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★ DARK ENERGIES, SHE DON’T TOUCH
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synopsis . In which you sign up for this specialized annual program called Sex With a Monster (S.W.A.M. for short). Only a select few get chosen to participate in varying breeding tests & experiments with—you guessed it—monsters! And after years of applying, you finally get accepted into the program. Only to find that it’s not exactly what you were expecting...
content . afab!reader, monster au, triple penetration (GULP), monster fucking (obviously), size kinks & differences, full nelson, reader is feral, lowk a crack fic, threesome, dabura & sukuna kiss, use of sukuna's stomach mouth, biting, feralness, breeding kink, dirty talk, filth, pet names, a veryyy pussydrunk dabura, dumbification, oral sex (f!receiving), mentions of: hybrid!choso, venom!toji, slenderman, vampire!suguru, and a cursed!satoru (there’s a lot going on in this), so.. so many cocks, bickering, implied squirting, etc.
word count . 8.2k || author's note: based on this request (and many others). this fic might be one of the craziest things i've written yet. not fully proofread, srry in advance! banner art by rororogi mogera <3
CONGRATULATIONS, YOU HAVE BEEN ACCEPTED INTO S.W.A.M. AS AN HONORED RECRUIT! YOU MAY COLLECT YOUR...
The rest of that email didn't much matter to you. In fact, you think everything after those first seven words could've been left out of the message entirely. You were so excited you nearly fell off your bed with a yelp of joy gleeing out of your throat.
It'd been four long years of trial and error trying to get into this damn program and it finally happened for you.
They only come around once a year for thirty-one days that always seem to fly by in the blink of an eye. In your first year of applying, you'd made a spelling error somewhere and they denied you. Stupid, right?
The second year you were under-qualified simply because you, "hadn't fucked enough people." And yes, it is as ridiculous as it sounds, considering anyone could lie within their application under that question that asks how much sex they've had within the past three months.
In the third year, you forgot to submit a "visual application" and they denied you once again. By this time you were starting to think the program was a scam and that there were just some creepy men behind the whole thing—tricking monster-fucking women into submitting intimate details about themself just for the hell of it.
It's not until this year that you realize this program was very much not a scam at all.
Your final attempt at getting into it was a success, resulting in that previously mentioned email that your eyes happily skimmed over. That, and you also had two other good friends who apparently had gotten accepted into it years ago, only deciding to spill the details of their experience now that you've been accepted.
"I had a great time when I went. Whatever you're thinking it is, I hope you know it's ten times better!" Yuki claimed. Apparently, she slept with some hybrid-wolf guy?
"No because I was actually upset they didn't send that one guy to me, y'know the one on the posters with the tentacles?" Your dearest Utahime had ranted. She got stuck with some dude with more eyes than arms—six to be exact—and evidently that turned her off from the whole experience.
Not that she didn’t go back a few times afterwards, though…
"Well, at least your monster had a face. I got a tentacle man but fuck, he was kinda boring since I was looking at a blank face the whole time." Your last acquaintance hummed in response to the previous statement.
There was a lot of information to take in and yet you were bright-eyed ‘n beaming with excitement upon listening to every little detail. This program asked its recruits for so much prior to acceptance due to the various things that could go oh-so-wrong.
After all, you were required to sign a waiver that said something about being okay with these tests possibly resulting in the loss of your own life. It was scary, sure. But you weren’t exactly thinking with your head whenever S.W.A.M. was involved.
Why would you be? One look at some hot, long-haired vampire who seemed to be the face of the program along with some other dark-haired brute with a freakishly long tongue, and your cunt was leading every decision of yours.
Not to mention the fact that this program housed all sorts of different types of monsters. Many were science experiments gone wrong and some were from entirely different worlds. And now that you were accepted into it, you'd finally be able to meet and sleep with one of them!
What could possibly go wrong?
——
"...Most have said it best if you follow their lead," Dr. Nanami Kento was in the middle of droning about while he led you to your designated "room of pleasure" or whatever he called it. "Some of our specimens here can be a bit... much to deal with, and if you'd like to walk out with the best experience possible, it is always advised that you let them do their thing and simply be compliant."
The two of you had been walking some lengthy hallway for what felt like hours now. Nanami was the first person to greet you upon your entry to the facility—which very much rivaled a prison on the outside, but looked to be a mix of a hospital and a hotel within its interior—and while you swear he's been walking you in circles, he's also explained to you a long list of rules that you'll need to keep in mind before you're to meet your monster.
All experiences in S.W.A.M. are unique and different. Even if two different people have slept with or been bred by the same monster, they both leave the program with two entirely dissimilar stories.
Along the walk to your designated room, you passed by many others that gave you glimpses of how many differing species occupied this place. There were definitely a lot that looked nowhere near human, but there were also a considerable amount that seemed to be completely human.
Which Nanami clarified for you that they were certainly not.
At some point, the two of you had reached an elevator and after swiftly stepping onto it, Nanami calmly pressed the button for the twelfth floor. During this, you took notice of how some floors had names attached to them. The sixth floor was for hybrids, the eleventh floor was for the undead, and somewhere around the fifteenth floor included spirits and fae.
You naturally found all of this to be most fascinating, but in doing so, you missed the name of the floor the two of you were heading towards.
By the time the elevator creaked its way there, Nanami had let you step out first and then proceeded to remain in place with a stoic smile stitched across his face.
You swirled around with wide eyes, "Uh-, Dr. Nanami? Are you not coming with m—"
"Good luck," was the only, and last thing the man said to you before rapidly mashing at the lobby-level button to his right.
Then the doors shut in your face.
You stared at your slanted, shimmery reflection for a long moment before sighing and turning back around to the short hallway. There were three doors; one on the left that said Simurian, another on the right that read King of Curses, and the last one set in the middle which held your name on it.
You think your eyes stretched open impossibly wider upon seeing it.
Did all people get their own room like this? What the heck is a Simurian and just who the hell is the King of Curses? Why did Dr. Nanami leave you like that?? And what did he mean by good luck???
You were only here for sexualized testing, right?
Pushing all these questions of yours aside, you paced forward slowly.
With every step you took, you couldn't help but notice how the door to your left seemed to be nearly ten feet tall. Over on your right, that door looked to be a few inches shorter but much wider.
Who or whatever occupied either room must have been freakishly huge. The thought of which makes you shudder before you finally slip into the human-sized door set for you.
Inside the room, you were met with a massive area. Everything looked as though it were twice your size—the bed, a table you end up walking past, a... a cuck chair(?), and a bunch of other stuff you didn't quite familiarize yourself with.
What caught your attention the quickest—aside from the large chair near the bed—was a file that was laid out on the only normally sized piece of furniture in the room, a dresser.
Curiously, you swiped up said file and were quick to open it. One of the papers inside fluttered out and elsewhere as soon as you did so, but you didn't pay it any mind since the first page inside captured all of your attention rather quickly.
It was a profile for someone named Dabura Karaba.
A picture of the man-, or, alien—as you come to know within the next few seconds of reading—sits up near the top left corner of the page.
There's a shit ton of information about him plastered all throughout the rest of the paper, going on to extend towards the back of it, and even a few more pages afterwards. But you skim over the majority of that just to read the details listed about his genitals.
Gross Morphology:
The phallus is retractile, measuring at approximately 7-9 cm in total length (base to tip), with a circumference of 6.5 cm at mid-shaft—when flaccid. The organ falls under the spectrum of beige in color [HEX: #c2b6a1 for reference — intermittently a hue lighter or darker dependent on lighting], with twisting veins that pulse at roughly 20 bpm—presumably reflecting circulatory activity. The hemisphere of the glans measure at about 5.7 cm in width, and secretes a viscous, petroleum-like lubricant (pH 7.5-8.0). The membrane is. . .
You think your mouth is watering by the time your eyes return to their skimming, one too many scientific words printed out across the paper for your concern.
That is, until the word erectile seems to stand out in its bold letters before you.
Erectile Dynamics:
Upon arousal (typically triggered by pheromonal, faint tactile, or visual stimuli) the glans reaches hues up to HEX: #7f737c — mimicking that of a flushed state. The phallus has then been measured to broaden rapidly, extending the full, non-curved, erect length of—
Unfortunately for your curiosity, your reading is cut quite short when the loud sound of something thumping against the wall causes you to flinch and redirect your eyes elsewhere. Though, you’re pretty sure you saw double digits following those last few words you read.
When you turn, you're met with the same being you've been reading about, who's currently busy with silently cursing your tiny doorframe for hitting the left tip of one of his horns. The alien is hunched over when your eyes make contact with him, but that changes within the next coming seconds as he steps into the room and quietly shuts the door behind him—clearly unaware of your gaze being on him.
The moment his eyes—all three of them—glide your way, you flinch like an idiot and let that document drop out of your hands as if you weren't supposed to be touching it in the first place.
Dabura is a brooding-looking creature, to say the least. He's got a great deal of staggering feet to his height, easily exceeding some inches over seven feet tall. You believe you feel a short shot of pain in your neck just from the angle of which it takes to peer up at his face.
Despite being an alien, he carries a humanoid frame and possess quite the lean, but well defined, musculature. The three eyes he had slipping along your build all carry irises with an redish-orange color in them. There's a pair of long, curved horns—that you'd love to hold onto later—which extend upwards 'n outwards from the side of his head.
You're gulping down a thick sum of nerves as your gaze travels to the expanse of his body in sync with the way he was doing to you. There's a plethora of dark markings plastered all along his neck, arms, and shoulders, which form these uneven, asymmetrical patterns out across his smooth skin. That, and there's even another marking encircling that third eye of his.
Which you note hasn't moved from your face from the moment he noticed you despite his other pair having carried right along...
Your ogling comes to an end just as you're admiring his elongated earlobes from where you are, catching how they run down to his abdomen and are adorned with more piercings than you can count.
"I presume you're the human I am to mate with?" His voice sends a cold chill straight down your spine. Not because it was scary or anything, but simply due to the fact that no human could ever possess such a soothingly deep baritone to their words in the way he does.
You gulp loudly enough for him to hear and the sound makes his head tip over just an inch as if curiosity has struck him. "Y-Yes," The first stutter out of your mouth already makes you want to find the nearest window and ju-, "That would be me, yes. Which means you must be..." You halfway saved yourself of embarrassment until you realized you'd dropped that file with all his information and somehow managed to forget his name already.
Shit, this whole thing is going poorly already and neither of you have even taken your clothes off!
Scrambling to the papers that fell earlier, you hurry to swipe some of them up in search for a name and don't even notice the way he stalks over to assist you until a large hand comes into view just above yours. Then you lift your chin up and the alien is crouched right in front of you while looking down.
Up close, you realize just how intimidating he really is. It was bad before when he was a few steps away from you but now that he's up close, you think you can feel your heart beat pounding against your ears as if to give you an audio representation of your climbing anxiety.
You'd spent four years trying to get into this program and now you finally had a monster (technically alien) in front of you but the only thing you could feel was fear instead of excitement. What a bummer—
"Dabura," The alien murmurs in a contrastingly gentle tone, bass consuming all bits of space in between the two of you and weirdly settling down that anxiousness of yours to replace it with something much warmer. Then all his eyes flick up to meet with yours again and his demeanor is strictly calming as he hums, "There's no need for papers to tell you my name when I am right in front of you."
You blink, letting the word, "Right," tumble out of your mouth all softly. Snapping out of your flustered stupor, you look upwards and notice the faintest scuff on his left horn—which reminds you of the noise you heard when he first came in. Then you redirect your hand to reach up towards it, "Did you hit your horn on the way in?"
"I did,” Dabura cuts off your traveling hand by grabbing onto your wrist and holding it a few inches away from their destination.
"Are they sensitive to touch?" You ask harmlessly, batting your lashes at the creature.
His expression falls impossibly duller, eyelids lowering as an unamused frown takes over his lips, "Every human asks me this, no."
You immediately raise a brow as if unconvinced, "If that's true then,” He sees the way your fingers wiggle before you go to move your other hand, “May I-"
His free hand shoots over to grasp at your other one as his eyes widen slightly. Grumbling, "No." with more firmness to it in hopes you’ll stop with your attempts at feeling on his horns.
Then you pop a pout, "You're no funnnn.”
The alien stares at you for a long moment, taking you all in just as you’d done earlier. You’re far prettier than any other human he’d been sent so far, and he feels his heart doing something weird each time you make a surprising advance to touch him.
But even so, he’s not about to let you get into something you clearly don’t quite understand yet. "Unless you should like to begin mating now," Dabura explains lowly, steadily moving your hands down and towards your lap, "No, you cannot touch them."
A smug smile breaks out onto your face and it makes his brows twitch. He watches as you quickly break out of that momentarily timid shell, "Oh, so they are sensitive!" you exclaim.
"They are not, they just-,” He cuts himself off and shuts his eyes, moving to pinch the bridge of his nose as he exhales strongly, “Human."
Your eyes roll, "I have a name too, y’know-"
"Do you wish to be bred against every available surface in this room?" Dabura interrupts, hoping to catch you off guard just as his initial appearance did.
Unfortunately for him, he’s in the presence of the world’s most eager human.
"Do you want my honest answer to that?" You ask with an unfairly cute grin on your face.
"I-,” He chokes whilst returning his eyes to you, “Pardon?" You act like you didn’t say anything unordinary and blink innocently. In which he’s left to let his shoulders slump a bit and begrudgingly say, "I am curious, yes. Answer me honestly."
That’s when you place your hands on the floor and lean closer to him rather cat-like, causing him to lean back out of shock and nearly fall completely on his ass despite being almost twice your size. "I would love if you fucked me against every surface,” You tell him with this little sparkle noticeable in your eyes.
In the time Dabura has been apart of the program, he can’t say he’s ever encountered a human quite as… enthusiastic as you. Plus, your sentence came out far more vulgar than his had—something he takes note of.
Which is exactly why his next words leaves him slowly, tone etched with concern, "...You appeared frightened by me just mere minutes ago."
"Yes,” You agree before looking down at the way he’s managed to lean back enough to nearly be positioned under you, “And now I'm aroused—in some places this is could even be called scarousal."
Dabura feels like you’re more of the foreign creature in the room as opposed to himself by this point. Letting his brows scrunch up, "I don't believe that's a word-"
"You're an alien, you only know so much,” You hush out in this purring tone that catches him off guard. Then you lift one of your hands and move to tap your index against one of his many, many abs.
His breath hitches and his lips twitch—threatening to smile from the experience of being teased by you.
Dabura’s got two eyes focused on the soft taps of your finger and the remaining one fixated on your face as he utters, "I like you, human."
"Thank you, alien.” You reply, sliding your finger over and tracing a few of his abs just to smile at the way he flinches under your touch. God, for a creature much larger than you and all intimidating, he sure was sensitive to the smallest of things. “I think I like you t-"
"May I taste you?" Dabura requests, throwing your entire focus off the rails.
"What?" You choke as an immediate throb feels out for your attention from in between your legs. Then you remember that he’s still a different species, and find yourself instinctively pulling away cautiously, "You mean like, sexually, right…?”
He snorts and your heart skips a beat at the realization he finds you most amusing when you’re confused. "Unless you have a preference for being devoured in a literal sense,” Dabura reaches for your wrist once more and pulls you closer, letting your palm meet his abdomen as he husks out a careful, “Yes."
"O-Oh. I mean, if that’s the case then of course." You agree with that same twinkle from earlier returning into your irises. Though, Dabura doesn’t miss the way your expressions vocalize your thoughts before your mouth does, "Wait, Dr. Nanami mentioned something about this testing being primarily for breeding.” You recall, moving away from the alien to stand up. “Eating me out will won’t really have anything to do with-"
"It will help." He insists as he too shifts around to bring himself up onto his feet. Then he gives you this look that has your thighs drawing nearer to one another, "And I'm sure that doctor of yours also mentioned how you are to listen to me."
You can’t exactly refute that, "Well-, wait, how do you know that?!"
Rolling his eyes only once as if he’d grown tired of this useless back and forth, Dabura presses forward and tutts, "You worry yourself with the wrong things."
After which, and before you have a moment to debate with him even further, he’s bent down to swoop you up ‘n over his shoulder as if you weigh nothing! One arm is tightly set around your thighs and the other comes over to place a hand against the curve of your ass to support you.
You feel all warm again as you realize how high up in the air he has you, considering how tall the alien stands.
“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean-,” You’re cut off within the next few seconds by your body flopping down onto the bed carelessly, a soft oof lofting out of your mouth instead. You then shoot your inquisitive gaze upwards again and open your mouth to question him further, but find yourself rather speechless from the angle of which he now stands.
It was one thing to see him from afar, another to see him practically beneath you, but above you? Fuck, you couldn’t even help the way your thighs clamped shut—arousal daring to damp itself at your core.
Dabura is looking down at you for a quiet moment before drawing a hand up to his chin in thought and muttering, “Perhaps I should have tossed you the other way…”
You know you’re supposed to be following his lead but it’s a bit difficult to do that when all he’s said is that he wanted to taste you, “Huh? What are you-“
“Flip over,” He orders flatly, barely adding on, “Please,” after noticing the way you’d begun to glare at him.
You’re slow to do exactly that, and feel awkward in your every move—being watched so closely by some alien you’ve hardly gotten to know wasn’t exactly what you were expecting from this whole thing. You don’t know why, but you thought this process would be a lot more-
“I’m going to undress you now,” Dabura warns, his hands having met with the fabric at your hips.
You freeze before regaining your thoughts and then glancing back at him from over your shoulder, “I really don’t think this part is necessary for the-“
He interrupts you with an unintentionally rude sigh—as if your extra communication is the problem here and not his lack thereof—and moves his hand to the center of your back before applying pressure. The weight from his palm forces your upper half down against the mattress. Your face smushes right into the sheets and you let out a frustrated grumble in response to his curtness.
Then you could almost hear the smile in his words as he asks, “Is this the best you can arch?”
“Excuse me?” Your voice is muffled but he could make out what you were saying quite clearly.
Grinning to himself, “Your arch,” He repeats, biting back a snort, “Is this as good as it gets?”
You couldn’t tell if he was taunting you like this on purpose just to get a rise out of you or if he was being sincere but either way it was starting to annoy you. So much so that you lift your head a little and scoff, “How about I arch my foot into your a-ah! Hey,” Unfortunately, your words whisk out into a breathy sound rivaling a moan.
Dabura had deduced that right then, in the middle of your complaints, it’d be best to swipe his thumb against your crotch—bringing friction to your cunt through the few layers of fabric.
“For a human so intuitive, and uncooperative, you are quite wet.” He points out—making you furrow your brows as you wonder how the hell he figured that out from only one little touch. It’s not like you were leaking through your-, “What caused this, I wonder.”
With a bratty frown on your face, you pull your hips away from him slightly—not to reject his touches but simply to torture his desire to do so, “Not you, asshole.”
“Mmh.” Dabura is fully amused now. He’d never encountered a human quite like you. “Seems I forgot to add liar into that list,” He says playfully.
You gasp, “Excuse me-“
Your pants getting tugged down swiftly enough to cut your words off again, cool air slapping against your naked skin rather quickly.
“My, my…” Dabura gawks lightly. “You know, I’ve never tasted human pussy before.”
“Eh?” Your head pops up from the sheets and you look back over your shoulder, “You mean you’ve never given oral before?”
Almost sheepishly and in a stiffened manner, the alien shakes his head. “Many denied me from doing so, but you… You seemed so excited to mate with me, I only assumed you’d enjoy this just as much as I would.”
“Well-“
“And considering how…” The thick of his thumb presses in between your folds, rubbing against the fabric of your panties sluggishly, “…wet you are,” Then Dabura releases a parched sigh. “Why, it’d be improper of me not to get a taste. This entire program is based on sexualized testing, yes? Perhaps your cunt will take my seed best after being thoroughly licked.”
Talk about giving you fancy excuses just to eat you out…
You suppose you couldn’t blame him for wanting to plaster his tongue in your juices—after all, he did just say no other human allowed him to do so. Now, that does make you curious since Nanami specifically informed you to listen to your monster’s whims.
Perhaps he’d only done so based on this one’s past experiences? And that ‘good luck’ he gave you… what was that all about?
——
None of these questions of yours get answered anytime soon but they’re forgotten rather quickly with the way Dabura’s tongue had so feverishly met your twitching folds from beyond the layer of cotton that lay in the way.
You suppose he didn’t care much to move them aside just yet, as he seemed to enjoy toying with the material and liked the way you squirmed whenever he sucked it into his mouth—the raw feel of his plush lips grazing your bare cunt.
Even his decision to eat you out from the back left you curious. Hell, everything this damn alien did had you doused in concern. But of course, he hadn’t spared you a moment to dwell on any of them.
Especially not with those distracting grunts he let out by the time he finally peeled your panties down your clammy legs—hands gripped tightly onto your thighs to keep you spread open at the perfect angle for his tongue to lap inward.
“Mmmgh, yesyes,” Dabura groans, “Such a-, mmh, tasty lil’ thing.” His words slathered in between your pussy lips at varying angles, adding to each flicking movement of his tongue.
“Dabura,” You moan just as his mouth plucks away for a split second long enough for his teeth to bare. Then angles down just to nibble at your inner thigh for no direct reason other than wanting to feel you squirm against his hands. “I-I still don’t think you’re supposed to-, ngh!”
Again, you’re cut off by his actions—his mouth having returned to your poor, leaky entrance to swab over with his tongue. Then his hands pried your legs further open in an attempt at feeling your labia peel apart even more, tongue hot ‘n aching for more and more of your slick. You’re unsure of what exactly would satiate the alien’s thirst for you when he was already thrusting the majority of his oral muscle in between your walls.
Humans didn’t eat pussy like this, naturally. Not only was there a foreign movement to the way he fucked his tongue into you but the added factor of Dabura being clueless with his every move had you dazed. You wanted to tease him for the way he’d waddle his tongue around your clit for a second too short but he always seemed to make up for it by wiggling it deeeep into your pussy directly after.
It was almost like he wanted to smear your own taste around.
“What was that?” Dabura eventually mumbled against your sappy folds, letting you gush against his lips as he spoke, “I couldn’t hear you over my talkative girl down here.”
Your legs twitch as if to close but it’s to no avail. All while your voice has pitched off into whine after whine, “Y-Your?”
The alien pulled his mouth off of you after one more suctioning pop! and then sported yet another tiny grin, “Whilst you’re in this room, yes.” A fat glop of spit spanked out across your hole next and he moves his thumb to fuck his salive inward, “Mine.”
“O-Oh.” Your jaw flails open some and you feel yourself drooling from the instant he starts feeding his thumb to your cunt. It’s only one finger but fuck, nothing could quite compare to it.
Dabura tipped his head aside as he twirled his thumb around your insides, “You seemed to like that,” He pointed out hotly, breaths fanning into your skin, “Being called mine.“
Your hips did that thing they did earlier when you attempted to flee from the pleasure he’d provided for you, “I do, but-, hahh.. none of this is important for the-“
“Oh hushhh, woman,” Dabura drawls out, fully bored of hearing you remind him about how eating you out has nothing to do with breeding you. “…Allow me to have this in peace, won’t you?” He pulls his thumb out of your cunt and spits once again before tapping at the saliva—mimicking a spanking motion against your hole.
After that, you give up on your arguments. Partially because Dabura decides to replace his thumb with two stretching fingers, and also because he seems to realize he can stimulate you rather greatly with only one hand—digits lodged neatly into your entrance while his thumb runs across your glossy clit.
Of which he’s taken quite the liking to. One could even say he grows fond of the gorgeous bundle of nerves, drawing all sorts of shapes around it and loving the feel of it jumping whenever his other fingers curl into that spot against your inner walls you adore so much.
You’re brought to not one, not two, and most certainly more than three orgasms from his fingers alone. And which each one, you try—you really, really do—to remind him of what you’re here for, but he ignores you each time.
Eventually Dabura finds himself in this drunken state, having his slicked fingers biting into your skin while he devours your cunt sluggishly with his whorish mouth.
Moaning, “S’good,” as his tongue tickles in somewhere deeper than it had previously—almost as if the damn thing were growing! “So sloppy, fuuuck,” The last curse exits his throat in a whine and by this point his hips have been eagerly bucking against the massive bed. “I love the way your pussy feels on my tongue,” He babbles, grinding his hard cock down against the mattress—rocking the entirety of the furniture in the process.
Now, even though you’ve been occupied with having your cunt licked to utter numbness, you couldn’t ignore how needy Dabura’s other appendages seemed to be for you.
You knew the moment he got hard based on how much he adjusted himself against the bed. It was like the erection he carried in between those loose fabrics of his was a hindrance to him—oozing in precum excessively from the plump head and aching to dive in between the same lips he’d been lapping at.
His tongue is kissing at your clit right when he’s about to cum from doing so, but his orgasm is cut embarrassingly short by the way your room door flings open.
The poor door slams into the wall and Dabura lets out a very adorable yelp of surprise in between your legs.
So much for that intimidating aura of his, huh…
Even so, the sound he lets out, along with his flinching are both disregarded as he focuses back on the task at hand. He’s a little lazier with his feasting since he realizes the two of you have some company now but, again, this doesn’t stop him.
“You greedy fucking alien,” A new voice hoots out deeply, shucking the door away from the wall it slammed into just to shut it properly.
“Mmmnh, Sukuna, you ah-,” Dabura pauses his words to the newly entered monster just to sluuuurp! you right up one more time. A wet, sloppy smile spilt out across his lips, “You must come taste this. It’s like-“
“I know what good pussy tastes like, no need to explain it to me.” Sukuna cuts off, stomping his way into the room with his four eyes all fixated onto you. Pink brows furrowing, “I was a human prior to becoming this,” He adds on with a wave of his hand in Dabura’s direction, “Now move over.”
“…A bossy one, I bet.” The alien breathes out sassily, not paying the man any mind whatsoever and instead playing with the lips of your cunt by pulling them apart and then letting them fall back naturally after lifting his thumb away.
Ignoring his snarky remark, Sukuna ends up shoving poor Dabura out the way and letting his lower set of hands meet the purchase of your hips. One of his upper palms comes down to smack across your ass, making you flinch away from your previously dumbed-out state.
You lift your head and glance back, eyes met with a new creature that causes your jaw to fall open all stupidly. “A-And you are?”
Sukuna seems immediately ticked off by your lack of awareness, shooting a look over to Dabura and ignoring your question entirely. “What have you been up to with our toy so far?”
Toy? Surely he wasn’t talking about you…
“I’ve only licked her a few times,” Dabura claims—knowing all too well that few is beyond an understatement.
Sukuna seems pleased to hear that regaurdless. Sporting a haughty smile, “Have you?” He purrs before gripping onto the fat of your ass and pulling your cheeks apart to steal a glance at how swollen your folds are now, “Mh. That explains why she’s so puffy down here.”
Your face is still resting against the bedsheet but that doesn’t hinder you from mumbling, “M’not puffy…”
“Cute,” Sukuna comments shortly as he speaks as though you weren’t in the room with him. “She’s fucked-out already.”
“M’not,” You huff a bit louder this time, angling your rather wobbly arms to push yourself up on all fours.
You crane your head to get a full look at him, blinking past the blur of pleasurable tears that have built up along your lashline to take all of him in. Now, Sukuna was quite the sight for sore eyes.
While he was a bit shorter than Dabura in height, he surely made up for it in just about everything else. He had dark markings splayed out across his skin just as the alien did—but there was a clear difference in them. He also carried four eyes instead of the three you’d only just grown used to, all of which were red in hue and ever-so-glaring when met with yours.
There was a smirk on his face that never seemed to leave, stretching his pinkened lips out as if every fiber of his being were better-, or greater than you in every way imaginable. You wouldn’t call it smugness per-se, but there was something rather gloating about the way he carried himself.
You could only see so much of him with the way he was positioned behind you, having taken Dabura’s place entirely and left the alien to lay on the bed somewhere to your left. Even so, you did notice that Sukuna had two of everything except legs.
He had a bulky stature, muscles bulged and stretched out across his limbs. Your eyes felt as though they had little hearts in them upon meeting the mouth stretching across his stomach. It should’ve been grotesque to look at considering the way it moved all freakishly and almost carnally.
The massive tongue would lull out to lather across his lips and you’d get a hint of sharp teeth within your view each time he did so.
Up until that same tongue extended to swipe across just about everything in between your legs. “Oh? Then you wouldn’t mind this,” He’d said in response to your almost forgotten words.
Then you felt the slippery wetness draaag against the backs of your thighs, your jittery-spread pussylips, and even your ass with the way Sukuna took one greedy lick.
Your eyes bulged out all wide in reaction. The sight of which encouraged him to watch the way your expression contorted up as he focused the rounding tip of his stomach-tongue onto your cunt, bucking in dankly against it.
“Hnngh-, fuck.” You moaned before pulling your bottom lip in between your teeth and letting your back arch again, “W-What is your guys’ obsession with-, ohgod..”
The sweet sound of your voice was drowned out in your own pleasure as Sukuna’s tongue performed the same dances Dabura’s lengthy one had done just a moment ago.
“Poor thing,” Sukuna mocked, pouting at you to mirror the one sewn into your lips, “That dumb alien hasn’t given you any cock yet, has he?”
Your torso ended up falling once again as your hands went grabbing and tugging at the sheets to brace yourself for the full, greedy feel of his tongue. Then you shook your head in response and whimpered something along the lines of no.
Sukuna shot Dabura a look immediately. “Waited for me, didn’t you?” He taunted.
The alien no longer seemed amused and reciprocated Sukuna’s looks with a flat, irritated expression, “No.”
The pink-haired man rolled his eyes. “Mh. No matter, I see why you were occupied here for so long.” His attention returned to you and he found it most pleasing to watch you try to scurry further up the bed in an attempt at escaping that blinding pleasure his dewy tongue was gifting you with. “She is rather tasty.”
Even as you arched and moaned all over the place, you still managed to return to your focus of why you were here in the first place. There was no way you were about to let these two monsters make a pocket pussy out of you and only use their tongues with you!
“Can you just-, mmmph!” It’s quick that you learn Sukuna has even less of a patience than Dabura as one of his many, massive hands come to the back of your skull and push your face into the sheets.
He’s peering down at the way you wiggle your body in response, feeling pleasure begin to overstimulate your every nerve as his tongue invades every spongy spot of yours. “Has she been demanding all this time?” Sukuna asks the alien who seems quite bored now.
Dabura raises his eyebrows, surprised that Sukuna is acknowledging him again, “Yes, I believe she’d like to be bred.” He states, pointing out the obvious.
“Awh, too bad these tests are hardly for a human’s curiosity and primarily for our enjoyment.” The pink-haired man exhales—jerking his tongue back ‘n forth and backkk ‘n forthhh against the entirety of your soddened pussy, clinging to your clit and schlepping it around with his every move.
“Sukuna,” Dabura blinks, his eyes stuck on the motion of the man’s insistent tongue. He almost feels like his own was inadequate in comparison. “I do not believe you’re supposed to-“
Another cry is heard from you and the two are quickly distracted by the way your nails are beginning to tear at the bedsheets. Ah, Sukuna only then realizes that his tongue might just be too much for you after however long Dabura had his own on you.
Leading him to feel bad for you and gesture your way whilst directing his words to the alien at your left, “Hush her up, will you?”
Dabura frowns for the nth time. He didn’t much care to be ordered around by Sukuna like this.
…But that didn’t stop him from listening to each order he was given.
Which is how he ends up with his mouth against yours while Sukuna satisfies his incessant taste for you.
——
That continued on for… heavens know how long.
All three of you lose track and the only thing you can recall is the mixed feel of Dabura swallowing up your moans and Sukuna using his stomach mouth to play with your pussy like some toy.
It’s like you were the test subject in the room—not them. They both treated your body as if they’d never felt a human before or something. Which was weird considering the two of them have had their fair share of these tests before.
While Dabura was kissing you, his hands twitched with a need for exploration, soon traveling your body and fondling with your soft breasts. Every part of your body was left either marked or swollen from their many touches or bites.
And you don’t even remember how or when but you believe you were positioned on top of Dabura while Sukuna remained where he was behind you at some point. Because of this tangled position, Dabura was able to wrap his arms around you and keep you perfectly in place as Sukuna rubbed one—of his two—cocks in between the valley of your ass.
Within this position, the alien was beneath you with his own lengthy dick freed from the restricting fabrics of earlier—tugging at his shaft whilst feeling you squirm against him and whimper into his mouth.
That went on until both creatures had painted your stomach and your spine with their seed.
But, that wasn’t even where things really began.
No, no, things started—in your mind—when they let your body roll over from in between theirs and you were left to watch with dazed eyes as Sukuna grabbed at Dabura’s face and tugged him up. Then, erect cocks freed and tapping against one another upon all the movement, the two had exchanged one slow kiss in the name of “sharing your taste”.
You didn’t know what to make of it, really.
Was it hot? Well, duh. But for the most part you were wondering if this is what both of them had wanted the entire time.
Were you just some ploy in this little game of theirs? Is this what Dr. Nanami had meant when he told you good luck?? Or—
The loud, prominently wet sound of their lips detaching from one another catches your ears as it rings throughout the entire room. When you look at their faces, you note how softened Dabura’s features seem to be. His eyes seem utterly desperate to please as they veer upwards to meet Sukuna’s hardened expression based on the angle of which the two were.
Then Sukuna lifts a hand to wipe away drool from the corner of Dabura’s lips, cracking yet another smirk before looking over to you. “You’ve got my poor alien whipped, human. I’m impressed.”
You stare dumbfoundedly, “Huh?”
Sukuna snorts, “Can’t you see it?” Gripping at Dabura’s chin, he turns his face over for you to look at. “There’s nothing in this head of his aside from you. You should be proud of yourself.”
You chew on your bottom lip again out of fear of saying the wrong thing in response, moving your gaze onto Dabura who is in fact just as whipped as Sukuna described him to be—eyes glazed over with lust and barely wiped away drool staining the side of his mouth.
When you and the alien make eye contact, his pupils seem to dilate and his cock is twitching all over again. He hadn’t the words to describe it, but from the very moment he saw you standing in this room, he was left entranced by you.
Chuckling, Sukuna releases Dabura from his grasp and then pulls away. “I suppose it’s time we give you what you want, yes?”
Now your eyes were lighting up, “Please?”
“Manners, how cute.” Sukuna hums before running a hand through his hair with one hand and motioning for you to follow him with another. “Come, let me place you in the most effective position."
Within the next few minutes, you’re hauled up into a pair of the man’s sizable arms, legs straggled out within his hold as your pussy is left to drip ‘n spill slick out all over the floor. You were a mess but the two monsters accompanying you weren’t fairing any better.
Dabura’s still sat on the bed in a foggy state of arousal, the plummy head of his cock waving in the air as it globed with honeyed plashets of cum. He was sitting there in his own disorder, unable to move until he made eye contact with your unfairly pretty pussy again.
The sheeny gloss from your arousal webbed out ever so beautifully against your lips, hole pulsing softly as it begged to be filled properly. Tongues wouldn’t satisfy you anymore, that much was clear.
Sukuna’s peering over your shoulder as he holds you up like some trophy, “Don’t tell me you’re too pussydrunk to move, alien.” He chastises, “Come breed her with me before she runs out of stamina on us.”
Dabura snaps out of his momentary torpor and staggers up on his feet, quickly looming over the two of you in the next coming seconds. Then he brings a finger to your chin to tip your face further up and his voice is a small whisper, “Tell me something first…”
You bat your damp lashes at him in that same probing manner he’d grown to admire, the sight of which makes his heart feel weird again.
“How exactly did you prepare for this? I’m curious,” He asks.
You’re still hardly lucid so, your voice is at some cockdrunken pitch as words slide out of your throat, “I rode a uh-, t-thirteen inch dildo a couple times,” You explain, giggling in thought shortly after. “Took a while to get used to…”
Sukuna nuzzles into the crook of your neck like a big cat, “And you believe that has properly prepared you for three cocks? Fuck, you’re dumber than I thought—I like that.”
You grumble something short of a curse at him but the sound only makes him smile against your skin. Then Dabura is finally closing the distance between all of you and you feel his tip sloping up against your sex.
Few words are exchanged in the next few moments as the two decide it’s time to finally stuff you full.
The first dick that slides into you is one of Sukuna’s—the lower one—which is absurdly thick as it slots into your gushy hole. Following this is Dabura’s eager cock, which has throbby veins bumping against every crevice of your insides.
By this point you’re being streeeetched all the way the fuck out and think it damn near impossible to fit all three lengths inside you at the same time. One alone was more than enough to have your eyes crossing but two and eventually three?
Oh, you didn’t think you’d be able to feel your legs come next morning.
Though this was of very little concern to you. You came into this program to be bred by monsters and that’s exactly what you were determined to do—no matter how much your poor hole would have to be stretched open in the process.
And it didn’t help that all three cocks just kept bulging and twitching inside you, smooching over one another as they explored the inner depths of your sweet cunt. Something short of a cockdrunk smile was painted across your lips but you couldn’t really feel it.
The only thing you could feel were the three fat dicks wadding their way into you—along with the hot breaths all over both sides of your neck. Then came the gobbets of cum that filled your insides to the brim. So much so that it’d spilt out of your puffed labia and sogged onto the floor beneath the three of you.
They didn’t stop there though.
No, no, your monsters were just as determined as you were so they kept on with their uneven thrusts—Sukuna bucking forward each time Dabura sleethed his hips back, all whilst bouncing you up and down like a true fucktoy.
No other experience could quite compare to how used this one left you feeling, and you wouldn’t have had it any other way.
Their mixed seeds schliiiicked ‘n sloshed around your gummy walls, sure to take after this prolonged session of feral fucking with the excuse of sexualized testing to mask it.
It’s not until you hear Sukuna and Dabura exchanging hushed words that you finally get an answer to at least one of your many questions.
“And if-, shit.. if that doesn’t work…” Sukuna’s steady humming towards the alien, “Dabura..”
“Yes?”
“I shall have to breed you next.”
A loong, awkward silence stretches on uncomfortably before he chokes in response. Batting his lashes, “What.”
❧ Synopsis | In which Choso Kamo, your asshole of a best friend, starts to change after you get involved with a rather cheeky cashier, Gojo Satoru.
❧ Content | language, angst, misunderstandings, slight miscommunication troupe, slight confessions, dramatic scenes, mentions of sexual harassment, etc.
❧ Word Count | 6.4k
❧ Pairings | Choso Kamo x f!reader & Gojo Satoru x f!reader.
| Chapters mlist |
——The following morning, Choso wakes up alone. As he rustles around in the bed and comes to the realization that you’ve already left him, he can’t even say he’s surprised.
Yesterday was a lot for you—perhaps more than you’d let on, crying and confessions aside. Knowing you, Choso figures you couldn’t bear to wake up wrapped up in his arms as you have in the past.
After all, you did tell him you always felt like shit after using him and treating him like a second option. There’s a lingering feeling in his chest that’s telling him he should be more concerned about his compliance with constantly being your rebound but, that feeling is quickly snubbed by the profound emotions he’s had building up for you over the years.
Luckily for him, and before he has time to dwell on his personal dilemmas, the sweet scent of breakfast creeps its way into his room to distract his mind. Choso shifts around in his bed, lazily pushing the covers off his body and forcing himself to sit up as he figures the kitchen is where you’ve disappeared off to. Your decision to make breakfast must be serving as some short form of therapy after everything.
Or at least that’s what Choso tells himself as he soon slips off into his bathroom instead of the kitchen with a messy head of hair and morning breath. While he’s in there vigorously brushing his teeth, the smell of espresso enters his space along with distant sounds of you struggling with various cookware.
After freshening himself up, Choso makes his way out there to see what all the clatter and hushed fuss is about. He walks out to spot you struggling to make coffee and reading something from your phone with your brows all made up. The first thing that comes to his mind is whether or not you were possibly reading steps Gojo had sent you in the past about brewing a certain way.
When he catches the way your eyes light up upon figuring out the solution to whatever your recent issue is, he deems his assumption to be correct.
You place your phone down somewhere to your left and return to the task at hand with the proper steps in mind, having not realized Choso trudged his way out of his bedroom just yet. He continues to quietly watch you while fully entering the kitchen, plucking up a small piece of bacon from a freshly prepared plate and tossing it into his mouth before filling the space directly behind you.
Your lack of awareness was kinda cute, but Choso interrupts said awareness—or lack thereof—by finally wrapping his arms around you and chuckling at the way you flinch as his chin meets your shoulder to rest on. You freeze and slowly turn your head to try and look at him but he stops you from doing so by quickly nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck.
“My bed is s’cold without you,” He mumbles into your skin before sighing, “Why’d you leave me?”
In the time you both had distanced yourself from one another, you almost forgot how clingy he could be. Your shoulders relax from the initial tension that’d settled within them and you find yourself sporting a small grin, “To make breakfast, obviously.”
Choso hums against you and then lets his lips ghost across your neck, “What for? I could’ve had you for breakfast.”
Your elbow shoots back to nudge him in his gut playfully and he huffs in response before pulling off of you. Then you look back over your shoulder and meet his eyes with a warning etched into your own, “You had more than enough of that last night.”
At that, he raises his hands up in defeat, “If you say so.” He nods towards the differing plates of food, “What’s all this for, though? Stress cooking again?”
“I-, stress cooking?” Your eyes widen a bit and you release a lighthearted snort at his assumptions, swiveling your attention back to the coffee as you question him in return, “When have I ever done that?”
Choso’s head tilts in thought, finding it the faintest bit endearing that you don’t seem to recall every detail of your shared teenagehood together like he does. “When you failed one of your final exams back in high school,” He reminds you.
“Ew, why do you remember that,” You huff sarcastically.
His hands slip into his pockets and he steps to your right before turning to lean back against the counter as he looks at you, “Because you were at my house when you found out, and it was you ‘n Yuji who nearly burned the kitchen down.”
Oh, now you remember. You suppose Choso’s not exactly wrong nor weird for having this memory in mind. You’d been stressing yourself for months prior to that stupid exam, just to end up failing it regardless of how much you studied.
Throughout that entire time—and with Choso being your best friend—he was right there by your side watching you study for hours ‘n hours as obtaining the perfect grade in the end was your greatest goal. You even forced the boy to tutor you for a time so you could understand certain topics all the more better.
Even so, all those efforts went down the drain when you received your grades back and had seen you’d failed no matter how hard you tried not to. Which is ultimately what led to that night in the kitchen where you tried to bake your sorrows away, the smell of sweets drawing in a very young Yuji into the kitchen to help in hopes of taste testing everything.
The kid was quite the little helper, but he was also a big distraction. The balance between making sure he wasn’t eating concerning amounts of cookie dough and checking the oven when you were supposed to proved to be a bit too much for you to handle.
Thus resulting in Choso waking up from a nap to the burning smell of—what was supposed to be—cookies.
“...He offered to help, if I recall correctly,” You murmur softly as your shoulders slump from the realization of both Choso’s easy reading over your actions and the memory itself.
Your best friend manages a smile between lifting a hand to wipe the sleep away from his eyes, “Yeah, I know.”
Then a short, soft moment of silence stretches on between the two of you—only the sound of your steady movements around the kitchen left to fill it.
In truth, Choso had missed this more than he thinks he’s expressed so far. He’s known you for longer than he thinks he’s known himself in a philosophical sense, so not having you around the apartment for all those months took more of a toll on him than he’d realized.
The angsty mess of a conversation had already taken place between the two of you, he already expressed everything he needed to. So, why does he feel like something’s missing?
You’re standing right here in his kitchen, the same kitchen the two of you used to frequently share together, and yet there’s still a nagging feeling in his chest that’s telling him there’s a major factor he’s not taking into consideration.
Is it Gojo? Is Choso never going to feel at peace until he knows things with you and that guy has all been worked out?
If that’s the case then…
“So, what’s stressing you out?” The tone of Choso’s voice breaks through the silence next, causing you to blink out of your own foggy thoughts.
Discomfort breaks out against your expression in reaction to where his question leads your mind. You’d done well so far spending the last hours or so not thinking about it again—about him.
“You know what,” Your words exit in a clipped fashion, answering his question without really answering it.
Choso slowly turns around again, as if he’s too tense to remain still, and leans against the counter with his elbows holding him up, “Are you gonna talk to him?”
One very simple question seemed to be all it takes for a distressed set of dialogue to vomit out of you.
“What’s there to talk about?” You’re scoffing, “He and Hori made out, I don’t think there’s any conversation worth having after that. Plus, he didn’t even try looking for me after the fact. I have no missed calls, no texts, nothing. If he cared, or if kissing Hori was some kind of mistake,” You pause to look over at Choso, “He would’ve reached out.”
He intentionally avoids your eyes, deciding to quietly listen to you shuffle around him as you go to fix up two plates of food. That is what attracted him into the kitchen in the first place, after all.
Plus, you had a point—if what happened that night was some sort of mistake as Choso is confusingly sure it was, then Gojo would’ve tried to reach out. Or hell, the man would be at the door right now just like he was all those months ago.
After a few minutes, you’ve set two plates down at the table and Choso manages to pry himself away from the counter and trudge over to it to sit down and eat with you. It’s silent as both of you eat at first, your individual thoughts consuming the space of which continued conversation should’ve been occupying.
Choso’s fork scrapes against his plate at an unintentionally elevated pitch that echoes on before he lets out a frustrated sigh, “What if he just doesn’t know what to say?”
It was clear that the question had been ringing throughout his mind during all that silence.
“This is gonna sound real cliche but,” Your shoulders lift to shrug, “Surprisingly enough, Gojo always knows what to say.”
Even the way you refused to refer to him as Satoru now was something the man across from you picked up on. Had the name you once breathed out so endlessly left a stain on your tongue so agonizing that it could no longer be uttered with the same passion anymore?
You look up from your food suddenly with a cocked brow, “And why are you taking up for him anyway? I thought you didn’t like the guy?”
“I don’t,” Choso says immediately, “But you do.”
That throws you off.
“...So?” You scoff again, fork getting loose within your grasp as all your attention melts into this conversation.
“So, by default I have to take the feelings of everyone involved into consideration.” He explains, “Even his.”
You mull over his words for a couple seconds, noting the way Choso’s still refusing to look at you during the entire duration of this conversation. “Are you saying you think I should talk to him?” You ask.
“Maybe,” he shrugs in return.
“I shouldn’t have to be the one to reach out,” You were starting to grow annoyed with the fact that you had to repeat this over and over just for your best friend to understand. “A-And you’re the one who’s been telling me he’s an asshole for months. If he wanted to clear things up with me, he would.”
The way you reminded Choso of his own claims to you felt rather random. He knows what he’s said, but it’d be nice if you disregarded those words just this once.
“I was just saying that maybe there’s more to this than you know.” Choso murmurs, reaching for a nearby napkin to wipe his mouth off, “You were asleep down in that basement for a while before I found you, y’know.”
You blink, “And you think he went looking for me in that time?”
“He could’ve.”
It felt like this conversation was running around in circles. The more either of you spoke, the less you saw eye to eye on the topic.
So, you continue to press Choso for an explanation, “Why don’t I have any missed calls or texts then?”
“I can’t explain that,” He tells you.
You find yourself narrowing your eyes at him skeptically, “So why are you trying to?”
“What?” Choso finally breaks out of whatever daze he’d been in and his eyes flick up to you with surprise widening them out, “I-I’m not, I just… I don’t want you to regret not doing anything.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t want you to make the same mistakes I did.” He explains again. Though, he feels like he’s said this already. “If you like him like you say you do, and if clarification on that Hori situation is what you really want, get it. You’re only gonna hurt yourself more if you leave yourself to your assumptions or if you spend all this time waiting for him to do something he clearly has no intentions on doing.”
You don’t know what to make of his advice anymore. One moment Gojo’s an asshole and a guy you should be staying away from at all costs, and the next Gojo’s a guy you should be chasing after for further clarification on situations that never should’ve happened in the first place!
It was one big, ugly mess and you were really starting to hate it. What you wouldn’t give to go back a few months where things felt less complicated—where your situationship with Gojo wasn’t a situationship at all and just a harmless crush that complicated nothing more than your heart and your heart alone.
With that in mind, you let a softened breath depart from your lips before breaking away from the eye contact with Choso and returning to your food, “You give really good advice for someone who doesn’t take his own.”
At that, Choso feels his heart twinging.
It kinda hurts to hear you say that to him. You weren’t wrong—not by a longshot—but that didn’t mean it stung any less to hear the woman he’s been pining for tell him that he should've taken his own advice a long time ago instead of being an idiot for all these years.
“I’m.. working on that, as you can see.” Is all he can respond with as his eyes grow solemn and he mirrors you by downcasting his vision and focusing on his food instead.
You didn’t know it but he was wishing for the same thing as you now—that things could go back to the way they used to be. Funnily enough, Choso quite liked it back when you were crushing on Gojo.
Did it annoy him to no end? Sure, but that’s just because he was jealous. Putting those negative feelings aside and blatantly ignoring them as a whole, Choso realizes that at least when you were crushing on Gojo things were simple. It wasn’t a matter of who liked who or what really happened when, or anything ridiculous as it was now.
And above all else, you were happy. Wildly oblivious, but happy.
For the nth time this morning, both of you let silence envelope you. This time it’s not as uncomfortable or tense as the first few times, since the majority of the conversation that needed to take place finally did, but that doesn’t make it any less noteworthy.
You eventually get up from the table first, letting your chair scrape the floor as if to hopefully break Choso out of his own thoughts.
Which, luckily, does exactly what you wanted it to and leads Choso to follow you back into the kitchen within the next few minutes. As you’re washing dishes, he comes behind you and slips his own into the sink—knowing he’s much too close to you but caring little to nothing about the lack of personal space by the time your head instinctively turns his way.
When the two of you meet eyes, he feels his heart leap within his chest.
God, how could he have spent so long being such a fucking idiot? You lived with him for all these years, grew up with him prior to that, and still it took one—arguably insignificant—guy to come into your life and unwittingly sweep you off of your feet for him to understand that he’s never going to feel for someone as deeply as he feels for you?
In that very moment does Choso Kamo deem himself to be more than an idiot. Maybe if he had—
“What about you?” You whisper, cutting off all his self-depricating thoughts with a single, painfully soft question.
Choso just stares at you dumbfoundedly, “What?”
“If I do end up getting everything with Gojo cleared up,” You glance away from just a moment. Then back to him, “What happens to you? To.. to us?”
Us? The word bounces around in Choso’s mind.
There probably would’ve been an us at some point had you never gone into that stupid coffee shop. But, that some point likely would’ve taken years anyway. Your best friend is too much of a fool to accept his own feelings for you unless he sees it being reciprocated to someone that’s not him.
Does that make him a cuck, in a sense?
His head shakes as he realizes he’s letting his thoughts trail far too off track and instead he whispers back to you, “The same thing that always happens. I wait.”
Choso wishes he didn’t see the way your eyes fell down to his mouth like his every word were something to watch instead of listen to. It’s a harmless look. Or at least it should be. It really, really should be.
And yet, nothing about the way your gaze traces the outskirts of his mouth feels harmless. Nothing about how close the two of you are to one another feels harmless. Nothing about the very fabric of your entire relationship is harmless whatsoever.
“And if all that waiting is for nothing?” You ask, unknowingly causing Choso to lean just a few inches closer.
“How can it be for nothing if I’m waiting for you,” He breathes back with an intentionally long pause in between his words as if that’s where he wanted the statement to end—as if that’s perhaps where the statement should’ve ended. “To be content, that is.” He adds on shortly after like some sort of precaution.
For what exactly, you’re unsure of. Probably his own feelings—which still seem to be unbelievably complicated, more so than he’s willing to let on.
Then, he finds his eyes mapping the frame of your face only to soon land on the curve of your mouth. It’s unfair how strong a pull you have on him without even doing anything.
Especially now in this moment where he’s supposed to be tugging himself away from you in sake of not hurting himself. Yet every time you’re in mind, the concept of hurting himself and loving you seems to coexist in a way he cannot find it in himself to be concerned with.
His heart is telling him to kiss you—screaming at him to do so, really. But his mind-, oh, his poor, scattered mind is telling him that he should do anything but. That he should turn away now before he complicates things for you any further than he already has.
Which is exactly why his eyes shut and his lips move on their own. They don’t find yours, though. Instead, his lips meet with your cheek as he kisses you there gently and somehow that gesture feels as though it’s the answer to all questions. Somehow Choso kissing you on the cheek is the only thing that makes sense.
As well as him lifting to do the same to your forehead, his hand coming up to hold the other side of your face while his lips press into your skin deeply—like the moment itself is to be saved and pocketed for another time.
“Cho-,” You tried to whisper his name to ask for something else, but he pries his mouth away from you and shakes his head before grinning.
“If you won’t go talk to him for yourself then,” He uses the hand at your cheek to lift your face up, “At least do it for me.”
You stare at him longingly enough to make him wish he never even said that, despite meaning everything he’s uttered to you thus far. Then, rather devastatingly do you nod your head to silently promise that you’ll talk to Gojo for Choso’s sake more than you would your own.
You still don’t understand the sudden change of heart Choso’s had given everything that’s transpired, but you can’t say you possess the desire to question him about it any further.
Not to mention the fact that his previous spoken words are still playing in your head. Maybe he really does feel for you most when things between you two are all messy.
· ───────── · ꨄ · ───────── ·
Days blend into weeks before anything new happens.
The promise you made to Choso was still something you very much decided you’d act on, but neither of you ever specified when, so you would be taking your sweet time to reach out to Gojo.
You can’t say you were looking forward to doing it, anyway. The possibility of Gojo two-timing you for all those months you spent falling for him was a reality you truly did not want to face. You hoped more than anything that Choso’s most recent advice proved to be true and that this was all just some big misunderstanding. But it was hard to invest your hopes into that option as the days went by.
You tried to focus on your studies more in the coming days, figuring that if you’re gonna have some time away from stupid matters of the heart, you might as well set your mind back on what it was supposed to be on in the first place.
The season of finals had fallen upon you and it was only right that acing the ones that mattered was at the top of your priorities list. Luckily enough for you, this served as the perfect excuse to keep Choso from pestering you about the whole Gojo thing.
By the time the brutal period of finals had passed and you felt academically spent, you were in the full season of winter where the cold decided to consume every space available.
You’d been a good two days into your break for the chilly season when you finally figured out what you were going to say to Gojo once you approached him. It took a lot of time to think over—of course—but you decided that regardless of what really happened between him and Hori, you were going to hear him out with an open heart.
Choso’s feelings were still something you contemplated heavily amid that, but seeing as he was hellbent on only telling you he loves you when you treat him like shit… you decided that the healthier option for you heart lies somewhere in figuring your shit out with the blue-eyed nuance you’ve been crushing on.
Currently, your thumbs hover over his contact in your phone.
You’d visited it time and time again but never got yourself to type anything out or call him. Part of you wonders if he’s done the same—stared at your contact for hours and thought about reaching out to you, only to shy away from doing so in the end.
If he did, you can’t help but wonder why? What reason would Gojo have to not talk to you when he’s the one who went kissing someone else after months of treating you like you were his girlfriend. He had to feel guilty or shameful for it, right? Or… had he really kissed her with intent?
That question makes your heart cave inward as if someone had their cruel fingers wrapped around it and decided to squeeze. You hated the idea alone.
In that aspect, you wish you were more like Choso who could still feel for someone even when they treated them terribly. It was a toxic trait to be envious of but maybe if you carried said trait, you wouldn’t be hurting so much right now.
One call could probably fix this whole thing.
There’s rain pattering against your bedroom window while you’re staring at your unmoving phone screen, and you can hear the distant roars of thunder outside. It’s too gloomy of a day for you to have that conversation, no? If the latter of your questions turn out to be true, then wouldn’t the weather only heighten how much reality hurts?
That’s probably some superstition or excuse you’re using to avoid hitting that call option glowing on your phone, but is that really so bad? You’re not the only one who’s been using superstition as an excuse to not reach out, after all.
The sudden sound of something knocking against the apartment’s front door a total of six rhythmic times causes you to flinch and turn your head towards your closed bedroom door. Who or whatever it was must’ve been banging on that door pretty damn hard for you to be able to hear it from where you were, even though you didn’t have any sort of sound occupying your room at the moment.
You push yourself away from the blankets you’d buried yourself under and shift out of bed, tucking your feet into some rather cute house slippers Choso gifted you shortly after you began to frequent the apartment again. Then you trudge towards your bedroom door and take a peek outside towards your best friend’s room to see if he had any plans on tending to the knocking before you.
Considering how his door is shut and you can hear music playing from beyond it, you let out a sigh and roll your eyes as you exit your room and make way for the door. Now, there’s a thought in the very back of your mind wondering—perhaps even hoping—that the person you open up this door to will be Gojo.
How cliche would that be? The winter season, the temperature being a harsh cold beyond your doors, frosty rain fluttering out from the clouds outside—all paired with (what you imagine to be) a beautifully drenched man who’s finally come to confess his truths to you.
Yeah, that’d be something straight out of a movie.
The thought of which makes you chuckle to yourself as you finally reach the front door and grab ahold of the knob. You find yourself pausing for a moment, heart thumping in your chest as if you already knew who exactly was beyond it, and eyes squeezing shut for long enough to mentally prepare yourself.
Even if it’d be rather dramatic, who else would be standing outside your door in this kinda weather if not Gojo Satoru?
Well, perhaps his closest friend who you’re hardly acquainted with; Geto Suguru.
When you pulled the door open, that man was the last person you could’ve ever expected to see standing there. He stood at the same height as Gojo, rainwater trickled off of his warm skin, and a light puff of visible air clouded out of his mouth as he released a pant.
Did he run here? The question stands in the forefront of your mind, but it’s quickly replaced by one much more probbing—if he had run here, why? Was something wrong?
“Geto?” Your voice is small, hardly heard over the sounds of splattering rain hitting the exterior of your apartment complex.
There’s a look of worry in his violetted eyes, his hair is styled half-up ‘n half-down as it usually is in the rare occurrences that you see him, but the backside of which looks rather unkept—almost like it’d been brushed up against something prior to him standing before you.
Whatever the case may be, it was quite apparent that he’d likely run from a vehicle to here.
Your brows furrow, “What are you doing here—“
“Suguru,” The name is uttered from further down the hall and despite Geto standing right in front of you struggling to catch his breath, your world seems to tip off of its axis as that painfully familiar voice echoes towards you.
Your hand, which had been neatly taut against the edge of the front door, tightens slightly against the wood. You didn’t want to lean outside the doorframe and look down the hallway, honestly. There was hardly a need for you to do so when you knew the owner of that voice far too well.
The man standing in front of you glances down the hall once, then back down at you and exhales shortly. “Three hours,” Geto huffs, “I have been sitting in this idiot’s car—in the rain—for the past three fucking hours listening to him whine and watching him sulk about you. He’s been too pussy to come up here ‘n talk to you himself, so this time I dragged him up myself.”
Your mind all but blanks at the sudden blurt of words. It was obvious Geto was trying to hurry with an explanation so he could leave before Gojo fully caught up to him.
“H-Huh?” You gape.
The man’s eye twitches in annoyance, “Listen, I don’t know what the hell you two have going on—and I long since realized I don’t much care—but for the love of fuck, figure your shit out.”
Getting closer, the man you’ve been avoiding could be heard shouting out to his friend, “Suguru! I didn’t think you’d actually—“
Geto sharply turns his head in that direction and he looks entirely ticked off. “I’ve been telling you for weeks that she’d answer the door, all you had to do was come knock. See?” He gestures at you slightly.
“That’s-,” Gojo’s heard sighing, likely standing just a few feet away from the door now, and sounding equally out of breath as Geto had been. “I-I didn’t think-“
“Grow some balls, man. If you miss her so badly, talk to her,” Suddenly, Geto’s hands are on your shoulders and he’s tugging you out into the hallway, spinning you around, and pushing you towards Gojo, “Here.”
You trip over your feet in the process and end up falling straight into the man’s chest as he approaches, his hands coming to your arms to brace you from toppling over. It was a short moment, but the rapid thumping that strikes your ears most certainly was not coming from the storm outside.
Your hands had instinctively moved to grab at something, and of course that something just so happened to be the fabric of Gojo’s soaking sweater. The earthy smell of rainwater floods into your nose, and you knew the two men must’ve been in the rain for quite some time whilst running here.
Geto’s heard stomping past the both of you without a word, and Gojo’s trying his best to get him to come back without releasing you from his hold. He didn’t like being thrown into this situation so suddenly, clearly.
The two of you stand in place—you, keeping your head down and against his chest—whilst he continues clutching onto your arms and watching Geto leave him alone with you.
And then… It's silent.
Well, at least in terms of dialogue.
You could hear Gojo still panting, breath not yet caught up in his lungs, and his heart was still pounding at an alarming rate. That, and yours wasn’t fairing much better. Neither of you had even met eyes yet and your nerves were already trembling in anxiety.
It would’ve been one thing to have opened your door to him, but to be thrown into his arms so suddenly, and for the both of you to be ever so motionless…
God, it was awkward.
So much so that you’re all stiff in your movements as you find your footing again and manage to step back a little. Gojo’s slow in releasing your arms from the nippy grips of his fingers, and he carefully sets his eyes on you to watch the way you thoughtlessly wipe at your shirt as if doing so would rid the fabric of the recently transferred water.
After which, you finally lift your chin and the two of you make eye contact with one another for the first time in weeks.
Immediately, you notice that Gojo appears as though he hasn’t slept a wink since seeing you last. There’s noticeable bags beneath his eyes, his hair is sodden through from the rain—the whites of it tinging into a silvery hue where the rain had left it flattened against his forehead—and droplets streaming down his face.
You can’t help the softening of your gaze as you take in his appearance. Even though you’re supposed to be upset with him, all over again do you find yourself viewing him as nothing more nor less than an angel fallen from grace.
You wanted to assume that the unkept, murky state of his hair resulted from however long he’d recently been in the rain, but something deep down inside was telling you that this was a product of the state of your relationship with him. His top and bottom set of lashes clung to one another for a second too long with each time he blinked and now things were truly beginning to feel cinematic.
Your fingers twitched just then, as if to reach out for his face and take the flushed coldness of his cheek into the warmth of your palm. Yet, you stop yourself from doing so and let the whim die out inside you.
Gojo’s mouth trembles before he gets any words out, and part of you considers that perhaps the wetness running down his face isn’t all from the rain. He does look a mess, after all. Nothing like the clean kept Satoru you know him to be.
What his friend just told you is replaying in your mind, every detail of it.
They’d been sitting in Gojo’s car for three hours under the rain and discussing you during every minute of it.
“He’s been too pussy to come up here ‘n talk to you himself, so this time I dragged him up myself.” Geto had said.
But what did that even mean? He’s been too pussy? Is this not the first time Gojo’s sat out in your parking lot for hours?
“I’ve been telling you for weeks that she’d answer the door.”
Had Gojo really made a routine out of sitting outside your apartment and sulking? Was he seriously too scared to come talk to you?
“If you miss her so badly, talk to her.”
Well, at least you know you weren’t the only one longing for a conversation in this situation.
But, none of that is going to clear things up for you. One of you have to open your mouth and say something eventually—
“I’m sorry,” The weight of remorse in Gojo’s voice seizes you from your thoughts. Then he falls to his knees with a thud, leading your eyes to broaden in shock. His hands remain neatly clutched into tight fists over his lap, and he drops his head. Voice quivering, “I am so, so sorry.”
Was it true then? Had he and Hori kissed intentionally?
You couldn’t quite speak yet. The words weren’t finding you and you had no clue where to begin.
Drops of water plop down onto the skin of Gojo’s hands and you wonder if they’re from his hair or his eyes again. If it was true, if he had really kissed Hori, why would he think some dramatic act like this is all it takes to get back in your good graces again?
Falling to his knees, avoiding you but watching you for weeks, crying in front of you…
What were you supposed to make of all this??
“Satoru,” Your confusion aside, his name falls from your mouth with an affection you couldn’t hide no matter how hard you tried.
And oh, if he isn’t every bit ruined from hearing it. Only three soft spoken syllables from you and he was already giving you an even more pathetic display, shuffling forward on his knees and reaching up to hold onto your sweatpants as his head leaned against your legs.
Then you heard him sniffle and you couldn’t stop the way your hand moved to run through the damp tresses of his hair, watching the strands curl and slick against your fingers as you did so. His arms sluggishly move to encircle your legs and he hugs you from where he is.
What feelings could a man of his stature have truly succumbed to that results in him placing himself in this position willingly? How deeply did Gojo Satoru honestly feel for you? And why only now are you being shown physical glimpses of it with no lustful actions following?
“What… are you apologizing for?” You whisper.
You had to know before you drowned in your own assumptions too quickly. Nothing had been explained yet and you promised to hear him out with an open heart and mind, so it’d be unfair not to properly question him.
His hands grasp at your clothing a bit before his head begins to move, chin lifting to reveal his face to your sights once more. This time though, you see it clearly that Gojo is in tears.
You’d never seen something so unfairly pretty in your life. His eyes had glossed over entirely, fogs swirling through them from the haze of sorrow, and a welling of tears decorated his lower line of lashes. And beneath that, beneath the translucent sheen of sadness, were the same eyes you’d peered into for hours on end.
In this instance, they reminded you of blue-stained glass.
Gojo’s cheeks were pinkened from the heightened emotions he was experiencing, and his voice still wavered as he answered you. “For not reaching out. F-For being scared-, for everything. I don’t know,” He rambled shakily before tucking his face back down against your legs.
That’s funny. He didn’t apologize for kissing Hori—the very act of which brought you both into this moment.
Something in your chest sinks, and you can’t stop a frown from spilling out into your expression. “So… it really wasn’t a mistake then,” You murmur, horrified by the assumption as to what his reply was about to be.
Gojo physically flinches before moving his head up again. His tears seemed to have halted and the look in his eyes is colder now, “What?”
You meet the dead stare with one of your own, “Kissing her—Hori.”
You’re not sure if you imagine it, but you swear he grows uncomfortable by that name being spoken.
Then Gojo appears to be concerned, “No one told you…?”
The idle movement of your hand in his hair finally comes to a full stop.
❧ Synopsis | In which Choso Kamo, your asshole of a best friend, starts to change after you get involved with a rather cheeky cashier, Gojo Satoru.
❧ Content | language, angst, misunderstandings, slight miscommunication troupe, slight confessions, dramatic scenes, mentions of sexual harassment, etc.
❧ Word Count | 6.4k
❧ Pairings | Choso Kamo x f!reader & Gojo Satoru x f!reader.
| Chapters mlist |
——The following morning, Choso wakes up alone. As he rustles around in the bed and comes to the realization that you’ve already left him, he can’t even say he’s surprised.
Yesterday was a lot for you—perhaps more than you’d let on, crying and confessions aside. Knowing you, Choso figures you couldn’t bear to wake up wrapped up in his arms as you have in the past.
After all, you did tell him you always felt like shit after using him and treating him like a second option. There’s a lingering feeling in his chest that’s telling him he should be more concerned about his compliance with constantly being your rebound but, that feeling is quickly snubbed by the profound emotions he’s had building up for you over the years.
Luckily for him, and before he has time to dwell on his personal dilemmas, the sweet scent of breakfast creeps its way into his room to distract his mind. Choso shifts around in his bed, lazily pushing the covers off his body and forcing himself to sit up as he figures the kitchen is where you’ve disappeared off to. Your decision to make breakfast must be serving as some short form of therapy after everything.
Or at least that’s what Choso tells himself as he soon slips off into his bathroom instead of the kitchen with a messy head of hair and morning breath. While he’s in there vigorously brushing his teeth, the smell of espresso enters his space along with distant sounds of you struggling with various cookware.
After freshening himself up, Choso makes his way out there to see what all the clatter and hushed fuss is about. He walks out to spot you struggling to make coffee and reading something from your phone with your brows all made up. The first thing that comes to his mind is whether or not you were possibly reading steps Gojo had sent you in the past about brewing a certain way.
When he catches the way your eyes light up upon figuring out the solution to whatever your recent issue is, he deems his assumption to be correct.
You place your phone down somewhere to your left and return to the task at hand with the proper steps in mind, having not realized Choso trudged his way out of his bedroom just yet. He continues to quietly watch you while fully entering the kitchen, plucking up a small piece of bacon from a freshly prepared plate and tossing it into his mouth before filling the space directly behind you.
Your lack of awareness was kinda cute, but Choso interrupts said awareness—or lack thereof—by finally wrapping his arms around you and chuckling at the way you flinch as his chin meets your shoulder to rest on. You freeze and slowly turn your head to try and look at him but he stops you from doing so by quickly nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck.
“My bed is s’cold without you,” He mumbles into your skin before sighing, “Why’d you leave me?”
In the time you both had distanced yourself from one another, you almost forgot how clingy he could be. Your shoulders relax from the initial tension that’d settled within them and you find yourself sporting a small grin, “To make breakfast, obviously.”
Choso hums against you and then lets his lips ghost across your neck, “What for? I could’ve had you for breakfast.”
Your elbow shoots back to nudge him in his gut playfully and he huffs in response before pulling off of you. Then you look back over your shoulder and meet his eyes with a warning etched into your own, “You had more than enough of that last night.”
At that, he raises his hands up in defeat, “If you say so.” He nods towards the differing plates of food, “What’s all this for, though? Stress cooking again?”
“I-, stress cooking?” Your eyes widen a bit and you release a lighthearted snort at his assumptions, swiveling your attention back to the coffee as you question him in return, “When have I ever done that?”
Choso’s head tilts in thought, finding it the faintest bit endearing that you don’t seem to recall every detail of your shared teenagehood together like he does. “When you failed one of your final exams back in high school,” He reminds you.
“Ew, why do you remember that,” You huff sarcastically.
His hands slip into his pockets and he steps to your right before turning to lean back against the counter as he looks at you, “Because you were at my house when you found out, and it was you ‘n Yuji who nearly burned the kitchen down.”
Oh, now you remember. You suppose Choso’s not exactly wrong nor weird for having this memory in mind. You’d been stressing yourself for months prior to that stupid exam, just to end up failing it regardless of how much you studied.
Throughout that entire time—and with Choso being your best friend—he was right there by your side watching you study for hours ‘n hours as obtaining the perfect grade in the end was your greatest goal. You even forced the boy to tutor you for a time so you could understand certain topics all the more better.
Even so, all those efforts went down the drain when you received your grades back and had seen you’d failed no matter how hard you tried not to. Which is ultimately what led to that night in the kitchen where you tried to bake your sorrows away, the smell of sweets drawing in a very young Yuji into the kitchen to help in hopes of taste testing everything.
The kid was quite the little helper, but he was also a big distraction. The balance between making sure he wasn’t eating concerning amounts of cookie dough and checking the oven when you were supposed to proved to be a bit too much for you to handle.
Thus resulting in Choso waking up from a nap to the burning smell of—what was supposed to be—cookies.
“...He offered to help, if I recall correctly,” You murmur softly as your shoulders slump from the realization of both Choso’s easy reading over your actions and the memory itself.
Your best friend manages a smile between lifting a hand to wipe the sleep away from his eyes, “Yeah, I know.”
Then a short, soft moment of silence stretches on between the two of you—only the sound of your steady movements around the kitchen left to fill it.
In truth, Choso had missed this more than he thinks he’s expressed so far. He’s known you for longer than he thinks he’s known himself in a philosophical sense, so not having you around the apartment for all those months took more of a toll on him than he’d realized.
The angsty mess of a conversation had already taken place between the two of you, he already expressed everything he needed to. So, why does he feel like something’s missing?
You’re standing right here in his kitchen, the same kitchen the two of you used to frequently share together, and yet there’s still a nagging feeling in his chest that’s telling him there’s a major factor he’s not taking into consideration.
Is it Gojo? Is Choso never going to feel at peace until he knows things with you and that guy has all been worked out?
If that’s the case then…
“So, what’s stressing you out?” The tone of Choso’s voice breaks through the silence next, causing you to blink out of your own foggy thoughts.
Discomfort breaks out against your expression in reaction to where his question leads your mind. You’d done well so far spending the last hours or so not thinking about it again—about him.
“You know what,” Your words exit in a clipped fashion, answering his question without really answering it.
Choso slowly turns around again, as if he’s too tense to remain still, and leans against the counter with his elbows holding him up, “Are you gonna talk to him?”
One very simple question seemed to be all it takes for a distressed set of dialogue to vomit out of you.
“What’s there to talk about?” You’re scoffing, “He and Hori made out, I don’t think there’s any conversation worth having after that. Plus, he didn’t even try looking for me after the fact. I have no missed calls, no texts, nothing. If he cared, or if kissing Hori was some kind of mistake,” You pause to look over at Choso, “He would’ve reached out.”
He intentionally avoids your eyes, deciding to quietly listen to you shuffle around him as you go to fix up two plates of food. That is what attracted him into the kitchen in the first place, after all.
Plus, you had a point—if what happened that night was some sort of mistake as Choso is confusingly sure it was, then Gojo would’ve tried to reach out. Or hell, the man would be at the door right now just like he was all those months ago.
After a few minutes, you’ve set two plates down at the table and Choso manages to pry himself away from the counter and trudge over to it to sit down and eat with you. It’s silent as both of you eat at first, your individual thoughts consuming the space of which continued conversation should’ve been occupying.
Choso’s fork scrapes against his plate at an unintentionally elevated pitch that echoes on before he lets out a frustrated sigh, “What if he just doesn’t know what to say?”
It was clear that the question had been ringing throughout his mind during all that silence.
“This is gonna sound real cliche but,” Your shoulders lift to shrug, “Surprisingly enough, Gojo always knows what to say.”
Even the way you refused to refer to him as Satoru now was something the man across from you picked up on. Had the name you once breathed out so endlessly left a stain on your tongue so agonizing that it could no longer be uttered with the same passion anymore?
You look up from your food suddenly with a cocked brow, “And why are you taking up for him anyway? I thought you didn’t like the guy?”
“I don’t,” Choso says immediately, “But you do.”
That throws you off.
“...So?” You scoff again, fork getting loose within your grasp as all your attention melts into this conversation.
“So, by default I have to take the feelings of everyone involved into consideration.” He explains, “Even his.”
You mull over his words for a couple seconds, noting the way Choso’s still refusing to look at you during the entire duration of this conversation. “Are you saying you think I should talk to him?” You ask.
“Maybe,” he shrugs in return.
“I shouldn’t have to be the one to reach out,” You were starting to grow annoyed with the fact that you had to repeat this over and over just for your best friend to understand. “A-And you’re the one who’s been telling me he’s an asshole for months. If he wanted to clear things up with me, he would.”
The way you reminded Choso of his own claims to you felt rather random. He knows what he’s said, but it’d be nice if you disregarded those words just this once.
“I was just saying that maybe there’s more to this than you know.” Choso murmurs, reaching for a nearby napkin to wipe his mouth off, “You were asleep down in that basement for a while before I found you, y’know.”
You blink, “And you think he went looking for me in that time?”
“He could’ve.”
It felt like this conversation was running around in circles. The more either of you spoke, the less you saw eye to eye on the topic.
So, you continue to press Choso for an explanation, “Why don’t I have any missed calls or texts then?”
“I can’t explain that,” He tells you.
You find yourself narrowing your eyes at him skeptically, “So why are you trying to?”
“What?” Choso finally breaks out of whatever daze he’d been in and his eyes flick up to you with surprise widening them out, “I-I’m not, I just… I don’t want you to regret not doing anything.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t want you to make the same mistakes I did.” He explains again. Though, he feels like he’s said this already. “If you like him like you say you do, and if clarification on that Hori situation is what you really want, get it. You’re only gonna hurt yourself more if you leave yourself to your assumptions or if you spend all this time waiting for him to do something he clearly has no intentions on doing.”
You don’t know what to make of his advice anymore. One moment Gojo’s an asshole and a guy you should be staying away from at all costs, and the next Gojo’s a guy you should be chasing after for further clarification on situations that never should’ve happened in the first place!
It was one big, ugly mess and you were really starting to hate it. What you wouldn’t give to go back a few months where things felt less complicated—where your situationship with Gojo wasn’t a situationship at all and just a harmless crush that complicated nothing more than your heart and your heart alone.
With that in mind, you let a softened breath depart from your lips before breaking away from the eye contact with Choso and returning to your food, “You give really good advice for someone who doesn’t take his own.”
At that, Choso feels his heart twinging.
It kinda hurts to hear you say that to him. You weren’t wrong—not by a longshot—but that didn’t mean it stung any less to hear the woman he’s been pining for tell him that he should've taken his own advice a long time ago instead of being an idiot for all these years.
“I’m.. working on that, as you can see.” Is all he can respond with as his eyes grow solemn and he mirrors you by downcasting his vision and focusing on his food instead.
You didn’t know it but he was wishing for the same thing as you now—that things could go back to the way they used to be. Funnily enough, Choso quite liked it back when you were crushing on Gojo.
Did it annoy him to no end? Sure, but that’s just because he was jealous. Putting those negative feelings aside and blatantly ignoring them as a whole, Choso realizes that at least when you were crushing on Gojo things were simple. It wasn’t a matter of who liked who or what really happened when, or anything ridiculous as it was now.
And above all else, you were happy. Wildly oblivious, but happy.
For the nth time this morning, both of you let silence envelope you. This time it’s not as uncomfortable or tense as the first few times, since the majority of the conversation that needed to take place finally did, but that doesn’t make it any less noteworthy.
You eventually get up from the table first, letting your chair scrape the floor as if to hopefully break Choso out of his own thoughts.
Which, luckily, does exactly what you wanted it to and leads Choso to follow you back into the kitchen within the next few minutes. As you’re washing dishes, he comes behind you and slips his own into the sink—knowing he’s much too close to you but caring little to nothing about the lack of personal space by the time your head instinctively turns his way.
When the two of you meet eyes, he feels his heart leap within his chest.
God, how could he have spent so long being such a fucking idiot? You lived with him for all these years, grew up with him prior to that, and still it took one—arguably insignificant—guy to come into your life and unwittingly sweep you off of your feet for him to understand that he’s never going to feel for someone as deeply as he feels for you?
In that very moment does Choso Kamo deem himself to be more than an idiot. Maybe if he had—
“What about you?” You whisper, cutting off all his self-depricating thoughts with a single, painfully soft question.
Choso just stares at you dumbfoundedly, “What?”
“If I do end up getting everything with Gojo cleared up,” You glance away from just a moment. Then back to him, “What happens to you? To.. to us?”
Us? The word bounces around in Choso’s mind.
There probably would’ve been an us at some point had you never gone into that stupid coffee shop. But, that some point likely would’ve taken years anyway. Your best friend is too much of a fool to accept his own feelings for you unless he sees it being reciprocated to someone that’s not him.
Does that make him a cuck, in a sense?
His head shakes as he realizes he’s letting his thoughts trail far too off track and instead he whispers back to you, “The same thing that always happens. I wait.”
Choso wishes he didn’t see the way your eyes fell down to his mouth like his every word were something to watch instead of listen to. It’s a harmless look. Or at least it should be. It really, really should be.
And yet, nothing about the way your gaze traces the outskirts of his mouth feels harmless. Nothing about how close the two of you are to one another feels harmless. Nothing about the very fabric of your entire relationship is harmless whatsoever.
“And if all that waiting is for nothing?” You ask, unknowingly causing Choso to lean just a few inches closer.
“How can it be for nothing if I’m waiting for you,” He breathes back with an intentionally long pause in between his words as if that’s where he wanted the statement to end—as if that’s perhaps where the statement should’ve ended. “To be content, that is.” He adds on shortly after like some sort of precaution.
For what exactly, you’re unsure of. Probably his own feelings—which still seem to be unbelievably complicated, more so than he’s willing to let on.
Then, he finds his eyes mapping the frame of your face only to soon land on the curve of your mouth. It’s unfair how strong a pull you have on him without even doing anything.
Especially now in this moment where he’s supposed to be tugging himself away from you in sake of not hurting himself. Yet every time you’re in mind, the concept of hurting himself and loving you seems to coexist in a way he cannot find it in himself to be concerned with.
His heart is telling him to kiss you—screaming at him to do so, really. But his mind-, oh, his poor, scattered mind is telling him that he should do anything but. That he should turn away now before he complicates things for you any further than he already has.
Which is exactly why his eyes shut and his lips move on their own. They don’t find yours, though. Instead, his lips meet with your cheek as he kisses you there gently and somehow that gesture feels as though it’s the answer to all questions. Somehow Choso kissing you on the cheek is the only thing that makes sense.
As well as him lifting to do the same to your forehead, his hand coming up to hold the other side of your face while his lips press into your skin deeply—like the moment itself is to be saved and pocketed for another time.
“Cho-,” You tried to whisper his name to ask for something else, but he pries his mouth away from you and shakes his head before grinning.
“If you won’t go talk to him for yourself then,” He uses the hand at your cheek to lift your face up, “At least do it for me.”
You stare at him longingly enough to make him wish he never even said that, despite meaning everything he’s uttered to you thus far. Then, rather devastatingly do you nod your head to silently promise that you’ll talk to Gojo for Choso’s sake more than you would your own.
You still don’t understand the sudden change of heart Choso’s had given everything that’s transpired, but you can’t say you possess the desire to question him about it any further.
Not to mention the fact that his previous spoken words are still playing in your head. Maybe he really does feel for you most when things between you two are all messy.
· ───────── · ꨄ · ───────── ·
Days blend into weeks before anything new happens.
The promise you made to Choso was still something you very much decided you’d act on, but neither of you ever specified when, so you would be taking your sweet time to reach out to Gojo.
You can’t say you were looking forward to doing it, anyway. The possibility of Gojo two-timing you for all those months you spent falling for him was a reality you truly did not want to face. You hoped more than anything that Choso’s most recent advice proved to be true and that this was all just some big misunderstanding. But it was hard to invest your hopes into that option as the days went by.
You tried to focus on your studies more in the coming days, figuring that if you’re gonna have some time away from stupid matters of the heart, you might as well set your mind back on what it was supposed to be on in the first place.
The season of finals had fallen upon you and it was only right that acing the ones that mattered was at the top of your priorities list. Luckily enough for you, this served as the perfect excuse to keep Choso from pestering you about the whole Gojo thing.
By the time the brutal period of finals had passed and you felt academically spent, you were in the full season of winter where the cold decided to consume every space available.
You’d been a good two days into your break for the chilly season when you finally figured out what you were going to say to Gojo once you approached him. It took a lot of time to think over—of course—but you decided that regardless of what really happened between him and Hori, you were going to hear him out with an open heart.
Choso’s feelings were still something you contemplated heavily amid that, but seeing as he was hellbent on only telling you he loves you when you treat him like shit… you decided that the healthier option for you heart lies somewhere in figuring your shit out with the blue-eyed nuance you’ve been crushing on.
Currently, your thumbs hover over his contact in your phone.
You’d visited it time and time again but never got yourself to type anything out or call him. Part of you wonders if he’s done the same—stared at your contact for hours and thought about reaching out to you, only to shy away from doing so in the end.
If he did, you can’t help but wonder why? What reason would Gojo have to not talk to you when he’s the one who went kissing someone else after months of treating you like you were his girlfriend. He had to feel guilty or shameful for it, right? Or… had he really kissed her with intent?
That question makes your heart cave inward as if someone had their cruel fingers wrapped around it and decided to squeeze. You hated the idea alone.
In that aspect, you wish you were more like Choso who could still feel for someone even when they treated them terribly. It was a toxic trait to be envious of but maybe if you carried said trait, you wouldn’t be hurting so much right now.
One call could probably fix this whole thing.
There’s rain pattering against your bedroom window while you’re staring at your unmoving phone screen, and you can hear the distant roars of thunder outside. It’s too gloomy of a day for you to have that conversation, no? If the latter of your questions turn out to be true, then wouldn’t the weather only heighten how much reality hurts?
That’s probably some superstition or excuse you’re using to avoid hitting that call option glowing on your phone, but is that really so bad? You’re not the only one who’s been using superstition as an excuse to not reach out, after all.
The sudden sound of something knocking against the apartment’s front door a total of six rhythmic times causes you to flinch and turn your head towards your closed bedroom door. Who or whatever it was must’ve been banging on that door pretty damn hard for you to be able to hear it from where you were, even though you didn’t have any sort of sound occupying your room at the moment.
You push yourself away from the blankets you’d buried yourself under and shift out of bed, tucking your feet into some rather cute house slippers Choso gifted you shortly after you began to frequent the apartment again. Then you trudge towards your bedroom door and take a peek outside towards your best friend’s room to see if he had any plans on tending to the knocking before you.
Considering how his door is shut and you can hear music playing from beyond it, you let out a sigh and roll your eyes as you exit your room and make way for the door. Now, there’s a thought in the very back of your mind wondering—perhaps even hoping—that the person you open up this door to will be Gojo.
How cliche would that be? The winter season, the temperature being a harsh cold beyond your doors, frosty rain fluttering out from the clouds outside—all paired with (what you imagine to be) a beautifully drenched man who’s finally come to confess his truths to you.
Yeah, that’d be something straight out of a movie.
The thought of which makes you chuckle to yourself as you finally reach the front door and grab ahold of the knob. You find yourself pausing for a moment, heart thumping in your chest as if you already knew who exactly was beyond it, and eyes squeezing shut for long enough to mentally prepare yourself.
Even if it’d be rather dramatic, who else would be standing outside your door in this kinda weather if not Gojo Satoru?
Well, perhaps his closest friend who you’re hardly acquainted with; Geto Suguru.
When you pulled the door open, that man was the last person you could’ve ever expected to see standing there. He stood at the same height as Gojo, rainwater trickled off of his warm skin, and a light puff of visible air clouded out of his mouth as he released a pant.
Did he run here? The question stands in the forefront of your mind, but it’s quickly replaced by one much more probbing—if he had run here, why? Was something wrong?
“Geto?” Your voice is small, hardly heard over the sounds of splattering rain hitting the exterior of your apartment complex.
There’s a look of worry in his violetted eyes, his hair is styled half-up ‘n half-down as it usually is in the rare occurrences that you see him, but the backside of which looks rather unkept—almost like it’d been brushed up against something prior to him standing before you.
Whatever the case may be, it was quite apparent that he’d likely run from a vehicle to here.
Your brows furrow, “What are you doing here—“
“Suguru,” The name is uttered from further down the hall and despite Geto standing right in front of you struggling to catch his breath, your world seems to tip off of its axis as that painfully familiar voice echoes towards you.
Your hand, which had been neatly taut against the edge of the front door, tightens slightly against the wood. You didn’t want to lean outside the doorframe and look down the hallway, honestly. There was hardly a need for you to do so when you knew the owner of that voice far too well.
The man standing in front of you glances down the hall once, then back down at you and exhales shortly. “Three hours,” Geto huffs, “I have been sitting in this idiot’s car—in the rain—for the past three fucking hours listening to him whine and watching him sulk about you. He’s been too pussy to come up here ‘n talk to you himself, so this time I dragged him up myself.”
Your mind all but blanks at the sudden blurt of words. It was obvious Geto was trying to hurry with an explanation so he could leave before Gojo fully caught up to him.
“H-Huh?” You gape.
The man’s eye twitches in annoyance, “Listen, I don’t know what the hell you two have going on—and I long since realized I don’t much care—but for the love of fuck, figure your shit out.”
Getting closer, the man you’ve been avoiding could be heard shouting out to his friend, “Suguru! I didn’t think you’d actually—“
Geto sharply turns his head in that direction and he looks entirely ticked off. “I’ve been telling you for weeks that she’d answer the door, all you had to do was come knock. See?” He gestures at you slightly.
“That’s-,” Gojo’s heard sighing, likely standing just a few feet away from the door now, and sounding equally out of breath as Geto had been. “I-I didn’t think-“
“Grow some balls, man. If you miss her so badly, talk to her,” Suddenly, Geto’s hands are on your shoulders and he’s tugging you out into the hallway, spinning you around, and pushing you towards Gojo, “Here.”
You trip over your feet in the process and end up falling straight into the man’s chest as he approaches, his hands coming to your arms to brace you from toppling over. It was a short moment, but the rapid thumping that strikes your ears most certainly was not coming from the storm outside.
Your hands had instinctively moved to grab at something, and of course that something just so happened to be the fabric of Gojo’s soaking sweater. The earthy smell of rainwater floods into your nose, and you knew the two men must’ve been in the rain for quite some time whilst running here.
Geto’s heard stomping past the both of you without a word, and Gojo’s trying his best to get him to come back without releasing you from his hold. He didn’t like being thrown into this situation so suddenly, clearly.
The two of you stand in place—you, keeping your head down and against his chest—whilst he continues clutching onto your arms and watching Geto leave him alone with you.
And then… It's silent.
Well, at least in terms of dialogue.
You could hear Gojo still panting, breath not yet caught up in his lungs, and his heart was still pounding at an alarming rate. That, and yours wasn’t fairing much better. Neither of you had even met eyes yet and your nerves were already trembling in anxiety.
It would’ve been one thing to have opened your door to him, but to be thrown into his arms so suddenly, and for the both of you to be ever so motionless…
God, it was awkward.
So much so that you’re all stiff in your movements as you find your footing again and manage to step back a little. Gojo’s slow in releasing your arms from the nippy grips of his fingers, and he carefully sets his eyes on you to watch the way you thoughtlessly wipe at your shirt as if doing so would rid the fabric of the recently transferred water.
After which, you finally lift your chin and the two of you make eye contact with one another for the first time in weeks.
Immediately, you notice that Gojo appears as though he hasn’t slept a wink since seeing you last. There’s noticeable bags beneath his eyes, his hair is sodden through from the rain—the whites of it tinging into a silvery hue where the rain had left it flattened against his forehead—and droplets streaming down his face.
You can’t help the softening of your gaze as you take in his appearance. Even though you’re supposed to be upset with him, all over again do you find yourself viewing him as nothing more nor less than an angel fallen from grace.
You wanted to assume that the unkept, murky state of his hair resulted from however long he’d recently been in the rain, but something deep down inside was telling you that this was a product of the state of your relationship with him. His top and bottom set of lashes clung to one another for a second too long with each time he blinked and now things were truly beginning to feel cinematic.
Your fingers twitched just then, as if to reach out for his face and take the flushed coldness of his cheek into the warmth of your palm. Yet, you stop yourself from doing so and let the whim die out inside you.
Gojo’s mouth trembles before he gets any words out, and part of you considers that perhaps the wetness running down his face isn’t all from the rain. He does look a mess, after all. Nothing like the clean kept Satoru you know him to be.
What his friend just told you is replaying in your mind, every detail of it.
They’d been sitting in Gojo’s car for three hours under the rain and discussing you during every minute of it.
“He’s been too pussy to come up here ‘n talk to you himself, so this time I dragged him up myself.” Geto had said.
But what did that even mean? He’s been too pussy? Is this not the first time Gojo’s sat out in your parking lot for hours?
“I’ve been telling you for weeks that she’d answer the door.”
Had Gojo really made a routine out of sitting outside your apartment and sulking? Was he seriously too scared to come talk to you?
“If you miss her so badly, talk to her.”
Well, at least you know you weren’t the only one longing for a conversation in this situation.
But, none of that is going to clear things up for you. One of you have to open your mouth and say something eventually—
“I’m sorry,” The weight of remorse in Gojo’s voice seizes you from your thoughts. Then he falls to his knees with a thud, leading your eyes to broaden in shock. His hands remain neatly clutched into tight fists over his lap, and he drops his head. Voice quivering, “I am so, so sorry.”
Was it true then? Had he and Hori kissed intentionally?
You couldn’t quite speak yet. The words weren’t finding you and you had no clue where to begin.
Drops of water plop down onto the skin of Gojo’s hands and you wonder if they’re from his hair or his eyes again. If it was true, if he had really kissed Hori, why would he think some dramatic act like this is all it takes to get back in your good graces again?
Falling to his knees, avoiding you but watching you for weeks, crying in front of you…
What were you supposed to make of all this??
“Satoru,” Your confusion aside, his name falls from your mouth with an affection you couldn’t hide no matter how hard you tried.
And oh, if he isn’t every bit ruined from hearing it. Only three soft spoken syllables from you and he was already giving you an even more pathetic display, shuffling forward on his knees and reaching up to hold onto your sweatpants as his head leaned against your legs.
Then you heard him sniffle and you couldn’t stop the way your hand moved to run through the damp tresses of his hair, watching the strands curl and slick against your fingers as you did so. His arms sluggishly move to encircle your legs and he hugs you from where he is.
What feelings could a man of his stature have truly succumbed to that results in him placing himself in this position willingly? How deeply did Gojo Satoru honestly feel for you? And why only now are you being shown physical glimpses of it with no lustful actions following?
“What… are you apologizing for?” You whisper.
You had to know before you drowned in your own assumptions too quickly. Nothing had been explained yet and you promised to hear him out with an open heart and mind, so it’d be unfair not to properly question him.
His hands grasp at your clothing a bit before his head begins to move, chin lifting to reveal his face to your sights once more. This time though, you see it clearly that Gojo is in tears.
You’d never seen something so unfairly pretty in your life. His eyes had glossed over entirely, fogs swirling through them from the haze of sorrow, and a welling of tears decorated his lower line of lashes. And beneath that, beneath the translucent sheen of sadness, were the same eyes you’d peered into for hours on end.
In this instance, they reminded you of blue-stained glass.
Gojo’s cheeks were pinkened from the heightened emotions he was experiencing, and his voice still wavered as he answered you. “For not reaching out. F-For being scared-, for everything. I don’t know,” He rambled shakily before tucking his face back down against your legs.
That’s funny. He didn’t apologize for kissing Hori—the very act of which brought you both into this moment.
Something in your chest sinks, and you can’t stop a frown from spilling out into your expression. “So… it really wasn’t a mistake then,” You murmur, horrified by the assumption as to what his reply was about to be.
Gojo physically flinches before moving his head up again. His tears seemed to have halted and the look in his eyes is colder now, “What?”
You meet the dead stare with one of your own, “Kissing her—Hori.”
You’re not sure if you imagine it, but you swear he grows uncomfortable by that name being spoken.
Then Gojo appears to be concerned, “No one told you…?”
The idle movement of your hand in his hair finally comes to a full stop.
I’m sorry but is it just me cause I started early but I usually don’t have a lot of interactions with my fans even though I did gain a large following base pretty quickly. They’re a bit dry cause it feels like I’m talking to myself most of the time. 🧑🤝🧑
(Sorry for the rant I just needed to get it out cause I do write for my enjoyment but it is more encouraging and nice to see that people appreciate your writing)
hmm, i get tht! it usually gets like tht for me whenever my requests are closed or sometimes after a hiatus 🤔 then it takes a while for my anons (or comments sometimes) to come back with the same enthusiasm as before
i def understand feeling like ur talking to urself but whenever im feelin tht way, i like to remind myself tht ppl are likely jus here for the writing & not me, in a sense. so if they’re dry, it’s no crime or anything towards me—there’s a lot of silent readers on this app so i try not to take it to heart whenever there isn’t much interaction or whenever it feels “dry”
even soooo, tumblr’s still one of the best places for writer to reader interactions imo 🤷♀️ i would’ve said wattpad before but they got ads & shi now and no one is on there like they used to be tbh </3 and i like ao3 but i literally dont frequent there because the interactions are so limited
long time lurker, just wanted to say love ur writing so so much <333 anyways what do you think abt bum toji w a reader who actually stands on business, like he'd try to use his body to pay rent but readers like "no money, no pussy" 😌🤏
ahh thank you smmm 🥹 i would love to write toji with this kinda reader because tht’d give me an excuse to make him extra pathetic too. like i imagine he only ends up working hard just to get pussy & not pay his bills 👀 and if reader ever slips up and lets his fuck without him paying on time, he’d throw the cash at her bc he’s just a big brat
