lunch break fight club
synopsis: This collection of five crack-fic drabbles explores the unhinged reality of being in the loudest, most obnoxious friend group on campus.
🎉 1k Follower Event Special (we have 14 left but I can't wait to share this with you my wonderful hot girls)
around 5k WC
Drabble 1: The Cafeteria Fries
Walking into the cafeteria, you could hear them before you even saw them.
It was a miracle you hadn’t all been permanently banned from the premises yet. You navigated through the sea of crowded tables, zeroing in on the loudest, most obnoxious corner of the room.
You were the last to arrive. By the time you dropped your backpack onto the floor, everyone was already seated, deeply entrenched in what sounded like a violently aggressive debate.
“I’m just saying,” Sukuna was snarling, leaning back in his plastic chair with his arms crossed over his chest, “if I punch myself in the fucking face and I knock myself out, it means I’m strong. My punch was too powerful for my own body. That’s peak strength.”
“No, you absolute moron,” Gojo argued loudly, slamming a hand on the table. “It means you’re a weak little bitch! Your face couldn’t even take a single hit! That’s a defense stat of zero!”
“Why would you punch yourself in the face in the first place?” Choso asked, looking genuinely distressed by the entire concept.
“It’s a philosophical hypothetical, Choso,” Geto said smoothly, though his eyes were dancing with absolute chaos.
“It’s a display of idiocy,” Nanami muttered, rubbing his temples like he was already clocking out for the day.
You sighed, exhausted from your morning classes, and slumped into the empty seat right beside Gojo. “Move your long-ass legs, Satoru,” you grumbled, kicking his shin under the table.
“Ow! Hostile much?” Gojo whined, but he scooted over, making room for you.
You didn’t even bother unpacking your lunch yet. You were starving, your brain was fried, and right in front of Gojo sat a little red cardboard boat filled with seasoned french fries. Without a second thought, you reached over, grabbed a handful, and shoved them into your mouth.
“You guys are literally giving me a migraine and I’ve been here for thirty seconds,” you mumbled around a mouthful of potato. “Also, Sukuna, Satoru is right. If you knock yourself out, you’re weak.”
“Shut the fuck up, you weren’t even here for the preamble!” Sukuna snapped, but as he looked at you, his expression faltered. His eyes darted from your face down to the cardboard boat of fries, and then across the table to Geto.
You grabbed another fry, chewing casually. They were a little cold, honestly, and kind of stale, but food was food and you were hungry.
Across the table, Geto suddenly coughed into his fist. He looked away, his shoulders shaking slightly. Sukuna pressed his lips together in a tight, unnatural line, his jaw ticking as he stared intensely at the ceiling.
You raised an eyebrow at them. You didn’t actually mention it, though, because that’s just how they always were. Stupid asses. They were probably laughing at the word ‘preamble’ or some other dumb inside joke they made before you got there.
“Can you both just shut the fuck up?” Utahime groaned from the end of the table, glaring at Gojo and Sukuna. “Some of us are trying to enjoy our lunch without hearing about your weird masochistic fantasies.”
“You’re just mad because you know if you punched yourself, you’d break your wrist,” Gojo shot back grinning.
“I will break your wrist!” she yelled.
You tuned them out, happily munching away. You reached for another fry. “Hey, Satoru,” you said, tapping his arm. “What flavor is this? It’s like… sour cream and onion, but weirdly spicy?”
Gojo glanced down at you, blinking behind his dark sunglasses. He looked at the fry in your hand, then back up at your face. “I don’t know,” he said, completely deadpan.
Then he turned right back to Utahime. “Come on, Hime, admit it! You have hollow bird bones!”
You shrugged, popping the fry into your mouth. Whatever. You’d just ask the cafeteria lady later.
The conversation flowed like normal. Shoko sat quietly next to Geto, sipping her iced coffee. Every now and then, you’d catch Shoko looking at you with wide eyes, but whenever she opened her mouth to speak, Geto would subtly kick her under the table or shake his head.
You didn’t think much of it. You were too busy scraping the bottom of the cardboard boat, picking up the last few crispy bits of potato and seasoning.
You swallowed the last bite and wiped your hands on a napkin.
“Oh god,” you said, interrupting Gojo who was currently trying to balance a spoon on his nose. “I didn’t realize I finished the fries. I’m sorry, Satoru. I’ll go buy you another order.”
Gojo let the spoon drop to the table. He looked down at you, then looked at the completely empty cardboard boat. He tilted his head, a perfectly serene smile on his face.
“Oh, it’s fine,” Gojo said casually. “That’s not mine.”
You froze. Your hand hovered over the empty boat. You blinked once. Twice.
“Huh?” you asked, your voice dropping an octave. “Whose is this?”
Geto couldn’t hold it in anymore. A loud, ugly snort ripped out of him, and he immediately doubled over, burying his face in his arms as he shook with hysterical laughter. Sukuna completely lost his mind, slamming his fist onto the table and howling, his booming laugh echoing across the entire cafeteria.
Gojo leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms behind his head. “I don’t know,” he said, shrugging. “It was there when we got here. We haven’t ordered yet.”
The world stopped spinning. The cafeteria noise faded into a high-pitched ringing in your ears.
You stared at the empty boat. You had just eaten an entire order of abandoned, mysterious table fries. From a public cafeteria table. Left by a complete stranger.
“Are you fucking kidding me?!” you shrieked, your chair scraping violently against the floor as you stood up.
Sukuna was crying. Actual tears were streaming down his tattooed face as he pointed at you, unable to breathe. Geto was wheezing, his long hair falling over his face as he pounded the table in pure, unadulterated joy at your suffering.
“I’m going to kill you!” you yelled as you to grab Gojo by the collar of his uniform. “Why didn’t you stop me, you sick fuck?!”
“You looked so hungry!” Gojo cackled, easily dodging your hands. “You just went to town on them! I wasn’t gonna interrupt your meal!”
Nanami let out a sudden, sharp laugh. He immediately slapped a hand over his mouth, looking incredibly stressed out by the fact that he found this funny. His shoulders shook as he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to regain his composure.
Utahime looked up from her phone, completely bewildered. “Wait, what happened? Did you eat the table fries? Ew! Oh my god, ew!”
“I tried to warn you!” Shoko wheezed, finally breaking her silence as she leaned against a dying Geto. “I saw you grab the first one! I looked at Suguru and was like, ‘did you see her, she’s eating the food on the table,’ but he just shook his head at me and mouthed ‘let her’!”
“You are all dead to me!” you roared, grabbing the empty cardboard boat and throwing it directly at Geto’s head. It bounced off harmlessly, which only made him laugh harder. “I’m going to get a disease! I’m going to get rabies!”
“Rabies is from dogs, you idiot!” Sukuna gasped out, clutching his stomach.
“I don’t know who ate those before me! It could have been a dog!” you screamed back, scrubbing at your tongue with your napkin.
Gojo patted your shoulder sympathetically, though he was grinning so hard his cheeks looked like they hurt. “Look on the bright side. Now we know what flavor they were. ‘Stranger’s Backwash’ with a hint of ‘Cafeteria Dust’.”
You grabbed his spoon and threw it at his face.
Drabble 2: Choso Doesn’t Sell Weed
Three days. You hadn’t seen the inside of a classroom in three days, and honestly, it would have been a nice little vacation if it weren’t for the fact that your eyeballs felt like they were coated in crushed glass and hot sauce.
You had the sore eyes. The highly contagious, absolutely miserable, crusty-in-the-morning sore eyes.
Utahime and Shoko were the only ones who knew the actual truth. And because they possessed more than two functioning brain cells, they stayed far, far away from your house. “I love you,” Shoko had texted you on day one, “but I’m not catching your gross eye disease. Peace.”
Nanami, being the only disciplined and respectful man in your entire social circle, had simply replied, “Understood. Please rest well,” when you sent a blanket text saying you were sick and didn’t want visitors.
The others, however, did not understand the concept of boundaries.
Ding-dong. Ding-dong. Ding-dong-ding-dong-ding-dong.
You groaned, burying your face into your pillow.
Ding-dong. BANG BANG BANG. Ding-dong.
“I’m coming, you absolute psychos!” you yelled, your voice raspy from disuse.
You dragged yourself out of bed. Because your eyes were currently hypersensitive to literally any light source, you grabbed a pair of dark sunglasses off your dresser and shoved them onto your face. You shuffled out of your house and across the front yard, the doorbell still ringing like a fire alarm.
You yanked the front gate open. “What?!”
Standing on your sidewalk were the four men that is the bane of yur esistence: Gojo, Geto, Sukuna, and Choso.
Gojo’s hand was still hovering over the doorbell. He paused, looking you up and down, obnoxious smirk spreading across his face.
“Well hot damn,” Gojo drawled, leaning against your gate. “Look who decided to steal my entire brand.”
“What are you talking about?” you grumbled, crossing your arms to ward off the afternoon chill.
“The sunglasses, obviously,” Gojo said, gestyring to his own face. “You’ve been MIA for three days. We thought you died in a ditch somewhere. But apparently, you’re just hiding in your house, cosplaying as me.”
“I’m not cosplaying as you, Satoru. I’m sick,” you sighed, leaning your forehead against the cold metal of the gate. “Why are you guys even here?”
“Because you weren’t answering the group chat,” Geto said, though he looked highly amused by your current state. “And Sukuna was convinced you got kidnapped by a neighboorhod gang.”
“I didn’t say that,” Sukuna scoffed, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I said she probably got arrested for doing something stupid.”
“Are you wearing pajamas at two in the afternoon?” Choso asked, tilting his head in genuine confusion.
“Yes, Choso, because I am sick,” you repeated, your patience wearing dangerously thin. “Now please, go away. I want to go back to sleep.”
“Sick with what? Being a little bitch?” Sukuna sneered. “Take the stupid glasses off, you look ridiculous.”
“I’m wearing them for a reason!” you snapped.
“Yeah, because you’re idolizing me,” Gojo teased, reaching over the gate to poke your shoulder. “Come on, take ‘em off. Let’s see those beautiful eyes. Are you hiding a black eye? Did you get into a fight without us?”
“If I take these off, you’re all going to regret it,” you warned them.
“Just take the fucking glasses off,” Sukuna demanded.
“Fine!”
You grabbed the frames and ripped the sunglasses off your face, glaring at them in the bright daylight.
Silence descended upon the group.
Your eyes were completely bloodshot. The whites of your eyes were a violent, angry red, puffy and swollen, making you look like you had just survived a three-day bender in a basement. You looked absolutely, undeniably, out-of-your-mind high.
Sukuna stared at you for a long, quiet moment. Then, he slowly turned his head to look at Choso.
“Yo,” Sukuna said, his voice dead serious. “Did you sell her some pot?”
Choso blinked, completely taken aback. “What? No, I didn’t!”
Geto whipped his head around to stare at Choso, his eyes wide with sudden realization. “The fuck? Since when?”
“Dude, shut up! I’m not!” Choso yelled, his face flushing as he waved his hands defensively. “I don’t sell weed!”
“Don’t lie to me, Choso,” Geto said, pointing an accusing finger at him. “Are you holding out on us? Is that why you’re always so calm?”
“I’m not a dealer!” Choso groaned, looking like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole.
“Damn,” Gojo whistled, leaning in closer to inspect your face. “You are absolutely zooted. How much did you smoke? You look like you’re seeing through time right now.”
“I’m not high, you absolute morons!” you yelled, rubbing your temples. “I have sore eyes! It’s viral conjunctivitis! It’s highly contagious!”
The word contagious worked like magic.
Gojo immediately jumped back three feet, his hands flying up in defense. Geto took a large step away from the gate, his expression morphing from amusement to pure disgust.
“Wait, like pink eye?” Sukuna asked, his nose wrinkling. “Gross. You have poop particles in your eye.”
“It’s not from poop, it’s a virus!” you argued, though you were already putting your sunglasses back on.
“Yeah, I’m not catching that,” Sukuna said, immediately turning on his heel. “Let’s bounce. She’s a biohazard.”
“Keep your crusty eye particles away from me!” Gojo yelled, already walking down the street. “Get well soon, plague rat!”
“Drink some water!” Choso called out over his shoulder, hurrying after the others.
“Wash your hands!” Geto added, laughing as he jogged to catch up with Gojo.
You stood at the gate, watching the four of them practically sprint down the sidewalk to get away from you. You shook your head, locked the gate, and shuffled back inside your house.
The second you collapsed back onto your bed, your phone buzzed on the nightstand. Then it buzzed again. And again.
You picked it up, squinting through your sunglasses at the bright screen.
It was the group chat.
Drabble 3: Nanami Kento's Not-So Crush
Nanami Kento did not have crushes. That was his official, unwavering stance on the matter, and he defended it with the ferocity of a lawyer on trial.
“I am assisting a classmate with her macroeconomics coursework,” Nanami had stated plainly, adjusting his glasses. “There is absolutely nothing romantic about it.”
None of you believed him.
The boys, naturally, made it their life’s mission to make his existence a living hell. You, Utahime, and Shoko were trying your absolute best to preserve whatever shred of dignity the poor guy had left, but it was an uphill battle when dealing with the absolute menaces you called friends.
It was Tuesday afternoon when your phone buzzed with a notification from the group chat.
They did not listen. The teasing only escalated from there.
A few days later, you and Sukuna were in the cafeteria, waiting in line for the deli sandwich station. You were minding your own business when Sukuna suddenly stopped, his eyes locking onto a target across the room.
You followed his gaze. There, near the salad bar, was Nanami. And standing right next to him was the econ girl. Nanami was holding her plastic tray for her while she used the tongs to pick out cherry tomatoes.
Sukuna’s face lit up with the most evil grin you had ever seen. He took a massive breath, his chest expanding as he prepared to scream across the crowded cafeteria.
“HEY NANA—”
You didn’t even think. You just reacted. You lunged up, grabbed the back of Sukuna’s head, and violently clamped your hand over his mouth, yanking him backward.
“Mmph! GRRMPH!” Sukuna thrashed, his eyes wide with absolute fury as you dragged him behind a pillar.
“Shut the fuck up!” you hissed, keeping your hand firmly plastered over his mouth. “You are not ruining this for him!”
Sukuna grabbed your wrist and ripped your hand away, looking at you like he wanted to bite your fingers off. “Don’t touch my fucking face!” he snarled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I hate it when people touch my face! I was just gonna say hi!”
“You were going to scream and embarrass him in front of his crush, you dick!” you argued, shoving his shoulder.
“He’s holding her tray!” Sukuna yelled back, though he kept his voice down. “He looks like a butler! He needs to be bullied for his own good!”
“Leave him alone or I’m spitting in your sandwich,” you threatened.
Sukuna glared at you, but he crossed his arms and stayed put. “You’re no fun.”
Despite your best efforts to protect Nanami’s fragile budding romance, it all came crashing down three weeks later.
You were all sitting on the metal bleachers by the baseball field, enjoying the late afternoon sun. Nanami was sitting next to Utahime, looking more exhausted and deflated than usual. After some gentle prodding from Hime, he finally cracked.
“She stopped talking to me,” Nanami sighed, rubbing his temples. “She mentioned offhand today that her boyfriend is helping her with the rest of the coursework.”
A heavy silence fell over the bleachers.
“Oh, Kento,” Utahime said softly, patting his shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine. I didn’t have a crush on her anyway,” he lied, staring blankly at the grass.
Clearly, your friend needed cheering up. And in your friend group, the only acceptable way to comfort someone was to ruthlessly bash the person who hurt them.
“Honestly? Good riddance,” you started, leaning forward. “She had weird vibes anyway.”
“Yeah,” Shoko agreed, lighting a cigarette. “You probably dodged a bullet.”
Sukuna, eager to participate in the hating, scoffed loudly. “For real. She was a solid four at best. Built like a fucking mini-fridge. Plus, women who study economics are just gold diggers in training.”
Utahime immediately reached over and smacked the back of Sukuna’s head. Hard.
“Ow! What the fuck?!” Sukuna yelled, rubbing his skull.
“No, you stupid freak!” you yelled, hitting his arm. “Don’t ever say that shit about a girl! You can’t just call her a mini-fridge!”
“We are bashing her personality, not her body, you absolute neanderthal,” Shoko scolded, blowing smoke in his direction.
“I’m trying to help!” Sukuna argued defensively.
“Well, you’re doing it wrong!” Utahime snapped.
Gojo, sensing the tension, decided to step in as the voice of reason. “Okay, okay, calm down. Sukuna went too far. What we should be saying is that she’s clearly too emotionally unstable to appreciate a good guy like Nanami. You know how girls are when it’s that time of the month, their judgment gets all clouded—”
“Satoru, shut the fuck up!” you screamed, throwing an empty water bottle at his head. It bounced off his forehead with a hollow thwack.
“Hey!” Gojo whined, rubbing his head. “I was defending him!”
“That was incredibly misogynistic!” Utahime yelled, looking like she was ready to strangle him.
Geto sighed, shaking his head at Gojo. “Satoru, you can’t say things like that. It’s insensitive. You just have to accept that women naturally lack the logical capacity to recognize a high-value man when they see one. It’s biological.”
Shoko slowly turned her head to look at Geto, her eyes dead and cold. “Suguru. If you don’t shut your mouth right now, I am going to put my cigarette out in your eye.”
“What did I say?!” Geto asked, genuinely baffled.
Choso raised his hand tentatively. “I think… I think what they mean is that she belongs to the streets?”
“NO!” you, Utahime, and Shoko yelled in unison.
Nanami buried his face in his hands, letting out a long, suffering groan. “Please. All of you. Stop talking.”
For the next forty-five minutes, the original goal of cheering up Nanami was completely abandoned. Instead, you, Utahime, and Shoko stood in front of the bleachers, delivering an aggressive, impromptu lecture on basic feminism and how not to be accidentally misogynistic, while Gojo, Geto, Sukuna, and Choso sat there like scolded children.
Nanami just sat quietly in the back, watching the chaos unfold. For the first time in three weeks, a small, genuine smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Drabble 4: The great divorce (NOT KFC EDITION)
It was like watching your parents go through a bitter, silent divorce.
The undisputed gay icons of your friend group—Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru—were fighting. And it was making everyone else absolutely miserable.
They refused to admit it, of course. But the signs were glaringly obvious. If Gojo sat down at a table, Geto would suddenly remember he had somewhere to be, pack up his lunch, and leave. If Geto sent a meme in the group chat, Gojo would immediately reply with “dead meme” or “cringe.” It was stupid, and incredibly passive-aggressive.
on Thursday during lunch; yu were all sitting at the table. Choso was quietly eating a sandwich, completely minding his own business, when Gojo suddenly leaned over and looked at him.
“You know, Choso,” Gojo said loudly, his eyes darting toward Geto. “Don’t you think it’s incredibly pathetic when people hold onto grudges like little babies?”
Choso stopped chewing. He looked around, bewildered. “Uh. I guess?”
Geto didn’t even look up from his phone, but his jaw tightened. “Actually, Choso,” Geto said, his voice dripping with venom, “I think it’s much more pathetic when people lack basic accountability and act like narcissistic toddlers.”
“Well, Choso,” Gojo shot back, leaning closer to the poor guy. “Some people are just too sensitive and need to get the stick out of their ass.”
“Choso,” Geto snapped, finally looking up. “Tell some people that if they touch my shit again, they’re going to lose a hand.”
Choso looked frantically between the two of them, his sandwich hovering near his mouth. “What the fuck did I do?!” he cried out, looking genuinely distressed.
“Nothing, Choso,” you sighed, rubbing your temples. “They’re just being bitches.”
Later that afternoon, you, Utahime, Shoko, Nanami, and Sukuna were huddled by the lockers, trying to figure out how to address the massive, six-foot-something elephants in the room.
“We need to stage an intervention,” Utahime declared. “I can’t take the tension anymore. It’s ruining my digestion.”
Sukuna leaned against the lockers, while he was playing some fuck-ass game pn his phone “Nah, I don’t think they’re fighting. They probably fucked each other in the ass by now and things just got weird.”
“Sukuna, what is actually wrong with you?” you asked, horrified.
“I’m just saying!” he laughed, shrugging. “Sexual tension, man. It ruins friendships.”
“We are locking them in a room until they talk,” Shoko decided, ignoring Sukuna entirely. “My house. Tonight. We’ll tell them it’s a spontaneous hangout.”
The scheme was set. You individually DM’d both of them, inviting them over for drinks. Predictably, Geto replied, “Is Satoru coming?” and Gojo replied, “Is Suguru going to be there?”
To both, you lied through your teeth: “No, they won’t.”
Geto had arrived first, sitting on Shoko’s couch and complaining about his professors. You, Utahime, Shoko, Nanami, Choso, and Sukuna were scattered around the living room, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
At 8:15, the front door swung open.
“What’s up, losers!” Gojo announced, strolling in with a 12-pack of beer under his arm.
He walked into the living room. His eyes landed on Geto. Geto’s eyes locked onto Gojo.
Instantly, both of their smiles vanished.
“You lied to me,” Geto said, glaring at you.
“I’m leaving,” Gojo stated flatly, turning right back around toward the door.
He didn’t even make it two steps.
Sukuna, who had been lounging in the armchair nearest the door, suddenly shot up. He grabbed the back of Gojo’s jacket with one massive hand, yanked him backward with brute force, and physically slammed him down onto the armchair he had just vacated.
“Sit the fuck down,” Sukuna snarled, standing over him. “I didn’t come all the way to Shoko’s house on a Thursday night to watch you two play hard to get. You’re going to talk, or I’m going to start breaking bones.”
Gojo blinked, slightly dazed from being manhandled, the 12-pack of beer clattering to the floor. “Jesus, okay!”
Nanami stepped forward, seamlessly taking control of the room now that Sukuna had secured the hostage. He walked over to the front door, locked the deadbolt, and pocketed the key.
“You are both acting like children,” Nanami said, adjusting his glasses as he stared them down. “You are disrupting the peace of this group. You will explain why you are fighting, and you will resolve it. Now.”
Gojo grumbled something under his breath, crossing his arms as he sank deeper into the chair. “Fine. Tell them, Suguru. Tell them why you’re throwing a tantrum.”
“Me?!” Geto scoffed, “You’re the one who ruined it! Do you know how long that took me?!”
“It’s just a game!” Gojo yelled.
“It was a hundred and forty hours of my life, you fucker!” Geto yelled back, standing up.
You blinked. “Wait. Hold on. A game?”
Geto turned to you, his eyes wild with genuine anguish. “He overwrote my save file. My Elden Ring save file. I was at the final boss. I had the perfect build. And this absolute moron logged into my console, started a new game, and saved over my file!”
The room went dead silent.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Utahime whispered.
“I wanted to try a magic build!” Gojo defended himself, throwing his hands up. “I didn’t know it would delete your stupid little sword guy!”
Shoko, who had known these two idiots since they were literal children, slowly put her beer down on the coffee table. She stood up, walked over to Gojo, and without a single word, wrapped both of her hands around his neck and started strangling him.
“Ack! Shoko! What the—!” Gojo choked, flailing his long limbs as Shoko shook him back and forth.
“You are both so fucking stupid!” Shoko yelled, her cigarette dangling precariously from her lips. “A week! We suffered for a week because of a video game?!”
“It was a hundred and forty hours!” Geto repeated, pointing an accusing finger at Gojo.
“I’ll beat the boss for you!” Gojo wheezed, trying to pry Shoko’s hands off his throat. “I’ll grind the runes! Just tell her to let me go!”
Nanami let out a long, heavy sigh, “I cannot believe I skipped my evening reading for this.”
Eventually, Shoko released Gojo, who gasped for air and rubbed his neck. He looked over at Geto, pouting like a kicked puppy.
“I’m sorry, okay?” Gojo whined. “I’ll buy you the DLC. I’ll buy you a whole new console. Just stop ignoring me, it’s boring when you’re mad at me.”
Geto stared at him for a long moment, his jaw ticking. Finally, he let out a massive sigh, running a hand through his long hair. “Fine. You’re buying the DLC. And dinner for the next month.”
“Deal!” Gojo beamed, instantly bouncing back to his usual obnoxious self. He leaped out of the armchair, bounded over to the couch, and threw his arms around Geto.
“Come here, give me a kiss to make up!” Gojo puckered his lips, leaning in aggressively.
“Get the fuck away from me, you freaakk!!!!” Geto screamed, shoving Gojo’s face away with both hands as Gojo dissolved into hysterical laughter.
You caught Sukuna’s eye from across the room. He just smirked, crossing his arms, and mouthed, Told you.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ₊˚⊹♡
Drabble 5: Hormonal Warfare
You, Shoko, and Utahime had been inseparable since junior year of high school. Now, as college sophomores, your bond was practically forged in steel. You shared everything: notes, clothes, gossip, and, unfortunately, your biological rhythms.
It was a well-documented scientific phenomenon that women who spent enough time together would eventually sync up.
It was hot, everyone was sweaty, the campus was loud, and the three of you were currently operating on a lethal cocktail of cramps, and hormone-induced wrath.
For the first two days, the boys were left to fend for their lives.
“If the referee blows that whistle one more time, I’m going to shove it down his throat,” Utahime snarled from the bleachers, glaring at the basketball court like she was plotting a murder.
“I wanna go home,” Shoko muttered, aggressively chewing on a piece of nicotine gum because smoking wasn’t allowed in the gym.
You spoke while resting your forehead against your knees. “Can we please east? I’m so hungry my stomach is eating my spine.”
Sitting one row behind you, Gojo, Geto, Choso, and Nanami exchanged terrified glances. Sukuna was part of the upcoming basketball game.
“These monsters are out of their goddamn minds,” Gojo whispered to Geto, his sunglasses slipping down his nose.
“Don’t make eye contact,” Geto whispered back, completely rigid. “Their vision is based on movement.”
Per husual, hunger was the worst part. When the lunch break finally rolled around, the group migrated to the food trucks parked outside the campus center. That was when the first major incident occurrd.
“I want tacos,” you declared, crossing your arms.
“Too greasy,” Utahime snapped, wiping sweat from her forehead. “I want a poke bowl. I need something cold.”
“If you make me eat raw fish right now, I will literally rip your hair out,” Shoko deadpanned, her eyes dark and hollow. “We are getting burgers.”
“I don’t want a burger, Shoko! It’s ninety degrees outside!” Utahime yelled, stepping into Shoko’s personal space.
“And I don’t want a stupid salad with raw tuna!” Shoko yelled back.
“Can we just get tacos?!” you shrieked, your voice cracking as you shoved both of them.
The boys stood ten feet away, watching in absolute horror as the three of you practically circled each other like feral cats ready to brawl over a piece of meat.
“Should we intervene?” Choso asked nervously, taking a half-step forward.
Geto grabbed Choso by the collar and yanked him back. “If you value your life, you will stay exactly where you are.”
Eventually, you all compromised by getting completely different meals and sitting at a picnic table in tense, aggressive silence. The boys slowly filtered in, sitting down with extreme caution.
Sukuna was the last to arrive, dropping his tray onto the table and taking a seat across from you. He took a bite of his sandwich, chewed, and then looked at you. You were wearing the bright yellow intramural t-shirt assigned to your department.
“You know,” Sukuna said casually, pointing a fry at you. “That color really washes you out. You look like a jaundiced minion.”
The table went dead silent.
Gojo inhaled sharply through his teeth. Geto slowly closed his eyes, as if accepting his impending death. Nanami stopped chewing.
You stared at Sukuna. Your bottom lip trembled. The sheer audacity of this man, combined with the fact that your uterus currently felt like it was being twisted by a hot iron, was simply too much.
Tears instantly welled up in your eyes. They spilled over your cheeks in thick, heavy drops.
“I…” you choked out, a loud sob escaping your throat. “I didn’t even pick the color! It’s the department shirt!”
Sukuna blinked, completely caught off guard. “Whoa, hey, I didn’t—”
“You’re so mean to me!” you wailed, slamming your hands on the table. You grabbed your half-eaten taco, stood up, and stormed off toward the campus library, sobbing loudly.
The boys stared after you, then slowly turned their heads to look at Sukuna.
“Wow,” Gojo said, shaking his head in disgust. “…you jerk.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Geto asked, looking genuinely appalled.
“I JUST SAID THE SHIRT WAS UGLY!” Sukuna yelled, throwing his hands up in defense. “I didn’t shoot her dog!”
Utahime slammed her chopsticks down on the table, her eyes blazing with fury. “Great, Sukuna. Just say you fucking hate her. You didn’t have to be an absolute bitch about it.”
“Literally,” Shoko agreed while glaring at him with enough venom to kill a small horse. “You are a garbage human being. I hope you choke on that sandwich.”
Utahime and Shoko immediately stood up, grabbed their food, and hurried after you to provide comfort, leaving the boys alone at the table.
Sukuna looked around at the remaining guys, completely bewildered. “Are you guys seriously taking their side? She’s crying over a yellow shirt!”
“Seriously, Sukuna,” Nanami sighed, adjusting his glasses. “Be a bit more mindful next time.”
From day three onwards, the dynamic shifted entirely. The boys were walking on absolute, microscopic eggshells.
If you asked for a sip of Gojo’s water, he handed over the entire bottle without a word. If Utahime complained that the sun was in her eyes, Geto physically stood in front of her to block the rays. Even Sukuna, who had been thoroughly traumatized by the collective wrath of the women in the group, quietly bought you a chocolate bar from the vending machine and slid it across the table without making eye contact.
“Are you still mad about the minion comment?” Sukuna mumbled, looking at the ceiling.
You ripped the chocolate wrapper open with your teeth. “Depends. Are you going to be a bitch again?”
“No,” he grumbled.
“Good,” you said, taking a massive bite.
Across the table, Choso leaned over to Nanami. “How long does this last?” he whispered fearfully.
“Just pray we survive the week, Choso,” Nanami whispered back. “Just pray.”
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ₊˚⊹♡
an: AHHH thank you all so much for 1k followers! 🎉 I literally cannot believe it. I wanted to do something super fun and chaotic to celebrate, and writing this specific friend group dynamic was an absolute blast.
Fun fact: some of these drabbles are actually heavily inspired by my own real-life high school memories! (Yes, my friend group was genuinely this unhinged)
I’d love to hear from you guys—which drabble was your favorite? Which chaotic moment made you laugh the most? Let me know in the replies! Thank you again for all the love, support, and for reading my silly little fics! 💖
⚠️ A Quick Disclaimer:
Please note that I absolutely do not condone any form of body-shaming, slut-shaming, or misogynistic remarks in real life! The offensive comments made by the boys (specifically in Drabble 3) are included purely for storytelling purposes to highlight their absolute lack of a filter—and as you see, they get rightfully dragged and scolded by the girls for it! Please read responsibly!
🎨 Art & Credits Note:
Just a quick heads-up: the art used in the visuals for this post was found on Pinterest! If anyone knows who the original artists are, please let me know in the comments or replies so I can rightfully tag and credit them!
(Beautiful text dividers used in this post are by @pixopix ✨)
