SUGUBBY🖤

26 years young. Virgo. 💅☕️🌌📚

[spideyyeet]

NOT SO SECRET ADMIRER — T.F.

[ SUM ] — college soccer coach toji has a secret admirer. but how secret is it when most of the highlights in the school paper are photos of him, instead of the players scoring goals?

[ TAGS ] — MDNI 18+ ONLY. nsfw. piv. raw. unprotected. age gap (mid 30s x early 20s). slight exhibitionism. HEAVY CREAMPIE. FAT BULGE. spanking. CUNNILINGUS. oral f!recieving. dacryphilia. reader kinda freaky. thick dark sexy HAPPY TRAIL. nudity. SHOWER SEX. SCENT KINK. pet names. spitting. wc: 19.1k

[ A/N ] — inspired by coach!toji from my fratkuna series. I was gooning too much whenever I’d mention him soooo

photo-journalism can mean many things. at its core though is documentation and being present. it’s about recording what happens so it doesn’t vanish into the noise of the world. and that’s what you’ve been doing since you started uni.

working for the school newspaper means covering everything that matters to the university. big events, games, and when you attend a school with a division 1 soccer team, that’s ranked the top of the country, it means your weekends are spent on the sidelines of the pitch. floodlights humming overhead, cleats tearing into the turf, and the air sharp with anticipation.

everyone’s eyes are on the match, on the players, the scoreline, and the inevitable victory. everyone’s, except yours.

your lens has a habit of drifting. and it always finds him on the sidelines, the head coach.

standing just outside the white chalk lines. shaggy raven hair that never looks styled, stubble he clearly forgot—or chose not—to shave that morning. his infamous scar pulling at his lips as he shouts. he wears the same black team jacket unzipped, sleeves rolled up his thick forearms. when he folds his arms or gestures sharply toward the field, you always catch his muscles shifting beneath the fabric, veins flexing making it so impossible to ignore.

it’s just a photographer’s eye for striking subjects. for sure….

he beautifully contrasts against the chaos of the game…even if he’s shouting, or breaking his clipboard…. still, you capture him mid-shout, mid-thought, jaw clenched as he’s holding the entire team together.

and then later, when the photos run, and his photos dominate the highlights more than the actual goal, well, you pretend not to notice how often your name sits beneath them in a small, neat printed font.

he doesn’t know you. you’re just another person with a camera on the sidelines. you’re just another face in a sea of professional press badges, not just one of the universities many photographers. but you know him. you know the way his brows pinch when one of his players gets injured, the way his mouth twitches when his team scores, and the way he exhales with relief when the game ends.

and you keep clicking the shutter button—

“again?!” the head editor exclaims. “you didn’t get the goal?”

“I did!” you huff, glaring at the senior grad student who basically runs the entire school newspaper.

“not the first one, the final goal! the one scored by the universities ace! sukuna—“

“god forbid i missed a shot, I basically got everything else, plus I’m not the only one taking photos on the pitch. don’t you have other photographers?” you tsk, arms crossed.

he glares at you behind his desk, clicking through the photos you’d uploaded. “you got every single expression of the damn coach,” he mutters under his breath, clicking through one of toji shouting, then another of him spitting on the grass, then another of him scratching his jaw—

you nibble on your cheek, slouching slightly in the seat.

“you hate when we use someone else’s photos,” he adds, licking his teeth as he finally gets to your photos of the actual players. and they were spectacular. the action shots were perfect, you can see the sweat dribbling down their foreheads.

“because it’s my job,” you mutter, glancing at your editor who frowns when the photos return back to the head coach.

“unbelievable,” he mumbles, exhaling slowly as he sits back in his seat. “you’re killing me.”

your heel kicks the floor. this wasn’t a first. this happens almost every time. your lens just happens to drift away from the ball and fall on the head coach.

even with fans shouting in the stands, and the other cameras flashing in the other direction. your camera can’t help but find coach toji in the chaos. he was just as important as the team. he’s acting like toji isn’t mentioned a million times in the articles! god forbid you want him getting his flowers. but your editor wasn’t very appreciative of your sympathies.

“we’re going with these three, and taking one from the other photographers for the final goal you didn’t get,” he sighs, showing you your three photos, one of the team celebrating, another of satoru gojo sprinting across the field with the ball, and of course, the final — and in your opinion the best — of head coach toji standing with his muscular arms crossed at the start of the second half.

your editor rolls his eyes turning his screen back to him. “if you bring another folder and it’s seventy percent of this damn coach, I’ll drop you and pull noah up.”

the threat has you lowering your head and muttering a hesitate okay, because at the end of the day, you were the only photographer that worked full time for the paper, and you go to every single match. the rest are focused on other stories, or working their way to become editors.

while you liked photo-journalism more. it helped, that on weekends, you got someone to admire. and your editor was not the only one that’s noticed.

“what the hell, you’ve got to be kidding me,” geto huffs, snatching the paper from gojo as he sits on the pitch. “why am I never in these damn fucking articles??” he huffs with anger

“score more goals,” gojo sticks his tongue out, just to get kicked harshly by his friend.

“I fucking scored this game,” geto snaps, grumbling even more as he flips through the paper, seeing the team celebrating.

sukuna chugs his water behind them, “my picture sucks ass,” he grumbles, spitting the water right beside their goalie making him jerk back in annoyance. “you didn’t score, but I get the shit picture?” he snaps lowly at gojo.

geto frowns, “I scored, and at least you get a picture.”

gojo chuckles, pointing at the next photo, making the entire team roll their eyes simultaneously.

“some things never change,” one teammate, yuno, mutters. his hands are on his hips as him and the rest of the team glare at the immaculate, pristine, jaw-dropping photo captured of their strict, grumpy, nicotine addicted head coach, toji.

sukuna snarls as geto looks like he’s going to fucking tear out his luscious black hair. “fucking unbelievable.”

gojo snorts even louder, snatching the paper just to wave it from his place on the ground towards toji, who’d just gotten off the phone. “coach! you’re mogging the cameras again!”

toji’s brows pinch until he notices the photo. and it’s always the same reaction from the head coach. his eyes scan over the photo, then they fall down to the same printed name underneath. “not bad,” he casually says, handing back the newspaper like it’s nothing.

but the entire team is seething, with the exception of gojo laughing his ass off.

“I finally figured out who your secret admirer is,” gojo announces, “it’s definitely the cutie with the charm on her camera and stickers on her flashlight.”

geto raises a brow “how d’ya know that?” the rest of the team immediately huddle in.

gojo clears his throat.

“for the last few games I’ve been purposely fixing my shoes or drinking water on the sidelines where they’re all huddled up. obviously I ruled out all the old farts, then I narrowed it down to the ladies. then i crossed out the outside press, but it’s hard since I can’t see all their press badges—but then i noticed,” gojo holds up the newspaper, slapping his index finger on your name beneath the photo. the entire team have basically memorized your full name by now. “she was the only one still photographing the field, BUT it was pointed at coach,” gojo points to toji.

“AND,” gojo continues, “she had this cute little charm on her camera, and this sticker. and it’s definitely your secret admirer,” gojo confidently smiles.

however, geto scratches his jaw, glancing at gojo then the newspaper. “so which one was her instagram?”

oh right, gojo rubs his neck in disappointment.

your name under a majority of the game’s photos started catching the teams attention a couple months ago. your credentials at the bottom of the article was always signed with your first and last name. however, when the team caught on to your not-so secret admiration for their coach, and neglect of the rest of team, they tried stalking you.

yet, they couldn’t find a single social media handle. not your instagram, twitter, tiktok — even your linkedIn was just the default linkedIn pfp. and the school paper website didn’t have a photo for you. either way, the team was on a mission.

“I don’t think her socials are even under her name,” gojo admits, making the team groan.

toji, silently watching the ordeal transpire, claps his hands, breaking the gossip. “enough, continue your drills unless ya wanna stay till sunset!”

once the team finally finishes practice and began packing their gear. neither one of them notices the students enjoying the nice weather on campus, or the girl that take a detours to walk past the field.

your eyes easily fall on your perfect subject. his hand cracks his neck as he stifles a yawn, kicking the soccer ball towards one of the players as they kick it up, tucking it under their arm.

it was a routine….one that you found yourself subconsciously doing on practice days. you would follow the path down from the quad, until you reach the second soccer field on campus, mainly used for practice and training.

your bag hangs off your shoulder along with your camera — the lens was downsized to your fixed 24mm and the flash wasn’t on — that’s usually how your camera is when you aren’t at events, or games.

it isn’t uncommon to watch the schools infamous soccer team practice. especially when half of them are also part of a fraternity. hell, on the other side of the field were a few girls fawning over the sweaty players.

in other words, you don’t stand out. and you’re unbothered by the hot players that glance your way as they pack their bags. well, until a certain white haired player is squinting across the field, before muttering a quiet “no way…”

geto gives his friend a look, lifting his duffle over his shoulder as sukuna wipes his face with the hem of his jersey, “what?” he grumbles.

gojo’s bag hit the grass. he locks eyes with you. then he does the worst thing imaginable. he shouts your name.

the entire team snap their necks in your direction. gojo suddenly leads the pack of six foot whatever college men across the field — their bags drop, cleats half untied, some bare foot. but all on one mission.

you.

the color immediately drains from your face. your body freezes like a deer in headlights. and when the entire team of sweaty, built, hot men crowd the waist-high fence that separate them from you. you’re ultimately stuck.

“you’re-you’re—“ slightly out of breath and pumped full of adrenaline, gojo heaves out your name. not just a first name, no—your full government name. “right!?”

you eyes lazily drag between the men, fixing the strap of your bag, your camera clinking against the side, drawing every man’s attention to the little charm gojo had just described less than an hour ago.

“yeah,” you manage to exhale, shifting your balance. “did you need something?”

“yeah,” the low voice of the hot headed team captain interrupts. he hadn’t ran with rest of the players, instead he walked up, casual and full of loud confidence. finally making his way across the field, energy drink in hand, glaring right through you as he continues. “why the fuck was my picture the only one not taken by you? it looks like shit.”

you exhale, about to answer when another one cuts in.

“why haven’t you taken one of me? the game last month was my debut and you didn’t get me going on the pitch—“

“I liked that shot you got of me when—“

“can you get my good side next time—“

“why did you—“

“can you—“

“you didn’t get my goal!” geto manages to dogpile. all the men yell complaints and compliments, overwhelming you with critiques. until you’re frowning, glaring harshly at the group of men you’d watched from a distance since your freshman year.

“I don’t work for you guys,” you finally snap. your words are cold making the men frown. “I work for the schools paper, and they choose the photos, not me.”

“and yet coach is in every single one of em?” geto bites back, and that’s when they all catch the slight surprise that crosses your face.

gojo smirks, leaning over the fence, getting close as he tilts his head. “seems like a majority of your photos have our coach. it’s like your editor can’t help but be forced to put him in.”

you feel your stomach churn, glancing between the sharp sapphire eyes. “that’s not how it works,” you mutter.

you did not expect your first interaction with the soccer team to be this. accusing you of favoritism. you can practically feel all their eyes on you, like they knew exactly who you are, even if this is your first time speaking to them.

“sure looks like it,” sukuna drawls, smirking wide when he sees you shift uncomfortably. “you like our coach or somethin?”

“of course she does,” geto’s smooth voice cuts in. “do you get all hot lookin at coach toji?”

you swallow thickly, pushing down the heat crawling up your neck to glare at the men. “you guys are disgusting,” you spit, but the men don’t falter, instead they continue gloating and poking.

“we just wanna get to know you. you’ve been takin’ our pics for months, we can’t have a chat now?” geto cuts.

they were quietly impressed with your composure. your poker face would’ve been perfect if not for the slight fidgeting you’re doing with your bag and camera strap. either way, your glare was mean, unwavering until—

“cut it out.”

the sharp voice slices through the team. then, one strong palm shoves gojo into geto, and the rest of the team topple on each other like dominos. the head coach plants himself between the fence, his team, and you.

“i forget you’re all a couple children,” toji tsks, his arms are crossed standing like a lone knight keeping a pack a wolves from a poor princess.

your heart slams against your rib cage. all your composure evaporates into thin air, struggling to catch your breath. this was the closest you’ve gotten to the head coach. you can practically smell the mixture of his cologne and natural musk. your cheeks grow hotter by the second, completely dazed and loosing all other senses, unaware that practically half the team noticed your sudden shift.

gojo elbows geto eyeing the way your pupils basically turn into bright pink hearts. even your lips look more glossy from the drool collecting in your mouth.

they’d never seen anything like it, and for their coach of all people?!

you’re caught up in gawking at the huge man, eyeing his wide shoulders, the veins straining from his compression shirt, his shirt clinging to every muscle that could break you in a blink of an eye — that you miss his short lecture towards his boys to quit scaring off a young woman, all to end with him shouting—

“ten more laps!”

the team’s eyes bulge, jaws dropping in shock, and quickly follow up with a spew of complaints.

“ya heard coach!” sukuna, the hot-headed captain, interrupts. and if the team wasn’t scared of their coach, they definitely had a reason to be with their captain. they ultimately drop their things and start their laps. however, sukuna hangs back at bit, “I didn’t even say sh—“

“you were late to practice, so you were gonna do the laps anyways,” toji cuts, earning a loud tsk from the tattooed captain. his duffle drops on the floor dramatically, eyes flicking towards yours, which — no surprise — haven’t left the coach’s profile, and with his own groan, his cleats hit the grass starting his lap.

with the entire team running laps….you’re left alone.

coach toji doesn’t move.

instead, he leans against the fence, strong arms crossing. you’re barely a foot behind him, close enough that the scent of grass and dizzy cologne reaches you when he shifts his weight. close enough that your brain short-circuits again.

then he looks over his shoulder.

it’s not rushed or sharp. it was an easy turn of his head, his dark emerald eyes flick to you with calm, assessing. and up close, he’s worse. he’s broader than he looks from the sidelines, his stubble shadowing his jaw feels unfair for a sunday morning. sunlight catches the edge of his cheekbone, and the curve of his mouth makes you stare shamelessly especially when it lifts just slightly. he’s amused by something you’re not aware of yet and you don’t even notice.

your heart stutters.

you practically forget how to stand or how to function like a grown ass adult, instead you feel like someone who’s just had their fantasy materialize directly in front of them.

heat rushes to your face, your chest tightens, and you pray, desperately, that your expression isn’t as transparent as it feels. you focus on keeping your hands still, even as your pulse flutters wildly under your skin.

and toji’s gaze lingers. he takes you in like the way someone experienced does, without staring, without shame, just a brief glance that drifts. from your fidgeting fingers, to your necklace trapped between your pretty cleavage, to the tank top that hugs your chest, to the zip up hoodie falling off your soft shoulder. to your lips, wet from the amount of times you’d lick and bit them.

and you still don’t notice it! you’re too busy trying not to melt into the grass beneath your feet. all you register is how hot the space suddenly feels, how solid he seems standing there.

from the field, a player snickers mid-lap. a majority watching the entire interaction, waiting for someone to make a move. gojo snickers as geto analyzes.

you don’t hear any of it, all you know is that the knights are real, and he’s right in front of you, and your carefully maintained composure never stood a chance. especially when his eyes meet yours and his deep, husky, voice sinks into your bones.

“been wondering who was seein’ me like that, sweetheart.”

you were gone.

s-s-s-sweetheart!?

your heart bursts, veins burning through your skin as your lips part, words falling into the void as your brain struggles to reply.

and he finds it adorable.

college girls are cute, but you, you’re a little pervert. how many photos have you taken of him? and for the past year too? he’s wondered just like his team had, who was behind all those photos. who was oogling him while the best team in the nation was playing right before their eyes?

at first, he was bothered, confused even, how big of a stalker did you have to be to take his photos for months and not introduce yourself?

but now he sees it. the way you’re struggling to find words. the way your eyes flick between his — surprised even that you’re not shying away from eye contact, but instead, struggling to just respond. like the words are right there, but your dumb brain is getting fried just by his presence. cute.

“I’ll try an’ wink next time.”

he just hammers the nail straight into your heart. your face bursts into flames as you let out a strangled hum like whine, face burning even more. unfortunately, your audience isn’t as silent. instead a few had caught your reaction and were bursting with laughter. a few whistling at their coach.

“she’s too young for ya, coach!”

“get someone y’er own age!”

“coach, the shy ones are the freakiest!”

the last one — somehow — snapped you back to reality. your glare cut through the field, immediately hitting one of the players making him burst out laughing along with the others around him. your face pulls into a scowl, heart hammering at the teasing you’re receiving from the team. who even are they? they don’t know anything about you!

shy?! you?!!! you scowl in annoyance, eyes rollin—

“ignore em, sweetheart. they’re just being dicks.”

fuck.

your face burns hot again, heart hammering against your ribs as you stutter out another nod, fingers gripping your bag as you glance at the head coach again. his green eyes were unbelievably dark, just staring at them, you felt like you were getting dizzy.

the scar on his lip twitches up, leaning an elbow on the fence, his eyes flick down to your camera. “what kinda camera is that?”

your eyes widen, looking down like you’re surprised it’s there. but it seems like he flicks a switch in your brain with that question, because now you’re fumbling to hold the delicate thing in your hands. then you hold it out for him.

a small puff of air leaves his nose in amusement. you’re cute. he turns, reaching his hand out, just for your small ones to place the expensive camera in his. the same one you’d deny your friends from even holding, afraid they’ll drop it.

b-but if coach toji holds it…if he wants to hold it…who…who are you to stop him!!!

your blush only breaks out across your body once you feel your hands brush his, eyes so bright and big even he can see the hearts explode from your irises, fuzzy pink flowers glowing around your head like a cartoon.

“looks expensive,” he finally takes his eyes away from you to momentarily examine the camera. it was nice, sony. “bought it yourself?”

you nod, smiling as you rock on your heels. “it was…” oh first words, toji’s eyes flick to you, eyeing your glossy lips as they part. “my first big purchase,” you glance at the camera then back up at toji as you point with your manicured index finger, towards the camera. “it’s nice…right?”

well fuck me.

toji chuckles internally. he really can’t read you. from rude (to the team), to shy, to snappy (to the team), to demure, to charming—all while looking up at him like he’s some shinning knight and not a coach, albeit for the best team in the nation, but still.

his lips curl up, his internal switch already flipped when he shooed the team away, and the smooth voice of his poured out like second nature. “very nice, sweetheart.”

you nod, enthusiastically.

god, you were a cutie.

“and you take such good pictures with it too, you’re a natural,” the sweet words just keep pouring from his mouth like honey, and you’re eating up every drop. your feet manage to carry you closer to the fence…closer to him.

you wet your glossy lips, leaning close to point at the camera, “it also takes video here…I initially wanted to do more videography, but I stuck with photos. but it’s a nice perk with the camera…and I can shoot in raw and jpeg, so I can edit them afterwards if I want, and uh and I have other lenses too. this one is a fixed one, so it can’t zoom, but I have two other ones that zoom, I usually use those ones for work…like during your….games.”

your rambling was one of, if not, the most attractively adorable things you could’ve done at this moment. especially when you’re oblivious to the light flush that settles in the coach’s stomach as he eyes you down.

his gaze flicks between your fingers on the camera, and your profile from his height. your hair lightly brush’s back from the wind exposing your neck, your perfume reaching his nose.

“can I try takin’ a pic?”

your face bursts hot, you feel like it’ll melt off as you gawk up at the head coach, before nodding your head frantically, a wide smile pulling at your lips. you try to clear your throat as you turn the camera on for him and take the lens cap off.

“good?” he asks.

you just nod again, biting your cheek feeling how wide you’re smiling it almost hurts, but you can’t take your eyes off the way his big hands handle your camera. your biggest crush ever is using your camera!

you contain a squeal as he stands straight. he brings the camera to his eye, before lowering it again, confused. your eyes widen momentarily before realizing he’s struggling and quickly stepping up again.

you lean over the fence. and toji purposely avoids coming down to your height. instead, he watches you hold the fence to stand on your tippy toes, the other gently holds his wrist to ask him to lower the camera just a bit from his eye so you can instruct him. fuck, the confidence to touch him when you were just a jittery mess a second ago.

“the shutter button is here. if you half press it, it’ll auto-focus for you—“ you move to the front of the camera flipping some switch, “jus’ turned it on. but just press down all the way and it’ll take the picture,” you say, mistakenly glancing up from where you are, just to realize that coach toji’s face is inches from yours. his warm breath fans against your cheek, his scar so close, his lips right there and his eyes….

you were beyond gone. the steam immediately comes off your face as your eyes turn into big giant hearts. you’re so easy to read it should be illegal.

you fall back on your heels, allowing toji to attempt again. what you weren’t expecting was for him to point the camera at you.

well considering the wider lens, I guess he wants to shoot something closer for more satisfaction. but it caught you slightly off guard, your cheeks flame once more, heart stuttering, but your face immediately lights up.

his lips curve up behind the camera, watching you give him a cute smile, angling your head to tip to the side a bit. people that automatically smile when a camera is pointed at them is definitely a cute trait.

he takes a few quick photos, before pulling the camera back. “how do I see ‘em?”

this time he lowers the camera for you, but keeps it close to his body so you’re still leaning over and up beside him, albeit with the fence between you both.

“ah the sun was behind me,” you realize now looking at the photos. toji hums like he knows what that means (he doesn’t) but he clicks the button to go to the next picture and same thing.

“let’s do it again,” he says, already pulling the camera back, but your finger quickly reaches out, easily flipping it back to view mode before moving back. toji watches you glance up at the sky, before moving yourself in front of the sun. “smile f’er me, sweetheart.”

you were smiling, but now—toji chuckles through his nose at your reaction. he knows exactly what he’s doing. he takes one photo, than another.

your smile turns more pose worthy, not so big, but just as beautiful. “you’re a natural,” he comments, with full honesty.

your cheeks flush, waving your hand in front of you, “don’t glaze me.”

toji snorts, “jus’ saying what I see, not my fault you pose like a model.”

a model?!

toji notices the way you bite your cheek and the way your hands fidget with your bag. “put the bag down, sweetheart.”

your heart skips again, the nickname electing a response from you every time. but you oblige, setting your bag on the ground. now without anything to fidget with, your hands carefully clasp behind your back, your navy hoodie completely off your shoulder, exposing the casual white tank top. his eyes glance at the swell of your tits that your bra pushes up. and the sliver of skin that peaks at the bottom.

the wind was like a perfect accessory, blowing a warm spring breeze in your direction brushing your hair again.

you do your best to pose casually, smiling at the camera, eyes low as you stare into the lens, heart beating erratically as you wait for coach toji to finish.

your breath catches momentarily. cheeks stinging and lips parting like a deer in headlights, because you notice it. just briefly, the way toji lowers the camera from his eye, gaze tracking down your figure, eyeing your thighs, then your hips, then your tits.

he’s definitely checking you out.

you glance away, flustered, unaware that toji was now clicking the library to view the photos he’d just taken.

“I think I’m a pretty good shot,” he compliments his nonexistent skills, but the light hits you so well.

you smile watching him look at the photos. eyes glued to his lazy smirk, stomach hot and heart fluttering at his short comments. he’s so handsome, you glance at the curve of his nose, the stubble on his cheek. he’s so so pretty.

your mind was getting dizzy, all because coach toji is in front of you, but it made you completely forgetful that if he keeps clicking next, it’ll eventually reach—

“oh.”

you first notice the slight raise of his brows, then the scar on his lip twitching wider, then the greens of his eyes darkening.

“did ya’ submit these too, sweetheart?”

your brows furrow for half a second, then it clicks. you lunge forward.

this can’t be happening!

you immediately cover the screen and take the camera as you hear the coach chuckle. of course you’d forgotten that you had these on your sd card.

staring back at you is a photo of toji’s fat bulge from the game. you managed to catch the moment he reached down to itch himself, grabbing it. if he saw this one he definitely saw the three before this of the closeups of his lips, his big biceps, his ass when he was fixing his shoes.

your heart is beating in your ears, skin sizzling with embarrassment as your vision starts to narrow. your eyes flick up to the coach in horror, flustered beyond speech. “it’s not—“ you struggle to explain, “you weren’t supposed to see that. I was just taking one—then I someone bumped so like, the camera went down—“

the rambling was unlike the one before, this one was much more uncoordinated, fueled by your humiliation, anxiety, and desperate attempt at defending yourself to him, so that he doesn’t think you’re some creep.

“I wore that shirt from the match two weeks ago. not this one….” his head tilts, arms folded across his beefy chest. “why do you still have ‘em?”

the older man is quite unbothered. instead, his chest grew hot, and his mind wandered off imagining this hot college girl laying in her bed, staring at pictures of his crotch with her small fingers playing with her wet little pussy. his eyes flick to your chest again.

your eyes are wide, glancing at your camera.

“I just forgot to format the card,” you quickly reply, pretty chest rising and falling. “I always forget, and I realize after when I’m exporting the photos or run out of storage—I delete them, i-i swear!”

he snorts, head tilting, “you swear?”

you nod frantically.

his emerald eyes narrow, tongue poking out to wet his lips, touching his scar. his eyes flick to the camera in your hands. you’re quite the actor…

“okay, I’ll take your word then. you wouldn’t lie to me…?” his gaze was intimidating, the darkness of his pupils felt like a black hole pulling you in. but somehow you manage to shake your head.

“no, sir.”

toji holds eye contact, before tearing it away to reach for his phone, “good girl.”

your heart beats in your throat, threatening to tear out, but you step forward, eyes big and sad. “sorry, coach.” there’s a slight waver in your voice, the man’s eyes widen briefly, chuckling under his breath as he brings a hand up to the crown of your head.

“don’t worry about it, keep taking photos of me. ya’ make me feel important,” his comment is punctuated with a flirtatious wink, shooting another arrow straight into your heart.

you were lovestruck the entire trip home. and so unbelievably grateful.

you talked your way out of such incriminating evidence. because how could coach toji know that in truth, you have an entire album of photos just like the ones he saw, that you pull out almost every night to help you cum.

you really should be an actor, you think, blushing at the way he called you good girl. the way he looked at you, the way his fingers brushed yours on the camera —ahhhh, you bury your hot face in your hands.

you were in shock for days, heart slamming against your chest and face heating up every time you thought back to the moment.

you were so in your head that you hadn’t even noticed the two athletes walking up behind you on your way out of class, crossing the quad.

it’s like that thing that happens. when you’re finally introduced to someone for the first time, then you’re suddenly seeing them everywhere. that’s how geto and gojo felt. you’d been under their noses the entire time.

with a lecture of over two hundred students, of course they’d spot you when you entered today. gojo elbowed his friend, nodding in your direction. geto’s eyes nearly popped.

“what the hell?” geto leans forward, the two men closely watch you enter the lecture hall, walking a few rows down before slipping in. geto’s eyes narrow at the camera you carefully place in your lap as you take out your ipad.

it was like the cards were being dealt out for him perfectly.

“wait, I don’t get it,” gojo huffs catching up to his friend as the lecture hall empties.

geto tsks, “what’s not to get? I’m gonna bribe her into taking photos of me next game. I’m fucking tired of being some fucking blur—“

“you’ve gotten some photos man—“

“well i want more. ones where I’m actually scoring,” geto huffs, brushing his bang back in frustration.

once the two men hit the pavement outside, they spot you. gojo is tagging along for the fun, while geto is set on a mission. one he conjured up mid-lecture the second he saw you. it was perfect. genius—

“what?” your face scrunches in mild disgust. the two men baffle at your reaction, especially at the way you’re looking up at them with narrow, and irritated eyes. your expression isn’t hard to decipher, it’s basically screaming, why tf are you talking to me?

geto licks his teeth, exhaling through his nose, “you heard me fine, sweetheart—“

“don’t call me that.”

his jaw clenches, repeating his line without the pet name. “the next two games are the semifinals and then the finals, so I’ll give you access through our manager to join press during the media window two days before the matches—“

“I already have access to that through the school paper,” you give him a look, immediately ticking him off.

“let me fucking finish will you—“

“you’re taking forever and I’m being cornered,” you snap back, rolling your eyes at the pretentious athlete. geto bites his tongue, as gojo gasps.

“you’re not being cornered!” he states, just to exchange a look with geto as they both see that they’ve steered you off the pavement and against a tree. “no—we’re just talking.”

you exhale, glancing back at geto, “whatever, just finish.”

geto licks his lips, continuing, “you’ll also get access to our locker room strategy meeting or whatever, and behind the scenes access — you only do photos, no video or interviews?”

you shake your head, heart beating just a little quicker because now you’re starting to see the perks. bts access is the one thing university teams can deny since they don’t like any outsiders butting into their strategies or taking them out of “the zone.”

that also means you can see….coach toji.

gojo and geto both notice the realization crossing your face, especially when your lips part, much more glossy than before. unbelievable.

“but,” geto snaps you back, your eyes darting up to meet his, “you better take some good fucking shots of me during the game. if I’m not in the fucking paper and insta page, then no deal.”

you gasp, “dude, you’re literally acting like I’m the one in charge of that?? it’s my editor that picks the photos to put in the articles.”

geto tsks, “yet somehow coach is in every single one.” your jaw clenches, stomach heating up. “take more photos of me so it’s inevitable. got it?”

your lip curls in annoyance, eyeing geto, just for gojo to suddenly but in—

“but also take some of me, i look so hot in them and i like reposting them on my insta,” gojo flashes you a smile.

your frown deepens, “there’s other photographers. you guys know that right?”

“yours are the only ones they choose and they look better than whoever took sukuna’s,” gojo snorts, remembering their captains complaints.

nevertheless, geto and gojo wait for you to agree, both men standing with their arms crossed, blocking the spring sun from hitting you.

then a certain captain happens to pass by, noticing his two teammates, and frat brothers.

“the fuck are you guys doing?”

the men whip their heads as sukuna steps up, bag slung over his shoulder wearing a backwards baseball cap. and with a quick explanation from his friends, sukuna tsks glancing at you and adding.

“coach always showers before or after our games.”

and it was that one bit of information that automatically has you saying: “deal.”

—

you don’t rush setting up. you check your flash, bouncing it once off the ceiling to make sure it won’t wash anyone out. your fingers move with muscle memory, standing in these rooms plenty of times for the school paper, along with other journalists from the school paper especially for media days, post-game scrums, pre-season press.

so this isn’t new territory.

the room is packed, though. there’s national outlets mingling with campus press, and clusters of journalists already talking. you hear familiar phrases float past as you move, many talking about the teams unbeaten streak, their goal differentials, their historic season.

familiar names are easily getting tossed around. captain sukuna coming up first, always, and his leadership, and the way he commands the field. gojo’s speed follows after, and his natural talent and eye for goals, then geto’s consistency, his intelligence and composure. someone mentions scouts again, plural this time, and how a few clubs have been hovering around those three all season.

you barely react because you’ve heard all of this before, and it was impressive of course, you enjoy it. however, what does get you, embarrassingly, is his name.

every time coach toji is mentioned—his tactics, his discipline, the way he rebuilt the program and incorporated new strategies —you feel heat creep up your neck. it’s a soft and traitorous blush that you’re grateful no one’s looking closely enough to notice you smiling.

you keep your eyes on your camera, pretending to fiddle with a setting you don’t actually need to adjust, reminding yourself that he’s just part of the team. a very effective, very respected part of it.

then finally, the noise dips and the conversations fade into an expectant quiet as the side door opens.

the players file in first, with sukuna at the front, expression unreadable, gojo already grinning, geto calm and observant as ever. everyone’s cameras lift, and recorders click on. and then he steps in behind them.

coach toji, in a suit.

your face breaks into a hot mess, heart skipping a beat as you eye him through your lens. it fits him too well. dark, sharp, shoulders filling it out like it was tailored perfectly. no team jacket today, no morning stumble. no, he looked clean, with polished shoes, and authority. he guides the team forward eyes sweeping the room calmly.

your flash fires once, professionalism wavering again. how can it not when your knight is walking into the room and reminding you exactly how out of reach he is.

the entire team easily spots you in the front row for the first time. your charm hangs from your camera strap, along with the little sticker on your godox flash. they all know who you are now, so their wasn’t any hiding the way they’d purposely glance at your camera lens, giving you their best shots.

many of the questions are being directed towards the coach, your eyes focus on his reaction, lens zooming close as he rolls his dress shirt over his forearms. your camera flashes and your cheeks warm. you do this every time. acting like it’s your first time seeing the coach in a suit even though he wears one every semifinals press. but you can’t help it!

journalists throw questions without breath, firing rounds until the set time is up.

“photographers only, please.”

the room clears out fast. chairs scrape back, and laptops snap shut. you step forward instinctively, already lifting your camera. the players shift back into place. sukuna straightens, his expression resetting into something stoic. gojo cracks a joke under his breath that earns him a look. geto adjusts his sleeves, calm as ever.

toji moves standing just off to the side at first, arms crossed, smooth dress shirt crinkling over his taut muscles, and unforgiving across his shoulders.

the manager gestures. “let’s get the team all together first.”

cameras flash as the team pose, all in their uniform. you move easily getting their shots, unaware of the emerald eyes watching your every move.

coach toji noticed you the minute he stepped into the room. however, he remained composed, knowing how many eyes were on him. but now, his eyes sweep over your figure.

your grey dress pants hugging that right ass, and those hips. the tight dress shirt hugged your frame, with the top buttons undone allowing some of your cleavage to be revealed along with your necklace stack. business casual, but he’s sure half the team is looking at your tits. your pretty anklet catching the light as you move in your kitten heels.

“coach with sukuna,” the manager says.

toji steps forward.

you track him without thinking, framing the shot as he places a hand lightly at sukuna’s back, guiding him a half-step to the left. your shutter clicks, noticing how easily he steps into your frame, how naturally he fills it. his height just a hair taller than the hot headed captain, at least in your eyes.

“alright, another group photo,” the manager says.

toji turns, motioning the players in with two fingers. his eyes briefly catch yours making your eyes widen. the team clusters around their coach, heads bowed slightly, listening even though there’s nothing to hear. he speaks low anyway. you circle to the side, careful, capturing the curve of his shoulder, the way his jaw tightens when he focuses.

toji’s gaze lifts again, slow and deliberate, landing on you.

why does he keep doing that?!

it’s brief. just a glance that lingers a fraction longer, his eyes flick from your face to the camera in your hands and back again, like he’s remembering the photos he saw on your camera.

you feel heat blooming under your skin, pulse kicking hard enough to throw you off guard. you steady your hands, inhaling subtly, pretending you don’t feel the way the air shifts when he turns slightly…when he ends up closer than before, just at the edge of your frame.

“okay, we’re good,” the manager calls.

the team breaks, the players disperse, but toji stays put for a beat longer, adjusting his sleeve, posture relaxed again, unreadable.

you lower your camera only when it’s over, breath leaving you in a quiet rush you didn’t realize you were holding. you don’t see him glance at you when you step back to check your photos. you also don’t notice the small, satisfied curve of his mouth.

not until you’re feeling a gentle, firm, hand on your waist, and a low voice right against your ear, “say hi next time. you’re not a stranger anymore.”

your body immediately catches on fire, eyes snapping to the man like a magnet, heart slamming against your ribs as you watch him pull back, emerald eyes meeting yours.

“right, sweetheart?”

your face stings, as you nod quickly, heat pooling deep in your stomach, feeling his thumb caress your hip over your shirt. your lips part, mind dizzy as you glance as his strong forearms, he’s towering over you, slightly leaning down to speak to you in quiet whispers.

“I’ll see c’ya tomorrow, yeah,” he gives your waist a squeeze as he greets you with a kiss to your cheek like some gentleman. then he walks away. and if you weren’t a mess before, the casual glance he shoots over his shoulder has a third arrow piercing your heart.

you couldn’t contain it anymore. you were consumed by this man. every waking thought was spent daydreaming about him— his voice, his eyes, his hands, his demeanor. it was intoxicating.

all for you to show up in the lockerroom, the next day, hours before the match. the team is either dressed in their uniforms, or still shirtless, huddling around the white board as they prep for the game.

geto was the second to notice you, after gojo. both their eyes twinkling as they walk up to you. “they gave you the pass,” geto nods to the press badge around your neck.

you nod, glancing around the lockerroom. it felt tense, the aura suspenseful as the time ticks closer to when they walk onto the pitch.

“get your vip shots, but you better get my photo,” geto hushes in your ear.

“and mine!” gojo blurts, just as a certain coach is stepping out of the steam.

and you feel it. the towel wrapped low around his waist, skin still slick with water that traces unhurried paths down his sculpted torso. his hair is darker when it’s wet, heavier, droplets slide from it and disappear along the hard lines of his shoulders.

your eyes catch his muscles moving when he walks, hard mass, that shifts beneath skin without effort. you swallow thickly, body heating up, stomach fluttering as you catch the trail of dark coarse hair leading down from his navel, and disappearing beneath the towel. your eyes follow it to the bulge you know is under there. your cheeks sting at the thought of it.

you were utterly shameless. as if the two men standing beside aren’t still talking to you. but they immediately recognize the shift in your attitude and notice the steam leaving your face. gojo stifles a laugh, as geto sighs. you’re hopeless.

your eyes follow the scars you’ve never seen before. the old pale marks catch the light, etched across his side, his pecs, and back, proof of some life before this one. then he turns just enough and your heart stutters, and your panties soak.

ink blooms along his ribs where the towel dips. the tattoos are sharp and intimate, black against his skin that’s still flushed from the heat. you’ve photographed him dozens of times, from every angle, but you’ve never seen a peak of a tattoo.

“how wet are you right now?”

the comment snaps you back, glaring straight at the crystal ocean eyes narrowed in amusement.

“don’t talk to me like that,” you huff, “I’m working.” your attitude really is night and day when it comes to anyone else and toji.

gojo blushes, “I love mean girls.”

you roll your eyes.

“what’re you two doing? get the fuck over here,” sukuna snaps.

the team huddles as the fifteen minute timer starts. and that’s what you should be photographing, but instead you glance back. toji is now pulling up his pants, wet hair still dripping down the expanse of his back. his eyes catch yours for a second, gaze flicking to your camera, taunting…

his hand subtly cups his crotch, squeezing his girth just to present you with a size, one that has your lips parting with a shaky exhale, heart pounding as you glance between his emerald eyes and the way his forearms flex when he fixes the waistband of his boxers, pulling the material down just a bit that you catch more of the thick patch of hair at his base seeing a peak of it, before he’s fixing himself again.

and once he zips his pants up, glancing at the team as they huddle for some words from the captain before coach steps in, toji walks to you. just a few feet away, your eyes widen in surprise, heart stuttering as you watch him lean down to greet you with a kiss to your cheek, again!

he’s acting like you’re familiar even though this is just your third interaction with him…but maybe you are…

“thought I told you to say hi next time,” he says against your ear, pulling away.

your face heats up, “you were….changing.”

“so?”

you gulp, eyes flicking between his, heart pounding. he’s so close. your breath catches when his scent hits your nose, sandalwood, oak and something deeper under it. his stubble is darker than yesterday, rougher along his jaw, and you realize you’ve been staring for too long when the heat creeps up your neck.

he doesn’t move away though, he stands beside you, attention forward on sukuna as he speaks. focused, and so aware of you’re attention he has to hold back a smirk. and maybe he doesn’t mind messing with you, so his hand remains at your lower back, light, almost absent, but there.

your stomach flips, attention gone. you try to listen, you do. sukuna is talking about positioning, about discipline, about not getting sloppy or something and the room is locking in around you, everyone leaning in. these would be great photos—but all you can think about is how close he is.

how his hand hasn’t moved, every small shift makes your pulse jump. you keep your eyes forward. you don’t trust yourself to look at him again.

and that gives toji the opportunity to take you in. his pupils dilate just a fraction as his gaze travels down your body. his eyes zero in on the multiple open buttons of your tight dress shirt. you’re not even hiding yourself, and the sliver of skin that peaks between your pants and shirt doesn’t help.

his hand remains over your clothes, heat settling in his stomach when you take a deeper breath and your tits push up, and his eyes shamelessly look down your shirt from his towering height. fuck, he wants a look at that pretty ass too—

“coach! you’re up!” sukuna’s voice cuts through everything, snapping toji back. your gaze whips with it, catching him off guard as you wait for his next move like anything he touches is gold.

he controls himself, giving your waist that same squeeze before his hand leaves you just like that.

you push down the feeling that hits immediately, sharp and cold. but now you can finally breathe properly when he steps away. he moves past the players without rushing — a few of the boys let their eyes roam over you— toji adjusts his sleeve ignoring the feeling bubbling up when he notices them. and then he’s at the front.

he doesn’t raise his voice, doesn’t need to now, but he usually gets to that point around the halfway mark. but this was the first time you’re seeing him speak in private…and when he speaks, they all listen—every single one of them.

gojo notices, gossip second nature to him. but the quick glance your way already has a grin tugging at his mouth before he nudges geto. geto follows his gaze, then sukuna does too, just briefly—and it’s obvious. painfully obvious. the way your expression softens, the way your attention doesn’t wavers. it’s written all over you.

“she’s actually really hot,” gojo comments.

though you wish you could stand there forever, the time finally comes for the team to head to the pitch, and that’s when the chaos begins.

not just on the field…but off it.

the press box is packed, bodies press against you shoulder to shoulder. the field below is relentless. everything fast, and aggressive, and loud enough that the noise bleeds through everything. you always forget how overstimulating and exhilarating semifinal matches are. but you remember the deal you made with the three stars.

your camera moves with them, tracking their plays, snapping multiple shots of them without hesitation, and then catching the moment when things go wrong...

sukuna gets taken down hard during a penalty shot—and there’s no whistle. no call.

you’re already shooting when the other team pushes, then scores, and the stadium erupts, but sukuna is on his feet, shouting. the goal should be discounted. the captain was known to be a hot head, but even you could see that the tackle he received was completely brushed off by the ref and he was right.

everyone watches as the team moves forward in defense of sukuna, but also holding him back. the other side meets them just as hard. the crowd shouts as they watch the players shove, yell, and slam into each other—and through it all you keep shooting. you catch toji too, voice cutting through the chaos as he orders his players to pull sukuna back.

the press talk amongst themselves as halftime quickly breaks up the argument. your feet quickly carry you out of the press box, towards the locker room.

“no locker room access.”

your jaw tightens immediately irritation flaring hot and sharp.

“I have a different badge,” you show the security guard your press ID. the one geto gave you.

“no press allowed, do i need to repeat myself?” the man snaps.

your irritation ticks at your side. fine. whatever. the second you step back, your mind is already running, already circling back to geto. you scoff under your breath, shaking your head as you pace along the corridor, camera swinging lightly at your side.

seriously? all that talk, all that stupid ass convincing, and for what? you were supposed to be there. that was the whole point! you roll your eyes, heat building the longer you think about it, every step feeding into this petty irritation instead of cooling it. were you overreacting —yes, but whatever—if he’s not holding up his end, then why should you?

by the time you make it back up, you’re done. done thinking about it, done entertaining it, done with their stupid deal.

the second half starts and you fall back into rhythm. camera up, focus sharp, and attention on only one thing now, the ball….

gojo and geto drift near the press box occasionally, clearly expecting something, acknowledgment, a photo, but you don’t even bat an eye. not a look, not a flicker, hell, they might as well not exist.

it’s almost satisfying. almost.

the final whistle blows and the stadium erupts, the first leg ended in a draw, preparing for next game to see who’ll continue. cameras around you go wild, capturing every second of it. the quiet annoyance of both teams, the noise in the crowd. but you don’t. you lower yours, expression flat, already turning away. it’s petty. a little unfair, but still, you walk.

“you’re not coming to the locker room?” gojo’s voice follows you, footsteps quick behind yours as you head in the opposite direction.

“why would i?” you snap, sharp, not even slowing. “am i even allowed,” there’s an obvious clip in your tone that has gojo confused.

“what’re you talking about?”

“deal’s off.”

huh?!????

gojo barely has time to react, before you’re walking away.

baffled and utterly confused, gojo makes his way back to the locker rooms. the energy is stiff, sukuna is grumbling under his breath about how embarrassing it was to end their first leg in a draw, geto is lounged beside his bag scrolling on his phone, and toji is in the corner talking to the managers. ugh, does no one care that their personal photographer isn’t taking photos of them???

they do care.

especially when the next paper comes out and the article is filled with photos taken by other people, not you!

“WHY THE FUCK DO I LOOK LIKE THAT!??” sukuna shouts, entire body fumming as they all sit outside during practice. sukuna is not the only one pissed, geto is practically seething because there isn’t even a single photo of him or gojo.

“what is this girl’s problem?! i thought you idiots made a deal with her?!” sukuna snaps, already in a foul mood, but now it’s worse.

geto licks his teeth, jaw ticking, “we did.”

“I told you guys she was pissed that she didn’t come in during halftime,” gojo throws, as if anyone was listening to him after their shitty match.

“so she throws a tantrum because she didn’t see coach’s dick during halftime?” sukuna clips.

“she looked super hot when she was all pissed though,” gojo throws, “she’d definitely go for me after she realizes how old coach is.”

“what’s wrong with you?” geto rolls his eyes, confused how gojo can talk about your looks when you screwed them over. even if he maybe also finds you attractive, it doesn’t negate your shitty attitude.

gojo throws his hands up in defensive, “I’m just calling dibs now.”

toji, just a few feet away, strides over after noticing the group no longer doing drills. “what’s the hold up!” he grunts, also in a shit mood because of the embarrassing match and then overheating what gojo had said.

“your stalker fucked us over,” geto snaps, eyes burning into the school paper. “she didn’t even get a pic of you.”

gojo’s eyes light up, “oh shit, yeah—she’s definitely over you!”

the paper then hits toji’s chest, his brows furrowing as he holds it up. his eyes glance over the sports section, and just as geto had stated, there wasn’t a single photo of him, unless you’re counting the wide shot of the field and you see him standing in the corner, but it definitely was a starch contrast from the streak you’d created.

“so?” toji tosses the paper like it’s nothing, “you guys playing for the cameras or because you want to win?!”

the men baffled, gasp and scoff. “we want to win!”

“then get off your fucking asses! I don’t have time to be doing this shit with you all!” he snaps aggressively, uncharacteristically pissed off, whether it’s because of the teams misdirected frustrations, or something else. either way, the school paper is long forgotten beside their bags and the team is splitting into practice teams.

it doesn’t matter…

it doesn’t matter that you made a deal with suguru geto and satoru gojo. and the captain pushed you to seal that deal with the information about coach — and they broke it. none of it matters! you still should’ve taken those photos, especially when you’re receiving an earful from your editor, and then sulking through the week of classes.

“what’s your problem,” your friend, shoko, cuts in, snapping you back to the campus day festival. you were once again sulking on the picnic bench, ice cream melting in the cup as you stare off.

“you’re gonna get annoyed…” you mutter, brows pinched in agony.

for most passing by, they immediately steered clear of you, not only did you carry a lethal rbf, your words of “agony” really translates to, you’ll rip someone’s head off and if looks could kill, everyone would be dead. it was quite funny, considering how you’re pretty sweet when you want to be, shoko quietly thinks. still, most would rather avoid you, thanking the heavens that you stay behind the camera so you don’t interact directly with people.

“don’t start,” shoko groans, piecing together the not so subtle mystery.

you frown, “i didn’t even say anything!” you whine even more, glaring at your ice cream. your pretty camera sits on the table beside you, collecting dust when you should be photographing this event. “I just screwed myself over,” your tongue laps at the dripping ice cream.

“agreed.”

your glare snaps to your friend, to which she brushes off with a shrug.

“you should’ve taken those photos,” she starts.

“I know…”

“then you would’ve made your editor happy,”

“I know…”

“and then you wouldn’t have to do this event.”

“I know.”

“and you’d have more weird pictures of coach toji.”

your heart drops. eyes snapping to shoko. “what?!”

shoko goes mute. suddenly realizing what she said. “nothing.”

“pictures?” you repeat, “I have weird pictures of the coach?? I don’t—why would you even say that??“ you’re not subtle at all. and shoko feels guilty at your horrible lying skills, but still…she confesses…

“you uploaded photos to your drive, when we’d study together,” she tries to hold in her laugh as heat crawls up your neck, “like more than once.”

you glance away, eyes flicking over your camera, “that’s it?”

shoko raises a brow. “yeah…what do you mean?”

you look back, “like that’s how you know, it’s not like you heard from someone else or anything?”

shoko shakes her head, “no, who else would know?”

your cheeks are burning at this point, and it was written all over your face now. the realization hit shoko in seconds. “no…” you’re silent. “does the coach know about your photos?”

you don’t want to make eye contact.

“how?!!”

even though it happened days ago, why is it now starting to feel even more embarrassing. maybe because of your cool headed friends reaction— “it was an accident.”

“how did he find out though?” shoko pushes.

you cringe, “well…” you swallow, “when I first spoke to him, remember…” shoko nods, “I let him use my camera because he was interested.” you pause, reliving the humiliation all over again. “then he kept swiping to see the pics, and just found them…” your hands slap your face, “that’s not bad!”

shoko is getting second hand embarrassment, “dude.”

“STOP IM GONNA KILL MYSELF!!” you cry out, humiliation seeping from your pores.

shoko is trying not to laugh, but it’s quite hard not too, especially when you’re groaning like that. “what was his reaction?”

“I obviously said it was an accident, and he was like whatever and seemed fine,” you explain quickly, trying to cool the situation. “It’s not bad!”

“okay okay!!” shoko laughs, trying to calm your reaction. however, shoko knows about your huge crush, what she didn’t know is about a deal her two friends made with you. heck, she didn’t even know that you interacted with them. not until those two men are standing directly behind you, sweaty and pissed. “what the hell—“

“I guess you don’t know how to keep your word,” geto spits, bag dropping aggressively on the bench beside you.

you jump, then, your eyes flick over your shoulder, immediately rolling them when you see them. you turn back to shoko.

geto snaps. “there wasn’t a single photo of us!”

“not my problem,” you scoff, attitude returning in seconds, shoko completely used to it. but she’s shocked that you know gojo and geto. “not like you guys even played well.”

gojo’s vein bulges, “we played fucking good, we didn’t lose!”

“you didn’t win,” you shrug, cold.

that’s when gojo and geto both glance up at shoko. shock crossing their expressions. “you know her?!” they both point down at you.

shoko raises a brow, “she’s my friend.”

“she’s a bitch—“ geto spits, just to receive the worst glare of his life from you, but he just rolls his eyes. “how the fuck do you know each other?”

“I just told you she’s my friend. you’re the ones that screwed her over.” shoko takes your side.

gojo gasps, “we didn’t screw her over! she screwed us over! you saw the paper this week—not a single highlight!”

you glance at shoko, ignoring the men behind you, “how do you know them?”

“we went to high school together,” shoko throws with a bored wave.

frustrated, geto straddles the bench facing you, his hand falls on top of your camera, immediately making you snap your attention to him.

“hey—“

“listen. our deal was that you get access and then we get photos, you didn’t finish your job,” he keeps a grip on your camera. shoko frowns.

“you guys didn’t give me access—i got like ten minutes before the match, then I couldn’t even go in during halftime where everyone was pissed, so what’s the point?” you snap, getting in his face.

“the point is that has nothing to do with me!” geto shouts, your eyes pierce his in two, but neither of you back down.

“it literally does though!”

“guys,” shoko and gojo attempt at intervening, but neither of you will back down. especially when geto won’t let go of your camera.

“let go,” you seethe, hand on the camera as geto flexes, grip strengthening around it.

your heart pounds against your chest, the hot spring sun beats over the four of you, sweat building on your neck while geto scoffs. “you better take those photos of us this week—“

“or what?” you glare, “are you seriously threatening me?” you were dripping with ego and confidence, except for the fact that your eyes kept darting to your camera, your poor, expensive, beautiful camera—

“is this your first time being threatened—“

“the fuck.”

the deep, intimidating voice breaks the argument in seconds. geto’s eyes widen as he feels the gravity taken away from him and being lifted off the seat. the collar of his jersey tightens around none other than toji’s brutal grip.

your eyes break into hearts, grasping your camera before it clatters back on the table, glancing up to see geto gripping his coach’s forearm.

“since when do you fucking shout at girls. you?!” toji barks, baffled. sukuna sure, gojo maybe, but geto?!

“I wasn’t fucking shouting, we were talking,” geto tsks, neck red from embarrassment.

toji shoves him back. geto slams on the bench. you hadn’t realized it but they all looked like they just finished practice, geto and gojo both still in practice uniforms and duffle bags, and coach toji wearing his usual black cargos, and that compression shirt that left nothing to the imagination.

geto scowls, rubbing his back in pain.

“you were shouting, that’s why i came over—“

“she was shouting at me!”

“so what!?”

the table is quiet. a few passerby’s glance over before quickly walking away. it isn’t a shock to know how unbelievably hot your face is right now. especially when coach toji continues his stern lecture to geto.

“you’re defending some girl that can’t keep her word, mind you,” geto mutters, flashing you a glare—his breath catches. you’re not even looking at him!! shoko stifles another laugh along with gojo, because you really were, truly, unbelievable.

how can you look at someone like that?!? like he’s some idol?! him! a musty ass college coach?!

but none of it mattered, not when toji’s attention shifts to you!!! a warm heat floods between your legs, as your lips part. then suddenly, you glance away…

“I actually did shout too…” you confess, taking accountability. “and kinda screwed them over.”

gojo, geto, and shoko, stare at you in shock.

toji sighs, like some grown ass man (which he is), his hand settles on his hip as the other scratches his hair like he’s surrounded by immature children and figuring out what the fuck to do with you all. so he decides to confess too…

“i told security not to allow any outsiders.”

your heart drops.

“including you.”

oh shit.

the three audience members immediately glance at you, and what none of them, not a single one, expected, is to suddenly see the your eyes tear up.

toji felt a sharp twist in his gut, eyes widening for a moment, before sighing. “it wasn’t personal.”

your throat feels dry, unable to look away until now. a tear hits your camera. “how is that not personal,” you whisper, bottom lip trembling.

shoko’s brows pinch in hurt, at least out of everyone, she knows how much and how long you’ve liked this man. and then sulking and now— she knows you’re absolutely shattered.

“I needed the team to focus, and you’re press,” he states like some cold fact, and that hurt even more.

your grip tightens on the camera. “but…” your not a stranger anymore…. but you can’t get the words out…your heart pounds loudly in your ears, the heat surrounding you felt suffocating, and your head was growing dizzier by the second. and the only thing spinning in your mind was how fucking embarrassing this is.

“don’t be upset.”

you manage a small nod, though another tear falls on the camera, and your body freezes. “how can i not be upset?” your small voice catches toji off guard.

you’re standing up, eyes hot with tears, walking past the esteemed coach.

“wait,” he catches your wrist, “if you have something to say don’t just run away.”

you’re fuming, your pretty chest rises and falls, the disappointment turning into built up anger, “I don’t have anything to say right now, and it’s stupid—“ your hand twists in his grip. “let go.”

he does.

you’re practically heaving, tempted to turn away, especially when the dryness in your throat gets worse. the stinging behind your eyes burns like hell as you try to rip your gaze away from the towering man. you really are stupid…

toji wets his lip, head tilting as if disinterested, but the cooling in his chest says otherwise. why does he have a weak spot for women?

“we can talk.”

his words hang in the air. a silent, open invitation for her. it’s a clear sign of his guilt for making this cute college girl cry. he was too blunt, forgetting she isn’t one of his boys.

your hand comes up to the bridge of your nose, quietly recentering yourself as this older coach watches. your shoulders rise with a deep exhale, then inhale.

pull yourself together…

you nod. cute.

you swallow the embarrassing lump in your throat, clearing your throat. “can we talk while walking…I have to work,” your usual clipped tone used for everyone except him, comes out, but he can hear the slight shakiness.

“sure.”

gojo, geto, and shoko are left in utter shock. it’s not until you and toji completely disappear into the crowd, do they slowly exchange looks.

“what…”

“the fuck,” geto finishes shoko’s sentence.

gojo stares baffled, “did we just set them up?!”

geto’s brow jumps up, “why is he always saving her like some knight?? and he was the one that screwed us all over!!”

gojo shakes his head in agreement, “nah for real, what the hell, blaming us but it’s all him.”

geto slouches back in the picnic table, rolling his eyes. “still,” he tsks, “she didn’t have to be so bitchy and not take our pictures. isn’t it her fucking job—“

“hey!”

“ow!” geto feels a slap upside the head from brunette, her eyes harsh. “what the hell!”

“don’t call girls bitches what’s wrong with you?!” shoko huffs, baffled by geto’s attitude.

gojo snickers beside the man, “he’s been like this since he met her.”

“I haven’t,” he grits, rolling his eyes at the thought of you. “she’s just a—she just gets on my nerves.”

“really because she reminds me of you,” shoko cuts him off. geto’s eyes widen, as gojo breaks into a loud laugh.

“WHAT?!”

“oh god BAHAHA she does!” gojo’s obnoxious laugh sounds like knives stabbing his ears.

shoko hums, “she has that rbf look, intimidating, very blunt, but also so cute with her friends.”

“cute?” geto frowns.

gojo smiles, “it comes out when you’re hanging out with ussss.” gojo and shoko dramatically strike a cute pose. geto tsks.

the campus was packed with students and faculty roaming to booths and small events. it was the university’s 102nd anniversary, and as memorable as it is for the students to enjoy the activities during this nice spring day, you couldn’t bring yourself to give a shit.

not only did your editor scream at you all week, still pissed about the shit photos you took during the match, he also threatened removal if you didn’t take good photos during this event. and now, after sulking with shoko, then procrastinating some more, you decided you’d be able to take such fanatic pictures while your idol and crush trails beside you….sure.

toji lets out another sigh, hands in his pockets as he stands to your left watching you snap some shots of laughing students beside a booth.

“it’s not a big deal,” you mutter, behind the camera. toji notices the twitch in your fingers. “I overreacted, so it’s whatever.”

toji wets his lip, “sukuna and a couple others jus’ get jumpy with cameras.”

you hum, looking at the photos you just took. “I understand.”

“I didn’t know about this deal you did with geto,” toji admits, hand instinctively coming to your waist and guiding you away from some unaware boys shouting and laughing. your cheeks flush, stepping away from his hand. toji notices. “we didn’t have a good game anyways.”

“I know, so it whatever. not a big deal,” you sigh, heat crawling up your neck. this is so embarrassing, so embarrassing! ugh you really don’t know how to keep a cool head at all when it comes to this coach. you overreacted during the match, then blamed geto for screwing you over, then almost cried because the coach locked you out on purpose, and now—

“I feel bad.”

your heart stops.

toji glances at your manicured nails holding your camera, your cute necklaces dangling on your exposed chest, cleavage glistening from the heat. but then his eyes flick up, and you’re staring at him like he’s holding the entire world.

“I didn’t mean to make you upset,” his voice is softer, gentler, nothing like how you’ve heard him for months, shouting, harsh. your stomach heats up, face stinging.

his hand, unexpectedly, comes up, feeling your hair between his fingers. “you work hard, and all your pictures come out so nice…” the compliment hits your heart. “but I couldn’t risk the boys getting distracted.”

your face suddenly twists, lips pursing and jutting out just a bit, your brows pinch. your dewy makeup makes you look like a fucking doll, he thinks. “I was jus’ gonna take photos in the corner, not interview them,” you reply harshly.

“you saw how they are when they talk to you,” he cuts in. your brow quirks, noticing his sharp inhale. “sweetheart, you’re hot.”

your face bursts into flames, pupils turning to literal swirls, and brain getting fried in seconds.

what?!

your reaction was priceless. toji controls his smirk, thumb brushing your adorable cheek, glancing at your glossy lips then your eyes. “I know you’re a professional, but most of those boys aren’t, y’ understand?”

you nod, cheeks sizzling, you’re surprised his thumb isn’t burning.

“so you see why I couldn’t allow you in the locker room then, and i won’t next time,” he watches you nod again. god, you’re fucking precious.

then, your tongue wets your bottom lip before speaking… “are they the only ones that would’ve been distracted?”

shit. can a grown man really pop a boner that fast?

toji’s chest heats up, glancing between your pretty eyes filled with hope. this isn’t the first time a younger girl has crushed on him, and it also isn’t the first time he’s nice to one. but what really got him, is the way you’re maintaining eye contact, almost afraid to look away, and you’re holding your ground against him.

“no,” he admits, “they’re not the only ones.”

oh. your lips curve into a smile toji hasn’t seen before, and his hand flexes in response. you look like you’re going to eat him alive right there, and he’d let you, no questions asked—

“that’s good to hear,” you pull away. you touch your heated cheek with the back of your hand, wetting your lip as you glance over the coach’s flushed face. “your cheeks are red.”

what?! his eyes bulge, catching you off guard as you break into a loud laugh.

“tch,” he looks away, his own hand rubbing down his face. it really is burning out here. but even so, his emerald eyes look through his fingers at this pretty college girl laughing at him and he doesn’t know why his chest warms at the sight.

“I can buy you ice cream. I feel bad now that you had to explain yourself when I was just being the unprofessional one,” you start, already leading him to the nearest ice cream booth.

your camera hangs over your shoulder as you point to your favorite flavor than glance up at him, he points at the cookies n cream. “oh! I love cookies n cream,” you say, reaching for your phone to pay.

ding.

your eyes widen as toji pays instead.

“wha—it was supposed to be my treat, man,” you huff, accepting the cone he gives you, hand on your lower back as he guides you away from the booth. neither of you batting an eye to the multiple people gawking at the renowned coach of their soccer team, walking around with the hot, rude, student photographer.

“as if I’d let you pay,” he snorts.

your brows pinch as you take a lick of your ice cream, the cool sensation leveling your body temperature. your eyes narrow at him as he enjoys his ice cream, grateful to have something that cools the heat building up under his skin. “so not fair,” you mutter.

“how come?”

the two of you walk across the quad, sun still beating down.

“I wanted to use it as an apology,” you say, “I said that.”

“you don’t need to apologize,” he shrugs, casual, unbothered. you huff again. this time toji smiles, scar twitching up. “you can pay next time.”

your heart skips a beat, stomach doing a stupid flip.

“….next time.”

toji catches the smile behind your cone, his eyes trailing over the ice cream coating your tongue, your pretty hand wrapped around the waffle as your bracelets clank around your wrists.

“there’s other things you need to apologize for,” he coolly says, finding a bench and dropping his weight, eyeing you as you sit close beside him. unashamed.

your brow quirks, eyes narrowing, full body facing him, “what other things?”

toji shrugs, “we can talk about it next time.”

“but I can’t just be left in suspense, that’ll give me anxiety?!”

toji snorts, loud. his big tongue is finishing the ice cream so quick he’s already eating the cone. “don’t be anxious,” he says with his mouth full.

you tsk, rolling your eyes, and you don’t notice the twinkle in the older coach’s eyes. he can definitely see geto’s point about your attitude, but if he leans over—

your eyes go wide. stomach flipping.

he takes a bold bite of your ice cream, emerald eyes shut, and thick lashes kissing his flushed cheeks. your heart feels like it’ll break from your ribs, then, he opens his eyes. he doesn’t pull away yet, instead his tongue cleans his lips, humming in low delight. the heat around you wasn’t helping your own body temperature as it skyrockets.

“taste’s sweeter than mine,” his voice his huskier than before, catching you by surprise, and the heat pools between your legs.

“i—“ you can’t even form words! your eyes won’t tear away from his lips, and your chest is moving erratically because he’s so close.

“do you want a taste of mine. I took a bite without asking yo—“

his words cut the minute your lips press against his.

shock prevents him from reacting, eyes going wide. you gave in so quick, sure he was teasing, but still. he could feel the certainty in your kiss, along with the warmth, and anxiety. after a long ten seconds you pull away—

you pant against his lips, chest rising and falling, brain scrambled. “i jus’…” your heart is beating loudly in your ears. mind trying to keep up with what your body just did. you kissed him. you kissed the coach. the one you’ve been idolizing and photographing for months—

“we can do it again.” his free hand tilts your chin up, lips hovering over yours again. his breath is warm. “kiss me.”

you do.

this time you’re a little bolder. your lips connect with his, soft again, sucking his bottom lip, skillfully. slowly. he brushes your jaw with his thumb, humming in delight just like he did with the ice cream. but the sound goes straight to your core. completely unbothered by the rowdiness of the uni day activities around you. your free hand rests on his thigh, leaning more into the kiss.

“open,” you murmur against his lips. you can feel the the shit-eating smirk that breaks his face, groaning just low enough to make the heat furiously spread under your skin.

then, his lips part.

his tongue immediately connects with yours. caressing the wet muscle. he tastes the ice cream, delving a little more. it was just so easy taking control, and your little whines are too sweet for him to stop. his jaw opens wider, taking the lead as you follow. his hand cups the side of your face, unexpectedly possessive, ignoring the alarms sounding off in his head.

you had a crush, you’re fucking adorable, and you kissed him. plus, you make these cute sounds when he shoves his tongue against yours, thumb pressing into your cheek. how could he resist?

your grip against his thigh tightens, his back is pressed fully against the bench, while you were practically leaning over him, trying to swallow him whole.

“breathe,” he mutters, lips hovering close, waiting for you to inhale. his scar quirks up, you’re so cute. his thumb brushes your cheekbone again, eyes glancing between your fluttering lashes. “if we keep kissing, I’ll have a problem.”

your face burns, eyes darting down to the tent pressing up near your hand. and unlike toji, you let your second ice cream of the day melt and fall to the ground. you were a mess. you carefully lean back in your seat, the sudden space between you allowing you to take another deep breath. being near coach toji is intoxicating. it’s not that you didn’t feel like yourself, but you definitely throw all common sense out the door when he’s in front of you.

“are you staying to see the booths and stuff?” you clear your throat, trying to ease your erratic heartbeat.

toji finds it cute. his hand once cupping your face, slides down to brush the hair off your shoulder, fingers brushing the multiple earrings that dangle from your piercings. you’re much more stylish than he is…your accessories, the cute tank top that hugs your breasts, and embroidered low rise flared jeans.

“nah, gotta drive back home so i can take my son to practice.”

toji eases, not a single thing can bother him. it was a routine, the subtle throw away line about having a son that scared off many young women, or had them wanting a one night stand with the older dilf. so his eyes flick over you, the second he finishes his sentence.

your freeze.

your blood runs cold, eyes flicking down to his ring finger.

even if you’re looking, you know he isn’t married. you know. you’ve been photographing him for months, and not a single time have you ever seen him daunt a ring on his finger.

“there’s no one waiting for him at home?” you question, wetting your lip.

toji’s fingers slide from your earrings to the dried ice cream on your chin. “nah, if I’m late he’ll go to his friends house.”

you nod, anxiety slowly dissipating. “how old is he?”

“ten.”

your eyes light up, “my nephew is just a year older, that’s when they get really fun to hang out with,” your voice is so light and sweet, toji has to shove down the weird somersault his stomach does.

“really?” toji is not convinced. “all my son does is give me attitude and bully everything i do.”

you laugh, waving your hand, “yeah they get super opinionated, but it’s funny—trust trust he’s just doing it because you’re an easy target.”

“I’m an easy target.”

you nod, waving a hand again, “your his dad, my brothers and i were the same to our parents.”

brothers? toji doesn’t comment how that peaks his interest, but he naturally asks, “how many siblings do you have?”

“three older brothers,” you nod.

damn….toji hums, that explains your attitude and how you can handle geto’s bitchy moods. what also quietly settles in his mind is how your oldest brother would probably be around his age, considering your nephew is a year older than megumi. is that why you’re easily holding a conversation this long…maybe the age gap isn’t that big then…

“they were so freakin bossy, definitely why i pushed to dorm away from them,” you huff, toji zoning back into your rambling. it was cute watching you talk mindlessly, hands waving making your bracelets clank against each other. the sweat glistened across your skin, making you look eternal, which is amusing since you’re just talking.

but still, toji is the one to lean up this time. his hand settling on your waist as a anchor and he presses a firm kiss to your warm cheek.

your glossy lips part in shock, heart stuttering again. unbothered, toji casually stands up, towering over you as his hand gently settles atop your head. “i have’ta get going, but I’ll see you next week for the match. I’ll also let em know you can come in before and after the game, but not during halftime. okay?”

you nod.

“I’ll see ya’ sweetheart.”

and with a wink, he solidifies the fourth arrow straight through your heart.

—

it was very likely that your entire week looked like sunshine and rainbows, all because you had a full on make out session with your idol on a park bench. you couldn’t bring yourself to care much about anything else—well except for your job. you had to scramble to get photos after toji left, afraid of staying on your editor’s bad side.

luckily you pulled through, and convinced him to keep you on for the semi final match this coming weekend.

which leads you to your current blissful state. watching toji speak to the team in the locker rooms. unlike last time, you grabbed different shots, smiling every time toji glanced at the camera, but frowning any time any of the other boys looked.

“surprise surprise, couldn’t stay away too long,” gojo coo’s after the team breaks to finish changing.

“don’t bother me or I won’t take photos of you,” you throw, eyes flicking up at the tall man.

gojo pouts, “but I’m just talking to you,” his words drag.

geto is scowling a few feet away, jaw tightening and relaxing, until he finally comes up to you. your attitude shifts, eyes narrowing up. geto holds eye contact, chest rising with a subtle inhale. but once he exhales, his shoulders ease, and his eyes close, the fakest smile you’ve ever seen graces his naturally attractive features.

“I’m looking forward to seeing your photos after the game.”

your lips purse, brow quirking. “yeah…”

geto leaves. shortly after, the team gets called out. gojo utters the same line geto had just said, but much more cheerfully, all while toji walks up to you. brow furrowing at the two athletes as they walk towards the exit.

“they still bothering you?”

your eyes light up the moment you see him. “s’ fine,” your pretty lips pull into an easy smile, unexpectedly warming the coach’s heart. is it that easy to smile because of him?

“I’ll tell them to fuck off again,” his voice is naturally deep, hand subconsciously roaming up to the strap of your camera.

you smile, “okay.”

god, you’re really cute. his hand cups your cheek, leaning down and easily locking lips with you.

you’re immediately caught off guard, but his hand is so firm on your cheek, you just melt. your lashes flutter shut, leaning in more. he’s so big and tall. your cheeks sting, humming against his lips, trying to fight off the butterflies in your stomach. but it’s worse when he pulls away, and your heart leaps into your throat as he brushes his rough thumb against your lip, dragging the spit across the plumpness.

“I’ll c’ya after.” he winks.

you barely feel your feet when you step back out onto the field. your camera in hand, strap tight around your neck, everything exactly where it should be, and still, your entire body is giddy.

toji….toji toji toji—

you press your lips together, trying to fight it down, but it’s useless. your mouth keeps twitching, threatening to break into a smile and you can’t help it! he kissed you. twice now! like it was nothing—

you snap a shot.

sukuna’s first goal. the team and stadium erupts, and you’re already capturing it, body moving before your thoughts can catch up. you don’t need your editor screaming at you this time, so you shift angles, crouch lower, shoot through. geto lines up for a penalty shot, and you catch that too. the strike, the follow-through, and the way the net snaps back as the ball hits. you don’t miss a second of it.

but…inevitably…your lens drifts…to him. you can’t help it!

toji’s on the sidelines, where he always is. his sleeves are pushed up again, pacing, shouting, running a hand through his hair. you catch the flex of his arm, his biceps bulge and you feel heat pooling between your legs. you catch the drag of his palm across his broad huge chest, the set of his jaw when gojo almost tackles into another player.

you shouldn’t be taking this many photos of him. you know that, but you take them anyway. your chest feels tight with every picture, cheeks still burning, and your smile impossible to get rid of.

halftime comes and goes, and you don’t even try to get into the locker room this time. instead, you linger with the rest of the press, nodding along to conversations, camera hanging loose in your hands. you don’t care. not really. not when your mind keeps replaying it—his hand on your face, the way he looked at you after, the wink.

the second half starts and you’re back in position immediately. getting more action shots of the players—ugh but you keep stealing other moments too…small unnecessary ones. his biceps when he folds his arms. the scratch of his chest. the tilt of his head as he watches the field.

your thoughts don’t stop. why did he kiss you? why did he kiss you again? what is that supposed to mean? is he going to kiss you again??

the spiral doesn’t fully come to an end until the pitch breaks out into celebration. the team is off to the finals!

managers and the rest of the team flood the pitch as the stadium breaks out. you do your best to get the best shots of the team together, and you stay after to capture them talking to journalists, and press. unaware of the coach that slips away.

you follow the team and a couple managers back to the locker room as they continue celebrating. you can’t help the smile about how happy they are, they played well.

“how was the match?” geto corners you quickly.

“good,” you nod casually, fixing your flash. “you guys played really well.”

geto’s brow quirks. that’s nice….his lips purse. “I scored.” he mutters, glancing at the multiple piercings on your ear as you tuck a hair behind it.

“yeah, it was a nice shot,” your eyes flick over your camera before glancing up to meet his eyes, testing, “you wanna see?”

his eyes narrow again, “no.”

he’s quick to ignore your eye roll, as he points over his shoulder. “coach is calling for you.”

you can’t control the way your head whips to geto, then following the direction he’s pointing at. you don’t hesitate, your legs carry you across the locker room, and into the steamed shower room.

your heart hammers against your chest, putting the lens cap back on your camera and carefully sliding it off your shoulder, afraid to step further in until you put it back in your bag.

a single curtain is closed. shower running.

“coach toji?” your voice echos.

there a beat of silence, then…

“that you, sweetheart?”

you flush. controlling the smile that breaks your face as you hum, “yeah.”

the shower is still running, steam collecting in the room. your heart is beating erratically, you barely register anything aside from the fact that coach toji is definitely one hundred percent fully nude just a few feet away. his clothes are laid on his duffle on the bench beside the door.

“sweetheart?”

you jump. “yeah?”

“you gonna come in?”

you blink. again, then once more. then— “WHAT?”

your screech bounces off the tile floors, making you shrink at how loud you are. but it was a normal reaction. he just asked you if you wanted to come in? how else would you react—

“leave your things by my bag,” he doesn’t even react, like what he’s saying is the most casual kind of flirting. the kissing was one thing, but this…

your camera is zipped back in your bag, and in seconds, you’re peeling your panties off standing completely naked in the middle of a shower room. goosebumps break out, necklace and bracelets still on as your nipples harden.

what’re you doing, seriously?

one, this is highly unprofessional (whatever). two, you haven’t even gone a date with this man. and three, w-why would he even ask you to come in?!?! does he like you?! he does—he has too—

your bare feet pad against the steamed tiles until you reach the curtains. your hands won’t stop shaking, face burning hot, and lips parting as you let out a shaky exhale. then, you slowly pull back the curtains—

“come in before someone sees you,” is what you hear just as you’re being dragged into the steaming water, curtain pulled closed behind you.

the steam wraps around your skin instantly, thick and suffocating. your pretty nipples perk up in seconds. and standing right in front of you is the 6’5 two hundred pound man. water cascading down his body in slow, steady streams. you don’t even realize you’ve stopped breathing until your chest tightens, and your hands hover close to his forearm.

you’re so close.

your gaze is eye level with his broad solid chest, rising and falling slow and controlled like none of this affects him. like you standing in front of him naked is something he expected. but your too dazed to care. especially when you follow the droplets sliding over his muscles, catching the shallow lines as you continue going lower, and lower. the heat pools more obviously between your legs as you see the thick patch of dark coarse hair…then you see it.

your face burns hotter, stomach flipping hard making you even dizzier.

his cock twitches under your gaze. your knees almost buckle just at the sight. it’s huge. you have to suppress a whine, lashes fluttering as you feel a strong hand cup your chin.

“say hi first,” his voice is unbelievably deep, tearing your gaze away from the monster between his legs. his dark forest green eyes sink into you.

“hi.”

shit. he bites back a groan, eyes trailing down your naked body. nipples already perky and standing all pretty for him. his hand comes up, cupping the side of your face as he leans down, lips colliding with yours.

you whine immediately. your lips move together, tongues colliding as your hands slide up his muscular chest, feeling the deep ridges of his abs as he holds the side of your face, dominating the kiss.

it was overwhelming, the shower box, his body heat, his cock touching your thigh, it was all making you dizzy in the best ways possible. he pulls away, letting you catch your breath, but he stays close, brushing his lips over yours like it’s not enough. because it isn’t.

“did anyone see you come in?” he husks, hand still cradling your face as the other brushes your naked waist, pulling you closer. your skin is so soft under his palm.

“no,” you shake your head adorably, tongue poking out to wet your lip, “I don’t think so.”

the older coach hums, his hands freely roaming your side as he nudges your nose with his. “good,” is all he adds before he resumes the heated make out.

your tongues collide and caress, jaw falling slack as you moan a little louder when he grips your ass. groaning into your lip when your arms lock around his shoulders, wet chest pressing against his. you were such a sweet tasting girl.

his hand nudges your thigh. “jump.”

you gasp when he easily picks you up, back already pressed against the tiled wall. the hot water cascades down his back as he continues kissing you. “were you mad at me?”

you pull away, breath hot as you glance at his features. he’s so handsome, your hand cups his face, pushing his drenched raven hair back. “why would I mad?”

“because I kept ya out during halftime.”

you shake your head, lips curving as you trace his wet eyebrows, chest rising and falling. “no,” you drawl, wetting your glossy lips again. “I was jus’ confused about how much you kiss me.”

his scar tugs up, biting back a smirk threatening to break free. “you kissed me first.”

“that one time.”

“you started it,” he leans close, lips brushing yours, “so you can’t blame me for getting hooked.” his eyes are lidded. “it’s really hard for me to break bad habits.”

this time you kiss me.

you’re so unbelievably hungry for this man’s affection, you can ignore all the blaring red light going off in your head. he’s so hot, he’s so big, and he’s so fucking sexy! your mind has been completely and utterly fried and you don’t care.

“fuck, you’re dripping,” toji husks, his finger collecting your juices from your pussy, groaning at how turned you are. “kissing me makes ya feel that good? your cunt always dripping like a fountain?”

“yeah-aah—“ your lips part as he shoves a finger inside. he groans against you, chuckling at the choked whines leaving your pretty lips, your nails dig crescents along his shoulder.

his lips trail down your neck, tongue flattening against the wet skin and licking until you squirm a cute whimper. his smirk is impossible to hold back. he sucks a dark bruise as another finger pushes in your fluttering hole.

“c-coach—“ you gasp, lips so wet from spit. you try to look down at his fingers pistoning inside you. every muscle on his body flexing, keeping you up like you weigh nothing, while fingering you against the little shower wall. “fu-fuck, I’m gonna—cu-uhm—“

it really is too much for your obsessed brain.

coach toji’s fingers are inside you. he’s kissing you like he’s hasn’t pleasured a woman in years. and his groans are going straight to your pussy—

“I wan’…coach—“ your whine drawls a little longer, thighs shaking, and arms locking around him, head falling to neck.

the older man chuckles close to your ear, voice deep and husky as you fall apart, in his arms. hugging him like he’s your savior. his fingers curl, slowly pumping you through your orgasm. “that was quick. my baby hasn’t cum in awhile?” he says as a matter of a fact, but you just hug him closer, lips pulling away to trail kisses up his neck. your fingers coarse through the back of his head, grasping them as you kiss the corner of his mouth.

“it’s b’cause of you, toji.” you kiss his scar, panting as he pulls his fingers out and lifts you up suddenly, hooking his arm under your knee.

“you want a good fucking princess?”

you nod frantically, cheeks dewy and stinging, as you glance over his face then his chest, then you feel his cock between your slick folds.

“it’s a big stretch,” he mutters against your lips. “you saw.”

you nod, nervous stirring at the way he’s preparing you. but you don’t break away. you doubt you physically can, when your mind is only screaming his name over and over.

“I can take it, coach,” you nod, determined.

“you’re so fucking cute,” he snorts, a light blush dusting his cheeks as he kisses your lips in quiet reassurance. “ever take a cock this big?”

you shake your head, water droplets falling from the tips of your hair. your pretty necklaces still wrapped around your neck, all wet and glistening between your perky breasts.

“it’ll hurt,” he strokes himself underneath you, thumb running over his tip multiple times before lining it with your pretty clit and teasing you. “then you’re gonna cry.” you gulp, nodding along. “then you’re gonna tell me to stop—“

“I won’t!”

he snorts. “it’s okay if you do.”

you shake your head, “I won’t I’ll be okay. okay coach? I can take it, I wan’ you inside me. please.”

the tug to his heart is immediate. how can it not be when this cute hot girl is begging him to fuck her? but he can’t even formulate this emotional string that’s tying him to you. the only physical response coming out is this fucking erection that feels like the most painful shit he’s experienced, twitching after he first spoke to you and then again when you kissed him. surely it’s disgusting….an older man like him getting that quickly turned on…

but maybe it was the way he’s only felt this tug in his chest one other time in his life, and even if it didn’t end the way he wanted, he never regretted pursuing his baby mama.

so he’s all in right now.

“deep breath, sweetheart.”

you inhale sharply, just as toji pushes his engorged tip past the tight rim of your pussy, and you suddenly clench—

“shit!—“

your eyes widen, “I don’t feel anything,” you mutter, glancing down to see his ears burning a deep shade of red.

“your cunt squeezed me too early and shoved me out,” he wets his lips, as he crashes his lips against you. “relax, baby,” he husks.

you whine against his dominating mouth, lower body relaxing as he lines up again and the moment you ease up, he snaps his hips in.

“angh!—“

your jaw slacks, and he continues kissing, groaning at the unbelievable tightness that’s squeezing every corner of his tip.

“Mmm so warm, took me in good,” he groans, rocking his hips and grabbing a handle of your ass. “you’re gonna make me feel good?”

you nod, lips connecting with his, it’s messy, teeth clashing, spit mixing.

toji’s guttural groan echos through the shower, bouncing off the tiles as he rocks his hips, going in inch by inch, until he’s finally shoving his entire length deep inside your cunt with one mean thrust.

“fhuck—“ he chokes, jaw slacking as you clamp around him again. “full?”

you nod, brain scrambled as you glance at your tummy, cheeks stinging at the obvious bulge. “keep going,” you pant, securing yourself better as he grunts, pulling out and snapping his hips back.

it was mind numbing, toji holding you up with his strong arms hooked under your knees, hands gripping each ass cheek as he ruts into you like a beast in heat. the squelch and clapping was deafening as it bounced off the walls, the steam enveloping you closer as your whines flow right into his ear.

“nghhh—gettin’ me worked up,” thrust. “when you squeeze me,” thrust. “with this tight.” thrust. “fucking.” thrust. “cunt!”

his massive cock is stretching you in ways you never could’ve imagined. his blunt tip slams into your cervix with every thrust. your thighs shake, eyes filling with unshed tears as your nails dig into his tough skin.

“m’ s-sorry—haah ah coa—ahh! it feels s’ fuhh—fuh’me ple-easee—ahh!” your pretty lips were so glossy, drool coming down as water droplets fall from your pretty breasts with each vicious slam of his hips.

he was unforgiving. and his laugh like groan didn’t help your pussy from fluttering and tightening around his chubby cock. you can feel every thick pulsing vein and ridge. it was numbing your brain to mush. your fingers curled into his hair, tugging as he gives your ass a mean, violent, spank!

“angh!” your eyes bulge, a wave of heat crashing into you.

toji laughs, gripping your ass as he quickens his pace. “admit it,” he husks, voice condensing, and eyes dark with lust. “this is what ya’ wanted.” you’re falling apart around his cock, and he’s not slowing down, even as the tears finally break, making you look even more irresistible. you’re gasping like you can’t breathe. “you always wanted the coach to fuck you. taking those dirty photos of my bulge—nghh!” thrust. “imagining how big my dick is.” thrust. “how big is it baby, tell me.” thrust!

you were fucked dumb.

your face is flushed, eyes glossed over, as you whine like a full blown slut. and even with your two orgasms in a matter of minutes. your mind was still screaming one thing: toji.

“c’mon baby, I know you’re still with me,” he snorts, ears red, and body flushed with sweat as he feels his climax edge closer. “tell me—fuck—how big is it?”

your stupid brain catches his words, and your fingers dig into his neck as you gasp and moan, the stimulation of his massive cock slamming into you was ruining you. mentally and physically. it was humiliating. but still…

“haah—fuh its’ it’s so big— i wan’ you to cum in me! please —wan’ your cum so bad, wanna feel your big fat cock cum inside my pussy toji—ahh!”

anothet sharp spank takes your breath away.

toji is at a loss.

his grunts grew louder and thrusts sloppier, until finally, he gave you one final thrust, and stilled. his ass tightens, body pressing you into the tiled walls, face buried in your neck, and teeth sinking into your shoulder. toji completely unravels in the shower, holding up a pretty college girl that whines so beautifully in his ear he thinks he’d never cum this hard again, but sure enough—

your adorable whine has him rutting shallow thrusts into your pussy, like a fucking dog. his cum pumping out as he continued stuffing you full, purposely milking out ever drop as his dark wet pubes rubbed against your puffy clit.

you both catch your breath. your lashes wet from tears, as the water from the shower head fills the silence. after a moment, toji pulls away from your neck, his lidded eyes, hypnotizing as he stares up at yours.

you don’t know why you suddenly feel shy. your cheeks burn as the emerald irises bore into your own. lips parting, and a gentle hand coming up to his cheek. you brush back the raven hair flattening against his features, smiling softly when his full face comes into view.

and he could’ve sworn you looked like an actual angel at this moment.

your eyes twinkled above, face illuminating in the dark shower, and body glistening like you’re an eternal being.

“toji…” the soft call has his heart doing something it hasn’t done in years. and that has his soft cock twitching inside you. “I’m,” you lean closer, arms wrapping around his shoulder, lips hovering near his, breasts smushed against his chest. your confidence comes back the moment you feel the man lean closer..but you continue. “I hope you don’t think…i wanted to have sex…just because i thought your dick was really big.”

toji blinks.

then he does the worst thing ever.

he laughs.

your cheeks sting, watching his head fall back in loud laughter. your hand flys to your face, embarrassed. “I’m being serious!” you yell.

toji laughs louder, body shaking as he lifts you up, his cock slipping out. he carefully sets your shaky feet down on the wet tile. the height difference returns, making you even more ticked off, your little attitude was oozing out, and his slick cock couldn’t help but twitch against his thigh at your pouting.

god, you’re fucking hot.

he brings your attention back to him. hands cupping your face, tilting your head to look up at him. your brows are pinched together, and lips pulled in a subtle scowl.

toji smirks. “don’t worry, I know you also took pictures of my face.”

you flush, rolling your eyes. “those were accidents.”

“so you just wanted pictures of my dick?”

your eyes widen, “no! i told you they were all accidents.”

toji clicks his tongue, leaning down to your level, making your tummy flip “you’re fucking cute, but let’s not lie to adults.”

“I’m an adult though,” you raise a brow, pushing back, and god if that wasn’t the hottest thing ever.

but still, toji’s easygoing smile remains on his playful lips, “it’s embarrassing. i understand,” he softens the blow as your face heats. it was humiliating when he found those pictures, “taking photos of the coach like that. but now’s the time to take some accountability.”

you lick your teeth, eyes boring into him, narrowing. but it’s toji. toji is asking. and you can’t hold back any longer…

you exhale, glancing away, even though he’s still cupping your face. “yeah, obviously I took those photos on purpose,” your eyes meet. “happy?”

water is still running down his shoulders as he keeps your face tucked carefully in his hands like you’re something precious despite the grin threatening to split across his face again.

but then toji smirks. “ecstatic.”

your eyes narrow immediately, “you’re so annoying.”

he huffs another laugh under his breath, quieter this time, thumbs brushing over your heated cheeks. standing this close to him is ridiculous now that the adrenaline’s settling. he’s huge. his broad chest still damp against yours, muscles flexing every time he shifts, towering over you while you stand there completely naked except for the necklaces you’re wearing. the little gold chains glisten under the shower head, delicate against flushed skin, and toji’s eyes flick down to them for a second before returning to your face.

that look in his eyes makes your stomach tighten all over again. he knows he’s not trying to be mocking, or casual like before. it’s fondness.

“those shots were real creative, sweetheart,” he says, voice rougher now. “nice and close too.”

you groan, immediately trying to shove his chest, but he barely moves. “oh my god, can you let it go already?”

“can’t,” he answers easily. “been thinkin’ about it for weeks.”

your face burns hotter. weeks?!

toji watches it happen in real time, watches the attitude crack just enough for embarrassment to slip through, again. and it does something terrible to him. you’re sharp with everyone else—cool, hard to impress. he’s seen it. seen the way you brush off gojo and geto without a second thought. but with him? you melt.

even now, glaring up at him with your brows pulled tight, lips still swollen from kissing, legs trembling from the multiple orgasms, trying so hard to stay irritated while your body keeps betraying you. it’s fucking adorable.

“don’t look at me like that,” you mutter weakly.

“like what?”

“like you know things.”

his grin widens instantly. “but i do know things now.”

what proceeded after was the thirty something year old coach, dropping to his knee and lifting your leg up, burying his face between your legs like a starving man. your lips part in shock.

but still, as toji works your pretty body to another orgasm, tongue shoved inside, cleaning this little pussy up, jaw slack as he gulps down his own cum. your fingers thread through his hair, tugging whenever he’d give your clit a mean rough suck, cheeks hollowing. his hand, grips your ass from behind, squeezing and slapping as he pleased, until you were falling apart.

afterwards, he cleaned you up. this time with some soap. his big hands roamed your body, every crevice and curve, hands massaging your breasts as he had your back pressed to his chest, chuckling when you’d whine. thumbs tugging playfully. hand rubbing between your legs, head tucked in your shoulder as he watches your smaller hands hold his forehead, face hot.

“toji,” you whine, embarrassed, as he teasing a finger against your hole again.

“what,” he smirks, watching your reactions, “I’m jus’ cleaning you up.”

he’s a fucking perv. but still, he teases you through the whole shower, keeping you close to his body and even letting you wash his back, admiring the muscles and ink that decorate his skin.

eventually, he steps out first, keeping you inside so he can grab an extra towel. his own wrapped around his waist.

that was the start of all of it.

three months later….

you and shoko are sitting out in the quad. table covered in assignments and forgotten laptops. all while you explained to shoko how your weekend went.

“no, we definitely got along. megumi is so cute!” you gush about the ten year old, describing how your first meeting went. toji had spoken about you enough to prepare megumi, waiting until the right time to introduce you both.

and now, you’re going to every single one of their soccer games, toji and megumi’s.

and eventually, after another hour passes by. a group of athletes comes walking down the path. covered in sweat, holding their duffles, and behind them is a very hot coach, already breaking into a smile when you jump up.

“toji!”

it was a routine. your arms thrown around his shoulders, as he lifts you up with one hand. zero regard for any pda, as he kisses you deeply. smiling as you hum, pecking him over and over.

“why do you guys look like that?” shoko grimaces, looking at gojo and geto who look far worse than the rest of the team that leave.

geto scowls, glaring at his best friend, “fucking coach overhead him again.”

shoko shakes her head, rolling her eyes, at the white haired idiot. “you need to stop—“

“it’s been three months and she’s not over that old man?!”

“he’s not even that old!” shoko defends.

but gojo scowls harder, glancing over his shoulder at you laughing and talking, hands animated, like the man in front of you was holding the world. “it’s always the mean girls.”

shoko frowns, “you’re messed up in the head.”

but even geto narrows his eyes when toji wraps a possessive arm around you, glaring up at the two players.

it was clear as day.

you’re his.

a/n: this was LOONG overdue, mb guys!!! but i hope you all enjoyed it!!! ahhhh i love coach toji sososososo much—like its a serious problem, i cant make reader behave normally when its toji, like she has to be obsessed with himmm

anyways, the next oneshot will def be the frat gojo fic! possibly thinking of frat geto after this oneshot too bc i put in some little easter eggs about how they both kinda lean into mean girls so stay tuned! — (divider by @/strangergraphics)

[lilikakashi]

@spideyyeet hey so i love this. And feeds my daddy kink😛

[sapph22]

Every guy you date disappears without explanation, but your three best friend… Shoko, Gojo and Geto… never leave your side, and they never will.

Yandere Shoko Gojo Geto x reader

Tw: Yandere, mentions of violence and death, obsessive and possessive behaviour

You’re sitting in Geto’s apartment, mascara running down your face because Haruki… your boyfriend… blocked you on everything. Every social media account, your number, even LinkedIn for fuck’s sake. No explanation, nothing.

And this is the fourth time this has happened to you in two years.

“I don’t fucking get it,” you’re saying, wiping your nose with the tissue Shoko handed you. “Things were going so well. We were literally talking about meeting his parents and…”

Shoko’s behind you on the couch, and you’re between her legs, leaning back against her stomach in a way that would probably look weird to outsiders but feels completely natural to you. You’ve been friends since college. Her fingers are in your hair, scratching your scalp the way she knows makes you relax.

“Some guys are just cowards,” she says. “They’d rather disappear than have an actual conversation like adults.”

“He didnt deserve you anyway.” Gojo adds. He’s on the floor between your legs, arms rested on your knees, looking up at you. “Remember when he couldn’t even kill that spider in your apartment? He made you do it. What kind of man does that?”

You would laugh if you weren’t so miserable.

“He was weak,” Geto says from his position next to Shoko, close enough that his knee touches your hip…. which is another thing that would probably seem weird to people who don’t know you. But you’ve all been friends for six years. His hand comes up to wipe a tear from your cheek, thumb brushing across your skin with a gentleness that seems at odds with how imposing he looks “You need someone stronger than that.”

“I just need someone who doesn’t disappear on me,” you mutter. “This is the fourth guy, you guys. What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing’s wrong with you.” Gojo says it too quickly, with too much intensity. He shifts closer, and now both his hands are on your legs, palms warm through your jeans. “You’re fucking perfect. They’re the problem.”

Shoko’s hands slide from your hair down to your shoulders, massaging. “Maybe you should take a break from dating,” she suggests. Her voice is right by your ear. “Just focus on yourself….. On us.”

“You’ve got us,” Geto adds. His fingers move from your cheek to your neck, just resting there. His hand is big enough that his thumb sits on one side of your throat and his fingers on the other, not squeezing, just… there. “We’re not going anywhere.”

“I know, but I can’t date you guys….” you say, and you mean it as a joke. Obviously. Because they’re your best friends and that would be weird. Right?

“Why not?” Shoko says it like she’s joking too, but something about her tone is off.

“Because you’re my friends, weirdo.” You lean your head back against her stomach, looking up at her upside down face. She’s so pretty it’s honestly unfair. Even from this angle. “You don’t date your friends. That’s like… rule number one of having friends.”

“Right,” Geto says… there’s something in his voice that you can’t quite read. “Friends.”

You don’t catch the way they all look at each other over your head. Don’t see Gojo’s grin or how Shoko’s fingers tighten in your hair or the way Geto’s jaw clenches like he’s physically restraining himself from saying something.

You’re too busy crying over a guy who isn’t worth your tears. Too busy feeling sorry for yourself to notice the way all three of them are touching you… hands on your legs, in your hair, on your neck….. in a way that’s definitely crossed some invisible line.

Later, after they’ve calmed you down with food and too much wine and made you laugh despite everything…. Gojo doing his impression of Haruki’s spider scream, Shoko telling you about the absolute disaster of a date she went on last week (a lie, but you don’t know that), Geto putting on a stupid comedy special you love……. Gojo insists on walking you home.

His arm stays around your waist the entire way, even though you’re perfectly capable of walking on your own. Even when you’re in the elevator of your building and there’s literally nowhere for you to fall.

“You gonna be okay?” he asks when you reach your door. You’re fumbling with your keys because you’re still a bit drunk and your hands won’t cooperate.

“Yeah. Thanks for….”

He hugs you before you can finish. It’s tight…. tight enough that you make a small “oof” sound… his face buried in your neck, and it goes on just a bit too long. “Sleep well, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say into his shoulder. “You too.”

You don’t see the way he watches your door after you close it. Don’t see how he stands there in the hallway until he hears the lock click and the deadbolt slide into place. Don’t see the way his expression shifts into something that would probably scare you if you could see it.

☽☽☽.

“She cried for thirty fucking minutes,” Shoko says. She’s lighting a cigarette in Geto’s living room. “Over that limp dick loser.”

“He cried longer,” Gojo says cheerfully. He’s lying on the couch, looking entirely too pleased with himself, legs spread out and head tipped back against the cushions. “Pissed himself too when Suguru started with the knife.”

“He kept saying he loved her,” Geto says. He’s washing his hands in the kitchen sink. There’s still some blood under his fingernails. The water runs pink, then clear. “Had to gag him. The warehouse walls are thick but not that thick.”

“Where’d you dump him?” Shoko asks, taking a long drag. She’s examining her nails… she’d stayed behind for this one, played alibi, but she looks a little disappointed that she missed it.

“Same place as the others. The lake.” Geto dries his hands on a towel, inspecting them in the light. “Weighted him down properly this time. He’s fish food now. They’ll find him in spring maybe. If there’s anything left to find.”

They sit in silence for a moment. Comfortable silence that comes from knowing someone so well that you don’t need to fill the empty spaces.

“I love her so much it makes me want to break shit sometimes,” Gojo says suddenly and his voice has lost its cheerful tone. “Like, I see her smile at some random asshole and I genuinely want to cave his skull in.”

Shoko takes another drag, blowing smoke toward the ceiling. “How long do you think until she figures it out?”

“Does it matter?” Gojo shrugs… and the grin is back. “Where’s she gonna go? Who’s she gonna tell? No bodies, no evidence. And even if she did know….”

“We’re not letting her go,” Geto finishes. “Ever.”

The cigarette smoke curls in the air between them, and somewhere across the city, you’re falling asleep in your bed, completely unaware that the three people you trust most in the world have killed for you four times now.

And they’ll do it again.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Your Reblogs and comments are appreciated 💗

[sukunahs]

crazy in love | ryomen sukuna

chapter 2: exactly what he wants

pairing: serial killer!sukuna x reader

summary: sukuna has loved you since you were in high school, and when he finally gets his chance with you, four years after graduation, he's the perfect boyfriend.

he treats you like you're worth more than the entire world, devoted solely to you, committed to keeping you healthy and happy in his arms for all eternity.

if only he wasn't killing people behind your back.

word count: 11.2k

content: 18+ mdni, smut, dub-con in the later chapters, dark content, rough sex, yandere sukuna, obsession, stalking, murder, blood, gore, manipulation, deception, unhealthy dynamics, jealousy, cheating (reader cheats on her bf with sukuna), sukuna is awful in this but he's good to reader exclusively, fic takes place in the early 2000s, more tags to be added on a chapter by chapter basis!

a/n: hope you all enjoy some sukuna pov hehe

masterlist | ao3 | previous chapter | next chapter (coming soon!)

Sukuna couldn’t pinpoint the moment he’d fallen in love with you. 

He’d always thought you were cute, ever since your teacher had sat the two of you together in a Physics class over seven years ago now. But he wasn’t sure exactly when his feelings had shifted from she’s kinda cute, to outright obsession. 

At some point before he’d disemboweled Ryu - he was certain of that.

Probably long before then. 

He was aware that he’d really fucked things up with you in high school - mainly because he hadn’t quite comprehended the idea that someone else would stake a claim on you before he could find the chance to do so himself. 

In his mind, his affection for you had been obvious, and yet, Ryu still decided to get in the way. 

He couldn’t really blame you for basking in the attention that Ryu provided you with back then - not when he’d overheard you explain your reasoning to your friends. You hadn’t believed that Sukuna was serious, had thought that he was just playing with your heart with the intention of one day breaking it. 

Like he’d ever do such a thing. 

So you’d settled for the next best thing, someone who was clear about their intentions, someone who had offered you more than noncommittal flirting. And while Sukuna understood that, he was by no means willing to sit idly by and let Ryu have you. 

He’d spent weeks planning it out - picking the perfect night, the perfect weapon, the perfect words to say as Ryu bled out on the floor. He’d pictured himself as the caring friend, a shoulder to cry on when you discovered your boyfriend laying dead in the garage. 

What actually transpired that night wasn’t really what he’d planned. 

He’d killed Ryu just as he’d intended to, but after he’d cleaned himself up and gone to find you amongst all the bodies at that party, he discovered you in a state of total despair. Apparently your boyfriend, the boyfriend that was lying dead in the garage, had cheated on you. 

With Yorozu no less. 

Your distressed state changed things. You were already clinging to him, more malleable than he was used to you being, clearly a little drunk and sobbing about how you weren’t good enough. It wasn’t an opportunity that he could pass up, forgetting the murder he’d committed in favor of placating you, purring all the right words in your ear until you were putty in his hands. 

He had you in that bathroom without a single thought to how it might complicate the discovery that would be coming your way later in the night. It was short-sighted, he understood that now - a little more patience could’ve earned him four years of bliss with you.

Instead, he had to suffer you avoiding him like the plague all because of your misplaced guilt. If only you could understand that you didn’t technically cheat on your boyfriend, since he was already dead by the time Sukuna sunk into you. 

Not that he could ever tell you that. 

He’d killed Yorozu for the part that she played in the whole mess. If she hadn't thrown a spanner in the works, Sukuna’s plan would’ve played out just as he’d intended, and you wouldn’t be so anxious and cautious around him like you were now. That woman always seemed to find a way to make Sukuna’s life difficult, and he didn’t want to risk any more hiccups when it came to you. 

Besides, he’d seen the way Yorozu spoke to you, you’d probably be happy if she simply disappeared from the world. He did you a favour. The same was true of Ryu’s death - you deserved better than someone who would cheat on you. Sukuna would worship the very ground that you walked on - why couldn’t you understand that already?

But as frustrating as it was, he knew that he just needed to be patient. 

Now that you were back in town he wasn’t going to pass up his chance. Even through all your guilt and your weak protests about some boyfriend back in the city, there was nothing that would stand in his way this time. 

You were always meant to be his, and he knew that you wanted it just as much as he did - you just weren’t quite ready to admit to it yet. But that was okay, Sukuna was more than happy to help nudge you in the right direction. 

First and foremost, he needed to make sure that something was done about that boyfriend of yours or he’d get nowhere - not now you were so touchy about the idea of cheating. 

The day after Toji’s party, Sukuna found himself at the door of the office trailer on the construction site, knocking on it softly and waiting until he heard your soft voice calling out for him to enter. 

It was fortunate that he had such a clear line of access to you, able to apologise face to face rather than waiting for things to be on your terms. He was sure that you’d chalked it up to pure luck that he happened to work for your father, but there was no luck involved - he’d chosen that job out of desperation, hoping that it might one day open an avenue to you.

He just hadn’t anticipated how excellent an avenue that would be.

Likewise, he imagined that it looked like pure chance that he’d cut his hand on some glass the day before, happening to run into you in some kind of meet cute scenario that neither of you could’ve foreseen. Unfortunately, that was all artificial too. Once he’d found out that you were working in the office, he’d cut across his palm with a knife to give himself a reason to go in there and see you. 

It had all worked out great, considering how tenderly you’d held his hand in yours, patching him up like some kind of cute little nurse. 

He’d almost thought things would be easy after that. He’d heard the tremor in your voice, seen the flush on your cheeks, and had figured that you’d succumb to him immediately. But the way you’d reacted at Toji’s party had really put a damper on things. 

Hitting him with an outright rejection all because of fucking Ryu and this new guy was not what he’d been anticipating.

He bet that those damn friends of yours had something to do with it. Yuki had always hated him, taking steps to make sure that he got nowhere near you as long as she was around. He was itching to ensure that she meet the same fate as Ryu, but he was smarter than that - he couldn’t go killing people that you knew indiscriminately or you’d start to suspect something.

Unless Yuki became an insurmountable barrier to the success of your relationship he’d let her live. 

Besides, it was probably better that he avoid putting you in a position where you’d become overwhelmed with grief and trauma - that just wasn’t conducive to a healthy relationship. 

Dealing with your emotional state after Ryu’s death was hard enough as it was. 

Pushing his way into the trailer, he picked up on the way your eyes widened in surprise for a second before you took control over your expression. You looked cute, propped up on a comfy swivel chair, wearing some oversized baggy hoodie that he wished was his. The idea of you wearing his clothes sent him into overdrive. 

There were dark shadows under your eyes, unsurprising considering how late it was by the time you ditched him in the garden the night before. 

“Cut yourself on some more glass?” You asked cautiously. 

He wasn’t quite sure if you knew that he’d been lying about the nature of yesterday’s incident. He didn’t think so - you’d always struck him as mostly naive, opting to see the good in people and believe that they were generally telling the truth. It was a feature that he admired about you, a worldview that differed so significantly to his cynical mindset. 

“Not yet. Maybe later though.” 

He wasn’t going to shut down the opportunity to have you bandage him up again if he could get away with it. 

You pursed your lips. “Why are you here then?” 

“I wanted to apologise.” He had to bite down on his lip a little to stop himself from grinning at the way that your eyes widened in shock, clearly not expecting him to say anything akin to that. To really sell his words, he ran a hand through his hair, almost bashfully, acting all embarrassed to be showing up and saying such things. 

He wasn’t embarrassed - he wasn’t even really sorry, but you didn’t need to know that. 

“You were right, what we did that night was wrong. It shouldn’t have happened, not like that at least. Ryu deserved more respect - I just liked- like you so much, and I got carried away, both then and last night. Sorry.” 

The majority of what he was saying was a lie, outside of the part where he said that he liked you. It was what you wanted to hear though - if he was going to disarm you he had to placate you first, tell you all the sweet things that would bring him back into your good graces. He certainly couldn’t go around telling you the truth, which was that he had no interest in showing Ryu any respect - before or after his death. 

In fact, knowing that Ryu was dead in that garage, picked apart by Sukuna’s own hands, had probably turned him on even more than usual on that fateful night. 

Maybe one day you’d be receptive to hearing such a thing, after he’d corrected certain flaws in your manner of thinking, but that was a long way off. He needed to take it one step at a time and eventually he’d get everything he’d ever wanted. 

“Oh. Uh- thanks, I appreciate that.” 

You were fidgeting with your hands, eyes darting about as if you were too nervous to look at him properly. It was annoying, because he’d spent so much time in high school working on your relationship, building your confidence up until you finally slept with him. Now here you were back at square one, avoiding eye contact with him just like you had when you’d first met. 

“We should start over,” he said, placing a hand down on your desk, encouraging you to acknowledge him. “Let me take you to lunch today.” 

“I don’t know-” 

“As friends. I’ll pay, as an apology for last night.” 

You glanced up at him then, an almost defensive look in your pretty eyes. He’d come on too strongly yesterday and it had really put your guard up around him. It was his own fault - he should’ve taken a more lowkey approach, but knowing you were back in town after years apart had him acting a bit crazy. 

“Just as friends?” You confirmed, the words coming out slow. 

“Yeah. I’ll get you those pancakes that you like at Doug’s and you can tell me all about that little boyfriend of yours.” 

—

Kashimo was mind-numbingly boring. 

You’d been talking about your boyfriend, if he could even be called that, for about five minutes now, and there wasn’t a single thing about him that convinced Sukuna he was even remotely deserving of your time. 

Sitting across from you in a comfy booth at the back of the diner just felt right, and from the way that you were speaking about Kashimo, he couldn’t really imagine that man is his position right now, gazing at you affectionately as you scoffed down your pancakes. There was no way your new boyfriend would appreciate it, appreciate you, in the way that Sukuna did. 

The only reason that he hadn’t voiced that opinion aloud was because he wanted you to keep talking. This was the most he’d heard you speak in a long time without your tone affected by an edge of caution, and he was enjoying hearing the angelic timbre of your voice - even if he was less than moved by the content itself.

From what he could figure, you weren’t really that interested in Kashimo yourself. He’d heard you speak more excitedly about Ryu than you currently were about this university fling of yours. It all sounded very safe and nice - the usual story of meeting in some elective class, with him asking you out on a couple of dates, which you of course said yes to because you’d never been very good at saying no. 

It wasn’t like things got more exciting from there. He took you on the classic dates to independent coffee shops and artsy cinemas, trying to impress you and trick you into believing that he was some deep, free thinker - as if every other university boy wasn’t doing the exact same thing. 

There was no passion in your voice, nothing that moved Sukuna to believe that Kashimo was a genuine threat in the way Ryu had been. As far as he could tell, you were only dragging the whole thing out because it was comfortable, and perhaps out of fear of having to turn the boy down. 

Sad really, how unwilling you were to chase after your own happiness when it was right there in front of you - content to settle for mediocrity just to make some irrelevant person happy. That was another trait of yours that he desperately needed to correct one day. 

“So, what do you actually like about him?” Sukuna asked, interrupting your spiel about some music charity that Kashimo was currently working for.

He’d noticed that you were talking a lot about Kashimo’s jobs and hobbies, and saying very little about your actual relationship. Your descriptions of Kashimo sounded more like you were reading off a wikipedia page rather than dating the guy.

You blinked a couple of times, as if caught off guard by his question. “Oh- uh- well, he’s really nice. Like, such a genuinely kind person.” 

Sukuna frowned. “Nice? Come on, that’s the first thing you thought of? There’s gotta be something more than that, right? Is he good in bed or something?”

“I’m not gonna talk about that,” you said defensively, cheeks warming. To Sukuna, that response was a pretty conclusive no - if he was something special then you’d probably be willing to discuss it. “I mean, I admire how creative he is. He’s the lead singer in a band and he’s really good. Plus I like how dedicated he is to his work and stuff…”

It wasn’t convincing, he was pretty sure that you weren’t even that convinced. You still hadn’t mentioned anything about how he made you feel, or the things he did for you. Everything just felt impersonal.

“Right. So are you guys gonna get serious then?” He asked, enjoying the way that you grew noticeably frazzled, taking a long sip from your cup of coffee to buy yourself some time before responding. 

“I don’t know. We live so far apart now, and he’s always busy with stuff, we’re not even uh- super official so, yeah… I don’t know.” 

Sukuna grinned, glad that you’d finally come clean about the status of your relationship, or perhaps situationship, just as he’d suspected it to be from the start. That made things simpler, how hard would it be to break you up with someone that wasn’t even really your boyfriend? 

“It kinda sounds like he’s stringing you along.” 

You giggled softly and shook your head. “More like I’m stringing him along. He asked me to move in with him when I left town but- yeah, I don’t know. After everything with Ryu, and some other stuff, I just don’t feel like I’m ready for something that serious.” 

Sukuna hummed. He suspected that the ‘other stuff’ that you referred to had something to do with him. It wasn’t like you were doing a good job of hiding your desire for him, putting up something of a fight whenever he’d approach you but ultimately faltering under the smallest amount of pressure. He knew that you still wanted him, held back only by your own morals and guilt. 

There was a reason that you still agreed to go out to lunch with him, and it wasn’t really because you just wanted to be friends. You were no better at resisting him than he was at resisting you - you were just better at pretending. 

“That’s fair enough. It’s smart to take some time to think about what you want, no point rushing into anything.” 

Unless you were rushing into his arms, of course. 

“Exactly,” you said with a smile, turning your focus back to the plate in front of you and scooping up the final few mouthfuls of pancake, smearing syrup over the corner of your mouth in the process.

Sukuna couldn’t help but think how sweet you looked. He’d love to lean over the table and lick the mess from your face, taste the sugariness of the syrup paired with your enticing lip gloss. Though he assumed you probably wouldn’t appreciate such an action, not right now, at least. Instead, he pointed to the corner of his own lips, alerting you to the presence of the sticky substance. 

Your tongue darted out to clean it, failing miserably. Rather than allowing you a second attempt, Sukuna picked up his napkin and reached over to you, softly dabbing up the liquid. You froze beneath his touch, watching him cautiously, your shoulders only relaxing when he pulled back without further incident. 

“There you go,” he said with a smile.

“Thanks.” It was a shy, bashful response, leaving your cheeks ever so slightly flushed. A heavy silence hung in the air between you for a few seconds before Sukuna decided to fill it with more of his bullshit apology, now that you were done with all the Kashimo talk. 

“I really am sorry, you know. For what happened that night with Ryu, and for coming on too strong lately. I get that you have a boyfriend, and still feel guilty about what we did. I respect that you can’t just move on and pretend like nothing happened.” 

You offered him a small smile, nodding along at his apology. “It was just- that was the worst night of my life, you know? I can’t look at you and not think about it.” 

“I know, I get it.” 

“Maybe one day, maybe after a bit more time, but right now I still find it hard to live with myself.” 

The sad little smile marring your pretty face didn’t sit well with him. You were such a good, kind person, always worrying about how your actions affected others. It wasn’t like you were responsible for Ryu’s death - no one was, with the exception of Sukuna alone. Besides, Ryu had cheated on you first, you deserved to get your own back for that. 

“I’m not saying this just to get my way, but you know that it wasn’t your fault, right?” 

“I know that, I just-” 

“I get that you can’t really see it, I just wish that a horrible coincidence wasn’t the thing that stopped…this.” He gestured vaguely between the two of you, mirroring the sad nature of your smile. 

“Me too.” He barely heard you, your voice a whisper. He watched the way your fingers twitched nervously, as if contemplating whether you should be having this conversation with him at all. 

“To be honest, I’m just still kind of angry with myself. I wish I’d told you how I felt before Ryu did. Or at least, I wish we hadn’t had sex that night, maybe that way I wouldn’t be tainted for you? I know you’re with Kashimo now, and I’ll respect that, but I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t wish we could be together.” 

He was putting on his best ‘I’m so sad and I’m so sorry’ face and hoping that you’d eat it up. You were the type of girl who had infinite empathy for those around her, the kind of girl who would cry when an animal died in a movie. He was sure that you’d be easily moved by his sorrowful expression. 

“Sometimes I wish that too,” you said honestly, eyes flitting between him and the table. “Everything just ended up getting too fucked up - maybe we just weren’t meant to be.” 

“Maybe,” he hummed in agreement, despite his brain screaming about how you were dead wrong on that front. “But who knows what life holds. I think that if we were meant to be, one day we’ll find a way to each other. Just like how we stumbled across each other again working for your dad, nothing is certain.” 

Boldly, he reached out across the table, his fingers grazing the back of your hand. You didn’t pull away, eyes dropping down to his fingers but making no further acknowledgement of the action as you raised your head once more, staring evenly back at him. 

“Yeah. Maybe.” 

He wished he could read your mind, eager to pick apart what you were thinking. Were you moved by his desire to be with you? How much pushing would it take for you to give in? You’d literally said that sometimes you wished you were with him too, how hard would it be to get you to take the leap? 

Once again the silence felt heavy, gazes focussed on each other. You were fixing him with an odd sort of look, lips parted like you wanted to say something but couldn’t quite get the words out. He wondered if there was a part of you calculating what would happen if you were to throw caution to the wind and give him what he wanted.

He certainly hoped so. 

But you seemed to realise your mistake before you could quite get there, swiftly scrambling to fill the silence, pulling your hand away gently and turning the conversation back around to Kashimo, as if that would obscure your flustered reaction to his touch. “My- my boyfriend is coming to visit in a few weeks.” 

Sukuna’s gaze darkened in annoyance for half a second, frustrated to be shut out again, only to quickly conceal it. He needed to stop viewing this as a short term game - if he started getting angry that you weren’t being more receptive more quickly, he’d be at risk of getting shut out completely. He couldn’t act like some needy incel, he needed to act like your genuine friend and wait until the perfect opportunity arose to pull you to his side. 

Besides, Kashimo’s presence could be a good thing - he could use it as an opportunity to sabotage your relationship, to make that man look bad and make himself look good. If push came to shove, he could use it as an opportunity to deal with Kashimo in the same manner that he dealt with Ryu. 

“Oh yeah? You should introduce us.” He offered, as if he hadn’t been telling you how much he wanted to be with you just moments prior. 

You bit down on your lip, folding your hands carefully beneath the table, firmly out of his reach, as if recovering from the spell you’d temporarily been under. “I- um- don’t know if that’s a good idea.” 

“Aw, come on.” He leaned forward, propping his chin up on his hand. “We’re starting fresh, remember? I won’t mention any shit from the past, we’re just friends. I can be perfectly civil with him, just like I always was with Ryu.” 

That wasn’t a lie - he’d be outwardly friendly and he wouldn’t outright mention your past entanglements because it wouldn’t serve him well to do so. 

Should you let him meet Kashimo? Probably not, because he was certainly going to venture out of his way to twist the situation in his favour, but you’d absolutely never know that. You’d always been far too trusting. 

As far as you’d see any interaction between them, Sukuna would be the perfect friend, displaying kindness and interest with absolutely no ulterior motives at all. He’d been good at acting that way with Ryu, and he was certain he’d find Kashimo just as easy. 

People really weren’t all that complex. 

“He’s coming just in time for the reunion, so you’ll probably see him anyway,” you said with resignation, as if you’d spent the previous few seconds considering all the ways that the meeting could fall apart. 

Sukuna practically beamed. “Great. Can’t wait to meet him.” 

—

In the weeks leading up to Kashimo’s visit, Sukuna made sure to utilise his time to the fullest extent, preparing for what he knew would be his best shot at effectively drawing you to his side. 

Part one of his plan went off without a hitch, as it involved maximising the time spent with you over those weeks. That had been pretty easy considering your shared employment - he’d eat lunch with you every day without fail, be it in your office trailer or out at Doug’s. At first you’d shown something of a reluctance towards those daily meetings, but it only took around a week for you to come around. 

You’d always been at least a little fickle where he was involved - he just needed to push the tiniest amount for you to be all pliable, even if you desperately wanted to pretend that wasn’t the case. 

So by the time Kashimo arrived, you and Sukuna seemed to be the best of friends. You’d opened up to him significantly, giggling freely at his jokes, openly seeking him out for your lunchtime hangouts, and even letting slip vital information surrounding your true reservations about your relationship. 

It was ideal for him, it felt almost like how you’d act with him back in high school - back when you’d go running to him to complain whenever Ryu would upset you, as if he wasn’t supposed to take that as a sign of how much happier you’d be with him. 

You’d confided that you weren’t passionate about Kashimo - you were sitting on the fence, wondering if you’d ever feel genuine love for him beyond simple comfort. Words that came as music to Sukuna’s ears - even if he was sure to hide how happy it made him. 

In his time with you he’d done an excellent job of playing friend, and with the exception of your first lunch together, he didn’t bring up his love for you again. He needed it to look like he had your best interest at heart whether it involved him or not. Otherwise it would be hard for him to seem genuine when all his scheming came to fruition at that stupid reunion. 

So, dealing with you he had down - he was proud of it, it felt like he was halfway to success. However, the second aspect of his plan, which had little to do with you, was a little trickier to pull off in the way he was hoping. 

His original idea had been to dig up dirt on Kashimo, figuring that most people had at least some skeletons in their closet - Sukuna certainly did after all, though likely in a more literal sense than most. 

Subsequently, he’d gone online and stalked the guy to the greatest extent possible, which was minimal, because Kashimo had one of those stupid private Myspace profiles where only friends were able to see your stuff. That was annoying, and led to Sukuna making a fake account, with some stolen picture of a hot girl. 

Kashimo accepted the friend request from ‘her’, which meant Sukuna had access to his posts and photos, but was dismayed to find nothing sinister at all. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised, considering that Kashimo had you as a friend on the platform - if he was up to anything weird, he probably wouldn’t be sharing it in such a public place. 

That led Sukuna to make an attempt at chatting with Kashimo online, figuring that he could send a few flirty messages and have the man gagging for the fake woman that he’d so painstakingly created - spending an ungodly amount of time curating her profile to make her seem so real and interesting, all artsy like the type of girls he’d imagine Kashimo to be ideally into. 

And yet, that asshole shut things down instantly, replying to messages with cool responses, even pushing back with an ‘I have a girlfriend’ message when Sukuna started to come on too strong. Unlike you, Kashimo seemed steady in his affection for you, already loyal to a fault, which was really fucking annoying. 

Since the guy wasn’t engaging with anything obviously shady, and was unwilling to be pushed to cheat, which would’ve provided clear evidence of the man’s rotten nature for him to share with you, Sukuna decided that he needed to take matters into his own hands. 

If Kashimo wasn’t going to do it himself, Sukuna would do it for him. 

Wasn’t he fortunate to have a friend that was so good with photoshop? 

“Alright.” Satoru said, flicking through the pictures on his computer screen, scrutinising each incriminating image of Kashimo that he’d so painstakingly edited. He was sitting cross-legged on his swivel chair, while Sukuna lounged on his bed, waiting for him to finish up before passing judgement on his creations. “This’ll probably work.” 

Sukuna sat up, peering over Satoru’s shoulder at the screen, grin widening with each image that he observed. Satoru had really put his graphic design degree to good use, because Sukuna totally bought that the images were real. So many of them were awful for Kashimo, displaying him engaging in all manners of debauchery: snorting coke, getting in fights, touching girls who certainly weren’t you. 

Perfect. 

This was one of those rare times where he was actually grateful that he had Satoru as a friend, and he was equally grateful that the man had such a low moral compass for most things. Some friends would stop their buddies from trying to sabotage the relationship of a girl they liked - not Satoru though. 

He’d known for years how much Sukuna was into you, and was more than happy to help the relationship along for the sake of the boy he’d been friends with since birth. 

Obviously, Satoru didn’t know everything. The murders were something that Sukuna would be keeping to himself, since he wasn’t sure that his friend would be as willing to abide by that. But what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. 

“So, what’re we doing with the pictures now?” Satoru asked, twisting around to look up at Sukuna.

That part of his plan wasn’t really in place yet. He knew that he wanted to dig up dirt on Kashimo, or in this case - invent it, but he wasn’t sure how to go about presenting it all to you without him looking bad. You couldn’t see him as having any nefarious intent or the whole thing would collapse. 

“I guess I just show them to her after the reunion? Tell her Kashimo confided in me or some shit. Tell her he added me as a friend on that private Myspace we’re making for him, I don’t know.” 

Satoru frowned. “No, no, no - it can’t be you telling her dude, do you think she’s stupid? She knows that you’re into her and she also knows that you’re kinda a jerk. If you show up with a load of printed images of her boyfriend she’ll smell bullshit from a mile away.”

He had a point. 

“Then what? I play the long game? Pretend to make friends with the dude and then bring out the photos when she wouldn’t be expecting it?” 

Satoru hummed, scratching his chin as he stared up at the ceiling. For a moment, Sukuna thought he’d zoned out entirely, gaze fixed on the plastic stars that had decorated his room since childhood. Sukuna had spent many a sleepover staring at those stars, wishing that he lived in a house as nice as Satoru’s. 

“What if I tell her?” Satoru suggested. 

“Huh?” 

Sukuna didn’t love the idea of Satoru talking to you. Despite the fact that the two of them had been best friends their entire life, it didn’t prevent jealousy from taking root where you were involved. He knew that Satoru was handsome and charming, knew that girls tended to like him. Sukuna didn’t want you falling for that trap off the back of Satoru revealing your boyfriend to be rotten.

Satoru rolled his eyes, well aware of Sukuna’s tendency to be possessive. “Its more real if it comes from someone other than you. She can hear it from me and then go running into your arms for comfort later, and you can be all clueless. Isn’t that your ideal scenario?” 

It was. 

“I can go up to her, and talk about how I think I’ve seen her boyfriend before. I can ask her if he was at- what gig was it that we saw on the website for his charity? Green Clover? I can ask if he went to a Green Clover gig lately and when she says yes, I can act all weird until she asks me what’s up.”

“Act weird?” Sukuna asked. 

“Yeah, I can act like I just realised something that I feel a bit awkward to say, then when she pushes, I can spill that I saw him doing some unsavory things, and that I have him on a private Myspace account where he posts all of his partying stuff. Oh! On the fake Myspace profile we created, let's make some phoney emails from escorts and stuff!” 

“Sure.” Sukuna liked that idea. He wasn’t great at this side of things - he barely bothered with technology himself, and couldn’t profess to understand it. His flip phone was mainly used for the sake of texting you and his friends, he wasn’t bothered with all the new online shit like Myspace - making a fake account to befriend Kashimo had been pushing the extent of his skills. If Satoru hadn’t been willing to help, perhaps he just would’ve jumped straight to dealing with Kashimo the old fashioned way, which probably would’ve backfired significantly. 

All this build up was necessary. Your view on the man needed to be shifted before anything unfortunate could befall him. 

“Cool, I’ll start on that now. Man, this is so fun, I wanna build more fake profiles. Maybe your girl will get another boyfriend after this one and we’ll get to do this all over again!” Satoru’s voice was cheerful, and it was fortunate for his mood that his blue eyes were fixed on the screen again and not on Sukuna, who was positively glowering at that statement. 

“Don’t even joke about that shit,” he snarled. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Satoru dismissed him with a wave. “You guys are destined or whatever, I’ve heard it all before. Let me focus. Once I’ve done this we can go over all the details to make sure there’s no holes in the story.” 

Sukuna nodded, laying back down on the bed, shoving several of Satoru’s plushed animals to the side. He couldn’t understand why the man had so many, he was in his twenties for fuck’s sake, did he really need thirty teddy bears to cling to at night? 

“One thing I’m concerned about,” Satoru said after a bit of silence, “what if, after I tell her, she straight up confronts Kashimo and he denies everything?”

Sukuna shrugged. “You say he’s just lying to save his skin. We’ve got proof after all.” 

“Not really though.” 

“I’m not worried about that part.” Sukuna said honestly. “She hates attention, so I don’t think she’d confront him at the reunion, plus she said he had to head home right after. Besides, she’s the type of girl who likes to think things through - especially after everything with Ryu - it's more likely that she’ll shut down and give it some thought before confronting him at a later date. She might want to wait until after she’s had a chance to see your evidence too.” 

Satoru hummed. “That doesn’t solve the issue though, does it? She’ll still confront him eventually.” 

A smile curved up on Sukuna’s lips, one that Satoru didn’t quite catch, his focus still fixed on the glow of the computer screen. 

“You just work on getting these fakes right. Let me worry about the rest.” 

—

The reunion was being held in the gymnasium of the high school, all set up with dozens of big tables, with a massive banner in school colours reading ‘welcome back, class of 2003’. It didn’t look unlike various school dances that Sukuna had attended during his time as a student, albeit there were bottles of wine on the table at this particular function, and the attendees all looked significantly more grown up than they had back then. 

He supposed he’d probably changed too - although he’d always been big, and he’d gotten the first of his many tattoos at sixteen, so perhaps his transformation hadn’t been as significant as other people’s. 

The room was already filled with people, some sitting at tables while others mingled around the room, holding glasses of wine or bottles of beer. He’d arrived fashionably late, not the least bit eager to be one of the first ones at the event, only really attending at all because he knew that you would be here. 

He couldn’t care less about most of these people, didn’t even know half of them - a reunion was something that he was wholly uninterested in. He couldn’t give less of a shit if Kusakabe was married now, or if Nanami had started up his own business in the city - the only person who mattered was you. 

It was easy enough to spot you as he pushed through the sea of people. You were sitting at a table towards the edge of the room, with Shoko and Yuki to the right of you. The three of you were giggling about something or other, and he felt his heart pick up with joy at the sight of you. Your smile was so radiant - he loved the way that it lit up your whole face, crinkling the corners of your eyes. 

If only you could smile at him like that everyday. Waking up to that sight each morning would probably send him straight up to heaven. 

You were his angel. 

Thoughts of your beauty almost had him forgetting his current situation, only brought back down to earth as he scanned over to your right, all of his joy quickly dissipating at the sight of the man sitting beside you. 

He’d spent enough time stalking the guy and forging imagery to recognise Kashimo on sight, with those shiny cerulean eyes of his and obnoxiously dyed hair styled in a stupid half bun. He looked even more ridiculous in person than he did in his pictures - what you saw in the guy was absolutely beyond him. 

Much to his chagrin, Kashimo seemed to be chatting away to Choso, who was supposed to be Sukuna’s friend. He was going to keep that betrayal tucked away in the back of his mind for the future, but he supposed Choso probably didn’t have much choice - Yuki had no doubt encouraged him to play nice, and the boy had no backbone when it came to her. 

She really was the worst. 

Either way, there was no point in contemplating things. He was prepared for all this - of course he was going to see you and Kashimo together, that was normal, you’d come here together, he just needed some time for the reunion to get rolling, then Satoru would swoop in and kick things into motion. 

But first, he needed to make himself as friendly as possible. 

“Got space for me here?” His crimson eyes were fixed on you as he approached the table. “You guys are the first people I’ve seen that I actually know, I mean, did these people even go to our high school?” He jabbed a thumb in the general direction of the other tables. 

“I’m certain you have other friends you can sit with.” Yuki deadpanned, her expression less than pleased with his presence. He’d anticipated such a response, so he ignored her entirely, keeping his gaze set on you. 

You wouldn’t cast him aside, not after all the time you’d been spending together over the last few weeks. You were friends, and what kind of person would turn away a friend? Definitely not a kind soul like you. 

“Of course you can sit with us.” You chirped with a smile, gesturing to the empty seat next to Choso. “We were just talking about that time that Gojo got really drunk before a school dance and then got up on the stage and confessed his love to Shoko.” 

“Humiliating.” Shoko said, covering her eyes, “I still get nightmares about it.”

“I think Satoru does too.” Sukuna said with a laugh. 

He could remember that night well - him and Satoru had drunk a shit ton of absinthe before the dance, and unlike Sukuna, Satoru had no skill at all in holding his liquor. Shoko had tried to help get him in a car and safely home, only for him to escape her grip and tell her that he loved her. 

He couldn’t remember anything the next day, and considering that he’d been dating some other girl at the time, she wasn’t best pleased at hearing her boyfriend profess his love for someone else. 

It was really funny though. Even Satoru could laugh about it now that the humiliation had worn off a little. 

“Oh, Sukuna, this is Kashimo by the way,” you said as the laughter died down. “Kashimo, this is Sukuna, he’s an old friend of mine.” 

“Hey man,” Sukuna said politely, holding a hand out for Kashimo to shake. He ensured that his grip was strong, almost testing the other man’s strength and finding him to be inferior, just as Sukuna had expected. 

“Damn, you’re pretty bulky. Do you live at the gym?” Kashimo asked, pulling his hand back and shaking it ever so slightly, as if trying to hide the extent to which the handshake had bruised him. 

“Something like that. Working construction keeps me strong.” 

“Oh, do you guys work together?” Kashimo asked, glancing between the two of you. 

“Kinda.” You shrugged non-comittally. “I mostly work alone because I’m inside the office all day while he’s out doing the actual work.” 

Sukuna sucked on his lower lip, very interested in the way that you’d effectively just lied. Considering that Sukuna was in your trailer every day without fail, your response didn’t make a whole lot of sense - it was clear that you didn’t want Kashimo to know how close the two of you actually were. 

That was fine. It just reassured him that you definitely still had feelings for him. If you had nothing to hide, you’d be more upfront about your friendship. 

“What do you do Kashimo? Something creative? You’ve got that cool look about you,”

Kashimo practically beamed at the praise, completely disarmed as he launched into a whole spiel about his music charity thing, which Sukuna had no interest in listening to because he’d already heard it all from you. Not to mention, he could probably recite that man’s whole life story after all the internet stalking he and Satoru had engaged in. 

Some people were just so easy to play - give them the smallest compliment and they were really ready to believe that someone had their best interest at heart. Thank god for fools like him making Sukuna’s life so much easier. 

Largely zoning out Kashimo’s words while he droned on and on, Sukuna’s gaze flickered momentarily over to you, satisfied at the realisation that you were already staring at him with wide eyes. It was almost like you were seeing him for the first time, comparing him to the man at your side and finding yourself captivated by your old flame. 

He offered you a smug smile, meant only for you, appearing and disappearing in the span of a couple of seconds. He then turned his attention back to Kashimo, and proceeded to slip into his role. Until Satoru came to drop his bombshell, Sukuna would be nothing less than perfect. 

It was after food had been served out on the tables that the part of the plan he’d been awaiting finally fell into place. 

Sukuna had headed away from the table for a while, under the guise of wanting to speak with Toji, but really because he wanted to give Satoru a window to speak with you without him being there. 

They’d discussed it beforehand - Satoru was to wait for Sukuna to leave the table and that was his cue to go and deliver the news to you. 

Away from Kashimo, of course. 

And his blue-eyed friend seemed to play the role perfectly, heading up to your table and engaging in excitable small talk just like he always would, making all the girls laugh raucously. He spent almost five minutes building rapport at the table, before turning to you and saying something with a serious expression, having you follow him over to a more secluded part of the room. 

From there, you were out of Sukuna’s line of vision, and he just had to hope that Satoru would deliver the message like he was supposed to. He should really have more faith in the man, but he felt jittery about the idea of anything going wrong. He’d already destroyed one chance with you and it had cost him four years of time at your side. 

He didn’t want to fuck this chance up. 

“Hey, who's the hot guy at your table?” 

He’d been so preoccupied with his thoughts that he hadn’t noticed Uro sidling up to him, swirling wine in her glass. Her eyes were fixed on Kashimo, who was still locked in conversation with Choso.

Shrugging, he mumbled an answer about how Kashimo was your boyfriend, uninterested in really engaging in conversation with someone as annoying as Uro.

“Really? He’s so hot, better looking than Ryu. How does she even get these guys?”

Sukuna was moments away from telling her to fuck off, potentially proceeded by a long rant about how Uro couldn’t even begin to compare to your level of beauty, but he held himself back as a sudden thought popped into his head. 

How would you feel if you came back from your harrowing conversation with Satoru, only to see your boyfriend chatting with Uro? 

He shrugged. “Dunno. I’ve heard this guy is rich as fuck too. Apparently he gets into all the best clubs in the city. He’s a real catch. I feel like he’s probably on the fence about their relationship too right now.” 

Shooting a sidelong glance at Uro, he caught the way that her eyes practically lit up at his words. It was an insane reaction since she was currently dating Toji, who was only two metres away, but she’d always been a shameless little golddigger. 

She ran a hand through her long pink hair, pulling a compact mirror from her purse and quickly applying a new layer of lip gloss before making off in the direction of the table, swinging her hips seductively as she walked. Sukuna wanted to roll his eyes at the corniness of the display, but he wasn’t going to deny that Uro was effectively doing him a favour, so he wouldn’t ridicule her too much. 

Taking another sip of his drink, he watched the scene play out. Uro pulled out a chair next to Kashimo, giggling and leaning in close as she introduced herself. Her body language couldn’t be more obvious, but Kashimo seemed to indulge her all the same, clearly giving her the same speech that he’d given Sukuna, as if she was there with friendly intent. 

You clearly didn’t take it that way, because as you stumbled back into Sukuna’s field of vision, your expression already stormy, you stumbled to a halt mere paces away from your table, lips parting in shock at the sight. 

Uro had moved on to touching Kashimo’s shoulder when she laughed, and that happened to be the position they were in when you saw them. Sukuna watched the hurt and betrayal cross your pretty face, eyes shimmering with tears as you turned away silently, walking off down the hall and abandoning Kashimo to his conversation. 

Perfect. 

Things literally couldn’t have been working out any more perfectly than they were. 

He gave it a couple of minutes to not make things look obvious before heading down the hallway after you, pushing through the double doors and into the dark corridor beyond, heading to where the toilets were located. He hoped that was where you were, it would be annoying if you’d just up and left, but he supposed he could always drop by your house in that case. 

About ten minutes elapsed before he started to get fidgety, wondering if he should go and look for your car outside. Fortunately, the bathroom door swung open before he could make the decision to leave. 

You stumbled out into the hallway, your eyes and cheeks red from crying, eyes widening in surprise as you practically stumbled into him, steadied by his hands gently gripping your shoulders. 

“You okay?” He asked, eyes taking in your disheveled form. You still looked beautiful, even with your dress all crumpled, your make-up smeared every so slightly. 

“Yep. Peachy!” You said with a shuddering breath, fresh tears gathering at the corner of your eyes. 

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” He asked, hands soothing your shoulders softly, playing the perfect role of concerned friend as if he didn’t already know everything you were about to tell him. 

“It's nothing, just stupid stuff. I think I’m just gonna go home. I just realised that high school actually sucked for me so I don’t know why I thought it would be fun to be reminded of it.” 

Sukuna tilted his head sympathetically, thumbs rubbing circles into your soft skin. “Is this about Uro?” 

You barked out a humourless laugh. “So you saw then? I bet everyone did.” 

“Yeah, she’s pretty shameless.” 

“It wasn’t like he was stopping it either,” you shot back, lip wobbling ever so slightly. “I’m not really surprised after everything I heard from Gojo earlier, but I feel like I just got overloaded with information and its fucking me up. I feel like I’m sixteen again finding out that Ryu fucked Yorozu.” 

“Everything you heard from Gojo?” He pressed, his face a practiced picture of confusion. 

You shook your head. “Don’t get me started. Turns out Kashimo wasn’t really who I thought he was, so now I just feel like a big idiot.” He could feel you shaking beneath his grip, completely blindsided by everything that was happening so quickly. 

He hummed, pretending to think that over, before dropping a hand down to your wrist. “Come on, let's get you some fresh air. Sounds like you need it.” He softly tugged you down the corridor, and you followed with little resistance, letting him keep your wrist firmly in his grip as he led you out the back of the school. 

The two of you ended up on the field out the back of the building, and Sukuna dragged you over to a bench, sitting you down and making it clear that you had his rapt attention. 

“Tell me what happened, I feel like everything’s a bit too fragmented for me to piece together.” 

“Gojo knows Kashimo. He met him at one of those gigs that Kashimo runs. He said he saw him doing drugs and publicly touching other women.” You took a deep breath. “I know we aren’t exclusive, I chose that, but Kashimo was always telling me that he wanted to be exclusive, that I was the only one he was seeing. He always said he never did any of that partying stuff too. Guess it was all lies.” 

Sukuna stayed silent for a moment, red eyes fixed on the field before him as he contemplated what to say next. He figured that to really put himself in your good graces, he might as well take a gamble. 

“Are you sure? Maybe Satoru was talking about someone else.” 

You shook your head, offering Sukuna a little smile as thanks for his optimism. “I don’t see why Gojo would bother to lie about it. It's not like Kashimo is easily mistaken for someone else, and this happened at a gig for one of the bands that Kashimo manages - there’s no mistaking it. Satoru said he could show me some private Myspace profile Kashimo has, but to be honest, I’m not sure I even want to see.” 

Your lack of interest would spell a serious waste of several hours of Sukuna and Satoru’s time, but he supposed he could live with that. 

“Seeing Uro all over him kinda just affirmed everything Gojo had to say. I was on the fence about him anyway, so this is just a sign I guess.” 

“Mmm.” Sukuna started down at the daisies surrounding his feet, giving you the space to continue if you wished to. When you offered him nothing but silence, he opted to fill it. “If you were on the fence anyway, why do you seem so upset?” 

His question was tender, expression soft as he gazed into your teary eyes. Instinctively one of his hands found its way to your cheek, carefully wiping away a stray tear with the pad of his thumb. You let him do it, taking another deep shuddering breath. 

“It's not really about Kashimo, I guess.” 

“Then what’s it about?” 

You shrugged. “I don’t know. I just- I feel like this is how it always goes for me. Guys who seem nice make me think I can trust them, only for the rug to be pulled out from under me. Ryu seemed lovely until he fucked Yorozu, Kashimo seemed perfect until I found out he was doing all this shit behind my back. Do I just have a terrible judge of character?” 

“Maybe.” He hummed, a soft smile spreading over his face at the way you pouted up at him, clearly not in the mood for jokes. “Men tend to be pigs.” 

“You included?” You asked. 

Oh, definitely.

“I mean, I took the chance to sleep with you the second things went wrong with Ryu, so yeah, I guess it includes me. I’d never pull any of the shit they pulled with you though, I can guarantee that.” 

You nodded thoughtfully, eyes glancing down at your hands in your lap. Sukuna’s hand was still gently caressing your face, stilling tears in their path. He wasn’t sure why you hadn’t pulled back yet, but he’d gladly push his luck as far as it would go. 

“If Uro so much as looked at me I’d tell her to fuck off. Yorozu too. Any woman, actually.” 

You huffed softly. “I believe that.” 

“Yeah?” He’d almost thought that you’d hit back and call him just as bad as everyone else that you’d dated. He was arguably worse - not in his treatment of you of course, but fundamentally as a human being. 

“Yeah, I saw how you treated Yorozu back in high school. You never gave her the time of day.” 

He scrunched up his nose. “Obviously not. She’s annoying as hell. I’m glad she disappeared.” 

“Me too.” 

That caught him off guard, because he’d always thought that you were just too kind to really admit to such a thing out loud. Apparently not. That was a good sign, it meant that one day, in the distant, distant future, you might be receptive to hearing about all he’d done to have you at his side. 

“Honestly, I wish Uro would just disappear too,” you added. 

“Never say never. Maybe she’ll fuck off to be a star too.” 

“Maybe.” You said with a soft giggle. 

If only you knew how willing Sukuna was to make such a thing happen if you really wanted it. For now he was keen to keep Uro alive, because she could certainly serve a purpose just like she had today, but perhaps one day, when he could be more honest with you about his actions, he could kill her for you as a big profession of love. 

Wouldn’t that be romantic? 

“I’m being serious though, you know. I’d never do anything but treat you with the reverence you deserve.” Slowly he pulled his hand back from your face, before sliding his arm around your shoulders. It was a cautious action, allowing you ample time to shuffle away. But you stayed perfectly still - just like all the other times he’s reached for you. 

Your lips parted in surprise, a soft smile gracing your features as you nodded, leaning into his side ever so slightly. “Noted.” 

“I know you’ve got all these reservations about us - the guilt and all that shit. But twice now your choices have failed you. Perhaps it's time to start doing the opposite of what you believe the best path to be.” 

He wasn’t sure what to think of the way that you giggled.

“You really want me huh?” You wiped tears from your cheeks as you gazed up at him, a mischievous sparkle in your eyes. “Spouting all this deep thought nonsense just to try and make me give you a chance.” 

He smirked down at you, giving your shoulder a squeeze. He could’ve backed down, argued that everything he was saying was genuine, but you didn’t seem unhappy, so he figured it was best to go along with the flow. 

“Yeah, you got me. But I don’t think you’re opposed to it. I can see it in the way you look at me when you think I’m not watching.” 

The way that you bit on your lower lip was painfully sexy. You made no effort to deny his words, and that might as well have been an admission of love in his eyes. 

“You’re so infuriating,” you said.

“So I’ve heard.”

“And incredibly persistent.” 

“Some would see that as a positive,” he pointed out with a smile. You seemed more at ease now, your tears having stopped entirely. You shook your head with amusement, his heart fluttering in his chest at the action. 

“Look, I’m not having this conversation right now, outside of some stupid reunion where I’ve just found out my boyfriend has been lying to me for months.” 

“So you’re saying you’d be willing to have this conversation another time?” 

You rolled your eyes, shooting him an incredulous look. “You have really selective hearing.” 

“That’s not a no.” 

You snorted. “You’re right, it's not. I just need some time, gotta deal with this Kashimo thing, and figure out if I could even forgive myself for what we did all those years again. Then maybe we can have this conversation.” 

“Mmm, so you do really like me, huh?” 

Letting out a deep sigh, you slipped out from under his arm and stood up, stretching a little. “If Ryu hadn’t died that night…I don’t know. Things might be different - I guess they still could be. Of course I like you, I’ve always liked you.” 

“Me too-” 

“But, like I said, that’s a conversation for another time. I’ve been running from those feelings for four years and I’m not going to jump into your arms the same night that I find out my boyfriend’s been fucking me over. Be patient and maybe good things will come your way.” 

His eyes were shiny with joy, staring up at you eagerly. He sort of enjoyed the way that you were tugging at his leash, laying down the law with him. It was the most you’d ever given him outside of that night that Ryu died. 

He was fucking ecstatic. 

“For now, I’m gonna go back inside, I’m gonna tell Kashimo I feel ill and get the fuck out of here. Then I’m gonna berate him over text message and tell him we’re done.” The initial shock of the situation seemed to have worn off for you, tearful expression giving way for something more hardened. 

You’d grown up a lot from the girl who’d crumbled upon finding out about Ryu’s cheating. 

“And you’re gonna wipe that stupid smirk off your face and go back in there, and you’re gonna act like none of this happened. When I’m ready to talk to you about what I feel for you, I’m gonna let you know. Is that acceptable?” 

He was really struggling to wipe the grin off his face, such an action wasn’t inherently in his nature. But he did give you an affirmative nod - he’d take a few moments before rejoining the reunion to try and stop himself from looking too excited. 

It wouldn’t do to have Kashimo suspecting anything. 

“Whatever you want, sweetheart,” he purred.

You stared down at him for a moment, nibbling on your lip for a second before leaning down and planting a quick kiss on his lips. It happened so fast that he hardly had time to register it, failing to kiss you back in any capacity. That was probably for the best, because if he’d had time to do anything, he would’ve pulled you into his lap and kept you there. 

Before he could speak, you were gone, stalking back towards the doors to the school, a slight blush warming your cheeks. He was practically frozen, basking in the feeling of affection that overcame him at the contact, savouring the taste of your lipgloss. 

He needed more of that.

And soon he’d get it. 

—

The rest of the reunion passed without issue. You disappeared off home, and Kashimo stayed for about half an hour before calling it quits himself. 

Sukuna couldn’t quite decide if Kashimo sensed something amiss with your behaviour when you stopped by his table to say goodbye. He didn’t think that it really mattered. As far as he was concerned, his gambit had paid off and his position with you was finalised. You were going to break up with Kashimo and everything would work out in Sukuna’s favour. 

And to make sure there was no chance of anything getting in his way, Sukuna had some matters to take into his own hands. 

He needed to make sure that you and Kashimo had no opportunity to talk about the accusations, and that meant dealing with Kashimo, before he could start asking questions around the specifics of why he was being broken up with. 

He’d be more careful than he was with Ryu, he’d learned from that experience. You couldn’t find out that Kashimo was dead - this time Sukuna was going to make sure that the man disappeared. You already believed that he was a piece of shit who’d been cheating behind your back, it wouldn’t be too far a reach for you to believe he’d simply gotten tired of you and ghosted. 

It would be even easier for you to believe if Kashimo were to send you a shitty text from his phone. 

Yeah, Sukuna would do this in a much better manner than he did with Ryu. There was no space for sloppiness this time around. 

“Car trouble?” 

Sukuna had pulled his car up next to Kashimo's, leaning out the window as he observed the blue-haired man. Your boyfriend was pulled over just outside of town, the hood of his car open, with him bent over it with a look of defeat creasing his brow. 

A flicker of relief registered in his blue eyes at the sight of Sukuna, grinning at him from his own perfectly functioning truck.

“Yeah, something’s fried. Don’t know what. I only took this thing to the garage recently, can’t believe it's breaking down on me already.” 

“I can take a look, I’m pretty good with cars,” Sukuna said with a friendly smile. 

“That would be a big help.” 

Sukuna shut off his truck and leapt out, rounding the car to take a look at the engine. He wasn’t really looking at it, since he was already well aware of what the issue was, having caused it himself. It was easy to sneak into the carpark during the reunion when no one was around, giving him ample opportunity to fuck with Kashimo’s shitty little car. 

“Alternator’s clearly fucked,” he said finally. “I could hit it with a hammer and you might get a few more miles out of her, but you’re gonna need to get that shit replaced as soon as possible.”

“Think it would manage seventy miles?” Kashimo asked, sounding defeated. 

“Doubtful.”

“Shit.” 

“My dad’s got a garage though, I could go and see if he can help out? I should even be able to get you the friends and family discount, although he’s a stingy asshole so we’ll have to see what mood he’s in.” Sukuna stepped back, slamming the hood of the car closed and walking back to his own truck. 

So far this was going exactly as he’d hoped - part of him had been worried that the alternator would hang on for longer than he ideally wanted, and he’d have to follow the fucker halfway home. Running into him out on the highway would be much harder to explain than meeting him just outside of town.

It seemed like it was his lucky day. 

“Hop in, you might as well come with me rather than hanging out around here. There’s weird folk about.” He had to bite down on his lower lip to not chuckle at the irony of his statement, since Kashimo would be far safer if he remained in his car. 

Kashimo gave him a grateful smile, clearly sensing nothing amiss. He rummaged around in his car for a few moments and grabbed his backpack before jumping into the passenger side of Sukuna’s truck. “Thanks man, I owe you one. You’re a good guy, can see why my girl gets along with you.” 

“Yeah?” 

He started up the engine, taking a glance over his shoulder before doing a U-Turn and heading back towards town. He imagined that most people would feel stressed if they were in his position, going back and forth in their minds about whether they should go through with their plan. Perhaps their hearts would be thumping, blood rushing in their ears. 

Sukuna felt none of that. He was completely calm, his heart rate steady, his mind clear. Now that he had Kashimo in his car he felt secure, because he knew with certainty that he could carry out the next bit with flawless efficiency. 

He’d done it before - more than once. In this sort of field, that practically made someone a professional. 

All he’d felt when he’d killed Ryu was satisfaction. The same when he bashed Yorozu’s head in. He’d feel no more remorse over Kashimo. He’d do anything if it meant that he could be at your side, with all potential threats thoroughly eliminated. 

Could anyone really blame him for doing such a thing? He was in love.

“Yeah, not many people would bother helping some guy they barely know - I’m just the new boyfriend of your buddy, it's not like you have any obligation!” Kashimo said fondly. Sukuna had to stop himself from rolling his eyes at how thickly the man was laying on the praise. “You’re a pretty cool dude, y’know?” 

Sukuna chuckled, eyes locked on the road ahead of him. 

“Don’t sweat it. I’m really just doing her a favour.” 

a/n: reader be folding for him so easily :(

hope you enjoyed the chapter and thank you for the support! comments and reblogs are appreciated as always! <3

taglist: @indiewritesxoxo @alebrasil0101 @unikittylover57 @maomimii @xadenpoop @mxchiii @tinkspen @martianzmars @drasticallyinluv @grimm3r @choyuxx @janellawliet @nanamigirl4ever @actuallynarii @aiive @chloe022r @targaryenposts @erasersslut @loulasav @natsolox @kenstarsworld @elviqss @blu3berryies @cupidstrace @ksjtozaki @feyrinnn @heartless-rythm @beaniesayshi @shazzer29 @mortallyshadysoul @neverlandqueen36 @sweethoneycream @mikkmmmii @sikurgvx @8nitxe @lexispeak @inmywhitegown @unlimited-impressions @absolutelycaffeinateddevil @paulineeo @onlykuna @jjkfannn34 @queendom-of-yuki @blinmkk @emmaiscool22 @angelbabyy111 @moonsquid49 @0imliterallybatman @crunchycathy @yailuxe 

© sukunahs

[yone42]

🐈🎤

[blkkizzat]

kjsdfvjkshbdfjv this is fuckin adorable.

[sukunahs]

crazy in love | ryomen sukuna

chapter 1: temptations

pairing: serial killer!sukuna x reader

summary: sukuna has loved you since you were in high school, and when he finally gets his chance with you, four years after graduation, he's the perfect boyfriend.

he treats you like you're worth more than the entire world, devoted solely to you, committed to keeping you healthy and happy in his arms for all eternity.

if only he wasn't killing people behind your back.

word count: 8.3k

content: 18+ mdni, smut, dub-con in the later chapters, dark content, rough sex, yandere sukuna, obsession, stalking, murder, blood, gore, manipulation, deception, unhealthy dynamics, jealousy, cheating (reader cheats on her bf with sukuna), sukuna is awful in this but he's good to reader exclusively, fic takes place in the early 2000s, more tags to be added on a chapter by chapter basis!

a/n: I've been sitting on the plan for this for a while and I'm so excited to get into it! Hope you enjoy!

masterlist | ao3 | next chapter (coming soon!)

During your final year of high school, your boyfriend died at a party. 

They never caught the guy who did it - he was long gone by the time Ryu’s body was discovered, mutilated in the garage of the poor party host. 

He’d been practically ripped apart, torn to pieces by someone with deeply malicious intent. There was no explanation for the act, no note, no leads. Just the assumption, that either your boyfriend was caught up with something nasty that he’d never thought to divulge or, there was someone immensely sick living in your little town. 

It haunted you for a long time afterwards. 

You’d been the one to discover him - you and one other party-goer. The vision of him, his guts strewn about the place, ribs pulled out one by one, was something that would never leave your mind. Even now, four years later, you’d still occasionally see the image when you closed your eyes. 

An unshifting feeling of guilt had followed you ever since that night, deep sorrow for the acts that you’d committed. You could never quite forgive yourself for the fact that, instead of being at his side throughout that party, you’d been holed up in the bathroom, letting another man fuck you over the sink. 

If you’d been faithful, maybe he’d still be alive. 

There’d been plenty of effort on your part to bury that thought via various different methods. You’d gone off to university, where you’d partied, gotten insanely drunk and fucked your fair share of guys in an attempt to drown your sorrows through hedonism. When that only seemed to make things worse, you’d isolated yourself from your peers, turned to support groups and therapy, hoping that you could let the whole thing go. 

And to be fair to the tenacity of your therapist, while your guilt hadn’t disappeared, it had shrivelled up considerably in that time. 

Enough that your heart no longer palpitated whenever you were back in your hometown - a blessing, considering that it looked like you’d be staying there for the foreseeable future. 

You’d tried to get a job out in the city, but with the dire state of the employment market, you found yourself coming up empty handed. You couldn’t afford to stay in the little apartment that you’d rented out throughout university, leaving you no choice but to return to your childhood home. 

There, at least you could be employed and earn a little bit of money for your future. Your father owned a construction business, and with various expansion efforts taking place on the outskirts of town, his company had been growing in size significantly. It meant that he was keen to have someone manage the more admin heavy tasks that he was struggling to keep up with. 

While it wasn’t your calling, it sounded like fairly easy work and it would keep your dad happy. Besides, there was a part of you that was excited to move back to your hometown. Most of the people you’d known from school were still around, either in a similar situation to you, or having never attempted to leave in the first place. 

Considering that you’d never really clicked with anyone at university, bar one guy that you were currently engaged in some sort of situationship with, you were excited to be back with people that you’d known for years. 

Perhaps that would dispel some of the loneliness you’d been feeling. After years of guilt and isolation, it was time to start moving on. 

“Everything going okay, sweetie? Need anything?” Your dad popped his head around the door of the trailer that served as his office. You’d been rapping your fingers on the wooden desk, staring blankly at the computer before you, waiting patiently for excel to start up. The machine looked like it had been made in the 80s, and it certainly operated like it. 

“I’ll be all good once this thing cooperates.” You responded with a smile. 

“Be nice to it and it’ll be nice to you!” He chuckled, as if the ancient technology was sentient in any manner. You nodded along all the same, knowing that he was being genuine. He wasn’t the most tech literate man, and honestly believed that these things could smell your fear. 

A ridiculous, but endearing quality of his. 

“I showed you how to make an accident report, right?” He continued, expression turning a little more serious. “One of my guys has hurt his hand. Nothing serious but we gotta write it up - think you can handle that, sweetie?” 

You shrugged. How hard could it really be? All you had to do was open up a word template and fill out the questions accordingly before filing it away - any seven year old with two IT lessons under their belt could figure it out. 

“Sure. What was the accident?” 

“I’ll just send him in to explain, he should really be off the clock for today anyway.” Your father gave you a thankful smile before heading back out the door. It swung shut with a heavy creak, and you fidgeted with a pen for a few moments, staring at the digital clock on the desk as you waited for the worker to arrive. 

You hoped that they were a quick talker - it was already 4pm, and you were meant to clock out at 5. Ideally you didn’t want to be here any later than absolutely necessary. 

The door creaked open once more, and you barely raised your head. You didn’t have much interest in your father’s employees, most of them were on the older side, and had been working for your dad since you were a little girl. There was a limited amount of good work in town, and your dad offered one of the few places where a man could find steady employment. 

Naively, you’d assumed that it would be one of those men entering the office. A pleasant old guy who had worked here long enough to remember you coming along for ‘bring your daughter to work’ days. 

Nothing could’ve prepared you for the deep, familiar voice that sent tingles crawling up your spine. 

“Well, well. Isn’t this a nice surprise.” 

You blinked a couple of times as you looked up, voice failing you at the sight of the man towering over your desk. He’d grown even taller since the last time you’d seen him, if that was even possible. His pink hair was a little longer, still pushed back from his forehead as it always was. More tattoos had appeared on his tanned skin, the ones lining his face just as striking as ever. 

The soft, involuntary gasp that fell from your lips was a little embarrassing, especially considering the way that his grin widened at the sound, sharp canines on display. His red eyes were alight with that same intensity that had always burned within them, that alluring gaze that always felt like it was stripping you down to nothing. 

“Should’ve told me you were back in town,” he said, eyes dragging slowly up your figure, as if assessing all manner of ways you’d changed in the years since he’d last seen you. 

“I- I’ve only just got back, a few days ago.” 

It wasn’t a lie, you really only had been there a couple of days. That wasn’t exactly the reason that you hadn’t reached out though. You’d been avoiding him ever since the murder four years ago, guilt curling in your stomach at the mere thought of him. He’d been the one with you in the bathroom at that party, hands gripping your hips, buried to the hilt inside you. 

While your poor boyfriend bled out in the garage below, Sukuna had been whispering filthy things in your ear, holding you like you belonged to him. 

It was a mistake that you could never take back - a moment of lust, of frustration with your boyfriend, clouding your judgement into a single, awful decision.

“You working here now?” He asked with a tilt of his head, pulling out the chair opposite the desk and sitting down. His tongue swiped across his lip for a moment, the silver of his piercing glinting in the golden light streaming through the window. 

You could still recall the feeling of that little metal ball against your pussy, sobbing softly as he teased it against your clit, fingers digging hard into your thighs, holding you still for him. You hated to admit that for every night you’d spent picturing your ex-boyfriend’s lifeless body, there was a night spent replaying that evening with Sukuna. 

How pathetic. 

“Something like that, yeah.” Your tone was cautious, not sure what to make of all this. You hadn’t expected Sukuna to be working for your dad, had almost expected him to have gotten out of town by now. Despite appearances, he was a smart guy - it wasn’t like some construction job in a dead end town was all he was capable of. 

“Guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other then.” 

The statement hung heavy in the air, his eyes fixed on yours. It felt like a test, to see if you’d squirm beneath his statement that almost certainly held double meaning. This was how he’d spoken to you back in high school, greeting you with teasing lines that would never fail to make your heart race, to further your attraction for him. 

He knew exactly what he was doing. 

Even now, your cheeks reddened ever so slightly, gaze dropping down to the desk in an attempt to escape the intensity of his eye contact. 

“I guess so.” 

You fell silent, not sure how to continue. It felt awkward, almost scary to be in his proximity again. There was still so much tension between the two of you, things left unsaid after that evening together. You’d slipped from his grip, lost in a sea of guilt, unwilling to face that night. The few times that Sukuna had reached out via text, you’d ghosted him.

He was a reminder of your sin, one that you wanted to wash away, no matter how much you ached for a repeat of how it felt to have his body pressed against yours. 

It seemed like he was finding your reaction amusing, elation drawn across his handsome face. With the silence stretching on, he leant forward, planting his elbows on the desk. Your skin prickled as he drew closer, almost able to feel the warmth of his breath as he spoke. “So, aren’t you meant to be writing an injury report for me or something, sweetheart?” 

Your mouth opened and then closed again, unsure as to whether you should object to the nickname. One one hand you were currently in some sort of relationship, even if it was a little fraught, and therefore shouldn’t abide by men calling you sweet names. On the other hand, you couldn’t deny the way that it built pressure in your gut, to hear the word drawled out in his deep voice. 

“Oh, uh- yeah, one sec.” 

You scrambled to pull up the report, goosebumps rising on your skin at the acute awareness of how closely he was watching you, a soft little smile curving his lips. The air in the room felt too close, charged by his presence. Trying your best to ignore it, you focussed on the document, filling in the parts that you already knew - the basic things like his name and date of birth. 

It was only then that you turned back to him, heart stuttering at the sight of his smug expression. “What- what’s the nature of your injury?” You asked, after clearing your throat, reading the question word for word off the document. 

Slowly, he turned his hand over, revealing his palm to you. You flinched back in surprise at the sight of a deep cut ravaging his tanned skin, blood still trickling from the open wound. He didn’t seem bothered by it, more amused by your shocked reaction. 

“Fuck. my dad said it was nothing, that’s deep!” 

Sukuna pursed his lips before shrugging. “There’s been worse. Some old dude’s arm got chopped off two weeks ago.” 

“Still, we need to clean that up.” You urged, the tense atmosphere lightening a little now that you’d broken the initial barrier of awkwardness. Report forgotten for the moment, you rummaged around in the desk drawers until you found what you were looking for, pulling out a first aid kit. 

He sat still, watching you eagerly as you looked through the kit, pulling out cleansing wipes and a roll of bandages. You didn’t hesitate to reach for his hand, his fingers warm beneath yours while you held him still. You made quick work of wiping up the blood, before wrapping a bandage firmly around his damaged palm. 

You’d have to lecture your father later about taking better care of his employees. If you hadn’t been there what would’ve happened to Sukuna? Would he have just gone back to work as normal? 

What happened to the guy who lost his arm?

“How did this even happen?” You asked, exasperated. 

“Aw, you worried about me?” His palm was still outstretched on the table, even though you’d long since retracted your own hand. 

“I’m worried about everyone working here if this kind of thing is normal.” 

His grin didn’t waver, telling you that in his mind, it was the former. Regardless, he offered you the answer you’d been seeking. “Just some glass buried in the dirt, I didn’t see it before I was sticking my hand in there.” 

Your gaze flicked back down to his hand, brow a little furrowed. You weren’t sure why he’d be doing that in the first place, and his hands were miraculously clean for someone who had been digging around in the mud, but you figured it was best not to pick him up on it. It wasn’t like you really understood the processes surrounding what went on around the worksite. 

“You should be more careful.” 

“When I’ve got a nice little angel in here ready to patch me up when things go wrong? Nah, I think I’ll be more reckless.” He sported a boyish grin, one that you were all too familiar with. It had been reflected in the mirror the last time you’d seen him, when he’d been all up in your guts. 

You rolled your eyes, trying to hide the way his smile made your heart pound. It was wrong - you didn't deserve anything with Sukuna - that was your atonement for the cheating, for the betrayal of your boyfriend all those years ago. 

Moving back to the computer, you typed out a quick description of the wound, followed by Sukuna’s short explanation of how it had happened. You then detailed the first aid that had been administered, before sending the document over to the printer to create two copies. Sukuna stayed silent through all of it, crimson eyes just watching as you headed over to collect the freshly printed reports. 

You could feel the way that his eyes lingered on your ass as you walked, making little effort to hide his continuing desire for you. It was as though you hadn’t been gone for four years, like Sukuna had been keeping you in the front of his mind this whole time. 

It was embarrassing how giddy the idea made you feel. 

“Toji’s having a party at his place tonight, you should come,” Sukuna said. 

Biting down on your lip, you hesitated. Partying had stopped being your scene a long time ago - after your first year at university you’d mostly just stayed holed up in your room. Parties came with too many reminders of what had happened to Ryu all those years ago, and you found that it was easier to avoid them altogether. 

Besides, you weren’t sure that hanging around with Sukuna was the best course of action for you. Your history considered.

Sensing your hesitation, he continued. “It would be nice to catch up under better circumstances. Y’know, when I’m not bleeding out and all.” He held up his hand with a charming smile, and you couldn’t help but giggle. 

“I think you’ll be fine,” you said. “I’m a great doctor.” 

“You are.” He agreed. “I think a really great doctor would come and check up on their patient later, to make sure the wound hasn’t reopened.” 

It was a smooth line, that had always been the way that he operated. You were well aware of what he was doing - wise to the gentle, enticing, flirting that was so characteristically him. But it would be wrong to give in, even if you wanted to. Anything between you and Sukuna would always be marred by that fateful night.

Besides, you had your situationship to consider - even if Kashimo wasn’t technically your boyfriend, he still deserved some level of respect. 

The rejection, the lie about being busy, had been sitting on the tip of your tongue when the creaky door to the trailer opened. Your dad stepped in with a kind smile, glancing between the two of you. “Everything all good in here?” 

“Y-yep!” You stuttered over your words, cursing yourself. You hadn’t wanted your dad to sense any tension between the two of you, but the way that you fumbled as you handed Sukuna his copy of the accident report had your dad frowning. 

You weren’t generally a flustered girl, usually very calm and collected. The flush that decorated your cheeks paired with Sukuna’s amused gaze clearly had some cogs turning in his head. 

“Oh, do you guys know each other? You must be around the same age.” 

“We went to school together,” Sukuna said, easily. “It’s nice to see each other actually, we haven't had the chance in the last few years.” 

You nodded along, hoping that Sukuna wouldn’t divulge any further information than that. Your dad certainly didn’t need to know the intimacy with which you’d known each other. In fact, you were rather confident that your dad would hate the idea of you bringing home a guy like Sukuna. He’d always been eager for you to find a nice man with a good job. 

“I was just inviting her along to a party actually. Loads of people she knew from school will be around, I bet they’d love to see her.” 

Sukuna smirked at you as he spoke, like he’d picked up on your hesitation and had known exactly how to counter your uncertainty. To an outsider it all looked so innocent, just an old friend looking to encourage you to reconnect. To your father, there would be no hidden intentions behind the invite, no history to consider. 

“Oh isn’t that nice!” Your father exclaimed with a bright smile, taking Sukuna’s bait easily. “You should definitely go, sweetie.” 

He’d been worried about your apparent isolation throughout most of your university years, and didn’t want you moping around in your room now that you were back in town. To him, this probably sounded like the perfect opportunity to reconnect. 

And you supposed it probably was. 

You just needed to make sure that you didn’t do something you’d regret. 

—

Toji lived in a nice house in the suburbs. 

It didn’t really surprise you since his family had always been wealthy. They ran some sort of agriculture related business and had made millions from it. All of the Zenin kids went on to work there, no need to worry about university or getting their foot in the door somewhere - Naobito would take care of them all. 

It had been Naobito’s house that Ryu’s murder had taken place in all those years ago, during a party that Naoya had been throwing. Apparently they’d sold up after that, moving into a new place across town. Naobito had been very publicly enraged about how the murder had damaged the value of their old house - a place that, for all intents and purposes, had previously been a lovely place to live. 

Toji’s house was smaller than either of the Zenin mansions were, but still larger than most houses in town. The sound of music was blaring from within, a handful of people hanging around on the lawn, smoking and chatting. You didn’t recognise any of them, but Toji was a few years older than you, so you wouldn’t be surprised if they were classmates from his own school year. 

Taking a deep breath, you made your way up the fancy driveway and through the front door, trying not to think too much about the last time you’d attended a party just like this one. It wasn’t like the same thing would happen again, it was narcissistic to believe that the murder had anything to do with you in the first place. 

Even if your guilt wanted you to believe it. 

Inside, you discovered a scene that wasn’t too unlike the parties you’d attended in high school - although, there was a lot less hiding where drinking alcohol was concerned. Some terrible skater anthems were blasting, seemingly courtesy of Toji’s buddy Choso, who had a DJ rig set up in one corner. Everyone was dancing and mingling, and you felt a mild panic wash through your body at the overwhelming number of people. 

Especially because most faces seemed unfamiliar to you. 

The fear dissipated at the sound of a familiar voice, a gleeful shriek of your name followed by the weight of being tackled into a bearhug. “I can’t believe you’re actually back!” Your senses were overwhelmed by the smell of some rosy smelling perfume and the light blonde hair of your attacker falling in the way of your eyes. 

Yuki felt like she was squeezing the life out of you, making up for years of limited contact with a single hug that had you gasping by the time she finally released you. “Hey,” you said with a smile, eyeing her up. She looked gorgeous in a halterneck burgundy dress, her hair flowing freely around her shoulders. 

She’d been one of your best friends in high school. The two of you had always been joined at the hip, along with Shoko, who was currently catching up to Yuki, trying not to spill her drink as she hurried over to you. “Hey girl!!” She was much more careful with the hug that followed, only wrapping one arm around you, aware that her plastic cup was too full to take the risk of hugging you properly. 

“Didn’t think we’d be seeing you until Saturday!” Yuki said with a smile. 

She and Shoko were the two people that you’d actively told about your return to town. While you’d drifted apart over the last four years, all off at your respective universities, you’d still called them every now and then to catch up, keeping each other updated with important life matters with regular texts. 

Yuki had moved back to town permanently after university. She’d landed one of those cushy corporate jobs that lets you work from home four days a week, in which your main job is responding to emails for an obscene amount of money. She could certainly afford to live in the city, but she and Choso had been dating for about a year now, and he had no interest in leaving town. 

Shoko was still going through medical school, attending a university a mere ten miles from your little town. Her mother had been sick when she was first going through the application process, and had therefore opted to select a school nearby. It meant that she could live at home, be with her mom, and save a load of money in the process. 

It would be nice to have your little group back together, and you’d all planned to go and get your nails done together on Saturday, treat yourselves to a nice girl’s day out. You were certainly long overdue one - there was so much that you needed to bring them up to speed on. 

“Yeah, I thought you weren’t big on parties these days?” Shoko enquired. 

“I’m not, but I figured it would be nice to pop along and see some familiar faces.” 

You really hoped they didn’t ask you who had actually invited you to the party. They both knew what had happened with Sukuna four years ago. They were part of an elite, private group that was aware of the truth. That group consisted only of the two of them, and your therapist. And, you supposed, anyone Sukuna might have told. 

In their eyes Sukuna was bad news - they believed he’d manipulated you into sleeping with him and cheating on Ryu when you were in an emotionally volatile state. They weren’t technically wrong, but it didn’t account for how badly you’d also wanted Sukuna, how little he’d actually had to try to get you bent over in that bathroom. 

You’d fantasized about Sukuna long before that night.

Either way, like true friends, they never accepted that any of the blame lay with you, and piled everything on Sukuna - and partially on Ryu for the part that he played in the situation, since he’d cheated on you first. Although blaming the latter was harder to justify considering the depressing end that he’d met. 

It was easiest to just blame Sukuna. And for that reason, they’d been on Sukuna watch for a long time, ensuring that the two of you wouldn’t cross paths, warning you not to respond to him when you’d tell them about texts he’d sent to your phone. 

They’d definitely be angry if they knew you’d come here because of him. 

“Let me get you a drink,” Shoko said, “I’m pretty good at cocktails, you used to like mojitos right? I can make you one.” 

“Oh, it’s fine, I can-” 

“No, no, you guys head out to the garden, I’ll do it!” 

Shoko scuttled off in the direction of the kitchen, leaving her drink in your hands while she went to make you a fresh one. You stared after her, a little perplexed by her insistence since you weren’t sure she’d ever gone to get a drink for you at a party before. For one panicked moment you wondered if the two of them thought you needed babysitting for your first home town party in years. 

Yuki caught your confusion before your theories could evolve any further. “Utahime is in the kitchen, Shoko is down bad for her. She’s just looking for an excuse to go back in there.” 

“Oh right!” You giggled softly. Shoko generally kept things like crushes close to her chest, and was likely doing everything she could to deny having any feelings towards your former classmate, but Yuki had always been far too astute to have such secrets kept from her. 

“Anyway, most of the people we know are out in the garden.” Yuki grabbed your hand and pulled you through the crowd of bodies in the direction of the patio doors at the back of the house. “No idea who most of the people at this party are though! I think they work for Toji or something.” 

Making your way outside, you were greeted with a beautifully manicured garden, set up with a lovely firepit in the middle, surrounded by an array of benches, crates and camping chairs for people to sit on. You couldn’t picture Toji labouring away outside, so you could only imagine that he had a gardener to keep things in such pristine shape. 

Yuki led you over to the firepit, waving at various people that you’d known from school, parading you around like a trophy. You supposed that your presence was a novelty, since you’d been absent from any such gathering for a long time. 

As she brought you around to the far side of the pit, you caught the eye of Sukuna, sitting in between Toji and Gojo. His gaze locked onto you immediately, a small smirk playing on his lips as he gave you a nod, raising his beer ever so slightly in greeting. Yuki gave you no window to respond, her grip on your hand firm as she ushered you past the man. 

She didn’t want you to acknowledge his presence. 

Even as Gojo stopped you with a bright smile, gushing over how long it had been, Yuki inserted herself in front of Sukuna, effectively shutting down any chance at conversation, giving you a few minutes to fill in Gojo on the last few years of your life before interrupting and dragging you away, claiming that she “deserved more of your time than any stupid boy.” 

The two of you eventually found a seat on a crate a little further around the circle to where Sukuna was situated, next to Mei and Manami, who both seemed thrilled to see you. They hadn’t been your closest friends by any stretch of the imagination, but they’d both been in lots of your classes, and had shown plenty of support when Ryu died. 

As such, you found yourself getting caught up in conversation with them for a while, attention only waning when Yuki started gossiping to Mei about some guy that they worked with, your mind starting to tune out the conversation, eyes drifting in the direction that you knew they shouldn’t. 

Sukuna was already staring at you when you looked over at him, red eyes lighting up in amusement at your lack of resistance to his presence. Unnerved by being caught, you were quick to glance away, reminding yourself that your current kind of boyfriend, kind of friends-with-benefits, probably wouldn’t approve of you looking at or thinking about Sukuna in the way that you did. 

You’d made the mistake with Ryu, you wouldn’t make it with Kashimo.

In a bid to avoid Sukuna’s gaze, your eyes drifted over to his left, where Toji was spread out on a camping chair, lounging in it like it was a throne. He’d always been the type of person that commanded a heavy atmosphere, confident in himself despite all his failings. He and Sukuna had much in common on that front, though you’d always found Sukuna much more palatable. 

There was an intelligence to Sukuna that you couldn’t really see in Toji. You were certain that he was street smart, but his conversations tended to hold little weight. If you weren’t interested in discussing gambling or sex, he wasn’t interested in you. 

Sitting pretty on his lap was Takako Uro, twirling her vibrant pink hair and slapping his shoulder as she giggled at some joke. The sound might as well have been nails dragging down a chalkboard as far as you were concerned, for she was decidedly not your favourite person. 

She and her best friend, Yorozu, hadn’t been all that nice to you during high school, deciding for some reason that you were a decent target of ridicule. You were aware that jealousy had a big part to play in that, since Yorozu had always been down bad for Sukuna, who would never care to spare her a glance but seemed to have all the time in the world for you. 

It led to plenty of instances of bullying - spreading rumors about you, leaving nasty notes in your locker, hiding your normal clothes after gym. For the most part you ignored it, rose above it even. You had good friends, and you knew that Uro and Yorozu would never take it too far for fear of how Yuki would deal with them if you were to tell your friend about their actions. 

That didn’t stop Yorozu from sleeping from Ryu though, bragging about how he’d had her over the desk in an empty classroom, while you were still dating him. She’d said it loud enough for you to hear, turning to grin at you as she smashed your first relationship to pieces. Revenge for garnering interest from a man who wanted nothing to do with her.

That incident was why you’d been so angry at Ryu that night that he’d died, why you’d been so pliable to Sukuna’s advances in a manner that you wouldn’t usually be. 

You supposed that in a way, you got the better of Yorozu in the end. She might’ve fucked your boyfriend, but all it did was drive you into the arms of the true object of her affection. Not very clever of her really. 

“Ugh, gross,” Yuki said, wrinkling her nose as she followed your gaze, just in time to catch Toji sticking his tongue down Uro’s throat. “Thought she’d be less insufferable without her other half but somehow she’s worse now.” 

Your brows furrowed in confusion and you glanced up at her. “Without her other half?” 

“Yorozu.” 

You shot her a blank look that told her you understood who she’d meant, but lacked the context to understand Yorozu’s absence. 

“Oh you don’t know?” Yuki asked, a little surprised, as if you were missing out on common knowledge. “She skipped town after high school. Ran away in the middle of the night, just left some dumb note for her parents about how she was gonna go be a star. No one’s heard from her since.” 

“Oh.”

You weren’t sure what else to say, mainly because you were trying to stop a massive grin from creeping across your face.

“Uro was devastated, all this crying and screaming about how Yorozu wouldn’t just ditch her like that. Doesn’t seem all that surprising to me though,” she said with a shrug. “Yorozu’s always been a bitch.” 

You laughed softly, trying not to look too overjoyed that you wouldn’t have to worry about running into her ever again. It was a little spiteful, but a big part of you hoped that she never managed to become a star. In your mind she’d ended up in some nasty crack den somewhere before she even made it halfway to Hollywood. 

Although, considering how panicky most people in the town had been following Ryu’s death, you were surprised that a simple note had been a valid enough explanation. “Did her parents not search for her?” 

“Nah, Uro kicked up a whole fuss reporting her as a missing person and the police got involved, but Yorozu’s parents basically shot it all down. Apparently, she’d spouted off about this plan non-stop, so they told Uro to just let it go. Police didn’t find any signs of foul play.” 

You hummed, eyes flicking back over to Sukuna for a moment, breath knocked from your lungs at the intensity with which his red eyes were fixed on you, crimson irises glowing in the light of the fire. You wondered if he was relieved that Yorozu was gone - she’d always stuck to him like glue no matter how hard he pushed her away. 

The ugly thought jumped into your mind that you’d actually be happy if Yorozu had met the same fate as Ryu. She wasn’t the worst person to be wiped from the world. Not that you’d ever say such a thing aloud. 

Considering some of the things Sukuna had said to her, you wouldn’t be surprised if he felt the same. 

“Anyway, good riddance. Things have been nicer without her around,” Yuki said easily, taking a long sip of her drink. 

“Yeah.” Your response was absent-minded, thoughts already drifting back to Sukuna - transfixed by the way that his thighs were spread so easily on the bench that he occupied, tattooed biceps on display in that blank tank that clung to him so perfectly. You should really stop staring, stop inviting any opportunity for interaction, but your body had always been a traitor when it came to him. 

You’d hoped that your friends would draw your attention back to them. Shoko and Utahime had joined you, sitting together on their own bench and giggling away at something that Mei had said. Surrounded by people, it was harder to get caught up in that magnetic pull that Sukuna seemed to command over you. 

And yet, as there was a call to play Spin the Bottle inside, one that your friends all jumped at, you found yourself declining. You had a boyfriend - that was the excuse that you gave, claiming that he wouldn’t like you kissing some other guy, and you’d rather stay out here in the fresh air anyway. 

They’d tried to convince you for a few minutes before conceding, leaving you sitting on the crate, drink in hand, left practically alone. Almost everyone that had been sitting around the fire had gone inside, leaving only a handful of people dotted around. Most of them were strangers to you. 

Except for one. 

He wasted no time sidling up to you, taking a seat next to you on your little crate without so much as asking if it was okay. 

“Looking kinda lonely over here.” His voice was deep, sending a shiver down your spine. His hand came to rest on the crate behind you, no doubt under the guise of maintaining balance, but you could feel the slight brush of his skin against your back. 

You shrugged as nonchalantly as you could, pretending your heart wasn’t racing. “I’m doing just fine.” 

“Yeah? It's funny, the way you were looking at me made it seem like you wanted me to come over.” 

You opened your mouth to bite back, to say that you wanted no such thing, but it would be a lie. You did want him to come over, you wanted him next to you, craved his attention. Even though you knew you shouldn’t, knew that anything with him would be built on bloodied foundations, it didn’t stop the desire. 

If you were more religious, you might’ve considered Sukuna to be the devil himself - a manifestation of all your deepest temptations, built solely from sin. As such, you really shouldn’t keep giving into him. 

And you were trying your best, really. 

“You look good.” The compliment was easy, straightforward. It shouldn’t have made you flush as deeply as you did. 

For a second, you almost forgot yourself, the response of so do you lingering on the tip of your tongue, only for you to force it back down your throat. 

Instead, you did the responsible thing. “I- uh- have a boyfriend.” 

The glimmer in his eyes dulled a little, smile faltering for such a miniscule second that you weren’t even sure it had happened at all. “A boyfriend?” 

Boyfriend wasn’t really the right word, not from your side of things at least, but you were certain that if you referred to Kashimo as a situationship, Sukuna would disregard it as a whole. As far as he was concerned, if there was no actual relationship then you were fair game. In the case of Ryu, even that hadn’t stopped his advances. 

Though he’d at least been more subtle, more careful, waiting for the perfect moment. 

“Yeah, a boyfriend,” the words felt foreign in your mouth, too heavy, your heart unmoving for Kashimo in the way that it should be. Half of you even considered calling the whole thing quits and crawling onto Sukuna’s lap there and then. 

But that wouldn’t be fair - not when Kashimo had been there for you unwaveringly. He was a good guy, the type of guy who’d take you out on cute little dates, supported you when your anxiety popped up from time to time, understood your trauma from Ryu’s death. He’d been patient around stuff like sex, taking things slow, always listening to whatever you wanted. 

He was a good guy. 

You knew that he wanted to be your boyfriend. You were the one standing in the way of any serious commitment. That had been the case with any man you’d met in the last four years, and you’d convinced yourself that it was a trauma response, that you were afraid of what had happened to Ryu happening to any other boyfriend you had. 

In the depth of your soul you knew that wasn’t really the case. 

The reality was, you compared every man that you met to Sukuna, and always found that they came up short. They didn’t ignite that fiery lust within your chest, didn’t fuck you like he did, didn’t make you feel giddy like he did. 

“You sound enthralled by him.” Sukuna said, sarcasm heavy in his tone. 

“I- it's steady.” The defence was pathetic and you both knew it. 

It was steady, it was nice, safe. He was the type of guy who had a good job, who you could bring home to meet your parents without fear of what they might think. 

Even if Sukuna did work for your dad, if you were to bring him home, you were certain your parents would hate it. They didn’t want you with someone like him, someone tough and volatile, someone who pushed you to cheat on your boyfriend.

They wanted you to be with someone like Kashimo. He was the exact type of guy that you should’ve wanted for yourself. 

And yet there you were, right at Sukuna’s side, not quite shutting him down despite having plenty of reasons to. 

“Sounds like he isn’t keeping you interested. I’m sure you wouldn’t run into that problem if you were with me,” Sukuna purred, a confident grin stretching across his handsome face.

Your eyes widened at how straightforward he was with his words, willing to lay out his intentions on the line. It was as though he’d spent a great deal of time considering what he’d missed out on all those years ago, and didn’t want to lose it again. 

And you had to fight the impulse to nod your head and agree, because you were certain that you wouldn’t run into that problem if you were with him. But unfortunately that wasn’t all that dictated a relationship. And what kept you from Sukuna wasn’t really Kashimo - you were just using your current situationship as a convenient excuse. 

“No.” You said with a shake of the head, turning him down despite the way your heart was hammering in your chest. “We killed someone, Sukuna. We don’t get to be together.” 

He rolled his eyes, clearly displeased by your dramatic wording. “We didn’t kill anyone. Ryu would’ve died whether we were fucking in that bathroom or not. Trust me.” 

It was probably true, you’d always known in your heart that it was probably true. Your therapist had made it abundantly clear to you that you should not be held responsible for his death. You’d already punished yourself plenty, that was what she’d said, at some point you had to forgive yourself. 

And yet it felt impossible to fully push that feeling off your chest. 

“I betrayed his trust. I don’t get to ride off into the sunset with the man I was cheating with while he’s laying six feet underground. That’s my punishment.” 

Sukuna was staring at you like you were stupid, red eyes narrowed in disappointment. “Punishment from who? At this point you’re just punishing yourself, and me.” The hand he had positioned behind you moved, wrapping around your waist carefully. It was a test, to see if you’d push him away. 

You didn’t. 

“He was a piece of shit, he cheated on you, baby. Gonna live in regret because of a guy like that? Not sure why you were even dating him. You could’ve been with me the whole time.” 

You nibbled on your lip, unhappy to hear such words coming from his mouth, trying to break down your walls. He said it like it had ever been that simple. You hadn’t understood the depth of Sukuna’s feelings before you’d gotten together with Ryu, and had assumed that all he’d really wanted was to play with you like he played with other girls. 

What Ryu had shown you was something real, tangible. He’d been straight forward in his affection, asked you to be his girlfriend without any doubt surrounding where you stood with him. It wasn’t the confusion that you felt with Sukuna, never quite sure if you were the object of his affection or his prey. 

“Maybe you should’ve learned how to use your words back then.” 

He grinned at you. “I really think that would’ve taken away some of the fun.” 

You rolled your eyes in disbelief. You certainly didn’t consider what had gone down between the two of you fun. You’d spent plenty of high school wondering, fantasising about Sukuna, wondering if his flirting was something legitimate. It had stressed you out to the point where your heart would go into overdrive whenever you’d see him, never quite sure where you stood. 

When Ryu had asked you out, after experiencing nothing but vague flirting from Sukuna, you’d figured you’d take the opportunity. Everyone else you knew had done stuff with guys and you didn’t want to be left behind, didn’t want to be played with by a guy who wasn’t really interested. 

Even having sex in the bathroom of that party wasn’t really fun, no matter how good it had felt. It was too corrupted by feelings of guilt for you to look back upon it fondly. Because even with your continuing lust for Sukuna, the emotion was never simple, always caught up with this big ball of insecurity and shame. 

He was staring at you, pressing on when you offered no response, not even a hint of a smile at his comment. “I’m using my words now,” he said with a sigh. “I missed you, I want you. Is that straightforward enough for you?” 

He leaned in closer to you, breath warm against your face. His arm tightened around your waist, and you could feel heat building between your thighs, memories of the feeling of his big hands gripping your hips all those years ago flooding your mind. 

“We can go inside and I can show you just how much I missed you, make you forget about all of that Ryu shit - help you remember that before that fucker died, you were thinking about breaking up with him and dating me.” 

That was true. You’d told him that the first time you’d fucked. Your fingers had been white with how tightly you were gripping the sink, breaths coming out in ragged gasps as you whined Sukuna’s name. Between thrusts you’d mumbled about how good he made you feel, how much bigger he was than Ryu, how you wished he was your boyfriend instead. 

Of course, with the discovery that followed, your priorities had changed - you’d grown too disgusted with yourself to follow through on any of that, keeping yourself as far away from Sukuna as you could to stop yourself from facing how awful you were. 

You still felt awful. But it was harder to shut him down when he was right next to you, his scent heavy in your nostrils. It was unfair how good he always smelt, how familiar. It had the power to draw you closer to him, eager to be wrapped in his scent. 

He must’ve felt you lean into him ever so slightly, because he took it as permission, free hand moving to your chin and tilting it up ever so slightly. Your skin tingled under his fingers, eyes widening as you met his gaze. 

“Such a pretty girl.” 

He leaned in, and for a moment you let him, his lips grazing yours before you found the sense to push him away. You weren’t sure if it was your ongoing guilt from the situation with Ryu or if it was out of loyalty to Kashimo, but you knew that doing anything with Sukuna wasn’t right. 

Not right now. 

“I have a boyfriend.” You reminded him finally, shuffling away from his arm. His face fell at being thwarted by that line for the second time that night. 

“Its not like that stopped you before.” 

Your mouth opened in shock, staring at him in disbelief. Even if he was right, the audacity to state that so plainly made you feel sick. How could he not feel bad about what had transpired? Could he not see how guilt-ridden you were over that one mistake? 

“That was the worst thing I’ve ever done,” you said, bitterly. “If I could go back and undo it, I would.”

You didn’t divulge the fact that you might’ve done some other things differently too - might’ve chosen Sukuna over your boyfriend in the first place, broken up with the guy when you first felt things getting stale. You’d strung him along because you were too scared to hurt his feelings, fucked Sukuna because you’d wanted him for months and couldn’t ignore you impulses any longer. 

It wasn’t surprising that Ryu had fucked Yorozu when you’d been so distant with him ahead of the incident, your mind too fixed on someone else. 

Because you were awful. 

Every choice you’d chosen had been the wrong one, and you weren’t going to let history repeat itself. Any chance for love with Sukuna had been thoroughly fucked up by the events of that fateful night, it would always be corrupted by it. 

If you chose him, you’d be living with your sin, affirming it to be correct. That just wasn’t possible. 

“Yeah?” He asked with a purr, seemingly unphased. “Because you’re looking at me like you’d crumble and let me fuck you in the bathroom again if I so much as touched you.” 

Your mouth opened to reject his words, to tell him that he was dead wrong. But that flutter of butterflies made itself known in your stomach and you knew that you were about thirty seconds of convincing away from folding. 

It was pathetic, you were so pathetic. 

You needed to leave. 

“Fuck you,” you just about managed to hiss, the weight of your words completely lost. You both knew there was no spite behind it, both knew that he was right. He hadn’t gotten what he’d wanted in high school, hadn’t had the chance to pull you into his grip. 

He wasn’t the type of man to fail twice. 

It was just a matter of time. 

a/n: hope you enjoyed this first chapter! this one is very much a set up for the juicy stuff that's coming, I can't wait to share the next few chapters with you all because sukuna is both needy and unhinged (and you'll be getting his pov next chapter!)

thank you for the support, comments and reblogs are appreciated as always! <3

taglist (open): @indiewritesxoxo @alebrasil0101 @unikittylover57 @maomimii @xadenpoop @mxchiii @tinkspen @martianzmars @drasticallyinluv @grimm3r @choyuxx @janellawliet @nanamigirl4ever @actuallynarii @aiive @chloe022r @targaryenposts @erasersslut @loulasav @natsolox @kenstarsworld @elviqss @blu3berryies @cupidstrace @ksjtozaki @feyrinnn @heartless-rythm @beaniesayshi @shazzer29 @mortallyshadysoul @neverlandqueen36 @sweethoneycream @mikkmmmii @sikurgvx @8nitxe @lexispeak @inmywhitegown @unlimited-impressions @absolutelycaffeinateddevil @paulineeo @onlykuna @jjkfannn34 @queendom-of-yuki @blinmkk @emmaiscool22 @angelbabyy111 @moonsquid49 @0imliterallybatman @crunchycathy @yailuxe 

© sukunahs

[lilikakashi]

I am loving this. Nobody is safe ! I need my bby Shoko to keep it chill lol 😆

[zuunary]

geto and zuko twin moment

[lilikakashi]

Yeeeeppppp this is why

[yenayaps]

im reading controller rn and am tempted to update it soon

[lilikakashi]

@yenayaps yes please

[yenayaps]

oh this man is FINE

[sweethearticism]

──── 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐄 ₎ა ˙˖

♡ 𝓒𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟎𝟏 ੭

⌗ 𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐑!𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 𝐗 𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐀!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

the new ballet season is upcoming and you've been selected to play both the pure white swan and the lustful black swan. you were the perfect white swan. pristine, pure, perfect. but when your strict ballet instructor guides you down a tainted path to fulfill your dual role as the black swan— just how far are you willing to go to gain his approval? how deep are you willing to let him drag you into hell for the sake of perfection? and most of all: how desperate are you to keep his attention on only you?

⌗ wc :: 1.8k

♡ ₊˚‧ cw. ballet au :: angst :: smut :: toxic dynamics :: age gap ( 40s / 20s ) :: violence :: blood :: murder :: corruption :: purity fixation :: unhealthy beauty standards :: obsession :: manipulation :: jealousy :: f.masturbation :: semi-public sex :: fingering :: rough sex :: degradation :: choking :: sukuna is very touchy & creepy :: rival!yorozu :: inspired by 2010's black swan

♡ ₊˚‧ sweetheart. this series was commissioned by @delicatedahlias <3 thank you cutie!

What were you, if not perfect?

It's the thought you went to bed with. The thought you woke up with. The word that haunted you as you sat at your table and picked at the slices of fruit you called a meal.

Perfection was discipline. Dedication. And by god, were you both.

Not a hair out of place. Not a crease in your clothes. You even walked between the cracks of tiles in the dim ballet studio.

Many said this was the place where dreams died.

But this, oh, this was where you soared.

Your feathers pristine. Your wings wide. You glided through the air and swayed to the music with an elegance most likened to an angel.

Pure, pristine, and above all:

Perfect.

Well, until he came along.

"You call that an Arabesque?"

A gruff voice maced through the cold studio air. Your feet fell flat on the floors. Dejected.

Your newest ballet instructor didn't think of you as an angel at all.

Hulking arms crossed over a broad chest. The black material of his shirt strained around his biceps. Chin raised high like his standards. Pink hair chaotic, yet controlled. Maroon eyes a burning fire of cold coals.

Ryomen Sukuna was notorious for his methods. As strict as he was severe. Said to weed out perfection from the pores of poor ballerinas with bloodied tweezers if he had to.

That's why the studio hired him. Bankruptcy threatened, and they were desperate. If anyone could fix this place, Sukuna could.

The first day he walked in, he pointed out everyone's flaws. Extended practice hours. Chastised even the smallest mistakes.

Especially yours.

His problem with you?

"You're too perfect," he barked. The ground and knees of other ballerinas trembled as he approached.

You stood stiff. Straight. But not tall, never tall. You were such a timid thing. A sweet little girl, just as your mother always wanted.

"Excuse me?" You meeked, daring to look up. The white spandex bit into your skin. Taunting you with tight failure.

"Your performance as Odette," he stopped before you. Stared into your soul until it wished to shrivel up.

"It's perfect. Not a flaw."

You blinked. Breath hitching as he circled you. A predator sizing up whether or not you were worthy prey.

You didn't voice your confusion.

As far as you were concerned, you didn't have a voice. Not in his presence. Not when searching for his approval.

His height cast a shadow over you. Swallowing you in his criticism. The studio tilted under the weight of his presence.

Auditions were always harsh. Especially for roles in Swan Lake. A classic should be treated with respect, every ballerina knew that. It was why you stepped up with your head held high and your eyes set on the Swan Queen role.

As the tale went, Odette, a virgin girl, pure and sweet, is trapped in the body of a white swan. She desires freedom but only true love can break her curse. Her wish is nearly granted in the form of a prince, but before he can declare his love— her lustful twin, Odile: the black swan, tricks and seduces him. In the end, devastated, the white swan leaps off a cliff and in death, she finds freedom.

Sukuna insisted that both white and black swans should be played by the same ballerina. And so, here you were.

Failing.

"But you're not just the white swan, are you?" He said, voice glass. "Your performance as the black swan is putrid."

It cut you, as it always did.

Your nails itched to dig into your wrists. Instead, you cupped your hands.

"What are you corrections, Mister Ryomen?" You asked, soft and sweet.

He only scoffed. Brushing past you as he left you with the scorn of your reflection.

"The black swan is chaos where there's control. Intense, violent."

His stare sliced through your confidence as he sat back down. "What would a timid little princess know about anything like that?"

Your throat tightened.

He shoved the radio back on and snapped his palms together. Rattling your ribcage as he barked out another: "again. This time with bite."

You tried.

"Again."

And you tried.

"Again."

And you. Tried.

"Again!"

Until your feet cramped. Your nails dug into your shoes. And the glint of his steeled, stern glare in the mirror was all you knew.

Along with your horrid reflection.

The office was an encyclopedia of everything you couldn't be: perfection.

The hardwood desk aligned with the floor window behind it. Shelves lined with rows of books in descending order. The wooden floors crisp. Clean. Tiles too small for you to stand between the cracks of.

Sukuna had taken the former instructor's office and moulded it into a dark, stark palace.

But he was no prince. No king. No saving grace.

Not to you.

Not yet, you thought.

"Are you here to disappoint me again?" His voice rumbled from behind the desk. Paging through a file that looked tiny in his large arms.

Would you be tiny, too? Pretty for him?

You shook the thought away. Cleared your throat and cupped your hands. Sickeningly polite as always.

"You asked to see me." You remind. A part of you wished that you didn't when his maroon glare struck at you over his shoulder.

The file snapped shut. The sound tore through your nerves and urged your spine straighter.

He sighed, raked a hand through his pink hair that boasted his years in grey roots. "I'm giving you the role as the Swan Queen."

Your heart soared—

"Regrettably."

— plummeted.

You weren't used to the word regret stitched across your back like an open wound. Your shoulders itched again. Craved your nails.

Your palms felt their indents instead.

As always, your voice froze into a crystal in your throat. Silencing your questions. But they shone in your doe eyes.

He clicked his tongue in reply.

Tossed the file to his desk and circled around it. His presence needling the hairs on your arms and soaking anxiety into your pores.

Oh, you would look so tiny in his arms.

"No one else in this studio has potential like you do. But you waste it." His words burned harsher than your numbing feet from the hours you wasted away this afternoon. Grappling for perfection. For his attention.

"I'm sorry." The apology was instinctive. So innately you.

"That's the problem." He sneered, and stepped closer. Zeroing in to your personal space and zapping the oxygen out from between the both of you.

Your breath thinned. Eyes flickered. Unable to hold his stare.

A thumb brushed your cheekbone.

Calloused on your soft, smooth skin. He nudged your chin up. Rough. As he leaned over you.

Close. Closer than sweet little girls should allow.

"You're a good girl, aren't you?" His voice, always so sharp and stinging— now a low drag that tickled your heart.

"I'm. . . what?" You whispered. Scared to shatter this moment. His attention.

Maroon eyes convicted your body. Frozen you into a perfect, porcelain doll under his touch.

"A good girl," Sukuna repeated. "Pure, sweet. The perfect white swan."

His thumb traced your cheekbone. Trailed to your chin and raised it further. Forcing you to maintain his gaze.

"But that's what makes you so weak."

A blunt nail dug into your chin, and you gasped. Quiet, even in your pain.

Sukuna shook your face. Aggressive. Broad fingers caging your jaw as the split second of tenderness fractured into an ugly, criticising stare.

"Let go of your inhibitions. Free yourself. You gotta take what you want. Bite. Release your black swan or else,"

His face thrust into yours. Eyes daggering into your soul. Tearing into your pores with tweezers ready weed out all of your flaws.

Acrid. Cutting. Blading, was his sneer.

"You'll never be perfect."

Within these four, quiet walls, you were perfect.

The perfect girl that your mother raised.

Her pure, pristine, sweet little daughter.

You saw her eyes when you looked into the mirror. Your entire home had been decked in reflective glass. So that you were always aware of yourself.

So that you could always see her.

"He gave me the role, mama."

You smile at yourself. Because maybe, just maybe. In this dim bedroom. In your clothes that were once hers.

You could imagine for a second. A fracturing, fleeting second: that it was her smiling back at you.

A mother's love was unmatched. That was what everyone said. That was what you wanted to believe. That her love for you outweighed her love for alcohol and men.

Outweighed her love for your perfection.

She was perfect once, too. A ballerina, just like you. Pristine, and pure. A paragon. Your pillar. Your pinnacle.

It was why she strove for you to be the same. Disciplined you in all the ways a loving mother would. Perfected you into the flawless angel you were, now.

You set your hair. Fixing strands into place and watching your every move in the glass.

If you squinted, perhaps you could imagine her sitting in her favourite chair behind you. Watching you, as she always did.

"But he says I'm. . . too perfect. Nonsense, right?" You scoffed. At least, you tried to.

You were never capable of being anything other than sweet and soft.

Another thing that made her proud.

"He's strict. And mean. But I can handle it." You stretched. Stepped back. Took a bow.

When you faced the mirror again, your mother's eyes looked a lot like Sukuna's.

Strict, stern. Beckoning you to hold their hand and let them forge you into their definition of perfection.

You shook your head. Looked away. Opting to focus on your childhood bedroom.

Old stuffies lined your bedsheets. White, and pink. The bedframe was lithe, elegant. Most of your room was. A place for a princess, as your mother claimed.

You hadn't changed much of it after she died.

She always set your bed. Tidied your room. Fashioned it to what was perfect for you. As she did most things in your life.

"I promise," you eyed the mirror again. Stretching your legs that ached from the hours you committed to tonight. "I'll make you proud. Be the Swan Queen, just like you were."

You approached the white vanity at your bed and twined the music box. Her music box. With a little, plastic ballerina at the centre. Twirling in a perfect pirouette.

Mesmerised, you watched for a small moment. Frozen in time. To a different time. Of your mother, on the stage. Pristine, pure. White.

She smiled at you, then. Little you in the crowd as she effortlessly performed her croisé.

You mirrored the memory. Stood with your legs crossed to the reflection. Arms posed.

You would be flawless, as she was.

Spotless, as she was.

Perfect. As she was.

© 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒔𝒎. no plagiarism or ai training authorised. divider: @/diviniyae. art cred: @/xhealer_ ( ig )

♡ ₊˚‧ enjoyed this piece? consider joining my patreon or commissioning me <3 I appreciate all the support!

♡. sweetheart question :: what is your take on reader's mother?

[lilikakashi]

Dude what happened to 🏷️ @uzugeto-deactivated20260405

Did they say anything 😭

[eraserbread]

virgin → track five: favourite daughter

pairing dad's best friend!satoru gojo x university student!afab reader

synopsis sensing your distance from afar, your father sends the only person who he thinks understands you, right into the lion's den; satoru tells you the truth about your mother

tags angst, unbalanced unhealthy relationship dynamics, toji + meg cameo, smut, risky sex, spanking, recording sex, panty-sniffing, use of pet names (daddy, baby girl, etc), light anal stuff, nsfw

word count 8.2k

author's note i'm sooo excited for this one!! @macbethinchains and i big-brained and wrote all over this track together. i just want everyone to know that the sex tape idea came from her brain (obvi), and now it's the most important gear to their story 🫶 you're the dilfjo to my ella and ily

If Megumi is being honest with himself, he'd realize that he'd rather be anywhere else but here.

It's… hot. The hottest recorded Summer in his lifetime. News channels buzz with right-wing content, blaming the forecast on science, not humans. Rain shutters pulled, facing out to the expertly-kept side garden, he sits next to Geto, nursing the evening green tea he still indulges in like he's stuck in the twentieth century.

When Dad doesn't want to cook, they find themselves here — basking in the lonely sanctuary Geto keeps when his favorite daughter isn't around. The twins are… about. In, and out of the front door to meet friends in town, but not without stopping in to run for items and to say goodbyes they forgot to grab. Megumi thinks they're both grating and unfamiliar. So much so that he hardly regards them. They're nothing like you — not carrying on your prose or poise when they exist around him. They just don't exist for him, and that's not what Megumi is used to.

Still, he enjoys your Dad well enough. The conversation is short and focused on him, his after-school plans, and the news of the new Prime Minister. Still, Megumi can't just sit next to him and swallow down the obvious — the one thing keeping their string connected through the coldness. "Have you heard from her?"

"Mm," Geto swallows over his scalding sip of tea — lips cherry red with the lingering heat. Then, he smiles and chuckles like he was waiting for this, reaching up to tuck some hair behind his ear. "I was ready to ask you the same thing."

"I have a friend in Tokyo who does some pretty good work in Martial Arts." Geto hums out his words like he's offering the boy song lyrics instead of opportunity. "He's been my little spy on her for the past few days… But he is a shitty one — pardon me."

Megumi laughs a bit, sitting back in the rickety, hand-woven bamboo. Vaguely, across the tatami, they hear footsteps close in. Heavy ones that they don't have to place, because a second later, Toji's head slips from the open doors. He's smiling like he just walked into a confessional — two overflowing plates of flayed fish with all of their expertly doted-on sides being his heavy white flag.

Suguru sits up, ease painted all over his once-tense face. "Now, doesn't that look delicious?"

"Ah— you made it."

"Which is why it looks so delicious, mm? Here, Fushiguro." Suguru takes the plate handed to him and hands it off, bowing in Toji's direction. "Thank you, Zen'in, for—

"Don't even finish your sentence." Toji holds the other plate out for him deftly — looking over his shoulder like a mere passing glance was too much to give the man who slaved over his dinner.

"Pull up a chair, won't you? You can unroll the futon—

"Not letting you finish that one, either," Toji mumbles as he walks back into the house, sweatpants dragging behind his bare feet. He grumbles all the way back to the kitchen, more than satisfied to pick at the fish carcass and drink Geto's beer while he talks to the kid. On the TV, the horse race drones on invisibly, backing the quiet chews and the click in his aging jaw.

"Thank you for the meal."

Suguru nods, crossing his knees as he sits back in his chair, leaning over to pick at his hearty dinner, but more interested in the conversation Megumi seems to want to hold. Through closeness and years, easy conversation like this is rare. "Anyhow, Satoru is a fine martial artist. I believe he specializes in Judo, but he dabbles in quite a bit. Kenjutsu is another one of his strengths."

Megumi doesn't give up eye contact, polite and hesitant to poke at his food with this harsh, authoritative figure hovering so close. There is no you to shield Megumi from your father's all-seeing gaze, just the chirp of the evening crickets and the low hum from the outdated box television just inside. But, when Geto mentions something about sword-wielding, his eyes catch the glimmer of the moonlight, shooting up as he takes in a small flake of roasted fish.

It's… stupid, just a hobby he entertains in his elective course, but Geto knows. He helped Toji commission Megumi's first Katana when he left for school. Since then, he's always kept it in the back of his heart for his daughter's favorite.

So, he continues, "No harm in taking a few courses while you're out for the summer, mm? Free of charge?"

"You want me to do it there? In Tokyo?"

"Well, I just assumed you'd be happy to be with her for a weekend. Surely you and Okkotsu can find something nice to do while the girls are enjoying themselves." Suguru continues eating away at his dinner, stopping to chew pristinely. "Just an idea." He doesn't forget to add — turning his tone into something pitchier than his everyday, calculated drawl. "The girls and I were thinking… Well, we were deciding whether to still take our vacation up there this summer. Of course, we wouldn't dream of imposing, so I would rather offer it to you."

Megumi doesn't know what to say. Or, rather, he doesn't want to say it. "She left for Tokyo, and I haven't heard from her since." The topic has been sitting unsaid on his chest for a while — something he's been shouldering down in favor of the eerie calm your absence seems to hold. "So, I think she's okay without me."

"Fushiguro…" Suguru's voice softens into something fatherly and gentle, petting the kids back, a way he had to learn after the loss of his wife. He's become so empathetic to human nature, now, that he's sure he could cry on cue. "Would you let me give you some advice on my daughter?"

Megumi doesn't answer, so Suguru gives it anyway. "She needs structure." He starts, stopping at the perfect second to scoop a bite of food into his mouth. He chews gracefully, then continues. "The only way I will ever see her, or get her to do anything, is if I orchestrate it."

"I think she's just that way with you."

Suguru shakes his head like it's the easiest thing ever. "Not when she waits by the phone all day, awaiting your invitation to the lake or into town. There is no dominant bone in her body — that kid."

Megumi chuckles, because he doesn't know what else to do. He knows that Suguru is right, and he hates that he's right. That pitiful, soft-spoken way you get about yourself is suffocating, but he'd never relay that to your Dad — your best friend.

"If you won't do it for her, do it for me… please."

 So, Megumi gets on the train the next day, and it's all so stupid.

He didn't agree right away. In fact, he let it simmer and sizzle all night while he rested his head over the situation. Of course, it didn't sit right with him, but he wanted to try. After a morning searching high and low, he discovered that the running rates with one of the highest-acclaimed Martial Artists in Tokyo were far higher than what his Dad takes home in a month. They're luxe — exclusive and showy, just like the bright-haired, smiling face on the business website.

Gojo Satoru — 6th Dan Black Belt 20+ active service years. Multifaceted.

15-minute onboarding lesson - ¥380000 30-minute lesson (weekly) - ¥150000 45-minute lesson (weekly) - ¥153000 60-minute lesson (weekly) - ¥168000

So he agrees, even if it's only for a few shoddy credits that he can put towards his career, hopeful for a life in the city that lets him nurse his hobbies. It's what he studies so hard for, and the six figures staring back at him in blue light last night didn't lie.

Megumi packs that morning, then calls Geto to take him up on the offer. In fact, he overpacks for the two or three days he's expecting to stay, though Geto offered him a week. It felt like he was intruding on the handout enough as it is — never mind his apprehension about being in such a city alone.

The train ride feels like a ritual, and the walk to the hotel accommodation is like a knife to the gut. He's tried to get in contact with you, but his messages don't go through — he can't find you on social media, but it doesn't ever cross his mind that you would block him. It's not in your nature, you two are attached at the hip if he lets you get close enough, so surely you should come running back to him with open arms… right?

The room is dark, save for the moody recessed lighting that creates a shadow over his nose, casting a color block in his shape against your skin. You can't even pretend to pay attention to whatever mindless, old anime is playing on the screen — he's been balancing sweet snacks on your lower belly and down your bare, sticky legs and licking them off. With each cheeky bite, he counts off, using a single number to track the serving size, deciding the one he just bit off your skin is lucky number eighteen.

"That tickles." You whisper in passing, reaching for your phone to distract your attention away. He's being tempting on purpose, knowing how easy you are and how long of a day he's had at work.

"Put that phone down, or I'll smash it to pieces." He hums around a sticky, fruity chew, dipping and letting his lips smooch at the skin leading into the simple cotton of your panties. You don't answer, blinking tiredly against the dimmed blue lights as you scroll through numbing text threads. "Hm? Don't be like that."

"What did you mean when you said that at lunch?" You finally gather the nerve to peek over your metal shield and stare down into his shadowed gaze, framed by wispy white hair that's fallen from his descent on your body. "To Higuruma-san?"

"What did I say? About the licensure? I assumed you just weren't listening." He goes back to plopping tiny candies on your skin, counting nine before blinking up at you again. "Don't be like that… What? A couple of big men made you feel small?"

Then you go to withdraw, folding your legs and pulling your shirt down as your smirk fades into a straight look of annoyance. Your top lip twitches as he sits up with you, a hand over the back of his mouth as he gains his bearings.

"You can't be serious, kid."

"You're such a dick."

"Yeah? That's what you need — doing all of that damn mumbling around…" He lies back down in the spot you kept warm, pressed up against the huddle of pillows you love to steal from him in the night. Satoru can't lie and say that he hasn't felt your energy shift since getting back home, but it's been too subtle to comment on. Now, you're showing your age by running from communication instead of giving it to him. "Stop with the mumbling. I can't help you if I can't hear you."

"Even if you heard me, there's nothing you can say to change my mind. So, it's just stupid." You shout, shoulders flying up as you make your way to his bathroom to get some space, if only for a second. You leave the door open only by a crack. Something inside of you just doesn't feel right, shutting him out like this. So, you hide. "So just forget I brought it up, it's so fucking stupid…"

A few tense seconds pass. Satoru sits up, blinking stars out of his eyes, moving his collection of snacks back to the nightstand. He wants to stand up and chase you back into his arms, knowing it'd work well enough to reel you back in. But, as he goes to stand, he can't help but shake his head, muttering just loud enough for you to hear, "You know, you can really act like your mother sometimes."

Your heart stills, the shadow of the echo hitting your ribcage as you stand, shellshocked, on the other side of the bathroom door. His footsteps are heavy, and so is his touch as it falls upon the doorknob. Time doesn't move — you don't really think about anything, because you can't deal with it. Everything you've ever known about your late mother was condensed into girlish yearning and a single picture your Dad kept in his bedroom. She has always been a ghost, never to be spoken about.

"Baby girl," He whispers, hands sliding blindly against the wall as he searches for a switch. "You're just standing in the dark? I'm sorry."

"W-why would you say that… about my Mom?" You instinctively take a step forward as he pushes against the door, arms crossed over your chest like you're shielding your heart from information that you're not ready for. Tears haven't fallen yet, but your eyes burn like they're about to.

Stepping in behind you, flipping the switch so that the room is engulfed in white, bright flames, Satoru doesn't say much. "What do you mean?"

"I'm…" You scoff, eyes burning red and heavy as you walk forward, making the space between you two more manageable. He can't reach out, and you don't want to see that kicked-puppy expression right now. "H-how am I acting like her? Why would you even say that?"

"I'm sorry you—

Satoru steadies himself, his light brows knit together. A chuckle gets lost in the room before he continues, shaking his head. "Sorry, I figured your Dad told you — we all went to the same University."

You're struck silent, staring straight into the wall with your knuckles between your teeth.

"And I mean, she was a girl to write home about, hm?" He offers, treading gently — slowly. He approaches you from behind, closing his hands over your shoulders gently. "Looked just like you, so gentle and beautiful like you are, my girl."

"I don't want you to talk about her."

"Why? It's no good to run from the truth. Your Dad is notorious for doing so, but it doesn't mean that you have to." His voice is even and gentle, knowing you're nothing but a festering, open wound when it comes to letting him in. You two know not to talk about Dad — God forbid you bring up your Mom, and now he knows. Still, all he wants is for you to listen to him, maybe just take what he's saying into account, so you could actually start to heal from a lifetime of half-truths. "Let me in."

"S-shut up, stop." You plead, voice curling around the edges as he turns you around, pulling you into his chest in an embrace that makes you feel so unbelievably small.

"Noooo," He smiles, huge hands rubbing up and down your back, bunching your soft shirt so his hands can slip against your skin. "Hey, I'm sorry, okay? Do you forgive me?"

"I just don't want to talk about it." You whisper, throat singing and raw as you try to give him words you know you can't hold in your chest forever. "I don't want to talk about that at all."

"Let Daddy in." He purrs against the shell of your ear, licking over the fuzzy silver jewelry you keep there. It tickles — you shiver, thighs rubbing together as you finally wrap your arms around him, starting low on his waist, letting your nails dig into the hard, toned skin. Satoru likes that, smiling against your body, kissing you again, and reaching behind you to squeeze your ass. He peeks over your shoulder so he can watch the way your simple, cotton panties get lost between the swell of your cheeks.

You want to cuss him out — know that you should, and run for the hills so you can cry to your best friend, but his grip holds you hostage, keeping you exactly where he wants you. In a way, you're trapped, but you're doing nothing to free yourself from this situation, so you relax. "Don't… say that. Are you crazy?"

"For you? Yeah?" He grunts, clawing at a handful of your precious ass before raining a smack against the unsuspecting skin. You squeal, jumping to the tips of your toes, grip digging in his bare skin with a vengeance. Against your tummy, you can feel the hard, aching length of his cock dig into your flesh — a sign, and the only one you need. You shiver, knowing there's nothing you want more right now than the brunt of his need.

"C-can we do it… Nice this time? Wanna have s-sex with you, but I wanna try—

Satoru doesn't let you finish; he lets your lewdly dipped words run down his spine like lava, erupting some corrupted part of his soul that wants to do the exact opposite of what you asked for, just to make you cry. "Want me to teach you how to make love? Nice 'n slow?"

You nod breathlessly, hands trailing up to his shoulders, where they grab as he walks you out of the bathroom. The entire way to the bed, he's in your ear, chuckling, licking, and whispering small phrases of endearing words that he knows will lower you into a dripping pile of want.

Again, you're so easy. It's easy to fall back into his arms after he spikes your blood. It's easy to rely on the feeling of his touch as it crosses his skin, as if he owns it. It even makes you smile as his voice tickles your soul, whispering, "Gonna fuck your little pussy like I love you." He spanks your ass again, reddening the other cheek.

You gasp, humming into his mouth as his words lead into a sensual kiss, carrying you all the way to the side of the bed. He lingers, the backs of his legs pressed against the wood as his lips focus on your jawline, sucking harshly, leaving little marks on the sensitive, paper-thin skin. In a burst of courage, you take the reins, pushing him onto the mattress and climbing over his lanky body before he can comment.

You sit your ass right down on his bulge, grinding your hips into the hardness, letting it slip right into that little space against your core. He can feel the heat you're exuding for him, head tossed back as you grind back down on him. "Touch me," You mewl, reaching down to grab his thick forearm, leading it against your clothed chest, and down to your tummy. Satoru's touch is big and warm — inviting and opening you up to all of his little quirks and nuances.

"Pretty baby," He replies, breathless as he blinks up at you. Satoru takes control of the arm you grabbed, leading his fingers to your bitten lips. "Suck 'em, sweetie…"

You reach for his wrist, wrapping both hands around his veiny limb, rubbing it gently as you lead two fingers into your mouth. Satoru's digits are salty and almost metallic — beaming with the afterglow of the light switch and sweetness. You hum around them, circling your hips like you're a professional concubine, reeling him in with little to no skill or strength. You can see it in his face when you blink down at him — how his thin, sunken eyes sparkle with something darker than lust. Satoru wants to possess you. He wants you on a leash within arm's length at all times, and he wants people to know. You're just so attractive to him — that naive look in your eye, and the tiny shake in your body as you try to seduce him. It all adds up to the perfect sequence of foreplay, needing to reach out and physically stop your hips when he swears he's about to soil his briefs.

"No more," He orders so naturally that it makes you weak. Since telling him how dominant you needed him to be that first time, he's never let that fall or falter. He grabs you and pulls you into place, gives piercing looks when you speak out of line, and commands you with words unsaid. You're constantly ready for him — singing in the core of your stomach whenever he just exists around you.

"Gonna cream my pants, just looking at you." He grunts, lifting his hips from the mattress and taking you with it. You gasp, falling over to your side so he can crawl over your body, taking it slow, but treating you with force. He flips you to your stomach and props your hips up.

"Will you let me cum inside?" He mumbles it in passing like it's the most casual collection of words he's ever touched. Satoru rises to his knees behind your propped body, smiling as you settle face down, ass up. He tugs at your panties, admiring the way the soft fabric sticks to your warm arousal, darkening around your slit and peeling away in strings of want. He guides you out of the pair, one foot followed by the next, with a strong hand over the small of your back. "Want to give it to you, baby."

"Give it to me." You slur, too taken and horny for your mind to even put this situation into perspective. You bury your face into the sheets, breathing out, wanting, determined breaths from your nose as he spreads you open, smiling at the mess he sees behind his favorite pair of thighs.

He brings the panties he stole from you to his nose, breathing heavily into the soiled want, smiling as the savory afterglow hits the back of his nose. It's like he can taste you in the spit he has to swallow down, raw and real — he's elated. "You taste as sweet as you are." He hums, moving the panties to his lips, sucking and licking at the crotch, humming obscenely as he fishes his rock-hard erection from his shorts.

Your cunt is winking at him, puffy and sensitive as you fiddle and writhe against the sheets. "P-please…" You mutter, pushing your ass back on him like it'd get you closer to the truth. "I want it so bad."

"Fucking risky," His words are muffled against the fabric of your underwear as he strokes his leaking cock against your entrance, letting it sit heavily across your sopping pussy, just teasing you for the inevitable. "But, mm— your hole was made for breeding."

You go to speak, but the only thing that comes out is a hard, uncomfortable moan as you feel him push past your quivering hole. He starts easy at first, needing to collect his composure as he feels your heat wrap around him like a glove. He groans into your panties, both hands situated at your hips, squeezing and pulling at the flesh of your ass. His cock bends with the tightness of your being, and the pressure makes him fucking feral. His blood is running hotter than it's ever been, and he knows he can't last like this.

But when he looks down and sees the way your hole is struggling to take him, he blacks out. With a stutter of his hips and a deep growl, Satoru tosses his head back and cums faster than he ever has — grip bruising and hips shivering as he pumps you to the brim with his load before he can even get inside of you.

Surprised, yet oddly taken, you squeak and lift your head, trying to look back on his shirtless, tall figure, but coming up short when your neck can't bear the awkward stretch of the maneuver. He fills you up, and that's exactly what it feels like — you feel overwhelmingly full, like your belly is on fire, and it just keeps pumping. He whines and groans against every spurt, cursing against your name and inhaling traces of your sweet cunt in the underwear he's sucking on like a soothing device.

When he finishes, he pinches off the base of his cock, stroking off the shaft not buried inside of you like he's milking himself dry. His essence is already leaking out of your hole — bubbling and nasty, mixing with arousal and dripping down into the sheets. "Oh, baby— fuck, I just came so hard."

"'m so full,"

"I know, baby doll." He grunts, tossing your soaked panties behind him. He pulls himself back together inside of you, slowly pushing his hips deeper, forcing more of his pearly white seed out in a ring around his pale cock.

"U-uncomfortable," You moan, shifting so you can bury your head back in the sheets. You whine and buck forward every time he pushes deeper, tears burning your eyes as you try to get used to the foreign feeling. "So—oooo deep," You rub your feet together, propped by your joined knees, and the pressure rushes straight to your toes. Overwhelmed, you twirl and flex them together.

Satoru stares and admires the sight like he's in love — blue eyes sparkling, pink lips parted as his cock pushes in even deeper. Arousal-soaked cum leaks and pools from your hole, and it's so lewd that he needs to reach for this again. He can't let his memory go astray.

"W-where's your phone?" He calls you out through the intimacy by name, slapping down on your left cheek like it'd bring you back to reality. Under him, you're struggling to take it all, forehead pressed to your crossed forearms, sweat beading at your brow.

"Don't know — Mmf, on t-the thing."

"What thing?"

"The be- ah, fuck! Mm, I don't know."

Satoru shakes his head, deeming you a useless pile of need as he quickly feels and glances around his immediate space for any sign of a recording device — yours or his. Still, he knows he doesn't keep his phone around, and yours is always glued to your hip. "Need you to see this… Fuck, it's so sexy."

You hum, experimentally rocking your hips back into him, then gasping and withdrawing as he feels around for the phone. After a few seconds, he finds it, already knowing your passcode, and presses against the homescreen and all your new-gen apps for that familiar little camera icon in the bottom left. His thumb shivers as he clicks over it, swallowing down thick breaths as his night-heavy room flicks onto the screen.

"Pose for the camera, little one — show 'em what you got." He purrs deep in his wrecked throat, angling the camera to your fluttering cunt, groaning as the mingling cum drips down your thighs and around his cock every time one of you moves. He zooms in on it, too, pulling your cheeks apart and ogling at the sight. "Soooo sexy,"

"Wait, I don't—

"Shh, there you are…" His hands slide up your back, getting lost in the lip of your t-shirt, gathering it past the tiny little tramp stamp tattoo so he can see it as he fucks into you slowly. He audibly shivers as the moonlight kisses it into view, the camera shaking as it peeks down to his cum-covered cock, then to his thick fingers massaging over your tattoo. He swallows thick enough for the camera to catch, "Oh, Geto."

You whine, gnawing your bottom lip as his cum drives deeper and deeper inside of you, touching parts of your soul that you didn't even know existed. You reach down to cradle your tummy, rocking back into Satoru's steadying touch as you wince. "Mm, there's so much—

"Shh," He bites, swallowing into the camera as it catches the ghost of your movement. He pans down to your shaking arm, massaging the base of your stomach, then chuckles like a whisper. "You feel me in your womb, baby? Gonna give you a bunchhhh'a little blue-eyed brats to wrangle."

Satoru smiles as you whine and plead against these words spoken in the heat of the moment. They feel real with dripping honey and layers of want, but even in your inebriated state, you know the truth above all. "Want y-you,"

He nods, breath shaking as he records the tip of his thumb slipping through the mess on your skin. You finally find it in you to turn your head to the side, blinking up at his shirtless, toned body, flushed in crimson, so uber-focused on your sex through the screen that he can't focus on anything else. Satoru drags his thumb over your puckered, virgin asshole, chuffing when you bite out an unassuming whine.

Your heart races as you shuffle to sit back up on your forearms, arching your back dangerously, letting your chest kiss the mattress. Satoru smiles so wide behind that camera, massaging your hole with his thumb, seated halfway inside of you as his softening cock hardens right back up for you.

"Look at you… Just taking it." His voice is gone in a pitch you've never experienced before, and it makes your insides churn and swim like you're seasick. "Taking it all for Daddy, mm? Want me to give you some more? Another fucking load — watch you go crazy and dumb for it?"

Broken, and facing the camera as he finally pans it to your fucked-up smudged face, you say something you thought you'd never ever say in this position. "Please, daddy."

"So, Megumi — may I call you that, Megumi?" Satoru stands against the sun in his high-rise studio with a custom-made bokutō in his outstretched hands. He's tight in an all-black training getup — all compression, all sticking to his curves and ridges like he's a professional model too good to age out of his quirks.

In front of him, the kid Suguru, whom he was told about the day before, stands wordless and put off by the demeanor this world-class instructor is flaunting around like yesterday's pay. Still, Satoru smiles widely, flicking down at the bamboo, then to the dark-haired kid, offering it up like his left lung.

"You can call me whatever."

"Megumi," he coaxes, extending the makeshift sword towards him, wordlessly beckoning the kid to pick it up. "Suguru tells me that you have some formal experience with the concept of Kenjutsu. Have you ever wielded a proper katana?"

"I own one." Megumi deadpans, reaching his open palms up, letting Satoru shrug the custom piece into his grip. "Had it for years."

"Ah! Look at you — nearly a pro already." Their hands brush as the faux-weapon gets passed hand-to-hand. Megumi's shoulders slouch like the piece has real weight, weary with where to look, or even where he's standing right now.

As he gets adjusted to the weight, Satoru backs up with the biggest smile on his face, retrieving his own bokutō from its propped home against the window. Everything he owns is custom-made, but this tool was handed down to him through three generations of Kenjutsu masters. He holds it with grace, like he's holding onto a real weapon, hand curling with effort as he lowers the tool to his side.

Megumi watches him silently, swallowing back a weight in his throat as the older man takes two steps, holding himself in an unbreakable stance in front of him.

"Now, I really wanna talk to you about the history and use of Kenjutsu through the years, but I'd hate to be a bore."

"That sounds like a topic I'd pay six figures to get lectured to me." Megumi follows the instructor's lead, lowering the tool to his side, lips parted as he watches Satoru smile after everything he says. He knows what this is and recognizes that they can be polar opposites and the space can still be comfortable. Megumi feels… comfortable.

"Gonna show you how to properly hold a katana. What's the length of yours, at home? Do you remember?"

"N-No, my oji got it for me as a gift. Took one summer of training rounds until my Dad stopped paying for it."

"Your Oji is a good man, hm? Respectable?" Satoru brings the wood to his chest, turning his fist inward so the wood spans his chest. Megumi follows suit, assuming this intro lesson is an unspoken game of follow-the-leader. "He cares about you like a father, I can see."

"He just has a lot of money."

"A lot of connections, too." Satoru turns the bladed end of the tool inward. "The hardest thing about mastering something new is mastering the movement." He leans into his teaching mode like it's second nature, demonstrating a few resting and movement positions, never blinking, his smile never faltering as he bends and holds his body in ways Megumi hasn't seen before.

Satoru manages to make the apprehensive kid smile during the first half of the session; their conversation flows like the wind, bouncing between them as they scale the room in different offensive and defensive poses. When Megumi misreads a bluff, he ends up with a blunt bokutō at his throat. He likes that the instructor doesn't play around or baby him when there's an opening to be had. Satoru understands his strength from just one day in his presence, and Megumi knows he wants to be back.

 They're talking about their next session when you walk in.

You swear it's an accident — it's been an off day, one you didn't want to keep on the record, just because you felt so ugly and sick. It's Satoru, and whatever he did to you last night. You walk with a cramp, toes pointed inward in discomfort as you sit down and stand up.

Of course, he was all apologies and praises as he cleaned you up and out this morning, feet in the air like a boy, excited because he woke up with you next to him. Now the pain medication is wearing off, and you're tired of wasting time on the phone — trapped in a city too big for what you truly want.

So, you get up and walk to him, because you can. Satoru's never told you yes or no to work visits; you two have yet to really exist outside of the bedroom, but you want to try.

You're dressed… normally, as the elevator door opens to his floor. You're not fishing for eyes or compliments, just for Satoru's attention, because it couldn't be more obvious that you're wrapped in one of his shirts, comfortable in leggings and sandals. The goal is lunch — maybe a sweet crepe that you two can pretend to share, but Satoru ends up with most of it.

The goal is definitely not to run into your estranged ex.

As you drag down the hallway of glass-paned rooms, you're not paying attention to anything that isn't screaming at you. Then, it hits as you round the corner into Satoru's main studio, facing the west end of the city, looking out into an afternoon full of life.

They're not focused on you like you're focused on them, not at first. You're frozen in your tracks as you watch the boys wave around fake swords with smiles and stares. They're serious, stopping at occasional moments to nod or speak. Satoru dips in a squat after a few moments, taking time to drink water, of course, not without offering Megumi some.

It doesn't cross your mind to run or even duck. You can't hide, and you don't have a reason to. Instead, you walk closer to the glass walls, hovering your hand over the metal frame as their familiar voices bounce off the glass.

It feels like you're swallowing down fragments of this room — glass so sharp and heavy that you can't help but feel it for the rest of your life. You can hear them go on vaguely about the Japanese army and how their bloodline bled right back into their natural hobbies.

Satoru's a well-known eccentric — blaming his incredible talents on the obsessive time he spent on harnessing them, and making them his own. Accordingly, he lacks professional boundaries. He can really feel it bleed through this time when he throws Toji's son side-swipes and backhanded jabs, then looks up to see your shocked face through the wall.

Megumi notices the lapse in attention just in time, deciding not to land the perfect counter-attack on his unsuspecting senior when he sees his face drop. It's absentminded and stupid, the way Megumi whips his head over his shoulder to see who his instructor is ogling.

"Geto," Satoru mumbles, tossing his tool on the polished floor. He goes to greet you immediately, remembering he hadn't told you about this off-the-books lesson. It's something Suguru slipped onto his radar with a simple text, and you had no idea. "Sorry, just a moment—

Satoru also has no idea that this kid is the one you've devoted your life to.

Megumi doesn't say anything as Satoru crowds the door, only letting it open a crack, so he can slide out. You step back as he walks closer, brows furrowing as Megumi takes a break, watching you two with an expression so tense it feels like he's about to blow up.

Satoru doesn't touch you, not the way he would if it were just you and him. He makes sure the door is shut, dips his tone, and smiles in your face as you peer up at him. "Sorry, I should've told you I had a busy evening… I figured you'd know the kid, Suguru said he was coming down—

"What? My Dad sent him down here?"

"What?" Satoru feigns just as clueless as you feel, settled in face pulled together as you reach forward to grab his forearms. You can feel Megumi's glare burn from inside the studio, but you don't know what to do with it — it's not comfortable like Satoru's is anymore. It almost feels… demeaning. "He's your friend, right?"

"I'm gonna kill him."

"Who? Your Dad?"

"Megumi and my Dad." You whisper, gazing up at him, shaking your head clear of it, then peeking back in through the glass. Megumi waits like a fish in a bowl, stretching his thin arms above his head. "And you. You said you'd be back this afternoon."

"I forgot about this lesson, but I was going to pick up sushi."

"You're useless."

Satoru takes it as you push him away, both hands on his sturdy chest. "Ah, I know."

Somehow, Satoru can never quite let you go. He lets his touch linger over your bent elbow as you walk to the studio door. Megumi's standing on the other side, looking like he has all the time in the world for you, but you're just too terrified to take it.

"C-can you stay out here?" You whisper towards him, pulling your touch away just so it wouldn't teeter on too much, especially when Megumi was so close. He has the senses of a stray cat — razor sharp and honed in from trauma. It's something you grew to appreciate, but not something that makes conversation easy.

"For a moment, but he has like ten more minutes of this lesson—

You ignore him, reaching out for the knob and putting just enough weight on it for the hardware to click. You take a deep breath, you keep to yourself, reminding yourself that you're not afraid of him — The same Megumi who used to poke fun at you for wetting your pants as a kid.

The second the door clicks, Megumi lowers his stretched arms, breathing out an invisible sigh. He's being dodgy with his eye contact, peeking out at Satoru outside the studio, who shifts, wanting to get a better look at this conversation he was blatantly kicked out of.

He's thinking about it now. Suguru told him nothing — no attached history, sure, they may be friends, but that was it. The way you two are approaching each other looks more and more like you have history that runs deeper than friendship.

"Why are you here?"

"Your Dad—

"And you agreed?"

Satoru can't help it — he leans closer to the glass, studying the venom and the carelessness behind the joined tones. He almost wants to pick up his phone and call his best friend, but he assumes his neutrality would be for the best.

"Nobody came here for you. Anyways, you blocked me."

"Oh, so you finally noticed?" Your eye twitches as Megumi puts the sword down, moving about the room like he's packing up to leave early. Feeling brave with Satoru's gaze pressed against the glass, you continue poking. "I've been seeing someone who doesn't make me feel disgusting, by the way."

"Hope he realizes what a mess you are, quickly." You're right, Megumi's leaving — he walks to the head of the room and slips his shoes back on, shooting Satoru a quick look as he reaches for his bag. "Out of my way."

Megumi pushes past you as he leaves the room, and you're too flustered to care. "Can you just—

Satoru knows he has to call his friend when the two of you storm off down the hallways towards the elevator, spinning around each other like a pair of mating flies.

"Megumi, if you would just stop—

"Don't touch me, I'm just going to leave."

"Can we talk about it?"

Then the dreaded, "There's nothing to talk about." The elevator doors ding open. You give Satoru a passing glance, seeing him smiling into his phone while Megumi holds back sanity in an open elevator. You choose the bear's den, slipping into the elevator while Satoru turns back to his office without a care in the world.

"My Dad sent you here to spy on me."

"Your Dad sent me here because I wanted him to. Again, maybe everything is not about you."

 You're trying too hard to keep up with him, shuffling steps as you two argue through the entrance of the office building you've once respected. "Why the fuck else would you be in his studio? You two think I'm crazy!"

Megumi's making a point not to match your energy, pulling his sunglasses down when the harsh sunset strikes his eyes. He has plans to take the train for ramen — the one tourists clog like fatty arteries, and he did not want you there.

"Can you leave me be?" He deadpans, holding his dark backpack close to his body as he walks. You gasp, tears welling in your eyes but refusing to fall, as they turn into anger.

"Admit that you two are spying on me."

"You sound crazy. Please go away." It's an art, learning to ignore you once you get into one of these fits. Your constant quest and crawl for attention is similar to an annoying puppy biting at the bit. Megumi just needs to kick you away, put you down for a little, then speak to you once you've fizzled out.

He slips his headphones in his ears the second you open your mouth to speak, not even blinking an eye as he blasts Western rock in his eardrums. You leave him at the corner of the block, heart in your ass as he heads to the station without you even on his mind. You hate just how he fits into the evening rush, and you hate how you can't make him out once you blink.

Anger, resentment, and loathing circle in the pit of your stomach like a disgusting cocktail. It's sick and potent like a liquor, but all you want to do is throw it up — you can't hold it.

Carrying all of those nasty emotions, you turn around back towards Satoru's office, eyes bloodshot with the buried need to sob or punch something. You can't apologize to the lobby workers as you pass by, too focused on your quivering bottom lip as you thumb the call button.

You're not even paying attention to what you're feeling or what truly happened there. Sure, you lied and said you were seeing someone, but you really weren't. You were seeing the best thing that's ever happened to you, and you want nothing more than to rub it in Megumi's face. Still, you mash that floor button and step out like you have some wits about you, even if you have to act.

Satoru's voice carries like a song — his laughs and warmth, kissing the walls and the sun-streaked glass. It brings about an unusual sense of calm, even though it feels like your world is crumbling. You follow the familiarity into the space, gnawing on your lip as you try to ignore, to settle your emotions before they pop all over the wrong person.

"Running like wolves in my studio… These kids… Ah, she's uh — Oh, Megumi and I just clicked nicely, yeah. You know I'll talk to her, thinking she's scared of you, too… Alright, friend."

"…'Toru," You whisper once he finally peels the phone from his ear, leaning his heavy bodyweight against the cool windowsill at the end of the hallway. "W-was that my Dad?"

He stands up as soon as he sees you, breath picking up when he sees your pitiful, pent-up expression. His care makes you feel worse, causing those tears you've been holding up so well to finally break through the surface.

"I—Fucking, I hate him,"

Megumi sits beside you because he has to.

Because Suguru Geto himself called his phone and told him to.

It'd just be a meal — a slight peace-offering after what Satoru reported back to him, but it's the least of what you two needed.

Still, you went, because you're stupid and still think Megumi could love you — could love this life you can give him, if he just let you in. His issue is that he sees you as a sister; everything else is taboo and ugly, and it's impossible to exist.

So you do all the talking, blaming it on the one sip of beer you had before pushing it away. "All week after I landed, I just slept." You go on, touching on small talk as you pull out your phone. He's staring straight ahead, elbow on the table as he digs into a steaming bowl, giving it the attention he could never give you. "But in my last few days, look, we went to the National Garden. And see, look how many ramen packs were on that wall, it had to be at least a thousand." You go on and on, shoving him to grab his attention as you scroll through meaningless tourist pictures.

He wants to ignore you, but he also wants to say that he's here just for your Dad — he doesn't care about what you and Maki did. It's all none of his business, but it doesn't stop him from looking down as you swipe through.

Your voice is a jumbled, emotionless mess in his ear, meaningless and stark against the happy memories you're smiling around. He wants to tell you to shut up so bad — to just let him… think, but he can't bring himself to do so.

Instead of brushing you off, he leans down and takes another bite of his food, letting you swipe through your more recent memories. Satoru took you on tours through the bustle of Shibuya, but Megumi didn't need to see the ghost of his hand on your thigh or neck — certainly not pictures of him posing with his mouth around obscene street food.

You smile as you scroll past, tickled at the small, dumb collection that shows some real sense of love in your shared situation. You like Satoru, and you know he likes you, but that's all you can bring yourself to hold onto.

When Megumi sits back up, wiping his lips after a huge bite of noodles, you shove your phone in his view, urging him to look at the life-size animal plushies you two found in a gift shop in Shibuya. The picture is blurry, and it's one taken of you, so Megumi just assumes Maki might've been there with you.

But something catches his eye. Something Megumi can't really wrap his head around, and something he wishes he never fucking saw.

In the tiny carousel at the bottom of your phone, the third thumbnail of a video sits, staring back at him. Megumi's heart drops — the chopsticks fall. On the screen, he knows it's you. That little mark you have on your back, the hue of your skin, and the undeniable, sickening tattoo that croons out your surname is as undeniable as it is trashy. He has to swallow his noodles twice.

It's fleeting — you snatch your phone back immediately, but the damage is done. Megumi knows what he saw, he knows it's you and Satoru, and he knows… what you two were doing…

…He feels sick.

You try to call for him as he stands up, collecting yourself to chase after him as he turns off and locks down. Megumi will spend his life trying to unsee… that, and he'll spend a lifetime gaining even an ounce of respect back for you as you stand up to chase him… again.

 Megumi doesn't give you a reason when he leaves. Not that you really deserve one.

He leaves that next day and swears to never set foot in Tokyo, or see you, ever fucking again.

@alebrasil0101 @sirencholia @florallyarranged @joongshive @yongama2space @nanamitiddiechomper @kamuihz @jaezume @man1cslut @casssiesthings @raggedypansexual @chewiebee @katestrophes @pennynicole-dime @allofffmypeaches @charmingcherie @wetbasementnoodles-blog @11rachelle11 @wavetojulia @yourpr1ncess2 @aaariiibutwith27is @kitkat-13 @3nvieee @acescorner @nanamienthusiast73 @justacommonwhore @iheartjinu456 @chosolovrrr @dracreads @222sga @xodidarks @ajax1230 @toiboica @wavetojulia @deliahsstuff @killerkuna @brooklynbbxo @xodidarks @xiarenes @good-mourning0 @shokoshoe @divineblunts @juicytootys-blog @acrazybiotch374 @vegasbabyyyy @mmeowymeowmeow @lostgeto @yongama2space @ghuibfjoidb

[sixxels-deactivated20260420-dea]

OBSESSED ft. s. gojo & s.geto

pairing: nerd!gojo x popular!reader x nerd!geto

syopsis: obsessive nerds satoru and suguru have fawned over you since freshman year, jointly thirsting over your instagram and watching you silently in the halls. the stoners are invited to one of choso's partys, and fuck, they get really lucky. they worship you like a goddess and end up being thrown into your perfect orbit, in a secret affair behind your horrible boyfriend sukuna's back...

a/n: this is a much needed edited re-up of ruin me!

wc: 18k || cw: so many typos... :: smut :: p in v :: deep fucking :: mmf :: oral (fem + male receiving) :: some very emotional sex :: a little angst (to comfort) :: fluff :: choso x reader if you squint :: a lil sukuna x reader (very toxic) :: name calling :: alcohol and weed consumption ac: @/mongsanghwa @/pamalechano @/hiikeu

“fuck, look at this sugu, she posted.”

satoru’s voice was hushed and frantic, but suguru didn’t even need to look, he already knew who it was. he leaned in anyway, exhaling through his nose at the beauty on satoru's screen.

your tongue, glossy and pink, flattened against the side of a ridiculously expensive erwhon gelato cone, your eyes looking up through your pretty lashes at the camera like you knew exactly what you were doing.

“shit, she’s so bad,” suguru sighed, lips curling into a sly yet crooked smile.

satoru groaned, raking his hands down his pretty face then bringing the phone closer like the pixels could bring him some sort of salvation. he zooms in on your cheekbones, your earrings, your mouth, that fuckin' mouth... then he pinches out to see it all again in it's full frame.

divine, he thinks.

“she doesn’t even know we exist,” suguru sighs, sounding almost proud of the fact. as if it made the fantasy better, or purer.

they were in the back row of their social studies lecture, tired and now, very overstimulated.

the professor was droning on about something to do with economic hierarchies, but all satoru could think about was your mouth and whether or not that was your real lip color or something expensive from sephora.

suguru’s mind wasn’t much better, he’d already saved the photo to his camera roll.

you were the shit, and not in a try hard way.

you were just it.

2000's pink fever dream is the kind of vibes you gave off. wearing whatever shoes were hot that week and some low rise jeans that hugged you snug, you flowed through the quad in tops that looked straight from a britney spears music video.

you were always laughing and draped in people who looked just as cool but still somehow dimmer than you.

there were whispers every time you passed, who you were dating now, what party you were at last night, which guy was crying after you’d ghosted him.

you were a story literally everyone wanted to tell.

but satoru and suguru didn’t just want to tell it, oh no. they wanted to live inside of it, in more ways than one...

no one looked at them. not as much as you, anyways. to put it lightly, no one looked at them in a way that was... appreciative.

sure, they were hot, that much was obvious.

satoru was tall with ridiculously good bone structure and an unfairly handsome face, he was the kind of guy you'd make eye contact with but instead of getting giddy, it makes your stomach drop like, "is he staring at me or am i just being weird and looking at him creepily...".

suguru definitely had an allure. he was pierced all over his face but not in a trashy way, dressed head to toe in black and always looking like he’d just rolled out of bed, yet still somehow better looking than everyone else.

so yeah, they're were hot. but they were weird.

they jointly have over 4000 hours on terraria. they watch stupid anime's all day and talk about different concepts and theories for hours after, and they play pokemon go and digimon all day unironically.

real nerd shit.

it was a known fact that the two could find a certain interest and obsess over it for the next bajillion years. so, when it came to you? it was safe to say they noticed quite literally everything.

like how you always posted around 11:30am like clockwork, probably right after class.

like how you changed your highlights every other week to match your current aesthetic, “🍸” was suguru’s favorite, that one had a photo of you in a tiny yellow bikini licking salt off your wrist.

like how your phone case had changed, a clear one with a blurry photo tucked into the back. satoru had spent ten minutes trying to enhance it in his camera app. it was some girl, maybe a friend? maybe someone you'd kissed.... yuck. either way, it ruined his entire afternoon.

“remember that video she posted last month?” satoru said dreamily, might as well of been thinking about a dead lover. “the one with her in the pool?”

suguru shakes his head. “don’t,” he sighs.

“she was doing that thing with her eyes, remember? like, eye fucking the camera? and she had that little chain around her waist, oh my god—"

“i said stop,” suguru snapped, though he was smiling. “i had to excuse myself from psych after that one. couldn’t stand up for ten fucking minutes.”

satoru swiped through your profile, it was as if every new photo was a different flavor of devastation.

you and your friends in the back of some expensive car. you holding a cocktail and laughing with your head thrown back. you bent over in a mini skirt, taking a mirror selfie with a little ass showing.

was this gross? definitely. did they care? a littleeee, but it wasn't like you'd give two weirdos the time of day anyway, so it didn't matter! that was their logic, anyway.

“i bet she moans pretty,” he said absently. suguru smiled and nodded. “oh, absolutely.”

satoru let out a huff. “jeez, i’d buy her a car just for saying my name.” and saying that wasn’t even absurd, the two of the boys were filthy rich.

“she always smells good, too.” satoru adds. “like… like a sexy scent. i don’t even know what it is. something grown.”

suguru huffed a laugh. “you sound so psychotic.”

“you smelled it too, though. that one time in the elevator. when she came in with maki and was on the phone with sukuna? she pressed the button and i literally blacked out, never been that close to her before.”

“right, and she had those jeans on, the real low ones.” satoru clutched his chest. “fuck. she’s so hot.”

they lapsed into silence again, both of them stewing in their own separate daydreams.

it wasn’t just that you were hot, everyone was hot in college. but you were something else, your own category.

suguru reached for satoru’s phone and swiped through your tagged photos now, which were even more the reminder that you were way out of their social circle.

there were many candid flashes of your life. you in the club with yuki and maki, glitter around your eyes and a bottle in one hand. you curled up on a dorm bed with shoko, half asleep and smiling wide with those pretty lips, your arms tight around ieri's torso. you and choso at a rooftop party, your chin on his shoulder and your fingers looped loosely around his belt.

satoru groaned. “i hate that she’s close with choso.”

“he’s like, her best friend.”

“urgh."

when class ended, the boys stood and made their way out of the room. suguru slung his bag over his shoulder as satoru joked about one thing or other, the two best friends falling into easy conversation.

as they step out into the hallway, however, all conversation stops when they spot you.

you were at the end of the hall posted up against the lockers, even the fluorescent lighting couldn’t make you look bad. if anything, it just made your skin glow warmer, your lip color glossier.

but, like always, you weren’t alone.

he was there, sukuna.

and god, he looked like a big, red, flashing warning sign, like something straight out of a sex and violence movie. he was tall and cut like a knife, his red eyes dark and oh so mean.

“gross,” satoru scoffed, ducking his head.

suguru didn’t add any quips, he just stared with clenched teeth.

sukuna had his hand on your waist, his chrome hearts rings catching in the light as his fingers dug into your flesh.

god, it was so possessive it made them sick, like he was daring anyone to look.

“he doesn’t deserve her,” satoru whispered, too quiet for anyone but suguru to hear.

“mhm, n' he cheats on her, too,” suguru muttered. “everyone knows it. choso was telling me he was touching up some girl at a bar the other week right infront of her.”

they stared at the scene like poor kicked puppies. sukuna was probably murmuring something dirty against your ear, and all you did was smile and hit his chest, acting like you both liked and hated it all at the same time.

satoru’s heart was pounding not with jealousy, or, not just jealousy, but with rage, helpless obsession. it was the possessive ache of wanting to save you from someone who didn’t deserve your attention, like at all, much less your affection.

he wanted to grab you by the shoulders and ask what you were doing, ask what you saw in him when you could have had the world.

when you could have had them.

“he’s not even all that,” satoru says weakly.

“mm, he’s objectively hot,” suguru corrected bitterly.

“okay, but he’s a dick!"

then suddenly, as the boys are bickering over how shit of a boyfriend sukuna was, your gaze sweeps over the crowd for a second. and then it pauses, on them. or maybe just past them? maybe you didn’t see them at all? but your lashes flicked up, and satoru swore your eyes met his.

it was less than a second. a glitch in time. and then you looked away.

“we should go,” suguru said hoarsely.

satoru nodded, dazed. “yeah, yeah. let's go.”

they turned and walked in the other direction with their hearts pounding and their ears ringing, like they’d just survived a brush with a godess and came out utterly unworthy.

you on the other hand? the gaze you'd felt penetrating the side if you head earlier was driving you up the wall.

just for a moment, the faint prickle on the back of your neck, that sixth sense that someone was watching. not in a creepy way, more like a spotlight brushing over your skin. you looked up lazy and bored with your manicured hand still in sukuna’s, and there they were.

satoru and suguru. the weird ones.

the smart ones, the ones who sat in the back row and whispered loudly. they wore dark colors and always looked like they were thinking about something far too complicated to say out loud and share with the rest of the normies.

you knew who they were, obviously. not by name, by vibe. the tall one with the white hair and the other one with the bun and the earrings. they were always together, always some what quiet. always, always, staring.

they were looking at you now, or maybe through you.

you held their eyes for a second too long, or maybe not long enough? your eyes flicked over them like flipping a page, your stomach twisted a little when they blinked like they were too afraid to breathe.

and then you turned away.

“what?” sukuna asked getting all weird and possessive already, his voice low against your temple. “who th' fuck was that?”

“no one,” you said quickly, “just some nerds.”

he grunted and pressed a kiss to your cheek. it was hard and a little too showy for you, but you smiled like you liked it nevertheless.

his hand stayed on your ass the whole walk back to your pretty little dorm. on lookers offered their stares up like children seeing animal mascots on the street. and you liked it when people stared, or, you were supposed to.

that was kind of the whole point, wasn't it? being seen with him. it felt good being the girl everyone wanted yet so out of reach. it meant you were interesting, y'know? you were hot and keepable.

and sukuna was a lot of things, not really good things, but things all the same. sexy, really fucking mean, arrogant, your friends all had different names for it. toxic, thrilling, psychotic, exciting. but he was never boring, so that was a plus?

when you get back to your place, the dorm door smashes shut behind you, and suddenly he was all up on you with his heavy hands grabbing at every inch of your body, his mouth already sliding over your neck like he needed to mark you up.

you tilted your chin up and played along, somewhat. giggling when he pushes you against the wall tighter.

“i missed you,” he said, already pulling at your top. “fuck, you look so hot in this.”

“you saw me this morning,” you said lightly even as your stomach curled tight.

“not enough,” he rasped.

he kissed you hard and messy. sukuna was ever the desperate man when it came to sex, he tugged at your waistband and shoved you toward the bed, and you went.

~

it felt good, in theory...

how he just knew how to fuck you in a way that felt different to anyone else, it wasn't exactly nice, per se, but it was different, that's for sure.

your head always managed to stay up in the clouds during sex with him. way way up in the clouds.

you thought about how his hand always squeezed the fat too hard on your delicate throat. how he never asked beforehand if you were down or how he got really mean when you moaned too loud. how he always acted like he was the one doing something for you.

gross, really.

you finish up after a good half hour and your bodies collapse against the mattress.

sukuna inhales dragging smoke from the now lit cigarette between his fingers, eyes slipping across your body like he’s still hungry, or maybe just checking to make sure you’re still all there.

“you came, right?” he asks dully.

you nod. you didn’t, but he’s not looking at your face so he wouldn't know anyway.

he smirks and pats your thigh as if to say, 'good girl'. his tatted chest stretched as he inhaled deeply, they were sexy, sure, but now they just look like big flashy warnings you'd ignored.

“you’ve been weird lately,” he says curt. you roll onto your side away from him, dragging the sheets higher to hide your naked body.

“i’m tired,” you reply.

“you’re always fucking tired.” he snarls. like it’s your fault for being drained as if he’s not the reason you keep losing sleep.

he gets up. doesn’t bother with a shirt or anything, only paces toward the mirror checking his reflection. you watch him from the corner of your eye as he he adjusts his necklace and wipes his thumb across his mouth.

“i don’t like when you get quiet,” he says.

“i’m not quiet.”

“you were quiet at the party last week. and yesterday when i called, you sounded so off.” he doesn’t ask how you are, shit, he never does. it’s always, what’s wrong with you, never, what happened? he can tell when something’s different, but he doesn’t want to understand. he wants it fixed, he wants you back to normal. back to the chick that kisses his jaw while laughing at his jokes, clinging to his arm at kickbacks like a trophy wife.

“i’m fine,” you say.

you’re not, you've got that dull ache in your chest after he touches you and that knot of disappointment in your stomach when he says your name like some stupid command.

you used to feel chosen and so, so wanted, but now you just feel like a bet he doesn't like all that much.

“you’re not gonna start some shit, are you?” sukuna asks roughly,

“what are you talking about?” 

he turns around with slitted eyes. “you always do this shit. pull away when things are good. look, i know i fucked up last weekend, okay? that bitch came onto me. i didn’t do shit.”

and there it is.

you hadn’t brought it up, hadn’t said a word about the girl at the bar last weekend. she had her hands all over him and he sure as hell wasn't moving, like, at all. so that whole 'she came onto me' thing was obviously bullshit.

you sit up slowly with your shaky arms around your knees. “i didn’t say anything about that,” you whisper gently.

“yeah, well, you’re thinking it. i can see. i know how your brain works.”

and that’s the fucking problem, isn’t it? he doesn’t know how your brain works, hell, he only knows how to manage it, redirect it or drown it out.

he climbs back onto the bed, sitting over you and locking you in with his big, strong arms. “don’t start being weird, babe,” he says with that disgusting persuasion. his hand cups your face and his thumb strokes your cheek. “you’re mine. yeah?”

yuck.

"mhm."

he kisses your forehead sweetly like he’s doing something tender. but your skin feels... rotten, frankly.

as he peppers kisses to your face, reality starts to slowly creep into the cracks of your battered heart. you don’t want this anymore, but you don’t know what else there is.

you're looking up at him but your head is racking through the options. what else is there?

you could date a jock, maybe a business major who's destined for success? perhaps a quiet boy who actually pays attention to you.

with that thought, your mind is thrown into a daze, a nerd daze to be precise.

you think about the look those grade A hotties gave you earlier, the freakishly tall ones in the hallway. you don’t know their names, but you sure as hell remember the way they made you feel with one little glance.

hm.

before you know it, sukuna's throwing on a beater and fixing his hair in your mirror before patting your ass and mumbling a ‘later.’ like you were just another one of his hoes rather than his girlfriend.

there’s a hollow ache in your ribs, the kind you ignore, ignore, ignore, until it piles up behind your lungs, ready rot.

you sit up groggily and the mirror on your vanity catches your —admittedly— terrible reflection. you've got smudged mascara and your lipstick half gone. you look like a girl who’s just been fucked, sure, but not in a good way, kinda like an accidental one night stand kinda way...

why do you keep letting him do this to you?

you sigh and look down at your phone, deciding there was no one better to call right now than your right hand man, choso.

he picks up after two rings. “yo.”

“hey,” you say curling your legs beneath you. “you busy?”

you hear him exiting whatever room he was in then he responds, “nah. what’s up?”

“just…” you hesitate and take a deep breath, the words feet much too heavy. “i feel like shit.”

“ryomen?”

you sigh.

“he’s such a dick,” choso scoffs like he’s already angry for you. “what happened this time?”

“same shit,” you mumble. “he left without even looking at me. he barely touched me. like i was just… just there to get him off.” you despise how much you sound like a frail little girl, but you couldn't help being vulnerable in this moment.

you hear choso inhale like he wants to say something cruel about sukuna, but doesn’t wanna kick you while you’re down.

instead, he suggests, “you should come to this thing m' having tonight. it's at my place, just a few people. yuki’s coming, maybe shoko. i’ll let you smoke some of my shit.”

you press your lips together. “wow, let me? how generous of you." you smile, but it fades almost as quick as it came. "hm. but sukuna’ll be there.”

“no,” he says simply. “he doesn’t know about it."

oh? that surprises you, suddenly you feel much happier.

“what?” he adds dryly. “i’m allowed to throw a party without that asshole, and you need to get out. please?”

you hum like you haven't already made up your mind.

“you can wear that matching set, the leopard print one,” choso adds. “that ones sexy.”

you give him an excited giggle and agree.

“fine,” you say. “i’ll come.”

he hums like he knew you would. “i’ll text you the details. bring whoever you want.”

you thank him then hang up and lay back again.

sure, sukuna had basically ruined your entire afternoon, but chosos parties were always nice, and he wouldn't be there. win win!

~

meanwhile, satoru’s dorm smells like weed and really expensive cologne.

the taller guys legs are criss crossed on the bed with his shirt clinging to his broad chest, his glasses halfway down his nose. suguru’s in the desk chair off to the side with his sketchbook balanced on his thigh, pen smoothing over the page. they’re both a little baked.

“sukuna can't handle all of that, bro,” satoru says after a moment. “he’s such a fucking clown.”

“i hear ya.”

they'd been taking shots at the man for being a pissy boyfriend for the past half hour.

“she should be worshipped,” suguru echoes, voice low. “with tongue.”

satoru laughs like he's short of breath. “you’re gonna make me hard again.”

“you’re always hard.”

“only for her.”

satoru grabs the blunt and takes another hit, suguru adds a shadow to your lips, the shape of them exact from memory. he doesn’t need reference photos anymore he could draw you from bone and ash if he were ever stranded in the pits of hell.

“gross. what if she's with that flop.” satoru sighs.

he groans, grabbing a pillow and stuffing it over his face. “i need to go to the gym, i can't imagine her with that dick any longer.”

suguru just keeps drawing. his phone buzzes against the desk, he glances down, then lifts it. “it’s choso.”

he picks up. “yeah?”

choso’s voice is clear. “yo, i'm having a party at my place tonight, you two should come.”

suguru glances at satoru, who’s peeking from beneath the pillow with a very interested look, they weren't really the guys to be invited to functions.

“who’s coming?” 

“toji, nanami, yuki. maybe shoko. and, uh,” choso pauses. “y/n.” suguru’s grip on the phone actually quadrupled.

the two boys quite literally jitter at the mention of your name, their minds racking with the millions of possible situations that could occur tonight. this wasn't real, surely?

“y/n's coming?" satoru mouths sitting upright like an excited puppy.

suguru smiles at satoru and nods, making the white haired boy grin from ear to ear and jump up from the bed like the big goof he is.

“we’ll bring something,” suguru says, calm as ever, although, let's be real, he's fucking ecstatic. “see you soon, cho.” he hangs up and closes the sketchbook.

satoru is scrambling for a hoodie. “are we bringing alcohol or pot?”

"pot, obviously.”

“should i put on cologne or is that too much?”

“nah, it's never too much.”

satoru smiles. “okay, okay! i'll put on the nice one.”

“do you think she’ll talk to us?” satoru asks, suddenly nervous.

“no,” suguru says.

“but we’ll be near her.” satoru swallows.

“okay, yeah. near’s good.”

~

choso’s posted up on the porch like some washed up security guard.

his shoulders relax when he sees them walking up the sidewalk, two tall silhouettes backlit by the streetlights. satoru gets there first with his geeky faded digimon shirt being overshadowed by his sheer muscular mass. 

“you postin’ up like a bouncer now?” he teases, breath fogging in the crispy weather.

“gotta keep the freaks out,” choso mutters, glancing between the two of them. “and then i remember i invited you.”

suguru smiles, he was dressed like a chanel model cross frat attire, for a total geek he knew how to throw a fit. black button up halfway open reveling his tribal tattooed chest and some ridiculously expensive jeans that flattered his body so well. “and aren’t you glad you did?”

“jury’s out,” choso rolls his eyes.

satoru digs into his pocket and pulls out a small tin of weed. “look, our entry fee.” he says, flipping it open and offering it like a tray of macarons. “it's really good shit, so be greatful.”

“right,” choso says, but he takes one.

“suguru bought ‘em. he’s got a good dealer,” satoru borderline whines, he doesn't like people doubting him or his best friend.

"i'm just messin with you, toru." choso pushes satorus shoulder and laughs. "are you guys gonna be alright in there? lots of people y' don't know."

“we’re always alright,” satoru grins.

“sure,” choso says. “you two have a weird effect on people.”

satoru grin's teasingly “you mean a sexy effect.”

“i mean a weird one,” choso reiterates.

suguru chuckles, “we’re on our best behavior.”

“that your best?” choso gestures to suguru’s half open shirt. “jesus.”

once they smooth inside they're blown in the face by the potent smell of alcohol and grass.

people give them glances then quickly look away like they're either intimidated or just not coherent enough to fully appreciate their beauty.

they find a couch in the corner that's low to the ground and good for people watching. suguru takes the end and man spreads out while satoru slouches beside him with his long limbs draped in studied disarray, his finger idly tapping his phone screen but not really looking at it.

frank ocean is softly floating in the background, it's overall a good kinda vibe.

they're just settling in when they notice toji. he’s up near the kitchen leaning against the counter dressed in black on black on black. he doesn’t smile at anyone and he doesn’t blink, just watches them watching him.

satoru lifts two fingers in a greeting. “toji,” he calls.

toji raises his cup in acknowledgment and stalks towards the two.

“you look well,” suguru smiles.

toji’s voice cuts across the room. “hm, what’d you bring?”

“weed,” satoru answers, grinning. “and each other.”

“i figured,” toji mutters. he takes a sip from his cup, then adds, “y'know, y/n's here.”

“oh, when'd she get here?” suguru asks trying to sound nonchalant.

“just walked in,” toji says. “looked abit sad, i can't lie."

“hm,” satoru hums looking over the crowd.

“and sukuna?” suguru asks.

toji’s yawns, “haven’t seen the guy, don't think choso invited him.”

“good,” satoru flashes his pearly teeth.

toji shakes his head as he watches them for another second. “you two are fucking sick,” he says.

“we know,” satoru replies.

“but you’re fun to watch,” toji adds, then vanishes into the kitchen.

satoru exhales, dragging a hand down his face. “i might combust.”

“oh cmon,” suguru says. “we haven't even seen her yet.” but obviously, as life would have it, they clock you.

and when you walk into the room like some higher being with that outfit, satoru breathes your name out then slaps a hand to his big stupid mouth. suguru doesn’t say anything but his hands are already itching for a pen, wanting to capture this moment in his own little way. 

you looked perfect. 

that’s all they can think in their half baked brains, watching you from across the room like you’re the moon and they'd never seen night before. the party smooshes around you all, orbiting the shine of your pretty smile and the flash of your earrings, the sweet ridiculous sway of your hips as you laugh at something yuki says and lean into her like you belong to no one.

they're not breathing right, they keep inhaling too deep or too slow, then holding it like they're trying to trap the moment inside their lungs.

“my god,” satoru mutters, "look at her.”

"i know..." suguru's got one of his hands rubbing his temples like this is all too much for him.

they’re stoned, yeah, but it’s the kind of high that sharpens things instead of dulling them down to a blunt smack. it makes your mouth dry and your stomach hollow and your hands twitch when you see something you want but just can’t touch.

you’re surrounded, of course. draped in others arms and flowing conversations while smiling so, so brightly, sipping from someone else’s cup.

yuki’s arms around your waist, maki’s laughing near your shoulder, shoko leaning in close to talk to you over the noise.

“i’d ruin her,” satoru says softly.

“shh, not here,” suguru murmurs.

then, choso appears, intruding their spectacle. he slips behind you like a shadow and you lean back into him freely, your head tilting toward his shoulder and your hand coming up to hold around his wrist. your fingers brush the hem of his sleeve and satoru physically can't help but twitch.

“what the fuck,” satoru huffs.

“best friends,” suguru reminds him. “remember?”

choso says something and you laugh, he wraps an arm around your waist and you don’t move away. satoru makes another strangled noise like the drama queen he is.

“calm down,” suguru says, though even his usually calm and soothing voice is aggressive now.

yet, their malice almost instantly disappears when they watch your eyes scan the room then, oh shit, they land right on them.

satoru feels it like a physical blow to the head, your gaze lands on him, then suguru, then both of them. your expression doesn’t change much, just a soft, almost curious look.

and then choso follows your gaze too, and...

fuck.

he smirks and they panic.

you smile as choso whispers something only you can hear in your ear, "you see those two over there? they've got this huge crush on you, y'know. might be worth indulging to forget about that asshole for tonigt."

you considered his words, it was the nerds from earlier, and hell if they didn't look even more attractive in the dark lighting... maybe choso was onto something.

he starts walking toward them, still holding your waist guiding you through the people like he’s bringing you home.

satoru’s heart starts thumping, suguru quickly closes the sketchbook he was about to start drawing in and sets it beside him.

“play it cool,” he murmurs.

satoru nods. “yeah, yeah! cool, i'm so cool,”

“lower your shoulders,” suguru adds.

“right.”

“stop bouncing your leg.”

“fuck me, bro.”

you stop in front of them like a beautiful monet. next to you choso cheeses. “you two remember how to say hi to a girl, or do i have to teach you?”

“hi! i- uh,” satorus voice cracks and he slaps a hand over his mouth.

“hi." suguru cuts in trying to save his best friend. you smile at him, sweet and a-lot-a-bit amused at gojos little slip up.

“hi,” you say, and your voice is warm and clear, offering satoru a smirk that makes his ears turn redder.

“this is satoru,” choso smiles, gesturing with one ringed finger. “he’s sort of a science freak, he's an astrophysics major, thinks weed makes him smarter.”

“it does,” satoru replies instantly, sitting up and adjusting his glasses while adorably avoiding eye contact with you. “scientifically.”

“right... and this is suguru,” choso continues, looking at him with a smile. “ he's an arts major. probably has a hundred drawings of you in that little sketch book.”

suguru almost choked at the call out and fumbles to skwark out a response. “hey! don’t tell her that.”

hm, this was definitely getting intriguing. you glance at him, angling your head to access him better. “oh, is that true?” you tease.

he meets your eyes shyly. “maybe."

you giggle and satoru feels it sink deep into his heart.

they could'nt believe it, you were seriously talking to them, like, right now. offering them your perfect pretty voice as you stood there radiantly gazing at them through pretty lashes. they could feel their blood rushing to all different places at the sheer proximity...

"you’re choso’s friends?” you ask, looking between them sweetly pretending to not notice the way they're practically eye fucking you. they were definitely fans, you could just tell. not to mention one of them apparently has some secret stalker sketches of you, they weren't exactly being subtle.

“yeah, classmates,” suguru throws out, rubbing his neck and adjusting his jeans while satoru still sat peering up at your figure.

these guys were a little weird, you'd thought that since seeing them in the hallway, but they were hot. like, smoking hot. “i’m a media comms major,” you giggle, “minoring in fashion marketing.”

“we know.” satoru blurts out way louder than anticipated, then catches himself. “i mean, cool. that’s cool.”

you raise a brow. “you guys stalking my linkedin or something?”

“lowkey, yeah,” suguru says unapologetically.

“jesus,” choso mutters.

but you laugh again like you don’t mind. you twirl a piece of hair around your finger. “that's... cute, i guess."

cute. she called us cute.

“mm. more like dumb freaks,” choso says fondly. and you just smile like you’re not even a little surprised. maybe you knew?...

“good,” you say. “i like freaks.” and satoru’s entire brain turns to mush while suguru clears his throat and pulls at his jeans once again.

choso drops down onto the couch with his legs spread and his back slouched, and you slip easily into the space beside him, your thigh brushing his.

“so,” you say, stretching your legs out. the hem of your skirt riding higher, “what do two scary smart guys like you do for fun?”

“this,” satoru says, pointing to his blunt.

“and this,” suguru murmurs, tapping his sketchbook, you glance over at the long haired guy.

“are you really drawing me or was that like, a joke?”

he doesn’t answer at first, just looks at you with that hesitant gaze, then flips open the sketchbook, turns it toward you, and holds it still.

your face sat staring back at you, charcoal and his smudged obsession all over the page.

hm, he was serious...

you nod, then laugh. “that’s kinda insane,” you smile, appreciative yet a little concerned, as one would be.

“yeah, he’s kinda insane,” satoru says.

“takes one to know one,” you reply, not looking away from suguru.

his voice is embarrassed now as he avoids your sparkling eyes. “do you... do you mind?”

you glance at him, then satoru, then choso, who just shrugs like he’s used to this kind of attention around you.

“guess not,” you say. “i think it’s hot, just wished i'd known of such devout fans a little sooner, y'know.”

satoru makes a tiny sound in the back of his throat, suguru just hums and flips to a fresh page. he was always quieter when he was embarrassed, nervous, or flustered, and satoru could tell suguru was going insane over your careless flirting.

every word that fell from your mouth was driving the boys insane, they glanced at eachother and exchanged a silent conversation. one that said, 'i'm so fucking hard right now what the hell am i supposed to do!?' they both clear their throats and shift in their seats.

your eyes drag over to satoru next, making him tense up a little. “and you? physics, right? what do you do in your spare time?”

“i… read things. smoke, i think about time a lot.” look at photos of you, he almost stutters, adjusting his glasses again out of nervous habit.

you blink. “hm, time?”

“yeah, like, the concept of it. what it means that we experience things in sequence. how we know we’re not dreaming.”

god he was such a dork, but you loved it so far. he was cuter than suguru, one was stoic and sexy and the other was slightly more bubbly and cute, this dynamic was really starting to grow on you.

feeling confident you let the sweetness drop and the sultry tone take over, deciding to tease him in that flirty way.

“you're so weird.”

“yeah,” he says breathless at the change of mood, “i know.”

you stare at him, his big black rimmed glasses and his faded digi shirt, how big he was for such a timid seeming guy.

then you shift to suguru, he's quiet and strange, i mean, who the hell draws hundreds of sketches of someone they've never had the courage to talk to before?

yeah, they were both lowkey kinda guys, quiet and awkward. but fuck if they weren't bad as hell. catching their eye in the hallway and now meeting them at a party? the universe was surely giving you signs.

you watch as their eyes seem to wash over each and every part of your body, taking in every little detail.

you’re a little high, but not stupid. you’re used to attention but not like this. theirs feels… different. more intense, almost like they’re not flirting, more so studying.

choso slings an arm behind you, tapping your shoulder with two fingers. “you good?”

“mmhm,” you hum, leaning into his touch. “they’re interesting.”

“told you.”

“and hot.” you murmur.

satoru hears it and his breath hitches.

“you guys live on campus?” you ask, them being oblivious to the ulterior motives cooking up in your head.

“yeah, the dorms,” satoru says.

“it’s kinda gross.” suguru adds, the boys once again exchanging a look to almost check up on eachother. we're good so far, normal conversation isn't that bad!

“so you guys hang out a lot?” you ask, tilting your head.

“basically live in each other’s pockets,” choso says, tapping ash into the cup again. “they’re like married. it’s freakish.”

“shut up, it’s just practical,” suguru replies.

“yeah, no, that's hot,” you repeat again. two sexy guys living in the same dorm knowing they're both fans of you and we're currently shitting bricks over this insignificant conversation? this situation was almost too perfect to be playing out the way it was. you felt like the universe was playing some reverse harem trick on you.

you’re lounging back now as your finger traces patterns on the head of the couch right by sugurus neck.

they're almost having an out of body experience, everything is too much. your perfume is quite literally assaulting their noses in the best way, your body is moving and shifting and it's only worsening the growing bludges in both of their pants.

they feel an overwhelming urge to just pick you up and take you back to their dorm, sit you on the bed and study every little thing. ask every question they've been dying to know about you, take turns worshiping, praising, pleasuring the beauty that only existed on their phones until this very moment.

now you're talking to choso about whatever party's happening next week, engulfed in his words giving them time to debrief off to their own side of the couch.

suguru leans into satoru's ear and whisper screams like the room isn't teeming with noise. "what the hell do we do now?"

satorus still cooling down from the light teasing and rubs his eyes under his glasses. "she's literally right there, we can't lose this opportunity, bro. what should we say?"

"we could ask about her modelling?" suguru suggests.

"that's creepy." satoru shakes his head, shooting his head over his shoulder to make sure you're still busy talking to choso.

"her hobbies?"

"too basic!"

"then what the fuck do we say?!"

"you're acting like i talk to women!"

before they can finish their pathetic little plan to keep you interested, choso turns to them and speaks up.

“i’m gonna go grab a drink,” he laughs. he pushes up from the couch, a cocky smirk falls across his mouth. “don’t embarrass yourselves too hard, boys.”

suguru rolls his eyes and satoru feels his bones tense.

and just like that, you’re alone.

in this perfect little corner of the room, it’s just you and them. two boys who’ve been obsessing over you for months like it was a sport, acting unbothered every time you walked past even though they were starving in ways they’d never ever admit.

satoru leans back like he’s relaxed with his legs sliding wider, pretending he’s just getting comfy to hide the way his pants are getting tighter and tighter... his fingers tap his thigh slowly as he plasters on that wicked smile, yet inside, he feels like if he blinks wrong he’ll cry.

suguru try's to look calmer but his thoughts are loud, every one of them about where to take this next, how to keep it cool, how to not give away that he’s two seconds away from losing all of his composure.

you can pick up the sexual tension and decide to capitalise on it. “jeez, you guys always this intense?”

you fold your arms under your chest and lean in giving them a good look at your pretty cleavage. both of them glance down quickly, then immediately back up.

instead of panicking, satoru answers smoothly, “maybe you’re just distracting.”

suguru hums. “yeah, kinda hard not to stare at a girl like you.”

underneath the nonchalant-ness, they’re freaking the fuck out. since when were they able to hold up conversation without nerding out and scaring people off?

you laugh, waving it off. “i’m teasing. you’re just a bit nervous, that’s fine. you guys don’t talk to many girls or something?”

satoru gives a little shrug. “not ones like you.”

suguru leans in closer, “definitely not like you.”

you can tell that they're going to war in their own respective minds, you sorta had that effect on people. but they for some reason, made it much more obvious than other guys.

cute, you liked virgins.

behind this blatant flirting your mind drifts to sukuna, then to the girls you know he's hiding somewhere in his phone, and suddenly he's gone again. funny how that happens. if he can treat you like shit, then you can do the same.

your eyes drop to the sketchbook on suguru’s lap at the half finished sketch of yourself, he really was talented, you liked that in your men.

“so… you always draw girls you wanna fuck, orrr?”

satoru genuinely almost groans at the vulgar words coming out of such a cute mouth, but suguru doesn’t react as strongly.

“no.”

you turn your head slightly, lips turning up into a smile. “just me then?”

his eyes flutter shut for half a second like you'd caught him red handed. “yeah... just you.”

you trail your gaze down his torso deliberately, then turn to satoru.

“what about you, gojo?”

he clears his throat gently, “satoru, you can call me satoru.. and what about me?”

you lower your voice, fingers playing with your skirt. “d'you want me too? is this something the both of you like... discuss in your little nerd cave?”

he actually laughs under his breath trying for suave. “want’s a mild word...”

"hm. so, you ever think about what it’d be like?” your voice goes low. “taking me apart together?”

might as well throw the ball out there and see how they react.

and react they did, the guilty look on their faces confirmed what you pretty much already knew, they were into that freaked out throuple shit.

you continue like you’re talking about the weather, just trying to get a rise out of them, mentally and physically. “who’d start,” you say, “and who’d finish.”

your hand slides down suguru’s solid bicep and his throat bobs hard.

“you’d take turns, right?” you ask sweetly. “be real nice to me?”

satoru curses under his breath and suguru digs his nails into his knee to keep from shivering.

you smile at them, “or maybe not?”

now their heads are filled with images they’ve only let themselves fantasise about in the dark. suguru’s brain is showing him flashes, your hands bound with his belt, your mouth open and wet, your thighs trembling under both their grips.

satoru’s picturing you in his lap, suguru behind you, his fingers splayed over your throat while satoru kisses the words out of your mouth.

you lean back, finally giving them room to breathe, but they don’t. they seriously can’t.

and still, through the thick syrup of want, you feel it: the sting of guilt. you’re not drunk, maybe a bit high, bust still. when it came down to it, you were just being reckless while hurting.

memories of sukuna’s thick fingers on your waist just yesterday, the way he grunted when he finished and didn’t look you in the eye. just zipped up, threw some unsignificant words your way, and left.

you think of all the nights you cried over him and all the times you begged, all the times you forgave him just to keep things civil.

and you think of last weekend. and the weekend before that, and the weekend before that.

it seemed like you had a new story for each function you went to together, this was not healthy.

...yeah, fuck it.

they obviously want you, really badly, and you needed a good distraction. what better distraction than two tall, handsome strangers to take your mind off things?

you move so you're sitting in between them, and they part for you like the red sea. "can't let geto take all of the attention now can i?"

“jesus christ,” satoru whispers as you sit down almost ontop of him, he tries his best to keep his hands to himself as you readjust your skirt while sitting squished between them.

you catch yourself grinning before grabbing the white haired boys collar, what did you have to lose? one night, you could indulge for one night.

you lean in, suguru’s breath fans over your cheek as you press your lips to satoru’s, it was barley a brush, yet the exhale that escaped his lips was thick and needy. his hands jumped to your jaw but you pull away quick to give suguru some attention.

he meets you halfway with his eyes falling shut. his hand guides up your body and brushes your waist although he doesn’t pull you in, not yet, not unless you want it.

and you do.

so you kiss him deeper with one hand gripping his shirt and the other sliding up into satoru’s soft hair. they’re both touching you everywhere like they can’t believe this is real, they're half expecting to wake up in a cold sweat.

you pull back for air with lips bruised, and satoru’s chasing you before he even knows it, a needy, gasping thing.

your mouths meet messily with hunger. you nip his lower lip and he whimpers, then moans low in his throat as your hips shift between them, pressing firm to suguru’s thigh. satoru’s pupils are blown so wide they look bottomless.

and god, god, they want you.

"holy— are you real?" suguru manages to groan, and you feel ecstatic at the feeling.

all until the fear hits.

your eyes open, just barely and you do a quick sweep of the room. you see them everywhere, phones.

not aimed at you, but they're everywhere all the same. in hands, on laps, on tables. camera lenses you can’t see and screens you can’t control. this isn’t your dorm, this isn’t even your party, this is choso’s house. and you’ve made a career, a life, out of being seen a certain way, you can’t risk this.

not when there’s a chance he could see it. sukuna was a headache you wanted to deal with much later down the track.

you pull back pressing your palms to their chests. their mouths chase yours dazed and so out of breath, but you hush them with a kiss to the corner of suguru’s lips, a brush of your fingers down satoru’s jaw.

“we should take this somewhere more.. private.” you whisper sensually.

you slide off the couch and tug your dress into place, checking over your shoulder once as a coy smile spreads across your swollen lips. suguru’s standing eagerly and satoru fumbles with his belt that you'd pulled at earlier.

“lets go upstairs, yeah?”

you shoot down the hall and up choso's long stairway, you faintly hear them behind you whispering curses.

“jesus christ.” satoru mutters under his breath. “what's even happening...”

“this is a dream, it's gotta be.” suguru says.

“if it is, don’t wake me.”

you reach the upstairs hallway where the rooms are, and choso's standing by his bedroom door with the drink he said he was gonna grab earlier.

you look up at him and he seems to know the situation before you even had a chance to explain. his eyes flick over your body, the smear of gloss on your chin and the flushed heat of your cheeks, he doesn’t judge.

he stares behind you at the taller boys practically shaking with nerves, he tries to surpress a laugh at how pathetic his friends look. although, hes proud of them for not totally ruining their opportunity with you by saying something too creepy or out of pocket.

you step close, just enough for him to hear you over the noise of whatever shitty drake song was bumping.

“can i use your room, cho?” you ask politely. the way you say it is sweet and light, but choso can hear the not so nice undertones, the rage. the heartbreak. the fuck you of it all.

he looks like he's contemplating for a moment, then exhales through his nose. “both, huh?" he teases, earning a bashful look rom all three of you. "course, go crazy.”

you grin shyly as your fingers brush his wrist as you pass by, "thanks, love ya."

when the two men scuff by, choso nods, and yawns. “don’t fuck up my shit.”

satoru closes the door behind you with trembling fingers and suguru rubs his neck anxiously like he's ten seconds away from falling apart all over you.

they both look at you with wide eyes and unsure, after all, this was their first time.

they’re looking at you like you’re quite literally the single most amazing thing they've ever seen, and even with the air of uncertainty, they both looked so beautiful you wanted to sob.

you take a shaky step back toward the bed, and they follow suit.

they don’t rush you or fumble, they just inch closer like gravity’s dragging them to you. like they’ve been waiting a lifetime for this moment and they’d rather die before wasting it.

you stand next to choso's big comfy bed, suguru stands close infront of you as satoru circles behind, they're both sweating bullets. you watch as their hands shake with the need to touch, to grab.

"well... go on." you whisper.l

both boys tense up, but as soon as the hesitation's gone they're scrambling to try and make this feel as natural and consensual as possible before indulging in their fantasies, like they'd always said they would if this was to ever happen.

“is this okay?” suguru asks, brushing his fingers along the bottom of your skirt. “we’ll stop if you—”

“—no,” you breathe. “no, it's fine. don't stop, just... please.”

the boys look at eachother like they'd struck gold.

satoru’s long fingers pull your tight top up and over your body, kissing at your neck as he does so. suguru stands behind you, undoing the clasp of your bra with a deftness that makes your thighs clench, his mouth grazing your shoulder blades as the straps fall loose down your arms.

they undress you like they’re unwrapping some beautiful luxury gift. for virgins, they were doing wonderfully so far.

suguru’s hands slide down your sides to unzip your skirt, and it pools around your ankles in a heartbeat. satoru drops to his knees to help you step out of it, and you could swear he shudders when your bare thighs come into view.

“fuck,” he breathes. “you’re…”

but he doesn’t finish.

he just looks up at you, eyes wide behind his glasses, blue and blown with complete and utter awe, he's staring like you’re some divine creature.

then suguru turns you gently, his hand curling under your chin to tilt your face toward his. he kisses you slowly, and when he pulls back you’re trembling from the sensuality of it all.

you almost feel greedy having this much attention on you.

choso’s sheets are soft and rumpled beneath your thighs as they ease you down, laying you back so softly. satoru kneels beside you and suguru leans over you, and they begin to undress themselves slowly.

you cant help but groan because god, they’re unreal under all of that geeky shit.

suguru shrugs off his sweater, the hem dragging over his beautifully cut torso revealing smooth, pale skin and thick lines of muscle traced with soft black hair.

he’s covered in little scars, faint things like he’s lived a hundred lives just to get here, in this moment with you.

you can’t look away from the tattoos that curve around his chest, how they stretch over his muscle as he inches closer.

satoru pulls off his jumper in one messy sweep, ruffling his snowy hair and leaving it even more tussled than before. his t-shirt comes next, he’s a little leaner than suguru, but muscular all the same.

you stare, and they know you’re staring. i mean, you weren't being very subtle about it...

satoru goes redder in the face from this new attention, his hands are shaking again as he peels off his jeans. when you glance down, you gawk as his pretty cock slaps back against his tummy, so hard and long.

suguru’s slower as usual, keeping his eyes on you the whole time as he undoes his belt and pushes down his jeans, the snap of leather making your thighs squeeze together.

and then they’re both kneeling at the foot of the bed, fully undressed, looking at you like you’re god.

“she’s shaking,” suguru notices as his eyes trail up your bare legs. “we should start slow, satoru.”

“yeah,” satoru says, crawling closer. “yeah, slow, gotcha…” he swallows nervously.

you're genuinely overwhelmed at how methodical they seem to be, how having their undivided attention suddenly flipped the power dynamic, now you're at their mercy.

when they lay you back, when they open your thighs with trembling hands and eager mouths, you feel a flip of need in your stomach.

you’ve been touched before, plenty. you’ve been kissed, been fucked, been thrown around a bedroom by a man who only knew how to want you with his hands, not his heart.

sukuna was always rough and so, so selfish. he’d shove your knees apart without looking you in the eye, fuck you hard and fast like he was trying to pour out all of his frustration, and always left you cold and empty afterwards.

you let yourself be used, again and again. hoping that one dad, he’d see you, want you in the way romeo wants juliet.

and now? instead of that, there’s this.

satoru’s mouth hot and wet and oh so greedy as his tongue slides past your lips, moaning like he’s already got his cock inside of you.

suguru’s hands fan over your chest, groping your tits sensually, “fuck, want you so bad."

satoru pulls away from your lips with a gasp, tugging at your jeans. “fuck, want you bare. now.”

suguru butts in, “that okay?”

you nod, also breathless. “yeah,”

“good girl,” the purple eyed man smiles, his eagerness making you throb.

shit, for virgins these guys knew how to get a girl going, your mind was blown.

satoru falls to his knees and kisses your thighs feverishly, his spit drips onto your pussy before he laps it up with a filthy moan. “fuck, you’re wet,” satoru pants. “is that for us?”

you nod with your hips trembling, whines spilling out with each breath. "f—fuck! he's, yes it's for you." you groan.

suguru snakes a hand around the front for your cunt and finds your clit in record time, dj-ing the bundle of nerves using satoru's spit as lube. "aw, you like that baby? like having us both at once?"

they moan in sync when you moan out a "fuck, yes!"

satoru buries his face in your cunt like he’s trying to suffocate in it, his tongue circling your clit now as suguru toys with your nipples, his two fingers working deep inside you, slapping wet sounds into the quiet of the room. satoru's sloppy and greedy with his jaw completely soaked, eyes rolling back every time you whimper. “taste her,” he mumbles up to suguru. “holy shit, taste-”

suguru shifts positions and leans down without hesitation, then licks you right off satoru’s mouth. your knees almost give out.

“perfect,” he mutters.

“so fucking good,” satoru finishes.

they drag you further up the bed, both of them hard and leaking. you see the way satoru grips the base of his cock, flushed red and twitching, precum spilling down his knuckles. suguru’s is heavier, curved meanly upwards, all veined and dark, there's a piercing glinting at the tip.

“can we take you?” satoru pants while suguru's leaving heavy kisses up and down the sides of your shoulders.

“—yes!” you whimper, “please, please.”

the black haired ones on you first, face now buried between your thighs in place of satoru, tongue working your clit while satoru kneels beside your head, stroking his cock. “open,” he tells you, you obey, and he spits in your mouth with a devilish grin.

“swallow it,” suguru says, watching from between your legs. “good fucking girl.” he praises as he watches your throat bob.

they take turns. satoru fucks your throat slow and deep, his hands cradling your head like you're both fragile yet able. suguru sucks and licks up every inch of your cunt, his tongue curling inside you, then pulling back to spit on your clit before rubbing it in with his fingers.

“she likes that,” satoru says with a wrecked voice. “look how loud she's gettin'.”

“jesus,” suguru growls. “god, let me fuck her already—"

“wait,” satoru groans, pulling out of your throat with a pop. “i wanna be in her mouth when you go in.”

they flip you, get you on your hands and knees. satoru kneels in front of you, his cock glossy with your spit. suguru lines himself up behind you, hands firm on your hips.

you’re soaked and throbbingas he slides in with one slow, mean thrust, and you scream around satoru’s cock.

suguru groans a pornographic groan. “tight fucking pussy,” he pants. “gripping me so hard, fuck!”

“she's doing so well, taking my cock to the —fuck— to the base,” satoru gasps, thrusting into your mouth.

they fuck you in sync. suguru pounds into you from behind, each thrust making your thighs shake, cock punching deep into your cunt while satoru holds your face steady and uses your throat like a pocket pussy. tears streak your cheeks and spit drips from your lips.

you're completely and utterly wrecked, yet you’ve never felt more loved.

“gonna cum,” suguru growls, yanking you up by the hair. “gonna fill her up,”

“inside,” you gasp, pulling off satoru. “please, please come inside!”

suguru moans at that, and with one final pull, he's spilling inside you hard and deep. he keeps thrusting through it, fucking his cum back up into you.

“switch,” you mumble almost instantly. “i want both.”

satoru's all breathless but he's grinning like a kid on christmas, he helps you onto your back.

suguru leans down and kisses you filthily, cum still dripping from your pussy onto the sheets.

you’re shaking, but still hungry for more of this sweet, sweet sex.

“you sure?” satoru pants, slapping his cock against your ass before lining up.

“yes,” you breathe. and when you confirm, he slides in slowly.

he tried to hold back, but the moment he bottoms out, his control shatters. he slams into you, moaning like he’s possessed, watching his cock fuck suguru’s cum into you with each thrust.

“fuuuuk, you’re dripping,” he gasps. “that’s his, huh? all that from us?” he leans down and kisses your open mouth, then pulls back to spit in it again. you swallow with a moan.

suguru watches, stroking himself with a fucked our expression. “you’re both so hot,” he sighs. “look at you two, jesus.”

after a good few deep thrusts, satoru too finishes inside you hard, his cock spamming and jerking deep in your cunt. you feel every spurt, hot and full mixing with suguru’s, dripping down your thighs.

and then, “open up,” suguru says, kneeling over your chest from his spot beside the bed.

you stick out your tongue and his seed covers the inside of your mouth. you swallow it all and the action makes the boys hard all over again.

still, they gauge that this was probably enough for the first time, and they rush to clean you up immediately.

this was sex you could seriously get used to.

~

after the clean up, you’re asleep before either of them can even utter the word 'aftercare'.

curled between them in the tangle of choso’s sheets, one leg tossed over suguru’s thigh, your cheek pressed deep into satoru’s warm chest.

your breathing is soft and steady like you’ve never slept better, like you were meant to end up right here, with both of them wrapped around you tight.

satoru stares down at you, stunned.

“she’s asleep,” he whispers.

“mm,” suguru hums beside him. “out cold.”

satoru breathes out a disbelieving laugh. “holy shit.”

suguru smiles slowly. “yeah.”

“i mean,” satoru whisper screams, “did that actually just happen? like, what the fuck?”

he looks at you again, at your bare shoulder rising and falling and how your lashes kiss your cheeks. your hand is fisted into his shirt, you’re holding onto him in your sleep.

he swallows. “fuck, man.”

suguru’s hand rests lightly on your hip, his fingers dotting soft circles over your skin, he can’t stop touching you even now. “that shit was like a dream.”

“she was perfect,” satoru agrees.

suguru's hand slides carefully up your spine and you shift slightly in your sleep, a soft whisper, and both of them freeze as to not wake you further. but you don’t open your eyes, you just sigh, sweet and content, pressing closer into the warmth of their worn out bodies.

suguru watches you like he’s studying religious scripture. “i’ve imagined it,” he says quietly. “a thousand times. how she’d sound. how she’d taste.”

satoru nods. “i thought it wouldn’t be as good as i imagined.”

“mhm, but it was better,” suguru says, voice hoarse.

“so much better.”

their thoughts drift back to how easily you let yourself be taken care of by them, letting them see you vulnerable, see you cry, even. they knew you didn't get that with sukuna.

"bet that beg's never fucked her like that.” suguru jokes, and satoru rolls his eyes. “obviously. if some virgins can outfuck that clown, that's just embarrassing.”

tthey stare at you again, admiring your pretty features as you sleep soundly.

satoru brushes a knuckle along your temple. “she was genuinely phenomenal, oh my god.” he's obviously still convinced this was all a dream.

suguru hums. “she clenched so hard on my cock, i thought i was gonna die.”

they both fall silent again, looking down at how peaceful you were.

“i hope we made her forget. about him, i mean. could tell something was up,” suguru sighs.

satoru nods. “mhm, hope we gave her something to think about instead of whatever issues they're having.”

“she deserves it,” suguru murmurs.

“yeah,” satoru says. “she deserves everything.”

"and you don't even feel the slightest bit guilty? screwing a taken women?"

"nope. not when her man is that dick."

suguru just smiles, brushing his hands through your hair and humming in agreement.

the room smells like you, they smell like you. they’ve got you on their hands, in their mouths, under their nails. you’re in their teeth, in their veins, in their bloodstream.

they'd never felt so utterly consumed before, and they wouldn't want it any other way.

~

the door creaks open just after two.

choso leans into the doorway with a curious glance, taking in the sight of you sleeping peacefully against the two boys.

“hey.” he whispers into the darkness.

satoru flinches like he’s been electrocuted.

“jesus!”

“shhh.” choso murmurs into a dry tone. “you’ll wake her.”

suguru huffs, “shit, how long have you been standing there?”

“long enough,” choso says, stepping fully into the room now. he crosses to the side of the bed like he’s done it a thousand times. “relax, m' not pissed off or anything.”

“you’re not?”

choso shrugs. “i let you guys come up, lowkey egged her on, too.”

satoru looks at him. “so you’re not… like grossed out?”

choso snorts. “nah.”

suguru’s brow twitches. “you’re not… disappointed?”

choso shakes hi head at that.

he glances down at you again, at the way you’re sleeping, deep and undisturbed with a softness on your face he hasn’t seen in weeks. he sees the glow in your skin and the tension gone from your shoulders, melted away like butter on a hot day.

he sighs. “no, she clearly needed this.”

satoru and suguru exchange a glance, unsure if they’re about to be punched or hugged.

but choso only leans over, hands surprisingly careful, and nudges satoru’s shoulder with a low murmur. “alright, up.”

satoru quirks a confused brow. “what?”

“move, she sleeps better when she’s not squished between two lanky assholes.”

“but she’s—”

“oh my fucking god, move.”

his tone leaves little room to argue, so suguru sighs, then gets up stiffly trying not to wake you, untangling himself from the bedsheets and carefully withdrawing from the warmth of your body. satoru follows, groaning quietly. you stir a little but don’t wake, just curl inward into the space they leave behind, a faint sound of protest escaping your lips.

satoru almost cries at the loss.

“go,” choso puhes, “before she wakes up and feels weird.”

suguru looks at you one more time. then nods solemnly. he pulls on his hoodie, grabs his sketchbook from the floor, but satoru just stands there, staring.

choso raises a brow. “need help?”

“no,” satoru mutters. “i’m fine.”

he pulls his shirt on inside out, then they leave without another word.

choso sighs then pulls off his boots and shrugs off his jacket, folding it neatly over the back of his desk chair. he stalks back to the bed, careful not to wake you, then eases himself into the space satoru left behind.

you gravitate toward the new heat, you nuzzle into his chest with a little sigh, one hand fisting in the fabric of his shirt.

he smiles gently, taking in your adorably clingy nature.

“hey,” he murmurs fondly, brushing your hair from your face. “there she is.”

he doesn’t say anything else. just watches you sleep for a moment, long fingers stroking the plush of your cheek. your lashes flutter a little and your lips twitch, then you breathe his name without waking.

he closes his eyes contently, “sleep, ma,” he mutters. “you’re okay."

~

shit, your head was pounding.

your body was weighed down heavy with the kind of sex ache that makes your thighs shake when you stretch. you shudder under the covers and blink blearily into the chest in front of you.

“choso…?”

“hey.” his voice is sleepy and he’s barely opened his eyes. “mornin’, sweetheart.”

you’re nestled against him like you always are after long parties at his place, except this time your lips are swollen, your thighs are sore, and your body still sings with the memory of being ravished.

“uh, how did you—"

“js' found you like this,” he says simply, brushing a knuckle under your eye. “figured you’d want someone to keep the nightmares away or whatever.”

your heart melts.

“thank you, cho." you whisper.

he hums like it’s no big deal and like holding you through the night isn’t his favorite part of every party he has at his place.

you curl closer into him, your sleepy face tucked under his chin, breathing in his familiar scent. you and choso have always made sense, bestfriends since the beginning. you’ve never had to ask for much with him.

maybe it’d be easier if he didn’t care so much about you, if he could just be the guy who hosts the cool invite-only-parties and didn't get involved in the messy shit.

but he’s never had that option with you, no way.

not when he’s watched you make yourself small and insignificant for someone who doesn’t deserve you, he’s seen the way sukuna leaves you hollowed out and timid, he’s picked you up from the worst nights and still thought you were the best thing that ever happened to him.

he’s just there.

not because he wants anything from you, god, never, he’s not sukuna.

he just wants you to be safe, he wants you happy. wants you to know that someone sees you, that someone really gives a shit, because he really gives a shit.

so yeah, if it means slipping into bed beside you so you don’t wake up alone, brushing your hair back from your cheek while you breathe soft and steady, he’ll do it. because you’re his girl, even if you aren't really his girl. he’s always going to look out for you, no matter what.

if he can't be the one loving you right then he'll do everything he can to make those who can, do.

“hey, cho?”

“mm?”

“…do you have their numbers?” you ask shyly, trying to sound as flippant as you could.

he doesn’t have to ask who you mean, he just cheekily smiles. “yeah, baby,” he says. “i got you.”

"and cho?"

"yes?"

"don't tell ryo."

he would never, don't you worry.

~

monday

you told yourself it was just a one time thing. afterall, two guys at once was a bit much, even for you. (no matter if they were the best fuck you'd ever had.)

but then monday came.

you walk into the small campus café with your laptop tucked under one arm and your sunglasses still perched high on your pretty cheekbones, and there they were.

satoru and suguru. sitting in the back sharing a muffin, whispering furiously about whatever nerdy thing it was. normal, they hadn’t been inside you at the same time forty eight hours ago.

you almost turned around, but then suguru looks up, satoru following.

shit, they were so fucking pretty.

his eyes darkened when they landed on you like all he needed in this moment was to be close to you again, and you couldn’t move. couldn’t scoff and turn around, couldn’t not walk over to them when he raised a slow hand and curled his fingers in a quiet, come here.

so you walked over, and sat between them.

the vibe was a little akward, yet still somehow more comfortable than your expected. satoru was looking at you with that cute needy expression, and suguru smiled when his knuckles accidentally pushed at your wrist when he reached for his coffee. your stomach was flipping like a schoolgirl’s.

"you look as beautiful as ever, y/n." satoru murmurs as he grabs for your hand under the table.

"i still can't believe you're real, god, you're so cute." suguru whispers as his hands grip your thigh descreetly.

jeez, one night and they're getting this bold? you couldn't lie, you liked it.

an expectant smile crossed your lips when satoru leaned in and asked quietly, “wanna come over later?” you nodded, you knew you could never say no to these two.

tuesday

satoru keeps a bottle of lotion on his nightstand that smells like coconut and soy.

you’re not sure why that’s what sticks with you the most.

he'd kissed your thighs for fifteen full minutes before even touching you, he whispered mine, mine, mine into the hollow of your throat when you came, he looked at you after, eyes wet and mouth upturned like he’d seen something so divine.

instead of that, all you could focus on is lotion.

the smell of it on your wrists when you woke up in his bed, your body all aching and sore in the best way. when he sat behind you on the floor after your shower, hands gliding gently over your skin with the stuff, murmuring such sweet words in your ear.

“you’re so pretty like this,” he’d smile, rubbing circles into your shoulders. “all quiet and sleep.”

you let him touch you for a long time. let him press kisses down your spine, let him pull you into his lap and rest his cheek against your back as he listened to your hear beat.

you didn’t ask what this meant and neither did he, too soon for that.

wednesday

suguru brings you over to the dorm while satoru's out, and he sketches you.

you don’t know how you got to that point, one moment you were sitting on his bed in your underwear, eating strawberries from a chipped glass bowl, and the next he's looking at you like van gough looked at sunflowers.

“y/n, stay like that,” he said gently. you thought he meant it as a joke or something. maybe he was gonna do something freaky, but instead, he grabbed his sketchbook.

and then he drew you.

you followed his instructions and let him work away while you admired his beautiful face, taking in every little curvature of his blessed body. after he was through with sketching you raw, he placed his book aside, climbed onto the bed, straddled your hips, and kissed you so hard you felt him deep in your heart.

he’s quieter than satoru is and so much more intense. less prone to fidgeting, more prone to doing.

“you should be adored,” he said at one point, dragging his mouth along your collarbone as he plunged deeper inside of you. “you should be touched with all the care in the world.”

he didn’t realise you were crying until he kissed your cheeks and tasted the salt.

thursday

satoru’s the one who starts questioning every little thing first between the three of you.

at first he just acts really weird, he talks fast and says shit like “we’re not your boyfriends, right?” and, “i don’t wanna make it weird, haha, unless you do, but even then like… i dunno, just ignore me!”

you're lying on his floor in between his legs, he keeps running his fingers through your hair. you’re not wearing a bra, and he’s definitely hard, the perfect setting to have your mind turn hazy with pleasure.

but then, “do you regret it?” he asks suddenly.

"hm?"

“the weekend..” he replies. “and… everything after.”

you sit up with a confused look on your face.

satoru’s face is a mess of contradictions. he looks both nervous and cocky, like he’s daring you to reject him but also it would ruin him if you did.

you roll your eyes then kiss him rough until he's gasping for air.

“does that answer your question?” you murmur against his mouth, then he lets go of a groan.

“i’m so in love with you it’s disgusting,” he blurts out, then slaps a hand over his big mouth, turning red. “wait, pretend i didn’t—"

you kiss him again.

friday

suguru finds you in the library as you’re curled into a corner with your laptop, your hoodie's pulled over your head and your sunglasses are on. you're trying to avoid attention and pretend you’re being productive, when really, you’re just replaying the last five nights in your mind on repeat.

he smiles to himself and walks over, setting a cup of coffee by your hand. “hey there, pretty,” he says quietly.

he’s wearing glasses today with a loose button down, his hair is tied back in a low bun, he looks as perfectly put together as usual.

you grin before you can stop yourself. “hey, handsome.” he sits in the seat beside you, draping his arm over the back of your chair.

“you looked like you needed caffeine,” he murmurs. you glance at the coffee. it’s your exact order. “and a kiss,” he adds, even softer.

your face flushes hot.

“but i can wait until later.” he adds.

he doesn’t say, 'my place or yours,' but you hear it anyway.

you bite your lip, you know you weren't in a position to reject such a beautiful man. “later,” you echo, with a wide smile.

saturday

by now you stop acting like this isn't something you want.

there’s no “maybe this is a phase, maybe i just needed a distraction.”

there’s no one night stand logic that can explain the way suguru presses his face into your stomach after he comes, arms wrapped tight around your hips whispering about how he never wants to let you go.

there’s no throw away excuse for how satoru touches your face so gently, palms cupping your cheeks, thumb brushing your big lip, whispering your name as he thrusts in and out.

there’s no ignoring the ache in your chest when you leave them in the morning. your fingers hover over your phone every night, like maybe if you just called, one of them would show up at your door again. you’re not sure when this stopped being about sex.

and hell, you’re not sure it ever was.

saturday was spent overthinking.

sunday

satoru and suguru have you shared again, you're panting heavily from their joint efforts to make you finish as they caress your face tenderly, covered in sweat themselves.

"you did so well, baby. you took the both of us like a pro." satoru praises.

"it's like you were made just for us to take apart, isn't that right, honey?" suguru adds.

you could only whimper in reply from the intense moment that still hadn't been shaken yet.

the two hush you, whispering such sweet words while they kiss up and down your body trying to calm you down. you're left reeling with the thoughts you didn't want to acknowledge quite yet.

“i’m scared.” you whisper.

the boys stop their aftercare and move to hover around your face that's now somehow covered in tears.

"oh, my sweet girl... of what?" suguru asks, stroking your head as satoru rubs your cheek.

"it's just... this is getting too much. i'm scared of sukuna finding out, i'm scared of you two leaving me, or getting bored, or someone finding out, or—"

"—baby, relax. thats not gonna happen, we promise we'll—"

you cut satoru off. “but what if it’s just a phase? or something stupid we’re all into just because it’s new? what if i wake up and you guys leave? what if you don’t want me tomorrow? what if this whole thing is just…”

you're unloading everything that had been slowly eating away at you, you can’t finish through the small sobs.

suguru cuts in firmly this time. “no.”

"y/n, listen to me. me and satoru aren't going to abandon you, hell, if anything you should be the one walking away from us. were just two freak losers who got extremely lucky."

“yeah,” satoru agrees, his voice cracking halfway through it. “you’re not just something we wanted to fuck, okay? we want all of you, all of the time. but if sex is all you want to give us, then that's fine, we really don't mind.”

you close your eyes. the room is so quiet now, just your breathing and theirs, the soft creak of the floorboards as the building settles.

“it just feels so wrong... like i'm using you two to get over the pain someone else is giving me. someone who i'm still technically with..."

“we’re not taking anything negatively from this,” suguru speaks softly. “we don’t want anything you don't want. we just want you, in whatever way you want to be wanted.”

satoru exhales through his nose. “we’ve admired you for so long,” he murmurs. “we've been needing this for literal years, y/n, we're never going to just up and leave, it's a privilege you even looked our way that day in the hallway, let alone let us have you like this. morals be damned, we couldn't care less about you using us for solace.”

his confession makes you want to sob harder.

“i never thought i’d get to touch you,” suguru adds. “never even dreamed of this. of holding you like this. of being held by you, so don't worry your pretty little head, we're completley at your mercy.”

youre overwhelmed by the honesty, by the massive amount of devotion these two silly guys have you. hell, you were cheating on your boyfriend and using them as emotional anchors, they seriously were obsessed.

still, their attention always felt so pure.

“...you make me feel like i matter,”

“you do matter,” satoru assures, “you’re the realest person out there, y/n. and we lo-like you for you.”

"we love every part of you, okay? we're not gonna leave you." suguru smiles.

your eyes sting worse, and you think of sukuna, of all the nights you curled away from him after he’d taken what he wanted. you think of the mornings he didn’t even say goodbye. you think of the shame. the emptiness. the way you convinced yourself it was love when it really, really wasn't.

this, what satoru and suguru give you, is nothing like that.

you reach for them, pull them closer until their limbs are tangled in yours again, until you’re flush against suguru’s chest and satoru’s long body is draped around your back.

you close your eyes with a tight throat. “don’t let me go,” you whisper.

“never,” satoru murmurs into your hair.

“not ever,” suguru echoes, thumb stroking your waist.

~

now it was time to face the elephant in the room, after your week of emotional, intense sex with satoru and suguru, sukuna finally came over after a week of radio silence.

he basically cock blocked you just as you were about to leave your room and head to the boys, the quietness felt so disgusting when he was close.

he sits at the edge of your bed with his arms folded across his broad chest, you’re still by the door with your keys dangling from your hand, bag slipping off your shoulder.

“you’ve been weird,” he says flatly.

you blink, taken aback. “what?”

he doesn’t look at you when he says it again. “you’ve been weird. haven't texted for days. no invites.”

you gulp. “look, sukuna, i’ve just been—"

“busy?” he cuts you off, his voice deadly sharp. “yeah. busy ignoring me.” the door clicks shut behind you and your hand trembles on the knob.

“i’m not ignoring you,” you say much quieter now. “you’ve been busy too, no? with law midterms, remember?”

“don’t patronise me.” he scoffs.

“i’m not,” you murmur. “i’m trying to talk to you.”

he stands abruptly now pacing, fingers running through his pink hair in that agitated way that always comes before he says something horribly cruel.

“nah,” he mutters. “you’re trying to do damage control or some shit. every time i text, you take hours to respond. you come back home late, you dodge my calls, you’ve been hanging out with..." he pauses, squinting. “who’ve you even been hanging out with?”

"so you're stalking my location now?" you try to shift the conversation but the blank look on his face lets you know that he's not having it.

your mouth goes dry. you feel the heat rise in your cheeks, guilt, even though you told yourself a hundred times it wasn’t really bad cheating if he was doing the same behind closed doors.

“choso,” you lie. “and shoko. i’ve just been trying to keep my head on straight, kuna.”

“bullshit,” he snaps. “you’re lying.”

“i’m not!”

“don't fucking yell at me, you are.” he growls.

you can’t look at him, because he’s right, you are. not just about who you’ve been with, but about everything. about how you recoil when he touches you, you don’t like how he talks to you in front of your friends, you look for other names in your phone when things go wrong.

“why are you doing this,” you ask softly, “why are you trying to pick a fight with me?”

“because you’re not the same,” he snarls. “because something’s fucking off, and you think i’m too stupid to notice!"

you feel a knot in your stomach, not guilt, but anger. you’ve kept your mouth shut for months, made excuses for him, wiped away your own tears before anyone else could see them. and now he’s standing in your dorm, looking at you like you’re the problem? like he hasn’t been slowly sucking the light out of you since the start of the semester.

“it's none of your business. you do the same thing, sukuna,” you snap.

his red eyes narrow.

“you go ghost, ignore me for days, don't call, don't text. maybe i don’t wanna tiptoe around you every day. maybe i’m tired of getting punished for needing space, or being quiet, or not wanting to fuck you every single time you come over!”

his face twists. “so that’s what this is about?”

you laugh bitterly. “of course that’s the only thing you hear!”

“i fucking knew it,” he seethes, stepping closer. “you’ve been getting dick from someone else.”

your blood goes cold.

“the fuck?”

“who is it?” he demands. “that freak choso? is it toji? what, are you on some slut streak now, trying to fuck your way through all your little guy friends?”

you’re shaking with anger now.

“get out.”

“what?”

“get out, sukuna.”

he stares at you with his chest heaving.

“don’t talk to me like that,” you whisper. “don’t come into my room and call me names and accuse me of shit that you’ve done to me.”

he laughs then scoffs, stepping back. “so that’s it, huh? i call out your bullshit and suddenly i’m the villain?”

“you’re always the fucking villain!” you yell.

...

“you’re fucking pathetic,” he spits. “cry me a river, i'm gone.”

but you don’t cry. not until after the door slams or until you hear his boots stomp all the way down the hall, not until he’s fully gone. and then you’re on the floor.

knees pulled up to your chest with your hands shaking. it’s not even the fight, it’s the months you spent convincing yourself he loved you, you forgot how to want things that weren’t him, he turned every good thing sour and convinced you that it was your fault.

eventually, your hand finds your phone. you stare at your contact list through blurred teary vision. you scroll past 'kuna's' name, you scroll past choso.

and you stop on satoru and suguru's. your chest heaves with pain, you shouldn’t. they don’t deserve this. you can’t drag them into your mess just because you’re too weak to be alone.

but you think about their little confession earlier, how they were so adamant on being there for you, and decide this is the best thing you can do.

“hello?”

satoru’s voice is expectant like he was already waiting for you to call. you open your mouth, but nothing comes out except a strangled breath. “hey,” he asks softly. “are you okay?”

and you break. “can i come over?” you whisper. “please?”

satorus heart breaks in two when he hears the gentle sob in your plea, “of course,” he says. “i’ll come get you.”

“no,” you say quickly. “don’t. i'll come.” there’s a beat of silence. you imagine him looking at suguru. maybe nodding. maybe holding the phone between them like you’re some rare bird that landed in their hands and they’re afraid to scare you away.

“we’re here,” suguru says quietly now. “whenever you want.”

you nod, even though they can’t see you. “i’m leaving now.” then you hang up.

you stumble across campus with your hands shoved deep in your pocket, all you can think about is getting to their dorm and collapsing into their arms.

when you arrive, satoru’s there with the adorable messy hair you'd grown to love. suguru stands just behind him in a black t-shirt with his hair tied back, looking scared for whatever had hurt you now.

when you walk in past the boys, the pressure seems to ease up, but you could still feel the guilt eating away at you.

satoru comes to you first with his arms open and wide, suguru follows close behind, you fall into satoru’s chest shaking. he holds you like he wants to sew your broken parts together with his hands. suguru’s arms wrap around you both from behind, breath warm on your neck.

no one speaks until you whisper, “can i stay?”

suguru laughs solemnly. “you never have to leave.”

then they kiss you tenderly, this is what you needed.

some may of preferred a soft night full of praise and tight cuddles, but you? you just needed them to take your ability to think away, there was time for that softness later, afterwards.

ithey knew you well enough by now to know exactly how to take care of you in this kind of situation, and they got straight to it.

five minutes later they've wrestled your clothes off, and satoru’s tongue is trembling in your cunt like he’s going to cry from how good you taste.

he’s murmuring your name over and over with wet lips dragging sloppy kisses over your folds, his moans humming against your clit. he sounds wrecked, like he's unworthy but taking all he can get anyway, not at all entitled or selfish.

and suguru, he’s watching as his hand slides over your stomach, tracing circles against your skin as he holds you still for satoru’s mouth. every movement is so gentle, so purposeful.

“she’s shaking,” suguru whispers. “toru. slow down.”

but satoru just groans, deeper, like he physically can’t help himself.

“can’t, she’s so good— fuck, you’re so fucking good—" his muffled voice is strained and needy.

he laps you up with a helpless rhythm, his hands are gripping your thighs like he’s trying to keep you there, keep you there for him to service. his glasses are long gone, his eyes are glazed, his mouth is glistening with you.

you can barely breathe, you’re crying for what seems like the fiftieth time that week. not messy out of control sobbing, just quiet, stuttering tears. and it’s not from the orgasm building in your spine. it’s from how they’re treating you so gently.

suguru notices your wet face immediately and leans in, kisses your cheek, then, “you okay, sweetheart?”

"...i just... he never—"

your voice cracks and you can't finish the sentence, not that you need to.

because they know, they know.

satoru’s pace falters just a little. suguru’s fingers rub up and down your tummy.

“he doesn't deserve you,” suguru says, so low it’s almost a growl. “he can't handle all of this.”

you turn your head and sob once, the truth of his words really hit something deep within you it seems, because then you come.

hard.

satoru groans like he’s the one finishing, licking you through it with desperate, uncoordinated strokes, gasping against you like he’s addicted to the taste of your pleasure.

your body locks, then shudders, then melts.

and suguru pulls you into his big, safe arms, kissing your wet eyelids shut, murmuring soft, incoherent things against your skin.

you blink up at him, dazed and sore.

“do you wanna stop, baby?” he asks in a quiet voice.

and you say no.

hell no, you don’t want to stop.

you want to be held, ruined, then rebuilt afterwards.

you want them to drown out everything he left behind.

so suguru fucks you slow.

he guides you onto your back, one hand cradling your face, the other stroking down your thigh as he lines himself up. you feel the thick head of his cock press to your entrance, and your fingers tremble where they’re fisted in the sheets.

he pushes in.

inch by inch.

watching your face.

watching every reaction.

he doesn’t slam, doesn’t shove, only presses in gently until he’s buried inside you to the hilt and your walls are fluttering around him.

you gasp, whimper, any sound you could possibly be making in a situation like this was pouring out in humiliating waves.

and he moans, “fuck,” he breathes, forehead pressed to yours. “you’re— so tight, s-so good—"

satoru is still beside you, one hand in your hair, the other jerking himself slow, his mouth slack.

“she’s perfect,” he whispers. “she’s fucking... god, suguru, look at her.”

and suguru is, he fucks you like you’re made of glass. like this is the only chance he’ll ever get to love you. slow, dragging thrusts that push so deep they punch even the littlest sounds out of your sweet mouth.

you cling to him.

you whimper his name.

“please,” you gasp. “please! don’t stop— don’t leave—"

satoru kisses you so soft it makes your head hurt.

“never,” he says.

that seems to start the mantra of praise as they spill pretty words into the air.

"he didn’t deserve your body. or your heart.”

“we’ll take better care of you, baby.”

"pretty things like you need to be treasured."

and then, "open for satoru, sweetheart.”

you blink through the tears, still spread open and full of suguru, and then satoru is there again, cock flushed and leaking, breath ragged as he kneels by your head.

“can i?” he whispers. “i’ll go slow. i swear.”

and you nod.

because you trust them.

because you want them.

this was all happening so fast but you just couldnt seem to care.

satoru hovers your chest, his cock heavy on your lips and you open for him with tongue out, lashes wet, suguru still thrusting into you slow and deep and steady.

“fuck,” satoru breathes. “fuck, baby! just like that—"

you suck him in and he chokes on a deep, sensual groan.

his fingers curl in your hair as he starts to fuck your mouth, soft at first, like he’s afraid he’ll hurt you, but you whimper and gag and grip his thigh, and he loses it.

he starts moving faster, much deeper.

the wet sounds of your mouth around him mix with the slap of suguru’s hips against yours.

you’re being worshipped and all but consumed. you can’t speak, can’t even think, you’re just feeling, a vessel for their pleasure, full of their hands and cocks and pure, undying love.

because that’s what it is.

twisted and bruising.. but it’s love.

there's no possession, or violence. just two boys who’ve been obsessed with you for years, who would rather die than see you cry over someone who didn't deserve you again.

and when they both come, satoru across your tongue with a helpless sob, suguru deep inside you with a raw groan and a hand pressed over your heart, it feels like freedom.

this is what it feels like to be fucked loved right.

you lay there soaked while they pet your hair and whisper. “so good,” satoru smiles. “you were so fucking good."

“you always are,” suguru adds. “you’re ours.”

you’re not crying now, not quite. but your chest feels split open, nerves buzzing like something too big to hold is trying to crawl out. you can’t speak. can’t move. you just lay there, fucked full and coated in their cum, staring at the ceiling like it’s got answers hidden in the plaster cracks.

satoru takes note of your dazed expression. “hey,” he says softly, brushing a thumb over your cheek. “too much?”

you shake your head, but your mouth doesn’t cooperate.

suguru’s weight moves behind you, he’d curled around your back after they’d finished, warm and sticky yet safe. now he leans over you, his voice a low drawl in your ear. “you’re okay, you’re safe, baby. with us.”

you nod, a tiny tremble as satoru presses a kiss to your forehead. “let’s clean you up.”

they lift you gently, one arm under your knees, one around your back. satoru carries you to the bathroom while suguru turns on the shower, testing the temperature with his hand. steam curls around your skin, soft and warm.

they step in with you, satoru supports you against his chest, water running down both your bodies. suguru kneels in front of you with a washcloth, moving like he’s handling a painting or a prayer. “gonna clean you real gentle,” he says. “you did so good for us.” the first touch of the cloth between your legs makes you shiver.

“i know, i know,” suguru murmurs. “you’re sore. we’ll be careful.”

he’s not just washing, but caring for you as he dabs away the mess between your thighs. “look at how much we gave you,” he says softly, gazing up. “you took it all. every drop.”

you shudder, just a little, overwhelmed sound. satoru kisses your temple. “it's okay, baby. it's okay."

suguru cleans the rest of you up, at this point your entire being feels free of impurities, your soul, even. its like they’ve cracked your soul open and poured themselves inside.

you look up at them, blinking through tears and steam. “you don’t just want me for sex?” you whisper.

satoru makes a strangled sound and hugs you tighter. “jesus,” he breathes. “no, never.”

“we want all of you,” suguru says. "every inch of you, baby.” you bury your face in suguru's chest, he’s also a little shaky.

“you could fuck us a thousand times,” he says, voice cracking, “and we’d still just wanna talk to you. sit next to you and listen to you talk about anything and everything.”

“we wanna know you,” suguru says. “wanna ruin every memory you had with him, overwrite them.”

your heart breaks, but not from pain, or from pleasure, but from the terrifying, beautiful truth of being seen. being known.

suguru whispers, “you’re so good to us.” then satoru kisses your forehead. “you’re enough,” he says. “just like this.”

you fall asleep so warm, soothed down into unconsciousness by their arms. now, you’re silent between them.

suguru looks over you softly, and satoru is awake too. lying stiffly beneath you, eyes wide open and glassy in the moonlight. “you know she hasn’t fully broken up with him,” suguru whispers.

satoru’s face drops like a puppies “i know.”

“hm.”

satoru exhales, rubbing gently on your arm. “i just… i don’t wanna be a secret, y’know?” he says. “feels like i’m in middle school again. like i’ve got a crush on the most popular girl in school, and if anyone finds out, i’m gonna get laughed out of the room.”

“you’re not in middle school,” suguru mutters. “you’re in a bed with her.”

“i know. js' doesn’t feel real...i keep thinking,” he says softly, “what if she wakes up one day and regrets it?”

suguru doesn’t say anything. the thought has haunted him too. “what if this is just a rebellion?” satoru whispers.

“what if she’s just pissed at sukuna and we’re… convenient?”

“we’re not convenient,” suguru says. satoru lets out a short, bitter laugh. “she's been too vulnerable with us for this to just be convenient.”

"hm, i guess..."

“don't worry toru, everything is going to be alright,” suguru says. satoru nods and curls his arms tighter around you.

he presses his mouth to your hair. “i love you,” he whispers. not expecting an answer. just needing to say it. suguru’s hand smooths protectively over your stomach. “i do too,” he says. “always will.”

you stir a little, murmuring something incoherent in your sleep. satoru freezes and suguru holds his breath, but you don’t wake, just nuzzle closer.

your body knows where you’re safest.

~

you were back in your own orbit, mentally healing from the crash out with sukuna and using the memory of satoru and suguru to ground you to whatever schedule you were trying to stick to.

you were doing really well, things seemed a little less scary when you were alone nower days.

but, you know what they say about good things.

a disturbance from your daily note revision was interrupted by a loud knock. you open your dorm door half asleep, thinking it’s shoko or maybe choso coming to check in, your voice is groggy. “hey, who is it—”

“so you're fucking them?”

it’s sukuna. he storms inside without waiting, he smells like weed and sweat and pure and utter rage. when the door slams shut behind him, it rattles the frame. “answer me,” he snarls. “are you fucking gojo and geto?”

you blink, completely stunned. your heart jumps in your chest. “what are you even talking about?”

“don’t fuck around right now!” he growls, stalking closer. “don’t lie to me, i’m not stupid.”

“we're not a thing anymore sukuna why the fuck do you care?! you walked out on me!”

he scoffs, “you think that counts as a break up? did those words ever leave my fucking mouth?" he scoffs loudly. "god, you think i haven’t noticed? you've been walking around all chappy like, like you’ve been—” his mouth twists up in disgust, “—bred.”

you freeze.

“i didn’t want to believe it,” he spits. “but you’re fucking filthy. knew it the second i saw you the other night. knew something was wrong, you’ve got that look on your face, like you’ve been ruined, like some other dick already beat me there.”

“you’re out of your mind.” you roll your eyes.

“am i? am i?!” his voice ricochets off the walls. “how long has this been going on? how long you been sneaking around behind my back? letting those losers put their hands all over you? let them stretch you out like the whore you are?”

“don’t talk to me like that,” you say quietly, not matching his energy at all.

he laughs cruelly. “why not? isn’t that what you are now? a whore? letting two guys run a train on you like you’re fucking community pussy?”

you flinch like he’s hit you.

“what’d you do, huh? let them talk sweet to you?” he sneers, advancing again. “gojo tell you you’re pretty? geto say you’re ‘divine’ like he’s reading fucking poetry off your tits? is that all it took to turn you into a cheating slut?”

youre growing really sick of this degrading asshole, he opens his mouth again to choke out another quip, but you slap him, hard.

he doesn’t react, just wipes the corner of his mouth, then looks at you with a stare darker than fury.

“don't talk about them,” you say, voice trembling with rage. “they've treated me better in one night than you have this whole relationship.” you snarl.

“so that’s it, then?” his voice rises. “you let them rail you and now you’re in love? we're just over?”

“well yes? they actually give a shit about me."

he laughs again, but it breaks off. something flashes across his face, almost like pain. then: “they don’t care about you. they just wanted to see if they could fuck the golden girl. you’re nothing special, not once they’ve both had you.”

“you don’t know a thing about them.” you stand your ground, staring daggers into his eyes.

“i know they’re pathetic. i know they’re weak little virgins who’ve probably been jerking off to your instagram for years. and now what? they tag teamed you and whispered some sweet nothings while they watched each other fuck you? did you like that? getting split open like a pornstar, is that your thing now?”

you’re seething.

“i didn’t believe it,” he spits. “choso said you were glowing. said you were feeling good lately, didn’t even think twice. just figured maybe i’d finally gotten through to you, maybe you were actually starting to feel something. turns out you were getting it from them.” he shakes his head.

you take a breath, steadying yourself. “you never gotten through to me,” you say. “never even tried, so miss me with that bullshit.”

he snarls. “don’t fucking do that. don’t act like i didn’t care about you—"

“—you cared about you, sukuna. about being right. about being the one i came back to, even when you didn’t deserve me.”

his eyes widen with disbelief. “and they do?”

“they listen to me! they make me feel safe.”

he stares at you. his breathing is hard now, chest heaving. “so what, you gonna be their little girlfriend now? hold hands in the quad with your geeky little nerd boyfriends? gonna let them show you off like a piece of meat?”

“yeah, maybe,” you say. “maybe i will.”

he shakes his head. “you’re a fucking slut.”

you feel the blood drain from your face and he notices it. he sees the pain flash in your eyes. and for a second, just a small, fleeting moment, he looks like he regrets it.

you lift your chin. “don’t call me that.”

“why not?” he snaps. “it’s what you are now, isn’t it? playing perfect on campus while you get used like a fleshlight by the two weirdest freaks in the math building.”

“get out,” you whisper.

but he doesn’t move.

“get the fuck out!" you begin to yell, walking up on him until he backs up towards the door.

"you'll miss me." he tries to push, looking you dead in the eye as he smiles with that belittling glint.

“i missed you while we were still together, fuck face.”

silence.

"whatever. m' gone." and he turns, and he leaves.

"stay gone this time." you call out, slamming the door.

you don’t hear from sukuna again after that night. you thought maybe he’d show up the next day, demanding an apology, some groveling, some ridiculous admission that you were wrong to move on. but he doesn’t.

instead, from then on he starts showing up in other ways, on your feed, tagged in blurry stories from parties, surrounded by girls who don’t know better.

you hear through the grapevine that he’s been on a spree, sleeping around. saying shit like “i’m single now, guess i gotta make up for lost time,” with a smug little grin. even maki brings it up once, rolling her eyes. “he’s just a horny cunt. it’s pathetic.” you nod, sip your iced coffee.

“he’s trying to prove he doesn’t care,” choso adds. “but he does. it's fucking embarrassing.”

instead of replying you start filling that space sukun left with something else. ever since you finally broke shit off with him, you’ve been getting closer and closer to satoru and suguru, and not just physically anymore.

you're listening to them talk about their majors in the library as they help you with your marketing assignments.

you pose for suguru whenever he wants to draw you, his new folio of work was going to be centered around you this semester, apparently.

you'd sit in the middle of satoru's bed as suguru sat on the floor looking up at you, sketching lines. satoru would be busy typing away at his computer completing his homework. it was the kind of domestic bliss you'd always longed for in a partner, and in this case, partners.

on the weekends, the boys would take you out to pretty cafes, hidden spots where the lighting was perfect and the scenary was photographable. you'd put them to work taking various photos of you for instagram, saying you've been 'slacking off lately' because of them. "the fans need something to eat. after all, you two aren't my only ones, after all."

they just smile and count their lucky stars that they were able to help you curate the very thing they obsessed over not too long ago.

their dorm became the place to be, after parties you'd all crash out together in suguru's bed, tangled in the limbs of one another.

the boys staring became a normal thing, you'd always catch them looking at you, taking apart every movement you made. it was daunting at first, but now you knew it was just because they admired you so much.

it definitely made you feel special.

you go to another party the following friday. not one of choso’s this time, but a campus wide art show afterparty in some crumbling loft. suguru’s reading a short piece upstairs for his portfolio, and you cheer loudest in the crowd, earning a soft smile from the man.

satoru stands beside you in his hoodie and jeans, chewing his lip and looking like he’d throw hands for a single glance in your direction. afterward, you snap a photo of you sitting on a couch, a flash of suguru’s rings on your waist and satoru’s hand on your thigh. a caption that says, 'soft launch?' your comments go feral.

@/tysoc23: who is she with???

@/miamiamia she’s got secret lovers now?

@/innnoooo wish that was me.

every day you spend with them, your light gets brighter. you start studying with them more often in the campus chapel between classes, lying beside them in the pews while suguru reads out loud from his religion texts, you and satoru listen with fond expressions listening to him recite the scripture.

suguru smells like amber and ink, a smell you'd grown to adore.

every afternoon spent with satoru, he walks you across campus just to detour into the physics building to show you something dumb, a chalkboard equation that “reminds him of you,” because its so complicated yet beautiful, whatever the fuck that meant.

you cherished every second nevertheless.

he makes you laugh so hard your cheeks hurt. he always knows when you’re about to cry, even if you don’t.

they don’t push and they don’t ask for more than you’re ready to give. and yet, you want to give them everything.

satoru starts leaving one of his hoodies in your dorm becuas he knows how cold you get when they aren't there. suguru brings you incense and hangs it by your mirror. their things start to trickle in, little tokens, little bits and pieces.

one night, you fall asleep with your head on suguru’s chest and wake up to satoru’s fingers in your hair, his sleepy voice whispering something like, “she’s so perfect.” you pretend to still be asleep.

sometimes you wake up alone. sometimes you wake up tangled between them, your legs draped across suguru’s lap, satoru’s breath hot on your neck. and sometimes, on soft mornings, when the world is still, one of them will whisper that they like being your favorites.

you still don’t define it, but everyone, including the three of you, can tell you're a thing.

~

sukuna watches from the jealous, seething sidelines, and you know he was.

you catch him across campus sometimes, lingering too long when you walk by. you hear about the girls he’s sleeping with, the way he drinks too much now and picks fights with guys he used to ignore. you don’t feel anything for it anymore, pity, anger, jealousy, none of it.

it's just a good, fair distance.

~

a few weeks pass by of healing, love, friendship, all that lovely gooey shit.

you’re sitting at a tiny booth in a tucked away cafe, one of those old ones that still plays jazz from a radio and serves lattes in chipped ceramic mugs. your hands are wrapped around your cup, legs crossed under the table, suguru’s sketchbook open between you.

“this doesn’t look like me,” you tease, squinting at his latest drawing.

“it’s not you,” suguru murmurs, smirking faintly. “it’s the concept of you.”

“oh my god,” satoru groans from your other side, halfway through stealing the sweet foam from your latte with his spoon. “can we go five minutes without suguru seducing you with dumb art terminology?”

“i’m not seducing her,” suguru says, without looking up. “i’m studying her. for my project, duh.”

“same thing,” satoru mutters, dropping the spoon into your saucer and leaning over your shoulder. “let me see.”

you tilt the sketchbook so he can look. his chin brushes your temple and his breath is warm.

“whoa,” he says, genuinely awed. “she looks… weird but hot.”

suguru glances up and happily shrugs. “that’s what she is.”

you roll your eyes, but your smile is shy. “you guys are so weird.”

“and you like it,” satoru beams.

you bump your shoulder into his. “i guess.”

suguru just hums, pencil still moving. “you keep saying that like we didn’t catch you doodling our initials in your notebook last week.”

you go still. “…you went through my notebook?”

“you left it open.”

“that’s private!”

“you drew little hearts too,” satoru gasps. “and put my letters before his, you love me more!”

“i’m leaving.”

“you’re not,” suguru says calmly, flipping the page again. “you haven’t finished your drink.”

you fake roll your eyes, but genuinely, you've never felt more at ease.

the three of you orbiting each other so naturally, like this was always fated to happen.

you catch suguru’s eye, then he smiles at you softly. satoru tosses a sugar packet at you and sticks out his tongue. you laugh. and it’s good, more than good, actually. it's perfect.

you think you could do this forever, forever with these two insanely hot nerds who just so happen to be just as infatuated with you, as you are them.

forever intertwined with these people who look at you like you're made of gold.

you knew for the rest of your life, you were going to be deeply rooted in the narrative that was satoru and suguru, and god, not you, nor them, would have it any other way.

a/n i hope you liked this re-vamp! if you saw any typos... no you didn't. (i suck, ik i need to proofread plz don't throw tomatoes at mama)

© 2026 sixxels. All work belongs to @sixxels Do NOT repost, modify, translate to another language, or plagiarise in any way on ANY platform.

[anerdinallherglory]

Approaching Sun (45) FINAL CHAPTER Update links:

Read on Wattpad, AO3, or Fanfiction.net

"Approaching Sun" playlist link

FINAL AUTHOR'S NOTE: Big thank you to everyone who has read this story and waited chapter by chapter for updates. I retain the rights for any audio adaptations, which I plan to record and post in the future on my linktree. I also plan to go through and edit/make revisions for this story so if you get any more updates, it’s likely this. HOWEVER, in the future, I hope to cover the events of the Scarlet Spring manga as a part 2 of A.S., but under a new title. So stay tuned, but know that Approaching Sun has officially come to an end. I do not grant permission for binding or selling of my fic online in any capacity. I only retain the rights to this story, but not the characters. Thank you again for your endless support and love. SasuSaku forever. 

Keep up with the rest of my journey here:

anerdinallherglory | Instagram, Facebook | Linktree

View anerdinallherglory’s Linktree to discover and stream music from top platforms like Spotify here. Your next favorite track is just a cli

[yenayaps]

sneak peek: (frat!gojo x mean!reader) cw: age gaps (gojo's 20-21, readers late twenties), readers embarassed to be seen with him LMAO.

“Kay’. We’re done here, you can leave now.” 

The first time Satoru heard those words come out of your mouth, he was distraught. How dare you throw him out after the backshots he had given you?! He made you cum so hard you cried! Then you just throw him out of your apartment like some useless whore– like he was nothing but a fucking slut! He had more to offer than just his dick, he’ll have you know. 

Now he’s a little less emotional and more… 

“You sure? Maybe I can stay a bit longer and help you with chores… or something.”

You look around your room, that is spotless aside from his t-shirt and jeans on the floor. “Sure. Why don’t you start by picking up your clothes, putting them on, and then leaving.”

“Oh, come on,” he throws his head back and groans rather childishly. “That’s a little rude, no?” 

“So was the way you were talking to your little girlfriend on the phone earlier,” you hop off the bed, throwing a big t-shirt on. Satoru finds himself getting oddly jealous looking at it, wondering if it was actually yours or if it belonged to an ex. 

“She’s not my girlfriend,” he tries to reassure you, though you didn’t seem too concerned over it in general. 

He also tried to tell you that he hasn’t slept with anyone since he started sleeping with you, but you didn’t seem to care much about that either. The entire time you were just throwing his clothes at him while he absentmindedly got dressed. He’s still yapping after he’s up and fully clothed, so you grab him by the wrist and start walking towards the door. 

“And you wouldn’t believe all the shit the guys have given me for turning girls down. One of them started calling me Celibate Satoru, can you believe that?”

“I sure can.” You open the door, walk around him and start pushing him out. 

“They don’t even know,” he huffs out a laugh, trying to cope with the fact that he’s not allowed to tell anybody about you two. Satoru turns around when he’s fully out of the door to reveal the delusional grin on his face. “So same time next week?”

“Yup! Bye Gojo.”

“I thought I told you to call me Sa–”

He didn’t get to finish that sentence. You shut the door in his face.

All rights reserved © 2026 yenayaps. Do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my works in any platform. Do not feed my works into ai and do not turn them into chat bots.

[lilikakashi]

Ooooohhhh I am so excited!!!

[lilikakashi]

Sometimes I get sad when I lose interest in a story. Especially when the writer takes more than months to update. Which they have every right lol. Life happens. Its just so much time has passed that I most likely forgot what happened or something. 😩 still love ans support. No hate at all. #supportyourauthors

[jinjoohaaa]

Nerd! gojo headcanons

read the full fic here ✧⁠*⁠。 cw : smut, mdni, 18+

nerd!gojo who’s been top of every class since pre school, the golden boy who got a full-ride scholarship even though his family could buy the whole damn campus twice over. silver spoon so deep in his mouth he could choke on it, but he still grinds like his life depends on proving he’s the smartest motherfucker alive.

nerd!gojo who barely speaks to girls because “focus” is his religion. textbooks over tits, equations over eye contact, always. girls are a distraction. until you walk in on day one and his brain blue-screens so hard he forgets how to blink.

nerd!gojo whose eyes blow wide the second he sees you, pretty eyes, glossy lips, that low-cut top hugging your tits like it’s personally offended by gravity. his heart slams against his ribs and his cock jumps in his pants at the same time. both of them fall stupidly, hopelessly in love with you right there in the middle of lecture hall 204.

nerd!gojo who starts showing up to class ten minutes early every single day just so he can watch you walk in. slutty tops, tiny skirts, the way your ass sways when you strut past his row—he’s memorized every outfit rotation by now.

nerd!gojo who has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing when you snap back at professors for calling out your grades or your “inappropriate” outfits. he loves the fire in your voice, the way you don’t give a single fuck.

nerd!gojo who’s still a grade-A virgin, hasn’t even kissed anyone, but goes home every night and jerks off furiously to the memory of your smile, your laugh, that one time your skirt rode up when you bent over to pick up a pen. scrolls your socials like a stalker, saves the thirst traps to a folder to jerk off later.

nerd!gojo who binges porn almost every night imagining it’s you riding him until he cries. he cums so hard to the thought of your voice moaning his name that he has to muffle himself with a pillow.

nerd!gojo who definitely pulled strings to get into the same project group as you. thought he’d finally get to talk to you outside of class. instead you show up once, scroll on your phone for ten minutes, don’t even look at him, then bounce. he sits there with pouty face, telling himself it’s fine.

nerd!gojo who realizes pretty fast that you’re galaxies out of his league. you’re always surrounded by hot guys, pretty people, the kind who get invited to parties he’d never step foot in. he realizes you’d rather eat glass than breathe the same air as him. accepts it. cries about it in the shower anyway.

nerd!gojo who’s been pathetically, hopelessly in love with you for over two years now. you don’t even know his name half the time unless someone literally points him out. meanwhile you’re hopping from dick to dick like it’s a sport and he’s just the background character jerking off to the thought of being one of them.

nerd!gojo who almost has a heart attack when you actually walk up to him after class and ask if he’s free to “tutor” you. his brain short-circuits. he stammers, blushes red, blurts out some cheesy line so you won't think he's boring.

nerd!gojo whose heart jackhammers so hard he thinks it’s gonna crack a rib when you suggest grabbing food first. he can’t sit still in the cafe as he keeps fidgeting, leg bouncing, palms sweaty, because every time you lean forward your tits press together and he has to grip the table to keep from whimpering.

nerd!gojo who’s so painfully dumb about you that when you get to his house he genuinely thinks you’re there to study. pulls out textbooks, notes, starts explaining like his life depends on it. doesn’t clock the way you’re staring at his mouth, his hands, his lap—too busy trying not to cum in his pants from your perfume alone.

nerd!gojo who finally starts to catch on when you ask him to “demonstrate” male anatomy with “practical examples.” his face goes scarlet, cock throbbing so hard it hurts, but he’s still half-convinced this is some prank until you drag the zipper of your top down and your tits nearly spill out right in front of his face.

nerd!gojo who nearly blacks out when you spread your slick folds right in front of him like it’s a goddamn porn tutorial, legs wide on his bed, asking “will this help?” while your pussy glistens like sin. his hand’s already shaking on his cock, fighting not to bust right then.

nerd!gojo who’s trying so fucking hard not to cum early, biting his lip bloody, eyes glued to your dripping cunt like it’s the only thing keeping him alive because he can't believe you're in his room and on his bed.

nerd!gojo who loses the battle anyway, jerks himself fast and desperate, cumming all over his knuckles like a pathetic loser while whining your name under his breath, cheeks burning red because he can’t even last looking at you.

nerd!gojo who genuinely thinks he’s about to die when you climb on top, grab his still-leaking cock, and rub the swollen head through your folds, teasing him with filthy whispers before sinking down slow and tight.

nerd!gojo who cums embarrassingly fast seconds after he’s buried inside you, thick ropes flooding your pussy, hips jerking, eyes rolling back because holy fuck it’s better than every porn clip he’s ever jerked to.

nerd!gojo whose face completely changes after that second load—puppy eyes gone dark and hungry. he flips you onto your back, folds you into a perfect mating press sinking his dick into your wet heat.

nerd!gojo who finally unleashes years of pent-up obsession, fucking into you like he’s trying to carve his name inside your cunt. every thrust slams deep, cum from before squelching out around his cock, and he keeps filling you with his cum again and again until you’re overflowing.

nerd!gojo who gets rock-hard for the fourth time that night because he literally can’t get enough—cock twitching back to life while he’s still buried in you, mumbling “just one more, please” like a man possessed.

nerd!gojo who treats your body like a porn buffet, trying every position he’s ever jerked off to, eyes wide and frantic, chasing which one makes you scream his name loudest.

nerd!gojo who fucks you straight through the night until your vision blurs and your legs give out, passing out mid-thrust on his ruined sheets while he’s still whimpering into your neck.

nerd!gojo who’s a total little shit even in his sleep as he curls around you like a koala, latches his mouth onto your tit, and suckles softly while he drifts off, arms locked around your waist like he’s scared you’ll vanish.

nerd!gojo who wakes up panicked and almost cries when he finds the bed empty. spends ten minutes convinced the whole night was a fever dream, his dick still half-hard from the memory.

nerd!gojo who drags himself to class heartbroken, eyes red and puffy, until he spots you in your usual seat. lights up like the sun for half a second—then crashes when you don’t even glance his way.

nerd!gojo who nearly dies of happiness when you slip that tiny note onto his desk: “6 PM. Your place.” heart hammering so loud he’s sure everyone can hear it, already kicking his feet under the desk.

nerd!gojo who waits like an overexcited puppy, door open before you even knock, blushing and stammering while he sets out trays of cinnamon rolls, pastries, hot chocolate, all his favorite sweets like he’s trying to bribe you to stay.

nerd!gojo who gets a little sad but instantly horny when you cut through the sweetness and say “no wasting time,” pulling him on top of you and kissing up his neck like you own him.

nerd!gojo who swears your tits are the best thing he’s ever seen in his life as he slides his leaking cock between them, groaning like he’s dying while you tease his slit with kitten licks until he cums hard all over your chest, painting you like a canvas.

nerd!gojo who loses his fucking mind after that—fucks you like the world’s ending, flipping you through every porn position he’s ever bookmarked: missionary, doggy, mating press, face-down ass-up, spooning so he can whisper filthy praises in your ear.

nerd!gojo who’s a sneaky, greedy little shit—fucks you senseless until you black out on his sheets, then quietly snaps pics while you’re passed out, his mouth latched on your tit, his cheek smushed against your pussy, his cock nestled between your tits still leaking. saves every single one to his secret folder, heart racing because he knows you’d literally murder him if you ever found out.

nerd!gojo who’s been floating on cloud nine lately because you show up at his place every single day now. his cock, his puppy eyes, his desperate moans must be that fucking good, because you keep coming back like you’re addicted too.

nerd!gojo who’s fine, almost, with being your secret dick appointment as long as he gets to be with you. but he still craves more, so he tries to suck a dark hickey on your neck where everyone can see. but it backfires when you snap and threaten to ghost him for good if he pulls that shit again. he pouts like a kicked puppy for hours, his heart stinging.

nerd!gojo who completely loses it the first day you don’t show up. paces his room like a caged animal, shivering, stomach in knots, texting you paragraphs, calling until it goes straight to voicemail. anxiety chews him alive—did something happen? did you finally get sick of him? is this it?

nerd!gojo who spends the whole night curled in bed, eyes red, whispering “please come back” to the empty pillow that still smells like you, terrified you’ve abandoned him for good.

nerd!gojo who drags himself to class the next day hoping to see you, lights up when he spots your seat—then crashes when it’s empty again. days drag on like this. he finally breaks, corners your friends after lecture even though he knows you’d hate it, voice cracking as he asks “have you seen y/n?”

nerd!gojo who cries himself to sleep every night now, scrolling through those secret photos of you passed out on his bed—soft, vulnerable, his. the only proof you were ever real. studies forgotten, hobbies dead, just him and his broken heart and your ghost in his sheets.

nerd!gojo who almost stops breathing when you finally walk into class after days of nothing. he bolts up, runs to you like a moth to flame, only to get hit with your coldest tone—“what do you want, Gojo?”—like he’s a stranger. like the nights you screamed his name never happened.

nerd!gojo who sits through the rest of lecture suffocating, overhearing your friends chatter about a party tonight, about some guy you used to fuck who’s gonna be there, how you “always had a thing for him.” jealousy and sadness twist in his gut until he can’t take it—storms out, chair screeching, eyes damp.

nerd!gojo who disappears after that. goes straight home, collapses on his bed, cries until his throat’s raw and his eyes are swollen shut, heart bleeding out because he finally lost the one thing that made him feel alive.

nerd!gojo who has zero pride left when it comes to you—misses you so bad it’s physical pain. tracks down the party address like a desperate stalker, shows up shaking, just to see you, to beg, to breathe the same air.

nerd!gojo whose entire world rips in half when he peeks through the cracked door and sees you pressed against the wall, some guy’s mouth on yours, hands everywhere. he stands there frozen, tears streaming, watching like the pathetic fucking loser he’s always been afraid he is.

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[jinjoohaaa]

Loser's luck

sleeping with the biggest loser was supposed to be a joke

cw : explicit smut • dirty talk • dubcon touching • jealousy • possessiveness • heartbreak • unrequited love • guilt • denial • self-loathing • mature content • mdni.

Chapter 5 | prev | next | chapter index

“Missed me, doll?”

The second his voice curls around your ear like smoke, your whole body remembers him.

Sukuna doesn’t ask. He never does.

His palm slams down over your clothed cunt like he’s claiming the land he already owns, fingers pressing so hard through the fabric you feel the seam bite into your slit. He grinds once, slow and deliberate, right against your clit, and your knees buckle like clockwork. Same as always. Same as every time those strong hands find you.

His mouth latches onto the spot behind your ear, the spot he knew quiet too well, the one that makes your spine melt and your thighs shake. Hot tongue flicks once, twice, then teeth scrape just enough to sting. You hate how fast your body betrays you. Hate how your hips twitch forward into his grip even as your brain screams *no, not tonight, not him, not now*.

Of all the guys you’ve fucked and forgotten, Sukuna was never one of them.

He wasn’t disposable. He wasn’t a one-night story you laughed about later. If anything, you were the one who crawled back every single time. When the rest of them bent over backwards trying to please you, Sukuna just existed, lazy and cruel and magnetic, and somehow that made you the desperate one. You pulled strings on everyone else. Sukuna held yours. Simple as that.

Invisible, velvet ropes wrapped around your wrists, your throat, your fucking cunt. And the tension between you two was so thick people used to yell “get a room” every time you were in the same space for longer than five minutes.

Sometimes you did.

Sometimes you didn’t.

Sukuna’s the kind of freak who’ll fuck you against a wall in the hallway with people walking past, one hand clamped over your mouth while he whispers filth so nasty it makes your eyes roll back. You’re the kind of freak who lets him. Who moans louder just to see how far he’ll push it.

It’s been… days? Weeks? You’ve lost count. Time blurred the second Satoru Gojo started living rent-free in your head. All those nights you spent getting split open by the “loser,” letting him worship you, letting him cry your name like a prayer, letting him fill you until you couldn’t think straight, those nights swallowed everything else. Sukuna became background noise. Distant static.

Until now.

“Shittt, doll… smell so fuckin’ good,” he growls against your neck, teeth sinking in hard enough to bruise before he licks a slow, wet stripe up to your jaw. “Missed this pussy soo much.”

His free hand shoves under your skirt without ceremony, thick fingers slipping past the waistband of your panties like they belong there. Two digits drag through your folds slow, obscene, gathering slick and he groans like a starved animal when he feels how wet you already are.

“Always leaking f’me… goddamn.”

You grab his wrist hard, trying to yank his hand away. “Sukuna—no—”

His other palm clamps over your mouth instantly, muffling the protest into a pathetic whimper. He doesn’t stop. Just rubs lazy circles over your clit while his middle finger dips inside, just the tip, teasing, stretching, reminding you exactly how full he can make you when he wants to.

Your knees give out completely. You slump back against his chest, thighs trembling, head falling onto his shoulder as your body starts slipping into that familiar, dangerous haze, the one only he knows how to trigger. The world narrows to heat, pressure, the wet slide of his fingers playing with you like he’s got all night.

You thrash weakly, trying to pry his hand off your mouth, off your cunt, anything, but he’s too fucking strong. Always has been. You’re trapped between his body and the railing, skirt hiked up, panties shoved aside, his thick fingers working you open while his cock presses hard against your ass through his jeans.

Desperate, you sink your teeth into the meat of his palm.

“Ouch—fuck!”

He yanks his hand away from your mouth, shaking it like you actually hurt him (you didn’t—he’s grinning). “What the hell, princess?”

“Stop it, Sukuna.”

He blinks once. Then laughs low, dark, dangerous. “Come again?”

“I said… stop it.”

The grin fades. He leans back against the doorframe, casually licking your arousal off his fingers like it’s candy, red eyes locked on yours. Slow, filthy drags of his tongue, sucking each digit clean while he watches your face burn.

You swallow hard. “You’re nasty.”

“Yeah?” He pops the last finger out with a wet sound. “And your pussy juice is still sweet as fuck. Same as always.”

“Ewww—stop saying shit like that.”

He shrugs, stepping closer again, crowding you against the railing. “Last time I checked, you were squatting on my cock like a bitch in heat. So let’s not act brand new, doll.”

You shove at his chest. “I do nasty shit. I don’t *talk* nasty shit.”

“Potato, potahto.” He catches your wrists easily, pinning them behind your back with one hand while the other palms your ass. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

You wrench free and storm back into the empty bedroom, heels clicking hard against the floor. He follows like it’s nothing, long legs eating up the distance, balcony door clicking shut behind him.

You spin around. “Sukuna—”

“Come on, doll. I’m lost here.” He spreads his arms, mock-innocent. “What’s happening? Thought you loved it when I jump you like that. Used to cream all over my fingers the second I touched you.”

“It’s… nothing. I’m just not in the mood.”

He snorts. “Yeah, and the sky isn’t blue.”

“Sukuna.”

“Come on.” He steps closer, voice dropping. “Who are you kidding? You’re always in the mood. At least with me.” His head tilts, eyes narrowing. “Don’t know about your other guys lately.”

“What other guys?” Your voice cracks higher than you want. “You always talk like I’m some whore.”

He laughs again—soft this time, almost fond—and wraps his arms around you from behind, chin resting on your shoulder. “Which you are.”

“Shut up.”

His hands slide up your ribs, slow and possessive, cupping your tits through the thin top. Thumbs brush over your nipples, already hard from the cold and the memory of him. He groans low in his throat when he feels them pebble under his touch.

“Damn… still so fucking pretty.” He squeezes once, hard. “Girl, you drive me insane.”

His mouth finds your neck again, open-mouthed kisses, teeth grazing, tongue soothing the sting. One hand stays kneading your breast while the other slips back down, fingers dipping under your skirt once more, tracing the edge of your soaked panties.

“Stop,” you whisper, but it sounds weak even to you.

“You keep saying that, but your nipples are begging and your cunt’s dripping down my fingers.” He nips your earlobe. “Tell me why you’re so cold tonight. You used to melt the second I breathed on you.”

You bite your lip hard enough to taste copper.

He turns you around in his arms, backing you toward the bed until your knees hit the mattress. You sit—more like collapse and he drops to one knee between your thighs, hands braced on either side of your hips.

“Look at me.”

You do. Reluctantly.

Those red eyes are glowing—intense, searching, stripping you bare in a way that has nothing to do with clothes. Sukuna’s never been soft, never been gentle, but right now there’s something almost… careful in the way he watches you. Like he knows you’re hiding something big.

Yes, you guys have been the freakiest fuck-buddies this town’s ever seen. True story. But he was your best friend too. Still are. If not him, then who?

He said quietly, "Talk to me, doll. What the fuck is going on?”

His thumbs stroke slow circles over your inner thighs—touchy, possessive, but not pushing. Not yet.

You swallow. Your throat clicks.

Everything crashes in at once. Satoru’s glassy eyes in class, the way he walked out like you’d punched him in the soul, the way your chest caved when he left, the way you’ve spent every second since trying not to think about him and failing miserably.

Sukuna’s waiting. Patient in a way he never is. And for the first time in forever, you don’t know what to say. Because telling him the truth means admitting it to yourself. That Satoru's the reason your body won’t respond to anyone else the way it used to. That he’s the reason you feel sick when Sukuna touches you tonight. He’s the reason everything feels wrong.

Sukuna’s not one to let silence linger like some weak-ass fool. He leans in closer, those red eyes narrowing like he’s dissecting every flicker on your face, every breath you’re holding back. His hand’s still cupping your jaw, thumb dragging lazy over your bottom lip now, like he’s testing if you’ll break the tension first. You won’t. Not yet.

“Is it cause.....” he murmurs, voice dipping low, that rough edge scraping your nerves. “I ghosted ya'? Come on, doll… I won’t do that shit again. Promise.”

You scoff, but it comes out weaker than you want—half-breath, half-lie. “That’s not it. I don’t care if you ghost me or whatever.”

He chuckles, dark and knowing, head tilting like he’s calling your bluff without saying a word. “Hey, now—that’s not true. You know that. Don’t play like you wouldn’t burn my shit down if I pulled that for real.”

You just tch'ed, the sound sharp in the quiet room, and push off the mattress, legs untangling from the sheets as you stand. You need space, air that isn’t thick with his cologne and the heat rolling off his body. But Sukuna’s faster, always has been. His fingers snap around your wrist like a vice, yanking you back down before you can take two steps. You land square in his lap, ass planted against the hard ridge of his cock straining through his jeans, his thighs bracketing yours like he’s got no plans to let you go.

“Where you running off to, doll?”

He wraps one arm around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest, the other hand sliding up to your face. His thumb rubs slow, almost soothing circles over your cheek, but there’s nothing gentle about the way his hips roll up—deliberate, filthy—grinding his dick against your ass just enough to make your breath hitch. “I’m still blind here. Don’t know what the fuck’s going on. So speak, doll. Talk to me… yeah?”

The friction sends a spark straight to your core, but you shove it down, squirming in his grip. “Fineee… I’ll talk. But—”

“But what?” His grin’s back, wolfish, eyes gleaming like he already knows he’s winning.

“Stop humping me, Sukunaaaaa.”

He freezes mid-roll, then bursts out laughing—deep, rumbling, the kind that vibrates through your whole body. “Okay, okay… I’ll behave.”

He lets go with exaggerated slowness, hands lifting like he’s innocent, watching you scramble off his lap with that smug-ass smirk still plastered on his face.

You stand for a second, thighs still tingling from the contact, then move to the bed, crawling back against the headboard, knees pulled tight to your chest like armor. Sukuna doesn’t follow right away. He just sits there, cross-legged at the foot, elbows on his knees, staring at you with that unreadable intensity.

The room’s dim now, shadows stretching from the balcony door, the distant thump of bass from the party below like a heartbeat you can’t ignore.

You’re still contemplating—chewing your lip raw, staring at the faded tattoo peeking from his shirt collar.

Are you really gonna tell him? And what the hell are you gonna say, anyway? The mess with Satoru’s not just a story; it’s a knot in your chest, tangled and ugly, and saying it out loud means facing how deep it’s cut. But Sukuna’s the only one here. The only one who’s seen you raw—crying, raging, vulnerable in ways you’d kill anyone else for knowing. He’s never thrown it back in your face. Never used it as ammo. If not him, then who the fuck else is gonna hear what’s been eating you alive from the inside out?

Your zoned-out haze snaps when his voice cuts through—patient, but edged with that no-bullshit tone he saves for when he’s done waiting. “Come on, doll. I’m waiting.”

You exhale, long and shaky. “Okay. Fine. Well… uhmm… there’s this boy…”

A pause. Then Sukuna’s eyebrows shoot up, and he leans back on his hands. “Damnnnnn…”

“What?”

“Someone took my bitch.”

“Ughhh??”

He pitches his voice high, mimicking your hesitant tone from earlier with exaggerated drama. “‘There’s this boy…’” He snorts, shaking his head. “Come on, doll. You start a sentence like that, I already know how it’s gonna end. Some pretty face got you twisted up.”

“But I didn’t even say anything yet. You can’t just assume—”

“Fine, fine.” He straightens up, scooting closer until his knees bump yours. Then he takes both your hands in his—big, calloused palms swallowing yours whole—and lifts them to his mouth. Soft, feather-light kisses dust over your knuckles, one by one, his red eyes locked on yours the whole time. It’s disarming, Sukuna being gentle like this, no sarcasm, no grabby hands. “I’ll hear you out. Talk to me… yeah?”

The ease hits you like a drug. You always felt at ease with Sukuna, the kind of comfort that lets you drop the armor, show the cracks without worrying he’ll shove a knife in. He’s seen you at your weakest. And he never once took advantage. Never mocked. Just listened, fucked the pain out of you after, and moved on like it was nothing. If not Sukuna—the one guy who’s been your rock in this fucked-up game of hookups and heartbreak—then who the hell else are you gonna unload this on?

So you talk.

It pours out, not in a neat timeline, but in messy fragments, like puzzle pieces you’re forcing together for the first time.

You start at the beginning, the bet, the “loser” you were supposed to ruin for fun. How it was meant to be one humiliating night. How it turned into two. Then routine. Then addiction. You tell him about his stupid blue eyes, the way they’d go wide and glassy every time he sees you. How he’d cling, like you were oxygen and he was drownin and the way he looked at you like you hung the goddamn moon.

You don’t hold back on the mess either. The boundaries you set, how you enforced them like a queen, ignoring him in class, ghosting for days to “prove” control. How it backfired. How the silence wrecked you too. About today, how you hurt him, how you made him cry, the way he walked out looking like someone had ripped his soul out through his ribs.

And now? The guilt chewing you alive, the denial cracking, the fear that this “loser” has you wrapped tighter than anyone ever has.

By the end, your voice is raw, throat tight like you’ve been screaming. The room feels heavier, the air thick with everything you just dumped out.

Sukuna’s quiet. Too quiet.

Then you catch it, a flicker, a twitch in his left eye. Subtle, but violent. His jaw clenches hard enough you see the muscle jump. It’s clear he hates every word you just said. Clearer still that he’s pieced together something you haven’t, some ugly truth lurking under your denial.

You shift, uncomfortable. “Why are you staring? You told me to speak. I spoke.”

“It’s not that, doll.” His voice is rougher now, edged with something heavy. “It’s just… ughh... crap.”

You frown deeper. “What?”

“You’re in love, baby.”

A nervous laugh bubbles up. “What… nooo, I’m not. What do you mean? That’s ridiculous…”

But his eyes have shifted. The playfulness evaporated like smoke. What’s left is quieter—sadder? No, not sad. Disappointed. Like he’s looking at a car crash he can’t stop.

“Sukuna…”

“Yeah, doll?”

“What do I do?”

He exhales long through his nose, shoulders dropping. “I'm the last person you should be asking that.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause…” He drags a hand down his face. “Goddd, you’re as dumb as ever.” Then he leans in, presses the softest kiss to your forehead, lingering, breath warm against your skin.

“I don’t know what to do,” you whisper, voice cracking. “No one likes him. But I don’t even know why they don’t. He’s… innocent. Has a good heart. And I hurt him. So much.”

“You’ve hurt guys before.” Sukuna’s tone is flat, almost detached. “Including me. Why’s this one special?”

You blink hard. “You? When did I ever hurt y—”

“Just right now, doll.”

Your stomach twists. “Sukuna… what—I don't underst—”

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” He waves it off with a forced grin. “Just kidding. So what’s this guy’s name?”

“…Gojo. Satoru Gojo.”

“Hmm.” He nods once, then holds out his hand. “Show me.”

You hesitate, then reach for his phone on the nightstand. “Unlock it.”

He does and hands it over. You search up Satoru’s socials and scroll to one from a while back: him mid-laugh, white hair messy, blue eyes crinkled at the corners, looking stupidly alive.

You turn the screen.

Sukuna leans in, studies it for a long beat. Whistles low. “Damn… he’s pretty as fuck.”

You snort. “Ughhh, I knew you were gay.”

His hand cracks across your ass—hard squeeze, fingers digging in just enough to sting. “Say that again, doll, and I’ll show you right now how much I love pussy. Yours especially.”

“Fine, fine…” You rub the spot, half-laughing. “I’m just kidding. But you said he’s pretty.”

“I mean, damn yeah?” Sukuna gestures at the photo. “Look at his face. You don’t find girls this pretty nowadays.”

“You really are gay,” you mutter, pushing off the bed again, heading for the balcony, needing the cool air to clear the heat building under your skin.

He’s on you in a flash.

Grabs your arm, spins you, pins you to the wall with his body—forearm braced above your head, free hand curling loose around your throat. Not choking. Just holding. Foreheads press together. His breath ghosts your lips, hot and ragged.

“Doll…” His voice drops to a whisper low, intimate, laced with something raw. “You know I missed you. So damn much.”

“S-Sukuna…”

“Yeah, yeah. I won’t make this harder for you.” His thumb strokes the side of your neck, slow. “You’re long gone from me. I’m late. I know. I promise I won’t be a dick head. But…”

“But?”

He sighs deep, defeated, shoulders slumping like the weight’s finally too much. “Doll, listen to me, yeah?… can we… can we have one last time? For old times’ sake?”

His hand slides down, over your ribs, your waist, settling low, fingers splaying possessive. “Just once more. Let me feel you.”

You freeze, heart slamming. “Sukuna… I don’t think I can—”

“Damn.” He laughs, hollow, bitter. “Never thought I’d live to see the day. But…” Another sigh, heavier. “Please?”

Okay, wait… did you hear that right? From Sukuna? Ryomen fuckin' sukuna?

He just said "please", didn’t he? Are you dreaming? Because no way in hell does Ryomen Sukuna beg. Not for anything. Not for anyone. He takes. He demands. He wrecks.

But "please" ? That word doesn’t live in his vocabulary. What’s gotten into him? Well… apparently, you. Of course. The one guy who could make you beg is now the one crumbling, voice cracking on a single syllable like you hold his whole world in your hands.

“Doll…” He leans closer, breath fanning your ear. “Please…?”

Sukuna says it again—soft, almost broken, like the word itself tastes foreign on his tongue.

The sound of it hits you like ice water down your spine.

Ryomen Sukuna doesn’t beg. He never has. Not for anything. And yet here he is—forehead pressed to yours, red eyes darkened, voice cracked open like he’s handing you his throat on a platter.

But you can’t. You just… can’t.

The word lodges in your chest like a stone. Your hands come up, cupping his face, thumbs brushing the sharp line of his jaw, feeling the muscle jump under your touch. His skin is fever-hot, stubble rough against your palms, and for one stupid second you almost cave.

Almost let yourself fall back into the familiar violence of him: the way he’d pin you down, fuck you raw until your voice gave out, mark you up so hard the bruises lasted weeks. It was easy with Sukuna. No strings, just skin and sweat and the kind of pleasure that left you boneless and laughing the next morning.

But that was before Satoru.

Before the cerulean eyes that looked at you like you were the only real thing in the world. Before soft whimpers and clingy arms and the way he’d keep going even after he came because his body literally couldn’t stop chasing you. Before the guilt that’s been chewing your insides raw for days.

You shake your head—slow, small, final.

“Sorry… but I don’t think I can.”

He exhales long, ragged, like the air’s being punched out of him. His shoulders drop. For the first time in your life, you see something flicker across his face that isn’t arrogance or hunger or amusement.

Defeat.

It’s the first time you've ever said no to him. The first time anyone's ever said no to him.

He doesn’t yell. Doesn’t shove you away. Just stares for a long second, then nods once—like he’s accepting a death sentence he already knew was coming.

“Okay… I get it.” His voice is quieter now, stripped bare. Then he tries again, because of course he does. One last grab. “Then… can I just eat you out or something? Yeah?” His hands rake down your sides again, slow and possessive, thumbs brushing the undersides of your tits. “I’ll stop after I make you cum. Promise.”

You shake your head again—firmer this time.

His jaw ticks. But he doesn’t push. Instead his gaze drops to your chest, and his hands follow—cupping your tits through the thin top, squeezing once, reverent, like he’s memorizing the weight.

“How ’bout these, then, doll?” His thumbs circle your nipples, already peaked from the tension. “Lemme suck on ’em. I missed this… lemme have that at least.”

“Sukuna…” You cup his face harder, forcing his eyes back to yours. “Please.”

He pulls off you like the contact suddenly burns. Takes a long, shuddering breath. Then chuckles low, hollow, self-deprecating.

“You know…” He drags a hand through his pink hair, messing it worse. “I never thought I’d have to see my girl’s in mad love with someone.”

“Sukun—”

“And I hate the fact that that someone isn’t me.”

The words land like a slap you didn’t brace for.

You open your mouth. Nothing comes out. What the hell could you even say? Sorry? Thank you? You didn’t mean to? All of it feels cheap, hollow, wrong.

**********

Sukuna always figured you'd end up with him—no matter the bullshit detours, the flings, the months of radio silence.

Sooner or later, right? Because he got you, and you got him. You both knew the score: no matter how many girls he buried his dick in or how many guys you let bury their dicks in you, it was always each other you craved like a hit of pure oxygen.

Sometimes the vibe was on fire—you'd fuck every damn day, leaving bruises and bite marks like twisted love letters. Other times it fizzled out, no texts, no calls, just ghosting into the void for weeks or months on end.

But when you crossed paths again? No awkward bullshit, no shy glances. You'd just lock eyes, smirk, and dive right back in like no time had passed. That was your connection—easy, filthy, unbreakable. Like you were the male and female halves of the same fucked-up soul, mirroring each other's chaos without even trying.

And yeah, of course you fucked like absolute freaks. Rough, nasty, no-holds-barred sessions where he'd pin you down and make you scream his name until your voice cracked, or you'd ride him like you owned his cock, scratching up his back while he laughed through the pain. But it wasn't just the sex. Deep down, only you two knew the real layers—the way he'd let you crash at his place after some asshole left you high and dry, holding you while you ranted, then fucking the hurt out of you until you forgot the prick's name. The way you'd soften around him, dropping the ice-queen act, letting him see the vulnerable mess underneath. Or how he'd drop his tough-guy walls just for you, admitting shit he'd never say out loud to anyone else.

From the outside? You were just savage fuck-buddies, the kind people whispered about with wide eyes. But inside? It was something deeper, something real that neither of you ever named because why ruin it with labels?

In his wildest nightmares, Sukuna never thought he'd lose you. Never imagined you'd slip right through those fingers he wrapped around your throat so many times.

Was that closeness all in his head? Just some delusional bullshit he built up while you were out there playing the field? Nah, that couldn't be true. He'd seen it—the way your eyes softened for him, turning you into this soft, needy girl who only showed up when it was just the two of you. The way you'd crawl back after a shitty hookup, pissed and raw, and he'd show you what a real fuck felt like. You'd both kept that side hidden from the world. And now It's all shattering. Cracking like cheap glass under his fists.

Because someone really took his bitch. The one he loved for more than just her perfect tits and perfect cunt—the one who matched his fire, who saw through him and stuck around anyway.

Fate's cackling in his face, isn't it? How the hell was he supposed to know that dipping out for a while, like you both always did, would leave the door open for some random pretty-boy to slide in and steal your heart?

He longed for that spot, deep down, but he never showed it. Never thought he had to. Why spell it out when the pull was so obvious?

But now Satoru fucking Gojo's scored the win, and it burns like acid in Sukuna's veins. He could snatch you back—grab you by the hair, fuck you senseless until you forgot the loser's name, remind you who owns that pussy.

But he won't. Because even if he's a prick, he's not that much of a prick. Not when he sees the way your eyes light up talking about the guy. Not when he knows you've already slipped away for good.

**********

He walks over slow, deliberate until he’s crowding you against the wall again. Not pinning. Just close enough that you feel his heat, smell the faint smoke-and-whiskey on his skin.

“Doll…” His voice cracks, just barely. “How about one last kiss. Lemme have that at lea—”

You don’t let him finish. You push up on your toes and crash your mouth against his.

He startles—actually freezes—like he was braced for rejection, for another no. Then a broken groan rips out of him and he kisses you back like he’s starving.

Hard. Desperate.

Arms band around your waist, crushing you to his chest so tight you can’t breathe. Tongue slides in—claiming, tasting, pouring every unspoken thing into your mouth. You match him, fingers knotting in his shirt, pulling him closer, deeper, like you can fuse the two of you together and erase the last few weeks of silence.

He lifts you without breaking the kiss. Your legs wrap around his waist on instinct. He slams you against the wall, hips grinding slow and filthy, letting you feel every thick inch of him pressed against your soaked panties. The kiss drags wet, messy, endless. He pulls back once for air, forehead pressed to yours, both of you panting like you’ve run miles.

You think that’s it. Then he dives back in.

Deeper. Hungrier. Like he’s trying to burn the taste of you into his soul before you disappear. One hand fists your hair; the other grips your ass, holding you up while he devours you, tongue fucking your mouth, teeth nipping your lip hard enough to sting, groans vibrating against your throat.

When he finally stops—really stops—you’re both wrecked. Foreheads touching. Breathing ragged. His eyes are darkened dangerously and he doesn’t bother hiding it this time.

“Gonna miss you, doll…” His voice is hoarse, cracked open. “So fuckin’ damn much.”

You laugh soft, broken, shaky against his cheek. Press a gentle kiss there, lingering. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He nuzzles into your neck for a second, inhaling deep like he’s trying to keep your scent forever. “Keep doing that and I won’t let you go.”

You pinch his side lightly. He huffs a laugh—real this time, warm. Then his expression shifts, softens into something almost peaceful.

“Come on now.” He sets you down gently, thumbs brushing your cheeks one last time, wiping away the damp streaks you didn’t realize were there. “Go get your pretty boy.”

You smile, small, real, the first genuine one in days. Peace settles over you like cool rain after a fever. Quiet. Warm. Finally.

For once in these past fucked-up days, the knot in your chest loosens. You can breathe. You can think. You can feel the pull toward Satoru without the guilt trying to choke you out.

But the pair of damp ocean-eyes watching you both from the cracked door says your peace isn’t going to last.

to be continued in the next chapter

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