b1mb0staars

[b1mb0staars]

ruin me

nerd!gojo x popular!reader x nerd!geto

wc ~ 28k

!!disclaimer!! will include: smut (pretty good smut for once) angst, comfort, fluff, choso x reader if you squint, heavy sukuna x reader, really toxic between sukuna x reader, slut shaming, alcohol and weed consumption.

“fuck, look at this sugu, she posted.”

satoru’s voice was hushed, frantic, like he was announcing the second coming of christ. suguru didn’t even need to look, he already knew who it was. he leaned in anyway, exhaling through his nose as he saw the screen.

your tongue, glossy and pink, flattened against the side of a ridiculously expensive erwhon gelato cone, eyes half-lidded like you knew exactly what you were doing. maybe you did? of course you did.

you always did.

“shit, she’s so bad,” suguru muttered, lips curling into a slow, crooked smile. “look at her. she’s not even trying.”

satoru groaned, dragging his hands down his face, then bringing the phone closer like the pixels could bring him salvation. he zoomed in. your cheekbone, your earrings, your mouth, that fuckin mouth, and then pinched out to see it all again. full frame. divine. “it’s like she’s teasin' us,” he said.

“she doesn’t even know we exist,” suguru replied, sounding almost proud of the fact. as if it made the fantasy better. purer. untouchable.

they were in the back row of their social studies lecture, half-asleep and overstimulated. the professor was droning on about something like economic hierarchies but all satoru could think about was the curve of your tongue and whether or not that was your real lip color or something expensive and sticky. 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. everyone wanted you, and everyone knew it. you breezed through the quad in whatever sneakers were hot that week, and low-rise jeans like you were walking a runway. always laughing, always 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 everyone wanted to tell.

but satoru and suguru didn’t just want to tell it. they wanted to live inside it.

no one looked at them. not really. not in the way that mattered. sure, they were hot, obviously. satoru was tall with ridiculous bone structure and even more ridiculous glasses, the kind of guy who made eye contact and made your stomach drop. suguru was all cool, low hum energy, hair pulled back in a lazy tie, pierced, always looking like he’d just rolled out of bed and still better than everyone. but they were weird. smart. intimidating in the kind of way that made girls glance and then quickly look away. too much. too intense. too unnoticed.

but not when it came to you. they noticed everything about you.

like how you always posted around 11:30, like clockwork, probably right after class. like how you changed your highlights every other week—“🍸” was suguru’s favorite, the one with the photo of you in a tiny yellow bikini licking salt off your wrist. like how your phone case was different now, a clear one with a blurry photo tucked into the back. satoru had spent ten minutes trying to enhance it in his camera app. some girl. maybe a friend. maybe someone you kissed. either way, it ruined his entire afternoon.

“remember that video she posted last month?” satoru said suddenly, dreamily, like he was thinking about a dead lover. “the one with her in the pool?” suguru closed his eyes. “don’t,” he said.

“she was doing that thing with her legs, remember? like floating? and she had that little silver chain around her waist, oh my god—”

“i said don’t,” suguru snapped, though he was smiling. his voice was strained. “i had to excuse myself from psych after that one. couldn’t stand up for ten fucking minutes.”

they laughed under their breath, starved, like they were sharing state secrets. satoru swiped through your profile. every photo was a different flavor of devastating. you and your friends in the back of a limo. you holding a cocktail and laughing, head thrown back. you bent over in a mini skirt, taking a mirror selfie with a little ass showing. he made a noise in the back of his throat. “look at her,” he whispered. suguru leaned closer again. “she knows what she’s doing.”

“oh, she knows. she’s evil.” satoru’s leg bounced under the desk like he couldn’t contain himself. he was flushed, glassy-eyed, pupils blown wide like he was high off the mere suggestion of you, cock hard. he adjusted his glasses with one hand and pulled his pants looser with the other.

“i bet she moans pretty,” he said absently. suguru blinked. then nodded. “she definitely talks during sex.”

“she’d be such a brat.”

“she’d make you beg.”

“i’d thank her.”

satoru made a soft, strangled sound. “i’d buy her a car just for saying my name.” saying that wasn’t even absurd, the two of the boys were filthy rich.

they went quiet for a beat. the professor’s voice droned on about institutional frameworks or whatever, but neither of them heard a word. satoru was scrolling mindlessly now, not even seeing the images, just replaying your stories from memory. your voice, that light, lilting tone you used when you were playfully mocking someone. the way your laugh made other girls laugh too, like they wanted to be in on the joke. like you were magnetic.

“do you think she knows how loved she is?” he said, still reverent, like he was talking about a pop star. “she has to,” suguru said. “you walk through campus with a face like that, dressed like a fucking godess, there’s no way you don’t know everyone’s watching.”

“she always smells good,” satoru whispered, like he’d uncovered a secret. “like… like vanilla and something expensive. i don’t even know what it is. something sweet and grown. it fucking lingers.” suguru huffed a soft laugh. “you sound insane.”

“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.”

“right, and she had those jeans on, the real low rise 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. untouchable. legendary. you made everything look intentional, curated, like your entire life was a highlight reel and even your fuckups came with glossy lighting and a custom filter.

“remember that time in the quad when she dropped her lip gloss?” suguru said suddenly, his voice low, almost nostalgic. “and that guy from her media theory class literally sprinted across the grass to pick it up for her?”

“he almost tripped over someone’s laptop,” satoru said, grinning. “she just laughed and called him a gentleman. i almost passed out.”

“i think he changed his major after that.”

“she’s a menace.”

“she’s a religion.”

suguru was one for delving into your god like standing, being as he studied religion and cults as a hobby. (see what i did there)

another beat of silence. suguru reached for satoru’s phone and swiped through your tagged photos now, which were even more chaotic than your feed. 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 pouting with perfect lips, arms toght around ieris 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 her best friend.”

“he doesn’t deserve her.”

“he’s cooler than us.”

“so is shoko.”

“so is maki.”

they both paused.

“yuki’s not,” they said in unison.

the boys snorted.

satoru’s leg was still bouncing. he was chewing the inside if his cheeke now, something he hadn’t done since freshman year calculus, the night before the midterm. he looked dazed, like he was seconds from declaring his undying love or jumping off the lecture hall balcony.

“what do you think she’d major in if she wasn’t doing fashion?” he asked, voice soft.

suguru didn’t even hesitate. “media. or journalism. something where everyone has to listen to her.”

“right,” satoru sighed. “she’d run a magazine. or like, start a podcast that goes viral. and then she’d interview celebrities and they’d fall in love with her. obviously.”

“she’s the main character,” suguru said, not for the first time. “she makes other people look blurry.”

“i’d pay her to bully me.”

“i’d pay her to just notice me.”

they both stared ahead, glassy-eyed, entranced, like worshippers at the altar. the professor was clicking through a powerpoint now. no one in the room was paying attention. no one except them, and it wasn’t even to the class. satoru sighed again. “she’s gonna ruin my life.”

“you’d let her.”

~

class ended in a blur.

satoru didn’t even register the final slide or whatever the professor said about the next assignment. he just stood up like he was waking from a dream, hoodie sleeves stretched over his hands, pupils still blown wide. suguru slung his bag over his shoulder as satoru joked about something or other, the two best friends falling into easy conversation.

and then they saw you.

you were at the end of the hall, posted against the lockers like you were starring in a movie. even the fluorescent lighting couldn’t make you look bad, if anything, it just made your skin glow warmer, your lip color glossier, the low-rise dip of your jeans even more criminal. your laugh rang out above the crowd, light and effortless, head tipped back, hand brushing your hair behind your ear like you didn’t even know the world was watching.

but you weren’t alone.

he was there, sukuna.

and god, he looked like a warning sign. like something out of a sex and violence cautionary tale. tall and cut like a knife, eyes heavy-lidded and mean, that cocky half-smirk on his face like he owned the place. like he owned you.

“fuck,” satoru muttered, ducking his head.

suguru didn’t speak. just stared, jaw tight, something ugly twisting behind his eyes.

sukuna had his hand on your waist. rings catching in the light. pinky grazing bare skin. possessive and lazy, like he was daring anyone to look. you leaned into it like it was natural. like it was yours. like it belonged.

satoru swallowed hard.

“he doesn’t deserve her,” he whispered, too quiet for anyone but suguru to hear.

“he cheats on her,” suguru muttered. “everyone knows it. shoko was telling me he was touching up some girl at a bar the other week right infront of her.”

(the two of them got all of their inside scoop from shoko, she was one of your best friends after all.)

“but she stays.”

“she laughs at his jokes.”

“she defends him.”

“she loves him,” suguru spat, like it physically hurt.

they both stood there in silence, letting the scene unfold in slow motion, sukuna murmuring something low against your ear, you rolling your eyes and hitting his chest playfully, him gripping your wrist and pulling you closer with that smug grin like he knew he could get away with anything. and maybe he could. because you let him. because you always let him.

satoru’s heart was pounding. not with jealousy, or not just jealousy. it was rage, helplessness, obsession. it was the primal ache of wanting to save you from someone who didn’t deserve your attention, much less your affection. he wanted to grab you by the shoulders and ask what you were doing. ask why you stayed. ask what you saw in him when you could have had the world.

when you could have had them.

“look at her,” suguru said again, his voice rough now. “she’s still smiling.”

“she smiles at everyone,” satoru mumbled.

“not like that.”

a beat passed. you tilted your head to say something, and sukuna’s hand slipped a little lower. satoru felt something short-circuit behind his eyes.

“he’s not even all that,” he said weakly.

“he’s objectively hot,” suguru corrected, bitter.

“okay, but he’s a dick.”

“he threatened that guy in line at the boba shop for ‘looking too long.’”

“he almost fought toji last week.”

“and he still gets to touch her.”

they watched in silence as sukuna leaned in and kissed your cheek. the corner of your mouth twitched, like maybe you didn’t love it. but then you grabbed his hand, and the moment was gone.you turned toward the hallway, eyes scanning lazily, and for a second, just a second, they caught yours. satoru stopped breathing.

your gaze swept over the crowd like you were barely registering it. and then it paused, 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.”

they turned and walked the other direction, hearts pounding, ears ringing, like they’d just survived a brush with a godess and came out unworthy.

~

you felt them before you saw them.

just for a moment, the faint prickle on the back of your neck, that sixth sense, like someone was watching. not in a creepy way. not entirely. more like a spotlight brushing over your skin. you glanced up, lazy, bored, your 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 and wore dark colors and always looked like they were thinking about something too complicated to say out loud. you knew who they were. obviously. not by name at first, but by vibe. the tall one with the white hair. the other one with the bun and the earrings. always together. always quiet. always staring.

they were looking at you now. or maybe through you.

you held their gaze for a beat too long. or maybe not long enough. your eyes flicked over them like flipping a page. like you hadn’t just felt something strange and bright bloom in your chest. like your stomach didn’t twist a little when the tall one blinked slow, mouth parted like he was afraid to breathe. and then you turned away.

“what?” sukuna asked, possessive already, voice low against your temple. “who was that?”

“no one,” you said quickly. “just some nerds.” he grunted, satisfied, and pressed a kiss to your cheek. it was wet and a little too loud. you smiled like you liked it.

~

his hand stayed on you the whole walk back to your dorm. you liked it when people looked. or you were supposed to. that was kind of the whole point, being seen with him. being claimed. being the girl everyone whispered about. it meant you were wanted. it meant you were interesting. it meant you were doing something right.

and sukuna was… a lot of things. hot. dangerous. magnetic. your friends all had different names for it, toxic, thrilling, psychotic, exciting. but he was never boring. never soft. always burning at the edges like he might ruin something if you got too close. you weren’t sure when that had started to feel like a good thing.

the dorm door clicked shut behind you and suddenly he was on you, hands hot and greedy, mouth already dragging over your neck like he needed to mark you. you let him. tilted your chin up and played along. giggled when he pushed you against the wall.

“missed you,” he said, already pulling at your top. “fuck, you look so hot in this.”

“you saw me this morning,” you said lightly, unbothered, even as your stomach curled tight.

“not enough,” he muttered, like he was doing you a favor.

he kissed you hard. messy. teeth clicking, hands everywhere. he tugged at your waistband and shoved you toward the bed. you went. you always did.

~

it felt good. in theory.

his body, the weight of him, the way he knew exactly where to touch, it should’ve been enough. you knew what this was supposed to feel like. the flushed skin and gasping breath and tangled sheets. the dizzy rush when he grabbed your thighs and hissed against your ear. the way he said your name like a curse. but your mind kept wandering.

you thought about how his hand always pressed too hard on your throat. how he never asked. how he got mean when you moan loud enough. how he always acted like he was the one doing something foryou. like you were lucky. like you should be grateful.

you thought about the way he said ‘mine’ like it was a threat. the way he got mad when you wore skirts without telling him. the way he snapped at choso. the way he hated to see you cry but never stopped doing the things that made you cry in the first place.

you didn’t moan. not really. you made sounds, but they felt empty. performative. like you were playing a role in something you didn’t write. he didn’t notice. he never did.

~

afterwards, you’re both sprawled across the bed, the heat between your bodies already fading, peeled away by the hum of the box fan in the corner. your dorm smells like sex and cigarette smoke, cheap jasmine incense half-burned in the tray by your desk. the sheets are twisted around your calves, his hand resting on your thigh like an afterthought. heavy. possessive. a warning, maybe.

you don’t move. not yet.

sukuna exhales slow, dragging smoke from the cigarette between his fingers, eyes flicking across your body like he’s still hungry. or maybe just checking to make sure you’re still there. still his. still quiet.

“you came, right?” he asks, flat.

you nod. you didn’t. not really. but he’s not looking at your face. he grunts, satisfied, and tosses the butt into an empty soda can on your nightstand. it hisses and dies. you watch the smoke curl.

his fingers squeeze your thigh once, almost as if to say, ‘good girl’. then he’s sitting up, rubbing a hand over his jaw, flexing his shoulders. still shirtless, tattoos shifting across his skin like they mean something. you’d thought they were cool, once. bold. hot, in a violent kind of way.

now they just look like warnings you ignored. “you’ve been weird lately,” he says suddenly. your heart skips. you roll onto your side, away from him, dragging the sheet higher.

“i’m tired,” you say.

“you’re always fucking tired.” he says it like an accusation. like it’s your fault for being drained. like he’s not the reason you keep losing sleep. the reason you fake smiles at parties. the reason you check your phone every ten minutes in case he’s texting something mean and calling it love.

he gets up. doesn’t bother with a shirt. just paces toward the mirror, checking his reflection like there’s something there he can control. you watch him from the corner of your eye. the way he adjusts his necklace. the way he wipes his thumb across his mouth, tugging the corner up in a smirk like he’s practicing it for someone else.

“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 off.” he doesn’t ask how you are. 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 version he likes. the one that pouts and kisses his jaw and laughs at his jokes and clings to his arm at kickbacks like a prize.

“i’m fine,” you say.

you’re not. you haven’t been. you don’t know when it started, that dull ache in your chest after he touches you. that knot of disappointment in your stomach when he says your name like a command. the way you dread his messages and crave them in the same breath. how he flips your moods inside out with a single emoji. how you get dressed based on whether or not he’ll approve. how you deleted that one photo choso took because sukuna said it made you look like you were trying too hard.

you used to feel chosen. now you just feel watched. “you’re not gonna start some shit, are you?” sukuna asks suddenly, voice sharp. “don’t be dramatic.” you blink. slow. “what are you talking about?” 

he turns around, eyes narrowed. “you always do this. pull back when things are good. look—i know i fucked up last weekend, okay? that bitch came onto me. i didn’t do shit.” you hadn’t brought it up. hadn’t said a word about the girl at the bar, the one with the hand on his chest and the way he smiled down at her like he didn’t know you were watching. but now he’s bringing it up. spinning it. making it yours.

you sit up slowly. your arms around your knees. the sheet clutched to your chest like armor. “i didn’t say anything about that,” you murmur.

“yeah, well, you’re thinking it. i can see it. i know how your brain works.” that’s the problem, isn’t it? he doesn’t know how your brain works. he only knows how to manage it. redirect it. drown it out.

he climbs back onto the bed, looming over you, caging you in with his arms. “don’t start being weird, babe,” he says, softer now. persuasive. his hand cups your jaw. thumb strokes your cheek. “you’re mine. yeah?”

you nod. a slow, reluctant thing. he kisses your forehead like it’s a reward. like he’s doing something tender. but your skin feels tight. you don’t want this anymore. but you don’t know what else there is.

he’s the one you said yes to. the one your friends warned you about. the one who made your heart race at first, all teeth and heat and recklessness. and there’s still a part of you that clings to that version of him. the sukuna who showed up at your dorm with flowers that one time. the one who beat the shit out of a guy for grabbing your ass. the one who called you dreamgirl under his breath at 3 a.m. when he thought you were asleep.

but now it feels like you’re shrinking around him. and maybe he doesn’t notice. or maybe he does, and likes it better this way. he lies back down, one arm slung over your waist, tugging you close. you let him. because it’s easier than fighting. because it’s easier than leaving.

but your eyes stay open. your thoughts drift.

you think about the quiet look from earlier. the ones in the hallway. the way the tall one blinked at you like you were something too bright to touch. the way the other one leaned in close, like he was listening. like he always listened.

you don’t know their names.

but you remember the way it made you feel. and for the first time, you wonder what it would be like to have someone touch you like they didn’t already think they owned you.

~

before you know it sukunas 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 problems rather than his girlfriend. you don’t know why that’s the part that makes your chest burn.

there’s a hollow ache in your ribs, the kind that feels like disappointment. and not the big kind, not betrayal or heartbreak. it’s the small kind. the kind you swallow until it piles up somewhere behind your lungs, quietly waiting to rot.

you sit up. the mirror on your vanity catches your reflection. smudged mascara. lipstick half-gone. your necklace twisted. you look like a girl who’s just been fucked and not in a good way. not in a way that means anything.

why do you keep letting him do this to you? you stare at your phone. then pick it up. then put it back down. then pick it up again and scroll to choso.

he picks up after two rings. “yo.”

“hey,” you say softly, curling your legs beneath you. “you busy?”

there’s a pause. a car in the background, maybe people talking. “nah. what’s up?”

“just…” you hesitate. the words feel too heavy. “i feel like shit.” another pause. then quieter,

“ryomen?”

you sigh.

“he’s such a dick,” choso mutters, 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 hate how your voice breaks a little. hate how you sound like someone who’s still hoping for tenderness. you hear choso inhale like he wants to say something cruel about sukuna but doesn’t want to kick you while you’re down.

“you should come to this thing tonight,” he says instead. casual, but not really. “at my place. just a few people. yuki’s coming. maybe shoko. i’ll roll for you.”you press your lips together. “sukuna’ll be there.”

“no,” he says simply. “he doesn’t know about it." that surprises you.

“what?” he adds dryly. “i’m allowed to throw a party without that asshole. you need to get out. please?” you hesitate again. your fingers dig into the blanket. you’re still bare beneath it.

“you can wear that matching set, the leopard print one,” choso adds. “the one that makes you look like sin.” you huff a laugh, despite yourself.

“fine,” you say. “i’ll come.” he hums like he knew you would. “i’ll text you the details. bring whoever you want.” you hang up and lay back again.

you don’t move for a while. just stare at the ceiling, wondering when sex started feeling like silence. like erasure. you touch your own wrist, thinking about how sukuna hadn’t. not really. he didn’t hold you after. didn’t ask if you were okay. you don’t even think he noticed when you turned your head away.

you get up, shower. dress slowly. the corset, just like choso said. your lipstick red this time. something meaner in the mirror now. something you like better.

~

meanwhile, satoru’s dorm smells like weed and expensive cologne.

his legs are folded on the bed, shirt clinging to his chest, socks mismatched. his glasses are halfway down his nose. suguru’s in the desk chair, sketchbook balanced on his thigh, pen flying. they’re both a little too high.

“her mouth,” satoru mumbles, flopped sideways like his spine doesn’t exist. “i swear to god, sugu. her mouth. it’s like—it’s like the curve of god’s palm.”

“which god?”

“any god.” suguru doesn’t respond. just keeps sketching. his tongue is tucked between his teeth in concentration. you, rendered in graphite: legs crossed, lips parted, looking somewhere over the viewer’s shoulder. suguru’s version of heaven.

“she posted a story earlier,” satoru continues, dreamy. “walking somewhere. her heels were clacking on pavement. i watched it six times.”

“ten,” suguru corrects.

“okay, ten. shut up.” suguru lets out a hum. the tip of his pencil darkens the outline of your jaw.

“sukuna doesn’t deserve her,” satoru says after a moment. “he’s such a fucking caveman.”

“he doesn’t even look at her like he sees her,” suguru murmurs. “just like something he’s already claimed.”

“she deserves to be worshipped.”

“she should be worshipped,” suguru echoes, voice low. “slowly. with hands and tongue and praise.”

satoru laughs, but it’s breathy. “you’re gonna make me hard again.”

“you’re always hard.”

“only for her.” they’re quiet for a moment. satoru grabs the lighter and takes another hit, eyes fluttering shut. 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.

“what do you think she’s doing right now?” satoru asks.

“existing. devastating the world.”

“wearing something cute,” satoru adds.

“touching her neck.”

“moaning, maybe,” suguru murmurs. “fuck,” satoru groans, grabbing a pillow and stuffing it over his face. “i need to go to the gym.”

suguru just keeps drawing. his phone buzzes against the desk. he glances down. then lifts it. “it’s choso.”

“ooh.” he picks up. “yeah?”

choso’s voice is clear. “yo. party at my place. you two should come.”suguru glances at satoru, who’s peeking from beneath the pillow. “who’s coming?” 

“yuki. maybe shoko. and, uh—” choso pauses. “y/n.” suguru’s grip on the phone tightens.

“she’s coming?” satoru mouths, sitting bolt upright.

“we’ll bring something,” suguru says, calm as ever. “see you soon.” he hangs up and closes the sketchbook. satoru is already scrambling for his hoodie. “pot?”

“obviously.”

“should i put on cologne or is that too much?”

“never too much.” satoru hesitates. “okay okay. the expensive 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.” they leave the dorm like they’re heading to the altar.

~

choso’s posted on the porch like he’s guarding something precious. hoodie up, hood eyes sharp. the usual quiet cool of him edged tonight with something more electric. his shoulders relax slightly when he sees them walking up the sidewalk, two tall silhouettes backlit by the streetlight haze, all confidence and casual blasphemy. satoru gets there first, grinning, 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 chill.

“gotta keep the freaks out,” choso mutters, glancing between the two of them. “and then i remember i invited you.”

suguru smiles slow, a corner curl of his mouth that feels like heat. he was dressed like a chanel model cross frat attire. black button up halfway open reveling his tribal tattooed chest. “and aren’t you glad you did?”

“jury’s out,” choso deadpans, but there’s a smirk there, hiding. satoru digs into his pocket and pulls out a tin of joints. “peace offering,” he says, flipping it open and offering it like a tray of macarons. “top shelf. rolled by virgins.”

“liar,” choso says, but he takes one.

“suguru packed ‘em. he’s got a surgeon’s hands,” satoru adds, with a suggestive little wiggle of his fingers. suguru doesn’t even look up.

“and the self-control of a monk,” suguru adds flatly.

“not the first time someone’s called you daddy,” choso mutters, lighting the joint with a quick flick. his eyes flick up through the smoke. “you gonna be cool in there?”

“we’re always cool,” satoru grins.

“that’s the problem,” choso says. “you two have a weird effect on people.” satoru leans in a little, like he’s telling a secret. “you mean a sexy effect.”

“i mean a weird one,” choso replies, exhaling. “but yeah. that too.” suguru chuckles, low and dry. “we’re on our best behavior.”

“that your best?” choso gestures to suguru’s half-open shirt. “jesus.”

“he wasn’t invited,” suguru shrugs, brushing past him with the confidence of someone who doesn’t care if god watches.

choso watches him walk inside, then glances at satoru. “you seriously still into her?” satoru’s grin falters for a second, then smooths back over. “we’re not into her,” he says. “we worship her.”

“same difference,” choso says, and takes another drag.

inside, the air is warm and thrumming. satoru and suguru move like a current through the crowd, all glances and gravitational pull. girls glance. guys glance. no one says anything.

they find a couch in the corner. low, stained corduroy, good for people-watching. suguru takes the end, ankle resting over his knee, posture open and loose. satoru slouches beside him, long limbs draped in studied disarray, finger idly tapping his phone screen but not looking at it.

the music’s just loud enough to feel like it’s inside your ribs.

that’s when they notice toji. he’s posted near the kitchen, leaning against the frame like the house belongs to him, dressed in black on black on black. he doesn’t smile, doesn’t blink, just watches them watching him.

satoru lifts two fingers in lazy salute.

“toji,” he calls.

toji raises his cup in acknowledgment, barely.

“you look like you’ve already committed a felony tonight,” suguru murmurs, amused.

toji’s voice cuts across the room. “what’d you bring?”

“weed,” satoru answers, grinning. “and each other.”

“figured,” toji mutters. he takes a sip from his cup, then adds, “she’s here.”

they both go still.

“when?” suguru asks.

“just walked in,” toji says. “looked abit sad.”

“fuck,” satoru mutters, already scanning the crowd.

“and sukuna?” suguru asks.

toji’s mouth twists. “haven’t seen him.”

“good,” satoru says, teeth flashing. toji watches them for another beat. “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. “you feel that?”

“yeah,” suguru says. “she’s close.” they don’t move from the couch. they just wait.

and when you walk in, all gloss and godlight, eyes scanning the crowd like you’re above it, they see you before you see them. satoru breathes your name like a prayer. suguru doesn’t say anything. his hands are already itching for a pen, wanting to capture this moment in his own depiction. 

you looked perfect. 

that’s all satoru can think, half-baked and half-crazy, watching you from across the room like you’re the moon and he’s never seen the night before. the party bends around you, color and noise and heat, all orbiting the shine of your smile, 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.

he’s not breathing right. he knows it. keeps inhaling too deep, too slow, then holding it like he’s trying to trap the moment inside his lungs. “fuck,” he mutters, voice low, “she’s unreal tonight.”

suguru’s sketching. he’s been sketching since he saw you cunty skirt, fuck-me heels, glossed lips. his fingers move without looking. he’s not drawing the room. he’s drawing you, always you, even if it’s just fragments. a line of your collarbone. the curve of your wrist. the shadow under your jaw.

“she’s wearing that perfume again,” suguru says, voice barely audible under the music. “you can smell her from here?” satoru asks, a little manic. “no,” suguru replies. “i just know.”

they’re stoned, yeah, but it’s the kind of high that sharpens things instead of dulling them. the kind that makes your mouth dry and your stomach hollow and your hands twitch when you see something you want but can’t touch.

you’re surrounded, of course. toji was right, everyone wants a piece of you. you’re draped in limbs and conversation, smiling too brightly, sipping from someone else’s cup. yuki’s arm around your waist, maki’s laughing near your shoulder, shoko leaning in close to murmur something that makes you roll your eyes but grin anyway. you flick your hair over one shoulder and satoru almost chokes.

“she’s touching everyone,” he says. “she’s allowed to,” suguru replies, tone even. “yeah, but—”

“but you want it to be us.” satoru doesn’t respond. just takes another slow drag from the joint suguru passed him and exhales like it hurts.

“god,” he says, “look at her.”

and they do. you dance. just a little. barely anything. just the sway of your hips to the bassline, the subtle twist of your mouth like you know you’re being watched. suguru swallows hard. satoru adjusts his glasses even though they’re not slipping.

“i’d ruin her,” satoru says softly.

“you’d fall apart first,” suguru murmurs.

then — choso. he slips behind you like a shadow and you lean back into him without hesitation, head tilting toward his shoulder, hand coming up to curl around his wrist like it’s a habit. your fingers brush the hem of his sleeve and satoru twitches.

“what the fuck,” satoru mutters.

“best friends,” suguru says. “remember?”

choso says something and you laugh, a real one this time, bright and loose and open. he looks smug. affectionate, even. he wraps an arm around your waist and you don’t move away. satoru makes a strangled noise.

“calm down,” suguru says, though his voice is tighter now, his pen paused mid-line. then, your eyes flick across the room. you see them, just for a second, you see them.

satoru feels it like a physical thing. the way your gaze lands on him, then suguru, then both of them at once. your lashes flicker. your expression doesn’t change much, just a soft, almost curious look. and then choso follows your gaze, too, and—

fuck.

he smirks.

he says something to you, and then starts walking toward them, still holding your waist, guiding you through the party like he’s bringing you home. satoru’s heart’s doing something weird. stuttering. flipping. maybe dying. suguru just closes his sketchbook, slow and deliberate, then sets it beside him.

“play it cool,” he murmurs.

satoru nods. “cool,” he says, voice too high.

“lower your shoulders,” suguru adds.

“right.”

“stop bouncing your leg.”

“fuck.”

you stop in front of them like a vision. choso grins. “you two remember how to say hi to a girl or do i have to teach you?”

“i—uh,” satoru blinks, then recovers, barely. “hi. you smile at him, sweet and a little amused. your perfume is real now, no longer imagined — floral and sugary with something darker underneath. it curls around him, dizzying.

“hi,” you say, and your voice is warm and clear.

“this is satoru,” choso says, gesturing lazily. “he’s a science freak. thinks weed makes him smarter.”

“it does,” satoru replies instantly. “scientifically.”

“and this is suguru,” choso continues, looking at him with a smirk. “he’s a total stoner but he sketches like he’s possessed. probably has a hundred drawings of you already.” suguru raises his brows. “don’t tell her that.” you glance at him, tilting your head. “do you?”

he meets your eyes without flinching. “maybe. you laugh, light and glittery, and satoru feels it in his chest. “you’re choso’s friends?” you ask, looking between them.

“classmates,” suguru says. “co-conspirators,” satoru adds. “puff buddy’s ,” choso supplies. you smile again. “i’m a media comms major,” you say. “minoring in fashion marketing.”

“we know,” satoru blurts, then catches himself. “i mean, cool. that’s cool.”

you raise a brow. “you guys stalking my linkedin or something?”

“instagram,” suguru says, unapologetic.

“jesus,” choso mutters. but you laugh again, like it’s funny, like you don’t mind. you twirl a piece of hair around your finger. “you guys gonna just sit here all night?”

“we’re observing,” suguru says. “we’re patient,” satoru echoes, gaze dragging over your legs.

“you’re freaks,” choso says fondly. and you just smile like you’re not even a little surprised. like maybe you knew.

“good,” you say. “i like freaks.” and satoru’s entire brain short-circuits. you sit beside them like you belong there. choso drops down first, legs spread, 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 stoners like you do for fun?”

“this,” satoru says. “and this,” suguru murmurs, tapping his sketchbook. “and this,” choso adds, leaning back on his palms while you flick ash into a half-empty red cup. you glance over at suguru. “are you really drawing me?” he doesn’t answer at first, just looks at you, lazy and direct. then flips open the sketchbook, turns it toward you, and holds it still.

your face. your neck. the fall of your hair. the bow of your mouth. all charcoal and smudge and obsession, haunting and soft.

you blink. then smile.

“that’s kinda insane,” you murmur.

“he’s kinda insane,” satoru says.

“takes one to know one,” you reply, not looking away from suguru.

his voice is low. “you mind?”

you glance at him, then satoru, then choso, who just shrugs like he’s used to this kind of attention orbiting you.

“nah,” you say. “i think it’s sexy.”

satoru makes a tiny sound in the back of his throat. suguru just hums and flips to a fresh page.

your eyes flick to satoru next. “and you? theoretical physics, right? what do you actually do?”

“i… read things. i think about time a lot.”

you blink. “time?”

“yeah, like, the concept of it. what it means that we experience things in sequence. how we know we’re not dreaming.”

you stare at him for a second. then grin, a slow, wicked thing.

“you are so weird.”

“yeah,” he says, breathless, “i know.”

you pass the joint back to choso. he takes a drag, then hands it to suguru. your fingers brush, the moment stretches.

you’re high, but not stupid. not numb. you feel every shift in the air, satoru’s stare, suguru’s gaze dropping to your legs, the way their postures have changed now that you’re here. you’re used to attention, but not like this. theirs feels… different. more intense. more sacred. more dangerous.

they’re not flirting.they’re studying.

choso slings an arm behind you, tapping your shoulder with two fingers. “you good?”

“mmhm,” you hum, leaning into his touch. “they’re fun.”

“told you.”

“you didn’t tell me they were hot,” you murmur.

satoru hears it. his breath hitches.

“you guys live on campus?” you ask them, eyes lazy, lips glossy.

“dorms,” satoru says. “it’s gross.”

“you wanna see gross,” suguru adds, “check his mini fridge.”

“hey,” satoru mutters. “that’s personal.”

“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.”

“it’s practical,” suguru replies.

“it’s hot,” you say again.

satoru makes another strangled sound and takes a very large hit.

you’re lounging now, fully relaxed, toe tracing the edge of suguru’s shoe, your thigh still brushing choso’s. the couch is small, the room buzzing, and the weed makes everything soft and hazy, except for them. they’re sharp in the haze. focused. real.

you tilt your head toward suguru. “what’s your favorite book?”

he pauses. “i’m not saying.”

“why not?”

“you’ll make fun of me.”

“probably."

he looks at you. “it’s the bell jar.”

you raise a brow. “really?”

“really.”

“that’s cute.”

satoru chokes.

“you okay?” you ask, not even trying to hide the smile curling on your lips.

“fine,” he wheezes. “i’m fine.”

you tap his knee gently, fingertips lingering. “what about you? what’s your favorite equation?”

he blinks. “i—uh—”

“yeah, you have to answer now.”

“schrödinger’s equation.”

“do you actually understand it or are you just saying that to sound hot?”

“both?”

you giggle. it’s automatic. light. sincere.

“you’re weird,” you say again.

“so are you,” satoru says.

“that’s why i like you.”

the room pulses. something shifts.

suguru’s still sketching, but slower now. his eyes on you between strokes, his jaw tight. satoru’s glassy-eyed and flushed, glasses slipping a little, shirt collar rumpled. choso is exhaling smoke toward the ceiling, but even he’s quieter now, just watching the way you look between them, curious, amused, glowing.

you’re not touching either of them, not really. but you may as well be sitting in their laps with the way your presence has unraveled them.

and you know it.

“i think i like this party,” you murmur.

“yeah,” suguru says, voice low, “me too.”

you’re still smiling when you say it, but something in your eyes shifts, gleams. not a sparkle. not a flutter. a glint. something sharp. calculated. choso sees it first, of course. he knows you too well. his fingers drum a rhythm against your shoulder, twice, then disappear like he’s giving you space. or permission.

“i’m gonna go grab a drink,” he says, voice low but laced with amusement. he pushes up from the couch, eyes flicking from you to them, and back again. a knowing smirk curls his mouth. “don’t burn anything down while i’m gone.”

you hum, like the idea pleases you. “no promises.”

and just like that, you’re alone.

suddenly, the room is too small. the party noise blurs to static, the laughter and clinking glasses and music all fading into a low, irrelevant hum. in this corner of the couch, there’s only you and them, two boys who have been watching you for months like they were starving for something they weren’t allowed to taste. two boys who’ve memorized your Instagram captions, who can recognize your perfume from a room away, who have notebooks filled with your face.

the shift is instant. palpable. electric.

satoru’s legs slide wider, a subtle but instinctive thing, his jeans pulling taut at the knees. his fingers curl slightly where they rest, like he’s trying to ground himself, but he’s buzzing, like every neuron is misfiring, every inch of skin alive and stinging. suguru’s hand stills entirely on the sketchpad in his lap. the pencil halts mid-line. he’s not even pretending anymore. both of them are looking at you, no buffer, no distraction, just their full, undivided attention. it feels like something tectonic.

your eyes flick between them. your lip twitches. “you guys always this intense?”

your voice is low. smooth. velvet, dipped in wine and layered in implication.

satoru blinks like you’ve slapped him. “uh. i—”

“yes,” suguru says.

your laugh is soft, throaty. indulgent. “good.”

satoru feels it everywhere. in his stomach, in his chest, in his fucking throat. like you’ve reached inside him and stroked something raw.

you lean forward, casually, like you’re stretching, but it’s measured. intentional. your bare thigh brushes suguru’s, the warmth of your skin dragging slow across denim. he doesn’t flinch. doesn’t even breathe. and neither do you.

your gaze drifts down toward the sketchbook in suguru’s lap, the half-drawn lines of your jaw and shoulder and smile etched in graphite. “you always draw girls you wanna fuck?”

suguru’s mouth parts just slightly. but his voice, when it comes, is steady. “no.”

you turn your head. just a little. just enough. “just me?”

there’s a flicker in his eyes, something ancient, something aching. his throat bobs. “yeah,” he says. barely a whisper. “just you.”

you hum again, pleased. your lips part, just slightly, and satoru can feel the blood pounding in his ears. you look at him next. slowly. deliberately. your eyes slide over his face like you’re dissecting it. like you’re hunting.

and you say, “what about you, satoru?”

he blinks, trying to reboot his brain. “what about me?”

you tilt your head. smile like you already know the answer. “you wanna have me too?”

satoru thinks this might be the moment he dies.

his pulse spikes, eyes wide, mouth open and dry. he tries to speak but forgets how. “uh—yeah? i mean. yes.”

you bite your lip, like you’re suppressing a smile.

he thinks you look like a movie scene. soft lighting. forbidden touch. the thing that ruins him.

“okay,” you say, and it’s devastating. because you say it like it’s no big deal. like it’s an everyday occurrence. like it doesn’t mean the whole world just cracked open.

his whole body is buzzing. blood is flooding lower, heavy and hard, and he shifts like it’ll help, it doesn’t. suguru is dead silent beside him, but satoru sees the way his jaw flexes, the tight grip of his fingers curled around the edge of the sketchbook. like he’s holding onto it just to keep from reaching for you.

your thigh is still against suguru’s. your knee touches his now too, and it’s like you’re testing pressure points. your eyes drag between them, slow, lascivious. you lean in slightly, and your voice drops.

“you ever think about what it’d be like?” you murmur. “taking me apart together?”

satoru nearly chokes.

suguru’s nostrils flare. his eyes are pitch black, fixed on your mouth like it’s the only thing that matters.

you go on, like you don’t notice. like you don’t care. “which one of you would start,” you murmur, “and which one would finish.”

your hand ghosts over your own knee as you speak, casual and slow, fingers brushing the bare skin there. suguru’s eyes follow the motion like it’s life or death. satoru thinks he might spontaneously combust.

“you’d take turns, right?” you ask, quiet and curious. “be nice to me?”

satoru makes a sound, not even a word, just a soft, helpless exhale. suguru’s knuckles go white on the page.

your eyes flutter half-lidded. “or maybe not.”

and now their heads are filled with images they’ve only let themselves fantasize 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. can’t.

and still, through the thick syrup of want, you feel it: the sting of guilt. you’re not drunk. abit high. just reckless, and sharp, and aching. and it hits you in the gut for a moment, the memory of sukuna’s hands on your waist just yesterday, the way he grunted when he finished, the way he didn’t kiss you after. didn’t look you in the eye. just zipped up, muttered something, and left. the silence of your bedroom after. the hollow echo of your own heartbeat.

you think of all the nights you cried over him. all the times you begged. all the times you forgave him just to feel wanted.

and you think of last weekend.

the texts you saw. the girl from his seminar with the tan lines and acrylics. her voice on speakerphone, laughing about how sukuna “hates condoms.”

you inhale. sharp. shallow.

then you exhale.

“fuck it,” you whisper. not to them. to yourself.

your fingers trail slow, suguru’s chest first, where the cotton of his shirt clings faintly to the muscles beneath, then over to satoru’s thigh, warm through his jeans. your touch is gentle, exploratory. like a whisper of intention. but the weight of it lands like thunder.

suguru exhales through his nose, the sound low and sharp. his whole body’s gone tense, rigid beneath your hand, like he’s trying to suppress some ancient instinct. satoru’s leg jumps under your palm. his eyes are wide, his breath shallow, and you can feel the way he’s looking at you , like he’s been dreaming of this exact moment for years and now it’s finally arrived, he’s too stunned to survive it.

and then you’re moving, slowly, languidly, like you’re underwater. like this couch is the center of the universe and gravity only bends for you. you shift up onto your knees, both hands now in motion, one sliding up suguru’s chest to his collarbone, the other curling around satoru’s jaw. he stares at you like he’s drowning. like he wants to drown.

“jesus christ,” satoru whispers.

you lean in. suguru’s breath ghosts over your cheek as you press your lips to satoru’s first, soft and warm and teasing. not a kiss, not really. just the suggestion of one. and then, with a slow turn of your head, you kiss suguru.

his lips part immediately, almost startled. he meets you halfway, eyes fluttering shut, mouth slow and reverent against yours like he’s praying. his hand rises, brushes your waist, stops. he doesn’t pull you in — not yet. not unless you want it.

you do.

so you kiss him deeper, one hand gripping his shirt, the other sliding up into satoru’s hair. and suddenly they’re both touching you, tentative at first, like they can’t believe it’s real, like they expect to wake up in a cold sweat. satoru’s hand finds your waist, fingers trembling slightly as they spread, as if to hold you still. suguru’s palm settles low on your back, broad and warm. grounding.

you pull back for air, lips kiss-bruised, and satoru’s chasing you before he even knows it, a needy, gasping thing. your mouths meet messily this time. breathless. hungry. 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.

you’re surrounded. heat, limbs, breath, the deep undercurrent of want that pulses between you in waves. your lipstick is smudged. your mascara’s probably smeared. suguru’s sketchpad lies discarded on the carpet, forgotten. satoru’s pupils are blown so wide they look bottomless.

and god, god, they want you.

you feel it in the way their hands tighten, in the slow rhythm of their mouths against your skin, in the press of suguru’s fingers at your hip and the way satoru’s jaw tenses when you grind just slightly against him. it’s electric. it’s suffocating. it’s perfect—

until the fear hits.

not like a slap. not like a scream. just a shift a flicker at the edge of your mind, subtle but insistent.

your eyes open, just barely. a quick sweep of the room.

and that’s when you see them.

phones.

not aimed at you, not really. just everywhere. in hands, on laps, on tables. camera lenses you can’t see. 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 it.

not like this.

not when there’s a chance he could see it.

sukuna, in his shitty apartment. sukuna, shirtless and smug, scrolling through snaps sent by girls you don’t even know. sukuna, watching a video of you pressed between two boys, the wrong boys, with a cruel little scowl on his face, fuming.

the bile rises. you swallow it.

and then you move.

you pull back, gentle but firm, pressing your palms to their chests. their mouths chase yours, dazed and breathless, but you hush them with a kiss to the corner of suguru’s lips, a brush of your fingers down satoru’s jaw.

“not here,” you murmur, voice low and velvet again, but with an edge of purpose now. “come on.”

you slide off the couch and tug your dress into place, checking over your shoulder once ,a coy smile, a flick of your lashes. suguru’s already standing. satoru fumbles with his belt.

“where are we—?”

“upstairs.”

you don’t wait for them to follow. you know they will.

the hallway is narrow. the party fades behind you, music muffled. the lights are dimmer here. more intimate. like the world’s finally shrinking to just you again. your pulse pounds as you slip toward the stairs, heels clicking slow. deliberate. like you’re giving them a show. and behind you, you hear them. footfalls. breath. whispered curses.

“jesus, fuck,” satoru mutters under his breath. “what is even happening—”

“this is a fucking dream,” suguru says. “if it’ is, don’t wake me.”

you reach the landing. pause.

and choso is standing in the hallway, shoulder against the wall, a half-empty bottle of water in his hand. like he’s been waiting.

you meet his gaze.

his eyes flick over your body, the smear of gloss on your chin, the flushed heat of your cheeks, the soft puff of your breath.

he sees everything. knows everything.

but he doesn’t judge.

his gaze flicks behind you, briefly, to where satoru and suguru have stopped at the top of the stairs, awkward and uncertain, like they’re not sure if they’re intruding or dreaming or about to be arrested. choso arches a brow.

you step close, just enough for him to hear you over the thump of the bass.

“can i use your room, cho?” you murmur. your tone is sweet, light, but underneath it there’s steel. and he hears it. hears the venom you’re trying to burn out. the rage. the heartbreak. the fuck-you of it all.

he studies you.

then exhales through his nose. “door locks.”

you smile, soft, grateful. your fingers brush his wrist as you pass.

he doesn’t stop you.

doesn’t stop them either.

just mutters, low and dry, “don’t mess up my pillows.”

you reach the door. push it open. gesture them inside.

they follow. obedient. entranced. yours.

satoru closes the door behind you with trembling fingers.

it clicks shut like a secret, like a promise.

the room is quiet except for the muffled pulse of the party below and your own thudding heart. soft lamplight glows amber across the sheets, and when you turn, they’re both just standing there, staring at you like they’ve forgotten how to breathe.

satoru’s flushed. messy. pink creeping high on his cheeks, his lips parted and wet. suguru’s still and sharp-edged beside him, jaw tight, eyes dark. his chest rises slow and controlled, like he’s barely holding himself together.

they’re both so fucking beautiful you want to cry.

and they’re looking at you like you’re the only thing that’s ever mattered.

you take a shaky step back toward the bed.

and they follow.

they don’t rush. don’t fumble. just come closer like gravity’s dragging them to you. like they’ve been waiting a lifetime for this moment and they’d die before wasting it.

“is this okay?” suguru asks, voice low and quiet, already brushing his fingers along the hem of your skirt. “we’ll stop if—”

“yes,” you breathe. “please.”

and satoru makes a sound, high, sweet, desperate, like your permission broke something in him.

their hands start slow.

soft.

satoru’s knuckles skim under the hem of your top, fingertips feathering over the skin just above your waistband. suguru stands behind you, undoing the clasp of your bra with a deftness that makes your breath hitch, his mouth grazing your shoulder as the straps fall loose down your arms.

they undress you like they’re unwrapping something precious.

like they’ve imagined this a thousand different ways and now that it’s happening, they’re afraid they’ll wake up.

your top comes off. then your bra. then suguru’s hands slide down your sides to unzip your skirt, and it pools around your ankles in a whisper. 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 awe, and he doesn’t even try to hide the way he stares.

like your body is something divine.

like you’re not real.

then suguru turns you gently, his hand curling under your chin to tilt your face toward his. he kisses you slow, deliberate, and when he pulls back, you’re trembling.

they guide you to the bed.

choso’s sheets are soft and rumpled beneath your thighs as they ease you down, laying you back like something fragile, something holy. satoru kneels beside you, suguru leans over you, and then they start undressing.

your breath catches.

because god—they’re unreal.

suguru shrugs off his sweater first, the hem dragging over his sharp waist, revealing smooth, pale skin and lean lines of muscle traced with soft hair. he’s covered in little scars, faint, old things, like he’s lived a hundred lives just to get here. you can’t look away tribal tattoos curb around his chest as it flex's as he moves.

satoru pulls off his sweater in one messy sweep, ruffling his snowy hair and leaving it even more wild. his t-shirt comes next, and it clings for a second to his chest, lifting high enough for you to see the soft curve of his stomach, the carved dip of his hips. he’s all long limbs and lean definition, built like something elegant and a little unhinged.

you stare.

and they know you’re staring.

satoru flushes pink under the attention. bites his lip. his hands are shaking again as he peels off his jeans, and when you glance down, you see he’s already hard.

suguru’s slower, more deliberate, keeping his eyes on you the whole time as he undoes his belt and pushes down his slacks, the sharp snap of leather making your thighs clench.

and then they’re both kneeling at the foot of the bed, fully undressed, looking at you like you’re some kind of miracle.

like you’re something they’ve only ever dreamed of.

“you’re…” satoru starts, voice cracking. “you’re so—fuck, you’re perfect—”

“she’s shaking,” suguru murmurs, eyes trailing up your bare legs. “we should go slow.”

“y-yeah,” satoru says, crawling closer. “yeah. slow. gentle. she deserves…”

he swallows.

“everything.”

and when they lay you back again, when they open your thighs with trembling hands and reverent mouths, you feel it in your bones.

this is not sukuna.

this is not cold hands and colder eyes.

this is not being used, this is worship, and it’s only just beginning.

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. always selfish. he’d shove your knees apart without looking you in the eye, fuck you hard and fast like he was trying to win something. always left you cold after. empty.

never kissed you when it was over. never stayed.

and even when he did, when he lingered, when his voice went sweet and slow and his hand curved around your cheek — it was a manipulation. a performance. something rehearsed to keep you docile.

you always knew that.

but you wanted so badly to believe otherwise.

so you let yourself be used. again and again. hoping one day he’d see you, really see you — want you like more than just a convenience. you let him call you baby, even when it sounded hollow. you let him lie.

and now? now, there’s this.

satoru’s tongue is trembling in your cunt like he’s going to cry from how good you taste.

he’s murmuring your name like it’s sacred, wet lips dragging sloppy kisses over your folds, his moans humming against your clit. he sounds wrecked. ruined. unworthy.

and suguru, he’s watching like a man starved. his hand slides over your stomach, reverent, tracing circles against your skin as he holds you still for satoru’s mouth. every movement is gentle. 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 voice is raw.

he licks through your folds with a helpless rhythm, messy and eager, and his hands are gripping your thighs like he’s terrified you’ll disappear. his glasses are long gone. his eyes are glazed. his mouth is glistening with you.

and you can barely breathe.

you’re crying. not loud, not messy — just quiet, stuttering tears. and it’s not from the orgasm building in your spine. it’s from how they’re looking at you.

like you’re holy.

suguru leans in, kisses your cheek. “you okay, sweetheart?”

you nod. barely. “i just—he never—”

your voice cracks.

you don’t finish the sentence. don’t need to.

because they know. they know.

satoru’s pace falters, just a little. suguru’s fingers flex on your waist.

“he didn’t deserve you,” suguru says, so low it’s almost a growl. “he didn’t even fucking see you.”

you turn your head and sob once — small and sharp.

and then you come.

hard.

satoru groans like he’s the one unraveling, 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 arms, kissing your eyelids, your jaw, your throat. murmuring soft, incoherent things against your skin.

you blink up at him. flushed. dazed. sore.

“you wanna stop?” he asks, voice quiet.

and you say no.

no, you don’t want to stop.

you want to be held. ruined. rebuilt.

you want them to drown out everything he left behind.

so suguru fucks you slow.

deep.

he guides you onto your back, one hand cradling your jaw, 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. just presses, slow and deliberate, until he’s buried inside you to the hilt and your walls are fluttering around him.

you gasp. whimper.

and he moans.

“fuck,” he breathes, forehead pressed to yours. “you’re—so tight—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 does.

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 little sounds out of you.

you cling to him.

you whimper his name.

“please,” you gasp. “please—don’t stop—don’t leave—”

and he kisses you so soft it makes you ache.

“never,” he says.

then: “he didn’t deserve your body. or your heart.”

then: “we’ll take better care of you.”

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.

because something inside you is shattering and growing back stronger.

satoru straddles your chest, his cock heavy on your lips, and you open for him, 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.

he chokes on a groan.

his fingers curl in your hair as he starts to fuck your mouth, soft at first, tentative, like he’s afraid he’ll hurt you, but you whimper and gag and grip his thigh, and he loses it.

starts moving faster.

deeper.

the wet sounds of your mouth around him mix with the slap of suguru’s hips against yours.

you’re being worshipped. consumed. you can’t speak, can’t even think — you’re just feeling, a vessel for their reverence, full of their hands and cocks and love.

because that’s what it is.

twisted and breathless and bruising, but it’s love.

not possession. not violence.

just two boys who’ve been obsessed with you for years, who would rather die than see you cry over him 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.

they don’t move for a while.

just lay there.

tangled with you.

your mouth swollen. your thighs trembling. your skin sticky and flushed and raw.

and when suguru kisses your temple, and satoru strokes your cheek, they don’t say anything.

they don’t have to.

because this was never just about sex.

this was about undoing every piece of damage he left behind.

and you think, maybe this is what it feels like to be loved right.

~

you’re asleep before either of them can speak.

curled between them in the tangle of choso’s sheets, one leg tossed over suguru’s thigh, your cheek pressed to satoru’s chest. your breaths are soft. slow. steady. like you’ve never slept better. like you were meant to end up right here, with both of them wrapped around you like a secret.

satoru doesn’t move. doesn’t even blink. he just stares down at you, stunned.

“she’s asleep,” he whispers, like it’s a confession.

“mm,” suguru hums beside him. “out cold.”

they’re both quiet for a moment. reverent. the air still smells like sweat and skin and sex, still thick with it, heavy like honey. your perfume is smeared all over their bodies, suguru’s neck, satoru’s chest, the crook of your own thighs, and neither of them want to wash it off. ever.

satoru breathes out a disbelieving laugh. “holy shit.”

suguru smiles slowly. “yeah.”

“i mean,” satoru says, voice still hushed, “did that actually just happen?”

he looks at you again. at your bare shoulder rising and falling. the way your lashes kiss your cheeks. your hand is curled into his shirt like you’re holding onto him in your sleep.

he swallows. “fuck, man.”

suguru’s hand rests lightly on the curve of your hip, his fingers tracing soft patterns over your skin, like he can’t stop touching you even now. “she was unreal.”

“she was perfect,” satoru says.

suguru glances at him. “you almost cried.”

“you did cry.”

“i did not.”

“you sniffled.”

“you made a noise like a dying cat.”

satoru flushes, but he’s grinning. dazed. dizzy. “she kept looking at me like she, like she wanted me.”

“she did,” suguru murmurs. “you saw the way she touched you.”

“yeah, but—”

“and kissed you.”

satoru’s chest rises. “i know.”

his hand slides carefully up your spine, slow and barely-there, fingertips ghosting over the delicate dip between your shoulder blades. you shift slightly in your sleep, a soft murmur, your brow twitching, and both of them freeze like they’ve been caught. but you don’t wake. just sigh, sweet and content, pressing closer into the warm stretch of their bodies.

suguru watches you like he’s studying 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.”

they fall quiet again. the kind of silence that aches.

“it was better,” suguru says, voice hoarse.

“so much better.”

satoru tips his head back against the headboard, eyes wide, staring at the ceiling like it might tell him what the fuck just happened. “her mouth, dude.”

“i know.”

“her mouth—”

“i know.”

“—the way she looked up at me when she—”

“i was there.”

“—like i was the only thing she wanted. like—like she needed it.”

suguru’s throat bobs. “she did.”

satoru looks at you again, then over to him. “you were hot.”

suguru raises a brow. “i know.”

“seriously,” satoru mutters. “like. fuck. the way you were talking to her.”

suguru smirks faintly, still watching your face. “you weren’t so bad yourself.”

“thanks.”

“you begged.”

“shut up.”

but he doesn’t mean it, he’s still smiling, too soft, too warm. like he’s been gutted and put back together wrong. he’s never felt this high without being high. never felt this much all at once, like his chest might split open from the pressure of it.

“she wanted both of us,” satoru whispers. “at the same time.”

“i know.”

“she asked for it.”

“satoru.”

“what?”

“i think i’d kill someone if she asked me to.”

satoru stares at him.

suguru doesn’t blink.

“oh,” satoru says. “same.”

your leg shifts where it’s draped over suguru’s hip, the line of your thigh brushing his stomach, and he draws in a slow breath through his nose. “i thought she was gonna change her mind,” he murmurs. “when she stopped on the couch. when she looked toward the hallway. i thought she’d get scared.”

“she did get scared,” satoru says, softer now. “she just… kept going anyway.”

suguru’s brows draw together. “she wanted to get caught.”

“no,” satoru says. “she wanted to stop feeling caught.”

they both fall quiet again. this time, the silence is heavier. sharper.

because they know what he means. they saw it. they saw the way your voice trembled when you first invited them back. the way you hesitated in the doorway. the way your fingers twitched when you reached for the light. and they saw what happened next, how fast it changed. how quickly you went from nervous to ravenous. from soft to feral. like something broke inside you, and everything that came out was need.

satoru’s voice is low. “he never touched her like that.”

suguru’s jaw clenches. “no. he didn’t.”

“he didn’t deserve to.”

“he still doesn’t.”

they look at you again. your parted lips. the swell of your chest. the faint red marks that still linger where their hands were, where their mouths pressed. you wear them like proof.

satoru brushes a knuckle along your temple. “she let us see all of her.”

suguru nods.

“she let us touch all of her.”

another nod.

satoru breathes out a laugh. “she used to walk past me in the quad and i’d forget my name.”

“i used to sketch her from memory for hours.”

“i jacked off to her tagged photos like three nights ago.”

suguru’s eyes narrow. “which ones?”

“the one where she’s at that rooftop bar with yuki.”

“oh,” suguru says thoughtfully. “the one with the strappy black dress?”

“yes.” satoru closes his eyes, like he can still see it. “she sat on my face and it was better than anything i ever imagined.”

suguru hums. “she clenched so hard on my cock, i thought i was gonna die.”

they both fall silent again, looking down at you. how peaceful you are. how easy you breathe. like nothing hurts. like nothing ever did.

“we made her forget,” suguru says.

satoru nods. “for once.”

“we gave her something good.”

“we were good.”

he says it with quiet awe. like he can’t believe it either. like he still half-expects someone to barge in and rip this away from him, a prank, a punishment, a dream with a cruel ending. but you’re still here. still sleeping soundly in the cradle of their arms, safe and spent and stunning.

“she deserves it,” suguru murmurs.

“yeah,” satoru says. “she deserves everything.”

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’re never getting rid of it.

and neither of them want to.

~

the door creaks open just after two.

neither of them hear it at first, too wrapped up in the silence, too busy memorizing the shape of your body against theirs, like it might disappear if they blink too long. suguru is still tracing slow, absentminded patterns against your hipbone. satoru’s fingers are threaded loosely through your hair.

then: the familiar scuff of boots across hardwood.

choso leans into the doorway with a lazy tilt to his posture, expression unreadable. he stares for a moment. just stares. takes in the tangle of limbs and flushed skin and wrinkled sheets. your bare back. your peaceful breathing.

“hey.”

satoru flinches like he’s been electrocuted.

“jesus—!”

“shhh.” choso raises a brow, tone dry. “you’ll wake her.”

suguru doesn’t move. just lifts his eyes slowly toward the doorway, mouth tight. “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. i’m not pissed off it anutning.”

“you’re not?”

choso shrugs. “i let you guys come up.”

satoru looks at him. “so you’re not… gonna kill us?”

choso snorts. “nah.”

suguru’s brow twitches. “you’re not… disappointed?”

choso pauses at that.

he glances down at you again, at the way you’re sleeping, deep and undisturbed, a softness on your face he hasn’t seen in weeks. he sees the glow in your skin. the red at your neck. the gentle tension gone from your shoulders, melted away like butter in sunlight.

he sighs. “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 blinks. “what?”

“move. she sleeps better when she’s not squished.”

“but she’s—”

“don’t make me repeat myself.”

suguru shifts first, slow and reluctant, untangling himself from the bedsheets and carefully withdrawing from the warmth of your body. satoru follows, groaning quietly under his breath. 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.

“go,” choso tells them, tone light but firm. “before she wakes up and feels weird.”

suguru looks at you one more time. then nods, solemn. he pulls on his hoodie, grabs his sketchbook from the floor.

satoru just stands there, staring.

choso raises a brow. “need help?”

“no,” satoru mutters. “i’m fine.”

he pulls his shirt on inside out.

they both hesitate at the door.

“guys,” choso says, softer now. “it’s okay. she’s okay. i got her.”

and somehow, they believe it.

they leave without another word.

the door clicks shut behind them.

choso exhales. then pulls off his boots and shrugs off his jacket, folding it neatly over the back of his desk chair. he pads quietly back to the bed, careful not to wake you, and eases himself into the space satoru left behind.

you shift instinctively, gravitating toward the new heat. you nuzzle into his chest with a little sigh, one hand fisting in the fabric of his shirt.

his breath catches.

“hey,” he murmurs, low and fond, 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 curve of your cheek. your lashes flutter a little. your lips part, and you breathe his name without waking.

he closes his eyes.

“sleep, ma,” he whispers. “you’re safe.”

~

the morning sun is warm on your skin.

you wake slowly, mind foggy, body heavy with the kind of satisfied ache that makes your thighs tremble when you stretch. the sheets are soft. the room smells familiar. you shift under the covers and blink blearily into the chest in front of you.

“choso…?”

“hey.” his voice is thick with sleep. he’s barely opened his eyes. “mornin’, sweetheart.”

you blink again, surprised.

you’re nestled against him like you always do, like nothing’s changed, except your lips are swollen, your thighs are sore, and your body still sings with the memory of being touched like you were something sacred.

“how did you…?”

“found you like this,” he says simply, brushing a knuckle under your eye. “figured you’d want someone to keep the nightmares away.”

your heart softens. melts.

“thank you,” you whisper.

he just hums, low in his chest, like it’s no big deal. like holding you through the night isn’t his favorite part of every week.

you curl closer into him, face tucked under his chin, breathing in the familiar scent of him, laundry detergent and shampoo and the faintest trace of weed. safe. warm. constant.

you and choso have always made sense.

you’ve never had to ask.

not with choso.

not when you call him at 2am, voice cracking like you’re trying not to cry. not when you crawl onto his couch in silence, curled up like you’re trying to disappear. not when you show up with smudged eyeliner and scraped knuckles and say “i’m fine” like that’s supposed to mean anything.

he just knows.

how to read the quiet. what kind of soda to hand you when you can’t speak. what kind of playlist to queue when you’re trembling. how long to wait before asking what happened this time.

maybe it’d be easier if he didn’t care so much.

if he could just be the guy who hosts the parties. the chem major. the one who rolls joints and makes everyone laugh and doesn’t get involved in the messy shit.

but he’s never had that option.

not with you.

not when he’s watched you make yourself small for someone who doesn’t deserve you. not when he’s seen the way sukuna leaves you hollow. not when he’s picked you up from the worst nights and still thought you were the best thing that ever happened to him.

you never have to ask.

he’s just there.

not because he wants anything from you — god, never.

he’s not sukuna.

he just wants you safe. wants you happy. wants you to know that someone sees you. someone 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. no hesitation. because you’re his girl, even if the world doesn’t get it. and he’s always going to look out for you. no matter what. your voice is quiet when you speak again.

“hey, cho?”

“mm?”

“…do you have their numbers?” he doesn’t have to ask who you mean. he smiles. “yeah, baby,” he says. “i got you.”

"and cho?"

"yes?"

"don't tell ryo."

~

monday

you told yourself it was a one-time thing.

something about the night, the heat, the way you’d felt so raw and untethered — it made sense then. made sense to let go. made sense to reach for something warm and worshipping. made sense to choose the boys who looked at you like you were god.

but then monday came.

and you walked into the campus café with your laptop tucked under one arm and your sunglasses still perched high on your cheekbones, and there they were. satoru and suguru. sitting in the back, sharing a muffin, whispering furiously over a notebook. like they hadn’t been inside you at the same time forty-eight hours ago.

you almost turned around. but then suguru looked up.

and his eyes changed when they landed on you, dark and hungry and something almost reverent, and you couldn’t move. couldn’t breathe. couldn’t not walk over to them when he raised a slow hand and curled his fingers in a quiet, come-here. so you sat between them. and their knees brushed yours.

and satoru whispered something stupid under his breath that made you laugh for real for the first time in days. suguru’s knuckles skimmed your wrist when he reached for his coffee, and your stomach flipped like a schoolgirl’s.

you didn’t kiss them. you didn’t have to.

you just smiled when satoru leaned in and murmured, “wanna come over later?” and you nodded. you didn’t even blink.

tuesday

satoru keeps a bottle of lotion on his nightstand that smells like coconut and sandalwood.

you’re not sure why that’s what sticks with you, not the way he kissed your thighs for fifteen full minutes before even touching you, not the way he whispered mine, mine, mine into the hollow of your throat when you came, not the way he looked at you after, eyes wet and mouth parted like he’d seen something divine.

no.

it’s the lotion.

the smell of it on your wrists when you woke up in his bed, body aching and sore in the best way. the way he sat behind you on the floor after your shower, hands gliding gently over your skin, warm and slow, like he was sealing you up. like he didn’t want anything to leak out.

“you’re so pretty like this,” he’d murmured, rubbing circles into your shoulders. “all quiet and sleepy and soft.”

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 like it soothed him. you didn’t ask what this meant. neither did he. but he kissed your fingers when you left. and that was enough.

Wednesday

suguru sketches you.

you don’t know how you found out, only that you were sitting on his bed in your underwear, eating strawberries from a chipped glass bowl, and he looked at you like you were glowing.

“stay like that,” he said, voice low. you thought he meant it as a joke. maybe something teasing. maybe something dirty. but then he grabbed his sketchbook.

and then he drew you.

the whole time, you didn’t speak. just sat there under the weight of his gaze, naked and unhidden and burning. when he was done, he closed the notebook carefully and set it aside like it was holy.

then he climbed onto the bed, straddled your hips, and kissed you like he wanted to commit your mouth to memory. he’s quieter than satoru. more intense. less prone to fidgeting. more prone to staring.

“you should be adored,” he said at one point, dragging his mouth along your collarbone. “you should be touched with purpose.” you didn’t realize you were crying until he kissed your cheeks and tasted the salt.

thursday

satoru’s the one who spirals.

he doesn’t say it, not at first. just acts weird, talks fast, 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… not weird weird, right?” you’re on his dorm floor when it happens, legs tangled, your head on his thigh. there’s an anime playing, but neither of you are watching.

he keeps running his fingers through your hair. you’re not wearing a bra. and he’s definitely hard. “do you regret it?” he asks suddenly, too casual. you blink.

“last weekend,” he says. “and… everything after.” you sit up slowly.

satoru’s face is a mess of contradictions, smug and insecure, nervous and cocky, like he’s daring you to reject him. like it would ruin him but at least he’d know. you kiss him before he can say anything else. kiss him until he gasps. kiss him until he melts.

“does that answer your question?” you murmur against his mouth. he swallows hard.

“i’m so in love with you it’s disgusting,” he blurts. you blink. he turns red. “wait. shit. pretend i didn’t—” you kiss him again. he forgets how to breathe.

friday

suguru finds you in the library.

you’re curled into a corner with your laptop, hoodie pulled over your head, sunglasses on. trying to pretend you’re being productive when really, you’re just replaying the last five nights like a reel in your mind, slow motion, soft focus, heart in your throat.

you don’t notice him until he sets a coffee next to your hand. you glance up. “hey,” he says quietly.

he’s wearing glasses today. a loose button-down. his hair is tied back in a low bun. he looks devastating. you smile before you can stop yourself. “hey.” he drops into the seat beside you, draping his arm over the back of your chair. it’s casual. so casual.

but when your knees touch under the table, neither of you pull away. “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 breath catches.

“but i can wait,” he finishes. “until later.” he doesn’t say “my place or yours,” but you hear it anyway. you bite your lip. “later,” you echo.

his hand brushes your thigh under the table. and somehow, the wait makes it even worse. even better. even more.

saturday

you stop pretending.

there’s no “maybe this is a phase.” no “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 like he never wants to let go.

there’s no flippant excuse for the way satoru touches your face like he’s afraid you’ll shatter, palms cupping your cheeks, thumb brushing your lip, whispering your name like he’s praying.

there’s no ignoring the ache in your chest when you leave them. the way 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.

you’re not sure it ever was.

sunday

you’re with both of them again.

the room is warm and low-lit, golden afternoon light filtering through suguru’s window. you think time has stopped. it feels like it, like the outside world has been paused just for this moment. just for you, and satoru, and suguru.

their touch lingers long after the climax, after your body has collapsed between theirs, sweat-slick and breathless, kissed raw and trembling. it had been slow this time. almost reverent. like they were scared to break you.

suguru’s hands are still on your hips, strong but soft, grounding. satoru’s mouth moves lazily against your shoulder, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you with every kiss. your fingers are tangled in both of their hair, one hand curled in suguru’s silky dark strands, the other lost in the wild snowdrift of satoru’s. you don’t know where one of them ends and the other begins.

you don’t want to.

your mind is still swimming, floating in the afterglow, but it’s not just the sex. it’s not just the slow grind of their bodies against yours, or the endless mouths, or the whispered praise. it’s how they look at you afterward. like you’re something holy. like they’ve waited their whole lives for you and still can’t believe they’re allowed to touch you. satoru props himself up on one elbow and leans in to kiss your forehead. it’s soft. unbearably soft.

suguru shifts, brushing your hair back and pressing a kiss to your knee, then resting his cheek against your thigh like he’s anchoring himself. they’re touching you like they’re grateful. like they still don’t quite believe this is real. and suddenly, you’re scared. the words crawl up your throat before you can stop them.

“i’m scared.” everything stills.

satoru’s mouth hovers, motionless, over your temple. suguru lifts his head slowly, the crease between his brows deepening. “of what?” suguru asks gently, fingers tracing your jaw. you want to pull the words back. you want to be brave. but they’re already spilling out. “what if this isn’t real?”

satoru’s breath catches audibly, like you’ve cracked something open in him. like you’ve taken a blade to the delicate thing they’ve been building, the secret, sacred thing between the three of you. he looks down at you, wide-eyed and hurt and exposed. “it’s real,” he says quickly. too quickly. but you can’t stop.

“but what if it’s just a phase? or something stupid we’re all chasing because it’s new? what if i wake up and it’s gone? what if you don’t want me tomorrow? what if this whole thing is just…” you can’t finish. suguru cuts in, firm. “no.”

your eyes flick to him. he’s closer now, elbow bent so he can rest beside you, eyes searching your face. “don’t do that,” he says. “don’t disappear into your head.”

you swallow hard. “you’re real,” suguru says. “we’re real. this —” he gestures, vague but certain, “— this is the most real thing i’ve ever felt.”

“same,” satoru says. his voice cracks halfway through it. “you’re not just something we wanted, okay? you’re everything.”

you close your eyes. the room is so quiet now, just your breathing, and theirs, and the soft creak of the floorboards as the building settles.

“i don’t know how to trust it,” you whisper. “i don’t know how to trust any of it. i’ve never been… seen like this. touched like this. not without it meaning something else. not without it being taken later.” satoru moves closer, his long fingers brushing your ribs, then your wrist, then your cheek.

“we’re not taking anything from you,” he says, eyes shining. “we don’t want to. we just want… you. in whatever way you want to be wanted.”

suguru exhales through his nose. “we’ve wanted you for so long,” he murmurs. “in silence. in secret. thought it would kill us.” you glance at him. he’s staring at you with something raw in his gaze.

“i used to sit behind you in lecture,” he says quietly. “watching your hair catch the light. writing poems about the curve of your shoulder. about your laugh. about the space you leave behind when you leave a room.” your throat tightens.

“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 like this.”

“i had a folder,” satoru blurts. you blink.

he flushes pink. “like. a whole folder on my laptop. photos of you. from your instagram. screenshots of your tweets. the way you held your coffee, or laughed with your friends, or wore your lip gloss.” you laugh softly, disbelieving. “you’re serious?”

“pathetically,” he says, burying his face in your shoulder. “i used to scroll it like a damn bible, until i finally got a piece of you.”

“we never thought we’d have this,” suguru says. “but now that we do, we’re not going to let it go. not unless you want us to.” you’re quiet for a long moment.

“you make me feel like i matter,” you say. “like i’m not just something to use.”

“you do matter,” satoru says fiercely, lifting his head. “you’re not an accessory. not a status symbol. not a hot girl on a pedestal. you’re you.”

“and we love you,” suguru says. “messy, scared, soft, angry. you.” your eyes sting.

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 just because it hurt. this, what satoru and suguru give you, is nothing like that.

this is slow, and steady, and infinite. this is breathless and warm and honest. this is the kind of love that waits. that sees you. that learns your wounds and still wants to hold you. you don’t have the words for it. so you don’t try.

instead, 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, throat tight. “don’t let me go,” you whisper. “never,” satoru murmurs into your hair. “not ever,” suguru echoes, thumb stroking your waist.

and you believe them. you sleep like that, tucked between them, held like something fragile and adored. not claimed. not broken. not hidden.

just wanted. just safe. just theirs.

~

after your week of emotional, intense sex with satoru and suguru, sukuna finally came over and basically cock blocked you just as you were about to leave your room.

your dorm room is too quiet. it always is when sukuna’s here.

he sits at the edge of your bed, arms folded across his broad chest, his jaw tight and eyes unreadable. you’re still by the door, keys dangling from your hand, bag slipping off your shoulder. the silence stretches like a wire between you, thin, tense, seconds from snapping.

“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. for days. don’t pretend you haven’t.” your throat tightens. “sukuna, i’ve just been—”

“busy?” he cuts you off, his voice sharp. “yeah. busy ignoring me.” the door clicks shut behind you. your hand trembles on the knob. “i’m not ignoring you,” you say, quieter now. “you’ve been busy too. law midterms? remember?”

“don’t patronize me.” you flinch. something ugly ripples through your chest.

“i’m not,” you murmur. “i’m trying to talk to you.” he stands abruptly, pacing now, fingers running through his pink hair in that agitated way that always comes before he says something cruel.

“nah,” he mutters. “you’re trying to do damage control. every time i text, you take hours to respond. you come back late, you dodge my calls, you’ve been hanging out with..." he pauses, squinting. “who’ve you even been hanging out with?”

your mouth goes dry. you feel the heat rise in your cheeks like guilt, even though you told yourself a hundred times it wasn’t cheating. not really. you never even kissed them. you just let yourself get close. too close. and you liked it. “choso,” you lie. “shoko. i’ve just been trying to keep my head on straight, kuna.”

“bullshit,” he snaps. “you’re lying.”

“i’m not.”

“you are.”

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 flinch when he touches you now. how you don’t like how he talks to you in front of your friends. how 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 something twist in your stomach, not guilt, but anger. sharp and sudden. 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. “maybe i have changed,” you snap.

his eyes narrow. “maybe i don’t want to 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, bitter. “of course that’s what you heard.”

“i fucking knew it,” he seethes, stepping closer. “you’ve been getting it from someone else.” your blood goes cold.

“excuse me?”

“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.

“get out.”

“what?”

“get out, sukuna.” he stares at you, 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 scoffs, stepping back. “so that’s it, huh? i call out your bullshit and suddenly i’m the villain?”

“you’ve always been the villain,” you whisper. “i just stopped pretending it was romantic.”

the silence is deafening. for a second you think he’s going to throw something. break something. scream. but he just laughs. quiet and mean.

“you’re pathetic,” he says. “cry me a river.”

you don’t cry. not until after the door slams. not until you hear his boots stomp all the way down the hall. not until he’s gone. and then you’re on the floor.

knees to your chest. hands shaking. it’s not even the fight, it’s everything. it’s the months you spent convincing yourself he loved you. it’s the way you forgot how to want things that weren’t him. it’s the way he turned every good thing sour and convinced you that it was your fault. your phone buzzes. you don’t look at it. you don’t know how long you stay there, cold and numb, face pressed to your knees. eventually, your hand finds your phone. you stare at your contact list. you scroll past his name. you scroll past choso.

and you stop on satoru and suguru. your chest twists. 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 satoru’s hands, trembling and gentle, offering you his hoodie when you were cold. you think about suguru’s eyes, dark and steady, the way he watched you like you were a miracle. you think about how neither of them ever looked at you like you owed them something. they just looked. you press call. it rings once. twice.

“hello?”

satoru’s voice. too awake. too alert. like he was already waiting for you. you open your mouth, but nothing comes out. “hey,” he says, voice softer now. “you okay?” and you break. “can i come over?” you whisper. “please?” he doesn’t ask why. he doesn’t hesitate. “of course,” he says. “i’ll come get you.”

“no,” you say quickly. “don’t. i just… i need to be somewhere else. anywhere else.” 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.” you hang up.

your body moves before your brain catches up, you grab your coat, your bag, your charger. you don’t care how you look. you don’t care what anyone thinks. you walk across campus with your hands shoved deep in your pockets and your throat tight. you keep thinking about how sukuna didn’t even try to stay. how quick he was to make you feel disgusting, like love was a performance you were failing. but that ache inside you, that ugly, raw place he carved out. it quiets just a little when you reach their door. it opens before you knock.

satoru’s there. messy hair, eyes wide and searching. suguru stands just behind him, black t-shirt, hair tied back, gaze soft and solemn. you don’t say anything, they don’t ask. satoru steps aside. suguru holds the door. and when you walk in, the door shuts behind you with a soft click. you don’t move.

you stand in the middle of satoru and suguru’s dorm, wrapped in quiet and shadows, heart still cracked open from everything sukuna said. everything he made you feel. you don’t have to say a word. they see it in your eyes.

satoru comes to you first, barefoot, shirtless, looking like he just woke up from a dream and realized you were real. his arms open, wide and safe and trembling. suguru follows close behind, darker and quieter, but his eyes shine like he’s about to get on his knees and thank god. 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 answers first. “you never have to leave.” they kiss you like they’ve been waiting.

satoru’s mouth is hot and fast and greedy, lips parted, tongue sliding deep into yours, moaning like he’s already inside you. suguru’s hands slide under your shirt, groping your tits like he owns them, like he’s memorized every soft curve in the dark. “want you naked,” satoru gasps, tugging at your jeans. “fuck, want you bare. now.” you nod. shakily. breathless. “yeah?”

“yeah,” you whisper. “good girl,” suguru says, and it makes you throb. clothes come off fast. eager. teeth drag over skin. satoru falls to his knees and kisses your thighs like he’s starved. suguru groans behind you, palming your ass, pulling it apart to watch satoru’s spit drip onto your pussy before he licks it up with a filthy moan. “fuck, you’re wet,” satoru pants. “is that for us?” you nod, hips trembling. “say it,” suguru murmurs, fingers digging into your hips. “say who it’s for.”

“it’s for you,” you gasp. “fuck, it’s always for you—”

they moan in sync. satoru buries his face in your cunt like he’s trying to suffocate in it — tongue circling your clit, two fingers working deep inside you, slapping wet sounds into the quiet of the room. he’s sloppy and greedy, jaw soaked, eyes rolling back every time you whimper. “taste her,” he mumbles up to suguru. “holy shit— taste—” suguru leans down without hesitation, licks your cunt right off satoru’s mouth. your knees almost give out. “perfect,” he mutters.

“so fucking good,” satoru finishes. they drag you to 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 mean, veined and dark, a piercing glinting at the tip. “can we wreck you?” satoru pants. “please— fuck, please let us—”

“yeah,” you whimper. “please.” suguru’s on you first, face buried between your thighs, tongue working your clit while satoru kneels beside your head, stroking his cock. “open,” he tells you. you do. he spits in your mouth. you moan. “swallow it,” suguru says, watching from between your legs. “good fucking girl.”

they take turns. satoru fucks your throat slow and deep, his hands cradling your head like you’re precious. suguru licks every inch of you, tongue curling inside you, then pulls back and spits on your cunt before rubbing it in with his fingers. “she likes that,” satoru says, voice wrecked. “look how messy she is.”

“messy for us,” 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.”

“jesus,” suguru mutters. “you’re fucking insane.” 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. throbbing. he slides in with one slow, mean thrust. you scream around satoru’s cock. suguru groans like he’s dying. “tight little pussy,” he pants. “gripping me like she’s in love—”

“she is,” satoru gasps, thrusting into your mouth. “we all are— fuck, look at you—” 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 he owns it. tears streak your cheeks. spit drips from your lips. 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—” suguru moans, spilling inside you hard and deep. he keeps thrusting through it, fucking his cum back into you, thick and messy. you’re shaking.

“switch,” you mumble. “i want both.” satoru helps you onto your back. suguru leans down and kisses you, filthy and sweet, cum dripping from your pussy onto the sheets. you’re still soaking. overstimmed. hungry. “you sure?” satoru pants, lining up. “yes,” you breathe. he slides in, slow and gentle, 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 out of you with every thrust. “fuck— you’re dripping,” he gasps. “that’s his? all that for us?”

“mine now,” he grits, slapping your thigh. “fucking mine—” you sob. 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 slowly.

“you’re both fucking ruined,” he murmurs. “look at you.” satoru cums inside you hard, cock jerking deep in your cunt. you feel every spurt, hot and full, mixing with suguru’s. dripping down your thighs.“open up,” suguru says, kneeling over your chest.

he strokes himself faster. you look up at him with your tongue out, eyes glazed. he groans and cums across your lips and cheeks and chin, painting you with it. you don’t wipe it away. you don’t want to. you lay there, soaked and shaking, while they pet your hair and murmur praise. “so good,” satoru whispers. “you were so fucking good."

“you always are,” suguru says. “you’re ours.”

you’re not crying, 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 cracks. satoru notices first. “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 shifts behind you, he’d curled around your back after they’d finished, warm and sticky and safe. now he leans over you, voice low in your ear. “you’re okay,” he murmurs. “you’re safe, baby. with us.” you nod, a tiny tremble. 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. you don’t even try to walk. they don’t expect you to. 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, slow and patient, as if touching something sacred. 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 you, he’s caring for you. reverent. he dabs away the mess between your thighs like it’s holy. like he wants to press it into a book and keep it forever. “look at how much we gave you,” he says softly, gazing up. “you took it all. every drop.” you whimper, just a little. overwhelmed. satoru kisses your temple. “we’re so proud of you,” he breathes. “never seen anything so beautiful.”

suguru leans in, mouth brushing your hip. “no one’s ever made me feel like that,” he whispers. “like i’d kill somebody just to see you cum again.” your breath catches. you don’t say it, not out loud, but god, it’s different. so different from sukuna.

with sukuna, there was always performance. tension. this need to look perfect, sound perfect. to moan at the right times, arch the right way. to make sure he was pleased. he didn’t talk like this. didn’t look at you like you were something he worshipped. you remember him turning over after, already texting someone else. remember how cold the sheets felt when he pulled away. how often you cried in the shower and told yourself it was just hormones.

you never cried like this. not with love. not with awe. satoru tilts your chin up, smiling softly. “you with us, sweetheart?” you nod. the tears finally slip free. they don’t panic. don’t ask what’s wrong. they know.

suguru stands and pulls you close, wrapping his arms around your waist while water runs down his back. “he never deserved you,” he says. your lip trembles. “he doesn’t see you,” satoru murmurs, curling behind you, arms sliding around your shoulders. “not like we do.”

“he fucked your body,” suguru says, voice low, “but he never touched your soul.”

that’s what it feels like, 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. “your mind. your mood swings. your anxiety at three a.m. the weird little faces you make when you’re reading your texts. every inch of you, baby. we’ve wanted you for years.” you bury your face in satoru’s chest. he’s trembling.

“you could fuck us a thousand times,” he says, voice cracking, “and we’d still just wanna talk to you. sit next to you. listen to you ramble about your classes and your clothes and that time you cried over a dog video.”

“we wanna know you,” suguru says. “wanna ruin every memory you had with him. overwrite them.”

“we wanna be your first real everything,” satoru murmurs. “first time you felt safe. first time you felt… loved.” that’s when you break.

not from pain, not from pleasure, from the terrifying, beautiful truth of being seen. being known. being held like something worth keeping. you cry in the shower and they kiss your cheeks through it. suguru whispers, “you’re so good to us.” satoru kisses your forehead. “you don’t even know how much we love you.”

“you don’t have to perform,” suguru says. “you don’t have to pretend.”

“you’re enough,” satoru says. “just like this.” you think about sukuna’s hands. rough, impatient. how often he flipped you over without asking. how he told you to “relax” when you flinched. how you’d go quiet halfway through and he never noticed.

you think about satoru’s trembling voice asking if you’re okay. think about suguru on his knees, washing you like you’re art. it never felt like this. not even close.

you press your hand to satoru’s chest. his heart’s racing. suguru’s hands slide up your spine, strong and steady. “stay with us,” satoru whispers. “for good,” suguru adds. you nod before you even mean to. because you already know the truth.

sukuna fucked you.

but they love you.

you fall asleep warm, surrounded, soothed down into unconsciousness by their arms and their whispers and the way they held you under the water like you were fragile. like they could keep you from breaking if they just held on tight enough. now, you’re silent between them.

your breathing is slow. even. your lips parted just slightly, your cheek smushed against satoru’s chest. one hand curled in the fabric of his shirt like you didn’t want to let go even in sleep. suguru watches you in the dark. he can’t stop. there’s a sharp ache in his chest he can’t name. not lust. not possessiveness. something more painful. more afraid.

satoru is awake too. lying stiff beside you, eyes wide open and glassy in the moonlight. “she hasn’t broken up with him,” suguru says finally, voice barely audible. satoru’s jaw flexes. he knows exactly who suguru means. “i know.”

suguru shifts. just a little. so he’s curled around your back, hand splayed low on your stomach beneath the sheets. “he still thinks she’s his.” satoru doesn’t answer right away. he looks down at your sleeping face. the faint crease in your brow, like even now you can’t fully relax. like something’s chasing you even here.

“maybe she thinks so too,” he says, quiet. suguru looks at him sharply. “don’t do that.”

“i’m not—”

“you are.” satoru exhales, rubbing slow circles 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.”

“doesn’t feel real.” satoru looks like he’s about to cry. he doesn’t blink. just stares up at the ceiling like it’s got answers he can’t read. “i keep thinking,” he says softly, “what if she wakes up 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. “you really think that matters to him? if he finds out?” suguru’s fingers flex on your stomach. his voice darkens. “if he finds out,” he says, “he’s going to wish he didn’t.”

satoru swallows. he doesn’t usually like when suguru gets like this, cold, quiet, dangerous. but this time, he doesn’t argue. “he called her disgusting,” satoru says. “i heard her say it. he made her feel like she was disgusting.” his voice breaks at the end. “i swear to god,” he chokes, “if he ever says something like that to her again—”

“he won’t,” suguru interrupts. “we won’t let him.” silence. thick and heavy. your breath still slow between them. satoru closes his eyes. “i just don’t get it,” he says. “why him?” suguru doesn’t answer.

“he’s… mean. and selfish. and he doesn’t even fucking like her. not like we do.” his voice is rising now, angry. “i notice everything about her, y’know? the way she pretends to laugh when she’s uncomfortable. the way she fiddles with her bracelets when she’s nervous. the way she talks about love like it’s a strategy, not a feeling.” he swallows, hard.

“i know what she looks like when she’s trying not to cry. i know what her real smile looks like. i’ve watched her fall asleep in lectures and dream with her eyes open and fuck, suguru—i love her. i’ve been in love with her for years.” suguru doesn’t interrupt. doesn’t breathe too loud. doesn’t blink. because he feels the exact same way.

“and he treats her like she’s disposable,” satoru says, shaking. “like she’s only worth something if she’s making him feel good. if she’s quiet. if she’s pretty. if she doesn’t take up too much space.” he turns his head, eyes burning. “but you saw her tonight. didn’t you? when she came in. she looked, god, she looked so small. like she’d been stepped on. like she thought she was dirt.”

suguru nods, slow and steady. “and you know what kills me?” satoru whispers. suguru waits. “i think she believes him.” that silences them both. because that’s the wound they can’t reach. the one they can’t fuck away. the one they can’t kiss better.

because it lives in her now. that ugly little voice. the one that says: you’re not enough. you’re too much. you’re disgusting. he only treats you like this because you deserve it. satoru exhales shakily. presses a kiss to your forehead, soft and trembling. “i would never make her feel like that,” he says. “not in a million years.”

“me neither.”

“so why is she still with him?” suguru doesn’t answer for a long time. his thumb strokes your bare hip. “because that kind of love,” he says finally, “the kind that hurts… it makes you believe pain means devotion.” satoru closes his eyes. “and what do we mean?” he asks. “what does it mean when someone kisses you like you’re god?”

suguru looks down at you, asleep and warm and aching between them. “i don’t know yet,” he says softly. “but i want her to find out.” satoru nods. quiet stretches between them again. your breath. your body. your warmth. the weight of you pressed into both of them. they’re quiet for so long that suguru thinks satoru might have drifted off. but then,

“do you think she’ll tell him?” suguru sighs. “eventually.” “do you think she’ll stay?” that one hurts. suguru closes his eyes. presses his mouth to your shoulder. “i don’t know.” satoru breathes in, slow and ragged.

“i want her to,” he says. “even if we have to wait. even if it’s messy. i’d wait forever.”

“you won’t have to,” suguru says. “she’s already halfway gone from him.”

“you think so?”

“i saw it in her face,” suguru murmurs. “when you held her. when i kissed her. she didn’t look scared. she looked content.”

“i just don’t wanna be the reason she breaks.”

“you won’t be,” suguru says. “he already did that.” satoru nods. slow. thoughtful. then he curls his arms tighter around you. presses his mouth to your hair. “i love you,” he whispers. not expecting an answer. just needing to say it. suguru’s hand curls protectively over your stomach. “i do too,” he says. “always have.” you stir a little, murmuring something incoherent in your sleep. satoru freezes. suguru holds his breath. you don’t wake. just nuzzle closer, like your body knows where you’re safest. they exhale together. and they don’t say anything else after that. they just hold you in silence. in moonlight. in a love that’s waiting to be real. ~ 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. you were doing well, things seemed a little less scary when you were alone nower days. 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. “who is it—”

“you fucking them?”

it’s sukuna. he storms inside without waiting, all sharp movements and wild eyes, his jaw tight enough to splinter bone. he smells like weed and sweat and rage, and when the door slams shut behind him, it rattles the frame. “answer me,” he snarls. “are you fucking gojo and geto?” you blink, 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.”

“then why are you acting like it?”

“oh, really?” he scoffs, a bitter sound. “you think i haven’t noticed you acting different? walking around like you’re glowing? always checking your phone, leaving parties early, looking like you’ve been—” his mouth twists — “bred.” you freeze. “i didn’t want to believe it,” he spits. “but you’re fucking filthy. knew it the second i saw you tonight. 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.”

“am i? am i?!” his voice ricochets off the walls. your heart’s pounding. he stares at you with something feral behind his eyes. “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.

he laughs. sharp, cruel. “why not? isn’t that what you are now? a whore? letting two guys take turns on you like you’re community pussy?” you flinch like he’s hit you. your throat tightens. “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 get you wet for them?” you slap him, hard. he doesn’t react. just wipes the corner of his mouth, then looks at you with something darker than fury, something broken.

“you don’t get to talk about them,” you say, voice trembling. “they treat me better in one night than you have this whole relationship.”

“so that’s it, then?” his voice rises. “you let them rail you and now you’re in love?”

“they actually give a fuck 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 damn thing about them.”

“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 called you their pretty girl? 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 shaking.

“you think that makes you powerful? makes you wanted? makes you loved?” you stare at him. your hands are fists at your sides.

“i didn’t want to believe it,” he says, quieter now. “choso said you were glowing. said you were soft lately. didn’t even think twice. just figured maybe i’d finally gotten through to you. maybe you were actually starting to feel something. but you were getting it from them.” you take a breath, steadying yourself.

“you never got through to me,” you say. “you never even tried.”

he snarls. “don’t fucking do that. don’t act like i didn’t care—”

“you cared about you, sukuna. about being right. about being the one i came back to, even when you didn’t deserve it.”

his jaw ticks. “and they do?”

“they see me. 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 girlfriend now? hold hands in the quad with your little nerd boyfriends? gonna let them show you off like some prize they won?”

“maybe,” you say. “maybe i will.” he shakes his head. “you’re a fucking slut.” you feel the blood drain from your face. he sees it. sees the pain flash in your eyes. and for a second, he looks like he regrets it. but only for a second. you lift your chin. “you don’t get to 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. he doesn’t move. “get the fuck out.” he stares at you. something in him flickers, like even he knows this is beyond repair. “you’ll miss me.”

“i already missed you while we were still together.” silence. he turns for the door. stands there for a second, hand hovering on the knob. “they’re not gonna love you like i did.” you laugh. soft, bitter. “they already do. and they don’t love me in pieces.” he doesn’t say anything else. the door slams behind him. you stand there for a long time, staring at the space he used to occupy like it’s something haunted.

your breathing won’t settle. your hands are shaking. but you’re not broken. not this time. because deep down, under the adrenaline and the ache, you feel it again. the quiet truth that’s been blooming in your chest since the night you let gojo and geto touch you like something sacred: you were never a slut. you were starving. and now, finally, you’re being fed.

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. not really. not directly.

instead, he starts showing up in other ways, on your feed, tagged in blurry stories from campus parties, surrounded by girls who don’t know better. you see the way his hands grip their waists like they’re props. how his smile never quite reaches his eyes. 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 did. he still does. he just didn’t know how to act when he had you, fucking embarrassing.”

you don’t reply. not because you agree, not because you disagree. just because you don’t have room in your chest for him anymore. instead, you start filling that space with something else. ever since you finally broke shit off with sukuna, you’ve been getting closer and closer to satoru and suguru, and not just physically anymore.

it starts slow. soft. safe. they text you constantly, like it’s instinct, like they don’t know how not to. morning check-ins and nightcap rambles, shared playlists and stupid memes. sometimes satoru sends you half-baked voice notes, rambling while he’s stoned and giggly. sometimes suguru sends you selfies of his sketchbooks, delicate, reverent outlines of your figure. always faceless.

always sacred. 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, and you cheer loudest in the crowd.

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, “new orbit.” your comments go feral.

“who is she with???”

“this is so cryptic.”

“she’s got secret lovers now?”

you don’t answer. you don’t need to. every day you spend with them, your light gets brighter. you start studying with suguru in the campus chapel between classes, lying beside him in the pews while he reads out loud from his religion texts, voice low and lulling. he smells like amber and ink. he always buys you your favorite tea.

every afternoon 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,” or a busted vending machine that “won’t accept anything but offerings of love.”

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. 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. suguru brings you incense and hangs it by your mirror. their things start to trickle in, little tokens, little offerings. 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 favorite. you still don’t define it. not out loud. but everyone sees it. yuki corners you after class.

“soooo, are you dating the hot weirdos or what?”

you laugh. shrug.

“okay, fine, keep your secrets,” she teases. “but just know, you’re glowing. like, unfairly.”

~

sukuna watches from the sidelines. you know he does. 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. picks fights with guys he used to ignore. you don’t feel anything for it anymore. not pity. not anger. not jealousy. just… distance.

you’re not that version of yourself anymore. the one who waited on his texts, the one who settled for crumbs. the one who tried to be what he wanted and hated yourself for it. you’ve stopped starving. and every time satoru kisses your shoulder in public or suguru laces his fingers through yours under the table, you remember: you’re not a secret. you’re not a phase. you’re not disposable. you’re theirs. and they’re yours. and for the first time in your life, truly, deeply, you feel chosen.

~

a few weeks pass by of healing, love, friendship, all that lovely gooey shit. you’re sitting at a tiny two-top in a tucked-away campus 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 foamfrom your latte with his spoon. “can we go five minutes without suguru seducing someone with metaphors?”

“i’m not seducing her,” suguru says, without looking up. “i’m studying her.”

“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. his breath is warm. “whoa,” he says, genuinely awed. “she looks… holy.” suguru glances up. shrugs. “that’s what she is.” you roll your eyes, but your smile is shy. “you guys are ridiculous.”

“and you like it,” satoru beams. you bump your shoulder into his. “unfortunately.” 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,” satoru gasps. “and put mine before his. scandalous.”

“i’m leaving.”

“you’re not,” suguru says calmly, flipping the page again. “you haven’t finished your drink.” you huff. but you stay. because of course you do. because this is what it’s like now, cozy tables, half-finished pastries, sketchbooks full of soft devotion. the three of you orbiting each other so naturally, like maybe this was always meant to happen. like maybe this is the kind of love that sneaks up on you, in coffee spoons, in scribbled margins, in stolen sips of cappuccino foam. you catch suguru’s eye. he doesn’t smile, not quite, but there’s something quiet and certain in his gaze. satoru tosses a sugar packet at you and sticks out his tongue. you laugh. and it’s good. it’s easy.

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 two, people who look at you like you're made of gold, something to be nurtured and celebrated, worshiped.

you knew for the rest of your life, you were going to be deeply rooted in the thread that was satoru and suguru, and god, they wouldn't have it any other way. you ruined them, sure. made them even more utterly obsessed than they already were, but god,

they wouldn't have it any other way.

m.list!!

ok i lowkey hate this why am i so bad at writing two character love interests... i feel like the character depth and personality's weren't really developed but it is what it is i hope you enjoyed regardless I LOVE YOU ALLL ❤️❤️❤️

frat sukuna (not totally an asshole this time, ikr i heard of for me) x cute shy reader ft. ex toji coming next😛😛 ALSO I PROMISE IM TRYING TO LEARN HOW TO DO TAG LISTS BUT WHY IS THERE NO TUTORIALS ON YOUTUBE RAHHH.

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an important life lesson when you're in a long distance relationship

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The U.A trio and what they'd get do for you for Valentine's Day!!

Characters: Izuku, Katsuki, and Shoto

(I thought of this a while ago, just something cute and I wanted to share :) tell me if I should do a part two with other characters!)

Made the reader fem/gender neutral

Izuku

Izuku midoriya. He's such a sweetheart, it so many things I think he would do! But on Valentine's Day, the main thing is that he's give you a bouquet of your favorite flowers.

I also think he'd craft you a lot of gifts too. And write you a love letter

Since Izuku is notorious for taking notes on his classmates and their abilities, I believe he'd share his notebook he started specifically for you

It has everything about you in it (things you like, what he likes about you, your quirk, hairstyles he liked on you, date ideas, the works!)

If this is your first time spending Valentine's together he'd be very nervous but also happy

The two of you sat in your dorm, you laid out on your bed while laid out next to you.

You were currently reading through the notebook that he gave you, you ran your hands through his hair to reassure him as you read.

"Oh! I remember when I wore that outfit. That was your favorite?" You pointed at the doodle of you in a sundress with a ribbon in your hair and hoop earrings.

You had a wide smile on your face as you looked at him, his face all red as he nodded. "You looked really cute that day."

You cooed as you looked over to your desk where a basket filled with hand crafted items and a bouquet sat. Sitting up you moved to lay ontop of him with a sigh. His hands rubbed your back as you gave him a kiss on the forehead.

"I love all my gifts Izuku, you did a good job." He made a small sound of acknowledgement, leaning up to give you a kiss on the lips.

Pulling away he smiled, "I'm happy you like them."

Bakugou

Bakugou would probably be more reserved about the whole ordeal.

I do think he'd get you something, just maybe not something that's typical for Valentine's day

I believe that Bakugo is really good at sewing and crocheting, since his parents are fashion designers

I think he'd make you and dress that matched his icon skull tshirt

And a shirt that consisted of his colors

I also think that he'd teach you how to play a game he knows you were interested in that he played

And just spend most of the day together

Bakugou sat relaxed on his bed. After he gave you the dress you sprinted to the bathroom to immediately put out it on.

He had already set up the game so y'all could start when you were done.

His eyes were closed as he heard the door open up. Sitting up from his laying position, you stood there in the black dress with a smile. It was a midi dress with ruffles at the end.

And twirled as you made your way over to him with a smile, "how do I look?"

"Good." He grabbed your hand and pulled you towards him.

Wrapping your arms around his neck you kissed his forehead. "Thank you for my gifts." He nodded as you sat down in his lap.

Grabbing the controller you excitedly waited for him to say when y'all could start.

"Still don't know why you wanted to play this, don't seem your speed." Bakugou adjusted his hearing aids as the game started up.

You shrugged as the opening screen for Dead By Daylight started up.

Shoto

Feel like Shoto wouldn't know much about Valentine's Day

He knew what it was but I feel like he just wouldn't know how to go about it

His sister would give him plenty of advice, since I'd like to believe you'd be shoto's first ever partner

Since he'd observe the people at school, as well as take in everything his sister said-

I believe he'd over do it with the presents

He knew you like stuffed animals so he bought a bunch you'd like, giant bouquet of flowers, a bunch of candy, just a lot of stuff he knew you'd like

When he called you up to his dorm he sat in a pile of presents with a ribbon on his head

As you knocked on shoto's door you heard his voice and was surprised to find his door unlocked.

Opening the door, you were met with the site of Shoto and a bunch of presents on the ground at the foot of his bed.

"Happy Valentine's Day." His calm voice made you laugh as you made your way over to him. Moving some of the presents to free him.

"You got so many?" "I wanted to make sure you were happy."

You cooed as you Gently unwrapped the ribbon from his head, "I appreciate it, but next time know that I don't need this much stuff." You sat down on your knees and gave him a soft peck.

"I'm already happy as is!"

He quickly nodded (his cheeks were all red)

You gave him gifts too and he loved all of them

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Tryna give him head while I make him say nice things about himself.

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I've been so JoJo smut deprived, if anyone has any recs (on Tumblr or on ao3) PLS send them

Ok hear me out 🌚- gun play with guido mista 🤚

tags/tw: gun play.

😳 oooh-

mista cares for you dearly, he’s very vigilant when it comes to protecting you and making sure that you’re free from any harm (being the partner of a mafioso has its downfall).

so imagine his shock when you bring up the idea of gun play, wanting to roleplay the threats of being held at gunpoint, the last thing mista wants to see you in. but seeing how excited you are about it and after he feels a slight bit comfortable with engaging in such things with you, he’d make sure his gun is unloaded before stuffing it in your mouth as he slowly enters himself in you.

“stay still or i’ll shoot.” he spoke tentatively as he held the gun, you could hear the slight tremble of his words but you bypassed it, relinquishing your body to the glory of your boyfriend’s cock filling you up to the brim.

after he sees tears roll down your cheeks he’d immediately pull the gun out, a look of worry painted on his face. “y/n? are you ok? d-did i hurt you?” him breaking out of character will happen a lot when you both perform stuff like this. he just wants to make sure you’re ok 🥺

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it's official!! I'm absolutely hyperfixating on jjba part 5 golden wind simply because I can and also part 4 is my least favorite so far!!! I'm going INSANE WITH BRUNO BRAINROT!!!! expect reblogs and rant posts soon bc I FUCKING LOVE HIM

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Being inclusive with your reader insert fic is a kindness. It tells people of color (poc) that you are considering someone who does not look like you in your fic. It shows love and dedication to our craft. It tells poc that they belong here too and they can see themselves in your story.

Poc aren’t look for activism in fic, we know fandom isn’t that serious, but we should be able to have that same level of escapism when we turn to fic and fandom. We belong here too. This space is for everyone, not just one group of people.

Just to give a few examples of how simple it can be: say “skin warmed” instead of blushed, say “cradled your head” instead of running fingers through hair, say “angles yourself to kiss” instead of standing on tiptoes, use italics to indicate Spanish to take out a throwaway line of “you didn’t understand Spanish” things like that. Small changes that do not impact the fic at all but make a world of difference in inclusivity!

And for anything you can’t/don’t want to change, simply add warning in the beginning. Things like hair descriptors, anything reader might wear, some backstory for reader (especially involving family or where the story is set), readers job, things like that. A lot of times just having that heads up before the fic makes a world of difference!

And one example of kindness we as writers always worked to change: until recently (just a couple years ago) it wasn’t common to label the gender of the reader. But those who aren’t female asked writers to label it so they know which to read and which to avoid, and now it’s common to label the gender/pronouns of the reader. So it is possible! It just takes effort! And I’m a writer myself so I know it can be done!

We can pretend to be a bartender or a bounty hunter or an actress or anything else. But we shouldn’t have to imagine we’re a white one.

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can i request steven having a thing for making the reader squirt 🙋

love ur writing and u made my request genuinely come to life.

Ahhh ty!!! I’m glad you enjoyed it 🙊 ty for the support on my stories and the requests <33 we yearn for Steven Grant..

𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟖+

✶ 𝘏𝘺𝘱𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘻𝘦𝘥

• 18+, smut, squirting, overstimulation, unprotected sex, insinuation of a breeding kink, pet names, p in g, soft dom Steven

You were extra needy today, pawing and begging Steven for some attention as he flipped through the pages of his book.

So it didn’t come to a surprise when both of you ended up on the floor, your back pressed against the carpet as Steven fucked some manners into you. He was bullying his length into your tight cunt, not caring much about how many times he’d feel you squeeze and pulse around his cock.

He loved when you go like this, he always knew it probably meant you were ovulating by the way you were so eager to fuck him at any given chance. He loved knowing you were nice and ready for him to pump you full of his seed, he’d be more than happy to be the father of your children.

You’d already had 2 orgasm pulled out of you and Steven was just getting ready. He ate you out like a goddamn madman and fucked his thick fingers into your messy cunt twice.

Overstimulated by the orgasms it wasn’t a surprise that you came so quickly as Steven messily fucked you onto the floor with his thumb on your clit, soft circles rubbing against your overstimulated bud.

“This what you wanted yeah? Beggin’ me to fuck you while I was busy reading my book. But it isn’t your fault isn’t it lovie? After all I love spoiling my beautiful girl so much that she’s grown accustom to having her way” Steven cooed as his hands admired every inch of you.

You were crying from the overbearing pleasure, the constant knocking on your g-spot had you completely dumb. Steven smiled as he noticed your eyes widen, your hand flew to his abdomen as something felt a little different.

There was an unfamiliar tingling sensation inside your tummy, your legs shook in response as Steven purred out how good you felt. “All nice and wet love, feels’ so goooddd” he moaned with an angle to his hips.

You let out the filthiest moan as Steven hit the right spot continuously “st- oh m- oh my!” You were crying Steven’s name out as a clear liquid squirt onto his abdomen.

An obscene moan spilled out of Steven’s lips as he felt your pussy fluttering around his cock, the messy scene under him making his jaw go slack. You were shivering under him, your heels digging into the carpet as your nails dug into his bicep. “G- bloody hell” Steven gasped as he bucked his hips one last time. The mere sight of you making a complete mess on his cock had him releasing inside you.

The pornographic sounds coming from between you making it a scene straight out of a movie. Steven held you still as he pumped you full of his cum, his hips hauled onto the back of your thighs just to make sure none of it went to waste.

“D- did you just squirt?” Steven dumbly panted as he analyzed the mess between your thighs. You caught your breath as you held onto Steven’s arms for a few seconds “I’m sorry” you apologized in embarrassment “Love no no don’t apologize… can you do it again?”

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This is so true, but not even just for atsv fanfic but all fanfiction that has to do with black characters or characters that and heavily headcanoned as black. (Along with black yn sm times)

Just something I think people that write for ATSV should watch

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Welcome To The Itadori's! - C.K.

Synopsis. Three times Choso really, really wanted to hold you without his family barging in, and the one time he actually does. 

Pairing. Best friend! Choso Kamo x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, childhood best friends to lovers, slowburn, cameos from the Itadori’s (Yuji, Jin, grandpa, SUKUNA), smút only when they’re adults, first times, oral (female receiving), cúnnilingus, marking, rough, Choso’s a bit mean in bed, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.0k

A/N. The unc-kuna brainrot got me here, Yuji’s family tree is HILARIOUS.

“You’ve never what?”  

“I mean, yeah? So what if I’ve never…uh-” eyes darting to the erotic scene on-screen. “M’surely not missing out on that much.”

Maybe he was. Maybe he wasn’t. Whatever the answer was, Choso could only pray that no one walked into your apartment right now.

---

Choso swears his family is well and fully intent on ruining every waking moment with you. 

He’s convinced even, at this point. Because in the 13 long years of being inseparable from you - ever since you were both whiney, snot-faced brats - Choso’s racked up more interruptions than he’s seen on those k-dramas that his grandfather swears he doesn’t watch.

It was like some cosmic joke, really. All he wanted was a moment with just the two of you…and maybe a second or two to confess his undying love. But that didn’t seem too realistic when the Itadori’s were a bit of a packaged deal, unfortunately.  

Alas, Choso’s resigned himself to accept the fact that maybe - just maybe - this was the universe’s way of telling him that his pretty best friend was indeed too good for him. Something he’s suspected ever since the both of you were eight.

The realization had hit him like a semi-truck back then - five of them, in fact. And a whole zoo of animals afterward.

Of course, it’s not like that was any secret. He always thought you were perfect from the second you’d moved in - that new family next door he’d been eagerly waiting ages to arrive. And Choso, being the dutiful oldest son, was the one to deliver welcome cookies to your doorstep. Stumbling, and carefully trying to reach for the doorbell without dropping any. 

“Um, welcome to-”

“Your hair’s funny.”

Now, Choso’s never greeted neighbors before, but it surely wasn’t supposed to go like this. Why was he being insulted by some little girl - you were missing a few teeth, and his had just grown back in so obviously he was much older and wiser. All unapologetic smiles and twinkling eyes as you blink up curiously at his space buns. Pretty, even when you were tearing his heart out because hey, he thought this hairstyle was cool, okay?

Which is what had him huffing and puffing back home, running straight into the arms of his dad while he tried not to cry. That is, until you came knocking at his door with your parents. Very much bawling and pulling him into a bone-crushing hug with wet mumbles of “M’sorry, meant your hair’s very cool. Wanna match-”

And, if his cheeks burned just a bit, well, Choso blamed the tears. 

After a disaster like that, of course you’d grow to be best friends within the day. 

But what that didn’t explain was when - after hours of bickering over whether to play tag or house - you were all tuckered out and sat beside him in a corner of his room, too exhausted to talk his ear off. Head lolling once. Twice. Falling softly onto his shoulder.

Oh. 

Now, Choso might just be having the first epiphany of his entire, grueling eight years in this world - that you were very, very pretty fast asleep with your head on his shoulder. 

Why? Why were you here barging into his life and turning it upside down? Calling him your “new best friend” and dragging him along wherever you went. It made his poor head absolutely spin, not daring to move a muscle so that you didn’t wake up and see this tiny predicament.

He didn’t know why. But what he did know was that he found himself subconsciously reaching for your hand, a strange little part of himself wanting to see how much smaller they were than his. They looked so soft and warm and-

“I WANNA PLAY T- Oh.”

Oh indeed. He hastily lurches away from you like it burned, hands raised like he was caught red-handed. Feeling slightly sorry when he sees you blinking away the sleep to take in your surroundings, eyes bouncing off of a very excited Yuji and resting on the clock.

“Oh no. Mommy’s gonna be mad.” you gasp, hastily getting up. And he feels a weird pang as you quickly dust down your dress, running out the door with a laughed out, “Bye, Yuji! See ya later, Cho~!”

“Bye, crybaby.”

And then it’s quiet. Only Choso still staring after you, and Yuji staring at his older brother, somewhat awestruck and wondering only one thing-

“Big bro, why are you so red?”

Choso doesn’t think he’s gotten a moment alone with you since that first initial meeting. 

Fourteen was definitely the worst, in his opinion.

“Hey, Cho, y’know the girl sitting next to me in math said she had her first kiss today.”

“Oh.” It’s all Choso can manage to get out, paying more attention than he should to the gravel beneath him as he tries not to trip over air beside you. Hot under his uniform collar at the sudden shift in conversation from the usual after-school banter. 

Looping your arm with his, you heave out a playful sigh, “I wonder what that feels like. Have you ever thought about it?” 

No, but Choso has never thought that he’d be here - face burning at your body pressed up against his. Just knowing that his ancestors above are laughing at what a loser he is, barely able to stammer out an answer to your question. 

Okay, maybe he was being dramatic. Because it wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about kissing before - it’s just that whenever it popped into his mind, you were usually accompanying him. Along with those strange thoughts of whether your lips are as soft as they looked? Or would your heartbeat be as fast as-

“Man, are you even listening?” 

Shit. 

Your hand waving in front of Choso’s face brings him back to reality. Blinking hastily, he tries to gather his thoughts, mumbling out a quick, “Uh, yeah, sorry. Just lost in thought.” averting his gaze as he feels the heat rise to his cheeks at your intense gaze.

Your smile only widens, a mischievous glint in your eyes as you nudge his side. “Thinking so hard about kissing, huh? Cho, you lecher!” 

“Am not.”

“Am to.”

“Am not.”

“Am to.”

“Who were you imagining it with, huh? Gonna give ‘em a big smooch tomorrow?”

God, you were going to be the death of him. “N-no! I haven’t even- shut up, crybaby, it’s not like-” he sputters out useless protests over your laughter - his favorite song, even when you were teasing the hell out of him. But ah how you relish in his embarrassment, tittering out little giggles all the way until you’re steering him onto your lane. 

Choso, on the other hand, keeps wishing the ground would swallow him up more and more with each step towards his porch. He’d have broken into a sprint right then if he hadn’t known you and the way you’d race him there instead.

“Alright.” you declare once you’re stood at his front door, jolting Choso out of his reverie. And he’s barely opening his mouth to register your words before you plowing on confidently. “We’ll just have to practice our first kisses with each other.”

Perfect. Great. Wonderful. 

The final nail on his coffin. You might as well have planted a bombshell right in the middle of his already-chaotic world with the way he was reeling in- shock? Fear? Anticipation?

“Practice.” Choso whispers, more to himself than you. Yet you nod anyway, eyes locked with his like you were studying his reaction. “For…practice.”

Doubt starts to creep into your pretty features, “Well, we don’t have to if you do-”

“No no no no, I want- ahem.” he cringes at the pathetic desperation in his voice. Desperately trying to scramble back some semblance of sanity as he clears his throat, “I want to. Just-” Choso urgently looks around for- ah, there it is. 

Dragging over the brick from the side of his porch because goddammit he might be 14 but he sure hadn’t hit that growth spurt yet. “Practice, right?”

You nod with a fiery determination that, later on, would make Choso chuckle with fondness. Muttering out a firm, “Practice.” Letting the boy in front of you nervously leans closer, breath fanning your face. And shit if you were nervous then you didn’t show it, but Choso felt like he was about to spontaneously combust. 

Brows furrowing in concentration, eyes only squinting ever-so-slightly as he takes peaks at how pretty you looked. Close enough that he could count every lash as your pretty eyes closed shut, lips glistening with that strawberry chapstick you loved, puckering adorably. Only inching closer and-

Click! 

“You two are so cute! But um- dear, how do you mute this thing?”

You spring apart so fast that Choso wouldn’t be surprised if you’d teleported. He doesn’t even know what’s happening before, from the safety of about three meters away from him, you’re muttering out an embarrassed little, “Hi there, Mr. Itadori. The gardenia are coming along nicely.”

His dad smiles like he hadn’t just starred in what was likely Choso’s villain origin story. Waving happily, “Aww, thank you, sweetheart. Now, why don’t you two go back to doing your lil’ thing and I can ah- practice my photography.”

“Dad, I’m running away.”

That practice kiss never happens. And, well, if there was a proudly framed photo down the hallway of the two of you - with Choso absolutely bright red and standing comically on a brick to meet your height, faces nervously scrunching towards each other - well, neither of you ever mention it. Jin Itadori does, though - every time you come over, in fact. 

It’s only when you’re both eighteen, when Choso’s a lot deeper in his feelings - and only slightly less embarrassed about it - that he thinks that maybe not all family interruptions were that bad. 

Graduation was…something. Not exactly something that he’s sure if he’ll ever want to relive with the sheer amount of awkward photos and tears that his dad lets out. God if he has to shuffle into another-

“You alright, Cho?”

Ah. 

Traitorously, a smile makes its way onto his face, peering down at your beaming face. Both of you having made it way past the awkward early teens. Well, at least you certainly have - Choso still feels like the same awkward little boy with an even more awkward crush. “Hm? Yeah, m’great.” 

“Are ya sure? Because you look like you’re about to have an aneurysm any second now.” you raise a brow teasingly. Ah, how gorgeous you were - even when you’re picking him apart. 

“Yeah. Great. Only had this smile plastered on for the last five hours.”

“Aww, but you look so pretty smiling.” you shrug, with the audacity of someone that didn’t just have Choso’s knees dangerously weak. “Anyway- A bunch of us are gonna try to convince ol’ Yaga to let us take photos with his shades, you wanna come?”

“You think m’pretty?” he muses, embarrassingly late.

“Cho.”

“Yaga. Shades. Got it.” Choso mock salutes, drinking in the little laugh it startles out of you, eyes sparkling with mischief and looking right into his soul. Beautiful. You were always beautiful. 

And Choso can’t just stand around and do nothing about it.

“Crybaby, look, I-” Fists clenching, he takes a steadying breath. The heat only rising to his cheeks at your awaiting gaze, “I…”

“HEY, GRANDPA HELPED STEAL YAGA’S SHADES LET’S TAKE A PIC-”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP ITADORI. YOU’RE RUINING A MOMENT, LET THEM HAVE THEIR MOMENT.”

“I don’t know either of you two.”

It would be a miracle for a moment not to be ruined with two overly-energetic first-years (and a very reluctant Fushiguro) pushing their way into your little bubble. Choso bites back a groan as you’re immediately swarmed by a bickering Kugisaki and Yuji, one apologizing for “ruining your k-drama moment” and the other trying to get you to put on some sunglasses. Well, at least he could empathize with the black-haired boy, who gave him an apologetic nod. 

He’s only halfway through waving off the interruption before a voice speaks up from his side. “Why didn’t you say it?”

Whirling around, Choso comes face-to-face with the disappointed look on his grandfather’s face. Already having some idea of what you mean, “Wha-”

“I may be old but m’not deaf, yet, boy. Why didn’t ya tell her?” he sighs, tilting his head to where you were wearing those shades and taking ridiculous pictures with two animated first-years. 

“I don’t know what you-”

“M’not blind, either. Quite frankly I’m insulted.”

And, well, if there’s anyone that he can’t hide from - it would be his grandfather. So he heaves out a defeated sigh, touselling his hair while muttering out a pathetic little, “M’not- Ugh, she’s too fuckin’ perfect and I…I chickened out.”

Choso doesn’t know what he expected in response but it definitely wasn’t for his grandfather to laugh. Full, and raspy - loud enough that even you stop to stare. “Thought so, idiot boy.” he chuckles, drawing indignant protests. “Did she tell you?”

Raising a brow, “What?”

“Did she tell you that you weren’t good ‘nough for her?”

“No, but-” Whatever protest on the tip of Choso’s tongue is cut off by a rough hand smacking his back in what he thinks is reassurance, but felt more like a punishment for being such a pussy around you all these years. 

“Then go. Ya might just be surprised. After all, you’re my grandson, and all the ladies at bingo love me.”

Shaking with both adrenaline and the effort to keep that image out of his mind, he makes his way towards you. Purposeful. Pointedly ignoring the matching smirks flashed his way. 

“You really think they’ll finally get together today?” Fushiguro deadpans from where he’d snuck up beside the old man, in an attempt to escape the public nuisances he calls ‘friends’. 

Choso’s grandfather hums thoughtfully, watching the scene play out before him - Choso flushed such a delicate shade of pink as you playfully put Yaga’s sunglasses on him. Settling on a gruff, “I’ll give it a few months more. He’s my grandson, after all.”

“That’s generous. I’d give it a couple years more.”

“Wanna bet, brat?”

“...”

Safe to say, his second button ended up safely in your hands that day. But Fushiguro would be the one to really win the bet. 

Because it was only 2 years, 4 months and 3 weeks after this little incident that Choso finally had you exactly where he wanted - with no interruptions. All for him. 

Freshly twenty one, splayed out on your apartment bedroom and having a conversation that he never in a million years would’ve even dared to imagine he’d have - with you of all people. All because of that stupid R-rated film you’d put on for movie night. 

“You’ve never what?” you gape, turning down the volume to those painfully fake moans coming from the tv.

Oh, how gorgeous you looked - all shocked and batting your lashes up at him in surprise. Choso almost swoons inwardly (and outwardly) before he realizes that shit you were probably waiting for an answer.

“I mean, yeah?” he sputters out, cheeks heating up as you lean in closer to hear him. Close. “So what if I’ve never…uh-” eyes darting to the erotic scene on-screen. “M’surely not missing out on that much.”

Goddammit, some strange, carnal part of himself twinges dangerously at the little smirk that curls your lips. One that he quickly - and embarrassingly - realizes has the blood rushing straight to his cock. Humming a low, “Maybe. Maybe not.” The mattress dips slightly as you shift closer, lips ghosting his ear. “Want me to help you find out?”

Which is, well, how Choso found himself shoved against the armrest. Blanket thrown on the floor now, swollen cock leaking furiously through his pants as your pretty lil’ cunt hovers above his mouth. So wet that if he stuck his tongue out he could have you dripping all onto him. 

“Y-you sure about this, sweetheart?” he hisses despite his hands looping around your thighs, bringing you closer to him.

You raise a brow, “Are you sure, Cho?”

He should say no. He should laugh this all off as a bad joke. He shouldn’t ruin this friendship - but oh how badly he wants just a taste of your dripping pussy - see if she’s as sweet as the rest of you is. So, throwing caution to the wind, Choso nods slowly. “Yes. Want it s’bad.”

Grinning wickedly, you whisper, “Thought so.” And then he’s pulling you onto his mouth, hot and urgent.

“Oh fuck-” he groans, eyes rolling to the back of his head at the first taste of your sweet sweet juices. “Shit shit shit.” So sloppily licking up your swollen folds - barely moving with any method or patience, just that he’s drunk on your pussy and wants more more more-

“Hngh- f-fuck. You sure this is your hah- first time, Cho?” you gasp breathlessly. And oh your best friend was so fucking beautiful. Dark hair untied and tousled, eyes half-hooded, your slick already smearing across the bottom half of his face and trickling down his jaw because shit he was so messy. So addicted to that desperate expression on your face that he just can’t help but tease you a little bit. 

“Mhm?” he smirks, tongue swirling around your pulsing clit. Purposefully missing right where you wanted him the most because shit he loved those cute lil’ whines spilling out of you. 

You let out a huff, hips trying pathetically to inch him closer - but Choso wasn’t budging. Holding you so firmly by the hips that you’re sure he leaves bruises, licking all over your cunt except for your clit. “Cho.” you warn. Brows furrowing in frustration at the way he bats his long lashes up at you so deceivingly innocently, “What?”

“You know…”

“I don’t.” he titters teasingly into your pussy. 

“Choso.”

Now, Choso’s known and seen everything there is to do with you - but never like this. Spread open shamefully and pouting so adorably on top of him, so needy for him. It made his head spin to think of just how much the dynamics had shifted. 

Shit, he really should’ve watched that godforsaken movie with you sooner. “Tell me what you want, crybaby.”

And oh how his cock twitches at the way you manage to get out an embarrassed little, “Wan’ you to ngh- tonguefuck me properly. Wanna cum on your pretty face, Cho.”

And that’s all that’s said before he’s surging forward, glossy lips wrapping around your pulsing clit to suck harshly. Rolling his soft tongue over and over-

“Wanted this for so long.” Choso mutters, muffled as he buries himself deeper into your pretty pussy. The vibrations sending white-hot pleasure running down your spine. “You have absolutely no idea, pretty.”

And you barely even have the time to register his little confession before Choso’s moving down to bully his tongue past your folds. Nose pressing against your throbbing clit as he dips into your sloppy hole. 

“Oh shit. Jus’ like that.” For a beginner, your best friend really knew what he was doing. Eating you out like his favorite meal, tongue squeezing into your snug pussy to thrust in and out, swipe against your walls, stretching you out right to his will. Over and over-

“Use me.”

Your eyes snap down to meet the pure adoration in his eyes as he makes out filthily with your cunt. Choking out a little, “What?”

“Use me.”

There it was again - that strained little mantra. And as if to prove his point, Choso reaches out to deftly place your hands on his head, bucking into you touch. 

And, well, how could you say no to that?

Because before you know it, you’re bunching Choso’s soft strands in your fists. Angling him just right to ride his pretty face. “C’mon, Cho. Ngh- H-harder, jus’ a bit- Oh!” he just devours the way your mouth drops into an adorable little oh! as his tongue curls deftly against that one spot. Again and again. Letting himself be so used, dragging your dripping cunt harder on his mouth. 

And he likes it. Hell, he loves it even - because you’re so sweet n’ pretty on his mouth. Better than everything he’s ever been dreaming of for the past few years. And always in his dreams, you’d be clenching so deliciously around his tongue when you were close - just like right now. 

So he speeds up his movements, breathing you in maddeningly. A hand snaking down from it’s favorite place on your hips to draw quick, frenzied little circles on your poor, ravaged clit. Jaw almost aching with how filthily he was dripping in and out of your entrance - be he did give a shit. Only wanting to have you breathless and creaming all over his face.

You jerk violently on top of him, “Hah! S’too much, Cho. M’so close- gonna cum- gonna-”

And then you’re cumming. Fast, and hard. 

Plushy walls clamping down on Choso’s tongue, hips stuttering on his face as he laps up all your juices, an arm around your waist helping you ride his face through your high. 

“S’sweet. Could get used to that.” he slurs into your cunt. Tipping his head back as far as it’d go to let the last of your juices slide down his throat. “Better than I imagined.”

The words ring in your ears as you blink back your vision. Deliriously whirling down to look down at Choso - still beneath you and looking more smug and content than you’d ever seen him. “Imagination? S’that why you’re so good.”

“No.”

You’re being flipped before you know it. Manhandled so easily by your best friend as he lays you on your back, sinking into the cushion while he looms above you. “S’jus’ that…” grunting as he flings his shirt off, “Been dreaming of your pretty cunt on m’tongue for years.”

Okay, now his confession hits - more than it did when he was tonguefucking you into insanity, anyway. 

“Years, huh?” you breathe out, eyes roaming all over his sculpted torso. Taking in every dip and curve of Choso’s toned abs - all the way from his broad shoulders to the rock-hard cock straining against his pants. As if in a trance, your hand reaches out to cup his leaking erection, “S’that all you’ve been dreaming of?”

“You little minx.” he lets out a low hiss. 

Before you can even react, Choso’s fumbling with that belt - cursing because shit, he’d have worn sweatpants instead if he knew they’d end up on your floor. 

And you’re not any better, fingers popping open his buttons and tugging impatiently and oh- You always thought that your best friend would have a big dick - but this?  He was so intimidatingly long - and thick enough that you wondered whether you’d hurt yourself. Fat tip flushed such a pretty shade of pink to match his cheeks, leaking down down down, all the way to his heavy balls. 

You’re only jolted out of your little reverie by Choso spitting a steady stream of spit onto your quivering cunt, spreading it lazily across your pussy with his thumb. A ringed fist pumping his cock slowly, as he drags his tip across your folds, pooling your sweet juices. Muttering out a raspy, “I’ll be gentle.”

“You better not be, now jus’ fuck me-”

Well, you didn’t have to ask Choso twice. Because you’ve barely gotten the words out before he’s bullying massive cock into your tight cunt. Pressing in inch by fucking inch as you gasp and buck underneath him. 

“Shhh, s’okay, crybaby. This is what you wanted, right?” he mumbles, with all the audacity of someone that wasn’t fucking into you in rapid, mindless little jabs to fit inside your snug lil’ pussy. Struggling to hold back at this point. “Wanted to be split apart on m’cock?”

You were so full of him. Even more so when he throws your legs over his shoulders, bending all the way down and folding you in half so easily beneath him. 

He drinks in the barely-lucid squeal that leaves your swollen lips. Kissing your forehead gently, whispering against the skin, “Because I’ve wanted this for so fucking long.”

And then it was like something snapped - maybe his sanity, maybe the restraint that Choso’s been holding back for too long. Because immediately he’s plunging his throbbing cock into you - all the way till his balls, all angry and squeezing so painfully, smacks against your ass. 

“Wanted this.” he rasps into your open mouth. His hips were out of control now, thrusting you in shallow, desperate rams. Pounding into you like a man possessed, and running his mouth just as much. He laces his fingers on top of your head, pushing you down even deeper into his relentless cock - as if the bastard wasn’t fucking you dumb already. “Fuckin’ needed this needed this. Shit- so bad.”

“Ch-Choso- fuck hah-” you plead as his mouth clashes with yours. All sloppy with teeth and spit and his profanities - and it felt so damn good. 

“Yeah? Who’s fucking you silly, now?” he’s going harder now, tip hitting your poor cervix over and over. And you’d be sobbing at the burn and the stretch but all you can think of is shit this is Choso - the kid you used to play hide and seek with. And now he seems fully intent on breaking you. “Say m’name.”

A rough thumb starts toying with your clit, in time with the cute lil’ whines of his name that escape your mouth like a prayer. “Shit. Y’look so pretty like this.” he babbles. “Gonna cry, pretty girl?” smirking down at the way you were too cockdrunk to even snap back, only looking up at him with delirious, teary eyes. “Be a crybaby for my cock?”

You’re tugging on his hair, thighs shaky and bucking upwards. “Cho-”

“Mhm?”

“W-wanna cum. Need you to fill m’up till I can’t take it anymore.”

Oh if Choso was any lesser man he’d have cum right then and there. Instead settling for a guttural groan, drunk off the way you were milking his cock so hard as if to prove your point. It almost made him want to stay like this forever. But no - not right now. 

“Oh yeah?” Hips becoming sloppy now, “Need it? Shit- m’so close.” Each word slurred, punctuated by a harsh thrust, strokes long and frenzied. Using your heavenly pussy like his personal fucktoy. So hard that he’s sure you’d have embarrassing matching bruises tomorrow - his balls on your ass, your nails raking down his shoulders.

“Me too- fuck fuck fuck-” you mewl into his neck, as Choso buried his face into yours. 

“Cum f’me, my girl.”

My girl. 

And then you are - and he is. And you don’t know who cums first, just that you’re seeing stars behind your eyes and Choso’s teeth digging into your neck as he thrusts once. Twice. Before cumming and cumming so hard he might as well have seen the pearly gates of heaven. And you were an angel.

Thick, hot ropes of cum that paint your walls white, so much that it gushes out of your poor overfilled pussy. Dripping down your legs and pooling into a sinful, creamy ring at his base. 

“Mm- shit. Choso.” you moan, barely audible over the lewd squelches from below. 

“M’here, my girl.” he grits out, voice shot. And it seems that that was his new favorite nickname, because Choso keeps murmuring it over and over as he keeps fucking his seed into you. Not even thinking about it at this point - just mindless, shallow grinds of his hips. 

In the haze of your orgasm, you think you hear his quiet voice, strained with exhaustion and something that you weren’t in the right state of mind to decipher right now. 

“Shhh, m’here. “Can’t believe I waited so fuckin’ long.” Whispering against your lips, “Love this. Love this pretty cunt.” Kissing softly, “Love the way y’take me. Fuckin’ made f’me.” And maybe even a soft little, “Love you.”

And maybe - just maybe, you whisper the same into his. Kissing him softly, exactly the way you’d wanted to all these years. 

Neither of you speak after that. Not when Choso’s hips stall, body sticky and collapsing onto yours. Nor do you speak when he pulls away with a playful nip to your lower lip - a promise. Searching through your clothes for a washcloth he can wipe yourselves clean with. 

It’s only when he settles back under the covers beside you, looking at you with such dark, hazy eyes - whirling with too many emotions to name - that the silence is broken. 

“Crybaby.”

“Cho.”

“Corny.”

“You started it.”

Chuckling, Choso pulls your body close to his. Not even a hair’s breadth between you two because shit now that he’s got you, he doesn’t think he ever wants to let you go. 

“Y’know…” he starts, “I think we should- I mean- if you want…” nervous now more than he was even after all that just transpired. Cheeks flaring as he meets your amused gaze, just daring him to go on - because you saw through him. You always did. “I lov-”

“Am I late for the mov- WHAT THE FUCK I ALWAYS KNEW BRATS WEREN’T JUST FRIENDS-”

---

Itadori Family Groupchat + Two More

Dad: Hey, all. I can’t seem to get a hold of Choso to confirm tomorrow’s dinner plans. Can anyone else let me know if he’s ok? XX

-Jin.

Yuji <3: He’s probs at rhat “best friend movie night” still 

Dad: Hello, Yuji. What is a “probs”? XX

-Jin.

Kugisaki: He’s suspiciously quiet, though… Y’all think that “best friend movie night” is codeword for something else? 

Yuji <3: Better not be cuz Sukuna stole my sparw key sayin something ab crashing it idk

Kugisaki: *spare

And you just LET him?

Yuji <3: HE THREATENED TO BURN MY MEGAN THEE STALLION POSTER 

…

AND DID IT ANYWAY

Kugisaki: L

Fushiguro: L

Gramps: L

Sukuna (do not answer): DID Y’ALL KNOW THOSE TWO WERE FUCKIN????

*Fushiguro has left the chat*

Dad: :0

-Jin.

A/N. Spiritually, this is a crackfic idk.

[b1mb0staars]

Bibliophile Brew

Pairings: Bakudeku x barista!reader

Summary: When managing your parent's book cafe while they're away, you meet Wonder Duo Dynamight and Deku.

Warnings: SFW. No smut, but (bc I'm me) it may be included in part 2, so Minors DNI. Fluff, aged-up characters, minor SA mentioned briefly but not described (old perv gets handsy with a teenage barista), language, misunderstanding, eventual BKDK x reader. Lmk if I forgot anything!

I’ll release part 2 when this reaches 100 likes and 25 reblogs!

Word Count: 5.5k

God, the morning rush sucks. You wish something more creative or productive was swimming in your head while looking at the long line of impatient people crowding the cafe. You send a silent prayer that you don’t catch whatever illness plagued your morning barista that caused her to call out so suddenly before her shift that caused you to cover for her…on your one day off. Sometimes helping with running your family's business sucks.

"Thank you, and have a great day!" you say sweetly as you hand the customer their order before rushing back to the cash register for the next order. The entire morning was a back-and-forth of rushed orders, messily thrown together coffees, and half-listened to thanks. Luckily, most were your regulars, and you had a fairly solid routine down for the typical orders. It was all going very smoothly for a solo shift. Until near the end of the rush when some new people came in.

The dwindled crowd of customers parted like the Red Sea with the presence of a spiky-headed blonde with red eyes and a bubbly man with a black cap over a head of curly green hair. That man stopped to talk to a few of the customers who swarmed him, pulling the mask down his face and offering a dazzling smile. The other man's face fell into indifference while his partner busied himself with chatting, and he made his way up to the front of the line as the rest of your customers broke formation in crowding the other man. If you hadn't been so sleep-deprived from the closing shift the night before and running around the entirety of the opening shift, you might have recognized the customer in front of you and his friend as pro heroes number one and two in their streetwear, but you were dazed and too tired to realize that fact. You give your signature customer service smile—the exact same one that you give to all your customers—and then ask for his order. In a gruff, perpetually agitated tone, he recites his and the other man's orders. The rest of the cafe seems to be bursting with nervous energy, something you dismiss, thinking that maybe these people know each other (you don’t know them so can’t rule it out)—the green-haired man certainly is friendly enough with everyone to have so many connections—or maybe these men were idols—they both are by far pretty enough, and it's not like you'd know either way since your life was far too busy to keep up with the trending celebrities. But something about them does strike you as familiar...whatever, you don't have time to ruminate on that now.

You scribble down both orders and you utter the simple question, "Name?" without looking up while you're writing. A moment passes and you look up at the blonde, confusion hitting you at the shock on his face.

"You...don't know my name?" He almost scoffs while asking the question, and a huff of a breathless, disbelieving laugh passes his lips as if that explanation is utterly ridiculous.

"Umm," you felt stuck. If you answer honestly, you have the feeling that he would take offense. If you lie, well, you don't lie. You hate liars and you've learned that dishonesty has a way of making any situation worse. Not to mention, he would be expecting you to write his name on the cup, and you seriously doubt your ability to pull a name out of your ass and be right about it. "I—umm—should I?" Yeah, he seems mad, or at least, incredulous at the idea that you don't know who he is.

He opens his mouth to respond but before a syllable leaves him, the green-haired man comes behind him, patting him on the back while sending you a charming smile over his shoulder. He maneuvers to stand next to his partner, circling the three of you in your own conversation. "You can just put it under Kacchan," he says sweetly, smiling brightly. The blonde scoffs while the greenette pulls out 10,000 yen from his wallet and hands it to you. You scramble to gather his change before he waves off your slightly panicked monetary calculations. "You can keep the change."

"But..." you're dumbfounded while staring at the half-collected change in your hands. "But I can't—I mean, you're order was only 1,700 yen–"

"He said take the fucking change!" the blonde bursts out, crossing his arms with a scowl and sending your shoulders jumping from the harsh sound. "Just be grateful for it! Geez!"

“Kacchan!” The green-haired man pats the blonde's arm soothingly with a juxtaposed pointed look on his facial features.

"I-I am grateful!" you stammer, bowing slightly to the two men. "I apologize, I just didn't want to unwittingly take advantage and wanted to be certain. It-it was just a bit shocking, is all."

"Oh, no need to apologize!" The greenette man begins to ramble, shaking his hands in front of himself. "I really appreciate your integrity! It means a lot! Not a lot of vendors are so honest, so it is a really admirable quality! N-not that I meant that I don’t trust workers! I’m not making a generalization to your profession or anything! We're sure you work very hard and that it’s a difficult job! You know, you just hear all these horror stories about service industry jobs and the sort of nightmare customers you're sure to put up with. Not that anyone in here seems like a nightmare customer! Though, I am sure that you put up with plenty of those kinds of customers too...I'm sure that we seem like nightmare customers...Just ignore Kacchan, he's always had an--umm--explosive personality. But consider this as a tip. Not that--uhh--not that it looks like you need it or anything! This isn’t charity...It's more like an apology, I guess. The point that I was trying to make is please keep the change and please don't feel uncomfortable about it at all." He ends his ramblings with a somewhat nervous smile and a slight blush over his cheeks, which oddly enough, eases your own anxiety. You offer a shy smile and nod.

"Thank you, sir," you say as you put the change back into the till. You give them the receipt and move to make the drinks, finally noticing the amount of eyes that are on the two customers. Were they all watching?

You make the new order with lightning speed and accuracy, giving them their drinks with a sweet smile and a friendly, "Thank you, and have a great day!" The boys smile at you—well, the green-haired man smiles and the blonde offers a half-hearted nod of recognition—and you hop right back into your flow, taking the next customer while the blonde grabs the greenette’s arms to drag him away from heading to the door and instead taking the corner booth. You can't help but notice the number of people whose eyes are instantly drawn to the two, even as you're taking orders from your newly distracted patrons. Eventually, the crowd dissipates, each customer making sure to pay a visit to the corner booth before leaving. You can't help the way your eyebrows pull together at the way everyone is acting towards the two. You decide that they have to be idols or something, but it's not your place to ask or bother them about it. They're your customers, their business is their own.

With the sudden lull of having only a few patrons left, you start making the cleaning rounds, wiping down every inch of your parent's cafe with disinfectant, bouncing from table to empty table, picking up trash, and cleaning every surface. You try not to let your eyes drift to the mystery men, but you can't help the way your curious mind keeps drifting back to them. You could swear that they look familiar, though you're also sure that you would remember two handsome faces such as theirs.

While you're distracting yourself by cleaning the front glass on the display case, you feel an unnatural heat coming from behind you. Turning your head, you jump back into the glass case, startled by the blonde's sudden appearance and close proximity. You gather that this man isn't well-versed in social normalities, otherwise he wouldn’t be invading your space. He's not even phased by your skittishness, though you're suddenly sheepish about your dramatic reaction.

"Sorry," you stutter softly, nervously scratching a nail at the back of your ear. "Can I help you?"

"Sorry," he huffs, turning away instantly to pout at the ground.

"Umm, I don't—"

"For earlier," he interrupts. “It’s been brought to my attention that I was apparently being rude.”

"Oh no!" You wave off nervously, smiling sheepishly. “It’s really okay! No need to apologize.”

"SEE??" He snapped, whipping around to face the other man who was sitting at the booth shaking his head in his palms. The sudden shout pulls a small yelp from your lips in surprise. "I told you, ya damn nerd! Making a big deal outta nothin'!" You look away bashfully, your face hot when the few remaining patrons direct their attention towards the two of you. You turn to walk back behind the counter but you're stopped by an arm that reaches out between you and your exit route to lean against the freshly polished glass. You pout at the new smudges and meet his vermillion eyes with your own sad ones. His eyes study you for a moment, looking for something on your features. You felt like a bug under a microscope with the scrutiny you felt from his glare. "So, before...did you really not know who we are?"

"Umm," your eyes dart to the side, noticing the other man dragging his feet towards his comrade. You suddenly feel cornered, wishing that you could be back behind the safety of the counter. "I—sorry..."

"Hey," the emerald-haired man smooths, "no need to apologize. We should just introduce ourselves. I'm Midoriya Izuku, and this is Kacch—I mean, Bakugo Katsuki." Oh. Those were names that you knew. You stand stunned for a moment, tired eyes wide and a blush spreading at the embarrassment of not knowing before.

Bowing your head, you shyly say, "It is nice to meet you both."

While you're still bowed to the two men, a look passes between the both of them over your head. By the time you lift your face again, their eyes are back on you and your eyes are shifting to look at anything besides the bulking pro heroes in front of you as you give your name.

"It's nice to meet you, as well," Midoriya says while Bakugo folds his arms over his chest and nods in acknowledgment. "The tea was amazing, by the way."

"Thank you," you softly reply. "It's a fan favorite here. My mom taught me how to brew it perfectly."

"Well, it was delicious," he answers. "Your mother taught you well." Your lips turn up bashfully as you nod.

"I'll be sure to let her know, thank you."

"The coffee was good," Bakugo muttered. His voice was so quiet, you nearly missed it, already used to his typically booming voice since you met him the mere hour beforehand. You weren't expecting him to express his delight in the drink, and you could tell that he was one to withhold such approval. Your smile couldn't help but widen at his comment, instant pride filling your gut with flutters at the praise. While his words fill your stomach with butterflies, the brightened expression on your face sends the pro heroes' stomachs flipping.

"I-I'm glad you enjoyed it," you beam. A moment passes between the three of you, eyes flickering between one another before the front door rings with a new customer. "I-I should get back to work...but, let me know if you want anything." You smile sweetly and scoot away from the men, padding around the counter to welcome your new patron with a sugary, “Welcome to the Bibliophile Brew.” Katsuki smirks as he watches you kindly speak with your customer, turning to Izuku and leaning in to lowly say to him.

"I know what I want."

Some days you cursed yourself for being such a good daughter. Days like today when you sat crammed into a corner booth to keep an eye on the cafe while also juggling between the reading assignment you had for your college literature class and organizing the barista schedule for the next two weeks—a task infinitely more difficult now that you had two baristas out because of sickness. Thank God for Michi who agreed to take a couple extra shifts in their place, taking a bit of the load off of you!

While your new load of responsibility was exhausting, you figured that it was the least you could do for your poor parents who had to travel across the country to take care of your grandparents in their old age. You wanted to help your family as much as possible while your parents were away, meaning that for the rest of the summer, you’d be bouncing between your summer classes and managing the cafe. Luckily, you decided not to take on too many classes during the off-season, and what you did enroll in were all online courses, so you could focus on the classes in your own time—though that time was becoming less and less with the sudden boom in business the last few days. Word got around that your parents’ cafe was a hang-out spot for pro heroes—not true considering the number one and two heroes only came in that one time—but the rumor still helped business so you weren’t going to complain about the sudden influx of cash.

You also weren’t going to turn down more tips for yourself and your baristas. Apparently, someone had also posted a video of Deku’s rant on the difficulties of the hard-working service-industry employee and the importance of tipping—not what you thought was the intent of his rambling but you still appreciated the sentiment of it—and people just took off with it. You noticed an inflow of better tippers and friendlier customer-barista exchanges since then. The impact that a simple video with the Symbol of Peace had over a nation was astounding to you. It left you in complete awe of his incredible influence.

“Hey, boss,” Sukki’s voice called out, bringing you out of your Deku daydreaming, and reminding you of the focus you should be having on your mountain of work. Turning your eyes up, you take a look at Sukki’s concerned features through your reading glasses. Your mind immediately drowns in word, and you begin looking past her around at the café.

“What’s wrong? Something happened?” She’s place is a hot cup on the table in front of you.

“Nothing happened,” she says. “Everything is running smoothly. Almost perfectly.”

Your brows pull together and confusion. “Then—”

“So smoothly in fact,” she interrupted, kneeling at the side of the booth, and looking up at you gently, as if speaking with a toddler, “that we don’t even need you here.” She gently prize the schedule paper from your white-knuckle grip.

“But—”

“How much sleep did you get last night?” Ooh, you did not want to answer that. However, you didn’t have to verbally answer since the way your face contorts into a cringe is answer enough. “Go home, get some sleep. Me and the girls can figure out the schedule for you.“

“But you shouldn’t have—”

“And you shouldn’t be working yourself like this. It’s unhealthy.” You want to argue, but you can’t, so instead you pout.

“Why did you bring me a coffee then?”

“It’s hot chocolate. I don’t like giving you any sugar, but I also know that you need a treat, it’s better than another cup of coffee.”

“So you're trying to make sure I crash on sugar, then?”

“At least you may actually get some sleep, then.“ You snort and roll your eyes, trying to hide your touched smile behind the lid of your cup. Suki has known you since your high school days, having started as a classmate, then best friend, which led to being coworkers, too. Because of this Sukki would take care of you, whenever you would be teetering on the edge of burnout, which was often as of late. He struggled to take breaks for yourself, fearing that your responsibilities will pile up, and you’d eventually let everyone else down.

“Can I at least finish the reading?”

She takes a moment to consider this before sighing. “Fine. But if you’re staying here, you’re not working.” She swipes the handwritten schedule from the table and holds it out of your reach. “And I am taking this. Now, finish your homework, so you can go home and sleep.” You offer her a two-finger salute as she walks away, mumbling about how she doesn’t understand why you’re still handwriting your stuff.

After a while of reading, the words begin to blur together, and your eyes grow heavy. The hot chocolate—half drunk and lukewarm now—seems to be the only thing your tired eyes could focus on. For the past moments—God only knows the true measurement of time, but it only felt like a mere few minutes—your gaze had been trained on your abandoned beverage instead of the words dancing over the numerous pages. You didn't look away from the abnormally interesting cup until a tall figure plopped into the booth seat across yours, a large shadow being cast over the object of your attention. The sudden presence drew your eyes to your unexpected visitor and to say you were shocked by the identity of your mystery guest would be an understatement. You gape at the green-haired pro hero sitting across from you, smiling brightly, his eyes sparkling underneath the curls falling in front of them.

"Umm..." You look around, wondering if you were seeing things correctly or if you had actually fallen asleep in the booth and were now dreaming. But looking around the cafe, everything seems normal, except for the amount of eyes on you and your surprise guest. Your eyes fall back into Deku as you swallow thickly. "Hi?"

"Hey!" he beams, the freckles and dimples on his face becoming more apparent with the brightness if his features as he spoke. "It's nice to meet you again," he says sweetly, and you can't help the way your stomach flutters or how your heart picks up pace, a flush filling your cheeks.

"Yeah, it's nice to see you, too," you reply. "You here for another matcha?"

He chuckles a bit, flattered that you remember his order from his first visit. "Well," he states, leaning forward with his elbows on the tabletop, his voice lowering, "I couldn't think of anywhere else I could get tea as delicious as yours."

You didn't know what his was about that compliment that sent your heartbeat racing. Maybe it was his pretty virescent eyes trained on you or maybe it was the hush in his voice that made it feel as if his words were meant for you and you alone, but whatever it was, the comment had your face flaming.

"Thank you, Mr. Deku," you bashfully say. "I'm not sure I'm deserving of such high praise."

"You are," he states matter-of-factly. "And you can call me Midoriya. I doubt that I'm much older than you are, and I'm definitely not old enough for 'Mr.'" He teasingly cringes at his own use of the title, causing a giggle to slip from your lips. You don't notice the pride that puffs out his chest as he watches you laugh, knowing that he caused such a sweet sound to bubble from your throat.

"Sorry," you say, your tone much lighter and relaxed after your small giggle fit. "I won't make that mistake again, Midoriya."

"Please don't," he chuckles. He nods towards the book sitting on the tabletop with your hand resting atop the open pages. "So, business or pleasure?"

"School, actually," you answer, tucking your bookmark between the pages and closing the book to offer the pro hero your full attention.

"Oh, then both." You giggle again and he can't help but join you until Sukki stops at the table with Deku's tea and a second hot chocolate for you.

"Your tea, Mr. Deku," Sukki says tightly, obviously starstruck and nervous, it reminds you of Deku's early interviews where he seemed so frightened of the camera. It only worsens when he flashes her his number one hero smile, followed by a sweet and peppy, "Thank you!"

Sukki squeaks a bit, face flushing, and she bows slightly as she utters, "Umm, my pleasure, sir!" When she straightens her spine she gives you a pointed what-the-hell-is-happening-here look which you answer with a subtle I-have-no-idea shrug. You decide that you should get some answers.

"So, is there anything I could do for you, Midoriya?" He stops to look you in the eyes, the cup stalling in mid-air before completing its journey to his lip. He chuckles and sets the beverage onto the countertop.

"You assume I have an ulterior motive for being here?" You shrug, not wanting to offend him with an accusation, but that's exactly what you were implying.

"I'm just curious why you want to sit with a stranger."

"But we're not really strangers, you call me Midoriya now." You raise an eyebrow at the evasiveness, and he relents with the simple motion. "Okay, I'll admit that I didn't just come here for the tea." You fake gasp, dramatically smacking a hand to your chest in faux disbelief. He rolls his eyes. “I came to apologize.”

Your nose wrinkles at that and you can’t help the disbelieving chuckle that escapes your lips. “For what?”

“For that video,” he answers simply, obviously. “I’m sure you’ve seen it by now.”

“I mean, yeah, but I was there so I didn’t really have to watch it,” you giggled a bit. He didn’t seem to find it as funny as you did though.

“I’m sure it’s made things more difficult around here, too, though. Right?” You watch the crinkle of his brow, realizing how much he was internalizing any slight inconvenience he may have caused you.

“Business has actually been great since the last time you were here,” you beamed, trying your best to ease his misplaced guilt. “And the tips are better, too.” He seemed to perk up at that.

“Really?” God, this grown man was practically a puppy dog wagging his tail in front of you. It takes everything in you not to giggle at the thought.

“Really.” You shrug. “There's nothing to apologize for so don't worry about it.” He looks a little shocked at your response, the tips of his ears and the apples of his cheeks brightening with pink. He smiles at you gently.

“Well, good. I’m glad," he says sweetly, flashing his signature adorable smile. "I--well, I also wanted to make sure that you weren't having any issues. I know how some, umm, super fans can get outta hand with people they see me in a video with. Speculation can get out of hand."

“Oh," you respond, slightly taken aback. "No, I haven't had issues. Do people actually harass random video extras though?" Izuku snorts a bit at your choice of words, causing your brow to twitch and your head to tilt in confusion. Clearing his throat, he presses his lips into a disappointed line, nodding in confirmation.

"Unfortunately, yes," comes his mirthless reply. "Don't get me wrong, I love all my fans...but some of them make it a bit difficult to love them all equally."

You can't help the giggle that bubbles past your lips, the tingling sound building into your lovely laugh. "Y'know, it's okay for you not to like everyone, Midoriya."

"Oh, the nice guy in me disagrees," he sasses back, smirking to himself as he makes you laugh again.

"It's also okay to not apologize for every minor inconvenience you may or may not cause someone," you accuse pointedly. He at least has the decency to look slightly embarrassed for the point you're trying to make. "And I hope you didn't make the trip here just to check on me. I'm sure that there are more important things that deserve your attention, and I'm sure this is time you could have used for yourself."

"Well, as long as we're pointing fingers, you're allowed to take time for yourself as well," he retorts smugly. You suck a harsh breath before you bite your bottom lip sheepishly.

"How'd you know?"

"It looks like you've been overworking yourself," he answers matter-of-factly. "I'm assuming this," he starts, thumbing the book's pages that rest in front of you, "and this," he gestures to the cafe, looking around at the bustling space full of patrons who are beginning to take notice of his pro hero presence, "are responsible for your lack of self-care."

"I think you're forgetting that anything can be a form of self-care," you point out. "This can be self-care," you say holding up your cup of hot chocolate.

"A lukewarm beverage is self-care?" He raises a pensive brow.

"You're one to talk, Mr. Pro Hero Deku," you snort. "You're spending your free time here. I wouldn't exactly call that self-care."

"Well...what if I told you that this is what I wanted to do for my free time?" he shyly answers, suddenly sheepish. "If I'm honest, I kinda wanted a do-over at meeting you."

"You...did?" He nods, and you stare for a moment with wide, ruminant eyes. "How come?"

"Well, that first meeting was such a disaster," he chuckled. "It's not exactly the kind of impression I wanted to leave on such a beautiful person." He bashfully flirts, his cheeks dusting pink over the constellation of freckles over his face, and it's a whole new type of flustering when a big, beefy hero like Deku looks at you so adorably through his thick lashes with a ducting of blush gracing his freckled cheeks.

You feel your own cheeks flush at the sight, squirming in your seat and bringing your hands up to cover your burning cheeks, mumbling, "Oh...Oh! God, I'm too sleep-deprived for this kinda conversation." Your blush only worsens when he chuckles and coos at you.

"Well, m-maybe after you get a good night's sleep, we could have that conversation then," he offers. "Perhaps with...dinner while we talk about it..."

"Are you...asking me out?"

"I was trying to," he chuckles softly at himself.

"I think that I'd really like that," you answer, your face heating as a shy smile graces your lips. The greenette's face lights up in an elated grin, jade eyes sparkling with glee.

"Yeah?" You nod sheepishly. "Can I walk you home?" He asks sweetly. You nod, shyly avoiding his eyes as he snickers. You silently pack your belongings, your eye flitting toward an elated and shocked Sukki who watches from behind the counter, the coffee pot in her hand drifting away from the cup in her other hand to spill on the floor. For some reason, the sight puts you a bit at ease as you allow Midoriya to lead you out the door, his hand affectionately resting on the small of your back as if the rest of the cafe wasn't watching the scene.

Taking a deep breath, you pinch the bridge of your nose and steel yourself before fixing the offending table with a hard look. Your day was going so well, especially after your walk with Deku Midoriya the night before. You walked into work moments ago with a good night's sleep, wonderful memories of your day before, and brighter outlook on life. However, that sunny demeanor was promptly killed the minute you walked into the shop to see a sobbing teenage girl in your office being comforted by Sukki who then explained the situation in hushed tones. The righteous fury in you burned as you looked at the handsy customer leisurely sipping his beverage as if he hadn't assaulted a young lady. Turning to the teary-eyed employee you offer a sympathetic look and gently smile at her. "Amai, how about you stay in my office and take a break? I'll handle this." Making your way over, you grab an empty cup and lid from the counter.

"Hello, sir," you say in an overly sugary tone. "Hope you're enjoying the coffee. Here's a to-go cup so you can enjoy it on the go. Have a lovely day. Buh-bye now."

"What? The fuck you talking about, girlie?"

"Well, see, you broke our number one rule by harassing one of our beloved staff members," you continue in a tooth-achingly sweet customer service voice, despite the pure condescension dripping from your honeyed timbre. "Therefore, you are no longer welcome here. So, leave while I'm still being nice. Oh, and don't come back again, 'kay?"

"Look, tits—"

"That is not my name," you snap, niceties long forgotten. You also noticed the small audience that had begun to gather, the surrounding dining area falling into a slight hush with only scandalized whispers being exchanged between the audience. "Though you don't even deserve to know my name. However, if you must address me at all you may do so by calling me 'ma'am' or 'miss', but you will not address me or any woman in that manner."

He tsks and rolls his eyes at you. "You don't even know the whole story. That bitch was asking for it."

"Really?" you ask, voice coated in sarcasm. "The teenage girl was vying for the attention of some fat, old fuck like yourself? Hmm, very interesting. In that case, maybe I was too quick in my earlier words. I was being far too kind in letting you leave gracefully and quietly. So, instead, I will be calling the police. Please, sit, finish your coffee, and wait for the cops to haul your ass off."

"Why you—" His hand raises, poised to strike you while you stand emotionless with a fixed, unmoving stance. Before he gets the chance to slap you, a grenade-gloved hand catches his wrist.

"Touch her and you lose it." It's safe to say that both you and the offending customer are shocked by the tall blonde practically made of muscle standing between you and the now stuttering mess of a man. "What? Why suddenly so quiet after spewing such shit?" You're surprised that Dynamight's sharp glare isn't literally cutting the man down in front of you. "Apologize." The man's eyes shift towards you, the venom in the gaze when looking at you, however, is not quelled by the threats of the pro-hero.

"But...she's—" The grip around the man's hand becomes increasingly tight, interrupting whatever insult on the tip of his tongue with a pained grunt.

"Apologize."

He spews his false apologies with tearful pleads accompanying them before Dynamight drops his grip and sends the sniveling man scrambling on the floor and running out the door. The small crowd claps and cheers for the hero before dispersing back into their own activities. He shrugs off the praise, grumbling about how useless the crowd of people is, watching while an old perv nearly puts his hands on you.

"Thank you," you say as he passes you, seemingly lost in his own complaints over the situation. Stopping with his back to you, Dynamight takes a few deep breaths to calm himself before turning back to you.

"You got a mouth on you," he simply says, his tone almost bored.

"Oh," you say, blushing. "Umm...thank you?"

"It's a compliment," he assures matter-of-factly.

"Oh!" you drawl, recognizing the actual weight of the stone-cold Dynamight giving someone a compliment. "Then, thank you!" You flash him a glowing smile, a sign of your gratitude, but you fail to recognize the damage you've inflicted upon Bakugo's poor heart, causing the normally stoic hero to lose his breath, flush invading the apples of his cheeks.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm just doing my job," he grumbled, awkwardly crossing his arms and looking away. You tilt your head at the sudden aggression in his tone. He takes a moment to calm down with some calming breaths before he peeks at you from the corner of his eyes. He huffs before mumbling out, "Y'know...if you wanted to thank me you could join me for dinner." For some reason, you found his roundabout offer oddly adorable for such an explosive man.

"Are-are you asking me out?" you ask, smiling sweetly as you watch the tips of his ears brighten with a red hue.

"Yes or no?"

"Hmmm," you hum pensively, your finger tapping on your chin in thought. You mentally cackle at the way he groans impatiently, embarrassingly. Giggling, you finally decide to put him out of his misery, "Yes, I'd love to." His face proudly morphs into one of triumph.

"Good," he nods. "Be ready by 7. I'll pick you up." With that, he marches out the cafe doors, and you don't miss the "Fuck yeah!" he shouts once he's outside, startling a few unsuspecting bypassers.

You giggle as you watch his figure swagger down the street. Sukki comes up behind you, clearing her throat. "Did Dynamight just ask you out?"

"Mhmm," you hum out, biting your bottom lip giddily.

"After you agreed to go out with Deku?"

"Mhmm—oh," you blanch. "Oh, shit!"

[b1mb0staars]

he‘s so stupid 💔🥲

[b1mb0staars]

"...𝕀'𝕞 𝕡𝕣𝕖𝕥𝕥𝕪 𝕥𝕚𝕡𝕤𝕪"

Drunk!Izuku midoriya x tipsy!fem!reader

Cw: Reader gets felt up, pda, affectionate petting, teasing, pregnancy mentioned, might seem like dubcon? Tell me if it does, unprotected sex, Drunk sex?, dirty talk kind of.

Writing this was slightly embarrassing cause I used my own experiences to make it slightly more realistic since I've never written full on smut (⁠｡⁠・⁠/⁠/⁠ε⁠/⁠/⁠・⁠｡⁠)

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The bustle of the night club could be heard. Flashing lights, people dancing their hearts out, it was all a blur.

She could hear the chatter of the people around her, though she wasn't necessary paying much attention to it.

Warm rough hands trail up and down your stomach, a soft hum in her ear as lips grazed her neck.

"You're so warm.." his tone slurred as he purred in her ear. She let out a chuckle, letting her fingers trail along his forearm.

"I can smell the liquor on you." Her voice light as she teased him.

She leaned into his sweet kisses against her neck as she looked around them. They sat comfortably in a booth seat in the back of the club, but she was still mindful of her surroundings.

She felt him hum against her neck, sucking a mark into her skin.

"I can smell it on you too." Izuku whispered in her ear. She felt his hand trail up to her breast, she caught it before he could grab at her and placed it on the table.

"You can't just- feel me up in public babe." He let out a whine, placing his chin on her shoulder "Sorry.."

Her hand reached around to cradle his face. He leaned into the feeling with a smile. "You're just so...hot. I can't resist."

His breath was hot in her ear, a shiver running up her spine as she pushed him away.

"Don't talk in my ear.." her voice was barley a mumble as she spoke.

A smirk spread across his lips as he easily peeled her hand away, moving closer to her. "Y'know you're no better then me, you're thighs keep rubbing together in my lap.." she let his hand trail down her body to her thighs.

He groped and kneaded the soft supple skin as he continued, "I know, you can feel my...problem against your lower back..~" he whispered in her.

She let out a huff, pulling his hands away, ultimately ignoring his claims "I'm saving you from waking up and possibly seeing an article about you feeling up your fiance in a night club." She turned around in his arms as she softly spoke, her lips so close to his.

Izuku's lips parted slightly, his breath becoming heavier as he tried to lean in.

"Or...is that something you want?" Her voice barely above a whisper as she spoke. His lips curled up into a smirk.

"mmm...~ knowing my fans they'd like it." He snarkly said back, leaning in to kiss her.

With a giggle, she dodged him. Shaking her head she poked his cheek, "well, as the less intoxicated person, I still say no."

He let out a whine, "Damn...was really hoping to sneak into the bathroom for a quickie."

"Good god deku." She giggled as she got up out of his lap.

"Not the hero name... oh?" He sat up with her, his legs were slightly wobbly. She let him lean his weight against her. "I'm assuming you're gonna drive us home?"

She nodded as she led them out of the club.

"you're such a good girlfriend. Mmm.. you're sooo nice." His words slurred, she made sure to stay close to him as they made their way over to his car.

As they approached, she leaned him against the car. Standing in front of him, she let her lay gently on his chest. A smile on her face as she looked at him, "You're so cute Izuku.~" She leaned up and gave him a quick kiss.

Before he could deepen it, he felt her pull away to open the passenger seat for him, he sighed, sitting in the car and letting her close his door.

Izuku watched her walk around to the driver's side and sit in the car, observing her. As she opened the driver's side and got in the car she leaned over to him go grab his keys.

Feeling for his keys in his pants pocket she saw his hands grab her wrist. She gave him a look of confusion.

"If you instead just wanted to do this in the car you could've said that..." She gave him a scoff, pulling her wrists out of his grip and taking his keys from his side pocket.

"You're a trip y'know that?" She states as she starts up the car, pulling out of the parking lot and onto the road.

Izuku smiled, "I know right?" He watched as they pasted by buildings, watching the way the lights of the night blurred together as she drove. The cool feeling of the window helped the dizzying feeling he felt.

The car was filled with calming silence as she drove them to their apartment. Izuku rested his head back as he watched her drive, a doppy grin on his lips. As she pulled into the parking lot she made sure to park the car.

Taking the car out of drive, she looked over to him, catching his gaze. She smiled, "What?"

"nothing, just thinking about you."

"anything in particular?"

"How much I love you." Izuku leaned over the console slightly, making sure to slightly crowd her. He grabbed her right hand, fiddling with the ring on her ring finger.

She let him fiddle with her ring as she listened to his murmurs, "Whenever I imagine us married, I think of you in this big poofy white and pink dress. Pink is such your color..."

She gave him a small smile, leaning forward to give him a kiss on the cheek. Izuku turned his head to kiss her lips.

The slight taste of liquor still present as he tried to deepen the kiss, his tongue swiping against her bottom lip.

With a giggle, she pulled away while still keep the close proximity. His breathing was slow as he kept his eye closed, "I also think alot about our honeymoon..." He sighed out.

She playfully rolled her eyes, "Like what?"

He smirked as he leaned in close to her ear, "Maybe...me getting you pregnant? Or just the act of it."

The car was getting stuffy. The tension being built was too much for her, she opened her door letting some of the cool night air into the car.

Izuku watched as she walked around to his side of the car to get him out. Stepping out of the car he looked down at her with a shrug of his shoulders, "or I could do it right now? Get you pregnant before we even plan out the wedding?"

She grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him down to be at her level. "Babe?"

His eyes was widened and his face was red, "Y-yeah?"

"Shut up." She let go of his shirt as she made her way to the front door of their apartment complex.

Izuku's silence only lasted the trip up to his apartment. As they entered the living room he watched as she took her shoes off and walked through his apartment. He calmly followed her into his bedroom as he watched her take the dress off to put on a shirt.

She made a show of crawling onto the bed, a brief smile on her face, "I can feel you staring." She rolled over on her back as she beckoned him onto the bed.

He frantically took his clothes off too, almost falling when he tried to remove his pants. Being left only in his underwear he crawled his way over to her. Lifting her shirt (his shirt) up to put his head under.

She giggled as she felt him kiss her belly, "What are you doing?" She squealed as he started to tickle her sides.

"Stop! What are you doing!?" She felt him chuckle against her skin as his fingers stopped. His kisses slowed down as he kissed up her sternum to her breasts, "Why do you still have your bra on if we're gonna go to sleep soon?"

"You want to go to sleep?" He whined as he lifted up the shirt to look at her with a pout, "You're sending me mixed messages.."

She laughed as she ran her hands through his hair, "I'm sorry, it's just fun to tease you."

He let out a huff as he swiftly ripped her bra in two as he pulled the shirt up over her chest.

"Deku?! What the hell that was my favorite br-" he leaned down and kissed her nipple. His other hand groped her neglected breast as he looked up at her.

His half lidded eyes glowed green as he flicked his tongue over her nipple. Closing his lips around it he gave it a quick suck before pulling away. He stared down at her, "You play too much.."

She smirked, she lifted her thigh up to graze against his groin, "You love it." He shrugged as he leaned down to kiss at her neck.

He shamelessly humped against her thigh as his left hand trailed down her body to her panties. He grabbed the front of the panties and pulled up, she let out a moan, the feeling of the Cotton panties rubbed against her clit.

"You're so pretty.." he pulled away from her neck and laid his head on her chest. Pulling her panties to the side he softly rubbed his finger against her slit, "Oh?"

Dipping his finger inside he pulled back out, "Mm... You're soaked.." She covered her face with her hands, a muffled 'shut up' coming from her.

"Being so high and mighty but you were soaking your panties the whole time? Terrible."

He pulled her hands away from her face, looking down at her with a smile, "I think it's cute." Two of his fingers dipped in her entrance as he kept talking.

"You're kind of a hypocrite though. Listen to how you sound, I'm not even doing anything." He chuckled as he set a steady peace, the sounds coming from her pussy making his head dizzy.

She let out a whine of his name as she looked up at him. He gave her a kiss as he quicken his pace, swallowing up her moans.

He felt her legs start to shake as she closed her legs around his wrist. He continued the pace before he pulled away from her.

After removing both of their underwear he positioned himself at her entrance, her legs folded to her chest as he watched the tip slip in.

They both sighed when he filled her up, a shudder ran up his spine before he started on a slow pace.

The slow yet deep in and out push of his thrusts were a lot for her.

He felt her foot against his chest as she tried to push away, grabbing her calves he gently pushed her legs up to her ears as he sped up his pace.

He leaned his head down closer towards her ear, his whimpers and grunts causing her to moan.

"This...this was all I wanted. I c-could tell you did too, you just- ah~ like to play with my emotions." He breathlessly stated as he felt his orgasm building up.

She pulled him down into a kiss, she moved her hips up to meet his thrusts as he sped up more.

The kiss was sloppy, she ran her hands through his hair as she felt her orgasms run through her. A content moan left his lips as he helped her through her orgasm.

He pulled out to not overstimulate her and frantically rubbed his dick between her thighs.

He let out a moan if her name, cum splattering on her stomach.

With a sigh he collapsed onto her and the both of them immediately fell asleep.

The next morning Izuku woke up to a few articles of him kissing his fiance in the back of a club.

Izuku: Dam...

(he stayed home with you all day and y'all gave each other the aftercare you missed)

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This took so long to make! Sorry I had school and I'm finna have exams soon. Also I feel like I didn't do the smut good, tell me what you think tho :]

[b1mb0staars]

Remember, you will always be growing as a writer. There is no peak, only improvement. It’s a continual learning curve and you can only go up from here. So keep writing lovelies.

[b1mb0staars]

i’d give this man the sloppiest head

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cozy glow fluff

(hobie x pink!reader) — fem prns..?

hobie, the rule breaking, cop hating, spider-punk. he goes around spraypainting walls, or beating some evil villain. that or he’s being told off by miguel for his “disrespectful” behavior. AKA he was telling the truth and miguel doesn’t seem to appreciate honesty as much as hobart does.

maybe people expect him to have a girlfriend just as punk as him. maybe they don’t expect a girlfriend at all.

————

last night had been a long one. he had just gotten home from a mission with gwendy. he had some scrapes and bruises so he was forced to go to the medical center. he hated being told to do things, especially go to the medical center. it was so sterile, so void of life. and could definitely use a new paint job.

he had missed band practice which means having his phone blown up about their upcoming gig and how it was the 4th time that month he’d “skipped” practicing.

as he swung through the city all he could think of was you. all he could think of was the way you smelt like sugar cookies and rainy days. he dodged building after building, soon his eyes focusing on the apartment ahead. only one room illuminated.

only one room with that familiar cozy glow that he came to appreciate oh so much. as he approached the edifice, his eyes trained on the dusty bricks, and the chipping paint of the window sill that he had glued himself against, climbing the side of the structure.

he pryed open the window, a loud creaking noise ensuing. he winced slightly, hoping that if you were sleeping, you hadn’t woken up. he crawled into the kitchen, inhaling at your aroma that snuck its way throughout the flat.

he scanned the space, he saw the muffins you had left on the stove top. he grabbed one as he snuck towards your bedroom. noting the usual decorations as well as some new ones. pictures of him, in a pink frame of course. he ran his fingers over it, reminiscing on the memory, one from a week prior. you had convinced hobie to go to a fair.

the both of you had a wonderful time then, even if he was reluctant to admit it. you accepted this and was proud that he stepped out of his comfort zone while also managing not to steal.

curse you and your sickeningly sweet smile that makes him forget how horrible the system is. don’t worry, he made some ruckus the next day to make up for the loss. as his eyes grew heavy he reached for the handle of your door.

the door opened with a loud moan of the hinges. the list on your fridge of things to fix in your house obviously not helping. glancing at the clock, he read the time. 2 am. he mentally cursed himself for coming to see you that late, but really who could blame him.

most see hobie as a ruffian who only causes uproar and disharmony. but you saw him as much more. he was able to be himself with you. he allowed himself to let you in, to see all his insecurities that weren’t open to the rest of the world.

he glanced back at you, snuggled up in a pink blanket and your hello kitty pajamas. both of which he bought (stole) for you (but he wouldn’t tell you that he actually stole it). the light still shining dimly, he chuckled, knowing you had probably stayed up waiting for him.

he soon discarded the majority of his clothes and climbed into bed next to you. your figure tossing and turning, your breath changing before restoring back to a soft snore. you found it embarrassing that you snore, he found it adorable and made sure to reassure you of that. and also to remind you that insecurity is another way the government divides us so we can’t band together and overthrow it.

reaching over he turned off the light. his black shirt contrasting with the rosy color of your linens. he wraps his arms around you, which you quickly oblige. snuggling closer into his chest.

“love ‘ya doe.” he had begun calling you doe when you first met, it was to point out your innocence which soon became something he treasured most about you. although he did appreciate your tenacity when protesting. you could definitely overthrow one hell of a government all on your own when you were angry.

“mm love you too,” you said sleepily, only mildly drooling on hobie. you fell back asleep as quick as you woke up. he smiled and rested his chin on top your head.

closing his eyes and falling asleep.

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okay first fic what do we think? do you want hobie smut? or maybe something with miguel??? i have a whole list of ideas but i’d love some more!! pls pls request something you want to see and i’ll add it to the list.

reblogs much appreciated, feel free to message me 🩷