katsuki has spent months lying about bruises, broken windows, and web fluid in the laundry. unfortunately for him, the suit looks good enough that forgiveness might have to wait until morning. (or— spider-man is sleeping on the couch, but first you make him model the suit.)
SPIDER-MAN!BAKUGOU KATSUKI X FEM!READER | spider-man au, established relationship, kidfic (kind of), dad!bakugou, post secret identity reveal, domestic fluff, light angst, katsuki is a liar but he is trying, suggestive, sexual tension, objectification as a love language, implied breeding kink (they talk abt making another one).
word count: 3.2k
hi from marcel: hi um please accept this humble offering sorry for being a fucking deadbeat omg
you wait until aiya has been asleep for twenty-seven minutes.
not twenty. not fifteen. twenty-seven, because fifteen is still a gamble and twenty is when she likes to trick you into thinking she’s down properly before making one offended little noise through the baby monitor and dragging you both back into the nursery like tiny, gummy royalty.
the apartment is dim after that. not silent, because nowhere with a baby is ever silent anymore. there’s the low hum of the monitor on your nightstand, the occasional shift of the washing machine somewhere down the hall, the distant traffic sliding wet over the street outside. katsuki’s in the bathroom brushing his teeth, shirtless, sweatpants low on his hips, hair flattened from the shower in a way that makes him look younger and grumpier than he has any right to.
you’re sitting on the bed, cross-legged, watching him through the open door.
he catches your eye in the mirror and immediately narrows his.
toothbrush still in his mouth, he says, “what.”
you smile.
his suspicion doubles. “don’t smile like that.”
“like what?”
“like you’re about to ask for some weird shit.”
“put the suit on.”
he stops brushing.
you can actually see the words register. they move across his face in stages: confusion, disbelief, offense, and then the horrible, dawning realization that you are dead serious.
he spits into the sink. “no.”
“you didn't even think about it.”
“you said put the suit on.”
“yeah.”
“so, no.”
“katsuki.”
“absolutely fuckin’ not.”
you tilt your head at him, still smiling sweetly, and it is cheap. it is shameless. it works anyway, because his shoulders tense like he’s bracing himself for impact.
“baby,” you say.
he points the toothbrush at you. “don’t.”
“i just want to see it.”
“you’ve seen it.”
“not on purpose.”
“you saw it yesterday.”
“you were bleeding yesterday.”
“yeah, and?”
“and i was busy being mad.”
“you’re always busy bein’ mad lately.”
“because you’re spider-man.”
“keep your voice down,” he hisses, glancing toward the hallway like aiya— in her six month old glory— is going to rise from her crib and report him to the authorities.
you grin wider. “put the suit on.”
“why?”
you blink at him.
he stares back.
a second passes.
another.
then his mouth drops open just slightly, like he has finally, belatedly, realised that the woman who had his child is, in fact, still capable of wanting him so badly it becomes everyone’s problem.
“no,” he says again, weaker this time.
“yes.”
“it’s not—” he drags a hand down his face. “it’s not for that.”
“i know.”
“it’s work gear.”
“i know.”
“it’s dirty.”
“is it dirty right now?”
“no.”
“then put it on.”
“you’re fuckin’ unbelievable.”
“please?”
he groans like you’ve asked him to jump into traffic. which is rich, honestly, considering his usual hobby.
but he goes.
because he is impossible and stubborn and a liar and currently still on thin ice with you, but he is also whipped down to the marrow. you hear him open the narrow cupboard in the hallway. the quiet scrape of the false back he thought you didn’t notice after you found out. a zipper. fabric. muttering.
“stupid,” he says from the hall.
“love you.”
you settle back against the pillows, biting the inside of your cheek so you don’t laugh too loudly and wake the baby. the monitor crackles once, just static, and both of you freeze out of habit.
nothing.
then katsuki appears in the doorway.
and you forget every single thing you were about to say.
because it is one thing to know.
it is another thing entirely to see him standing there in your bedroom, mask off, hair a mess from tugging it on, the suit sealed up to his throat and clinging to every brutal, familiar line of him.
it’s not shiny. not exactly. more matte, more practical, dark red and black with webbing worked into the fabric, reinforced at the shoulders and ribs. there are seams you never would’ve noticed on the news. small armored panels along his forearms. the faint outline of hidden web cartridges at his wrists. a tear near his thigh that’s been repaired messily by hand, probably his, because he never lets anyone touch his things unless they’re you or aiya, and even then he complains the whole time.
your eyes drop.
his hands immediately move in front of his crotch.
“nope.”
you blink back up at him. “what are you doing?”
“what’re you doin’?”
“looking.”
“yeah. stop.”
“no.”
“baby.”
“move your hands, boy.”
his face goes red so fast it’s actually beautiful.
“fuck off.”
“katsuki.”
“no.”
you sit up straighter, interest sharpening. “are you embarrassed?”
“i’m annoyed.”
“you’re covering yourself.”
“because you’re lookin’ at me like that!”
“like i love you?”
“like you wanna eat me.”
“also love.”
“not helpin’.”
you crawl to the edge of the bed on your knees, and his gaze dips before he can stop it. you’re only in one of his old shirts and underwear, hair still loose from your shower, skin warm from the lamp beside the bed. you know exactly what you look like. you know he knows. he swallows like he hates that you know.
“turn around,” you say.
“jesus christ.”
“turn.”
“no.”
“i had your baby.”
he glares. “you can’t use that for everythin’.”
“watch me.”
“that’s manipulation.”
“that’s motherhood.”
he shuts his eyes for a second, jaw working, then turns around with the stiff, humiliated dignity of a man being led to execution.
you make a sound.
you really don’t mean to.
it’s small. barely anything. just a little breath punched out of you because the suit is tight over his back and tighter over his thighs, and his ass is, frankly, a public safety hazard.
his head snaps around. “don’t.”
“i didn’t say anything.”
“you made a noise.”
“i have lungs.”
“you have problems.”
“yes. one of them is standing in my room dressed like japan’s sluttiest arachnid.”
he turns back so fast you almost laugh. “never say that again.”
“spider-suki.”
“no.”
“spider-man.”
“no.”
“daddy long legs.”
“fuck no.”
he’s trying so hard to be irritated that it wraps all the way around into adorable. his hands are back in front of himself, shoulders hunched, mouth in that pout he pretends is a scowl. and the worst part is, you know him too well. you can see the exact second embarrassment gives way to want. the way his breathing changes. the way his eyes keep catching on your mouth. the way he shifts his weight like he thinks it’ll hide what the suit is already starting to make painfully obvious.
you smile.
his eyes narrow. “don’t.”
“move your hands.”
“no.”
“let me see.”
“it looks stupid.”
“i’ll be the judge of that.”
“i don’t usually have a fuckin’ boner in the suit.”
“i’m not laughing.”
you press your lips together.
he points at you immediately. “don’t laugh.”
“you are. i should web your mouth shut.”
you light up. “can you?”
“wrong thing to say to you. forget i said it.”
“move your hands.”
“you’re evil.”
“yeah.”
he does.
not all at once. not confidently. he drags his hands away like he’s physically suffering for it, eyes cutting to the ceiling, cheeks red, mouth pulled into a miserable little line.
and you look.
because of course you do.
because that is your boyfriend. the father of your child. the man who washes bottles at two in the morning and warms your cold hands under his shirt and comes home bruised and lies badly and loves you so hard he almost ruins it trying to keep you safe.
and he is standing in front of you in a suit that leaves very little to the imagination.
your throat goes dry.
“oh,” you say softly.
he groans. “see? stupid.”
“not the word i was going to use.”
“don’t get poetic about my dick. i will leave.”
“no, you won’t.”
he doesn’t.
you reach for him, and he comes closer immediately, helpless as gravity. one step. then another. until he’s standing between your knees at the edge of the bed, still tense, still trying to hold on to the last scraps of dignity while you run your fingers over his waist.
the material is warm from his body.
that surprises you.
you thought it would feel colder. more removed from him somehow. like a costume. like a wall between what he does out there and what he is in here.
but it isn’t.
under your hands, it’s just katsuki.
your katsuki.
the hard plane of his stomach under your palm. the hitch in his breath when your fingers press into the seam at his hip. the little twitch in his jaw when you look up at him through your lashes.
“i should’ve known,” you murmur.
the teasing leaves his face. “what?”
you slide both hands around him, palms flattening against his back, feeling him stiffen at the tenderness of it. “i know your body too well.”
his gaze drops to you.
you trace one of the repaired seams near his ribs. “this one. you came home with a bruise here and told me you fell at the gym.”
“i did fall.”
“off a building?”
he says nothing. you touch his shoulder. “and here. you said you pulled something boxing.”
“kind of did.”
“fighting crime is not boxing.”
“close enough.”
“you’re so stupid.”
his mouth softens. “yeah.”
“and i’m still mad.”
“i know.”
“furious, actually.”
“i know.”
“but also...” your fingers hook into the suit at his waist. “you look really good.”
his eyes flick away like he can’t bear that.
which is absurd, because katsuki is not shy. he is loud in every room he enters. he argues with microwaves. he threatens furniture when he stubs his toe. he walks around shirtless in summer like he was built specifically to ruin your life and feels smug when he catches you looking.
but this is different.
this is the secret part of him.
this is the body you know wrapped in the life he hid.
so when your hands keep moving, slower now, reverent despite yourself, his mouth opens on a breath that doesn’t become words.
“baby,” he says eventually, very low.
“hm?”
“you gotta stop lookin’ at me like that.”
“why?”
“because i’m tryin’ to be good.”
the room seems to shrink around you.
the baby monitor hums on the nightstand. somewhere outside, a car passes over wet pavement. the whole city keeps moving, completely unaware that spider-man is standing in your bedroom, asking for mercy from the mother of his child.
you lean forward and press your mouth to his stomach through the suit.
his hand flies to the back of your head.
not pushing. not holding you there.
just touching. like he has to anchor himself to you by touch alone.
“fuck,” he whispers.
you look up. “take it off.”
his thumb drags once over your hair. “thought you wanted it on.”
“i wanted to look.”
“yeah?”
“now i’m done looking.”
that does it.
something in him changes. not loud. not sudden. just a shift, like a lock turning.
his hand slides from your hair to your jaw, tipping your face up. his eyes are dark and soft and still a little scared around the edges, because this is new. not you wanting him. not him wanting you. that part is old as breathing.
this is you wanting all of him now that you know.
the liar. the hero. the idiot on the couch. the man in the suit. the father who catches aiya before she falls, sometimes before she even starts to tip.
“say it proper,” he murmurs.
you smile. “i want you.”
he kisses you.
it is not gentle for long. it starts that way, maybe. a brush, a question, his mouth warm and mint-clean from the bathroom. but then your fingers pull at the sealed edge of the suit and his control snaps with an almost audible thing, his hand bracing on the mattress beside your thigh, the other cupping your face as he bends over you.
you pull him closer until he has to climb onto the bed, one knee sinking into the sheets, the suit creaking softly with the movement.
“zipper’s in the back.”
then he stops.
you blink up at him. “what?”
you stare.
he stares back, already humiliated. then you burst into the quietest, most violent laugh of your life.
“don’t,” he hisses.
you clap a hand over your mouth, shoulders shaking.
“it’s not funny.”
“spider-man can’t get naked.”
“i can get naked.”
“not alone, apparently.”
“it’s a security design.”
“you need mommy to unzip you?”
his eyes flash. “careful.”
your laugh cuts off into something else.
he notices. of course he notices. his head tilts, just a little, interest sharpening like a blade.
“oh?” he says.
“shut up.”
“that do somethin’ for you?”
“you’re literally stuck in your superhero onesie.”
“and you’re still wet about it.”
you kick at him. he catches your ankle easily, grinning now, finally getting some of his footing back.
“turn around.”
“bossy.”
“turn around before aiya wakes up and ruins your life.”
that gets him moving.
he sits on the edge of the bed with his back to you, and you kneel behind him. the suit is even better up close, which is unfair. there are tiny scratches in the black patterning, a place near the nape that’s been torn and resewn, the faint smell of clean fabric and him. you find the hidden zipper between his shoulder blades and drag it down slowly.
too slowly, apparently, because his head drops forward.
“baby.”
“what?”
“don’t tease.”
you press a kiss to the back of his neck.
he goes quiet.
for all his strength, he is so easy there. so vulnerable when you touch the places he cannot watch you touch. your mouth at his neck, your hands on his shoulders, peeling the suit down inch by inch until his skin is bare under your palms.
you stop at the edge of a bruise blooming yellow near his ribs.
your chest tightens.
“katsuki.”
“old one.”
“how old?”
“couple days.”
“you didn’t tell me.”
“didn’t tell you a lotta shit.”
“that is not charming honesty.”
“wasn’t tryin’ to be.”
you kiss the bruise anyway. soft. once.
his breath catches.
“you’re still on the couch after this,” you whisper against his skin.
he huffs. “figured.”
“for a week.”
“three days.”
“five.”
“four.”
“six for negotiating.”
he turns his head, glaring over his shoulder. “that’s not how that works.”
“it is in my house.”
“our house.”
“my house until i forgive you.”
his mouth twitches. “mean ass woman.”
“lying ass spider.”
he twists suddenly, pulling you forward with one arm, and you squeak before remembering to be quiet. the two of you freeze, eyes shooting to the baby monitor.
static. nothing else.
katsuki whispers, “you’re gonna wake her up.”
“you just manhandled me.”
“me?”
“yeah, you.”
“quietly.”
“you’re so annoying.”
“you love me.”
“maybe a little.”
he kisses you again, smiling into it this time, and the suit gets lost somewhere around his waist, then his thighs, then the floor. there’s a clumsy, stifled struggle with one ankle that nearly makes you laugh again until he bites your shoulder through his own shirt and mutters, “one sound and i’m puttin’ it back on.”
“threatening me with a good time.”
“you’re insane.”
“you knew that before.”
“knew it before i knocked you up, too.”
heat blooms low in your stomach. his eyes catch it.
your hand tightens around his bicep. “should do it again.”
for a second, the whole room goes still.
not because he doesn’t understand.
because he does.
because aiya is asleep down the hall, and your body remembers her. the ache, the weight, the long nights, the softness of her head under your chin, the impossible terror of loving something that small. it remembers katsuki kneeling beside the bed with a newborn tucked against his bare chest, whispering promises to both of you like he could scare the world into behaving if he growled hard enough.
his hand spreads over your stomach.
careful. reverent.
“yeah?” he says, voice rough.
you nod.
he bends until his forehead rests against yours. “you sure?”
“i’m sure.”
“not just because you’re freakin’ out over the suit?”
“that is a factor.”
he snorts.
you smile, sliding your arms around his neck. “but no. not just that.”
his thumb strokes once, slow, over your stomach.
“aiya’s gonna be pissed.”
“aiya’s six months old.”
“she’s possessive.”
“she gets that from you.”
“damn right.”
you kiss him before he can say anything else stupid, and he follows you down into the bed with an instinct that feels older than the secret, older than the suit, older than the hurt still waiting for both of you in the morning.
for now, he is warm and heavy over you, bare skin against bare skin, one hand braced carefully near your head like he still thinks he might crush you after all these years. you pull him closer anyway. you always do.
“couch tomorrow,” you whisper against his mouth.
“yeah, yeah.”
“and we’re still talking.”
“yeah.”
“and you’re teaching me how the web thingy works.”
“absolutely not.”
“katsuki.”
“fine.”
“and i’m putting the suit on once.”
his head lifts.
you blink innocently.
“no,” he says.
“yes.”
“no.”
“it’s only fair.”
“you wearin’ that suit is how we end up with an army of brats.”
you gasp. “so you agree.”
“i agree you’re awful.”
the baby monitor crackles.
both of you freeze again, half tangled, half laughing, entirely caught.
aiya sighs.
katsuki lowers his forehead to your shoulder in silent, desperate prayer.
you bite your lip so hard you almost hurt yourself.
after a long moment, he whispers, “still asleep.”
“spider-sense?”
“dad sense.”
you soften before you can stop yourself. he feels it. lifts his head. the grin is gone now, replaced with something quieter. something open and tired and so painfully full of love that you almost hate him for making you feel it while you’re still furious.
“i’m sorry,” he says.
no defence. no excuse.
just that.you touch his cheek.
“i know.”
“i’ll tell you everythin’.”
“you better.”
“everythin’.”
you hold him there, fingers sliding into his hair, the city outside wet and glowing and alive around you. somewhere in it, there are rooftops he knows better than streets. alleys where he has bled alone. people he has saved without you knowing. versions of him you are only just beginning to meet.
but this version is yours.
in your bed. in your arms. warm, embarrassed, breathing hard against your throat.
“katsuki?”
“hm?”
“make another baby with me.”
he goes still for one heartbeat.
then his mouth finds yours again, and this time there is nothing funny about it.
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summary! your best friend satoru gojo has had a massive crush on you for years, the only issue is, he's pretty slutty. all he wants is you, god, you're the only thing he cares about these days, but he's too insecure to let himself want someone as beautiful and kind as you are.. he feels like he doesn't deserve such a loving person, so he sticks to his promiscuous lifestyle until you two can't handle pretending you're not enamoured with each other anymore. (insecure gojo, angst to comfort, gojo uses sex as an escape (no explicit mentions of said sex between others), toxicity, he's a sweetheart i promise)
satoru was off-his-fucking-face drunk.
he saw you from across the room chatting it up with shiu, a well known plug around campus, and a very attractive one at that, although he hated to admit it.
he knows he probably shouldn't of felt that stab of jelousy that just radiated through his gut, he's supposed to smile, then shrug all nonchalantly, cmon. don’t be weird. she talks to people. you talk to everyone. that’s how this shit works. he thinks.
but then he clocks the way shiu leans in closer, not to the point he's feeling all up on you, but he's close enough that it really, really pisses gojo off.
so, like any good 'best friend' who was almost blackout would do, he stalked over and threw his floppy, muscular arms around your waist with a deadly glare.
"can you fuck off shiu? no one wants you around here fucking up freshman with your fucking sketchy shit." he slurred, clinging to you like a koala.
"good cussing, satoru." shiu smiles with a new cigarette hanging from his lip.
"i hate you."
"i know, buddy..." he replies, winking at you before slipping the back of smiles into his pocket, "well uh, i'll leave you two alone then?" the obviously more mature man offers, you clench your teeth and pull one of satorus arms off of your body.
"sorry, kong. we'll chat another time?"
"no, you won't. go away shiu." satoru quipped, the black haired man just waves with a chuckle and moves on. he knew drunk gojo wasn't to be taken to heart, after all.
good riddance, he thought. everyone knew you were his, so why wasn't shiu getting that?
he sighed, but deep down he hated that part of himself. the obsessive part that wants to pull you away while knowing full well he's never once made any sort of claim on you. he doesn't get to play guard dog when he himself is the one who's taught everyone he's nothing more but a temporary play thing for others to use.
he knows it's pathetic, but still, he couldn't help but cling to you. it was just second nature to him at this point.
once shiu's gone, you exhale curtly. this always happened. despite your and satoru's relationship being nothing more than a tight friendship, he always got disgustingly possessive when you gave your attention to others, especially men, and especially at parties.
you sigh, then pry his other lanky arm off you with a big huff, fuck, he was heavy.
“you’re being ridiculous, satoru,” you groan, yelling over the music even though he's loud enough for the both of you, “i was only asking him how his studies were going.”
“don’t care,” satoru mumbles with his cheek pressed to your smaller shoulder. “don’t like him.”
“you don’t like anyone who talks to me.”
“mhm.”
you groan softly, this has happened so many times it’s become expected at these kinds of things. you reach for his collar and tug it, steering him away from the kitchen before he can latch back on to shiu who was now talking to maki.
“come on,” you roll your eyes. “you’re piss faced.”
he laughs boisterously, a stark change from the pout he was wearing a few seconds ago. “only a bit.”
“you’re literally swaying.”
“and? i sway when i'm sober.”
you can be bothered arguing with this meat head. instead, you turn toward the stairs and brace for impact because right on cue, his hand slides into yours and he pulls you up them.
“satoru,” you hiss, but he’s already halfway up, pulling you along behind him.
“i want to go to my room,” he says bluntly. “it's too fucking loud down there.”
he keeps a tight hold of your hand all the way up the spiral stairs with his thumb brushing your knuckles over and over, a nervous little tic he did when he got overwhelmed.
people smile and shout at the both of you as you walk pass, you think you can make out sukuna yelling his name, but he ignores all of them with a scoff like the dismissive drunk he is.
the moment you’re inside his room he shuts the door with his foot and leans back against it, still holding your hand.
this is always the part that makes your heart go all soft.
satoru looked so much gentler when he was inebriated like this. physically he’s still got that massive muscular upper body, still takes up all of your personal space and all, but he seems so fragile. like he’s set down the flashy go getter version of himself everyone else sees and picked up the one he only lets you have.
“sit,” he says dragging you toward his bed.
you smile at his slightly slurred speech and sit, he drops down beside you with his long lanky knees bumping yours. he immediately scoots closer until his leg presses against your own. his hand itch's until it's touching yours, your wrist, then your fingers, lacing them together.
he was always a little touchy when drunk.
“you okay?” you ask.
“yeah,” he says with a smile, then, “you’re really good.”
you laugh and lean back on your free hand. “that wasn’t the question, silly.”
he shrugs, flopping back onto the mattress and dragging you with him so you’re both propped up against his bashed up and faded wooden headboard. he loops his strong arm under your back and around your waist, pulling you closer to his body. okay, maybe a lot touchy.
you and satoru had a special kind of thing going on.
in freshman he spotted you from across the way at a mixer, he clocked you from the other side of the room and decided, for reasons he never really explained, that you were his person now.
he stole your cup, replaced it with a fresh one, and talked your ear off until you forgot what being nervous actually felt like, he seemed like a suave man on the outside, but this guy poured straight chronically online brainrot humour into your brain for like, two hours straight?.
by the end of the night you were sitting on the curb together, sharing fries he'd door dashed to the frat laughing like you’d known each other forever.
from then on, it was just a thing. you studied together, even though he never actually studied and mostly complained. you slept over, even though you both had comfy beds of your own.
you knew his school schedule, his little moods, the signs that meant he needed to leave a party early and unwind somewhere else. he knew when you were lying about being fine and when you needed him to just sit there and not try to fix anything.
people joked about you two all the time.
geto once asked why you didn’t just date already. satoru laughed far too loud and said that’d 'ruin absolutely everything'. you giggled too, telling yourself it was better like this, that you liked having him without the risk of romantic intimacy.
but like everything, the truth always came out.
one night where the both of you were almost blackout drunk, he took you upstairs after throwing his guts up into the toilet. you laughed at him and he flipped you off back, cleaning up then pulling you into his room like a rag doll.
he held you in the middle of the floor after you'd both toppled over, and he admitted everything to you through very crappy, slurred speech.
he told you how much he loved you, how badly he wanted you all to himself, how no one else could do it for him. you admitted the same, you told him how much you needed him in your life and how you felt more loved with him that anyone else.
you kissed, it was gross and quick but it happened. your feelings were out in the open.
for that night, at least.
morning came and the previous confession felt like small tiny fragments in both of your minds, you just couldn't remember any of it fully.
you went about your little friendship like nothing had changed. from what was left in your brains, you had a semi-clear thought on it all.
oh shit, maybe she/he likes me back?
sometimes, late at night, you’d lie next to him while he talked about nothing, sometimes you thought you caught drawls of that night in how he went quiet when you mentioned another guy, or when his hand squeezed yours that little bit tighter. but then he’d joke it away, or pull back, or remind you with a grin that you were his best friend.
so you stayed quiet, and so did he.
because being close to him like this felt better than not having him at all, loving him quietly was safer than risking losing him.
you didn’t know he was doing the exact same thing, from the other side of that line, telling himself over and over that you deserved better than him and that wanting you meant destroying his favourite thing in the world, your friendship.
now, your eyes drag over his pretty face as he stares up at the celling, letting out a long sigh that smelt like hard solo.
then he starts talking.
“god, this theme sucked actual nut sacks." he announces. “it was so bad, y/n. tell them to never do it again.”
you snort. “hm? weren't you the one hyping it up last week.”
“can you be quiet? i was lying. why are you lying to me?" he was making no sense.
“i feel like that's not... a proper answer?” you shake your head like you yourself were letting it go, he wasn't sober enough to be answering things correctly.
“rude.” he turns his head to look at you. “everyone looks stupid.”
“you’re wearing bright red board shorts and no shirt."
“yeah,” he says seriously. “so fucking stupid.”
you glance at the discarded lifeguard whistle on his desk, the red plastic stark against the silky oak. “you look fine, toru.”
“nah.” he shakes his head, hair flopping into his eyes. “everyone’s dressed like baywatch rejects. i hate it.”
“you hate fun.”
“i love fun.” he squeezes your waist as to prove his point. “this just isn’t fun fun.”
“yeah? what’s fun fun then?”
his face turns and he's suddenly looking happier. gosh, these drunken mood swings.. “like... a onesie party.”
you laugh and sit a bit closer. “of course.”
“like animals,” he adds, gaining conversational momentum. “or dinosaurs. geto would be a gorilla. choso would be like, a wolf or some shit.”
“yeah? what would you be?”
he breathes out an answer before you can even finish your sentence. “a bunny.”
“oh wow, no you would not.”
“i absolutely would. i'd buy ears and everything.” he whines with a forlorn expression, oh we're sad now? perfect.
you picture it and bite your lip to keep from smiling too hard, but he notices.
“see,” he says, now smug (you seriously couldn't keep up). “way better than 'surfer sluts'.”
you look at his shorts, then back at him. “at least the name was semi-creative?”
“tch, only thing creative 'bout it.”
he rambles on, complaining about the trashy pitbull music, about how someone spilled a drink on his nice new grey decarbra's, about how the freshmen are hella annoying this year. his hands wonder as he talks, sometimes he's squeezing your fingers, sometimes drifting to your hip, sometimes tracing the line of your knee cap? he's doing it absentmindedly so you guess it was fine.
you two chat about how shitty the party was for a good half hour, circling back to old gossip and relationship dramas, laughing and spit balling for ages. you'd never tell him but you loved these moments, where he'd laugh and talk to you like you'd known him since he was born, rather than just a few years ago.
he always looked at you like you were the most precious thing in the universe, whether you'd be out on long drives in his fancy car, or over at your dorm making really crappy cupcakes, he'd always gaze at you so lovingly. the bond between two best friends, am i right? you pushed away the thought of his lips on yours.
he sobers up a tad so the conversation is semi coherent on his end.
eventually, he circles the topic back you like he always does.
“so, you talk to shiu a lot,” he says quickly, darting his eyes back and forth from your face to gage your reaction.
“you know i talk to everyone,” you reply.
“yeah, but like.. you talk to him a lot.”
you smile at his badly hidden jealousy, “he’s in my stats class, satoru. nothing more.”
“still.”
you roll your eyes. “i asked how his studies were going. that’s it.”
he hums but it sounds very unconvinced.
“you get so weird about this,” you add. “it’s not that serious, i promise.”
he shifts closer again and his forehead drops to your shoulder. “i just don’t like when guys look at you.”
“they’re going to look at me.”
“i know.” his voice drops. “i hate it.”
you bump his knee with yours. “that’s a you problem, toru.”
“rude,” he repeats, but there’s no real malice in it.
you blurt out quickly, regretting it as soon as it pours out, "you're the only guy i'm this into, satoru, don't worry." fuck why did i say that?!
gojo's heartbeat is now thumping. she means that... in a friend way, right? of course. of course she did. no biggie...
he bites his lip as his hand goes all shake dragging up and down your arms.
you sit in silence for a bit as he and you both process, listening to the muffled frank ocean seeping through the floor boards. his thumb keeps tracing your knuckles, slower than before like he’s losing steam, getting sleepy.
to satoru, his room feels so much safer because no one’s looking at him like they want to eat him alive. not in here, with you. there's no one staring, waiting for him to be alone so they can make a move. sure, he's into it, but sometimes he jsut wants this, with you.
this is the version of him that he loves, sitting. talking. hands brushing without it being a big deal.
he wonders, not for the first time, why this version never feels like it’s allowed to want things. to want things like you.
the silence is comforting, but you make the mistake of opening your mouth. you promise you were only trying to lighten the mood, and/or distract from your almost confession earlier.
“c'mon,” you say lightly, not really thinking, “you should be thriving tonight, not sulking up here in your room. i mean, this theme was basically made for you.”
he lifts his head. “uh? what’s that supposed to mean?”
you shrug. “you know, surfer sluts. pretty fitting, no?"
you don't realise, but he goes stiff at your throw away comment, his fingers pause their ministrations on yours, his grip loosening until your fingers slide apart. he sits up straighter, and his body naturally moves away. his blue gaze dropping to the floor.
he’s heard it all before. much worse than this. louder than this. laughed off in locker rooms and kitchens and group chats.
'he's a slut.'
'a manwhore.'
'gojo’s just being gojo.'
he knows deep down he's built it, with every hook up being another brick. it was easier than being the guy who wanted one girl and didn’t know how to ask without ruining everything.
but fuck, he doesn’t want you to see him like that. that’s the fucked part. he doesn’t mind anyone else thinking it. just not you.
“oh,” he says.
you tilt your head, smiling. “oh, what?”
“nothing.”
you watch as his face turns into a distant blunt pull, you can't tell if he's still going through his drunken emotional switch ups or what.
“hey,” you say. “hey, i was joking.”
“yeah,” he mutters. “i know.”
he doesn’t look at you. oh shit.
without him pressed against you, the room suddenly inflates ten fold, when did it get so cold? the space between your bodies is small but very prominent, like a missing piece to a puzzle you'd spent hours putting together.
“toru?” you try again.
he scratches at his neck, a nervous habit you’ve seen a hundred times but never really questioned. “it’s fine.”
it’s clearly not, but you don’t push. you’ve learned when to stop.
he swings his legs off the bed and leans forward, elbows on his knees. the chatter downstairs seeps up, laughter and shouting coming through the walls. he stares at nothing, his mouth moving like he’s chewing on words he doesn’t want to swallow.
“everyone thinks that,” he says eventually, “so you’re not wrong.”
you frown, then fling your own legs off of the couch and hug into his side. “hm? thinks what?”
“that i’m just… that.”
oh.. you wince to yourself and drag a hand up and down his arm for comfort, “hey.. i didn’t mean it like that.”
“i know.” he huffs a laugh lacking all the humour it usually had. “doesn’t really matter how you meant it.”
he looks down at you, “it’s true.”
you don't know how to answer, because you know it's true, too. you didn't mean to be rash, but he was a slut. this guy averaged two girls a week and bragged to almost everyone about it, why was he getting angsty now? his constant rotation was the main reason you hadn't brought up your feeling for him since that night. who sleeps with that many chicks if they really did like someone for real?
he keeps going, words pouring now that the dam’s cracked.
“i mean, look at me,” he says, gesturing at himself. “everyone here’s fucked me or wants to. it’s kind of my thing now, not that i totally mind, it's just.. not all i am.”
“i don't think that's all you are, okay? you're my bestfriend, satoru. i know you better than that.” you're trying so hard to save this sinking ship.
'bestfriend..' he echoed in his mind, a solemn smile playing at his mouth, he wanted to be so, so much more than that.
"yeah, i know you don't think that.” he shrugs, smiling softer. “you're the only opinion i really care about, anyways.”
you tap his wrist for his hand again and he lets you intertwine your fingers. his heart blips, you don't normally initiate this type of intimacy, it was always him grabbing for your hand.
"of course satoru, don't worry,” you say.
he wants to say something else but whatever it was stays lodged behind his smile, any sadness he had was long gone, he was now hyper fixated on your hand.
"i know you wanna tell me something else."
“yeah but.. forget it,” he says almost too happily.
you squeeze his hand. “c'monn, tell me.”
he shakes his head, hair falling into his eyes again. “it’s stupid.”
“you’re stupid,” you say gently.
stupidly in love with you..
~
satoru stretches and lets out a deep, throaty groan. he somehow didn't have a hangover this morning, that was surprising.
he yawns and rolls over to bury his face into the pillow, his head feels packed with cotton and gravel, but it's not necessarily throbbing.
he's halfway through another groanish yawn when he realises the blankets that are pulled over his chest, when did they get there?
he stares at the ceiling, frowning. his comforter is pulled up to his chest with the corners tucked around his shoulders in a fashion he never ever does himself because he’s lazy and tall and always hangs off the bed. someone even kicked his shoes into place on his shoe rack.
you, of course it was you.
your face floats right to the front of his mind clear as day. your pretty little laugh, your hand in his, the precious way you were looking at him when he knocked out, you looked so beautiful.
he had morning wood and the thought of you was only making it pulsate harder. you were so kind to him, you'd always been there as an anchor, no matter what. he'd crash at your place when he felt like it, he'd squeeze into bed with you and hold you against his body.
shit, your body.. he presses his boner into the bed and groans, draging a heavy hand down his face.
“fuck.”
he's loved you for years, every girl he's ever fucked was a distraction. a distraction from the fact he never felt good enough to have you, all of you, all to himself. he hated it.
he catalogs the evidence like it’s a horrible case against him and his promiscuous ways. the kind words you'd always spewed, the way you can leave him without it feeling like you're really gone..
he racks his brain for every girl who’s woken up here and slipped out before he got to learn their last names. how none of them ever did this. how none of them stayed this gentle with him.
he tells himself thats gotta mean something.
then, he reminds himself that wanting something doesn’t mean he deserves it..
as he's having a deep, 'i love my bestfriend but i'm too much of a whore to deserve her, what the fuck do i do?' crisis for the fiftieth time this month, the door slams open.
“rise and shine, whore,” sukuna bellows, stepping into the room blowing a fat cloud of sweet vapor straight into the air. “get the fuck up. house looks like a dump.”
satoru squints at him. “i hate you.”
“yeah, yeah.” sukuna hits the vape again. “come clean. you threw up in the downstairs sink.”
“that wasn’t me.”
“it was absolutely you.”
satoru rolls onto his side and curls in on himself dramatically. “fuck off.”
sukuna snorts. “get up and mop you insufferable asshole.”
he waits until the door slams shut again before forcing himself to sit up. he scratches at his neck, then glances down at himself, he's still shirtless and in these ridiculous shorts. he grabs his geek bar off the side table and takes a hit, then throws it aside and sniffs.
he grabs a pair of grey sweats off the floor along with boxers from his draw, he strips, poses nakedly in the mirror for a good ten seconds, and pulls them on, not bothering with a shirt. he comes down the stairs barefoot, every step reminding him of how much of a lightweight he is. he makes it to the bottom and, holy fuck, the house was a mess.
empty cups are everywhere, bottles spilt into the carpet, peoples sweaty clothes strewn all over the place, what a palace.
choso is sweeping loads of trash into a big rubbish bag on the floor, nanami is wiping down the counters with a pissed off look, sukuna and toji are flipping the couch back over.
geto spots him before everyone else, "there he is,” he smiles, clapping a hand on satoru’s shoulder. “you okay?”
“no.”
geto grins. “heard you were real fucked up last night.”
satoru sighs. “don’t.”
he grabs a rubbish bag and starts scooping cups off the floor, his mind keep floating back to you, over and over again. he can still feel your hand in his, he can still see the way you'd hugged into his side when he got all quiet.
that’s the last thing he remembers before everything goes black is you.
he clears his throat. “hey.”
no one looks up.
“hey,” he tries again, louder. “did anyone see y/n leave last night?”
ino looks up like hes been waiting for a question like that, “why,” he asks. “you forget where you put her?”
satoru shoots him a look. “shut up.”
“i think she left kinda early,” nanami says without looking up. “before two.”
satoru’s chest loosens just a bit. “yeah?”
“yeah,” nanami continues. “she walked out with-"
toji stood up from kneeling besides the couch,
“shiu,” he says casually, cracking open a beer he had in hand. “she went home with shiu.”
the room goes quiet for exactly a second.
satoru stops and the trash bag slips from his fingers.
“what,” he says.
toji shrugs. “saw them out front walking to his car. sure looked cozy.”
he feels his heart beat thump, his head starts to throb and his eyes feel like they want to water and spill.
“that’s not-" he laughs weakly. “that’s not funny.”
toji takes a sip. “wasn’t joking.”
geto raises an eyebrow, watching satoru a little too closely. “you sure, man?”
toji nods. “yep.”
it feels like someone socked him in his mouth, his ears ring, the house feels claustrophobic, suddenly everything's very wrong.
you wouldn’t.
would you?..
he thinks about the way you held his hand, the way you tucked him in, all 6"4 of him, the way you told him he was 'the only guys you were this into.'. maybe that never happened ? maybe it indeed was just a figure of his imagination.. fuck, maybe his whorish lifestyle had finally scared you off..
he breathes in deep. if you did sleep with him, satoru doesn’t get to be hurt. he’s the guy who taught you this was normal, that this was so right and casual.
if you chose someone else, all that means is you learned the rules from watching him doing it over and over and over again.
his chest tightens and he laughs again. “ha. wow. okay.”
ino bursts out laughing. “are you deadass?”
sukuna snorts. “c'mon bro, you hook up with mad girls. don't be pressed when she does the same.”
geto covers his mouth, he wants to laugh but he knows he shouldn't. “that’s rough, but sukuna's right, satoru.”
gojo wipes a hand down his face quickly, blaming the hangover. “yeah. hilarious.”
“guess surfer sluts really was her thing,” toji adds, smirking.
that one lands.
satoru bends down and picks up the rubbish bag again with his eyes fixed to the floor, “i’m gonna go take the trash out.”
"okay, bro."
~
now, in your defence, while you did go home with shiu, you didn't sleep with him.
you couldn't, not when you were this deep under the satoru spell.
"thanks for letting me crash here, i didn't want to disturb gojo's sleep. oh, and yuki brought higuruma over last night. didn't wanna be up until 4 listening to them fuck."
you're half dressed under the covers, wiping your eyes as he come in with a cup of coffee.
"i got you, don't worry." he smiles from the door of his room, he let you take his luxurious bed while he slept on the equally as nice couch. shiu was surprisingly rich for a collage kid, maybe all that 'sketchy shit' as satoru liked to put it, was really selling.
he brings the cup down onto the table besides your bed and flicks your nose, "just remember your promise, gotta do that last section of the assignment for me, payment for my generosity."
"mm, wouldn't dream of leaving you without proper compensation." you laugh, taking the cup and sipping gently.
he looks from one of your eyes to the other like he's appreciating your presence, then quickly looks away and spins around.
"gotta make a few runs this morning, leave whenever you feel like it, yeah?" he throws over his shoulder.
you give him a thumbs up and he nods, waving while walking out.
the morning scuffles along, you eventually pull yourself out of his beautiful bed and get dressed into whatever clothing you could find that'd fit you in his draws. there were a few women's camis aswell as sweat pants in here, oh no, did he have a girlfriend?
as if being summoned by the universe, who else but shoko walks into the house, with her own key, no less.
she locks eyes with you for a second then smiles and waves like she couldn't care less.
"sh-shoko? what the fuck?"
"hey, y/n. is shiu still here?" she was so calm you just had to pry.
"why? are you two a thing? god, i promise this isn't what it looks like, i was just at a party and he offered to-"
"hush, i don't give a shit if you fucked him, girl. he's not my man."
phew... wait- not phew! you guys didn't even do anything!
you explain to her what went down, and she, in turn, told you why she was there. turns out she and shiu were hooking up on the dl, but she only felt for him physically, so you weren't a bother to her. "yeah, we fuck and he gives me drugs, pretty sweet deal. would recommend."
"yeah, i'm so good, thanks."
after that semi-akward interaction you gathered your stuff and got the hell out of there.
shiu's place was just off campus so the walk back to your own apartment wasn't far. like you did every morning after a party, you tried to give satoru a call. only, after the third ring, the line went dead.
satoru was finishing up the last little chores around the frat when he got your call, he stared at his phone as it rung on the kitchen bench, your name in cute heart emojis flashing on the screen.
he declined.
the last thing he wanted right now was to talk to you after shiu had been apparently digging in you. no way.
"yeesh, that's harsh, man." choso commented from his spot sitting at the breakfast bar.
"it's nothing, just busy right now." satoru tries his best to sound nonchalant but it's obvious he's still very much annoyed.
"oh yeah? you stop training when she calls you, man. you're never 'too busy.'" choso makes air quotes around that last part.
satoru sighs and chucks the last of the solo cups in the recycling bin, then takes off back up the stairs.
he shuts his door far harder than he needs to and falls onto his bed.
shiu.
the name keeps coming back, no matter how hard he tries to shove it away.
he tells himself he has no right to feel like this, none. he fucks around constantly, hell, it’s practically his brand. he’s built this whole thing around being easy, wanted and available. so why does the idea of you choosing someone else make his chest feel so disgusting?
you’re your own person. you always have been. he’s never tried to cage you, never tried to tell you what to do or who to see. that’s not him and he prides himself on that.
still.
you’re supposed to be his person.
not like that, he tells himself. not in a gross way he gets to possess but in the way you always end up together. the way you fall asleep next to him without it meaning anything and somehow meaning everything at the same time.
he massages the bridge of his nose with both hands.
get over it.
get over it.
get over it.
god, he just can't. instead, he unlocks his phone and stares at your pretty contact photo, the stupid nickname. his thumb taps call before he can talk himself out of it.
it barely rings twice before you're answering all giddy.
“toru!” your voice is so bright. “oh my god, i was just about to try you again. are you hung over?”
he feels pain coil up in his tummy.
“no,” he says flatly.
on your end, you're taken back by his bluntness “oh! uh, okay.”
he winces internally at your dejected response but doesn’t soften the blow. if he does, he’ll crack, and he can’t afford that right now.
“what’s up?” you ask, still trying.
“nothing,” he replies. “just busy.”
your heart clips like it'd been hooked onto a fishing hook.
“…hey, uh, are you.. are you mad at me?”
he scoffs sharply. “why would i be mad at you.”
your voice dips. “i don’t know. you’re being kinda blunt, i guess.”
he laughs curtly. “i’m allowed to be blunt.”
“not like this,” you say quietly. “you’re never like this with me.”
that hits him in his throat. he pretends to ignore it when in reality it throws his heart for a loop, "what do you want,” he asks, it's so clipped.
you go silent for a second, clearly recalibrating. “i was wondering if you wanted to hang out later? maybe get food or something. i can come over.”
normally he’d say yes without thinking. normally he’d already be planning how fast he could ditch whatever else he had lined up.
today, though, his jealousy makes the decision for him.
“can’t,” he says. “i’ve got a girl coming over.”
the line goes very quiet.
“…oh,” you say.
gosh, he can picture your face. the sweet little drop in your eyes you try to hide. the way you probably nodded even though he can’t see you.
there’s a mean, awful part of him that hopes it stings. not because he wants to hurt you, but because he wants proof that he matters the way you matter to him.
the rest of him despises that part. hates that when things feel out of control he reaches for the only thing that’s ever numbed really it.
he doesn’t want the girl coming over. he wants you. he always does. but wanting you feels so dangerously hard in a way fucking his feelings out never does.
“right,” you add. “that's okay.”
he should stop. he should backtrack and admit to what he really wants, he wants to talk to you about shiu, why you did it when you know he hated him, why you'd sleep with that fucker of all people, get some sort of closure. instead, he keeps going, so cruel and careless.
“yeah,” he says. “don’t really feel like cancelling either. kinda want good company.”
that’s a lie. he feels like shit. but he wants it to sting, shit, he hates that he wants that.
you swallow audibly. “okay. well. have fun then.”
“always do,” he replies, too fast.
the silence is horribly awkward.
“…i know you said you're fine, but really, toru, are you good?” you ask, one last attempt.
he exhales through his nose. “yeah. don’t bother coming over tonight, okay?”
there it is. the line he knows will hit you deep.
your voice wobbles a little, “i wasn’t.”
“good,” he says. “talk later.”
and before you can respond, he hangs up.
the second the call ends, regret slams into him full force.
“fuck,” he grumbles, slamming the phone onto the bed.
he presses his palms into his eyes and groans. what the hell was that? why did he do that?
you didn’t deserve that. he’s supposed to be your best friend, not... not whatever that was.
he tells himself he’s doing you some sort of fucked up a favor. that pushing you away now is kinder than letting you see how messy he actually is when he cares.
it sounds noble until he admits the truth. he ran because staying would’ve meant being honest with you.
he sits there for ages, replaying your tone over and over until it makes him feel nauseous.
he hates this. hates how jealous he feels. hates that he can’t say anything about it without blowing everything up. hates that he took it out on you because he doesn’t know how to handle it like a normal person.
his phone vibrates, instead of checking the notification he unlocks it, opens a different app, scrolls, and sends a message he knows he’ll definitely regret later.
gojo: come over
her reply is quicker than he'd thought it be.
xxx xxx xxx: omw ;)
he drops the phone and leans back, staring at the ceiling. this is what he does. when things get too much, he drowns them out. replaces one feeling with another until it’s all numb enough to ignore.
a knock sounds at his door twenty minutes later.
he doesn’t give himself time to think it over, he opens it, steps aside, and lets the girl in. she smiles at him, then she reaches for his arm like it's her god given right.
the door clicks shut behind them.
and even as he kisses her, his mind betrays him, flashing back to your voice on the phone, so sweet, so soft and hurt.
he squeezes his eyes shut and pushes it away.
anything to not feel like this.
~
now, the party a few days later is so much worse.
the theme is white out so the crowd looks like a sea of seagulls packed into this seats living room.
you're clad in a pretty little white dress with big white heels and matching accessories, pretty basic yet still jaw dropping.
you're walking past the tv when satoru comes into view, today, not only was his hair white, but his entire outfit was too.
he’s across the room near the kitchen island, leaning back against the counter with a drink in his hand and two girls pressed in real close. one of them is laughing like a hyena at something charming he said, her fingers hooked into the waistband of his jeans like she’s testing how far she can go. the other is touching his arm, tracing up his strong bicep.
he's too busy with them, he doesn't even spare you a fleeting glance.
you try not to look, you really, really do. but it’s just so difficult when that used to be your spot. when that used to be you next to him, stealing sips of his drink, talking shit about everyone else at the party like you were above it all together.
you frown, the conversations you and satoru had lately have been few and far between. he's dry as hell, and suddenly busy every time you ask to hang out.
you keep telling yourself it’s fine, it's all good. people grow apart all the time, it's collage! maybe he’s bored of being your friend. maybe you leaned too hard on a friendship that wasn’t meant to last.. and while you tell yourself it's fine, your chest twists and ticks and throbs with pain.
you step toward a couch where choso, shoko and geto are lounging around, all three of them clock your mood the second you flop beside them.
“hey, you good?” geto asks, passing you a drink.
you shake your head. “i’m okay.”
choso gives you a look. he's not gonna push but he'd like to. “you wanna sit here with us?”
“yeah,” you say quietly. “that’d be nice.”
you sit between them with your legs tucked up, watching the party happen around you like it’s something you’re not really part of anymore. your eyes keep flocking back to satoru like some sort of pathetic magnet.
you loved satoru's company. he was your favourite person on earth, you'd spend every second with him if you could, now he was pushing you away? you'd of at least liked a conversation about it. maybe a warning.
hes getting loud talking like he's the only person worth listening to in the entire room, patting girls on the ass and leaning in close to their necks to hear them properly.
every time he laughs or slings his arm around their shoulders, you feel your heart crack.
you miss him. god, you miss him so bad. not whatever this was.
choso nudges your knee gently. “c'mon, you don’t have to stay if it’s not fun.”
you shake your head again. “i don’t wanna be alone.”
he nods like he understands that more than you realise.
time drags on and an hour passes. then another. you try talking to other people, but it feels so wrong. your attention keeps snapping back to satoru.
he’s still backed against the kitchen island with a drink he hasn’t touched like, forty minutes, he's pretending bf to laugh at those girls terrible jokes, letting them sleaze all over him.
normally he’d lean into the gag. he'd flirt back and say something stupidly charming and let the night dissolve into a forgettable hook up.
but tonight it just feels so weird.
the girl on his left moves in with her mouth near his ear, saying something he pretends not to clock. her breath fans over his skin and his stomach churns, not with excitement but with this dull guilt that keeps scratching his lungs raw.
he looks at their faces and feels a light sense of absence.
he thinks about how easy it would be to disappear upstairs with one of them. how everyone would nod like yeah, that tracks. just gojo being gojo, and the thought makes him want to rip out of his own skin.
he didn’t want this shit tonight. he didn’t want these grabby hands all over him. he’s so tired of being wanted in the most bare minimum way.
he wanted you here.
eventually, after you'd stared holes through the back of satorus head, choso leans down to your ear. “you wanna go upstairs for a bit? i’m gonna smoke.”
you stumble over your words. “oh, i uh, i don’t smoke.”
“i know,” he says quickly. “you don’t have to. just… sit with me. i don’t really wanna be alone either.”
good, you really needed an escape right now.
“okay,” you say. “yeah. i’ll go with you.”
you stand together, weaving through the crowd toward the stairs. you can tell people are staring but you don’t look over your shoulder.
choso leads the way up, your shoulders brushing as he pulls out a pre roll with a smile.
across the room, satoru is midway through a sentence when he spots you. he wants to smile, its his reflex when he catches sight of you, but then he remembers he doesn’t get to do that right now, and the happy pull of his lips dies before it ever reaches his face.
you’re walking up the stairs with choso, close enough that your arms are touching. you’re leaning in to hear what he’s saying, head close to his mouth in a way satoru hasn’t had in days.
his put on smirk falls immediately.
“hey,” one of the girls says, pulling on his arm. “you listening?”
he pulls his wrist free without looking at her. “yeah. go get a drink or something.”
she frowns. “what?”
“look, just go,” he snaps.
both girls scatter away, muttering throw away curses but he really doesn’t care. he’s stalking over to where geto and shoko are now sitting with bottles to their lips.
“great,” he says bitterly, sitting down hard onto the couch. “first she’s fucking shiu and now my best friend? perfect.”
geto thinks for a second. “...what?”
shoko squints at him. “what are you talking about?"
satoru laughs bitterly, “don’t play dumb. i just saw them.”
geto follows his eyes to the stairs and sees you and choso disappearing around the corner. he sighs. “they’re going up to smoke.”
satoru scoffs. “yeah. sure, she doesn't smoke.”
“no,” shoko cuts in, annoyed. “actually sure. choso asked if she’d sit with him.”
satoru’s face drops into a deeper scowl, “since when does she hang out with him like that."
“since always?” geto replies. “they’re friends you just hog her, normally.”
satoru shakes his head. “this is bullshit.”
shoko sets her drink down with a dissatisfied groan. “you don’t get to act like this.”
he snaps his head toward her. “like what.”
“like you own her,” she says flatly. “you don’t.”
geto nods. “man, you’ve been pushing her away all week.”
“because she doesn’t want me,” satoru fires back. “she made that pretty clear.”
shoko raises an eyebrow. “did she now.”
“she went home with shiu.”
shoko’s face twists. “oh my god.”
geto leans forward. “that’s what this is about? you're ditching your best friend because she wanted to get her pussy ate?”
“what- no-,” satoru says. “you make it sound like-" he stop himself from spewing words he doesn't really mean. "it's just the fact she knows i hate that guy. that and everything else..."
shoko exhales sharply. “she didn’t fuck him.”
satoru freezes. “what.”
“she didn’t sleep with him,” shoko repeats. “she stayed the night because she didn’t wanna wake you up at the last function.”
the wave of relief that flows through him is euphoric, but it's followed closely by guilt. because despite everything you still chose him in the quiet ways. and he’d repaid that by pushing you as far away as possible.
geto turns to shoko. “oh, are you serious?"
“dead serious,” she says. “i walked in that morning. she was fully dressed and half asleep. they didn’t do shit.”
satoru feels like the floor drops out from under him and his heart is smudged into the wood.
“she told me herself,” shoko adds. “she was worried about you that morning, too. wanted to go over straight away and see if you were hung over.”
he's taken back by the revelation, satoru feels like he can't breathe.
geto runs a hand through his hair. “man…”
“also,” shoko continues, clearly not done, “she’s been really upset. you know that, right?”
satoru stares at the stairs. your face flashes in his mind. the way your voice sounded on the phone. so hurt.
“i'm gonna be honest, you’ve been acting like an asshole,” geto says gently. “and she’s been taking it like a champ. i'd of socked you in the jaw by now."
the music seems to disappear into the depths of his mind as he reels.
you didn’t fuck shiu.
you weren't up there sleeping with choso.
god, he thinks about the way he spoke to you. the way he brushed you off so calloused, the way he said he had a girl coming over and didn't brush her off for you, like he'd always done.
his stomach drops.
“oh fuck,” he whispers.
shoko watches him closely. “you're a real asshole, you know.”
he swallows. “fuck, i know.”
geto snorts.
satoru rubs a hand down his face, standing abruptly. “i need air.”
he takes off, on his way past he stops at the bottom of the stairs, staring up at them.
for the first time in days, he doesn’t feel angry.
he feels scared, typical gojo reading too deep into things and reacting rashly. he really needed to work on that.
~
"i don't know cho... this is the first time something like this has happened. i feel like he hates me or something... i just don't know what i did."
choso, bless his heart, had been listening to you pour your heart out about gojo for the past half an hour, blowing smoke out his open window. that last part caused his zooted brain to form a coherent thought.
"it's probably because you fucked shiu." he announces in uneven tones, he was more than a little gone.
you stare at choso like he’s just spoken another language.
“uhm?” you quiz.
his head falls to look at you from his spot by the window, he’s so relaxed he looks like gravity might forget about him any second now.
“yeah,” he nods, very sure of himself. “that’s gotta be it. gojo’s dramatic like that.”
your stomach drops, not in guilt, but in pure disbelief.
“i didn’t fuck shiu,” you say with a bitter taste in your mouth.
choso's neck rolls and he rubs his face, “…huh?”
“i didn’t sleep with him,” you repeat, “nothing happened. i crashed at his because i didn’t wanna wake satoru up and yuki had a guy over our place."
he processes this slowly with his face scrunching, the thought is buffering.
“okay,” he says after awhile, “but you went home with him.”
“yes,” you snap. “but that’s not the same thing.”
he hums, then shrugs. “dunno, sounds the same.”
you were gonna punch this loser.
“oh my god,” you mutter. “i have to go.”
“go where?” choso asks genuinely curious.
“i have to tell satoru,” you say grabbing your phone. “not because i did anything wrong, because i didn’t. but because he thinks i slept with someone he hates.”
choso sighs again. “you know you’re allowed to sleep with people.”
“i know that,” you say quickly. “this isn’t about that. it’s about him thinking i did it behind his back with someone he clearly can’t stand.”
choso nods like this makes sense to him, even though it absolutely does not. “okay.”
you pause at the door. “can you not tell anyone else?”
he raises two fingers in a salute. “your secret is safe with me.”
you don’t trust that for a second, but you’re already shutting his door.
you bolt down the stairs two at a time looking over the crowd. the stupid partys still bumping. you look for his pretty white hair, for his broad shoulders, but with everyone wearing the same color it became impossible.
you groan and head for the couch you left shoko and geto at.
“where’s satoru,” you breathe.
“uh. outside, i think.” geto responds surprised.
“yeah,” shoko adds. “went out front. needed air, apparently.”
you nod and make your way to the front door, the coolness of the night sweeps over your face and you notice a very tall man almost instantly.
he’s leaning against the lamp post across the street with his phone in one hand and his vape in the other.
he only vapes when he’s stressed.
stepping closer, you clock just how small this moment feels and how big it could blow up and become if you say the wrong thing.
“toru,” you say softly.
he looks up.
the second his eyes land on you, he feels his heart pulse.
“can we.. can we talk?” you ask.
he doesn’t answer, he gives you the most longing stare you'd ever seen. then, he steps forward and pulls you into his arms.
hard.
his biceps wrap around you so tight, his scrunched up face presses into your hair, his grip is stable and you want to cry at how passionate this feels.
he breathes out a shaky, “i’m sorry.”
you wrap your arms around his waist and squeeze him back.
“i’m so sorry,” he repeats. “i was a dick. i shouldn’t have been so rude. i should’ve talked to you, communication and all that shit.”
you move back to look up at him. “hey. hey, it’s okay.”
he shakes his head. “no, it’s not. i acted like a stuck up cunt. i thought you slept with shiu and i just… i lost my mind.”
you sigh. “i didn’t. i swear. nothing happened. i should of told you that.”
he nods quickly. “i know. shoko told me. i just… god. i’m sorry i made you feel so shit.”
you reach up and rub your thumb under his eye. a sweet gesture you’ve done a hundred times before. “i’m sorry you got that impression.”
he leans into your touch for half a second before catching himself. “i had no right to be mad even if you had slept with someone. i know that.”
you nod. “yeah. you didn’t. but i get it's because you thought i did it behind you back, especially with someone you really hate."
a beautiful, silent moment exists between you two before you step back, forcing a small smile. “are we all good?”
he lets out a weak laugh. “yeah, you're so good.”
“that wasn't the question, silly.” you add, gently.
after that, you'd both agreed to ditch this lame party and stay at yours for the night. yuki was at higuruma's, so the place was all yours.
at your apartment, you both shower separately then change into comfy sleep clothes. his essentials hoodie ends up on you without either of you talking about it. when you come back into your room, he’s flopped onto your bed with his big arms spread, staring at the ceiling.
“c’mere,” he says, patting the space beside him.
you smile and crawl in next to him, turning onto your side so your head rests against his chest. he adjusts automatically, one arm coming around you, fingers threading through your hair in slow, relaxing strokes.
it feels like safe, blissful warmth. like coming home.
you lie there in silence for a while, listening to his breathing even out.
then he speaks again.
“hey, uhm.. sorry for blowing you off for a chick, the other day, by the way.”
you lift your head. “huh?”
he grimaces. “i lowkey didn’t even have plans. i invited her over after i hung up. just wanted a distraction.”
your chest does a confusing little blip.
“would’ve liked to see you instead,” he adds quietly.
your heart aches and swells at the same time. you press your face back into his chest, “it’s fine.” laughs at your adorably muffled voice, then sighs. “i shouldn’t have done that.”
you shrug. “you’re allowed to see people.”
he hums. “yeah.”
you hesitate, then say it anyway. “i don’t care about the girls you hook up with. doesn't really effect our friendship, right?”
the words feel so distasteful and strange, but you push through.
he smiles a forlorn smile. "right.”
he pulls you a little closer, brushing his lips against your temple in an almost kiss. he threads a piece of your hair through his fingers like a coiled ribbon, feeling the individual stand's texture against the pads of his fingers. this was his therapy, the soothing lull of you, with him.
he can feel your soft breathing slow down as you knock out, the way you always do when you know you can trust him to stay with you.
and god, that trust truly destroys the last bit of careless arrogance he carried in him.
because just hours ago he was so sure you’d replaced him. that you’d looked at someone else and chosen them.
but you no, didn’t.
you never did that.
every girl he’s ever dragged into his bed flashes through his mind in quick, ugly snapshots like those old black and white movies.
they've got faces he can't remember, voices that sounds distorted and wrong, and their bodies look like every other persons. it's surreal.
he tells himself, not for the first time, that he never meant for it to get this bad. it all started as some quick fun. then it became a boarder line addiction, one he desperately wanted to break.. he feels sick at how it turned into something people expected from him, something he leaned into because it meant no one would ever ask him for more.
no one except you.
you wriggle around adorably in your sleep, your knee hitting his thigh, and it smacks him all over again how easy it would be to lose this bliss. how close he came. how close he kinda still is.
he’s been hiding behind it for so long. the flirting. the girls. the persona. acting like he doesn’t care.
but lying here with you? knowing you didn’t do anything wrong, knowing he almost burned the best thing in his life because he couldn’t get over his own shit, something in him finally snaps into place.
he doesn’t want to be that guy anymore.
he wants to be someone you can choose without any hesitation. someone who doesn’t make you doubt where you stand. someone who doesn’t reach for distractions the second things feel too hard for him to handle alone.
i’m gonna fix this, he thinks.
he’s not stupid enough to think it’ll be easy. habits don’t disappear overnight. insecurity doesn’t vanish just because he wants it to. but he can stop hiding behind other people. he can stop pretending he’s fine with the left over crumbs when what he wants is everything.
he wants to earn you.
not with big gestures or revolting drunk confessions he can’t really back up, but by showing up differently to what hes been doing. by choosing you the way you’ve always chosen him.
he was gonna stop. he couldn't be labeled a good for nothing playboy anymore,
~
"so bro, did you figure shit out with your girl?"
"what, you mean y/n? yeah, man. that's all sorted."
gojo was back at the frat the next day after a very messy, long night of staring at your sleeping face, (and fighting to overwhelming urge to kiss your pretty nose.) he was chatting it up with toji who had heard about the drama through shoko.
"just curious, are you two like.. a friend with bennies kinda situation? or what." he asks, shaking his banana protein powder violently in it's can to break apart the clumps.
satoru starts drumming his fingers against the kitchen bench, trying to sound nonchalant. "nah, man. she's just my friend. i've got other girls for that shit." he winces at that douchey response... hm, if he wanted to stop the slut allegations he needed to work on how he talked to guys like toji.
"yeah, and she's just fine with that?"
"i dunno, bro."
toji shakes his head and chuckles, then geto interrupts from the couch.
"ever think of like, oh, i don't know. telling her you're into her?"
gojo lets out a fake groan like he's sick of the question, not like he's obsessed over that very idea for around a year now. "can you two lay off? i'll tell her eventually."
"yeah right. you're gonna waste away your life fucking hoe's you don't even like, and she's gonna get a guy hitched. like shiu." sukuna chimes in from the stairs. fuck, was everyone coming down to clock his shit?
"fuck off with the shiu shit, they didn't do anything."
"yet."
he was seriously about to throw hands.
the chaos is interrupted when nanami walks through the large front door holding a piece of paper.
"i just got the theme for the next function." he says, holding it in the air. "it's that stupid white lies thing we did last year in june, remember that?"
oh, they remembered. everyone in white or coloured shirts with sharpie on the front spelling out a little white lie about each person. so much drama came from that, it was insane.
satoru faintly remembers sukuna's shirt saying, 'i'm not cheating on my girl.' and getting his wallet set on fire not long after said girl got to the party.
"sweet, that's easy to set up." toji commented. all satoru was thinking was how you were the first person he had to invite, his hand itching for his phone.
he smiles at your response and pockets his phone, his mind reeling with what he was gonna write on his shirt, as he taps a finger to his chin, the most big brain, amazing thought pops into his head.
god, i'm so suave.
his promise to himself was about to become really real after this party, he just hoped it didn't all go downhill..
you on the other hand, you were contemplating whether or not what you had planned for your shirt was too much. the instant you'd read his text about the theme, the idea immediately popped into your head.
being brave enough to actually go through with it? that was another story..
~
11pm saturday, the frat.
okay, you're really nervous now. you stand outside for way longer than necessary, your jumper covers the secret writing on your shirt, you can't embarrass yourself, yet.
you take a deep breath and walk into the familiar house you'd crashed at so many times.
it's still early, so only the people actually in the frat are there so far. you walk through slowly and the first one you clock is sukuna.
he’s got a beer in one hand (already? smh.), his white shirt is stretched across his muscly chest with thick black letters that read, i hate milfs.
you snort before you can stop yourself.
toji’s near the tv wiring up the music, his shirt says, i’m not a felon.
these guys weren't real, what the fuck.
shoko’s leaned against the counter nearby, one of those big chunky choofs in her hand. her shirt reads, i’m not addicted to nic.
you love her.
you pull out your phone and shoot satoru a text letting him know you've made it, you barely have time to lock your screen before arms wrap around you from behind.
big, hard, comforting arms.
gojo buries his face into the side of your neck, "there you are,” he says, pleased. “you smell good.”
the blush that covers your cheeks is embarrassing. “well, hi to you too.”
he pulls off and beams down at you, although, you can't help but see a slight hint of nerves in his eyes.
“missed you,” he laughs.
before you can overthink that, you notice that his shirt is covered by a loose flannel, hanging open but covering the writing on his chest.
he notices your eyes flick down and smirks. “don’t look yet.”
you scoff. “oh, so you’re hiding yours too.”
“maybe,” he says. “what about you?”
you tug at the strings of your jumper. “mhm.”
his eyes narrow playfully. “suspicious.”
"you love it."
he grins. “yeah. i do.”
he’s tugging you along by the hand, weaving you through the house toward the kitchen the next second.
“come onn,” he says. “it’s still early. let's pregame before it gets all sweaty and gross.”
the kitchen is devoid of people, satoru hops up onto the counter, then contemplates ad corrects himself.
“wait,” he says. “no. you sit.”
before you can argue, he lifts you and plops you on the bench, your face feels hot but you blame it on the lack of air flow.. or the way he’s standing way too close.
he pours you a drink keeping in mind you’re not trying to get wrecked tonight, then puts it beside you.
“there ya go, sweets,” he says.
“perfect.”
you sip, then notice his fingers tapping against the counter like a drum, oh yeah, he's definitely nervous.
you tilt your head, flashing him that gorgeous smile that always made him weak in the knees. "so.”
he looks at you. “so.”
you smile. “what’s your shirt say?”
...
his laugh is strangled and just a little too loud. “oh, uh. straight to the point, huh.”
“you know it."
he rubs the back of his neck. “it’s stupid.”
“uh huh.”
“and you’re gonna laugh.”
“probably.”
he squints at you. “you go first.”
you shake your head. “nope.”
“c’mon,” he whines. “you’re way braver than me.”
you giggle, heart doing that annoying thing again. “mm, absolutely not.”
he rolls his eyes, then comes up with a compromise.
“okay,” he says. “same time, then.”
you pause. “uhm?.”
“we'll both reveal it at the same time,” he continues. “y'know, like one, two, three.”
you stare at him. “c'mon.”
“you're so lame, pleasee,” he plead.
you roll your eyes. “okay, okay, fine.”
he grins, wide and oh so nervous. “really?”
“yeah,” you say, with your fingers are already curling into the fabric of your jumper. “on three.”
he nods. “okay.”
the moment stretches. neither of you moves.
“you count,” he says.
you swallow and nervously laugh. “one.”
his fingers fall into the edge of his flannel.
“two.”
your hands slide to the hem of your jumper.
“three.”
both of your fabrics lift.
his flannel drops open as you tug your jumper over your head, both of you frozen for a good minute as the truth finally, finally stares back at you.
i’m not in love with my best friend.
on both shirts.
identical. same handwriting style.
you stare at his chest.
he stares at yours.
then you both lose it.
you're both toppled over laughing at how ridiculous this was.
“no fucking way,” he gasps.
you wipe your eye, “are you kidding me.”
he steps closer, closing the space until he’s right between your knees, caging you in gently. his smile softens as he looks down at your shirt.
“wow,” he murmurs.
you feel exposed in a way that has nothing to do with fabric.
“guess we both lied,” you say quietly.
“guess so.”
his hands caress your face ever so slowly, like he’s giving you time to slap him off but you don’t.
you stare up at him with big, wide eyes. he smiles and inches toward until your noses touch.
he leans in, “can i?” he asks, quietly.
you nod smiling harder than you ever had before. “yeah.”
then, he kisses you.
it’s soft and warm, nothing like that sloppy drunk one you both pretend you forgot.
you kiss him back deeper, your fingers drift through his hair pulling him closer, and the sound he makes against your mouth is almost whiney, wrecked.
the bliss is interrupted by someone yelling from behind you.
“about fucking time,” sukuna bellows.
you break apart laughing again, foreheads still touching. satoru groans and drops his head to your shoulder.
“i’m killing him,” he mutters.
he hops you off the counter, taking your hand. “we’re leaving.”
“where.”
“my room. like, now. these assholes are not ruining my moment.”
you follow him up the stairs both of you grinning like idiots. he's pulling you softly but quick enough the moment isn't lost.
his door closes behind you. the room is dim, only lit by the lamp on his desk, nice and moody.
he doesn’t rush you and he doesn’t pounce like he did with other women. no. he reaches out and tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, “hi,” he says, dumb and fond.
you smile. “hi.”
satoru literally can't fight this urge any longer, he pulls you into his chest and wraps his arms fully around your body. your cheek presses to his chest, right over his heart, and it’s beating oh so fast. one of his hands slides up to cradle the back of your head with his fingers threading through your hair, stroking slowly.
“i’ve wanted this for so long,” he says into your hair. “like, embarrassingly long.”
you laugh softly. “yeah?”
“yeah,” he says. “i just didn’t think i was, like, allowed to? if that makes sense”
you look up at him with a confused smile. “why wouldn’t you be?”
he swallows. his eyes flick away, then back. “because i’m kind of an asshole, if you couldn't tell.”
you knew what he meant. the women, his not so shiny reputation, his arrogance.
“you're not the only one, i didn’t say anything either.” you rub the side of his face.
he smiles into you hand, “why?”
you stop. then take a breath and decide to be brave. “because you sleep with everyone. and i thought if you wanted me, you would’ve... i don't know, stopped.”
ouch, but deserved.
“fuck,” he says quietly. “i hated that you saw me like that.”
“i mean,” you shrug weakly. “it’s kind of hard not to.”
he laughs. “yeah. fair.”
he presses his forehead to yours. “that shit was never about wanting other people, y/n. it was about not knowing what to do with wanting you.”
your head just went really fuzzy at his poetic expression.
“i made a promise to myself,” he continues. “after i realised i was gonna lose you if i didn’t get my shit together. i’m done with it. all of it. i don’t wanna be that guy anymore.”
you search his face, looking for the joke, but he's dead serious.
“i didn’t think i deserved you,” he admits. “so i kept proving myself right.”
for a moment, neither of you speak. then you reach for his hand and hook your pinky around his.
“okay,” you say. “then let’s just… talk. no more of this back and forth.”
“pinky promise.” he smiles and seals it, then leans in and kisses you again. he pulls back for a second then begins to pepper your face in sweet little pecks, making you giggle at the ticking movement.
“i’ve wanted to do this,” he says between kisses, grinning like he can’t stop himself. “just whenever. whenever i felt like it.”
you laugh, hands in his hair now, tugging him back down. “you’re so silly.”
you end up tangled on his bed, just talking. his legs are weaved through yours as he kisses your face occasionally. you tell him you'd been feeling for the past, what, two years? you tell him how the women always made you jealous, how you'd wish it were you he wanted. he spills his guts just as much. he tells you how they never meant anything, how he knew he had a problem and he was working on it, for you.
three hours of straight yap fly by.
he eventually goes really quiet and clears his throat out. “hey.”
“hmm?”
“would you wanna,” he hesitates, suddenly adorably shy, “go on an actual date with me? like. flowers. dinner. me trying really, really hard.”
you smile so hard your cheeks hurt. “yeah. i would.”
his grin is blinding, him and his stupidly perfect teeth.
“holy shit,” he laughs, pulling you close again. “i got the girl.”
you smile, then drift off wrapped up in each other, both of you finally feeling secure in your feelings for one another.
"night, toru."
"good night, sweetheart."
A/N: i'll be writing some spicy/dating headcanons for this fic !!
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immediately after an interaction: i have GOT to get more normal oh god i need to get more normal immediately i have to get more normal or they're going to hunt me down they're going to hunt me down and flay me for sport
during an interaction: and why not put a little spin on it? why not add some conversational zest?
arguing with annoying neighbor bakugo and you get so mad at him to the point where you pull his hair but he moans LOUDLY and now you're both awkwardly standing there while he's in denial of what just happened
✩ ꒱ noise complaints — ft. katsuki bakugou .ᐟ
🏁 ꒰ ✩ suggestive ⋆ mdni ⋆ music major katsuki bakugou & fem!reader. college au, enemies to lovers, hair pulling. you finally confront your neighbour and make a complaint about the noise he creates after hours. this time, he surprises you with a different kind of noise.
imagining a really specific scenario with college!bakugou where your dorm/flat is across the hall from his. you’re constantly complaining about the noise coming from his place cause he’s always crashing out at his roommates or playing music kinda loud when it gets late and you’re trying to study.
you’ve sent him notes, asked his roommates to keep it down and even told the staff in reception but every attempt at keeping some semblance of peace is ignored. your flatmates tell you to give up since there’s only a couple months left until graduation but you argue this is the most important time to respect the people on your shared floor since you’re all trying to study and work hard and get the hell out of university.
im thinking katsuki is a music major so he’s always playing guitar late and night and everyone’s too scared to ask him to stop so one night he’s working on his final piece and you stomp your way over to his flat, eyes tired still dressed in your skimpy silk and pj set and slam your fist down on the door until either kirishima or izuku open up. they barely get out a hey before you’re storming to the blonde’s room and nearly busting down the door with your fist.
“oi you fuckin’ nerds can’t you see ‘m trying to practice—!”
“do you mind shutting the fuck up?”
and for like the first time ever katsuki’s rendered silent because not only is there a hot girl cursing him out at two am but he can also see right down your lacy camisole. he’s quiet for like all of two seconds, lips twisted into a scowl and red eyes narrowed before his expression turns snarky and sleazy.
“what’s in it for me?” he rasps, cocky. “i don’t do that shit for free.”
you jab a finger into his chest. “my foot up your ass that’s what’s in it for you. you’re not the only one who has to study late. keep the noise down.”
then he catches your wrist in his hand peering down to your height, glasses sliding down his nose and katsuki is sooo annoying so full of himself definitely just trying to piss you off more because you’re hotter when you’re mad at him. “don’t tell me what to do.”
“don’t be an asshole!” you snap, attempting to yank yourself free.
“you’re the one bustin’ down doors, screamin’ your head off. pretty sure that makes you the asshole.”
“oh please.”
“yeah? maybe if you use your manners i’ll consider. say, ‘please katsuki, keep the house down.,’ yeah?”
his breath fans over your fave like a smog of desire that clouds your senses. you watch as his eyes trip and stumble to follow then curved lines of your body; the plushness of your thighs and the soft fat at your hips. he’s tearing your clothes apart in his mind instead of focusing on the problem at hand.
“my eyes are up here, dickhead!” without thinking, your fingers reach up and pull hard on straw blonde hair. to piss him off for grabbing you or just to get him to let you go. you’re tired, cranky and pretty sure you have some dumb pop quiz tomorrow but you’ve had enough of him teasing you and enough of him staring at your boobs and thighs like you’re some kind of hunk of meat. yet when you pull, the world slows down and all the tension buzzing in the atmosphere stills.
…because the sound katsuki lets out is far from his usual low, gravelly voice.
instead it’s high pitched, whiney like he’s desperate for something more. like weak, defenceless little animal crying for help. it comes out strangled and a little hopeless in a way that makes your eyes widen and an emotion darker, hungrier than annoyance pull at your internal organs.
“did you just—?”
“s-shut up!” bakugou flails, red in the face. “i’ll keep fuckin’ quiet just don’t—!”
he releases you and you stagger backwards — dazed and amused. “don’t tell anyone that you like having your hair pulled? that you absolutely do whimper when you’re told what to do?” you tug again just for good measure, watching his eyes roll back and his bottom lip wobble. “i don’t kiss and tell.”
“whaddya mean by that?”
“it means the next time i pull your hair, katsuki, you’ll be underneath me rather than in front of me looking down my top.”
end ! likes are appreciated, but just liking doesn’t do much on tumblr! to support and motivate myself and other writers, reply, reblog and comment if you'd like to see more!! — asks are open to thirsts and thoughts! join my taglist ! love you!
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Hiiii I’ve really been wanting a bakugo katsuki x fem reader where they do anal i can NEVER find one if you can find it I’d def want them to have already done it before plenty of times so it’s like a normal thing for them I just want Katsuki to be mean 😛
ouuu yes nonnie — bakugou would absolutely have you facedown, face shoved sideways into the mattress with your ass tilted up and katsuki kneeling behind you looking about as unbothered as a man getting ready to ruin you can possibly be — not that you're complaining though.
gym shorts on the floor, hand on your lower back, two fingers working into your ass slowly and deliberately, like he's got nowhere to be, even though the way he watches you squirm says he's clocking every single twitch. your anklet clinks when your legs jitter — he definitely noticed.
"quit clenching," he orders flatly, almost bored, like you're being dramatic on purpose, even though his thick fingers keep spreading them apart slightly whenever he gets deep enough to feel you tighten, just to make the noise happen again, the little whimper you make into the sheet. which you do — right on schedule.
bakugou doesn't say anything. just keeps going.
"m' not," you insist, muffled, such a lie that your body punishes you for it immediately — clenching down harder around him, and he makes this low sound that isn't quite a laugh but has no business being that smug.
his thumb circles slowly, just outside your rim, and your hips stutter back without consulting you. he notices that too. two-second pause. then a third finger, no warning, and the squelch of it is so fucking loud and embarrassing — you shove your face into the mattress like that'll help.
"yeah— you are," he says, working you open with that same unhurried patience that somehow feels meaner than roughness would. "every fuckin' time. same thing." his eyes are on where his fingers disappear into you, you can feel the weight of it, and when he speaks again, his voice has dropped just slightly, "look at you takin' it though." not quite praise. not quite anything. just an observation, delivered like a verdict, and your untouched pussy throbs from the nothing of it because you're hopeless. his free hand presses your lower back flat when you try to chase friction, "said still."
you don't stay still. he knows you won't stay still. that's not the point.
the point is the noise you make when he pulls his fingers free and lines his cock up against your ass, and that first slow push in that makes your brain go temporarily, humiliatingly blank.
he doesn't rush it, sinks in inch by inch while your toes curl and your hands fist the sheets — nothing coherent makes it past your lips except for a long, helpless exhale that trails into something that's almost his name. almost.
his hips finally press flush against you and he stops there, thumbs spreading you wider, just looking, just taking stock, and the indignity of those few seconds would bother you more if you could think clearly.
"tight every time," katsuki mutters, "every fuckin' time like i haven't done this almost every. single. day." his cock throbs inside you and you feel it everywhere, the stretch of him sitting right at the edge of too much, and he still hasn't moved. you make a noise. embarrassingly needy. he tilts his head, "yeah?" another throb, intentional this time, and the way your walls squeeze around him in response pulls a short breath out of his chest. "thought so."
"mm, katsuki—" you start.
"what," he asks, sounding bothered.
"please move, please, i need you to move—" and your hips are already doing it for you, already rolling back trying to get something, anything, and he lets out a slow breath and grips your hip to stop you.
"needy," he mumbles, and rolls his hips forward once. the drag of him pulls a sound out of you that bounces off the walls. "always s' needy." he does it again and his hands settle on your ass, thumbs still spreading you apart so he can watch, and he starts talking the way he does when he's paying very close attention to every reaction, that low even voice that shouldn't work on you as well as it does, "she's already soaking f' me and i haven't even touched her yet," directed down at your cunt — slick and completely ignored, dripping onto the sheets from nothing but the stretch of his cock in your ass — "look at that."
"d-don't—" you moan, which is not a real sentence.
"don't what." he rolls his hips again, a slow grind that seats him fully and holds, and you feel the crown of him bully its way so deep your eyes roll back. "she misses gettin' touched, huh." you whimper and your ass pushes back helplessly and katsuki makes a sound low in his chest, "yeah. yeah i know. s' okay." which is the most obscene thing about this whole situation, the way he talks to your pussy like it's a sad thing that deserves comfort while he is actively, methodically taking you apart from behind.
his pace picks up. not fast, not yet — just steady and mean and deep enough that every thrust knocks a small sound out of you, plap plap plap filling the room and your face burning with it. his hand finds your hair, gathering it at the root, not yanking yet, just holding, and he leans forward enough that his chest is warm against your back and his mouth is close to your ear. "you gonna keep bein' a brat about it," he asks, calmly. "or you done."
"done, 'm done, i was never— katsuki, right there, right there, please~" and your voice breaks on the last word in a way that would embarrass you if you had any capacity left for embarrassment, which you don't, because he's found an angle and he knows it and the way he adjusts to hit it again with that same deliberate calm is cruel, it's so cruel, "please please please—"
"there she is," he breathes, and now his voice has something in it, something rougher that he hasn't entirely gotten a handle on, hips snapping forward sharply, "f' me, yeah, jus' like that." his free hand slides around to your front and finds your clit, two fingers pressing down against your soaked folds, rubbing fast and mean, and you dissolve. practically babbling his name. "katsu— katsuki, i can't, i'm gonna— m' gonna~"
"you're gonna," he agrees, strained, movement getting sloppy at the edges, jaw tight when you twist to see his face, "she's squeezin' me— shit— stop that, you can't—" directed down again, at the way your cunt is clenching around his fingers in response, fluttering around nothing while his cock stays buried in your ass, and he sounds wrecked by it, actually wrecked, "greedy— f-fuuck... both of you. both so greedy f' me—"
you cum with your face in the mattress and both his hands on you and his cock still moving through it and the sound you make is borderline embarrassing and he catalogues every second of it, slowing just enough to feel it, jaw dropping slightly. "good girl," he says, rough, and then he's pressing his face into the back of your neck and his hips go erratic and sloppy.
three thrusts later, and he's groaning into your hair, cumming with his teeth grazing your skin and his hand pressed flat against your stomach like he can feel himself from the outside, like he's checking, like he's making absolutely sure.
he stays there for a long moment after. breathing. the chain on his neck is cold against your spine. you can feel his heartbeat through his chest.
"you good, baby?" he finally says, gruff, pulling back to look at you properly.
you are face-down and approximately seventy percent conscious. "yeah," you manage.
"good— good girl." he presses one brief, unbothered kiss to the back of your shoulder, like this is a thing he does casually, like it means nothing. "drink some water."
you are most likely going to think about the way he said both so greedy f' me for the next six to seven business days.
synopsis:bakugou’s got a serious case of fomo. or there was no way he was about to miss out on you prancing around in a tiny bikini with your ass hanging out.
contents: minors dni, 18+, female reader, established relationship, fucking against the wall in your room, kaminari, kiri and mina are all outside, horny in your swimming pool, handjob, tbh i think kaminari has a crush on you but that’s on you if you wanna believe it :), bkg in loooveeee, unprotected sex, kissing.
notes: this was commissioned by @katsukisfriend who’s been so so so lovely!!! this picture inspired me in his black swimming shorts and yeahhhhhh!!! hope you all enjoy :) (also green for the colour of his crocs :))
bakugou thought always thought fomo, fear of missing out, was a childish thing. something that little brats feel when they aren’t able to go out with their friends due to being grounded or missing the latest episode of a show that everyone was watching. fomo is childish in the world of adult responsibilities. it isn’t possible to do everything you want to do when everyone’s on your back asking for this and that and the other. especially with a job as busy and important as his, it was something he just accepted over time. some things he’d have to say no to.
and that was never a problem for him. he always trumped work as being more important than what other activity was offered. most of the time it was a lucky excuse when his parents begged him to visit his family out of town or kaminari begged him to go on a double date with this girl he liked. “can’t. got work.”
but now bakugou katsuki had a girlfriend and honestly, he was beginning to get a little pissed off at having to say no when you offered to do things. his “can’t” comes out apologetic and his “got work” comes out envious of all the other people in the world that didn’t.
so, the reason why bakugou used way more force than necessary on his last villain of the day, dumped his paperwork on his assistant’s desk and speeded past at least three red lights was because you, his pretty little girlfriend, asked if he wanted to hang out in your new pool with your friends.
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⇢ in which you and bakugou still gravitate towards each other despite having broken up months ago.
small deaths ┋amajiki x reader
⇢ the corruption of amajiki tamaki.
childhoodfriend!bakugou┋part two.
⇢ quirkless!au. bakugou is your guard dog turned...something more.
⤷ get set, brawl!
⇢ set in the chf!bkg universe. bakugou gets into a fight, marring his squeaky-clean student record.
⤷ being your friend
⇢ set in the chf!bkg universe. in progress.
arms┋pro hero!bakugou x reader
⇢ katsuki was never one to ‘sit with his emotions.’ the fuck is he gonna do with them? but then there’s you. or, you put your arms around him and he’s home and all that corny shit.
pit stop┋pro hero!bakugou x reader
⇢ in which bakugou insists on stopping by a cafe post-mission despite being injured.
in moderation┋pro hero!bakugou x reader
⇢ new relationships have that type of fragility that requires care, patience, restraint, and temperance. and, well…katsuki has never been known to be gentle. or, katsuki struggles with the thought that he’s being too much, too soon.
shorts
6:43 pm
9:35 pm
i love patient men
katsuki and his aversion to getting his pictures taken
amajiki i will eat you
ex bf!katsuki, unfortunate shirts, and an unfortunate run-in at the grocery store
girls night out without katsuki
katsuki hates seeing you cry
katsuki’s daughter has a new favorite hero
headcanons
bnha boys when you bite them (ft. midoriya, todoroki, bakugou, aizawa)
bnha boys as bodyguards (ft. bakugou, aizawa, amajiki, kirishima)
summary! you've been fucking your fratboy-friend suguru for ages. you've always wanted your relationship to be more than casual sex, but he always shuts that down. then, like a god with a really nice cock, choso, the schools most reliable plug, tries to swoop you out of that assholes grip. you finally have a man who's willing to give you the world, but will suguru fuck that up for you? (SMUTTTT, p in v, oral: f receiving, fingering.) a lil angst, mostly sexy choso tho 🤞🏼
"f-fuck! sugu, oh god, i can't!"
your cries only fuel the cocky man to thrust harder, deeper as he grunted like an animal in your ear from behind.
"c'monnn, be a good girl and fucking take it, i know you can, baby." he teased, slapping in and out in long strokes, hitting your womb over and over with each tantalising push.
this arrangement blossomed some time after highschool.
both you and suguru always had a thing for each other, even then. you'd share headphones in class, study late at night until the sun came up, and took on projects together as an excuse to be in one another's presence. gojo and shoko always made fun of you both, calling you love struck idiots with no sense of self respect to just admit you liked eachother.
now, in collage, that wishy washy bond seemed to amplify ten fold, with nothing relationship wise being set in stone but the actions always there. right now, in the form of his relentless pounding.
you were an art major at the university of jujutsu, scraping by on your salary from your dive bar job as you navigated the occasional ragers on weekends at suguru and satorus frat, sigma chi, along with the stress of creating.
your dream is to become a free lancer, taking commissions from big names and spending the rest of your life as a dignified artist. but, like all good careers, study and your minimum wage job came first.
the job you were working only an hour ago before suguru waltzed in and whispered lowly in your ear, "been thinking bout' you all day, baby. what time d'you get off?"
now, he's got your hair in a messy bunch as he hits it from behind, moaning and groaning like a fucking porn star. his cocks pushing the nastiest whines from your throat, but his pace never settles.
"fuckkk— you're a pro at takin' this dick, keep fluttering around me sweetheart, just like that." he pounds into you extra hard that time, letting you know exactly who has you wrapped around his finger.
he hovers over your body reeling with that hot afterglow, panting. the room now smells like his strong cologne and sex. he doesn’t rush to pull off of you, suguru never does that. instead, he stays there breathing steadily, his head dipped toward your shoulder.
“you good?” he asks, looking through your eyes deep into your head in that penetrating suguru way.
“yeah,” you say too breathless. you clear your throat and try again. “yeah– yeah. i’m good.”
he smiles contently and rolls off to the side, tugging you with him until you’re half draped over his big, bare, muscular chest. the bed creaks under the movement. his hand comes up to your back, the pad of his thumb pushing slow lines into the muscles.
it's moments like these when your mind starts to wonder why you feel so attached to this guy when all he really takes from you is sex, and all you get in return is an unstable sense of stability and a few party invites.
suguru lets out a stretch and a long groan, resting his chin in the top of your head as your tucked into his chest. “do you work tomorrow?”
“mhm, a morning shift,” you answer. “then gotta finish a com.”
“mm. that's rough, honey.”
honey..
you smile a little at that, even though he can’t see it. he always says that, like it’s a given that your life is busy and hard and worth acknowledging in his eyes. it’s stupid, but it matters to you and he knows that.
he gets a call from the bedside table, but hangs up the line immediately. that small gesture makes your brain go numb.
you hesitate, then speak before you can talk yourself out of having this conversation.
“hey, suguru?"
"hm?"
"you ever think about… i dunno. doing things differently?”
“different how?” he asks carefully, his massaging hand slowing down a tad.
you gulp. this is the line you've never crossed. the one you circle and circle and never, ever step over. “like… i don’t know. not sneaking around. not pretending this is just–"
“hey,” he cuts in gently, lifting your chin so you have to look at him. his expression isn’t unkind. if anything, that makes it worse. “you know where i’m at.”
you nod, even though your chest feels constricted. “i know.”
“i’m not looking for anything serious right now,” he says. it’s not mean. it’s not supposed to be dismissive in any way, shape or form, it’s just true. “i don’t want to give you the wrong idea, love."
then stop calling me that...
“i know,” you say instead, “i’m not asking for anything. i was just... thinking about it, i guess."
he watches you for a second, eyes searching your face like he’s checking for any excess damage. then he moves in and leaves a brief kiss on your forehead.
“you’re important to me,” he says. “you know that?"
you do, and you don’t. both at the same time somehow.
eventually, he falls asleep. you stay awake a little longer, staring at the ceiling, thinking about all the things you could never ask for from a man you'd been so indulged in.
~
monday's on campus were hot, long, and so, so boring.
you had a lecture on influences on modern art this morning, eugh.
you had your lecture materials and laptop tucked into your bag as you dragged your feet to the art block. the path curves around the science block, concrete stained and cracked from years of foot traffic. you slow your pace a little as you round the corner, adjusting your grip on your bag.
that’s when your wandering eyes land on a guy you'd never seen before.
he’s leaning against the wall just out of sight from the main path. his long brown hair shoved up into a messy man bun as the tattooed line across his nose stuck out starkly against his fair skin. he's toweringly tall, with baggy dark jeans held up with a leather diesel belt, campus 00's that'd seen better days, and a white beater adorning his muscular body. on his meaty arms, various detailed tattoos snake up and down in twisted patterns, with thick chained bracelets and leather studded cuffs wrapping around his wrists.
holy shit, this guy was your ever wet dream re-imagined.
his various face piercings and thing chain around his neck caught the morning sun as lyour steps slow down without you noticing.
this mysterious man isn’t alone. a guy you vaguely recognise from around campus stands off to the side yet still close, talking quickly with his eyes darting around. you look away instinctively, staring at your shoes, pretending you’re just another student late for class.
voices drift through the air, shoes scuff, then the other guy leaves in a hurry with his head head down.
when you glance back, the tall, grungey one is counting bills. a lot of them. he folds them without any sort of panic, then tucks them into his pocket like it’s nothing.
oh.
you look away again, heart jumping, suddenly very aware of how obvious you must seem. you tell yourself to keep walking. mind your business, you didn't see anything.
but when you pass the corner, you feel it. his eyes, all over you.
you risk a small glance over, and he’s looking at you openly, those brown irises almost choking you up. when your eyes meet, he smiles softly.
that was a surprise.
it isn’t suggestive in the gross way guys usually looked at you, it isn’t cocky or smug either. it’s warm and a little boyish like he’s amused yet slightly embarrassed by being caught, still, it's like he doesn’t mind it at all. like he thinks you’re cute for staring.
you rip your eyes away from the majestic looking boy and grab your bag tight.
you don’t look back at him, because you know you don't need to.
a guy like that stays engraved in your head for at least a week.
~
a few hours later, beta theta phi.
the house is weirdly quiet, everyone’s either in class, at the gym, or passed out somewhere upstairs.
the sun still burns hot as it squeezes its way through the blinds onto the leather couch choso's lounging in.
he’s got his legs spread and his boots planted flat on the floor, a thick stack of bills resting on his thigh. he counts slowly, he likes the feel of the paper, the weight of it, the reassurance that it’s all still there.
a cigarette sits loosely between his two fingers with white smoke floating upward as he exhales through his nose.
beta theta phi isn’t flashy by any means. the house isn’t huge or pristine, and to be honest, no one’s tryna pretend it is. it’s solid, very old money mixed with modern features. heavy, trusty furniture, scuffed floors, various trophies shoved onto wooden shelves without much care. it was a spot where loyalty mattered much more than appearance.
choso slots perfectly into this frat, like it was built from the ground up just for him.
he flicks through the last of the bills, taps the stack against his leg to even it out, then slips the money into a thick envelope. it joins two others already sitting on the coffee table. today was good. but when it came to choso, today was always good.
his brain start to wander, his mind flashing images of you this morning, your face all blushy and shy. he knows he only saw you for a few seconds, but he thought you were really cute.
he's knocked out of the day dream when the front door swings open and two rowdy brothers pour inside.
toji’s big booming voice wafts through the halls first, talking shit about something dumb with sukuna, who follows close behind. they've both got a towel draped over their shoulder, hair damp from the gym. they smell like sweat and cheap soap, muscles still tight from whatever they’d just put themselves through.
“yo,” toji says, spotting choso. “look at this guy. always sittin’ here so pretty.”
choso glances up, a corner of his mouth lifting. “yeah? ladies like pretty boys, js' look at gojo.”
"ain't that the truth, that guys drownin' in pussy." sukuna laughs.
they drop onto the couch beside him, the cushions dipping under their massive weight. sukuna reaches out, clasping choso’s hand in a quick dap. toji copies.
sukuna leans back, stretching his arms over the back of the couch. “you look relaxed.”
“that’s because i am,” choso replies, taking another drag before tapping ash into an empty can. “money’s good today.”
toji snorts. “when's it not?”
choso’s smile deepens, “that's true.”
toji eyes the envelopes on the table. “what’d you clear?”
“enough,” choso says easily. he doesn’t give numbers unless he feels like it. most of the time, he doesn’t.
sukuna whistles low anyway. “campus still eatin’ outta your hand, huh?” that gets a quiet chuckle out of him. “pretty much.”
it isn’t bragging, of course. choso was humble like that, it’s just fact.
everyone knows him. not in that loud, showy, gojo way, but in the way that keeps his name out of problems and his product moving cleanly throughout everyone's pockets. he doesn’t advertise his stuff, and he definitely doesn’t chase clients. people come to him because they trust him, because he never cuts corners, never shorts anyone, never brings problems back to his frat, to his brothers.
most of the frats on campus run through him. beta theta phi, obviously. but sigma chi too. alpha delta, kappa nu, even a few of the smaller houses that pretend they don’t need a plug until friday hits and everyone’s scrambling for grass no one bothered to get.
he keeps it all so organised and respectful, that’s why no one fucks with him.
he’s made more money than most people their age could even imagine. stacks on stacks tucked away, accounts spread out across multiple banks, investments already working for him while he lounges on a couch counting cash. he could’ve left school ages ago, perhaps disappeared to some holiday country and never looked back,
but he didn’t.
college is just so easy. it's nice and predictable, a cover as much as it is a choice. and beta theta phi gave him brothers who don’t ask questions they don’t need the answers to. he really liked that.
sukuna shifts, rolling his shoulders. “oh, speaking of sigma chi.”
choso glances at him. “hm?”
“they’re throwin’ some function this weekend,” sukuna says. “gojo was runnin’ his mouth in the locker room earlier. said we could all get free entry if you supply some dope.”
toji laughs. “classic.”
choso exhales smoke, considering it for half a second. “yeah. that’s fine.”
sukuna raises a brow. “that easy?”
“why not,” choso shrugs. “i can afford to lose a little.”
sukuna smiles. "it's a glow party, that rave kinda thing we never do because it gets too messy. so, gojo also wanted some molly, said he'd pay for that tho."
"done."
toji grins and leans over, clapping him on the back hard enough to jostle the envelopes. “fuckin’ legend.”
“seriously,” sukuna adds, nodding. “you’re so good to us.”
choso waves it off, already flicking ash again. “what can i say? i love you guys.”
toji lets out a loud laugh, leaning back so far the couch creaks under him. “listen to this guy.” he mocks, throwing his head back.
sukuna snorts, shaking his head. “shut up, toji. y' just mad he's not as emotionally immature as you are. love you too, cho."
choso rolls his eyes.
toji stretches, arms over his head, muscles pulling tight beneath his skin. “anyways, we’re grabbing food. you wanna tag along? i'll pay.”
choso opens his mouth to answer, then pauses. somethings been nagging at him, hell, might as well pick at these meat heads brains.
“hey,” he says instead.
they both look at him.
“you guys ever hear of a girl,” he starts to explain as his eyes float towards the window, “she's an art major, i think. always got a bag full of paints or something. looks like she wandered onto campus by accident.”
toji squints. “that’s… vague.”
sukuna tilts his head, thinking. “art major, huh?”
“yeah,” choso says. “real pretty, doesn’t look like she knows how hot she is.”
there’s a hum that comes from sukuna, then he snaps his fingers. “oh. her.”
choso’s attention sharpens up. “yeah?”
“[name],” sukuna says. “she’s always around sigma chi stuff. parties, events, whatever. went to high school with gojo and his friends, i’m pretty sure.”
toji nods. “yeah, i know who you mean. really nice girl.”
choso hums quietly, absorbing it. “friends with gojo,” he repeats.
“yeah, pretty much family, from what i hear,” sukuna shrugs. “why?”
toji eyes him for a second longer, like he wants to push, then grins instead. “sure you are.”
they head for the door, laughter trailing behind them as it swings shut.
the house falls quiet again.
choso leans back into the couch, staring at the dangling light, the name turning over in his head.
“[name], huh?”
~
sigma chi looks like a cyberpunk futuristic fantasy with the amount of glowing neon paint smeared across everyone's bodies.
big blacklights are bolted into every corner of the room, splashing the walls and dancing bodies in radioactive colours.
paint splatters glow like constellations across bare arms and collarbones and the heavy hitting music penetrates every ear drum.
you’re stationed in the kitchen wearing a pretty, tight dress you almost didn't wear. it hugs you perfectly, so short gojo whistled when he saw you earlier. small lines of neon paint streak horizontally across your cheeks, you hadn’t planned on doing your makeup like this but of course, shoko insisted. her steady hand painted you up while you both giggled and tried to stay still.
right now, you’re posted up in the kitchen with her and that white haired idiot, plastic cups full of jungle juice sweating in your hands. it looks scarily neon aswell, which sorta freaks you out.
“this shit is gonna kill me,” shoko mutters, taking another sip anyway.
gojo laughs, throwing an arm over your shoulders and leaning his weight into you like he always does. “you say that every time.”
“because every time i’m right.”
you smile leaning into gojo. he trys to whisper something flirty in your ear but you shove his face away with a scoff and he fake pouts.
shoko nudges aaid with her elbow. “you got any molly?”
he grimaces. “not on me.”
you glance at him, curious. “but you said-”
“relax,” he grins. “choso’s bringing some.”
you blink. “who?”
they both look at eachother, then at you. "you don't know choso?" they say jointly.
before either of them can answer any further, scuffling near the doorway catches your eye.
your breath gets all hault up in your lungs, because its him.
the guy from earlier this week. he's tall even among the crowd of athletes, his black clothes look beautifully fitting for his vibe. neon paint traces a line across his nose, glowing exactly where that tattoo you'd seen had been. his eyebrow and nose piercings have been swapped out for neon pink rings that glow vibrantly in the backlight.
he looks so perfect it's almost nauseating.
he stalks straight up to gojo, and without a proper greeting, he throws an arm around his neck, pulling him in close like they’ve done this a bajillion times.
“took you long enough,” gojo laughs, slapping a hand against choso's chest.
the guy grins nice and wide, then shoves a bag full of weed into gojo’s arms like it’s nothing more than candy. “don’t get greedy.”
“you’re actually the best,” gojo beams.
shoko leans in close to you, whispering, “that’s choso.”
oh.
choso laughs with gojo shaking his pretty head, then reaches into his pocket again. this time, he pulls out a small baggie with five pink pills gleaming.
from beside you, shoko makes a tiny, triumphant sound. “yes!"
gojo fishes out cash and hands over four fifty dollar notes without counting. choso takes them, counts them, then stops for a sec. he plucks one back and presses it into gojo’s chest with a wink.
“hundred fifty,” he says. “consider it a favor.”
gojo looks like christmas came early. “i fucking love you.”
“yeah, yeah,” choso laughs.
they bump shoulders, laugh together for a few minutes, then step apart. gojo claps him on the arm. “enjoy the party, man.”
“always do.”
choso turns to leave, but then he stops.
because his dark, now completely blown out eyes catch on you.
you're fully exposed in your staring. for a small moment of time, he freezes still. like he didn’t expect to see you here, like the room had dropped out from under him.
then he laughs. awkward and quiet, scratching at the back of his neck.
you smile back shyly, it’s adorably small, but hell, it wacks him in the head like a brick.
he straightens a little, smile turning nervous in a way that doesn’t match his size or his nonchalant reputation. he looks like he’s about to say something. like he’s weighing his options, deciding if he should come over, if this is his moment.
you tilt your head, waiting for something to come of this, then,
“choso!” someone yells from across the room.
a guy with short dark hair and a pedo stache named shiu, a man you'd seen before hanging around toji.
choso glances back at you. then at shiu.
“c'mon, kamo!” shiu calls again, much louder this time.
choso exhales, running a hand through his hair. he gives you one last look and it's apologetic, almost regretful.
then he turns and disappears into the crowd.
you're a little confused, and sigh.
gojo sidles back up beside you, following your gaze. “damn.”
“what?” you ask.
he grins. “if i was gay, choso’s the first guy i'd crack.”
shoko rolls her eyes "if?"
~
some old zara larsson song keeps bumping over the speakers whether you’re into it or not, so you decide you might as well be in it.
you drain the rest of your cup and let shoko drag you back toward the living room where everyone's bodies are slotted together, neon paint streaking across skin every time someone brushes past. someone hands you another drink without asking and you take it, laughing when shoko raises her brows at you.
“c'mon girl, pace yourself,” she says.
“i amm,” you lie, sipping away.
you try to dance like usual, your hips moving with the beat, shoulders loose, smiling at people you barely know. a few guys spin you as some freshman's yelling over a group of girls, and someone else bumps into you and apologises with a drunken smile. it’s fun. it’s loud. it’s everything a party should be.
and still, your head just won't stop obsessive over that guy, over 'choso'.
you begrudgingly catch yourself scanning the room between songs, between laughs, between drinks.
it’s stupid! you don’t know him. you don’t know his major, his year, his anything.
you shake your head and take another drink.
then, just as you're about to flop into whatever leather couch is closest and contemplate your enter existence, big, firm hands snake around your waist.
you lean back into the man you know is behind you without second guessing yourself.
“there you are,” he murmurs near your ear.
you turn your head just enough to catch his pretty grin. “i've been here for ages, suguru.”
“yeah?” he says. “could’ve fooled me.”
his body pressed up against you flush as he grinds his hips into yours, his mouth kissing at your neck.
he wraps his forearms around your chest as you sway with the music. "you look so fucking good,” he adds, eyes dragging over you. “that dress is just... wow.” he grabs your ass briefly before laughing as you smack his hand away.
you laugh, tipping your head back against his shoulder. “you’re drunk.”
“a little,” he admits, then dips his head to your neck again.
you dance together, two bodies screaming sex appeal as others point and grin at your fluidity.
he murmurs your name into your neck, his perfectly straight teeth nipping at your skin again, and you forget about the neon paint and the blacklight, along with the mysterious man that had that soft smile.
you’re here now, with suguru.
after awhile of sex heavy music, it changes over to something geto doesn't like, so with one kiss to the bottom of your ear, he whispers, "come on, let’s go mingle a bit.” then pulls you over to your friends with an arm
“oh look, they're not upstairs yet,” gojo calls when he sees you. “thought you ditched us.”
geto just smirks, squeezing your side. “wouldn’t dream of it.”
yuki raises a brow, eyes flicking between the two of you. “you guys look cozy.”
“don’t we always?” you say lightly.
sukuna watches the two of you draw closer, and his mind drifts off to what choso had asked him the other day. he studies you for a second longer than necessary, his eyes sharp even through the fog of the party. then he straightens, arms crossing over his chest.
“so,” he says, blunt as ever. “are you two dating or what?”
oh, okay.
you feel choked up at his bluntness, caught off guard. before you can answer, you feel geto’s arm drop from around your waist.
he steps half a foot away.
“nah,” he says quickly, waving a hand like it’s nothing. “we’re just hooking up right now.”
just..
there’s a weird, awkward silence. gojo clears his throat. yuki looks away and sukuna sucks his lips in trying not to laugh, like he's noticed how bad that question was.
“right,” you say, forcing a smile. “yeah.”
geto doesn’t even spare you a glance.
yeah, this is too much. you were never good in awkward situations.
“i’m gonna go see what shoko's up to.”
you weren't going to see shoko, but you still step away, desperately needing some fresh air.
you push through the back door and onto the porch, whatever screeching drill music you'd assumed yuji put on fading behind you.
as you clicked the door shut, you swivel around and notice that you're not the only one on this porch.
the guy you'd learnt to be choso, leans against the metal railing just a few feet away, a burning blunt between his ringed fingers.
the glow from inside spills across his back, outlining him in soft purple light.
crap.
he hasn’t noticed you yet, you consider retreating, stepping back inside and pretending you didn’t see him. but, as you step back, your heel clips a large pot plant.
it rattles in its plant tray creating a ruckus.
“shit,” you hiss.
choso looks over his shoulder.
for a second, he seems surprised. then his mouth curves into a small, crooked smile.
“stalkin’ me now, hm?” he says teasingly.
gosh, how utterly pathetic could this night get.
"no- no! i was just- getting some air and i didn't know you were-"
you're cut off by his fond laugh, he's staring at your with half squinted eyes.
"don't worry, it's all good. m' only teasing."
his voice...
you hesitate, then breathe out a relived laugh with him. "i'll leave you to it then, m' sorry."
but before you can step back again, he chokes out a, "no, no. you should stay." it comes out louder than he'd planned, and you can tell by the way his next sentence comes much softer. "i don't mind company, y'know?" he rubs at his neck almost shyly.
laughing lightly at that, you slide into the spot next to him and grip the railing, your shoulder brushing against his.
he turns his body so he's facing you, then, holds out his veiny hand for you to grab. "choso, it's nice to finally meet you." he waits.
you humor him and let your smaller hand slip into his. "[name], it's nice to meet you too."
unexpectedly, he brings your hand up to his lips, looking you in the eye as he presses his lips to your delicate knuckles.
"pretty name for a pretty girl."
then he reaches up and brushes a loose strand of hair away from your cheek with the back of his fingers.
he's intoxicating. he's somehow so flirty while looking so shy. you wanna dissapear with him, something about the man was screaming at you to take him by the belt and let him take care of the rest.
but you know better. you really do.
this is choso. and sure, you'd only really become aware of him this past week, but he couldn't be good news. he was the campus plug, a guy with a reputation that trails behind him like smoke wherever he went. bad news wrapped in real good looks and his adorably shy chivalry. you shouldn’t barter into this, you really shouldn’t smile like you were as he smiled back, shouldn’t feel this pull towards him.
and yet, you let him wrap his pointer finger around yours as he stood leaning against the rail, keeping it there as he blew smoke into the sky.
"already so touchy? we just met, y'know." you quiz with a blushed out smile, wriggling the finger he has trapped on his own like a link.
"yeah," he turns to face you again, "but i already know i fuck with you. i like moving at a pace that feels right."
"and this 'feels right?'" you laugh.
"the right-est."
"huh." you reply, like it was a small yet significant revelation. you wriggle your finger again, but this time it's to hold his tighter, earning a smile from him.
"hope you don't have a boyfriend." he asks, looking down at you slyly.
"it's... complicated."
"so no, sweet."
"i-" he taps a finger to your lip.
"if you had a good man taking care of you, that answer wouldn't have any of that wishy washy bullshit. you don’t have a boyfriend, let's leave it at that."
"yes sir." you joke, and his pants tighten a lil.
somehow, you feel like you'd known this guy you only properly met ten minutes ago since freshman year, no, screw that, since grade school. he was conversing with you like how one might talk to their long term on again off again. it was captivating yet also terrifying.
he inches closer to you, "i wanna get to know you, [name], should stay out here for a while, hm?"
you nod, and that was that, you end up talking to him for hours.
“i’m kinda surprised i haven’t seen you around more. you’d think i would’ve noticed a guy like you.” you say halfway through your little moment. he lets out a soft laugh, glancing back toward the party through the glass door. “a guy like my? huh? yeah, nah. i don’t come to these much.”
“really?” you tilt your head. “but you and gojo seem close.”
“we hang out heaps,” he nods. “just not here. sigma chi gets too messy n' it's not really my scene.”
you hum in agreement. “fair.”
“what about you?” he asks. “you always here?”
“more than i should be,” you admit. “occupational hazard.”
that gets a grin out of him. “oh, so you work?”
"yeah, i work at a-" you're cut off,
"a bar?"
you blink. “how’d you know?”
he shrugs. “you’ve got the look.”
you laugh. “and what look is that?”
“like you can handle drunk guys without losing your mind.”
“barely,” you whisper under your breath. “i work at the sway bar, it's just off campus.”
“hm,” his brows lift. “might have to stop by sometime.”
you look up at him smiling. “i’d really like that.”
“what frat are you in?” you ask him next, and you grin at the way his face lights up.
"beta theta phi, with sukuna and toji, y'know them?"
“ahhh i see,” you smile. “yeah, i know them. i can totally see that.”
“see what?” he asks amused.
“you sorta just, match their vibe? i guess?”
he leans over to you, then, in a smooth motion he's bracing one arm on the railing behind you so your back would touch his chest if you leaned back. “and what vibe’s that exactly?”
you get choked up for a sec before grinning. “like, dark. kinda edgy.”
he lets go of a breathy laugh. “yeah? you into that? dark n’ edgy?”
your face blushes pink as you nod. “yeah, kinda.”
that seems to please him, because his smile is satisfied and content.
as you're talking about everything and nothing simultaneously, you slowly start to realise you haven’t thought about suguru once. not about how shitty he'd made you feel or the way he would probably be expecting you back inside and in his bed right about now.
your world has narrowed completely, honing in on the man beside you.
"i think you're really cool, [name]." he says from his spot behind you, his chest now fully hugging into your back as his arms have migrated from the pole to your waist. for some reason, where this would usually feel weird, too fast or sexual with most other men, it felt causal with him. like, instead of a rapey gesture meant to swoon you into bed, it was an action that felt so natural and grounding. you were definitely leaning into him.
"i'd hope so, you're kinda hugging me like we're a thing right now."
"would you be into that?" he speaks into your ear, his chin now pushing into the crook of your neck from behind.
"into what? us being a thing?"
"lowkey."
wow, you went from chasing a guy who would turn down being 'a thing' at every turn, to a man far more endearing suggesting it like it was an obvious want.
still, you had to be at least half cautious. "maybe."
he laughs at that, then lets his arms turn you around to face him.
"i'd love to take you out, ma. you're real funny, real sweet. my kinda girl, i can't lie to you."
this almost seems too good to be true. sure, a lotta guys ask you out, but none of them give off the same kinda vibe as choso. "y'sure you're not just saying that to sleep with me? you don’t have to go through all that hassle, you know, we can just-"
"no." he cuts you off, looking you deep in your eye. "i don't want that. i really do wanna see where this goes, okay? have ever since i saw you walking t' class on monday."
that makes you still, because he'd been thinking about you as much as you'd been thinking about him, from one little smile. if this wasn't some fated lovers arrangement then you didn't know what was.
you took in a soft breath before smiling, "sure, you can take me out."
you feel him smile against your skin, then he pulls away and you mourn the loss of body heat.
"perfect." he says, pulling out his phone, giving it to you gently. "if you really want this, put in your number. if you don’t , just spam the keypad and i'll figure it out later that you're not into me. no awkward shit."
he was perfect, god, he was perfect.
you grin and take it from him, putting your phone number in instantly under the name, [name] 💘.
~
he'd kept his promise.
around two days later, you'd had a shift at the bar from afternoon til late. you'd been working for around three hours when the door to the small, yet cozy establishment swings open, revealing a very well dressed choso.
he had a nice shirt and jeans that looked classier than the one he wore to the party, and fitting jewellery littering his every body part. he was a little overdressed for this dingy dive bar setting, but the low lighting complimented his aesthetic perfectly.
he greets the girl at the door kindly, before stalking up to the bar in which you stood behind. he smiles gently as he spots you.
"you really came, that's cute." you smile, wiping up a wet glass with a tea towel.
he takes a once over of your attire and smirks to himself before sliding into the stool, still somehow towering over you despite being sat. "i keep my promises, sweetheart. couldn't turn down seeing you looking this fine in you're little uniform."
that makes you blush a pretty pink, earning a soft chuckle from him as he scans the rack of bottles behind you. choso rarely drank heavy, but when he was in the mood, he'd always preferred the more expensive liquor.
"you guys have any jonny walker? the blue label?" he asks, trying his own hand at spotting the scotch on the rack.
"just ran out, the next one up from that would be some pappy bourbon, but you're looking at $120 a pour." you don't expect him to chose your most expensive bottle, the one only really old timers reach for, so you're preparing to grab for a bottle of beer in the fridge behind you.
"cool, i'll have that then." you almost choke.
"you uhm.. you sure?" you ask, incase this was some joke and you were gonna make a fool of yourself reaching for the top shelf for nothing.
"positive, hun." he smiles back.
you nod, then grab the step stool and reach for the golden liquor.
you pour it up and slide it over. he thanks you sweetly and takes a sip, nodding to himself like this was a good investment. as he drinks, you notice a silver ball of metal shooting through his tongue, a piercing there as well? imagine all the things he could do with that...
unaware of your less than appropriate internal thoughts, he folds a few fifties up and slips it into the chest pocket of your apron. "good recommendation, honey." these pet names were getting more and more bold, not that you minded.
"you're so welcome." you wink, earning an upwards twitch of his eyebrow in appreciation.
he's sitting in the spot many a men had before, all flirting and trying their luck with you. but with choso there, you felt engaged, you actually wanted to talk to him not just laugh and nod along like you cared for his useless conversation.
you quickly cashed in his money, he'd given you $200 so you pulled out his change, handing it out for him to take.
"no, no. that's your tip, pretty girl." he smiles, imitating your wink.
you're dumbfounded. "an $80 tip? we don’t- you don’t- tipping isn't even a thing here! please, take this back, i seriously can't take it, i-" he cuts you off with a wave of his hand.
"shh, you're such a sweet tender, you deserve a little get back."
he watches you fluster and fumble with the change like it’s the best thing he’s seen all night.
“hey,” choso says easily, leaning his forearms on the bar. “i promise i won’t miss it.”
you glance up at him, brows pinched. “that’s still a lot of money.”
“it’s not,” he replies, gentle yet firm. “and even if it was, i wanted to.”
you hesitate, then sigh, slipping the bills back into your apron like you’re conceding a battle you were never gonna win anyways. he smiles at that, pleased, like he enjoys when you finally let him do things for you.
“thank you,” you say quietly.
“anytime,” he answers. “that’s what i’m here for.”
he stays right there for the rest of the night,
he doesn’t drift off and he doesn’t get pulled into a loud conversation with anyone else.
he orders a few non alcoholic drink because he needs to drive. but the thing captivating his attention the most is you. his body stays angled toward you like it’s the most natural place for him to be.
you keep working, of course. wiping down glasses, taking orders, sliding beers down the bar. but every time you glance back at him, he’s already looking at you.
you’re aware of him the whole time. the way his eyes follow your body everywhere, the way he straightens when you come back, like he can’t help it.
he pulls out every conversational skill he'd ever learnt from collage and puts them all to work, trying his hardest to swoon you as best he can. he compliments you over and over, tells you you're such a good worker, slips tenners in your left pocket when you're distracted. he watches you exist like you were the most incredible, hard working being on earth, because to him? you were.
he talks to you when it gets quiet, he has you toppled over belly laughing at one point from across the bar as he tells you stories of his geeky high school days, or ones where his runs didn't go exactly as planned.
god, you’re hot.
that’s the thought looping in his head, over and over again until his cock feels a little too snug in his pants.
the apron. the way it sits so tightly around your waist. the way you lean forward when you laugh and the neckline of your top dips down to reveal your pretty cleavage. the way your hands move with such confidence even when the bar’s loud and messy. he’s seen a lot of girls. slept with some on occasion, none of them felt or looked like this. like you.
it’s annoying, honestly. quite distracting. he finds himself wondering what you smell like up close. would you smell differently to what you smelt like at the party? if it was just the two of you at the bar, would you speak to him soft and sultry like he'd imagined in his recent day dreams? everything about you allured him to such an agonising standard, he felt like grabbing you from behind the bar and driving you back to his off campus place, wrapping you up in his sheets and keeping you to himself, forever.
so we're weird stalkers now choso? perfect. he shook his head at the intrusive thought.
"you okay, choso?" you ask, suddenly right infront of him, pulling him from his you obsessed thoughts. "ah, yeah, y'know. just day dreaming' about my pretty little bar tender friend."
"oh, we're friends now?" you quiz, smirking at him, he laughs and rests his cheek in his palm. "oh, i wanna be much more than that, baby."
you know he said he wanted to see where this went, but fuck, you wanted him all up in you right now..
hours pass by quickly, just like that.
the flirty conversation flows so easily. you talk about different music, about how shit the school's schedule is. about dumb campus drama (mostly revolving around gojo, surprise surprise.) he tells you stories about sukuna and toji without saying too much, painting them as loud but loyal, which you can picture.
you catch yourself laughing more than usual. leaning close to him when he talks. forgetting to check the time.
once, though fleetingly, suguru crosses your mind. he’d texted earlier asking what time you finished, he’d probably expect you to come over after. you hadn't replied yet, wanting to make the decision of whether or not he deserved you later on. choso's little visit was really letting you know you made the right decision, because right now, there’s only him. his sexy, deep voice, his expression that never diped into that bored look you'd sometimes see on suguru, the way he was talking to you like anything you said was worth acutely listening to.
“you ever think about gettin’ outta here?” he asks eventually, gesturing vaguely around the bar.
“all the time,” you admit. “but it’s temporary. just until i finish my degree.”
“oh, shit yeah. you do art, right?”
“yes sir.”
his eyes light up. “that's sick, y'should show me.”
you breath out a laugh. “show you what?"
“your art,” he says. “you talk about it like it’s your whole world.”
it kind of is.
you’re about to answer when you both glance up at the clock mounted above the liquor shelf.
12:18.
you groan softly. “shit.”
he checks his phone. “damn. i’ve been here f' ages.”
“same,” you laugh. “i gotta close up soon.”
he stays and helps you clean up as best he can, then walks you out if the bar like the gentleman he is. you both begin your walk down the street where his car’s parked right by the curb, and your bus stop sits a little further down.
“you bussin’ it home?” he asks, surprised.
“yeah,” you shrug. “car’s not really in the budget.”
he nods, like he has to remind himself of that reality. not everyone lives lavishly off of drug money like he does.
you pull out your phone, opening the travel app, but choso notices how your pretty face falls.
“what's the matter?” he asks.
“all the buses are delayed,” you sigh. “road closures.”
you start to type something out, probably to see how long the delay is, when his hand grabs around your wrist.
it's not demanding or tight, no, it's like he's softly taking control.
“i’ll drive you,” he says.
“oh, wow, no! you've already done so much for me tonight, choso. you don’t have to,” you start. “i can walk, it’s not that far.”
he shakes his head. “no. get in the car.”
and you did, you let him open the door and usher you in, then say through his admittedly good playlist as the gps told him where to go. he was really pulling out all the cards, and it was making you hotter and hotter with each passing moment.
as you approached your apartment, you began getting antsy. you didn't want him to just drop you off and leave. you wanted him inside, both you and your apartment.
"here you go, sweets. safe and sound." he smiles, the door open as he stands outside his car letting you out.
“hey,” you say, looking up at him now that you're standing.
he looks at you attentively, like he too is expecting you to say something.
“do you wanna…” you trail off, letting your eyes do the rest of the sentence, falling over his chest, his arms, his hips.. “come inside for a bit?”
it's so utterly suggestive without you saying 'i wanna fuck' outright, and he seems to click on pretty fast.
he knows he told you at that party he wanted to see how things played out, preferably take you on a date before he even thought about fucking you, but shit, if you weren't looking at him with the widest, most eager eyes.
“yeah,” he says after copying you, looking at your body up and down. “i’d like that.”
he grins at the way you look away shyly.
he follows you up the steep steps, trying while heartedly not to stare straight at your ass. your apartment door clicks open, and you step aside to let him in.
the space is dark except for a lamp you flick on near the window.
choso stops dead in his tracks.
your apartments like an art critics wet dream. his eyes move rapidly over the hundreds of different works, some unfinished and some looking old. theres large canvases leaning up against every wall, pottery and clay dust on the coffee table, sketches and watercolored studies taped up wherever there was free space. the place feels so lived in, messy in a beautifully creative way, so full of you.
“holy shit,” he murmurs.
you smile, suddenly very shy at the fact you should've cleaned up abit. “it’s... uh, a lot."
“nah,” he says, stepping further in. “it’s sick."
he walks around carefully, he’s afraid to bump into something important to you. leans in close to a large canvas, squinting a little as he studies it.
“you like, actually made this?” he asks.
“sure did.”
he lets out a quiet incredulous laugh. “why the hell are you not, like, famous or some shit.”
you feel your tummy grow hotter at his praise. “i wish that was how it worked.”
“i’m serious,” he insists. “this is crazy good. like gallery typa shit.”
the way he says it, so sure, so utterly unfiltered, makes your legs feel weak and nimble, suguru rarely commented this much on your work. you hadn’t realised how much you wanted to hear that from someone until now.
he keeps going, pointing things out, asking questions, swearing under his breath when something 'really epic and cool' as he likes to put it, catches his eye.
“this one’s my favorite,” he says, gesturing to a piece tucked half behind the couch, it was a distorted portrait reminiscent of francis bacon. “it’s got an allure.”
you laugh. “you should have it.”
he whips his head over to you in the dim light, and raises his eyes like he's surprised. "really? you'd just give it away? it's so good, i mean-"
"not without compensation, of course." you tease, and you have to quickly grab his hand as he reaches into his pocket to grab for the wad of cash you know is in there.
"what are you-"
"not with money, choso..." you blink up at him feigning innocence, and the switch up from surprise to want is unfathomably quick.
you take his hand from its place in his pocket, and bring it up to cup your face, he follows suit and uses the other to pull your hips against his own.
"well, aren't you a little tease. i wanted to take you out first, y'know?"
"yeah? gonna deny me?" you poke, and the look of pure lust in his eyes tells you before he does,
"wouldn't dream of it." and he's on you, pulling you so close as his mouth works against yours feverishly, pulling surprised moans from your throat at how thorough he's being.
with a breathy sigh into the heated kiss, choso's hands pat their way down to the flesh of your ass, and knead at the fat in such an intoxicating way, it makes your skin bloom with goose bumps.
he's pushing his tongue into your mouth, the ball of metal pierced through his muscle clinking against your teeth as he explores you, your own tongue fighting back and forth for dominance.
you get the cue, the demand in his body language, the way he's growing desperate with each flick of tongue and grab of your ass.
you pull away with a click and push your forehead against his. "w-we should go to my room. now."
he smiles, his flushed cheeks turning upwards. you grab for his hand and guide him to your bedroom, pushing the door open quickly and pulling him inside.
he reconnects his lips to yours instantly, you reply by pulling at his fancy shirt, pawing at the collar until the first few buttons are loose.
he too starts tearing at your clothes, pulling the string of your apron loose, letting it fall to the floor, he makes sure the cash he'd slipped in earlier was still safe in the pockets before nudging it away to the side.
you wrangle is shirt off through messy kisses, and he's got yours unbuttoned to the hem.
"fuck, you're pretty." he sighs, pulling away to take in every inch of exposed abdomen and cleavage.
you smirk, then sit back slowly on the bed. he watches keenly, his pants becoming unbearably uncomfortable as you look at him with that lustful gaze.
you un-clip your bra letting it fall to the side to reveal your tits, and he drops to his knees at the foot of the bed in awe.
"jesus..." he almost chokes, his hands grabbing for the button of your work pants. he slips them off, eyes still fixated on the way you grab and knead at your boobs, the urge to wrestle you back onto the bed and fuck you stupid was becoming all but too much, but he had to restrain, opting to sweet talk you a bit before diving in.
"such pretty tits, baby. y'mind if i touch?" he borderline whines.
your wicked smile eggs him on, and he leans forward, taking the soft flesh into his hands.
you smile as he groans, then dip your hand down to his own belt buckle to help his cock spring free.
moaning as you do so, choso flushes a pretty red as his member slaps his lower abs, becoming shy at the fact you were staring so wide eyed at it.
did it look weird? was he not hard enough? fuck, he felt it. then again, he didn't have sex as often as anyone would assume.
his worries are stomped out when you cover your mouth with your hand, "that... that's fucking massive." you breath airily.
okay, good. that was good.
he smirks and stand up, shoving his pants the rest of the way down. in one smooth motion, he has you pushed down against the bed, your legs spread wide open, you let go of a trapped moan at the sudden manoeuvre.
he's inbetween your thighs in seconds, his face inches away from your pantie clad pussy.
"wanna taste you, baby, s' that okay?" he asks, panting heavily like this was the single most important question he'd ever ask. he takes note of how you nod so eagerly, hooking a finger into the waist band of your panties and pulling them off.
"all yours." you slur, and he wastes no time pressing that beautiful ball of pierced metal right up against your clit. all your fantasies were coming true, it seemed.
he laps at your folds, his mouth working magic on your needy hole. every moan that falls from your plush lips has him hitting that pleasure spot with a faster, more precise motion, trying his best to draw out those sexy little whimpers.
"good fucking girl, you're doing so well." he mumbles into the wetness, the vibration from his tone racking through your core.
"f-fuck! choso— i— i can't!" tears are welling up in your eyes at his unforgiving pace, his eyes clouding over with pleasure as he looks at you from down below.
"just focus, baby, come f'me, yeah? can you do that?" you reply with broken whines and choked up moans, your hands fisting into his hair as your hips grind up against his mouth.
you feel your peak building, growing and tightening so fast you clamp your thighs shut around his head.
he doesn't care that he can't breath, doesn't mind that his only purpose to you right now is to feel good, he want that, needs that.
he flicks at your clit in agonising little circles until you finally come undone all over his pretty, fucked out face.
he moans with you, kissing at your clit as you come down, slowing his pace as your breaths ease from rapid to regular.
"jesus, you uhm.. you really know how to eat a girl out." you breath shyly, hiding your face in the crook of your elbow as he moves up onto the bed, laying down next you with one arm propping up his head.
"you come so prettily, sweet thing. want me t' make you feel like that again?" he smiles, and that coil in your tummy you swear was gone had suddenly re-knotted.
"i- uh..." you're too shy to ask, but it's all you want, and he can tell.
"can i fuck you silly, pretty thing? would you like that?" he asks softly, his hands running up and down your naked, sweaty body.
he takes your arm away from your arms, then rolls over so he's pinning them down as his body hovers above yours.
"you like being told what to do, don't you? prefer being spoilt rather than taking the lead, hm?" he asks in a low tone. your eyes dart all around his face, a guilty sign that told him he was right on the money.
"perfect. just sit there and take me, honey. tell me if it's too much and i'll stop, moan loud if you want me to fuck you harder, m'kay?" he quizzes, your shyer eyes find his as you nod gently, "yes, please." you breath, and he goes right ahead.
his fingers slip into your sopping wet cunt and start to scissor you open, kissing the small gasps straight from your throat.
he rubs at your clit with his thumb, preparing you to take him in.
"y'think you can handle it, baby?" he pants, jerking at the base while his hands work you from the inside. you're bobbing your head up and down unevenly, a strangled yes juttering part your lips through noises of pleasure.
he removes his fingers with a wet pop, and lines himself up missionary with your dripping entrance, ready to slowly sink in until you're twitching with anticipation.
"relax honey, you can take it." and take it you did.
as his tip pushes past your hole with a deep groan from choso's lips, you bite down on your own at the sheer diameter. this was gonna be a stretch.
inch by tantalising inch, he's got you choking out jumbled praise and encouragement as your walls flutter deliciously around him.
"fuck, you're so tight, holy fuck–" he stammers as his tip finally presses against what he can assume is your cervix, based on how you're writhing beneath him.
"okay, baby. m' gonna —oh fuck— move."
you nod with your eyes squeezed shut and your hands gripping his biceps. "o-okay, cho."
that nickname makes him ten times harder, now he's bucking his hips deeper and deeper into your pussy with strangled groans. "keep callin' me that and i'll come right now—" he jokes through pants.
he continues abusing your puffy little hole, using you all up until you're a blabbering mess under this thumb.
"g'na— ohmygosh— i'm gonna come!" you cry, a tear slipping from your eye at the pleasure, choso leans down and kissses it away.
"c'mon honey, gimme one more, good girl, you can do it." he moans, picking up his
pumping pace.
you can't handel this any longer, he's dicking you down you so good, better than you'd ever felt before, you can't help but tighten up on his cock and spasm around it until he too is cumming straight into your cervix. bullseye.
you both go limp, your bones turning to mush after such intense sex.
yet, the second choso registers the way your body tenses, the way your breath sounds a little uneven from the discomfort of the sweat and other bodily fluid, he’s stood. he presses a little kiss to your shoulder first, then mutters something soft you barely catch before he slips out of bed.
“stay right there, baby,” he says, low and reassuring. “i got you.”
you hear drawers opening, the ensuite sink running. the quiet domestic sounds feel surreal after everything you'd just done with a guy you'd known for a week that somehow felt like years. when he comes back, he’s holding a damp cloth, warm from the tap. his expression has shifted completely, all that intensity replaced by a loving look of focus and care.
“okay,” he murmurs, sitting beside you. “gonna clean you up a bit, yeah?”
you nod, too loose to do much else.
he starts slowly with your legs, your stomach, your sides. he’s so incredibly careful, thorough without being clinical, like feeling clean and comfortable was his god given mission in this point in time. when he moves between your thighs, softly wiping through your sticky folds, you make a small whiney sound before you can stop yourself.
“hey,” he coos immediately, pausing. “s’okay. i know it’s sensitive.”
his voice is so gentle it almost hurts.
he keeps going, so much softer now while talking to you the whole time.
“you’re okay,” he murmurs. “i got you. just breathe for me.”
you whine quietly at the sensation, fingers curling into the sheets. he soothes you with words, with touch, like he knows exactly how close to the edge you still are.
“that’s it,” he says. “you’re doin’ so good. i know, i know. almost done.”
when he finishes up, he sets the cloth aside and immediately pulls you into him. you hadn’t actually realised how cold you felt until you’re pressed against his big chest, his massive arms wrapping around you without hesitation.
you tuck yourself into him snugly, like your body already knows where it belongs.
here, with him.
he rubs your back in slow passes, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head. your cheek rests against his dipping collarbone, his heartbeat steady under your ear.
“there you go,” he murmurs. “isn't that better.”
you let out a long breath.
he keeps talking, his calming post-sex voice like a lullaby.
“you were incredible tonight,” he says. “so fuckin’ good. y'hear me?”
you hum softly, too warm and pliant to argue.
“nah,” he continues, brushing your hair back with his fingers. “i mean it. you made me feel real good. i'm real lucky.”
your heart squishes together fondly. you think, distantly, about how no one’s ever done this before. not like this. not with this much loving intention.
you'd thought that was the perfect word to describe this situation; loving.
hell, you weren't really used to living. geto never stayed like this. he never once touched you like you were something to be taken care of after sex. moreso like his friend who happened to be in his bed (which was what it was.)
the thought flickers, brings with it a small pinch of guilt that you don't notice choso clocking. you and geto had agreed to only sleep with eachother, that it would be good to only sleep with a single person... you push away the thought.
after all, right now, choso’s here. his warmth, his voice, his hands. you don't see how he scans over your guilty expression like a lost kid.
“hey,” he murmurs when you look up at him. “you okay?”
“yeah,” you whisper. “just… really comfy.”
he smiles against your hair. “good. that’s the goal.”
he's brushing his long fingers through your hair, tapping his knuckles to a beat against your back, anything to try and keep you fully here with him. he didn't like that look of guilt in your face from before.
“i hope this didn’t mess anything up,” he adds quietly. “with that date i was talkin’ about.”
you move your head just enough to look up at him. his eyes are searching your face for any sign of regret.
“it didn’t,” you say. “not even a little.”
relief flickers across his beautiful features. “good,” he says. “’cause i really wanna take you out. do it right.”
you smile, nose brushing his chest. “i’d like that.”
he exhales, long and content, then pulls you closer.
“get some sleep,” he smiles. “i’ll be right here.”
your eyelids grow heavy faster than you expect. the steady motions of his hand through your hair, the sound of his breathing, the way he holds you like this is exactly where you’re meant to be.
just before you drift off, you feel his lips press softly to the top of your head.
you fall asleep like that, wrapped up in all of him, all of choso.
~
a few days later, beta theta phi.
choso's sitting in the kitchen, picking at a plate of food with a small smile on his usually calm, bare face.
you were a constant in his brain ever since he'd gone home from your apartment with that painting he 'earned' after the best sex of his life. (said painting is now strung up on his wall.) he'd never stopped thinking about you since that night.
your adorable little moans, the way you melted into him as he fucked you so deep, the way your pretty fucked out body moulded against his afterwards.
you were like crack and he was a hardcore crack head, feining for more of your attention.
as he thinks about stalking your instagram for the fourth time that day to see what you're up to, footsteps stomp down the hallway, heavy ones.
toji accends the stairs shirtless with his hair still damp like he’s just come out of the shower. sukuna follows behind like always, a towel draped over his shoulder, rummaging through a bag of chips before he even hits the kitchen proper. showering at the same time? gay ass guys, choso thought to himself.
“what the fuck,” toji says, stopping just short of the island. "why you look like that.”
choso looks up, brow lifting. “like what?”
“happy,” sukuna answers around a mouthful of chips. “it's weird."
toji snorts. “yeah, that’s new.”
choso rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t fight the smile this time. he grabs his plate, forks a big bite then shrugs it off like it’s nothing. “can’t a guy enjoy his food?”
“nah,” toji says, pulling out a chair and sitting backwards on it. “not you.”
sukuna leans against the counter opposite him with his arms crossed. “what’d you do. make bank today?”
choso shakes his head, chewing. “nah.”
“big sale?”
“nope.”
toji squints. “you finally get your dick wet again or something?”
that does it, choso coughs, nearly choking, then glares at him. “the fuck is wrong with you.”
sukuna laughs. “so that’s a yes.”
“shut up,” choso says quickly, pointing his fork at toji. “and don’t start.”
toji grins wider. “that's gotta be it. you’ve been walking around like you won the lottery all day.”
choso sighs. "yes, i'm seeing a girl.”
toji stops and sukuna freezes in the middle of a reach for another chip.
“…wait, actually,” sukuna says flatly.
choso smiles at the two boys and continues. “met her at that blacklight party. she’s really cute. we talked for hours, i visited her work, and i drover her home. you don't get the rest, but i’m taking her out this weekend.”
toji stares at him like he’s grown another head. “you?”
“yes,” choso says. “me.”
“you don’t talk to women,” sukuna says slowly.
choso scowls. “i talk to women.”
“no you don’t,” toji cuts in. “business doesn’t count.”
choso opens his mouth, then closes it. fine. maybe that’s fair.
toji leans back, eyes narrowing in thought. then something clicks. his expression shifts. “wait.”
choso looks at him.
“is this,” toji says, pointing vaguely, “the art girl you were askin’ about the other week?”
sukuna tilts his head, casual. “she’s hookin’ up with geto right now.”
...wait... what?
choso goes dead still.
geto.
like, his friend geto?
the one who's always hanging around with him and gojo on tursdays? that geto?
the one he always calls when he needs help at the gym, that geto?
the guy who's one of his most regular buyers, that geto?
his mind latches onto the man instantly, and starts unraveling his entire being piece by agonising piece. he's tall, jacked as fuck, his hair's always smoothed and shiny to perfection, always tied back just right with no knots or bumps, he's got that sexy confident smile and endearing laugh that reels women in.
he's the kind of man who attracts literally anybody, hell, he'd heard even gojo had a thing for him in high school, gojo!
shit.
he thinks back to the porch. to the way you hesitated when he asked about a boyfriend. the way you said it was 'complicated' and how he’d brushed it off, convinced himself it was nothing serious. how he saw that flash of guilt spread across your face after you two had finished. how you’d smiled when he touched you, how easily you’d leaned into him like there wasn’t anyone else in your head at all.
geto.
holy fuck.
choso doesn’t say anything although the muscles in his neck were contracting with each clench of his teeth, eyes dropping to his plate like the answer’s written there. his appetite’s gone.
a week.
he’s been thinking about you for a week straight.
asking gojo questions about you when they hung out in class, 'm' just curious, man, she's a pretty girl.' leaving out the part where he was eight inches deep inside you just the other night. stalking every single one of your socials to the point he had your first few posts and username memorised.
and now this?
maybe that’s why gojo had looked at him funny. why he’d laughed a little too hard when choso asked if you were seeing anyone. maybe it wasn’t shock, god, maybe it was disbelief.
choso gulps.
toji watches him closely now. “that true?”
sukuna shrugs. “mhm, he told me at that same party you were talkin' bout'.”
...
“you good?” sukuna asks looking a little worried at the man's switch uo.
choso lifts his head up and that bare look finds its way back onto his face and sticks like a face hugger. “mhm.”
toji frowns. “you sure.”
“i’m sure,” choso says, setting his fork down. “it’s whatever.”
it isn’t. but he’s not about to unpack the, 'just found out the girl i'm lowkey falling head over heels in love with is also hooking up with my good friend,' pill right now.
he grabs his keys off the counter and reaches for his leather jacket. “got a few deliveries to run, see y'later."
sukuna opens his mouth because he really wants to say something else, then thinks better of it. toji just watches him go with sympathy laced through the coloured bands of his irises.
choso slips pre roll out of his pocket and lights it up, trying to rationalise all of this. he'd only met you around a week ago, it's not like you guys were a thing. sure, he'd fucked you better than he'd ever fucked anyone in his life, but he shouldn't be weird and insecure about this, he knows that. it's just, he's never really gone for this before. usually it was girls asking him out, of which he'd reject kindly because he was too busy doing anything else.
but with you, that random night out on the porch, it felt like there was a pull he couldn't just toss aside, he wanted you... and he thought he had you, especially after that intimate night.
geto’s on a come-when-you-can basis, might as well take care of that now and try ease up his racing thoughts. nothing like a good interrogation.
he flops down into his M2, engine turning over as his thoughts narrow to one thing, one task, he leaves suguru a voice message.
"yo, suguru, m' coming over."
~
choso kills the engine and sits there for a minute, his fingers resting on the steering wheel like grounding himself before stepping into situation he already knows he won’t enjoy.
he sighs, then steps outta the car, he’s halfway across the driveway when a happy, familiar voice cuts through the noise of the active fraternity, “yo.”
gojo’s jogging down the steps two at a time with his gym bag slung over one shoulder and his hair pushed back. he grins when he sees choso, big arms opening on instinct.
before choso can dodge it, gojo’s got him in a quick, bone-crushing hug.
gojo squints at him, like he’s clocking something off but hasn’t put his finger on it yet. “you headin’ to suguru’s?”
choso doesn’t slow down. “yeah.”
“uh,” gojo starts, glancing back at the stairs like he’s weighing whether to say something. “hey, maybe not the best time, think he's in the shower.”
but choso doesn't listen,
“cho,” gojo calls after him, louder now. “seriously, man, let's hang out first!"
choso doesn’t turn around. he takes the stairs with his heart climbing up into his throat with each step. by the time gojo gives up, he’s already at the top landing, moving down the hallway.
he stops in front of suguru’s door and knocks.
theres movement inside, the sound of water shutting off, then a drawer opening.
the door swings open.
suguru stands there in nothing but a towel hanging around his hips, his hair damp and loose around his shoulders, his skin still flushed from the heat of a shower. water beads along his collarbone and trails down the center of his chest. choso hated how good he looked.
his eyes fall all over sugurus body before he could stop it.
it’s dumb, after all, he’s seen suguru shirtless a hundred times. in locker rooms, during pool parties, it never mattered before, but now it does, because you’ve seen him like this. because you’ve touched this, because you've liked his annoyingly perfect body.
suguru notices choso's ogling and smirks, leaning one arm against the doorframe. “what,” he says lightly. “y’want a workout routine or somethin’?” choso forces a short laugh, “shut up.”
“mm,” suguru hums confused. he steps aside anyway, letting choso in.
suguru’s place is always so precise and neat. his beds always made, desk cleared, shoes lined up like they belong in a sneaker catalogue. it’s never bothered choso one way or another.
but today, he isn’t looking at any of that. his eyes move fast scanning without meaning to. the desk. the floor. the chair by the window. the bathroom door still cracked open, steam drifting out.
then the bedpost.
he spots a pop of pink fabric slung around the wood.. a pair of panties hangs loose around the corner of the frame, looking forgotten. they're pretty, they look your size, and they're unmistakably not suguru’s.
fuck.
suguru follows his line of sight, then sighs softly. “ah, ignore that. keep forgetting to deal with those.”
he reaches out and turns choso by the shoulder, forcing him to face him. suguru’s expression shifts, teasing gone, replaced with something more intent.
“what’s up with you,” he asks. “you’ve been actin’ weird as fuck, cho.”
choso gulps. for a second, he considers lying. saying nothin then walking out.
but he can't, so instead, he digs into his jacket and pulls out a small bag. he presses it into sugurus chest.
“four grams,” he says flatly.
suguru nods slowly, then looks down. “hm,” he mutters. “okay.”
he crosses the room, opens his dresser, and pulls out a few bills. counts them once, then twice, before handing them over.
“seventy-five,” he says. “we’re good?” choso takes it, nodding. “yeah.”
suguru studies him now, really studies him. “you didn’t come all the way over here just for that, normally we meet in the middle."
choso exhales through his nose. “i know.”
“so,” suguru prompts. “talk.” choso hesitates, he's not sure if he sounds insane or not, or if this is totally overstepping some unspoken boundaries, but he can't keep it in.
“are you sleepin’ with [name]?”
suguru coughs out in surprise, “…uh.” he leans back against his dresser, arms folding loosely. “yeah,” he says after a sec. “i am.”
choso nods once, like he'd expected it, “m'kay, are you dating her?"
suguru frowns. “what? no.”
“planning to?"
“no,” suguru repeats. “it’s just sex.” he tilts his head, curiosity creeping in. “why?" choso doesn’t answer right away. suguru narrows his eyes at him. “what, you into her or somethin’?”
“no,” choso says too quickly.
suguru huffs a laugh. “c’mon, man.”
choso’s voice edges colder. “i said no.”
“okay,” suguru says, hands lifting. “just askin’. ‘cause if you are, you should probably drop it.”
choso’s eyes snap up.
suguru keeps going, unaware of the turmoil writhing his friend. “just lookin' out for you, man. she’s really into me. like, a lot. wouldn’t be fair to either of you.”
the strong inside choso's heart break at the sound of that.
he scoffs. “you think so, huh?"
suguru blinks. “what’s that supposed to mean?"
“nothing,” choso mutters, already turning away. “was just curious.”
“cho—”
choso waves him off without looking back. “don’t worry about it.”
he opens the door, pauses just long enough to throw something over his shoulder, his voice very uncharacteristically cruel. “try not to confuse sex with somethin’ you don’t actually want.”
then he’s gone.
the door shuts with a dull thud.
suguru stands there, staring at the wood long after choso’s footsteps fade down the long hall.
his whole body feel shaky, like he'd just been stepped on. suguru did not like to be crossed like that.
he glances back at the bedpost. at the pink panties hanging there, the ones he teared off before fucking you dumb into his mattress... at the faint imprint you left on his space.
he frowns.
why does that bother him? he’s never cared before. he's told himself he couldn't commit to a relationship right now, that you being there for him was always just a mutual sex agreements. a good friends with benefits sitch. so why does the idea of someone else wanting you feel so incredibly wrong?
why does it feel like a rugs being pulled out from under him?
he exhales, runs a hand through his damp hair, then grabs his phone. you name pops up on his caller app and he hesitates only a second before calling.
“hey,” you answer, your voice isn't as excited to hear from him as it usually is... weird.
suguru smiles automatically. “hey, pretty.”
you don't giggle at that, or tease him back, you just hum through the receiver.
he frowns slightly. “what’re you up to?"
“just… home,” you say. “what’s up?"
“i was thinkin’,” he starts, leaning back on the bed. “maybe you come over tonight.” there’s a moment of silence and uncertainty that almost never came when it came to you.
“i dunno,” you say. “i’m kinda tired.”
that’s new.
suguru chuckles then lowers his voice. “c’mon, hun. i really need you.”
you sigh. “need me how?"
“badly,” he says, letting warmth creep in. “been thinkin’ about you all day.”
you dint reply instantly and he rushes in before you can pull away and reject him further. “i miss you,” he adds. “miss the way you feel. the way you look at me.”
“sugu—”
“baby,” he cuts in gently, “come over. yeah?”
he strings the pet names together, calls you sweet. calls you pretty. tells you he’s lonely. tells you he’s been wanting you.
he hears the shift in your breath before you speak again.
“…okay,” you say quietly.
his smile returns, very, very satisfied. “good girl.”
he hangs up, feeling way too good about the skill he has to persuade you. he thinks back on choso, how he'd learn a thing or two about threatening his arrangements.
~
you’re on your back in the long haired man's room before you can really register how you got there...
you feel so, so guilty. you didn't want to be here, but you felt awful for suguru, for fucking someone else when the agreement was to only fuck eachother, and talk about it if you were to screw someone else.
maybe that's why you caved into his pleas, you wanted to make it up to yourself, trying fix what felt like a horrible betrayal in your eyes.
sheets cold against your hot skin, suguru hovering over you, naked and sweaty like he belongs there, him, not choso.
"sugu, i— i wanna talk... there's something i should tell you," but you're cut off by his lips, his demanding, intoxicating lips... the ones working magic on helping you forget about your new friend.
you told yourself you weren't going to melt so easily into him when you got here, that you'd at least try your best to tell him about choso, how you're seriously reconsidering your little arrangement. but it seems he's got other plans, because his lounge is already halfway down your throat ripping lewd moans from your mouth.
he kisses you like he’s reminding himself that you're his. his girl to fuck, to claim without an actual title, not choso's.
his hands frame your face, pads of his thumbs brushing along your jawline as if he’s taking you back, he settles his weight between your legs, torso grinding up against your clothed pussy.
his lips kiss and suck against yours in a careful rhythm, coaxing rather than just taking. it isn’t frantic like he's panicked, no, it’s got a beautiful sense of reverence that drives you crazy and lulls away any former thought of taking accountability from your pretty little head. it's clear, even through your cloudy suguru filled haze, that he’s trying to prove a point to himself with every pass of his mouth on yours.
“fuck,” he murmurs softly into your mouth then your name.
his fingers dip down to your soaked panties, he presses his thumb harsh against your clit, pulling that one moan he knew meant he hit the perfect spot.
he shifts them to the side, then slams them deep into your gaping hole.
with every curl he's pulling such pretty groans from your throat, he doesn't care if his tendons begin to ache from how relentlessly he's bullying his thick fingers into your soft cunt, no, he's running you like this over and over if it meant hearing these addictive whimpers, ones he was causing, not choso.
he pumps them against your fluttering, gummy walls so tantalisingly slowly but so precise, it makes your eyes roll into the back of your head with pleasure. he wasn't as sweet as choso had been, he was rough and chasing that high with expert precision.
"such a pretty fucking girl. you're all mine, okay? you're all mine —shit—." his circles are relentless and binding, but that little monolog seemed to suddenly snap you out of whatever this was.
"suguru— fuck— please, stop it. we need to talk." he breaks away from latching onto your neck, then his thumb retracts as he sits up to look at you. this was what he didn't wanna do. talk about it.
he wanted you to get fucked, realise how good you had it with him, and forget about choso...
"what is it? hm?" he try's his best to stay calm but his distain slowly creeps up on him. "s' this about choso?" he quips.
what the fuck? how did he know?
suguru’s sitting up now, and you're pulling your skirt down over your lower half.
this wasn’t how you wanted him finding out but, “i don’t think i can keep doing this,” you say quietly.
his brows knit. “doing what.”
“this,” you gesture vaguely between you. “us. like this.”
...
he exhales through his nose. “you're serious?”
“yeah.”
his mouth tightens. “let me guess what.” he spits, and you tell him before he can further his sarcastic venture, “because i think wanna see choso.” suguru scoffs bitterly, he knew that was coming but he decides to pry further, “oh yeah? see him how?”
“like.. properly,” you say. “he asked me out. on like… a date. an actual one.”
his face contorts and stirs into disgust, then irritation. “you’re kidding.”
“I’m not.”
he scoffs, pushing off the bed and pacing, still half naked. “you barely know him, [name]!”
“i know,” you retort. “but he’s been so good to me, sugu, really good.”
“he’s bad news,” suguru seers. “you don’t need a no good loser like him. he has no prospects, no plan for the future, he's bad!"
your stomach sinks at the quips. “don't say that.”
“say what?" he bites, and you grow redder with anger, “talk about him like i'm so naive kid who doesn't know what i’m doing!"
he turns back to you, frustration spilling over now. “he’s a dealer. he sells drugs for a fucking living, that’s it! no goals, no future, he's sketchy as fuck.”
you shake your head. “that’s not fair.”
“it’s true.”
“you'd have no clue! you don't know anything about him.” you spit back, and he laughs meanly. “oh please. know him? he’s got the personality of a brick wall. what, he buy you drinks and suddenly he’s prince charming?"
your chest tightens. “he listens to me.”
that shuts him up for half a second.
you keep going, voice steadier now that you’ve started. “he shows up. he actually cares about what i have to say. he doesn’t treat me like something he picks up when he’s bored.”
his eyes flash. “that’s not what this is.”
“then what is it?" you ask. “because you’re the one who said it was just sex. over and over again.”
he runs a hand through his hair, agitation spilling from every pore on his smug face. inside his brain, it's a mix of conflicting feelings. suguru likes you, for real, he has ever since high school. not once had he ever thought he'd be with any other girl, just you. but college was for fun, for hookups and parties and no real commitments, so why would he pour more effort into you than he needed? why couldn't you just be his with no strings attached? he wanted you, he loved you, some might say. suguru was not ready to give you up this easily, you were his first.
the thought of you choosing someone else makes his lungs constrict and his brain fizzle and crack until his heart breaks apart at the valves.
“you don’t need choso,” he says again, trying to regain any sort of resemblance of control. “you’ve got me.”
you let out a bitter laugh. “no. i don’t.”
his gaze snaps to you. “what’s that supposed to mean?"
“you don’t get to say that,” you reply. “not when you won’t even call this what it is, you're a pathetic excuse for a man. if you're gonna tie me up like a dog and use me for sex, at least have the balls to let me know that's all i am to you."
he looks away as the veins in his neck pulsate and grow, part of him knows you’re right, but to be honest? part of him really just doesn’t care. he knows deep down he wants you more than that, why couldn't you understand?
“you’re just being weird because for once someone’s actually into me and you can scare them off.” you add, the words tumbling out now.
he wants to spill his guts, tell you all he really wants is you, that he's been enthralled with you ever since high school he's always just been far too immature to really commit, but instead, his eyes narrow. “that’s bullshit.”
“is it?" you challenge.
he opens his mouth, then closes it.
you sit straighter with your heart hammering. “i really like him, suguru. he treats me well. he’s a good person.”
something ugly flickers across his face. that hurt. you were supposed to be his, now you were telling him you really like another guy? you're his girl! you're his girl.
he laughs, low and cruel. “so that’s all it takes, huh? a promise of a date and suddenly you’re spreadin’ your legs like a whore?"
what the fuck? that's not what he wanted to say! he cringes at himself but it's too far gone, he can't put a lid on the rage that's bubbling over the edges of the pot that is his heart.
your breath leaves you in a hurried rush. “what— what did you just say.”
he doesn’t take it back immediately or rephrase, that's the worst part. “you heard me.”
your eyes sting but you try your best not to cry. “how do you even know about choso?” you bite.
his face goes all rigid. “i could tell.”
“tell what?"
“by the way you weren't keen." he says, then adds, "and he came by earlier.”
your stomach drops. “he came here?.”
“yeah,” suguru says. “asking about you.”
the petty realisation floods over you in a wave of rage. “so that’s why you called me." you laugh, gutted. “you didn’t want me. you wanted to get your get back, right?”
his temper flares. “don’t fucking twist this.” geto was usually level headed, even in the most heated of arguments, so you knew his anger was real here.
“you invited me over because your ego got bruised,” you say, voice rising. “not because you care about me or what i want."
“that’s not true.”
“then why did you just say that to me?"
he looks at you with eyes full of distain, “because i shouldn’t have ever let this get this far. you’re just someone i fuck sometimes. that’s it.”
oh.
you don’t cry at that nor do you yell. you just nod softly, like your body's finally understanding what your heart’s been screaming at you for so long.
“m'kay,” you say softly.
you stand, smoothing your skirt down and reaching for your shirt with hands that feel so far away. he watches intently, fuming, not realising the gravity of the bum ass, idiotic move he'd just pulled.
you grab your things without sparing him a single glance.
“wait,” he says, finally hearing the finality in your movement.
you pause at the door, then you step out and shut the it behind you with a soft click.
inside, suguru stands there for around a minute in silence. then, his legs give out and he drops onto the bed, elbows on his knees, head in his hands.
“fuck,” he whispers.
he stares at the floor, replaying every word he knew he should of never said. every look he flashed you when all he wanted to do was tell you how he actually felt, that he was wrong and he knew that, but he needed you all to himself. the way the pretty voice he'd always adored sounded when it broke.
he realises, too late, that he really does love you.
he was just too immature to keep you.
~
you needed to call choso.
sugurus number was blocked the second you got home to your apartment, an act you clearly should've done ages ago.
though, your minds not caught up on him anymore, no. it's running miles around choso.
two things were clear right now,
1. he knew about you and suguru.
2. he probably wasn't too happy about that.
and now suguru was out of the picture, you had to tell him the whole entire truth. that you'd gotten rid of him, that you were willing to put every ounce of yourself back into choso, if he'd let you.
you bite at your lip, contemplating if he'd even pick up if you were to dial. you had no way of knowing if he was turned off by all of this or if he'd still wanna give this whole thing a try.
one way to find out, you thought.
you scroll through your contacts until you find his name and hit call before you can overthink it. it rings far longer than you expect, and when he answers, his voice sounds tired, much quieter than usual. “hey.”
“hey,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “um. i know it’s late.”
“you’re fine,” he says. there’s a pause. “what’s up." it's not much of a question rather a statement he has to say to be polite.
you gulp nervously. “there’s something i really need to talk to you about. like, in person.”
another moment of silence that stretches abit longer this time round.
“okay,” he says softly. “i’m in the middle of a run right now.” your heart dips, then lifts when he continues. “i can come by after. if that’s alright.”
relief spreads through you, “yeah. that’s perfect. thank you.”
“i’ll be there as soon as i’m done,” he adds.
“drive safe,” you say.
.
on his end, choso leans back against the seat of his car, his phone still in hand. he sighs to himself, he already knows how this goes.
he’s had around a day to imagine it. an entire day of replaying everything in his mind, of telling himself not to get too attached to this amazing girl he'd sworn on.
in his head, you’re going to sit him down and say you had fun while it lasted, but you’re choosing to fuck with suguru. you’re going to say you’re sorry. you’re going to say it was complicated and now it’s clearer.
he grips the steering wheel and exhales slowly. he finishes the delivery on autopilot, exchanges empty words he barely hears, his mind is clearly somewhere else.
by the time he pulls up outside your building, his chest feels so incredibly heavy.
he sits there for a while, staring at the entrance, telling himself to keep it together, telling himself he’ll be fine no matter what you say.
he steps out of the car and walks up to your door, he lifts his hand to knock, and the door opens before his knuckles touch the wood.
you’re standing there with damp hair from a shower and a serious look on your otherwise adorable face.
you just look at each other, and no one talks.
he doesn't expect you to, but you step forward softly, then gently wrap your arms around his torso.
it’s sort of on instinct, it’s need, and it’s a big relief. he too wraps his arms around your back, pulling you closer to try ease the tension in his soul.
“hey,” he murmurs.
“hi,” you say back into his shoulder.
you pull away and move aside, he walks in, glancing around with widened eyes, your apartment still pulls at his attention even now. it all feels so clearly you. he forces himself to focus when you gesture to the couch.
he sits, hands resting on his knees. shoulders squared. ready for this horrible rejection..
you sit beside him, not too close, not far either, you take a moment before you speak.
“i’m really sorry,” you say softly. “about suguru. about him getting involved with us at all.”
his eyes are darting around nervously but he's still honed in on what you have to say.
“i didn’t mean for him to make you feel weird or uncomfortable,” you continue. “and i didn’t mean to keep things from you.”
you look forlornly down at your hands. “i blocked him today.”
he shoots his head up in surprise, cute.
“i should’ve been honest from the start,” you say. “we had this on and off thing. nothing serious. but meeting you changed that for me.”
you look up at hum, “i like you. a lot. and if you’re still into me, i’d really like to start clean with you. no stupid secrets.”
he looks at you back tenderly, watching over your every feature.
“you’re the coolest guy i’ve ever met,” you add with a small laugh. “and i don’t wanna mess this up.”
for a second he just stares at you. then he smiles, it's big and goofy, and so so bright.
“yeah,” he says, sort of laughing. “yeah. i’m really happy you picked me.”
your heart jumps.
before you can reply, his metal clad hand comes up to your cheek pulling you in closer to his lips, he then kisses you softly.
it’s beautifully gentle and ever so slightly desperate. he's leaving small open pecks like each one's it's own form of praise and forgiveness.
your hands curl into his shirt, grounding yourself in the feeling of him here. choosing you, and staying.
when you pull back, your forehead rests against his. you smile wide, you’re glad you closed one door to open this one.
"so, about that date."
~
the two weeks you'd spent dating choso kamo was seriously the best time of you life.
you wake up in choso’s apartment much more than your own now. his place is fancy, it sits high up in one of those off campus complexes that cost more than they look like they should.
he's got the nice polished concrete floors, floor to ceiling windows with automatic blinds, furniture that fits his dark yet aesthetic so well.
right now you’re tucked into his side on the couch with your legs all tangled together, your heads resting against his chest while the city glows outside the window and he sifts his fingers through your hair. you'd both just come down from a night full of intense loving, choso eating you out for a good hour before completely ruining you just as he had the previous night. now, there was food on the way as he massaged your lowkey back lovingly.
"you okay, honey?"
"more than okay. cho,"
"god, keep calling me that and i'll take you for round three."
this is how it’s been, consistently.he takes you in the most lovely dates, expensive dinners where he never lets you see the bill. not once. you did try at first, bless your soul, fumbling for your wallet, making jokes about splitting it, insisting you could handle yourself. and every time, he shut it down with the same calm tone.
"i got it, sweetheart."
no argument or anything, no crazy big ego. just a nice fact that he could take care of you without blinking.
he takes you to places you’d never, ever pick on your own. spots where the menus only have triple digest beside each item. he watches your face when the food comes out, in awe watching your beautiful eyes light up. he always asks if you like it with a big smile, and he always remembers what you order. when you say you like a certain dessert, what do you know? it shows up again on your door step a few nights later after you tell him you had a rough shift at work.
he never makes you feel small about your money, or lack there of. that’s the part that gets you the most. when you joke about being broke, he doesn’t laugh at you. he just nods like it’s another bit of information about you, not a flaw. when you mention rent stress or art supplies you still need for class, (never with the intention of milking him for money) he listens very intently. a few days later, those things stop being problems. there's an envelope left on your kitchen counter, a new set of brushes delivered to your door. him shrugging it off when you ask.
"you don’t have to worry about that, honey. that’s my job now."
"but i— it's to much money, cho, i shouldn't—" he always shuts you up with a deep kiss.
he comes to the sway bar a lot now, too. he slides onto a stool and waits for you to notice him with a small smile. he's always dressed well and never sloppy. he orders one drink, sometimes only non alcoholic, and stays for hours on end. at the end he tips you like a rich man, which is what he was.
he laughed when you'd try and shove it back at him. he'd lean down and tell you to stop being stubborn.
"i like taking care of you."
it’s not just a suave line, you can tell. he looks so pleased every time you finally accept it.
he drives you straight home after shifts even when it’s late, he says the bus is no place for a girl as cute as you to be that late at night, hell, he even contemplates buying you your own car just to put his mind at ease, then decides it might be just a bit too early in the relationship for that..
every night you don’t have work, he's either taken you out or you're crashing at his place, tonight's no different. you're dressed in one of his oversized paris texas shirts after a few hours of sex, and he's got you sat up in his lap caressing your hips.
dating him feels nice and calm. there's no guessing, absolutely no waiting for texts that never come. he checks in with you without hovering and always tells you where he is. he plans things, actual plans. a museum date because you mentioned a new exhibit in passing, a drive out of the city just to watch the sun drop behind the hills and star gaze without the suffocating light pollution. late night food runs where he lets you talk about nothing and everything while he listens to your every word.
he treats you like you’re worth effort, every single day.
on the couch, he moves around then reaches for the fluffy throw blanket draped over the armrest, pulling it over both of you. he smiles down at you fondly.
"you're so fucking pretty, y'know that?"
"mhm, you only tell me that every day." you smile back, and he laughs, tickling your ribs for the attitude.
you giggle into his chest as you smack the muscle, begging him to stop.
after he's teased you enough, he pressed a kiss to your forehead and smiles into your skin.
"baby." he pulls away and looks you in the eye waiting for you to reply.
"yesss?"
"sukuna's having a birthday party at our frat. i think sigma chi's invited aswell. can you come?" he asks kindly, stroking your head lightly. you nod as soon as he says it, happy to tag along to any function he was going to.
"good. i wanna show you off a little." he announces, slapping your ass half heartedly.
you roll your eyes, but your face is flushed a pretty pink. he laughs, squeezes you once more, then leans back into the couch.
choso has never felt more content than he did right now. he never thought he'd be one for sappy relationships, but for you? god, he'd do this in every lifetime, you were utterly perfect for him.
only thing left is to show everyone else that, too.
~
sukuna’s birthday is exactly what you expect and still somehow more? there's like, literally five beer pong tables lined up in the back yard alone like this was some sorta tournament rather than a birthday bash.
"yeah, he's really into beer pong. it's fitting, i guess." choso laughs
the house infront of you is loud before you can even step inside. sukuna's favourite music flows out the open door, cups are raised and swaying or abandoned on any flat surface. there are, inexplicably, five more beer pong tables set up in different corners of the main living room.
choso’s hand stays firm at your lower back as he guides you inside, the pretty little dress he'd bought you fit exactly how he said it would. it's nice and snug around your ass, and it's short enough to make his eyes widen when you walked out of the bedroom earlier. the expensive designer shoes he'd gotten you still feel new under your feet. you’d protested, of course, told him he didn’t have to do all this, but he told you he wanted to. just like with any other thing he'd gotten you in the past three weeks.
you clock the way a few heads turn as you pass by, and smile to yourself at how good it feels to be on his arm. little did you know, this was his plan all along, to have you looking all sexy and all his as a final fuck you to the guy he knew would be here tonight. choso didn't fight with losers like him, but he could definitely put his money where his mouth was (literally) and show off a little.
“there they are,” gojo’s voice cuts through choso's slightly possessive thoughts.
he’s smiling so wide as he steps up to you two, his freakishly long arms opening wide preparing for your poor boyfriend. choso barely has time to brace before gojo crashes into him, hugging him hard enough to rock them both back a step.
“happy birthday to sukuna, i guess,” gojo says, then pulls back, eyes sliding straight to you.
he looks you over once, it's quick but not rude, then he smiles softly. proud, almost.
“you look really good,” he says, leaning down like he’s about to tell you a secret. his voice gets slightly bashful. “and i’m really glad you finally ended up with someone who treats you right. even if it meant dropping my best friend.”
there’s no judgment in it or awkwardness, just pure honesty.
you laugh quietly and hug him, arms wrapping around his middle. gojo squeezes you back solidly, you're content with his nothing about this changed how much he cares about you.
toji is right behind him with his meaty arms crossed and his eyes observing. he looks choso up and down first, then his sues land on you.
“damn,” he says flatly. “she's a looker.”
choso exhales through his nose a little irritated.
toji smirks, clearly pleased with himself.
“that’s my girlfriend,” choso says calmly. he's good at keeping his emotions in check. plus, it was toji, this idiot wouldn't know any better.
toji pauses, then nods once. “shit, i forget [name]'s the chick you were getting all giddy over. good job." he says, and claps choso on the shoulder before offering his hand. they dap each other up and choso smirks triumphantly.
“c’mon,” choso says, fingers curling around your wrist. “gotta see the birthday boy.”
he guides you through the littered bodies as gojo and toji trail behind you, the beer pong table nearest the back is surrounded by people yelling over a close game. sukuna is there, his pink spiky hair all wet and damp with sweat, roaring with laughter as he cooks shiu and sinks the final cup. (no one thought he was gonna loose, but they all cheer regardless)
you spot suguru at the same time he spots you.
he’s standing just off to the side with nanami and shiu, he spots your arm wrapped around choso's and you swear to god you see his eye physically twitch in distain.
you giggle softly at the sight, and choso pulls you into him tighter, staring the man dead in the eye as he squeezes your waist. what a sexy asshole.
sukuna turns when he hears choso’s coming over, his already large grin spreading wider. “there he i!" he bellows. he always got overly cheery when he was inebriated.
sukuna swallows choso in a big hug and the dark haired boy claps him twice on the back. "god, haven't seen you in ages man! where y'been?" sukuna questions, choso just rubs his neck bashfully and cocks his thumb to point at you. "keeping the missus looked after, y'know how it is."
sukuna's eyes fall onto you and he's surprised. he thinks back to when choso was asking about you that first time and then to when he'd stormed off when he'd told him you were sleeping with suguru. a small proud smile falls over his lips. he always disliked geto anyway, the righteous asshole.
“happy birthday,” choso says. “you're old as hell now.”
“shut up,” sukuna laughs. then drags his attention back to you as you step in for a side hug, very quick and polite. “happy birthday, ryomen." you smile, and he scruffels up your hair fondly.
he glances back at choso, then leans in and mutters, "good pull,” he says quietly. “glad you could wrangle her away.”
choso chuckles, pleased.
you can feel suguru’s stare as shiu and nanami fall back into another game of beer pong without even looking back at the guy. although, it doesn't matter. choso's still making a show of pulling you into him every chance he gets, which you can tell is really ticking suguru off.
sukuna wipes his hands on his jeans as he pulls his attention away from shiu and nanami and back to choso. “you better not of gotten me anything, cho.”
choso just smiles and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small credit card shaped gift wrapped in neat paper. he hands it over casually.
sukuna sighs with half a smile. “you didn’t have get me shit, man.”
“js' open it.”
toji and gojo lean in from their spots either side of you and choso. sukuna peels it open, eyes scanning the card once, then his mouth drops open.
“no fucking way.”
he looks up, stunned. “this is real?”
“mhm. two years,” choso says. “a membership for that fancy gym yer' always whining about.”
sukuna lets out a sound that’s between a laugh and disbelief. “what the actual fuck.”
he pulls choso into another, much tighter hug. “thank you, brother, seriously.”
choso pats his back. “no problem, i love you, remember?” he says, the inside joke making both sukuna and toji chuckle.
then, like it’s nothing, choso reaches back into his pocket and pulls out another card. hands it to toji.
toji freezes. “what’s this.”
“part of his gift,” choso says. “don’t want him training alone.”
toji stares at the card. then at sukuna. then back at choso.
“you’re fucking insane,” gojo says, laughing.
toji exhales a sharp laugh and grips choso’s shoulder. “i appreciate it, man, seriously. holy shit.”
sukuna looks between them, clearly overwhelmed, then clears his throat and tries to play it off. “alright, alright. enough with the heartfelt shit.”
but his grin doesn’t drop one bit.
you watch it all from choso’s side, chest warm in a way that has nothing to do with the noise or the crowd. this is him, he's so generous without making it a big show. loyal without asking for any kind of back credit. he's a solid man in a way that makes everyone around him relax and naturally lean into him.
choso glances down at you and catches you looking.
“you good, honey?" he asks quietly.
you nod, smiling up at him. “yeah. i’m really good.”
his lips curve into the kindest of smiles as he kisses your tenderly on your head, careful to not mess up your makeup.
off to the side, suguru looks away in disgust having witnessed that little interaction.
'read it and weep.' choso thinks to himself.
but he was far from done, one more little display and he'd be satisfied.
so, later on when everyone was a little drinker on the punch shoko had 'accidentally' poured four bottles of vodka in, he has you pressed up against a wall away from the main hustle and bustle, yet up close to where he knew suguru was lounging around.
"cho, people are gonna see!" you squeal, but his hands don’t stop grabbing at the curve of your ass and pushing you harder against the wall.
"good, want them to see." he coos, latching onto your throat and sucking at it softly.
despite your pleas, you were very into this. your boyfriend wasn't always this needy so this show was really doing it for you. you let him claim your throat in bright, blooming hickeys and groaned as he hooked his lips onto yours, shoving his tongue down your throat.
the exchange is heated and passionate, any on looker could tell this was a moment shared between two people who loved eachother deeply, exactly what he was going for.
from behind him, sukuna and toji catch wind of you two and let go of broken cheers, making choso smile into your lips. they both joke about 'not knowing choso has this in him,' which made a few of his other friends add onto the mantra of playful encouragement.
he's living for the way your cheeks heat, the way the attentions making you all hot and bothered. but most of all, he's high off the fact that when he peeks behind him through an open eye, he sees suguru angrily stand from his spot on the couch, and storm outta the house.
mission accomplished.
A/N this is not proofread at all 💔 going back to my roots and writing choso look at me go 🙂↕️ i hope you guys enjoy the lil smau yayy
