his hips are brutal. pistoning in and out of you as he has your knees pressed into your breasts, back resting into a pillow as he fucks you with purpose. though, with at the rate sukuna's going, the pillow has been flattened by the combined weight. vermillion eyes stare down at you wickedly as sukuna has the profound need to burry everything of himself inside of you.
"gonna make you a fuckin' mother," he grits though his teeth, a lust-driven crazed look in his eyes. he says it like it's a promiseββa factββthat he's going to do so. and in your hazy state, you can only nod in agreement, high-pitched mhm's falling from your lips as your nails dig into the nape of his neck, the short strands of dusty rose being tugged tightly as your walls clamp down tightly. your silent obedience into giving sukuna what he wants.
"your stomach's gonna be round with my child," his gaze so hardened on your stomach, the head of his cock bulging out with every calculated thrust. making its existence known, it made the curve of sukuna's lips turn up higher as he could vividly imagine your stomach swollen with his offspring.
he'd imagine fucking you even full while pregnant.
"breasts so fucking full of milk," he rasps. "you'd let me drink it up, won't you?"
"yes, yes," you gasp, teary-eyed. "of course, ryo."
if you known the simple mistake of letting sukuna fuck you without the rubber would lead to this, you wouldn't know if you'd take back that small piece of information. countless of months has he been spouting nonsense such as this to you, a wicked look in his eyes as they focused on your stomach again.
for months had he been hoping to see the round of your stomach or to gain a phone call from youββone that would start off awkwardly for you, but tremendous for himββbeing told that you were pregnant. and for months has been denied the sweet gratification of just that.
and for months have you been playing along with his sick fantasy, never missing a day of taking birth control. but, maybe, if he sticks around long enough will you finally fulfill his sick little fantasy.
β³ whoops! β³ sae itoshi x fem!reader β³ sfw β³ jealousy, language, kind of a creepy dude, subtle allusions to fwb, my writing
Ⳡsae itoshi⦠the man you are⦠this idea literally smacked me in the face so i opted to ignore my 7+ drafts and whip it up :P thank you so much for reading and i hope you enjoy! <3
you barely suppressed the urge to roll your eyes. how long had this dude been prattling on? you know heβd told you his name, and something about being a retired physical therapist, but truthfully, that was all the information you had retained since he started talking to you. seriously, you just wanted to watch the damn game.
βthatβs fascinating.β you cut him off, eyes trained on the bodies undulating across the field. well, more specifically, trained on one bodyβ¦
ββ¦ and sae takes complete control of the midfield! look at him go, heβs unstoppable!β
your heart fluttered inside your chest and your gut heated as some rather lewd memories crept their way into your central vortex. you hadnβt even known locker rooms could be soβ¦ enticing before your hookup with sae.
youβd been so focused on watching sae in his element (and daydreaming) that you hadnβt even noticed when the man scooted closer to you β at least not until you felt the heat of his thigh smushed against yours, made much more noticeable by the chilly bite of october.
you snapped your eyes to the man to glare at him β he continued to drone on about something as if he hadnβt just invaded your personal bubble. you huffed and slid your ass down the bench, disconnecting his thigh from yours. your skin was starting to crawl, and where the dude had once been perceived as annoying he now was coming off as creepy.
you hoped that your disinterest in the conversation and your very obvious attempt at putting distance between the two of you would spell out your rejection to him β but it clearly didnβt, or maybe he just wasnβt speaking the same language as you, because he simply closed the distance once more.
βwhat about some coffee? would you want to go grab coffee with me some time?β
you were just about to open your lips to verbalize your rejection (and tell him off for his clear disrespect) when the words were stolen right from your mouth β by the sudden impact of a ball right to the side of the manβs face.
you couldnβt stop the shocked gasp that ripped through your throat as the man fell backwards off the bench with a yell of pain. you could just see some crimson splatters atop the silver of the metal stands, and for a moment, your brain completely stopped.
βand sae itoshi sends a ball flying straight into the stands! like a rocket it split through the air β oh my god, is that man okay?!β
the announcerβs sudden exclamation had you immediately whipping your attention to the field, eyes connecting with saeβs almost instantly. he stood tall on the field, one hand atop a cocked hip, and with a shrug he mouthed one word;
βwhoops.β
do i really believe sae would send a ball straight into the face of anyone who gets too gutsy with his girl? yes. yes i do. thank you so much for reading, and any likes, comments or reblogs are not required but are so very appreciated!
Authors Note: This is so random it just came to me and I was like oh my goodness let me write it down and then I kept going, and going, and going and here we are... heh... ALSO I did NOT proof read it, because if I did I wouldn't post it cause I'm judgemental! I'm going to watch The Apothecary Diaries now!
NFLplayer!Toji, who spotted you in the crowd at one of his games. Causing him to completely freeze on the field, so captivated by your beauty. The Jumbotron cameras notice who heβs staring at and instantly puts you on the big screen. You have yet to realise because you werenβt paying attention to the game at all. It was your friend who dragged you here. Your friend punches your arm, causing you to wince. βWhat the hell?β You yell at her. She manually turns your head to look at the jumbotron with your face on it, captioned, βFushiguroβs future WAG!β Your jaw drops to the floor. The crowd is roaring. The whole game deadass paused just for Toji Fushiguro, THEE Toji Fushiguro, to gawk at you.
What in the Wattpad story is this?!
NFLplayer!Toji, who, as soon as his game ended, yelled at his manager, Shiu, to go look for you. Shiu finds you shuffling your way out of the exit. He quickly runs to you, placing a hand on your shoulder. You turn ready to yell at the stranger touching you, but heβs holding up his badge that says, βManagerβ on it. Shiu indicates that you should come with him. You go to say no, but your friend quickly places her hand on your mouth, guiding you to wherever this βShiuβ guy is taking you.Β
NFLplayer!Toji, who is patiently waiting for Shiu to bring you into his locker room. Did he find you? Did you say no? So many questions running through his mind until he hears the door click, watching you walk right through. Your eyes scan Toji's personal locker room, before your beautiful eyes land on his green ones. He shoots up, walking to you, offering his hand. You take it, placing your smaller hand into his bigger one. Your eyes widen at how big they are. βYour hands are freakishly big, by the way.β He snorts, βWhy do you think I'm the best at this shit?βΒ
βI donβt really pay attention to this shit. I just got invited by my friend.β You try to slide your hand out of his slowly before he claps it shut, keeping hold of your hand. You stare at him, confused, awkwardly laughing.Β He really likes holding your hand.
NFLplayer!Toji, who asks you then and there to go on a date with you. You want to say no, but something in you tells you to say yes. And youβre glad you did. The date was a disaster. It was so bad, but so funny and so cute. He really did try his best, but failed miserably. Though it wasnβt really his fault. He wanted to take you on a picnic date, and the weather app said it would be sunny out, but no, the universe decided to rain on his paradeβ¦ literally. You were both soaked. The food was ruined. The blanket was soggy. Man, how unlucky could he be? He was sure you would never want to see his ass again.
NFLplayer!Toji, who was shocked when you asked if his apartment was nearby, so you both could dry off. It wasnβt, but he didnβt care, as long as he could spend more time with you after the disaster of a date they just had.
NFLplayer!Toji, who takes you back to his, not-so-nearby penthouse, giving you a change of clothes and a hair dryer to dry your hair. βThis place is niceβ¦ My apartment is probably the size of your bedroom,β You laugh.Β
NFLplayer!Toji, who tells you, βDon't worry. When I marry you, weβll have a bigger place than this.β Your eyes widen, and he doesnβt laugh; he still has a stoic expression on his rugged face. βYouβre extremely unserious, Toji. You know that?βΒ
βIβm being so fucking serious, doll.β
NFLplayer!Toji, who has been seeing you for months now. Youβre not dating officially, but he brings you to all his events and football games, bragging about how youβre his wife. Not only skipping the girlfriend part, but just outright lying to people. Do you correct him, though? Of course not.
UpcomingWAG!reader, who has accumulated millions of followers, in the few months that she's been with Toji.
UpcomingWAG!reader, who gets heaps of hate and love comments on her social media.
NFLplayer!Toji, who hates every one of his fangirls and boys who harass you on social media.
NFLplayer!Toji, who made a social media account just to call said fangirls and boys, βpieces of shitβ βnowhere near as gorgeous as his girl (you, duh.)β and personally going through your comment section reporting each and every hate comment and going on their profiles to call them ugly in the comments. It really doesnβt get to you, because you barely check your socials anyway. You just post what you want and dip. Whether itβs a photo of a new bag Toji got you, or a breakfast he made you, or just Toji his damn self. You couldn't care less.
NFLplayer!Toji, who asks you to marry him after his Super Bowl winβ Oh, he didnβt ask you to be his girlfriend? Yeah, fuck that he had to get straight to the point. No wasting time around here. You better be ready to put on a damn white dress and head to a church. Because obviously you said yes.
NFLplayer!Toji, who fucks you like he hates you, roughly ramming his hips into you every night, holding you close to his body; so tight you wouldn't be able to break free even if you tried your upmost hardest, but itβs not like you would want to be away from him anyway. He kisses you deeply the whole time he's fucking youβ no, making love to you. Confessing how much you've changed his life for the better. How no one could even come close to you.
NFLplayer!Toji, who marries you 3 months after proposing to you. A small wedding, but it was enough for you, so it was enough for him.
WAG!reader, who becomes an ICONIC WAG, maybe even more iconic that than Victoria Beckham and Cheryl Cole. You start some of the biggest fashion trends. The paparazzi always need to know where you are. You're gifted almost everything in your life now. You being shown on that Jumbotron really changed your life for the better. Toji, changed your life for the better.
NFLplayer!Toji, who is completely ready to start a family with you. He has been ready for a while, but he cares how you feel about it more. If you don't want kids, heβs okay with that. If you want to adopt, that's more than okay. But if you want him to breed the fuck out of you. Then itβll be his damn pleasure.
WAG!reader, who lets Toji know that you do want kids with him just not so soon. You're young and you want to enjoy this new WAG status you've just gained.
WAG!reader, who after 2 years of being married, lets Toji know you're ready to start a family with him. He can't speak for a moment, but you straddle him pecking his lips, telling him to take you to your bedroom.
NFLplayer!Toji, who rushes to the bedroom, carefully placing you down on the sheets, kissing every each of your body... Literally. He's cherishing the future mother of his kid-- not kid, sorry, he means kids... PLURAL. You two are about to make a whole new NFL team. He fucked you into the night. Dumping heaps of his hot cum into your fertile womb.
"Toji, hah it's s-so much," you whimper.
He reassures that, you can take it, you have to take it. He straightens your legs, hugging them tightly, pounding into you roughly, but with love too. But fuck every mewl you make, every moan. It's extremely difficult for him to not fuck the shit out of you. But he knows he's much bigger than you, so he'll always be asking you and making sure his wife is okay.
He falls on top of you; the both of you cumming together intensely, trying to catch your breath. You lift his head up off your shoulder kissing him gently, telling how well he did. You both love to give each other praises. He's your hype man and you're his hype girl.
WAG!reader, who a month later takes a pregnancy test seeing those two special lines. You're excited to tell Toji but, he needs to be focused on practice right now. You don't want to shift that focus onto you.
WAG!reader,
NFLplayer!Toji, who has noticed a change in you but cant quite put his finger on it. Your skin is somehow more glowy than usual. But, you're also way more tired than before. You sleep in so late that you're asleep when he leaves for practice and you're asleep when he gets back.
NFLplayer!Toji, who is shocked to come back from practice, seeing you awake for once, but awake and standing in front of balloons that say "You're going to be a daddy!"
He stays still for a good 30 seconds surprised at what he's reading. He had an inkling that you might be pregnant, but he wasn't so sure. So, seeing this now, makes him the happiest person on this damn planet. He runs to you picking you up spinning you around like a princess before getting on his knees this place kisses on your not so pregnant looking stomach. He pledges to you and your unborn child.
"I promise I'll take good care of you... the both of you. I'll be an amazing Father I swear it.
The two of you decide to keep your pregnancy a secret from the public. You don't need unwarranted stress from not only the media, but fans too.
The following week you both go to your first scan, to take a look at the life you the made and the life you're growing. It's a little to early to find out the gender, but by the time your next appointment rolls by you'll know.
The next appointment comes and you find out you're carrying a boy. Toji, is ecstatic. He didn't mind what gender the baby would be, but he really did hope for a little boy and he got that. You've made his dream come true.
The nine months roll by sooner than anticipated. Your due date is right around the corner; close to Toji's birthday. He honestly hopes Megumi will stay in a little longer so they can share a birthday, but you got mad telling him to not wish further pain on you. Megumi's a big boy, thanks to his father... fatass.
NFLplayer!Toji, who panics when you wake him up abruptly, telling him your waters broke. He shoots out of bed grabbing everything needed to give birth to your little blessing. Youβre screaming in the car while making your way to hospital, scaring the fuck out of Toji. Hr wants to cry, heβs never seen you like this and he hates it. Itβs his fault, all his fault.
βItβs not your fault, Toji. Iβm just going through labour. Itβs natural. Justβ oh my god, just drive to the fucking hospital!β
Toji may have sped slightly to the hospital, but safely of courseβ¦
After 3 hours you gave birth to your beautiful baby boy, Megumi.
NFLplayer!Toji, who cried for the first time since he was a young boy, after hearing the cries of your new born child. He kissed and thanked you profusely for being in his life. You honestly changed him for the better. He doesnβt know where he would be without you.
NFLplayer!Toji, who proudly walks out of the hospital with you in one hand and baby Megumi in the other. Walking out into the many flashing lights of paparazzi, that got some inside information that you just gave birth to a baby boy. You both surf your way through the sea of nosey paps before making it to your car, heading home a new family of three.
SUKUNA, your big, terrifying husband, was also the same man who had clay stains on his hands because you wanted to try out a new little pottery class. He was also the only man there to accompany their spouse. The husbands of the other lonesome participants, who were spinning clay bowls and mugs by themselves? They didnβt bother attending due to their lack of interest or pathetic excuses.
SUKUNA, who killed or harmed people who looked at him the wrong way, was the same man who drove to four different grocery stores in one night on the hunt for your favorite snack, even after you told him to forget about it after the first store was sold out.
SUKUNA, who was feared by all who lived in your town and touching cities, was the same man who single-handedly turned a spare room in your home into a mini library because, one week prior, as you were scrolling through social media, you casually said, βthis person turned their guest bedroom into a library. Isnβt that cool?β
SUKUNA, who never experienced, understood, or appreciated love before he met you, was the same man who knew, right after your first or second date, that he would both kill and die for you. Easily.
you are a girl of a small, irrelevant clan. a mere decorative piece offered to the untouchable, veiled head of the gojo clan in exchange for βpeace,β βblessings,β or something equally vague and humiliating. your family wonβt tell you anything. only that you must βmake him an heir.β
no one has seen his face. you are told not even the servants had looked at him in the eye. they say his eyes are too divine to meet. that his cursed energy would shred the mind of anyone unworthy.
youβre escorted to the gardens of the inner estate to βacclimateβ before the marriage. a few hours a day. no contact. no one speaks unless you askβand even then, the answers are like riddles. frustrating.
so you start ranting. loudly. to a man you think is a mute guard or a gardener, someone forgettable.
βwhat if heβs a cursed beast with seven arms and no dick?β you hiss one afternoon, yanking petals off a camellia like it insulted your honor. βwhat if heβs a puppet? a wet, moldy puppet with dead man hands? i bet he smells like mildew and raw fish. and his eyes probably glow like a cat in heat. you think theyβre hiding him because heβs too handsome? no. theyβre hiding him because heβs hideous. like a spirit trapped in a porcelain doll. but worse. likeβlike if a haunted house and a rice cooker had a baby.β
the man you're speaking to doesnβt say anything. just listens. sometimes sweeps a few stones. sometimes waters a bush that doesnβt need watering.
βwhat if he doesnβt even have skin?β you go on, pacing in a huff. βwhat if heβs all bone. or goo. or cursed energy in a meat sack. no face, just a vague blur. oh my god. what if he talks backwards?!β
one time, he chuckles. itβs soft. amused.
you freeze. βyou laughed.β
he shrugs. eyes unreadable.
you donβt realize yetβthat was him.
the night arrives. everythingβs ceremonial. you're bathed, perfumed, and draped in layers of embroidered silk so heavy they drag behind you like chains. your wrists are tied with a red cord. a blindfold covers your eyes. you feel like an offering. you are an offering.
the room is quiet when youβre laid down. thereβs a hush to everything, like the air is waiting to breathe. the futon is soft beneath your back. the scent of incense wraps around you like fog.
he doesnβt speak. doesnβt rush. you hear cloth rustle. then stillness. the shift of the air tells you heβs moved closer. your skin prickles with nerves.
a fingertip grazes your hip. you flinch.
he shushes you gently. a whisper against your ear. soothing. too tender for someone whoβs supposed to use you.
his hands explore you slowly, reverently. they trace the dip of your waist, the swell of your hips, the slope of your thighs. fingertips glide up your ribs, linger beneath your breasts. then his mouth replaces them.
his lips are warm and soft as they land on your collarbone, then lower. the blindfold amplifies everything. your skin tingles with every breath he takes near it. he tongues over your nipple, languid and maddening, until you arch into him.
you whisper, dazed, βwhat are you?β
he chuckles against your skin. βyour husband.β
you expect it to be harsh. clinical. but he touches you like youβre fragile. sacred. his fingers find the slick heat between your legs and slide through it, slow and unhurried. he spreads you open with a reverence that borders on obscene. it feels like a ritual. like devotion.
he sinks one finger inside. then two. the stretch burns, but his thumb strokes something sweet and aching. his other hand cups your breast. you feel owned. undone.
when he lines himself up, he doesnβt say a word. doesnβt warn you. just presses forward until youβre fullβtoo fullβsplit open and gasping.
he groans. you feel it vibrate against your chest as he leans over you.
βso warm,β he breathes. βso tight. you were made for this.β
he thrusts. slow. deep. dragging himself out just to slide back in, each stroke heavier than the last. his hands pin your tied wrists above your head. his mouth traces your jaw, then your ear.
βdonβt hold back,β he whispers. βi want to hear everything.β
you moan. cry out. sob. he drinks it in like a dying man. like it sustains him. he fucks you like itβs worship. like itβs art. like heβs sculpting you around him.
his pace never falters. every thrust is exact. every roll of his hips hits something inside you that makes your toes curl. you feel yourself unraveling. more than once. again. again. he whispers praise between kisses.
βso pretty when you come.β βthatβs it, cry for me.β βtake it. take all of me.β
he holds you down when your thighs start to shake. kisses your temple as you convulse around him. you donβt know how long it lasts. only that when he finally spills inside you, itβs with a low groan and your name tangled in it like a secret.
he unties your wrists gently. rubs your skin where the cord left marks. then removes the blindfold.
silver hair. eyes like starfire drowned in ice.
your breath catches. βyouββ
βiβm not a cursed doll,β he murmurs, lips brushing yours. βbut i liked hearing your theories.β
your stomach flips. βyouβwhenβhow longβ?β
he smiles. βespecially the one where i was a beast locked in a tower. very romantic.β
you gape at him. this divine, impossible man.
ββ¦why didnβt you say anything?β
he leans close. brushes a thumb across your bottom lip.
choso kamo is the kind of boy people notice without realizing theyβre staring. heβs not loud, never one to demand a roomβs attention, but something about him pulls you in, the lazy grace of someone whoβs always just a little bit stoned and completely at peace with himself.
he throws the best parties on campus, the kind that arenβt just about getting drunk or high, but about the vibe. incense burning in the corner, led lights set to red or purple, trap playing softly over speakers. and yet, youβre the only one who really knows him.
you, the sweet girl who never misses a single one of his parties. the one always curled up next to him on the couch with a red solo cup of something you can barely taste, your legs draped over his lap, your cheek pressed to his shoulder. itβs always been like this. ever since freshman year, when you met him during that stupid icebreaker event on campus that neither of you wanted to go to.
somehow, youβd ended up next to him. not even talking at first. just being. and then heβd pulled one earbud out and offered it to you without saying anything, and youβd heard frank oceanβs βivyβ playing soft and crackly from his phone. youβd smiled at him, and heβd smiled back. just a little.
after that, it was like something clicked. you didnβt have to try with choso. you just existed in each otherβs space like you were meant to.
youβre sweet, outgoing, a little flirty, always the first one to compliment someoneβs outfit or remember their birthday. people love you for your light, your laughter, the way you make everyone feel seen.
but when it comes to closeness, to real comfort? thatβs reserved for choso.
itβs a mystery to most people. you, the glittering, glowing party girl, and choso, the stoner boy who doesnβt even have social media. but it makes perfect sense to anyone whoβs seen the two of you together.
you show up to his parties before anyone else does. you help him string the lights, pick the playlist, bring snacks no one asked for but everyone eats. youβre the one sitting on the counter while he rolls, sipping from a straw and babbling about your week while he nods, smiling faintly, muttering things like βthatβs wild, ma,β or βyo, youβre too nice for them.β
and during the parties, youβre never far. you gravitate toward each other like magnets, slipping into place the way you always do. chosoβs usually on the couch, arms stretched over the backrest, and youβre tucked under his arm without even thinking. you lean into him when you laugh. he rests his chin on your shoulder. he passes you drinks and you take tiny sips before handing them back to him with a wrinkle of your nose.
and itβs so easy. dangerously easy.
chosoβs never been one to push. heβs got feelings, real ones, deeper than heβll ever admit out loud, but he keeps them buried. not because he doesnβt want you. he wants you in a way that scares him sometimes. in quiet moments, when heβs too high and youβre asleep on his chest, he thinks about what it would feel like to kiss you. to be yours for real. but heβs content, at least for now. content to have you like this.
you give choso a kind of peace he didnβt know he was missing. before you, things were kind of blurry. background noise. but with you, itβs all color. you laugh and the whole room tilts toward you. you touch his hand and itβs like static electricity under his skin. he pretends he doesnβt notice. he jokes, he teases, he lets it pass.
because he thinks heβd rather have you like this, close and real and warm, than risk losing you completely.
and you? you love him. maybe too much.
youβve never said it out loud, not even to maki or shoko, but you know it. you feel it every time you see him laugh at something you said, every time he lifts your chin to tuck your hair behind your ear, every time he waits for you outside class just because he felt like it. choso is yours, in a way no one else is. and you donβt know what to do with that.
maybe youβre scared to ruin it too.
itβs not just the friendship, itβs the rhythm. the quiet glances, the shared playlists, the way you always, always end up in his bed after parties, clothes still on, hearts too full.
youβll lay there in the dark, both of you wide awake, and youβll wonder if he feels it too. if he notices the way your breath hitches when his fingers brush your waist. if he hears the way your voice gets softer when you say his name.
but neither of you ever says anything. not really. not yet.
thereβs something unsaid between you, always has been, something glowing and soft and maybe a little fragile. like the chords of βivyβ hanging in the air, too tender to touch. itβs in the way he looks at you when youβre not watching. in the way you linger at his door after a party, lip gloss smudged and heart aching. in the way he lets his hand rest on the small of your back just a little too long.
itβs a love thatβs still blooming. hesitant. deep-rooted. and for now, maybe thatβs enough.
maybe not forever.
~
the partyβs already full by the time you get there, but you know exactly where to find him.
bass thumps through the floor like a second pulse, red lights spilling down the hallway, laughter echoing from the kitchen where someoneβs poured jungle juice into a mixing bowl. bodies press close in the living room, the air thick with smoke, perfume, sweat, but none of it touches you. not really. not when you know where youβre going.
you slip past people who call your name, who compliment your outfit, who try to keep you still, but youβre already moving, already smiling like youβve got a secret. because you do.
heβs on the couch. he always is.
slouched like he was poured there, long legs spread, a blunt pinched between his fingers. thereβs a few people around him, suguruβs sitting on the floor, half-asleep against his knee, gojoβs perched on the armrest talking to some girl, but he doesnβt really look at anyone. just stares at the smoke curling above him, the red light making shadows under his eyes.
until he sees you.
chosoβs head tilts slightly. his gaze sharpens, just barely. his mouth softens, corners curling up into something small, lazy, private.
βyo,β he says, voice low and smooth like honeyed smoke. βthere you are.β
and just like that, youβre home.
you drop down next to him without a word, tucking your legs up on the couch, leaning into his side like you were made to fit there. his arm lifts automatically to rest behind you, and your bare shoulder brushes against his chest, skin to skin. he smells like weed and citrus and something warm, like sunbaked cotton. familiar. dangerous.
βi brought you chips,β you say, holding up a bag. βbecause you never remember to feed people when you throw these things.β
he laughs, soft and breathy, and takes the bag, tossing it onto the table without looking.
βyouβre the only one who eats at my parties,β he murmurs, dragging the blunt to his lips. βtheyβre lucky you show up.β
he inhales, slow and deep. lets it sit in his chest for a moment. then he turns his head toward you and exhales, deliberately, slow, a trail of smoke that ghosts over your collarbone. itβs not on purpose, but it is. everything choso does is like that. unbothered. intimate. effortless.
your heart stutters.
βyou look good,β he adds, like it just occurred to him. his eyes dip, trace your legs, the cut of your dress, the gloss on your lips. βreal good.β
you smile, sweet and slow, like youβre soaking it in.
βyouβre stoned.β
he shrugs. βyeah. still true, though.β
you nudge his thigh with your knee, and he smirks that lazy, barely-there grin that never quite reaches his eyes unless itβs you.
the party swells around you. bodies dance in the center of the room, the music gets louder, someoneβs yelling in the kitchen about the beer pong table. but in your little corner of the couch, everything is slowed down. hazy. sacred.
he keeps passing the blunt, and you keep refusing with that little scrunch of your nose he always teases you about.
βdonβt know how you come to my house every week and still donβt smoke,β he says, flicking ash into a red solo cup.
βdonβt know how you survive without eating dinner like an adult,β you shoot back.
he chuckles, tipping his head back. his throat stretches long, his hoodie slipping off one shoulder to reveal the black ink of a tattoo just under his collarbone. you donβt even pretend not to look. choso doesnβt pretend not to notice.
βyou missed me?β he asks after a beat, quieter now. the smokeβs made him slow, softer around the edges. more honest.
you glance up at him, lips parted. βi was here last weekend.β
βyeah, and then the whole week happened.β he shrugs, lazily. βi got bored.β
you nudge your way closer. your knee slides between his. βyou say that like you donβt have other friends.β
he hums. βdonβt hit the same.β
youβre both quiet for a second. itβs a thick, heady silence, not awkward, not tense. just full. full of everything thatβs been building since freshman year. everything you donβt say. everything you both feel in moments like this, when youβre a little too close and heβs looking at your mouth and his hand is resting just a little too low on your waist.
you want to kiss him. god, you do. but not yet. not here.
so instead you lean forward, just enough to rest your head on his shoulder. you feel him go still for a second, then relax, melting back into you.
you stay like that. for a long time
later, when the house gets louder and hotter and someone pulls you up to dance, you feel his eyes on you.
youβre not a wild dancer, you move like youβre in your own little world, fluid and soft and smiling. some guy tries to grind up behind you and you immediately peel away, laughing as you shake your head. but when you look over, just once, you see choso watching from the couch.
his eyes are darker now. still lazy, still half-lidded, but focused. pinned on you like heβs memorizing the way your dress moves, the way your hair sticks to the sweat on your collarbone. one hand resting on his knee. the blunt long gone.
you move back to him eventually, of course you do, and he opens the space beside him again like he knew you would.
βhave fun out there, superstar?β he asks, gaze flicking over you.
you shrug, settling back into him. βmissed my favorite dance partner.β
he raises a brow. βyou donβt dance with me.β
you grin. βexactly.β
he snorts, shaking his head. you rest your hand on his thigh, fingers splayed over ripped denim, and he doesnβt flinch. doesnβt move. just lets you stay there. touching him. like you always do.
like you always will.
when the party starts dying down and the lights dim even lower, when suguruβs asleep and gojoβs disappeared and the couch is just the two of you again, you curl into him like you belong there.
he yawns, one arm around your shoulders, hand playing lazily with the strap of your dress.
βyou crashing here?β he asks, already knowing the answer.
you nod, cheek pressed to his chest. βif thatβs cool.β
he makes a soft sound, something between a hum and a laugh, and dips his chin to brush his mouth against your temple. not a kiss, exactly. just a press. warm, soft. barely there.
βalways.β
you smile, closing your eyes for a second. his hand is still resting on your waist, fingers tracing absent little shapes into your skin like heβs not even thinking about it.
you could fall asleep like this. youβve done it before.
but he shifts a little, murmurs, βcome on, ma. letβs get off this fuckinβ couch. my backβs killinβ me.β
you whine quietly as he moves, and he laughs again, a lazy rumble in his chest and slides an arm around your waist to help you up.
βdrama queen,β he says, tugging you to your feet with effortless strength.
he doesnβt let go.
you move through the sea of red cups and leftover smoke, past the people half-passed out in the hallway, with his hand still slung around your waist. like itβs normal. like itβs instinct. your arm hooks around his middle, and you lean into his side as you walk, slow and steady, like youβve done this a hundred times. because you have.
chosoβs room is down the hall. itβs the only one with a broken doorknob and a blacklight taped above the bed, buzzing faintly. it smells like weed and clean laundry and him.
you kick off your shoes the second you walk in and collapse face-first into the unmade bed, limbs spread.
he laughs, low and indulgent, then flops down beside you.
βyo, scoot over,β he mumbles, nudgin your hip with his.
βyou scoot,β you shoot back, voice muffled by the blanket.
he doesnβt argue. just lets his body melt sideways until your shoulders touch again. you shift your head onto his chest without thinking, cheek to the soft fabric of his hoodie.
and there it is again. home.
βthis party was kinda ass,β you say.
βnah,β he says softly. βyou were here.β
your stomach flips.
but you donβt say anything. donβt need to. you just lie there, breathing in sync, your hands curled in the hem of his hoodie while his fingers play with your hair, slow, lazy twirls that make your eyelids flutter.
βremember the first one?β you ask, voice hushed now. βthe freshman-year party where we met?β
choso smiles at the ceiling. βfuck yeah. you were wearing that little white dress and yellinβ at some guy who spilled beer on your shoes.β
βhe ruined them,β you murmur indignantly.
βand i was just sittinβ on the porch, watchinβ the whole thing,β he grins. βhigh as shit. thought you were hot as hell.β
you lift your head to look at him, one brow raised. βyou still say you donβt remember how we ended up talking.β
βi donβt. swear to god.β he shrugs. βone second iβm finishing a blunt, next thing i know youβre sitting next to me like youβd been there forever.β
βi probably just decided you looked safe,β you say, settling back down. βand hot. but, like, quiet hot.β
he chuckles, slow and low. βquiet hot?β
you nod. βlikeβ¦ hot in a way that doesnβt try. like you didnβt even know it.β
βdamn,β he mutters. βflirting with me now?β
βalways.β
his hand slides down from your hair to your shoulder, warm and broad and steady.
βthatβs why i fuck with you,β he says after a moment. βyouβre real.β
you blink.
βlike, people show up to my parties for the vibes or whatever. you show up to make sure i eat dinner.β
you laugh. βwell someone has to.β
βnah, but for real,β he says. βyouβve been showinβ up since day one. always got my back. always know what i need before i even do. shitβs crazy.β
your throat goes tight. but he doesnβt sound emotional. he sounds calm. sure. like itβs just a fact of life, gravity, weed, you.
he doesnβt say it like itβs a confession.
he says it like itβs just the truth.
βyou do the same for me,β you murmur, voice small.
his thumb strokes your arm, slow.
βyeah,β he says. βi know.β
the room hums with silence after that. not heavy. not awkward. just real.
he lets you lie there on his chest, the beat of his heart under your ear, the rise and fall of his breathing making you feel safe in a way nothing else does.
you shift after a few minutes, and his hand moves automatically , tugs the blanket up over you both, settles you closer, fingers smoothing over your arm like itβs second nature.
he doesnβt flirt with anyone the way he does with you. doesnβt touch anyone like this. people know youβre close, but they donβt get it.
they donβt know how choso listens to you rant for hours about your classes even when heβs half-asleep. how he always keeps snacks in his room he doesnβt like, just because you do. how heβs seen you cry at 3am and didnβt say a word, just pulled you onto his chest and played with your hair until you calmed down.
how youβve cleaned up after every party. how you always know when he needs water. how you never smoke but you always light his blunts for him.
they donβt know that youβve been doing this, just like this, since freshman year.
youβre not together.
but this? this is something else.
βyou good?β he mumbles, his voice starting to get gravelly with sleep.
you nod, curled into his side.
βyou?β
βmhmm.β he exhales through his nose, deep and slow. βdonβt leave before i wake up.β
βi never do.β
he hums, already drifting.
you close your eyes.
"night, cho."
"night, babe."
and in the dark, in his bed, wrapped in the quiet warmth of chosoβs heartbeat and the hush of something unspoken between you, you fall asleep.
right where youβre supposed to be.
~
the sunβs too fucking bright.
chosoβs got his hood pulled low, hands stuffed in the front pocket of his faded sweatshirt, hoodie sleeves bunched at his wrists like armor against the cold. his airpods are in, but heβs not playing anything. just using them to avoid eye contact. to avoid people.
his chem lecture starts in twelve minutes. heβs not rushing.
heβs never rushing.
the quadβs half-full with undergrads moving in packs, laughing too loud for this hour. he weaves through them like a shadow, dark-eyed and slow-moving, sleep still clinging to his bones.
he hasnβt showered. hasnβt brushed his hair. smells faintly like weed and sleep and your lotion, the floral kind you always keep in your bag.
heβs halfway across the quad when he hears it.
βyo.β
he looks up.
toji.
posted up on a low wall near the main staircase, nursing a large iced coffee and wearing the same zip-up heβs worn every morning since choso met him. he looks good, like he always does, jaw sharp, eyes tired, posture loose in that older-guy way that makes people think twice about messing with him.
choso pulls out one airpod. βyo.β
βyou look like shit,β toji says, amused.
choso shrugs. βfeel fine.β
βlate night?β
βalways.β
toji grins. βbet.β
choso wanders over, boots crunching gravel, and leans against the wall next to him. tojiβs got that lazy menace vibe, like he could break someoneβs nose or fall asleep in the sun, it could go either way. choso respects it.
theyβre not close, but theyβre good.
βyou throw last night?β toji asks.
βyeah. packed out.β
βheard. saw some dude getting dragged out by the neck around one.β
choso huffs a little. βsukuna. again.β
βno shit?β toji laughs. βthat guyβs a walking lawsuit.β
βgot blood on my stairs,β choso mutters. βruined the rug.β
βtragic.β
theyβre quiet for a second. choso watches a squirrel dart across the walkway. toji sips his coffee.
βhow much you make off the door?β
βcouple hundred. enough for groceries. gas. weed.β
toji nods like thatβs the natural order of things. βyou ever think about pledging?β
choso snorts. βnah.β
βyouβd run that shit,β toji says. βturn those little rich boys inside out.β
βiβm not good with rules.β
βfuck rules.β
choso grins a little. βyou sound like yuki.β
βi taught yuki,β toji says, deadpan.
that gets a real laugh out of choso, low and amused, breath curling in the cold air.
βyou got chem?β toji asks after a moment.
βyeah. lab.β
βtough.β
βi'm so fucking hungover.β
toji smirks. βso. last night. you go home alone?β
choso shrugs. βnah. crashed with her.β
toji looks at him. not surprised. not shocked. just curious.
βy/n?β
βyeah.β
a beat.
βyou guys together now or what?β
choso looks up, brows drawn. βnah.β
toji raises an eyebrow. βhuh. figured that wouldβve happened by now.β
βwhy?β
βyouβre always with her.β
βyeah.β
βyou sleep in the same bed?β
choso shrugs again, easy and lowkey like it doesnβt mean anything. like itβs normal. βall the time.β
toji whistles under his breath, grinning. βyouβre a better man than me.β
βnot like that,β choso mutters, looking away.
βright,β toji says, smirking. βnot like that.β
choso stays quiet. doesnβt explain. doesnβt elaborate. he just lets it sit in the air between them like secondhand smoke, warm, familiar, a little dangerous.
because it isnβt like that.
not yet.
but toji doesnβt push. just nods, takes another slow sip of his coffee, and claps choso on the shoulder with a rough hand.
βyouβre cool,β he says. βbut if you ever fuck that up, someone else wonβt be.β
choso just exhales through his nose. shrugs.
he knows.
he knows.
~
choso slouches in his stool at station 4B, safety goggles pushed up into his messy hair, long fingers lazily rotating a test tube over the bunsen flame. heβs supposed to be running a titration, but heβs running on three hours of sleep and an edible that hasnβt stopped hitting since breakfast.
thereβs a small chemical fire happening at the next table over. he doesnβt care.
his partner, some girl from his gen chem section who only speaks in whispers and perfume, scribbles answers onto their worksheet like her life depends on it. sheβs never once asked him to help. chosoβs fine with that.
his phone buzzes in his hoodie pocket. he pulls it out without looking, thumb unlocking the screen by feel. itβs instinct. the way he always knows when itβs you.
[10:37am] you: what class r u in rn
[10:38am] choso: chem
[10:38am] you: ew
[10:38am] choso: yea
[10:39am] you: wanna meet up after?? iβm bored
[10:39am] choso: wya
the response comes fast.
[10:40am] you: bleachers behind the field. bring snacks or iβll cry.
choso smiles.
itβs the kind of smile he never shows anyone but you. lazy. lowkey. like a secret he doesnβt need to say out loud.
he texts back a thumbs up emoji. tucks his phone away. watches the blue flame flicker under the test tube like itβs trying to tell him something.
~
the bleachers behind the athletic field are barely standing. rusted metal, cracked paint, half the steps warped from years of cleat-stomped abuse. itβs one of the only spots on campus that still feels untouched, still feels yours. people donβt hang out here. itβs too open, too weird, too quiet.
perfect.
youβre already there when he shows up, sprawled across the middle row like itβs a chaise lounge, sunglasses perched low on your nose and a bag of kettle chips open in your lap.
you perk up when you see him. smile wide and lazy. βyou brought me snacks?β
he lifts a 7/11 bag in greeting.
βyouβre an angel,β you say, and you sound like you mean it. choso climbs up beside you, drops the bag between you, and sits with a long sigh like the weight of the whole morning finally got the memo that it can fuck off.
he lets himself lean back on his elbows, head tipped toward the sky. hoodie sleeves pushed up to the elbow. hands ringed in silver, knuckles faintly bruised from last night. jaw sharp, neck tattoo peeking just above his collar.
you glance over at him, bottom lip tucked between your teeth for a second too long.
he doesnβt notice.
or maybe he does.
but he doesnβt say anything.
βwhat happened in chem?β you ask, voice slow with sunlight.
βalmost set the bench on fire,β he says. βagain."
you laugh, and itβs the good kind, low and warm and familiar, like something soft you wrap yourself in. βyouβre gonna fail.β
βnah,β he murmurs. βi got you. youβll cry to shoko for me.β
you shrug. βprobably.β
he grins.
you eat chips together for a while in comfortable silence. people jog past on the track below, but itβs like the two of you exist in another timeline, quieter, slower, deeper. every time your shoulders bump, he doesnβt move away. every time your fingers brush in the snack bag, he lets it linger.
you pull out a cherry lollipop from your tote. unwrap it with delicate, distracted fingers. stick it between your lips and suck thoughtfully.
choso looks over. blinks once.
his throat bobs. βyou eat candy like youβre in a music video.β
βduh,β you say. βgotta stay on brand.β
βyour brand is slutty candy princess?β
you flash him a wink. βyou know it.β
he groans into his hands. βyouβre gonna kill me.β
βyouβd like it.β
βmaybe.β
you both laugh.
but underneath it, thereβs a tension you donβt touch. not yet. not today. not when the sun is this warm and the wind is this soft and the space between you feels like a bubble no one else can pop.
βso whatβd you tell toji?β you ask suddenly, pulling your legs up under you. βhe asked about us, right?β
choso blinks. shifts.
βhowβd you know that?β
βi just saw him talking to you this morning and you rushed of before i could catch up.β
he sighs. rubs a hand over his face. βjust asked about some dumb shit, was surprised we aren't fucking.β
βoh yeah?β
βyeah.β
you hum. βwhatβd you say?β
he shrugs. βtold him weβre just friends.β
you nod.
but your fingers are tight around your lollipop stick. βdid he buy it?β
choso looks over at you. eyes half-lidded, lazy. βdunno. didnβt really care.β
you donβt speak for a second.
thenβ
βyou know,β you say lightly, βif we were dating, people wouldnβt question it.β
he raises a brow. βyou wanna date me?β
you laugh like itβs a joke. like the ideaβs crazy. βobviously not. iβd ruin your whole vibe.β
βnah,β he says, quiet and cool. βyou are my vibe.β
it knocks the air out of you a little.
you donβt reply.
he doesnβt push.
instead, he pulls a lighter from his pocket. a faded red bic with a sticker of a cartoon frog on the side.
βyou mind?β he asks.
you shake your head. βgo for it.β
he lights the joint behind the bleachers, careful to block the wind, and takes a slow hit like heβs been doing it his whole life. like breathing.
you watch the way his lips part. the way the smoke curls from his mouth. the way he blinks up at the sky, exhaling slow, like thereβs nothing in the world that could ruin this moment.
he passes it to you.
you hold it between two fingers. bring it to your lips, but donβt inhale. you just like the closeness. the ritual. the rhythm of it.
βyou always smell like weed and coconuts,β you say absently.
βyou always smell like sleep and candy.β
βthat a compliment?β
βyou know it is.β
you smile.
and then, like always, you shift until your head is in his lap, knees bent, lollipop back between your lips.
he threads his fingers into your hair like itβs automatic. like muscle memory.
you donβt say anything.
you donβt have to.
βthereβs a party saturday,β choso says, like itβs just a passing thought. his voice is mellow, dragged slow with smoke and sun.
you squint up at him from his lap, one leg kicking idly off the edge of the bleachers. βyours?β
he shakes his head, dragging another pull from the joint before it sizzles low. βnah. kappaβs.β
βtojiβs place?β
βmhm. sukunaβs throwinβ it.β
you make a face. βew.β
he laughs, lazy and low. βyeah, i know.β
βwhat kinda party is it?β
he shrugs, flicking ash off to the side. βdunno. probly loud. messy. overrun with freshmen.β
βmy favorite,β you say sarcastically.
βcome anyway.β
you raise a brow. βyou want me to go?β
he nods, eyes still soft from the joint. βyeah. all our people are gonna be there. gojoβs bringing that speaker he stole from the rec center. suguruβs bringing weed from the plug that scares everyone but him. shoko said sheβs pre-gaming at yours.β
βshe didnβt tell me that,β you mutter, amused.
βshe said quote, βiβm getting blackout on your floor so you better have mixers.ββ
βclassic.β
βmakiβs going too,β he adds. βand yuuji. megumi. nobara. yβall can take over the kitchen or whatever.β
you snort. βwe always end up doing that. turning some random frat kitchen into our private lounge.β
βbetter lighting.β
βless vomit.β
he taps his knuckle to your forehead. βso?β
you blink at him. βso what?β
βyou cominβ?β
you stretch your arms over your head, lollipop tucked in your cheek like a secret. βmmm, depends. whoβs walking me home if i black out?β
he gives you a look. βme."
βwhoβs holding my hair if i puke?β
βme.β
βwhoβs dancing with me when they put on early 2000s throwbacks?β
he smirks. βyou already know.β
you grin and nuzzle into his thigh dramatically. βugh, fine. i guess iβll go.β
βwhat an honor.β
βyouβre welcome.β
he flicks the roach away and leans back again, hood falling down to rest at the nape of his neck. you stare up at him for a second, at the sharp angle of his jaw, the lashes curled against his cheeks, the faint bruises of exhaustion under his eyes.
thereβs something warm in your chest.
like always.
βwhat timeβs it at?β you ask.
βlate.β
βwhen are we getting there?β
βlater.β
you smile. βas always.β
βas always,β he echoes.
you reach over, fingers brushing the side of his hoodie pocket where his lighter peeks out, red and fading, sticker peeling at the edges.
he doesnβt notice.
but you do.
you always do.
~
the sun has long since set when youβre back in your dorm.
shokoβs stuff is already half-scattered across your bed, a tote bag overflowing with lip gloss and tequila, her ripped denim skirt folded beside your pillow like it lives here. your bluetooth speaker is charging in the corner. your fairy lights are glowing dim, and the whole room smells like something between vanilla lotion and sharpie markers.
because youβre painting.
your desk is a mess of scattered brushes, scratched acrylics, and an empty matcha can youβve been using as a water cup. right in the center sits the new bic lighter you picked up after social, jet black, perfectly smooth, untouched.
youβre painting red spider lilies across the front, his favourite.
the petals curl across the plastic like veins, wet with gloss and attention. youβre careful with the details. youβve looked up references. youβve done this before.
but this timeβs different.
this oneβs for him.
you donβt know why, exactly. maybe itβs because his old oneβs going dead.
maybe itβs because you love him.
not like that.
not yet.
but in the way you know exactly how he likes his ramen. in the way he texts you βhome?β when itβs late and doesnβt sleep until you answer. in the way he rolls his blunts left-handed and always lights yours first. in the way he remembers your momβs birthday even though heβs never met her.
in the way he makes you feel safe in a room full of noise.
in the way he never tries to make you anything other than yourself.
you lean over the lighter, the brush held steady between your fingers, and add the final line of gold detailing around the petals. your breath fogs the surface. you wait for it to dry.
outside, someone blasts a bad edm remix. the partyβs already pulsing down the block.
you arenβt ready yet.
but you will be.
because he asked.
because you always go when he asks.
by the time you and shoko step into the kappa house, itβs already hell in there.
thereβs music vibrating the walls, some mashup of jersey club and distorted britney spears, smoke curling from doorways, the reek of beer and weed and something you hope is a vape cloud drifting from the stairs. someoneβs already swinging a half-finished bottle of patrΓ³n in the foyer, and a guy in a spiked collar is passed out half-naked on the pool table. red LEDs paint the room like a warning.
βjesus,β shoko mutters, pushing through a knot of people. βitβs worse than last time.β
βthatβs saying a lot,β you reply, laughing.
you pass a makeshift tattoo station set up in the kitchen, a foldable table, three guys with gloves and prison-grade guns, girls taking shots with their shirts off, someone yelling about cross-contamination. someone else is already screaming into a paper towel, gripping their friendβs thigh as ink bleeds into skin.
βhow much you wanna bet that guyβs not even licensed?β shoko asks, pointing with her cup.
a few feet away, a couple is practically devouring each other on the couch, hands in places that definitely shouldnβt be public, their moans barely muffled over the bassline. you and shoko share a glance.
βten bucks says theyβll be upstairs in five,β she says.
βtwo,β you shoot back.
you find the rest of your girls near the island, makiβs drinking straight from a bottle of dark rum, nobaraβs yelling at some guy for calling her βsweetheart,β and miwa looks like sheβs trying to spiritually leave her body.
βthere you bitches are,β nobara says, throwing an arm over your shoulders. βi was gonna beat some freshmanβs ass for trying to say you werenβt on the guest list.β
βi just got here!β you laugh, letting shoko pull you in tighter. βi havenβt even taken my jacket off!"
βwell hurry up,β nobara insists, pouring something violently pink into a solo cup and handing it to you. βthis nightβs cursed already.β
you take a cautious sip, bubblegum and battery acid. βwhat the hell is this?β
βitβs called the thong dropper,β shoko says helpfully.
βgirl.β
you let the chaos swirl around you for a bit, settling into the rhythm of things, catching up on nonsense, swapping wild stories, dodging spilled drinks and clumsy hands. nobara starts talking about some guy she hooked up with last week, rolling her eyes and groaning dramatically.
βhis stroke game was so weak,β she says, slamming her cup down. βhe kept asking me βis that good?β likeβcmon. do you not hear me faking it?β
maki snorts. βyou faked it?β
βof course i did. i had to get it over with.β
shoko leans in. βrookie mistake. just tell βem straight up.β
βi canβt crush a manβs ego like that,β nobara defends.
βtheyβll live,β maki says.
you giggle into your drink, letting the warmth buzz up your spine.
βwhat about you?β shoko nudges. βyou getting any lately?β
you shrug, trying to hide your smirk. βdefine βgetting.ββ
they all ooh at that, but you wave them off.
βnah,β you add quickly. βjust beenβ¦ chillinβ.β
nobara raises a brow. βchillinβ with who?β
you donβt answer.
you donβt have to.
because you just spotted him.
across the room, slouched low on the ratty couch like a king on a broken throne, hoodie slipping off one shoulder, blunt glowing between his fingers, is choso.
heβs got his head tipped back, laughing at something gojo just said, eyes heavy-lidded and hazy, lips pink and glossy from smoke. his legs are spread wide, rings catching the LED lights, and thereβs a plastic crown crooked on his head like someone dared him to wear it and he just went along with it.
you hand your cup to shoko. βback in a sec.β
you beeline straight to him.
he sees you coming, of course. always does.
βyo,β he says, voice syrup-thick, laced in that lazy drawl you know too well. βthere she is.β
you plop onto the couch next to him, thigh pressed to his instantly, as natural as breathing.
βhey, babe.β
he pulls the blunt from his lips and passes it to gojo. βyou look hot,β he murmurs, eyes scanning over you. βlikeβ¦ stupid hot.β
you grin. βyouβre high.β
βand youβre hot.β
βso high.β
gojo chuckles. βheβs been saying that about everyone for the last twenty minutes. told sukuna his chains looked βshiny as fuckβ and that he was proud of him.β
βand i meant it,β choso says, nodding solemnly.
βsukunas a menace,β you laugh.
βa sweet menace,β choso adds.
gojo tosses the blunt into an ashtray and stretches. βaight. iβm gonna go find the aux before someone puts on country again.β
βgodspeed,β you tell him.
choso watches him disappear into the crowd before turning back to you. βyou good?β
you nod. βgirls are wild tonight.β
βwhen arenβt they?β
you smile. βpartyβs kinda gross, though.β
he grins. βyeah. itβs ass.β
βi missed your parties.β
he hums, dragging a slow breath through his nose. βnext week. tuesday.β
βa tuesday party?β
βhell yeah.β
you laugh softly, eyes dropping to the front pocket of his hoodie. his lighterβs there again, the red one. the same one from earlier, edges worn down like itβs been used a thousand times.
without saying anything, you reach into your jacket pocket.
he watches you curiously as you pull out the lighter you painted, black and glossy, the spider lilies blooming across the surface in blood-red ink and gold veins.
you hand it to him wordlessly.
his fingers brush yours as he takes it, and something in his face shifts, softens, quiets.
he turns it over slowly in his palm, eyes scanning every detail like heβs memorizing it.
βyou painted this?β
you nod.
βmaβ¦β he says under his breath, almost like itβs too much. βyo. this isβ¦ this is fucking beautiful.β
βyour other oneβs dying,β you say, a little shy now. βfigured you needed a new one.β
heβs quiet for a second, blinking slowly.
thenβ
βyouβre such a fuckinβ angel.β
you laugh. βitβs literally just a lighter.β
he doesnβt let his gaze leave it. βnah. itβs you.β
you blink.
he says it so casually. so high. so him.
like itβs just a fact.
you donβt say anything, and neither does he. the music swells. the lights flicker. people scream and laugh and break things somewhere in the background.
but right now, itβs just the two of you, and a lighter between your palms.
βyouβre gonna make me cry,β you joke, even though the way he keeps looking at the lighter makes your chest feel a little too full.
choso doesnβt answer, just keeps running his thumb over the curves of it like itβs some delicate artifact, black with the glossy gleam of fresh paint, those red lilies blooming across the surface like blood in water.
he flicks it once. flame bursts up.
βperfect,β he mumbles.
βit works?β
βbetter than my soul, babe.β
you laugh, leaning your head against his shoulder, and for a few seconds everything around you falls away, just the throb of the music, the warm press of him, and the soft flicker of that tiny orange flame between his fingers.
you sit like that for a little while, talking about nothing. him complaining about a group project he hasnβt started. you teasing him for skipping chem lab again. him promising you some βnext-level weedβ for tuesdayβs party that βtastes like peaches and existential dread.β
his voice is slow, syrup-thick, a little slurred at the ends. heβs stoned, clearly, but youβre used to this. used to the way he leans into you when heβs like this, heavy and unguarded, every thought coming out a little slower and more unfiltered. itβs a version of him that doesnβt get tired of looking at you.
he tugs at the hem of your jacket playfully. βyou gonna stay with me tonight?β
you raise a brow. βdidnβt plan on going anywhere else.β
he grins, that sleepy smile that makes your heart tick funny.
then your name cuts through the room, pitched over the music.
βoh shit,β you say, glancing over your shoulder. βtheyβre calling me.β
choso hums, not looking away. βtell βem i said hi.β
you hesitate for a second, not wanting to leave the warm bubble youβve curled into. but shokoβs waving you over, and makiβs already halfway across the room with a bottle in her hand and trouble in her eyes.
βiβll be back,β you say, giving his knee a squeeze as you get up.
he watches you go, eyes dragging over your silhouette, that sway in your hips, the flash of your smile as nobara yells something at you that makes you laugh and flip her off in the same breath.
then heβs alone.
not really, the house is packed, pulsing with bodies and music and smoke, but alone in the way that matters.
the lighterβs still in his hand.
and it wonβt stop looking like you.
'she fuckinβ made this.'
that thought loops through his head in lazy spirals. he stares down at it like heβs still not fully processing that itβs his now, the way it fits so perfect in his palm, like you painted it with him in mind, like you know his hands that well.
(which you do.)
'what an angel', he thinks again, your face still ghosted in his mind.
heβs high. so high. his body feels like a heartbeat, slow and deep and pulsing warm. and the lighter, it keeps dragging him back to that moment on the couch, your thigh against his, your fingers brushing his, your quiet little smile when he lit it up for the first time.
'she always does shit like this. just makes stuff better. without even tryinβ.'
it hits him all at once, sudden and full-body.
he needs to mark this. this moment. this feeling.
heβs already pulling out his phone before the thoughtβs even fully formed, scrolling through the camera roll he swore he didnβt care about but secretly checks too often. blurry candids, selfies with you curled against his chest, that pic from two weeks ago when you were looking up at him from the floor of his room with a red gummy in your mouth and sleep in your eyes.
he pauses there.
your eyes in that picture. big, soft, glassy, sexy.
his thumb hovers over the screen.
βyo,β a familiar voice calls, sauntering through the haze. βyou look fried.β
sukuna.
choso glances up. βam fried.β
sukuna grins. βfigured. that couch is cursed, by the way. guy got a blowie on it last week during pong night.β
choso shrugs. βadds flavor.β
they lean on the wall together, easy silence for a second.
βyou see the tat guys?β sukuna asks, chin-jerking toward the kitchen. βsomeone just got a fucking worm on their calf. like a literal earthworm. said it was βsymbolic.ββ
choso laughs, low and thick. βsymbolic of what?β
βdunno. being dirt, i guess.β
he doesnβt respond. just looks back at his phone.
sukuna raises a brow. βyou good, dude?β
βyeah.β
βyou look like you just had a vision.β
choso finally meets his eye.
βyo,β he says slowly. βyou ever just feel something and know you gotta do somethinβ about it right now or youβll bitch out?β
sukuna squints. βuh. like what?β
choso doesnβt answer.
instead, he pushes off the wall, hoodie slipping off one shoulder again, lighter still clutched in one hand, phone in the other, and starts walking.
sukuna watches him go, a little amused. βdamn. alright.β
the air is thick with smoke and bass as he weaves through the crowd, bumping shoulders, dodging a girl dancing with her heels off and her hair in her face.
he reaches the makeshift tattoo stand.
it smells like rubbing alcohol and regret.
βyo,β he says, voice smooth as silk and twice as slow.
the guy behind the table, ink sleeves up to the neck, black gloves, sunglasses indoors, glances up.
βwhatβs up, man?β
choso leans down slightly, eyes low-lidded and unreadable, body loose and stoned and sexy in that careless way he always carries.
he holds out his phone.
βcan you do this,β he asks, βon my arm?β
the artist blinks, then looks at the screen.
itβs a close-up of a girlβs eyes, wide, seductive, yet still glowing with laughter. looking up at the camera like whoever took the photo was the only thing in the world.
looking up at him.
choso taps the screen once. βthose are hers.β
the guy raises a brow. βlikeβ¦ your girl?β
choso shrugs one shoulder. his eyes never leave the photo.
the buzz of the needle starts soft, a low, persistent hum, and choso doesnβt even flinch. he just leans back, one arm draped lazily across the armrest, hoodie shoved halfway up his bicep where the artist wiped him down with alcohol. his eyes are half-lidded, bloodshot from whatever gojo rolled earlier, but locked on the phone heβs holding out in his opposite hand.
the pictureβs still up. her eyes, warm and wide, lashes curled, looking up at him like she trusts him with her whole heart.
βpretty,β the tattoo guy mutters, angling a small light to get a better look as he sketches the stencil. βyours?β
chosoβs mouth curves slow. doesnβt answer right away. just flicks his lighter open and closed, click, click, click, the red spider lilies catching the light each time.
then finally:
βnah.β
the guy hums. βgirlfriend?β
he huffs a little, amused. βnot that either.β
he sets the lighter down on the table beside him, keeps his eyes on the screen.
βsheβs just,β he pauses, then shrugs, soft and slow, βher. yβknow?β
the artist side-eyes him. βdeep.β
choso smiles again, eyes unfocused. βnah, iβm just fuckinβ high.β the guy presses the warm stencil into chosoβs arm, smooths it into place.
βyou sure you wanna do this while youβre, uh,β he glances at chosoβs glassy expression, the faint grin still tugging at his mouth, βclearly not sober?β
βiβm not wasted,β choso says lazily. βand iβm not dumb. itβs not a mistake.β the artist nods once, respects it. βalright, man.β he flips on the machine again, lines it up.
βyou done this before?β choso grunts a laugh. βyβthink i got these in my sleep?β he gestures vaguely at the black ink already crawling across both arms, jagged, abstract lines, constellations and waves, some faded with age. some done in basements like this one. βfirst time sober was the weirdest one.β
the guy snorts. βfair.β
the needle hits skin.
choso exhales slow. doesnβt flinch, doesnβt shift, doesnβt even blink hard. just stares at the wall across the room, jaw slack, hoodie sliding off his shoulder, the buzz settling into the meat of his arm like a low hum of intention. βyou ever tattoo someone like this before?β he murmurs after a beat.
βlike what?β
he shrugs again. βsomeone whoβsβ¦ yβknow.β the guy doesnβt answer right away.
choso elaborates, voice softer this time. βsheβs not mine. i donβt want her to be. not right now. itβs not like that. itβs justβ¦β he trails off, brows furrowing a little, tongue tucked against the inside of his cheek.
βshe just means somethinβ. donβt got a word for it.β
the artist doesnβt look up from his work, but his toneβs gentler when he speaks again. βyeah. iβve seen that before.β choso sinks deeper into the chair, breathing even. the painβs dull and constant, but it grounds him. keeps his thoughts from spiraling too far out, keeps his high in this exact moment.
βyou think sheβd be mad?β he asks, voice airy. βif she saw it?β
βdunno,β the guy says. βyou gonna tell her?β he blinks slow, head rolling back against the headrest.
βnah.β
another pause.
βnot now. itβs just for me.β the tattooer gives a small nod. βthatβs real.β
a silence settles between them, the steady hum of the needle, the sound of someone vomiting into a bush outside the window, a muffled scream from the beer pong table two rooms over.
βlooks good,β the artist murmurs, wiping excess ink from the forming lines of the eyes. βsheβs got crazy lashes.β
choso huffs out a small laugh. βsheβd fuckinβ love that you noticed that.β
βyeah?β
he smiles again, softer now. βtalked about lash serum for like a week. gave me a whole presentation.β
the guy chuckles under his breath. βsounds like she talks a lot.β
choso closes his eyes.
βshe talks just enough.β the buzz continues. the lines take shape. her eyes, right there, etched into his skin. not to claim. not to confess. just to remember.
just for him.
~
the buzz dies down gradually, tapering into a low hum before the artist finally flicks the switch and pulls back. the sudden quiet settles like a heavy blanket over the both of them, just the soft thud of bass from the next room and the subtle scrape of latex gloves against skin.
βalright, man,β the artist says, leaning back with a stretch. βdone.β
choso blinks slow, still slouched deep in the chair like heβs been there for hours, like the cushion molded around his bones. he lifts his head, eyes hazy but laser-locked on the strip of bandage being pressed to his upper arm.
βyo, hold up, lemme see it before you cover it,β he says, voice low and hoarse from either weed or reverence, maybe both.
the guy lifts a brow, but obliges. carefully wipes the skin one last time, blood and excess ink coming away in soft red-black smears. the roomβs fluorescent lights hit the raw lines at an angle, shining off the freshly tattooed skin like itβs something holy.
and fuck.
there it is.
your eyes.
wide and soft and open, curved lashes sweeping upward in a way no stencil shouldβve captured but somehow did. that quiet way you look at him, like he hung the stars, like heβs yours even if the two of you never say it out loud. inked permanent on the soft part of his bicep, nestled between a set of waves and the jagged edge of a half-finished constellation.
for a second, he doesnβt speak. doesnβt move.
he just stares.
it hits him slow, like a good edible, starts behind his eyes, low and warm in his chest, then spreads.
yo.
heβs obsessed.
like fully, all the way, brain-meltingly obsessed.
he turns his arm slightly under the light, eyes tracing the lines, the slight curve of your upper lid, the detail around the corners like you're mid-laugh or mid-thought or both. it looks exactly like you, his favorite version of you. the version that looks up at him like nothing else exists in the room.
god.
you look good on him. not in the possessive way. not even close. itβs not that.
itβs something else. something way quieter. something he canβt even name when heβs sober, and definitely not now, baked out of his skull with his arm still tingling and his hoodie falling half off.
but still, heβs wearing you now. and it feels like something thatβs always been true, just waiting for the ink to make it real.
βyou good?β the artist asks, half amused, already reaching for the plastic wrap again. βyeah,β choso says, slow, mouth crooked into a lazy grin. βlooks fuckinβ sick, dude.β the guy chuckles under his breath. βkinda figured youβd say that.β
βyou killed it,β choso adds, finally dragging his eyes off the tattoo. βlike, actually.β
the artist nods, pleased. βappreciate it. was fun as hell to do, honestly. you sure you donβt want her name or somethinβ? under it?β choso snorts. βnah. thatβd make it weird.β
βfair.β
he watches the guy gently press a clean dressing over the fresh ink, tape it up. the sensationβs a dull sting under his skin, not quite pain, just awareness. a reminder that itβs real now. that itβs his, for good.
she doesnβt know. you might never know. and thatβs kinda the whole point. heβs not gonna flash it at you mid-party or say anything slick when you sit beside him later like you always do, throwing your legs over his lap and stealing his drink.
nah.
this oneβs just for him. a secret under his sleeve, tucked into the curve of his body like a memory.
βyou gonna keep it under wraps?β the guy asks, like he can read chosoβs whole plan off his face.
βyeah,β choso mutters, grabbing his hoodie and tugging the sleeve back down with a practiced flick. βat least for now. donβt need her freakinβ out or nothing.β
βbet,β the guy says with a short laugh. βi get it.β
choso stands slow, body still heavy from sitting too long and smoking too much. he sways a bit but rights himself, shaking out his arms like heβs just come up from underwater. the whole basement smells like blood and rubbing alcohol and resin, but itβs warm, and the energy buzzes low and steady around him.
he digs in his pocket for a few bills, slaps them into the artistβs open palm.
βappreciate you, man.β
βanytime, bro. take care of that, donβt go dunkinβ it in a keg or anything.β choso grins. βno promises.β
he walks out with his hoodie draped low, sleeve tugged all the way to his wrist despite the heat and the crowd and the chaotic press of bodies funneling in from the hallway. music floods back in slow, a pulse of bass syncing up with his own heartbeat.
but he canβt stop thinking about it. every step he takes, every time the sleeve brushes against the fresh ink, it reminds him.
not of what they are.
but of what you mean.
upu didnβt need to give him that lighter. you didnβt have to think about him in that little quiet way you always did, like heβs more than just a weed plug or the guy you party with every weekend. that little moment, just you in your dorm, painting red spider lilies on a bic you knew heβd never throw away? that shit went straight to his chest. and now you're on his skin. maybe you'd freak out if you saw it. maybe you'd cry. maybe you'd laugh.
maybe you'd get real quiet and never say anything again. or maybe you'd look at him the way you did in that photo. maybe you'd look at him like you knew.
but all thatβs for later. for now, heβs just stoned as hell, arm warm and throbbing, and so unbelievably content that itβs almost embarrassing.
he spots gojo again across the room, already perched on the arm of someone elseβs couch with a red solo cup and a grin like he owns the house. choso veers toward him, slips back into the noise like he never left.
sleeve tugged down.
lighter in his pocket.
eyes on his arm, just for him.
~
later that night you navigate yourself back to choso after your banter with the girls.
you spot him sunk deep into the cushions, hood half up, curls falling into his face, a bottle of water in one hand and his eyes half-lidded and sleepy with that lazy high he wears better than anyone. heβs surrounded, gojo splayed on one armrest like he owns the place, sukuna lounged sideways with his feet on the table, and suguru perched on the edge, nursing a half-finished blunt.
βyo, look who it is,β gojo grins as you walk up, already clocking the way you move like youβre headed home, not just to a guy. βprincess finally found her prince.β
you donβt say anything, just slide right into the little space at chosoβs side like it was made for you. his arm shifts automatically, pulling you in like itβs instinct, and you tuck your face into his shoulder, letting out the softest exhale. you can feel the thrum of his voice in your cheek when he speaks.
βhey, ma.β
his handβs warm against your hip, steady, grounding. he smells like weed and cedar and the faintest trace of paint from the lighter you gave him. itβs in his pocket now, safe like something sacred.
βso anyway,β suguru picks back up like you didnβt just crash-land in chosoβs lap, βiβm telling you, the guy had no idea what he was doing. tried to roll with a swisher, no guts, just dumped the weed in and twisted the end like a fuckinβ lollipop.β
βgod, not the lollipop roll,β sukuna groans, dragging a hand over his face. βfreshman?β
βof course it was a freshman,β gojo says, grinning. βthose little guys think watching one youtube tutorial makes them bob marley.β
βyo, remember that one dude at the delta party?β choso says, head tilting back slightly. βrolled a joint with a bible page.β
βamen,β sukuna snorts.
βnah, for real,β choso laughs, hand tightening just slightly where it rests on your side. βhe said it made the high holier.β you huff against his hoodie, and his fingers flex like he felt it, like it was the best sound heβd heard all night.
they keep going, weed stories, party war stories, the dumbest shit theyβve ever seen in a frat house at 3am. itβs relentless, loud, chaotic, but you stay quiet, tucked against chosoβs side like heβs the only still thing in the room. his thumb runs in slow circles against your waist through the fabric of your top, and you feel the way he laughs before you hear it.
βyo,β gojo says, leaning across suguru to point at choso. βwhatβs the craziest thing youβve ever done at a party?β
βbesides adopt a girlfriend he doesnβt kiss?β sukuna adds. choso blinks slow. doesnβt rise to the bait, doesnβt even twitch.
βprobably that time at theta when i fell asleep in the bathtub and woke up with a raccoon in my lap.β suguru chokes. βyou serious?β
βdeadass.β
βwas itβ¦ alive?β
βbro. it was chillinβ. just vibinβ with me.β
βyou probably hotboxed the tub,β gojo says, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. βraccoon was just tryna get high.β
choso grins, soft and slow, and you nudge your nose into his hoodie like youβre hiding your own smile. βwhat about women?β sukuna says suddenly, eyes glinting like heβs fishing. βyβall ever hook up at your own party?β
βyouβre disgusting, that's against regβ gojo tells him cheerfully.
βdonβt lie,β sukuna drawls. βyou know you have.β
βalright, once,β gojo admits. βbut i kicked her out after because she tried to name my bongs.β βyouβre heartless,β suguru says, deadpan.
βyou donβt name the bongs,β gojo insists. βthey earn names. itβs sacred.β
βwhat about you, choso?β sukunaβs gaze cuts sideways. βyou got bodies stacked in your stoner dungeon?β choso hums, slow and easy. you feel the low sound in his chest, pressed flush to your cheek.
βnah,β he says. βi donβt hook up with girls who donβt know how to roll.β the boys howl, gojo nearly falling off the couch.
βthatβs so on brand,β suguru laughs. βyou need standards,β choso mumbles, amused, and leans his cheek briefly against the top of your head.
the lighterβs still in his pocket. his armβs still over your shoulders. and beneath the sleeve of his hoodie, hidden from the world, your eyes are inked into his skin.
you shift a little, just enough to tuck your legs under yourself, settling more fully into him, and he adjusts without thinking β arm around you tighter now, palm spread warm across your ribs, thumb grazing your side through the fabric. heβs careful. doesnβt let the hoodie ride up. doesnβt let anyone see. the tattooβs still fresh, still tender, and itβs just for him.
βyo, you good?β suguru asks, nodding at him. choso blinks slow. βyeah manβ.β
βthat weed hit hard,β gojo says. βi feel like iβm seeinβ sounds.β
βyou tryna kill someone?β suguru laughs. βevery time i hit one, i feel like my soulβs leaving my body.β
βshitβs a rite of passage,β sukuna shrugs.
βnah, a rite of passage is hosting a rager with a cop at your door and acting like you live there,β gojo grins. βhave you?β choso asks, amused.
βbro, iβve answered the door in a bathrobe before,β gojo says proudly. they all crack up again. you donβt say anything, but your smileβs pressed right into chosoβs chest, and he dips his head for a second to nuzzle his nose into your hair.
βsheβs real quiet tonight,β suguru says, noticing. βnah, sheβs just comfy,β choso says easily. βshe donβt need to talk when sheβs like this.β
you donβt. not when youβve got his warmth, his arm around you, his voice rumbling low in your ear with every lazy joke. itβs always like this, like no one else in the room really matters, like you could fall asleep right here and heβd keep the world spinning while you did.
βthatβs love,β gojo says mock-serious.
βshut up,β choso mutters. but he doesnβt stop smiling. and the lighterβs still warm in his pocket.
and your eyes are still inked into his arm, safe and secret beneath layers of cotton and smoke.
~
the house is still going when you two finally get up. itβs past 2am, maybe closer to 3, but the music hasnβt let up and thereβs still people on the floor, drinks in hand, voices loud and slurred over each other. someoneβs passed out with a sharpie mustache, another guyβs making out with a pillow. classic kappa chaos.
chosoβs the one who moves first. you feel it in the way his arm shifts, in the soft brush of his thumb against your side like a nudge. he leans in close, voice barely above a murmur.
βyou good to dip?β
you nod into his hoodie, eyes half-lidded, heart heavy with warmth and weed.
he helps you up slow, palm steady at your back. when you stand, the cold air from the open back door hits your legs and you shiver a little, instinctively leaning back into his side. he shrugs his hoodie higher and throws an arm around your shoulders like he already knew itβd happen.
βyo,β choso calls out over the couch, voice scratchy and low. βwe out.β
gojo perks up from where heβs still posted with a half-spilled drink, eyes bright. βtell your girlfriend goodnight for us.β
you donβt say anything, just press your face into chosoβs shoulder again, and he laughs under his breath.
βnight, man,β suguru says with a nod, already halfway into rolling another blunt.
sukuna lifts a hand lazily. βtext if you end up in a ditch.β
βif i do, iβm takinβ you with me,β choso mutters.
they all laugh again, and it follows you both out the front door, the porch light buzzing weak and yellow above you. the nightβs cooler now, quiet in a way that makes everything feel soft around the edges. your heels click against the pavement as you walk, but only for a second, choso notices and without a word, crouches down in front of you, glancing back over his shoulder.
βget on.β
you blink, amused. βseriously?β
βcβmon, ma,β he mumbles, tugging at your wrist. βyour feet hurt.β
you climb onto his back with a little laugh, arms wrapped loose around his shoulders, and he stands like itβs nothing, steady under your weight. his steps are slow and sure down the sidewalk, the frat house lights shrinking behind you, the sounds of the party fading with every step.
βyou always take care of me,β you mumble against his neck.
he hums low. ββcourse i do. you're my.. best friend.β
you walk like that for a while, his hoodie soft against your cheek, his hair brushing your face every time the wind shifts. he doesnβt say much, just hums sometimes or comments on dumb shit you pass, a traffic cone in a bush, a raccoon on the curb that freezes when it sees you, like it knows choso somehow.
he sets you down once youβre close, only when his own buildingβs steps are in sight. his hand stays in yours as he leads you inside, up the stairs, past the other bedrooms where people are either passed out or definitely not sleeping. his door clicks shut behind you with a soft thud, and everything goes quiet.
his roomβs the same as always, warm, dim, the faint smell of weed and whatever incense he burned earlier in the week still lingering in the corners. one sock on the floor, a hoodie thrown over the back of his chair. youβve been here a hundred times, maybe more.
but tonight feels different. softer. warmer.
he pulls his hoodie off slow, careful of the sleeve, and tosses it toward the desk chair. the bandage underneath catches the light for a second, but he turns before you see too much.
you toe your shoes off and crawl onto the bed without thinking. he follows, slower, body still heavy with high and heat and something else he canβt name.
youβre both under the blanket when he finally speaks.
βhey.β
you look over, curled on your side facing him.
his eyes are half-lidded, soft. one arm tucked behind his head, the other stretched toward you, palm open on the comforter like heβs offering it.
βi really fuckinβ love that lighter.β
your heart stutters a little. βyeah?β
he nods, slow. βlikeβ¦ a lot. been using it all night. even switched pockets for it, kept checking to make sure it didnβt fall out or get swiped.β
you smile, something small and full blooming in your chest. βgood. itβs supposed to be yours.β
βfeels like it.β
he looks at you for a long second. the space between you shrinks until his arm slides around your waist and pulls you in close.
you go easy, always do, settling into him like heβs your own bed, your own pillow, the place you always end up no matter how far you drift.
he breathes in slow, his nose brushing your hair.
βthe flowersβ¦ whyβd you paint those?β
you press your face into his chest.
βthey reminded me of you,β you say quietly. βred spider lilies. theyβre kind ofβ¦ complicated. people think theyβre about death or goodbye, but they also mean memory. rebirth. starting over. they grow in all the places nothing else does.β
chosoβs quiet for a second.
then, soft, βyou think iβm like that?β
you shrug against him, voice even softer. βi think youβre the kind of person who sticks. who stays even when shit gets hard. and you donβt always say how you feel butβ¦ youβre steady. like those flowers. like fire.β
he exhales slow.
βfuck, ma.β
βwhat?β
βyouβre gonna make me cry or some shit.β
you laugh, a quiet huff against his chest. he wraps both arms around you now, tucking you into the space beneath his chin, his hand sliding up into your hair.
his fingers stroke slow, gentle. again and again.
βyou can cry,β you mumble. βi wonβt tell.β
he chuckles low, the sound vibrating through you.
βnah, iβm good. justβ¦ i dunno. not used to someone thinkinβ about me like that.β
you donβt say anything. just curl closer, your fingers fisting lightly in the fabric of his shirt.
the room settles into silence. soft and slow. your breaths even out together.
his hand keeps stroking through your hair, steady and grounding. like he could do it forever. like maybe he will.
his voice comes again, quieter this time.
βgonna keep that lighter forever.β
you smile, eyes fluttering shut. βgood.β
βnot even gonna let gojo touch it."
βdefinitely good.β
his lips brush your hair, a ghost of a kiss.
you feel it all, the warmth, the safety, the way his body curls slightly to fit around yours like a shield, like a home.
his heartbeatβs slow against your cheek.
βnight, ma,β he whispers, already half-asleep.
you murmur it back, voice slurred with sleep, breath syncing with his.
his fingers keep moving, slow circles through your hair.
and in the soft dark, beneath the blanket, beneath the silence, his arm curls around you just enough to press the fresh ink on his bicep to your side, a quiet secret. a permanent truth.
just for him.
just for tonight.
just for you.
~
~
itβs been a chill afternoon, sunβs out, classes dragging, brain fried. chosoβs walking out of the lab building with his earbuds in, hoodie half-zipped, replaying your last message in his head. a pic of your shoes kicked off under a library table, captioned come save me, three broken hearts. made him smile. still does.
heβs almost past the quad when a shadow cuts across the sidewalk.
βyo, choso.β
doesnβt need to look up to know who it is.
that voice, too smooth. familiar in the kind of way that feels like smoke curling up your back.
he pulls one earbud out and slows.
tojiβs leaned against the trunk of an oak tree like heβs been waiting. sunglasses on, black tee snug across his chest, arms crossed like heβs got all day. his smirkβs already half-there.
βwhatβs up?β choso mutters.
βyou got a sec?β
choso gives him a long look. he knows toji. knows the kind of calm that means somethingβs coming.
ββ¦yeah,β he says anyway.
they walk.
theyβve done this before, that time a few weeks ago before his lab, once or twice after parties, when everyone else was loud and drunk and messy. tojiβs always been different. sharper. like he watches the room just to see where it bleeds.
βhowβs life at delta mu?β toji asks after a few steps. casual. fake.
βsame shit.β
βyeah?β he smirks. βyou still throwing those weed parties with your little mascot?β
chosoβs jaw ticks. βyou mean y/n?β
toji chuckles. βyeah. her.β
he tosses a glance sideways. too casual.
βsheβs got some energy, huh? always bouncing around, arms all over you. she like that with everybody or just you?β
choso doesnβt answer. toji doesnβt need one.
βnah, iβve seen it,β he continues. βalways tucked up next to you. on your lap. wrapped around your arm. clinging to your hoodie like itβs the last blunt in the world.β
he laughs under his breath. βkinda cute.β
chosoβs fists go deep in his pockets.
βsheβs just like that,β he says flatly.
toji hums. βyou sure?β
choso looks over.
βwhatβs your point?β
βjust wondering,β toji shrugs, still smiling like itβs harmless. βyouβve told me before, you two arenβt dating.β
βweβre not.β
βbut you hang out every day.β
βyeah.β
βsleep in the same bed sometimes, right?β
chosoβs mouth tightens.
toji grins like he caught something.
βso sheβs single?β
choso stares straight ahead.
ββ¦yeah.β
βgood to know.β
silence.
the wind brushes through the quad. students chatter behind them. someoneβs playing music from a bluetooth speaker in the grass, something smooth, almost romantic. it doesnβt help.
βsheβs just realβ¦ open, you know?β toji says. βlike, warm. sweet as hell. makes you feel like youβve known her forever.β choso stays quiet.
βi ran into her the other day,β toji adds like itβs nothing. βoutside the gym. we talked for a sec.β his tone is lighter now. teasing. like heβs digging.
βshe remembered my name. smiled real nice, too. said she was headed to meet you.β
no surprise there. you always say where you're going. always talking about choso like heβs the center of your world. and maybe thatβs why this stings. and toji knows it.
βyou ever wonder if she does that for you?β he asks. βtells other guys sheβs headed to see you. uses your name like a shield.β
he doesnβt wait for a reply.
βor maybe itβs just habit. maybe sheβs comfortable. you ever think about that?β
βdonβt do this.β
chosoβs voice is low now. warning. toji just smirks.
βlook, man. iβm not trying to piss you off. justβ¦ trying to understand. βcause you act like youβre her boyfriend, but then you say youβre not.β
he tilts his head.
βso which is it?β
choso breathes slow through his nose.
βweβre close. weβve always been close. thatβs it.β toji nods. like he buys it.
but he doesnβt.
βdamn,β he says. βyou got more patience than me.β
βwhatβs that mean?β
βmeans if a girl like that was pressed up on me every night, i wouldnβt be wasting time calling her my friend.β he says it with a grin, but thereβs something sharp underneath.
βyou really never tried?β toji asks. βnever kissed her? not once?β choso doesnβt respond. he canβt. he kisses you all the time, on the head, bebe ron the lips.
because the truthβs stuck in his throat, the way you fall asleep in his arms, the way you hold his lighter like it means something, the way you always come back to him like heβs home. and heβs the dumbass who never claimed you.
βso sheβs single, then?β toji repeats.
βyeah,β choso says, barely above a whisper.
toji gives him one last nod.
βcool,β he says. βjust wanted to be sure.β and then he walks away. choso doesnβt move. not for a long time.
just stands there, fists clenched, teeth gritted, watching tojiβs silhouette disappear down the path like itβs a threat, because it is. he knew.
he knew before he asked.
and now heβs coming.
because choso left the door wide open.
and you?
youβre free to walk through it.
~
chosoβs room, late afternoon
your legs are curled under you on chosoβs bed, hoodie three sizes too big hanging off your shoulder, his, of course. the windows are cracked open, letting in the soft hum of birds and the echo of some guys yelling down at the basketball court. his room smells like incense, sage and something deeper, something him, warm, sleepy. youβve been here a hundred times like this. maybe more.
his hoodie sleeves keep sliding past your wrists as you text, thumbs quick, quiet smile pulling at your lips. heβs across the room, digging through a drawer for his rolling tray. you can feel his presence without even looking. always do.
βyo, did you move my grinder?β he calls, glancing over his shoulder.
βnope,β you answer, distracted, fingers still flying over your screen. your phone lights again.
toji [3:04pm]: you looked cute at that mixer last night.
you bite your lip. thumbs hover.
then you type:
you [3:07pm]: oh you're stalking me noww?
you donβt see choso pause. you donβt see how long his eyes linger on your phone. you donβt realize he saw the name, until he speaks.
βwho you texting?β
you blink up, tone of his voice unfamiliar.
βhm? ohββ you shift your phone in your hand, instinctive. βjustβ¦ someone.β
he tilts his head.
βsomeone, huh.β
you laugh a little. βwhy do you sound like that?β
he doesnβt answer. he crosses the room instead, slow steps. plants himself at the edge of the bed, arms folded. you look up at him and that warm energyβs gone. replaced with something colder. sharp.
βthat toji?β
your breath stalls.
ββ¦yeah.β
choso stares at you. unreadable.
βwhy?β
βwhat do you mean why?β you ask, eyebrows tugging. βhe messaged me. we were just talking.β
he hums. low. not buying it.
βjust talking,β he echoes. βwhat about?β you sit up straighter. βwhatβs going on?β
βwhatβd he say?β
βchosoββ
βlemme see.β
he gestures at your phone. you clutch it instinctively. like muscle memory. like guilt? βare you serious right now?β he doesnβt answer. jawβs tight. eyes dark.
βwhatβd he say?β he asks again. your fingers squeeze your phone. you feel a flush crawl up your neck. not from embarrassment, but shock.
βyouβre not serious,β you say again, this time quieter. he just looks at you. so you speak.
βhe said i was cute when i was bored. and i said maybe. thatβs it.β
his jaw ticks.
βyou flirting with him?β
βwhat?β
βyou heard me.β
you scoff. βno. i wasnβt. it wasnβt even- i didnβt mean it like that.β choso steps back, runs a hand through his hair. pacing now.
βyou texting him while youβre in my bed?β
βwhat does that matter?β
βit matters.β
his voice is sharper now. rough around the edges. not loud, but tight, like itβs fighting to stay inside his chest. βyou know how i feel about that guy.β
βchoso, heβs been nothing but nice latelyββ
βheβs not nice. heβs not interested in being friends. heβs waiting. heβs circling. you donβt see it?β you blink.
βso what, youβre mad βcause i texted him back?β he looks at you like you just spit on the floor. βiβm mad βcause youβre in my fucking hoodie, in my bed, telling some other guy heβs got a shot.β
you freeze.
the silence that falls is loud.
so loud.
your eyes widen. you stare at him, lips parted. unsure if you heard that right. unsure if he meant to say it.
βa shot?β you echo. he looks away. exhales hard.
βnever mind.β
βno,β you say, voice firm now. βsay it again.β
he doesnβt. but you both feel the truth echoing off the walls.
you look down. suddenly too warm. like the hoodieβs burning your skin. ββ¦i didnβt know youβd care,β you say, almost to yourself.
choso swallows. βi do.β you glance back up.
βwhy?β
he doesnβt answer. but you already know. and now the air is thick with it. the unspoken thing. and for the first time, itβs not sweet. not warm. it hurts.
because it means everything heβs never said, everything heβs been, came with conditions you never agreed to. came with borders he never drew, but expected you not to cross.
you breathe slow. he watches you. you speak first.
βif you wanted to be the only one texting me like that, you shouldβve said something.β chosoβs face shifts. his mouth opens like heβs going to say something, defend himself, maybe, argue the way he always stays quiet because he doesnβt want to lose you,but nothing comes out.
instead, his brows knit together, lips pressed in a tight line. his fingers curl at his sides.
βyou really think i donβt wanna be that?β he says, voice rough. βyou think this shitβs been casual for me?β you blink at him. your breath catches.
βyouβve never said it was anything else, choso. what was i supposed to think?β
βfuck,β he growls, pacing again. βyou were supposed to know. i thought you knew.β
his voice rises, not yelling, but loud with frustration. heβs unraveling in real time, and itβs shaking something loose in you, too. βhow was i supposed to know?β you shoot back. βyou flirt but you never say anything. you touch me like iβm yours but act like iβm just your best friendββ
βyou are mine.β your voice dies in your throat.
he stares at you. and when he speaks again, itβs quieter, but no less intense.
βyouβre mine,β he says again, like a confession. like a curse. βalways been mine.β your stomach flips.
βthen whyββ your voice cracks β βwhy didnβt you ever tell me?β
choso runs a hand through his hair again, like heβs trying to physically hold himself together. like it hurts.
ββcause i was scared,β he snaps. βscared that if i said it out loud, itβd fuck everything up. that youβd look at me different. that youβd leave.β you stare.
βso youβd rather let someone else have me?β
he stiffens. you rise onto your knees on the bed, fire lighting behind your ribs now. βyouβd rather let toji of all people try it?β
his jaw clenches. βheβs not gonna have you.β your heartbeat skids.
he moves in fast, faster than he ever has, and grabs your wrist, firm but not rough, like he canβt bear to let the distance exist any longer.
βiβm not letting him have you,β he mutters.
youβre still frozen, looking up at him. something between fear and thrill curling in your gut.
βchoso,β you whisper. he doesnβt stop. he pushes you back gently onto the bed, one hand catching your waist, the other bracing against the mattress. he hovers over you, breath heavy, eyes searching your face like heβs begging you to see it, really see it this time.
βiβm fucking in love with you.β
your heart punches into your throat. his forehead dips, pressing against yours, voice hoarse.
βiβve been in love with you since you showed up to my first party and we listened to that dumb song together.β
you let out a shaky laugh, but your eyes are wet his thumb brushes your cheek.
βi never said it βcause i thought this was enough. thought just having you close was better than risking it all. but i canβtββ he pulls in a breath, voice shaking now too β βi canβt sit quiet while other people try to take you from me.β
youβre blinking fast now. breath catching. every inch of your skin feels like itβs on fire beneath his touch.
βyouβre my girl,β he says again, softer this time. βyouβve always been mine.β
you donβt answer right away. your chest rises and falls beneath his, shallow and unsteady. your palm is still on his cheek, but your eyes have shifted, staring past him now. unfocused. wet.
βyouβre only saying that,β you murmur, βbecause someone else finally had the balls to go after me.β
his breath catches. your voice is quieter, but sharp now, like youβre trying to convince yourself. like you want to believe it, but the cracks are there, and theyβre splitting open.
βyou didnβt say anything until he got involved. until he started asking about me. texting me. seeing me.β your hand falls away from his face. βand now suddenly, iβm yours?β
his eyes widen. βnoββ
βyou had so long to tell me, choso. so many chances.β
βy/n, itβs not like thatββ
βthen what is it like?β you breathe. ββcause i donβt get to be the girl you only want when someone else does.β
choso stares at you, heart hammering. like you just ripped something raw and bloody straight out of his chest.
he swallows.
and then, slowly, he pushes back, just far enough to sit up on his knees beside you. the mattress dips with the weight shift. his hands fumble for the hem of his hoodie.
he pulls it up and over his head in one quick move. your breath stutters.
there, inked into the inside of his upper arm, where heβd hidden it every time you curled up against him, is a tattoo.
of your eyes.
staring straight back at you.
your real breath, the one stuck in your throat, finally punches out of you.
choso watches your expression shift, eyes flicking from the ink to his face and back. he swallows once, hard, and says:
βgot it the night of the party. when you gave me the lighter.β you blink.
βyou were curled up on me. whole time i was talking with the boys, i couldnβt stop thinking about you. how close you were. how you looked at me like that was your home.β he swipes a thumb under his nose, like he doesnβt know what else to do with his hands. βso i got up, high as fuck, to the guy tatting people in the corner. told him to ink your eyes on me.β
your lips part, but nothing comes out. his voice softens.
βi didnβt say anything βcause i thought it was enough. just having you near. but itβs not. not anymore.β
your heart pounds so hard you feel it in your ears.
he looks at you like youβre the only thing in the room. like he needs you to believe it. really believe it.
βthis isnβt about toji. itβs never been about him. i wanted you long before he ever said your name.β
youβre still staring at the tattoo.
he moves closer again. his hand brushes your knee, gentle.
βyou think iβd get your fucking eyes on me just βcause iβm jealous?β you blink fast.
his hand finds your face again. tender. grounding βyouβre it for me.β
his voice is low, raspy. not just from the emotion, but from how hard heβs holding it in, like if he lets go, everything heβs ever felt for you will come spilling out and drown him.
but he lets it go anyway.
βyouβre all i think about,β choso says, brushing his thumb over your cheek again. βwhen iβm high, when iβm sober, when youβre across the room and laughing at someoneβs stupid joke, when youβre asleep in my bed, wearing my shirt, youβre in my head all the time, ma.βyour breath catches.
βevery song reminds me of you. every little thing you do drives me crazy. you donβt even know how much of me youβve got.β
he leans closer, forehead nearly touching yours.
βyou gave me that lighter and i wanted to kiss you right there in the middle of the street. when you paint your nails i stare at your hands for hours. when you fall asleep on me at parties, i sit still like a statue so you donβt move. iβm always lookinβ at you like i already lost you. and it kills me.β
his hand finds your jaw, warm and steady, fingers curling behind your ear. your breath hitches, and heβs close enough to feel it.
βyouβve had my heart since freshman year. and i didnβt say anything βcause i thought maybe you didnβt want it. or maybe you already had it and didnβt need to hear it out loud.β
you swallow, shaky. lips parted. cheeks flushed.
and choso looks down at them, your lips, like heβs been holding himself back from kissing you for a lifetime.
and then he doesnβt anymore.
he crashes into you like heβs starving.
the kind of kiss that drags a sound out of your throat before you even realize it, all heat and pressure and ache, all the months and years and everything heβs shoved down, poured out into the way his lips mold against yours. he kisses you like heβs afraid youβll pull away, and like he knows you wonβt.
your hands claw at his shoulders, winding into the mess of his hair, tugging him in even closer. and choso groans, deep in his throat, pressing you down into the bed, slotting his hips against yours.
his mouth moves fast, desperate, lips, tongue, teeth, like he canβt get enough. like the taste of you is something he needs in his lungs.
βfuck,β he breathes against your mouth, dragging his lips down your jaw, βyou donβt get it, do you?β
your back arches, lips parting when he sucks lightly under your ear.
βhow bad iβve wanted this. you.β
his hands roam, over your waist, under your shirt, up your sides like heβs trying to memorize all of you at once. and every place he touches leaves a trail of fire.
you moan his name, soft and shaky, and he loses it a little more, bites your bottom lip as he grinds his hips down into yours, heavy and hot and so there.
βsay it again,β he mutters, eyes half-lidded, forehead pressed to yours. βsay my name.β
βchoso.β
he shudders.
βagain.β
βcho!.β
he kisses you so deep it knocks the breath out of your lungs. kisses you like he owns you, like youβve always belonged to him, and like heβs finally letting himself claim whatβs already his.
and fuck, you let him.
youβve wanted this just as long. needed him just as bad.
and now, with your limbs tangled, your body burning under his, your heart thudding like a war drum in your chest, thereβs no more pretending.
youβre his. heβs yours. and itβs written all over his face.
choso looks at you like youβre the only thing heβs ever wanted, like heβs starved for you, but still savoring the moment. his eyes are dark, heavy-lidded, but soft. reverent. he cups your cheek with a hand thatβs just slightly trembling, brushing his thumb along your skin like he canβt believe youβre real.
he kisses your forehead, slow and grounding, like a promise. then your nose. then your lips, and that one lingers. warm, aching, deep enough that it steals the air from your lungs. itβs not just desire. itβs everything heβs never said until now.
βplease let me see you, ma." he whispers, voice hoarse, like heβs been holding back forever.
you nod, lips parted, eyes locked with his. your breath stutters as his fingers ghost over the hem of your shirt, lifting it inch by inch like heβs unwrapping something precious. he tosses it aside, only to pull you in again. his palms spread wide across your ribs, thumbs brushing just beneath your chest.
βfuck,β he breathes, low and to himself. βso fucking beautiful.β
he leans in, mouth dragging hot and open along your neck, kissing and breathing you in, his lips trembling against your pulse like heβs drunk off you. he murmurs something there, a soft, almost desperate, βmine,β before he undoes your bra with one practiced flick.
and when it falls away, he doesnβt touch you right away. he just stares, like the sight of you has knocked the wind out of him.
his hands come up slow, palms warm as they cup you like heβs afraid to break something delicate. βbeen dreaming about this,β he says. βabout you. here. like this. in my bed. lookinβ up at me like you already know iβd give you everything.β
you shiver under the weight of it all, his voice, his gaze, his touch. and then his mouth is on your chest, lips sealing around your nipple, tongue flicking before he sucks β slow, deep, just enough to make you arch into him with a needy whimper.
βchosoβ¦β
he groans, hand sliding lower, fingers hooking into the waistband of your shorts. he pulls them down with your panties in one motion, dragging his palms down your thighs on the way. and when he sits back, just to take you in, bare, breathless, flushed, his eyes go wide, like heβs trying to commit you to memory. βlook at you,β he murmurs, chest rising with each ragged breath. βyou donβt even know what you do to me, do you?β
you reach for him, tugging his shirt up and over his head, palms skating down the strong lines of his chest, stopping only when your fingers find his arm. your breath catches.
your eyes. inked in black and red over his skin, etched like a confession. you won't ever get sick of seeing it.
he watches you take it in, sees the exact moment you understand, and he doesnβt say anything. not at first. he just leans in, takes your hand in his, and presses it over his heart.
βsee?β he whispers. βbeen yours. always.β
your eyes brim, chest tight with something that has no name. and then he kisses you again, slow and deep, tongue stroking yours, hand sliding between your thighs. he groans into your mouth when he feels you, warm, wet, already trembling.
βso wet for me,β he mutters, lips brushing yours. βall this for me, huh?β
his fingers dip into you, one at first, then two, slow and deep, curling just right. your back arches, mouth falling open with a gasp as he starts to move them, watching every twitch and shiver you give him like heβs memorizing the way you come apart. βfuck, baby,β he breathes. βyou feel so good, been wantinβ this for so long. just wanted to take care of you. make you feel good.β
his lips trail back down, mouth closing around your nipple again as his fingers keep working you open, the room echoing with your broken gasps and soft moans. he kisses your sternum, your ribs, every inch of you he can reach like heβs trying to make up for every second he didnβt have you.
and when your legs start to tremble, when your thighs squeeze around his hand and you whimper his name into the crook of his neck, he groans, low and sexy, and pulls back just enough to strip the last of his clothes.
his cock is flushed, hard, already leaking, and still, he pauses.
he leans in, pressing his forehead to yours, breathing hard. βyou sure you wanna do this hun?β
βi want you,β you whisper, voice cracking. βi want all of you.β
and when he slides in, slow, deliberate, itβs overwhelming. your nails dig into his shoulders, mouth open in a silent gasp, and he just groans, long and low, burying his face in your neck.
βfuck, babyβ¦ you feel so fuckinβ good, made for me, huh?β
his hips rock into you, slow and deep, dragging along every sensitive inch inside you until youβre trembling again, mouth parted in helpless moans. he kisses you through it, messy and uncoordinated, full of teeth and tongue and need.
he doesnβt hold back anymore. not his body, not his voice. heβs everywhere, his hands, his mouth, his words, and every thrust is rougher, deeper, hotter than the last.
βbeen yours since the day i met you,β he breathes against your skin. βyouβre mine, baby. mine. no one else gets to have you like this. no one else even fuckinβ compares.β
you believe him. how could you not, when heβs saying it like heβs been waiting years to let it out?
you fall apart first, clenching around him with a strangled moan, whole body trembling as your orgasm crashes through you, and choso follows, grinding into you with a low growl, holding you close as he spills into you.
he doesnβt let go. not even after. he stays buried deep, forehead to yours, one hand cradling your jaw like itβs fragile.
βnot lettinβ you go,β he whispers. βnot now. not ever.β
~
the partyβs already in full swing when you two walk in. the bass thrums under your feet, bodies packed tight in the kappa house. familiar faces flash by in strobes of color and sound, solo cups raised, someone laughing too loud, gojo shouting across the room with a bottle in each hand.
and then you and choso step into the chaos like itβs nothing. except tonight, itβs not nothing. itβs everything. your hand is in his. his thumb strokes over your knuckles like itβs second nature, and youβre tucked into his side like youβve always belonged there. heβs wearing that hoodie you love, and youβve got it slung off your shoulder like itβs yours now. he hasnβt let go of you since you walked through the door, and he doesnβt plan to. people notice.
gojo sees first. his mouth falls open around the mouth of a beer can, and he drops it on the counter with a dramatic gasp. βoh my god.β choso raises an eyebrow, smirking. βno fuckin way,β sukuna mutters, eyes narrowing. βthis for real?β you donβt say anything. just smile, nuzzling into chosoβs chest. and choso, god, he melts. his arm tightens around you like instinct, like heβs not even thinking about it. βyouβre kidding,β maki blurts from across the room. sheβs half-drunk and squinting, pointing her beer bottle at you two like sheβs trying to make sense of a mirage. βyou finally fucked?β
βmaki,β shoko hisses, slapping her arm, but sheβs already grinning. βi knew it. i knew it.β suguru lifts his drink with a slow, knowing smile. βtook you long enough.β gojo, meanwhile, is spinning in a circle like he just witnessed a miracle. βwait wait wait,β he says, pointing between the two of you. βyouβre telling me this entire time, weβve been watching you two eye-fuck each other across every frat house on campus, and now youβre just casually showing up like this?β
βwhat can i say,β choso murmurs, pulling you even closer, βi figured it was time.β βlook at his hand placement,β shoko says, leaning into maki. βthatβs not friends. thatβs boyfriend hand placement.β
βyeah and look at her,β maki laughs. βshe looks like she just got dicked down and praised like a goddess.β you duck your head a little, embarrassed, but choso leans in and kisses your cheek, then your temple. itβs so soft, so easy, and when he pulls back, he looks straight at toji whoβs staring wide eyed, steady, calm, but with a flicker of challenge in his eyes.
βdonβt look at her like that,β he says, voice low. βnot tonight. not ever.β toji scoffs, raising his hands in mock surrender, but his grin is sharp. βdamn. someoneβs possessive now.β
βbeen possessive,β choso mutters, like itβs not even up for debate. he turns his attention back to you instantly, brushing your hair behind your ear.
βyou okay?β you nod. βiβm perfect.β and then he kisses you. not a peck. not for show. itβs slow, unhurried, with his hand cupping your jaw and his lips moving with the kind of tenderness that makes your knees weak. the room could be burning down and he wouldnβt stop. you donβt even hear gojoβs dramatic screech until you break apart.
βyo this is crazy,β he says, spinning around and yelling to no one in particular. βchoso is off the market. choso kamo, resident stoner-lover of no one but his weed and his hoodie collection, is now cuffed.β
βwhatβs it feel like,β suguru asks with a smirk, raising an eyebrow at choso, βto be someoneβs boyfriend?β
βfeels like i shoulda done it years ago,β choso says. you blink up at him, heart catching in your throat. βyo,β yuuji calls from the other side of the room. βdoes this mean weβre finally allowed to say you two have been in love since freshman year?β βi always said it,β nobara yells, shoving through the crowd with a drink. βdonβt act like yβall didnβt see them cuddled up at every party like an old married couple.β
βwait does this mean sheβs moving into his room?β gojo asks, visibly spiraling. βwhatβs gonna happen to the guest bed? whoβs gonna roll for me when chosoβs too busy being in love?β
βdie mad,β choso says flatly, and everyone laughs. but even through all the noise and teasing and attention, his focus never strays from you. his hand stays on your waist. his eyes keep dropping to your mouth like heβs remembering exactly what it feels like.
βyou good?β he murmurs again, like he just wants to hear you say it.
you press your nose to his chest and nod, smiling. βmore than good.β
he kisses you again, slower this time, like itβs just for you. like no one else is in the room. like heβs exactly where heβs always wanted to be.
Sukunaβs car has always been untouchableβimmaculate, brutal, fast. The kind of machine that mirrors him: sharp edges, no softness, no room for anyone else.
Until you.
Now thereβs lip gloss in the cupholder and a scrunchie looped around his gear shift like some kind of silk flag staked in his territory. You started leaving little things behind, quietly, like you were planting evidence. Gum wrappers, a clip from your hair, even your iced coffee straw one dayβleft right in the side door pocket.
You expected him to toss it all back at you. Maybe with a grunt. Maybe with an eye roll and a muttered βkeep your shit out of my car.β
But he didnβt.
He kept them there. Because you and Sukunaβ¦ you werenβt dating. No one had asked. There was no talk, no label. Just a long night that turned into a few more, then a pattern.
You, on the other hand, are more strategic. Conniving, even.
You donβt ask to be his girl. You donβt cling. You just leave marks. Subtle things. Things a hookup wouldnβt ever have time to leave behind. So that maybeβjust maybeβif someone else ever got in the passenger seat, theyβd know instantly: theyβre not the first, and theyβre definitely not the only one who rides here.
But no one elseΒ has. Sukuna hasnβt touched another girl since the first night he had you spread out across his sheetsβback arched, lips parted, absolutely wrecked from round four. You were limp and glowing in the aftermath, falling asleep on his chest like you belonged there. And maybe you did.
He hadnβt cared to look at anyone else since.
That car used to be built for speed, for control, for the kind of thrill that made his blood rush. It was never about comfort.
The backseat holds the imprint of your body, the curve of your hips pressed into the leather, a reminder of all the times heβs fucked you in his carβyour legs spread wide as he drove you to the edge with each brutal, deep thrust.
Even the front, where your hand wraps around his arm as his fingers make you come undone, hitting a spot that drives you wild in ways only he knows, still carries the unmistakable mark that this seatβthis carβbelongs to someone else.
So when Sukuna rolls into the garage late one nightβhair still damp from a shower, muscles loose from hours tangled up inside you, still half hard just remembering how you moaned his nameβhis fellow mechanics clock it instantly.
βYo,β Mahito says, glancing up from under the hood of a stripped RX-7. βYou have a girlfriend or somethinβ? Your car smells like vanilla.β
Sukuna just grunts, shoving his keys in his pocket.
He leans against the hood, chewing on the inside of his cheek like heβsΒ notΒ thinking about you sleeping in his bed right now, curled up under his sheets in that oversized tee you always steal from him.
They take his silence as confirmation.
βYou hear that, Suguru?β Mahito continues to instigate, smirking. βSukunaβs got gloss on the gearshift.β
Suguru raises a brow from where heβs cataloging parts. βDamn. Didnβt thinkΒ anyoneΒ could turn Sukuna into a personal Uber.β
That earns a laugh from the group. Sukuna doesnβt say anything, just lazily flicks his middle finger their way. But he doesn't deny it either.
βNo wonder you leave work early so often,β another mechanic mutters, elbowing Uraume. βHe used to hang around, talk engines, grab beers.β
They shrug. βGuess heβs got better company these days.β
Sukuna barely hears his coworkers gossip over the echo of your moans still ringing in his head. Because theyβre not wrongβheΒ hasΒ been slipping out early, ditching post-race drinks just to pick you up from work. Just to get you back in his car, where your legs fold up sweet and tight in the passenger seat and your hand always finds his without a word.
Itβs routine nowβhis hand on your thigh the second the engine starts. He doesnβt even think about it. JustΒ needsΒ it. Needs the feel of you under his fingers, to squeeze the thighs heβs bruised a dozen times with his mouth.
And when you finally fall asleep, innocent and warm, lips parted just slightly?
He drives slower than he ever has in his life. Because the longer he keeps you next to him like this, the longer he gets to pretend youβre already his girl.
And he knowsβhe knowsβyouβre testing him with the things you leave behind. Waiting to see if heβll clean them out. Waiting to see if heβll hand you your lip gloss and tell you to stop marking your territory.
But he wonβt.
Not when the vanilla scent lingers in the air. Not when the other mechanics glance at the cupholder and trade knowing looks because evenΒ theyΒ can see itβ
sukuna as your personal makeup pouch | f. reader, s/h prns., crack 'n fluff, estb. rl Ψ ΰ¬
you know how men just⦠have the most random shit on them? well, sukuna takes that to god-tier levels.
you swear heβs not carrying a bag. like, you check. nothing on his back, nothing strapped across his chest, not even a fanny pack. and yetβsomehowβthis man has a backup of every single makeup product you own. not a dupe. not a knockoff. the exact shade, the exact brand, down to the limited edition gloss you sobbed over last winter when it went out of stock.
lip liner ran out mid-touch-up? heβs already sliding it into your hand without even looking.
need a quick gloss before you start filming a story? he uncaps it with his teeth like heβs lighting a cigarette and hands it over with a grunt.
foundation looking a little too cakey? he pulls out a beauty blender like itβs a combat tool and starts dabbing your face himself.
and you test it, right? like, you say things just to mess with him.
βugh, wish i had a mirror right now.β
boom. compact mirror. circular. pink. fingerprint-free. where did it come from? why does it have your initials engraved? you donβt know. you donβt ask.
he shrugs. βpreparation is key.β
says it like heβs a war general and youβre about to face a battlefield of LED ring lights and poor camera angles.
but of courseβof courseβthe man who carries seventeen glosses in his pockets and a goddamn setting spray in his back bootβ¦
does not have the hotel room key.
youβre standing outside the door, tired, tipsy, glitter flaking off your collarbone, and heβs patting his jeans down like a cop looking for contraband.
βdonβt worry,β he mutters, shifting his weight. βi got this.β
he pulls out:
a nude lipstick.
three single lashes.
your spare lash glue.
a contour stick.
his vape.
another contour stick.
your eyelash curler??
a mini ring light??!
a random ass banana.
but no key.
youβre staring. blank. defeated. heβs squinting at the banana like how did that get there?
ββ¦you have everything except the one thing we need.β
βitβs not my fault your clutch is microscopic,β he defends, looking personally offended by the laws of spatial physics. you sigh, sliding down to sit in the hallway carpet. βso what now?β
he eyes the lock. β...i could pick it.β
βwith what, my contour stick?β
a beat.
ββ¦donβt tempt me.β
you both sleep in the hotel lobby's sofa that night, curled up under his leather jacket, faces still beat to the gods. priorities.
Β
You were probably his first real listener. First fan, even.
His account had no followers. No clout. No tags. He wasnβt even looking for one. He just posted banger songsβheavy and haunting.
You were high out of your mind one night, scrolling through underground tracks, trying to find something that hadnβt been overplayed into dust.
Then you hit the bottom.
Clicked on his album.
And it changed everything. The voice was deep, like smoke and rage.
The beat was grimy and sharp. It wasnβt just rap. Or rock. Or alt.
It was all of it. And none of it. It sounded like a demon crying through broken speakers.
You thought for sure heβd be famous. But he wasnβt. So you DMed him. Didnβt even think heβd see it.But that same night, he replied. You talked for hours. He asked for your number. You FaceTimed until the sky turned grey.
The next day, he invited you to his spot.
To listen. To smoke. To just... be.
Honestly it could have ended badly and it would have been the worst decision you ever made. But the vibeβthe intensityβ
You didnβt have to speak. Just your eyes did all the talking.
It wasnβt lust. Not really. It was that aching, desperate something that clutches your ribs and wonβt let go. You didnβt know if he felt the same, so you played it casual.
Casual as inβ¦
Basically living together.
Unspoken everything.
No sex. No labels. Just you and him.
Heβd send you unreleased tracks. Half-finished verses. You started running his page, organizing stuff, posting updates. You werenβt official. But you kind of became his manager.
His shadow. His safe place.
His favorite ear.
He never said thank you. Not in words, anyway. But every song had pieces of you in it. A line that sounded like something you once whispered. A beat that matched the rhythm of your laugh. A song titled with your birthday, but flipped backward so no one else would know.
And then it happened.
One day, everything changed.
Some random TikTok kid found one of the old tracks and used it for an edit. A week laterβmillions. Plays, likes, followers.
He hated it.
You watched him pace around the apartment, wild-eyed, muttering,
βThey donβt even get it.β
βTheyβre just biting now.β
βWhere were they before?β
But you were still there. Sitting on his kitchen counter. Hoodie that wasnβt yours. Eyes tired but soft.
You handled it. Emails. DMs. Interview requests. Labels circling like vultures. You told him which ones to ignore. Which ones to play with.
He let you do it. Trusted you. Only you.
He didnβt post selfies. Didnβt talk in interviews. He just kept making music. And every time, you were the first to hear it. Headphones passed between you. Knees touching. Eyes closed.
One night, he paused a track halfway through. You looked up at him.
He didnβt say anything for a while.
Then βYou think Iβd be doing any of this if it werenβt for you?β
You didnβt know what to say. So you didnβt. You just reached for the play button.But he stopped you. Caught your hand in his. Held it for a second too long. Then another.
Your chest felt like it would crack open.
Still, nothing happened.
Still, it was... casual.
A year into the fame, you were all the way in. No more crashing at his placeβyou lived there. The two of you had upgraded to a bigger apartment, one that felt more like a bunker than a home.
Dark walls. Concrete floors. Unfinished ceiling that looked like it belonged in a warehouse.
But it was warm. It smelled like weed and sage and your shampoo.
Music always humming from a speaker somewhere. Sometimes his guitar was just lying on the couch. Sometimes your books were.
You shared space like you shared silenceβeasily.
You were still juggling school, barely hanging on some days,
but you made time to manage his account, answer emails, line up deals. He made music and money. A lot of both. Labels wanted him. Brands begged. Venues called. You handled most of it.
He hated everyone except you.
And the relationship is still undefined. Still everything.
Heβd hold your hand in public. Pull you close when crossing the street. His arm would always be around your shoulders like it belonged there. To anyone watching, you were together.
Like⦠together together. And maybe you were, just not officially.
No titles. No pressure.
He kept his mystery locked up tight. Still no face. No selfies. No stories. That was about to change though. His first concert was coming, a real one. Not an underground event or livestream, but a sold-out, packed venue with screaming fans.
You asked him, quietly one night, βAre you nervous?β
He just looked at you, exhaled smoke, and said, βNot about them. Just about you seeing me like that.β
You didnβt ask what he meant. Didnβt need to. Just reached over, took his hand, and held it like you always didβlike it was normal.
Like he was yours.
---
The city was buzzing like a live wire. You could feel it in your teeth.
The venue was packed, lines curling around the block. People had signs. Painted their faces. Screamed lyrics. It was insane.
You watched from backstage, heart beating a little too fast,
wearing his leather jacket and tight short black dress.
He was pacing a little, fingers twitching, jaw tight. But he looked good. Too good. Tall, jacked, inked upβ black tank clinging to him, tattoos peeking from his neck to his fingers. Hair messy like always, like he rolled out of bed and still looked like a god.
No mask tonight. No hood.
This time, theyβd see him.
You caught his eye just before he walked out. Just looked at you like you were the only thing grounding him. You nodded once. That was enough.
Then he stepped out.
And the place. Exploded.
Screams.
Like actual shrieking.
Phones shot up so fast the light almost blinded you.
Someone in the front fainted.
A girl sobbed.
The crowd was feral.
He didnβt flinch.
Just walked to the mic like he owned the world.
When he finally spokeβ
βYeah. Itβs me.β
βpeople LOST it.
A whole different war broke out online .
βWHY IS HE HOT??β
βI THOUGHT HE WAS UGLY???β
βHE LOOKS LIKE HE KILLS PEOPLE AND WRITES POETRY ABOUT IT.β
βSomeone said he was facelessβwhy is he the face of my future now???β
His name trended within an hour. Clips went viral before the second song ended. People were pausing videos just to zoom in on his hands, his tattoos, his jawline. New fan accounts popped up in real-time.
But he only looked at you.
Once.
Halfway through the set, spotlight behind him, crowd screaming his name, he glanced toward the side of the stage. Found you. Smirked like the devil. Then tore into the next song like his soul was catching fire.
When it was over, and the venue started to empty out, he came offstage drenched in sweat, hair sticking to his forehead, chest rising and falling. Still high off the energy, off the chaos. You handed him water. He took it, but didnβt drink. Just stared at you.
βThey love me now,β he muttered.
Then, quieter, βBut I still only care what you think.β
Your throat closed up.
You didnβt answer, didnβt need to.
He tossed the bottle. Stepped closer. Close enough to feel the heat rolling off him. His hand found your face like heβd been meaning to do it for years. Fingers on your cheek, thumb brushing your lip. His forehead rested against yours, and he whispered, βSay something. Anything.β
You looked up at him, breath caught.
βYouβre mine,β you said.
And this time, he kissed you.
---
The concert was over, but the night wasnβt.
You two didnβt even go back home. He tugged you into the car, adrenaline still buzzing in his veins, saying nothing but βLetβs go out.β You didnβt ask where.
The club was already dark and pulsing by the time you got there. Lights flickering red, music loud enough to feel in your ribs. People turned when you walked in, like they knew. He hadnβt even been unmasked for four hours, but already, the city recognized him.
He didnβt care. Just grab your hand and pull you to the middle of the floor. Bodies everywhere, sweat, bass, smoke. And still, it felt like it was just you two.
He was behind you, hands on your waist. Not even grinding, not all sexualβjust close. Like he wanted to keep you tethered to the ground. His face buried in your neck every now and then, lips ghosting skin. You leaned into it. Eyes closed. Smiling.
Someone recorded it.
Of course they did.
Posted it within minutes.
On Twitter (or X whatever that cursed app is):
@.cryboutitgrl:
this man just revealed his face and already pulled up to the club with the baddest girl iβve ever seen????
@.undergroundangel666:
bro was faceless yesterday now heβs 6'4 tatted and got a mysterious girlfriend. iβm sick. π
@.smokysylvia:
wait wait wait. is she the one from the side stage?? the one he kept looking at????
@.hotguyshateus:
yeah i zoomed in. itβs her. same leather jacket. same girl. heβs in love iβm sorry.
The internet was spiraling. Fan edits were already in motion.
Clips of him touching your face, that blurry club video, someone even managed to catch a shot of the two of you leaving the venueβ
his arm around your shoulders, your head tucked into his chest.
You checked his account the next morning. A million new followers. Inbox was flooded. Everyone wanted to know: Who was she? Who was the girl?
And all he did was post a blurry photo of the two of you sitting on the floor that night, you leaning against him, laughing into your cup,
and him looking at you like you were the only thing heβd ever believe in.
Caption: βShe been here since zero followers. Donβt ask again.β
--------
bonus::: the first text and meet up...
It was around 2:37 AM when you messaged him.
βidk why no one knows abt you yet. this is actually insane.β
You didnβt expect a reply. Didnβt even think heβd see it.
But twenty minutes laterβ
βyo.β
One dot. No emojis.
You blinked at the screen.
βthat was you?β
βthe message?β
βyeah. thanks.β
Simple. Dry. But then he asked:
βwanna hear some unreleased?β
Your breath caught.
βyeah.β
He sent a file. No title. Just noise at first. Then the beat droppedβ low, almost crawling. His voiceβ raspy, like smoke and teeth. You could barely breathe.
Before you could even process, your phone lit up again.
βwhatβs your numberβ
Not a question. Not begging.
You gave it.
Thirty seconds later: FaceTime.
Your heart slammed. You almost didnβt pick up. But your thumb moved on its own.
Click.
It was dark.
No light but the red glow of a monitor on his side. Backlit tattoos.
Shadows across his jawline. Hair messy. Shirtless. Sitting back in a desk chair like he owned time.
You didnβt speak.
He didnβt either.
He looked at you. Eyes flickering across your face through the screen like he was studying something rare.
A small smirk tugged at his lips.
βdamn.β
One word. But it cracked something open.
You laughed, too soft. Told him he looked like a villain.
βgood.β
Then:
βyou real?β
You didnβt answer. Just tilted your head. Let him stare.
And then, just like thatβ you both started talking. Not loud. Not excited. Just low. Whispers like secrets in a church.
He showed you the corner of his room. Posters. Wires. A mic stand leaning. Unfinished lyrics on the wall in sharpie.
βi stay up all night,β he said.
βno one to talk to.β
βyou do now,β you whispered.
His lips twitched. He leaned forward like he was trying to see more of you through the screen.
βcan i call you again?β
You bit your lip.
βiβm not hanging up.β
And you didnβt. Not until the sun started bleeding through your windows. Not until your eyelids got too heavy. He didnβt say goodbye. Just watched you drift off to sleep. And whispered, so quiet you almost didnβt catch it:
βdonβt leave.β
You woke up with your phone in your hand, battery barely alive.
Your screen still had his name on it. Still connected. He never hung up.
You sat up slow, blinking through sleep. Heart pounding when you remember everything. The music. The call. His voice. The way he watched you fall asleep like he meant to remember it forever.
And thenβyour phone buzzed.
him:
βu still down to pull up?β
No address.
No time.
Just that.
And stillβ¦
you replied:
βdrop the pin.β
You didnβt tell anyone. Didnβt even think it through. He couldβve been a killer. Couldβve chopped you up, turned you into a beat.
But your chest was quiet.
Calm.
It was cold when you stepped out. Your hoodie swallowed your frame.
Headphones in, but no music playingβ just replaying his voice in your head like a loop. When you reached his spot, it looked like nothing. Gray building. No buzzers. Just a metal door and the pin.
You texted him once.
No reply.
Then the door creaked open. And there he was. Tall. Sleeves rolled up. Tattoos crawling up his arms. Hood half on. Eyes heavy like he hadnβt slept.
He looked at you for two full seconds before stepping back.
βcome in.β
You did.
It was dark. Not scary darkβjust dim. Curtains closed. Cigarette smoke faint in the air. There was a speaker set up on the floor and wires running like veins all over the place. A mic stand crooked in the corner. A mattress on the ground, black sheets. And his scentβsomething between weed, laundry, and the ghost of cologne.
You stood there like you were in a museum.
He didnβt touch you. Just nodded toward the couch.
βu want tea? or... water? i got like 4 capri suns too.β
You laughed. He smiled for real that time.
You stayed for hours.
Then one day.
Then two.
The playlist never stopped. He let you read his notebooks. You found one where your name was scribbled on the top corner of a page.
He didnβt explain.
At night, he didnβt try anything. Just let you lay next to him, in his clothes, backs turned but feet tangled.
You remember the first time he turned to you in the dark and whispered: βi donβt like being alone anymore.β
Sukuna told you he would be getting a new tattoo. Nothing out of the ordinary, I mean, the man was already drenched in ink. Tribal lines and other stuff that made him look all the more masculine.
And then, when you arrive home after a not-so-great day at work. You see it, and your eyes widen, and you gasp in horror.
"Youβ! You did not!" Your hands come to cover your mouth, in pure shock. And he cocks a brow, still applying some soothing ointment over his skin.
"Did not what?" He asks, spreading his legs further on the couch, as if inviting you to come sit over his lap.
"That'sβ That's my fucking name, Sukuna!" You come closer, before you touch it you quickly run to the bathroom and wash your hands, then come back. How amusing, you remind him of a little mouse at times. All cute and skittish. Finally, you run your hands over the expanse of skin, where your name and his last name is written in bold italics. All over his left clavicle. "Why did you do this?" You ask in a whimper, lower lip trembling. And he only looks around in utter confussion.
"So everyone knows I'm yours?" He says, it sounds like a question but you know it's a statement, a fact.
"You're not a dog!"
"But I can be. For you."
"That's besides the point!" You say, already flustered. Finally, sitting over his lap, hiding your face in the crook of his neck, shaking.
"I don't get why you're so upset," He sighs, rubbing a hand all over your back. "It's not like I got... I don't knowβ Another name tattooed." He grumbles, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.
"Because it's... I don't know," You sigh. "Now I feel obligated to get yours."
"Oho?" He smirks, cupping your face between his two enormous hands. "Trust me. It would be my pleasure to have you branded as mine."
you spend $439 on a limited edition, signed sae jersey only to find rinβs number scribbled on the back of it
during this smau a cat got into the house but anyway idk how i feel ab this i had more but exceeded the max number of pics so had to remove some stuff but i hope u enjoy !!!
omg guys im so sorry for the lack of updates on wimf π« π« im moving to another state in 5 days and its my bfβs sisterβs wedding in 3 days, BUT I ASSURE U AN UPDATE WILL COME WHEN IM ALL SETTLED IN
I drew this for @asaedw's upcoming pink lock series (since I was lucky enough to have stumbled upon the post early enough to secure my oc a spotπΌπΌ).
This is the team my oc, Ruka is in. The other ocs in the drawing were made by @feliwnni, @alexiaray, and @kacchans-waifu respectively ^^.
If anyone wants to have their ocs drawn too hmu ππ
YAP SESSION BELOW!!
ACHDKAJD I had so much fun with this character spread/sheet/illustration whatever you call it. And now I wanna yap about some of my thoughts while making the drawing π₯³π₯³
First is RUKA. My pride and joy. The 09 jersey on team W. This absolute mess of a person was the easiest for me to draw surprisingly. She has the most complicated outfit since I TRIED to make it gothic lolita. I think I did a decent job at it. It's not completely gothic lolita but let's face it, I was not gonna draw all that detail. I didn't get the silhouette correct but we're going off of vibes π. Also, fun fact I made her asexual because the flag matched her vibe and the more I thought about it, the more it made sense for her so yeah lol. DON'T ask how she plays soccer with long ass hair.
Next up is CELINE. The 05 jersey on team W. Her outfit was the easiest for me to draw. That's not to say I didn't have trouble drawing her at all. My art style dissipated for a while when I was sketching her but it worked out lol. Based on her moodboard, I immediately got barbie vibes. And then I looked back at Ruka and realized she is SO monster high. Anyway, I picked up smart girl vibes from Celine so I tried to make her outfit reminiscent of the dark academia style. But more pink. But omg DONT LOOK AT THEIR SHOESππ. I was getting sick of rendering.
Next is NARITO. The 02 jersey on team W. Listen...I know she's supposed to be androgynous. And believe me I asked people whether or not she looked androgynous enough to be mistaken for a man (they told me she just looks like a masc lesbian), but I can't get her features down quite right. To be honest, I didn't follow the clothing style 100% just so I could make her look more androgynous. I kept the main pieces on the photo I used as a reference but with a twist. Also I did NOT realize the gap between 5'3-5'4 and 5'11 was that much omg...
Lastly we have MINMEI. The 01 jersey on team W. I love drawing muscular women and I was originally gonna go the more masculine route, but the picrew I saw of her didn't give me that impression. In my head, she gives off 80s-90s Korean makeup vibes. Yk those red lipsticks and voluminous short hair. Please tell me yk what I'm talking abt.... If I find the name for the aesthetic I'm talking about I'll edit the post. And so I went ahead and made her a bit more cunty π€. Since I didnβt want Narito and her to have basically the same vibe, I drew her with the intention of her being more feminine but just so happens to be muscular. ALSO, I was struggling to kind of yassify her outfit. I wanted her to wear something sleeveless to show off her biceps but JUST a turtleneck was a but boring so I added a sweater vest on top.
Sorry chat I got lazy and rushed the last of the rendering. Rukaβs clothing is far from finished but itβs fine since sheβs my own oc lol.
Less than a month later, a wedding dress worth the price of a piece of the moon hugs your body. After exhausting preparations, and fortunately paid for by Sae, today is the day you will become Mrs. Itoshi and Tanzeku's tranquility based plan will begin. Now that it's finally happening, now that Sae is waiting for you at the altar less than twenty meters from your dressing room, you're finally starting to understand what you've decided to be for the rest of your life, or almost
The days following the publication of the post were so full that giving birth is probably less exhausting: the media completely exploded at the news of the infamous girlfriend of the ReAl midfielder, a girlfriend that he apparently kept hidden for years. A relationship in which there was also a child in the middle, another thing that had shocked the entire football world and beyond. Soon your name was discovered by some journalist and Sae found himself in some interviews with you at his side, you who had never posed in front of a camera except for family videos, those that are made during Christmas or important dinners. The interviews obviously all asked about your relationship, and so you made up a story: you had met four years earlier when they had got your last name wrong at the beach, making you book the same umbrella for the same day. You were both sixteen and from that moment you started dating for about three months, before becoming an official couple, at least for both. Almost a year ago Tanzeku was born and Sae had obviously kept everything a secret so that the journalists wouldn't follow you, but now that you were about to get married he had no reason to hide you anymore. The story was obviously fake, based on Tiffany's advice, but the audience liked it and you did too, at least until they found out it was totally fake. You also knew that Sae had a younger brother, another famous soccer player now signed by PxG: Rin Itoshi. Honestly the thing that worried you the most was how he handled this with him, but he said that they just didn't talk much and that Rin certainly wouldn't interfere. Also, he was Sae's best man at the wedding
You sigh, leaving the dressing room and heading to the altar, where you notice Sae. He's doing a good job of playing the part of a loving soon husband, because you can see a bit of nervousness even under his usual neutral facade. You smile nervously as the music starts playing, and you start walking towards the altar. The closer you get, the more you realize how serious the situation is, how much you are throwing your life away. But you are happy, even if it means sacrificing yourself. The audience of people invited are all people from the world of soccer, from players to coaches, people you have always seen only on television. Your own almost husband you have actually always seen only on television, and yet now you are about to become his wife. The world is really strange
When you get to the altar, Sae takes off your veil. He kisses your forehead, and you realize how excited you must look. You force an excited smile, and the audience seems to be happy when they see you smile. You look Sae in the eyes, and he leans in a little "Youβre pretty" he says, and you donβt know if heβs saying it because he means it or just because heβs acting. You nod, not really knowing how to respond, and Sae seems to understand your discomfort. The ceremony begins and for the rest of the time you can't help but repeat in your head how happy and excited you have to look, because even just one real emotion from you today could ruin the plan that should continue for the rest of your life. You almost don't understand when the officer asks you if you want to take Sae as your husband "Oh, yes" you say, trying to sound excited but not distracted. A few seconds later, the words that scare you the most "Sae, you can kiss the bride"
At that moment you come back fully conscious, hearing the screams of the audience and their applause. You look at Sae who is a little awkward like you, but you see him take a quick breath before taking you by the hips and kissing you without second thoughts. You remain still for less than a second, but then you wrap your arms around his neck, letting him kiss you and seeming genuinely in love, as hard as it is for you to pretend with him who is surprisingly a great kisser. The kiss lasts a few seconds longer than necessary, with his lips increasingly pressed against yours and his fingers against your hips, while you try to stay lucid. When you part, the first thought that comes to your mind is how Tanzeku's real mother could not want a man who kisses you so passionately. You look at each other, and a small, unspoken smile appears on your lips, while the audience goes completely wild. Sae raises his hands to your shoulder blades, but presses you against him, leaning in close to your ear "Convincing?β he whispers, and you nod as you wave to the people here "Definitely. Maybe too much" you say moving your gaze, avoiding direct contact
"You know it's official now, right?" he asks, starting to wave to the crowd too. His words don't sound mean from someone who doesn't know the truth behind this marriage, they sound like a joking confirmation, a way to make the situation sweeter, but you who know the truth, understand what he means seriously "I know, and I'm still convinced of my yes"
"Good" he says, letting his hand rest on the small of your back, sending a few shivers down your spine "Because now itβs all officially begun. Welcome, Mrs. Itoshi" he says, and your gaze falls on Tanzeku, sitting in his seat in the front row next to the person who is now your mother in law, Sae's mother
You don't know if it's the beginning of heaven or hell, this marriage with the ReAl best midfielder, with Sae Itoshi
