synopsis: dearest gentle reader, with a new season among us, all debutantes are excited to show the queen how polished a diamond truly is. the most sought after gentleman of the season is the duke, satoru gojo but he’s busy chasing after the viscount's sister. while she’s too obtuse to notice their dynamic, others are certainly not. jealous debutantes cross their fingers at a chance to be able to break the spell that girl has over the duke. meanwhile the viscount suguru geto, can't bear the obvious disregarding the pair does when it comes to addressing their feelings. will their bond be broken over a simple misunderstanding or due to a jealous debutante? let us see. yours truly, ch0c0m3l0n
pairing: duke!gojo x suguru’s little sister!reader
wc: 5.0k
content: fluff, angst, bridgerton!au, regency cant, angsty ending go to paht two for hurt/comfort srry (´˘ -˘ 人), mentions of side character death, slow burn, reader is as obtuse as a rock, miscommunication, childhood friendsish to lovers, gojo is canonically a rake, suguru is kind of an opp like eloise but it works out in the end pinky promise, meimei hate! we cheered, pt. 1 of 3
authors note: art by scarlettismm, divider by cakekitsune, enjoy :P
Pearls are cold to the touch, shining against your chest as your maid Nora helped you get ready to debut for the new season. Feathers adorning your head ensuring that you had no chance to slouch in this awfully tight pearlescent dress. “White suits you, does it not?” you look away from your window as Nora speaks to you, catching her gaze in the mirror. “It quite does, Thank you Nora.” To other girls this was the most anticipated day in their life aside from their wedding day. Eager to show what they can offer in exchange to be picked as the diamond, securing the best partner society has to offer.
“No matter what happens, you’ll always be the diamond in my eyes.” you smile softly at that statement. Relieved that at least one person feels that you had potential to be the season’s shining diamond. Even though you are certain this day will be just like the others because nothing about you certainly exuded “sparkling diamond” behavior. Nora followed you down the hall holding your train, stopping as you catch a short glimpse of your parents' portrait. Bowing your head before it, choosing not to linger.
It seemed as if you’re the only one in this family who didn’t ooze diamond behavior. When the famous Viscount Geto is your brother, how could you even compete? It didn’t help that your brother associated himself with the most famous entity, the Duke Gojo. Wherever Suguru went, Satoru followed. It became increasingly familiar for you to hang around the pair, not wanting to bother Satoru and Suguru. Your relationship with the pair changed when your parents died, you had no one else but your brother.
Making it increasingly complicated to not be apart from him when he was all you had. Satoru was different, his eyes swam with empathy for you and your brother the day you found out. Every time he came over he’d help cheer up Suguru but Satoru couldn’t ignore the pain in his chest knowing you were suffering in your room alone. Days and Nights had passed not going out to balls, keeping to yourself watching the seasons in your room, until it had hit winter watching snow softly hit the ground. Remembering the times your mother allowed you to play in the snow not caring if it were ladylike, wanting to see you carelessly smile as a child should.
Picking yourself up that day, finally choosing to get ready asking Nora for her help so you could watch the snowfall. What you hadn’t expected was for everyone to be outside. Everyone suddenly glaring at you as if they had seen a ghost. Bypassers commenting on how you gained weight while some saying you looked like a skeleton, shortly cursing Suguru in your head for leaving sweet treats at your door. You tried to block out the remarks, not wanting to turn such a jovial memory into one that was sour. Yet, some comments cannot be blocked out such as ones comparing you and Suguru’s complexion.
Exclaiming that if Suguru looked kept and proper then what godly creature possessed you to come out looking so unkept and deathly. The ton never thought about what trials Suguru went through before opening their mouths. The same “kept and proper” Suguru was also struggling managing Viscountly duties at the ripe age of sixteen. Comments about how your mothers genes must have not hit you yet, snickering saying how an ugly duckling could always turn into a swan one day. Eyes followed you wherever you lingered, chatter persisted all around you and before you knew it you started feeling heavy chested.
Succumbed to frustration, your feet took you home before your mind could think. Lacking all direction as you bump into another, “My goodness, watch-...” you look up, noticing Satoru’s blue eyes before anything else, eyes that widened in surprise. That day it seems as if the universe had it out for you, out of all the people to bump into, you unknowingly chose the golden boy of the ton. Satoru picked you up making sure not to tug your arm too hard before dusting any dirt off of you, “Are you okay?”. Nodding, keeping your eyes lowered on purpose not wanting him to see you in such a vulnerable state, one that was only reserved for you.
That day Satoru walked you home not a single word was uttered but he didn’t have to say anything, his energy lingered with worry. He noticed you shivering, heavy breaths being taken as your eyes slowly watered, knowing that the dam you had built was slowly about to break. As soon as the front doors to your home shut he turned to you, lifting your chin with his finger. “Are you sure you’re okay?” He muttered so softly that no echo bounced off your home's vacant walls, holding you closer than he ever has before. Quickly you broke away from his hold, your gaze lowered as you bowed “Thank you my lord.”
“Satoru, it’s, you may call me Satoru. No need for the honorifics.” Nodding as you quickly headed up to your room without looking back. The day after he came over and you couldn’t look him in the eyes, scared that you showed him a side of you that no one has ever seen. That day you were so scared of Satoru seeing you differently, that it went unnoticed how differently you viewed him now. Satoru had never been the same to you since that day, the silence that lingered between you two in the past soon turned into jests that made you roll your eyes from sheer stupidity. However knowing Satoru for as long as you did surely came with negative attributes such as him pinching your cheek, petting your head as if you were some barn animal, and hurling ridiculous one off jests.
People of the ton hated knowing how close you were to the Duke, some even jealous. If anything you found their jealousy ridiculous, if someone took the other seriously they would never dare convey such sickly juvenile emotions towards the other. “Finally she’s ready, had me thinking that you’d never make it to your own debut.”, you scoff at your brother’s words. “As if there was any way I could ever miss it.”, making sure to lace your tone with heavy sarcasm. “You look…” you stare into Satoru’s soul knowing that little lilt in his tone came with a catch.
“You look like you’re being swallowed by all those feathers atop your head.” He reaches out to touch the headpiece, quickly slapping his hand away. Rolling your eyes, “Don’t you have anywhere else to be Satoru?”. The gentleman gives you no time to breathe as he instantly pinches your cheek in retort, sticking your tongue out in response. Suguru huffs in annoyance knowing there’s no stopping you two once you get going. Choosing to leave you both in the dust as he heads toward the carriage.
“I’m going to be late if you keep pestering me.”, Satoru smirks hearing you gasp heading towards the carriage. “As if Satoru, you’re pestering me! Now if you don’t mind me I have a ball to attend.” Your coach helps you into the carriage as Nora assists your train, “See you there Miss Diamond!”. Offering him a wave before resorting into your carriage, sitting upright but still fiddling with your gloves out of nervousness. Frankly you didn’t mind getting dressed up, you weren’t one to deny the act of looking presentable and prim, what you hated was having the inevitable attention of the ton.
✧₊⁺🕯⋆.˚୨ৎ
Arriving at the Queen’s palace made you dizzy, this was one of the moments you wished your mother was still here to guide you. Certain that she would compliment you just to ease your tension identical to the time she once did when you took your first ballroom lessons. Too caught up in your own world to notice Suguru eyeing you “My bet is on Ms. Iori”, you lean in suddenly caught off guard. “Bets on what exactly?”, “Bets on who will be the diamond, of course.” your face scrunches in offence. “Why wouldn’t you bet on me to be the diamond?” Suguru smiles as if it’s the most obvious answer in the whole world.
“It wouldn't be very fair of me to bet on my own sister, would seem a bit undeserved, no?” You nudge him playfully. “You’re right. To be fair I wouldn’t bet on myself either, seems conceited.” Looking out the window to see the palace was in eyesight, thinking of who to place your bets on until your carriage abruptly halted, traffic. Just as you were going to check outside the window a certain tuft of white caught your eye. “My bets are on Ms. Mei Mei.”. You jump up in shock from Satoru’s sudden jump scare. “What is with you boys and your bets? My lord, you cannot be here!” Satoru smirks at you, surprised by the sudden honorifics.
“My lord? You know no one is here to hear the honorifics, right? People are more likely to think Suguru and I are to be betrothed than us.” Satoru shrugs his shoulders in dismissal as Suguru looks at the boy in disgust. Smacking his shoulder at his ludicrous implication “I’m not saying that! You cannot be here because..” Stumbling over your words before huffing in defeat, moving over so Satoru can sit beside you. “No need for all the arguing, all you had to do was invite me in princess.” Satoru crosses his legs while you bump his leg in retort for getting into your personal space.
“Sister, do you care to place a wager?” Suguru offers suddenly, probably not wanting you to feel left out. “What about Shoko being the diamond?” Silence fell upon the carriage, the boys responded with laughter as if it were the most absurd question they have ever heard. “Well, even though you both find it absurd, I choose to believe Shoko could be the perfect diamond! That is my bet.” Satoru’s taken aback by your sudden brazenness. “Not very ladylike of you to be placing wagers princess.” You cross your arms not caring of your posture at this very moment, more bothered by the nickname “Stop calling me that Satoru!”.
✧₊⁺🕯⋆.˚୨ৎ
The weight of being in the waiting room alone hadn’t hit you until you entered the room, Mama’s looking at you with sorrow knowing there would be no one to help you prepare. No one to touch up your hair or fix your gown, feeling defeated as you slowly back yourself into the corner wishing that Suguru was still around. Missing Mei Mei being in your field view accidentally bumping into her, she scoffed in annoyance as her expression turned pinched. Watching her expression slowly turn lax as she took in your appearance, “I didn’t know this was a masquerade ball duckling, watch where you’re going next time.”. High chinned, turning on her heels as she leaves satisfied with her tasteless insult.
Mei Mei was undeniably gorgeous yet her looks could never quite cover up the green-eyed monster of envy that travelled with her. You never let anything she did get to you knowing that she does these things out of insecurity, most girls in the ton operated that way due to high stakes. Yet the girl always found ways to torture you, a step that caused your dress to rip, a foot that caused you to trip, or a false rumor about your “faltering” status. Truth be told, she was envious of your ties to Satoru believing she was more deserving of a relationship with the handsomely wealthy Duke. Whereas the size of Satoru’s pockets never mattered to you when the amount he annoys you is triple the size of whatever he has stored away.
You waited anxiously, eager to hear your name being called, fidgeting with your pearls every now and then. All doubt vanished when the doors opened, spotting Satoru each time being impossible to miss with his tall frame. What you didn’t expect was for him to catch your glimpse every now and then, lifting his eyebrows when you were caught gazing back. Thrown off between your staring contest with Satoru realizing your name was being called behind the doors. Chest puffed out as you started to slowly walk down the aisle.
Bowing steadily making sure your head was still held at an appropriate angle while your back remained perfectly straight. Returning to your normal stance you realize the Queen’s gaze never faltered from the window, more interested in anything else than what you had to show. Thanking your grace you left swiftly to the courtyard, relishing in the breezy outside air relaxing your heavy shoulders. “The queen does love a show does she not?” Shoko says behind you, shoulders jump in surprise at her sudden comment. “When you have everything in the world, others turn into your true source of entertainment.” Nodding in agreement, she drags you further into the courtyard.
“I knew I wasn’t going to be picked as the diamond but I would have appreciated a glance or two.” Pouting remembering the Queen's face. Shoko squeezes your arm as she’s filled with cuteness aggression, plucking the feather from your head and handing it to you. “Well… here’s to not being the diamond.” Shoko lifts up her feather headpiece as if it were a fencing sword, you join her as well, cheering for an obvious expectation. “Would now be a bad time to mention that I wager you to be the diamond?” Shoko smirks at your statement. “Me? Well aren’t you sweet. However, I could tell you right now, you’re losing that bet.”, you shrug. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder Ms. Leiri.”
“Shoko, are you holding my sister captive again?” Shoko tightens her grip around your arm at your brother's question. “She was just telling me about a bet you two blockheads had, what was it about again?”, both boys look away acting clueless at any mention of a bet. Shoko rolls her eyes only to be interrupted by her mother, saying a quick bye to your group before parting. Deciding it was time to head to your carriage, you linked arms with your brother. Noticing Mei Mei chatting with Satoru, fake laughing at something he said, feeling your eyes rolling back in disgust.
Suguru softly chuckles before leaning down to whisper, “Satoru cannot tell the difference between a needle or a knife in a haystack.”. Your eyebrow raises in confusion at your brother’s statement, “To be fair Suguru, I don’t think anyone could tell the difference.”. Suguru gently nods, “One who knew there was a knife in the haystack wouldn’t dare touch it, right? However, knowing Satoru he would be the only one who’s brazen enough to take on the challenge of looking through the haystack.”. Feeling joy nip at your cheeks finally understanding what your brother is trying to say “Well, consider him lucky because that challenge dangles after him desperately.” Suguru rubs his forehead in distress, knowing only his friend is foolish enough to entangle himself with the likes of Mei Mei.
“Is it naive of me to think that maybe they were simply discussing gossip?” Suguru stills, “Do not jest.”. Hopping into the carriage waiting for your brother's full attention, “I’m not jesting, is it so bad to simply have a little bit of faith in Satoru’s character? Especially when he’s talking to someone as arrogant as Mei Mei.” Baffled at your response, your brother seems to have a look of shock on his face. ”Yes, having faith in anyone who is not yours is a dangerous entanglement. Especially when the person you put your faith into is as arrogant as the person you dislike.” You scoffed at his comparison. Sure Satoru was full of himself but the confidence the boy had was completely different from the narcissism Mei Mei displayed.
“I’d like to believe that I know Satoru better than anyone else so please try not to argue. I don’t want an argument. I want you to be aware that the Satoru in your dreams is not the Satoru in reality.” Your breath halts, confused at what your brother could be implying. “Excuse me? What do you mean by the Satoru in my dreams?”, shoulders tensing with fury. Suguru tilts his head, eyes zeroing in on you, “Don’t be foolish, you can lie to everyone in the ton but not me sister.” Head swimming in confusion feeling completely dense at what he is implying.
“You’re so called annoyance for the boy teeters on the edge of admiration.” No question mark at the end, a statement as if he didn’t need to hear your opinion to assume he was correct. Suguru was waiting for the gears to turn in your head, waiting for you to finally acknowledge the frequent jests, nicknames, and gamesome routine you two shared was not out of displeasure but out of affection. Suguru watched both of you and knew that Satoru wasn’t comfortable with just anyone like he was with you. He often wondered if the boy was being nice because you are his sister or if Satoru’s lighthearted nature came from being interested in you.
Suguru never got the verbal confirmation he wanted from you but your appearance was too heavy to deny it. Your brows furrowed in irritation, looking back on all the instances you’ve ever interacted with Satoru. The bickering slowly turned somewhat saccharine after you realized how much he was smiling during all of it. Evading your personal space not out of displeasure but out of routine. “Whatever you think brother is simply not true, I could never display such feelings for Satoru because he would never have such feelings for me. You have it wrong.”
“Would you like him to have such feelings for you?” Coughing so hard out of shock that you're afraid the corset might bust. “That is not, this” As suddenly as you open your mouth the carriage door opens “We have arrived.”. Your coach notices the tension immediately grabbing your hand as you squabble to leave. “Don’t forget about the ball later at dusk!” Suguru yells. “I cannot forget it! Even if I wanted to.” Whispering the last part under your breath.
✧₊⁺🕯⋆.˚୨ৎ
“Suguru!” Calling for your brother only to be met with a heavy silence. “Suguru! Where are you?” Resorting to your wits end, checking for him in his office. Opening the doors to see him still working while you were fully dressed for the first ball of the season. Crossing your arms, dissatisfied that he reminded you about the ball only to forget it himself. “I know what you’re thinking but I figured we would head to the ball separately, I have to catch up on some of my duties.”, sighing out of pity for how hard your brother worked while you mingled around.
“Fine, I’ll allow it. At least now I get to leave earlier while you get stuck by yourself with debutaunts.” Suguru chuckles, noting the time. “If anyone asks I’ll tell them you’re showing up fashionably late. I’m off now, I’ll be expecting you later.” Suguru nods in agreement watching you leave, Nora trailing not too far behind you. Unsuspecting of your brother's suspicious behavior, just as he suspected. Maybe if you had spared a single glance behind you, you would’ve spotted a particular gentleman getting out of his carriage.
Satoru watches as you leave, suspicious as to why Suguru called on him so unexpectedly. “Suguru, what’s the deal? I spotted your sister leaving, are you playing some sort of game with me?” Satoru notices Suguru shaking his head, “You know there’s a ball to attend right Suguru?” Suguru looks up sternly “Satoru, I have a request for you. One that is quite serious to me.” Satoru glances back and forth between Suguru and the empty spaces in his office, genuinely confused if he’s talking to him this seriously.
Satoru leans on Suguru’s desk following him as he stands, “I request you not to entangle yourself with my sister.” Satoru starts scratching at his chin, “Entangle? What exactly do you mean by that?”. Suguru stands up straight looking down on the giant man leaning on his desk. “If you have no intentions of eloping with my sister, do not give her false hope.” Satoru starts fumbling on his words knowing that Suguru’s request is out of protection but is also incredibly shallow. “Let me get this straight, I cannot be around your sister unless I have clear intentions?” Suguru nods.
“Did she make this request or are you trying to shield her?” Suguru exhales very dramatically. “Satoru, I will always protect my family. We both know about your rakeish tendencies, is it so wrong to be protective over her?” Satoru’s fists clench “Does this rule go for every man in the ton? Or is this a special rule?” Suguru’s wide stance takes over Satoru’s tense stature, leaning in. “Let me ask you this Satoru, what are your intentions with my sister?” Satoru slaps his hands down on the desk “Why don’t I talk to your sister and you’ll find out.”
“Want to duel before we go to the ball, Satoru? Rules are rules and you will never have my blessing unless I know your head is clear.” Suguru leaves the gentleman behind not caring anymore for the conversation. He knew he only had so much time to chat until he had to get ready. His point was crystal clear and now, the both of you knew exactly what it would take for you to come together. Whether you both will like the outcome was not up to him but down the line, you’ll thank him for it.
✧₊⁺🕯⋆.˚୨ৎ
Sweet melodies filled the beautiful manor as people all throughout the ton scattered around the ballroom. Dance cards had started to be filled out, drinks were passed around, and social groups had been formed. An hour had passed noting the time so you could pester your brother about how rude it was to be late. The Tsukumo's greeted you shortly asking about your brother before leaving to greet other guests. Observing who was around that you could find some interest in chatting to.
Falling short choosing to instead look around the art the Tsukumo’s had displayed. Encapsulated by how vibrant the colors were, failing to notice another girl was around you. “The skyline on this one is particularly gorgeous is it not?” Glancing over to see Utahime. “Yes, it is but I am quite interested in this one’s skyline. The cerulean blue is too beautiful to not catch one's eye.” Utahime winces while you giggle at her silly expression.
“I take it you're not a fan of cerulean blue?” she grimaces at the mention. “I don’t have a particular fondness of blue overall. It reminds me of a certain gentleman I do not take a liking to.” Filling in the blanks as to what gentleman she is regarding, your brows furrow. Never really noticing how you associated the color to Satoru. “To be fair Mr. Gojo can be a bit polarizing to some, I understand your displeasure of the association.”
“I’m Utahime Iori and you’re (y/n) Geto, correct?” nodding, surprised that she knew who you were. “All of the other debutaunts only ever really talk about suitors but you Ms. Geto are quite refreshing." Cheery at Utahime’s praise you continue to talk about the interest you shared in art. Realizing that another hour has gone by, you excuse yourself from the conversation with the girl. Insisting that you will be calling Utahime as soon as you can tomorrow to fetch you both some painting supplies, shocked that you finally made a friend not associated with your brother.
It had already been a couple of hours when you noticed Satoru and Suguru had not shown up or made their presence known. Eyes scouting around the ballroom, only to halt when you come to notice Satoru once again chatting with Mei Mei. She leans particularly close as if to whisper something into the gentleman's ear before she leaves swiftly. Your eyes were too busy to follow Mei Mei instead desperately looking around to see if anyone noticed the scandalous behavior she was exuding. Shocked that you saw Satoru’s eyes unexpectedly on you, he looks away hastily, turning around to walk the opposite way Mei Mei took.
Assessing the situation your brain told you to not follow him scared to walk in on something you’re not ready to face. Whereas your heart told you to follow him, wanting to believe he had the best intentions. Taking a glimpse around, noticing that no one was observing as you speedily ushered the route Satoru took. Catching up enough to see his silhouette but not close enough to grab his attention.
Soon he opened the door to a room, closing it discreetly. Your heart raced, never being this cunning before in your life but deciding the risk was worth the charge. Opening the door to only find an empty library, no scandalous noises, or clothing disarray. “You followed me?” hearing his voice you crumble in guilt. “You’d actually believe I’d follow her?” Having no chance to answer as Satoru’s hardened gaze took in the sight of you.
Satoru’s eyes never once left you, not bearing to look directly at him but feeling his aura exuding disappointment. Your hands were shaking, not knowing whether to feel relief or shame by what your true intentions in following him were about. “I could not live with myself knowing that, that you” Stumbling over your shaky words as your throat began to dry up. “That I would scandalize myself to Mei Mei?” Satoru finishes your sentence assuming the worst.
Brows furrowing as you completely shake your head in disagreement at the barbaric accusation. Astonished at what Satoru said, “No! That thought never crossed my mind, what makes you say that?” Satoru freezes realizing what he said in the heat of the moment “You think I don’t know about the gossip that gets spread around about me?” Rebuttiling instantly “You think that I out of everyone listen to gossip? What are you hiding, Satoru?” Satoru should’ve told you right there what Suguru had told him about making his intentions clear but his friends' words lingered in his mind.
Knowing his past, knowing that the Satoru you knew in your mind was flawed would make you seem him entirely different. Satoru took a deep breath, “You are aggravating!” The gentleman took steps toward you. “You pry, you lurk in the shadows, pretend not to care but I notice and it is maddening!” your lips tremble fearing that the person you never wanted to bother finds you abrasive. Satoru finds himself peeling back as your fragrance hits his senses taking over every ounce of sanity he had. Needing to breathe fresh air he heads towards the terrace until you intervened pulling his wrist back.
“Satoru, I could not live with myself knowing that Mei Mei took advantage of you knowing she does not have your best interest, I think it would be senseless of you to associate with her.” Satoru’s shoulders stiffen at your rapid breaths, “Personally, I think that you shouldn’t entangle yourself in my business.” Satoru thought you would let go of his wrist but was shocked when you grabbed it tighter. “What are you talking about Satoru?”, clenching your jaw in anger at his sudden withdrawal. “The interest you have in me is not one that I can give back to you, can’t you see that.”
Your heart aches in your chest finally realizing what he is verbalizing. “Satoru,” “Your Grace, you may not address me as Satoru any further." Finally letting go of his hand as if he hit the last nail on the coffin. “I think the decision is best if you were to find new suitors. They would not like you calling me by my first name.” Satoru noticed the sudden sadness that was hiding beneath your eyes. “You should be on your way now.” He pats the top of your head before feeling a sharp palm hit his left cheek. When he looks back at you all he can see is fury, “You think that after everything you can suddenly erase yourself from my life? After you're the one who irritatingly worked your way into it.”
Satoru can’t find the words currently stuck in his throat, shocked that you slapped him. “If you truly believe that Mei Mei is the one for you then so be it but don’t punish me because you’re too cowardly to communicate.” You leave the room, allowing him to ruminate on your last statement, upset at yourself for letting him see you in such immodesty. Misery surrounds you, fully aware that the person you thought you knew found your existence aggravating. Not an ounce of hurt that you were feeling translated on your face as you were walking to your carriage, not wanting to give the ton the satisfaction of gossip they were feeding for.
Your body freezes from the chill hitting you, watching as your coach pulls up offering to help you in. Not caring to say goodbye to anyone, just wanting to get home to your room as soon as possible. Staring out the window picturing Mei Mei laughing with Satoru, not knowing if he even cared about your presence not being present. Nauseous knowing that Mei Mei, the green eyed monster of the ton would get to see the loving gentler side of Satoru, when all her desires were sinful. Suguru was right, the feelings you had for the gentleman were out of affection.
You were obtuse to have not realized it sooner. Maybe if you had, this predicament would’ve been less likely. Now all you're left with was a broken heart, a heart that severed a connection that was never truly yours in the first place.
reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! ( ˘ ³˘)♥︎
nerdjo, who’d always be soso nervous about physical touch and kisses no matter how many times you peppered his face in them or cuddled together.
nerdjo, who loves the nights you stay over in his dorm because he got to watch admire you getting unready, sleep and wake up in the most adorable way. (in his eyes at least)
nerdjo, who gets super excited anytime you two go out together, feeling like a true boyfriend when he holds the door open for you or insists on paying the bill.
nerdjo, who shows you off in any way he can. wallpaper? you two in a photo booth. profile picture? you kissing his cheek. wallet? a picture of you in his digimon shirt.
nerdjo, who prays to whatever power rules over the universe that he’s doing this whole relationship at least decently right, too embarrassed to ask any of his friends for advice.
nerdjo, who absolutely dreads the week you get your period, overwhelmed whit what he should do, how he could help because god help him, he has no clue whatsoever.
nerdjo, who feels like the biggest idiot, beating himself up that he knew all those incredibly hard formulas but not what kind of pads his girl needs as he stands in the feminine hygiene aisle.
nerdjo, who literally read a whole book and watched a dozen videos on menstrual cycles that night.
nerdjo, who needs you smiling and happy at all times, making sure you had everything you possibly needed whenever you wanted.
nerdjo, who’s phone must be on dnd when studying, it’s really that serious, yet changed his settings so that ‘my lovely lady’ ‘s notifications were allowed.
nerdjo, who tries so hard to get it all right each time you two try something new and is all the more grateful for your reassurance the times it doesn’t go as planned.
nerdjo, who enjoys having little things of you around. the ribbon from your birthday present to him on his nightstand. your deodorant in his bathroom shelf. your panties under his pillow.
nerdjo, who cherishes everything about you. every single thing you do is sacred in his eyes, he quite literally feels like he’s in the presence of an angel.
nerdjo, who’s biggest nightmare is waking up without you by his side. without you in his life. but is reminded everyday that he doesn’t need to fear such a thing happening at all.
After all, he already knew how beautiful you were. And kind. And smart. And– wait, what was he thinking about again?
Oh yeah – Choso already knew you were perfect, but he wasn't quite aware you were also a witch.
Because sorcery was the only way to describe what happened that one day he laid his head on your thigh, and you brought your finger tips to his scalp; absentmindedly pulling the dark strands gently and releasing again, only to pick up more of his dark hair between your skilled fingers, in a motion so soothing he was practically drifting off within seconds.
"Baby" he hummed, sinking into you and enjoying the caresses like he had been a dog in another lifetime. "That's really nice"
You smiled, clearly aware of your prowess. Why had you been hiding your talents this long?! Choso hoped his delighted hums and ecstatic sighs wouldn't distract you from the book you were reading, but he couldn't help it when it felt this good.
You kept the motion going, helping him relax with every stroke as he brought his hands to wrap around your leg. His head was surely growing heavier and heavier on your thigh, but he couldn't help it. Choso was in heaven – and you seemed completely oblivious to it, lazily threading your hands through his hair while still completely engrossed in your reading.
What thoughts were going through his head? Well, there weren't many – Choso had practically reached nirvana, but if he could think… he would be questioning how the hell did he get this lucky.
Your boyfriend wasn't used to just relaxing. And for someone who was constantly so worried about everyone else, always thinking about the best way to support the ones he loved... to have his mind blank like that felt almost like magic.
So naturally his eyes were almost rolling back, feeling more relaxed than he ever had. "You're so good at that" he mumbled, but you didn't really listen.
And then you moved your hand from his scalp to rub small circles on his temples, then pressing right on top of the dark mark on his nose, then up to his forehead, gently caressing and carefully stretching the skin and making him see stars with every brush of your fingers.
"Ahhh yes–" he mumbled, eyes closed, completely at your mercy. "Just like that"
Choso woke up hours later, head still on your thigh, and the way you laughed down at him indicated he had probably been out for a while. "Good morning" you teased, brushing some of his messy hair away from his relaxed face.
"How–" Choso tried to lift himself up, but his body was still heavy from the best nap he had had in his whole life. "How did you do that?" he squinted at you, unsure if he should be scared or asking for your hand in marriage right this second.
You just chuckled, bringing your hand to his head and pulling him back down to his favourite pillow – your lap.
Choso didn't fight it.
This was witchcraft, it had to be – but damn if he wasn't more relaxed than he ever thought possible.
cafuné m (plural cafunés) (Brasil) the act of lovingly caressing someone's head
srry for the delay of purple rain, thank you for the support on it so far!! here's a sneaky sneaky peak of part 2 fyi it is not edited!! marquess! sukuna enters the chat mwahahaha!! look out for it soon pls!!
the words are murmured against the corner of his mouth between soft, smacking kisses. choso is frozen beneath you, his back pressed into the plush cushions of the couch, your weight settled comfortably in his lap. his hands hover awkwardly at your hips, as if he can’t decide whether to hold on or push you away for decency’s sake.
“mmwah!” another kiss, this one planted firmly on his cheekbone, leaving a perfect, cherry-red imprint of your lips. “such a sweet boy.”
a full-body shudder runs through him. “p-please,” he stammers, his voice a low, flustered rumble. he turns his face away, but you simply follow, peppering kisses along his sharp jawline. each press of your lips leaves another little mark, a blooming garden of lipstick stains across his pale skin.
“look at you,” you coo, pulling back just enough to admire your handiwork. his face is a mess of red smudges—on his high cheekbones, the bridge of his nose, even a faint one near his eyebrow. his dark eyes are wide, pupils blown, and his usually stern mouth is slightly parted in stunned disbelief. “all marked up. my pretty boy.”
“i am not… m'not pretty,” he manages to protest, but it’s weak, crumbling under the warmth of your affection. one of his hovering hands finally settles on your waist, fingers flexing tentatively against the fabric of your shirt.
“you are,” you insist, leaning in to brush your nose against his. “you’re my sweet, pretty choso.” you seal the declaration with a softer, slower kiss directly on his lips, feeling them tremble beneath yours.
when you pull away, he lets out a shaky breath he seems to have been holding forever. a deep, crimson blush has spread from his neck all the way to the tips of his ears, rivaling the color of the lipstick. he looks utterly disarmed, conquered not by force but by a relentless barrage of tenderness.
he slowly, hesitantly, brings a hand up to touch his cheek, his fingers coming away faintly stained. he stares at the pink smudge on his fingertips, then back at you, his expression one of pure, overwhelmed wonder.
then, something in him seems to soften completely, like a taut wire finally snapping into a gentle coil. a small, almost imperceptible smile touches his lips—a rare, unguarded thing that makes your heart squeeze. his arms, which had been hovering in uncertainty, wrap around you fully, pulling you tight against his chest in a firm, secure hug. he buries his face in the crook of your neck with a deep, shuddering sigh that sounds like relief.
you melt into him, nuzzling against his hair, placing another soft kiss on his temple. “i love you,” you murmur, because you can’t help it.
he grumbles, the sound vibrating through his chest and into yours. “there's so much lipstick. everywhere.” but he doesn’t let go. if anything, he holds you tighter, his large hands splayed across your back. “on my face. on my collar. it won't come out.”
“good!” you tease, leaning back just enough to pepper a dozen more quick, smacking kisses all over his forehead and cheeks. mwah, mwah, mwah! each one leaves a fresh, bright mark. “i want everyone to see. i want them to know my prettyyyyy choso is taken care of.”
“you're ridiculous,” he mutters, but he’s turning his face into your kisses now, not away. his eyes are closed, long dark lashes fanning over the blush on his cheeks. he endures the affectionate assault with a put-upon sigh that’s entirely fake, betrayed by the way his fingers trace idle, soothing circles on your spine.
you finally settle, just holding him, your lips resting against the shell of his ear. he’s warm and solid, and his heartbeat is a steady, comforting rhythm under your palm.
“you are such a menace,” he says after a long moment of quiet, his voice a low rumble.
“your menace,” you correct softly.
another grumble. but then, so quietly you almost miss it: “…yes. mine.”
when dadkuna gets the call that his son’s suspended for fighting at school
the call hits at 3:17 pm. the school number on the cracked screen of your phone. you swipe to answer before it can ring twice.
“hello?"
“mrs. ryomen? we need either you or your husband to come down to the office. your son was involved in a physical altercation. he’s suspended for three days pending further review. he’s waiting here now.”
you press two fingers to the bridge of your nose, already feeling the headache bloom. “wha—okay. we’ll be there in twenty.”
sukuna’s in the garage, hunched over the old harley he’s been rebuilding for months. black tank clinging to his back from the heat, grease streaked across his forearms where his tattoos peek out. he doesn’t look up when you step into the open bay.
“hey kuna?” you softly call, “school called.”
he keeps wiping the carburetor with a shop rag. “what now.”
“he got into a fight and they’re suspending him. we have to go pick him up.”
the rag stops mid-motion. his jaw flexes once, visible even from the side. “he start it?”
“they didn’t say over the phone.”
“figures.” he tosses the rag onto the cluttered workbench. his tools scattered, half-empty beer can sweating beside a crumpled pack of cigarettes. “let’s go.”
the drive is quiet except for the sound of the truck and sukuna's knuckles white on the wheel. you know better than to fill the silence with platitudes. he hates that shit.
ren, your son, is slouched in one of the orange plastic chairs bolted to the wall outside the principal’s door. his split lip already swelling, fresh bruise blooming purple under his left eye, knuckles split and crusted. blood’s dried in a thin line down the front of his gray hoodie. he looks up when the door swings open, meets sukuna’s stare straight on. no ounce of apology in his eyes. just the same stubborn set to his mouth you’ve seen a thousand times in the mirror.
he was looking exactly like sukuna at that age in the old photos you've seen.
not only does he look like his dad, he for sure got his temper too.
"you better have a damn good reason." sukuna stops in the doorway, boots planted. “what the fuck happened.”
“some kid wouldn’t shut up about mom,” ren says, “said shit i wasn’t about to let stand, so i handled it.”
ahhh fortunately for him, that's enough of an excuse to sukuna.
you feel sukuna’s temper rise and you just sigh knowing he’ll most likely tolerate this behavior again. you move first, moving pass them into the principal’s office ready to get this over with so you can have a talk with your son properly.
the principal’s a nervous-looking guy in a polyester suit two sizes too big. he looks ridiculous, you and sukuna once had a good laugh talking about him. he stands when you enter. sukuna follows, shoulders filling the narrow doorway. he doesn’t sit. just crosses his arms and leans against the wall, tattoos catching the harsh overhead light.
he clears his throat twice. “mr. and mrs. ryomen. thank you for coming so quickly.”
sukuna stays silent as the principal fidgets with a pen.
“your son initiated the physical contact,” he starts. “the other student sustained a mild concussion. we’re recommending–”
“he said something about my wife,” sukuna interrupts. "that true or what?"
the principal lets out a nervous chuckle. “be that as it may, we maintain a zero-tolerance policy toward violence–”
sukuna’s voice cuts in again, “say that part again. what exactly did the other kid say about her?”
the room goes still, you don’t know whether to feel embarrassed or proud that both your husband and son are standing up for you like this. ren shifts his weight, sneakers squeaking on the linoleum.
“called her a gold digger,” ren says. “said she only married you for the cash and that you’re just some ex-con tattoo artist who knocked her up... that pissed me off."
sukuna’s gaze flicks to you for half a heartbeat. you shake your head the smallest amount—no. he exhales loudly, the frustration in him growing more.
“so my kid put his hands on a loudmouth who was talking shit about his mother,” sukuna says. “and you’re punishing him for it.”
“school policy is clear—”
“your policy’s obviously shit.” sukuna pushes off the wall. “you let these kids talk whatever trash they want all day, but the minute someone actually responds, you clutch your pearls?”
“mr. ryomen, i’m going to have to ask you to—”
you can't stand this.
“me and my husband understand the suspension. we’ll take him home. do we need to sign anything?”
the principal hesitates, then slides the forms across the desk. you sign quick while sukuna keeps staring at the motivational poster on the wall like he’s imagining putting a fist through it.
the parking lot’s baking under the late-afternoon sun, shadows stretch long and jagged from the chain-link fence and the row of staff cars, a couple seagulls wheel overhead, crying once before banking toward the football field. the truck chirps twice when sukuna thumbs the fob, the doors unlock with that familiar pop.
sukuna's ready to hear whatever lecture you have to give this time.
“backseat, ren,” you say flatly.
he doesn’t argue. he ducks his head and slides into the back without a sound. the leather creaks under your guys weight as sukuna fires the engine.
“you don’t get to decide what’s worth fighting over at school,” you start. “i don’t care what he said about me. you don’t put your hands on someone because words hurt your feelings. that’s not how this works.”
ren stares down at the rubber floor mat.
“you’re grounded. two weeks. no phone, no going out, no friends over. you come straight home after school when the suspension’s up. you do your work, you help around the house, and you think about why throwing punches isn’t a solution. clear?”
ren nods once, slow. “yeah.”
“say it.”
he lifts his eyes just enough to meet yours in the rearview. “it’s clear. i’m grounded two weeks. no phone, no nothing.”
you hold his gaze another second, then turn back forward. “good.”
the rest of the drive unspools in thick silence. traffic thins as you leave the school zone, the sun dipping low enough that the dashboard glows faintly orange. you keep your eyes on the road, fingers laced loosely in your lap, while sukuna’s grip on the wheel stays steady but no longer bone-white.
when the truck finally rolls into the driveway, sukuna kills the engine with a twist of the key. the sudden quiet is awkward.
you unbuckle first, turning halfway in your seat. “i’m starting dinner. kuna,” you pause facing your husband, “talk to him.”
sukuna exhales through his nose when you enter the house. he reaches over and twists the key back just enough to kill the accessory power, plunging the cabin into near-darkness except for the faint streetlight spilling through the windshield.
ren’s voice comes out low, a little nervous now that it's just his dad with him, “you mad at me?”
sukuna laughs in response. “mad?” he echoes. “nah, not mad. you did what you had to do.”
"wait really??"
“kid talked shit about your mom,” sukuna continues, “you handled it. part of me gets that—hell, most of me does. but your mother just laid it out plain, she's right, you don’t swing first at school. not because defending family is wrong. because getting caught makes it useless. next time you decide something’s worth handling, make sure no one sees. or better yet, walk away and deal with it where cameras don’t reach and mouths don’t run to teachers.”
ren nods slowly, throat working like he’s swallowing everything he wants to say. “she’s pissed.”
“she’s pissed because she doesn’t want you turning into me at sixteen.” sukuna finally flicks his eyes to the rearview mirror, meeting ren’s gaze head-on. “look just take the grounding, do the time, don’t argue with her. she’ll cool off faster that way.”
ren rubs his jaw, careful around the swelling bruise. “yeah… okay. i get it, thanks dad.”
sukuna pops his door open, the dome light flooding the cab with weak yellow. “come on. go help her with whatever she’s doing in there and ice that face before it swells completely shut.”
ren climbs out first, shoulders hunched a little like the weight of the day is still sitting on them. sukuna follows a second later, pocketing the keys as he exhales once more.
later that night when the house quiets down, ren’s already shut himself in his room, lights off early for once.
you and sukuna are both in bed too.
sukuna’s sprawled face-down on the mattress, shirt gone, the wide map of his back exposed.
he groans low when you climb onto the bed behind him, knees bracketing his hips. your hands settle between his shoulder blades first, thumbs digging slow circles into the knots that live there permanently.
“fuck—right there,” he mutters into the pillow.
massaging him is one of the routines you guys do before sleeping, sukuna claims it completes his day no matter how shitty it went.
you keep the pressure steady, working down the length of his spine. the room smells faintly of his soap and the arnica gel you rubbed into ren’s face earlier.
after a minute you lean forward, hair brushing his shoulder.
“sooo you two talk in the truck?”
“yeah.”
your palms slide up to his traps, kneading deeper. “and???”
“told him he did good putting the kid in his place.” sukuna shifts his head to the side so he can talk properly. “but that he can’t be dumb about it next time. school cameras, witnesses, snitches—whole system’s built to catch the guy who actually swings. told him if he’s gonna handle shit, handle it clean. or don’t handle it at all.”
you pause for half a second, glaring at him. “so you basically told him it’s fine to fight… just don’t get caught.”
he snorts. “i told him reality ain’t the same as the lecture you gave. sweetheart, you want him safe and i want him smart. both can be true.”
your hands start moving again, tracing the ridges of muscle along his ribs. “you’re enabling him.”
“i’m not telling him to start fights.” sukuna turns his head the other way, cheek pressed flat to the pillow so he can see you out of the corner of his eye. “i’m telling him the world doesn’t run on zero-tolerance posters. kid talks about you like that again? someone’s gonna feel it. might as well be someone who knows how to throw properly. i just don’t want him suspended every other week or expelled before he graduates.”
you press your thumbs into the base of his skull, he hisses softly, sounding pleased.
“he looks so much like you in those old pictures now,” you say quieter.
“he’s got your eyes though. softer when he’s not pissed. he’ll figure it out.”
you lean down, lips touching the warm skin behind his ear. “you really not mad at him?”
“nah.” his voice drops lower. “‘m feeling proud. some punk runs his mouth about my wife and my kid lays him out without blinking? that’s blood. that’s mine.” he exhales again. “but i hate seeing his face fucked up. hate even more that he’s gonna carry my reputation around like a target. they already look at him sideways because of me.”
your hands slide down his arms now, working the tension out of his forearms, the same ones that were covered in grease earlier. “he’s not you at sixteen. he’s got us. both of us.”
sukuna turns over suddenly. quick enough that you have to brace on his chest to keep balance. he catches your wrists and tugs you down until you’re half sprawled across him. his eyes flick over your face, looking tired.
“c’mere,” he mutters, already reaching. "didn't i just get lucky?"
his hand slides to the back of your neck, fingers curling into your hair just enough to guide you down. he pulls you in like it’s the most natural thing after a day like this.
the kiss lands soft, lips pressing slow against yours. you taste the faint mint from the gum he was chewing earlier, mixed with whatever’s left of the day on his breath. his other arm loops around your lower back, palm flat and heavy, dragging you closer until there’s no space left.
your chest against his, heartbeat thumping steady under your hand.
he angles his head to deepen the kiss. tongue brushes yours lazily like he’s savoring it, you feel his fingers tighten slightly in your hair before loosening again.
you pull back after a minute, just enough to breathe. noses still touching, foreheads pressed.
he doesn’t open his eyes right away. just stays close, breathing you in.
“better?” you whisper.
“mm yeah.”
his thumb strokes along your jaw then he leans up and kisses you again. it's shorter this time like he’s saying shut up and stay here. lips linger a second longer before he drops his head back to the pillow with a tired exhale.
arms stay wrapped around you, one hand settling low on your back, the other still loosely in your hair.
“stop thinking about it, kay? he’ll be alright,” he says eventually. “yer a great mom and 'm trying not to screw up too. he got time to fuck up and figure it out. more than i ever did.”
A/N: genuinely. what is this. art by _avecot on x. also vote
Synopsis: the party was supposed to be wild and crazy, so you could let loose and have fun, but it wasn't supposed to be so wild and crazy that you don't even remember what happened last Friday night. and definitely not so wild and crazy that you wake up a) with a killer headache, b) in someone else's bed, and c) cuffed to twins?!
now the three of you have to go on a wild goose chase for the person who did this, whilst fighting the insane sexual chemistry vibrating between you and the twins.
what could go wrong?
Warnings: porn with a side of plot, nerdjo and fratjo twins au - twincest (I don't view it as such and that's certainly not what this contains in my opinion but just as a warning so the puritans can back off), threesome/sharing reader, exhibitionism, voyeurism, hidden sex, the twins are annoying af and have asshole tendencies, both are pierced in different ways, college au/non curse au, too much dirty talk, unprotected sex because it's fiction and it's hot, spit roasting, thigh humping, zipper humping, thigh job, spitting, brief rimming, deepthroating, cunnilingus, pervy behaviour, a little masochism and sadism, choking?/asphyxiation, fanart by @smokeigheh on Insta, not proofread - please let me know if you spot typos or inconsistencies (this is too long for me to care about proofreading)
Word Count: 14k
“Hey, Sato?”
“Hmm?”
“Am I still dreaming or is there a girl’s ass pressed to my woody?”
“Unless we’re sharing the same dream, I’m ninety-nine percent sure it’s not one — she’s drooling on my chest.”
“Is she hot?”
“Don’t be a creep…”
A pregnant pause passes, then he adds, “Yeah.”
“Nice.”
Groaning, your bleary eyes open. Your head is swimming. The pain is dull but powerful, as though hidden behind a layer, angry and wanting to be let out. Bright light through a window almost blinds you. You groan again, burying your head in a hard wall.
Huh?
Your eyes shoot open. You’re laying on someone’s chest. You look up. Dazzling blue eyes stare down at you through a pair of glasses, a brow cocked up. Then you feel it — something hot and heavy slotted between your asscheeks, and a hand gripping your hip.
With a scream, you jolt up, scrambling to get off the bed, only to fall right back onto the mattress when resistance meets your arms.
Two faces fill your vision from above.
Same dazzling blue eyes.
One smirking.
One not.
Both near-mirror copies of the other.
You scream again.
They wince.
“C-clones! You’re clones! Oh my god, please don’t probe me.”
The one on your left laughs so loudly it becomes your turn to wince. “Dude! She thinks we’re aliens!”
The other sighs and adjusts his glasses. “We’re not aliens. We’re twins. Monozygotic. Monoamniotic-Monoamniotic, to be exact.”
Lightly shoving the other by the shoulder, one of them says, “Jeez, don’t get all sciency around a chick. Just say ‘MoMo’, like I’ve been saying.” He turns to you, smiling. “We’re identical twins — I’m Toru, a Marketing student, and this ugly freak is Sato. Engineering. We’re both third years. And you are?”
Why are they acting so casual?
They’re in bed with a complete stranger, who could be a serial killer, and yet they’re introducing themselves to you like nothing’s remotely odd about the situation. Or maybe you’re in bed with serial killers. Hot serial killers, but that’s how they get you.
Unnerved by their matching stares, you stammer out your name, followed by a, “I’m an Anthropology student. Second year. It’s a pleasure to meet you?”
The sentence comes out less a statement and more a question, and you grimace at your unsocial self.
Toru leans forward, grinning. “You’re so polite. How adorable. Makes me wanna just gobble you up.” He mimics the actions of munching on your face, nom noming.
His twin sighs again and lifts his hand up. Yours is brought up with it. All of you eye the thing that clanks and jingles with the movement. Sato drawls, “Instead of flirting with her, why don’t we address the elephant in the room — why the hell are we cuffed together and in his bed?”
That’s when you finally realise you’re not in your own dorm. The room’s much bigger, much more lived in and homely. Heck, the bed itself is bigger than the stiff single that the school provides everyone. Comfier, too. And with someone’s abs plastered all over the covers.
Posters of sporting legends litter the walls, as do posters of rock bands and carelessly stuck on polaroids of one of the twins, or both of them, or people you can only assume to be their friends.
It even smells differently here than in your room; whilst yours smells of academic pressures and manically drunk coffee, this one smells of leftover thrill and aftershave. Clothes litter the floor, bordered by empty beer cans, and a pair of red lacey panties in the corner.
Toru follows your eyes to it, and then hastily clarifies, “It’s not mine — I don’t crossdress or anything.”
Sato rolls his eyes, and snarks, “She knows that, idiot. She’s thinking what a pigsty your room is.” Glancing at you, he adds, “My dumbass brother’s incapable of cleaning up after himself. Judge him freely, he deserves it.”
Ignoring both of them, you lift your arms up, struggling with the new weight and gawk at the pink fuzzy cuffs adorning your wrists. Slowly, you say, “What…the…actual…fuck?”
You’re handcuffed to two strangers.
Two hot strangers who keep women’s underwear in their rooms.
Frantically, you glance down at yourself and release a relieved breath when you confirm that you’re fully dressed in what you remember coming to the party in the first place: a short skirt you borrowed from a friend, a nice top, and beat up Converse that you wouldn’t mind getting beer spilled on. Your phone’s in your skirt pocket, along with your keycard. So all the valuables you brought to your friend’s apartment are still with you. Nothing feels out of place, which you thank god profusely for.
But what happened after the round of pres at your friend?
“I don’t remember a single thing that happened last night,” you voice aloud, frowning. “I don’t remember why we’re cuffed together, or who you two are to me.”
Not a single thing comes to mind — what you drank, who you spoke to, how much you drank, if you did anything crazy, if you lost some kind of dare and had to face punishment by being bound to two guys, and where your friends are.
Sato knits his brows together. “Neither. I only remember helping set up.”
“I don’t remember anything either,” his brother says, attempting to scratch the back of his head with the hand that’s connected to yours, laughing at himself, then finally using his free hand. He shrugs. “But then again, that’s not unusual for me. The best parties are the ones you don’t remember.”
You want to question how that could be possible, but you keep your mouth shut.
“Anyone feel a key on them?” one of the twins asks, inspecting the holes of the cuffs that bind you to him. He looks displeased at the fuzziness of the thing. Your hand hangs limply in the air.
All three of you look, lifting covers, checking inside your clothes, on the desk, under pillows, and nothing.
“Nope!”
“No.”
“I don’t see anything.”
Your heart begins to race, reality sinking in hard and fast and intensifying your headache. “We’re done for. We’re stuck like this forever. We’re going to die like this!”
“Calm down,” Sato deadpans, totally judging you based on how he fights the urge to look you over the rim of his glasses. “We’re not going to die. We just need to figure out who did it to us, where they are, and if they have the key — worse comes to worse, we don’t find them or they don’t have the key, we can just go to the fire station and ask them to cut us out.”
Toru whoops in the hair and ruffles his brother’s hair. The brother in question scowls and shoves the hand away. “Nice one, big bro. Didn’t even think of that; I was on the ‘we’re doomed’ boat.”
That makes sense.
Yeah, there’s no need to panic.
Except, there’s a major issue.
“Guys,” you start, lip trembling, “...I really need to pee.”
The two of them look at each other, then at you, then at the door, then back at each other.
“C-can you hold it?” Toru asks, sounding more frightened about the idea than you.
You shake your head, legs crossed.
And that’s how you find yourself sitting on the toilet in his en-suite bathroom, flanked by two guys, who at least have the decency to look away. One of them whistles awkwardly, and the other taps on his phone.
This is a nightmare. You don’t want to be pissing with an audience, especially not this close. It’s way too embarrassing.
Sato clicks his tongue, pink tinting the tips of his ears. “Why aren’t you going?”
“‘cause it’s weird,” you mutter, shuffling on the seat. The toilet’s kept pretty clean. It looks practically unused, which just makes you feel worse about defiling it.
“You having performance anxiety, Second year?” Toru teases, rocking on the balls of his feet.
He doesn’t need to sound so amused by the idea, you dryly think. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you grumble, “Anyone would if they were in my position.”
“I wouldn’t,” Toru chirps, swinging the hands you two are joint at back and forth absentmindedly. “Hell, I’ll pee between your legs right now to prove it. I’ve got pretty good aim.”
“Please don’t.”
God, this is the most shameful thing that’s ever happened to you. What did you do to deserve this?
Left with no choice, you let the stream go and grit your teeth.
One of them hums approvingly. “Solid stream — bitches with good pussy piss loud as fuck, and it do be sounding like you’re frying chicken.”
Your jaw drops. Aghast, you shake your wrist and smack his own hand against his leg. “Can you not comment on my pee, Toru?”
His twin smacks him upside the head. “Don’t call women bitches.”
He groans. “Does no one get the reference? Ugh, whatever. Just hurry up and wipe. I need to pee too.”
“Oh no.”
Both of your hands are connected to theirs… One of them’s going to have to get between your legs. When you look up at their suddenly stiff backs, you know they realised it too.
Toru whistles low. “Who’s it gonna be, Second Year?”
“Why do I have to choose?” you ask, though you already know the answer. They’re basically asking you who you’re more comfortable with, and oddly, you don’t want to offend either of them. Is this your Sophie’s Choice?
Sato continues tapping away on his phone one-handedly. “Either one of us is fine to do it. It all depends on who you’d prefer — it’s not like we’re actually wiping for you.”
If you really had to choose, then…
Wriggling a specific hand, you shamefully mutter, “Can you do it with me?”
He sighs, and slacks his arm so you can pull your hand towards yourself. The twin has to bend down at the knee slightly, still looking away. He adjusts his glasses and clears his throat.
Through the whole thing, you’re cringing, cheeks flushed, and wanting the world to open up and consume you whole. Can this morning get worse?
“Done,” you mumble, making sure no one’s looking at you. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” Sato mutters.
On the other side, Toru grumbles so depressedly you can practically see a raincloud storming over his head, “Why didn’t you choose me? I’d be a good pussy wiper.”
More rises to your cheeks. You hurriedly pull your pants back up and flush. “No one was asking to wipe anyone’s…ahem. And the fact that you’re so eager is kinda the reason why I didn’t choose you.”
Toru raises his hands, and one of yours, in surrender.
After you, they both take turns peeing. You look away, shutting your eyes tight for good measure. You even hum under your breath to distract from the sounds. Sato, you notice, clears his throat before he goes, whereas Toru mumbles some song lyrics. It sounds like Up by Cardi B.
You hate that you’re hyper aware of every shuffle, every brush against you, every time their knuckles graze yours, and each breath they take.
The twins are hot.
Have you said that already?
Because they are.
Maybe if they were uglier, more normal looking, you wouldn’t be so on edge.
And you know it’s wrong to think like that about strangers, but they are hot. Stupidly so.
They’re the same height, with sharp jawlines and identical signet rings glinting on their pinkies. They’re definitely identical twins, but they look so different from each other, that with or without the glasses, you’d know who was who. Anyone would.
Toru wears a white T-shirt with an arrow pointing upward and downwards ,and the words “Best Seats in the House” printed beneath it, whilst Sato has on glasses and a blue T-shirt layered over a grey long-sleeve, the front patterned with chemical symbols spelling out MoAN.
Toru is broader, his biceps visibly defined beneath the cotton, muscle pressing against the sleeves. The underside of his hair at the back is buzzed. He has a brow piercing. Sato, by contrast, is leaner, his frame slimmer and his hair longer and more shaggy. He’s still quite muscular in comparison to the Engineering students you’ve seen, which isn’t a fair comparison because most of the STEM guys you’ve met look like the stereotype. No offence to them.
Toru wears ripped light wash jeans that hang low on his hips, revealing a Calvin Klein band, and Sato’s the same except his are darker blue. Both jeans hug their asses perf—
No, bad.
Stop noticing things about them.
After you get out of the cuffs, you’re never going to see them again, and it’ll be like this never happened. Don’t get attached. Don’t get too involved. Find the keys and skedaddle!
The three of you wash your hands, taking turns to brush your teeth and wash your face, all awkwardly trying to shuffle with each other. It’s clumsy at first but you do eventually get a rhythm going.
Eventually, you walk back out into the messy room, fresher and cleaner.
“We need to figure out what happened,” Sato states, brows furrowed. “If we got cuffed together during last night’s party, there’s a chance the key’s hanging around the frat house. We should look for it, jog our memories and retrace our steps.”
Toru scratches his stomach, revealing a flash of a white happy trail. His brother catches you looking. He cocks a brow. You snatch your gaze away. Toru says, “We won’t need to do all that — I think I know who did this to us.”
“Who?” you ask, louder than you intended.
He answers, grimacing, “A friend of ours. Sukuna. Well, friend’s a loose term. We’re frenemies, I guess. He’s funny, but he’s not the nicest guy around.”
It’s a vaguely familiar name, but you know you’ve never met a Sukuna before. By the sound of Sato cursing, you get the impression that it’s not the name of a man who you’d be happy to find out has cuffed you to a stranger. And that makes you all the more desperate to get out of the way of whatever rivalry they have going on.
“It’s a prank he likes to pull. He did it to Choso and a lamppost because the guy was giving family weed away for free to some girl, and that’s his literal cousin,” Toru explains. “If we gotta look anywhere, I think we should look at him.”
Smiling, you say, “That’s great! We have a solid plan.”
Sato glances down at you, not looking anywhere near as happy. Adjusting his glasses, he warns, “Sukuna’s an asshole. He’s not gonna be easy to get a hold of. Not to mention, if he did this to us, he must think we’ve done something wrong in his eyes, so he’ll be extra annoying.”
Much more cheerful in comparison, Toru throws an arm around his twin. “Now now, big bro. That’s not the spirit.”
They both look at you; one with a wide grin and the other with a deadpan expression.
“We’ve got an adventure to go on — let’s have some fun.”
.
.
.
“Wait, you’re members of a frat?” you ask, marvelling at the two of them.
What they’d said earlier only registered now, as you’re walking through campus, and now that you think about it, it explains why Toru has a room in the frat house in the first place.
Campus isn’t as busy as it usually is on the weekdays, which is good because it minimises the number of gawking you’re getting. Guess seeing three people cuffed together isn’t a very common occurrence, even in university.
The three of you had decided to track down this Sukuna. Sato looked up something online and informed you that the wanted man’s a hockey player, and the team has practice right now, in preparation for tonight’s game. So you raced out of the thoroughly trashed frat house as soon as you could, wanting to make sure you could catch him, corner him, shake the key out of him all before noon. And before his whereabouts become unknown.
Toru shakes his head, and ruffles your hair. He’s quickly gotten quite familiar with you, not that you mind. “Nah, little lady. Only I am. Frat prez, actually,” he says, nodding proudly. “My brother here just comes along ‘cause he’s a party animal.”
Sato fixes him with a blank look. “I’m not a party animal. I attend these things because someone has to keep you out of trouble.”
Mischievously, Toru leans down to whisper in your ear, “He’s lying; he’s worse than me.” Then, he thinks for a second. “You’re not a frequent party goer, are you? I would have definitely seen you around before if you were.”
“No,” you admit. “I’m not a party person. I just went last night because my friends insisted I go to at least one party this year, and after this, I don’t think I’ll be going to another one any time soon.”
Cuffs aside, the hangover you have is no joke and it’s enough to put you off partying forever.
Toru petulantly whines. “No way! Don’t let this one weird experience give you a bad impression — my parties are legendary. You have to come again. I insist; I want to see you all drunk and stupid, and remember it.”
“Don’t peer pressure her,” Sato scolds before addressing you. “You should come over though. Party or no party. We’d definitely like to see you more. We can show you a good time.”
Their joint invite has your cheeks heating up. They just met you and they’ve already decided you were someone they’d want to hang out with again, and yeah, maybe they were just being nice, but it still had you all flustered. Especially because there seemed to be some hidden layer to the words ‘good time’; both of their eyes twinkled.
Or maybe you imagined it.
On the way, about a thousand people stop to say hi to both Toru and Sato. The twins are clearly popular.
It isn’t subtle, either. It’s not the polite nod-in-passing kind of recognition. People actually light up when they see them. Hands clap shoulders. Someone daps Toru up mid-stride. A girl across the quad calls Sato’s name flirtatiously. One even flashes both twins. Toru laughs. Even professors in suits, holding briefcases pause to exchange some words and inside jokes.
Toru grins wide and effortless, tossing out nicknames, bumping fists, slinging an arm around whoever gets close enough. Sato is smoother about it — a smaller smile, a tilt of his head, a few clever words that make people laugh just a second longer than necessary.
No one even does more than glance at you. To their friends, you’re just another girl they’re in some dramatic predicament with.
Between them, overshadowed by their popularity and fame, you feel out of your element. They’re definitely not the kind of people you could just casually befriend, not the kind of guys you would have ever spoken to, could have joined them casually for lunch, or schedule hang outs and know they’ll be there.
They’re just being polite to you, wanting to ease the discomfort of being cuffed to a complete stranger.
Eventually, you reach the rink. You follow them inside, down hallways, past the people working there. You peek through the double doors and see a bunch of guys skating in full gear. It’s loud in the rink, the shape and emptiness of the stands reverberating the shouts and scrapes of skates on ice.
“Let’s go to the locker room whilst they’re there; we can go through his locker and his bag,” Sato suggests.
The locker room?
Where men get changed and swing their dicks around?
Oh hell no.
“Wait— hold on.” You stop short so abruptly they nearly walk into you. Both of them turn, brows lifting in sync. You scramble for composure, heat creeping up your neck. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Toru squints. “Why not?”
Because I value my eyesight. Because I don’t need trauma today. Because I enjoy not being arrested.
You cross your arms, attempting dignity. “I can’t just walk into the men’s locker room.” They stare. You gesture vaguely, mortified. “I’m a girl?”
It comes out half question, half plea, like perhaps they’ve temporarily forgotten this extremely relevant detail.
Sato blinks. Toru looks down at you, then back at Sato.
“Oh,” Toru says slowly.
“Yes, oh,” you mutter.
The twins share a look.
Hands grip your wrists, dragging you inside despite your protests. They snicker together. You’re powerless against their strength, and you can’t even grip the doorway to pull yourself away because they’ve got control of your hands. Eyes shut tightly, you fumble in the dark, unable to resist their heavy, six foot tall bodies.
Mustiness hits you as soon as the doors open, and you find your nose scrunching in disgust.
One of them laughs. “No one’s here, Second Year. You’re good to open those pretty eyes.”
You swallow the nervous giggle down. Focus!
Eyes hesitantly open.
Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, harsh and unforgiving, illuminating long wooden benches scarred with skate marks and initials carved onto the surface. Open cubbies gape, stuffed to the brim with shoulder pads the size of riot shields, sweat-darkened jerseys, laces tangled in knots, and rolls of white athletic tape unraveling on the floor.
The place’s a lawsuit waiting to happen.
The air is thick — damp cotton, metal, cheap body spray failing miserably to mask the sour, unmistakable musk of hours spent skating in full gear. You’re careful not to touch anything unnecessary, lest you catch something.
“I’ll call his phone,” one of the twins says.
Ringing echoes through the empty locker room, bouncing against the metal benches and cubbies, and dirty towels and clothes haphazardly strewn around. God, men are disgusting.
“Third row down,” the other twin mutters, following the sound.
Your Converse nearly land on a discarded compression shirt, and you jerk back like it might bite. You pass a rack of hockey sticks propped in the corner, tape chewed to shreds at the blades. A laundry bin overflows with damp towels. Someone’s half-empty protein shaker sits uncapped, abandoned, something beige and unidentifiable clinging to the sides.
“Found it,” the other twin says.
The phone vibrates inside an open locker wedged between a pair of shin guards and a crumpled practice jersey. His name is stitched above the number hanging on the hook — red fabric, white lettering, unmistakable.
You hover stiffly behind them, crossing your arms as though that will somehow shield you from the environment.
“See? No naked men swinging anything around,” Toru teases, swaying his hips at you.
“Shut up,” you groan, cheeks hot despite yourself. “This still feels wrong.”
Sato says, “You overthink too much.”
It’s not overthinking, you want to tell him. It’s the plain truth. The girls’ lockers are clean, tidy, and smell much nicer. Here, it feels humid, like you’ve strolled into Satan’s asshole. It’s fine for twins because they probably don’t know how good they could have it on the other side of things, and it’s not like anyone would bat an eye if the hockey team came back and they found them here.
Toru picks up a pair of boxers, making his brows dance at you, then throws it at his brother’s face.
He releases a disgusted sound, swiping it away. “Hilarious.”
They’re both looking. One in the locker, and the other in the bag he pulled out. As they do that, you ask Sato, “So you’re older?”
The twin with glasses nods. “By two minutes — best two minutes of my life.”
Toru says, “Ha. Ha. We both know the best two minutes of your life are when some poor girl lets you hit.”
“Better than your thirty second record.”
You laugh at their petty sibling rivalry. You admire how easily they could talk to each other, and to you, in spite of your situation, of how absurd this all is. It’s a thing to envy, you think.
Pulling his head out of the musty locker, Toru looks down at you with a challenging smile. “You laughing at me, gorgeous? You think I can’t last longer than thirty seconds?”
Emboldened by the friendly atmosphere, you reply, “Proof’s in the pudding, isn’t it? If that’s your reputation, I’m sure there’s some truth to it.”
“Oh yeah?” He tugs, yanking you to his chest suddenly with the arm connected to yours. Hands steady your hips. Forcing your head to crane back to peer up at him, Toru grins down at you wolfishly, using his height advantage to intimidate you. “Care to let me prove you wrong?”
“I-I was just kidding,” you stammer out. “We need to focus and find the key.”
“I looked; couldn’t find it. Knowing how dedicated Sukuna is, he’s probably got it on him,” he responds, much more interested in something else now.
You gulp.
Heat covers your back. When fingers pinch your chin, keeping you from looking back, you realise the hands on your hips aren’t Toru’s. They’re Sato’s.
They’ve got you sandwiched between them, leaving you with nowhere to go. Out of nowhere, the air has turned even more heated, almost suffocating. It renders you dizzy.
Sato whispers in your ear, lips grazing your ear, “Don’t be rude, Anthro. You told him ‘proof’s in the pudding,’ no? You gonna upset my baby brother by turning back on your words?”
The brother in question’s bending down slowly, teasing you by not quite touching your lips. Meanwhile, someone’s nose is running down the length of your neck, sending your hairs standing on edge.
What the hell is happening?
Why are firm hands gripping you, lips brushing your skin, eyes watching your every move, hard bodies squeezing you till you’re panting? And why are you not stopping them? Why are you tingling between your legs?
Noises come from outside.
You all still.
They curse under their breath, scrambling off into the showers.
At the furthest stall, you hide, eyes wide and a hand pressing down on your own over your mouth. Thunderous feet march in. A ruckus enters. The hockey team’s finished with their practice, and you could be caught at any second. Imagine the scandal if they found you between two guys.
Voices bounce off tile and metal lockers, loud and unfiltered.
“Bro, you call that a shot? My grandma could block that.”
“Shut up, you whiffed the puck twice.”
“Suck my balls, Rogers.”
“Gladly, Barnes.”
A bag hits the floor with a heavy thud. Lockers clang open in sharp succession. The sharp scent of sweat and ice drifts through the humid air.
“Who forgot to wash their jersey? It smells like death in here.”
“Pretty sure that’s just you.”
Laughter erupts — loud, careless, echoing. Someone yelps when a towel snaps against skin.
You squeeze your eyes shut as sneakers squeak across tile, as jerseys are peeled off and tossed aside, as the easy, post-practice chaos unfolds only a few feet away. They’re too close. Way too close.
Oh god, they’re all probably butt naked just metres away from you.
How did things manage to go from bad to worse?
“Don’t make a sound,” Toru whispers, panicked. “The hockey guys cannot catch us here; they’re still mad from the time when we filled up their lockers with shaving cream and glitter, which they need to get over. It’s been days.”
“Pretty sure it’s because we’ve taken quite a few of their girlfriends,” Sato says under his breath.
“It’s not even ‘taking’ when they seek us out. Like anyone would say no to puck bunny pussy.”
“You’re both fucking disgusting,” you hiss. They’re just as sleazy as any guy on campus, it’d seem. The only difference is that they hide behind their handsome faces.
You’re leaning on Toru as he presses himself tightly against the tiles, ducking down so they won’t spot his white hair from above the stall, all while Sato’s leaning on you, pushing in so his back won’t protrude.
Packed like sardines, you’re aware of their hard muscles, of their much bigger sizes, and the ridges of their abs. The frat president can probably feel your tits on him, whilst the Engineering student can feel your ass on his crotch. Something hard pokes your stomach at the same time as something equally hard and hot slot right in between your ass cheeks again.
Lord, take me now, you pray, desperate for relief from the humiliation.
A leg slots between yours. You gasp. It’s Toru’s, but one look at his face and anyone would think you’re just imagining it. Don’t move, you tell yourself. Do not start riding his thigh even if you want to.
Sato pushes his hips forward, and consequently yours. You gasp.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, voice husky in your ear. “Got an itch you wanna scratch?”
Toru flexes his thigh, bumping hard against your clothed slit. You bite back your moan, wholly aware of the boyish laughter and shouting on the other side. He says, “If you gotta scratch, you gotta scratch, right?”
They definitely know what they’re doing. Manwhores like them always know.
Laying it on thicker, the frat president whispers, “Don’t hesitate; use me. Go on, Second year. Make my day.”
The twins are urging you to ride his thigh, pushing and pulling. Neither of them care about getting caught, not really. You had initially thought Toru would be the biggest danger, what with his outgoing and flirtatious personality, but Sato’s just as bad as him; he’s guiding your hips with his own, hand sliding up your leg to creep under your skirt.
They’re twins from hell.
Someone flicks your nipples through your shirt. You slump back onto Sato’s chest, breathing heavily as your hips grind on a muscular thigh.
How did things come to this?
And why are you getting swept up in all of it?
“She’s so pretty, isn’t she, Sato?”
“Stunning,” he replies. His hand tugs you down, making sure you’re grinding real good on his brother’s thigh. “How does her pussy feel?”
“Warm, and getting wetter. Fuck, it’d be so much better if she wasn’t wearing panties.” He directs his words to you, muttering, “How about it, angel? Gonna let me feel your pussy?”
“There’s people,” you gasp out, growing closer and closer to your end. This is so degrading — they’re watching you ride his thigh all on your own, watching you thrust your chest out, and squirm between them like some whore.
One of them smirks. “So if there weren’t people, you’d readily give me access? Dirty girl. Isn’t she dirty, Sato?”
“Downright filthy.”
When you shudder, someone slaps a hand over your mouth just in time to muffle your moan. Oh fuck you’re cumming on Toru’s thigh, a man you only met this morning, riding the muscle like it’s your pillow. Tomorrow, when you’re hopefully free and no longer attached to them, you’re totally going to want to never see them again.
Finally, you flop, twitching with the final waves of your orgasm.
Your head’s patted. “Well done. You were very brave.”
You smack it away, and grouch, “That was underhanded, you guys.”
“You enjoyed it, Anthro,” Sato points out, and steps back, steadying you. He peers over, and nods. “Coast’s clear. But that means Sukuna’s gone.”
Simultaneously, your eyes land on the wet spot you left behind on Toru’s jeans. He presses down on it, then sucks the pads of his fingers, winking at you. You look away immediately, wanting to cringe at yourself. Voice shaky, whether from stress or from your orgasm, you wonder, “So what are we gonna do now?”
“We’ll have to ask around for where he’ll be,” Sato replies. “Lay it on him good and intimidate him into giving up this stupid prank of his.”
Frowning, you follow them out of the locker room, adjusting your skirt. “Can’t we just go straight to the fire station? Do we have to go on this wild goose chase?”
Toru fake pouts, and puts a hand over his heart. “You tired of us, little lady? Hate us already? Oh, we’re just terrible, aren’t we, Sato?”
“The worst.”
“No, no,” you hurriedly deny. “It’s not that. You guys are great.”
He beams, stringing his arm over yours and forcing yours to hang loosely from your shoulder.
“Then it’s decided — we’re chasing after our Sukuna goose!”
And once again, you’re left with no choice but to do as they say.
.
.
.
After texting some mutual friends for where Sukuna might be, the three of you wind up at his apartment building. The twins have been trying to get ahold of the man, to no avail. It seems he’s intent on forcing all of you to ride out his cruel prank.
You texted your friends, trying to find out what exactly happened last night that might make this Sukuna person hate you enough to do this. You’re just some random girl, why would you be involved in the beef of some pretty well known guys?
They told you that they didn’t see you much at all during the party, that some time after arriving together, you disappeared and was only seen here and there, dancing and having a pretty good time with — and this is the really surprising part — both the twins, at different times.
Videos and pictures were shared to you: you’d be in the background, always with a drink in your hand, smiling like you’ve never smiled before, and flanked by one of the twins almost all the time. The videos seem to be earlier in the night. No cuffs in sight. There’s definitely videos from later in the night, but the people who took them haven’t woken up yet.
“So we were hanging out a lot last night, huh?”
Sato makes a face that says, guess so, whilst Toru whistles an impressed tune. The latter jokingly says, “We’re meant to be, Second year.”
“Seven of the eleven pictures were of me and her,” his twin points out.
“So? That’s just a one picture difference!”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
“Her ass on my dick helped me sleep last night,” Toru fires back, clutching your hand and bringing it up to his face so he can lay a kiss on your knuckles with a wink.
Sato yanks you towards him, and you stumble his way in the narrow hallway. He licks the palm of your hand, one upping his brother.
Face burning, you shove both of them back. “Can you guys stop? We need to work out what happened last night — how did we all get so drunk that we don’t remember how we ended up cuffed and in bed together?” Then, you frown. “We…we didn’t sleep together, did we?”
That was actually a question you’ve had since this morning, but you’d shrugged it off as being an impossibility. There’s no way two hot twins would want you, nevermind share a woman. However, after that little stunt in the locker room, you’re starting to wonder.
The frat twin laughs. “That’s cute. Isn’t she cute, Sato?”
“Adorable.”
They’re both laughing at you, and it’s irritating. Aggrieved, you ask, “What’s so funny? I don’t think it’s a ridiculous question to ask considering we woke up in the same bed with no memory of last night.”
Toru lifts his arm, and yours, rustling your hair with your own hand. “Babe, if you slept with me, you’d never forget. Trust.”
“Your mind could forget, sure, but your pussy wouldn’t; she’d still be feeling with me,” Sato says, matter-of-factly. His bright, all-seeing eyes flit down to the apex of your thighs as you walk, and you have to resist the urge to squeeze them together.
Damn.
“Hey, we’re here — 666.” He snickers to himself, thoroughly amused. Toru nudges you. “Fitting, amirite?”
Before he could knock on, you stop him. “What are we gonna do if he’s in? Are you guys going to fight him?”
Sato drawls, “You watch too many movies, Anthro; we’re just going to ask him to give us the key. Sukuna’s an asshole but he’s not the kind to drag a joke on.”
“Yeah, he probably just forgot in the first place,” his twin added.
“Oh.”
That makes sense. There’s no need to get violent. The prank’s not that harmful, you suppose.
They knock. You wait. No one answers.
“Is he not in?”
Toru tries the doorknob. The door opens. You all share a look. That feels pretty fucking ominous, like a trap laid out for you. “We’re not going in, are we?” you ask, looking up and down the hallway in case someone catches you three trespassing, or is it breaking and entering?
Whatever it is, it’s going to end you up in prison.
Lips graze the shell of your ear as someone whispers, “Scared of entering the devil’s domain with us? Think we’re going to eat you up? Hmm?”
“If you behave, we will,” someone else rasps at the back of your neck.
“Stop fucking around,” you reply, flustered by the tingles erupting where they touched you.
A hand presses in at the small of your back, and as the door’s opened, one of them chirps, “In you go, angel!”
You stumble inside, held up from falling only by the dense weight of two men chuckling at the little yelp you release.
The door clicks shut behind you.
For a second, you all just stand there.
Sukuna’s apartment is…exactly what you’d expect, and simultaneously worse — just aggressively, unapologetically male.
A pair of hockey skates sits abandoned by the entrance, laces trailing like shed snakeskin. A duffel bag, half unzipped, spills tape rolls, spare socks, and a mouthguard case onto the hardwood floor. The faint smell of detergent battles unsuccessfully with sweat and something woodsy, his cologne, probably, clinging to the air.
The living room is small but decent — a worn leather couch with a throw blanket tossed carelessly over one arm, a low coffee table cluttered with protein bars, a TV remote, a half-empty Gatorade bottle, and a stack of lecture notes weighed down by a puck. His backpack is slumped against the couch, as though it gave up halfway through being put away.
On one wall: framed team photos. A hockey stick mounted horizontally. A couple of medals draped over the corner of the frame, like it hardly matters to him.
The kitchen is visible from where you stand. Open plan. Dishes in the sink. Not stacked to the ceiling, but definitely past ‘I’ll wash them later’ territory. A frying pan left out on the stove. A carton of eggs on the counter. A magnetic whiteboard on the fridge with scribbled practice times and what looks like a grocery list that just says: milk, rice, jerk off 3:37pm.
Weirdly specific, but okay.
You all step further in, handcuffs clinking obnoxiously between you. The fuzz tinkles your wrist every time one of them moves too abruptly, and it’s soothed by the brushing of knuckles and the rubbing of shapes by thumbs.
“Maybe he left the key here,” one twin says, scanning. “Let’s have a look around.”
As a unit, the three of you shuffle around. Drawers are opened. Closed. A quick glance under couch cushions. You check the kitchen counter with your free hand, careful not to knock over the precarious tower of mail.
The apartment is messy but lived-in. No mysterious stains. No broken furniture. Just a college athlete who does not evidently prioritise tidiness.
Then—
Voices. From the hallway. Muffled at first: “…you said you were done with her—”
The three of you freeze.
“And I am,” comes the unmistakable low, irritated drawl.
“Oh really? Explain to me why I found her panties in your car!”
“They’re yours.”
“Shut the fuck up. I don’t wear blue thongs. I only wear white.”
“Ain’t nothing white and pure about you.”
“Fuck you!”
Your stomach drops.
It sounds like a lovers’ quarrel. You don’t know this Sukuna very well, or at all, but you’re one hundred percent sure he would not be fine seeing you guys in his place when he’s fighting with his girlfriend.
Keys jangle outside.
“Oh my God,” you whisper.
“Closet,” Sato hisses.
You don’t argue.
They yank you down the short hallway toward what you assume is the bedroom. The space is larger than you expect — unmade bed, sheets twisted, a jersey tossed over the desk chair. His cologne bottle sits uncapped near the nightstand. A lamp. A stack of textbooks. A charging cable trailing off the mattress like something that gave up halfway. But there’s no time to be psychoanalysing this man’s bedroom.
The front door opens.
“You said that last time!” the woman snaps, her heels clicking sharply against the floor.
You’re shoved toward the sliding closet door. It opens with a soft scrape. Inside: hanging shirts, mostly dark. Hoodies. A winter coat. Shoe boxes stacked on one side. A laundry basket half-full.
“All of us?” you hiss.
“Got a better idea?”
The door slides shut just as footsteps enter the bedroom.
You’re crushed instantly. Back against the wall. Toru in front of you. Sato practically plastered behind. The handcuffs force you closer than is remotely comfortable. Someone’s arm is wedged between your ribs and a stack of shoeboxes. A coat hanger digs into your shoulder. How are you back in this position again?
Outside, the argument spills into the room.
“I’m not doing this,” Sukuna says flatly.
“You never do anything! You just— god, you’re impossible!”
A thud. Maybe something dropped on the bed. You hold your breath. Another thud. The mattress creaks. No, please don’t, you beg.
“You knew what this was,” he says, voice colder now.
“And what is it?” she demands.
Silence stretches. You can feel Toru’s heartbeat through his chest where you’re practically pressed against him. Or maybe it’s yours. The handcuffs shift as someone adjusts their balance. The metal clinks. Loud.
All four of you freeze again.
“…what was that?” the woman asks.
You don’t breathe. Not a single one of you moves.
Sukuna’s footsteps approach. The closet door handle rattles lightly as if tested. Your heart actually stops. Like medically dead stops. Then—
A scoff.
“Probably the pipes,” he mutters dismissively. Footsteps retreat. The argument resumes, lower now. Tense.
Inside the closet, you’re still crammed together like contraband. One twin’s breath ghosts across your temple. “If you make another sound,” he whispers so quietly it barely exists, “I’m framing you as the girl with the blue thong.”
You would elbow him if you had the space. It wasn’t even you!
Instead, you stay very, very still.
Their masculine scents engulf you. One of them smells like tacky aftershave done right, somehow, and the other is clean laundry. Both are intoxicating, as is the heat they exude which has you flushing in the cramped space.
It’s tight and cramped here. You barely have room to breathe, barely have room for your lungs to expand. And you’re pretty sure you’re standing on someone’s foot, though no one complains. As slowly and carefully as you can, you adjust yourself, grimacing at the tightness and darkness in the closet.
“Stop squirming,” Toru pleads. When you glance at him, he’s staring up, Adam’s apple bobbing.
“What?”
Sato whispers in your ear, “You’re making him pop a boner. Me too. Nobody tell you it’s rude to get a guy hard and not do something about it?”
“They’re right outside,” you whisper back. “Even if I wanted to, we couldn’t do anything.”
A thumb flicks your nipple. Your moan is stifled by a hand to your mouth. Toru says, and in the darkness of the closet you can hear his grin, “Oh, but you want to, don’t you. You want to so bad. I bet feeling us up like this, knowing you can get caught, is making your little kitty purr.”
“Little kitty? Seriously?”
“Shut up, Sato. Maybe if you said it more, you’d get laid as often as I do.”
“I get laid plenty, asshole.”
“Shut up both of you,” you fire back at the two of them, ear craning to hear what’s happening outside. There’s no more arguing, which is a good sign, but there’s definitely signs of life, which isn’t a good sign; they’re still here. You can hear talking, hushed and intimate, as well as rhythmic creaking.
Oh no.
“Damn,” Toru says under his breath. “Ryomen’s fucking his girl. Guess I’ll finally be able to settle my bed with Fushiguro — does the psycho last longer than thirty seconds? Any takers?”
No one replies to him.
Through your breathing, you can’t help but listen to the sounds of moaning and groaning. There’s even some slapping involved, and a couple, ‘you like that?’, ‘you’re making a mess all over my cock, you little slut,’ and ‘picking a fight just to cum, you ain’t slick.’
That Sukuna guy is an aggressive one.
“Is it weird to say, given our situation, that I think it’s nice that they’re so in love and can easily resolve their problems?” you say, as quietly as you can.
Both twins snort.
“They ain’t in love, Second year. They’re just horny and toxic, which makes for a great combo. And if I recognise the voice right, then that’s Cassie. She’s a mess, no offence to her. She likes stealing her friend’s man. Great tits though.”
“She’s just another girl in his roster; Sukuna doesn’t date. Not unless pigs are airborn.”
“Oh.”
The three of you are breathing heavily, constantly brushing up against each other. Toru’s shirt is scraping your hardened nipples through your shirt. Your ass is grinding behind you. Hands are gripping your hips under your skirt as another set sneaks under your top, clutching your waist and climbing higher and higher till it’s just about grazing the underside of your tits.
Is it the uninhibited moaning outside?
Or the masculine scent you’re enveloped in?
What’s got you so hot and bothered, squirming between them, whining to be touched?
A hand grips your hip, pulling you back. A hot thing hangs heavy behind you. Your breath hitches. Meanwhile, lips press to your temple, then to your cheek, and finally your lips.
Toru doesn’t kiss you. Not yet. He first whispers, “Been wanting to do this since this morning.” Then he kisses you. It’s sweet, soft, and gentle. It gives you butterflies. A metallic thing scrapes your bottom lip, and when you gasp, he’s quick to explain, “Just my tongue piercing, babe. You’ll get used to it. Soon’ll be getting to feel it against your clit, trust.”
Something long and hard slides itself between your thighs. You stiffen.
“What? Did you think I was gonna let my brother have all the fun?” Sato’s hands are gripping your bare hips, pulling you back and forth on his cock, which he ruts right up against your panties, cockhead prodding your clothed clit.
Panicking a little, you voice out, “What if they hear us?”
“You don’t want to be caught, Anthro? You better keep quiet then.”
One of them grope your tits, tweaking the hardened buds through your shirt, carrying your hand with his. You twitch with every flick, every scratch of a nail, and every pinch. Toru swallows your moans, greedily gulping them down. You really are getting used to the tongue piercing; it’s an addictive sensation against your own tongue.
The heat between your legs is almost scalding, and the way it separates your pussy lips, greeting your throbbing clit on its way forward, has your hips working back in tandem.
“Good girl,” one of them mutters.
The veins on the cock are felt by your sensitive skin. God, he’s big. Like really big. Would Toru be big too? Could you take any of their cocks? Both of them? Is that too filthy to think about?
Outside, a feminine voice calls out, “Ngh! Sukuna, right there! Harder, baby, please!”
“Don’t call me baby, you whore. Just take my cock and be quiet.”
You won’t admit it to anyone, but the sounds of skin slapping, headboard banging, and wanton screaming are getting to you. They’re setting the mood, and you’re growing less and less ashamed of the fact that you’re being thighfucked by one of the Gojo twins as the other shoves his tongue down your throat and squeezes your tits.
This is even filthier than in the locker room. More lewd. Obscene.
You’re rubbing yourself all over twins in a closet, hiding, and trespassing whilst the owner of the place is fucking his girl, and they don’t have a clue. If this is how parties end, then you might be inclined to attend another one of theirs.
“S-sato,” you whimper to his brother’s lips, “I’m gonna cum.”
“Fuck, me too.”
“What am I, chopped liver?”
Full body shudders wrack you. You clutch Toru’s stupid t-shirt, hips stuttering, and juices soaking your panties. Thighs tightening in pulses with the strain of your muscles, you wring groans from Sato right into your ear.
“Shit, don’t cum all over me,” Toru hastily says, before picking up a random shirt off the hanger and shoving it between your legs just in time as Sato’s cock pulses in waves. “Ugh, that’s disgusting.”
“Thanks,” his twin mumbles, lifting your hand to his face. You fix his glasses for him, pushing it back up his nose bridge.
“Where are you going now?” the girl asks, voice slightly muted by the barriers between you and her.
Bed creaking before feet pad on the floor, Sukuna answers, “Gotta stop by the ADP.” Silence. “Alpha Delta Phi? Gojo’s frat? Jesus, do you know anything other than how to bounce on cock? Forget it. I just need to go pick something up. Let yourself out whenever, but don’t be back here tonight. I’m having the boys over.”
“Oh, please, we both know that’s just code for having your other girl over.”
“Well if you know, then why bother playing coy about it. Yeah, I’m fucking other women, just like you’re fucking other guys. I don’t care and neither should you. Take a shower, nap, or whatever the fuck you want. Just don’t be here when I get back.”
“Fuck you.”
“You just did, sweetheart.”
Feet pad away and full silence returns to the room. In the distance, a door shuts. You all breathe out a sigh of relief, shoulders dropping.
“What an asshole,” you say, pushing the closet door open for fresh air.
“Told you,” the twins say in unison.
The bed’s been left a mess, with a huge wet patch at the centre that you don’t want to focus too much on. Sato’s tucked himself back in his jeans expertly, and you’d think he’d never taken anything out in the first place.
“Oi, Sato, lift her up for me.”
Sighing, the guy grumbles before lifting you by the back of your thighs. You fall back on his chest, head resting on his shoulder. Legs wide open, Toru kneels between them, grinning up at you. He winks, poking the wet spot you’ve made in your panties.
“What’re you doing?” you ask, startled.
Toru shrugs, pulling your panties aside. He takes a deep inhale, nose skimming and coming back all glossy. “Just wondering what you taste like that. You both got to cum, so it’s only fair I get a little something too, no?”
“It’s logical. Practically a faultless argument,” Sato concurs, leaving a kiss on your heated cheeks to reassure you. “Don’t worry; he won’t bite.” A little hushed and more mischievous, he adds, “Not like me.”
Naturally, that does nothing to wash away the embarrassment of his twin being face to face with your puffy pussy.
His smooth hands soothe the tremor in your thighs. “Just a taste, gorgeous. To tide me over till we make it back to the frat house to catch Sukuna. Besides, I want you to get comfortable with my tongue piercing.”
He pecks your clit, then takes a longer lick of your pussy. You gasp, hands kept down by your sides by their own and unable to push him away. Toru is as unashamed as ever, shoving his whole face in your cunt and forcing squelches out when he tongues your entrance.
“W-we’re going back to the -ngh!- frat house?”
Sato hums, seemingly unbothered by any of what’s going on. It might as well be any other Saturday. “We have to catch him there; I don’t want to spend the rest of my day chasing after him, when I could be buried inside your pussy.”
SLURRRRRP!
You cry out, toes curling.
“So sweet,” the twin down there moans. “You gotta taste her, Sato.”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full, idiot,” he scolds. “And hurry up.”
“Quit telling me what to do — I like taking my time with good pussy, sorry.”
“Toru!”
Cooing, he mutters an apology to your cunt. “Aw, sorry, babe. Don’t mean to neglect you. Don’t worry, Toru’s here. Toru’s gonna make you feel so good, better than my brother’s tiny ass dick, I promise.”
Said brother scoffs.
But you don’t care about their unnecessary competition. You can only focus on the jolts of electricity zooming from your pussy and exploding in your belly. You’ve never been eaten out so good, and not with a piercing you’re painfully aware rubbing just right through your puffy folds. It rolls against your clit. You moan.
“Feel good?” Toru asks, all smug. “Got the idea from our piercer friend. It’s a real hit with the ladies.”
You frown. “It’s impolite to talk about -hah fuck that’s good- o-other women when you’re between someone’s legs.”
Sato kisses your cheek again, and approvingly inserts, “Put him in his place, baby. Been trying to teach him manners since we were born and he never listens to me. Maybe he’ll listen to you.”
“Quit talking about me like I’m some kind of dog,” Toru grumbles.
“Then quit acting like it,” you bravely snap, possessed by the desperate need to chase another high. “Make me cum already, before I ask your brother to do it instead.”
Another kiss, this time punctuated by a chuckle. “
“Kitty’s got claws. That’s fucking hot.”
Lips wrap around your clit, which is still sensitive from the incessant rubbing of Sato’s cock. That’s why when he finally sucks hard on the little thing, you cum again way too quickly. “Fuck, Toru!”
“Mm, that’s right, baby, ride my face and my tongue.”
Through your writhing and squirming, Sato holds you up, bearing your weight with ease, all while Toru laps up the juices oozing out of your pussy, like a puppy, like a man in a dessert.
That’s three orgasms all in less than an hour. It’s a new record for you, which means your body isn’t used to it. On shaky legs, you’re set down. They hold you up, preventing you from collapsing on the floor.
One of them ruffles your hair. “You did such a great job, Second year. We’re almost at the finish line, think you can manage a slight jog back to the frat house?”
How are they so chill? How can they act like nothing happened? There’s not even a single wrinkle on their shirts, whereas you look and feel like a mess.
“Y-yeah,” you mumble, dazed and still experiencing waves of an orgasm that wasn’t supposed to happen so suddenly.
Sato nods, pulling your panties back into place and patting your pussy. “We know a shortcut — it’ll give us at least fifteen minutes ahead of Sukuna. More if he gets distracted and walks slowly.”
“Great. Let’s go.”
.
.
.
“Oh my god…” you breathe out, staring at your phone. “I was dancing on a table?”
More videos and pictures are surfacing online now that the partygoers are waking up and getting over their splitting headache. And damn it, you wish they hadn’t.
Leaning over, Toru whistles. “That’s fucking hot. It reminds me of when my frat brothers hired strippers for my birthday, except your dancing is so much better.”
You elbow the little kiss up. “We both know that’s a lie. I’m dancing like a drugged up chimpanzee.”
“Like an unstable gas, just shaking about the place,” Sato adds. When Toru and you give him a look, a blush graces his cheeks. He adjusts his glasses and clears his throat. “So he can talk about strippers but I can’t mention anything related to the periodic table?”
That was a slip of his cocky façade, and it brings a smile to your lips.
He rolls his eyes at your look of adoration. Glancing at the screen, he says, “We didn’t have the cuffs then, and that was probably about midnight. Our parties typically end at 3 am, with some people lingering even later. So between then and 3am, Sukuna had slipped cuffs on us.”
“Do you think he drugged us too?” you wonder, speedwalking along the back of a building you’ve never visited on campus. “I mean, I’m just not the type to get black out drunk.”
It’s awful to suggest Sukuna, a man you’ve never met before, would be the type to spike peoples’ drinks, but it would certainly explain things.
Toru shakes his head, running a hand through his messy hair. “I wouldn’t put it past him to slip us something that makes us more susceptible to doing stupid shit. Though, honestly, looking at how I’m twerking on my pledge, Itadori, I don’t think I needed anything more to get black out.”
“That’s just how you are naturally,” his twin snarks.
To that, the frat guy laughs in disbelief. “You’re one to talk considering we have five videos of you writing equations on the entirety of the basketball team’s backs and yapping their ears off about Digimon, which you only do after the eleventh shot. Shots, mind you, you hate but never pass down.”
“Only ‘cause I need alcohol to survive your stupid parties,” Sato fires back.
“Parties you enjoy!”
“Alright, alright, that’s enough, boys. Let’s just agree we all got messy on our own,” you establish, feeling like the two are way too close to tearing each other apart.
When you reach the frat house, Sato opens the door for you. Does no one lock their doors on campus?
You didn’t notice it in your rush to get out of the house earlier, how big and beautiful the house is. It’s old, ornately decorated with impeccable wooden floors and portraits hanging on walls. Of course, there are thongs, bras, streamers, limp balloons, used condoms strung all over the place, and there’s empty cans of beer and bottles of alcohol just lying about. But beneath all of the grime of a party done well lies a gorgeous home.
Cleaners flit about the place, collecting trash and mopping floors.
“Perk of living in a frat,” Toru proudly declares, “we never have to clean up after ourselves.”
“That is pretty cool,” you agree.
Sato huffs. “It’s insanely privileged. And intrusive. I much prefer not having strangers constantly leaving their traces in my home.”
The three of you gracefully ascend the stairs, avoiding mysterious wet puddles and stains you didn’t want to think too much about. Sukuna doesn’t seem to be here, so they were right about the shortcut.
“So you live on your own?” you ask him, nodding a thank you to Toru who carries you over a stack of bottles.
“Yeah, but we’re over at each other’s places so often we might as well not be.”
You giggle. “That’s so cute. You two just need to be together all the time, huh?”
Toru punches his brother’s arm over your head. “She’s laughing at us, Sato. She thinks we’re pathetic and psychotically close.”
“I promise, it’s only circumstance that keeps bringing us together,” Sato dryly says. “If I had it my way, I’d have said good riddance to him a long time ago.”
“My sentiment exactly — pretty sure I tried to eat you in the womb and that’s why you’re so ugly.”
A laugh escapes you.
Eventually, you reach their bedroom.
Right back where you started.
Smiling, you say, “It’s funny that we did all that work just to end up back here because Sukuna was always coming by, isn’t it? Quite ironic actually.”
The door shuts behind you.
“Look, Toru,” a dark voice coos, “she doesn’t know she’s about to be fucked an inch of her life.”
“I know,” an equally dark voice agrees. “I can’t get over how stinkin’ cute she is. Makes me wanna just eat her out till she faints. Think she’ll let me?”
“I think she’s been soaked the whole day and at this point she’ll let us do anything we want…isn’t that right, Anthro?”
The hairs on your arms stand on edge. Two foreboding presences flank you, reminding you that there’s no where you can go that they won’t follow, that you’re stuck with them for good, and that you couldn’t hope to fight them off even if you wanted to. Your panties might as well not be there by how your wetness is trickling down your thighs.
They drag you down onto the bed with them.
Hands make quick work of your clothes: they pull down your skirt, taking your panties with them, they yank your shoes and socks off, and one of them even grabs scissors to cut right through the shirt before you can say anything. The metal grazes your skin, slicing right between your tits.
“Wait, wait,” you yell, overwhelmed by the suddenness of their actions. “Sukuna! Sukuna’s coming.”
Sato says, “Not for twenty minutes — one of my friends said they saw him stop by the Student Council office.”
“Probably going to bother the Prez,” Toru snickers, pressing your panties to his nose and moaning. “Fuck, I love the way your pussy smells. The dirtier the better.”
Heat rises to your cheeks immediately, and you fall back onto Sato’s lap. He licks a stripe up your neck. “My brother’s got weird tastes. Forgive him, angel. He’s just born weird. I like to say I took all the brains in the womb.”
Toru snorts, throwing aside all your shredded clothes. “Sure, let’s pretend I haven’t had chicks crying to me about how you’re so mean to them, asking for me to be the nice twin.”
The three of you kneel on the bed together, cuffs clinking when they clash, the pink fluff tickling skin. They’re both still dressed. You feel Sato’s jeans scratching your skin, the metal zip rubbing right up against your pussy, and Toru’s silly ‘Best Seats’ shirt grazing your nose as he towers over you.
He brings up the hem, biting it, revealing washboard abs. You blink at it.
He says, “Lick it, Second year. Go on.” Hesitating, you run your tongue over his torso, starting from the white treasure trail, over his outie belly button, then his abs, and his chest. Of course he knows he has an impressive body. It’s important he knows you know that too; it’s an ego boost for him. “Such a good girl,” he coos. “I’ll be sure to fuck you real good as a reward.”
“Not until I’m done,” Sato argues. “I’m older so I get first dibs.”
His long fingers are parting your pussy lips, grinding his zipper up and bumping it against your clit. The texture’s weird, and wild, and it has you heaving, no doubt leaving behind your slick all over the metal teeth.
Gripping your face with his free hand, Sato kisses you for the first time. He’s got your neck twisted back, the wetness of your pussy smearing on your skin. There’s no piercing, only a minty taste that you’re obsessed with. It’s messier, filthier, all tongue and spit, so different from how his brother kisses.
You’re dragged back, and lips quickly replace Sato’s. That familiar piercing returns. You’re stolen back again. Then again. And again. They’re fighting over who gets to kiss you. You’re dizzy, breathless, creaming for more.
“Quit taking her,” Toru growls.
“Fuck off,” Sato snarls. “Just sit there and look away. Three’s a crowd.”
“It’s not fair. You’re already getting to fuck her pussy first.”
“Oh? You’re so easy to give up?” He whispers in your ear, all smug, “My brother’s a pushover. Bet it turns you way off, doesn’t it? It’s alright, angel, you can tell him to back off. It’ll just be you and me, won’t that be nice?”
Fingers coat themselves in your pussy juice, rubbing your clit nice and good before pushing inside your pulsing hole. “No, babe, tell the nerd he can fuck off and go research where the clit even is. I’ll fuck you so good you won’t be able to walk away from my bed even when the cuffs are off.”
Neither of them will actually give up, no matter what you say, you know that. So you say, “Both of you. I want to be fucked by both of you. Please!”
“She’s so polite. Isn’t she polite, Sato?”
“Perfectly so.”
If someone had told you you’d be shared by twins in a frat house, you’d have called the police for harassment. Now, as you’ve said those words and they sigh and begrudgingly agree to allow the other to be here, you think this was inevitable.
Toru creeps back, working on his zip and freeing his hard cock. A hand shoves your face forward. If it isn’t for Sato holding you up, you’d be face planting into the sheets.
“A-are you sure Sukuna won’t catch us?”
Fingers push in, scissoring your cunt and prepping your walls. They cruelly curl up against your g-spot. “You think she’s trying to piss us off by mentioning another man’s name, Toru?”
“I think it doesn’t matter — she’s gonna forget there’s anyone else outside these walls when I’m through with her.”
Right in front of you, Toru strokes his dick. It’s pale, flushed red at the tip and already leaking. He’s trimmed neatly. There’s even a tattoo on his hip that says ‘Lucky You ;)’
Your mouth waters.
The salty pre is smeared on your lips. He taps it, once, then twice. “Say ahh, babe.”
Behind you, something pokes your pussy. It slides between your thighs again, spreading your juices on your skin. It enters you, inch by inch, slowly, making you feel every bit of him.
At the same time, Toru’s cock pushes through, filling your mouth. Both ends have to stretch wide to accommodate them. Already, you’re overwhelmed, overstimulated, over the fucking moon at being used so lewdly. Your friends are never going to believe how you spent your Saturday, and your future kids will never know just how wild their mother got back in college.
Soon, they bottom out, and it’s a miracle you’ve been able to take both of them at the same time.
“Damn, what a talented fucking mouth,” Toru breathes out, head thrown back. “A star for you, Second year.”
“You should feel her pussy,” Sato grits out, fingers digging into the plush of your ass with the strain of resisting the urge to thrust over and over again in your cunt. “It’s the tightest thing ever.”
His brother groans. “Shut the fuck up, dude. I can’t stand hearing your voice. Respectfully. You’re ruining this for me.”
“Grow up.”
In tandem, they rut back and forth, starting off in small bursts first to let you get used to it, then steadily growing faster and faster. You’re basically being used as as fleshlight, fucked in the way they want, with little regard for how uncomfortably stretched out and twisted you are. And it feels amazing.
But…
Why does Sato’s cock feel so different?
Your cunt clenches down on it. He grunts, then chuckles. “You’re wondering what’s on my dick, aren’t you? It’s a piercing baby. Thought only Toru has one? Didn’t expect it from me, did you? You feel it scraping your walls? Feel me deep inside your perfect pussy?”
And you can. You can feel exactly where he is, how deep he’s in, how satisfied your gummy walls are to feel something so big stretching you out, like a feeding a sacrifice to a hungry god.
You moan around Toru’s dick. He grunts. “Fuck, babe! You’re gonna make me cum early.”
“Pathetic,” Sato mutters. A cold wetness lands with a thwack right on your puckering hole. You jerk. “Relax. Just trust me.” A thumb circles the hole, pushing in only knuckle deep yet it’s more than enough to have you feeling insanely full. “If we had more time, then I’d prep this tight hole to take me. This’ll have to do.”
Sato’s an ass guy?
Are you?
It’s never occurred to you to play in that other hole, though as he hooks his thumb in, you start to think you’ve been missing out this entire time. Toru, on the other hand, is obsessed with your tits. He keeps groping them, flicking the buds so you’ll moan even more around his cock.
Balls are swinging, bumping against your chin and on your clit. The bed squeaks and creaks with the force of their ploughing, headboard slamming against the wall. You wonder if the other frat guys can hear, if they know you’re a slut squirting around a cock as you get rammed by their frat president and his twin brother. It must be a normal occurrence with how whorish they both are.
Your tongue swirls around the unpierced cockhead in your mouth, licking the salty slit. The guy in front of you curses, still biting the hem of his shirt. You can see his abs constricting, the muscles under his tattoo twitching. .
Sato breathily chuckles. “My little brother’s gonna tap out soon, and I’ll have you all to myself.”
Toru pushes back in immediately, not wasting even a single second. You have to breathe through your nose, the walls of your throat squeezing around the hefty intrusion. Whereas Sato’s long, Toru’s thicker — the difference is minute, yet you can tell.
Feeling challenged, Toru scoffs. He taps your cheek. “Tell him he can spank you. Go on.” He pulls out.
You cough, throat hoarse already. “Spank me, Sato. It’s okay, I can take it.”
SMACK!
You scream around Toru’s dick. His hips jerk forward with a groan. The fucker didn’t waste a single second!
“So fucking tight!” He slaps your cheek again, hitting exactly where he had the first time. You moan, pussy pulsing. “You like that? Well, aren’t you a dirty thing.”
It’s a turn-on for Sato, you understand now. It flipped a switch in him, seeing the mark of his hand blooming on your ass; his hips are thrusting harder, hitting that gummy spot inside you that has you seeing stars and flooding down his cock, which practically rams you mercilessly.
The strength of his thrusting forces your throat to take Toru even deeper, a fact that the frat guy rejoices in as he holds you up by a hand on your tit, groping like he had before. The cockhead’s bumping the back of your throat, no doubt bruising you.
You cum, shuddering, but neither of them seem to care. They only notice the throbbing and rhythmic squeezing of your cunt and throat, groaning and grunting above you.
“Poor nerd,” Toru snickers. “He’s gonna cum so quickly. It’s sad, isn’t it? It’s nice that you’re so charitable, babe.”
“Big talk for a masochist.” The older twin rubs your clit, occasionally pinching the thing just to feel you tighten around him. Darkly, he orders, “Dig your nails into his thigh. All the girls know he’s weak for pain. He even calls the older ones mommy. Sad, isn’t it? Disturbed, even.”
Panicked, he tries to grab your hand before it can grip his thigh through his jeans. But it’s too late. You’re faster. You dig your nails in as hard as you can so he’ll feel it through the material. He whimpers, hips stuttering. “Jesus FUCK!”
Hot cum spurts in your throat. You gag on the salty taste. Tears spring to your eyes.
Sato laughs, yanking you up by the air. Toru’s cock slides out with a pop!
Back flat on his chest, he holds you up with a hand around your throat. It presses in slightly, slowly stopping airflow to your head in intervals, holding enough to make you delirious.
Aggrieved and peeved off for being forced to cum early by a cheap trick, Toru poutily kisses your lips, running that tongue piercing over the seam. He pushes a hand against your belly. You whine, feeling even more of Sato this way. “Let’s see how long either of you lasts like this, cheaters.”
“Fuck off—Christ! Shit!”
It only takes a mere second. It’s more embarrassing than Toru’s premature ejaculation.
At the sudden and impossible tightness, the older twin curses under his breath. White paints your walls. The heat is searing and it pushes you over the edge too.
Quickly, you’re pulled off his dick, which is still spurting. Some cum gets on your face when you’re brought to your back on the bed. They’re manhanding you, positioning you like you’re a ragdoll, like you’re a mere toy for their pleasure. It’s hard to tell where up and down are, left and right, if it’s even the same day.
A cock pushes in, bullying its fat length with no hesitation. The aftershocks wrings out a deeply satisfied moan from Toru, who sinks in balls deep easily. He mutters petulantly, “If her pussy didn’t feel so good, I’d be too disgusted by your spunk all over her to get hard again.”
“Be grateful I’m letting you fuck her at all,” Sato retorts. He removes his glasses, squinting and finding the fogging of the lenses a pain in the ass. As he clears it out with the bottom of his shirt, he adjusts himself over you, obscuring your view of Toru. His heavy cock hasn’t lessened in density. It rests between your tits, soaked and sticky. “Stick your tongue out.”
You do. He makes a noise of approval.
His hands push your tits together, sandwiching his dick. Sato’s shaven. He likes things nice and clean, it’d seem. The metal bars under his cockhead are hot against your skin. You can see them. They look painful.
In between moans, you ask him, “Did the -hngh- piercings hurt?”
He shakes his head, lazily thrusting on your skin. His cock bumps onto your tongue, leaving drops of salty cum. You can taste yourself and him, and it oddly doesn’t disgust you.
Behind his brother, Toru pushes your thighs up, hooking them over his arms. Amused, he says, “He’s lying. He cried after, telling me he regrets it and he wants the piercings taken off. What a little bitch boy.”
“He exaggerates.” But the pink tinting Sato’s cheeks tells a different story.
“Whatever you say, big bro,” Toru muses.
He yanks you back and forth on his cock, not exactly thrusting anymore. You’re back to being used a fleshlight, as a pocket pussy, dragged up and down the veiny length of him. He’s reaching deep, stretching you out even more than his brother did, though he doesn’t reach your cervix as nicely as Sato had. It hardly matters to you. The pleasure’s all the same.
Thumbs brush over your nipples, flicking and rubbing, all while Sato squeezes your breasts tightly around his cock. His veins are prominent too, and they tickle your skin with every thrust. You swirl your tongue around his cockhead, teasing the underside where his piercings are every time he reaches your mouth. He throws his hair back, Adam’s apple bobbing.
“Fuck, that mouth. Real fucking sinful,” he mutters.
Rocked back and forth, bruised and bullied from top to bottom, fingers digging into sensitive flesh, marking and claiming, with sticky juices drying on your skin and tears dripping down your cheeks from the overstimulation — it’s one orgasm after the other.
“Aw, are you crying?” Sato asks, smirking and not looking the least bit apologetic.
Toru chuckles. “For something so tight and greedy, her pussy’s real weak, don’t you think?”
“The weakest.”
Skin smacks against skin. Juices splash. Puddles grow beneath you. You can taste their cum, feel them and hear and see them everywhere. Even when you close your eyes, the shapes of their cocks are imprinted, practically burnt on your retina. They won’t stop talking, won’t stop commenting on how you tremble and tense around them.
One of them moans pornographically. They both laugh.
“Hear how she moans? You’d think she’s on OnlyFans and she’s trying to rack in the subs. Dirty, dirty girl.”
“She does moan pretty loudly. Squeals like a pig too.”
Toru adds, “Oh and her pussy won’t stop talking back to me. Maybe she wants to debate the collegiate system with me, or give me a glowing review on my dick game.”
“Only you’d lose to a debate with a literal cunt,” Sato says, snorting.
“Oh because you’d win one? That’s what you wanna brag about?”
“I won one when I made her cum like three times on my dick today.”
“Pssh, you’re deluded.”
None of what they say gets to you. You’re too deep in the pleasure, in the euphoric bliss, to properly register what they’re saying. You just want them to keep fucking you, to keep stimulating your entire body. You want this to never stop.
Ankles locked around Toru’s hips, you yank him back, wanting more and more of him. It’s never enough. The hairs at his base tickle your clit before he grinds his pelvis against it. Your eyes roll back.
Sato spits a fat dollop on your tit, barely assisting the glide of his cock, which easily slides between your tits — he just wanted to do that. The sight of you all messy, lips glossy, eyes dazed, causes the corners of his mouth to twitch.
Spitting’s his thing. Panty sniffing is Toru’s.
The more you learn about them, the more your invite to Hell solidifies. They really are twins from the Underworld, just so filthy, so lewd, so damned.
“Fucking tight, squeezing me so good,” one of them groans, barely understandable.
“Pretty fucking tits, prettier fucking mouth,” the other says, eyes flitting between your face and your breasts, undecided where it wants to stay.
All three of you moan at the same time, bodies spasming, and clit and cocks throbbing. Everyone gasps for breath, the air humid and tangy.
Finally…
“Ngh! Sato! Toru!”
Cum spurts on your face, and you have to shut your eyes to avoid getting some in there. They land on your cheeks and nose and tongue. More cum fills up your cunt. All of your juices mix together in a warm concoction.
You’ve never been more full and deeply satisfied. You feel it in your bones, in your souls.
The fluff of the cuffs are soaked with your sweat and cum, the metal clammy. There are marks on your wrists from where they’ve pulled too much or too harshly, and the sting only adds to the pleasure.
Best.
Sex.
Of.
Your.
Life.
Probably best threesome too. Not that you’re planning on having any more.
“Fuck that was good,” Toru says, hands rubbing your thigh and your stomach. He pulls out, and you wince. The emptiness is upsetting, although it doesn’t last very long; his long, slender fingers push the cum leaking out back in, keeping you plugged for a little longer.
“Mm,” Sato agrees, wiping cum from your face only to shove it in your mouth for you to suck off.
“What kind of freaky circus act am I looking at right now?”
Heads flip to the door. You almost get whiplash from how fast you turned.
In the doorway, a pink-haired, heavily tattooed man stands. He doesn’t look disturbed, just amused. His eyes drink in your form, from your face to your tits to your pussy, or as much of your body he can see from where he’s standing anyway.
“Oh hey, Ryomen,” Toru says, not making a move to cover himself or you up. He just stands there between your legs, absentmindedly rubbing your clit. “How you doing?”
“Toru!” you scold, still dazed but thinking more clearly than the other two, that’s for sure. “Ask him about the cuffs.”
Does no one care about your dignity?
Nudity between men might be normal, but it’s certainly not between men and women. Despite that, they’re acting like he just caught you hanging out. No one covers you up. The newcomer doesn't look away. They’re all acting like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
Who you presume is Sukuna finally spots the pink cuffs. He groans. “You got it all dirty. God, I fucking hate you dumbass twins. Came back to pick it up, and this is how you repay the favour? You better get me new ones, Gojos.”
You blink.
Static rings in your ears.
“They…borrowed it from you?”
Sukuna quirks a brow, like he’s surprised you’re daring to speak to him. “Yeah, twin fucker. In exchange for the keys to their garage and whatever car I wanted to drive around for the weekend.” Then he seems to piece something together and laughs mockingly. “Jesus, did they sell you some story about how I cuffed you three together in punishment or something? How dumb can you be?”
Sato huffs. “Watch it, Ryomen.”
“Yeah, another insult from your lips and I’m decking you right across the cheek.”
“Whatever you freaks.” A ping goes off on his phone. Sukuna reads the notification. “Alright, I gotta get going. Get me new cuffs and keep me out of your shit. Don’t even know why you didn’t just get your own.”
Toru chuckles, tension disappearing as though it was never there to begin with, and his fingers still fucking inside you. “Lies sell better when mixed with a little truth.”
Disgusted, Sukuna scowls. “You sound like your nerdy brother. Don’t try to sound smart, Idiot Gojo. It don’t fucking suit you.” His eyes fall back to you. He smirks. “If you get tired of their pasty asses, I’m more than happy to fuck you right. You know where I live.”
He knew you were there?
Seeing the bewildered look on your face, he scoffs. “You all breathe so fucking heavily. You think I wouldn’t sense your stupidity radiating from my closet? I mean, I always knew the two of you were in the closet, but I never knew you’d be in there with a girl. Guess sexuality really is a spectrum.”
“Fuck off, Sukuna,” Sato growls, cock soft now and being tucked right back into his pants.
He waves a hand lazily. “Yeah, yeah, I’m going. Unlike her, I’m not interested in doing it with twins. I’ll see you weirdos around.”
“Wait!” you call out before he can leave. “The key! We need the key!”
Sukuna rolls his eyes at you.
“You’re slower than you look,” he mutters, exasperated beyond measure. Louder, he says, enunciating hard so you’ll get it, “I. Don’t. Have. It. The twins. Are. Sexual deviants. Who lie. To get pussy. They have the key. They always had it. You think only with your clit or something?”
A pillow gets thrown at him, followed by, “Fuck off, Ryomen.”
With a middle finger aimed at all three of you, he goes back the way he came, leaving you with guilty looking twins who each fish out a small key from their pockets.
“Oh look,” Toru weakly cheers, “we found it. Yay!”
One winces. “Guess we won’t need to go to the fire station.”
The weeks after Satoru fought Sukuna were absolute hell.
His fingers trembled at random times due from the abuse of his technique, his temporal lobe was damaged due to his abuse of reverse curse technique, and scars. So many scars all over his body acting as a mocking symbol in his eyes of everything he went through during the fight.
Satoru was cleared out of Shokos care after 2 weeks and finally was back at home. Seated on the couch shirt off - sunglasses on the tip of his nose, long legs sprawled out with his back slouched trying to dull the pain of the big jagged scar across his abs though nothing really dulled any of the pain throughout his body. except for you, You made his brain forget everything that happened.
“open up.” your tender voice rang through his ears making him turn his head back to the side, his lips part slowly allowing you to so gently bring the spoon to his lips feeding him another bite of the soft vanilla cake hoping that the sugar would stimulate his brain.
He chewed slower. wincing a bit here and there as he chewed and swallowed the small bite of cake.
“you must think i’m weak now,” he mumbled under his breath loud enough for you to hear the degrading words he thought of himself.
setting the plate down your hand gently goes to his cheek tracing the long scar painted on his soft skin your finger tip laced with love that he could sense.
“i don’t think that,” your soft reassurance didn’t really so any good for his insecurities. And of course you noticed, you always noticed the smallest details about him that sometimes it even scared him.
“i think your scars are so beautiful,” your finger trails down to the ones on his chest. Big ones - small ones, faded ones, along with bright angry red one that painted his chest. Your soft finger tip makes its way to a specific one that was red right above where his heart was beating, your finger tip could feel his soft heartbeat that secured some of your worries.
“this one is my favorite cause it reminds me where your heart is-,” your finger travels down to the big angry one across his abdomen. The one that would’ve cost him his entire life if it went all the way through. “i love this one the most. reminds me of just how precious you are,” his muscles tense under your finger tip. Your words were so sweet and tender making his eyes soften as he watch your finger tip continue to trace each scar on his abdomen and chest.
“i like to think of them as little pathways to the things i love most about you. like the scars on your chest are little pathways to your heart, and the ones of your cheeks are little pathways to your eyes.” you softly say as your finger tips continue to tenderly trace each scar, Satoru didn’t say anything. Your words struck him a little too much that it made the entire room silent.
His hand reaches out taking your hand that was tracing his scars you could feel the light tremble in his fingers as they interlocked with yours. lifting your head up meeting his gaze finally his eyes were soft and his once bull eyes now slightly dull. His other hand comes out gently cupping your cheek as he stared at you in silence, his dull blue eyes taking in every little detail on your face.
“Didn’t know my scars would turn my wife into a big sap for me,” his lips turning into a small tender smirk. making you let out a breathy giggle knowing in the back of your mind your reassurance worked on him.
“you’re like a tiger now,” you giggle looking at him with so much love. his finger brushed against your cheek his lips turning into a small smile as he let out his own soft chuckle.
“are you saying i look like an animal now?” he teased, his usual playfulness rekindling again after weeks of him being serious and closed off.
Your free hand comes out cupping his trembling hand. “maybe,” you teased back with a small giggle making Satoru rolls his eyes fondling.
You lean up on to your knees that were planted on the couch cushion beside his thick thigh, lips tenderly kissing the long scar on his cheek before pulling away looking into his eyes once more.
“now how about you finish your cake so your brain doesn’t go fuzzy on me, then we can take a nap together.” Satoru just nodded letting out a soft sigh watching you retrieve the plate that was safely on the coffee table.
He knew it would take a while for him to get use to his scars, to everything. But he also knew he had you right by his side nursing him back to his old self again.
synopsis: a story in which a depressed satoru gets sent to the future and sees just how bright it eventually becomes. meanwhile, you're reminded of how much of a brat your husband used to be when you first started dating.
cw: MDNI, time travel, smut w/ a touch of angst bc we LOVE plot, satoru's actually so mean at first lol, dad!jo (him and reader share a daughter together)
notes: hiiii we got 6.5k words for this one ❤️ comm for the lovely @sadlittlecucumber i hope u like!!!!
song rec: drag path — twenty one pilots
Satoru’s life ended up being a fucking bummer.
His best friend’s a mass murderer. Shoko’s gone off to do her own thing with medicine. Nanami left to go become a banker or whatever. Ijichi’s… Ijichi. Oh, and Haibara’s dead. Everyone who’s alive seems to have moved on— so should Satoru, honestly. But times proved that to be quite difficult.
He’s starting to understand where Suguru was coming from with the whole exorcise-absorb mantra. Except for him, it was exorcise and destroy, leaving every cursed site he’s stepped foot on looking like god himself decided to hit the reset button to obliterate the place.
Nobody says anything about it. He’s probably the closest thing to a god. Despite having tried his hardest all throughout his youth to fit in and act as if he was just like everyone else, people were still terrified to fuck with him.
And despite the chaos he’s constantly surrounded by— mainly from his own doing— the days still find a way to bleed into each other, morphing into a never ending cycle of boredom and violence. It’s quite the combo. The higher ups are lucky he’s too tired to plot anything behind their backs.
He’s exhausted.
The past is too blurry. The future’s too bleak.
Gojo was bound to fuck up sooner or later. The thought of him finally snapping like Suguru did, dangling in the back of his mind, taunting him.
He didn’t snap. It’s so much worse than that. At least in the eyes of the arrogant boy who got bested by, what he assumed to be a grade two curse because of how pudgy and stupid it looked. The thing that caught him lacking looked like a fucking blob fish that struggled with crippling anxiety, how the hell was he supposed to know that it could mess with timeof all things?
One moment he’s laughing at the way it looks, the next he’s in the complete dark.
That was the first time he’s smiled in months, by the way.
“Huh?” Satoru huffs out, trying to look around before eventually realizing that he has a blindfold on, and rips it off in annoyance. “Don’t tell me that thing knocked me out,” he begins to grumble to himself. It’d explain why he had a blindfold on… but then he realized he was in a completely different outfit, one that you didn’t put on someone who was currently in rest and recovery.
He highly doubts Shoko would even change him, anyway, at least not for this.
“Oh hey, you’re home.”
Home?
He looks around, and all he knows is this isn’t the dorm he’s continued to stay in after graduation, purely due to the fact that he was already out on missions for up to 18 hours each day. Not to mention that the penthouse he was currently standing in was too clean to be his. Too warm. Way too comfortable.
You already knew there was something deeply off in those first few seconds of looking into his eyes. This wasn’t your husband— this was the hot mess you met and still fell in love with all those years ago.
You tilt your head to the side, more curious than cautious, “Everything alright?”
“Yeah,” he snorts, literally the worst liar ever. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“I don’t know,” you hum, holding eye contact long enough to leave him feeling a bit unsettled. “You tell me.”
First of all, who the fuck do you think you are speaking to him like that?
Second, who even are you?
Something big and shiny on your finger catches his attention, then he looks at his own hand that has an equally shiny band around his ring finger.
Fuck.
“Honey–”
Satoru physically cringes at the pet name, giving himself away once again.
“I’m not Satoru,” he blurts out, rubbing his eyes in frustration. “I mean, I am, but I’m not— FUCK– some fuckin’ curse blasted me into the future, and I need to go back.”
Well, that was quick. He’s always quick to fold under pressure when it comes to you— it’s something he’s unaware of though, as he fights back the urge to start pacing back and forth.
There’s a light smack from your mouth when you go to open it, only for the words to never even come, let alone die out. Nothing about this surprises you. This is not the craziest thing that’s happened since you’ve met Satoru.
Your lips thin into a smile as you take a deep breath, knowing you had no choice but to accept your new circumstances.
“Okay.”
“Okay?” He raises a brow at how you just… accepted it.
“Yeah… I believe it.” You respond flatly, then point at him, casually motioning your finger up and down. “Your attitude kinda sucked when we first met.”
He grimaces, taken aback by the statement. “No, it doesn’t–”
“You also liked to argue, too.”
“Okay— whatever,” he waves a dismissive hand, not at all interested in hearing what else you had to say. At this point, it just sounded like you wanted to shit on him, something he actually doesn’t have any fucking time for right now. “You’re a sorcerer… right?”
“No.”
“Christ.” Satoru sighs, turning on his heel. “You’re fuckin’ useless—“
You scoff, more humored than offended. “Where are you going?”
“To figure this shit out!” he snaps, throwing his arms out as he turns around to face you.
“Okay,” you shrug, still way too calm for Satoru’s liking, as it pisses him off even more. “If you don’t get it all figured out tonight, you can always come back. We have a guest room.”
“Yeah, thanks.” He huffs out a bitter laugh, as if that was the dumbest suggestion he’s ever heard. “I appreciate the offer.”
–
“Yaga” Satoru storms into the principal’s office, ignoring all his cursed stuffed animals, but noticing what he’s done with his hair. “What the fuck happened to you?”
The principal's brows pinch together, wishing he had locked the door to his office. Satoru fucked with him enough today by showing up to a meeting 20 minutes late with some sugary frap in his hand, and now he’s storming into his office, insulting him out of nowhere.
“Actually, nevemind.” Satoru waves a hand to stop him from even answering his question, reminding himself not to get sidetracked right now. “Look, I need your help. I got sent into the future by some curse, and I need to get back.”
Yaga inhales sharply. “What are you even talking about?”
“Exactly what I just said! I’m from 2009! Not whatever age I am now—”
“31.”
Satoru throws up a little in his mouth. “Send me back.”
Yaga lets out a long, disappointed sigh. It’s always something with Satoru. Always. Having to deal with the younger version of him was a painful reminder that he’s been dealing with his bullshit for well over a decade now. Nothing surprises him anymore.
“Let me see if some other windows would be willing to help look through the library. I’m sure you’ll be able to find information on what kind of curse you got hit with.”
“Thank you,” Satoru groans, still not very pleased by everyone’s reactions thus far, but grateful that he can at least get somewhere with Yaga… unlike a certain somebody.
Hours later, he finds himself at the school’s dusty, unkept library. It looks worse than it originally looked before he walked in. Books sprawled everywhere. Research papers were scattered all over the tables and floor. Assistants running around in every direction, more than half of them terrified at the total 180 in Satoru’s attitude.
“W-we can’t find anything,” Ijichi says, too old to be acting this scared in Satoru’s opinion.
He hums, elbows still resting on his knees, not bothering to sit up. “Hey, Ijichi?”
Ijichi gulped loudly, managing to annoy the world’s strongest sorcerer even more. “...Yes?”
“How are you even more incompetent now than you were before?”
“I tried my best! I swear!”
“Well, it’s not good enough— I’m still here!” he snaps at the nervous wreck of a man. Thank fucking god Ijichi listened to him and just became a window. He sucks at it too, but at least it’s easier for this dumbass to avoid death. “God— what the fuck am I supposed to do now?!”
“This is just one of the libraries, there’s more! And some in Kyoto too, that we’ll have the Kyoto branch check out.”
“Do whatever you need to do. I’m just letting you know right now that if I'm not back by tomorrow, you better watch the fuck out.”
The threat is followed by complete dead silence, aside from a certain someone's breath catching in horror.
“Me?!” Ijichi squeaks out.
The sorcerer doesn’t bother answering that and instead walks away, grumbling something insulting under his breath, just in complete and utter disbelief over how Ijichi truly hasn’t changed.
—
You figured your husband would eventually come back, so you set some food aside for him, and now you’re sitting at the dinner table, trying not to laugh at the pout on his face as he picks at his dinner with the chopsticks in his hand.
“Is the food good?”
“Sure.”
“I can warm that up for you, if you want?” you ask, barely trying to hide your amusement.
“No thanks,” he curtly responds before shoving another piece of karaage into his mouth. He’s known to have a sweet tooth, but chicken karaage’s probably his favorite food, savory wise. You almost want to tell him that he’s allowed to enjoy food even if his day hasn’t gone the way he had planned. “I’d appreciate it if you stopped staring.”
Your lips twitch, threatening to break out into a fit of laughter. “Right, sorry.”
“Mommy…? Is Daddy home yet?”
Oh great. As if the day couldn’t get any worse— now there’s a child.
“Yeah,” you respond in a tentative tone, shooting Satoru a look that screams ‘behave or else’, and even though you are currently a stranger to him, it intimidates him enough to behave for the time being.
A little girl, no older than 4 years old, walks into the kitchen and Satoru’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head upon seeing his daughter. It’s pretty obvious she’s his with her baby blue eyes and stark white hair. Her facial features are entirely yours, though. It’s strange to see.
“Hey… kiddo—” he awkwardly says, not really sure how to address the little girl. You clear your throat, mouthing ‘princess’ when he looks at you, because your daughter also happens to have her dad’s attitude. “I mean princess.”
It’s hilarious how unnatural it sounds right now when he was the one who started calling her that the moment you two took her home from the hospital.
“You pomis to wead bedtime stowie,” she starts to pout— same exact way he does.
“Did I?” He gives the girl a sympathetic look, albeit fake.
“Yeah,” she frowns as she walks up to you, giving him the world’s nastiest side eye. “Liar.”
Why is that the one word she’s able to enunciate correctly? She didn’t even stutter.
“Yeah— I was a little busy with work today,” he murmurs, as if she knew what that even meant. With the glare she was giving him, he doubted she’d even care if he broke down what work and the importance of it was. “Maybe mommy can read to you tonight?”
Sai wasn’t having that.
Satoru spent the end of his night reading her favorite book to her. Multiple times. He almost asked if it was some form of punishment for not upholding a promise he didn’t technically make himself, but decided against it in fear that she’d make him read it one more time. Sai fell asleep… eventually. Despite there being no way to prove it, he knows that the little girl forced herself to stay up out of pure spite.
But still, he finds himself smiling as he thinks about his nightmare of a future, not wiping it off quickly enough when you lightly knock on the guest bedroom door.
“Here’s some jammys for the night.” You smile back as you walk up and hand him a pair of sweats and a white t-shirt, both neatly folded up. “Figured you wouldn’t want to sleep in your work clothes.”
“Oh uh— thanks.” He clears his throat and forces out a laugh, pushing through the embarrassment of getting caught smiling to himself.
You’re giving him that look again. The one that’s mixed with amusement and a bit of fondness, where you look like you’re about to start making fun of him, but never do. Satoru would rather die than admit it makes him nervous.
“What?”
There’s a small pause as your smile grows. “Do you like your kid?”
“She’s weird.”
“Yeah, no— you wouldn’t believe who she got that from.”
“Fuck off.” A laugh easily slips through his lips this time, unable to stay serious at the thought of her inheriting even just a quarter of the traits he had as a child. Then it grows quiet again as he realizes she probably has the freedom to be a kid.
He wants to ask, but you beat him to it with a statement that answered the question he had in mind.
“Your duties as her father don’t end just because you managed to time travel by the way,” you say playfully, though he knows you’re being dead serious.
He can only guess what other horrors that little girl will subject him to for the rest of his time here. To put it simply, she’s not afraid of Dad.
For once, somebody doesn’t look at him as a god to fear.
—
It’s been over a month.
Ijichi and the rest of the windows are just as useless as they were when they first started trying to find answers. All that’s changed is that Nanami knows, and doesn’t seem to be too thrilled about the fact that he is now involved.
But still, the search for the fix to his predicament continues, turning every library and warehouse upside down. That’s all they could really do— aside from asking the elders for assistance of some sort.
Over his dead body.
Knowing they’d most likely do more harm than good, everyone’s agreed to keep this all a little secret from them.
So all that’s left to do, or rather forced to do, is to be patient. It’s hard. Satoru doesn’t do patient— he’s the type to snap his fingers and have a solution magically appear right before his eyes. You can only imagine how difficult it’s been for him to accept that he can’t immediately get what he wants right now.
Not to mention the fact that he had to continue working throughout all of this, but that wasn’t very surprising.
Now, what was surprising was learning that he has his weekends completely to himself. If anything, he assumed he’d just work more as time went on, but no. Turns out he threatened to kill the higher-ups if they didn’t let him have that when you two got married.
Satoru looks over your body once.
Twice.
He totally understands his future self.
He looks again for a third time, and you just so conveniently turn around, showing off your cute, frilly little apron covered in flour streaks.
It’s Sunday— you’ve been baking sweet treats all morning, and he wishes he had been a little nicer to you. Especially a couple of days ago when he snapped at you.
You had found him sitting alone on the balcony, head in his hands from yet another day of failure.
“Hey… any good news?”
“No,” he said impatiently. “If there was, I wouldn’t fucking be here right now.”
“Fair enough.” Your voice took a dip as you looked at the ground, allowing yourself to feel a little hurt for a moment before trying to lift the mood again. “Well… me and Sai stopped by your favorite bakery and got you the cookies you like if you wanted some—“
“No— no,” Satoru cut you off. “I don’t want your fucking cookies. I don’t want to do a family movie night where all we watch is Ms. Rachel. I don’t want to read some book about a mouse trying to become a fucking painter over and over again. I don’t want ANY of it. I want to fucking go home— what part about that do you not get?”
You tried to stand as straight as possible despite your shoulders growing heavier, pushing against the small frown threatening to carve itself across your face. You forgot how mean he used to be, at least during that first year of dating him. It only stings more because the man you married would never raise his voice like that, and you remind yourself that this isn’t him.
After a long pause, he looked up at you and immediately felt guilt wash over him.
“I didn’t mean that,” he tried to meet your eyes as he began to backtrack. “I’m sorry, I just— fuck. I didn’t mean any of that—”
“It’s fine.” You forced yourself to look at him again and smile. “I’ll uh… give you some space.”
The one thing about Satoru is that he doesn’t apologize. Like ever. So, one could only imagine how painfully awkward it was later that night when he knocked on your bedroom door to say he was sorry. It didn’t help that you were in a paper-thin silk slip, skin glistening from the lotion you rubbed all over it— he spent half his time trying not to stare at your tits. Had you been anyone else, it wouldn’t have felt as genuine.
But thank fuck he apologized, you probably would’ve spent all day ignoring him.
You raise a brow, and his cheeks start to pink. “What are you staring at?”
“Nothing, you just–” he awkwardly gestures at your entire body, “there’s flour all over you.”
It almost sounds like he’s offended by it. He kind of is. You keep your foot on his fucking neck— he doesn’t even know why he came out here.
“Oh, right— 'cause messes have always bothered you,” you lean over the island ever so slightly. The pink on his cheeks darkens as you do, unable to control his eyes from drifting down to your cleavage. And while he’s not exactly ashamed of looking— you are his wife after all— he can’t help but be a little flustered.
He’s always had a thing for milfs.
Especially when said milf is talking about messes— he knows a couple of places he could make a mess on right now.
“Nah,” he rests his elbows on the marble counter as a playful grin stretches across his face. “This is nothing compared to how I like it.”
You tilt your head, a small laugh escaping you as you rest your chin over your palm, curious to see where this conversation will get you.
“How do you like it?” you ask, as if you didn’t already know how filthy and depraved he could get when he’s alone in a room with you.
And you fucking miss that.
He opens his mouth to respond.
Then you hear your daughter whimpering about waking up alone. It’s nothing new, and you revert back to mom mode as you watch her turn the corner and waddle towards you.
Satoru, on the other hand, is not used to this. The slightly bruised laugh he lets out just barely masks his desire to fucking scream. What a fucking cockblock— no wonder you only have one kid.
His kid completely ignores his existence as she wraps herself around your leg, continuing to whimper despite no actual tears streaming down her cheeks. “I had a nightmawh.”
Meanwhile, there’s Satoru, who has yet to wake up from his very own nightmare. He internally sighs, then attempts to grab her attention because it doesn’t feel very good watching her give it all to you. “You wanna share a muffin with daddy?”
It’s starting to sound more natural.
“Y-yeah,” she sniffles.
Minutes later, she’s sitting on his lap, absolutely demolishing the blueberry muffin they ended up splitting— a complete 180. He couldn’t be mad, even if he tried.
His little girl was a dream.
—
Month two. Ijichi is still as useless as ever. He stopped complaining to you about him, though. You noticed he doesn’t talk about going back to his original timeline all that much anymore.
It’s not like Satoru’s given up hope, he’s just more present, as if he finally realized that wallowing in self-pity wasn’t going to send him back any faster. He’s unknowingly more like his future self— laid back, not a care in the world.
He’s even sleeping in for once. It’s not that hard though when Sai’s gone for the day. She seemed to care more about getting the hell out of the house with her grandparents than greeting her father a good morning. You didn’t push her to, either— figuring Satoru needed the sleep. He always does.
It’s too bad that his phone started blowing up at around 10:00 am. Unfortunately for you, he left his phone in the living room, leaving you to get up and grab it since the master bedroom was the closest room to it. With how thick the walls are, you doubt he’d even hear it.
With a long sigh, you rise from bed, rubbing the sleep off your eyes as you snatch the stupid phone off the coffee table.
The snores coming from Satoru reach your ears before you even open the door. You have to hold back a laugh as you walk in and take a look at him. Face down, his long limbs sprawled over the bed, messy white hair sticking out in all directions.
You reach out and place a gentle hand on his shoulder, surprised infinity is off.
“Toru?” He stirs a bit, and you cautiously attempt to wake him up again. “Toru— someone’s been trying to call you for the past 10 minutes now.”
He lifts his head, eyes still sealed shut as he murmurs, “Who?”
“Uhh,” you look at the screen, unsure of who it might be. “Your contact name for them is nerd.”
You know it’s not Ijichi because his contact name is “courage 🐶” in his phone. Someone else must've annoyed Satoru for him to change yet another contact.
Satoru shoves his head back into the pillow and groans before taking the phone off your hands.
It’s Nanami. He, of all people, should know now is not the time to be blowing up his phone right now because he is fucking sleeping. It’s a Saturday for fucks sake.
Satoru sighs and accepts the call, grumbling into the phone. “What?”
Nanami cuts straight to the chase, as he would rather be doing anything else right now.
“How long are you planning on hiding your secret from the higher-ups?” he asks in a clipped tone.
Satoru rubs his eyes, too tired to return the same sense of urgency his friend seems to have at the moment. “Forever.”
“Don’t give me that.” A vein pops up on the side of the usually stoic man’s forehead. “They asked me about you this morning. They know something’s up. I can’t keep covering for you if it means my own safety’s on the line.”
“You really haven’t changed, have you?” It’s more of a statement than a question.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean—“
“You’ll be fine,” Satoru cuts him off. “They’re always up my ass anyway. I doubt they’re even suspicious. They just don’t know how to mind their own fuckin’ business. Seriously. You’re worrying over nothing right now.”
“I swear to god Gojo, if you—“
“Kay’ good night.”
Click.
Nanami’s probably fuming right now, but he’ll get over it. Satoru wanted to enjoy this. Lying in a comfy bed, surrounded by nothing but peace and quiet. He closes his eyes and stretches a bit, then rests his hands behind his head.
He would’ve forgotten that you were still sitting at the edge of the bed had you not lightly cleared your throat. One eye opens to look at you, then closes. The last thing he wants to do is share the reason why Nanami had been blowing up his phone all morning.
“Just because you can’t see me doesn’t mean I’m not here.” You cross your arms. “What was that all about?”
“Nothin’,” he easily says. “Just Nanami being Nanami— the guy’s a fuckin’ stickler for no reason.”
“That’s a little rude, no?” you chastise him.
“So is waking me up.”
“Sai wakes you up all the time, though.”
“Sai’s a ball of sunshine,” he says, quickly coming to her defense. “Not a grown man with depression— where is she by the way?”
“She’s spending the afternoon with my parents.”
Both eyes open this time, and stay open. “Why didn’t you go with them?”
“No way,” you wave a hand. “I need a break, too.”
“Yeah, no— I’m sure,” he agrees, feeling flustered all the sudden.
And Satoru being Satoru, he doesn’t do a very good job of hiding it, once again forgetting that you can read him better than anyone else can.
You smile, scooching closer, “You good there?”
“Yeah, m’fine,” he murmurs, trying not to shift around too much.
“I can take care of that, you know.”
“What?”
“That.” You look down at the boner he’s been trying to hide since finding out it’s just you two here.
“That’s not—“ His brain straight up short-circuits. “You don’t think that’s weird?”
“No.” You continue to inch forward, getting closer to him. “Do you think it’s weird?”
“No— never,” he shakes his head, answering a little too fast. “Fuck— won’t future me get mad?”
“Not at all. The most he’d probably do is make me show him what we did.”
“Make you show him?” he repeats after you in disbelief.
“Is that a problem?”
“No, that’s— that’s fuckin’ hot.”
Minutes later, you’re leaning forward with your hand wrapped around his base, and his breath catches as you start to slowly pump his cock.
“Feel good?”
His lids lower as he hums, “yeah— keep going.”
You lean forward, letting a string of spit fall from your lips to the tip of his cock, letting it mix with the precum that was already beading down from it. The wet sounds of you stroking him begin to grow, making the heat in between your legs start to pool.
“Can I sit on it?” You look up at him, batting your lashes as you innocently ask.
“Please,” he blurts out, just about ready to start begging you to.
You’d be lying if you said you weren’t just as eager as him after all the weeks spent pretending like you don’t notice the way he stares at you. Lustfully. The slip you’re wearing happens to be extra short today, so you forego stripping down and practically pounce on him. Your soaked panties grazing over his rock-hard length as you straddle him, letting yourself get comfortable while Satoru grows impatient.
His hands find themselves planted on your hips and pull you down. A low groan escapes him as he grinds you against him. “God— fuck me. Please.”
“Well, since you’re being so sweet—”
You reach down, hooking a finger into the fabric of your panties, pulling them to the side. He’s already lining himself up with your entrance, teasing your hole as he runs his tip through your folds, collecting all the slick. His lips part as he watches in awe at how damn wet you are.
His head tips back as you lower yourself, groaning and rambling to himself as if you weren’t there to hear it all.
"Fuck. You’re so hot.” His words come out strained as he watches you start to take him inch by inch, slowly working yourself open. “So fuckin’ tight, too.”
“Mmm— forgot how big you are.” Your voice is all soft and breathy from the fullness, nails slowly digging into his abs as you bottom out.
It takes a minute to adjust— it has been 3 months after all. But then you finally roll your hips, and Satoru almost starts singing praises at how good you are at that— lifting your hips all the way up and throwing them back, taking all of him.
"Fuck yeah– just like that," he breathes, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips. "Feels so fucking good."
You murmur back a measly, “kay,” already dizzy from the stretch. You’re able to keep up the pace on your own for a bit, until you feel his grip on you tighten and the sounds of skin slapping against his start to grow as he starts to help you out.
You wouldn’t exactly call it help though, not when he ended up doing all the work— holding you steady while he practically bounces you on his cock, pulling more and more moans out of you as the head of his cock repeatedly kissed your sweet spot with almost no effort.
"You take it so good," he groans, pupils blown wide as he starts to feel himself lose control, snapping his hips up a little harder than the last. He wants more, he always wants more— so he pulls you forward and pulls your straps down far enough for your tits to spill out. "Perfect fuckin’ tits. Been thinking about these for weeks."
You let out a surprised gasp as he pops a nipple in his mouth with no warning. You fully believe him with the way he starts sucking and swirling and flicking his tongue over your sensitive bud, all while snapping his hips up harder.
He pulls back with a pop, looking up at you for approval. “Was that good?”
“Mhm.” There’s a fucked out expression on your face as you weakly nod. “Harder.”
“You want me to fuck you harder?”
“Yeah.”
Something in him snaps. Eager to please you, he flips you over and folds you underneath him— grabbing the back of your knees and pinning them to your chest so he can drive his cock into you deeper.
“Better?”
He drives his hips forward again, knocking the air out of your lungs. “God— yes.”
“I can’t— fuck— can’t believe you’re all mine, can’t believe I get to have you,” he starts to ramble as the sounds of him absolutely pounding into you fill the room. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect— all of you.”
He crashes his lips into yours— the kiss is messy, powered by hunger. Satoru’s always been overwhelming, but it’s been years since it’s been this emotionally intense. He fucks you like he needs you, like he’s been waiting for you all his life.
Your walls begin to squeeze and flutter around his cock, pulling another groan out of him. “You close?”
“Yeah,” you whine, feeling the pressure begin to coil. “Keep going.”
He’s close too, you can tell by how sloppy his thrusts have grown, no longer trying to control himself as he starts chasing after both of your releases. He shoves his face into the crook of your neck and fucks you faster, harder— balls slapping against your ass with each lewd wet squelch.
Your orgasm hits you hard after one particularly rough thrust. Scratching at his back as a cry tears through you, and it only goes straight to his dick, not even realizing just how overstimulated you are from the way he drills into you.
“Fuck.” It’s just one word that comes out of his mouth after realizing how hard he’s about to fucking cum. He bites into your shoulder as his balls start to tighten, squeezing his eyes shut as he braces himself.
When it happens, it’s a lot. He shoves himself deep inside of you, unaware of all the weight he puts on you as hot spurts of cum begin to flood your walls. Slowly grinding against you, letting your tight pussy milk the rest of him.
You’re wrecked by the end of it. You both are— lids tired and heavy, bodies sore and out of breath.
And in the end, you just let yourself fall asleep, unaware of the soft kiss pressed against your temple as he watched you.
—
It’s month three, and Satoru doesn’t want to go back.
What was the point? It’s not like he had anyone or anything to go back to. Jujutsu Society never crumbled from him getting shot into the future. Would it really be that bad if he just never went back and continued on with his life from here?
He hasn’t uttered a word about it out loud, but the way he completely stopped asking Yaga and Ijichi for updates was telling of where he was at mentally.
Acceptance.
He likes his life here.
You’ve come to your own conclusion after these last three months.
No wonder why he was so hot and cold when you were trying to get to know him. Satoru got a little taste of genuine comfort, only for it to be ripped away from him sometime before you two actually met. It explains all the times you wondered why he even tried with you, despite being too emotionally inept to even be in a relationship. He probably went through the beginning of your relationship thinking you could disappear at any second.
With that being said, he can’t stay here. As much as you’d love to continue being the source of comfort for this version of Satoru, he needs to experience the last year he spent alone before meeting you. He needs to feel cautious around you. He needs to try and fail at opening up a handful of times before getting comfortable with the idea of truly being vulnerable with a person. Getting over that element of fear he had towards getting close to others is what made him a husband and father— he couldn’t just skip that part of his life.
You have no idea how you’re going to tell him that, though. You’re not one to kick a sick puppy, especially one as cute as him. He’s so happy here with you and Sai that the thought of doing so makes your chest ache.
He’s having a tea party with Sai right now, limbs way too long to sit in the little stool she pulled up for him to sit in. He drinks imaginary tea from the plastic pink cup she hands him, and your chest aches some more. You force yourself to look away before the tears start.
You’d do the next 11 years all over again if you could.
“Hey, Honey?” Satoru calls out to you.
There’s a pause before you whip your head around— it’s been months since he’s called you that. There’s nothing but warmth and fondness in his eyes as his gaze meets yours. “Why is Nanami’s number saved under ‘nerd’ in my phone?”
He’s back.
“I don’t know,” you laugh, despite the tear falling down your cheek. “You tell me.”
—
Satoru didn’t want to believe it when everything around him went dark once again. It’s not until his feet touch the ground with a soft thud and he finds himself back in his messy, cold dorm when reality slapped him across the face.
Something between a sob and a gut-wrenching scream rips from his throat. Grabbing the round shades he had hoped he’d never have to fucking wear again, he rips them off his face and sends it crashing into the wall, breaking into a hundred little pieces. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t give himself a chance to even breathe or think before raising his hand and releasing a purple orb with just a flick of his fingers.
Impulsive. Reckless. Deadly.
Satoru was fucking devastated.
Nobody knew what triggered him that night. All they knew was that the east wing of the school looked like it had been hit by an asteroid by the time he calmed down. He didn’t speak to anyone for a good two weeks following the incident. Everyone wants to think he was lucky the explosion didn’t have any casualties, but then they remembered who he was: Satoru fucking Gojo.
God’s don’t get punished, nor do natural disasters— it’s hard to tell which one he was at this point.
One Year Later
“If it’s that small of a curse, why are you sending me there?” Satoru continues to argue with one of the new managers over the phone.
It wasn’t that small of a curse. It was a grade one. But still, given the sorcerer’s title as a special grade, he was overqualified for the job.
“I’m sorry, we just don’t have anyone available to take on the case at the moment.” The young woman continues to apologize over the phone. “I think we might have a grade 3 available for the job. I- I can check—”
“Save it.” Satoru cuts her off. He wasn’t that heartless to push the case off to some 15 year old. That’s exactly how Haibara died. “Send me the address.”
The mission was nothing short of an inconvenience for him. He liked a challenge when exorcising curses, and the damn thing didn’t even put up a fucking fight. He traveled 2 hours to get here just for that? Unbelievable.
He wasn’t ready to leave and sit on a train for another 2 hours just yet, so he decided to walk around the town for a bit.
It was a cute place, a little quiet. Kinda boring. That’s never a bad thing, though. Lots of mom and pop shops, a few coffee shops scattered around, one of which he decided to try. A little sugar’s always good, at least to him.
The smell of vanilla and roasted coffee beans hit him as he walked into the place. There was a decent amount of customers inside. Not too much to feel crowded, but enough to stay busy. He keeps his eyes on the menu the entire time. The line moves fast, and he figures out what he wants just in time.
“And what can I get started for you today?”
His eyes are still on the screen, reading the item off the menu.
“Can I get a white chocolate mocha frappuccino, with an extra pump of…” his words die out, and his eyes widen as he finally looks at the girl taking his order. “Hey.”
“Hi.” You laugh at the way this stranger loses his train of thought. “Extra pump of white chocolate syrup?”
“Yeah.” He exhales, unable to rip his eye off you as you write the words down on the plastic cup with a sharpie.
“Name for the order?”
“Go– Satoru,” he corrects himself. “It’s Satoru.”
He’s a little awkward, but you still find him quite charming and smile. “Alright, Satoru. Your order should be ready in about 10 minutes.”
“Awesome. Thanks,” he nods rather pathetically, then goes to sit in an empty corner of the shop with only one thought in mind:
He has 10 minutes to come up with what to say to get your number.
༉‧₊˚. shoko has been on your ass for a week, asking you to accompany her to a frat party. her plug choso has been ignoring her, and she can’t seem to reach him. this party is her only way of getting an answer from him, and she can’t go to it alone and instead chooses you to suffer with her. you hated the idea of going at first, but as you sit on his lap with his joint between your lips, maybe being forced here isn’t so bad …
contents college au, frat choso / plug choso / stoner choso, but tbh this is more of a stoner fratboy choso who happens to also be a plug fic, mentions of yuki x choso but its nothing super serious, YUKI IS NOT THE VILLAIN AT ALL just stupid misunderstandings and miscommunication, yearning, descriptions of drug usage and its effects, sex while high, fingering, p in v, no protection, orgasm denial, squirting, lots and lots of desperate kisses, insecurities and overthinking — 10.7k words
doll notes ୨୧ hello all !!! ive been struggling to write this over the past few days i just kept deleting and rewriting everything and even now im still a bit unsatisfied :’( love the way i wrote choso in this tho, he’s so sweet and i genuinely need him so bad sigh // also yes this is a repost if u saw me post this a few hrs ago No U Didnt. tnx
“please, i am begging you.”
shoko follows you out the room, puppy dog eyes following your every move as the two of you make your way back to the dorms. you sigh but don’t give her any other acknowledgment, moving past people with calculated precision. shoko almost doesn’t keep up, taking a deep breath when you two finally make it into your dorm building, only to rush back up on her feet when you don’t stop to wait for her to catch her breath.
“hey—” she reaches her hand out to stop you from slamming the door on her face, earning an exasperated sigh from you as you open the door wider, getting a good look of her desperate display. “i am begging you,”
“—i know you are. what happened to yuki?” she forces her way into your room, making herself comfortable in your sheets as you put your stuff down and start changing into a more comfortable outfit.
“i told you already,” she says with an eye roll. “they’re not a thing anymore, i don’t know—i wasn’t really paying attention to her story.” you pull the shirt over your head when she grabs her phone to respond to some texts.
yuki is shoko’s friend who frequents frat parties during the weekends and is popular for being everyone’s friend. you’ve interacted with her a couple of times — you were there when she spoke light of a new situationship she’s gotten herself into.
“my sexy ass dealer, choso kamo.” she says, sighing dreamily to herself as she recounts the multiple positions he put her in.
shoko, not caring about the details of yuki’s sex life, ignored her sexual comments and gets to her point — “is his shit good?”
and with all the confidence in the world, yuki says yes.
and that begins shoko’s continued guest arrival at these frat parties, at least the ones yuki is sure choso would be at. over time, he also became shoko’s dealer.
despite you being present during the conversation, you weren’t involved with anything and always stayed in when shoko would meet up with yuki.
“okay, and i don’t know any of them. what difference is it gonna make if i’m the one going with you?” you cross your arms, staring at her intently as she sits on your bed trying to come up with evil little plans. plans to get you, somehow involved.
“i don’t need you to do anything!” she waves her hands in the air, eyes following your body as you make your way to the other side of the bed, getting under the covers. she smiles at your close proximity and lunges at you, wrapping her arms around yours.
“so i’m just your emotional support?” you chuckle.
“pretty much,” she shrugs casually. shoko is a dedicated customer of yuki’s old fling, you highly doubt a broke college student would turn away a consistent customer for the sake of a broken up situationship. unless he was filthy rich and could act out however he pleases, or yuki did him that horrible. you doubt that — yuki’s popular reputation doesn’t excuse her for being emotionally absent when it comes to anything past the friendly boundary, and she makes sure to also only … mess with people who have the same values as her.
“i just want to know if me and him are good,” she stands up, walking around the bed and to the nightstand next to you to dig in your drawers, fingers catching the joint she had hid in there a week ago. “found ya,” she whispers. you look at what she’s holding and gasp, smacking her on the side of her shoulder.
“the hell?!” you look at her in disbelief while she responds with her hands raised in the air like she surrenders. after a small pause, you say, “wait, how many more of those are hidden in here? and how long have you been doing this?” you’re not necessarily a clean freak, but you try your hardest to give your dorm a good clean every week to keep yourself in a positive mindset with a clean environment. you were bound to find one of them on your own, right?
she debunks your statement by responding, “since last year.” she’s by your window, flickering the lighter a couple of times before a small flame rises, aligned to the joint in her hand as she begins smoking. one of the many benefits to your single dorm room and it’s location — you’re rooming by yourself in a room with a balcony, plus it’s facing the back of campus where no one will ever catch you. it’s pure luck, really, that you get to live so luxuriously for college. shoko didn’t talk to you for a month because like any normal person, you refused to switch rooms with her.
“and yuki won’t care?”
she scoffs. “and why would yuki care?”
“okay, fair.”
so now you’re here, during your very free weekend, trying to keep into your personal bubble as people push past each other so casually it makes you all the more want to leave. shoko is holding your hand tight, leading you into the crowd as they split to accommodate the path shoko makes.
“i hate this, sho.” you pout once you’re finally past. there’s a couch not too far from where you’re both standing, and beside it is the entry way that leads into what you assume the kitchen. a large group is by the couch, some seated and some standing up. most have their hands occupied with a red cup, but only one has theirs busy with a fat blunt.
your eyes follow from their fingers to their arms, neck, jaw, and then face. his face. is that him? there’s a thick black line going across his face, with two thinner lines coming through it that align with the center of his eyes and eyebrows. is that a tattoo? it’s a really creative one, and it fits exceptionally well with his personal style — clad in chains and silver jewelry, nose bridge pierced along with his bottom lip with a hoop at the corner of his lips, and soft hair pulled into pigtails. he’s fucking gorgeous.
“that’s him,” shoko says, like she knew who you were staring at, making you self conscious for shamelessly staring. you hope no one noticed, and shoko didn’t. but you know who did?
“shoko?” he calls out for her, and shoko’s eyes widen in a sort of relieved way, probably because that’s confirmation to her that him and her are good. the two of you approach him, and with shoko’s hand still tight with yours, you try to look anywhere but into his eyes. attractive people make you nervous, and he’s everything your eyes could ever want to look at.
“you didn’t answer any of my texts,” for anyone who doesn’t know the context between the two, it would seem like this is a conversation between two people who are involved romantically. you still don’t make eye contact with him, and he notices. although most of his attention is given to shoko, he can’t help but sneak a few quick glances at you.
“i didn’t know if you were gonna be weird about me and yuki,” he shrugs, taking a hit off his blunt. shoko makes a gesture like she’s asking for some, and he passes it to her with almost no hesitation.
she pulls the blunt off her lips and groans, “i don’t care about yuki’s sexcapades,” she takes a couple more hits and hands it back to him.
he chuckles, “can’t argue with that.” it doesn’t take him long to finish the blunt, flicking it to some random corner of the frat house like it’s one of his flings. “i got some stuff, if you wanna take a look.” he gestures upstairs to his room, and shoko throws you a knowing glance.
i told you so, is written all over her face.
you follow quietly with shoko as he leads you two to his room. he hasn’t outright acknowledged you, and you don’t know whether to be thankful or be hurt. he is attractive, after all. even you could see that under the dark lights and deafening music.
“it’s in the drawer.” he gestures to shoko, who follows his word and makes a beeline for his nightstand the minute he opens the door. he politely urges you to come inside, and you do, awkwardly standing near the entrance as he closes the door behind him and starts to make his way to shoko.
seeing you standing there nervously makes choso’s heart tighten in some emotion he’s not familiar with, but he chooses to ignore it and approaches you gently. you watch him inch closer and panic, blurting out—“i’m okay here!” … he’s taken back by your outburst, and your eyes widen as the realization settles.
“o-okay..” he nods, turning around to look for shoko. as his back turns to you, you facepalm and curse to yourself, a wave of regret crashing into you as the entire interaction starts to replay in your head. you’re embarrassed, and want nothing more than to go back to the safety and comfort of your dorm, away from everyone—from him…
“shit!”
your attention is captured by shoko’s loud hiss coming from the area her and choso disappeared into. boldly, you walk towards the source of sound to find her standing by the previously mentioned nightstand and choso’s sitting on his bed, facing her. her phone is in her hand, her eyes trained on the screen with panic. your shadow comes into her view and makes her look up, a sigh of relief escaping her at the sight of you, her self proclaimed guardian angel in disguise.
“yuki is calling.” she says, hints of fear and recent drug intake dripping from her words.
you look around awkwardly with a shrug, “so?”
“so, yuki is calling and i’m in her ex’s room—”
“—woah, i’m not her ex..”
“that’s besides the matter,” shoko sighs, rubbing her temples as her stress begins to rise. it’s already starting to sober her up, which is a horrible beginning to her saturday night. “i don’t want her to get any funny ideas.”
shoko’s phone doesn’t stop ringing. “well, what do you want us to do?” you ask, begging quietly to yourself for her to get you both out of here. this is the perfect opportunity to go, she got what she came for and technically more! there’s no way she would keep you here longer than necessary.
“stay here.” she says, shattering all your hopes and expectations as she heads for the door, phone in hand and joint in between her lips. “be right back!” she skips off, slamming the door behind her. as she walks away and farther from the door, you hear her answering the call and greet yuki nervously.
“wait, hey—” choso sighs like a tired mom, trying his best effort to grab the joint from your grasp without physically overpowering you. he simply doesn’t want you to do too much you’re not used to and end up making yourself sick. “let me have—yes, okay. that’s it for you.” he finally presses the end of the joint down into the ashtray, putting its light out and leaving it there while he tends to you.
and now you’re stuck here with choso kamo, in his room, for god knows how long. you have no idea what yuki is on the phone for, it’s possible that shoko would be gone longer than you’d like her to be. hell, you don’t even want to be in this situation at all. it’s not like you’re not allowed to just leave and text shoko to meet up with you later, but the thought of having to walk through this frat house by yourself, it makes your head dizzy. in the worst way possible.
“hey,” you call out to him. you ignore the anxiety building in your stomach when he whips his head toward you, dark eyes practically pulling you in. his eye contact is too intense, it’s like he’s reading you from the inside. “can you..maybe—uh, walk me out of here?” his eyes widen at your request, but they go away faster than when they appeared.
“sure,” he stands up, leading you out his room. you’re at the end of the hallway, about to descend the stairs when loud thunder starts to clap outside the house, the calming sound of rain drops pitter pattering against the roof can be heard even as the music downstairs doesn’t quiet down.
“fuck,” you sigh, watching through the window as the rain progressively gets harder. “is there a quieter place here? this isn’t really my thing,” you gesture to the party downstairs, earning a small smile from him.
“probably my room.” he says nonchalantly. you look at him with a teasing look while he returns it with a deadpan one, not realizing the innuendos hidden in his statement. his brain starts to process your expression, his eyes widening when pieces of the puzzle start to paint something familiar. “that’s—not what i meant… it’s—they’re probably fucking in their rooms—”
you let out a laugh, “i know what you meant. no worries,” you smile, and he looks at you with feign disappointment. he doesn’t say anything else, only turning around to walk back to his room. with your heart warm, you follow behind him and sit comfortably on his bed once you’ve reached his room. the party is loud downstairs, but the distance and multiple walls separating you from the party does more than enough in quieting the environment for you.
you expected him to go downstairs, back to the party and gloat about how he’s got a girl in his room, lying and making claims that he’s making you wait in here like a good pet, all because that’s what frat boys do. but he’s here, sitting at the edge of his own bed while you lay comfortably.
“do you smoke?” choso swiftly grabs a joint from under his bed, movement so smooth it’s like he made it appear out of thin air. you gulp, watching him place the joint in between his lips and leaving it to hang there while he looks around for a lighter.
“not really,” you trail off. you debated for a good minute whether you wanted to be honest or try and impress him, earn yourself some brownie points so that whatever is going on between you can continue for the days to come.
he hums in response, not saying anything else while he bends to pick up the lighter from the ground beside his nightstand. you watch as he lights the end, burning off the excess paper before relighting it to properly get the joint lit.
he takes in a drag, taking the joint off his mouth and keeping it in bay between his fingers. he inhales, keeping his breath still as the smoke he inhaled dissipates. he exhales, bringing the joint back up to his lips. he notices your curious gaze and gestures the joint over to you with an offering look.
“you want?” his voice is so sweet, completely judge free and granting you the comfort of having absolute free will in your decision. his display of the bare minimum makes your knees weak and the joint in his hand seem more appealing.
“okay,” you exhale, trying your best to rid of the nervousness lingering in your body. he nods, bringing the joint closer to you. you hesitate for a beat, taking the joint into your fingers with moves of unfamiliarity. choso doesn’t comment on it, though, easing your nerves as you bring the joint to your lips.
and just like you’ve done a couple of times with shoko, you inhale. but just like any other inexperienced smoker, you inhale for longer than someone of your caliber is capable of, causing you to forcefully remove the joint from your lips to erupt in a coughing fit, smoke rapidly leaving your mouth following your coughs.
choso leaves and quickly comes back with a glass of cold water, the sight of the cooled glass in his hands nearly bringing you to tears. you take the glass with a grateful smile and hand him the joint in exchange, carefully sipping away the burn in your throat.
“careful, there.” he says, rubbing soothing circles on your back as he watches you down the glass. after putting down the glass, he brings the same joint back to your field of vision. “try again?” he looks at you, as gentle as he could ever be.
you look at him, studying the way his eyes are low and slightly red from the after effects of the weed. the lamp on his nightstand is the only proper source of light in his room, the rest being his led strip lights and the monitor lights from his computer setup. his pale face shines under all that mix of lighting, and you swear it’s impossible for him to look this beautiful up close too.
you nod, about to grab the joint when he shakes his head at you, bringing the joint to your lips himself. you look at him hesitantly for a second, eyes looking at his slightly parted lips. you’re tempted to just lean in, move the joint out of the way and press your lips against his, but you fight against it when he brings the joint closer once again.
you part your lips, waiting for him to place the joint in between them. and he does, watching you intently as you drag a hit, trying your best to inhale it all in like you watched him do earlier. your lungs don’t betray you this time, allowing you to take a smooth inhale and exhale exchange with the joint, the sensation immediately hitting you and settling throughout your body.
choso notices your lack of tolerance and how the joint easily affects you, putting it on the ashtray sitting on his nightstand. pouting, you reach for the joint, “i can do more,” you whine. choso shakes his head, but is ultimately lost to your pout. you’re just too cute, he can’t help it. he cautiously grabs the joint and once again brings it to your lips, watching you take another hit. the haze of your high makes you bolder, and you grab the joint from his hands and start free-balling hits.
you, who’s practically on cloud 9. it’s dreamy, laying in bed with him, almost cuddling, as you’re high off your ass. he’s so pretty too, eyes never leaving yours as he handles you with utmost care. it doesn’t help that he was also being a sweetheart about everything, never making you feel lesser of yourself for being inexperienced, nor laughing at you for coughing your lungs out from such little intake.
you don’t realize that you’re staring, even when he’s snapping his fingers at your face accompanied with an amused smile on his.
it’s only now when it dawns on you — he’s yuki’s ex boyfriend. or, well, fling. whatever. you and yuki aren’t necessarily close, but you’ve heard of their split very recently. it’s a hit to your personal morals for you to go through with this, but goddamn does he make it so hard to follow through.
he’s staring at you with so much….love? it can’t be, you just met and barely know each other. yet, you’re in his room, on his bed, cuddling. his eyes are soft in the way they’re on you, never looking away for even a second. but the more you start to fall in love with the way he looks at you, the more it dawns on you that when you look at him, all you see is yuki.
it fully hits you when he’s inches away — his breath on your lips and his eyes desperate for anything of yours you could give him. he’s almost there, almost where you want him, where he wants to be, but it hits you.
“yuki—” he’s immediately pulling away. “this would…be weird,” you look off to the side, not wanting to see him look so shattered. that, or the most likely option, his face filled with regret when he realizes he’s chasing yuki in another girl, that girl being you.
you’re so deep in your thoughts you don’t realize that it’s actually the first option — his eyebrows furrowed and he looks like he’s a puppy who’s been kicked, tossed to the side because they’re utterly useless. he’s devastated, and he is filled with regret, but not the kind you believed he would harbor. he regrets indulging himself, regrets pushing for something harder knowing he was going to mess it up one way or the other. he regrets making you uncomfortable, he regrets being selfish, knowing that he never deserved such soft and innocent love.
the rain has calmed, and choso stands up. “i’ll walk you out.” your eyes widen, panic settling as you realize that you messed up. you watch him put his shoes on, walking towards the door and patiently waiting for you to situate yourself. he’s being polite, and it’s driving you crazy. unfortunately, your mind shuffles back to the bane of all your current problems, yuki.
it’s okay to be selfish. it’s human, it’s natural, she’ll get over it. if she really wanted him, she’ll try harder. but as you watch him walk away from you, you start to toss everything you’ve known about some stupid girl code morals aside. all your excuses, no matter what your situation with her is, you’ll deal with it later. you want this, you want him. it’s okay to be selfish.
fuck the morals.
you go for it. you get off the bed and grab his forearm, pulling him close to you and pressing your lips against his. you wrap your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss as he grabs hold of your waist, leaning into you.
you pull away with a heavy breath, but choso wants more. his hands move up to your face, holding you by your cheeks as he leans in and presses kisses on your lips.
“choso—stop—” you try to pull away, but his grip doesn’t falter and he continues with peppering you with kisses, soft but firm, like he’s trying to relay words with his actions.
“—i can’t.” he exhales, out of breath. “i need more,” he leans back in, this time resorting into capturing your lips for a deep kiss, groaning when you return his enthusiasm. “it’s not enough,” he breathes in between kisses, desperation obvious in each kiss he shares with you.
he pulls away reluctantly, quickly pulling you to his bed. he’s on his back, and you lie right on top of him. palms on each side of his head while your knees are separated by his body in between.
he wraps his arms around you, tightening his grip because he doesn’t want to let you go. your smell overwhelms him in the best way possible, and he starts to feel guilty when that familiar electric feeling shoots through his body to his cock.
“you’re hard.” you say sheepishly, earning a chuckle from the man below you. he plants a kiss on your nose, smiling at you endearingly as he rubs his thumbs on your waist.
“sorry, pretty.” he says, sitting up and moving you to sit properly on his lap. your arms are resting on his shoulders, and his grip is on your hips and you can really feel his hard on now. he reaches over for another joint, a fresh one, and places it between your lips. he gives you the lighter, and you happily take it. he leans back, using his hands to support him. “you just look too good on top of me,”
you smirk, putting the joint in between his lips after you take a few hits. he keeps eye contact with you as he sucks in, the smoke trailing around him, and you swear the smoke forms a halo around him. he looks heavenly, eyes low and smirk light. he takes another hit off his joint, and you watch the expression on his face change entirely.
he looks at you, serious in his approach as he sits up a little more. you can feel him getting harder, and you curse under your breath as you feel the wet patch in between your legs grow at the feeling of his cock hardening below you.
“tell me if you don’t want this.” he whispers, leaning his forehead against yours as he takes another hit, letting the smoke surround the both of you as your eyes are trained on him.
he passes the joint to you, “i want this,” you say, coughing softly as you pull the joint away from your lips. he smiles, leaning in to kiss you gently. you toss the joint to the side, its flame going out as it lands somewhere on the floor.
he flips you over so you’re on your back, never failing to keep his lips on you the entire time as he removes your shirt, and then your pants, leaving you vulnerable in your underwear.
he pulls away to look you up and down, eyes scanning and admiring your beauty as you cower below him, embarrassment lacing your face as it grows hot from shame. choso isn’t having it, grabbing your legs and spreading you open, eyes immediately on the wet spot in the middle of your underwear.
you take your bra off, noticing his eyes fixated between your legs when you toss the bra over his shoulder. you whine, catching his attention. “take these off,” he mumbles, rubbing you through the fabric and forcing you to practically jump out of your underwear in order to get a feel of his touch.
choso groans, almost cums, at the sight of you laying so pretty underneath him, spread open like a slut as you look up at him with your pretty eyes. his eyes never leave your glistening pussy, fingers subconsciously rubbing your folds and occasionally sneaking a swipe at your clit. he cannot keep his hands to himself, not when you whine so pretty every time he swipes at your clit, and he finds that he’s only doing it because of the fact you sound so damn cute.
but, he takes another swipe, eyes fixated on your face this time and oh—he’s hooked. he thought your moans and cute whines were out of this world, but my god the face you make when you’re feeling good easily beats all of those. this time, his fingers are stuffed in you, your pussy filled to the hilt of him.
he’s fingering you tenderly, in love with the way you whine as your hips start twitching when the tip of his finger is hitting your cervix. he’s addicted to the way your cream is lathered all over his fingers, coating them in your slick — he can fucking smell you. he’s dizzy, he wants his mouth on you, but seeing the way your face contorts in that cute and really sexy way, he’d be the dumbest man alive to pull his fingers out of you right now.
“cho—hnnngg..!!” you squeal, the way your wetness seeping out of you and onto his fingers and his sheets is loud, like literally — the sounds of his fingers going in and out of you is echoing loudly in the room, and you’re out of breath from the way he’s not stopping, desperate to keep you like this, so dumb, so perfect.
he uses his other hand to rub your clit, smirking like he’s accomplished something when you start to thrash, gasping for air as he continues to play with you. there’s something mean in the way he makes you chase for it, watching every move and every twitch with a predatory gaze. his face visibly contorts as he watches you begin to cry, upset at him as he pulls away from you the minute you whine i’m cumming!
“i’m sorry, sweet girl.” he coos, wiping away at your tears as he licks you off his fingers. “if you’re gonna cum that hard, might as well do it on me, yeah?” he smiles, pulling his pants off and lining his cock to your entrance. he slips only the tip in, spreading your legs wide as he rubs your clit. you’re whining, already so close to your sweet release, only for him to stop.
“fuck…me, already….” you whisper, afraid that you’d push him too far and only earn yourself punishment. choso smiles at you, leaning down to plant a soft kiss on your forehead — so soft, it almost makes you forget that he’s about to fuck you ruthless.
“just look pretty for me,” he says, slamming the rest of him into you without warning. you choke, eyes widening as he grabs hold of your thighs, spreading you impossibly wider while he keeps his eyes set in between your legs and on your leaking pussy, clit pulsating in obvious pattern, signaling to him that you’re almost there.
“fuck—yes, right there,” you cry, the knot in your stomach tightening. he continues the brutal thrust of his hips, showing no signs of letting up any time soon, but from his previous ministrations and the fact that your orgasm has already been denied once, you’re not meant to last long anyway.
and you prove your statement right when you gasp and slap his shoulders, feeling the knot about to burst accompanied with something unfamiliar and terrifying.
“cho—i’m—fuck, holy shit! i’m cumming!” you spray all over his lower half, whining as you come down from the intense high. choso feels your squirt drench him, and he’s immediately jerking his hips and releasing inside you, heat filling you up as he attempts to catch his breath. he’s caught off guard, not meant to finish this early, but something about you—and maybe the fact that he’s high as fuck, made him cum so much harder than usual, but he’s willing to bet it has everything to do with you and none with the drugs in his system.
he’s a sweetheart, natural in his ways as he begins to clean you up. you’re exhausted, still trying to catch your breath while he’s already up and about, having gone in and out the kitchen a couple of times already to give you anything you needed. he never mentioned anything about you leaving, even when you start to fall asleep, comfortable and tucked in his bed—in his clothes. even the next day, he doesn’t, not even when the two of you are due for a class in an hour.
and like some higher power above had heard him, choso’s evil plan goes through and you fall asleep throughout the entirety of the class, waking up when every one has settled into their afternoons and all classes are starting to wrap up for the day. he’s not at all guilty when you’re standing in front of him, arms crossed and face showcasing your utter disappointment in him. he stays in bed, leaning against the headboard, abs in display and his lower half covered by the sheets.
“you’re unbelievable.” you sigh in defeat, and choso could only smirk at his victory. “it was an important class too, y’know.” you grumble, but really, it wasn’t all that important. you’re just feeling awkward, too exposed, and the fact that he’s enjoying this—teasing you, it makes you all the more embarrassed. but, despite it all, not an ounce of regret.
“i didn’t want it to be like this,” the room suddenly gets colder, atmosphere thickening as he gets serious. his eyes are on you, hoping that he can relay to you just how much this means to him. “i really like you, and i want to get to know you.”
you don’t know how many other girls he’s said this to — hell, you can’t help but wonder if he said this to yuki, but you smile. you wave off those thoughts, wanting to keep him to yourself because in this moment’s time, he is yours and yours alone. might as well enjoy that privilege the best you can.
so when he finally walks you out of the frat house, walking past the remnants of last night’s party, you passionately kiss him goodbye, smiling all lovey-dovey like what you two have is something special. you keep yourself under this bubble until you’ve fully walked away and are back in your dorm room, alone in your thoughts. you tuck yourself in bed, thoughts beginning to spiral as you start to think of him and the plethora of other girls he’s come to associate with. girls who are very different from you, prettier than you, can offer more than you.
your bed becomes your new hangout spot after that. you continue to attend classes, but you’re more kept to yourself than you were before, mind occupied with thoughts about your self worth and choices in life. you also start to ignore choso, but it’s not like that was ever a challenge since he never bothered to get your socials or your number. all the more convincing you that you were never beyond a fling to him, despite how carefully he treated you and how lovesick his gaze on you was. none of that mattered, just like you.
shoko meets with you in the campus hallways, right outside your next class, clueless at the sudden weight on your shoulders, and you can’t even comprehend what she could possibly say in response to if she ever found out about you and choso. him and yuki are probably already toxic and confusing enough, adding you into that mix is practically tv show worthy. at least, to her.
you’re thankful, knowing you can escape the thought of him by being with shoko. however, she crushes your hopes and dreams instantly with a nudge at you, “by the way, where were you after that party last week? you never told me when you left,” she’s distracted, sitting down and pulling her things out from her bag. you panic, unsure of what to say before composing yourself when she glances at you.
“i stayed for a bit,” you try to be as vague as possible, tricking yourself into believing that you’re technically not lying to her, you just choose to keep parts of the story hidden from her. you’re thankful that the professor begins speaking, saving you from speaking on the matter any further.
you think you’re finally free when yuki pops up out of nowhere, a look on her face screaming she has the beans to spill. it’s lunch when she follows you and shoko to your usual spot in campus, lunch in hand while she runs her mouth about the current events of her life. you’re not paying attention at first, but it’s towards the end of her rambling where it starts to pique your interest.
“i know i’m the one who ended things but i hate this!” she whines, face stuffed in her phone.
shoko looks at her boredly, “what’s it to you, anyway? he probably has a line of them waiting since you two broke it off,”
unbeknownst to them, their exchange only fuels the doubt and insecurity within you, cowering at each word they say as your mind drifts, thoughts focused on how you’re everything that he doesn’t want.
“he was obsessed with me, sho. whoever he’s sleeping with, i’m telling you she is a rebound.” ouch..
“impossible, you treated him like shit and vice versa. he’s not the type to catch feelings.” so it meant nothing…
“nobody knows him like i do.” it’s supposed to be you.
“or so you thought.” yeah, you did.
“he said he loves me—”
“—i’m..!” you stand up, practically yelling and startling the two. their eyes are on you, concerned with your outburst. “i’m gonna go.” you say flatly, not bothering to find the energy to make up a lame excuse, you just want to get in bed and forget about everything. the two don’t argue, they don’t even think twice of it, only watching you walk away.
you reach your dorm with a heavy heart, their words ringing in your ear as you attempt to change into comfortable clothes. his black clothes capture your attention, flashbacks of you changing out of his clothes and placing them carefully on the back of your chair as you get into your own clothes play in your head, reminiscing about the night that lead to him giving you his clothes in the first place.
you get in bed, preparing to fall asleep to avoid the self deprecating thoughts drown you until your phone dings, vibrating against your soft mattress. you turn it around to see the screen light up, eyes scanning the notification displayed on your screen.
choso kamo has sent you a message!
you click on it, phone unlocking and bringing you to instagram, his dm on your screen.
choso kamo
Hey.
you
hi
choso kamo
I miss you.
you can’t help but smile.
you
really?
choso kamo
Yeah. When can I see you again?
you
hmm, not sure.
you frown, remembering what yuki said.
“he said he loves me!”
choso kamo
I know there’s something on your mind. I want you to talk to me.
you curse at his concern. even despite all your doubts, he never fails to uplift you.
you
im ok. just been thinking
choso kamo
About?
you
well
choso kamo
Can we meet at the park? I want to talk to you in person. I miss you.
there he goes again with saying i miss you, repeating it for the second time like he means it. how despicable of him. your fingers hover over the keyboard, unsure of what to say.
you
okay
it takes you twenty minutes to doll yourself up and come out looking presentable enough, hiding the truth of spending the past week sulking in your room thinking about him, him and yuki, him and other girls.
you spot him when he honks, grabbing your attention. you walk towards his parked car, inhaling softly as the musky aroma of his car hits you. it smells like him.
“so, what’re you thinkin’ your pretty head off about,” he looks into your eyes, ready to listen to all your problems and maybe, if you let him, carry the burden of them all on his own.
“yuki,” you test the waters, looking at him for approval. considering that you had previously voiced her as the reason for a ridge between you two, mentioning her again wouldn’t give him too much of a shock, nor would it push him away. he doesn’t give you a physical reaction, keeping his eyes on you to let you know he’s listening. “is it true you love her?” his eyes widen, and you can’t help your heart start to crack knowing it is true — he has said it to her. he loves her, not you.
“no, i—” he shakes his head, grabbing your hands to ground him, “i said that to her in the beginning of it all—” you didn’t think you’d get him to crumble this easily, and watching him lose himself in attempts of explaining to you, tell you that all he’s ever tolerated, tried for, love, will only ever be you. “yuki’s easy. she doesn’t ask, she doesn’t give, we exist to each other when we need something. we’re transactional but you—..this—…it’s.. different. so different.” he keeps gesturing between you two, wanting nothing more than to reach for you, take you into his arms.
“how am i supposed to know i’m different?” you look at him, pleading for him to make this ache in your heart go away. he looks at you, broken, like he regrets it. you’re scared, unsure of what that regret could mean.
“i couldn’t stop thinking about you and no, it’s not because we fucked, it’s—god, it’s more than that. when i saw you approach me at the party, tagging behind shoko, i couldn’t look away from you.” he sighs, seemingly frustrated at himself for his struggle to get the words out. “i wanted to impress you, i wanted you to have a good opinion of me, i just—…i wanted you to see me as choso. not the campus plug, or your friend’s fling. i wanted you to forget all that.. if you left me hard and blue balled that night i’d still be here begging for your attention,”
your eyes are widened, unable to process his words. his breathing is ragged, desperate as they try to claw for a source of fresh air—for you, hoping that you could feel the raw intensity of his emotions, the growing love and interest he grows for you as you’re before him, looking so pretty as you worry about his attention drifting somewhere else, when you’ve captured him the second he laid his eyes on you.
“i’m not like them,” you say quietly, referring to his previous roster of girls. “i never cared to be, but because of you, i wanted to be like them.”
“you don’t need to be like them. i like you just the way you are,” he presses a kiss to your nose, his heart warming at the sight of your cute face melting at the contact of his touch on you. “please, stay the way you are.” he pinches your cheek softly, following it with a kiss.
yuki and shoko are shocked to see you all giddy and happy the next day, giggling into your phone for the nth time of the hour.
“okay, you got me!” shoko says, catching your attention. “what’s got you snorting like a pig while you stare at your phone?” you glare at her comparison of calling you a pig.
“othing,” you sing, content with keeping your thing with choso a secret to avoid outside influence for as long as possible. it was your suggestion, despite choso’s clear disagreement to it, but he was a popular name. talks of someone like him being in a serious relationship can and will destroy any attempts of taking things seriously.
shoko rolls her eyes at you, knowing that you’re intentionally keeping something from her, but is more so annoyed at the fact that you’re aware that she knows, but wish to do nothing about it.
yuki distracts her from the annoyance, however, with a tired groan. “i talked to him yesterday,” she begins, and you, under the assumption that she’s talking about somebody unrelated, stay distracted by your phone. “told me it wasn’t the right time since she was there.” she shrugs, and that catches your attention. it could be pure coincidence, but she couldn’t be talking about choso right? especially after what he said?
but, fear creeps in you when you remember after your conversation with him last night, he took you back to the frat house. you two were in bed cuddling when a knock was heard from his door. nothing suspicious was needed to take note of during then, but you did find it odd how after that, he seemed to be in a rush. he never asked you to leave nor did he rush you in doing so, but you could tell he wasn’t completely in it after coming back from answering the door.
there’s no way that it was yuki who came knocking on his door, right? and there’s no way he would keep it from you, right?
“maybe he’s just doing it out of respect for her,” shoko says, mindlessly looking at her nails.
yuki clicks her tongue, shaking her head. “nah, not since we’re meeting up later,” she giggles evilly, wiggling her eyebrows and making shoko shove her in disbelief.
“you cheeky bitch,” shoko smirks, and yuki sticks her tongue out at her. you grow sick, clearing your throat to get their attention.
“i’ll see you guys tomorrow,” you say, turning your phone off so you don’t have to look at his contact anymore. your heart grows heavy as you bid goodbye to them, trying your best not to break down in the middle of campus.
your mind is racing as you make your way to his frat house. people start to notice you simply because of how devastating you look, but you can’t bring it in you to care. all you want is to talk to him, get this miscommunication out of your life before you burst.
you knock at his door, ignoring the concerned looks from his fellow frat members. choso opens the door with a joint between his lips and another one tucked behind his ear. his eyes soften at the sight of you, smile gracing his features as he opens his arms.
despite it all, you hug him, sighing contently at his touch. you keep your arms around him for longer than planned, but he doesn’t seem to mind, which makes the accusations you heard earlier hurt more.
“i missed you, pretty girl.” he says once you’ve separated from him. he brings you in his room, holding your hand as he guides you to his bed, tucking you in while takes his hat off and lays besides you.
“i heard stuff today,”
“yeah?” he mumbles, lighting the joint between his lips. “what’d you hear, my baby?” his voice is soft, never failing to make you feel important and loved with the way he treats you — speaks to you.
“yuki came here yesterday?” he looks at you, guilt obvious in his face. he turns to his side, using his arm to support his head as he looks at you, mouth sucking on the joint as he inhales. “she said she did, and she also said you told her to meet up with you later.” you make no move to lean close to him, inhale his scent like you always do, and he can’t blame you. it seems that all he does, no matter the intention, seems to only hurt you, and it’s all his fault.
“she did,” choso confirms, sighing to himself in disappointment. “but i swear, it’s cause i didn’t want her to come in and interrupt our time, nor did i want you to see her at my door. i was gonna ask her to meet me somewhere public, so i could let her down and tell her i don’t want anything to do with her anymore. i’m sorry,” you look at him, cursing silently at his undefeated method of looking straight into your eyes — so much love in his stare that you could feel the honesty in his statement.
“..i get that,” you start, and he’s staring at you intently. hoping, wishing, that you could forgive his fuck up, just this one time, this final time, and he’ll love you properly. no more mistakes, no more hurting you. “i just wish you told me. i want you to be able to lean on me, no matter the problem.” you frown, but happy that he tried his best to keep you happy and shoulder all the burden himself.
choso chokes, “i know, pretty—i’m…i’m sorry.” he looks down, ashamed he even dared to make a mistake, resulting in hurting you. he feels guilty, but when you caress his cheek and smile at him so sweetly, he learns to forgive himself, because you did.
“i don’t want to hide,” you blurt out, overwhelmingly drowning in your affections for him. he smiles at your outburst, kissing your cheek so endearingly it almost brings a tear to your eye.
“neither do i, baby.” he whispers, voice husky and deep, rubbing circles against your hips as he carries you to sit on his lap. he looks into your eyes, gaze deepening like he wants to study every part of you, because he does. “i’d rather ask you this properly—like on a date or something, but i can’t wait any longer.” he sighs, lips ghosting against yours with yearn. “please, let me be yours,” he interlocks his fingers with yours, leaning closer and closer to you as the minutes pass — if he just moved one centimeter, he’s there. he wants to kiss you.
“you already are,” you tease. he shakes his head.
“not like that. officially,”
you hum, “let me think about it?”
choso pouts, finally giving in to his desires and pressing his lips against yours. he pulls away, “you can’t.” he’s whispering, eyes stubborn as they keep in contact with yours, and you start to heat up in embarassment from his intense stare.
still, you giggle teasingly. “so i have no choice?” you pull your hand away from his for your fingers to climb into his hair, massaging it. you smile as he closes his eyes, sighing contently as he takes in the relaxing feeling of your hands in his hair.
“no, you don’t.” he says, opening his eyes. he gribs your hips, giving you another kiss. “you’re so beautiful, girlfriend.” he smiles cheekily, causing you to roll your eyes despite enjoying every bit of his sillyness.
“thank you,” you wink, “boyfriend.” he leans in for another kiss, finding himself unable to go without a kiss from you for more than a minute. “wanna come to my apartment? let’s smoke in my balcony!” you stand up, pulling yourself off his lap. he frowns at the loss of contact, but immediately beams when you bring your hand out to him.
he takes your hand in his, getting up from his bed and following you as you make your way out the frat house. he eventually stops you from leading the way, instead catching up to you and walking the same speed as you so you can link your arm with his and lean close to him as you both walk to your dorm building. it doesn’t take long for the two of you to eventually be in your dorm — choso is sat at the end of your bed, looking around with childlike wonder as he processes your room. despite the fact that the little dorm space and strict rules would normally limit one’s creative expression, you somehow make do with so little to showcase as much of your personality as you possibly could. your room is filled with so much … you, he can’t help but sit there and look amazed at everything.
meanwhile you, are looking around your room, trying to find any of the joints that shoko left around in your room. remembering her presence in here a week ago, you recall that she hid a good amount of joints in your room — who’s to say she didn’t hide more?
choso snaps out of his wonder, eyes locking to your figure that’s wandering your room. he stays silent, simply happy with being in your presence.
you groan in frustration, unable to find any joints. choso finally speaks up, “what’re you looking for, baby?” he stands up, walking towards you and placing a hand on the small of your back. you stand up straight and turn to him, wrapping your arms around him.
“any joints shoko could have hid in here,” you sigh, resting your chin on his chest as you look up at him. he looks down at you, smiling goofily before rummaging his hand in his pocket. you look down at his hand when he brings it up to your face, holding a metal cigarette case. he opens it, revealing four joints neatly wrapped and prepared in advanced. you gasp, face lightening up. his smile grows at your cute face, taking one joint out and giving it to you before closing the case and placing it on top of your dresser. he pats his pocket to make sure his lighter is there, and when he feels its shape, he smiles at you and leads you out to your balcony and onto the seats you’ve set up.
he lights the joint for you, watching intently as you take the first hit. choso feels lost in your face, he wholeheartedly believes he could sit here for hours just staring at your face and memorizing every detail there is about you. in fact, he wants to. getting to sit beside you and watch your every move has been an honor for him, and he plans to keep that honor for as long as you’ll allow him to.
you hum in satisfaction at the taste of the joint filling your mouth, smoke slowly dissipitating as you inhale and keep it in, exhaling after a few more seconds. you take another hit before passing it to him, “thank you baby.” he’s polite with it, grabbing the joint from your fingers like he’s afraid to touch your skin — he’s not, but every time he’s skin to skin with yours, electricity shoots through his body. it hurts in the best way possible, and is something he’s grown to get used to the more he yearns for your touch.
the two of you sit in silence for hours, just smoking with each other and having lovely conversation. his hand is gripping yours the entire time, smile permanently on his face not because of the drugs seeping into his neural functions, but because of your warmth enveloping him into eternal happiness and your lovesick gaze reserved for him and him only. you eventually go through two more joints, leaving one left in the case as it’s now moved on top of the coffee table outside in your balcony.
it’s late into the night when you and choso are finally in bed, limbs tangled with each other as you cling to him for warmth despite the thick blanket draped over you. he doesn’t seem to mind either when he has his arms wrapped tightly around you, breathing calm and content as he holds you tenderly. he wants to say so much, whisper loving words to you as you drift off into the night, but he can’t. he doesn’t want to scare you away.
he goes to sleep that night with his heart heavy from all the words he’s unable to say to you, but the sleep is peaceful with your presence overpowering the doubts in his mind.
“what the fuck?” choso groans awake the next day, his deep morning voice practically inside your ear from how close he is. he turns (while still keeping his arms wrapped around you) to find shoko, shock evident on her face. he’s too sleepy to move—to react, only staring at her before turning to you when he feels you stir.
“cho…?” you mumble, looking up at him, only to focus your attention a bit to the side when you spot your shocked best friend. although she isn’t dramatic about it, anyone who knows her can easily tell that she’s nonetheless surprised. she doesn’t have anything snarky to say, and her brain is too busy processing her questions to biologically remember that she has a nicotine addiction and should have a cigarette in her mouth.
“what’s he doing here?” shoko doesn’t care for boundaries, paying no mind to the fact that you and choso aren’t awake enough to be answering questions. thankfully, neither of you expected her to not be doing what she’s doing right now anyway so it’s not like her behavior is irritating the both of you.
you leave her questions unanswered, simply sitting up and laying on the bed on your knees and rubbing your eyes. choso is on his side, palm supporting his head as he’s looking up at you, back now turned to shoko. she grows impatient at the lack of information going to her, watching you and choso—analyzing you two. she realizes that you are closer than she originally thought. scratch that, you’re really fucking close. like, any minute now she’d find his lips on yours type of close. even though his back is on her, shoko can still see the dumb grin on choso’s face as he speaks to you like she’s not literally right there.
you look up at her, “choso’s my boyfriend.” you smile, and choso’s mouth drops slightly, hearing that specific sentence fall from your lips and dripped in your lovely voice is something unbelievably special to him. he felt his heart nearly burst from it.
“oh.” is all shoko says, but she figured that out already when she saw choso constantly leaning in to get a kiss from you like…ten times the past two minutes. “what about yuki?” choso, who hasn’t been tapped into the conversation since he turned back around to look at you, turns around.
“what about her?” his tone is accusing, not liking the fact that your own best friend is prioritizing someone else’s feelings above your own. that someone else, whose feelings don’t deserve to be prioritized in the situation.
however, shoko rolls her eyes at choso’s dramatic act. “not like that, idiot. she was there,” shoko points to you, and choso then looks at you. “yuki has been talking about you nonstop. i’m sure you’re aware,”
choso nods. “me and yuki were never supposed to be like that, she knows that all too well. i don’t owe her anything, and if i remember correctly, she’s not all that close with yuki. it’s none of our business,”
shoko pauses, before lifting her hands in the air in surrender. choso’s shoulders relax at that, and you smile, rubbing his arm. at your touch he turns to look at you and smiles back.
shoko’s hands are on their way back down when her phone starts vibrating in her pocket. she takes it out and sees yuki is calling… displayed on her screen.
“speak of the devil,” she flashes her screen to the both of you for a few seconds before swiping, answering the call and bringing the phone to her ear. “sup bitch,” she giggles when yuki starts to scold her.
the two start to converse to themselves while you and choso get up. he helps make your bed while you open your drawers to find an outfit to change into. you find something simple and change right there, causing choso to jump, flinching his head to shoko who glances at you for the quickest second and looking away, not phased by you changing at all.
“has she seen you change before?”
you chuckle, “like a million times, she’s my best friend.” you slip the shirt over your head and march to the bathroom, quickly rinsing your face and brushing your teeth. amidst you brushing your teeth, you hand choso a fresh toothbrush from an unopened package inside your bathroom drawers, to which he happily takes as he also begins to brush his teeth.
when the two of you leave, mouth minty and fresh, shoko is off the phone and seems to be waiting for the two of you. with her arms crossed, she leans away from the wall.
“yuki’s coming in less than a minute, so good luck.” she shrugs, and you roll your eyes at her while choso casually makes his way to your vanity. he pulls out a chair, sitting down and grabbing a few items from his pocket. from it, he pulls out a very crumpled bag and a package of rolling paper. he opens the bag to reveal weed, and reaches in his other pocket and pulls out a grinder. you start to wonder, how the hell did none of that fall out while both of you were sleeping?
a knock echoes from your door, and without worry, you stand up and make your way to go open it. shoko watches you, your expression, with doubt, unable to grasp that you truly do not care for how yuki would feel. secretly, a sense of pride surges within her at the thought of it, feeling extremely proud of you for allowing yourself to be selfish enough to get what you want.
“hi there~” yuki’s voice fills the room, her eyes immediately landing on choso’s figure slumped at your vanity as he’s rolling a couple of joints. her breathing stops, eyes scanning his features to really make sure it’s him. once she confirms it’s really him, she whispers, “choso?”
he turns around, face not moving a muscle as his vision lands on her. he looks at you, who is smiling besides yuki, and yuki, who’s watching choso, follows his gaze to you. the gears in her brain start to turn as she processes the situation before her. shoko is silently watching the whole thing, curious as to how it’s going to play out.
“wait, are you the one he’s been sleeping with?” she points to you, and sheepishly, you nod. at your response, she groans. “oh my god.”
“he’s my boyfriend,” you smile.
“since when?”
“yesterday..”
“no, you and him.”
“oh, like a week ago?”
“oh my god,”
“what???”
“i was talking about him in front of you, and technically i was indirectly and unknowingly talking about you!”she groans in frustration. at the back, shoko sighs in relief while you chuckle. although you were prepared for a more negative response, you’re happy with the one you got.
“it’s fine, yuki.”
“it’s not—god! i feel so embarrassed,” yuki covers her face in her hands. “listen, i don’t care for him in that way, so don’t misunderstand anything.” she smiles, and you smile back at her. she walks over to your vanity, peeking over choso’s shoulder to see how many joints he’s rolled. so far, he’s done four. yuki takes one in a dramatic attempt of being sneaky, obviously faking it, but choso subtly plays along and doesn’t acknowledge her little steal. you chuckle at the sight. she claps her hands at her so called successful sneak, walking towards shoko, who already seems to be waiting for her. “alright, we out!” she rocks a peace sign in the air, walking out of your room while waving the joint she stole in her other hand. shoko follows along, sending a blow kiss towards you, one you return back to her as she closes the door behind her.
“finally,” choso practically teleported behind you at the sound of the door closing, wrapping his arms around your waist and leaning his mouth to your ear. “have you all to myself,” he tightens his grip, pulling you closer to his chest.
he kisses your cheek, hands loosening around you so he could grab you by your waist, turning you around to face him. you smile at him, reaching forward to plant a kiss on his nose.
“my beautiful girl,” he leans down, pressing his lips against yours for a kiss. you return it with doubled excitement, heart warming at the love dripping in his kisses, moving his lips against yours like he’s trying to say something. it’s three words, he desperately wants to get his heart out, but will you accept it? will you jump as high as you can, open your palms as wide as you can, to capture his heart — his heart that is so heavy with all his insecurities and past mistakes. will you catch it, despite falling down the second it’s in your hand?
“i love you,” you whisper as you pull away for the quickest second before he’s kissing you again. a gasp leaves him, but he doesn’t stop kissing you. he doesn’t, because he won’t. he can’t. if he does, he’ll start crying. your words are heavier than he thought, the way you carry them with such certainty, not an ounce of regret trailing from your tone as you admit it to him. it shocks him, because he had already doubted whether you’d catch him. but you’re so perfect, always shocking him in ways he never thought you could. throwing yourself at him instead, risking all your vulnerability for him and allowing him into your life. without a second thought.
“i love you more.” and despite his desperate attempts of holding back his tears, his love for you is too great — far too great, no matter what, he can’t keep quiet when it comes to that overwhelming feeling of adoration for you. he leans in for another kiss, and another, and another—before he’s fully making out with you, hoping that with each movement of his lips with yours, you can feel the i love yous that follow it.
