distance he's created in his head and make it up to you.

and in being so entranced with making you feel good, he ignores himself. rutting against silken sheets or the heel of his palm if it means his tongue can please you for just a few more minutes. whispering against the inside of your thighs about how 'sorry' he is, while his voice falters.

it isn't until you forcibly pull his head from between your legs that you realize he's a goner — eyes puffed up, mouth bruised hues of red, and his cock sitting painstakingly trapped in his boxers. nodding in reassurance that he deserves to feel good too, and practically begging him to let you take care of him in return.

he's an incohearant mess by the end of it. his forehead practically glued to yours, with all semblance of restraint disappearing after every thrust. he barely makes it 15 minutes before he's chewing on his lip, willing himself not to finish first.

katsuki who can't bear the thought of losing you in a world that feels incomplete without you.

© — tokkushin : all rights reserved. all works belong to me .ᐟ pls do not repost/copy, or feed into ai.

Please add a note at the top of your fics to specify the reader's gender

Female/feminine reader is the most common, but not everyone reading identifies that way. There is truly nothing worse as a transmasc person than starting a fic, enjoying it, then getting fucking misgendered by a tumblr post if I get into it

On a good day it's mildly irritating, on a bad day it can be genuinely upsetting. I just want to enjoy reading like everyone else

Just a note at the top like "Sukuna x fem!reader" or whatever formatting you want, and if you really wanna push the boat out, tag it as jjk x female reader or whatever the applicable fandom is

And on a related note, please stop putting gender neutral fics in the male reader tags. That isn't a male reader, it's gender neutral. That has its own tag