On every What is Wednesdays I will explain a trope, a rhetorical device, or a literary technique in a few sentences. Put in the comments what you would like me to explain next.
What is... a drabble?
What is... dead dove?
What is... archetypal characters?
What is… deus ex machina?
What is… whump?
What is... plot bunny?
What is... canon vs. fanon?
What is… a headcanon?
What is… a plot hole?
What is… retcon?
What is… WIP?
What is… a sequel hook?
What is… a crossover?
What is… crack?
What is… a rarepair?
What is… a red herring?
What is… fluff?
What is… smut?
What is… OOC?
What is… a missing scene?
What is… Coda?
What is… a trope?
What is… Alpha vs. Beta Reader?
What is… a cliffhanger?
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Oh, I really managed this for so many weeks! But I think it's time for a break. Tell me what you want to know more about when I go back to doing these :)
In which crazy gf!reader argues with Boyfriend!Sukuna on a bridge in broad daylight
“It was a fucking milkshake!” he roars.
“It was cheating!” you shriek. People look and point. You ignore them. “You paid for a girl’s milkshake! That means you want her milkshake! I see your infidelity. Real eyes realise real lies, asshole!”
Sukuna groans, face in hands. This day was going from bad to worse — waking up late because you turned his alarms off, getting a ticket when you leaned over to beep the horn at a police car, almost getting into a fist fight after you shoved him into a random man, and now?
Now, he’s stuck on a bridge because his vengeful girlfriend’s pissed he treated a classmate to a milkshake. Apparently, milkshakes are equivalent to head in your books. Suffice to say, he’s ready for the day to end.
And it’s not even 12pm yet.
“Jesus, you drive me fucking insane,” Sukuna grits out. His foot taps relentlessly against the cement, muscles in his face ticking, jaw flexing. “You’ve got a real skill for ruining my goddamn life, I swear to god, woman.”
“Oh? Well, if your life sucks so much, then make a new one without me!” you screech, arms flailing wildly. “In fact, lemme help you out by just, I don’t know, jumping off this goddamn bridge!”
“Yeah, please fucking do! I’ll join you!”
People passing by whisper: “Oh my god, they’re causing a scene,” “should we step in?”, and “are they actually going to jump?” Or some variations of those. Concerned, an old lady steps forward and offers, “My dear, if you need help, we’re here for you.”
You whirl around, throwing the death glare you had at them instead of your boyfriend. That isn’t enough for them to take the hint, it would seem. Taking a deep breath, you give Sukuna only a second to brace himself before you proceed to start…barking. Like a chihuaha. Yipping is probably more accurate. You bark and bark and bark until even more people stop to look. They flinch back, aghast. The old lady splutters, “What on Earth is wrong with you?”
“Fuck you, you old bat,” Sukuna snaps, angry for a new reason. “Never heard a woman bark before? Grow the fuck up and get the hell away from us — our foreplay’s none of your goddamn business.”
Blanching, they stumble back. Then, they march away from the train wreck of a couple making a scene on the bridge flustered and embarrassed. You watch them leave. “Ugh, people these days,” you scoff. “No manners.”
Sukuna grunts in agreement. “Weirdos.” He glances down at you. “Where were we?”
You hum in thought, then beam. “I was gonna jump off the bridge.”
“Oh, yeah.” Shaking tension back into his body, he moulds his face back into an angry scowl. “You can’t keep threatening to jump every time you don’t get your way!”
“Says who?” you yell.
Across the bridge, two policemen sigh and shake their heads at the people silently questioning if they’re going to do something. All they say is, “They’re here every week.”
Based off a couple I saw actually arguing on a bridge a couple days ago. Hope they’re doing well
Synopsis: in which you're upset with your husband and won't respond to his messages, so he has to resort to contacting you during work hours... using your work emails
Warnings: fluff, slightly suggestive, playful arguing — no one's actually upset, features guests stars (one gets bullied).
Good morning, dear,
Or rather, it would be, if my wife so much as looked in my direction this morning. Instead, I find myself writing to you like some forgotten soul behind enemy lines, using this means of communication as if I am but a mere stranger begging for a moment of your time. It is humiliating. Your refusal to hear your husband out is noted and begrudgingly endured but I forgive you (see? It is not so hard at all).
Please just answer your messages. We have a data plan for a reason.
Love, always,
Your Kento
Hello Kento,
I hope you are well.
Please refrain from contacting me via my work email. It is inappropriate and annoyingly endearing. Let me be mad in peace. Thank you.
Best wishes,
Your Wife
Hello to you too, sweetheart,
I must admit your response is both upsetting and encouraging. Truthfully, I wasn't expecting you to respond at all. Of course, I wish your email was more welcoming but beggars and whatnot.
What must I do, my love?
I have apologised. Not once or twice, but countless times. So many times now it feels like ‘I’m so sorry’ were my first words. I rose early to prepare your favourite breakfast — drove clear across the city to find the precise ingredients (you and I both know there is only one acceptable brand of jam in this household). I plated it neatly, included a smiley face, just as you like it, though, I observed, it was met with a frown, thus defeating the spirit of these things.
Your work clothes were laid out, ironed with care and to perfection, if I may say so myself. I made sure the heating was on well before you awoke, so the chill wouldn’t bother you so — I’ve seen how cold mornings test your…patience, should we say. Your lunch was packed and ready, with a handwritten note tucked inside, although I’m sure you carelessly tossed it aside in your bid to destroy my will to live on a spiritual level. It was a new recipe, by the way. I hope it suits your taste. Do let me know. Perhaps by softening your glare when you arrive home since apparently smiles are beneath you.
Even last night, I relinquished the duvet entirely — though I must admit, it was less an offering and more a tactical surrender after you ripped it from my body without mercy. I woke up frozen, on the brink of pneumonia. Need I remind you, I am at a tender age?
And after all of that…
You walked past me.
Not a word.
Not even a glance.
You washed the dishes (which is, and I cannot stress this enough, my responsibility), and shoved my work clothes off the bed because — what was it? The sleeve was ‘encroaching’ upon your own and the cotton needed space because ‘husband air is toxic?’
That was particularly hurtful. Entirely uncalled for. My blazer may never recover.
Still, I could take it. I could take all of it. Because I admit my fault and I recognise my need to be punished.
But to leave without kissing me goodbye?
That, my love, was unconscionable.
A line crossed. A declaration of war. An admittance of lesser character. I am disappointed in you. Thus, I now join your unrelenting form on the S.S. Marital Displeasure. Let’s see how we fare at sea, together.
Yours, unwaveringly,
Kento— the husband you once swore never to abandon
P.S. Dinner is on me tonight. Please let me know what time you’ll be home.
P.P.S. You looked radiant this morning. Even in silence. Even in a mood. You’re still the most beautiful thing in the room.
Kento,
You infuriatingly adorable man.
All those things you listed about this morning are things you do everyday. I know that was supposed to guilt trip me, but that just annoyed me more cause I get it — you’re totally perfect and handsome and tall and you smell nice. Ugh, you’re the worst.
Lunch was yummy, by the way. Ten out of ten. The note, which I didn’t carelessly throw away mind you (that was very rude to assume, how dare you) telling me ‘you are loved even when you’re grumpy’ was not. I am not grumpy, Kento. I am aggrieved.
You have aggrieved me.
Also, don’t try to guilt trip me about the cover hogging. You run hot and you know we have a spare duvet in the closet. Many times now, I've begged you to take it because I know I have bad sleeping habits BUT you refused. You said, need I remind you, that you insist on sharing one to be as close to me as possible. Your words.
The work clothes thing was an accident. I didn’t mean to push it off, and I was trying to stay mad so I made up some lie. Tell your blazer I’m sorry. Tell its owner I will never forgive nor forget. You know what you did.
And I don’t want you to join my ship. We can’t both be on it. We’ll sink…damn that’s metaphorical. For your own good, get off now whilst you still can.
Lukewarm wishes,
Your Wife
P.S. I’ll be home later than you, I have some things to finish
P.P.S. There was only one other person in the room and that was you, and even then you were clearly the more beautiful one Mr. Wakes Up With A Five O’Clock Shadow And Silky Golden Locks. That pissed me off so much more. Try to be less perfect, thank you.
My dearest,
I’ve read your message precisely three times and still, I’m not entirely sure whether I’ve been forgiven or sentenced. However, I feel a sense of optimism, foolish or not.
Let me begin with your opening line: ‘infuriatingly adorable’— it is not quite a compliment but I accept it with caution regardless. I am adorable and I understand that you wish I wasn’t. As soon as possible, I will find a cure.
Moreover, in reference to my morning route, you’re right, of course. The tasks I listed are things I do every day. Not as some grand gesture, but because loving you — actively, attentively, without pause — is part of my daily routine. Like ironing my shirts or making my coffee. It’s muscle memory now. If I were to stop, I fear I might just malfunction and catch fire. That said, if you are aggrieved — not grumpy, as I so mistakenly suggested, please forgive me for that too — then I humbly bow to your deliverance, Lady Justice. Though I maintain that the distinction is rather blurry when you’re stomping past me with furrowed brows and lips pressed into a line sharp enough to cut marble, lips I dare say I wish I could kiss into their usual form.
Regarding the duvet — yes, I recall saying that. I stand by it. Even if I must freeze to death one night beneath your siege of unconscious theft, I would still rather reach out and find you beside me than not. You will indubitably note that that was unnecessarily dark, I’m sure, and you’ll then make a comment about the phase we shall not talk about that I went through in my youth.
Further, the blazer has accepted your apology. It insists you take it off me tonight. (Is that too forward? You usually love when I’m forward but I worry this will only enrage you more, likely in a way that will leave me dangerously sore. Perhaps that is what I intend. I cannot tell anymore. I just miss your touch).
As for the note, I didn’t assume you threw it away. I merely feared it. I know you well enough to know that even when you’re furious, you’re still gentle with the things I give you. It’s one of those things you do that melt my heart.
Lastly, your ship — this solitary vessel of marital vengeance — sounds lonely. It is precisely that reason however that I must stay aboard, respectfully.
With all my love,
Kento – your infuriatingly tall, overly warm, occasionally smug but entirely yours husband
P.S. I’ll have dinner ready by the time you’re home.
P.P.S. I will attempt to be less perfect, though I make no promises. I’ve spent years mastering my five o’clock shadow, it practically comes in on its own when it senses you’re at your most vulnerable. As for my silky, golden locks, I owe that to you and your hair mask. Thank you.
Kento.
I’ve read your message. Twice. Once dramatically, on break. Once again, aloud, with emphasis, so the plants in my office could also judge you. And I must say...
The audacity. The calm. The poetry. The charm.
Ugh. Disgusting. I hate how you win arguments by being emotionally intelligent and devastatingly eloquent. Stop.
Also, your blazer is so dramatic. I was always going to take it off you, that was never in question. And yes, I love when you're forward. I loved it just now. Reminds me of that time we snuck off into the janitor's closet and...
Moving on.
I will admit (reluctantly) that your words were very lovely, they usually are, and the image of you freezing like a noble idiot because you'd rather suffer than part from me for even a life-saving second was both tragic and romantic and exactly the kind of behaviour that makes staying mad at you basically impossible. I hate that for me.
But fine. F I N E.
You may stay aboard my metaphorical ship, provided you bring snacks and acknowledge that I am the captain and you’re just here for deck-swabbing privileges and forehead kisses. You’ll be handsomely rewarded ;)
Love, Your Wife
(Still aggrieved. But slightly less so. Like… 69% less.)
P.S. If you’re trying to seduce me via dinner, it’s working. You might get that kiss. Or two. Depends how good it is.
P.P.S. Don’t think I’d miss the opportunity to mention MCR Kento. Your past will haunt you forever.
Dear YN and Nanami Kento,
I hope you are both well.
Do forgive me for intruding but, as Head of HR and as your friend, I feel a need to remind you both that you are liaising using your work emails which are monitored by HR. Resolving marital disputes on company hours and company mail is not recommended nor permitted. Please set this aside for when you get home. I also wish to remind you that your offices are a short distance from each other. There doesn’t seem to be a need to be communicating via emails at all. From my desk, I have been watching you two write your emails with smiles on your faces.
I suspect neither of you are mad at each other at all. So, YN, please just forgive him already. He hasn’t done much work all day, whereas your productivity has somehow increased. We should probably hold a meeting to discuss both changes. I am concerned.
Lastly, your fight is distracting everyone. One colleague described it as ‘funny,’ another ‘sweet,’ and someone else called it ‘foreplay’ — I’m sure you understand why exactly I intervened. You are both already on two strikes. Please don't make me remind you of what exactly what happened the last two times. The company is still paying for therapy sessions for the affected employees.
Do better.
Best wishes,
Ijichi Kiyotaka
P.S. Why were you even mad? Did he forget an anniversary? Comment on your weight?
Dear Kento,
Did not realise the whole office was invested in this. No wonder the intern was giving me a look and Sharon from IT told me that she and her husband also fight like this to ’spice up’ their love life, and that its best when the husband gets mad too. TMI but appreciated. Are you even capable of getting mad at me?
Well, anyway, you heard the man. Let’s continue this conversation at home.
And Ijichi, I know you’re reading this, you Peeping Tom. I hope you know we’re going to make sweet, dirty love tonight. All night. Bring this up to the Big Boss, I dare you. I know you haven’t forgotten the huge favour you owe me for beating Gojo up when he needlessly sent you on errands around the city. Please stand up for yourself. Do better, as you say.
Kento, let’s go home together tonight. I need to apologise to your blazer as soon as possible and catch up on kisses expeditiously. In fact, expect a knock on your office door.
Love,
Your wife
Dear Nanami, and Ijichi because you're reading these,
He sat on my bunny plushie yesterday. He flattened her.
I'm mad again.
Hate,
YN
P.S. Hair mask rights have been revoked. Buy your own.
Dear wife and Peeping Tom colleague,
You have no appreciation for the work I put in to get back into my wife's good graces. All your disclaimers about simply doing your job were clearly written in deceit since your gossiping self could not resist prying. Do not think I haven't overheard you collecting bets on why she was mad at me in the break room.
Please expect Gojo's presence in your office with some new, overbearing task soon.
You're welcome.
Worst wishes (to Ijichi),
Nanami Kento
And nothing but love (to my wife),
Ken
Ken,
You're so hot when you're all assertive. Wanna get strike three? Preferably in your office, on your desk?
Gojo can distract everyone for an hour...or two.
Lust,
Your Wife
Dear Nanami, YN, and my favourite Peeping Tom,
This is what happens in the office?
Wow, maybe I should get a desk job (lol that's probably what Nanami's getting right now, lucky guy).
Can't believe I was slaving away, keeping the world safe, and you two were slacking off and getting it on. I'm expecting a baby Nanami soon. Make me the godfather pls pls pls
Stay sexy,
The Strongest
P.S. Can I watch?
P.P.S. I’m kidding
P.P.P.S. …Unless?
warnings: barely edited, fem!reader, reader wears a dress, flirty banter and teasing, king steve is dead but loverboy steve reins supreme, steve has been pining over reader for years but she never said yes in order to protect herself, kissing, fluff, happy ending, keep in mind i wrote this ages ago and only just finished it so expect plotholes/things not making sense
summary: steve 'the hair' harrington had been a nightmare all throughout high school, and you'd always attempted to protect yourself from his 'king steve' ways. it's years later, now he's working at hawkins middle and he seems to have changed...
word count: 7K
author's note: tell a friend to tell a friend - i'm back! this has been sat in my drafts for so damn long i think i started writing this before christmas? i can't remember it's been so long but i finally rushed out a finale bc i was feeling steve tonight and that's pretty much all i need sometimes
The cup of coffee was tepid, at best. It had been sat on the counter in the break room, waiting for you while you sorted out some disagreement with two of your sixth grade students. Middle school meant the kids getting to the age where they were beginning to get mean which meant all the girls who were friends at the beginning of the year were no longer getting along.
Every year, it meant leaving cups of coffee on the counter until said issues were sorted out, meaning that for most of the day, you sipped on nearly cold, room temperature coffee. Not the pick up you needed while teaching 11 year olds, that was for sure.
Until one year, where everything changed.
See, there was a new teacher this year. Not new to you, but new to teaching. The old gym teacher had ditched Hawkins the second the military had, too, meaning Hawkins needed someone to take their place. The perfect replacement, according to rumour, had walked right into the principles hands.
The first time you saw him was during assembly on the first day back. All the students, gathered in the gym, piled onto the bleachers with sneakers bought for the new academic year squeaking on the fresh vinyl. The teachers always sat on a row of plastic chairs along the side of the hall, pretending that whatever the assembly topic was, that it was important for the kids to know and that they should be listening the whole time.
In reality, you couldn't care less. Hell, even the principle knew that they only held these 'beginning of the year' assembly's because it was tradition. There was no real meaning or necessity behind them.
So, you busied yourself with the notepad you always brought with you, plus that black inked biro always tucked in some pocket. At first it started off with things you could get away with; like making notes for the different classes you were teaching today, or a list of the shopping you had to get on the way home. Eventually, you ran out of productive things to do, and it moved onto little doodles in the margins. A star, a little faceless character, a badly attempted recreation of your favourite album art… you know.
Then, you felt someone nudge your arm. Not harshly, not sudden in the accidentally way, but in the thought out — let me time this perfectly way.
When you turned, it was someone you simply did not expect to see sitting in Hawkins middle, wearing the bright blue cubs jacket of the school's baseball team. It wasn't difficult to figure out why he was here, the school needed a new gym teacher and he'd always been good at gym from middle all the way through until high school — hell, it had been the only class he had ever been on time to.
None other than Steve Harrington.
"You know, if you were a student, I'd tell you off for doodling during assembly."
Lips parted, your eyes widen slightly at the sight of the man in front of you. How he happened to sit next to you and you didn't even notice — or (shit!) did you sit next to him by accident? You can't remember who walked in first.
It wasn't that you hated him, or that it was the end of the world that you had bumped into him. No, it was just awkward. That you didn't say hello when you sat down, or that you didn't even know that he was starting here this year, or that you… for fuck's sake. This really isn't what you needed this year, that was for sure.
Because you knew Steve. Not as well as Nancy had, not in the same way. Not like Tommy H or Carol had back in the day, god, nowhere near that, you would've died if that had been the case. You knew Steve pretty much like every general student did at Hawkins high. You knew him as the guy that went from girl to girl, never able to stick with one because of some half strung excuse that left the girls he dated annoyed, pissed off, and alone.
Steve Harrington had spent any period where he wasn't dating a girl during high school, asking you out. Not caring whether he had just ghosted one of your friends the previous week, not caring that you'd passed him up nicely two months prior.
He was a constant, all the way through high school. That guy who turned up by your locker, just to hand you a note that read movies, 7pm? in his scrawled blue-ink penmanship, only for you to fold it back up and pass it back to him with a small but polite and not shy, shake of the head.
He never let it get him down.
Steve always tried again, no matter what.
After Shirley, he tricked you into meeting him behind the bleachers through one of your friends, offering to take you to his 'designated spot' he liked to call skull rock. You'd laughed in his face and shaken your head, congratulating him for successfully getting you behind the bleachers as you walked away. A month later after Daniella K, he made you jump by appearing behind your locker door as you shut with, with a note asking you out. You'd drawn two little boxes, labelled them with yes or no and ticked the no box, before handing it back to him and heading off to English.
Three months later, he'd left a flowers on your desk behind him, and you'd rolled your eyes as he grinned at you, head swivelled to look around at you. This had followed by him getting told off by the teacher, at which he simply laughed and made some joke to get away with it. This went on for quite some time, practically all the way through 9th, 10th and even halfway through 11th grade. He didn't let up and neither did you.
Sometimes you felt mean, really. I mean, the boy was consistent, you had to admit. He wasn't going to stop any time soon and you knew that. You just knew that he couldn't stick with one woman, just because he hadn't gone on a date with you yet, didn't mean that was going to change if you'd ever said yes.
You, naturally, fell for people pretty quickly. It would take maximum two months for you to be distraught at Steve leaving you for whatever reason, and you wanted to protect yourself from that. Plus, you knew Steve was only so insistent with different attempts because you kept on saying no and you were pretty much the only girl all the way through high school that hadn't said yes eventually.
So you never went on the date with Steve.
You knew about Nancy, who didn't? You were at the Halloween party where everything went down, and just happened to be passing by the gym when they were talking in the alley. Plus, rumours spread like crazy in a small town like Hawkins, and you knew that Steve loved Nancy.
For the first time, he didn't come running to you. In fact, he pretty much disappeared. Slowly but surely, his King Steve crown fell into the mud and everything fell apart. Through a friend of a friend you heard that post-graduation he was working in the Scoops in the mall and that he was somehow linked to the fire that burnt it down towards the end of summer. Other than that, you didn't hear much about him any more.
Eventually, you moved away for college. It was something you enjoyed, but you did miss Hawkins. It was your home, no matter how many weird or cursed things happened there.
You dropped out of college, decided to come home and take up teaching. At first it started off simply tutoring the English students that needed help. Then you kept taking on new students and they simply loved you. When the English teacher that you had grown up with needed to retire, she offered you to the principle as her replacement. You had a steady job with good pay, and it was doing something you loved.
And now it felt like you were back in high school, sat next to Steve Harrington during assembly with him trying to win you over again. Except you were both adults now, and teachers, and technically co-workers. This had to stay a professional relationship.
"Steve?"
"Hey." He grins, that same toothy flash that he always used to give you back in the day, but with something more mature to it.
Because it had been a while for the both of you. You hadn't seen him since graduation, what, nearly four years ago? A lot had changed. You had become a very different person and you didn't even know where to start with guessing how he had changed. All you knew was that he had hated coming into class each day and now he had voluntarily taken up a job in the same school, doing some good, doing what's right.
So he had changed, and it was looking like it was for the better.
"Hey—" Christ, and after all these years, that's all you can come up with? "Uh, what are you… are you working here, now, then?"
Steve's smile softens, nodding slightly, glancing back to the kids sat on the bleachers and making sure their conversation wasn't getting caught. "Yeah. I am. Thought I might do something better with my life."
"Good on you." And with the lighthearted glint in your eyes, Steve believed you.
With that, yours and Steve's attention was drawn back to the assembly, as the principle brought the gathering to a close, and dismissed both the children and the teachers. If you hadn't had a 9am class to teach, you would have stuck around to have a real conversation with Steve, but the bell was ringing, and this particular 8th grade class were just about to start reading Animal Farm so you wouldn't dare be late.
As you stood, you tucked the pen in a random pocket again and turned to Steve. "I'll see you around, Mr Harrington?"
"I hope so." He smiles, sticking around because the gym was his equivalent of a classroom, and his 8th grade class were rearing to begin the new semester and find out what their new teacher was like. Somehow, still, after all these years, Steve wasn't able to look away from you as you left the gym, following some kids and telling them off for running down the hall.
When a kid from his class came up to him to ask a question, he had to force the smile off his face and actually become a teacher — but Steve didn't miss the realisation that it was the exact same feeling as all those years ago.
You were still you. And you still had him wrapped around your fingers.
It was two days later that you next saw Steve. Usually, you would have bumped into him sooner, but it was the beginning of the academic year so there was a lot to do and you rarely left the classroom. Today hadn't been much different,
The bell had just echoed around the building, meaning the children had scampered out of the classroom before the last bell even rang, running off to their lunch time. You sat at your desk, going through the pop quiz on the first chapter Animal Farm you'd just given them, marking with a red ball point pen while spooning cold pasta into your mouth. It wasn't the nicest thing in the world, but hey, there wasn't anything else to eat and you'd have to eat properly if you wanted to get through the second half of the day.
Until there was a soft knock on your door. You turned, pausing your pen movement and looking through the window in the door to see Steve sheepishly standing there. He had that shy, nervous smile curved into his lips that softly warmed your heart, like he didn't know whether it was okay that he had turned up outside your classroom.
When you smiled, nodding for him to come in, the door swung open to reveal him in a white polo with the cubs logo embroidered into the fabric. In his hand was a brown paper bag that you could only assume was his lunch and… a mug, steaming with hot coffee. Your mug to be specific.
"Hey Steve, everything okay?" You ask, looking up at him as he stood by the desk, fiddling with the pen in your hand, even though you'd stopped writing with it.
Steve nods, placing his bag on the desk but not letting go of the folded top and setting the mug in front of you. "Yeah… d'you mind if I eat my lunch here? I, uh, brought you a coffee."
"That's... my mug. How did you know that was my mug?"
The man shrugs, fiddling with the table edge because lowly, somehow, his nerves were taking over and all he wanted to do was not seem like a creep. "It's your favourite colour… still- I'm assuming it hasn't changed. And it's got stars on it. You love stars. Again- I'm assuming nothings changed since high school and that's stupid of me considering it's been so long since then. I—"
"Steve." He pauses at your soft speech.
"Yeah?"
You laughed a little, your smile lighting up the room. "You can eat lunch with me. Thank you for the coffee, I must have left it in the staff room and forgot about it, it's been one busy morning, that's for sure."
He smiles, a more toothier one this time, dragging one of the plastic chairs from a students' desk over to the side of you. Honestly, he looked a little silly sitting in it, as it had obviously been made for kids and not a 23 year old, adult man. You watched him carefully as he sat in the chair, watching the expanse of his shoulders specifically because — well, he'd gotten broader, that was for sure. Put on a bit of muscle, grown a little mature in the face. He was definitely more put together than he used to be, that was for sure. Tempting, you realised.
Once he's settled, he glances up at you, feeling your eyes burning into him, and he lets out the cheeky little nervous laugh that you remember hasn't changed at all. "Whatcha looking at?"
You snap out of it, shaking your head. "No, nothing, that chair is just… really small that's all."
"Very funny." Steve shakes his head, pulling out a sandwich from the brown plastic bag. "What else was I supposed to do? I don't get a chair in the gym, you know. I have to stand all day."
A fake pout forms on your face as you attempt to hide a laugh. "Aw, poor Stevie."
Steve feels his stomach drop at that. Nobody has called him that for a good while, it was only ever you back in the day when he'd attempt to get you to go out with him through pity. God, even after all this time, he was back in the exact same position that he had been in all those years ago. Still caught up on the same girl, no matter what. Even after demogorgans and Vecna and well… everything, here he was. Right back at square one.
"That's terrible." He laughs it off — that's the best thing to do. He doesn't wanna scare you off again. He doesn't wanna fuck this up like he did before. Give you space, let you explore how you feel for him first and if you feel the same way back? Then he'll go from there.
You shrug at his comment, a smug grin plastered on your face. "So, how've your first couple days been?"
Steve takes a bite of his sandwich, something he just about managed to pull together without being late this morning and lets his eyes wander the room. "Not as bad as I thought it would be. There's a couple good kids I'm already spotting. Some that definitely have potential, too."
"It's a big range here." You murmur, dragging the fork through the pasta that you've barely eaten. "But there's a kid called Dylan Garrosby in 7th grade, he's a real pain so watch out for him."
"Dylan G?"
You nod.
Steve makes a face, something like a frown but not quite, then shrugs, sitting back as much as she can in the little chair he's placed himself into. "Yeah I had him yesterday, he wasn't horrible. Likes basketball but just struggles to concentrate."
A chuckle escapes you as you process Steve's words. "Well, he's a menace in my class, that's all I know."
"You gotta give them the benefit of the doubt." Steve says, even though he's only been teaching for a couple days as far as you're concerned. "I hated Mrs Click's class all through high school and always sacked it off but whenever I had basketball I was there before the ball rang. The kid's just gotta find his passion, he'll be fine."
You pause for a minute, jaw slightly dropped as you stared over at the man in front of you. "Steve—"
Steve looks up at you and grins. "What?"
"I can't believe you're comparing me to Mrs Click!" You cry, dropping your fork on the desk and gesturing wildly. Steve seems to find this very funny, cackling to himself into his food with that warm glint in your eyes that hadn't changed even with all the maturity he's earned. "She was horrible!"
Steve begins to giggle, attempting to get words out through each hiccup of laughter.
"I'm not comparing you to Mrs Click! I'm just saying— the kid'll sort himself out eventually." A sharp eyebrow raises at him as you cross your arms over your chest and Steve's face drops immediately, pointing at you. "Oh my god! That's it! That's the Click Look!"
Somehow, your jaw drops even further this time, you're sat up to full height with a look of betrayal plastered onto your face. "This is my classroom you know. I could kick you out and make you eat lunch on your own."
There's a glint in Steve's eyebrows as he speaks again. "You won't."
"Why won't I?"
"You enjoy my company too much." Steve shrugs, taking a bite from his sandwich again, probably only the third or fourth since he started because of how much you're talking with him. "Nothing's changed since high school. You say you hate me but never reject my company. You don't actually hate me, in fact, I think you really like me."
You scoff a little, sitting back in your chair and fiddling with your food again, attempting to hide the guilt that just swarmed through your bloodstream. "Mhm. I never said I hated you in high school."
Steve glances awkwardly between you and his food. "Everybody thought you did. I mean, I don't blame them. How many times did you reject me?"
"Steve."
"No, come on." He spoke, his voice much stronger than yours as he goes in for another bite. "It's been years, we can joke about it now. Honest to God, it doesn't bother me anymore. Hell— it barely bothered me in high school. It's just… banter between friends now."
You're warming to him again when you meet his eyes. "Friends?"
He nods. "If you're okay with that."
You smile again, then, and nod at him, sitting forward to begin eating again. "Yeah, I'm definitely okay with that, Steve. Thank you."
"Much obliged." He grins.
Over the first month of the academic year, you and Steve grew closer and closer. He hadn't made any moves, but that settled flirty air still circled you whenever Steve was nearby. It was interesting, to say the least. While you knew that it felt the same as all those years ago, you didn't quite know what to make of that feeling. Whether your feelings were platonic or more, you just couldn't figure out.
Back in high school, you didn't reject Steve because you didn't like him, you just didn't want to end up like all the other girls he dated for a couple weeks and then ghosted. You were protecting just yourself.
But things were different now. As much as you didn't want to admit it — Steve had grown up. He had a job he took seriously, he was living in a little apartment on main above the old record shop that shut down when you were just a kid, rather than his parents old mansion that you couldn't figure out what had happened to.
He didn't talk about dates anymore. He didn't mention a girl he liked or someone that he had a crush on, whether you were in the room or not. There were no rumours about him being seen in his car with a girl nor of anybody coming out of his apartment in the same clothes as last night. So, the only reason you had ever rejected him during high school was gone. It was no longer a problem. But had he moved past you now, too? Was it too late?
No matter how much marking you shoved yourself into, how late you stayed at the school doing work, the thought of Steve couldn't leave your head.
Towards the end of October, and you had your head against the wood of your desk, forehead pressing against some kids essay, tapping the pen against the desk. This was getting silly now. You couldn't get it to leave your head. Passing him in the corridor, having to stupidly smile at him like he wasn't on your mind constantly. Sitting next to him in assembly pretending like he wasn't paying rent in your brain.
God, it wasn't even this bad in high school. How had it gotten worse?
Steve wasn't doing much better.
Because while he had tried to avoid a repeat of high school, he had failed and in fact, had done the exact opposite. It was the exact same as before — him completely infatuated with you and you simply just being your lovely self: being kind and letting him down softly.
Except — Steve hadn't actually asked you out again yet. It had been in the back of his mind, sure, but it had stayed there. Steve realised that if he was ever going to give in a try this again, it would have to be in a way where you couldn't say no. He just had to convince you that if you went out with him, you would get all the perks you get now — just more, and with some extra ones. You said it yourself, you never hated him in high school and you definitely don't hate him now.
It was about halfway through November that talks of the Snowball started circulating. Posters started appearing on bulletin boards across the school, in hallways and on doors. Passed through at morning registration and included in department meetings.
Steve remembered his own Snowball like it was yesterday. He'd gone with this girl, Debbie something, he couldn't quite remember. What he did remember was that it was the beginning of everything with you. One of his friends, Chris, had asked if you wanted to go together and you had said yes, so you'd been around him practically all night. Steve had thought you were gorgeous, he couldn't keep you out of his mind all night. In fact, he'd gone home that evening and talked his ear off to his childminder (this was back when his parents still cared to hire one whilst they were away) about you.
Soon enough, teachers were being asked to volunteer to set up, chaperone and set down the Snowball. Steve had turned up outside your door at lunch time the same day, with your mug filled with hot coffee in his hand and the brown paper bag with his sandwich in, like usual.
It was nearing the end of the slotted lunch period did he ask, sat back in that same tiny chair, picking at the filling of his sandwich while you sipped at the coffee. "You gonna do the Snowball?"
You'd smiled down at the sandwich in your hands, shrugging your shoulders slightly. "I was thinking about it. Got nothing better do to that night, you know? Are you?"
"My answer was entirely dependant on what you were gonna do, honestly."
"Why?" The smile was sly now, edging upwards to meet Steve's gaze, that glint in your eyes that scared Steve just that little bit because it always meant you knew something he didn't — in this case though, he did know. "You wanted to ask me to it?"
Steve scoffs ever so lightly, taken aback by how blatant you're being. You catch the light pink dusted against his cheeks as he shuffles in his chair, unsure how to answer, unsure how to understand what you're playing at. Did he just imagine you saying that? Did you want him to ask you out? "Uh— Um. Sh- Did you—?"
Then suddenly you're chuckling to yourself, interrupting his train of thought with that pretty giggle of yours that kept him awake every night. "I'm kidding, Steve. It's the 8th graders disco, one teacher can't take another teacher on a date, especially because we'd have to stay professional the whole night."
He gulps at your words, eyes glued to you, the way your fingers shuffle against your food, the quirk in the corner of your lips when you joke about staying professional. This isn't just the usual banter, Steve realises. This is you flirting back for once, this is you flirting with intent, with a want and a need for Steve to do something about it. Oh god, he better not be wrong about this, this time. He can't lose, this, you again.
"Is that the only thing stopping you?" He murmurs, making sure his eyes don't stray from your own.
He watches your lips part softly, and his ears piqued at the softness of your voice as you spoke. "What if it was?"
"You'd want to?" Steve spoke, sitting up slightly, a bit overwhelmed by what exactly was happening, he couldn't quite believe it was actually happening, in all honestly, hearing you say that… you would. "Go with me to the Snowball, I mean. Not just as… chaperones."
You smile, large and grinning and you go to nod— oh my god, it's happening.
Then the bell rings, indicating the end of the lunch period. The laughing and screaming of children outside comes to a halt and the halls fill with the squeaking of sneakers against the lino floors. Steve deflates, knowing both of you have a half next and he can't do anything to avoid it.
As he gets up to leave, he chucks his half eaten sandwich in the bin, and stops at the door.
"Hey St— Mr Harrington?" You correct yourself as the kids for your next class start piling into their chairs. He turns around to face you, eyebrows high with confusion. You grin over at him, that same glint in your eyes. "This conversation isn't over."
A slow smile curls itself into Steve's lips, and he nods, like he's proud of himself. "Yeah, okay. Talk to you later, Miss."
The door shuts tentatively after the last kid sits down, and you bin the last of your sandwich too, letting it fall into the bin right next to Steve's. You stand, moving to the blackboard to write the lesson topic on the board, when you notice a kid has their hand up already.
"Yes, Erin?"
She's cute when she speaks too, even if her question has nothing to do with anything she should be involved in, but kids, aren't they so damn observant. "Do you have a crush on Coach Harrington?"
You laugh her off. "That's none of your business, Erin."
"But you do!" Another kid pipes up from the other side of the classroom and you begin to notice just how many kids are nodding at the offered idea. Was it really that obvious? "We always see you together at lunchtimes and you always smile at each other in the corridor and Coach always mentions you like aaalwayss and—"
"Right!" You clap, cutting him off and watching them all burst into little fits of giggles. You have to admit, it's cute that they've noticed, but you're not going to let the lesson get derailed because they want to gossip about something that you don't need spread around the whole school by the end of the day. "Animal Farm everybody! Final chapter, are we ready?"
"You like Coach Harrington." One of them singsongs, dragging out the 'a' and the 'o', but you don't catch who, because they've all been very sneaky and gotten their copies of Animal Farm already out and already in front of them.
You brush it off and pull out your own copy, beginning to read.
Suddenly, it was the day of the Snowball.
You didn't know how it had come around so quickly. A whole semester over just like that. A whole three months of meeting with Steve for lunch and trying to pretend you weren't slowly falling in love with him. Just trying to act exactly like you did in high school… pretending.
Because while you had said the conversation wasn't over, you'd actually never picked it back up again. Steve had come around at lunch and you'd eaten together and chatted and laughed but… neither of you had ever brought it up again. It was like the conversation had never happened. Did he regret it? Did you push too far? Was it actually too late and you'd actually, finally missed him?
In the previous couple Snowballs that you had helped out with, you hadn't thought about what you were going to wear. You'd stuck to the basic make up you did for work and maybe changed shirts, but this time was different. It's cheesy and you hate yourself for giving a shit about it because Steve had only ever seen you in the past three months in work clothes, but this was the one chance you had to convince him to ask you out again.
So you tried this time. You made sure you had time to go home and change between set up and the end of school that day. You had laid out the dress you were planning on wearing on the bed before you left, and made sure all your make up was out so it would be quick and easy.
It felt weird, because it had been so long since you'd gotten dressed up for something other than a girls night out with a couple mates a good few months ago.
You arrived at the Snowball on time, a couple teachers already there putting up the bunting and hangers, two history teachers at the far end of the hall attempting to put up the banner that the art department had worked so hard to make the past couple weeks. No Steve yet.
Walking into the storage cupboard, you went for the folded plastic tables, opting to set up something easy for the snacks and punch you were offering the kids. But once you were crouched on the vinyl flooring, fiddling with the clasps and the switches, you just couldn't figure it out. You'd had your nails done the other week and they just couldn't slip under the latch quite in the way you needed to pop the table open.
It was embarrassing, but also kind of the best thing that could have happened, because Steve only came in a couple minutes after you, blazer round the back of some chair, white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbow.
"Need any help?"
You feel your shoulders deflate at his voice and you rest your head against the edge of the table where its propped on its side. "Shut up and help me Harrington. And don't lecture me, I know how to do it, my nails just won't let me."
Steve chuckled and lowered himself onto the ground, moving so he could reach the latch but making it so his knee was pressed against your back. Too close for comfort. Too close to keep your heat at a steady rate. He was doing this shit on purpose, you were sure. "But they're so pretty. Can't risk breaking them."
"What are, my nails?"
He nodded, smiling and flipping the latch. "Yeah, they're real cute, sweetheart."
Sweetheart. If he didn't ask you out by the end of this, you were going to kill him. You rolled your eyes, playing it off playfully and letting him pull the table out, shuffling backward to accommodate the space. "Well… thanks Steve." You stand, brushing any dust from your dress.
You watched Steve for a second. The way his arms flexed flipping the table to stand correctly. The way his eyes darted to every corner of the table to make sure he was doing it right. The way he ran his fingers down the metal edge of the table and grunted, brushing his hands off and turning to you with a smile. You were gone. You were well and truly gone. There was no getting out of it now — it was impossible. He'd be in your head forever, until you were on your fucking death bed.
And then he caught you staring, a knowing smirk that made your stomach twist playing on his lips. "What?"
Quickly, you straightened, shaking your head. "What—? No, nothing."
"Come on." He laughed, heading towards the storage cupboard again to grab something else. You swiftly regathered yourself and followed him in, finding him hands deep in a box full of white table cloths that definitely wasn't repurposed fabric from the art department.
You knelt down next to him, but was quickly pushed back onto your feet at Steve's protests. "Woah, what?"
"Your pretty dress, c'mon, it's gonna get all dusty!" Steve whines, a hand waving about and forcing you to stand back up again.
"Oh." You murmured, wiping down the front of the skirt, looking down at him as he passes a cloth up to you. You take it between your two arms and let Steve follow behind you with another sheet to leave out with the next table.
Together, you set up the main tables available for the little food and drink the school can afford for the kids, next moving onto another table that Steve again, does not let you set up. You can't tell if he's just being gentlemanly or attempting to irk you enough to make you shout at him but either way, it's working. Once the tables are set up, you head off to the kitchens to get the food while Steve gets dragged into hanging up the silver and blue shining fringe that was planned to run across each wall of the gym.
Somewhere along the lines, set up is finished and the children begin arriving.
Steve gets caught up manning the toilets and making sure too many students don't start crowding in them, leaning against the wall outside the door, caught up in a long conversation with one of the 6th grade kids. You watched from the punch bowl, a fond smile on your face whenever there wasn't a kid asking for a refill, eyes trained on Steve as he spoke from across the gym.
Every time that Elsie, that little 6th grader than wouldn't leave him alone, spoke, he'd smile that familiar warm curl of the lips, and you could tell even from where you were standing that he was making some sort of joke to the girl, some Coach Steve banter that was the reasons the kids loved PE so much since he joined the school.
Then every time he got a spare second, his eyes trained upwards, looking for you, the glint in his eyes turning into something more special. Something he was reserving just for you.
For practically the whole period of the Snowball, you and Steve were kept apart. It was only about halfway through the night (which meant 7pm for the kids), when shifts changed and you were allowed to leave the punch bowl. Mrs Jones, a History teacher, nicely took over from you, telling you to go have at least a little fun.
You gave her a smile and immediately headed over to where you thought Steve was standing, reaching the middle of the gym before realising that he wasn't standing there anymore.
Bastard. You furrowed your brows, looking around for him.
"Hey." That low, rough and calming voice spoke as you turned, making you jump slightly as he did so, suddenly appearing behind you even though you thought you'd already checked that direction. "Woah—"
"Christ, Steve, you scared me!"
Steve grinned, a hand on your waist to steady you. You attempted to ignore the fuzzy feeling the feeling of his hand gave you. "Sorry, sugar, just wanted to surprise you."
A soft smile curls it's way into the corners of your lips as you draped your gaze over his face. "Well, you certainly did that. You okay?"
"No, actually, there's uh…" He stuttered over his words, waving his hands about, your eyes catching the veins in his arms move against the rolled up fabric of his shirt as he tripped and stumbled over his words. "Something I wanted to talk to you about."
"What is it, Harrington?"
His eyes leave the floor then, meeting yours sweetly, lips quirked upward, crinkles by his eyes from the past semester with you. You've completely forgotten about the kids, about how you're just stood in the middle of the gym, you barely even notice the song playing.
Barely. "We've known each other a while now, and I think it's safe to say—"
Take a chance on me, he mouths, along to the song, that started playing at the perfect moment. As the kids start cheering and the song starts the first verse, you start laughing, a full-blown, whole hearted laugh, glee radiating from your face and your smile and just the whole situation he's managed to arrange.
"I'm the first in line, baby!" Steve shouts over the music, taking your hand and forcing you to spin, a shriek of surprise and laughter and happiness and he dips you, getting you face to face with him for a single second.
You grin up at him, feeling his hand at your waist supporting you, and you're so close to the floor but you don't feel like you're going fall at all, not in his arms. "You're such an idiot!"
Steve laughs, dragging you back up to full height.
Before he can force you to dance any longer, you take his hand in yours, you take the lead with footsteps towards the back door. Already, the kids have forgotten about you and are back to dancing in their own little worlds, so not a single soul notices you and Steve slip out the door.
You're met with the alley, the one that stretches between the gym and the English block, Steve's back hitting the wall as you're over taken with laughter.
He's practically giggling too, so you know you're not alone. As though it was an automatic gesture that he had done a thousand times before, Steve's large palms find your waist, steadying you as your breath slowly calms, cheeks beginning to hurt from the grinning and smiling and laughing— oh.
"C'mon baby, we're missing the song— just for you!" He grins, squeezing your waist.
"Steven Harrington—" You sigh, unable to keep the glazed, dreamy look from your eyes, letting your hands rest against his shoulders. "You are such an idiot."
Steve shrugs, tonguing the inside of his cheek. "What? It's a simple question, sweetheart, you gonna take a chance on me? After all these years? After every offer, after every rejection, I've liked you for years—"
The song, still playing in the background but muffled by the closed metal doors to your left, is now the last thing on your mind as you lean up and press your lips against Steve, half to shut him up, half to answer his seemingly endless questions.
He chuckles against your lips immediately, pulling you closer to him via the grip he's got, tight on your hip, making sure that you are flush against his warm torso. There's a couple more brushes of his lips against yours that stay soft, but it doesn't take long for the neediness to break through. For every feeling, every daydream he's ever had over the past however many years it's been now.
You gasp slightly as his teeth nip at your bottom lip, and your hands are digging through the soft locks of his hair, the hair that used to be so precious to him and isn't so much anymore, not since he realised there were more important things in his life.
"Mhmph—" You giggle against his lips, head tilted because he needed to be just that much closer to you. "Steve."
"Wha..?"
You pull back, just enough to be able to scan over his face, dazed from the kiss as well as the reality of finally kissing you. "I'm taking a chance on you."
Steve giggles, a dreamy chuckle pressed between his lips. "Yeah, I got that, sweetheart."
"Took me long enough, I reckon, don't you?"
"I would've waited as long as it took you, sugar, don't even worry your pretty little head about it." He speaks, voice rough and low and familiar and finally yours.
Because even if you had said no over and over and over again, things had changed. Things were different now. Good different. Steve presses his lips up against yours again and you let yourself have a moment before having to go back to the Snowball and take care of the kids again.
You had a feeling you'd never be able to be normal at work ever again, all thanks to Steve.
a/n: why is it no longer fun to write man idk maybe it's uni burning me out or something but I've just not been feeling it recently. hope you all enjoyed this! it was lowkey strung together horribly but the concept is there you understood what I was going for lmao... thanks for all the support! <3
★ series synopsis : your landlord kind of fucked you over, so you end up stuck with two rising pro heroes as your roommates for the rest of the year.
(OR — chronicles of living together!)
content: roommate!au. smau! fluff, crack. some suggestiveness. potential minor angst. college student!reader & UA grad!krbk.
★ part one. RUMOR HAS IT . . .
featuring... rumors and kitchen disasters (+ redemption)
★ part two. *LADIES AND KIRISHIMA!
featuring... a date of spite & lessons learned! (+ morn after)
★ part three. NEW YEARS RESOLUTION!
featuring... gym sessions or torture sessions ?!
★ part four. DRUNK WORDS, SOBER THOUGHTS!
featuring... problem: you're drunk. without a ride. ( soon! )
. . . AND MUCH MORE TBA !
note: there's not much of a solid plot or chronological timeline hehe, all u really need to know is the synopsis above! (there may be written fics for this au at some point - we'll see)
TAGLIST PT. 2: @lavenderloss , @m-meraki-ii , @alateful , @cocoballsblonde , @butlereyepatchbunny , @justheretobinge , @nnxhhz , @abeenaa , @potatofamilyu , @lovelyevange , @strayruway , @xinkybeesx , @rollssas , @inkycapps , @fragolaviolw , @lover-no-lover61 , @dq1215 , @katthekat1234 , @azizxxxah , @its-opposum-sauce , @astralravenix (can't be mentioned here due to tag limit, but i will tag you in a reblog when new chapters are posted !!)
never go to bed without kissing goodnight, ft. fushiguro megumi
synopsis: you and megumi have been toying with each other for weeks now, teasing, flirting, but the tension doesn’t burst in the way you expect. faced with this new argument between the two of you, you and megumi go ignoring each other until he finds you pathetically sitting outside your shared apartment in tears.
tags: megumi x f! reader, mention of nobara x yuuji, the 4 of them have a shared apartment, non-curse au, megumi’s pov, established relationship, fluff, characters are in uni (2nd? 3rd year?) but have known each other since high school,
cw: i don't think there's any!
wc. almost 1.6k
posted: 04/02/2026
a/n: this has been in my drafts for almost 2 years so i thought i’d post it before i archive my account :)
“I thought you were mad at me,” you sniffle, burying your face into his chest. By doing so, you miss the flicker of regret that flashes across Megumi’s face.
“I am,” he agrees. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to be here when things get bad.”
“But you said you didn’t care—“ Among other things.
When you and Megumi had fought last night, for no apparent reason, other than to get your frustrations out, you’d both flung hurtful sentences at each other, knowing exactly which insecurity to target and hit.
It was stupid, really. He had no reason to be a jealous prick and you had no reason to be so defensive.
But, out of all people, suspecting his sweet best friend had just as well made you believe that he’d gone off the rails.
You’d both been stringing the other along, never mind the fact that you were aware of each other’s feelings, and, hell, had even come very close to kissing the other night.
But you’d been the first to snap at him: you’re so selfish, and he’d bitingly countered it with: not selfish enough to lead you on while you make goo-goo eyes at Yuuji. You’d accused him of being insecure and delusional and said that he had no right to be jealous when firstly, the two of you weren’t even together and second, you and Yuuji were just very good friends. And you’d justified it with the fact that Nobara was very much interested in Yuuji, as she always had been, but Megumi hadn’t cared for your explanation. All he noticed was the distance between you two that you filled with Nobara and Yuuji. It didn’t matter to him whether that was because you were trying to set them up or whether you were interested in Yuuji himself.
What mattered was that you hadn’t come to him.
And he’d only stupidly now realized that your entire fight was his fault: for pushing you away, for not apologizing immediately when you’d stared at him in shock, big eyes wide with incredulity at his accusations, for not grabbing you by the arm and pulling you into his chest when you left that night and didn’t come back.
And now he’s selfishly holding you in his arms because you’d argued with your dad on the phone: something about his expectations being too high, you being a failure, and him never listening to anything you say—at least, that was what he caught when he’d stopped at the apartment and found you sitting outside the door on the verge of tears.
“I lost my key,” you said pathetically when he asked what you were doing. “I have an essay due tomorrow. And my dad is a jerk.”
“What’s new?” he’d asked, unlocking the door and gesturing for you to go in before him.
And as you removed your shoes, thinking you were so slick with getting away un-caught, Megumi had to ask the stupid question.
Are you okay?
And you broke down.
He’d noticed the red rimming your eyes, the way you fixated on the ceiling light beside his head to make sure your tears didn’t fall, and how your lips trembled when you answered him.
He’d only been frozen for a minute but he reacted before he knew what he was doing, wrapping you in his arms, still in shock—he can’t say he’s seen you cry many times, because he hasn’t. You’re usually so bright, so sweet. It’s almost sickening, almost blinding how much you are. You’re typically so light-hearted, all teasing jokes and easy smiles and hiding behind a guise—and holy hell, how has he not seen it earlier?
The very same sweetness that he’d found so ingenuine the first time he’d met you—how had he not realized that it was all just an act? You were using it to cope. This sweetness, this joking nature of yours.
He’d suspected it earlier once when he’d caught you crying alone in your room but had immediately brushed it off—as soon as you’d noticed him, you’d pasted on that familiar bright smile, hastily wiped your tears, and flipped the conversation on him. Suddenly, it was about his work day and how he was doing and how Yuuji’s game was. And every time he tried to spin the conversation back to you, you’d find a way to dodge and laugh it off.
Now that he thinks about it, he can’t remember the last time he saw you with a frown on your face that wasn’t easily amended at the sight of him. Or any of your friends, for that matter. You always have this fixed, bright smile and this fixed way of speaking that always manages to take the spotlight off of you.
Megumi’s heart pounds frantically against his rib cage. He can hear his blood rushing in his ears, as if there’s a seashell pressed to his pinnae.
That really begs the question of, why aren’t you running now? Why are you—well, maybe not crying—but why are you deliberately showing him that you’re upset?
Is this part of the game you’re playing? Are you using this opportunity to make him forgive you for the argument? Are you seeking his attention?
His mind is racing a mile per minute, conjuring up all the possible explanations, and if you could read the thoughts in his head, you’d just laugh and tell him to stop overthinking.
But that reaction would probably be calculated too.
Every fibre of his being yearns to keep you like this, tucked in his arms, face buried into his chest. Every fibre of his being yearns to make you his. Every time he thinks he’s worked up the courage to ask the cursed question, he finds himself at a loss for words upon seeing your distracting smile.
He’s wondering why you haven’t made the first move and asked him yet. Usually, you’re so forward when it comes to things like this—you certainly hadn’t hesitated in asking him for a kiss. So he’d only assumed that you’d be the one to ask him out as well—some demand, some question of why aren’t we together yet or seriously, Megs, what are you waiting for or aren’t you going to ask me out?
But it never came.
Maybe you were just as afraid as him. Maybe he wasn’t alone in this mind-numbing fear when he realized what losing your friendship really meant.
Things would never be the same if you two decided to date and Megumi wasn’t sure if he wanted to take that risk.
You mean everything to him. You, here, as you are. You’re everything to him.
Megumi runs his fingers through your hair and lets the tightness in his chest consume him.
Yes, he’s afraid. He’s so so afraid of not only losing you, but losing your friendship, your feelings for him. They’ll fade eventually and you’ll leave and he’ll still be left here, waiting for you. He’s been walking in circles his whole life, been repeating this with everyone he’s ever loved.
But the warmth of you in his arms, seeing your sweet smile, hearing your precious laughter, it's all so contagious, so addicting.
Megumi didn’t think he could be addicted to a person. But he’d do anything for the promise of your warm body in his arms, even if that meant forgoing his fears, his doubt. Even if it meant taking the risk of having his heart torn up and stomped on. He wanted to believe that you were too kind to do that.
“I’m so embarrassed,” you say into his shirt, muffled. Your tears stain the fabric, dampening it, but Megumi doesn’t say anything about it.
“Don’t be,” he says softly.
“This is so stupid, it’s just… I-I really didn’t mean for this to happen,” you say desperately, pulling away from him. You don’t meet his eyes as you dab away your tears, trying not to smudge your makeup. “I—ugh, I’m so embarrassed. I promised not to cry in front of you and now my worst fear is just coming true. The only way this could be worse is if Nobara or Yuuji walked in on us.”
“Your worst fear?” he asks gently, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. He tips your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze, and ignores your attempt to spin the topic in a humorous light once more. “What, you’re worried what I’ll think about you?”
Your lips tremble, eyes filling with tears once more as you exhale. “I’m worried you’ll think I’m overbearing or—or too much. I just… I want you to like me.”
Despite himself, despite your words, he smiles. He says, “I like you, princess,” and his voice is so soft, so loving that you can’t help but believe him when he says it.
You find yourself laughing and laughing, and Megumi just stares, offended: it’s a dry, self-deprecating laugh at first, one that tells him you don’t quite believe him, but then it turns a little louder, a little less harsh like the situation is finally hitting you. Like everything that had maybe been a mess yesterday wasn’t quite so awful today, if only because he was here by your side.
“Did I miss the joke?” he asks dryly. “What’s so funny?”
You shake your head, smiling. You twist the collar of his shirt with your fingers and pull him close. “Nothing,” you breathe. “I like you too, Megs.”
Synopsis: you got into an accident and lost your memories. to learn about what happened and how you ended up in the hospital in the first place, you must start at the beginning and contact your six exes
and perhaps on your path to recovering what you lost, you may end up back together with the one who loved you most...
Warnings: angst, memory loss, reader's morality questioned, flawed characters, realistic depictions of relationships?, crude language, modern/non curse au, each men's part can be technically read as a standalone but they are part of the series, highkey got tired of editing this (it took hours) so if it doesn't make sense and it's full of typos then rip
Three times you take care of Steve, and one time he takes care of you
Paring: Steve Harrington x reader, Platonic!Eddie Munson x reader
Word Count: 3.4K
content warnings: angst, happy-ish ending, yearning, sooooooooo much yearning, violence, blood, descriptions of injuries, character death
I. Hargrove
It's comical how this all started as a desperate attempt to get some extra cash. This babysitting gig seemed like a good option. Your mom’s income cuts it short and unfortunately wishful thinking doesn’t pay the bills.
Anyone in their right mind would have gotten the hell out of dodge the second they found out the kid they were supposed to be babysitting was hiding an inter-dimensional creature in his cellar. However, the thought of leaving a group of kids to fend for themselves against whatever nightmare they're up against made your stomach turn.
Apparently you weren't the only one.
You’re pretty sure Steve Harrington didn’t even know you existed before your chance encounter at the Wheeler residence. Steve looked nothing like you'd imagined he would up close. He was frazzled, hair mussed from running his hands through it. The epitome of a man ready to grovel. News of his and Nancy's lovers quarrel spread quickly, as everything does in Hawkins. You'd heard it from Eddie, who had been invited to Tina's party solely to provide some 'party favors.' He'd invited you to join him, but you'd been busy trying to fix the sink before your mom got home from her shift. He'd scolded you for not asking Wayne for help, but you'd done enough of that already. You could take care of it yourself. You can take care of yourself.
You and Steve don’t exist in the same social circle, or the same tax bracket. So you try not to feel too bad about having made a less than favorable assumption towards him. To you, Steve was a walking cliche. An entitled, privileged, too-handsome-for-his-own-good jock.
It never crossed your mind that Steve was hiding a real human being under all that hairspray.
The look that overcame Max's face at the sound of Billy's arrival had told you everything you needed to know. You weren't scared of Billy, until you were. There was something truly...sick, about the way he'd charged towards Lucas. Fueled by the kind of hatred that runs deep in someones bones. A hatred you were all too familiar with. You remember wondering where Steve was, for a second you’d assumed he'd left. Saving himself the trouble of an altercation. He hadn't even wanted to stay behind in the first place.
You'd stepped in front of Lucas, torn Billy's hands from the boys coat. It wasn't until Billy had you by the hair, with an unyielding grip that made your head ache, that you knew you had wildly underestimated the golden boy.
As if he'd appeared out of thin air, Steve had thrown a heavy punch at Billy. Turning the entire home into a goddamn boxing ring. Steve may be good with a bat but he's not a great fighter. At least not when it comes to defending himself. He was down on the ground, taking hit after hit and you weren't sure he was even conscious. Through a rush of adrenaline you found yourself on Billy's back. Pulling at clothes, hair, skin anything you could get your hands on. One glance at Steve's bloody face, and the sound of flesh meeting flesh shook you long enough for Billy to throw back an elbow and shove you into the coffee table.
Shame washes over you at the memory, because you don't know what would have happened if Max hadn't intervened. A child, one that you were supposed to protect saved both of your asses.
The same shame is what brought you into Steve Harrington's bathroom.
Your hands shake from exhaustion, but they're gentle nonetheless as they clean his wounds. You whisper soft apologies every time he hisses, and he responds with soft reassurances.
In between cotton pads and antiseptic he finds his voice, rough and strained as it may be.
"You don't have to do this, seriously I can just...handle it myself."
You shake your head as you place the last butterfly stitch above his eyebrow, replacing the colorful bandage it had before.
"I feel guilty."
His eyebrows scrunch together as best they can given the condition he's in.
"Why? You're not the one who knocked my teeth out."
You let out a soft laugh. Steve pretends he doesn't recognize the feeling it stirs up within him.
"No it's not- I mean yes, I feel bad that you got knocked out, your teeth are fine by the way. I just...I think...I really misjudged you Steve, and I think this is my fucked up version of an apology for that."
He shrugs. "I doubt you were wrong. I haven't really been a good friend, or boyfriend...or person I guess."
You lean against the bathroom counter, and you convince yourself that Steve needs someone to talk to, and that's why you ask.
"What happened with Nancy?"
Steve folds into himself, almost like he's trying to hide. You can't help but notice how young he looks in this moment.
"I think...I didn't handle everything that happened the right way, and everything just blew up. Then she got drunk and we got into a fight and she told me she doesn't love me- ."
"What?"
He looks up from the ground at you. You look...not mad but, it's a look he can't quite place.
"Well, no-she didn't exactly say that but she didn't...not...say it."
Despite it all, he feels the need to defend Nancy. "Look it's not her fault I mean she was right. I was being totally selfish and-"
"Steve, you're seventeen. No one knows how to love someone the right way at seventeen. There's retired couples that still haven't figured it out. Just because you made some mistakes doesn't mean you deserved to feel unloved."
Steve had spent a long time trying to figure out how to redeem himself. Trying to right his wrongs. He hadn't really thought about what he deserves because he wasn't sure he deserved anything.
"But I made mistakes, and I feel terrible about that."
"And you're taking accountability for them. That's more than most people do Steve."
In the dim light of his bathroom, for the first time ever, that feels like enough for Steve.
II. Starcourt
It was the summer of '85, Starcourt Mall had just opened up. You'd decided to take a gap year, working at the Radio Shack to save up for community college. The best part, you'd get to spend the entire summer sharing your lunch break with the most unlikely friend you could have made.
Which was amazing! Until you realized it's not normal to feel your blood run hot every time your friend tries to flirt with any girl that walks through the door. You'd thought trying to compartmentalize your very new and very complicated feelings for Steve would be the worst of your problems this summer.
Except now you're being dragged around a secret Russian base bloody, bruised, and nearly unconscious. The worst part about this whole ordeal isn't that you can't tell if your ribs are broken or bruised, or that you've been tasting blood for the better half of an hour now. It's that from the moment he was dragged away from you, you couldn't stop worrying about Steve. You'd felt relief for a split second when you were dragged into a room with him and Robin. Grateful that he was alive, but then you caught a glimpse of the state they'd left him in.
Your worry only increased as the guards tied you up next to them, because for some reason they couldn't stop laughing. You'd waited until the guards left to say anything.
"Steve? Steve are you okay-what did they do to you?"
Your muscles feel tight as you try to turn your head to look at him. From the corner of your eye you see a version of Steve you didn't want to see again. Beaten and bloody, a stark contrast from the bright smile he's wearing for some extremely odd reason.
"Thank god you're here! He wouldn't shut up about you." Robin's voice is hoarse but she seems alright, physically at least. You desperately hope they don't come back for her next. You've grown fond of her over the summer. You feel an enormous amount of guilt that she got dragged into this mess.
"They took her away-I hate when she's away-everything is so much better when she's here."
They're slurring their words and you start to panic at the realization.
"Steve. Steve! What did they give you?"
They giggle beside you, talking over each other.
"Dunno it was blue!"
"I think we're high!”
You spend way too long trying to get a single answer out of them. Coming up short, it dawns on you that if the guards come back to give you whatever they gave Steve and Robin, none of you have any shot of making it out of here alive.
Thankfully for you, the next people to walk through the doors are Dustin and Erica. For the second time in your life, the kids you're supposed to protect come to your rescue.
You can't even bring yourself to respond to a single one of Dustin's questions because the second he unties you, you're rushing over to Steve. Your body aches and you can barely breathe but you kneel in front of him making quick work of his ties. You can't help but reach up to his face while you do so.
"Jesus what did they do to you."
Steve leans towards your touch. Nuzzling you like a clingy puppy. "Mmm-missed you-woah! You look...you don't look good."
You sigh, using every fiber of your being to stand up and bring him with you. Putting his arm around your shoulder, ready to haul him out of here while the kids grab Robin.
"I'm fine Steve, let's just get out of here please."
Hours later, when the mall has burned down and you're being guided over to an ambulance, you pretend you don't hurt so bad so that Steve can be checked out first.
You pretend that it doesn't mean anything. That the emotion you're swallowing down as a paramedic cleans his wounds is exhaustion and not the crippling realization that you could have lost him. You do this because you aren't sure you want to face the fact that you wouldn't know what to do with yourself if it happened.
You push it down because you and Steve becoming friends was a fluke, a cruel trick of nature. So how could you possibly become more.
III. Lover's Lake
You don't know what the hell came over you. You're a fucking awful swimmer. Despite your efforts to get over this thing you have for Steve, it seems as though it's all been in vain because as soon as he was dragged back under water you dove right in after him.
Your first mistake was applying to Family Video with him and Robin. Your second one was accepting the job offer. You actually liked the job, it was the constant reminder that Steve was willing to take anyone but you out on a date that sucked. You'd told yourself that you would take a step back, give yourself some space and stop giving so much of yourself over to him.
You'd started spending more time with Eddie again, and declined invitations to hang out with Steve. Which felt like a breath of fresh air, Eddie made things easy. He always did. It's rare to find someone who will love you unconditionally, who will let you fall off the face of the earth for a month or two and welcome you back with open arms. You think that Eddie always knew something was going on, you'd just hoped he'd never find out what it was. You hate that you couldn't do anything to shield him from this nightmare. You hate that you heard him beg you not to jump into the water, but you don't hate that you ignored him.
Love has a cruel way of making you do things. As you struggle to swim faster and hold your breath long enough to reach the gate, you realize that it must be love.
Because only love makes you this crazy.
You swear you black out, your mind running at a million miles a minute.
Gasp for air
Breathe
Get to Steve
Breathe
Grab a paddle
Breathe
Get to Steve
Steve
Steve
Steve
When you've all escaped the rabid bats you don't think twice about the chunk missing from your shoulder. How can you when Steve is practically bleeding out. You see parts of him you never wanted to, open wounds. Flesh and muscle torn, and bloody, and wrong. So wrong.
"Oh god Steve."
Your voice is thick as you fall to your knees in front of him. Whipping around with a desperate look on your face trying to find anything to help him. Your eyes fall to Nancy. You extend your shaky hand. "Nancy, your shirt- please your shirt!"
She takes a second to process what you're asking of her, before snapping out of it and tearing a good amount of her shirt off to pass over to you.
You grab onto it, quickly turning to Steve, grabbing onto any part of him that isn't bleeding. Like you're trying to remind yourself that he's alive.
"okay-okay I'm gonna wrap this around you, you're okay-you're going to be okay."
You wrap the cloth around his waist harshly, trying to keep as much pressure on his wounds hoping you can just stop the bleeding.
You mumble wet apology's at him while you tie a knot. Everyone pretends they can't see the sob you're holding back. Except for Steve, who places a weak hand on your shoulder.
"It's okay, I'm okay. Thank you."
You nod, looking up at him. He tries not to collapse at the sight of your eyes. The ones holding back tears and an enormous amount of...something.
The same something he's been seeing in your eyes since he met you. The something he can't place until Eddie lingers behind with him while they try to find a way out of the upside down.
"You know she's a terrible swimmer right?"
Steve gives the metalhead a confused look, which seems to frustrate Eddie.
"Jesus you really are a lost cause. I have known that girl for years, I know her better than anyone and I know that she's a terrible swimmer. So why do you think she'd risk her life trying to save yours?"
Steve looks ahead at you walking alongside Nancy and Robin. A slight tremble still overtaking your body.
"I mean-we're friends."
Eddie stops Steve and grabs onto his shoulder.
"She was the first one in the water. She didn't waste a single second. I don't know what's going on between you two but if I were you I would figure it out. Because that, wasn't just a friendly favor. It was an act of desperation."
I. Redemption
Steve thinks about that night in the upside down a lot. He thinks about that entire week a lot, probably more than he'd like to. He knows he's not the sharpest tool in the shed but despite what everyone might think he isn't stupid. He's known for a while that you and him weren't just friends.
Him and Robin are friends, and he loves her, but you and Steve? There's something that's been brewing between the two of you from the moment you got into his Beemer all those years ago. A heady, tender, constant, overwhelming feeling that's been growing for years. No matter how hard he tried to ignore it.
After that conversation with Eddie he thought he should tell you. After his conversation with Robin, when she expressed her fears about their luck running out he realized he needed to tell you. Tell you that he's been falling in love with you from the moment he felt the gentle pressure of your fingers through a cotton pad. That he's been searching for anyone to take his mind off of you because he was too scared you'd realize he wasn't someone you could love. That it tore him apart when you started pulling away but he couldn't bring himself to tell you the truth, to beg you to come back. That you've spent the last couple of years healing him from any hurt he's ever felt. That he wants you to know all of the shameful, embarrassing parts of him. His dream of six kids and a winnebago and you.
He was going to tell you.
But then your luck ran out.
The ground split open.
Max fell into a coma.
Eddie died.
The memory of you seeing your best friend’s body in the distance haunts him. The way you softly called out to him, the way you struggled against Steve’s arms as you tried to rip yourself out of his hold. How you collapsed to your knees, crawling over to Eddie. The boy you met when you and your mother first moved into the trailer park. The first real friend you made, who played in mud piles with you was lying cold, bloody and still at your knees. You'd sobbed and screamed so hard your voice gave out. Begging and pleading to anyone that would listen to help you. To help Eddie. He swore he could have broken your fingers trying to get you to let go of him. Begging him to help you carry Eddie's body out.
"No-nonono. Pl-Please Steve! I can't- I can't leave him here we have to get him out he's okay-he has to be okay! Please, help me!"
You'd spent a long time taking care of Steve. Looking after him, licking his wounds so he wouldn't have to. Steve knew that it was his turn.
So he didn't tell you anything.
Instead he let you smack your fists against his chest, cursing at him for dragging you out of that hell hole. For leaving your best friend behind.
He took you home, and got you in the shower. He left food on your nightstand, and replaced it when it went cold and untouched. He sat with your mother while she fretted about you. Fixed the sink when it broke again. Waited for you for weeks until you were ready to leave the house.
He was patient.
You hid yourself away from everyone, in a way. You eventually started showing up to crawls but it was different. You were hollow. You didn't snap out of it until Holly went missing.
You were more alive than you had been in months but it wasn't the same life that Steve knew. You were fueled by rage, vengeance, grief.
Everything moved so fast he didn't even get a chance to talk to you about it.
Then he thought he'd never get a chance to talk to you about anything anymore.
He's never been afraid of heights. For a moment the feeling of his body dangling in the air felt peaceful, until he realized his fingers were slipping and he would never see you again.
He hadn't seen you smile in months, and he felt his stomach drop at the realization he'd never see it again.
The moment his fingers finally left the cool metal they were clinging onto, all Steve could hear or think about was the sound of your voice.
Devastated, guttural, hoarse, the same way it had sounded when you found Dustin cradling Eddie's body all those months ago.
He thinks he heard you scream his name, but he also thinks he would have convinced himself of that just to hear it one last time.
Then, in a wonderful, gracious, forgiving, trick of fate, Steve stops falling. All of a sudden he feels a strong grip around his wrist, and he looks up to see Jonathan pulling him up. He's back on solid ground in an instant and before he can catch his breath he feels your weight crash against him. Clinging to his clothes and his hair desperately. You have one hand grasping at Jonathan while you gasp out 'thank you's' in between your sobs.
Steve can't speak, he's scared he'll start sobbing with you the second he opens his mouth so he clings onto you with the same desperation. He presses wet kisses along your hairline and your cheeks, thankful to have your gentle hands bruise his skin.
Neither of you have ever said it was love, but in this moment you realize you never needed to. Instead of talking, you revel in the feeling of each other, warm, alive and breathing.
When the war is over, and the dust has cleared, Steve takes you home. You help each other out of your torn and dirty clothes. You step into the shower and wash the blood, sweat and grime off each other. With slow hands and lingering gazes. You lay in bed and finally get a moment to just be there, you press your head against his chest just to listen to the sound of his heart beating. Keeping him alive and here with you.
You don't say it in that moment. But the way you cling to each others fresh damp skin through your grief and exhaustion. You know its love, and you know both of you are going to be there when you wake up.
one-on-one — pro hero!bakugo katsuki x journalist!reader
synopsis: when katsuki reads an article that doesn't mention his “rude” demeanor and instead focuses entirely on his hero work, he decides to break his rule on refusing one-on-one interviews.
content: strangers to more, not canon compliant, kirishima is a great friend, pining katsuki
wc: 6.9k
a/n: rewatching/finishing bnha (on s6 rn) and remembered I have a stockpile of old fics from when I wrote for an old account I used to have on here back in 2021. I’ve decided to edit and reupload a few of those old fics, so this is the first of a handful to come! this one and the others won’t have the knowledge of the ending I have now ofc
Katsuki had read his fair share of articles on other hero’s growing up, but ever since he actually became one he started to steer clear of them. At first he was glad people were writing about him— it was about time he was noticed for his work.
He was acknowledged for whatever heroic act he’d done that week in the articles and news coverage, but there was always a but, an although, a however. Journalists loved talking about how he scowled at photographers, refused to do any one on one interviews, and was never very warm with fans. In Katsuki’s defense, that was just the type of person he was. His coworkers assured him that his fans didn’t mind his “bitchy” demeanor (a description he disliked. He was anything but bitchy). And it was hard to not scowl at those annoying reporters, who always shoved aside any of his fans for the sake of taking a picture of him.
“They’re just doing their jobs,” Kirishima had said when Katsuki shared his frustrations with him. The two were at his apartment getting a drink, a monthly tradition that had started when they both began working as sidekicks. Kirishima worked for a different agency, but Katsuki still ended up seeing him much more than he would’ve thought. Still, he was one of his best friends, and he couldn’t push him away, especially since he offered annoyingly good advice.
“I’ve met my fair share of annoying reporters, even though we’re still fairly new to all this,” Kirishima continued. “But there’s a handful of respectable ones. At least that’s what I’ve heard from some of the veterans at the agency.”
Katsuki scowled at the memory, drinking his morning coffee even faster than usual. He had yet to meet one of those more “respectable” journalists. He scoffed to himself as he finished his coffee and quickly got ready for his shift, rushing out the door before the sun had even risen.
He was fond of the earlier patrol shifts, the ones at odd hours. He didn’t get them often, and he wasn’t exactly able to request them, since his hours were odd enough as it was. But when they did happen he relished the quiet of the city at midnight, the peacefulness of the office when he went in for a bit to do paperwork. Sure, he missed out on action those days, but everyone in the agency had slow days at least once a month. Boss said it kept them sharp.
Katsuki popped into the agency to sign in for his shift, nodding idly at anyone just finishing their shifts. He changed into his costume and left once more, walking along the dark city streets. He was on high alert, especially because of the quiet. Usually he’d hear at least a car alarm, help out any police units with the odd cat burglar. But today it was eerily silent. As though the city were preparing for something.
An hour passed—the silence remained. Katsuki kept checking his comms, ensuring they were still operational. He’d been checking them periodically for the past hour, but now he didn’t hear the familiar buzz he was expecting. Instead he heard static and a high pitched beep, so piercing he yanked his comms out of his ears.
He radioed into the agency, and was met with more static. He was on his own.
It was almost 3AM, he was halfway across the city, much too far to run back to the agency for backup. Katsuki scowled at the thought. He didn’t need any help. He could handle whatever was happening until his teammates realized what was happening, which shouldn’t take too long.
The past few weeks the news had been filled with the story of two otherwise low-life villains who’d teamed up. One of them had an unconfirmed technology-based quirk, and the other one had a pyrokinetic quirk. Katsuki was up to date on their whereabouts thanks to the agency, and how close they were getting to their district. They’d gone silent a week ago, but now it looked like they were back.
They weren’t much of a threat, in Katsuki’s opinion. They mainly messed with the police and blew up an odd abandoned building or too, and no one had been hurt yet. More of a nuisance than a dangerous attack.
But this particular part of the city was filled with apartment complexes. If they were close enough to mess with communication systems, then they were in the neighborhood. Miles away from the lone warehouses they’d been blowing up. Katsuki cursed under his breath as he jogged, scanning dark alleys for anything suspicious. He only encountered a few people as he ran, and told them to get inside quickly, making sure to keep his tone calm but firm. They quickly obliged. He didn’t know how far these two villains were willing to escalate, but he couldn’t risk them taking an innocent hostage off the street. He highly doubted they would blow up an apartment building. The entire hero and police force would be after them if they did.
He was nearing the shopping area of town when he heard whispering from an alley behind a cafe his coworkers often frequented. A few blocks from any residential areas. And every business on the street was closed—he was the only person around.
The whispering grew louder as he cautiously approached the alley to his right. His communications were still down, and he noticed the lights around the street were off as far as he could see.
“You need a doctor!” he heard a voice hiss, and another quickly shushed it.
“No,” the second voice replied, sounding a bit breathless. “I’m fine.”
Katsuki risked a peek over the cafe’s wall. Two people were sitting at the very end of the alley. A guy was sprawled out on the ground, a small puddle of blood near his leg. A girl was frantically applying pressure to the wound, but Katsuki figured that would do little to help. The guy did need a doctor, that much he could tell even from where he was standing.
He leaned back, hiding himself from view. It was safe to assume the guy was the pyro, and since he was injured it should be safe for Katsuki to use his quirk. The girl must’ve been controlling the tech around her, though he wasn’t sure how she’d messed with the lights. The only light source was the full moon above him and the odd star or too visible despite the light pollution. He could easily take them both in, though it’d be better to have someone else handle the arrest and containment. And they’d naturally try to attack him when they saw he wasn’t friendly.
He needed to be fast about this, and careful. Katsuki started hiding any visible weapons or obvious pro-hero things that were at his side behind him, shifting his belt. He slipped off his arm cannons and set them down carefully. His costume was the biggest issue, but thankfully he always had a spare t-shirt stuffed into a side pocket. He slipped it on over his costume, pulling it over his hidden support items, and stepped out into the alley.
“What’re you dumbasses doing?”
The guy immediately sat up, shooting out a feeble spray of fire that barely reached the ground in front of Katsuki’s feet. The girl scrambled to her feet, her hand slipping in her hoodie pocket. They were a few years older than him, by the looks of it. Hard looks of defiance in their eyes, ready to put up a fight. He almost snorted.
“Who’re you?” the girl snarled, bringing out a taser from her pocket. It was missing its outer casing, and she was holding it by the wires while pointing the front of it at him.
“I live here,” he answered, matching her tone. The two glanced around at that, eyeing the dumpster a few feet from them and the trash littered in the alley.
Okay, maybe not the best approach.
“Yeah, well, we’re a bit busy, so go find some other place to sleep,” the girl replied, still pointing the taser at him. The guy was still sitting up, though his face was quickly losing its color.
“Get back!” the girl screeched suddenly, the wires sparking with electricity. Katsuki felt someone else standing behind him. He half turned to see a somewhat familiar police officer, who was resting his hand on his weapon at his side.
“Is there a problem here?” The officer was looking from Katsuki to the villains and back.
“No, officer there isn’t—”
But it was apparently too late. The girl shot a line of electricity straight at the cop, and it would’ve hit him in the face if Katsuki hadn’t intercepted it with his fire. It hissed as it went out.
He vaguely heard the officer calling for backup, shouting down the street, as Katsuki lunged forward, tackling the villains to the ground. The girl screamed and kicked at him, the taser whirring to life in her hands, but he quickly threw it out of her grasp and blew it up for good measure. The pyro was pinned beneath him, but he still somehow managed to wriggle an arm free and shoot a strong line of fire out.
Katsuki cursed and used his free hand to grab an anaesthetic shot he had in his array of “goodies” as Kirishima loved to call them. He jammed it into the guy's arm and he went limp immediately, and he used the other one on the girl. He climbed off of them, breathing hard. His t-shirt was full of holes from the near miss of both the taser and the fire, but he was otherwise fine.
He signaled for the police to come closer, and he got out of their way as they handcuffed them. The officer who’d found him bowed in apology, but Katsuki waved him off, finally walking out of the alley and into the street, wrinkling his nose at the smell of smoke.
He thought the pyro’s wild burst of fire had been random and a resort of his panic, but he’d been aiming, it seemed, for the only shop visible from the alley. It was on fire, its windows shattered from the force of the pyro’s blast. The police were already keeping a crowd of concerned people away. Katsuki raised his hand to try his comms again when he heard someone screaming louder than anyone else in the crowd.
“The shop owners are still in there!” The man yelled, the crowd loudly agreeing. “They live up there!”
Katsuki wasted no time and sprinted inside, dodging through the crowd and ignoring the police’s shouts to wait for backup. He noticed this was the only shop that was two stories, one for the business and the other for residents. At first glance it just looked like a normal two-story business, and Katsuki hadn’t noticed it much when he was talking to the villains, but this must’ve been what they were going to sabotage next. The pyro had shot out a line of fire straight at it, and the alley was right in its line of view. How he’d gotten hurt before they could finish the plan, Katsuki didn’t know. That wasn’t his concern at the moment.
The heat was almost unbearable inside, but he didn’t stick around enough to feel it. A quick glance around the first floor of the shop let him confirm no one was there. He hurried up the stairs, which were barely beginning to catch fire. Upstairs the layout was like any apartment, and he saw the shop owners huddling as far away from the door as possible. They looked old, and the smoke was probably wearing them down too much for them to walk down the stairs on their own. Katsuki scooped them up easily, one over each shoulder, and was about to leave with them when the woman shouted for him to wait, tapping his shoulder to get his attention.
“Our cat!” she yelled. “He’s still here!”
Katsuki cursed and glanced around wildly for it, and spotted it trapped out on the fire escape, howling and scratching at the open crack of the window. Fire escape.
Katsuki slammed the door leading to the stairs closed with his foot and instead clambered out the fire escape, carefully setting down the wife and then her husband, then climbing out himself. He scooped them back up as best as he could and descended down, the cat resting on the woman’s back, its claws digging into Katsuki’s shoulder. They made it down fine, and he was able to lower them into the paramedics awaiting arms as the window they’d just made it out of exploded above. The crowd cheered when he hopped down from the fire escape, covered in soot and coughing from the smoke. He gave them a small smile before following a paramedic, desperate for an oxygen mask. He hated smoke.
Two ambulances sped away with the couple (and their cat—Katsuki had made sure to set the cat down on the woman’s gurney) and soon reporters were on the scene talking into mics and facing cameras. Katsuki was away from the fire and crowd, and his coworker Affable found him easily.
He couldn’t remember getting back to the agency, or home for that matter. The paramedic must’ve cleared him, and then Affable had to have dragged him back to the agency to change before he took him to his apartment. Katsuki was grateful he wasn’t taken to the hospital—the press somehow always found him, and he hated being seen in those hideous hospital gowns. It made him look weak, and small. He could sleep off sheer exhaustion and a smidge of smoke inhalation on his own.
—
And yet, what he couldn’t escape was Kirishima.
“Morning!” Katsuki groaned and stepped aside to let him in, still too tired to argue with anyone. It was the ass crack of dawn, and since he’d been given the day off to rest, Katsuki had planned to do just that. Kirishima had other plans, it seemed.
“I’m off work right now,” Kirishima said, sitting down on the couch and dropping the newspaper he was carrying onto Katsuki’s coffee table in front of the TV. “And look what I picked up on my way to check on you.”
Katsuki sat down on the other edge of the couch, snatching the newspaper off the table to examine it.
The front page was unimportant, something about a politician Katsuki didn’t care very much about, but Kirishima told him to flip to the next page. He did, not sure why he was listening to him, and saw what Kirishima must’ve been talking about.
Why this picture and its story that followed weren’t front page news, he didn’t know. It was a shot of Katsuki heading down the fire escape with the shop owners and their cat, the fire blazing around him. The accompanying article took up the top half of the page, and as Katsuki began to read he saw Kirishima settle deeper into his couch for a quick nap.
The newspaper was pretty well known—Katsuki himself read it online weekly. He even remembered seeing the journalist’s name a few times. Y/N.
They were damn good, whoever they were. Katsuki assumed they were on the scene from how well written the article was. But everything was taken directly from the eyewitnesses on the scene—the shop owners who’d been among the crowd in the street, and even the old couple themselves. We’ve written to the young man’s agency, and if he reads this article I hope he knows we are very grateful for all he did for us!
“It’s good right?” Kirishima was eyeing him from the other side of the couch, a small smile on his face. Pretending to sleep the entire time, most likely. Katsuki just scoffed and tossed it back on the couch, reaching for the TV remote.
“I guess.”
It was better than good, if he was being honest. It reminded him of the articles he used to read when he was younger, the ones about his favorite heroes. There wasn’t an iota of bad mouthing directed at him. Everything was simple and straight to the point, which would seem average to anyone else. But in the hero world where trivial things were always getting blown out of proportion or where a single second could make or break you, this was a rare gift. One that would a great thing for his career, he hoped. And the factual representation of himself he’d been waiting for, albeit subconsciously.
When he returned to work he found the newspaper clipping hung up on the bulletin board dedicated to news articles on the agency’s heroes. Seeing it considerably brightened his mood to the point where he didn’t mind being assigned to desk duty for the day. Normally he would’ve demanded to be out on patrol or added to an upcoming team up, but he quietly took the desk duty with no complaints (which raised a few eyebrows) and sped through his tasks for the day. By lunch time he had some freedom to do as he pleased, so he sat with his lunch and read past news articles.
They were all from the newspaper that had published his fire rescue, and all by the same author. Y/N seemed to be an up and coming journalist from what Katsuki gathered. All of their pieces were great, with personal eye witness accounts and even some with the heroes themselves, which Katsuki knew was hard to get. They’d even done some sit down interviews, although not as big as those hour-long sit downs they aired on TV sometimes. These were all through the newspaper and online. No video or anything, just a typed up transcript of their conversation with laid out background information on the hero being interviewed, and a photograph of the featured hero.
Katsuki had always refused one-on-one interviews, and his agency had let him avoid them. He was still pretty new to hero work, and Katsuki had figured such a personal interview was something he could do when he had his own agency or something (which he had planned out to happen in a little over a year from now). Right now he was focusing on the job in front of him.
But the fact that this Y/N person had made him actually want to read a one-on-one interview with Todoroki that they’d done a few months ago made him reconsider his aggressive stance on these interviews.
He abruptly stood, startling a few of his coworkers that were eating lunch around him. He stalked towards Boss’s office and opened the door after he knocked. Boss was eating her lunch, too, it seemed, and she waved Katsuki inside. He stood in front of her desk, waiting for her to finish chewing before he spoke.
“I saw that article the Daybreak wrote on you!” She beamed at him, momentarily forgetting about her sandwich. “Great job.”
He bowed stiffly, not wanting to get scolded (again) for being rude.
“So, what can I do for you?” She leaned back in her chair, eyeing him with sparkling eyes as though she already knew what he was going to ask. It still unnerved him, how perceptive she was.
“If they ask for an interview, I’ll accept.”
Boss smiled at him. “Okay, I’ll let PR know you're willing. Y/N-san, right?”
He contained his surprise, nodding stiffly instead.
“Yeah, they’re great, best of the best right now. Good eye Katsuki! I’ll let the correct people know. Get out so I can eat!” She smiled and went back to her food, and Katsuki bowed again and left. As he closed the door behind him he saw heads turning away from him swiftly. Nosy ass coworkers. He went back to his desk, satisfied.
—
The weeks crawled by. Katsuki did a group interview with the other sidekicks in the agency, and it went well in his eyes. He was told the agency was bombarded with more requests, but they’d declined them politely. There was a limit to how much time they could be off prancing in front of cameras in Boss’s eyes. But the times interviews and public things of the sort were presented to anyone in the agency, they were big opportunities that had big results. No one questioned Boss much, and Katsuki had learned not to either.
“Katsuki!” she barked now, making him jump slightly in surprise. His deskmate Affable snickered quietly and immediately went back to his paperwork when he glared at him, standing to walk to Boss’s office. Sometimes she’d call all of them in randomly, just to check on them, or ask how patrols and missions were going. He figured this would be one of those times.
He stepped into her office and immediately noticed someone sitting in the chair in front of her desk.
“Sit, sit,” Boss said from her seat. “Exciting news for you!”
He sat, eyeing the stranger warily. They offered him a tentative smile in greeting.
“This is Y/N from the Daybreak Times. They reached out wanting to interview you, and PR accepted on your behalf.” Y/N was watching him closely, almost anxiously, as though expecting him to decline on the spot.
“Okay.”
“Splendid,” Boss smiled at them both. Y/N’s shoulders visibly relaxed. “I’ll let you guys work out the details, and if you need anything Y/N, let me or anyone in PR know! This’ll be great for the agency and especially for Katsuki, we’re pleased you wanted to interview him.” She escorted them both out and then disappeared deeper into the building, leaving the two of them alone at Katsuki’s desk. Affable had apparently left for patrol, and Katsuki realized he was supposed to leave soon, too.
He sat down and motioned for Y/N to do the same. They hurriedly moved to sit down across from him, taking out a small notepad and pen.
“Thanks so much for accepting this interview offer, Dynamight,” Y/N said, flipping to an empty page in their notepad. “I’ve interviewed two of UA’s top three, and with you that makes all three! It’s truly an honor.”
Katsuki raised his eyebrows. He hadn’t realized that until they’d mentioned it. Shit, was this a mistake?
But Y/N seemed perfectly fine. Not that Katsuki had anything to base this experience off of, since this was his first interview. And they’d only just met.
“I read that article you wrote about me,” he said. “That’s why I agreed.”
Y/N paused in their fidgeting, their pen stilling in between their fingers. “The fire rescue one?”
He nodded.
“Wow, I honestly didn’t think… Thank you.” Any nervousness they seemed to have had before faded away. Katsuki realized he must be tearing down every single misconception and assumption about him. He’d changed quite a lot since high school, and Y/N seemed to be an avid hero follower, so they must be figuring that out as they both talked, too.
“So this interview really goes anyway you’d like it to,” Y/N continued to fiddle with the pen. “I’ve done enough to know that every hero steers them in unique directions. Have you by any chance read or seen any recently?”
I’ve read all of the ones you’ve done. “Yes.”
“Great! Ms. Boss told me you have patrol and will be back in the evening, which gives me some time to work on the preface of the interview and do some more research. I’ll be here when you return.” They pulled out a laptop from their bag and set it down on the desk.
“Are we doing the interview when I get back?” He did have the rest of the night off, just to catch up on paperwork.
“If you’d like, sure. We can also go to a cafe or anywhere else you’d be comfortable. I’m fine doing it here, too,” Y/N glanced up from their laptop. “All up to you. I know you’re busy and I don’t want to take up a lot of your time. Sorry for the short notice on this, but Boss assured me today would be a fine day for the interview if tha5s alright with you.”
He nodded and left, raising his hand in goodbye when Y/N wished him a good patrol.
He spent the next few hours idly thinking of interview responses. From the ones he’d read, it was more of a conversation between them, excluding much of Y/N’s added commentary he was assuming. Half and half’s had been strictly about his hero work and had no mention of his father. Y/N really meant it was up to the hero being interviewed, and that made Katsuki feel glad he’d agreed to this.
It was a surprisingly quiet afternoon. Katsuki only bullied a few old ladies into walking across the street with him and helped a kid look for their dog. Boring any other day, but just what he needed today. He wasn’t too tired to talk with Y/N.
Katsuki had been looking forward to this way too much, he was now realizing. It was out of character for him—even he was aware of that. He wasn’t exactly sure why, either. It was ridiculous to assume he had a crush on Y/N. He hadn’t met them before today, and he wasn’t dumb enough to waste his time with a relationship right now.
Y/N was exactly where they’d been a few hours ago. There was a half eaten muffin beside them and a cup of coffee, and they were rapidly typing away on their laptop when Katsuki sat down across from them.
“Hello! Affable let me use his desk, he said he was done for the day anyway,” Y/N paused from their typing to greet him. “This place is incredible, I can’t believe even your deskmate is so cool.”
Katsuki had to fight back a smile at their tone of amazement. Affable was nice, sure. He put up with Katsuki, and he guessed that was precisely why Boss had sat them next to each other. It was sort of hard to hate the guy, as much as Katsuki had tried the first few days he worked here.
“Let me just go change,” Katsuki finished filling out his patrol report on his phone and stood back up. “Be right back.”
Even the locker room was pretty quiet. Evenings were odd at the agency, since most people were out. But Katsuki had had his schedule adjusted today, probably by Boss herself so he could have time for the interview. He wouldn’t have to go out on patrol again until the next night. He changed into his civilian clothes, hung his costume back up in his locker, and went back to his desk.
“So,” Katsuki said, sitting down at his desk across from Y/N. They’d moved their laptop to the side and had a voice recorder set in front of them. They were fidgeting with their pen and notepad again. “Why’re you a hero nerd?”
Y/N cracked a smile at that. “How do you mean?”
“I read your articles,” Katsuki confessed. “Most of them are hero centered. Just wondering why.”
Y/N had that same look from earlier when he’d told them he’d read the fire rescue article. Sparkling eyes, small smile on their face. “You know, I didn’t expect you to do your research on me.” They smiled at him again, easily, like they hadn’t just met him today. “Anyway, I’m a ‘hero nerd’ because my parents were heroes.”
Katsuki raised his eyebrows in surprise. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it hadn’t been that.
“They retired when I was born, since they wanted to stick around and raise me. Now they teach other young heroes amd consult on the occasional case. I knew I never wanted to be like them, though. I loved learning about heroes more than pretending to be one as a kid, and that sort of stuck with me. What about you, are you what you’d consider a ‘hero nerd’?” Y/N tapped the voice recorder to let Katsuki know they were recording, and he realized that just like that, the interview had started.
Y/N was incredibly easy to talk to, he quickly learned. They let him steer the conversation, asking questions they seemed to come up with then and there and only checking their laptop list occasionally. They took notes as they talked to him and nodded a lot in understanding to let him know they were still listening. They talked for well over an hour, until Y/N reached over to turn off the recorder.
“Thank you, Dynamight," Y/N beamed. “Wasn’t so bad was it?” They hesitated, fiddling with the recorder slightly. “You know, the Daybreak reached out for an interview a while ago. Before I started doing them. Why’d you decline then?”
Katsuki didn’t even know they’d asked. The agency must’ve declined for him after he’d let them know he wasn’t up for any of them yet.
“I wasn’t willing to do them before,” he answered truthfully. “And reporters love to taint my name. I wasn’t about to give them even more chances to. But your writing is different, so I said that if you asked, I’d agree.”
“To me? Specifically to me?” Y/N looked as though they were on the verge of tears. Katsuki stared, unsure of what to do. He didn’t have any tissues at his desk, did he?
“Sorry!” Y/N cried, blinking away tears. “It just… means a lot that you liked my writing so much. I’m still sort of new to this, like you are, and I’m really happy you were willing to sit down with me. Especially because of how the media treats you and how you feel about it. I’m sorry you’ve had to endure that.”
They smiled at him again, and Katsuki knew he was fucked in that moment.
—
“Why’re you bringing me along again?”
“Because. I don’t trust myself right now.”
Kirishima laughed loudly at that. Thankfully they were both in their “civilian disguises” of baseball hats and sunglasses, so no one recognized spared them a second glance.
It had been a few weeks since the interview. It was Katsuki’s day off, and Y/N was meeting with him to share the final interview that was to be published next week. They’d explained they usually did this with interviewees, a tradition they hoped would catch on between both fields of work.
Since Katsuki had shared why he wasn’t fond of interviews and the press in general, Y/N had been a whirlwind of text updates. They’d exchanged numbers after the interview to set a date to meet before publication, and he hadn’t expected much communication between the two of them. Surprising even himself, he’d initiated the conversation, sending a link to one of Y/N’s more recent articles to compliment them on the research they’d done on small up and coming agencies. From there, text exchanges became a weekly occurrence.
Y/N: I offered to proofread lots of hero articles this week >:) that means I can discourage the talk of meaningless shit like off duty outfits and attitude bc tbh its not relevant in journalism. We aren’t the fucking paparazzi
Katsuki cackled out loud whenever Y/N sent these kinds of updates. He thought they wouldn’t react well to his profanity, but they swore as much as he did when they were talking about “reforming hero journalism.”
He occasionally sent back reactions, but mainly he just read the messages. A few days ago he had the brilliant idea to invite along Kirishima to their meet up, thinking Y/N would love the chance to meet another hero and as an excuse to have someone to chaperone him, because that’s just where he was at right now.
Katsuki hadn’t had a crush in years, and he wasn’t about to fall for the only reporter that was nice to him and willing to go out of their way to change the constructs of journalism for him. When he’d shared this with Kirishima, his friend had wiped away an imaginary tear. “That’s so fucking romantic, dude. If you don’t marry Y/N I will.”
Katsuki had chased him around the apartment for a few minutes after that comment.
But Kirishima agreed to go to lunch with him. “You should be glad my schedule left me with lunch free today,” Kirishima grinned as they neared the restaurant. “This place is perfect! Secluded, not too much foot traffic. Y/N’s smart.” It was a small restaurant with outdoor dining, with trees all around.
Katsuki agreed—even the food smelled great. They both quickly spotted Y/N, who was sitting in the back, farthest from the entrance. Y/N waved them over, already smiling.
“It’s so nice to meet you,” they practically squealed at Kirishima after they were properly introduced and had all sat down. “Bakugo-san has the coolest friends.”
Kirishima was smiling as bright as Y/N, and he turned briefly to wiggle his eyebrows at Katsuki. He’d told Y/N they could call him Bakugo if they’d like, and Y/N had started to oblige.
The three sat down and ordered, then Y/N pulled out the article as soon as the waiter was out of earshot. “I printed it this morning! Everyone’s jealous since I’m the first to ever interview you.” Katsuki had never seen Y/N this happy. They had that sparkle in their eye and were smiling wider than he’d ever seen. “My editor loved it! Thank you so much for being willing to have the interview, Bakugo-san.”
Katsuki grinned wolfishly. “Damn right they should be jealous.” Kirishima laughed and nudged him.
“Move it over here so I can read it too!”
Katsuki set it down between them, and they started to read. Y/N fiddled with their drink while they read, something he’d noticed they did when they were nervous.
It became quickly obvious they had no reason to be nervous. The article was beautifully written, and this was coming from a totally unbiased perspective.
By the end of it Kirishima was laughing so hard a few people glanced over, and Katsuki had to shush him with a swift kick to the shin. Kirishima slapped a hand over his mouth, his eyes full of mirth.
“This was great Y/N,” he whispered, much quieter than necessary. “I never knew Bakugo had a sense of humor that could be captured this way.”
Katsuki sat back in his seat, satisfied. Y/N had stopped fidgeting and was smiling again. “I’m so happy you guys liked it! And also, there’ll be a picture of you online, Katsuki-san, the one my coworker took last week.” Katsuki nodded. His mom had sent him makeup tips when he’d made the mistake to tell her what he’d been up to, but his skin was “perfectly-fucking-fine” and didn’t need any, thank you very much.
He was actually excited for the article to be published. Y/N had managed to display a side of him the media had never seen, he’ll, one he hadn’t fully realized he could actually show to other people.
Katsuki tuned back into the conversation just in time to realize Kirishima was asking for Y/N’s phone number, and he was pissed for about a second before he realized Kirishima would never do something like that, and his intentions were pure. “If you ever want to interview me or anyone at the agency, just ask!” Y/N was nodding enthusiastically and saying they’d be sure to get back to him as soon as they asked their editor about it.
Their food came and they ate as they continued talking. Kirishima talked about his favorite heroes with Y/N, recent missions he’d been on, and his coworkers. Y/N practically fainted when Kirishima said he’d tell Kaminari, who was always enthusiastic about getting “some press attention,” that Y/N was searching for more heroes to interview to add to their portfolio and impress their boss.
Y/N asked how Shoto and their other classmates were doing, a few of whom they’d met in passing. Kirishima had kept tabs on everyone they graduated with, so he was more than helpful in filling Y/N in on probably too much “gossip.” It made Katsuki happy, seeing them talk as though they were old friends. It must’ve shown on his face because when he wasn’t looking Kirishima snapped a picture of him and proceeded to gush about it with Y/N.
“Look, he’s practically smiling!” They both erupted into a fit of giggles similar that of grade schoolers. Katsuki glared at them without malice and finished up his food to hide his smile.
When the interview was published the next week, he walked into the agency to see everyone huddled around the bulletin board. They hurried back to their desks when they saw him, many failing to hide their smiles. A new picture had been added to the board—the one taken of him for the interview with Y/N. He looked damn good in it, so he sat down without any complaints.
“Morning, Bakugo!” Affable was as cheery as ever. “I read your interview, great stuff.”
“Thanks,” Katsuki answered. Boss waved at him from her office and went back to her phone call, amiably gesturing as though whoever was on the other line could see her. He turned back to his desk and saw that Affable had tears in his eyes.
“Woah, what—”
“You’ve never said thank you to a compliment before!” Affable all but sobbed. Katsuki refrained from visibly cringing away from him.
“That’s not true,” he said defensively, wracking his brain for an example. “I’m nice to you, aren’t I?” He couldn’t keep the defensiveness out of his voice.
Affable nodded and blew his nose with a tissue he’d summoned from somewhere. His quirk was heightened senses, and Katsuki had always assumed it also meant his feelings were heightened since he was a pretty emotionally smart dude. Kirishima had said so when he’d met him. Katsuki admired Affable quite a bit, and he was a good deskmate. Had he been that terrible to him, to everyone? No. He would’ve been scolded thoroughly—Boss valued friendliness in the agency.
“Sorry,” Affable replied. “That interview just showed a side of you I’d never seen. I also watched way too many sad commercial compilations this morning so I guess that’s still affecting me.”
“Cheer up Saito!” someone called from far away. Affable raised a hand in thanks.
“Y/N-san did a great job with your interview, can you pass that along?”
“Sure,” Katsuki said, already sitting down to text them. “They’ll be happy to hear that.”
Affable stopped mid nose-blow, realization on his face. “Oho!”
“Don’t.”
“Okay,” Affable, or Saito, as Katsuki figured he should be calling him, hid a smile behind his tissue. “I don’t need my enhanced hearing to know your heart rate spiked, Bakugo. Have you told them?”
Katsuki was suddenly grateful he had warmed up to Saito the past year. He realized he had one or two friends in the agency, and he wasn’t the badass lone wolf he thought he’d been. Y/N’s interview had also opened his eyes to that.
“No, I haven’t,” he replied gruffly.
“Hmm. You should!” He stood suddenly. “Well, patrol time. See ya.” And with that he rushed out of the building, before Katsuki could harass him about what the hell that meant.
And then, almost on impulse, he opened his texts and typed out a new message for Y/N. He paused for a second to smile at the long text thread that had been going on for a while now, ever since they’d met. The last text was from Y/N and was of them taking a selfie with the online version of the published interview, Katsuki’s featured photograph visible on the screen.
Hey, wanna grab dinner sometime?
He slammed his phone back onto his desk, along with his forehead. The buzz of a notification startled him into an upright sitting position again.
Ofc ;) i’ll pick u up after ur shift we can go out for late night tacos <3
He held back a scream when he realized he’d texted Kirishima instead of Y/N.
SHITTY HAIR I SWEAR TO GOD I AM GOING TO MARCH OVER THERE AND KICK YOUR ASS WHY DIDNT YOU TELL ME THIS WAS THE WRONG NUMBER I FUCKING HATE YOU
AHAHAHAHAHAH I’M SENDING THIS TO THE GROUP CHAT WE HAVE WITH Y/N
Needless to say, Y/N did end up picking him up after his shift, and they did go out for food. And the next day, and the next.
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
SYNOPSIS — you and your ex are incapable of keeping up 'no-contact'.
INCLUDES — modern + quirkless au!, sero is a tattoo artist, y/n is a journalist, reader lowk nonchalant, smau, fluff, crack, sprinkles of angst, TINY BIT nsfw mentions but nothing crazy, written parts are around 2k.
ᡣ𐭩 •｡ main masterlist — mha masterlist ꪆৎ ˚⋅
𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐏, you were hit with the all too familiar scent of antiseptic and citrus cleaner. you mentally cursed yourself for the sigh of relief that escaped your lips when you took in the environment. a place you missed.
a playlist hummed softly in the background, another familiar thing. another thing you missed.
you clutched onto your bag a little tighter, your body growing a little stiffer, your brain split into two opposite sides at war.
this is a bad idea, y/n. you shouldn’t be here
this is a wonderful idea, y/n. the best you’ve had in ages.
“damn.” a familiar voice drawled from behind the counter. “if it isn’t my favorite bad decision.”
you stopped short, the static in your head pausing as you lifted your gaze towards the voice.
hanta sero looked exactly the same — messy hair tucked under a beanie, rings adorned on his fingers, black tank top clinging just enough to be unfair, tattoos lining his arms.
and that stupid grin on his face, the grin he wore when he thought he had you all figured out.
you sucked in a breath through closed teeth.
“what brings you to my fine establishment? here to finally get my name tatted on you?” he added, his expression akin to a cheshire cat.
you crossed your arms, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. “i’m here for work.”
“mhm. and i’m here looking devastatingly hot on company time.” he leaned on the counter, chin in palm, staring at you intently. “what’s the article about? ‘local tattoo artist still insufferable after breakup’?” he said, stretching his arms out in front of him like he could already see his picture on the paper, title brandished above it.
you huffed to feign annoyance but couldn’t stop the upward tug of your lips at his comment.
“i’m doing a piece on independent artists. i just need a quote.”
he hummed. “you could’ve texted if a quote was all you wanted.”
“i did.” you replied flatly.
he tilted his head, eyes flicking to the phone in your hand. “yeah, at two in the morning. not sure if you’re aware of text etiquette but a ‘you up?’ at an hour like that doesn’t exactly scream professional inquiry.”
your cheeks dusted with pink. “that was just —”
“cute?” he replied. “yeah.”
“hanta.” you warned, voice wavering against your will.
“y/n,” he replied back, your name rolling off his tongue — like it didn’t matter if your voice faltered, because he could say your name in a way that steadied your stuttering brain.
“take a seat.” he finished, pointing towards an empty tattoo chair as he walked over to the front door, flipping the sign to ‘CLOSED’. you quickly regained your composure as his back was turned to you.
get a hold of yourself, y/n.
as the two of you sat opposite one another, you began pulling supplies from your bag — recorder, notebook, pens — placing each item carefully on the table. hanta’s gaze never left you.
“if you want to ask something, out with it,” you said, not looking up as you arranged your things neatly and slid your bag aside. “i don’t want you asking what brand of pen i’m using while we’re on record.”
hanta smirked, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “you can still read me like a book, huh? kinda makes my heart flutter.”
you shot your head up, eyes narrowing. “keep this —”
“professional? got it, journalist. do your thing.”
you pressed record.
thirty minutes passed by in a blur of questions and answers and the sound of you scribbling in your notebook. hanta responded in true hanta fashion — too much charm, too much personality, and too many flirty remarks stitched in between solid answers.
you hated the fact that they still made your heart jump like before.
the initial nerves that had been rooted into your chest were weeded out by his laid – back tone. a wave of nostalgia washed over you, uninvited and hard to push into the back of your brain like you had done before.
late nights in your apartment surfaced in your mind, your fingers cramped over your keyboard, a looming deadline over your head, the smell of coffee turned cold drifting in the air. and through all this chaos, hanta’s calming voice cut through from the couch, reassuring you that you wouldn’t die and making sure you ate properly.
your grounding stone, keeping you from unravelling.
as the last question wrapped up, you turned off the recording device, setting it down on the table and started packing your things.
“thank you for your time, i’ll keep in touch. send a message if you need anything.” you said absentmindedly, your brain just spewing out your practiced post – interview line.
“does this mean we’re no longer doing that ‘no – contact’ thing?” he asked, leaning back on his chair with a smug grin on his face.
you looked up, your professional facade fading away as you rolled your eyes. “forget that, i said it out of habit.”
“whaaat?” he drawled out. “but what if i have questions? like if the picture you’re choosing to plaster of me is hot? or if i want to change my quote? or if i want to get a coffee with you after this?”
he watched you carefully as he spoke, eyes flicking to your face to catalogue every reaction, every small twitch in your face. it was a habit he couldn’t get rid of, a habit that made him know exactly what you wanted, exactly what you were feeling.
the last suggestion lingered in the air for a second too long.
you zipped your bag a little too forcefully. “the first two are valid,” you began, finally meeting his gaze. “but the last one isn’t in the job description.”
hanta clicked his tongue, mock – disappointed. “wow. and here i thought journalists were all about chasing a good story and a good looking man.”
you sighed at his shameless confidence, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “this isn’t a story.”
“i’ll make it into a story for you, if it means that you’ll get one coffee with me.” he stood in front of you now, the familiar scent of his cologne fogging your senses. “come on, y/n. i’m not asking for anything you don’t want to give. just coffee, in that one cafe you like, no recorders. for old time’s sake?”
you hesitated, thumb tracing the leather strap over your shoulder like it would whisper some guidance into your ear. you pursed your lips and adjusted the strap that needed no adjusting.
“one coffee,” you said finally, exhaling. “and that’s it.”
his grin returned, brighter this time. “see? i’ve still got my killer negotiation skills.” “don’t push it,” you muttered, heading out the door.
hanta followed behind, a pep in his step. “text me when you’re free, journalist, and i’ll come running.”
“keep calling me that and i’m blocking your number.”
he laughed, an annoying warmth settling in your ribs at the sound. “would you rather i called you ‘baby’ again?”
dear not my journalist,
the pain i have in my heavy heart right now is something that i’ve never experienced before. i was rushed to the hospital (ps: the medical bills aren’t looking so good), and as i laid on that sterile bed with a flimsy paper cover on it (ps: my shop’s chairs feel much better amirite or amirite) the doctor looked down at me with concern and gave his verdict after multiple blood tests and ct scans and other hospital things.
“the only way you can continue living is if y/n unblocks you” he said with remorse and my heart clenched at just the mere mention of your name!!!! pls unblock my number, i swear i’ll behave and stay on my bestest behavior!!!!!! 🥹🤞
with love,
YOUR sexy tattoo artist
and here i thought i got an important work message 😐. did you make a new email for the sole purpose of bothering me or something??? where did you even get my work email address???
dear not my journalist,
no text etiquette and no email etiquette??? where’s the proper structure?? wow…… you have a lot to learn! but you’re lucky a super smart person is at your disposal to teach you these things!!! (me)
don’t get ahead of urself 😐 i made this email to talk to my exes who want me soo bad 🔥 + you left your work card on my counter before leaving, it was so professional i almost fell for you again.
++ my emails to you technically do count as work related because yk you interviewed me and everything so what i say is very very worky and professional.
circling back to topic, pls unblock me.
with love,
YOUR sexy tattoo artist
NOTE — i hit the 30 image limit sm times i had to remove dividers 😢😢😢. ok but anywayz this was kindaa a new thing for me! i havent written about exes before and i tried to make it seem a little angsty yk like missing eo and stuff. if u guys have any constructive criticism or just wanna drool over ex! sero, feel free to comment, i love talking to you guys 🥹🤞.
++ email formatting was inspired by this by @/reignpage!!!!
au! where pro hero dynamight (aka bakugou) goes on a tv show where he can interview other pro hereos. he, of course, takes this in the least serious way possible
[the video opens with pro hero dynamight sitting in a multicolored couch, dressed in his hero outfit. ". another person comes on screen, this time a guy with ginger hair and a casual, but professional, outfit. he introduces himself as the host for today, gurimu.]
gurimu: welcome everyone to another episode of off-duty: interviewer or interviewee! [he smiles] today, we have none other than the infamous explosion king, pro hero dynamight!
[the camera transitions back to dynamight, showcasing him trying to appear amicable, give a forced wave of happiness]
gurimu: on this episode, thanks to a poll done by viewers, he'll be interviewing pro hero chargebolt! [a image overlayed shows a botched photo of chargebolt, seemingly talking to someone animatedly]
gurimu: here's dynamight [he gestures towards katsuki]! and remember, is he a better interviewer or -ee?
[a text displaying the show's title comes on screen, fading into a new setting. here, dynamight is dressed in a professional suit, accompanied by a completely white room]
[chargebolt walks on screen, sitting down on a white chair next to dynamight. he, too, is wearing a suit.]
dynamight: [changes his monotone expression to an, obviously sarcastic, smile] sit.
[chargebolt relaxes in the chair, facing dynamight with a smile.]
[katsuki abruptly pulls a long, medieval scroll from nowhere, alongside grey, square rimmed glasses which he sports instantaneously.]
dynamight: [coughs] m, m, mm.... let's see, chargebolt, was it?
[chargebolt supresses a laugh, nodding]
dynamight: [he pulls up the scroll, making a large shuffling noise.] let's see.... [he drags his finger on the hidden side of the scroll, widening his eyes after a moment] aha!
dynamight: let's play a clip of one of your more recent.. stunts, shall we?
[dynamight pulls a remote from inside the cushions of the couch, startling chargebolt. dynamight clicks the top button and starts lowering the screen. after a couple minutes, the screen fully lowers and a clip starts playing]
[it starts off blurry, but the camera slowly focusing displaying a fast-moving chargebolt zipping around a villain. towards the middle of the video, the villain leads chargebolt to a swampy area. chargebolt furrows his brows before widening his eyes—like he had an epiphany. he grabs the internet cable on the metallic phone tower and uses it like a zipline, zipping straight into the water. a crackle is heard. the end of the video is a timeskip ~30 mins, showing chargebolt on a stretcher getting wheeled into the hospital. the video ends.]
dynamight: [sighs, turning off the TV] you've done a lot stupid, reckless acts [chargebolt nods].
[chargebolt looks around, eyes panning to behind the set. a chuckle for a set worker is heard.]
chargebolt: is that it?
dynamight: [eyes widen in recognition] oh, of course not! [he wanders his scroll again, finger landing on a specific line]
dynamight: what were you thinking? [he asks, in a deadpan voice]
[chargebolt, caught offguard, laughs loudly, sinking into the couch. a voice is heard—backstage—shouting "this interview is over!"]
[the interview ends with chargebolt and dynamight wheezing into the couch, both eventually breaking character.]
